April in the Capital brought wild swings between day and night, with dust and sand whipping through the air—but mercifully, not a single flower that was due to bloom had failed to bloom.
The Tianmu Magnolia outside the entrance of Fangyuan Culture was in full flower. The trees grew so tall that their cascading blossoms reached the third-floor windows, filling the office with a splendid view.
It was against this very scenery that Xu Zhenzhen stood, leaning against her desk as she spoke slowly. “Utopia is being filmed in a mountainous area, so conditions will be basic. After lengthy negotiations with the production team, the best we could arrange was a single RV Motorhome…”
Xu Zhenzhen’s gaze swept over the two men seated on the sofa as she deliberately drew out her words, buying time—because she knew one of them was bound to jump in.
“I’ll use it! Let’s get one thing straight—don’t talk to this young master about sharing. I have never shared anything in my life!” The man on the left side of the sofa wore sunglasses with his arms crossed over his chest, dressed in luxury brands from the tips of his hair to the heels of his feet—flamboyant and utterly unrestrained.
“Well…” Xu Zhenzhen put on a troubled look and turned to the man on the right, who had kept his head buried in the contract this entire time. “Zhinian, what do you think?”
Ye Zhinian looked up and smiled gently. “I have no objections.”
Staring at that refined, handsome face untouched by a speck of makeup, Xu Zhenzhen momentarily blanked out.
There was no denying it—Ye Zhinian’s looks were truly heaven-defying. Even dressed in a plain white hoodie and jeans, his hair unstyled and falling soft over his forehead, nothing could mask those dazzling features.
Looking at that face, Xu Zhenzhen somehow found herself thinking of the magnolia tree in full bloom outside the window.
The Tianmu Magnolia’s petals were pure white as snow, yet that touch of red at the base of each bloom turned the whole tree into a pink cloud. More delicate than the white magnolia, more elegant than the purple—a beauty that was “stunning in heavy makeup or light” alike.
But beautiful as it was, the Tianmu Magnolia bloomed for only a single week. Just like Ye Zhinian—clearly capable of superstardom, yet because of his stubborn streak and poor “cooperation,” he had been systematically crushed for eight years.
At that thought, Xu Zhenzhen collected herself and agreed with feigned reluctance. “Fine. We’re wronging you, I know.”
After a pause, she added hesitantly, “There’s one more thing. The production team’s expense budget is limited—they can only cover staff costs for four people…”
Another trailing sentence, another hesitating-to-speak manner—and another voice equally impatient to butt in.
“Only four? Hair, makeup, styling, publicity, assistant… No way! I demand five slots, or I’m not filming!”
Xu Zhenzhen rubbed her temple. “A-Chen! There are only four slots to begin with. Fine that you won’t give Zhinian even one, but now you’re asking for an extra? Who else do you want to bring?”
Liu Chen gave a disdainful snort. “I’ll bring whoever I want! Besides, isn’t he the one you found to keep me company on the show, Sister Xu? He’s nothing but a supporting leaf anyway—what does he need makeup for? If you’re playing the supporting leaf, have the self-awareness of one!”
“A-Chen!” Xu Zhenzhen chided, then turned that same troubled gaze on Ye Zhinian.
Ye Zhinian found it amusing inside, but outwardly he spoke with perfect docility. “It’s fine, Sister Xu. I can manage on my own.”
Seeing him so compliant, a flash of smugness crossed Liu Chen’s eyes. “At least you know what’s good for you.”
Then he looked Ye Zhinian up and down. “Also, watch what you wear. A brand like YOUNG isn’t something someone at your level gets to wear.”
Ye Zhinian looked down at this season’s latest spring/summer YOUNG hoodie he was wearing, then glanced at last year’s spring/summer YOUNG jacket on Liu Chen, and nodded with good grace. “Noted.”
Only after the two of them had finished and everything was settled did Xu Zhenzhen jump in with a show of authority. “That’s enough, A-Chen, you’re going too far! Zhinian, don’t mind him—wear whatever you like. Finished reading the contract? Anything you’d like to change?”
Ye Zhinian flipped to the last page, carefully examined the contract-termination clause, then shook his head. “Nothing.”
With that, he picked up the pen and signed his name on all three copies of the contract.
The moment his pen touched paper, a gleam flashed through Xu Zhenzhen’s eyes. Smiling, she picked up a folder from the desk.
“Zhinian, this contains your variety show persona, plus some background material on A-Chen. The show premieres the day after tomorrow, so spend these next two days memorizing everything. Don’t give the game away on camera.”
“Don’t worry, Sister Xu.” Ye Zhinian took the folder and slipped his own copy of the contract inside. “I’ll head back and prepare, then. See you at the airport the day after tomorrow.”
Xu Zhenzhen: “See you at the airport.”
Ye Zhinian rose, gave Liu Chen a polite nod, and walked out.
Only then did Liu Chen take off his sunglasses, muttering with a conflicted expression. “He’s obedient enough, but does he have to be that good-looking? Sister Xu, are you sure about having him record the show with me? Or does the company have some other plan?”
By the end, suspicion had crept into his voice, and his eyes bored into Xu Zhenzhen.
Xu Zhenzhen, however, looked entirely at ease as she tapped the contract in her hand. “If the company had some other plan, would we have bent over backward to stuff you into Starfruit’s season-opener variety show? This appearance of yours is critical—we needed someone obedient to cooperate with you. I can’t speak for anyone else, but Ye Zhinian absolutely won’t pull any tricks.”
But Liu Chen wasn’t fully convinced. “You’re sure? Utopia is livestreamed, and the filming location is in the middle of nowhere. If he tries something, can you really stop him remotely?”
“That’s exactly why the boss and I decided to let him accompany you. I’ll be honest with you: Ye Zhinian wants out of his contract with the company, but an automatic-renewal clause is holding him hostage—he can’t terminate unless the boss nods. That’s how his contract auto-renewed for another three years. This time, for your sake, the boss finally relented: as long as he cooperates with you on the variety show, we’ll terminate his contract. Look.”
Xu Zhenzhen flipped open the contract Ye Zhinian had just signed and pointed to the final paragraph. “It’s all in writing—termination after filming wraps. If he dares pull any funny business, whip up public opinion, and damage your reputation, the company reserves the right to void the termination and keep him stuck at the company twiddling his thumbs.”
Reading that clause, Liu Chen relaxed a little—but curiosity quickly resurfaced. “Why wouldn’t the boss just let him go in the first place?”
“Who wants to watch their own disobedient little chicken fly off to someone else’s coop and turn into a phoenix? The best move is obviously to cage the bird at home. Even if he stays a little chicken forever, that beats watching him make money for someone else.”
Xu Zhenzhen’s words carried a deeper meaning that flew completely over the simple-minded Liu Chen’s head. He asked dumbly, “What do you mean?”
What did she mean? She meant that in this industry, a pretty face and real talent counted for nothing—anyone without backing who wouldn’t play along was destined never to rise.
Xu Zhenzhen gave a soft laugh, her voice gentle as she coaxed a child. “That’s a long story. Don’t you have a shoot this afternoon? Time to head out—another day, perhaps.”
“Fine.” Liu Chen was exactly the type who melted when stroked the right way; he obediently followed Xu Zhenzhen toward the elevator.
Inside the elevator, studying his own reflection in the mirrored walls, Liu Chen spoke thoughtfully. “Sure, Ye Zhinian will cooperate for the sake of his termination. But with that face of his, the moment his exposure goes up, he’s bound to blow up. Aren’t you afraid he’ll compete with me for resources once the show wraps?”
At that, the corners of Xu Zhenzhen’s lips curled up. “Relax. I have ways to make sure every bit of benefit he gains flows straight back to you—whether he ends the show famous or a flop.”
While Xu Zhenzhen was smugly laying out her plans for Liu Chen, Ye Zhinian was already in the car.
His assistant Wei Zilu was driving, asking worriedly, “You signed? They didn’t give you a hard time, did they?”
Ye Zhinian smiled. “No. They only made three demands.”
Wei Zilu: “What demands?”
Ye Zhinian: “No using the RV Motorhome, no makeup on camera, no dressing too well. Nothing else.”
Wei Zilu: “…”
“Oh right, the production team’s expense budget is limited and Liu Chen’s people have snapped up all the slots, so if I want to bring anyone into the crew, it comes out of my own pocket. The filming location’s conditions aren’t great—you’d only suffer following me there. Better to stay in Jing City and help me organize my manuscripts…”
“This is outright bullying!”
Before he could even finish, Wei Zilu was already pounding the steering wheel and cursing. “Those Fangyuan bastards are absolute trash! They’re the ones begging for your help, and they still have the gall to make these bullshit demands!
“That idiot Liu Chen loves acting all high and mighty, doesn’t he? He had the guts to cuss out a Set Crew Member on set—why doesn’t he have the guts to face the consequences himself!
“The whole company’s rotten through and through, blind as bats! They’ve got an absolute gem like you and refuse to promote you, choosing to shove misshapen rotten fruit instead! Why? Is it just because you won’t drink their Kool-Aid…”
Seeing Wei Zilu start dredging up old grievances, Ye Zhinian quietly took out his phone, checked WeChat first, and finding no messages, tapped open Weibo.
The moment his feed refreshed, a brand-new trending post caught his eye.
@Entertainment Croaker V: Lu Chen and Lin Siying spotted at the same hotpot restaurant—Still Shadow Sunken Jade wedding bells soon? [Video of a man and a woman entering the same hotpot restaurant one after the other]
Looking at that back he knew all too well in the video, Ye Zhinian’s gaze instantly turned cold.
Wei Zilu caught his expression in the rearview mirror, and her machine-gun tirade cut off mid-syllable. Silence fell over the car.
Face frosty, Ye Zhinian opened the Hot Search list. The four characters #Still Shadow Sunken Jade# sat at the very top, trailed by a dark-red “Exploding” tag.
Inside, both sides’ Solo Stans were busy “clarifying” while cursing the other party for manufacturing hype, CP Fans were shrieking “we’re being fed!” “It’s real!” “Official announcement next year!” “Two kids in three years!”—and only the drama-loving passersby agreed on one thing with uncanny unanimity—
Let the tea steep a while first.
Because anyone who followed the entertainment industry knew that Top Star Lu Chen had someone he liked, and that he debunked romance rumors with remarkable speed.
Lu Chen had debuted overseas at nineteen, his six-member boy group taking all of Asia by storm. At twenty-two he returned to China to develop his career; at twenty-three, a suspense drama made him a breakout sensation, launching his unchallenged reign as a Top Star.
In music, his boy group was internationally renowned, every concert sold out to the last seat. In acting, he conquered both the big and small screens, with a Best Actor nomination in television and a Best Newcomer award in film. He had even achieved a grand slam of covers across both men’s and women’s fashion magazines, carrying thirty endorsements—two of them top-luxury houses.
Yet a man like this had, from his very debut, stated openly and without evasion: he had someone he loved.
During those three years overseas, Lu Chen had sat through countless interviews, and his stance on romance had always been crystal clear—there was someone in his heart, and it was a secret crush.
After returning home, his team dodged all questions about his love life, but “Lu Chen’s secret crush” was dug up by the internet archaeologists and sent straight to the Hot Searches. Since then, the rumors about him had never stopped.
Because Lu Chen had never described his crush in any detail—not even their gender—it left loopholes for every two-bit opportunist to exploit: planting PR pieces, deploying the Internet Water Army, dropping hints to steer fans and passersby into shipping CPs.
Just like today’s trending post: a decontextualized video and a deliberately ambiguous rhetorical question—technically not defamation, yet leaving endless room for imagination. Lu Chen’s team could only clarify that the two hadn’t eaten together; say one word more, and they’d be offending people, potentially escalating the situation beyond anyone’s control.
Eight years since debut, four as a Top Star—Lu Chen had issued clarification after clarification, yet his CPs only multiplied. Only the seasoned gossip-watchers had wised up: with his tea, you learned to let it steep.
Ye Zhinian, however, couldn’t wait a single second.
He screenshotted the trending post in one fluid motion and sent it straight to the WeChat contact pinned at the very top—”Big Bad Wolf”—immediately followed by one of WeChat’s built-in stickers.
You know the one—the yellow smiley face that beamed with friendly warmth, yet had long ago been assigned an entirely new meaning by the internet.
Nian Bean Bun: [Smile]
Message sent, he tossed the phone aside and turned to stare out the window. The pressure in the car dropped so low that Wei Zilu dared ask nothing and barely dared breathe, wanting nothing more than to deliver this live grenade home as fast as possible.
Mercifully, before long, Ye Zhinian’s phone began to ring—one WeChat notification after another, urgent and rapid, shattering the silence.
Wei Zilu snuck a glance at the rearview mirror. Seeing no movement from Ye Zhinian, she ventured carefully, “Brother Nian… your WeChat… maybe it’s something urgent…”
Only then did Ye Zhinian leisurely pick up his phone. The moment he unlocked it, a message popped up.
Big Bad Wolf: Baby~ I’ve been wronged~~~
Big Bad Wolf: [Crying Cat Head.jpg]
Looking at the familiar sticker, the corner of Ye Zhinian’s mouth twitched slightly as he scrolled up through the message history.
Big Bad Wolf: Baby, don’t listen to those Marketing Accounts spouting nonsense! It was a crew dinner that day—who knew that woman would be eating there too? And I arrived first! I had no idea she was there until after I’d finished and left!
Big Bad Wolf: [Weibo Screenshot.jpg]
Big Bad Wolf: My crewmates helped clarify! I was framed!
Big Bad Wolf: Baby, say something! Stop being mad, I really am innocent!
Big Bad Wolf: Baby~~~
Big Bad Wolf: [Voice Message 9s]
He tapped the voice message, and a deep, mellifluous baritone flowed out—regrettably so saccharine and clingy in tone that it ruined the pleasure of that dreamboat voice.
“Baby, it’s been debunked! Go check Weibo, I promise no one’s spreading lies!”
As if. If clarifications actually worked, he wouldn’t be plagued by these people in the first place.
Ye Zhinian sighed and replied to Big Bad Wolf.
Nian Bean Bun: Got it.
Nian Bean Bun: Don’t go to that hotpot place again.
The other party apparently had his eyes glued to his phone, because the reply was nearly instantaneous.
Big Bad Wolf: Never! Absolutely never! What a jinx!
Big Bad Wolf: [Cat Slamming Table.gif]
A few seconds later, another message arrived.
Big Bad Wolf: Baby, pack me some spring and summer clothes and mail them over? It’s been warming up lately and I’m running out of things to wear.
Big Bad Wolf: [Aggrieved Cat.jpg]
Nian Bean Bun: Okay. But aren’t you about to wrap filming?
Big Bad Wolf: I was just about to tell you—that’s probably getting pushed back by a month.
Big Bad Wolf: [Cat Shedding Tears.jpg]
Nian Bean Bun: A month? That long?
At Heng City Film Studios, Lu Chen sat on a little folding stool, reading Ye Zhinian’s messages with a grin stretched nearly to his ears.
Big Bad Wolf: Do you miss me, Baby? You should be done with your work over there, right? Come visit the set!
Big Bad Wolf: [Cat Poking Head Out.gif]
His manager Mi Yan glanced at the message and deadpanned, “You’re lying to him like this—aren’t you afraid he’ll beat you to death later?”
Lu Chen didn’t even look up. “He won’t.”
Mi Yan raised an eyebrow. “That confident?”
Smugness bloomed across Lu Chen’s face. “With the livestream cameras rolling, the worst he’ll do is glare at me a few times. He definitely won’t lay a hand on me!”
Mi Yan: “…”
What the hell is he so smug about?!