Chapter 25
Headache.
Sore throat. Cold.
Fang Huai rarely got sick.
The water and air in the mountains were good for the body. As a child, he loved to run around, had great stamina, and was rarely ill—even catching a cold was uncommon. Instead, it was one of the animals he raised that was constantly sickly. It was not only blind but also deaf. Every morning, Fang Huai would check on it, worried it might not have made it through the night.
His health had always been strong—far better than Fang Jianguo’s.
At least, until he moved to the city a month ago.
Every cell in his body rejected this new environment. This wasn’t the life he was used to. But he forced himself to adapt, to keep up with the city’s rhythm.
The unfamiliarity and discomfort piled up, brewing into a full-blown case of acclimation sickness.
Fang Huai curled up, half-conscious, his eyes tightly shut. Every breath felt heavy and labored. His porcelain-white skin had a faint flush, sweat beading on his forehead and nose, yet his body trembled with cold.
“I want to go home.”
He curled up tighter, his eyelashes quivering, trapped in an endless cycle of fevered nightmares.
“Fang Jianguo, I want to go home.”
The air conditioner was set to the perfect temperature, yet it still felt freezing. The lightest down blanket felt unbearably heavy.
It had been over a month since Fang Jianguo passed away. Countless fragmented memories surged in.
Standing in a crowd, yet feeling utterly alone.
Loved by so many, yet with an empty space in his heart he could never fill—one that he could only force himself to ignore.
The air thickened, wrapping around him like water, layer after layer, suffocating him—
Until he was pulled into an embrace.
That embrace carried a faint scent of water and the cold freshness of pine. The movements were hesitant, almost awkward, as if unfamiliar with such an act.
After a brief pause, the person gently patted his back and ruffled his hair.
“I want to go home,” the feverish boy murmured, his voice fragile and slurred.
When people fall ill, they become inexplicably stubborn and vulnerable.
“Fang Jianguo.”
Fang Huai’s usually clear and bright voice was tinged with nasal congestion.
His mind drifted back to the time when he felt safest, pulling someone long gone back into his world.
“Fang Jianguo, are you there?”
He asked again, this time with a hint of panic.
The person holding him remained silent for a long time.
At last, a quiet sigh. A voice conceding—
“I’m here.”
The voice was deep and rich, usually cool and detached, now softened by warmth and gentleness.
The tension in Fang Huai’s body finally eased.
A soft kiss landed lightly on his forehead.
The kiss was clumsy and unpracticed, yet incredibly gentle.
The man lowered his gaze, ears faintly burning, and whispered,
“I’m always here.”
“I won’t leave.”
“Unless… you don’t want to see me.”
Fang Huai let out a quiet hum of acknowledgment.
He had taken his medicine, his temperature had been checked, and the drowsiness brought on by the medication slowly crept in. But it still felt as if his heart hadn’t found solid ground—he was afraid to fall asleep.
“Are you really Fang Jianguo?” The boy asked, his voice groggy.
“…”
The man cleared his throat, hesitated, then vaguely responded—
“Yes.”
“Sing me a song. I want to hear one, okay?” Fang Huai asked.
“…”
The man fell silent for a long time.
He could do many things.
Singing was not one of them.
A long, long pause.
“Hm?”
Fang Huai’s hazy, amber-colored eyes lifted slightly, misted over with fever, staring at him in confusion.
“…”
“What song?” The man finally asked, his voice strained.
Fang Huai gave a song title.
Another long silence.
Then, an awkward, off-tune voice quietly began singing. The pronunciation was slightly off, the rhythm not quite right.
Yet, strangely, Fang Huai slowly settled down in that voice, his breathing becoming steady.
He drifted off to sleep.
That pine-scented embrace surrounded him, slowly pulling him into his dreams—
Like a winter from long, long ago.
That Winter Morning
Snow piled up outside the window.
Outside the house, Fang Jianguo was cooking while humming a song.
A little boy lay under the blankets, snuggling a fluffy creature, lazily sleeping in. The fish in the glass tank swam close, pressing against the glass as if giving him a gentle kiss on the forehead.
Even time itself felt tender.
The Next Day – “Stellar Light” Finals
It was a clear day.
On this rest day, at seven or eight in the morning, the city had yet to fully wake. Elderly folks strolled leisurely down the streets, walking their dogs. Meanwhile, event staff unrolled a massive poster:
“Today, reach for the light of the stars. — ‘Stellar Light’ Finals.”
This month-long talent competition was about to reach its grand finale. From the initial 100 contestants who passed auditions, the numbers had dwindled—first to 40, then 20 after the first selection round. Now, only eight remained.
Currently, Fang Huai ranked first in total points, but his lead over the second-place contestant, Lu Yu, was slim.
Lu Yu had suffered a public image collapse earlier, but he hadn’t been disqualified. His fanbase had taken a hit, but his team was working tirelessly on damage control, hoping for a miracle. After all, Fang Huai’s dancing was his weak point—if Lu Yu could outperform him, winning first place wasn’t entirely impossible.
And if he won first place, everything would change.
Countless stars had launched their careers by winning talent competitions. In today’s industry, scandals weren’t a big deal—clout and popularity were the real currency.
The finals would begin in the evening, broadcasting live on both television and Jinjiang’s streaming platform. But by morning, the contestants had already arrived at the venue for rehearsals.
10 AM – Fang Huai is Missing
Shi Feiran had a bad feeling the moment he woke up.
Fang Huai wasn’t answering his phone.
He knocked on Fang Huai’s door for a long time. No response. In a panic, he got security to unlock the door with a spare key.
The apartment was empty. A glass cup lay shattered on the floor.
Shi Feiran’s heart nearly stopped—had something happened to Fang Huai?!
Fortunately, just as his mind raced to the worst conclusions, his phone rang. It was Ye Yuyuan’s secretary.
“Don’t worry, Mr. Fang just has a fever. President Ye took him to see a doctor last night.”
Shi Feiran exhaled, relieved—but his worry quickly returned.
“A fever? How bad is it?”
The secretary hesitated before answering, “He hasn’t woken up yet. Still running a low fever.”
Truthfully, an injection would have been better, but Ye Yuyuan had been worried Fang Huai might struggle or hurt himself while getting one. So, he had let him take medicine first and only gave him the injection after he had fallen asleep.
Still running a fever.
Shi Feiran hung up the phone, his expression grim.
Even if Fang Huai weren’t sick, his dancing skills were questionable. His dance instructor had once exaggerated, claiming he had improved immensely, but Shi Feiran had his doubts.
And now, with a fever?
His performance would definitely suffer. The chance of winning the championship was almost zero.
And competing in this state would only make him sicker.
Meanwhile, at the Finals Venue
At 10 AM, the other seven finalists had already arrived and were rehearsing.
A female contestant posted on Weibo:
“@HuaiHuaiIsMyLittleAngel: Wuwuwuwu what do we do?! Huaihuai seems to have a fever!! Look at this picture—seven contestants are here, but when I called the staff, they vaguely told me he’s sick…”**
[Sick? Is our baby okay? QAQ Is it serious?]
[What do we do?! The finals are tonight!!! I’m losing it—our baby worked so hard for this!!!]
[Health comes first. Huaihuai has been pushing himself too hard QAQ. I think the competition is secondary. If he’s really unwell, he should withdraw.]
[Lol, faking it? He sucks at dancing anyway, no way he’d win the championship. Might as well make up an excuse to withdraw—it’s at least more dignified.]
At that moment, nearly all of Fang Huai’s fans were in full panic mode—worried sick for him. But some people just had to stir the pot.
Ever since Fang Huai had been smeared with false accusations before, his fans had been careful with their words and actions. But that didn’t mean they were pushovers.
The person making sarcastic comments? Instantly torn apart. His fans dragged them through the mud, shutting them up in no time.
Still, their worry only deepened.
It wasn’t about winning the championship at all costs—after the third round, everyone could see dancing was Fang Huai’s weakness.
But they had also witnessed his effort.
He never complained, never spoke about his struggles. Yet they had seen him fall asleep mid-meal, so exhausted that he nodded off while stretching, still pushing through basic drills. Even his sleep talk was just him rehearsing lyrics. And yet, whenever he turned around, he smiled at his fans, telling them, “I’m not tired at all.”
His improvement in dance was small, but it was real—built on countless drops of sweat.
[I just want his hard work to be recognized.]
[Huaihuai isn’t the type to give up just because he might lose. He’s stronger than you think.]
[I love him—not because he’s the best, but because he deserves it.]
Fang Huai deserved to be loved.
Not because of his skills—but because of who he was.
After the third round of sing-and-dance evaluations, Fang Huai had faced a wave of hate. He had risen too quickly, and the moment people saw a flaw, the backlash doubled.
Jealousy is universal.
People thought, “None of us are perfect, so why does he get so much attention?”
He had endured so much pressure, so much negativity.
But he never complained. Being his fan had always been an effortless, happy thing. He never asked them to defend him, never demanded anything. In fact, whenever something bad happened, he was the first to stand up and protect them.
But his luck had always been terrible.
From the very beginning, every step had been like hard mode, as if fate was determined to make things difficult for him.
“@HuaihuaiGoGo: Hang in there, baby! I’m trying to contact the show to see if they can postpone the finals.”
“@IWillAlwaysLoveHuaihuai: Huaihuai, don’t worry! Focus on getting better—we’ll take care of everything else!”
“@HuaihuaiIsMySweetheart: Retweet this and send best wishes to Huaihuai! I’ll be giving away 10 MAC lipsticks for our baby’s speedy recovery! @WeiboGiveawayPlatform.”
However, the finals’ schedule wasn’t something that could be changed on a whim—that was obvious. The TV network had already set the broadcast time, the venue was fully arranged—how could they possibly postpone it just because one person was sick?
Even if that person was one of the top contenders for the championship.
Of course, his absence would make the competition less exciting.
Some within the production team even thought: Maybe it’s for the best if Fang Huai doesn’t come. If he did, he might fail even harder—this way, at least, he could lose with some dignity.
Time kept ticking.
Fans gradually filled the venue. The seven other contestants had already gone backstage to get their makeup done.
Fang Huai was still nowhere to be seen.
The pre-recorded VCR played, the host announced the show’s start, and the judges were introduced one by one.
When the mystery guest judge appeared, the audience stirred with excitement.
Then, the first contestant took the stage—the atmosphere gradually built up to a climax.
Fang Huai’s fans had arrived long ago.
They gathered together, standing firm in the darkness, holding up their lightboards—a silent reminder to everyone:
There’s still one contestant missing.
He worked hard.
He deserves to be here—deserves a share of the spotlight, the applause, and the cheers.
His name is Fang Huai.
