“Brother Huo.” Ling Yi ran over and wrapped her arms around He Ziyan’s neck from behind. “Don’t say that. It hurts me so much.”
“Whoa, whoa, you’re squeezing too tight.” He Ziyan chuckled, turning to see Ling Yi’s tears falling again. He found it both amusing and pitiful. “You’re such a crybaby. You cry over everything. Don’t get your snot all over me.”
“I just feel so sad,” Ling Yi pouted, tears still falling in big drops. Lu Yuan felt the same way. After hearing the news, he downed glass after glass of wine, both angry and upset. “They must think your show is about to blow up, so they’re trying to sabotage you. First the rumors, now dragging your family into it. It’s disgusting.”
Fang Juexia understood this feeling. Lu Yuan and Ling Yi had a happy family life, and Ling Yi had been spoiled since childhood. Thinking about He Ziyan’s circumstances inevitably led to comparisons with himself, sparking deep sympathy.
In contrast, he, Jiang Miao, and Pei Tingsong were unusually silent. They wanted to offer comfort but found no words to console him. Fang Juexia couldn’t help but glance at Pei Tingsong. He sat with his eyes lowered, his long lashes casting elongated shadows in the box’s light. It reminded Fang of summer clouds drifting overhead, casting their shadows onto the earth below.
Jiang Miao had been quiet from the start. He was always composed, yet also the most skilled at offering comfort. Fang Juexia watched his slender shoulders, worn down by the demands of acting, seem to slump even further.
It was strange, really. Their troupe had several members from less-than-happy families. It seemed like a coincidence, yet felt so undeniably real.
Fang Juexia couldn’t help but recall how teachers always said the adjectives preceding “family” should be ‘harmonious’ and “happy.” He had once hoped for that, mistakenly believing everyone enjoyed family bliss.
Now it seemed everyone was only aware of their own struggles. How many broken families truly existed around them?
The wrap party couldn’t continue. Cheng Qiang arranged for members to be sent back to the dormitory and asked Jiang Miao to have the others comfort He Ziyan. He himself rushed back to the company to work overtime.
On the walk from the residential parking lot to the dorm elevator, several people chattered animatedly ahead while Fang Juexia and Jiang Miao trailed behind.
“Miao,” Fang Juexia initiated, “did you know all along?” His tone wasn’t truly questioning—merely confirming his own suspicion. Jiang Miao smiled. “Yes.”
His eyes drifted toward He Ziyan ahead. “When we first joined the company, they assigned us to share a room. He asked why I looked after my sister so much. I told him the truth—our parents died in a plane crash, leaving just the two of us to grow up with relatives. I couldn’t help but take care of her.” He took a breath. “Later, he told me his story. We compared our hardships, looked out for each other, and somehow it didn’t feel so bad anymore.” “
But seeing the weight on Jiang Miao’s face, he felt now wasn’t the right moment. He didn’t want his own story to overshadow their concern for each other.
They were alike—both cloaked in a shell of maturity. Peel it away, and inside might still lurk a child, unable to grow up, unable to escape. No matter how much time passed, he would always remain hidden within.
No one could erase this child’s existence. The best approach was peaceful coexistence.
Not far away, Ling Yizhao waved from behind, calling out, “Hurry up, the elevator doors are closing!”
“Sometimes the definition of family is narrowed too much,” Fang Juexia suddenly spoke again, as if formulating some mathematical conjecture or conclusion.
Jiang Miao, who had already started walking briskly ahead, turned back upon hearing his voice. His gaze grew complex as he looked at Fang Juexia—at his slender shoulders, and the rare fire burning in those usually cold eyes.
“We are family too,” he said earnestly.
Cheng Qiang returned to the company, suppressing his anger to resolve the matter. The previous scandalous misunderstanding could still be dismissed as a common industry tactic, but this time it was utterly despicable.
Spreading such rumors, both Xingtu and the PR team felt it would be difficult to mitigate the impact. No matter how they explained or clarified, no one could definitively address the sensitive issue of embezzlement. Some claimed it involved the public security system, others pointed to corporate finances. The rumor was released first, and afterward, no matter what, they could claim higher-ups wouldn’t allow disclosure, using the situation to their advantage.
Even if they brought out his real parents, there was no guarantee the other side wouldn’t twist the narrative, turning truth into fiction. Most people only believed the script they wanted to see.
Who could have imagined that He Ziyan had kept it hidden all this time because he truly had no parents?
Cheng Qiang felt utterly powerless. To clear the rumors, they had no choice but to reopen their own wounds. But without clarification, He Ziyan’s sacrifices would be for nothing.
This was likely the inevitable path to the summit.
Xingtu’s clarification came swiftly, laying out every relevant document: all the proof He Ziyan had provided them, the faded papers from the orphanage, and his collective household registration after he started working as an adult. Each piece of documentation confirmed that He Ziyan belonged to no family.
When the statement was released, Star Chart used exceptionally strong language for the first time, expressing their outrage. Fans and many deceived netizens also voiced their anger over this rumor.
[@melody: This is too much. Forcing someone to reveal their orphan status just to clear their name.]
[@TodayStillLovesKaleido: The rumor-monger is dead, and I feel so heartbroken for my brother He. 😭😭😭😭😭 He was always so cheerful every day, you’d never guess…]
[@pinkoh: Ah… so that’s how it was… When I watched their group variety show before, everyone mentioned their families except HZY. I thought he just didn’t get along with his family, never imagined he was an abandoned child. The rumor-monger deserves to die.”]
Though it meant reopening old wounds, the matter was ultimately resolved. After communicating with Xingtu, the production team issued a Weibo post defending the actor and called out “ill-intentioned individuals” to compete fairly.
No one could have predicted that a malicious rumor campaign would conclude in such a bittersweet manner. The controversy lingered for three or four days, with many vowing to boycott the entertainment industry’s toxic rumor-mongering culture. The backlash seemed substantial, as if genuine resistance might take hold.
But Fang Juexia knew better than anyone: when the next rumor surfaced, many would still fall for it, devouring the juicy gossip as they did, becoming anonymous accomplices to the rumor-mongers.
Perhaps it had been too long, or maybe He Ziyan simply wasn’t good at showing weakness. Even when the members gathered to drink and chat, he still habitually smiled and joked about his past misfortunes.
“If this happened to someone else, they’d have been crying their eyes out on reality TV shows about it by now,” Pei Tingsong remarked sharply.
He Ziyan shook his head. “No way. I can’t let my image as the ‘troll-monger’ and ‘goofball alpha male’ crumble.”
Lu Yuan: “Hahahaha, is that even a good reputation?”
Pei Tingsong retorted, “I agreed earlier, but you’re not the top dog.”
Fang Juexia glanced at him and asked calmly, “Is this top dog ranking based on immaturity levels?”
Ling Yixiao’s stomach ached from laughing. “Hahahaha, what’s up with you top dogs?”
“Enough with this ‘top’ and ‘bottom’ nonsense,” Jiang Miao cut in. “Good thing there were no cameras. Otherwise, everyone would know you guys read yaoi fanfics in private.”
Arranged by the company and production team, He Ziyan appeared as a guest vocalist on Ling Yi’s music show. Once he got busy, the incident faded quickly.
Only Fang Juexia felt a lingering unease. He’d once thought rumors only affected himself, never imagining they’d involve family. Work continued, and the entertainment industry’s drama persisted—today teammates, tomorrow so-called rivals. Whether from long exposure to this world or not, Fang Juexia always saw others’ struggles as reflections of his own.
It felt like being forced to swallow bowl after bowl of white rice laced with fish bones—unwilling to eat it, yet constantly guarding against the hidden thorns, fearing one day they might scrape his own throat.
But there was no way around it. When you weren’t famous, things could stay calm. Once you rose to stardom, nothing could be stopped.
Kaledo’s rise had been faster than anyone imagined. The two years of quiet preparation had erupted in this single year. Their dual strengths—talent and originality—made them stand out among boy bands. They even skipped many of the typical idol group transformations, carving out their own place and name in the music industry.
The biggest fear for boy bands is uneven popularity. Now, beyond their two top members, the rest of Kaleido’s members have also blossomed in their own fields, each enjoying solid, stable popularity. Long-term development is no longer a concern.
The scripts flooding Fang Juexia’s desk were overwhelming, all offering leading roles. Yet he had no interest in acting and rarely appeared on variety shows. Pei Tingsong proved even harder to schedule. Despite their exposure lagging behind teammates, their popularity soared daily—especially among CP fans. Their fanbase was unprecedented; a single CP fandom site rivaled the combined strength of other groups’ dedicated fan communities.
Star Chart doesn’t pressure them to work, yet endorsement offers pour in relentlessly. The fashion world adores them, with magazine covers piling up one after another. Later, blue-blooded luxury houses even extended olive branches, inviting them to attend runway shows. Fang Juexia, following the company’s lead, agreed. Gradually, their styling and wardrobe evolved. The outfits for their solo magazine covers were all specially sponsored by brands.
Online rumors spread faster than ever. Since their wardrobe upgraded to high-end luxury brands, gossip forums erupted with discussions. Thread after thread claimed he’d found a new sugar daddy—someone with deep pockets and immense influence who would guarantee his rise to the top. Rumor threads were deleted only to reappear, infuriating Xiao Wen to the point where he’d vent his anger in the car every day.
“What sugar daddy? If I had one, would I be working this hard?”
Fang Juexia heard him ranting and thought it was nothing new. His rise to fame had been too rapid, compounded by previous rumors and constant turmoil. Worrying about it wouldn’t help. “This kind of thing happens all the time. Such rumors won’t cause any major uproar. Don’t let it get to you.”
Little did he know, Pei Tingsong, sitting beside him, overheard and decided to stir the pot.
[Hengzhen Style: I am the sugar daddy in question—rich, well-connected, protective of you, and handsome to boot.]
Seeing this message, Fang Juexia felt both annoyed and amused.
[Moonlight: Shameless.]
Reading those four characters, Pei Tingsong chuckled.
[Hengzhen Style: Brother, is this what you call shameless? You’ve been with me this long, yet your temper’s only grown fiercer—your skin hasn’t thickened one bit.]
[Hengzhen Style: I have plenty of shameless things I want to do with you.]
Fang Juexia blushed at the sight and turned his face away, staring straight ahead to avoid looking at him. But just then, the phone in his hand vibrated again. Xiao Wen in the passenger seat asked curiously, “Whose phone is vibrating nonstop?”
He had no choice but to look down.
[Heng Zhen Shi: Don’t hide. If you hide again, next time I’ll really bully you.]
This guy… Fang Juexia turned his head, glaring at him fiercely.
As their eyes met, Pei Tingsong flashed him a smile, his eyes crinkling with childlike innocence. He silently mouthed, “You’re so cute.”
He was utterly helpless against him—even feigning anger felt impossible. Fang Juexia took a deep breath, turned his head away, and stared out the window, finally managing to hide the smile on his face.
Osmanthus blossoms littered the roadside, scattered specks of creamy yellow—fragments of autumn. A gust of wind carried their fragrance through the car window.
So sweet.
Cheng Qiang called them for a meeting. The others hadn’t arrived yet, so only Fang Juexia and Pei Tingsong were early. He briefed them on the recent brand endorsement deal. “The brand is definitely drawn to your popularity and reputation. But to play it safe, they plan to start you as brand ambassadors. By New Year’s, you’ll be promoted to official spokespeople. By then, your magazine covers should be pretty much complete.”
Fang Juexia didn’t speak, just nodded.
Pei Tingsong leaned back in his chair, his tone lazy. “It’s just a ‘new face’ title. Why all the fuss?”
“You’re getting away with a bargain and still acting spoiled. Don’t you realize how recently you’ve become famous?” Cheng Qiang instructed his assistants to file the documents before continuing his lecture, “Be extra careful lately, especially you, Pei. Don’t get into online arguments. Keep a low profile and avoid trouble. Before you know it, year-end will be upon us—winter specials, major galas, and award ceremonies. It’ll be nonstop work. For now, just keep a low profile and bide your time, got it?”
Fang Juexia nodded obediently, pressing Pei Tingsong’s head down to nod along with her.
Just then, Ling Yi pushed open the door. “Your precious Ling Yi is here!”
Pei Tingsong feigned deafness and dumbness. “Who? Who’s one?”
“You little bastard, Pei!” Ling Yi grabbed him from behind, yanking his neck and shaking him violently. “Did your CP fans infect you? How did you get so deaf?”
Fang Juexia didn’t get the reference and asked in confusion, “What does that mean?”
He Ziyan followed Ling Yi inside. “We were browsing Weibo with our alternate accounts in the car earlier and saw your solo fans and your CP fans going at it. Holy crap, the fight was so intense it made the sky dark and the sun and moon disappear.”
Pei Tingsong kicked him. “Stop talking nonsense.”
“You figured out my hidden talent.” He Ziyan sat beside him. “Fans bickering daily is pretty normal, but yours are just too entertaining. Isn’t your CP name ‘Auditory’? Now the Hearing Girls are in hot water. Since you two interact so much, they’ve gotten pretty vocal, and then the solo fans started bashing them. Bashing is one thing, but they even gave the CP fans a derogatory nickname.”
Fang Juexia, who rarely went online, was a bit surprised. “Fans have derogatory nicknames now?”
“Yeah! You know what they’re called? “ Ling Yi struggled to stifle her laughter. ”Deaf Girls! Hahahahahahaha!”
Deaf… Deaf?
He Ziyan sighed repeatedly. “What a double entendre. Brilliant. It ties into ‘Hearing’ while also calling out their CP fans for pretending to be deaf and dumb—unwilling to wake up, clinging to the fake as if it were real.”
Hearing this, Fang Juexia couldn’t help but feel a twinge of guilt. After all, they were the real deal—genuine as they come.
Pei Tingsong snorted. “People can call themselves whatever they want. Why give them a derogatory nickname?”
“You think only solo fans give nicknames to CP fans? It’s the same thing in reverse.” Ling Yi knew the ins and outs of her teammates’ fandom circles. “Remember when you had that nickname ‘Putuo Temple’ earlier? Your fans used to call themselves devotees, saying things like ‘devotees vow to be vegetarian for life to restore the deaf girl’s hearing and sight.’”
Fang Juexia couldn’t help but laugh out loud, twisting open his water bottle to take a sip and calm down.
Ling Yi continued, “Then the hearing girl fired back, saying, ‘Aren’t all the devotees at Putuo Temple nuns?’”
He Ziyan burst out laughing. “Oh, and I saw another one. Since Juexia’s full name initials spell ‘hairline,’ the CP fans said his toxic haters are ‘receding hairline girls’—basically bald girls. A Putuo Temple nun paired with a bald girl? Even your haters are a perfect match. No wonder you two fight all the time.”
“The fights aren’t so bad. Sān Sān even taught me a line: ‘You insult me, I insult you, but our brothers sleep together.’”
Fang Juoxia nearly choked on his drink.
After being teased by the two of them, even their bickering seemed amusing.
Cheng Qiang, however, was headache-inducing. “Be careful with your sockpuppets too. Keep those aliases tightly under wraps. Not long ago, some minor starlet’s alias slipped, accidentally exposing her romance and causing all sorts of trouble.”
“Got it—”
Once everyone was present, the meeting got down to business. Cheng Qiang laid out all their pre-New Year tasks—a mountain of work that had everyone nodding off. Just as Ling Yi grew bored enough to sneakily play match-three games under the table, Cheng Qiang finally changed the subject.
“One more important thing: your first tour.”
The six members instantly perked up.
“First tour???”
“Are we having a concert?”
“When? Where’s the first show? Beijing?”
Cheng Qiang pressed his hand down. “Calm down, okay? You guys act like you’ve never done a concert before.”
“Because we haven’t!”
Fang Juexia couldn’t help but laugh. He’d assumed it would be ages before they could hold their own concert, but this day had arrived sooner than he’d anticipated.
Cheng Qiang explained, “Preparing for a concert involves a lot of work—finalizing the concept, selecting and registering venues, negotiating sponsorships, designing stage visuals, re-choreographing and rehearsing… It’d take at least half a year. Since most of your fans are still students, we’re tentatively planning for next summer break.”
“That’s so long,” Ling Yi tugged at the pillow in her arms. “Still half a year away.”
Jiang Miao smiled. “That’s perfect. By then, the winter special will be out too. With two full albums, three mini albums, plus the members’ solos, we’ll definitely have enough songs for the concert.”
“Exactly.” Cheng Qiang sat down. “You can even invite your senior classmates to be guests then.”
Pei Tingsong usually paid little attention during meetings, but this time he raised his hand proactively. “Question: Will the concert venues include Guangzhou?”
Fang Juexia froze for a moment before turning to look at him.
Lu Yuan answered first, “Of course it will. First-tier cities like Beijing, Shanghai, and Guangzhou are definite stops.”
“I want to go to Guangzhou too,” Ling Yi nodded excitedly, bobbing his head like one of those electric sunflower dolls you buy at street stalls. “The food in Guangzhou is super delicious.”
Cheng Qiang nodded. “Barring any surprises, it should happen. The company’s current plan is to hold ten shows domestically first, with overseas dates to be determined.”
He Ziyan couldn’t help but quip, “So Little Huo Ka can actually do an overseas tour now?”
“Hahahaha!”
He Ziyan couldn’t help but quip, “Little Hu Ka can actually organize overseas tours now?”
“Hahahaha!”
The meeting ended late into the evening. Cheng Qiang urged them to head back, needing to handle some emails at the office. The weather was growing colder; Beijing’s climate was always unpredictable. While the daytime had been crisp and clear, once night fell, the wind howled through the air. Fang Juexia wore only a knit sweater over his shirt. From behind, his slender shoulders looked thin, and the delicate white ankles peeking out from his jeans were equally frail.
After just a few steps, Pei Tingsong tugged at him. “Come with me to the studio to grab something.”
Fang Juexia was puzzled. “Now?”
“Yeah.”
If he said he needed something, Fang Juexia would naturally accompany him. Opening the door, Fang Juexia waited outside. only to see Pei Tingsong, without turning on the light, reach over the back of the swivel chair and pull down a dark brown trench coat. He then pulled Fang Juexia inside, closed the door, draped the coat over his shoulders, took his arm to help him slip his hands into the sleeves, buttoned it up, and tied the belt. His waist was incredibly slim.
After staring at his brother’s waist for a moment, Pei Tingsong loosened the tie. “I guess I won’t tie it after all.”
A smile spread across Fang Juexia’s face. The room was dark with no lights on, only moonlight streaming through the window, casting a frosty glow over his face like a gentle ice beauty.
Pei Tingsong couldn’t resist bending down, tugging the sash to pull him into his embrace. Fang Juexia couldn’t see clearly, only feeling a wave of gentle sea salt scent envelop him. Warm, wet kisses rained down, teeth parting, tongues entwining. His hands instinctively reached upward, gripping the fabric of Pei Tingsong’s coat.
A single embrace was enough—every fiber of him carried his lover’s scent.
“It’s freezing out here,” Pei Tingsong murmured against his forehead.
Fang Juexia gave a soft hum before hearing him volunteer, “Let me warm you up.”
He acted before finishing his sentence, grinding against Fang Juexia in the darkness. His deepening breaths pressed Fang back, and with each step back, Pei Tingsong advanced. They stumbled backward, step by step, until there was nowhere left to retreat. until his back hit the door. Pei Tingsong traced a path from his lips to the side of his neck, down to the collarbone beneath his shirt collar, not stopping until Fang Juexia let out a few uncontrollable gasps, his face flushed. Only then did Pei Tingsong relent.
Even after kissing him, Pei Tingsong seemed slightly displeased. He smoothed Fang Juexia’s collar. “Look at how little you’re wearing. Your lips and face are ice cold.”
“Only sick people run hot,” Fang Juexia protested.
Pei Tingsong pinched his chin. “So you’re not embarrassed—you’re actually sick?”
It was true—worse than illness.
Fang Juexia felt heat spread through his body, but arguing with him wouldn’t end well. He changed the subject instead. “What about the thing you needed?”
Pei Tingsong pulled him outside. “It’s on you, little thing.”
Hearing that nickname felt like a cat’s claws scratching his heart. He deliberately adopted a stern tone: “If you can’t figure out the age difference, let me tell you. I’m three years older than you. I’m your big brother.”
“To be precise, it’s two and a half years.”
The two bickered their way down the hallway, only to bump into Cheng Qiang rushing out of his office. He was just pulling his phone away from his ear, clearly having finished a call.
Pei Tingsong found this odd and called out, “Brother Qiang.” Only then did Cheng Qiang turn around. “Why are you still here? Right, Juexia, what’s going on?”
What could it be now?
Fang Juexia sensed trouble and remained silent, looking up at him.
Cheng Qiang walked back, noticing Pei Tingsong too, his expression hesitant. Fang Juexia, however, remained calm and composed. “It’s fine, Brother. Just say it.”
“It’s about your father.” Cheng Qiang had only known Fang Juexia came from a single-parent household, unaware of his father’s specific circumstances. He still clung to a sliver of hope that this might be mere rumor. “I don’t know if it’s true, but we received an anonymous email claiming they have evidence of your father using drugs. They’re demanding a settlement fee. If we don’t pay up, they threaten to leak the material elsewhere.”
Pei Tingsong’s expression instantly turned cold. “How much?”
“Seven figures.” Cheng Qiang frowned, turning to the person directly involved. “The company could cover that amount…”
A faint smile touched Fang Juexia’s lips. His voice was soft, devoid of emotion, yet for the first time, he interrupted Cheng Qiang.
“Dream on.”
