When the song finally ended, Fang Juexia breathed a sigh of relief.
In his view, when someone showed him kindness, he had to repay it, express gratitude, and respond in kind. Pei Tingsong was the sole exception—he knew he should respond, yet feared doing so. At least singing this song was a form of answer.
He felt like a lone bee that had stumbled into a honey pot, enveloped in sweet nectar. He was both delighted and terrified. Emotionally, he tasted something he’d never experienced before, yet his rational mind warned him of the possibility of drowning.
Pei Tingsong and He Ziyan’s performance followed immediately after his. The song ended, and they didn’t even have time for an embrace. This was their job. Fang Juexia felt a twinge of guilt. It was the first time he’d let his personal feelings seep into his work, expressing such private emotions in front of so many people. He shouldn’t have done it, but he’d gotten caught up in it.
He’d stumbled into a spring he’d never known before, trying desperately to hold onto it. But most likely, he couldn’t even hold onto his own pool of melted snow.
Ling leaned half-reclined on his shoulder. “Feels like Xiao Pei’s a bit off today.”
Strictly speaking, this wasn’t a solo performance, but rather a collaboration between He Ziyan and Pei Tingsong—one as DJ, the other rapping.
Lu Yuan agreed, “I feel it too. He usually brings more energy. Can’t quite pinpoint what’s off today, but it’s not obvious. It’s fine.”
Jiang Miao glanced at Fang Juexia, then back at the performers on stage.
“Everyone’s been exhausted lately. It’s impossible to stay on top form all the time.” Jiang Miao patted Fang Juexia’s shoulder. “We’ll get through this promotional period.”
Fang Juexia’s eyes remained fixed on the stage. His mind was a jumble. He wondered if Pei Tingsong had understood his lyrics, which might have dampened his spirits. But he didn’t want that. He loved Pei Tingsong’s confidence and openness. He wanted him to stay that way forever.
“Thank you, He Ziyan and Pei Tingsong! Everyone, give them a huge round of applause! Who’s next?”
Under the host’s voice, Pei Tingsong stepped down from the stage, walking step by step toward Fang Juexia. Honestly, Fang Juexia felt uneasy. His mind even conjured up several awkward scenarios. But Pei Tingsong simply stood beside him, shoulder to shoulder at a distance of about six inches. Only after Ling Yi took the stage did he speak softly.
“I’m a bit tired. There’s nothing here to lean against.”
Fang Juexia was puzzled by his sudden remark and turned his face to look at him. Pei Tingsong also turned his head. “Can I hug you?”
It was always like this. Though he was the one who needed the embrace, Pei Tingsong would find an excuse, turning passivity into initiative. He appeared aggressive in his advances, yet after confessing his feelings, he minimized physical contact unless explicitly invited. His expressions were direct and proactive, yet his actions afforded Fang Juexia ample respect.
It was precisely this that made Fang Juexia realize there was nowhere to hide.
Silence stretched time like slow motion, elongating every moment into agonizing seconds. From the moment he confirmed his feelings for Fang Juexia, Pei Tingsong had anticipated this struggle. It was like his daring escape from prison—didn’t he know failure was likely? Of course he did, but there was always that sliver of hope.
Before the answer came, he was ready to give up. He lowered his head, preparing to give Fang Juexia space and find someone else to talk to. But in the next instant, Fang Juexia turned to face him.
“I…” Fang Juexia seemed embarrassed. “I’m too thin. Holding me probably wouldn’t feel good.”
Pei Tingsong suddenly came alive. Seeing the awkward expression on Fang Juexia’s face and his arms that wanted to open but couldn’t, he felt like the luckiest person in the world.
With his tacit approval, he wrapped his arms around Fang Juexia, resting his chin on his shoulder like a contented large dog. Fang Juexia liked the feeling of his weight pressing against him—it felt like being relied upon and trusted.
“Who said it’s uncomfortable? You’re lying to me.”
Pei Tingsong buried his face, tightening his embrace. “It’s clearly very comfortable.”
Fang Juexia didn’t know what to say. He turned his head and saw He Ziyan smiling.
“What’s wrong with Little Pei? He’s so weak after singing a whole song?” He Ziyan teased. “Twenty years old and still acting spoiled, wanting hugs.”
Pei Tingsong didn’t lift his head, only raising one hand to flip He Ziyan off.
Fang Juexia reached up to touch his back. They communicated in silence, completing their exchange with a simple embrace. Singing that song had cost him so much courage, forcing him to confront the unease and anxiety deep within his heart. But now, his heart felt still, finding calm in Pei Tingsong’s embrace.
As the fan meeting drew to a close, they took the stage together and performed a non-promotional track from their debut album—a cheerful song. They launched into a forced cute performance routine, each wearing plush ear hair clips—Fang Juexia sported rabbit ears while Pei Tingsong sported gray wolf ears. They carried small baskets filled with gifts: mini dolls modeled after the Kaleido members, snacks, and officially printed handwritten lyric cards.
As they sang, they scattered gifts from their baskets, instantly energizing the crowd. Fans in the front rows were thrilled, especially Lu Yuan and Ling Yi, who bounced around energetically, even shaking hands with fans near the stage.
After finishing his part, Fang Juexia adjusted his earpiece and glanced toward the back rows. He selected a soft plushie from his basket, moved as close to the stage edge as possible, and threw it as far as he could, hoping the fans farther back could catch it.
“Ahhh! Brother Juexia!”
“Brother Juexia, look at me! Here!”
Hands reached out from the stage edge. Fang Juexia instinctively took a step back. After tossing the plushie, he crouched down and gently scattered candies forward.
“Brother Juexia!!”
“I want one too!!”
Bae Heungsong’s eyes never left Fang Juexia as he rapped his way toward him. Coincidentally, the rap’s finale featured their harmonized vocals—one high, one low. Fang Juexia’s basket was nearly empty, yet the fans swarmed like hungry chicks. Even if he turned the basket upside down, they’d still chant his name. Turning around, he spotted Pei Tingsong right behind him, reaching for some candy from his basket.
Watching him crouch down and reach out, Pei Tingsong found him utterly adorable. But just then, he saw a pair of hands grab Fang Juexia’s arm and yank him down violently, completely unexpected.
Those didn’t look like a girl’s hands.
Startled, Fang Juexia stumbled backward. Pei Tingsong rushed forward to pull him back, but in that instant, the attacking hand released its grip and seized Pei Tingsong’s elbow instead. Having already leaned forward in his rush, Pei Tingsong’s center of gravity shifted completely, sending him tumbling off the stage.
“Ah!”
“Pei Tingsong fell!”
“Oh my god!”
A commotion erupted below the stage. Fang Juexia, already shaken, saw Pei Tingsong tumbling down. His mind exploded with a deafening roar.
How could this happen…
His mind was consumed solely by Pei Tingsong.
Security guards rushed in from both sides of the stage, pushing back the surrounding fans. Though the stage wasn’t exceptionally high, Pei Tingsong had been knocked off by an external force, resulting in a severe impact. The other members also rushed over immediately, but they were blocked by security and staff. A major incident had already occurred; no other artists could be involved in another accident.
Fang Juexia experienced persistent ringing in his ears, unable to hear anything, as if plunged into the depths of the ocean. His eyes burned and stung uncontrollably. Amidst the roaring venue, he softly called out Pei Tingsong’s name, over and over.
It should have been him who fell, not Pei Tingsong.
Pei Tingsong hadn’t lost consciousness. He even rested his head against Fang Juexia’s leg, as if to tell him not to worry. The event was halted after the accident. Pei Tingsong was rushed to the hospital for treatment, with all the members accompanying him.
Sitting in the car, Fang Juexia’s hands trembled constantly. He saw the abrasions on Pei Tingsong’s forehead and cheekbones, the wounds oozing blood. His brow was tightly furrowed, sweat beading on his forehead. Just imagining it made Fang Juexia ache, his heart suspended mid-air, tumbling and crashing.
If only he hadn’t approached the stage. If only Pei Tingsong hadn’t reached out to pull him back.
If it had been him who fell, Fang Juexia wouldn’t have felt this anguish.
As if sensing his worry, Pei Tingsong reached out, clasped Fang Juexia’s hand, and forced a smile.
Seeing that feeble smile made Fang Juexia feel even worse, his nose stinging and his eyes burning.
His self-preservation instincts had taught him early on to ignore others’ opinions of him, to not let them get to him. Yet now, Fang Juexia found himself thinking of those anonymous insults hurled at him—calling him a disaster magnet, someone who brought bad luck to anyone who crossed paths with him.
By his own logic, such flimsy, unscientific claims weren’t even worth analyzing. Yet seeing Pei Tingsong injured for his sake, Fang Juexia felt genuine fear for the first time that others’ curses might come true.
When they arrived at the hospital, Cheng Qiang took a call, his expression turning grave. After hanging up, he said, “Something doesn’t add up. We initially thought it was a stage accident caused by overexcited fans, but now it seems different. A security guard who was nearby just reported to their venue supervisor that the person who pulled Pei Tingsong wasn’t a fan.”
Fang Juexia immediately interjected, “It wasn’t a girl. The person was incredibly strong and struck with brutal force—definitely a man.”
“They’re reviewing the surveillance footage now. It should be possible to identify him with some effort.” Cheng Qiang seethed with anger, cursing repeatedly. “That bastard needs to rot in jail. I’ll sue him for intentional assault until he’s ruined!”
“Could it be a hater?” Ling Yi speculated.
He Ziyan looked puzzled. “Tickets for meet-and-greets aren’t given out freely—they’re won through album purchases. Logically, the odds of this happening shouldn’t be high.”
Pei Tingsong was taken for examination, leaving them to wait outside for results.
Ling Yi felt a chill of fear. “I was right by the stage just now too…”
Fang Juexia couldn’t understand it. With so many people around, and other members also near the stage, why did he specifically grab his hand? It seemed premeditated—fast, ruthless, and precise. If Pei Tingsong hadn’t appeared then, Fang Juexia would have been the one falling. If the attacker had continued, he could have suffered severe injuries.
Could it still be Astar?
“I feel like it was targeted at me.” “ Fang Juexia explained the situation to Cheng Qiang. After listening, Cheng Qiang pondered for a moment. ”It’s likely malicious competition. This industry is dirty. I knew a young actor who, just as he was rising to fame, had someone sabotage him on set. He broke his leg and arm, losing his prime time for landing roles. He faded into obscurity quietly afterward.”
Jiang Miao sighed. “I thought it was an obsessive fan.”
“They’ll all show up eventually,” Cheng Qiang warned them. “Before, when you weren’t famous enough, things were simpler. Now that you’re popular, the people and situations you encounter will get complicated. Obsessive fans, scandals, all kinds of slander, traps, even overly zealous supporters—none of these will be absent. The company will do its utmost to protect you, but you must also protect yourselves. Learn to keep your distance.”
Cheng Qiang’s phone rang off the hook. Thanks to the live-streaming effect, the stage accident quickly gained traction online, and the hashtag “Pei Tingsong Falls Off Stage” shot to the top of the trending list. He had to immediately assign someone to monitor the situation, preventing others from exploiting the incident. The internet is absurd like that. Even if you’re the victim, once you’re dragged through its filth, you can become a target for everyone’s criticism. There’s no such thing as “the innocent will be proven innocent.”
“The company has already made personnel adjustments. Security isn’t trivial. We’ll assign at least six bodyguards each, with at least one personal security officer protecting you at all times.”
The examining doctor opened the door and stepped out to speak with Cheng Qiang. “The patient has contusions on the forehead, cheekbones, elbows, and knees. The impact caused mild concussion symptoms requiring rest. The more serious issue is a fracture of the wrist bones in the left hand. It appears the palm struck the ground during the fall. This is quite severe and will require minor surgery.”
Surgery.
Fang Juexia, unusually unsettled, pressed, “How long will recovery take? Will it affect his use of the hand?”
“No,” the doctor reiterated, “it’s a minor procedure. Recovery will take about three to four weeks.”
After a brief explanation, the doctor began preparing for surgery. The private hospital was quiet; they waited in a single lounge. The accident struck suddenly, leaving Cheng Qiang with a mountain of unexpected work. After double-checking the official announcement, he arranged for it to be posted. Following a phone call, he stood and addressed the members: “Xiao Wen has arrived with the newly assigned security personnel. They’re downstairs. Everyone should go home today and get some rest. I’ll coordinate with Yunshi Network about tomorrow morning’s music show—we’ll push it back a day.”
Everyone stood up, but Fang Juexia remained seated. He looked up. “Brother Qiang, let me stay. You have so much to handle. You go back to the company first.”
Cheng Qiang was uneasy. “No, you must go rest now.”
“I can’t rest properly right now,” Fang Juexia said, looking at him. “Xiao Pei got dragged into this because he came to save me.”
Cheng Qiang understood Fang Juexia’s nature—he was the type who always took responsibility upon himself. “I can let you stay. I’ll have a few staff members waiting outside for you. Tell them if you need help. But don’t blame yourself.”
Ling Yi couldn’t help but interject, “Yeah, Juexia. This isn’t your fault.”
The team members all came to comfort him. Fang Juexia smiled faintly. “I know. You guys should go back now and get some rest. If anything happens, I’ll call you immediately.”
No one could argue with him, so Cheng Qiang arranged for a few people to come and stand guard outside the rest suite. After everyone left, the room fell suddenly silent.
Fang Juexia sat silently on the sofa, waiting for the surgery to end. The clock in his mind ticked round and round, tick-tock, tick-tock, gradually restoring his composure. Yet no matter how composed he became, closing his eyes still brought back that moment—Pei Tingsong falling from the stage, the bustling crowd, candies scattered everywhere.
Objectively, it might not have been long, but to Fang Juexia it felt like an eternity. Finally, the door to the recovery room opened. A nurse came to inform them, “The patient’s surgery is complete. He’s been transferred to a private room.”
“Is he okay?” Fang Juexia stood up.
“He’s fine, but his hand is immobilized now, so he might not be able to move it easily.”
Fang Juexia exhaled in relief and followed the nurse to the private room in the VIP suite. Pei Tingsong lay still on the bed, his eyes closed.
“Is he unconscious?”
“No,” the nurse replied. “He only had local anesthesia for the surgery, but he seems exhausted and has fallen asleep.”
Fang Juexia nodded reassuredly and sat down beside the bed.
“After waking up, the patient may experience headaches or ringing in the ears. These are minor aftereffects of concussion. Call us if any other symptoms arise.”
“Okay, thank you.”
The nurse closed the door, and the room fell silent. Fang Juexia looked at the sleeping Pei Tingsong. His face was bandaged, and his left wrist was in a cast.
For the first time in his life, he felt such heartache for another person. Fang Juexia even wondered if he and Pei Tingsong were destined to clash, as nearly every injury Pei had sustained, big or small, seemed to stem from him. He recalled how Pei had clung to him for a hug after his performance, only to suddenly end up injured in this hospital bed.
How excruciating that fracture must be.
The thought made Fang Juoxia’s nose sting. He leaned over the bedside, reaching out to touch the cast on Pei Tingsong’s wrist. His fingertips slowly traced along the cast, encountering the exposed back of his hand beneath it—the protruding knuckles. Gently, he placed his hand over Pei Tingsong’s.
His fingertips brushed the warm skin, unconsciously slipping between his fingers.
His heart ached and tightened in a dense, painful knot.
So this was how much he cared for this person.
His fingers, nestled between the other’s, tried to pull away. But before they could retreat, they were caught by a tight grip, holding back the nearly escaped intertwined fingers.
Was he awake?
Fang Juexia rose to look over. Pei Tingsong still had his eyes closed, but the corners of his mouth were turned up in a smile, his attempt to feign sleep utterly unsuccessful.
“You’re awake.”
“No.”
Fang Juexia had no mood for jokes. “Are you okay? Does anything hurt? Is your head throbbing? Should I call the doctor?”
“You’re so tense, anyone would think I’m gravely injured,” Pei Tingsong opened his eyes and smiled at him. “I’m fine, just a little dizzy. I want to sit up.”
Fang Juexia hurriedly adjusted the hospital bed to let him sit up. He had so many things he wanted to say, but when he actually saw Pei Tingsong awake, not a single word came out. Pei Tingsong just stared at him, forcing Fang Juexia to lower his eyes. His throat tightened for a long moment before he finally managed, “Tomorrow… Tomorrow morning, we don’t have to go to the promotional event. It’s been postponed by a day.”
The moment the words left his mouth, he regretted them. There were so many things he could have said, yet why did he choose this one? Even now, he was still talking about work, like a complete fool.
Suddenly, a soft chuckle reached his ears. Pei Tingsong’s voice was incredibly gentle. “Did I scare you?”
Fang Juexia lifted his eyes, but the moment he met his gaze, he looked away again. He pressed his lips together, falling silent once more.
Pei Tingsong continued speaking as if to himself, “Guess what? Just as I was falling asleep, I dreamed of you singing to me again. It was the same song you sang earlier today. I listened to it all over again. It was so beautiful.”
He looked at Fang Juexia. “That song… it was for me, right?”
Fang Juexia didn’t deny it, letting the silence serve as an admission.
Perhaps it wasn’t just for Pei Tingsong. It was for herself too.
“Did I scare you?” he asked again, this time adding the subject.
Fang Juexia wasn’t one to dissect others’ words, but with Pei Tingsong, he could instantly pick up on the emotions conveyed in every nuance.
“No.”
Pei Tingsong smiled. “At first, I thought love was like many other things. If I wanted something, I could have it. To be honest, I was afraid my pursuit might bother you. Every word I spoke, I agonized over, trying to gauge the right measure.”
He looked at Fang Juexia. “What can I say? It’s my first time liking someone.”
Fang Juexia suddenly felt a pang of pain. Sometimes, Pei Tingsong’s boldness and courage made him forget that this boy was actually younger than himself. This boy recklessly laid his heart bare for him to see, yet Fang lacked the courage to look, instead hiding within his own shell, calculating the odds of failure.
“I know,” Pei Tingsong continued, “I don’t seem like someone who can make others feel secure. But I hope you understand—this way I pursue you is because this is who I am, not because I’m recklessly rushing things.”
“I’ve never doubted your sincerity,” Fang Juexia said, eyes lowered. “Never.”
“Then look up. Look at me.”
Fang Juexia lifted his head and met his gaze.
Pei Tingsong’s face was pale, yet his pupils shone brightly. “Fang Juexia, this world is utterly rotten. Disasters, wars, diseases, turmoil, verbal violence—the endless harm people inflict upon each other. It’s all absurd and fragile. I’m a die-hard believer in the philosophy of rebellion. I despise conforming to this society. Yes, its survival rule is conformity—only by aligning with the majority’s values and behaviors can one live comfortably. But I loathe such a life.”
“I believe only in my own self. I want to break free from all rules to find my true self. That’s why I’m arrogant, why I’m haughty, why I see only myself and the so-called freedom I pursue.”
“But now, I realize there is someone I want to draw near and align with.” He looked at Fang Juexia. “It’s you. I want to be close to you, to understand your values and your outlook on life, to become someone gentle yet strong like you.”
Fang Juexia was momentarily stunned, only able to stare into his eyes, watching the light shimmering within them.
“But I’m not as good as you think I am.”
“You are,” Pei Tingsong countered without hesitation. “You have no idea how good you are. Just one smile from you, and I can convince myself this world isn’t hopeless after all. You’re so good you could make a rebel give up their fight.”
He took his hand in his right palm. “You’re the first person who ever made my heart race. If you felt nothing for me, I could be like most cowards in this world—silently pining for someone, avoiding you, staying just a teammate like Ling Yi and the others. But you clearly like me too. I can’t just let you walk away.”
Pei Tingsong’s tone was so resolute that Fang Juexia found himself utterly powerless to argue. He had to admit Pei Tingsong was right—he was afraid. Afraid that diving in headfirst would leave him alone in the end. Afraid he truly was a reckless romantic, destined to guard a fleeting spring for a lifetime like his mother, the withered grass.
He mustered his last resistance. “We might not have a happy ending.”
“I don’t care about the ending. I want the present.” Pei Tingsong clasped his hand tightly. “We’re all born to die. Our ending is death. Does that mean you give up on living? I refuse to lose what I’ve always dreamed of just because some calculated percentage says it might fail. I want every single moment that makes my heart race.”
“Just tell me—do you like me or not?”
Fang Juexia’s rationality triggered its protective mechanism once more. He should refuse, should remain silent. He had countless strategies to shield himself and preserve the last sliver of retreat between them.
He truly did.
But Fang Juexia lifted his head, meeting Pei Tingsong’s gaze directly with the stubborn persistence of a withered branch about to snap.
“I like you.”
Only in that moment of breaking did he reclaim the last shred of vitality that belonged to him.
“Pei Tingsong, I like you.”
Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh