Qin Sizheng muttered to himself that he knew that wasn’t true—he was selective with nearly everything. But since Lu Xianqing said it, he took it as permission.
The kitchen was large, with a full fridge. He was stunned at the sight of all the fresh fruits and vegetables. “You don’t eat any of this?”
Lu Xianqing held the cat nearby, watching him with both affection and restraint. “Forgot,” he replied.
Noticing a cup of milk on the table, Qin Sizheng asked casually, “You only had that for lunch? Did you eat anything else?”
Shaking his head, Lu Xianqing remained quiet.
“You can’t skip meals. Your stomach isn’t great, and this will only make it worse. You need breakfast!” Qin Sizheng scolded, recalling how he used to…
He froze mid-thought. How had Lu Xianqing used to eat?
When Lu Xianqing reached for the strawberries in his hand, the cold made him frown. Qin Sizheng quickly took the bowl back. “Don’t eat that—it’s too cold. I’ll make you something proper.”
“Okay.”
Qin Sizheng put on an apron, tying it neatly behind him, then took some thawed fish and shrimp from the fridge. He paused, then grabbed a carrot. After all, Lu Xianqing had said he wasn’t picky.
Watching Qin Sizheng’s lips curl into a mischievous smile as he sliced vegetables with precision, Lu Xianqing’s mind recalled the time he had tricked him home, helped him tie an apron, and even hugged his waist.
Those careful hands, washing carrots, calling him “Fourth Brother” with an unguarded voice—the scene mirrored memories so vividly it felt like time had reversed.
But he knew it was different now: those hands had calluses from training, the voice calling him “Fourth Brother” was tinged with distance, and their secret was now public.
“Yanyan” jumped to the windowsill, cautiously pawing at the fish. Qin Sizheng lightly scolded, “No touching!” and gave it a small plate of ham, patting its head.
Lu Xianqing leaned silently, watching him carefully, committing each moment to memory to relive later.
Catching the intensity of his gaze, Qin Sizheng accidentally nicked his finger and instinctively dropped the knife.
“How is it?!” Lu Xianqing grabbed his hand, face pale.
“I-I’m fine. Didn’t cut myself. Don’t worry,” Qin Sizheng reassured, blinking in surprise.
Lu Xianqing only relaxed when he saw that Qin Sizheng had just nicked a layer of his nail and hadn’t actually hurt himself, letting go of his hand. “Stop. Let Anning bring some over later. It’s not really my birthday, so it doesn’t matter if I eat it or not.”
“No way,” Qin Sizheng said, pushing his shoulders gently. “You go wait outside for a moment. I’ll be done quickly.”
Lu Xianqing grasped his hand again. “Can’t I stay in the kitchen? I won’t speak, won’t look at you… is that okay?”
Qin Sizheng lowered his eyes, looking at the sweat-dampened hand he held. Then, meeting Lu Xianqing’s gaze again, he felt a flicker of confusion—this was his kitchen. Whether Lu Xianqing stayed or left was his freedom. Why was he even asking?
A vague sense of déjà vu swept over him, as if he had seen this scene in a dream. Terrible—he couldn’t have fantasized about cooking for Lu Xianqing, could he?
To die.
Seeing no response, Lu Xianqing asked again, voice tight: “Is that okay?”
Qin Sizheng withdrew his hand, nodded slightly, still a little awkward, then hurriedly turned to the counter to chop vegetables, forcing himself not to look up.
Without Lu Xianqing’s gaze distracting him, his efficiency improved, and soon five dishes and a bowl of noodles were ready: okra with shrimp, stir-fried garland chrysanthemum, cold shredded carrot salad, onion scrambled eggs, a braised fish, and a familiar bowl of tomato beef longevity noodles.
Qin Sizheng sat across from him, nervously handing over the chopsticks. During variety show recordings, Lu Xianqing had refused each dish: garland chrysanthemum tasted weird, carrots too sweet, okra slimy, onions pungent. Following the principle that good advice is often unwelcome, Qin Sizheng made them all anyway.
“I prepared everything carefully—it’s not that bad. Try it?” Qin Sizheng even clasped his hands slightly, hoping Lu Xianqing would eat more for his own health.
Lu Xianqing lowered his eyes, smiling faintly. He didn’t actually need coaxing; even if it were medicine, he would take it without complaint.
He picked up some garland chrysanthemum with his chopsticks, tasted it, and Qin Sizheng immediately asked, “Is it good?”
“Yes.”
“Then eat more!” Qin Sizheng pushed all the dishes in front of him, including the noodles, watching carefully as he ate bit by bit.
Lu Xianqing hadn’t eaten much in days; eating so suddenly made him slightly queasy, but he endured and finished most of it. Eventually, Qin Sizheng stopped him: “That’s enough. You don’t seem to have that big an appetite, and overeating isn’t comfortable.”
Obediently, Lu Xianqing set down his chopsticks.
Qin Sizheng tidied the table, brought over the cake, lit the candles, and even turned off the lights.
Lu Xianqing froze in the sudden darkness, gripping his chair, voice trembling. “Yanyan! Don’t turn off the lights!”
Hearing his unease and rapid breathing, Qin Sizheng hurried back, holding his hand and helping him sit, letting the candlelight spill gently across the room.
“Fourth Brother, happy birthday. I hope everything goes smoothly. Make a wish.”
Lu Xianqing looked up. “Make a wish?”
“Yes, everyone makes a wish on their birthday. Maybe heaven will hear it and grant it. Haven’t you ever made one?”
With his parents busy and Lu Ming indifferent, Lu Xianqing had hardly celebrated birthdays as a child. What he wanted never required wishes—it was already within reach—so he never did.
But now, if all the wishes of his past and future could be combined, could they get him Yanyan back?
Lu Xianqing didn’t believe in fate or gods, but he closed his eyes, praying sincerely, word by word: if possible, give him another chance to pursue Qin Sizheng. This time, he would never let him feel fear, never let him get hurt, accommodating everything, pampering him endlessly.
Moments later, he opened his eyes. Qin Sizheng turned the lights back on. Lu Xianqing cut the first slice of cake and handed it to him.
Qin Sizheng lowered his head, took a forkful, and gently offered it to him. “Birthday boy, first bite.”
Although he didn’t usually like sweets, Lu Xianqing opened his mouth and ate the pale yellow cream. Qin Sizheng, loving such treats, followed, eating each bite Lu Xianqing had tasted.
“Want more?” he asked softly, taking the cake plate.
Qin Sizheng nodded shyly.
Lu Xianqing watched him quietly. When a smear of cream touched his lips, he instinctively used his thumb to wipe it, leaving a small spot at the corner. He reached out and brushed it off with his thumb.
Qin Sizheng froze. “Fourth Brother?”
He knew he was crossing a line, but he couldn’t resist the taste of Qin Sizheng. Gently, he rubbed the cream across his lips. “There’s cream. Don’t move.”
Qin Sizheng sat stiffly, ears red, allowing him to wipe it off. After a moment, he whispered, “Not all gone yet?”
“All gone.” Lu Xianqing took a tissue and cleaned his hands, forcing his expression to appear calm.
Qin Sizheng’s heart raced, imagining Fourth Brother touching his lips, wiping cream for him. He almost wanted to drop the plate and run circles around the house.
That look—so tender, so restrained, like he was looking at a lover he longed for but could not fully claim. Qin Sizheng finally understood why so many people had fallen under his acting charm.
He was mesmerizing.
Trying to hide his pounding heart, Qin Sizheng inhaled softly, stole a glance, then returned to pretending to eat cake, secretly thrilled. Today, he really hadn’t been picky at all.
The vegetables he had previously scorned were mostly eaten. If he hadn’t stopped him, he might have finished everything!
Was he saving face, or did he genuinely like his cooking?
Either thought made him giddy. Qin Sizheng forced his lips into a controlled smile. “Fourth Brother, is the meal okay today?”
“It’s delicious,” Lu Xianqing said.
Qin Sizheng pressed his tongue against his teeth, thinking, I’ll make it for him again next time, but worried it might be too forward. After all, they still had work—he would return to filming and continue playing the aloof, untouchable top actor, while he remained a minor celebrity, constantly at risk of being replaced by a fresh new face.
He was already lucky that Lu Xianqing didn’t dislike him—how could he dare hope to have him regularly cook for him? Qin Sizheng’s thoughts darkened, and even the cake in his mouth lost its flavor.
Seeing his sudden drop in expression, Lu Xianqing carefully chose his words. “I’m not lying—you really did make it very good.”
Qin Sizheng looked up, realizing the misunderstanding, and smiled faintly. “I didn’t mean it that way.”
Lu Xianqing’s eyes softened as he recalled the Qin Sizheng of old: cheerful, teasing, lively, and always willing to do anything for him. But the smile now held a sharp edge of discomfort and unsaid words.
“So… you don’t want to stay here?” Lu Xianqing paused, picking up his phone. “I can have Anning send you home, if that’s okay?”
Qin Sizheng wanted to say something, but seeing the subtle dismissal, he could only swallow it and nodded quietly. “Oh.”
Anning and Hexing hadn’t left—they stayed in the backyard, ready to intervene if needed. From noon until evening, everything remained calm, as though a barrier between them had quietly dissolved.
When Lu Xianqing called, Anning jumped up. “Fourth Brother!”
“Come over and take Sizheng home.”
Qin Sizheng stood not far away, the distance between them unbearably tempting. Lu Xianqing had to exert all his willpower to resist the urge to step closer. That night, when he had cried out, “I don’t want you! I don’t want you!”—the memory was so vivid that Qin Sizheng could probably infer what had happened on that sofa.
He had awkwardly run to the bathroom, washed his underwear in secret, rinsed his mouth twice to remove the metallic taste, and even massaged his palm’s red marks.
Lu Xianqing had assumed he would hate the apartment and refuse to enter ever again, but on his birthday, fate seemed to offer a small reprieve.
Anning soon arrived at the door, knocking. “Fourth Brother!”
Qin Sizheng pressed his lips together, glanced at Anning, then back at Lu Xianqing, finally murmuring, “Goodbye, Fourth Brother.”
Watching him leave, Lu Xianqing’s words twisted in his mind before finally coming out: “I’ve already signed the variety show contract. If I cancel, the studio will charge a penalty, so I’ll probably participate. Can you accept that?”
Qin Sizheng turned, puzzled. He wasn’t just standing in for Xu Jinhan, and he couldn’t control the production team—why was Lu Xianqing asking for his consent?
His phone rang—Shen Changfeng’s name flashing on the screen. Qin Sizheng froze. Before he could react, Anning tapped his shoulder. “Shall we go?”
“…Yeah, let’s go.” Qin Sizheng put his phone away and followed her out.
During the ride, Anning remained mostly silent but kept glancing at him in the rearview mirror. After a few glances, Qin Sizheng spoke up. “Anning, if you have something to say, just say it. It’s okay.”
Anning hesitated. She had liked Qin Sizheng for a long time, but whether as Xiao Qinxian or as Fourth Brother’s assistant, she had no right to meddle in their relationship. Yet she couldn’t bear to watch them torment each other, both clearly in love. Fourth Brother restrained himself, not pursuing him, quietly handling Jiang Zhen behind the scenes.
The words nearly left her mouth, but she swallowed them. “It’s nothing.”
Qin Sizheng knew she was not indifferent. Coupled with Lu Xianqing’s expression earlier, he realized something was off. Aside from the first encounter when Lu Xianqing had teased him, he had been unusually attentive ever since. That look at home—full of almost overwhelming love—made him wonder: was he being treated as someone else’s substitute?
“Anning, Fourth Brother… does he have someone he likes? Someone who looks a lot like me?” Qin Sizheng couldn’t help asking.
Anning slammed the brakes. Qin Sizheng’s head hit the seat back, and he quickly cupped it.
“Are you okay? I’m so sorry! Did it hurt? It’s all red… does it hurt?” Anning apologized repeatedly, heart aching.
“I’m fine, really.”
She released the brake and drove on. Hesitant not to upset him, she said carefully, “Fourth Brother has never liked anyone else. He can recognize anything else, but thinking this way would be unfair to him.”
Qin Sizheng nodded thoughtfully. His phone, resting on his lap, suddenly slipped. He reached for it—and missed.
?
His heart sank. Reaching again, he finally grasped it.
He stared at his hand, clenched it lightly, and pressed on his fingertips—he could feel the solid weight. What had just happened felt like a hallucination.
The screen lit up with Shen Changfeng’s name, familiar yet strange. He picked up.
“Sizheng, where have you been? I couldn’t reach you all day! Are you trying to scare me?” Shen Changfeng’s voice roared with urgency. Qin Sizheng’s memory was fickle; sometimes he vanished before anyone could watch.
“…You are?” Qin Sizheng frowned. The tone suggested familiarity, but he couldn’t place the face.
Shen Changfeng exhaled and patiently said, “I’m your assistant, Shen Changfeng.”
Qin Sizheng repeated the name silently twice, as if something inside resisted remembering, twisting his head until he gave up.
“I went to Fourth Brother’s birthday…” He stopped abruptly. Wait—that wasn’t Lu Xianqing’s birthday. His was in July.
He checked the time. December 3rd.
No, Lu Xianqing’s birthday was in July.
Qin Sizheng looked down at his winter attire—cashmere cardigan, down coat nearby. Why had he mistaken Lu Xianqing’s birthday for today?
The variety show…
Wasn’t his assistant Jiang Xi?
No—none of this made sense.
Qin Sizheng opened his phone and typed in his own name. Dozens of news pages popped up immediately. The first was a livestream he and Lu Xianqing had done together, along with a film called Between Good and Evil they had worked on. He had already terminated his previous contract and signed with Lu Xianqing’s studio.
After that…
Qin Sizheng’s mind went blank. He even wondered if these news articles were entirely fabricated, but the evidence was right before him, complete with dates clearly proving it had happened.
His assistant had changed. He was in a relationship with Lu Xianqing. He couldn’t recall any of it. His memories tangled like a ball of yarn, impossible to sort out, leaving him utterly at a loss. He didn’t even know where to start.
Starting from yesterday… what had he done yesterday?
Qin Sizheng’s fingers were icy; he could barely hold his phone. Panic surged as he realized he couldn’t even remember what had happened yesterday, though everything before July remained clear.
He had crossed into the storybook world, becoming Lu Xianqing’s counterpart, fading quietly into the background amid the legendary romance between him and Jiang Zhen.
Now, with his memory failing and his hands weak, did that mean he was about to disappear from this world?
Even if the original story patched its bugs, would he vanish from this world too, never seeing Lu Xianqing again?
Qin Sizheng couldn’t control his emotions. Clutching the phone tightly, he forced himself to recall everything, as if remembering it could halt the approach of erasure.
He had to remember. He would remember.
His head throbbed, splitting in pain. He gasped, trying to hold it together. Nothing surfaced—the moments with Lu Xianqing, the scenes they had shared in public, the sweetness, the bitterness—everything eluded him. His memories were like quicksand: the tighter he tried to grasp, the faster they slipped away.
Shen Changfeng had been waiting at the door so long his neck was stiff, but Qin Sizheng had dashed straight to his room, barring him outside.
Frantically, he grabbed paper and pen, tossing everything in the drawers and cabinets onto the floor, scribbling down whatever he could still recall, fearing that if he didn’t write it, it would be lost again.
——I am with Lu Xianqing, and I really like him.
——Lu Xianqing is Fourth Brother.
——Lu Xianqing has done things I can’t fully remember, but I still like him very much. He must like me too. I need some time to think.
——I will never abandon Lu Xianqing.
At that moment, He Xing glanced at the man sitting on the sofa, lost in thought. There was a spark in her eyes—apparently, the meal Qin Sizheng had made had worked.
The table was still messy, the cake half-eaten; their interaction this time had gone well.
“Fourth Brother, what are you thinking about?”
Lu Xianqing stared toward the door. The night was dark, and he couldn’t see clearly, but he sensed light falling in spots at the entrance.
Seeing him silent, He Xing asked again, “You seem happy. Did Sizheng say something to you?”
“Nothing,” he said softly.
He Xing was momentarily stunned. Then why was he so cheerful?
Lu Xianqing lowered his gaze. “I told him I might participate in the variety show.”
“And then?”
“Though he wasn’t exactly happy, at least he didn’t refuse. He Xing, do you understand?” Lu Xianqing could hardly contain his joy. Heaven had truly been kind—his wish had already begun to come true.
He Xing didn’t really understand. She had expected at least a thawing of relations, not outright acceptance. The fact that he didn’t outright reject him was enough.
“See? I told you, just give Sizheng a little time. He will see your good side again and try to accept you.”
Lu Xianqing silently repeated his wish in his heart, afraid heaven might forget, reinforcing it over and over.
“Tomorrow, we have promotional photos for Extreme Escape. You need to rest well tonight.” He Xing hinted gently, signaling him to calm down, only relaxing once he nodded.
“And what about Wen Li? Should we handle it after tomorrow’s shoot?”
Lu Xianqing thought for a moment. “Yes.”
He Xing was still uneasy, staying in the guest room behind, tossing and turning all night. When morning came, with dark circles under her eyes, Lu Xianqing and Anning were already having breakfast.
His complexion was still a little pale, but the smile in his eyes made him seem alright, even tapping the table lightly. “Why haven’t you finished eating yet? You’ll be late for the shoot!”
Anning felt wronged. “I’m eating fast enough! You’ve never been this motivated at work, and the crew isn’t even paying extra!”
Lu Xianqing ignored her. “You know nothing.”
The program would record twelve episodes, lasting several months. Qin Sizheng would always notice that he could restrain himself from touching him.
This time, he would keep within boundaries, never crossing the line before Lu Xianqing was ready to accept him.
When he arrived at the studio, Shi Jianxu and Xi Ling were already there. Little star Su Yiyan had also arrived. They were laughing, sharing the snacks Ming Fei had brought.
Shi Jianxu unwrapped a mochi and stuffed it in his mouth, his cheeks puffed like a hamster. Ming Fei patted his head, teasing, “Eat slower, you’ll choke.”
“Good! Delicious!” Shi Jianxu chewed and gave one to Su Yiyan, who waved her hand, “No, I can’t eat that. The manager will scold me if I get fat.”
Xi Ling took a mint, unwrapped it, tossed it in his mouth, and leaned idly, tapping his toes on the floor in some rhythm.
He Xing opened the door. When Lu Xianqing walked in, Ming Fei spotted him first, teasing, “Ah, the great actor Lu has finally graced us with his presence!”
Lu Xianqing turned his hand away. “Move.”
The program director was there as well. The guests were all big names in the circle, and this was Ming Fei Entertainment’s first variety show investment—they couldn’t afford to be careless and quickly came over to greet him.
“Fourth Brother, you’re here.”
Lu Xianqing gave a slight nod in acknowledgment. The director, aware of his high-and-mighty reputation, dared not fawn too much, awkwardly standing to the side with a forced smile.
Shi Jianxu, still with half a mochi in his mouth, mumbled, “Fourth…!”
Lu Xianqing turned his head.
Qin Sizheng entered from the doorway, his eyelids lifting slightly, their eyes meeting.