Hearing fans across the street tell them there were fireworks to watch, Ling Yi suddenly perked up. “Really? Are they good?”
“Absolutely amazing!”
So the six big boys rushed over to the riverbank to see the fireworks. But the crowd here was even bigger than they’d imagined—shoulder to shoulder, standing anywhere meant being surrounded by a mob.
“If we stay here much longer, we won’t be watching the fireworks. We’ll be the ones being watched,” Lu Yuan said, sucking on a lollipop. “Probably everyone watching us.”
“Isn’t there a spot with fewer people?” He Ziyan craned his neck, scanning the area.
Jiang Miao shoved his hands in his pockets. “I think it’s risky. We should leave soon. What if we attract fans and cause a scene?”
Ling Yi whined softly while hugging the captain’s arm. Pei Tingsong glanced toward the distant river, nudged Fang Juexia’s shoulder with his own, and whispered, “Want to see the fireworks?”
Fang Juexia, bundled up tightly, lifted his head, revealing only a pair of beautiful eyes. He blinked twice, and Pei Tingsong immediately understood.
“Okay.” Pei Tingsong briefly wrapped an arm around his shoulder before letting go. “Wait here for me.”
The others were puzzled, but before long, Pei Tingsong returned.
“Let’s go see the fireworks.” He tugged at Fang Juexia’s hoodie sleeve.
Ling Yi frowned. “Where are we going?”
Eventually, they were led to a large cruise ship.
Lu Yuan whistled, stepping inside as he casually asked, “How many people are on board?”
“No one. I chartered it.” Pei Tingsong tugged at Fang Juexia’s sleeve. “Didn’t you want to see the fireworks?”
He Ziyan stood with his hands behind his back like an old-school official, shaking his head repeatedly. “Look at this extravagance.”
Ling Yi asked, “Was that hundred thousand yuan just now for renting this place?”
“Hahahahahaha!”
The riverside nightscape was stunning, but Fang Juexia’s vision remained blurry. Pei Tingsong steered him step by step up the stairs, moving forward with careful consideration. They reached the deck of the night cruise ship with less than three minutes until the fireworks began. Six people leaned shoulder to shoulder against the railing, gazing upward.
“Is it about to start?”
“Yeah, this angle is so close.”
“Right, we should be directly underneath when they ignite.”
Pei Tingsong leaned against Fang Juexia, their hands brushing against each other. Skin touched and pulled back slightly. Beside their teammate, in the darkness, they secretly hid their hearts, nearly touching.
They heard the countdown echoing from another boat nearby, packed with tourists.
Fang Juexia instinctively counted along in his mind: three, two, one.
The night sky had been silent and pitch-black until a flame shot upward. With a boom, the blurred vision suddenly filled with fireworks—cold white, fleeting yet dazzling, like shooting stars gathering together. He suddenly realized that fireworks lose their vitality when viewed from a distance or through a screen. Only by witnessing them in person could one truly feel their exuberant bloom.
Each fragment of shimmering white fire cascaded through the air, as if it might flow down and ignite them, the spectators, in this revelry. But it did not. These sparks vanished mid-fall.
The fireworks in the sky were swallowed by the night, while those on the river vanished into the ripples.
The new replaced the old before the old had faded. The echoes of the fireworks pierced through their bodies, the sound waves pulsing in sync with their heartbeats, pounding against their chests.
It was the final resonance as they ended their lives.
“Wow! So beautiful!” Ling Yi pointed at the sky. “Look at that one—doesn’t it look like wheat ears?”
“No time! I need to make a wish. Quick, make a wish.”
“Are you a little girl? Making wishes?”
Ling Yi ignored him. “I’m doing it. I wish for my parents’ health and for me to never gain weight no matter how much I eat.”
Jiang Miao chuckled, “Then let’s wish for our company, Kaleido, to run even smoother from now on.”
“Right!” Ling Yi chimed in. “Wish, wish—may we rake in big bucks this year and vacation in the Maldives!”
Pei Tingsong rolled his eyes at her stubbornness. “Fine, this young master will take you then.”
He Ziyan and Lu Yuan started cheering her on, but Ling Yi stood her ground. “No way! I want the company to pay for it!”
“Whatever floats your boat.”
Ling Yi flashed a flattering smile. “But… you could take me to Dubai.”
“Hah, wishful thinking.”
“Juexia,” Ling Yi called his name over the fireworks, “aren’t you going to make a wish?”
“Me?” Fang Juexia had been engrossed in watching, but his question made him hesitate.
A wish…
The first thing that came to mind when he heard that word was Pei Tingsong.
He actually wanted to make a wish related to him. It was unbelievable.
Fang Juexia smiled. “I hope everyone’s wishes come true.”
“Look at this angel among us.”
While his teammates joked around, Fang Juexia slipped his hand out from beneath his long sleeves. He traced the railing’s curve until he found Pei Tingsong’s hand.
Everyone was mesmerized by the dazzling fireworks, but he quietly took Pei Tingsong’s hand.
Pei Tingsong, who had been bickering with Ling Yi moments before, froze. Turning his head, he met Fang Juexia’s gaze—still fixed skyward, eyes filled with fireworks.
He clasped Fang Juexia’s hand back, squeezing it tightly.
Beyond the fireworks, no one knew of this secret affection.
More and more sparks climbed into the sky, illuminating the entire night. Fang Juexia gazed upward, feeling like a child, his heart racing. Perhaps it was because he had never seen fireworks this close before.
Or perhaps it was because he had never seen such dazzling darkness.
A fireworks display was composed of countless fleeting moments, yet even when layered together, it remained transient. The night sky settled back into stillness, as if those magnificent bursts had never occurred.
When it ended, everyone felt a touch of melancholy, reluctant to leave. So they drifted along with the cruise ship, chatting and admiring the night view together.
It had been too long since they’d had such an opportunity. Their days were spent rushing between different schedules, draining their energy, only to wake up to the same routine. Even finding time to chat was difficult.
Jiang Miao recounted the story from the script he’d read, while Lu Yuan shared gossip about the street dance show he’d participated in. Fang Juexia listened quietly, occasionally chiming in with a comment or two.
The river’s surface had grown calm once more, evoking an inexplicable sense of familiarity. Back in Guangzhou, he’d taken several cruises like this. Leaning against the railing, he closed his eyes to feel the damp breeze, as if returning to his homeland.
“Tired?”
Pei Tingsong’s sudden voice startled Fang Juexia awake. He shook his head. “I just… miss home a little.”
This was the first time Pei Tingsong had heard Fang Juexia express homesickness. He placed his hands on the railing. “Because of the boat?”
Fang Juexia nodded. “And the night markets, the street stalls, all kinds of snacks. Strange, I never missed it in Beijing. But coming to a city so full of life, I started missing home.“ He leaned back against the railing. ”Guangzhou food is delicious. When I was hungry after school, I’d buy fried rice noodles from a street vendor and winter melon tea from this old shop. The owner would pack it in a plastic bag with a straw stuck in it.”
As he spoke, he gestured, occasionally glancing at Pei Tingsong as if afraid he wouldn’t believe him. He emphasized again, “It was really delicious.”
“Is that so?” Pei Tingsong made an effort to imagine the scene, replying, “But I can’t picture what it tastes like.”
Fang Juexia felt a bit deflated, thinking his descriptive skills weren’t up to par.
But then Pei Tingsong added, “You’ll have to take me there myself. Only then will I know if it’s good.” He started counting on his fingers again. “And your school, your favorite street food stalls, the paths you always walk—I want to see them all.”
Fang Juexia glanced at Ling Yi and the others gazing up at the sky nearby, then replied, “I never said I’d take you back.”
“You will,” Pei Tingsong declared with unwavering certainty, as if it were inevitable.
Fang Juexia couldn’t help but laugh. “You always speak with such confidence, as if you believe your judgments are never wrong.”
“No, I was born confident. But I also know I often misjudge things.” After a pause, Pei Tingsong added, “Like with you—I’ve made mistake after mistake.”
Fang Juexia removed his mask. “Like the unspoken rules?”
Pei Tingsong smiled openly. “I actually doubted that rumor early on. And honestly, I don’t really care about that sort of thing.”
“Then why did you target me so relentlessly back then?” Fang Juexia leaned closer, adopting a confrontational stance. “Why did you keep bringing up the unspoken rules?”
Pei Tingsong raised his hands in surrender. “I’m not trying to justify myself. “He shrugged. ”You might not believe this, but back then I felt frustrated by your passivity. Rumors like that were circulating around the company—sometimes even right in front of you—and I wondered why you couldn’t even be bothered to explain yourself? It was like you’d shut yourself off from the world, indifferent to everything.”
Fang Juexia suddenly understood.
Sure enough, what truly bothered Pei Tingsong wasn’t the rumors themselves, but his attitude toward them. This fit Pei Tingsong’s personality perfectly—he was a born rebel who would unhesitatingly overturn any injustice or anything that didn’t align with his views. A man brimming with passion naturally couldn’t stand someone cold and indifferent.
“But later, as I got to know you better and learned the truth from Liang Ruo, I realized you were trying to cover this up for him.”
Pei Tingsong shook his head and sighed deeply. “You treat outsiders with more kindness than you show yourself. You nearly sacrificed your promising future for him, yet you still wanted to protect his reputation.”
Fang Juexia replied, “I wasn’t protecting him. I was protecting myself.”
This statement puzzled Pei Tingsong. “Protecting yourself?”
Fang Juexia lowered his head and smiled faintly. “This industry is too complicated. Even as a trainee, I knew talent often doesn’t decide anything. I’ve seen all kinds of ways people climb the ladder, all kinds of deals made. People who were clearly lacking in many areas as singers and dancers could still debut smoothly—as long as they were willing to change, willing to trade away a part of themselves. In that chaotic environment, the hardest thing wasn’t fighting for a bright future or debuting as an artist. It was figuring out how not to be corrupted.”
“I couldn’t risk my own future by exposing Liang Ruo’s situation or dragging him into this to clear my name, because I know he’s a victim too. I couldn’t do that. So the only thing I can say is that I never did those things.”
Pei Tingsong suddenly felt the same way he did when he first met Fang Juexia. He was like a straight, withered branch—stubborn and resilient, preferring to snap cleanly rather than be altered.
Perhaps it stemmed from childhood glimpses of his father at his best—a thriving dancer who cherished his wife, children, and life—followed by witnessing his descent into madness after failure, becoming a different person entirely, losing himself. That’s why Fang Juexia had forged this life principle.
“From childhood onward, we receive all kinds of education. Many teach us what we should strive for, what we should obtain, and what we should work toward. But few ever tell us what we should preserve. All I want to do is hold onto my own essence.”
Fang Juexia looked at him. “I used to think this was an easy thing to do. But as I grew older, I discovered it was far more complex and difficult than I ever imagined. Humans are such complex polyhedrons—every facet, even every point, seems capable of representing the whole person. That’s how the outside world judges us: one-sided, one-dimensional.“ Fang Juexia shook his head slightly, rejecting that approach. ”But I know the part of myself I want to preserve is the only thing that can truly represent who I am.”
He knew he’d said a lot more things that sounded strange to others. These were all buried deep within him, never shared with anyone. Seeing Pei Tingsong staring at him with a complex expression, Fang Jixia frowned, feeling a bit puzzled. “Why are you looking at me like that? Did I say something wrong?”
Pei Tingsong smiled, setting the stage. “I understand everyone’s knowledge base is different, so there’s a good chance you won’t recognize the person I’m about to mention. He was a philosopher who lived in the 16th century—his name was Spinoza.”
“Spinoza…” Fang Juexia murmured the name, acknowledging his unfamiliarity.
“One of his greatest achievements was reconciling three distinct, opposing ethical systems into a unified whole.” “At this point, Pei Tingsong noticed Fang Juexia’s puzzled expression. ”I’m getting sidetracked. To put it simply, he once wrote this in his work Ethics: ‘Every thing strives to preserve its own existence, and the self that it strives to preserve is precisely the true essence of that thing.’”
Hearing this, Fang Juexia froze slightly in the night’s darkness.
“Isn’t that remarkable?” Pei Tingsong looked at him, raising an eyebrow slightly. “So when I heard you speak those words just now, I suddenly had this… transcendent vision—as if Spinoza’s philosophical pursuit had manifested itself through you across time and space. It sounds mystical, but that’s exactly how it felt.”
He was one of his most cherished philosophers—a man who calmly and steadfastly confronted his own tragic fate, never once conceding defeat.
“Just now, I was deeply moved. You’ve never read his books, never studied his theoretical system, yet you’ve naturally lived your life this way. In that moment, I realized that thought can truly transcend the physical and temporal realms within a void of profound mystery, achieving a kind of collision and resonance.”
Fang Juexia was also a rebel. Unlike Pei Tingsong, however, his resistance stemmed from an instinctive need to protect himself.
Fang Juexia felt an indescribable sensation at Pei Tingsong’s words. On one hand, he found it fascinating; on the other, he wondered if Pei Tingsong might simply be expressing a personal fondness for him. As someone completely unfamiliar with philosophy, he nevertheless grew curious due to Pei Tingsong’s description. “So… what kind of person was Spinoza?”
“How to put it?” Pei Tingsong pondered earnestly. “He was a master of mathematics, so he approached philosophy almost like a mathematical problem—extremely disciplined, revering reason above all. You’d never guess how he lived. He spent most days locked in his room researching, sometimes not seeing anyone for days on end.”
Fang Juexia pressed further, “Did he have any income?”
“That’s even more remarkable,” Pei Tingsong said, grabbing his hand and playing with it as he spoke. “He started as a teacher, then switched to grinding lenses. He was quite skilled, but he wasn’t truly in business. Every year, he’d precisely calculate exactly how many lenses he needed to grind to cover his basic living expenses and research costs. He’d even recalculate his accounts every quarter. He lived with extraordinary precision.”
Pei Tingsong chuckled. “You really remind me of him.”
Fang Juexia pondered this, finding it rather amusing. Though Pei Tingsong was teasing him, comparing him to a great philosopher was flattering. “Shut up,” he protested. “I don’t deserve that.”
Pei Tingsong replied sincerely, “You deserve everything.” He felt genuinely happy, having gained another glimpse into Fang Juexia’s world—as if he’d drawn closer to his soul. For someone as closed off as this little ice cube, it was a huge leap.
Ling Yi ran back to show off the dialect he’d learned. “How’s my imitation, Juexia? Am I convincing?”
Just as Fang Juexia was about to nod, Pei Tingsong shot back, “Not at all! Everything you imitate sounds like Chengdu dialect.”
“You! What’s wrong with speaking Chengdu dialect? You can’t even get ‘guaxixie le’ right, pfft.”
With that, Ling Yi dashed off. Pei Tingsong stood there dumbfounded, turning to Fang Juexia. “Did he just insult me? He did, right?”
Fang Juexia feigned ignorance. “Really? I didn’t notice.”
“Of course he did, that little brat.” Pei Tingsong rolled up his sleeves, ready to storm off, but Fang Juexia stopped him. “Who told you to say he can’t even imitate a dialect properly?”
“Because it’s true.” The hot-tempered little tyrant let out a long sigh. “Fine, I won’t stoop to arguing with a love-starved single guy like him.”
Hearing this, Fang Juexia immediately kicked him. “Shh.”
Pei Tingsong laughed apologetically, then suddenly remembered something. “Oh right, you never told me what your dialect sounds like. I want to hear you speak Cantonese.”
“Didn’t you sing last time?” Fang Juexia tugged at his hoodie hood.
“That doesn’t count. Can’t you just say one sentence to me?”
Fang Juexia kept making excuses about not knowing what to say. As long as he didn’t speak, Pei Tingsong kept fussing, even pretending to climb over the railing to jump off, using that as a threat.
“Go ahead. If I can’t see you, at least I’ll hear the splash.” Fang Juexia smiled at him.
“That’s cruel.”
When they’d had enough fun, the cruise ship docked. One by one, they disembarked, returning from the river to solid ground.
Pei Tingsong strutted like a big shot, arms wrapped around his friends. “Did you guys have fun, brothers?”
“We did! Thanks, boss!”
“Then take turns doing my laundry when we get back!”
“What did you say? It’s too windy—I can’t hear you.”
Fang Juexia, bringing up the rear, chuckled. He stepped on their shadows, waiting until they scattered after their banter before approaching Pei Tingsong, who was about to chase after them. “Wait up.”
“What is it?” Pei Tingsong obediently stopped.
Fang Juexia slipped his hands into his pockets and leaned close to his ear. The unfamiliar language sounded gentler than the night itself.
“Baby, I really like you.”
Author’s Note: Translation: “Baby, I really like you.”
“Bb” has that feel of coaxing a child or a lover—a very intimate nickname. You can look up how Cantonese guys pronounce it; it’s super sweet.
Let’s talk more about Spinoza. If you’re interested, you can treat it as a story. Why did Pei Tingsong say he rebelled against a bleak existence? Because Spinoza was Jewish, born into a merchant family—a privileged upbringing. He studied theology and history, gifted from the start, gradually turning toward philosophical inquiry. His religious background led him to ponder profound questions of religious philosophy while challenging contemporary theological doctrines.
At age 23, he was summoned by the Jewish congregation, accused of spreading heretical doctrines. Refusing to feign compliance, he was excommunicated and expelled. His father disowned him, and his sister attempted to swindle him out of his meager inheritance. While walking one day, he narrowly escaped being stabbed with a dagger by a devout theology student for violating doctrine. He later rented a loft outside Amsterdam, descending from a life of comfort into poverty and isolation.
Yet many admired him, including one who offered to bequeath his entire estate to Spinoza—an offer Spinoza declined.
Spinoza’s research was extremely dangerous at the time. How dangerous? He had to write his works in secret, unable to publish them, lest his life be in peril. He gave his landlord a key, asking them to publish these books after his death.
His life was quite legendary—if you’re interested, you can look it up~
