“Sizheng? Sizheng?” Shen Changfeng called him twice, but he didn’t respond. The third time, Qin Sizheng reacted violently, snatching the recorder and switching it off, his face drained of color.
“What’s wrong? The sleeping pills… hands… what does that mean? Did he drug you?”
Shen Changfeng had been in this industry long enough to know some of its unsavory undercurrents, but he never imagined Lu Xianqing would be capable of this. And judging by his tone, it wasn’t recent.
“When did this happen?”
Qin Sizheng clenched the recorder so tightly his knuckles turned white, forcing himself to maintain composure as he sent Shen Changfeng away. “I’m not feeling well today… I don’t want to go to class. You should go first.”
Shen Changfeng frowned. “No! If there’s something troubling you, tell me. Even if it’s Fourth Brother, I’m on your side. Don’t you trust me?”
“No.” Qin Sizheng pushed Shen Changfeng outside, forcing a calm smile through the fear and nausea. “Fourth Brother wasn’t talking about me. It was residual trauma from filming—you know his mental state hasn’t always been stable.”
Shen Changfeng didn’t believe him. Qin Sizheng had always been upbeat; if it were just a matter of Lu Xianqing’s mental state, he wouldn’t react like this. And he was avoiding looking at the recorder.
“Sizheng, you have to tell me if something’s wrong.”
“I really am fine. I just caught a chill last night. I’ll rest a bit.”
Shen Changfeng insisted on staying, but Qin Sizheng lost patience. “I said I’m fine! Can’t you understand? Get out!”
“Sizheng…”
He didn’t want to talk anymore. He pushed Shen Changfeng out, locked the door, and took several deep breaths, clutching the recorder as he returned to the table.
Inside the box were a few sheets of paper. He took a deep breath and forced himself to pick them up, one by one. Each sheet detailed Lu Xianqing’s life: a participation in a cultural program, beautiful “slender gold” calligraphy, his birthday, his severe hand fetish, micro-accounts he had logged into, and how he impersonated the “teacher” in lessons.
Every detail was a fabrication.
The birthday was fake. The signature test was fake. His tender façade was fake. Everything he had believed to be love was meticulously orchestrated.
He had thought he was waiting for the clouds to part and the moon to shine, only to realize he was drifting at the mercy of another’s hands.
After reading all the sheets, the last was printed by machine, presumably a note from the sender:
“I know you might not believe me. The doctor in the recording is called Shen Qing—you can verify with him. Lu Xianqing is not the perfect person you imagine. He is obsessive and pathological, a complete madman. To him, you are possession, a toy, not a person.
You have beautiful hands. He has a severe hand fetish, which is why he became obsessed with you. This is not love.
You may object, but if he truly loved you, why send those messages to terrify you? Hurting someone this way—is that love?
If you don’t believe me, you can visit his home. You’ll find evidence there.”
Qin Sizheng played the recording again. A cold, measured voice poured out like confession:
“I wanted to die under his fists. Do you understand that feeling? To enter death in ecstasy—surely that would be the most exquisite moment.
Every time he reached out to strike me, I imagined if he held me, cradled me.
When I saw him afraid yet felt reliable, I couldn’t help but want to trap him, to taint him so he could belong only to me.”
Shen Qing listened quietly for a long time before saying:
“Your obsession with him is no longer just about hands. Have you realized that?”
Qin Sizheng couldn’t bear to hear more. The confessional words, overlaid repeatedly with each message, unleashed a wave of long-suppressed panic, smashing into his mind like relentless surf.
On the day of his “birthday,” Qin Sizheng had cooked for him. Later, because he couldn’t hold his liquor well, he fell asleep after drinking. When he woke up, his throat hurt, there was a salty, metallic taste in his mouth, and his palms were slightly red.
Now it was clear—while he had been asleep, Lu Xianqing had done whatever he wanted to him.
Taking advantage of his groggy sleep, he had humiliated him at will, treating him like a toy that couldn’t resist. He had even considered drugging him. That day had never been a coincidence at all—it had been a deliberate plan to lure him over.
Qin Sizheng had truly believed it was his birthday. He had even felt sorry for him, thinking that although Lu Xianqing held such a high status, he didn’t even have friends to celebrate his birthday with. Now it seemed he had simply walked straight into the wolf’s den.
That day, when they ran into Ming Fei at the door, Ming Fei had said, “Bring him back and eat.” So that was what he had meant.
They were so familiar with each other that they probably didn’t bother hiding things. Even Ming Fei knew what Lu Xianqing had done to him. Then what about Xu Jinhan? Su Xian? Among the people around him, did every single one of them know?
The more Qin Sizheng thought about it, the more ridiculous he felt.
He used to think Lu Xianqing simply had a bad temper and liked to trick him a little, but he had never imagined he would be deceived and toyed with so completely—treated like an object for amusement.
He had named him Yanyan. To him, was Qin Sizheng just another cat with a soul, one he could touch?
Something he kept in a cage.
A creature he could tease at will.
All the love he had once felt burst like bubbles. As memories flashed through his mind, they shattered one by one before his eyes. His fingers went weak. The recorder was well made—when it fell to the floor, it still dutifully continued playing.
Lu Xianqing’s earnest confessions were like knives, cutting apart every moment of warmth from the past, stripping the cruel truth bare before him and telling him that everything had been fake.
What happened last night now felt like a joke. Again and again, he had been fooled by Lu Xianqing, performing for him like a puppet. As long as it was his wish, he had been willing to do anything.
Qin Sizheng buried his face in his hands, exhausted and in pain, repeating the same thought over and over—
Why did it have to be him?
He had suspected obsessive fans, people from the production crew, even enemies trying to disgust him. The one person he had never suspected was the man he trusted most—Lu Xianqing.
Looking back now, from the child‑star variety show to the Nine Swords promotional film, and even Between Good and Evil, perhaps everything had been part of a plan he had been laying for a long time. Jiang Xi tricking him into taking those photos, only for the Nine Swords promotional film to later resolve the situation.
He finished filming.
He was confessed to.
His conflict with Shengyu Entertainment, the contract termination, and finally signing under Lu Xianqing.
Perhaps everything had been under his control from the start. The love Qin Sizheng believed in had actually been nothing more than someone else’s carefully calculated scheme.
Suddenly he remembered something else.
The night he beat Xu Zhiliang, the man had been cornered in an alley that very same night and had both hands broken. Then the company’s invested film was pulled, and the tax bureau began investigating him.
One disaster after another. Xu Zhiliang hadn’t even had a chance to recover.
Lu Xianqing had once told him, “If someone touches you, I’ll cut off their hands.”
He hadn’t been joking.
Si Qianqiu had started out constantly clashing with him, only to later avoid him entirely. Chen Qiu had been living in the same room with him but was suddenly sent away. Even Shi Jianshu had been visiting him less and less recently.
Lu Xianqing had been controlling him the entire time.
The tenderness and attentiveness Qin Sizheng believed in were nothing more than the possessiveness one showed toward a pet.
Han Zhang had been right—he really hadn’t been able to tell the difference between possessiveness and love. At the time he had even stubbornly defended his relationship in front of Han Zhang, saying he would fight anyone who questioned it.
Han Zhang had said there was no such thing as a secret that never leaked. Perhaps he had already known about everything Lu Xianqing had done and had been hinting at it subtly. Yet Qin Sizheng had still insisted on trusting him.
The day he went to visit the film set, Lu Xianqing had woken up that morning and hesitated before telling him that he wasn’t a good person. He had even said that if one day Qin Sizheng discovered that the real Fourth Brother wasn’t the same as the one he imagined or believed he knew, he still wasn’t allowed to leave him.
Otherwise, he would lock him up.
Keep him imprisoned at home.
Now, recalling those words, Qin Sizheng felt his whole body tremble. Acid surged up his throat, making him nearly retch.
The recording hadn’t finished yet.
But Qin Sizheng couldn’t listen anymore. He picked it up, switched it off, and threw it back into the box.
At the same time, the phone on the table lit up.
A message from Lu Xianqing.
He watched the screen light up and then go dark again. Unconsciously, he bit the soft flesh inside his mouth until he tasted blood before slowly letting go, but he still didn’t touch the phone.
Qin Sizheng put the box away. The salty taste in his mouth surged again, making him nauseous. He rushed into the bathroom but couldn’t throw up anything. After splashing water on his face to force himself to stay conscious, he opened the door.
Just as he expected, Shen Changfeng was still standing outside, not having left.
“I’m sorry. I lost control of my emotions just now.”
Seeing his reddened eyes and pale face, Shen Changfeng let out a quiet breath but didn’t question him again. He simply followed him inside.
Looking at him, Qin Sizheng spoke for the first time in a tone close to an order.
“You didn’t hear those recordings today. And you don’t know anything about the messages.”
Shen Changfeng nodded. “Okay.”
“Alright. You can go. Tomorrow morning I’ll go to the teacher’s place for class.”
Shen Changfeng replied again, “Okay.”
Watching his back as he left, Qin Sizheng knew he had many questions he wanted to ask. The worry in his eyes had been obvious. But Qin Sizheng truly didn’t dare trust anyone anymore.
Jiang Xi had been someone Xu Zhao found, yet even that had turned out unsafe. Shen Changfeng’s appearance was strange as well—he had previously worked with Xu Jinhan. He could have chosen far better opportunities. Why follow him instead?
Xu Jinhan was too close to Lu Xianqing.
Maybe Shen Changfeng had been arranged by Lu Xianqing as well.
Even the words Qin Sizheng had just said—“You didn’t hear it”—had still been protecting Lu Xianqing, preventing that recording from spreading.
The thought made him feel ridiculous.
Even now, he was still instinctively thinking of protecting him.
With extreme reluctance, Qin Sizheng finally picked up his phone and replied to Lu Xianqing’s message.
“Lots of classes today. Rest well after filming.”
—
Meanwhile.
Lu Xianqing sat with one leg crossed over the other, reading the message on his phone. Occasionally he looked up to discuss the scene with Zhou Changjiang. There was about a week left before filming wrapped.
When that happened, he would ask Qin Sizheng to come back with him to attend the wrap‑up celebration.
His alcohol tolerance was low.
If he drank too much this time, he could bring him home openly and without suspicion.
But he had to make sure he didn’t drink too much—couldn’t let himself get too drunk.
The more Lu Xianqing thought about it, the happier he got. Zhou Changjiang slammed the script onto his calf. “What are you grinning about in broad daylight? Your mouth’s practically reaching the ceiling!”
“What? Is it a crime to be happy?”
Zhou Changjiang shot him a sideways glare. “If it wasn’t a crime, would I even praise you?”
“Not impossible. If you dare praise me, then you’d better be ready to pay—let’s start with fifty cents.” Lu Xianqing waved his phone at him, checking whether it was WeChat or Alipay.
Zhou Changjiang jumped up and glanced at the makeup artist. “Why are you smiling? Hurry up and do his makeup! You think the audience will miss it if it’s off?”
The makeup artist looked innocent. “Why me? If you can scold him, why scold me?”
Lu Xianqing said, “He’s jealous that I had someone visiting the set, looking for trouble.”
Hearing this, the makeup artist muttered quietly, “Well, I’ve never seen Wen Li visiting Director Zhou on set. Everyone knows they’ve had a good relationship, but that’s never happened.”
The assistant director beside them smiled. “Director Zhou cares for Wen Li and thinks the crew works too hard. Don’t read too much into it—if he hears you, you might get kicked out on the spot.”
Lu Xianqing laughed. “Exactly. I don’t even dare breathe around him.”
After listening for a while, Zhou Changjiang could no longer contain himself. He shouted, “Makeup artist, find a rag and shut Lu Xianqing’s mouth!”
Qin Sizheng woke up at eight in the evening.
He had slept too long and felt a headache coming on, sitting up groggily. The room spun for a few seconds as he steadied himself.
The bedroom was pitch dark; the overcast sky left no moonlight, only a dim glow from a luminous stone on the desk. He reached out and switched on the desk lamp, illuminating a small area.
He pulled his phone from under the pillow and saw several messages from Lu Xianqing:
- 4:38 a.m.: “Has Little Ajing finished class?”
- 5:19 a.m.: “What did you have for dinner? Let me see too. Anning only listens to you, always giving me carrots. I’ve practically had enough. I told you, it’s congenital night blindness—eating those doesn’t help. Babe, don’t let me eat it, okay?”
- 5:21 a.m.: “Another long night shoot today. Zhou Changjiang is probably insane, treating me like a robot. Lucky you’re not here, or I’d be exhausted and dumb.”
The last message had been sent just three minutes ago. In the dark night, the set lights blazed stark white, illuminating Ding Chenhai in a black suit, giving him a cold, austere presence, his brows slightly shadowed with gloom.
Qin Sizheng didn’t enlarge the photo. He looked away and replied:
“Had dinner. Just woke up, a bit sleepy. Hope filming goes smoothly.”
He truly didn’t know how to talk to Lu Xianqing now. Memories hung over him like a dark cloud, filling even his dreams with the man’s torment. The messages were like hands, gripping his neck and suffocating him.
The recordings felt like threads, entangling his soul, refusing to let go, trapping him completely.
He felt nauseated and repelled, yet his long-standing affection couldn’t vanish instantly. Torn back and forth, he chose to bury his head in the sand—postponing facing it, day by day.
Having gone a full day and night without food, Qin Sizheng woke up with mild hypoglycemia. His legs nearly gave way as he got out of bed, quickly holding the bed for support, though his wrist tingled.
He waited for the dizziness to pass before leaving the bedroom.
Shen Changfeng arrived early, bringing breakfast. Seeing Qin Sizheng’s pale face, he asked cautiously, “Are you unwell? You look awful. Want me to take you to the hospital?”
“I’m fine, just low blood sugar from not eating.” Qin Sizheng sat down and served himself a bowl of porridge. “I won’t serve you—eat yourself.”
Shen Changfeng sat across from him, hesitated, but swallowed his words and said instead, “I’ve never gone against your instructions.”
Qin Sizheng paused slightly, uttering a soft “Mm,” without clarifying which instruction he meant.
After breakfast, Shen Changfeng accompanied him to his teacher for acting lessons.
Wen Li leaned back in her chair, staring at the trending search list for half an hour, still not seeing the expected results.
Impatient, she messaged Jiang Zhen, “Why is there still no movement? How are you handling this?”
Jiang Zhen replied quickly, “I have my plans.”
“What plans? This material is enough to ruin Lu Xianqing’s reputation, enough to make both him and Qin Sizheng fall beyond repair. Why are you hesitating?”
“Our goals differ. I have no intention of ruining Lu Xianqing.”
Previously, Jiang Zhen had secretly planted a recording device under the chair at Shen Qing’s office. At first, he just wanted to check Lu Xianqing’s condition and “treat it accordingly,” but he hadn’t expected such a huge windfall.
Lu Xianqing’s pathological psyche was enough to destroy all of Qin Sizheng’s trust and affection. Who could tolerate their lover having humiliated them in this way?
As long as Qin Sizheng broke up with him, she could seize the opportunity and reclaim what was rightfully hers!
She had equally beautiful hands, rivaling Qin Sizheng’s.
Ruining Lu Xianqing would benefit her nothing. She needed him to “carry her to the top,” so the recording was sent to Qin Sizheng covertly.
Jiang Xi belonged to Wen Li. He knew the contents of all the messages and recognized the Slender Gold script letter.
“Our cooperation is mutual. You want Qin Sizheng out of this circle; I want Lu Xianqing. Don’t interfere.”
Wen Li pressed her nails into her phone, the scratching sound harsh, cursing silently. How dare this scoundrel speak to her like this! Once Qin Sizheng is dealt with, I’ll finish with him.
The assistant turned back. “Miss Wen, if Director Zhou sees you visiting the set, he’ll be very happy.”
Wen Li looked up and instantly adjusted her gentle expression. “Not at all. He’s such a straight man—doesn’t understand romance.”
The assistant smiled. “Everyone knows Director Zhou adores you. After all these years of marriage, still inseparable. Last anniversary, he even flew to several countries to prepare gifts for you—everyone’s so jealous.”
Thinking of it made Wen Li smile as well. Zhou Changjiang truly treated her well. His temper was bad, and he could be irritable at work, but in daily life he was almost completely indulgent toward her, doting on her in every way.
Back then, she had deliberately approached him for the sake of a film and started a relationship with him. Later, she had genuinely fallen in love.
So when Zhou Changjiang learned about Qin Sizheng and even strongly favored him to star in Between Good and Evil, she truly began to panic. Zhou Changjiang liked him very much. Sooner or later, he would discover that this was the son she had given birth to out of wedlock.
When that day came, both her reputation and her family would vanish.
She would never allow that to happen.
“Miss Wen, we’re at the set,” the assistant said as he got out of the car and opened the door for her.
The moment Wen Li stepped out, a gust of sand-laden wind blew straight into her face. The assistant tried to hand her a hat and sunglasses, but she refused.
“It’s fine. Everyone’s working hard filming. Go bring the drinks and fruit over and hand them out.”
Wen Li easily found the filming location and tapped Zhou Changjiang on the shoulder. He waved her off without even looking. “Go away.”
“Who are you telling to go away?” Wen Li asked.
Zhou Changjiang froze. Even the actor in the middle of the scene burst out laughing, and the shot was ruined.
A surge of irritation rose in him, but he forced it back down. “Why are you here? The sandstorm’s so bad and you didn’t wear a mask? Aren’t you the one who hates getting dirty?”
Wen Li reached out and wiped the sweat from his face. “I had nothing to do at home, so I came to see you.”
Zhou Changjiang called “Cut!” When he saw the assistant pushing over the refreshments, he raised his voice and told everyone to take a thirty‑minute break before continuing.
After the assistant finished distributing everything, he brought over a huge thermos. Wen Li said, “I made a few dishes and even learned a soup from Auntie. Try it and see if it tastes good?”
They had been married for years, yet Zhou Changjiang had never seen her cook before. He laughed. “No way, right? I’m not giving you the chance to find a new husband. I’d better test it with a silver needle first.”
The assistant director came over with a grin. “Sister‑in‑law, a love lunch?”
Wen Li invited him gently. “Want to eat together? Changjiang can’t finish it alone.”
The assistant director hurriedly waved his hands. “No, no. I’ll stick to fruit. If Director Zhou gets jealous and silences me, that’d be terrible.”
Several actors came over to greet her, warm and flattering. Wen Li enjoyed the feeling of being surrounded and admired. She smiled at them politely, but as her gaze shifted, it landed on Lu Xianqing not far away, playing on his phone.
From the moment she arrived until now, he had not looked at her even once.
Arrogant and rude.
But he had the status—and the pride—to act that way.
Maintaining her smile, Wen Li wiped Zhou Changjiang’s hands and served him a bowl of soup, resting her chin on her hand as she asked if it tasted good.
Zhou Changjiang finished a whole bowl. “Not bad.”
Wen Li held out her hand for him to see. “Peeling those bamboo shoots ruined one of my nails. How are you going to compensate me? Buying a gift won’t be enough.”
Zhou Changjiang chuckled. “You tell me.”
Wen Li tilted her head and thought for a moment, then spoke with a slightly aggrieved coquettishness. “After you finish filming this movie, take me on a vacation to the Aegean Sea. When we were dating, you used to write me love poems about the Aegean Sea, but you’ve never actually taken me there.”
Zhou Changjiang replied, “We’re an old married couple now. What Aegean Sea? Those poems were just nonsense I wrote when I was young and foolish. Don’t let real poets hear them—they’d laugh themselves to death. They barely count as poetry, not even as good as the little thing on a lotus pod that jumps when you poke it.”
Wen Li frowned immediately. “So you think I’m old?”
Zhou Changjiang quickly said, “Of course not. I’ll go with you, I’ll go with you, alright?”
Only then did Wen Li smile in satisfaction.
The assistant director whispered to the stage manager nearby, “See that? Classic symptoms of a late‑stage henpecked husband.”
Zhou Changjiang shot them a glare, and everyone immediately scattered.
Meanwhile, Lu Xianqing sat off to the side playing with his phone. Since last night, Qin Sizheng had only replied to two of his messages—one telling him to rest early after filming, the other saying good morning.
Colder than usual.
Did the kid change his mind?
Impossible. Passing him up for someone else would require at least a decade of blindness.
Maybe it was because the night before last he made him entertain himself and teased him too harshly? Was he still sulking about it?
Probably. Qin Sizheng was easily embarrassed and not particularly enthusiastic about those things. Most of the time he only went along with it because Lu Xianqing wanted to see it, forcing himself to do it. Afterwards he would ignore him out of shyness.
Luckily, filming would wrap soon and he could go back to keep him company.
He would coax him properly then.