This hot search climbed fast and fell just as fast.
By the time Jing Li got the excited call from Le Xiaoxiao and logged onto Weibo to check it out, the entry had already slipped to the tail end, on the verge of dropping off entirely. But the discussion on the topic square was still buzzing.
Most netizens were just fawning over his looks, licking the screen.
He had precious few works out there anyway, and most of them were just cameos. The only one with any real discussion value was his debut film, where he had a substantial role with a fully fleshed-out character. He’d even snagged a Best Supporting Actor nomination for it back then.
That movie had been a flop, though, and while the film festival that nominated him was legit, it wasn’t exactly a household name. Most people had never even heard of it.
Of course, alongside the fans simply appreciating his beauty, there were the conspiracy theorists who trashed him as a has-been stirring up drama, riding on Ji Yunzhang and Xu He’s coattails for traffic.
Their words were ugly and filthy. Jing Li glanced at them once and ignored them completely.
On the other end of the line, Le Xiaoxiao chattered on, breaking down the data for him, his voice brimming with delight. “…Your search volume and discussion metrics are up, and your fan count is climbing too.”
Compared to Le Xiaoxiao’s excitement, Jing Li stayed cool as ice, his response flat. “Mm.”
Le Xiaoxiao sounded miffed. “You’re way too chill about this! Shouldn’t you be thrilled or something?”
A hot search.
And not the bought kind!
Jing Li’s thoughts were crystal clear, his mind sharp. He knew full well this hot search meant nothing without works to back it up—and he had none.
Without works, the netizens would forget him by tomorrow.
Le Xiaoxiao knew it too, but he was still thrilled. Jing Li paused, then figured he ought to show a little ceremony for it, after all. First time and everything.
“I’m super surprised. I’m jumping for joy,” he said, and actually bounced on the spot to prove it.
Le Xiaoxiao: “…”
Le Xiaoxiao fell silent for a beat, the excitement draining from his voice. “You still with Ji Yunzhang?”
“Nope, at Wen Yang’s place.” As the words left his mouth, a crash echoed from the bedroom—the sound of a cup shattering. Jing Li stood and went to check. Wen Yang had accidentally knocked over his water glass.
Seeing Wen Yang about to pick up the shards, Jing Li stopped him quick. “Don’t move.”
Le Xiaoxiao: “What happened?”
“Nothing.” Jing Li brushed it off. “Talk later. Hanging up now.”
After ending the call, Jing Li grabbed a broom, swept up the pieces, and poured Wen Yang a fresh glass of water. “How you feeling? Better?”
Wen Yang was fully awake by then. He drained the glass and thanked Jing Li. “Thanks.”
“No need to be so formal.”
He explained further. “I sent Luo Feifei home ahead. It’d be awkward for her to stick around and nurse you.”
Wen Yang clutched the cup and nodded.
Jing Li sat on the edge of the bed. “Mind playing that new song you’re writing? I’d love to hear it.”
Wen Yang blinked, then smiled. “Sure.”
He grabbed his phone from the nightstand and played the demo he’d recorded himself.
To Jing Li’s surprise, it was a track packed with rhythm, complete with a rap section in the middle. It was a far cry from Wen Yang’s usual style, and his voice had shed its softness for something lazier, more aggressive—like he was ripping apart every frustration in his path.
Jing Li’s eyes lit up as he listened.
“Really good.”
Wen Yang was the soft-spoken, shy type. He lowered his gaze, fingers rubbing the rim of the cup as he murmured, “I wanted to try a new style. If you think it’s good, that’s enough for me.”
“This style’s killer,” Jing Li praised without hesitation.
The validation lit Wen Yang up, but then he thought of his blowout with Zheng Xiaoyun that morning, and how the company wouldn’t let him release anything. His mood soured again.
Jing Li sighed inwardly.
He knew Wen Yang’s situation all too well. The guy was passionate about music, dead set on being a singer. He’d compromised once, thinking new songs would follow soon—but two years later, it was still just a pipe dream.
He never stopped writing, song after song, but none ever saw the light of day. Not even if he funded them himself—the contract tied his hands.
He and his dreams felt like parallel lines that would never meet. So he drifted, lost and heartbroken, with no clue what to do next.
“Should I terminate my contract?” Wen Yang blurted out.
Jing Li met his eyes but didn’t decide for him. “Going all-in on music alone is tough these days. Unless you’re already famous, no company’s gonna back that. You ready for it?”
Wen Yang pressed his lips tight.
Jing Li clapped him on the shoulder. “Whatever you decide, I’ll back you. If you need help, come to me. I’ll do everything I can.”
~~~
Jing Li riding Ji Yunzhang’s coattails onto the hot search? An Jiaming mentioned it to Ji Yunzhang.
Ji Yunzhang had just showered and was drying his hair while video-chatting with An Jiaming. He’d propped his laptop on the coffee table in front of him. He listened, then gave a casual grunt in response.
“But it’s pretty strange,” An Jiaming continued.
Ji Yunzhang paused in his movements and lifted his eyes. Beneath his casual tone lurked a hint of coldness. “What’s strange about it?”
“The popularity dropped too fast.” An Jiaming sent over a screenshot, which clearly showed something was off—the heat had risen steadily before plummeting suddenly.
He said, “Someone’s suppressing the hot search.”
This hot search was positive; Jing Li and the others had no reason to take it down deliberately.
Ji Yunzhang gestured for him to go on.
“I found a bunch of paid trolls on the topic square. Their scripts are all similar, trying to stir up discontent among your fans and Xu He’s fans toward Jing Li, making them prejudge and dislike him.”
An Jiaming reasoned, “Someone’s deliberately preventing Jing Li from blowing up.”
Ji Yunzhang wasn’t surprised by this conclusion. Jing Li was exceptionally talented. Even though Kerry marginalized him without investing resources, they hadn’t truly shelved him—he still had activities and roles, yet he remained obscure, practically an unknown. Someone must be deliberately suppressing him.
“Find out who it is,” he ordered.
~~~
Just as Jing Li had anticipated, the hot search didn’t bring him much lasting buzz. By the next day, netizens had already forgotten about him, their attention drawn to other events.
At one in the afternoon, Jing Li stood in front of his wardrobe, arms crossed, pondering what to wear.
Acting required professionalism.
Since he was meeting elders, he needed to dress appropriately and formally, not too casually.
He tried on three outfits but wasn’t entirely satisfied with any.
When Ji Yunzhang’s call came in, Jing Li was about to try a fourth. Hearing that Ji Yunzhang was downstairs, he remembered something and smoothed his furrowed brow. “Come on up. I need your help with something.”
Soon, Ji Yunzhang arrived.
Jing Li opened the door for him, invited him in, poured him a glass of water, then stepped back two paces, straightened up, and asked directly, “Does this outfit work?”
The room was heated, and he wore a loose camel-colored shirt, the top button undone to reveal delicate collarbones and a slender, pale neck. The hem was tucked into his slacks, accentuating a very slim waist, with long, straight legs. Sunlight streamed in from the floor-to-ceiling windows, bathing him in light; the exposed skin on his body was almost transparently white.
“It works. It looks great,” Ji Yunzhang said, his gaze sweeping over Jing Li’s waist and legs before returning to his face. “But it’s cold outside. You’ll catch a cold dressed like that.”
“There’s heating.”
He spun around once more. “Will your grandparents like it?”
Looking into his clear eyes, Ji Yunzhang’s expression softened. “They will.”
Jing Li let out a relieved breath. “Good.”
“Wait just a bit longer. I need to style my hair.” With that, he dashed into the bedroom. Soon, the sound of a hairdryer came from the bathroom inside.
About ten minutes later, Jing Li emerged. “Let’s go.”
…
After crossing the overpass, they drove another half hour through the main city district. Ji Yunzhang turned onto a side road, where shops and pedestrians grew sparser. At the end of the road, after a turn, the view suddenly opened up. The buildings on either side vanished, replaced by vast expanses of flower fields, blooming vibrantly even in winter.
This flower field was famous, a popular influencer check-in spot.
Jing Li had seen it plenty on social media.
They drove along the flower fields for another ten minutes, reaching a checkpoint. Clearly, beyond it was private property, off-limits to outsiders.
Ji Yunzhang’s car drove straight in, passing through a towering birch grove to a second checkpoint. Through the car window, Jing Li could already see the villa standing not far away.
Perhaps “estate” was more accurate.
Jing Li was inwardly amazed. After reading the family background Ji Yunzhang had given him and learning that Ji Yunzhang’s father was the founder of the Ji Corporation, he’d known the family was wealthy. But seeing it in person still exceeded his expectations.
The wrought-iron gates opened, and Ji Yunzhang drove in, circling past a fountain and lush green lawn before parking at the entrance. A man dressed as a butler hurried out.
After getting out, Ji Yunzhang introduced him to Jing Li. “He’s the family butler. You can call him Uncle Wang.”
Jing Li smiled. “Uncle Wang.”
Uncle Wang looked at him kindly. “Hello, Mr. Jing.” That morning, he’d received Ji Yunzhang’s call and, knowing he was bringing his partner, had looked up all the details: name, gender, preferences.
Ji Yunzhang handed over the car keys and asked, “Are Grandpa and Grandma awake?”
The two elders had a habit of napping for an hour each day.
Uncle Wang replied, “They’re awake, in the small living room. They knew you were coming back and have been waiting for a while.”
Ji Yunzhang acknowledged with a hum, instructed him to prepare tea, and led Jing Li inside.
After changing shoes in the entryway, Jing Li suddenly felt a bit nervous for no reason. He grabbed the hem of Ji Yunzhang’s clothes and whispered close to him, “Wait, let me compose myself.”
Ji Yunzhang tilted his head, his gaze dropping down. He saw Jing Li tightly gripping the gift’s handle, his knuckles turning white, and quietly taking deep breaths. Ji Yunzhang reached out and gently touched his hair.
“It’s okay,” he said. “They’ll like you a lot.”
The soothing, gentle touch from above made Jing Li freeze. He lifted his head and met Ji Yunzhang’s soft gaze, a flush quietly creeping up his ears.
Coming back to his senses, he rubbed his earlobes to hide the fact that his ears were red.
Ji Yunzhang’s gaze swept over his flushed ears, and he chuckled softly. “Ready?”
Jing Li answered honestly, “One more minute.”
Ji Yunzhang suddenly reached out to him, palm facing up. Jing Li looked puzzled. “?”
“Want to hold hands?” he said.
Jing Li was a bit dazed. After a moment, he asked, “Is it necessary?”
“It’s not strictly necessary,” Ji Yunzhang said, gazing into his eyes, “but it should help ease your tension a little.”
What kind of logic was that? Jing Li pondered for a few seconds, but he still placed his hand on top.
Ji Yunzhang’s hand was large, his palm dry and warm. Jing Li had a cold constitution—his hands and feet always turned icy in winter. His cold hand was enveloped in Ji Yunzhang’s palm, and that warmth spread through his veins to his limbs and throughout his body.
Jing Li realized he really wasn’t nervous anymore.
His attention was now entirely on Ji Yunzhang’s hand.
He lightly pursed his lips, his thoughts drifting. He mused that Ji Yunzhang was truly worthy of being a film emperor—he was so immersed in the role. If Ji Yunzhang ever sincerely wanted to pursue someone, it would be effortless.
Gentle and gentlemanly, elegant and composed.
Irresistibly charming.
