Bang—
The night was deep and still, so quiet that the faint rustle of leaves in the breeze seemed almost audible. Suddenly, a massive crash echoed from the poolside. The water surface shattered under the impact of some heavy object, sending a huge spray into the air.
A sharp, startled cry followed, quickly swallowed by the splash.
The voice held no hint of playfulness. It wasn’t the sound of lovers frolicking in the water by prior agreement. Instead, it resembled someone who had tumbled in unexpectedly.
Shen Yuan, who had been crafting with Cheng Yan, shot to her feet. The scissors were still clutched in her hand as she instinctively glanced toward the pool.
All she could make out was the blurry silhouette of Fu Yanzong’s back.
Everyone already knew that Fu Yanzong was on a date with Su Tang that evening. The poolside offered little cover, so any guest who cared to look could see it plainly.
Shen Yuan hesitated in place for a moment. Then she heard Su Tang’s thin, piercing cry for help—sinking and bobbing in the water, sounding utterly pitiful.
Though she had no idea what had happened, she decided to go take a look. After all, no normal date would prompt cries of “help”… not even if the person involved was Su Tang, whom she despised the most.
But just as she took a step forward, Cheng Yan, seated in his spot, reached out and blocked her path. The young man across from her lifted his gaze, his expression and tone carrying a meticulous sort of detachment.
“You shouldn’t go over there.”
Shen Yuan looked at him in confusion, wondering what had gotten into Cheng Yan all of a sudden. She frowned, her voice sharpening. “This is a 24-hour live broadcast, you know. If there’s an on-set accident, we’ll all have to deal with the PR fallout. Something must have gone wrong with Teacher Fu. The best way to handle it is for everyone to go check it out.”
Cheng Yan didn’t withdraw his hand. Instead, he glanced calmly toward the pool before turning back. With utmost seriousness, he told Shen Yuan, “What you’re saying makes sense for a normal person. But Su Tang isn’t normal. There’s no need for you to get involved. Just sit here.”
“What are you talking about—?”
Shen Yuan stared at Cheng Yan in bewilderment. From their brief time together so far, she’d realized he was someone who rarely spoke and kept his emotions tightly reined in. He wasn’t the arrogant and aloof type Su Tang had described; he simply had very little emotional fluctuation.
Even when forced by the show’s rules to sit face-to-face with her, sewing dolls, Cheng Yan had been patient. He could go the whole time without a word, yet his work was impeccable. At first glance, he seemed the polar opposite of the wildly uninhibited, hot-blooded teen from the stage—playful to the point of being a bit chuunibyou.
But when he spoke those words, Shen Yuan clearly saw the hatred and disgust flickering in his eyes.
This wasn’t the superficial disdain of industry rivals or rumored bandmate friction. It was genuine, bone-deep loathing spilling straight from his heart.
The raw intensity of it startled her. She froze for a second before involuntarily raising her voice. “Hold on. Let me say it again: we’re in front of the cameras right now, aren’t we? Cheng Yan, don’t do anything stupid in front of the fans, okay?”
Cheng Yan gave her a look and curved his lips slightly, as if faintly pleased. He countered, “There won’t be any cameras. Shen Yuan, have you seen where Song Linyu is?”
Shen Yuan froze. She thought of her top boss, who really wasn’t someone to mess with.
From the moment Fu Yanzong had gone off to meet Su Tang, everyone had been wondering who Song Linyu would pair with. With only eleven people on the show, it was normal for someone to be left out or skip the date to stay in their room.
…Though she’d figured the one left unpaired would be that little fool Mu Yunjin.
“But what does that have to do with this weird atmosphere right now?”
Shen Yuan voiced her helpless question inwardly. Was her boss in cahoots with Fu Yanzong beforehand, planning some stunt that would force the production team to shut down the live stream in front of everyone? Kid, have you read too many domineering CEO novels? What would her boss even gain from that? He only cared about money. Even if he had a sliver of real feelings, was he seriously going to get jealous over some clout-chasing little green tea like Su Tang?
Besides, even as a sponsor, it was just sponsorship. Leyuan Platform had funded eighty percent of Heartthrob Game’s budget for this season. Previous seasons had aired just fine without Song Linyu investing a dime… There was no way anyone could threaten them over it.
Ding-dong—
The familiar notification chime rang out, shattering Shen Yuan’s wild chain of thoughts. Moments later, she lowered her head in disbelief. The production team had actually sent a uniform message to all the guests.
Heartthrob Game, Episode 1 recording… paused?
/
The villa provided by Song Linyu served as the activity space for all the Heartthrob Game guests, that much was true. But few viewers knew that a small building stood behind the villa, housing the production team’s on-call staff for real-time monitoring and directing the shoot.
Rewind to the moment Fu Yanzong and Su Tang met by the pool.
At that time, director Chen Feng was slowly savoring the spicy braised duck feet his assistant director had brought him. As he ate, he griped at the camera feed showing Fu Yanzong from a distance. He yanked off his gloves and slammed the table. “What did Mr. Song say? People Su Tang invites are supposed to be high-priority. For a segment screaming drama and gossip like this, how could you not send a cameraman to follow live?”
The assistant director hurriedly fitted him with a fresh pair of plastic gloves and ventured hesitantly, “But if we go right up to film, won’t we offend Film Emperor Fu? Song Linyu is a sponsor too, and before he came on the show, he made it clear he wanted to give Teacher Fu plenty of space—”
“Afraid of what? Our show has blown up for seasons because we film everything, no holds barred. Buzz comes before any movie emperor! Besides, Song Linyu’s just a fat check walking in the door. A nod’s all he gets. Don’t tell me you don’t know which Song actually calls the shots around here?”
Leyuan Video might seem like a hot new online platform, no match for a behemoth like Xinyu Media backed by Dongyu Group. Yet many wondered why their shows—from concept to execution—were always so creatively brilliant and polished.
The reason was simple: Leyuan had originally been a subsidiary Xinyu planned to spin off. But after Dongyu Group’s brutal internal purge a few years back, it had gone completely dark.
Song Linyu had dug into Leyuan’s true controlling shareholder. So had Fu Yanzong. Even Cheng Yan had looked into it. After circling the market in endless loops, the answer had landed exactly where expected: in the hands of Song Linyu’s biological father.
Song Wen.
…Who had gotten tangled up with Su Tang, somehow.
Even a centipede doesn’t stiffen completely when it dies. Though this one’s rot was particularly nauseating.
Chen Feng shot a disdainful glance at the assistant director, who had bowed his head muttering apologies. Irritated, he leaned forward and barked into the intercom. “Where’s the cameraman? Get to position four and film it straight on. Tell the mods lurking in comments to get creative—hotels, hookups, messy love triangles. The wilder, the better! We trended once on that Silver Lake Hotel thing; dig it up and buy the topic again!”
The assistant director nodded frantically. But before he could affirm or deny, the sound caught in his throat.
The office door in the small building flew open with a bang. The few staff at the monitoring station whipped their heads around. A gust of humid sea wind blasted in, scattering papers across the desks in a whirlwind.
Amid the howling gale, they caught only a glimpse of a wind-whipped coat hem—and heard a voice cold enough to chip ice.
“Tell me. Who’s really in charge here?”
Chen Feng was a master at playing dumb. Spotting the intruder, he switched to a fawning smile and stood ramrod straight, hands at his sides.
He eyed the pale-faced, icy man before him and chuckled oily. “Well, well, what wind blew you here in person, President Song! Come, sit, sit. You’re the sponsor—what can’t be said nicely over a chat?”
Song Linyu fixed him with a stare and let out a soft, mocking scoff. Then he said, “Fine. I need you to shut down the live feed right now and issue a clarification on that rumor-mongering. You all should know—on the night Fu Yanzong returned to the country, Silver Lake Hotel released the surveillance footage to quash the gossip. He and Mr. Su have nothing to do with each other. No need to spread baseless bedroom scandals.”
Chen Feng rolled his eyes thoughtfully, then feigned a heavy sigh. “It’s like this, President Song. We signed a contract with the platform for 24-hour unblinking coverage to deliver authentic romance to viewers… Granting your request would go against our core mission. Any Plan B on offer?”
Song Linyu nodded slowly. In the pitch-black night, his pale eyes gleamed with unusual brightness. His voice was soft, almost courteously polite, as he told Chen Feng, “Sure. Plan B is me holding your head down in that box of spicy braised duck feet.”
“…Haha.” One of the staff let out a stiff, forced laugh first, chiming in cooperatively. “President Song, you’ve got such a great sense of humor. Perfect fit for our show.”
No one else spoke.
Song Linyu glanced at the time, his brows furrowing in disgust. He continued, “Can you make up your mind in five minutes? I hate it when people waste my time.”
“That won’t be possible, President Song.” Chen Feng grew serious, even throwing in a hint of provocation as he said, “Whether you want to pull your funding or you’re just joking about the braised duck feet, that’s your call. Our production team has no reason to break the contract just to satisfy your personal whims. Please leave. If you’d like to withdraw from the recording, we can offset the penalty fee against your investment and settle it that way—”
“No need. Whatever Song Wen gave you, I’ll pay three times that.”
Song Linyu paused for a moment. As Chen Feng couldn’t hold back his laughter, Song Linyu arched a brow and went on, “…You think I’d say something like that?”
Song Linyu lowered his head with a lazy smirk tugging at his lips. He casually pulled over a nearby chair and sat down, lifting his gaze to the group of people standing before him. His tone was utterly calm. “Chen Feng, it only took me five minutes to look into you too.”
His voice was light, as if they were just chatting idly. “Your original name was Chen Feng, just written with a different character. For the three years before you joined Leyuan, you were just a nobody working at a cultural creative company under Song Wen’s name. Your transfer to Leyuan was a parachute drop he arranged for you. It looks like you two have a very solid business relationship. Normally, talk of three or five times the money wouldn’t faze you.”
“But you’re not a completely loyal dog, are you? For instance, that cultural company under your wife’s name has never had a physical office. It’s got ten shell streamers on the payroll, and they’ve scammed platform ad fees and Leyuan’s trial budgets to buy plenty of school district properties and funds.”
“True, it’s a real hassle when your kid’s that old and still not all there mentally. As a parent, you should worry more about that. Not to mention your mistress on the side hasn’t been found out by your wife yet. With so much to stress over, life at home must be pretty pressurized, right?”
He spoke these words unhurriedly, and Chen Feng’s face grew paler by the second.
Song Linyu clasped his hands together and sighed with apparent regret, his tone unusually mild. “Song Wen thought he’d left me with a leaky mess in Dongyu, so he could strut around over my head. But none of you ever considered that if Dongyu’s already one of my defeated subordinates, how good could he possibly be?”
With a clang, Chen Feng—who was a bit overweight—collapsed into his chair like his bones had turned to jelly. The young man before him, who looked so youthful, gazed calmly into his eyes, exuding an air of lofty disdain and cruelty that sent chills down Chen Feng’s spine.
A moment later, Chen Feng quickly wiped the cold sweat from his forehead. Without a word, he shut down all the live broadcast feeds from the production team. He even sent out texts to pause recording to every guest, including the host.
Then, rubbing his palms together, he flashed Song Linyu a fawning smile that was painful to behold, practically groveling at his feet and begging for further instructions from his benefactor.
Song Linyu rose from the chair, meticulously buttoning up the suit jacket he’d just undone. He walked over to Chen Feng and murmured, “Good. Looks like you’re a smart guy after all. Now there’s just one last thing I need to do.”
Chen Feng bent slightly at the waist, signaling that he was all ears.
Song Linyu suddenly raised his hand. His pale fingertips unceremoniously pinned Chen Feng’s head down, smashing his face mercilessly into the plate of braised duck feet on the table.
Chen Feng let out a thunderous choking cough as the spicy sauce smeared across his eyes, snot and tears streaming down his face. Song Linyu slowly released his grip and leaned in close to his ear, his voice low and icy. “If you spread any more nonsense about Fu Yanzong next time, I’ll make you eat ten boxes of these braised duck feet. Got it?”
Chen Feng let out muffled whimpers of despair.
Song Linyu stood up, drew a sheet of paper, and wiped his hands leisurely. He glanced around the room and said coolly, “Any objections? Feel free to call my legal team. See you all later.”
The door slammed shut behind him with a heavy thud.
/
The instant Su Tang tumbled into the swimming pool, icy water flooded his nose and ears. He flailed instinctively, his hands slapping the surface and sending chaotic ripples outward.
He could barely stand in the deep end even on tiptoes, and the way he’d fallen backward had thrown off his balance completely. He couldn’t right himself and sank fully underwater.
The underwater world was silent and warped. Through the shifting waves, he saw Fu Yanzong casually rise with his beer in hand and walk over. Fu Yanzong’s figure, silhouetted at the pool’s edge, appeared even taller and more elongated in the refraction.
Glug—bubbles escaped from Su Tang’s mouth. His lungs were already burning.
Suddenly, a soft chuckle came from above, followed by the crisp click of leather shoes on the poolside tiles.
Fu Yanzong crouched down. That handsome face shimmered alluringly through the rippling water. He hooked the beauty mark at the corner of his eye with a lazy smile and propped himself up as he said softly, “You scared yourself like this before even talking… Do you think your actions back then were flawless? Or that Song Linyu wouldn’t remember a thing?”
Su Tang had been struggling with his head tilted back. At those words, his expression first went blank, then twisted violently from lack of air. He thrashed about like a ridiculous clown in the water, which genuinely amused Fu Yanzong.
“Already done for after just a bit?” Fu Yanzong’s voice carried a teasing lilt. He extended his long-fingered hand and slowly pressed Su Tang’s raised head back under the surface, murmuring, “Nothing to help you out now, is there, Teacher Su?”
Su Tang’s vision went dark. For some reason, the world felt both sharper and more distorted. He could see the patterns on the pool tiles below, his hair fanning out like drifting waterweed, the circular ripples from the tip of Fu Yanzong’s shoe on the surface. But clearest of all was the suffocating sensation creeping through his body, like countless fine needles pricking his lungs, drowning him.
I can’t… I’m really going to die…
“Twenty seconds, that’s all.” Fu Yanzong’s regretful voice filtered through muffled and distant from above. “Is that all you’ve got, Teacher Su? You need to try a little harder.”
Black spots danced in Su Tang’s vision. He struggled fiercely, fingers clawing for Fu Yanzong’s pant leg but grasping only cold pool water.
Just as he teetered on the edge of unconsciousness, the pressure from above vanished.
Splash—Su Tang burst from the water, gasping raggedly, his throat rasping like a bellows. He wiped his face in a wretched state and saw Fu Yanzong bend his eyes in mock sympathy. Then Fu Yanzong tilted his wrist, dumping the entire glass of ice-cold, fizzy beer onto Su Tang’s face.
The sticky, stinging beer made Su Tang’s eyes burn and water. He screamed out the vilest curses, lunging to seize Fu Yanzong’s wrist and drag him in too.
But he couldn’t see a thing, reduced to wild swings in the air. The next second, he was shoved back under. He tried to swim away, only to be yanked back by the scruff of his neck.
“You can’t kill me, Fu Yanzong… So many people are watching. My fans won’t let you get away with it. Do you want to die—!”
“Quiet down.” Fu Yanzong patted his head like he was scolding a disobedient beast, patiently warning him. “You didn’t spill the secret, so you need to be punished. We agreed on that, right? But since Mr. Su always calls himself a lucky guy, how about we play the simplest punishment game?”
“How about… a coin toss? Heads, and I’ll let you up. Tails, and you stay down there until I’m done having fun.”
“Got it?” Fu Yanzong smiled as he asked the dangling Su Tang.
A few water droplets from Su Tang’s splashes clung to Fu Yanzong’s long hair, which draped softly along his cheek like lush waterweed, carrying an intensely seductive allure.
Su Tang just wanted to escape this terrifying hell. The words “let you up” shattered any rationality he had left. He nodded frantically, agreeing instantly for fear Fu Yanzong would change his mind.
Fu Yanzong smiled faintly, then let out a cold sigh, thinking to himself silently, “All because of this idiot—”
All because of this idiot, Song Linyu had suffered nightmares for so many years. All because of this idiot, they’d been torn apart by the most irreconcilable of reasons.
Fu Yanzong straightened up and looked down at Su Tang. “Down.”
Su Tang was truly terrified now. He obeyed the command, taking a deep breath before sinking underwater. This time, he’d learned his lesson. He didn’t dare struggle, simply floating there quietly like a pale specimen, hoping this would quench Fu Yanzong’s rage and free him from the nightmare.
Thirty seconds. Su Tang’s eardrums began to throb.
Forty seconds. His fingers clawed unconsciously at the pool wall.
Fifty seconds. Flashing lights spotted his vision.
Just as he was about to break, a light clink sounded from the surface. Su Tang barely lifted his eyes to see a coin flip from Fu Yanzong’s slender fingers, slowly sinking down—
“Looks like your luck’s not in today.” Fu Yanzong’s voice held laughter, even though he hadn’t actually looked down at the water.
“It’s tails.”
Fu Yanzong had never intended to toss the coin at all.
He was just toying with Su Tang. That was it.
