Chapter 33
The live broadcast of the Shiju Grand Ceremony came to an end, and many people left the stream with red-rimmed eyes.
Of course, Fang Huai’s fans were deeply emotional, but surprisingly, even some casual viewers—who had simply tuned in out of curiosity—felt a sour ache in their noses when they saw the final scene: the boy on stage, his eyes slightly reddened.
Fang Huai had a way of pulling people into his emotions. He didn’t say much, but just by watching him, it was effortless to be drawn into his feelings and experience the same stirring emotions.
After the broadcast ended, many people—still not ready to move on—opened Weibo and checked the trending topics.
Unsurprisingly, they found #FangHuaiRedCarpetPerformance and #FangHuaiFansAreSoLucky climbing up the real-time trending list.
But wait… huh?!
#FangHuaiHeartGesture???
*
One hour earlier.
Half an hour before the Shiju Grand Ceremony ended, Fang Huai quietly slipped out of the venue, using the excuse of not feeling well.
It was a peaceful summer night.
Many fans were still waiting outside, holding their light signs while chatting, waiting for the event to finish.
Then, suddenly—someone walked out.
They froze for a moment before recognizing him, and in the next second—excitement erupted.
He was walking toward them.
Under the warm glow of the streetlights, the young man’s skin appeared soft and luminous. His light-colored eyes seemed washed clean, and if one looked closely, they could still see the faint redness around his eyes.
He stood face to face with his fans—who also had red-rimmed eyes, holding their signs tightly.
For a moment, no one spoke.
Two seconds later, they all awkwardly smiled at each other.
Fans often joked online, shouting things like “Huaihuai, marry me!” and “Our baby is so handsome!”, but that was just on the internet.
Meeting face-to-face like this—totally unexpected—was enough to make anyone feel shy.
Especially after Fang Huai had just stood up for them so openly.
And for Fang Huai, this was completely new.
He had originally come over just to remind them to get home early, but now that he was standing in front of them, he suddenly felt a little embarrassed.
“Baby, can we take a picture together?”
Finally, a young girl held up her camera, breaking the warm yet awkward atmosphere.
Fang Huai took pictures with his fans.
Meanwhile, Shi Feiran was waiting in the car not far away.
Before leaving, Fang Huai—a little clumsy, but very serious—reminded them:
“Go home early, it’s not safe outside.”
“Don’t like me too much. Don’t let it affect your studies or work—your own life is more important.”
“Don’t stay up too late.”
At first, the fans were shy and touched by seeing him in person.
But now, watching him seriously nagging like this, they suddenly felt amused.
A girl teased him, “We can do everything else, but ‘not liking you too much’… that one’s impossible.”
Immediately, the crowd burst into playful laughter and chimed in:
“Yeah, what if we like you too much?”
“You’re just too lovable!”
“Do you like us too?”
“…”
Fang Huai was surrounded by them.
Hearing this, the tips of his ears turned slightly red.
He rubbed his index finger against his nose, silent and flustered.
Thankfully, at that moment, Shi Feiran finally pulled the car over, rolled down the window, and gestured for him to hurry up.
Fang Huai let out a quiet breath of relief and said, “It’s late, go home soon. And don’t… stay up too late.”
He waved goodbye to his fans.
The fans felt a little reluctant, but they still watched him go, standing in place as they saw their tall, slender idol get into the van.
They watched as Fang Huai opened the car door, but just as he was about to step in—he suddenly paused and turned back.
“Huh?”
Fans blinked in confusion. Not leaving?
Fang Huai turned around, lifted his hands, and…
Made an awkward little heart gesture.
…Where did he even learn that?
Under the streetlights, the tips of his slightly tousled hair glowed softly. His light-colored eyes curved into a smile, his features handsome and clean.
His ears were still a little red as he silently mouthed two words before finally waving again and stepping into the car.
The nanny van slowly drove away, heading toward the hospital—Fang Huai still needed to go back for his IV drip.
A group of fans remained standing in place, speechless for a long time.
After a while, someone finally spoke up, their voice low.
“What did he say?”
“I think he said, ‘I like you too’ and ‘Good night.’”
“…Oh my god.”
Several girls’ faces instantly turned bright red.
Foul play. Foul play!
How could he be this lovable?!
With trembling hands, a fan uploaded the short video of the moment to Weibo.
The views skyrocketed, and together with Fang Huai’s red carpet performance, it quickly shot up the trending charts.
*
Not far away, beneath the streetlights.
A man in a well-tailored suit stood silently, watching the entire scene unfold.
For a moment, his dark eyes softened, but the emotion quickly faded.
Then, as if remembering something, his thin lips pressed together slightly.
—”I like you too.”
He also… wanted to hear Fang Huai say that to him.
The man stood there in silence for a moment, then turned and got into his car.
*
10 PM – City Hospital, Second-Floor Kitchen
The night breeze was gentle that evening.
In a quiet corner of the city, the wind blew slowly, and the faint murmur of distant voices carried through the air.
The very moment Fang Huai pressed the call button, the other end picked up almost instantly.
“…Hello?”
A voice—cool and low—but touched by the night breeze, taking on a hint of unexpected warmth.
Through the phone, his expression was invisible.
And from Ye Yuyuan’s tone, it was impossible to tell what he was feeling.
But in truth, the man’s long fingers had paused slightly, and in the rearview mirror, his eyes flashed with the briefest hint of nervousness.
—This was the first call Fang Huai had ever made to him.
The old-model phone had poor sound quality, a bit of static buzzing through the line, making the voice sound slightly muffled.
Yet still, Ye Yuyuan’s voice was pleasant—like a few unknown flowers blooming stubbornly in frozen winter soil.
Fang Huai touched his ear absentmindedly.
He bit into his egg, holding the phone in one hand while carrying a plate in the other. He walked toward the window.
It was a late summer night, the sky full of stars, but no moon. The leaves rustled outside.
Just beyond the kitchen window, a large banyan tree stretched its branches. A small sparrow had perched on Fang Huai’s shoulder, dozing off.
He fed it a few grains of rice.
Then, after a brief pause, he spoke.
“Your suit—”
Fang Huai, of course, had no idea.
The suit was a custom piece—an exclusive, one-of-a-kind design from a renowned Italian designer.
It had been tailored precisely to his measurements, which was why it fit so perfectly.
The red carpet had merely been an excuse to give it to him.
But on the other end of the line, there was no response.
Ye Yuyuan remained silent for a moment, his brow twitching slightly.
Finally, he spoke in an indifferent tone.
“…Hmm?”
On the surface, he seemed calm.
But internally—his heart was already on edge.
—Did he not like it?
Another thirty seconds passed.
Then, the man wordlessly pulled his phone away, glancing at the screen.
It read: “Poor Signal.”
Ye Yuyuan: “……”
Meanwhile, on the other end, Fang Huai was also staring at his old phone.
The signal kept cutting out.
He tapped the bottom of the phone a few times, and finally, the static quieted down.
Still biting into his half-eaten egg, he frowned slightly—mildly troubled.
Fang Huai still used his old-model phone most of the time. He wasn’t very familiar with smartphones—barely managing to navigate Weibo.
It wasn’t that he was unintelligent—he simply had never been exposed to these things before. Without prior knowledge, he couldn’t infer or adapt quickly. He had to memorize every step mechanically.
—Maybe I should start learning more about it, he thought.
The signal finally improved a little, but as Fang Huai held the phone, he suddenly forgot what he had wanted to say.
“What’s wrong?”
A deep, cool voice came through the receiver.
“Sorry,” Fang Huai admitted. “I forgot what I was going to say.”
The moment those words fell, both sides fell silent.
The Maybach pulled up near the hospital’s back entrance.
The man—serious and silent—stepped out of the car, phone in hand, standing beneath the streetlight.
His dark eyes softened slightly.
“It’s okay.” Take your time—I’m not in a hurry.
The night breeze was gentle. Through the receiver, Fang Huai’s soft, steady breathing could be heard—like a dream on a summer night.
Fang Huai tapped his fingers lightly against the window frame.
Sometimes, it was just like this—the harder he tried to remember, the more the words slipped away.
He suddenly worried that he was disturbing Ye Yuyuan—he must be busy. And even if he wasn’t, it was already past 10 PM. He should be asleep.
After a moment’s thought, Fang Huai said, “Then… I’ll call again when I remember.”
Ye Yuyuan’s gaze darkened slightly—Not even three minutes.
Lowering his eyes, he glanced at his watch—Including the bad signal interruptions, the entire call had lasted only two minutes and forty-seven seconds.
Not far away, a small puddle reflected the scattered stars.
Before Fang Huai could finish speaking, Ye Yuyuan suddenly interrupted in a low voice, “Today… when you met your fans, what did you say to them?”
It was an obvious attempt to prolong the conversation—the transition unnatural.
Fortunately, Fang Huai didn’t notice.
He had already taken off his suit jacket, now wearing only a slightly loose dress shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows.
Perched on the windowsill, he sat casually—a small bird asleep on his shoulder, long legs stretched out.
The late summer breeze brushed against him.
Fang Huai smiled lightly and asked:
“I said a few things. Do you want to hear them?”
Ye Yuyuan gave a quiet ‘mm’ in response.
So, Fang Huai repeated everything word for word:
“I told them to go home early and not stay out too late.”
“Not to stay up too late.”
“That their own lives matter most.”
“And…”
The person on the other end listened in silence.
Fang Huai continued, his voice calm and serious, “I also told them—I like them too. And goodnight.”
He repeated every word carefully, almost exactly as he had said before.
Ye Yuyuan remained silent for a long while.
Then, his voice dropped even lower.
“The last two sentences.”
—That sentence.
—”I like you too.”
“Hmm?” Fang Huai thought for a moment, confused.
“Goodnight?”
“……”
Fang Huai suddenly felt a little sleepy.
His eyes blinked drowsily, waiting for Ye Yuyuan to say something.
“Hmm?”
A long silence.
Finally, through the crackling static of the call, a man’s low voice came through—laced with a touch of helpless softness, “Goodnight.”
The night breeze whispered by, carrying the gentleness of the late hours.
That night, Fang Huai slept soundly.
Even his dreams felt soft.
But while he was sleeping, his red carpet performance video surpassed ten thousand shares—this time, however, there was something different.
The red carpet video was an official multi-angle recording, and by coincidence, it captured the reactions of people around him while he was singing.
One particular moment stood out—a judge turned to the person beside him and asked, “Who is this kid? What award is he nominated for? Does he have any availability soon?”
This might have been a normal reaction—after all, Fang Huai’s performance was truly outstanding.
But the problem was… that judge was Wang An, the music director of the film Frost.
Frost was directed by Lin Shengyun, a renowned Chinese filmmaker and frequent Oscar contender. The film had a top-tier production team, and while the lead roles were already confirmed, the theme song’s singer had yet to be decided.
So why was the music director suddenly asking about Fang Huai’s schedule?
In just half a night, rumors spread like wildfire—“Fang Huai might sing the theme song for Frost.”
The next morning, Lin Shengyun woke up, saw the trending topic, and immediately blew his top—his mustache practically bristling in anger.
The old man was notoriously perfectionistic about his work. The theme song, from composition to lyrics, hadn’t been finalized yet because he was still searching for the perfect voice.
He wanted something unique—clean yet full of storytelling. He had been searching for a long time.
And now, some unknown internet celebrity had the audacity to ride on his film’s fame?!
Unaware of what had happened at the red carpet event, Lin Shengyun simply assumed that the trending topic was artificially boosted by Fang Huai’s team—a common practice in the industry, albeit a disgusting one.
So when reporters blocked him at his doorstep, asking about the rumors, he didn’t hesitate for a second before snapping, “Who is Fang Huai? Impossible. In my films, I will never invite these restless young internet stars to sing my theme song.”
Grumbling, the old man stomped back inside, newspaper in hand.
His smart home system, sensing his bad mood, automatically played a soothing song to calm him down.
By pure coincidence, based on trending data, the system played—Fang Huai’s performance of “Stars” from the night before.
Lin Shengyun took a big gulp of coffee, grumpily flipping through the newspaper as the song played.
At first, his mood gradually settled.
And then…
It wasn’t just that his mood improved—
Listening to the AI-selected music, his posture changed—from lounging against the sofa to sitting upright.
By the end, he couldn’t help but lean forward, intently listening to every note from the speaker.
Clean. Full of storytelling.
With just this short segment, he could already see vivid scenes forming in his mind.
Lin Shengyun downed the rest of his coffee, unable to contain his excitement.
