Chapter 30
“Good night.”
The voice was deep and rich. It was usually indifferent and distant, but when lowered slightly, there was an unexpected touch of warmth in its husky tone.
The man leaned over and, somewhat awkwardly, tucked the blanket around him.
He stood by the bed for a moment longer, silent, before finally stepping away. His footsteps paused slightly at the door, hesitating for a long while before the sound of the door being gently pushed open broke the silence.
The room returned to complete stillness.
Fang Huai: “…”
In the darkness, the boy opened his light amber eyes, staring blankly toward the door.
After a moment, he reached out and touched his forehead.
“…”
Forget it. Just sleep.
Fang Huai gave up on thinking, pulled the blanket higher, and, while contemplating how to resolve the issue with his fans, slowly drifted into a drowsy state, nearly falling asleep.
Right before sinking into slumber, a thought suddenly occurred to him.
Still half-asleep, he stretched out a hand from under the covers, fumbled for a pen and notebook on the bedside table, and, yawning, began writing with deliberate strokes.
First, he carefully wrote the three characters of Ye Yuyuan’s name, unsure of some characters, so he jotted down the pinyin instead.
Then, after a brief hesitation, he added a few more words.
*
Shi Feiran had no idea how to handle this situation either.
The long essay posted by that Zhihu blogger was incredibly insidious. No matter how Fang Huai’s side responded, it wouldn’t sound right.
Denying that excessive training had caused his illness and claiming it wasn’t due to fan pressure? That would sound like an obvious lie, making him seem like he was forcing a smile—only making the fans feel even more guilty.
Since Fang Huai had started learning to use Weibo, Shi Feiran had stopped managing his account, only keeping an eye out to make sure he didn’t post anything inappropriate.
Now, seeing the hashtag #AreFangHuai’sfanstryingtokillhim?# climbing higher and higher on the trending list, even Shi Feiran couldn’t sit still anymore.
In the end, he had no choice but to post Fang Huai’s medical report, showing that his condition was due to exhaustion and fever but was not severe and hadn’t caused any long-term harm.
Which was true—after the finals, Fang Huai had slept for over ten hours, his fever had subsided halfway through his IV drip, and he would be discharged soon after a bit more rest.
But the fans’ guilt didn’t ease much.
In the past, whenever someone slandered Fang Huai, his fans would be the first to speak up in his defense.
But now that they were the ones being criticized, they all fell silent.
It wasn’t that they didn’t know how to fight back—it was that they truly felt guilty and regretful.
[This is hilarious. Other fans want their idols to succeed; it looks like this fandom wants theirs dead.]
[Always screaming for him to win. Do you really think your idol is some kind of god? You knew he was sick, yet you still waved your light sticks and demanded he compete? Amazing.]
[You used to say how lucky you were to have an idol like Fang Huai. Now, I think it’s Fang Huai who’s unlucky to have fans like you. Hahaha.]
[I don’t follow him, I’m just here for the drama, but honestly, his fans do seem a bit much.]
[…]
It was impossible to tell how many of these comments were from trolls, how many were just bystanders, and how many were actual fans feeling conflicted.
What worried Shi Feiran the most was that the fans would develop a rebellious mindset and start leaving the fandom en masse.
After all, following a celebrity was supposed to be fun—celebrating their achievements, supporting them in rankings, and watching them rise to the top. Who enjoyed being scolded all the time?
For now, mass fan departures hadn’t happened.
But in the future, who knew?
Just as everything was in chaos, Shi Feiran’s phone rang.
“A red carpet?”
“Yes, for the Shiju Awards,” the staff member on the other end said. “It’s tonight. We know it’s a bit last-minute, but…”
This fashion gala’s red carpet event was taking place in Nan City and held considerable weight in the industry. The schedule had been set long in advance, but one of the male celebrities suddenly couldn’t attend. His absence meant the entire event’s flow had to be adjusted.
In desperation, the organizers started scrambling for a replacement and suddenly thought of Fang Huai, who had just won Stellar Light and was at the peak of his popularity.
Shi Feiran was momentarily stunned and instinctively wanted to refuse.
Aside from Fang Huai still being sick, there were other issues—he had no prepared outfit, no experience, and he didn’t even know what walking a red carpet entailed.
“Sorry, you might not be aware, but Fang Huai is ill—”
Shi Feiran stopped mid-sentence.
He looked up and saw the young man in hospital clothes standing not far away, holding a cup of water. His light amber eyes were fixed on him, listening quietly to the phone conversation.
*
It was 8 AM.
Shi Feiran had just arrived after spending the night at a small motel nearby.
He knew Ye Yuyuan had been sitting outside Fang Huai’s hospital room, silently keeping watch the entire night. He had seemingly stepped away for a bit to handle something.
The soft morning light fell on Fang Huai’s shoulders. He was tall and slender, his loose hospital gown draping over him. His usual clean-cut appearance now carried a hint of frailty, making him even more striking—impossible to look away from.
The two of them locked eyes in silence for two seconds.
“I want to go,” Fang Huai spoke earnestly before Shi Feiran could say anything. “Can I?”
It wasn’t a spur-of-the-moment decision. He truly wanted to go.
What he had to do needed to be seen by many people.
Last night, Fang Huai suddenly remembered that little robot again, remembered the glowing sign with his name in the midst of the darkness.
This time, he wanted to shield them from the cold arrows and hidden attacks.
Aw, how cute ?