It was the eve of the New Year, and the backstage area of the broadcast studio buzzed with activity. Faint whistles of fireworks drifted in through the window.
“Brother Fan’s skin is flawless,” the makeup artist said with a grin as she affixed silver scales to the corner of the young man’s eye. “They look amazing. Happy Year of the Snake!”
Ayi, his manager, walked in and paused at the sight of Min Fan.
His skin was like fine porcelain, his eyes cold stars in the depths of night.
Though calm and composed by nature, the dark sandalwood hue of his brows and the pale pink of his lips lent him an air of subtle allure.
An assistant snapped photos nearby, chatting idly. “Speaking of snakes, have you heard that rumor?”
The makeup artist brushed it off. “You pay too much attention to those hype accounts. It’s all fabricated.”
Ayi collected himself and gestured for the others to step out.
“The lineup got shuffled at the last minute. You’re slotted fifth now.”
“And also,” his manager hesitated, “Qin Baiyan’s dressing room is right across the hall. Should we pop over and say hello?”
Min Fan glanced sideways, the silver scales at his eye corner shimmering with light.
“Why?”
His voice was clear and deep, edged with chill, his smile faint.
“Aren’t they all saying on Weibo that we’re sworn enemies?”
Ayi sighed. “It might not even be him behind the black PR. You shot to fame right out of the gate—how many people see you as a thorn in their side?”
Hype accounts loved peddling vague rumors: one day it was Qin Baiyan blocking his audition, the next it was him snatching Qin’s endorsement deal.
Both of them were top-tier celebrities, and once their fans got riled up into fanwars, the engagement metrics skyrocketed.
Min Fan checked the time. Half an hour until showtime.
“I’ll rest for ten minutes, then do some vocal warm-ups.”
Ayi thought to himself that it was just a semi-live recording—why bother? He set the program schedule down by the makeup mirror and reminded him, “You still have to play the social game. The guy across the hall… he has deep connections and plenty of seniority.”
Min Fan let out a soft scoff. “Then I’ll grab a couple cartons of smokes for the old timer, and throw in a box of Wuliangye.”
“He’s only twenty-eight!”
New Year’s was a hectic time. After just a few words, his manager popped a cigarette in his mouth and stepped out to take a call.
Min Fan opened Weibo, only to be hit with a perfectly targeted algorithmic push.
@Entertainment Gossip Desk: From “Little Qin Baiyan” to rising top star, Min Fan reportedly joins White Ink cast, set for explosive rival scenes with his senior—has the century reconciliation arrived?!
The comments section was already a battlefield.
[Hug my Fan away! Come listen to year-end chart-topper album Attentive Heart, and catch the whole-family Lunar New Year hit Family Has Immortal Elder—super fun!]
[What? Another hype-rider leeching off? Debuted by stepping on my bro and still won’t stop bloodsucking? Ruining New Year’s vibes?]
[@Fan Yin Anti-Black Station, can we report this hype account already? Stirring up fights every day, so annoying #puke]
Min Fan frowned slightly, his thoughts drifting to the White Ink audition results, which still hadn’t come through.
If it panned out, he’d be playing opposite Qin Baiyan—stuck in the same production, bound to run into each other constantly.
Better to get ahead of it with a greeting, at least keep things civil on the surface.
He checked his reflection in the mirror, ensuring his smile struck the right note of polite warmth, then rose and headed for the door.
At that exact moment, someone barreled through the door with such force that they nearly bowled Min Fan over.
In the blink of an eye, Min Fan hadn’t even registered who it was before the scent of Napoleon Eau enveloped him.
The top notes were apple and blackcurrant—seemingly innocuous.
But let one’s guard down for a second, and the dragon’s saliva incense and birch wood would rampage through the senses, bold and overpowering.
He’d once kept a bottle of it in his private collection but rarely wore it.
The intruder was on the verge of collapse—not a stalker fan, judging by how unnaturally ragged his breathing was.
Min Fan instinctively steadied him and looked up, freezing in place.
It was Qin Baiyan.
For some reason, the man’s eyes burned with a fierce, molten gold—not contacts.
“Are you okay? Do you need an ambula—”
Min Fan’s words cut off abruptly.
The feel of Qin Baiyan’s arm under his grip was all wrong.
What he’d touched… were feathers?
“Got a blanket?” Qin Baiyan’s forehead glistened with fine beads of sweat; he seemed to be fighting off excruciating pain. “Help me… get me out of here, quick.”
“Where—to the hospital? Your place?”
Min Fan supported him with one arm while grabbing a soft blanket from the sofa with the other, wrapping it around him like he would a drowning victim lost to hypothermia.
“Are you cold? Any meds you need?”
The instant the blanket settled around Qin Baiyan, Min Fan felt his left hand lighten.
He watched, stunned, as the figure inside the blanket vanished.
The deep black suit hung empty for a split second before drifting to the floor. A sharp, urgent bird cry pierced the air at the same moment.
Min Fan’s mind went blank.
There, inside the blanket, was a bundle of clothes… and a single, vibrantly patterned eagle.
He had no idea what kind of bird this was, or why a living, breathing person had transformed into an animal right before his eyes.
But this was definitely no magic trick from the Jingtai Spring Festival Gala.
By the time Qin Baiyan desperately cried out for help, his throat was already hoarse beyond recognition.
The white bird clearly possessed no human awareness. In its panic, it flapped its wings furiously, trying to take flight.
Min Fan reacted faster. He snatched up a blanket, wrapped the bird tightly, and cradled it against his chest, instinctively concealing the feathers peeking out.
Those long plumes were thin as frost, encircled by gemlike spots.
No way could he hand this bird over to any of the staff. Even if he barely knew Qin Baiyan, he couldn’t just abandon the man to his fate.
Min Fan steadied his nerves, tightened the blanket, grabbed his phone, and headed for the door.
The gala performance could wait—human life came first.
The white bird thrashed uneasily in his arms, letting out faint cries.
With one hand, Min Fan gripped its neck and issued a cold warning. “Quiet. I’ll get you out of here.”
He pushed open the door to a corridor buzzing with crowded chaos. Children in lion dance costumes bounced and scampered about, while actors chatted and reminisced.
The din swallowed up the bird’s odd calls, and no one spared a glance for Min Fan and his blanketed bundle.
He hurried down the emergency stairs and fired up the car with his fingerprint.
The white bird remained trapped in the blanket, wriggling now and then in a bid for freedom.
Min Fan didn’t dare dwell on it. If the bird escaped, if it met some mishap and perished tonight, would Qin Baiyan even exist in the world come morning?
He pinned it down with brute force and slammed his foot on the accelerator, speeding toward home.
His agent’s call buzzed in moments later.
“Fanfan, where’d you disappear to? Whose clothes are those in the dressing room?”
“Me and Qin Baiyan—we’ve got a situation,” Min Fan said through gritted teeth. “The clothes are his. Pack them up quick.”
His agent: “……?”
“What the hell? What? Run that by me again? Where are you? Is he with you?”
Ayi was losing it.
Didn’t you two not even know each other??
What the hell happens in a dressing room that involves stripping??
You do realize you’ve got the stage in fifteen minutes, right?!
“He’s in no shape to talk right now.”
Min Fan stole a glance at the white bird while turning the wheel. It let out a defiant squawk.
Ayi: “I won’t pry into what you’re up to. When are you coming back? Need a touch-up?”
“Probably not making it,” Min Fan replied, swallowing a curse and forcing calm. “Can’t do the taping. Handle it.”
The white bird bucked wildly again. Its sharp beak jabbed his abdomen, drawing a sharp hiss of pain from Min Fan.
“Bro, the Jingtai Gala’s pre-recorded, but you’re gonna leave dead air?” His agent sounded broken. “What’s the deal? Cops? You okay?”
Pain made Min Fan’s breaths ragged, his voice unsteady.
“No need. Find his agent and sort it out. I’m driving—gotta go.”
Ayi gawked at the pile of clothes and shoes, on the brink of madness, before cramming them into a bag.
Two knocks at the dressing room door. Old Xu, Qin Baiyan’s agent, poked his head in.
“Hey, you seen Brother Qin?”
Ayi despaired. “Think he’s driving.”
Old Xu frowned. “Show’s about to start. Not funny.”
Ayi despaired harder. “They really seem to be driving.”
Those fifteen minutes home dragged on forever—and hurt like hell.
The white bird’s beak and talons were dagger-sharp; the slightest scrape drew blood.
Only after parking did Min Fan wrestle it under control with both hands. “Behave yourself,” he growled, “or I’ll tie you up the second we’re inside.”
Through the soft blanket, he clamped down on its wings. That was when he noticed his silk shirt was shredded in spots, feathers clinging to his thigh.
Of course, the elevator wasn’t empty.
A little girl, hand in her mother’s, eyed the bedraggled big brother with wide-eyed curiosity.
“Pretty brother,” she chirped, “you got a kitty in there?”
The white bird screeched. Min Fan kept his face stone-cold, muffling it against his chest while his thumbs dug into its wings.
“Parrot, maybe?” the woman ventured. “That big? Let it breathe a little.”
Min Fan’s expression didn’t crack. “Yeah, thanks.”
One peek, and he might get accused of smuggling an endangered species.
The instant they were inside, Min Fan kicked the door shut, heaved a sigh of relief, and loosened the blanket.
The white bird tumbled toward the floor. It flapped awkwardly, managing a brief hover before crash-landing on the sofa in total disarray, as if it had no clue who—or what—it was.
Min Fan chugged two gulps of ice water. Talking to it made him feel like the crazy one.
“Qin Baiyan,” he called out awkwardly, “can you hear me?”
The other man hadn’t heard a word, too busy adjusting to his new talons and wings. He stumbled even after just a few steps across the sofa.
Min Fan glanced down to check the wound on his abdomen. It was only when he faced the full-length mirror that he spotted the gashes on his collarbone and elbows.
Beads of blood seeped into his white shirt, blooming like hidden poppy flowers.
He swore under his breath and turned to rummage for the iodine and cotton swabs.
Pecked a few times by Qin Baiyan—did he need a rabies shot?
An untimely knock sounded at the door.
“Sir, please open the door. We’re here to take care of your friend.”
Min Fan’s heart sank. He grabbed a baseball bat and demanded, “Who are you people?”
The voice from outside was icy and utterly professional.
“We are professionals from the OAC.”
“Ophidian & Avian Center, Snake Bird Affairs Department.”
“Your friend needs to register his bloodline information and wear a… marking ankle ring for life.”
