The moment Zheng Qi saw that expression, his left eyelid started twitching violently! Before he could stop him, Shi Zhou’s eyes had already welled up with tears, his voice trembling:

“Ah Qi, I’m leaving. You should cherish the person in front of you, don’t always think about what you can’t have…”

You c an fi nd t he la te st cha pte rs at ( th e bl mu se . c o m )

He deliberately emphasized the words “can’t have,” then let a single crystalline tear roll down his left cheek, dampening his long lashes and fair skin. Shi Zhou paused perfectly, choking up before continuing:

“Duan Nian is a good person. You should live honestly from now on. Besides me, you should also cut ties with those six or seven others outside. It’s dirty—what if you bring back some disease and hurt Duan Nian? And you have to be gentle. You can’t just go in unprepared… it hurts so much.”

Zheng Qi looked like he’d been struck by lightning, his mouth half-open, eyes bulging. Watching Shi Zhou’s crocodile tears flow on command, blood rushed from his feet straight to the top of his head!

Song Duannian, raised in a scholarly family with strict manners, had been carefully brewing tea to serve the guests despite the awkward atmosphere. Hearing Shi Zhou’s words, his hands slipped, sending the tray crashing to the floor. Porcelain and tea splattered everywhere with a piercing shatter.

Qin Yancheng, sitting on the sofa, turned to watch the two of them, the corner of his mouth curling with faint amusement.

Zheng Qi snapped out of his daze, trembling with rage. “Shi Zhou!! When did I ever ‘just go in unprepared’?! Wait—no—when the fuck did I ever touch you?!”

Shi Zhou knew silence was golden at this moment. Sure enough, Song Duannian erupted. “Zheng Qi! You kept telling me there was nothing between you two! He lived here for so long—were you a monk?! How could you not have touched him?!”

“Duan Nian, believe me! I never fucking touched him! God damn it, Shi Zhou, you better explain yourself clearly!”

Shi Zhou blinked innocently. Oh, you definitely didn’t touch the cannon fodder stand-in—because you had plenty of skilled bed partners outside, even bringing them home to play in front of the original host.

Song Duannian demanded, “Then why were you keeping him around? Charity?! Or just for display?!”

Song Duannian was naturally the gentle and fragile type. Whatever lies Zheng Qi had fed him to smooth things over before, this sudden, crude performance orchestrated by Shi Zhou was too much for his delicate sensibilities. Humiliated and furious, he trembled with sobs, barely able to stand.

Shi Zhou felt a twinge of pity, but better a sharp pain now than a long agony. Better he see the scumbag’s true nature early.

Suddenly, Song Duannian seemed to recall the scene of the three of them that day and had an epiphany, murmuring as if enlightened, “I get it now… I get it! I believe you didn’t touch him, Zheng Qi. You really were keeping him for display. So—”

“Whose stand-in was he, really?”

The word “stand-in” dropped like a bomb. Zheng Qi’s brain short-circuited with a deafening buzz!

He hadn’t expected Song Duannian to remember his earlier slip of the tongue, much less bring it up now. He instinctively looked at Qin Yancheng in terror, only to find him still calm, the corners of his lips curled in a mocking smile, his gaze icy as a dagger—as if watching some fool dig his own grave.

Zheng Qi’s heart lurched. He roared, “Song Duannian, shut the fuck up!”

Then, in a fit of rage, he raised his hand and slapped Song Duannian hard across the face!

A crisp “smack” echoed through the room.

Song Duannian staggered from the unexpected blow, collapsing onto the floor. His hand landed on broken porcelain, blood immediately staining the white marble tiles.

He stared blankly, as if unable to process what had just happened—or unable to believe Zheng Qi had actually hit him.

Shi Zhou was stunned too.

If not for Qin Yancheng’s presence ensuring Zheng Qi wouldn’t dare lay a hand on Shi Zhou, that slap would’ve been his.

—What else can this scumbag do besides domestic violence? Later, he’ll escalate to illegal threats, imprisonment, kidnapping—is that all he’s capable of? Even if he later performs some grand repentance act—kneeling, begging, self-harm—does that erase the damage?

Qin Yancheng cleared his throat pointedly, “Shi Zhou, time to go.”

Shi Zhou snapped out of his daze. He wanted to help Song Duannian up, but given the latter’s sensitive pride, pity from someone in Shi Zhou’s awkward position would only feel like further humiliation.

Shi Zhou hardened his heart. Fine, if I’m the villain, I’ll play the role to the hilt. Let’s burn this bridge today and make sure this bastard dies alone!

Unfortunately, Zheng Qi was now hyper-alert to Shi Zhou’s words. The moment Shi Zhou cleared his throat, “Ah Qi, you—”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!!” Zheng Qi roared on the verge of mental collapse, cutting him off in a fury.

So Shi Zhou grabbed two giant suitcases, “burst into tears,” and dramatically fled—

Only to get stuck in the doorway for a second, almost laughing and ruining the act.

Qin Yancheng followed. Before stepping out, he gave Zheng Qi one last inscrutable look, making the latter shudder like a quail, not daring to meet his eyes.

In the car, Shi Zhou sniffled, “Got any tissues?”

Qin Yancheng glanced at him. Shi Zhou’s big eyes blinked, red-rimmed and still misty with tears, his fair cheeks flushed. The sight seemed to trigger some unpleasant memory for Qin Yancheng—his grip on the steering wheel tightened abruptly.

Silently, he handed over a tissue box. Shi Zhou stared out the window, roughly yanking out a few sheets to wipe his tears before slamming his fist on the center console in frustration.

“Fuck! I’m so pissed! It’s like that saying—you can’t save someone hell-bent on destruction. What kind of trash did he stumble into? Worst luck ever!”

He wasn’t talking about himself but Song Duannian. Who knew how their mess would play out now? Given this was a toxic melodrama, even more jaw-dropping, illegal antics were surely coming.

His tone and demeanor were a stark contrast to his current appearance—laced with a roguish, devil-may-care attitude. Qin Yancheng’s lips pressed together, as if seeing Shi Zhou in a new light. Amused, he said mildly, “Good advice can’t save the damned, and great compassion can’t redeem the self-destructive.”

Shi Zhou sighed in agreement—then suddenly felt Qin Yancheng wasn’t just talking about Song Duannian, but hinting at something else.

But he didn’t dwell on it, instead turning his thoughts to practical matters: now that he had his ID, should he rent a place or use his remaining savings for a cheap apartment down payment?

After a brief silence, Qin Yancheng suddenly asked, “How much did Zheng Qi pay you monthly?”

Shi Zhou bounced back quickly, seizing the chance to tease, “Why? Beauty, are you offering to keep me?”

To his shock, Qin Yancheng actually replied with a faint “Mnn.”

Shi Zhou: ???

Earlier, he’d deliberately clung to Qin Yancheng’s coattails for safety under the guise of being the “possible Mrs. Qin,” but he’d never planned to stick around long-term.

To survive, he needed to stay far away from this madman. The less entanglement, the better.

—A cannon fodder stand-in and a cannon fodder white moonlight? Two doomed losers together won’t magically cancel out the doom.

So Shi Zhou put on an exaggerated show of indignation, “How could you insult me like this?! It was always about love! Love, you understand? My heart belongs only to the dashing, tender Ah Qi—”

Qin Yancheng cut in, “After today, Qixing Entertainment will blacklist you completely. You’ll lose all your resources.”

Shi Zhou’s words died in his throat.

Oh right. He’d been so focused on Zheng Qi being a scumbag, he’d forgotten Zheng Qi was also his boss. After today’s chaos, Zheng Qi would surely want to skin him alive.

“Don’t worry. I won’t touch you. I have no interest in men—especially not you.”

Shi Zhou knew Qin Yancheng was capricious, his actions unpredictable. Anything was possible with him.

Still, he couldn’t help being suspicious, “Are you running a charity? Or do you just admire my beauty? Wait—is your real name Lei Feng? Are you his descendant?” (TN: Lei Feng was the object of several major propaganda campaigns in China who was portrayed as a model citizen, and the masses were encouraged to emulate his selflessness, modesty, and devotion to Mao Zedong).

Qin Yancheng actually let out a soft laugh, tinged with mockery. He took off his sunglasses and looked at Shi Zhou. “I find you amusing.”

“…I can cover your contract damages.”

Shi Zhou’s eyes narrowed. This was too good to be true.

Free benefits? As an adult, a purely physical arrangement wouldn’t be a big deal. Shi Zhou, as gay as they come, would’ve paid for a night with this beauty.

Qin Yancheng continued leisurely, “It’s a whim. You have three minutes to decide.”

Shi Zhou was still skeptical—until he suddenly remembered Qin Yancheng’s life was on a countdown. He would die quietly, alone, on some unremarkable day this autumn or winter. Maybe today, maybe tomorrow.

And since Shi Zhou knew the ending, wasn’t it his moral duty to stay and save him? He’d regret it forever if he didn’t try.

Finally, he nodded cheerfully, “Deal.”

Qin Yancheng watched his sunny expression, as if the very air in the cramped car had turned sweet with his joy and felt disconcerted.

As if the tearful performance earlier had never happened. What an actor.

Shi Zhou flicked his braid, wondering privately. Is it because Qin Yancheng’s lonely?

His three-story, 700-square-meter villa housed only Aunt Zhang and four quiet, non-live-in housekeepers.

Every night he returned from work, only Aunt Zhang was there to cook before leaving him alone in the tomb-silent mansion.

What did he even do for fun? From Shi Zhou’s observations, aside from work, it seemed to be just reading, movies, and exercise—what a dull life for a 26-year-old. Even at 62, Shi Zhou wouldn’t be this boring.

“Where are we going now?”

“To—cough cough…!”

Qin Yancheng’s words were cut off by a violent coughing fit. He pulled over, yanked the handbrake, and covered his mouth with his fist, soon coughing so hard he could barely breathe.

Shi Zhou’s nerves immediately tightened, “Qin Yancheng? What’s wrong?”

Qin Yancheng seemed about to cough up a lung, unable to respond.

One of the early signs of an asthma attack. Was Qin Yancheng about to kick the bucket this suddenly?

Did I jinx this?! I haven’t even had time to learn first aid or buy medication!

Just as Shi Zhou secretly dialed “120” on his phone, Qin Yancheng finally stopped, gasping for air before calming down.

He turned to see Shi Zhou staring at him strangely, as if he had some terminal illness.

You c an fi nd t he la te st cha pte rs at ( th e bl mu se . c o m )

“I just choked. Is there a problem?”

Shi Zhou locked his phone instantly, blinking sweetly. “Nope. Just showing proper concern for my sugar daddy~”

AN: Shi Zhou: *Intense staring.jpg* (This is what “proper concern” looks like!) (*￣︶￣)

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Shi Zhou tentatively asked, “Hey, Qin Yancheng, do you have asthma?”

Qin Yancheng remained silent.

Shi Zhou guessed that Qin Yancheng probably belonged to the category of people who had asthma in childhood but gradually outgrew it with age. Statistically, the chance of recurrence was low—but when fate’s gears turned, even the slightest possibility would ensure it killed him.

You c an fi nd t he la te st cha pte rs at ( th e bl mu se . c o m )

“Do you usually carry medication? You’re completely empty-handed—that’s dangerous. There’s a pharmacy over there. Driver, could you pull over for a sec?”

Qin Yancheng finally spoke, tersely, “Unnecessary.”

Shi Zhou couldn’t exactly play the prophet and announce Qin Yancheng’s impending death from this illness. He could only say, “I know you probably haven’t had an attack in years, but better safe than sorry. You’re treating your health so carelessly—what if you—”

Qin Yancheng slowly turned his head, his gaze locking onto Shi Zhou’s. His eyes darkened unnervingly, as if a switch had flipped. A chilling, predatory intensity radiated from him, like a leopard zeroing in on prey. The temperature in the car seemed to plummet.

Shi Zhou’s heart skipped a beat. What kind of reaction is this?!

Sure, some people avoided medical topics, but this was extreme.

In their few interactions so far, Qin Yancheng had always been detached and mild-mannered, lulling Shi Zhou into forgetting that it was all a facade—one that couldn’t mask the fact that he was, at his core, unhinged.

Only now did Shi Zhou realize how close he’d been dancing to danger without realizing it.

Qin Yancheng enunciated each word with icy precision. “I. Am. Not. Sick.”

Shi Zhou shuddered under that feral, venomous stare. He couldn’t pinpoint which part of his concern had triggered this outburst, but arguing with a madman was pointless. He backpedaled immediately. “Right, right, not sick. Just making conversation! No illness here.”

Qin Yancheng lowered his eyes, took a deep breath, and leaned back against the seat as if nothing had happened.

He seemed to know Shi Zhou had nowhere else to go. Without further comment, he let Shi Zhou follow him inside.

Last time, drunk and shameless, Shi Zhou had demanded to steal his bed. But sober, Shi Zhou had manners—he knew guests didn’t commandeer their host’s room.

Aunt Zhang, seeing him again, didn’t bat an eye. She even asked why she hadn’t seen him in days and when he’d move his belongings over, treating him like the “official wife.”

It wasn’t surprising everyone assumed this. Qin Yancheng was twenty-six—tall, handsome, wealthy, powerful—yet in all these years, there was no one, male or female, to ever accompany him. Shi Zhou’s appearance was like a rose blooming on an iron tree—unexpected and thrilling.

Fresh from his shower, Qin Yancheng found Shi Zhou still glued to his phone, though the little alligator in his game was now drenched in haphazard purple liquid—its player oblivious, too busy stealing lustful glances at Qin Yancheng.

Qin Yancheng’s damp hair dripped onto his shoulders, hastily towel-dried. As he raised his arm, the collar of his white robe loosened, revealing glimpses of lean, defined abs. His arms, too, were sculpted—not bulky but aesthetically pleasing.

Shi Zhou hadn’t expected someone so tall and slender to be so well-built. Clearly, Qin Yancheng was disciplined about fitness.

Last time, Qin Yancheng hadn’t questioned Shi Zhou about the “stand-in” situation. Now, he seemed suddenly interested. “What’s your relationship with Zheng Qi?”

Shi Zhou seized the chance to look openly, shaking his head emphatically. “None whatsoever!”

Qin Yancheng smirked coldly. “Then who told you to grow out your hair and wear a high ponytail?”

Caught red-handed, even Shi Zhou—thick-skinned as he was—felt awkward facing the original. His toes curled invisibly, but he feigned innocence, earnest and clueless. “It’s called fashion. Long hair stands out. My fans love it.”

Qin Yancheng: “Do you love it?”

“I—love it!” Shi Zhou touched his hair, realizing it was still in the twin tails from earlier. He pulled out the bands, letting the thick locks cascade down.

Qin Yancheng said nothing more, turning to leave for his room.

Shi Zhou suddenly sprang up, snatching the towel from Qin Yancheng’s hands and pulling him onto the couch. “Beauty, you’ll catch cold with wet hair. Here, let me dry it for you.”

Qin Yancheng seemed about to push him away, his hand lifting slightly—but in the end, he didn’t resist.

Shi Zhou’s fingers threaded through Qin Yancheng’s hair, brushing his scalp. A faint, warm tingle spread through him—an odd sensation, likely because no one had ever been this physically close before.

Shi Zhou’s movements were clumsy—clearly his first time playing servant. The young master had never waited on anyone.

After a while, Shi Zhou cleared his throat, adopting a playful tone. “So, beauty, how’s the service?”

Qin Yancheng stayed silent.

“Give me a good review, and I’ll cash it in for a favor, okay?” Not waiting for an answer, he barreled on, “Here’s the thing—I need to grab my stuff from Zheng Qi’s place. Especially my ID and household register book…”

He paused, then declared with exaggerated gravity. “The world’s a scary place, and I’m just a baby. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Qin Yancheng wordlessly took back the towel and shooed him off to bed.

With the guest room now properly furnished, Shi Zhou didn’t have to sleep on the sofa. Lying in bed, he replayed Qin Yancheng’s microexpressions earlier. Could he have actually thought I genuinely cared about him sleeping with wet hair?

As if! Shi Zhou was a spoiled brat who’d never lifted a finger. He wouldn’t fawn over someone just because they were pretty.

The next morning, Shi Zhou burrowed deeper into the blankets, squinting against the light. Through his drowsiness, he saw Qin Yancheng enter and place a set of new clothes—innerwear included—by the bedside. Trying them on, he found the fit perfect. Clearly bought just for him. Qin Yancheng was surprisingly considerate.

The dining table was already set. Drawn by the aroma, Shi Zhou shuffled down in slippers.

Qin Yancheng sat reading documents, posture impeccable as always. Morning light streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, softening his features. His slightly overgrown bangs fell casually over his forehead, and the deep blue loungewear added to his serene aura.

—Like a masterpiece painting.

Hearing footsteps, he glanced up, surveying Shi Zhou’s outfit before stating, “I can take you to pack your things today.”

Shi Zhou nearly cheered but restrained himself, replying with dignity. “How gracious of you, President Qin.”

He’d planned to ask Qin Yancheng to send someone—preferably a bodyguard to shield him from Zheng Qi’s wrath. Never expected Qin Yancheng himself to volunteer.

With Qin Yancheng present, retrieving his belongings and documents would be a breeze.

They soon went down to the garage which resembled a luxury car exhibition. Anyone else might’ve been dazzled by this display of “money power,” but Shi Zhou came from comparable wealth. The model to the left? His brother had gifted it for his birthday. The one beside it? Bought with his allowance.

Qin Yancheng headed for a black Evija—eye-catching and sleek, rivaling the rainbow Bugatti Shi Zhou had died in.

“Tsk, look at these rides. Who knew you had such flair? I pegged you as the conservative type.”

Qin Yancheng slid into the driver’s seat, donning sunglasses. Deadpan, he asked, “I’m twenty-six, not sixty-two. Should I be driving a Lincoln Town Car?”

Shi Zhou burst out laughing.

Qin Yancheng drove smoothly. Lost in thought, Shi Zhou plotted his next steps. Before dying, he’d had one regret: never becoming an actor.

He’d graduated top of his class from the National Film Academy, expecting to live as a carefree rich kid chasing stardom—until his brother’s sudden death forced him into the family business, taking up Shi Li’s burden.

Now, this body’s original host was an actor too—except with zero talent or passion, only in it for the money.

The irony. Born into wealth, a natural performer robbed of his dream because of money. Meanwhile, this impoverished, untalented nobody had to enter the industry for the same reason.

“Hey, what if no one’s home?” Shi Zhou asked as they stood by the elevator.

“They will be.” Qin Yancheng had already had Secretary Bai notify Zheng Qi. “Which floor?”

Shi Zhou opened his mouth—then froze, blinking blankly at Qin Yancheng.

Qin Yancheng frowned, as baffled as when Shi Zhou had lifted his skirt to check his gender.

Ten minutes later, with the property manager’s help, they found the right door.

“Shi Zhou, just what is your relationship with him?”

Shi Zhou stuck to his guns. “Absolutely nothing!”

Qin Yancheng, unconvinced, knocked.

Zheng Qi opened the door, his expression faltering at the sight of Qin Yancheng. Clearly, he hadn’t expected the man in person.

“President… Qin.”

“Mnn. Shi Zhou, pack your things.” Qin Yancheng’s face gave nothing away. Unable to gauge his mood, Zheng Qi could only step aside respectfully.

Entering, Shi Zhou spotted Song Duannian—and the atmosphere instantly congealed.

To make room for Song Duannian, Zheng Qi had already had Shi Zhou’s belongings packed and ready to go.

Surveying “his” room—now occupied by another—Shi Zhou couldn’t fathom why Song Duannian would cling to this toxic relationship, with a man who had cuckolded him the whole time.

Zheng Qi had leaked explicit photos to cost Song Duannian his job. That alone deserved a knife to the gut—or at least lifelong enmity. Yet here Song Duannian was living with him, fully aware of Shi Zhou’s existence. What kind of delusion or lie kept him here?

Putting himself in Song Duannian’s shoes—sleeping in his lover’s almost-ex’s bed, surrounded by remnants of that relationship—how wasn’t he disgusted?

If he wasn’t, Shi Zhou was disgusted for him. Reading the novel, he’d nearly rage-quit, wanting to kick the scumbag male lead to death and shake some sense into Song Duannian. Love shouldn’t eclipse self-respect—especially with worse horrors awaiting him. A lawless bastard like Zheng Qi had no limits.

The written version had been infuriating enough. Witnessing it firsthand made Shi Zhou’s blood boil.

You c an fi nd t he la te st cha pte rs at ( th e bl mu se . c o m )

But with Qin Yancheng here, Zheng Qi wouldn’t dare act out.

So Shi Zhou, mischief stirring, decided to push his luck.

Right in front of Song Duannian, he walked toward Zheng Qi with a lovesick gaze—

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Zheng Qi was already uneasy, and Qin Yancheng’s gaze made his skin crawl. Fortunately, the cold dishes arrived just then, and the group began chatting aimlessly before starting the first round of toasts—beginning with Qin Yancheng. Only then did Qin Yancheng look away, as if his earlier stare had been nothing more than a casual glance.  

Shi Zhou, staring into space, assessed his situation. At the very least, clinging to Qin Yancheng’s thigh tonight is non-negotiable. I have to make sure he takes me with him after this.

You c an fi nd t he la te st cha pte rs at ( th e bl mu se . c o m )

He still couldn’t fully grasp Qin Yancheng’s temperament. The novel’s descriptions of the “white moonlight” were sparse, offering only glimpses of a man whose actions were unpredictable.  

Though Shi Zhou prided himself on being adaptable, the young master he’d once been rarely had to “adapt.” As a result, he was at a loss for words when it came to flattery. The silence between them lasted until the hot dishes were served.  

Shi Zhou took a bite of the sizzling beef and found it delicious—then remembered how others used to curry favor with him. Inspiration struck. He eagerly picked up a piece with his chopsticks and placed it in Qin Yancheng’s bowl.  

But Shi Zhou didn’t realize he’d missed a crucial detail—  

Others had used serving chopsticks when they did this for him.

Qin Yancheng had been watching the hollow flattery around him with indifference. When Shi Zhou’s chopsticks appeared in his bowl, he turned, frowning at the meat, then gave Shi Zhou a baffled look.  

His gaze met Shi Zhou’s sparkling eyes—bright and cunning, like a fox proudly wagging its fluffy tail. Though Shi Zhou tried to maintain a composed facade, his blinking eyes seemed to scream, “Praise me! I did so well!” 

Seeing Qin Yancheng frozen, Shi Zhou tilted his head slightly. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the others subtly observing their interaction. Master Qin, please don’t embarrass me in front of everyone. I’m counting on your attitude to warn these people off! At least appreciate how damn good this beef is!  

Perhaps it was the sheer brilliance of Shi Zhou’s eyes—so unlike the sickly gloom of Qin Yancheng’s own youth. Shi Zhou’s pupils were dark and large, gleaming like polished obsidian, effortlessly captivating.  

After a pause, Qin Yancheng wordlessly pushed the meat aside. He didn’t eat it, but he didn’t reject it outright either.  

Taking this as tacit approval, Shi Zhou felt he’d cracked the code. He immediately began piling more dishes into Qin Yancheng’s bowl—the crispy duck was delicious, the steamed pork ribs were excellent…  

By the time the others finished their hollow pleasantries and Qin Yancheng had endured two rounds of toasts, his bowl was overflowing.  

Qin Yancheng finally pressed down on Shi Zhou’s chopstick-wielding hand and said quietly, “Enough. Get me a glass of warm water.”  

Shi Zhou noticed Qin Yancheng pulling out a pillbox, his complexion growing paler by the second. “What’s wrong? Stomachache?”  

Qin Yancheng’s jaw tightened, his lips pressed into a thin line. Seeing he was in too much pain to speak, Shi Zhou quickly stood to fetch a server.  

Their intimate exchanges—the food-sharing, the whispered conversations—hadn’t gone unnoticed.  

This was unprecedented, entirely unprecedented.

Those familiar with Qin Yancheng knew that if someone used their own chopsticks to serve him, he’d refuse to touch the entire bowl. The fact that he didn’t dump it over the offender’s head was solely due to his ingrained manners.  

But for Shi Zhou, he made an exception. Such double standards, Mr. Qin.

Zheng Qi watched the entire scene, baffled. When did Shi Zhou and Qin Yancheng even meet? How did they get this close? An uncomfortable knot twisted in his chest, something stuck in his throat that he couldn’t swallow or spit out.  

—Shi Zhou was just a cheap stand-in, trash Zheng Qi had discarded. Who he ended up with shouldn’t matter.  

So why did it have to be Qin Yancheng?!

Qin Yancheng was someone who had always been untouchable, even in their youth. Zheng Qi still remembered the first time he’d mustered the courage to approach him—Qin Yancheng, preparing for a speech backstage, had merely glanced at Zheng Qi’s stammering attempts at conversation, uttered a single “Mnn,” and nothing more.  

Now, everyone addressed him as “President Qin,” treating him with even more reverence.  

So why was Shi Zhou—this cheap, lowly thing—the sole exception?! 

Zheng Qi gripped his chopsticks so hard they nearly snapped, unable to suppress the jealousy and resentment burning inside him. It felt like an unspeakable humiliation.  

Someone suddenly remarked, “Hey, Zheng Qi, weren’t you and President Qin schoolmates?”  

Zheng Qi snapped back to reality, hastily masking his bitterness with an ingratiating smile. He raised his glass. “Ah, yes! I was fortunate enough to share a campus with President Qin. You probably don’t remember me, but let me toast you first.” He stood, bowing slightly as he extended his cup.  

Qin Yancheng nodded slightly without expression. A slender finger tapped the base of his glass cup—  

Just as he was about to pour it onto the floor outright, denying Zheng Qi even the slightest courtesy—  

Shi Zhou returned, immediately spotting the glass in Qin Yancheng’s hand.  

Is Zheng Qi blind? Can’t he see Qin Yancheng’s already in pain from drinking?

No wonder he couldn’t win over his white moonlight.

Shi Zhou stepped forward. “Hold on—since Zheng Qi and I have some history, let me drink this on President Qin’s behalf.”  

Without waiting for a response, he took the glass from Qin Yancheng and downed it in one go.  

The word “history” sent ripples through the room.  

Those who hadn’t believed the rumors about Shi Zhou and Zheng Qi now wore odd expressions. Shi Zhou might as well have stamped a seal on the gossip himself.  

Even more astonishing was Qin Yancheng’s reaction—or lack thereof. Aside from a faint flicker of surprise, he showed no displeasure at Shi Zhou’s audacity. No reprimand, no scolding.  

Shi Zhou casually returned the glass to Qin Yancheng and resumed eating. His manners, refined and effortless, made him seem every bit the young master from a privileged family. Next to Qin Yancheng’s imposing presence, he didn’t seem the least bit out of place—as if they were a perfect match.  

Unaware of the scrutiny, Shi Zhou focused solely on the food. The last few days’ meals have been miserable. Might as well enjoy this while I can.  

This could be his last supper after all.  

—Cannon fodder existed to be trampled with the shittiest luck ever. Who knew what other traps lay ahead?  

A server approached. “Sir, your warm water.”  

Shi Zhou handed it to Qin Yancheng, urging him to take his medicine. Up close, he could see the sheen of cold sweat on Qin Yancheng’s forehead, his lips drained of color despite his stoic expression.  

This is what they call “cherishing beauty.” Hard not to feel bad seeing someone so good-looking in pain.  

The others pieced together the reason for the discomfort and the intercepted toast. Shi Zhou’s got guts. After all, no one knew where Qin Yancheng’s unpredictable temper might flare, so most erred on the side of caution.  

Yet Shi Zhou, whether by luck or instinct, walked the tightrope with surprising balance.  

Zhang Zhenqing, belatedly realizing Qin Yancheng’s discomfort, hurriedly asked what tea he preferred. Qin Yancheng, staring at his wine glass—as if still feeling the ghost of Shi Zhou’s lips on the rim—noticed the flush creeping up Shi Zhou’s cheeks and the corners of his eyes.  

“Get him orange juice,” Qin Yancheng said.  

Zhang Zhenqing rushed to comply, inwardly kicking himself. If he’d known earlier he would’ve treated Shi Zhou better. He’d assumed Qin Yancheng’s interest in this nobody was fleeting—something to indulge and discard. All he had to do was dress him upsendpresent him on a platter. 

But this “nobody” might be more than he seemed.

Shi Zhou, feeling the alcohol’s effects, sipped his juice, lamenting the loss of his former physique with high alcohol tolerance. The room’s initial leering and speculation had shifted to awe and curiosity.  

The original Shi Zhou had reached the point of being trampled into the dirt, a target for anyone’s scorn. Even after narrowly escaping his fate upon transmigrating, he’d been dragged back into it days later—forced into a dress, reduced to a plaything and returned to his former fate.  

In that case, no matter what comes next, I have to make Qin Yancheng take me away tonight. Falling into these pigs’ hands would be disastrous.  

He tried to express concern for the beauty again, hoping to foster goodwill, but the alcohol dulled his inhibitions. Without thinking, he clapped Qin Yancheng on the back like an old buddy.  

“Your stomach’s bad—stay away from alcohol. Feeling any better?”  

Qin Yancheng stiffened, as if unaccustomed to such casual concern. He averted his eyes from Shi Zhou’s earnest gaze, his fingers curling slightly against the table.  

—His expression was strange. Not quite happy or unhappy, but… suppressed. As if holding back something repulsive or terrifying. A secret.  

Shi Zhou, trained in acting, was more attuned to microexpressions than most. He immediately realized he’d overstepped—  

Thankfully, Qin Yancheng didn’t call him out in public.

Just as he prepared to fade into the background, he locked eyes with Zheng Qi’s scorching glare—  

Shi Zhou raised a brow and flashed a bright, provocative smile.  

—Die, scumbag. Forgotten about Song Duannian already?

The whole “lovers-to-rivals” dynamic between Shi Zhou and Zheng Qi was bizarre, but firstly, Shi Zhou and Qin Yancheng weren’t nearly as close as everyone imagined. They’d barely spoken. 

Besides, Zheng Qi, despite his muscular build and passable looks, couldn’t compare to Qin Yancheng’s long legs and broad shoulders. What, was he planning to be a short top?  

Night had fallen. Qin Yancheng’s driver waited outside.  

Overjoyed, Shi Zhou plopped into the backseat, shutting the door neatly. “President Qin, as beautiful inside as out. Good deeds bring good karma.”  

He scooted closer.  

Qin Yancheng, who usually avoided these chaotic gatherings, had—after terrifying Zhang Zhenqing into a cowering mess—ultimately taken Shi Zhou with him under those pleading eyes.  

Away from prying eyes, Qin Yancheng’s last shred of pretense vanished. “Stay away from me,” he said coldly. “…Do you really enjoy cross-dressing that much?”  

Seeing Shi Zhou’s face—so similar to his own younger self—paired with that long hair was unsettling.  

Shi Zhou protested immediately. “Of course not! I’m all man, okay?”  

—This was all Zhang Zhenqing’s stupid idea to suck up to you. Who’s the one with the fetish here? 

Shi Zhou blinked, his large eyes gleaming in the dim car. He leaned in, deliberately pitching his voice higher. “Master Qin, do you like me~?”  

But Qin Yancheng, slumped against the seat, didn’t respond.  

His long, elegant fingers pressed tightly against his upper abdomen, veins standing out from the strain. His knuckles whitened from the force of his grip—clearly struggling against the pain.  

“Hey, still hurting?” Shi Zhou sobered slightly.  

Qin Yancheng’s health wasn’t great. Shi Zhou remembered the novel’s ending—Qin Yancheng’s death from an asthma-triggered heart attack.  

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Logically, his asthma and heart condition shouldn’t have been severe. He might not even have considered himself sick, given how he never carried medication. In the end, it was a rather senseless way to go.

Shi Zhou sighed, feeling a kinship in their shared misfortune. A scripted death, just like mine.

And if memory served, Qin Yancheng didn’t have much time left.

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Shi Zhou was inexplicably stuffed into a pink dress, just like on the night he transmigrated. Tied to a chair again, he endured the ordeal of being groomed and made up.

“Hey, I won’t struggle—can you not tie me up?” Shi Zhou asked with a grin.

It wasn’t that he was calm or fearless, but he knew he was completely helpless here. Any resistance would be futile.

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The makeup artist styled Shi Zhou’s hair into twin tails, meticulously applying cosmetics. Shi Zhou was forced to “open your eyes,” “look down,” “close your eyes.” As he caught sight of the pink dress he was wearing, only one thought crossed his mind:

Is it true that cross-dressing is either zero times or countless times? But what kind of curse is this, forcing him into a dress again? It looks like they’re dolling me up to gift me to someone—what kind of freak has such bizarre tastes?!

Shi Zhou forced another awkward laugh. “Quite the grand occasion, huh?”

The male makeup artist, pinky raised, giggled. “Oh, we’re all jealous you get this chance! You’re such a cutie—I like you. Here, take some ‘little raincoats of love.’”

With that, he stuffed five or six condoms into the pastel pink handbag meant to match Shi Zhou’s dress.

Shi Zhou feigned indifference, but internally, he was screaming. My first time in two lifetimes, and it’s going to be forced on me like this?! It seemed his only option was to wait and see how things played out.

Five to six burly men stood guard by the door. Escape was impossible.

Might as well seriously consider—if he bashed his head hard enough, could he transmigrate back?

A three-car pileup caused a traffic jam that lasted nearly half an hour.

Zheng Qi checked his watch anxiously. Luckily, he’d left early, intending to arrive half an hour ahead. Now, it looked like he’d barely make it on time.

By the time he entered the private room, most guests had already arrived—mostly CEOs of film and talent agencies. The major investors of Jinshui Film Studio hadn’t shown up yet.

The seat of honor remained empty, reserved for the studio’s largest shareholder.

Zheng Qi’s talent agency was looking to expand into film production. Though the night’s main players hadn’t arrived, there were still plenty of connections to be made.

Zhang Zhenqing waved. “Ol’ Zheng, over here.”

Zheng Qi acknowledged him, then froze mid-step when his gaze landed on—

Shi Zhou, clad in a frilly pink dress, his twin tails tied with bright pink bows, standing obediently as the makeup artist did final touch-ups before leading him to a side room.

Zheng Qi immediately grabbed Shi Zhou’s wrist, stopping him. He turned to Zhang Zhenqing.

“Why is he here?”

“Owes me money. Paying off debts,” Zhang Zhenqing shrugged, unfazed. He didn’t understand Zheng Qi’s strong reaction.

“Zhang Zhenqing, you know he and I—”

“Ah, didn’t you already kick him out? Yesterday, you confirmed it yourself. And today, he said the same thing. Enough chatter—let’s get him prettied up and sent over. Once President Qin arrives—”

“President Qin… You’re giving him to Qin Yancheng?! Wait—Qin Yancheng is coming?!”

Zheng Qi’s mind went blank, as if struck by lightning. His recent paranoia and anxiety had blinded him to such crucial news?!

Zhang Zhenqing, unaware of Zheng Qi’s twisted thoughts about Qin Yancheng—or why Shi Zhou had stayed by Zheng Qi’s side for two years—looked at him like he was an alien. “You just found out President Qin is Jinshui’s major shareholder?”

Then, realization dawned. “My bad. President Qin dislikes publicity—this was insider info. I forgot to mention it. But you run a talent agency. You’re not completely out of the loop—how’d you miss this?”

Zheng Qi opened his mouth to respond—

The door swung open. A server pulled out the seat of honor.

The man who entered wore a tailored beige suit, his handsome features and tall frame exuding an intimidating aura even before he spoke. The room instantly quieted.

Everyone rose to greet him enthusiastically. Zhang Zhenqing, delayed by Zheng Qi’s outburst, hadn’t had time to hide Shi Zhou away for a grand reveal later. Now, they were stuck in this awkward situation.

Qin Yancheng’s gaze immediately landed on the room’s most eye-catching figure—Shi Zhou, glowing pink under the lights. His eyes narrowed slightly.

But he said nothing, nodding in acknowledgment before taking his seat at the head of the table.

Only then did the others sit.

Zheng Qi had no choice but to retreat to his seat, embarrassed.

His mind had been so scattered lately that he’d forgotten to ask about this. Seeing Qin Yancheng after Shi Zhou’s recent stunt was nerve-wracking enough—but now Shi Zhou was here too.

Qin Yancheng glanced at Shi Zhou. “Why is he here?”

Zheng Qi’s heart sank. They really do know each other. Shi Zhou hadn’t lied. And Qin Yancheng’s first question tonight was actually about Shi Zhou.

This wasn’t part of Zhang Zhenqing’s plan. Presenting a “gift” to Qin Yancheng in public was already awkward—but doing so in front of everyone, like some crude pimp?

Luckily, Zhang Zhenqing was no stranger to scandals. With practiced ease, he smiled. “I helped him out of a tight spot. Then I heard you had some… interest in Shi Zhou, so I brought him along.”

Qin Yancheng’s expression darkened slightly. He knew this was Zhang Zhenqing’s attempt to curry favor. Such underhanded dealings were rampant in the industry—an unspoken rule.

But no one liked having their every move scrutinized. He’d only wanted to investigate this person who bore such a striking resemblance to his younger self.

A few extra glances, a few extra questions—and now the rumors had spread, with people rushing to offer him “gifts.”

Shi Zhou, meanwhile, blinked desperately at Qin Yancheng, eyes nearly twitching from the effort. Did he get my SOS signal?

“Bring another chair. He’ll sit beside me,” Qin Yancheng finally said.

Shi Zhou had pieced it together now. What a grand offering—and the offering is me. Qin Yancheng clearly had no idea.

The novel Shi Zhou transmigrated into was a brainless, toxic romance—meaning its legal system was conveniently lax to allow the scumbag male lead’s antics.

Caught between money and power, danger lurked everywhere. Right now, Qin Yancheng seemed like the only safe haven.

The moment Shi Zhou saw it was Qin Yancheng, his tense nerves relaxed.

Qin Yancheng wasn’t arrogant despite the flattery surrounding him. Instead, he appeared calm, even wearing a faint smile—

Except that smile didn’t reach his cold, distant eyes. His mere presence seemed to lower the room’s air pressure.

Thanks to their one-night stay together and the novel’s descriptions, Shi Zhou knew Qin Yancheng wasn’t malicious, just eccentric. So he wasn’t afraid, sitting boldly beside him.

Throughout the dinner, many stole glances their way, clearly trying to determine Shi Zhou’s gender.

He had a slender, youthful build but stood at 180 cm. With delicate makeup, his features were androgynously beautiful. But he was definitely male… right?

But what shocked everyone more was why Qin Yancheng—known for his indifference to such things—had suddenly taken an interest in this tranny.

Under the table, Shi Zhou gently nudged Qin Yancheng’s knee with his own. Time to swallow his pride!

He whispered sweetly, “President Qin, take me with you later, okay?”

Qin Yancheng turned, studying Shi Zhou as if seeing him for the first time. His eyes remained deep and unreadable, but the corner of his lips quirked with faint amusement.

“Changed your tune today? No more ‘beauty’?”

You c an fi nd t he la te st cha pte rs at ( th e bl mu se . c o m )

Shi Zhou knew when to bend. Immediately, he gushed, “President Qin, I was blind before! Look at this table—you’re the handsomest by far. I really admire sir’s bearing. I’m… I’m your biggest fan! Really!”

He almost laughed at his own words, quickly gulping water to hide it.

Qin Yancheng glanced at Shi Zhou’s swaying twin tails but said nothing. Then his gaze lifted, landing squarely on Zheng Qi.

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Confident in his understanding of his own brother’s temperament, Shi Qing sat leisurely in a chair, legs crossed, listening to the phone call on speaker.

But when Shi Zhou casually ended the call with a final remark, completely disregarding his life or death, Shi Qing was left dumbfounded. His expression quickly shifted to one of terror, like a tightrope walker who suddenly realizes mid-air that their safety rope isn’t properly secured.

You c an fi nd t he la te st cha pte rs at ( th e bl mu se . c o m )

The burly man holding the phone also froze for a second before kicking Shi Qing to the ground and roaring, “Are you fucking with me?! Is this the ‘brother who’d sell his blood for you’ you were bragging about?”

Shi Qing never expected Shi Zhou to be so heartless.

Back when they were poor, Shi Zhou had actually sold his blood to help pay off Shi Qing’s debts. He had been so good to him back then. How could he suddenly change after becoming a celebrity, making so much money, and even climbing into the good graces of President Zheng?

Money really does corrupt people, turning them ugly and cruel!

“No! Brother Zhao, this can’t be! My brother wouldn’t do this! There’s no way he’d really abandon me… Let me call him again—he must be joking! Or maybe he thought it was a scam. This time, I’ll talk to him myself!”

Shi Qing took out his phone, cleared his throat, and quickly summoned tears to his eyes.

Too bad no talent scouts were around to witness this performance—it was Oscar-worthy.

Shi Zhou was undressing to take a shower. The clothes Qin Yancheng had lent him were too loose, so he’d bought a new set from a roadside store to make do.

Seeing Shi Qing’s call, he didn’t even answer—he just hung up.

Shi Qing and Zhao Tai listened to the automated “The number you have dialed…” message and exchanged glances.

Zhao Tai’s expression darkened. Shi Qing swallowed his tears and scrambled to his feet, standing nervously to the side.

Zhao Tai said coldly, “So, what’s your plan now? Shi Qing, if it weren’t for your brother being a celebrity with money, do you think I’d have been so patient with you?”

Shi Qing forced a smile. “I still have a way.”

After his shower, Shi Zhou scrolled through his WeChat messages, trying to sort out his social connections.

The original host’s relationships weren’t complicated: a dependent younger brother (Shi Qing), a sugar daddy (Zheng Qi), and the so-called “friends” he’d met upon transmigrating—not a single decent person among them. They’d taken money and sold him out without hesitation. Luckily, Shi Zhou had reacted faster than the original host and ran into Qin Yancheng, narrowly escaping his cannon fodder fate.

Then there was his agent, Li Cheng, and a personal assistant.

Checking the chat history, Shi Zhou realized Li Cheng hadn’t contacted him in over two months.

In the entertainment industry, where trends shifted at lightning speed, disappearing for two months was practically career suicide.

At this point in the novel, Zheng Qi and Song Duannian’s relationship had heated up. Though Zheng Qi’s obsession with his unattainable white moonlight remained strong, he’d at least found a distraction.

Meanwhile, the stand-in, Shi Zhou, had gradually lost favor and access to Qixing Entertainment’s resources. It was time for him to exit the stage and meet his end.

Before bed, Shi Zhou lay there, racking his brain about the plot. He also wondered—would his father grieve his sudden death? His older brother’s death three years ago had already been a shock. Now, with him gone too…

Then again, he couldn’t help but feel a twisted satisfaction. His cold, heartless father—who knew if he’d mourn the loss of his sons or just his heirs?

He hadn’t even shown up to his eldest son’s funeral. Back then, Shi Zhou had been uncharacteristically bold and rebellious, nearly throwing fists with his own father in his grief and fury. Now, he could only wonder what kind of scene his own funeral would be.

Zheng Qi had been having a terrible few days. He’d gotten into a heated argument with Song Duannian, ending in a bitter stalemate and an ongoing cold war.

But what really unsettled him was whether Shi Zhou actually had some connection to Qin Yancheng. He knew enough about Qin Yancheng to understand that if Shi Zhou had stayed overnight at his villa, their relationship couldn’t be ordinary.

And he’d groomed Shi Zhou to look so much like a young Qin Yancheng… Had Qin Yancheng noticed?

The thought made Zheng Qi lose his appetite, his anxiety gnawing at him. This restless, defeated state lasted days until his friend Zhang Zhenqing snapped him out of it with an invitation:

“Hey, Zheng Qi, I’ve set up a dinner. You know about the Jinshui Film Studio project, right? A few top-tier investors—big names, all of them. Took a lot of effort to get them together.”

Zheng Qi perked up immediately. An opportunity to rub shoulders with the ultra-wealthy and powerful didn’t come often. He pushed aside his worries and asked eagerly, “When? I’ll get ready.”

“Four this afternoon, Nansheng International. Gotta go—gotta invite a few others. Sharing the wealth, you know?”

The Jinshui Film Studio was being built to rival the largest and most advanced in the world, a massive deal in the industry. Zheng Qi hadn’t had the chance to get his foot in the door yet, and the reclusive major shareholder’s identity remained a mystery.

Zheng Qi marveled at Zhang Zhenqing’s connections. Putting together a gathering like this wasn’t easy—it took serious clout.

Bai Ran carefully double-checked everything prepared for tonight’s dinner to avoid any mistakes. The last secretary who’d forgotten the “Emperor’s” medicine had already been temporarily banished to the cold palace.

“President Qin, everything’s ready.”

Qin Yan gave a faint “Mnn,” his eyes skimming over the document labeled “Jinshui Film Studio Project, Phase Three.”

“Who submitted this breakdown?”

“Manager Wang.”

“Tell him to redo it. No bonus this year. If it happens again, he can make room for someone else.”

The Jinshui Film Studio was a massive investment, with kickbacks at every turn that could make someone rich for life. Some fools assumed Qin Yancheng was too busy to scrutinize the details, not realizing his photographic memory made it impossible to hide anything from him.

As soon as Zhang Zhenqing hung up on Zheng Qi, Zhao Tai asked eagerly, “President Zhang, what about the money…?”

Zhang Zhenqing nodded, signing a check. “Here.”

Shi Qing stood nearby, trembling. “Thank you, President Zhang. What about me and my brother…?”

“I’ve already bought your brother,” Zhang Zhenqing said disdainfully. “Now get lost. Tch—if I had a brother like you, I’d be disgusted.”

Shi Qing’s face flushed with humiliation. “Th-thank you, President Zhang. Really, thank you.”

With that, he instinctively glanced at Shi Zhou, who was tied up and gagged on the sofa.

—While all this was being said, Shi Zhou could only watch helplessly, his mouth stuffed so full he couldn’t even make a noise. Otherwise, he’d have been screaming, what the hell?! Shi Qing’s the one who borrowed from loan sharks, so why am I the one being sold by the pound?!

Even if they were harvesting organs, was his flesh some kind of premium delicacy?

The worst part? They’d gagged him, robbing him of the chance to say, I can pay!

Rewind to that morning.

The sun was high when Shi Zhou finally woke up. He’d stayed up late familiarizing himself with the entertainment industry’s major players and their connections, even memorizing faces to avoid the embarrassment of not recognizing a colleague and being accused of “acting like a diva.”

The original host had terrible public relations—a C-list star with a reputation so bad it was infamous.

A talentless pretty boy who’d skyrocketed from obscurity by sleeping his way to the top—even without solid proof, rumors alone were enough to ruin Shi Zhou.

His acting was atrocious, his skills nonexistent, and his personality timid and awkward. Despite his resources, he’d flopped spectacularly, a fitting end for a cannon fodder side character.

Though Zheng Qi had never touched Shi Zhou out of some twisted “purity” complex, the original host couldn’t exactly go around proclaiming his chastity. Worse, he’d been infatuated with the scumbag, wishing they had slept together.

Rubbing his eyes, Shi Zhou headed downstairs for food.

The moment he stepped into the lobby, he saw eight or nine burly men in skin-tight black shirts, unfazed by the autumn chill thanks to their bulging muscles.

No dragon-and-tiger tattoos or sunglasses like in the movies, but their “up to no good” vibes were unmistakable.

His instincts screamed danger. He turned to run, only to find himself surrounded.

Trapped, Shi Zhou didn’t hesitate—he punched one guy square in the face, then took down another with a flawless armbar. The men were stunned. This Shi Zhou was nothing like the rumors.

But just a pair of fists was no match for numbers. Soon, Shi Zhou was pinned to the ground.

The receptionist watched in horror as Shi Zhou was tied up, too terrified to make a sound.

“If you want this little shop to stay open, act like nothing happened. Call the police or breathe a word, and we’ll find you. Got it?”

Back to the present.

Shi Zhou was trussed up like a turkey, the towel in his mouth making his jaw ache and his breathing labored. When Zhang Zhenqing finally looked his way, he frantically signaled that he’d like his mouth back, please.

Zhang Zhenqing ignored him. As the dinner’s host, he had too much to prepare.

Still, he couldn’t wrap his head around the rumors—why would someone like Qin Yancheng be into Shi Zhou’s neither male nor female act?

Seeing Zhang Zhenqing wasn’t paying attention, Shi Zhou took a deep breath and summoned his professional acting skills. His eyes rolled back, his body convulsed, and he flopped off the sofa onto the floor, twitching violently.

Zhang Zhenqing panicked. If Shi Zhou died on his watch, forget currying favor with Qin Yancheng—he’d be trading his suit for prison stripes. He yanked out the gag.

Finally free, Shi Zhou stretched his jaw with relief and stopped pretending.

Realizing he’d been tricked, Zhang Zhenqing snarled, “You looking to die?”

Shi Zhou flashed a sincere smile. “Hey, let’s talk this out, yeah? Friend, how much do you want? I’ll take out a loan if I have to. This is illegal confinement—not worth it for money, right?”

“Shut up!” Zhang Zhenqing snapped. “What’s your relationship with Zheng Qi now?”

Was this about Zheng Qi?

Sure, Shi Zhou had humiliated him in front of Song Duannian, but that was days ago. And this was way overkill—

Wait. Maybe Zheng Qi had pissed someone off, and they were taking it out on his “lover”!

Shi Zhou shook his head vehemently. “Nothing! We’re done! You’ve got the wrong guy. If I were still with him, would I be living in a dump like that?”

He even squeezed out a few tears, looking both wronged and vengeful. “I… Zheng Qi used me and threw me away. So, you’ve got a grudge against him? Then why come after me? I’m on your side—I just want—”

“You’re completely unrelated now?”

Shi Zhou nodded eagerly.

You c an fi nd t he la te st cha pte rs at ( th e bl mu se . c o m )

Zhang Zhenqing lit a cigarette. “Good. Then I won’t feel bad about betraying my buddy.”

Shi Zhou: ???

He dragged out an awkward “Ah…” before adding sheepishly, “Uh… actually, those were just angry words, truly.”

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“What the hell? Shi Zhou, what kind of act are you pulling?! You were just a stand-in from the start—don’t you fucking know your place?!” 

In his rage, Zheng Qi blurted out the words “stand-in”—and immediately regretted it.  

Shi Zhou grinned, mouthing “teehee” with a mocking eyebrow raise. Zheng Qi’s fury boiled over. He raised his hand, about to slap Shi Zhou across the face.  

You c an fi nd t he la te st cha pte rs at ( th e bl mu se . c o m )

But Shi Zhou was ready.  

He grabbed Zheng Qi’s arm, pivoted, and—  

“THUD!”

A flawless shoulder throw sent Zheng Qi crashing onto his back!

Zheng Qi lay sprawled on the floor, his expression a masterpiece of shock, rage, and humiliation—like he’d been forced to swallow a live fish. “Shi Zhou, I’ll fucking kill you—” 

Song Duannian, who had never seen anything like this, froze mid-sob, gaping at Shi Zhou.  

Shi Zhou smirked, resisting the urge to bow and say “good match.” This body might be smaller and weaker than his last, but muscle memory from his past life’s combat training remained.  

Then, switching back to melodramatic despair, he wailed at Song Duannian. “He said I’m a stand-in! Oh god—am I your stand-in?! Waaaah, I can’t go on living!”

But it was obvious that the two looked nothing alike. Shi Zhou was a strikingly beautiful youth but with a hint of sharp aggression, while Song Duannian’s looks were more gentle and scholarly.  

Song Duannian, now hysterical, “Zheng Qi! Whose stand-in is he?!”  

Zheng Qi scrambled up, murder in his eyes.  

Shi Zhou’s throw had relied on surprise. In a real fight, the size difference meant he’d lose. His young master temper had gotten the better of him—now he was about to pay for it.

As Zheng Qi roared and lunged, Shi Zhou had an idea.  

He yelled, “Zheng Qi! Touch me, and Qin Yancheng will end you!”  

Zheng Qi stiffened. The name “Qin Yancheng” hit like a thunderclap.  

Shi Zhou dodged back, pressing his advantage. “I slept at Mr. Qin’s place last night! These are his clothes! Think very carefully about what that means!”  

Zheng Qi frozen in place, eyes darting over Shi Zhou.  

The silence was broken when Song Duannian spoke first, sobbing and questioning Zheng Qi, demanding why he had provoked him since he already had a lover and a secret obsession, and why he had to ruin him and his future.  

The scene was chaos. Zheng Qi didn’t know who to address first.  

“No, wait! Bullshit!” Zheng Qi finally gathered his wits. “Qin Yancheng doesn’t touch anyone, least of all—least of all you.”  

Shi Zhou sneered, “Why ‘least of all me’? Because of how I look? Then tell me—whose stand-in am I?” 

“Shi Zhou, you dare have the fucking nerve to make such a lie?”

Zheng Qi didn’t know how Shi Zhou knew about Qin Yancheng, but he definitely had never told anyone about his hidden and dirty thoughts.

But based on his understanding of Qin Yancheng, he would definitely not bring anyone home. This must be Shi Zhou lying.

Shi Zhou pulled out his phone, flashing a photo. “Recognize who this is?”  

The image showed Qin Yancheng in black loungewear, hair slightly messy, holding a cup of tea in his obscenely luxurious home.  

Zheng Qi opened his mouth in surprise and remained speechless for a long time.

Shi Zhou breathed a sigh of relief. While having breakfast this morning, he was bewitched by Beauty Qin and took a few photos of him. They came in handy at this moment.

Song Duannian had no energy left to wonder who this “Qin” person was. Overwhelmed by grief and indignation, he turned and walked away.  

Zheng Qi hurried after him, finally leaving Shi Zhou behind as he shouted, “Duan Nian! Ask Shi Zhou yourself—I never laid a hand on him!”  

Qin Yancheng’s Office. 

Qin Yancheng signed documents while his secretary, Bai Ran, stood beside him, reporting dutifully, “President Qin, Shi Zhou is a minor celebrity signed under Qixing Entertainment.”  

Qin Yancheng gave a faint “Mm,” signaling her to continue.  

Bai Ran went on, “He comes from a poor background—no parents, raised his younger brother alone. Qixing initially marketed him with an ‘against-all-odds’ persona. According to industry rumors, he’s… involved with Qixing’s CEO, Zheng Qi. That’s how a talentless D-list actor was forcibly promoted to C-list, earning himself countless enemies and scandals along the way.”  

Qin Yancheng’s pen paused. “Zheng Qi?”  

Bai Ran, meticulous as always, immediately flipped through her notes to retrieve the prepared dossier on Zheng Qi.  

Before she could begin reading, Qin Yancheng spoke again, “No need. I know him.”  

After a brief moment of contemplation, the sordid truth became clear to him. A trace of imperceptible ruthlessness flashed in his eyes as his lips curled slightly.  

Bai Ran, keenly attuned to his displeasure, knew better than to linger. Having worked as his secretary for years, she understood that Qin Yancheng was far from the composed figure he appeared to be—his temper was, in fact, notoriously volatile.  

Softly, she asked, “…Shall I leave you to your work?”  

Qin Yancheng gave a slight nod, dismissing her.  

He pulled out his phone, opened Shi Zhou’s contact, and typed:  

[What’s your relationship with Zheng Qi?]

The moment he hit send, a red exclamation mark appeared.  

For a second, he didn’t process what had happened—until he realized:  

He’d been deleted.

Meanwhile, Shi Zhou.

Seizing the chance while Zheng Qi and Song Duannian were embroiled in their melodrama, Shi Zhou made a swift escape.  

The only downside? His temper had cost him his chance to retrieve his ID and belongings.  

With a sigh, he left the neighborhood, scrolling through rental listings on his phone.  

Then, his phone rang—the caller ID read “Shi Qing.” He blinked, thought for a few seconds, and answered.  

As expected, Shi Qing’s wailing voice came through: “Bro! Bro! Save me! I need 100,000 right now!”

Shi Zhou smirked but feigned concern, “Oh no! Are they going to chop off your fingers if you don’t pay?”  

“Yes! Yes!”

“100,000 per finger? Not bad! Might as well sell a few extras—maybe throw in some toes while you’re at it.”  

“…Bro?!” Shi Qing’s voice was laced with disbelief.  

“Dear brother, how could you use my hard-earned money to gamble?” Shi Zhou replied in an even more exaggerated tone of shock.  

After a pause, the call ended with an angry click.  

Shi Zhou shrugged. This gambling-addicted younger brother was nothing but a bloodsucking leech. The original host had even co-signed loans for him and taken out shady high-interest loans to cover his debts…  

But that was the original host—not Shi Zhou.  

Let them chop off his fingers for all he cared. He’d dug his own grave. 

After some effort, Shi Zhou found a shabby hostel that didn’t require ID—so rundown it lacked an elevator, with actual keys instead of keycards.  

The front desk, made of hollow particleboard, was chipped and warped. A listless middle-aged woman in a pilled green sweatshirt took his money with disinterest.  

As he climbed the stairs to his room, his phone rang again—an unknown number.  

“Hey! Your brother owes us three million. If you don’t pay today, it doubles tomorrow!”

Shi Zhou rolled his eyes. Again? “Who is this? Wrong number. I don’t have a brother.”

“Cut the crap! You want us to chop him up and sell his organs?!”

“Then you really dialed wrong. You should call 110 and confess to the police. What’s the point of telling me? Want me to transfer you? Service fees apply.”

You c an fi nd t he la te st cha pte rs at ( th e bl mu se . c o m )

With that, he hung up.  

Thinking back to the novel, Shi Qing had been utterly despicable—so morally bankrupt that he’d pushed his own brother off the edge of the metaphorical cliff in the end.  

The fact that Shi Zhou wasn’t cheering on the debt collectors was mercy enough.

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