Chapter 66

Lantern Festival, the fifteenth day of the first lunar month.

The 18th Hundred Flowers Awards happened to fall on this joyful family holiday, drawing massive online viewership to the live broadcast. At nine o’clock that evening, the moment everyone had been waiting for finally arrived—the “Best Male Lead” award was announced.

Xi Zhui claimed the trophy for his portrayal of Cheng Zheng in the film The Judge, cementing his status as another double-crown Film Emperor in the annals of Hua entertainment history!

The trending topics rocketed to number one.

Fans erupted in cheers, and plenty of casual viewers and netizens chimed in with their praise.

—If I’m not mistaken, Xi Zhui snagged Best Male Lead at the Baixiang Awards just last year, right? And now he’s got another one?

—Yeah! That was also for The Judge. Gotta say, the movie is insanely good. Xi Zhui’s acting in it is off the charts—totally deserved!

—What a joke, just another obvious nepotism case. Of course the awards are rigged.

—Cut the sour grapes upstairs! Where were you when Brother Xi was getting snubbed at film festivals for years? Not calling it rigged then, huh?

—Happy day like today, no fighting~ Congrats to our Brother Xi on the Hundred Flowers Award! Can’t wait for his next project!

—Xi Zhui is a total career beast lololol. Feels like his movies keep wrapping one after another. Ever since Jian Jinzhao announced his retirement, Xi Zhui’s been leading the pack!

—Okay, as a double stan, time to shill: Teacher Jian produced it, Brother Xi stars in the suspense flick Rotten Mud—it’s wrapped! Check it out, folks! Directed by Wen Chaosheng, son of director Wen Chunshen. Killer visuals and framing. Oh, and the other male lead is a newbie—super super super hot!

—No messy dating scandals since his debut, all business. As a casual fan, I like him!

Wen Chaosheng logged into his Weibo alt account, scrolling through the latest comments under the trending tags in real time.

He liked every single bit of praise from fans and passersby for Xi Zhui. As for the obvious trolls stirring the pot, he quietly reported each one.

He was in the middle of it when a video call request from Xi Zhui popped up.

Wen Chaosheng scrambled off the bed, smoothed down his messy curls, and finally hit accept. “Hey.”

The lighting on Xi Zhui’s end was dim, but it did nothing to dim the impact of his made-up face.

Wen Chaosheng blanked out for a split second, his heart skipping a beat.

Seeing no response, Xi Zhui thought it was a bad connection. “You frozen?”

“No.”

Wen Chaosheng snapped back, his eyes lighting up with joy. “Xi Zhui, congrats! I watched the live stream.”

Riding high on his success, Xi Zhui grinned. “Thanks.”

Wen Chaosheng noticed the light shifting on his end. He couldn’t help asking, “Where are you right now?”

“Just wrapped media interviews. Sister Hui booked a celebration dinner at a nearby hotel—I’m heading there now.” Mindful of Wen Chaosheng’s cautious nature, Xi Zhui added, “Xiao Chao’s driving. No one else in the car but us.”

“Oh.” Wen Chaosheng eased up a bit on his wariness toward the outside world and asked softly, “So when are you coming back?”

Xi Zhui gave it straight. “One p.m. flight tomorrow.”

After a brief pause, he smiled and asked, “Once I’m back in Haishi City, do you want to meet up?”

Wen Chaosheng nodded slightly, a touch uncertain. “You… you’d have time to meet me?”

The guy had just won the Hundred Flowers Film Emperor title—spotlight blazing. There were probably countless eyes tracking his every move from the shadows.

“Plenty of time. As long as you want to see me.”

Xi Zhui steadied him firmly, then thought to ask, “That Chang Ming guy—has he come looking for you these past couple days?”

Wen Chaosheng shook his head. “Nope.”

Chang Ming had gone radio silent the last two days—no ambushes, no WeChat messages. Who knew if he’d finally gotten the message or if something else had come up.

Wen Chaosheng had no interest in his whereabouts or poking around to find out. Better not to give the guy any room to push his luck.

Xi Zhui noticed him zoning out. “Something wrong?”

Wen Chaosheng looked back at the face on screen. “So, where should we meet?”

His rental definitely wasn’t an option.

“I’ll handle it,” Xi Zhui said. “I’ll send you the address on WeChat when it’s set?”

Worried it might stress Wen Chaosheng out, he added, “Just think of it as a normal dinner out. Even if the media snaps us together, it won’t be a big deal.”

Hua Country had legalized same-sex marriage.

Sure, public same-sex couples in showbiz were rare as hen’s teeth, but that didn’t mean the public wasn’t accepting. As long as they didn’t get overly cozy in public, it wouldn’t kick up much fuss. Worst case, Xi Zhui’s PR team at the studio could handle it.

“Sounds good,” Wen Chaosheng agreed.

No sooner had the words left his mouth than Xi Zhui arrived at his destination. “Made it to the hotel for the celebration. It’s gonna run late tonight—get some rest. See you tomorrow.”

“Got it. See you tomorrow.”

They ended the video call.

Wen Chaosheng stared at Xi Zhui’s unchanging WeChat profile pic, then thought back to the night’s triumphant win. He couldn’t help but grin like an idiot.

Nice.

Xi Zhui now had even more accolades and fans, backed by skills to match. His future stretched out bright and clear.

…

Maybe it was the lack of Chang Ming interruptions, but Wen Chaosheng’s mood had lifted these past couple days. His thoughts sharpened too. He decided to let himself be bold for once—to be selfish.

He wasn’t going to let Xi Zhui slip away again!

…

Xi Zhui booked a discreet private club restaurant in the same district—not far at all.

They’d set five o’clock, but Wen Chaosheng got ready early. He planned to head out first and pick up a nice bouquet for Xi Zhui—

One, to celebrate the win.

Two, to make his feelings about getting back together crystal clear.

Wen Chaosheng made sure the two little ones in the bedroom were settled, then headed out in high spirits. But the moment he opened the door, there stood the last person he wanted to see.

Chang Ming had been waiting outside the apartment door—he hadn’t knocked, just lurked quietly in the shadows like some vengeful ghost, his face eerily pale.

…

Wen Chaosheng’s smile vanished under his mask, his step forward freezing solid.

Chang Ming clocked the change but played dumb. “Brother Wen, heading out? Where to?”

Wen Chaosheng wasn’t about to spill. He shot back, “How long have you been here? What do you want?”

It had been three or four days since Chang Ming learned his current address. He’d been house-hunting for a better place since, but nothing suitable had turned up yet.

Chang Ming dodged the question, acting like it was the most natural thing. “Brother Wen, just came to let you know—I booked our flights back to Italy. For next Wednesday.”

Wen Chaosheng stared at him in disbelief over the unilateral decision. “Chang Ming, when did I ever say I was going back with you? I made it clear last time…”

Chang Ming cut him off sharply. “I say you’re going, so you’re going!”

All pretense of meekness gone, his dark urge to control seeped through. “Brother Wen, you’ve gotten so disobedient since coming back home. I really don’t like who you’ve turned into!”

…

Wen Chaosheng knew better than to reason with him. Ignoring was the best play. But Chang Ming’s wheelchair blocked the doorway.

No choice—Wen Chaosheng reached to close the door. “Leave now, or I’m calling the cops.”

Chang Ming didn’t budge. He timed it perfectly. “Xi Zhui just won the Hundred Flowers Film Emperor title. Bet a lot of people would love to know about his same-sex relationship, huh?”

Wen Chaosheng’s hand tightened on the doorknob, trembling. “What did you say?”

Chang Ming had come prepared.

He pulled out his phone leisurely and shoved a saved photo in Wen Chaosheng’s face. “Brother Wen, you really know your way around a shot, huh? This bed selfie is crystal clear—anyone can see it’s Xi Zhui.”

Wen Chaosheng gaped at the photo on Chang Ming’s screen, horror surging back up. “You… you stole it from my phone?”

It was from New Year’s morning. Wen Chaosheng had slept in.

Seeing Xi Zhui still peacefully asleep beside him, he’d snapped and saved the pic on impulse. Nothing explicit about it—not some sleazy “bed photo” by any stretch.

It was the one reckless thing he’d done since reuniting, just a memento for his future self.

Even so, he’d tucked it safely away in a private album.

Wen Chaosheng never dreamed it’d end up on Chang Ming’s phone!

Chang Ming didn’t deny it.

Truth was, he’d cracked Wen Chaosheng’s lock screen password ages ago.

The night they’d reunited, Chang Ming had gotten hold of the phone by chance. Once Wen Chaosheng left, he couldn’t resist digging through everything—

He’d seen the chat history with Xi Zhui, the work notes, the private album screenshots from Moments, and that slightly intimate two-shot.

Jealousy had nearly torched his heart on the spot!

Back then, he would’ve deleted the treasured photo and axed Xi Zhui from the contacts again.

But times had changed. To avoid tipping his hand, he’d played innocent, locked it back up, and returned it as is.

Chang Ming had bided his time for the perfect moment to drop the bomb. And now, he finally laid his cards on the table.

“Brother Wen, what if I sent this selfie to the tabloids and marketing accounts?”

“Besides, with AI technology so advanced these days, couldn’t we whip up some even more outrageous photos? Same-sex bed shots with a double Film Emperor—tsk, how’s that for a headline? It’d blow up the hot searches, and the gossip hounds would eat it right up.”

Wen Chaosheng’s heart lurched in panic. “You…”

He had no time to dwell on Chang Ming’s outrageous invasion of his privacy. Instead, he blamed himself for letting things spiral to this point.

A wave of unprecedented guilt and regret coiled around him like creeping vines. Wen Chaosheng stiffened as he lunged to snatch the phone. “Chang Ming, delete those photos right now!”

Chang Ming yanked it back even faster, then feigned kindness with a reminder. “Brother Wen, don’t get so worked up over him. You should spare some attention for Director Wen, too.”

Wen Chaosheng’s hand froze in midair.

Chang Ming tapped open his nearly empty WeChat contacts list and pivoted to another topic. “Lately, I can’t stop dwelling on that accident from six years ago. The more I think about it, the more it eats at me. So I tracked down one of the crew members who was willing to testify for me back then.”

“Talk about unlucky—he still had two on-site photos from the crash. Blood everywhere, a real horror show.”

“Brother Wen, how about I step forward myself and spill all the dirt to the public?”

Chang Ming glanced at Wen Chaosheng, as if soliciting his opinion.

“The famous director Wen Chunshen, sacrificing a rookie’s life for his son’s career prospects. Using his capital muscle and shelling out big money to bury a crew accident—that’s got to make for some killer headlines, right?”

On one side, a director swimming in fame and fortune. On the other, an everyday nobody left crippled, with the whole incident swept under the rug for six long years.

Just spice up those keywords a little, and in today’s toxic online climate, a nudge to public opinion would send it all crashing down in one direction.

Chang Ming wove his half-truths together, then flung the blanket off his lap, exposing his disabled legs right in front of Wen Chaosheng.

“After all, these legs are proof enough.”

“Who’s right, who’s wrong? Who’s the bully, who’s the victim? People’s eyes are sharp as ever. I’m really looking forward to them taking my side.”

Sure, no one cared much about some ordinary schlub’s sob story. But watching a powerhouse director crash off his pedestal? That was prime entertainment.

“…”

Wen Chaosheng’s pupils contracted sharply, his physical discomfort surging anew.

He knew full well this was a brazen threat.

But Chang Ming wasn’t done. He pressed on. “Brother Wen, care to guess why I waited until after the movie wrapped to come after you?”

“…”

A year ago, Wen Chaosheng had been deep in a depressive episode.

To reclaim the ID and passport Chang Ming had hidden from him, he’d grabbed a fruit knife and held it to his own throat, forcing the issue with a suicide threat.

Chang Ming had sobbed, begging for forgiveness, before finally relenting with eight months’ grace to return home and finish his film.

“Brother Wen, I’ve always had your best interests at heart. I’ve dug into pretty much everyone around you.”

“Oh, and get this—Jian Jinzhao might seem like he’s riding high, but he’s got plenty of enemies gunning for him. Take his old agency, for instance.”

“Jian Jinzhao launched his new company, Whale Shadow, and out of friendship, made your script their flagship investment—”

Like a hunter who’d lain in wait, Chang Ming methodically lured his desperate prey back into the trap he’d so carefully laid.

“If word dropped right now about this director’s ethical scandals—plus some shady same-sex hookup with the lead actor, Film Emperor Xi Zhui—do you think the public would boycott the movie?”

“Would Jin Zhao’s rivals seize the chance to stir up the mud?”

Halting production halfway through? Where was the fun in that?

No, the real payoff was finishing the shoot only for it to bomb at release, bleeding money.

“…”

Terror slithered up Wen Chaosheng’s spine like an icy viper, coiling mercilessly around his throat.

Teetering on the brink of suffocation, he watched Chang Ming’s face twist into something grotesque and horrifying. Wen Chaosheng stumbled backward. “Chang Ming, you’re nothing but a ruthless lunatic!”

Chang Ming refused to let him flee. “That’s right! I’m a lunatic!”

Even knowing Wen Chaosheng was on the verge of a breakdown, he lunged forward and yanked the man to the floor. “Don’t you dare leave! You can’t abandon me!”

Clang!

Wen Chaosheng’s shin slammed into the wheelchair’s metal frame. The pain left him too weak to even stand.

Chang Ming ripped off the mask shielding Wen Chaosheng’s face and clamped a vise grip on his jaw. “Brother Wen, you cut all ties with Xi Zhui right this instant. You’re staying with me forever!”

“You’d better play nice!”

“Or I’ll find a way to destroy everything you hold dear!”

Lovers, family, friends, his work—he’d shatter Wen Chaosheng’s entire mental world!

Even if it left nothing but a hollow shell stumbling through life, he’d bind the man to his side for eternity!

“…”

Wen Chaosheng thought of his parents, who’d earned their stellar reputations over decades in the industry. He thought of Xi Zhui, whose hard-won career was finally on the rise. He thought of Jian Jinzhao, who’d thrown him a lifeline at his lowest ebb. Desperation closed his eyes.

“Why?”

He’d thought he could afford one bout of selfishness, just this once. Now he realized he couldn’t.

His body trembled uncontrollably, his voice barely audible. “Why does it have to be me?”

Why, after all these years, wouldn’t he just let go?

Chang Ming caressed Wen Chaosheng’s cheek, his tone laced with eerie reverence. “Because you’re too good, Brother Wen. I can’t bear to let you go.”

A chill ran through Wen Chaosheng, raising the hairs on his neck.

But caught in the throes of a full panic attack, he lacked even the strength to struggle.

“Brother Wen, did you know? From childhood on, you’ve been the best person I’ve ever met. Hands down.”

Chang Ming’s early years had been shrouded in shadow and suffering. His parents’ marriage crumbled when he was five, and custody went to his father, the one with the steadier paycheck.

Behind closed doors, though, that father was a insecure, twisted control freak who lashed out at the boy whenever work soured. Chang Ming’s memories were littered with inexplicable beatings and tirades.

The constant bruises made him the class punching bag, enduring suffocating schoolyard bullying on top of the abuse at home. Classmates mocked him, tormented him, toyed with him endlessly.

That hellish childhood had etched deep lines of inferiority and gloom into his soul.

The nightmare dragged on until the summer after junior high, when his father died in a car wreck.

As the only child, Chang Ming pocketed a hefty settlement from the at-fault driver and was remanded to his mother, Chang Xiaomei.

He loathed her for abandoning him back then, but played the pity card to exploit her maternal guilt, enrolling in the priciest major he could find.

He yearned to bask in the spotlight, to drown in adoration and acclaim—to scour away the shame embedded in his bones.

But after clawing his way into film school, Chang Ming discovered the brutal truth: the gulf between people was innate, unbridgeable.

No family connections, no insider access, no financial backing. Even his one decent asset—his face—was just average in the cutthroat entertainment world.

On the verge of throwing in the towel, Wen Chaosheng burst into his dank, dismal existence like a warming sun.

The man praised his looks, validated his efforts, checked in on his daily life. He critiqued flaws with tough love and cheered every on-camera improvement.

Wen Chaosheng figured he was just fulfilling a director’s duty.

But Chang Ming plunged headlong into obsession with that purity and warmth, coveting it for himself with selfish fervor!

If he couldn’t have it, he’d rather reduce Wen Chaosheng to ruins than hand him over to anyone else.

“Brother Wen, my wretched life needs you by its side more than anything.”

Gazing at the man on the edge of collapse, Chang Ming bent down and pulled him into an embrace. “Be good. Cut things off with Xi Zhui right away. Don’t ever leave me, okay?”