The next second, Shi Zhou leaped up and swiftly blocked the screen, flipping it shut with a dramatic flair—the coolest move of his life.

“I was just writing randomly! I just… didn’t want to bother naming the characters, so I borrowed some names. I mean, Word has a find-and-replace function, so…” Shi Zhou stammered, his toes curling in embarrassment so hard they could’ve torn up the plush carpet beneath him—if not for its high quality, he might’ve ripped out a few tufts.

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After a few seconds of frantic toe-scrunching, he suddenly realized he was barefoot, and every mortified twitch was on full display.

Shi Zhou: …Fuck.

Qin Yancheng frowned slightly. He had only glanced at the screen reflexively.

His blood sugar was crashing, his vision swimming with dizziness and black spots, making it impossible to actually read anything.

But Shi Zhou’s flustered, defensive posture—like a little fox hiding behind its tail—radiated a warmth and liveliness that was both ridiculous and strangely comforting. Somehow, it soothed the inexplicable, simmering rage in Qin Yancheng’s chest.

He took a deep breath, shifting his focus from Zeng Yan and unauthorized IV drips—two things that would have normally sent him into a fury—to a new question—just what the hell did Shi Zhou write to make him this embarrassed?

Shi Zhou’s ears burned red. He stared down at his toes, which wiggled awkwardly as if waving hello.

The silence stretched on. Just as Shi Zhou began to fear he’d be thrown out—along with his laptop—or suffer the same fate as that unfortunate phone smashed against the wall, Qin Yancheng suddenly coughed violently before rushing to the bathroom, retching uncontrollably.

Shi Zhou abandoned his humiliation and hurried after him, patting his back. “What’s wrong? Stomach pain?”

Qin Yancheng shook his head, gesturing for him to leave.

“Should I call the doctor again?”

—This was exactly the wrong thing to say.

At the word doctor, Qin Yancheng also caught sight of the blood and needle marks on the back of his hand and immediately gagged harder, his whole body trembling as he dry-heaved.

He hadn’t eaten all day, and even though he had vomited out gastric juice and bile, he still couldn’t stop dry heaving, and his whole body was trembling slightly.

Shi Zhou thought this might be anger-induced and decided silence was best. After a while, Qin Yancheng rinsed his mouth and leaned heavily against the sink, his voice hoarse.

“Don’t overreact… No more doctors… If you can’t move me, just… leave me.”

Shi Zhou wondered if he was delirious again—until Qin Yancheng swayed and collapsed forward.

Shi Zhou barely caught him this time, thankfully avoiding a repeat of their first meeting. Now he understood Qin Yancheng’s earlier muttering.

But how could he not overreact? A grown man just fainted, and he wasn’t even allowed to call a doctor?

Qin Yancheng must have been too exhausted and distracted earlier to throw a tantrum. But the IV stand in the bedroom had already been knocked over, the needle yanked out violently. If Shi Zhou pushed his luck, he’d end up like that shattered bag of medicine on the floor.

Assuming this was another blood sugar crash, Shi Zhou found some candy and fed it to him. Despite Qin Yancheng’s insistence on being left alone, Shi Zhou couldn’t just abandon him. He half-dragged, half-carried him back to bed, cleaning the blood from his hand.

Staring at Qin Yancheng’s pale, beautiful face even while unconscious, Shi Zhou couldn’t understand what could twist a person like this—why he refused treatment when it could help him.

Was his body, his health, his life really worth so little?

If Shi Zhou hadn’t been here, would Qin Yancheng have just endured the fever alone? Collapsed on the cold floor, waiting for sheer survival instinct to wake him up?

—Idiot.

Shi Zhou cursed under his breath.

White Moonlight, get your shit together! Fight your damn fate!

The next morning, Shi Zhou got ready for Qixing Entertainment’s annual gala. Over breakfast, he asked Aunt Zhang, “Is Qin Yancheng feeling better today?”

Aunt Zhang set down a plate of pasta. “Mr. Qin already left for the office.”

“What? He’s still sick! Did he at least eat breakfast?”

Aunt Zhang nodded. “His fever’s gone, and his complexion is… passable?”

Qin Yancheng had always been like this—Aunt Zhang was used to it.

Youth and a strong constitution let him push himself like this, but if he didn’t change soon, his body would give out.

Shi Zhou spotted a note on the table: “Call the driver if you need a ride.”

Qin Yancheng’s handwriting was elegant yet sharp—much like the man himself.

Why not just text the number? Oh, right. He’d smashed his phone yesterday in a rage.

The driver dropped Shi Zhou off at the hotel, where paparazzi were already camped outside. The moment he stepped out, cameras flashed wildly.

As a rising star who’d just trended overnight, Shi Zhou was prime tabloid fodder. Big-name celebrities had been photographed and interviewed to death, but someone like him? Fresh meat.

Dazzled by the flashes, Shi Zhou couldn’t make out any questions. Not wanting to seem arrogant, he randomly picked a young female reporter with a sweet face, smiled, and nodded.

The reporter froze, seemingly stunned by his smile—before suddenly beaming back, her eyes crinkling with delight.

Shi Zhou blinked. What’s with that reaction? When was he this irresistible?

Before he could ponder it, he was herded inside.

The top-floor banquet hall was packed with champagne towers, chocolate fountains, and endless delicacies. Shi Zhou happily nibbled on a cake, thinking, this beats rotting at home.

After the Jiang Song incident, whispers about Shi Zhou’s “mysterious backer” had spread. Unsure whether he was a paper tiger or the real deal, no one dared provoke him today.

As for the speeches and corporate grandstanding on stage? Shi Zhou couldn’t care less.

He was happily crafting the most absurdly shaped ice cream when someone called his name. Turning, he saw Zheng Qi—dressed in a sharp suit, fresh off his speech—standing behind him.

Shi Zhou took a bite of ice cream and warily stepped back. Is he about to beat me up while Qin Yancheng’s not here?

To his surprise, Zheng Qi looked devastated, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears. He sighed and said slowly, “Shi Zhou, since you left, I’ve thought a lot about our past… about all the time we spent together.”

His sincerity seemed genuine. As the male lead, Zheng Qi had the looks to match—his handsome features shadowed with regret, appearing deeply affectionate and remorseful. It indeed could inspire feelings of forgiveness in a lesser man.

Shi Zhou let out a bewildered “Ah?”—this kind of script wasn’t unfamiliar to him. The trope of the scumbag gong having an epiphany after the stand-in leaves, realizing the stand-in was his true love all along, pining day and night until finally winning them back for a happy ending…

But this wasn’t realistic!

The last time they met, Zheng Qi had practically wanted to kill him. Had he been body-snatched or possessed? Since when did the script change? But that wasn’t the important part—the real issue was—

He’d read these lines before! This was what Zheng Qi was supposed to say to Song Duannian during the “crematorium arc” later in the novel!

Shi Zhou blinked and tentatively asked, “Wait… are you saying you’ve fallen for me?”

Zheng Qi lowered his head slightly and nodded, his voice solemn. “It took me too long to realize how good you are, to finally understand that it’s always been you in my heart. Shi Zhou, I can’t live without you.”

Shi Zhou’s eyes widened in exaggerated shock. He covered his mouth as if he’d just heard the words he’d been longing for all his life, on the verge of happy tears.

Zheng Qi watched him, barely suppressing his delight. It seemed Qixing Entertainment’s future could still be salvaged after all. If he could move Shi Zhou, he might just manage a roundabout way to get Qin Yancheng to show mercy—

Shi Zhou gasped dramatically. “Oh my god, what a coincidence! You’ve got great taste—I love me too!”

Zheng Qi: “……?”

Shi Zhou’s face remained the picture of blissful sincerity—the turnaround was so fast that Zheng Qi actually wondered if he’d misheard.

But clearly not, because Shi Zhou’s expression dropped in an instant, and he turned away indifferently to go back to scooping his ice cream.

Realizing he’d been played, Zheng Qi nearly lost his temper—but then he remembered how Qixing had finally made a qualitative leap this year, rising from a mid-tier entertainment company to doubling its assets, with a bright future ahead. How could he let all his years of hard work be casually destroyed by Qin Yancheng?

Suppressing his anger, Zheng Qi lowered his voice into a tender murmur. “Zhou’er, I know you can’t forgive me right away. I know you hate me—it’s all my fault. But I truly love you. If I could, I’d cut out my heart to show you—it’s completely filled with you.”

He delivered the lines with such sincerity and seriousness that he absolutely deserved an honorary Oscar for Best Actor on the Run.

Unfortunately, Shi Zhou had read these lines before too—they were originally meant for Song Duannian. Now, with the pronouns swapped and even a cringey nickname slapped on him, all Shi Zhou could think was “I’m not oily, the heavens made me this way,” as if Zheng Qi was radiating a greasy aura from head to toe.

—With skin that thick, you wouldn’t even need oil to fry him. Just coat him in breadcrumbs and you’d have a whole plate of pork rinds—enough to make the neighbor’s kid puke.

Suddenly, the vanilla ice cream in his hand didn’t taste so good anymore. Shi Zhou wolfed down the last two bites and turned to leave, needing a cigarette to calm his nerves.

Thankfully, Zheng Qi had enough sense not to chase after him and continue oozing grease.

Leaning lazily against the bathroom wall, cigarette in hand, Shi Zhou coincidentally ran into another “acquaintance”—Song Duannian, who must have come with Zheng Qi.

The moment their eyes met, Song Duannian’s expression stiffened. He pretended not to see Shi Zhou, lowering his head to wash his hands.

After a moment’s thought, Shi Zhou took a drag and said in a carefree tone, “Song Duannian, I once had a dream…”

What followed was essentially the original novel’s plot progression. Given Zheng Qi’s personality, this kind of soap-opera-level melodrama wasn’t just plausible—it felt almost inevitable.

The faucet’s water trickled steadily as Song Duannian silently cupped his hands under the stream, not saying a word.

Shi Zhou knew he was listening, but he had no idea how much was actually sinking in. A gut feeling told him—Song Duannian’s gentle nature wouldn’t hold up against Zheng Qi’s relentless pressure. In the end, he’d probably still walk the same old path.

Shi Zhou sighed. He really was a meddler—wanting to spare Song Duannian the humiliation and suffering ahead, wanting Qin Yancheng to live a healthy life—but why were they all so damn stubborn?

By the time the golden-red sunset painted the sky, Shi Zhou had had his fill of fun and was finally driven back. Seeing that Qin Yancheng had already returned from work, he was about to launch into a lecture about his self-destructive habits when his phone buzzed ominously with Weibo notifications.

Swearing up and down that he hadn’t done anything to trend again, Shi Zhou tapped open the app—

A crisp video interview played. A sweet-voiced female reporter asked, “Zhou Zhou, is the ‘ChengZhou’ ship real? Or will it be real in the future?”

Shi Zhou’s heart skipped a beat.

Then, the video showed him looking directly at the camera, smiling faintly—and nodding.

Shi Zhou: “……”

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God-freaking-dammit!

How the hell did this misunderstanding happen?!

No wonder the reporter had given him that bizarre, delighted grin after his response—

That was the legendary “fujoshi smile”!

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Qin Yancheng and Shi Zhou’s respective fanbases were locked in a chaotic battle over the trending ship hashtag. While fighting it out, they were ironically boosting its popularity even further.

Spotting shippers discreetly “looking for sugar” (TN: moments to support the ship) only made both sides even angrier. “What double the ecstasy?” some fans raged. “This is internal betrayal!”

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But the shippers argued back with fervor. The ultra-stylish but slightly oversized trench coat Shi Zhou wore on the red carpet—didn’t it look exactly like the one Qin Yancheng had on when they took their seats? How could anyone not get it?

Shi Zhou had returned the coat to Qin Yancheng after the red carpet, borrowing a warm down jacket from backstage instead.

Even though Qin Yancheng’s footage was fleeting and framed to protect privacy, and he had been sitting the entire time so the coat wasn’t fully visible, people still managed to Sherlock Holmes their way into spotting the match and sugar-coating the moment.

Shi Zhou scrolled through Weibo and thought, these people really are Holmes reincarnated. Sharp-eyed and relentless!

The sugar wasn’t even the most shocking part. In some obscure, tucked-away corner of the fandom, he found a fic. A spicy one.

Shi Zhou wasn’t new to erotic stories or smut. But reading one with his own name as a character? That was a whole new level of stimulation. The immersion feels were disturbingly strong.

Of course, the other male lead was Qin Yancheng. Shi Zhou imagined that cold and elegant face, and then—based on the fic—how Qin Yancheng would forcefully press him onto the bed, kiss him roughly, and then…

Having seen Qin Yancheng in a bathrobe far too many times lately—and having clumsily tried to change his clothes during that one drunken night—Shi Zhou had basically seen Qin Yancheng half-naked, and could mentally fill in the gaps for a vivid picture.

He didn’t even know what emotion he finished reading the entire thing with—blushing, short of breath, knees weak. Absolutely overstimulated.

But then, he couldn’t help but sigh and lament that after two lifetimes, he was still a virgin. Not even as bold as the fanfiction version of himself, who could tease, seduce, and ultimately be reduced to sobbing pleas.

God, the more he pondered the weirder it was!

Shi Zhou flung his phone away like it was radiating inappropriate vibes. The term “ChengZhou” was now visually unsafe for him.

Trying to clear his mind of explicit imagery, Shi Zhou decided to get back to work and check the schedule his agent had sent for the upcoming Qixing annual gala.

Whatever the event’s agenda—praise, criticism, pep talks—none of it mattered to him. As a salted fish (slacker), he just wanted an excuse to eat, drink, and be entertained.

Just then, the door to Qin Yancheng’s room clicked open. Shi Zhou looked up and saw his face flushed an alarming red—clearly running a fever.

So that so-called “it’ll be fine after a night’s sleep” low-grade fever had predictably worsened due to a complete lack of care.

Shi Zhou immediately sat up. “You’re burning up.”

Qin Yancheng just croaked out a hoarse “It’s fine,” like Shi Zhou had asked whether he’d eaten, utterly calm and collected.

But Shi Zhou noticed his hand trembling around a glass of water. He took the glass, filled it with warm water, and told him to go lie down. He then checked his forehead and neck.

—Shi Zhou judged that you could probably crack an egg on him and cook it through. Efficient and eco-friendly.

Qin Yancheng, delirious from the fever, lay with eyes closed while Shi Zhou paced around. The thermometer beeped twice.

“Holy crap—thirty-nine degrees?!” Shi Zhou shouted.

Just to be sure the thermometer wasn’t broken, he took his own temperature—36 degrees and change. So it was working fine. No wonder Qin Yancheng was barely lucid.

“Come on, we’re going to the hospital. What if that pretty brain of yours melts?”

Qin Yancheng, barely conscious, only caught the word “hospital” and suddenly opened his eyes, fierce and absolute. “I’m not going!”

Shi Zhou was alarmed not only about the high fever but that it might induce acute illness. “You’re nearly at forty degrees! Are you trying to die?”

Qin Yancheng’s gaze turned dangerous again. “I said I’m not going.”

Shi Zhou could tell he was on the verge of another mental-breakdown-tier outburst. Please don’t lose it like a lunatic again, he silently prayed.

After weighing his options, he said, “Fine, no hospital. But did you take antipyretics? Should I call a doctor to come here?”

Still, Qin Yancheng shook his head. “Leave me alone… cough…”

Resigned, Shi Zhou went downstairs to ask Aunt Zhang for the family doctor’s number—only to discover there was no doctor. The man was so allergic to doctors he didn’t even have one on standby.

So Shi Zhou settled for asking about fever meds. Aunt Zhang handed him some, clearly worried. “Mr. Qin doesn’t like being taken care of when he’s sick. He gets angry.”

She was indeed warning Shi Zhou out of good intentions. Qin Yancheng’s temper was legendary. If he hadn’t shouted someone out of the room already, he was probably holding back.

Aunt Zhabg also knew that Shi Zhou wasn’t a saintly patient soul either. In fact, the both of them might even get into a shouting match.

For the sake of their relationship she warned Shi Zhou.

Naturally, Shi Zhou wasn’t a masochist nor did he want to provoke Qin Yancheng, but considering that the man was scripted to die around this time, he would feel guilty if he just stepped back. So, Shi Zhou still took care of Qin Yancheng, feeding him the meds, sticking children’s fever patches on his forehead, and just doing his best.

Qin Yancheng fought him like he was being poisoned. If not for his weakened state, Shi Zhou wouldn’t have been able to pin him down.

He finally got him to open his mouth and poured in some water—not gently. By the time it was over, Shi Zhou was drenched in sweat.

As he tucked Qin Yancheng in and adjusted the air conditioning, he heard the man muttering through clenched teeth, “I’m not sick… I’m not sick…”

Shi Zhou, knowing that this was fever talk, rolled his eyes. “Sure, sure. You’re perfectly healthy. May you live to a hundred.”

He tiptoed out of the room, muttering bitterly to himself. Why’d he have to be so tall? I couldn’t drag him to a hospital even if I tried. If the fever didn’t go down after a while, he would have to contact a doctor to come to the house to see him and give him an injection or an IV drip or something.

His phone buzzed. A message from Xin Jing.

Shi Zhou had already looked him up. Despite his easygoing attitude, Xin Jing was a big-name variety show director with powerful parents—a station director dad and a famous dancer mom.

He texted Shi Zhou with a tone that sounded suspiciously like a shipper. No matter how Shi Zhou explained last night, he refused to believe that there really wasn’t anything going on between him and Qin Yancheng. “How’s Qin Yancheng? Acting normal?”

Shi Zhou laughed. Looked like Qin Yancheng’s mental state was public knowledge. He texted back: “Not normal. Running a high fever, refuses to go to the hospital or see a doctor. Had to force him to take medicine.”

Unexpectedly, Xin Jing replied like it was a relief: “At least he took it. He didn’t cuss anyone out? Wow, see, it’s different with you.”

Shi Zhou didn’t know whether to laugh or cry: “It’s not about me! He’s just too weak to throw a fit.”

Xin Jing thought, you haven’t seen him at his worst. The man could wake from a near-death experience and still rage so hard it took two doctors and a sedative to calm him down. Who even knew where all that strength came from.

After over an hour, Qin Yancheng’s fever had risen, not fallen. Shi Zhou finally called a doctor while he was passed out and got him hooked up to an IV.

As he watched the needle in Qin Yancheng’s slender hand and the white patch covering it, Shi Zhou suddenly panicked. “How do we remove the needle later?”

Aunt Zhang offered, “I can do it… but Mr. Qin won’t get angry, right?”

Shi Zhou sighed. “Better angry than brain-fried. Let him take it out on me.”

After all, Qin Yancheng couldn’t bite him to death. Shi Zhou figured if he didn’t argue with someone fever-mad, he wouldn’t get mad himself.

Done with his nursing duties, he slumped on the couch, sneakily pulled out his phone, and checked to see if the smut fic had updated. It hadn’t.

But the fic had opened a door to a whole new world.

Who knew stories featuring yourself could be this spicy? He was even tempted to write his own. He registered a burner account called “Runaway Airship,” then changed it to “Runaway Airship at the Flower Market” after browsing a few author names.

He opened his laptop and began typing experimentally. But his inexperience showed—his brain moved like a rocket, but his fingers were tricycles in comparison.

Just then, the landline in Qin Yancheng’s room rang. Worried it would wake him up, Shi Zhou rushed in to pick it up.

The caller ID: Zeng Yan.

That possibly-ex-girlfriend again. Following Qin Yancheng’s usual method, Shi Zhou decided not to answer—but his finger slipped and accidentally connected the call.

Shi Zhou: “…”

He couldn’t hang up now. Bracing himself, he pressed the phone to his ear.

On the other side, Zeng Yan didn’t expect the call to connect. “…Chengcheng?” she asked softly.

Shi Zhou, polite but stiff, “Sorry, he’s sleeping. May I ask who’s calling?”

Her voice was gentle, ageless, with a hint of worry. “Sleeping? Is he ill?”

Before Shi Zhou could answer, she added, “Who are you?”

Shi Zhou opened his mouth, eyes drifting to his screen full of spicy fanfic starring him and Qin Yancheng—still mid-bed scene in some alternate universe.

But if this woman was the ex-girlfriend, and they could possibly reconcile, he didn’t want to be an obstacle. He quickly debated what role to play: driver? bodyguard? housekeeper?

CRASH!

Qin Yancheng suddenly tore the door open, one hand pressed to his stomach, the other dripping blood from a forcibly removed IV needle. His face was deathly pale, full of barely restrained fury.

He leaned on the doorframe, radiating murderous energy, terrifying and sharp.

Reaching out with his bleeding hand, he said in a sinister but calm voice, “Give me the phone.”

Shi Zhou, startled, quickly handed it over.

Qin Yancheng held the phone and, enunciating each word coldly, said:

“Zeng Yan. That’s. Enough.”

Then he smashed the phone against the wall, shattering it.

Shi Zhou stared at the bloody shards on the floor, thinking maybe he should apologize for taking the call.

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But before he could, Qin Yancheng’s eyes slowly moved… and landed on—

The laptop screen behind Shi Zhou.

Shi Zhou suddenly remembered that he was writing a smutty fic in Word and the interface had not yet been exited!

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This was Shi Zhou’s first time walking the red carpet. He’d joined in for the novelty, but now that he was actually doing it, he found it pretty boring.

After striking a pose under the relentless barrage of camera flashes, the host—likely instructed to give him extra screen time—dragged him into an awkward interview before finally letting him enter the main venue.

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Following the seating chart, Shi Zhou found his assigned spot in the farthest, most pitiful corner from the stage. He’d barely warmed his seat when someone clapped him on the shoulder. “Hey! Shi Zhou, what are you doing here? Qin Yancheng’s looking for you.”

It was Xin Jing, who then cheerfully pulled him up with the ease of an old friend. “Come on, let’s go. The organizers set up an extra seat for you near the front.”

Shi Zhou wasn’t keen on moving—he and Qin Yancheng weren’t some inseparable duo, after all. But then he spotted the food and desserts at the front tables and realized the hierarchy was blatantly obvious. Even the champagne was several tiers higher in quality, and the dishes were still steaming hot, unlike his own table, where the food had long gone cold.

For the sake of good food, Shi Zhou reluctantly took the seat next to Qin Yancheng. The organizers, likely banking on Qin Yancheng’s looks and fame, had placed him at a table with A-list celebrities, making the atmosphere a little stiff. Fortunately, an idol group’s opening performance on stage helped lighten the mood.

Shi Zhou greeted everyone politely before sitting down and quietly digging into his meal. The media snapped photos of the table, but while the others sat rigidly, afraid of staining their rented designer outfits or being caught in unflattering shots, as a result, he received a lot of strange looks. But Shi Zhou didn’t care.

His outfit wasn’t rented, and he wasn’t about to starve himself for the sake of photos. After freezing outside, he wasn’t going to let hunger ruin his night too.

Once he’d eaten his fill, Shi Zhou amused himself by peeling oranges from the fruit platter, meticulously keeping the skins intact. Soon, a neat row of naked oranges sat before him, and he began looking for a “human trash can” to help finish them.

Just as he was trying to force feed Qin Yancheng, the stage lights suddenly cut out. In the darkness, a pale figure drifted toward him—half a face floating in midair…

Shi Zhou jolted, accidentally shoving the orange against Qin Yancheng’s chin. When the lights came back on, he realized it was Jiang Song—half his face covered in black dye, clothes torn and disheveled, looking like he was one step away from begging on the streets with a bowl.

Not only Shi Zhou but everyone else at the table couldn’t help but sneak glances.

Jiang Song, who had once been so smug, now stood humiliated, his pride crushed underfoot. But his regret wasn’t for framing Shi Zhou—only for not being clever enough and for his bad luck.

How could Shi Zhou sit at this table, next to Qin Yancheng, acting so shamelessly intimate? Gritting his teeth, Jiang Song forced out an apology. “Shi Zhou… I-I’m sorry. It was my fault.”

His manager had scripted a whole speech for him to save face in front of Qin Yancheng and the media, but seeing Shi Zhou’s infuriating expression, Jiang Song’s jealousy burned too hot. He couldn’t bring himself to say more.

He braced for Shi Zhou to gloat and humiliated him, further stepping on his dignity. Or play the victim, throwing himself into Qin Yancheng’s arms for comfort like some white lotus.

Instead, Shi Zhou just waved him off dismissively. “Yeah, yeah, got it. Now scram.”

Jiang Song’s punch had landed on cotton. Confused, he hesitated. But Shi Zhou genuinely wasn’t overthinking it—he’d just been startled by Jiang Song’s horrifying appearance in the dark. Covered in black dye, with that resentful glare, he looked like a floating half-head ghost. He would have scared the life out of someone more timid.

Now, in the light, it was just ridiculous. Shi Zhou, who had a low threshold for laughter, was afraid he’d burst out giggling, so he just wanted Jiang Song out of his sight.

Elbowing Qin Yancheng, Shi Zhou finally cracked, laughing quietly. “Couldn’t you at least have spread the dye evenly? And your bodyguards—like master, like servants. They really went full avant-garde with his outfit, huh?”

If Shi Zhou had been the one handling it, he’d have gone straight for violence—punching Jiang Song until his face was swollen.

But this was arguably more satisfying. Jiang Song got a taste of his own medicine, humiliated in front of everyone. And given how image-conscious he was, it must have stung even more.

Shi Zhou’s temper flared up and faded just as quickly. Since he hadn’t actually suffered any real harm, he wasn’t one to hold grudges.

Jiang Song, meanwhile, braced for Shi Zhou to humiliate him further, but Shi Zhou just lazily glanced at his pile of oranges and handed a few over, hoping to avoid waste.

Jiang Song eyed them suspiciously, half-convinced they were poisoned. But despite his resentment, he was too scared to refuse. Trembling, he took them, barely tasting them in his anxiety. When he looked up and met Qin Yancheng’s icy glare, he nearly choked and only then did he flee.

Qin Yancheng didn’t know why, for a split second, he’d felt reluctant to let anyone else eat the oranges Shi Zhou had peeled. But the thought vanished as quickly as it came, leaving his usual calm.

When the A-lister next to Shi Zhou left to prepare for a performance, Xin Jing plopped down in the vacated seat. “Wow, Shi Zhou, can I have an orange—wait, did you peel these for Qin Yancheng?”

Shi Zhou nodded earnestly. “Please, take some! I got carried away and peeled too many. By the way, I meant to ask earlier—you two know each other?”

“Childhood friends. We were in the same class from elementary school until tenth grade. What a cursed fate!”

Shi Zhou tilted his head, glancing at the ever-expressionless Qin Yancheng. If Xin Jing had known him since childhood, then he’d seen the real Qin Yancheng—making Shi Zhou, the “imitation,” feel a tiny bit awkward.

Misreading his expression, Xin Jing hastily clarified. “Don’t get the wrong idea! I may look youthful and innocent, but I’m a total top who’s charmed countless bottoms!”

Shi Zhou burst out laughing at the “youthful and innocent” comment. Who described their own baby face like that?

The awkwardness forgotten, he waved a hand. “No, no, since we’re all friends here, I’ll be honest—we’re not that kind of relationship.”

Besides, Qin Yancheng didn’t seem particularly gay. Shi Zhou’s “gaydar” pinged him as neither straight nor bent—more like carved from ice.

Xin Jing howled with laughter, shooting Qin Yancheng a look that screamed You’re hopeless! A glare from Qin Yancheng shut him up, and after hurriedly adding Shi Zhou on WeChat, he scampered off.

Qin Yancheng coughed lightly into his hand. His immune system was weak, and he’d been fighting a cold for days. Tonight’s chaos and the biting wind had made it worse.

Listening to the coughing beside him, Shi Zhou worried about an asthma attack. He’d recently discovered Qin Yancheng’s birthday was coming up and hoped he’d at least make it to another year.

Back then, his brother had told him that a new age meant a fresh start—all bad luck reset, blessings and hopes ushering in a new chapter.

As a child, Shi Zhou had believed it wholeheartedly. Later, he dismissed it as childish humoring. But after Shi Li’s sudden death, he couldn’t help wondering—had it been because his brother had been too busy with work in Melbourne that year, missing his birthday and Shi Zhou’s well-wishes so that was why…

He was overthinking it. But regardless, he decided to pray for Qin Yancheng’s health and longevity when the day came.

Growing bolder with familiarity, Shi Zhou suddenly reached out and touched Qin Yancheng’s neck and forehead. “Qin Yancheng, you’re running a fever!”

Qin Yancheng’s lips were pale, but his expression was indifferent. “Low-grade.”

No wonder he’d barely eaten. Low grade fevers were often more uncomfortable. Shi Zhou had initially been baffled by his rigid posture, but now it made sense—he’d been feeling unwell the whole time.

“Then why didn’t you just rest at home? Why come to this event?”

Qin Yancheng studied him silently, as if considering his answer or having nothing to say.

Finally, he replied flatly, “Jinshui Film City starts operations next month.”

It seemed like a non sequitur, but Shi Zhou, still focused on Qin Yancheng’s health, didn’t overthink it. “Oh, so you’re practically in the industry now. With your looks, you really should show your face more—it’d be a waste otherwise.”

Shi Zhou’s schedule was quite loose. The next morning, Shi Zhou slept in until noon, only waking when his phone buzzed incessantly.

Yawning, he reluctantly reached out from under the warm covers, unplugged his charger, and grabbed his phone, burrowing back in to check his messages in the dark.

Well, well—his first time trending on Weibo!

#ShiZhouElegantEatingPrince
#FoodieSoulFoodieVibes
#DumbButGorgeous

But for someone with as many anti-fans as Shi Zhou, while many praised him (even gaining him new fans), just as many mocked:

[What a country bumpkin, stuffing his face like he’s never seen food before. Starving ghost reincarnated?]

[So what if his table manners are decent? Still looks fake as hell.]

[Who’s he hooked up with this time? Doesn’t seem to be Qixing’s CEO Zheng anymore?]

That last one hit the nail on the head. Another trending topic left Shi Zhou speechless—a gif of him and Qin Yancheng sitting together.

It wasn’t even an intimate moment, just a brief glance exchanged, followed by a three-second clip of Shi Zhou peeling an orange while Qin Yancheng quietly watched his profile.

Yet somehow, this spawned a trending search topic.

Fans were already tearing into each other. Though Qin Yancheng wasn’t a celebrity, his fanbase was massive:

[They just happened to sit together. What could these two possibly have in common? Do you expect everyone to stay ten feet apart while eating?]

[Our President Qin would never be involved with some no-name pretty boy. Who even is Shi Zhou? Never heard of him.]

[The audacity! Some nobody dares to rub off on Qin Yancheng’s fame? Asking for death?]

Shi Zhou’s fans fired back:

[Oh, so your fandom is extra special? Our baby doesn’t need this clout.]

[With psycho fans like you, no wonder Qin Yancheng’s single. Who’d dare date him?]

[Are you blind? Clearly, Qin Yancheng was the one staring at Shi Zhou. Why’s Shi Zhou getting blamed?]

The two sides went to war, fighting tooth and nail.

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Most amusing were the small but determined group of shippers quietly carving out their space, already crafting fan theories and even coining a ship name—”ChengZhou” (Ride the Boat).

A clever play on their names, poetic even. But Shi Zhou, with his mind perpetually in the gutter, couldn’t help feeling there was something… off about it.

Maybe the verb choice was just a little too suggestive?

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Qin Yancheng was already tall, and his aura made him stand out even in a crowd. Shi Zhou watched as the man walked over with his usual expressionless face, trailed by someone from the event organizers—likely a high-ranking executive tasked with entertaining this VIP.

Someone in the crowd suddenly slapped their forehead. “I remember now! That watch on Shi Zhou’s wrist—Mr. Qin was the one who bought it at last year’s auction!”

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The crowd gasped in realization. If that was the case, Shi Zhou was truly done for. Qin Yancheng was infamous for his cold, unfeeling demeanor, so no one even considered the possibility that he and Shi Zhou might have an unusual relationship. Instead, they speculated about how Shi Zhou could have gotten his hands on the watch—perhaps during some drunken business dinner, where Shi Zhou, playing the obedient hanger-on, had seized the opportunity to steal it.

Jiang Song privately agreed with this theory and was secretly pleased with himself. Someone of Qin Yancheng’s status would likely find calling the police beneath him, so he’d come personally to handle the matter. By reporting the theft, Jiang Song had spared Mr. Qin the trouble while ensuring Shi Zhou got what he deserved. Surely, Mr. Qin would spare him a second glance for this.

Who knew? Maybe that second glance would turn into genuine appreciation for my exceptional qualities.

The more Jiang Song thought about it, the more delighted he became, as if he’d already been chosen by the emperor himself. He leaned in and hissed at Shi Zhou with vicious glee. “You should’ve known this was coming when you stole my role by whoring yourself out!”

Shi Zhou rolled his eyes, too annoyed to bother responding. His mind was screaming, Qin Yancheng, you absolute bastard! He had no idea Qin Yancheng was even attending tonight. Judging by the eager crowd of good looking men and women around them, he must have been the last to know.

The crowd murmured and pointed, eagerly awaiting the unfolding drama.

Qin Yancheng’s gaze swept over the gathered crowd, landing on Shi Zhou, who stood in the center with his back turned, expression unreadable.

Shi Zhou was already in a foul mood after being ambushed by Jiang Song’s ridiculous accusations. Now, Qin Yancheng had the audacity to show up without warning—after living under the same roof, he still hadn’t bothered to mention his attendance?

As Qin Yancheng approached, Shi Zhou deliberately pretended not to recognize him. While others scrambled to greet him with elaborate charm, Shi Zhou remained lazily indifferent.

Qin Yancheng took in Shi Zhou’s bristling attitude, then glanced at Jiang Song standing opposite him. His voice was cool, “What’s going on here?”

Qin Yancheng was notoriously cold and aloof. Jiang Song, oblivious to the other’s displeasure, was thrilled at being addressed. Out of all the eager men and women vying for Qin Yancheng’s attention, he was the first one he spoke to! That had to mean something! Meanwhile, Shi Zhou’s pathetic attempt at playing hard-to-get was laughable—did he really think feigning disinterest would work? What a joke!

But Jiang Song was different, he had no problem throwing away his dignity. He eagerly stepped forward, oozing flattery, “Mr. Qin, there’s no need for you to trouble yourself with this! We’ll handle it shortly—we won’t let this thief get away!”

Just as he finished speaking, the police arrived. Given the high-profile nature of the event, several patrol cars had been stationed outside, so their response time was mere minutes.

The media, always hungry for drama, immediately began snapping photos, eager to capture the chaos. The organizer’s expression darkened, his tone turning sharp. “Who called the police?”

Jiang Song eagerly recounted Shi Zhou’s “crime,” painting himself as the righteous hero—though he carefully avoided admitting he’d orchestrated the whole thing. He claimed ignorance, insisting it was all Shi Zhou’s fault for being a thief.

In an industry that worshipped status, the organizer couldn’t help but look down on a nobody like Shi Zhou. Outside, Jiang Song’s fans waved their signs, while Shi Zhou was just an uninvited guest Qixing Entertainment had shoved in at the last minute. And now he’d caused trouble? Disgraceful.

Meanwhile, Shi Zhou’s coat, draped over his arm, was slowly changing color. The spot where Jiang Song had touched it was turning yellow, then black, as if oxidizing.

Shi Zhou stared at it, torn between laughter and fury. What a fucking lowlife. If he weren’t worried about punching Jiang Song’s silicone-filled face into mush, he’d have beaten the little bastard senseless by now.

The organizer’s expression grew increasingly impatient and disgusted. “Mr. Shi, perhaps it’s best if you skip tonight’s event. Cooperate with the police investigation first. The red carpet is about to start, and we can’t delay everyone else.”

Since Qin Yancheng was the “victim” in this scenario, the organizer turned to him for confirmation. Qin Yancheng looked at Jiang Song and said flatly, “Mnn. You won’t be walking the red carpet. Or attending the gala.”

Jiang Song nearly cheered. This was exactly what he wanted! Where was Shi Zhou’s arrogance now? His sharp tongue? Too scared to even speak in front of Qin Yancheng, huh?

His triumphant grin was barely containable—until Shi Zhou sighed, shaking his head in mock pity. “Why are you smiling? He’s talking to you.”

Jiang Song froze. “W-What?”

Then his smile shattered completely.

Qin Yancheng, in front of everyone, removed his own coat and draped it over Shi Zhou’s shoulders. “This’ll have to do for now.”

Silence.

Three full seconds of stunned disbelief.

Everyone gaped at the two of them.

Someone suddenly realized their outfits tonight looked like they’d been designed as a pair—one black, one white, styles eerily similar.

Jiang Song’s mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. Finally, he choked out:

“N-No… Wait, Mr. Qin, there must be some mistake! You’ve got it wrong—Shi Zhou is the one who—”

Shi Zhou rolled his eyes and theatrically gasped. “Yeah, Mr. Qin! What’s wrong with your ears? You deaf or something? They’re trying to arrest me!”

Qin Yancheng sighed. Shi Zhou’s audacity wasn’t new—no one else would dare mock him like this in public. But for some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to be angry.

While Qin Yancheng was used to it, everyone else looked like they’d just witnessed a pig sprout Jiang Song’s head—complete with bulging eyes and a slack jaw. The sight was equal parts horrifying and hilarious.

The “human head” stammered: “Wh-Why?!”

Qin Yancheng turned to the police. “The watch is mine. I lent it to Shi Zhou. As for Jiang Song, your ‘help’ is not needed.” He glanced at his bodyguards.

The burly men immediately seized Jiang Song, roughly searching him. Whether by accident or design, they tore his flimsy outfit to shreds, leaving him half-naked in the cold wind.

The police exchanged glances. This was likely not the first time they had come across something like this. As long as no one was hurt, they wouldn’t interfere.

Moments later, a disheveled, trembling Jiang Song was found with a half-empty bottle of clear liquid in his pocket. Qin Yancheng examined Shi Zhou’s stained coat, then took the bottle—

And dumped the entire contents over Jiang Song’s head.

The dye would soon oxidize, turning his face, hair, and clothes pitch black.

Jiang Song’s assistants were next. The loudest, most obnoxious one—the very one who’d accused Shi Zhou—was found with the “stolen” watch in his possession.

Jiang Song, struggling to regain his composure, somehow mustered the audacity to slap the assistant hard across the face. “You stole it?! What grudge do you have against Shi Zhou to frame him like this?!”

The assistant was stunned, and suddenly realized why Jiang Song asked him to do everything, whether it was destroying the surveillance camera or taking away the watch. It turned out that he wanted to make him a scapegoat if the matter was exposed!

Shi Zhou tilted his head and interrupted, “Tsk, two hundred thousand, little assistant, you have really great prospects these days.”

The assistant gritted his teeth, losing his job was more important than going to jail, he blurted out, “No! Jiang Song told me to do it! He made me disable the cameras, take the watch, and trick Shi Zhou into the dressing room! I didn’t want to steal anything!”

This farce was instigated by Jiang Song to call the police to arrest people, but when the police arrived, they ended up arresting him. If he hadn’t shamelessly begged to at least wait until the gala was over, he would have been taken away on the spot to make a statement along with his assistant.

The crowd’s attitude shifted instantly. In just ten minutes, Jiang Song became the laughingstock:

“This is hilarious! The clown is actually himself!”

“I actually believed him earlier. Ugh, wasted my sympathy.”

“What a disgusting person. Framing someone for theft? Just because they’re poor? Who does he think he is?”

“Shi Zhou clearly isn’t poor. And did you see how protective Mr. Qin was? What’s their relationship?”

Countless curious or envious eyes lingered on Shi Zhou, eager to see how the two would interact inside.

Jiang Song’s manager called immediately after hearing about the disaster. Furious, he screamed, “You’ve gotten too full of yourself! Do you even know who you are anymore? Your rented clothes are ruined now—did you expect Mr. Qin to pay for them? You’re covering the cost yourself!”

“But… I prepared for so long. Now I can’t walk the red carpet—”

“You’re still thinking about the red carpet?! You offended Qin Yancheng! Your career is over! Forget the red carpet—get inside and apologize to Shi Zhou in front of everyone. Make it sincere. I knew your arrogance would backfire! Did you ever stop to think Shi Zhou might have Qin Yancheng backing him?!”

Jiang Song hung up, seething. Why did Shi Zhou have all the luck?

He refused to acknowledge his own mistakes, convinced this was all because Shi Zhou had shamelessly seduced yet another powerful patron.

The thought of humiliating himself—covered in black dye, clothes torn—by groveling to Shi Zhou in front of everyone made him burn with hatred.

But his manager had insisted this was the only way to appear remorseful and avoid further retaliation.

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Taking a deep breath, Jiang Song trudged into the venue, still clinging to one last hope: Maybe Shi Zhou and Mr. Qin aren’t that close. Maybe Mr. Qin just stepped in randomly.

Then he saw it.

In the audience seating area, Shi Zhou was laughing, reaching for an orange Qin Yancheng had just peeled for him—

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Shi Zhou thought there was still a full hour and a half before the red carpet event began, so he might as well wander around and see if he could spot any handsome men. He refused to believe that the entire entertainment industry didn’t have anyone better looking than Qin Yancheng.

As he strolled to the entrance of the venue, he saw numerous fan signs. Fans were eagerly waiting for their idols to walk the red carpet later, ready to chant slogans at a moment’s notice. Some were even practicing their cheers or warming up their voices in advance.

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Shi Zhou took out a cigarette from his pocket and lit it—this was actually confiscated from Qin Yancheng earlier. Even putting aside his asthma, which could flare up at any time, nicotine was bad for the stomach. Surprisingly, when Qin Yancheng had his cigarettes taken away, he merely froze for a moment before expressionlessly letting Shi Zhou confiscate it. After that, he either hadn’t bought any more cigarettes or simply avoided smoking in front of him.

Usually, at Qin Yancheng’s villa, Shi Zhou refrained from smoking out of concern for the man’s fragile health and respiratory system, not to mention not wanting to tempt him. But now, he had no such reservations. He happily exhaled a cloud of smoke, mentally praising the cigarette’s quality—it didn’t seem to be available on the market, and he wondered if he could ask Qin Yancheng to get him some more.

Just as he was thinking this, a young man with a baby face and delicate features walked over, likely also killing time. He smiled familiarly and said, “Hey, aren’t you afraid of being caught on camera by the media?”

Shi Zhou sensed no malice from him and joked, “No one’s interested in photographing a small-time nobody like me right now. Might as well smoke while I can—who knows if I’ll still be able to in a couple of years if I get famous?”

The baby-faced young man probably wasn’t an idol, given how warmly and unfashionably he was dressed—a thick black down jacket enveloped him from head to toe, making him look like a tower when he crouched slightly. He might have been a young elite from some other field.

He picked up Shi Zhou’s thread. “Makes sense! In that case, you’d better give me your autograph now—in a couple of years, I might not even be able to get in line.”

Shi Zhou handed him a cigarette. “I’m Shi Zhou.”

“Xin Jing,” the young man replied cheerfully, accepting the cigarette and borrowing a light. After taking a slow drag, he added, “This industry’s a mess. You shouldn’t just accept cigarettes from strangers, you know.”

Shi Zhou was momentarily taken aback, realizing that the entertainment industry operated by different rules than the business world he was used to. Just as he was wondering how Xin Jing could be so sure he wasn’t a bad guy, someone called out, “Shi Zhou! Your stylist wants you in the dressing room to put on your accessories. She’s about to start packing up.”

Shi Zhou gave an acknowledging “Mm” and waved at Xin Jing. “Gotta go. See you inside if fate allows.”

As he walked away, he took one last drag before stubbing out the cigarette in a trash can, letting the cold wind disperse the smell. Pushing open the door to the dressing room, he found it empty—most of the artists, inexperienced with red carpet events, had gone ahead to scope out the venue in groups.

But the stylist was downright unreliable, summoning him only to disappear herself. Typical of the haphazard management at Qixing Entertainment. A pile of accessories—necklaces, earrings, brooches—lay scattered on the table. Left with no choice, Shi Zhou studied the mirror, trying to figure out how to put everything on. After much effort, he managed to adorn himself properly.

While he was in the dressing room, he missed the commotion caused by an “unexpected surprise”—the sudden appearance of a mysterious guest at the gala.

If not for someone recognizing him and shouting, “That’s Qin Yancheng!” everyone would have assumed he was just another celebrity or top male model, given his looks, height, and aura. But the name “Qin Yancheng” was universally known. Regardless of whose fans they were, everyone wanted a glimpse of the legendary young tycoon shrouded in mystery.

Xin Jing, still smoking by the one-way glass near the entrance, watched as even the aloof and dignified Qin Yancheng struggled to navigate the enthusiastic crowd, flanked by bodyguards who barely managed to shield him from the onslaught. He burst into laughter, waiting by the door just to mock him face-to-face. “Qin Yancheng, you look downright pathetic, hahaha…”

Qin Yancheng’s expression remained icy. Not wanting to provoke him further, Xin Jing stifled his laughter and changed the subject. “Hey, who’s Shi Zhou to you? He’s so handsome—I think I’ve fallen in love at first sight!”

“…Where is he?” Qin Yancheng asked.

“Oh? So concerned?” Xin Jing teased. “Aren’t you going to ask how I know you two have an ‘unusual’ relationship?”

When Xin Jing first saw Shi Zhou, he’d been startled—at a glance, the young man bore a resemblance to a younger version of Qin Yancheng. But unlike Qin Yancheng, who had always been cold and statue-like, Shi Zhou was far more charming.

And when Shi Zhou casually handed over a cigarette—a rare, unique brand—Xin Jing was even more surprised. Qin Yancheng’s cigarettes and lighter were in Shi Zhou’s possession?

The resemblance and their closeness made their relationship—and Qin Yancheng’s motives—highly suspect.

After wandering around, Shi Zhou concluded that compared to a certain beauty surnamed Qin, everyone else paled in comparison. Some even looked unnervingly artificial up close, as if they’d been molded from the same silicone template.

Just as he lamented that his future boyfriend probably wouldn’t be found in this industry, Jiang Song and his entourage suddenly cornered him with aggressive intent.

Jiang Song’s attitude was polite and proper, unlike their first encounter. In front of everyone, he didn’t act arrogantly. “Shi Zhou, have you—seen the watch I left on the table?” His tone was anxious, as if genuinely worried about losing the watch and afraid of wrongly accusing someone.

The surrounding crowd immediately turned curious eyes toward them.

Shi Zhou froze for a moment, then glanced at Jiang Song’s smirking assistant. Finally, he understood why he’d been summoned to the empty dressing room earlier.

Where there was a “good cop,” there had to be a “bad cop.” The assistant’s sharp, piercing voice cut in, “The surveillance footage shows that after our Brother Jiang left the dressing room, you were the only one who went in! That watch might not be the most expensive, but it’s still worth over 200,000 yuan!”

Jiang Song immediately scolded his assistant, “What are you saying? ‘A truly noble man cannot be corrupted by poverty’—even if Shi Zhou’s financial situation isn’t great right now, he’d never do something like this!”

The coordinated accusation was blatant. No one in the industry was foolish enough to miss that Jiang Song was subtly framing Shi Zhou. The crowd’s gazes grew increasingly probing.

Shi Zhou wasn’t particularly famous, but the “poor but hardworking” persona clung stubbornly to his name. A no-name artist who allegedly relied on his looks to get ahead—it wasn’t unthinkable that he might steal something under the radar. After all, similar incidents had happened in the industry before.

The accusation of theft and the word “poverty” were like public slaps to Shi Zhou’s face, striking at both his dignity and his financial struggles.

If he’d been as timid as the original host, stammering and unable to defend himself, it would have cemented his “guilt.” But Shi Zhou remained calm, unfazed as he asked coolly, “Let me guess—you’re also going to say the surveillance in the dressing room just happened to be broken?”

Having his lines stolen, the assistant pressed on, “You thought destroying the surveillance would let you get away with it? The hallway cameras still caught you going in—after Brother Jiang, you were the only one!”

A sycophantic hanger-on in the crowd chimed in, “We shouldn’t wrong an innocent person. Why not just search him? It’s for Shi Zhou’s own good—right, Shi Zhou?”

Before Shi Zhou could respond, Jiang Song’s assistant eagerly stepped forward, as if ready to strip Shi Zhou’s clothes off by force.

The spectacle drew more and more onlookers, eager for some entertainment.

Shi Zhou tilted his head slightly, thinking this frame-job was almost embarrassingly crude. Their brazen insults were baffling—in his twenty-three years across two lifetimes, this was the first time he’d encountered such shameless bootlickers.

If this had happened three years ago, when he was still the spoiled young master under his older brother’s protection, he’d have rolled up his sleeves and thrown punches. But now, Shi Zhou just smirked and said playfully, “Are you my grandson, thinking you can pat down your grandpa whenever you want? Or are you just obsessed with my outfit?”

Speaking of outfits, their clashing outfits today really highlighted who wore it better. Jiang Song’s face, though meticulously sculpted into a generic template of perfection, lacked distinctiveness. His proportions were off too—short legs and a thick waist.

In contrast, Shi Zhou was tall and poised, with bright eyes and gleaming teeth. His aristocratic aura and high ponytail only added to his striking charm, making him impossible to look away from.

Jiang Song paled in comparison, especially standing next to Shi Zhou, who was noticeably taller. The difference was almost painful to witness.

Shi Zhou narrowed his eyes, then suddenly smiled. “Alright, a search it is. But Brother Jiang has to do it himself—don’t stand so far away.”

He was mostly bluffing, expecting Jiang Song to keep his distance and avoid an unflattering side-by-side comparison.

But it was also a backup plan. In a crowded, media-saturated environment like this, if Jiang Song’s assistant actually searched him—or worse, stripped him—photos would inevitably end up online, plastered across the trending searches. By then who would care whether he was guilty?

But if Jiang Song personally frisked him, the narrative would shift entirely. At worst, it would be framed as a joke between “friends.” And given how unphotogenic Jiang Song was next to him, those pictures would never see the light of day.

To Shi Zhou’s surprise, Jiang Song pulled his hands from his pockets and spread them magnanimously. “Shi Zhou, I’m only doing this to prove your innocence to everyone. My apologies.”

With that, he stepped forward and began rifling through Shi Zhou’s pockets—jacket, pants, inside and out—without hesitation.

Shi Zhou was baffled. Leaning down, he whispered in Jiang Song’s ear. “Want to help me take off my shoes too? Check if the watch’s hidden there?”

He realized he might have overestimated Jiang Song’s intelligence. Maybe the man had simply planned to exploit the original host’s fragile psyche, pushing him to break down in tears or call the police in front of the media.

Jiang Song’s anger flared. Shi Zhou had indeed guessed most of his plan, but the young man’s composure and sharp wit were unexpected—as if he’d been reborn as a completely different person. Fortunately, Jiang Song had one last trick up his sleeve.

In a flash, Shi Zhou’s heart lurched inexplicably. A sudden sense of foreboding made him step back, avoiding Jiang Song’s hands as they rubbed insistently against him. He looked down at his ivory trench coat—still pristine white, except for a damp spot where Jiang Song’s hands had brushed against it.

Wait. Jiang Song’s hands had been in his pockets earlier. Where had the water come from? Was it really just water?

Frowning, Shi Zhou met Jiang Song’s sinister smile. He was about to take off his coat to inspect it when someone in the crowd suddenly gasped. “Wait—Shi Zhou’s watch is a Vacheron Constantin limited edition! It’s worth at least 10 million!”

The entire area fell silent, including Shi Zhou.

He’d never cared much for watches. The day before, Qin Yancheng had told him to pick one to match his outfit, so he’d randomly chosen this flashy gold one that suited his flamboyant taste. Had it really been that expensive?

Jiang Song’s assistant seized the opportunity, sneering, “You can afford a watch like that? Where’d you steal this one from?”

To everyone present, Shi Zhou was not only obscure and poor but also unconnected to any elite circles. Combined with the ongoing “stolen watch” drama, this new revelation painted him as nothing more than a petty thief.

The crowd’s earlier skepticism turned into outright disdain:

“Looks like he’s all flash and no substance. Probably not his first time stealing, huh? And here I thought it might’ve been a misunderstanding.”

“With numbers this big, we should definitely call the police, right?”

The situation deteriorated rapidly, with murmurs of “poverty breeds dishonesty” spreading like wildfire.

Fortunately, Shi Zhou kept his cool enough to prioritize. The red carpet event was about to start, so he first inspected his coat again.

Still nothing unusual.

Yet the unease in his chest only grew.

Earlier, there had been no “stolen goods,” but now, with “evidence” in hand, Jiang Song was practically gleeful, eager to call the police and muddy the waters. Whether there’d been a misunderstanding or not, disrupting the gala in Shi Zhou’s name was enough.

With a glance from Jiang Song, sycophants in the crowd began clamoring to call the police, while others pulled out their phones, ready to “do the right thing.”

Shi Zhou took a deep breath, weighing whether to just admit his “improper” relationship with Qin Yancheng, when a sudden commotion erupted nearby.

One of Jiang Song’s assistants, who’d just returned with coffee, announced excitedly. “Brother Jiang! Mr. Qin is coming this way!”

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Including Jiang Song, nearly every young star in the vicinity subtly adjusted their posture or expressions. Rumors had long circulated that Qin Yancheng would attend tonight. The implications of securing his patronage were undeniable—which was precisely why Jiang Song couldn’t tolerate Shi Zhou outshining him in matching attire.

Shi Zhou turned in surprise, spotting a familiar figure approaching in the distance.

“Brother Jiang, should we still call the police about Shi Zhou?” the assistant whispered furtively.

“Of course! Now’s the perfect time to make a scene!”

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Though this year’s gala theme was “Charity,” at its core, it remained an annual battleground for celebrities to flaunt their glamour on the red carpet. Freezing temperatures couldn’t deter bare shoulders or lightweight spring suits—a contagious trend that even industry titans and executives felt pressured to follow, shedding layers despite the cold.

Shi Zhou rubbed his hands together. The shared dressing room was far from warm, reserved for those not prestigious enough for private suites or makeup trailers. But after all, if a pyramid has a peak, it must have a bottom, and there were still some artists who were not as famous getting their makeup and hair done here.

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The original host’s face, which could serve as a “stand-in”, was already good-looking. In addition, Shi Zhou took the initiative to give up the original host’s previous feminine style with heavy makeup, and instead chose a The original owner’s face, which could serve as a “stand-in”, was already good-looking. In addition, Shi Zhou took the initiative to give up the original owner’s previous feminine style with heavy makeup, and instead chose a capable and cool beige trench coat, a solid-color turtleneck sweater, and a high ponytail. His whole person looked chic and sunny. He had a commanding aura when he wasn’t smiling, and appeared approachable when he was.

Of course, his secret weapon was thermal underwear, sparing him the facial spasms plaguing others. Like the man who strutted in with three assistants, face frozen stiff from fillers, resembling a disinterred zombie.

But cosmetic enhancements were the industry’s worst-kept secret. Shi Zhou would’ve ignored him if not for the obnoxious superiority vibes. Instead, he focused on teasing Qin Yancheng via text:

—Qin sir, dining alone tonight? Feeling lonely? Missing me terribly?

Outside, crowds thronged behind barricades and neon banners as an unassuming white Alphard parked nearby, curtains drawn.

Inside, Qin Yancheng’s phone buzzed. He glanced at it, then at the packets of soft cookies beside him—left by Shi Zhou, whose eyes had sparkled like a sea of stars, looking like a mischievous fox as he’d insisted, “Hey, dear Qin sir, I bought you some snacks. If you don’t have time to eat and your stomach is empty, just eat some.”

Qin Yancheng didn’t eat snacks, and he was very reluctant to receive care from others. But before he could say the cold and harsh words of rejection, Shi Zhou had already torn open a bag and handed it to him, “How about you try it?”

The slightly salty sea salt and milky aroma bloomed on the tip of the tongue, and the taste was soft and delicate. Qin Yancheng met Shi Zhou’s eyes that were happily waiting for feedback. Perhaps it was against his upbringing to talk with food in his mouth. In short, he swallowed all the cold words along with the cookies, and acknowledged with a “mnn”.

So Shi Zhou happily continued playing games on his phone, and said casually as he walked. “I see you don’t like sweet things, so I spent a long time looking for sea salt cookies for you.”

Shi Zhou’s caregiving skills were oddly polished for a spoiled young master. His brother had been similarly workaholic and would have stomach pain when he didn’t eat on time, so he’d made a habit of going through his bag—searching whether his brother had bought interesting knick knacks for him, if his meds were still stocked and stuffing snacks into his bag.

—For Qin Yancheng’s beautiful looks and model-sugar-daddy status, he’ll temporarily rank second in importance in his heart. Performance reviews to follow.

Back in the dressing room, Shi Zhou was engrossed in a mobile game when a voice sneered down at him. “Shi Zhou, you’re outfit-clashing with our Jiang Song. How about you take off the coat.”

Shi Zhou removed his headphones. “What?”

He genuinely wondered if he’d misheard. Young Master Shi was domineering wherever he went. This was the first time someone had the audacity to make such an impolite request.

“I said—you and our Jiang Song—are outfit clashing! Either change or take off that coat, thanks!” The assistant eyed Shi Zhou with open disdain, thinking, how does trash like this keep getting invited? No brand deals, no designer labels—just some knockoff ensemble.

Their voice carried, drawing glances from the room. But such scenes were routine, especially when the target was a nobody like Shi Zhou. Most returned to their business, half-watching the drama unfold.

“Who’s Jiang Song?” Shi Zhou matched the assistant’s contemptuous stare, curious what kind of owner such a poorly trained lapdog might have.

The assistant gaped as if hearing the joke of the century. “You don’t know Jiang Song? Should we have his fans flood your Weibo tomorrow to educate you?”

The aggression was disproportionate for a mere outfit coincidence. Shi Zhou scanned the room—and there, of course, was the alleged “Jiang Song”, the frozen-faced peacock from earlier, now pretending not to eavesdrop while his minions barked.

The zombie-faced man seemed to be playing with his mobile phone at the moment, but he would glance at Shi Zhou from the corner of his eye in the mirror from time to time. It was obvious that he had instigated the provocation and came to watch the fun.

Shi Zhou was amused and angry at the same time. “Jiang Song? Is he wearing the emperor’s dragon robes? Can others not wear it if he wears it?”

His voice was neither too loud nor too soft, just loud enough for the entire dressing room to hear.

Jiang Song heard it clearly, with a hint of surprise in his eyes. The Shi Zhou he knew was a timid, cowardly guy who didn’t dare to say a word and would even cry if he was slightly frightened.

But it was just such a flower vase who, by means of shameless and despicable methods, snatched away the role that could have belonged to him.

The grudge ran deep. Back then, Jiang Song had slept with that greasy and disgusting old man for three consecutive nights. He still wanted to vomit when he thought of the fat rolls and smell of sweat. But in the end, it was all for nothing because Shi Zhou snagged it effortlessly via Zheng Qi’s connections.

Whenever he thought about how he was sexually exploited but didn’t get what he wanted, he hated Shi Zhou to the core, as if all the nights he couldn’t bear to recall were caused by Shi Zhou.

But now the situation had changed. Now, with Shi Zhou allegedly discarded by Zheng Qi and Jiang Song himself becoming famous quickly by chance with a seemingly hopeless web drama, revenge was overdue.

Shi Zhou spread his hands and said, “Either you bear it, or you can sew some clothes on the spot to change into, or you can have your Majesty take off his dragon robe and wear just a sweater.”

Another assistant chimed in. “Shi Zhou, don’t blame us for not informing you. Our Brother Jiang’s outfit is current-season haute couture. Yours is a knockoff. You’re only embarrassing yourself.”

Shi Zhou’s outfit was indeed not from any brand, but he believed that since Qin Yancheng had someone custom-make it for him, he would definitely not let him down. It seemed that the name of a designer was mentioned at the time, but it was too confusing so he didn’t pay attention to it.

Shi Zhou shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. I believe that apart from the trolls, no brand would think that someone wearing a black turtleneck sweater and a cream trench coat means they are being imitated. Oh, by the way, let me tell you one more thing. It’s not scary to wear the same clothes as others. It’s only embarrassing for the ugly one. I hope that after comparing, your brand owners will still have the nerve to claim their own clothes.”

With that, Shi Zhou left, too lazy to engage in an endless argument. After all, being bitten by a dog was indeed unlucky, but it would be too embarrassing to lean down and bite the dog back in public.

Unbeknownst to him, Qin Yancheng was one of tonight’s special guests. Shi Zhou’s texts about dinner went unanswered, and he was still wondering whether this guy had read his text messages and eaten well. It was rare that the two of them didn’t have dinner together these days, and Shi Zhou couldn’t help feeling a little uncomfortable like an old father worried about his silly child.

Jiang Song heard Shi Zhou slam the door and leave. Though he knew that he lost in that confrontation, he still deceived himself into thinking that Shi Zhou must have been scared and that was why he “ran away”.

Who would have expected that Shi Zhou, who had always been a coward, had already lost Zheng Qi, his only backer, would have the guts to keep talking back throughout the whole process, while everyone watched this bad show that ended with him being ridiculed and mocked.

Putting all these new and old grudges together made Jiang Song feel so angry that his teeth grinded. He felt even more angry now. It would be difficult to calm his hatred unless he did something.

After a moment, a “good idea” was quickly constructed in his mind, and Jiang Song couldn’t help laughing.

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

AN: Unreliable Behind-the-Scenes Comedy Skit~

Author: President Qin, rumor says you never attend these events. Is this gala special?

Qin Yancheng: No, it’s… in any case, these kinds of events are the most tedious waste of time.

Author: Ah, but everyone knows what—or who—makes it “special” for you.

Qin Yancheng: (Suddenly icy.jpg) Who permitted you to speculate?

Author: …Are you blushing, President Qin?

Qin Yancheng: …From rage!

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