Chapter 61
[Looking at the surveillance footage now gives me chills. The best survival window was only four to five hours—he barely made it out. And some people had the audacity to call him a coward? You don’t feel ashamed?]
[Obviously a PR stunt. He just saw he was getting dragged online and came up with an excuse. Running into a flooded garage to save someone? Yeah right, he’s got some nerve making that up.]
When the live broadcast and news first reported the truth, a large number of people refused to believe it.
After all, last night, WeChat articles and Zhihu influencers had pushed the narrative so hard that every single detail seemed perfectly laid out, like an indisputable fact.
Even after the surveillance footage was released, clearly showing Fang Huai walking into the waterlogged parking garage, people still didn’t believe it.
[Videos can be faked. You guys really believe everything you see?]
[Eyewitness interviews just came out. I suggest all the haters take a look. Ever heard that spreading false rumors is illegal?]
[Hold on. If survival was supposed to be nearly impossible, how did he get out? Superpowers? Lol. I’m calling fake.]
It wasn’t until 7:30 PM, when CCTV’s prime-time news aired, that everything changed.
The typhoon in Z City had caused severe damage—not just economic and material losses, but significant casualties.
Normally, in a disaster like this, the news segment would feature the governor or a high-ranking official visiting and offering condolences.
But this time, by sheer coincidence, the governor was unavailable.
And the situation was urgent.
So instead…
They chose a different video.
By sheer coincidence, the most complete footage available was the video of Fang Huai emerging from the parking garage and speaking with the rescued child’s family—after all, there were so many cameras recording at the time.
The news report’s theme leaned toward “selfless dedication”—this time, in addition to Fang Huai, there were two other brave individuals who had stepped forward to help. One of them, an officer, had sacrificed his life.
It wasn’t about glorifying self-sacrifice, but rather about ensuring heroes received the recognition they deserved.
This brief video clip caused an uproar online.
Anyone could see it—Fang Huai looked utterly exhausted.
He was wrapped in a towel someone had handed him, his white shirt completely soaked. The slender figure of the young man was clearly visible, and his naturally upturned hair dripped water as he lowered his gaze, offering a handsome yet apologetic smile to the family.
Suddenly, his eyes reddened.
It was as if he had originally intended to keep himself composed for the child’s sake, but in the end, he couldn’t suppress the overwhelming emotions.
[I can’t believe I actually cried watching today’s news broadcast QAQ! When he was talking to the little boy, smiling and then suddenly breaking down…]
[Same here.]
[@Haters, open your eyes and take a good look. He’s officially recognized as a hero by CCTV. Apologize!]
[Isn’t spreading false information punishable by law? @CertainMarketingAccount @CertainInfluencer, come out and apologize!]
With this context, people quickly understood the meaning behind Feng Lang’s earlier Weibo post saying “Apologize.”
Soon, the hashtag #ApologizeToFangHuai trended. The public, once misled, began to realize the truth, while those who had fanned the flames, mocked him, and feasted on his misery were chased down and condemned for their actions.
Some even faced real consequences.
The online videos were edited, so people didn’t know exactly how Fang Huai had survived.
There was only one blurry photo.
In the background, the sky was just breaking open after the typhoon. A young man was being carried on someone’s back, while a little boy followed closely behind, clutching Fang Huai’s soaked shirt.
At first glance, the image had an artistic quality to it.
But because it was blurry, the identity of the person carrying Fang Huai remained unknown.
All that could be seen was that he was tall, broad-shouldered, and well-built. Some speculated he was another survivor from the flooded garage, but since there were no further reports, the topic eventually faded away.
*
One Week Later – The Set of Frost
“Tomorrow, I will take the train to Yangzhou. I vaguely remember that you love Yangzhou’s osmanthus candy.”
“The situation is becoming unstable. The telegram I sent to an old friend last month remains unanswered. Please be cautious.”
“In the mountains, there are trees…”
At this point, the young man lowered his eyes and set down his pen.
After a long silence, he let go of the pen, smiled, and shook his head.
“It’s nothing.”
The camera froze on his eyes.
They were pale in color, illuminated by the faint glow of a kerosene lamp, making them look both gentle and clear. His hands were wrapped in blood-stained bandages, and though he struggled to hold the pen, every word he wrote spoke of a peaceful world.
Beyond the window, war raged on.
And yet, those far away in the tranquil Jiangnan region remained completely unaware.
——”I adore you, yet you do not know.”
This was Lin Shuheng’s last handwritten letter before his death.
It was not a letter home.
It was addressed to someone whose name could no longer be seen.
The next day, war broke out in full force. The letter never reached its destination.
And so, it sat in a mailbox for decades—never once mentioning love, yet filled with it in every word.
The young man tightened the bandage on his wounded hand before finally setting the pen down and placing a military cap on his head.
He lowered his gaze, studying his reflection for a moment, then carefully picked up the letter and walked out the door.
The camera captured his retreating figure, framed by the darkening sky.
A single lantern flickered in his hand as he stepped into the night, the tiny flame gradually fading into the vast darkness.
Night blended with the distant glow of fishermen’s lamps.
The sky had not yet broken.
The evening wind whispered through the silence.
A soft, unfamiliar singing voice drifted through the gentle night, carried by the wind.
“……”
“…Cut.”
Lin Shengyun sat behind the camera and called out, “That’s a wrap!”
“Congratulations on wrapping up filming!!”
This was Lin Shuheng’s final scene—a monologue. The script was developed by Fang Huai in collaboration with the screenwriter, based on Lin Shuheng’s diary. Fang Huai had retrieved the notebook from the flooded parking garage. Many of the pages had been water-damaged, making the writing illegible, so it had been sent to a specialized agency for restoration.
On this day, Fang Huai officially finished filming all his scenes.
Nearby, a staff member pulled a party popper, and many people—actors and crew alike—stepped forward to hug him.
Lin Shengyun glanced at the mess on the floor, his mouth twitching slightly, but in the end, he said nothing.
Fang Huai was well-liked.
Beyond his fame and popularity, he had always been thoughtful of others, never acted arrogant, and was known for his good temper on set. Now that his part in the production was over, many people felt reluctant to see him go.
Fang Huai, holding his new phone, carefully exchanged contact numbers with everyone one by one.
Since only his scenes had wrapped—and the entire production still had a long way to go—the crew held a small farewell gathering for him. They went out for grilled skewers and beer, making sure to end the night on a lively note.
As everyone clinked their beer glasses together, Fang Huai—who wasn’t a big drinker—quickly became tipsy. The loud laughter and playful teasing helped lighten the mood, easing the sadness of parting. Many of the actors and crew members who had shared scenes with Fang Huai came to celebrate.
Unexpectedly, halfway through the gathering, Feng Lang showed up.
He and Fang Huai had filmed two scenes together, but in terms of status and influence, Feng Lang was in a completely different league from everyone else present. No one had even considered inviting him.
But he didn’t put on any airs. Holding his drink, he joined in casually, smiling in his usual laid-back way. He even joked, “Wow, so you guys planned to leave me out and celebrate without me?”
“No, no, of course not!” Everyone hurried to deny it.
Fang Huai and Feng Lang were not particularly close—they had only exchanged brief conversations about the script while filming.
Yet now, Fang Huai poured himself a glass of juice, raised it toward Feng Lang, and said seriously, “Thank you.”
Feng Lang watched him for a moment, his eyes gleaming with amusement. He clinked his glass lightly against Fang Huai’s and replied with a smile, “No need.”
Fang Huai was thanking him for everything he had done.
From offering guidance during script discussions to stepping up on Weibo multiple times to help redirect public opinion in his favor—Fang Huai knew he couldn’t repay these favors yet.
But he would remember them.
If someone was willing to help him for no reason, he couldn’t just accept it without a second thought—a favor should always be remembered.
The next morning, Fang Huai boarded a flight back to Nan City.
Originally, he thought he’d only be gone for a short while, but unexpectedly, he ended up staying away for over two months.
When he left, it was the peak of summer in early August. By the time he returned, autumn had arrived.
Nan City was in the south, so there were no red maple leaves falling, but the coolness in the air and the crisp autumn breeze were unmistakable. The sky stretched out high and blue—it was definitely autumn now.
Surprisingly, a large group of fans had come to the airport to greet him.
They held up glowing signs, eagerly waiting on both sides. Fang Huai had never seen such a scene before—he was a bit taken aback. In the end, he took photos with them before leaving under the escort of his staff.
There were even more people than at the last red carpet event.
For the first time, Fang Huai realized just how many people actually liked him.
It was an unbelievable feeling.
“Mid-Autumn Festival is coming up soon. The promotions for Frost will likely start in two months. For now, we’re taking a short break,” Shi Feiran said as they walked through a private passageway, discussing Fang Huai’s upcoming schedule.
“After the holiday, there’s a magazine photoshoot, and then your album recording.”
The album had been delayed for a while—it was a reward from Stellar Light. Since Fang Huai debuted through Stellar Light, his career was meant to focus on singing and songwriting. Acting in Frost had been an unexpected detour.
But music was his main career path.
The most urgent task was to get his first EP released—building momentum, solidifying his reputation, and hopefully making some money. Maybe he could even win an award or two.
Several popular variety shows had extended invitations to him, but Shi Feiran was still reviewing them. Even if they accepted, the earliest would be after Mid-Autumn Festival or National Day.
In just two days, it would be Mid-Autumn Festival.
Outside the airport, a Maybach sat quietly by the curb.
Before Fang Huai even stepped out, his eyes lit up—his gaze softened into a smile.
He was barely paying attention to what Shi Feiran was saying anymore.
“You—ugh.” Shi Feiran sighed helplessly.
“Fang Huai, I don’t have a problem with you being friends with President Ye, but you really need to be careful.”
It wasn’t that he was thinking too much, but…
A powerful and wealthy man. A young, stunningly attractive celebrity.
Put them together, and anyone would start overthinking things.
Fortunately, Ye Yuyuan had kept things tightly under wraps.
Despite all this time, not a single paparazzi photo had surfaced. There hadn’t been any of those scandalous headlines like “Shocking! Top Idol Secretly Kept by a Wealthy Man”.
Fang Huai, of course, had no idea what Shi Feiran was implying.
“Got it. Thanks.”
He replied cheerfully, waving a quick goodbye before striding toward the car.
From Shi Feiran’s distance, he couldn’t hear their conversation.
He could only see Fang Huai’s side profile—his lips naturally curved into a smile.
The warm amber of his eyes reflected the autumn sunlight.
One hand rested casually on the car door as he leaned in, speaking to the person inside.
Shi Feiran suddenly had a strange feeling.
Was Fang Huai a rarely smiling person? Not really.
He was naturally optimistic, and although he wasn’t overly talkative or the type to butter people up, he was easygoing and always smiling.
But Shi Feiran had never seen him smile like that.
It was intimate. Familiar.
It wasn’t something deliberate—it came so naturally that Fang Huai himself probably didn’t even notice.
It was… intriguing.
Maybe just a little unusual, but not enough to seem out of place.
The autumn afternoon breeze was still warm.
It lifted the strands of the young man’s hair, gently brushing forward—soft and fleeting.
Shi Feiran was momentarily lost in thought.
Before he could dwell on it further, the Maybach’s door closed before his eyes and sped away like a gust of wind, merging into the endless flow of traffic.
*
“What’s your schedule like?”
There was no driver this time—Ye Yuyuan was driving himself.
One hand rested on the steering wheel, his slender fingers tapping lightly along the rim. He shifted gears effortlessly, reversing with practiced ease. His expression remained calm and indifferent.
But his gaze was gentle.
At a red light, he stole a glance at the young man in the passenger seat through the rearview mirror. The sight made his lips curve slightly.
But he quickly cleared his throat, suppressing his emotions and returning to his usual composure.
“I have a magazine cover shoot,” Fang Huai replied honestly, still basking in the joy of their reunion. He recalled what Shi Feiran had just said and added, “And I’ll be recording my album… but that’s after the National Day holiday. I have time off for both National Day and Mid-Autumn Festival.”
Ye Yuyuan gave a neutral “Mm.”
This year, National Day and Mid-Autumn Festival happened to be back-to-back, forming a ten-day holiday.
And in just two days, it would be Mid-Autumn Festival.
Fang Huai would be on break.
Celebrities rarely had official vacations, usually squeezing in breaks whenever they could. But Fang Huai had been completely exhausted lately. After everything—including the typhoon incident—forcing him to work non-stop would have been inhumane. So, after some discussion, Shi Feiran and the team decided to let him plan his own time.
At that moment, the traffic light turned red.
It was a long one—about two minutes.
A beeping alert had been going off in the car since Fang Huai got in, but neither of them had noticed until now.
Ye Yuyuan glanced over and realized—Fang Huai wasn’t wearing his seatbelt.
“Seatbelt.” Ye Yuyuan reminded him in a calm voice.
“?” Fang Huai blinked, puzzled.
Ye Yuyuan was silent for a moment, his deep, obsidian-black eyes fixed on him.
Then, without another word, he leaned over and fastened Fang Huai’s seatbelt for him.
The posture was… intimate.
At a glance, it almost looked like he had pulled the young man into his embrace.
This wasn’t the secluded parking garage from before. They normally weren’t this close.
After sitting back, Ye Yuyuan absentmindedly rubbed his thumb against his cufflink—a subtle, nearly imperceptible sign of nervousness.
But Fang Huai didn’t seem to notice anything unusual.
He was deep in thought.
Ye Yuyuan fell silent again. Then, as if asking casually, he said—
“How are you planning to spend Mid-Autumn Festival?”
That was exactly what Fang Huai had been thinking about.
Every year, he had always spent Mid-Autumn Festival with Fang Jianguo.
But now… he had no family left.
“Do you want to spend Mid-Autumn Festival at my place?”
“Can I… spend it with you?”
They spoke at the same time.
For a moment, Fang Huai raised his eyebrows slightly, while Ye Yuyuan fell silent, staring at him for a while. Then, with a light cough, he looked away, seeming a little embarrassed.
“Of course.”
His voice was low as he gripped the steering wheel and changed direction.
Ye Yuyuan had never celebrated Mid-Autumn Festival before. Every year, he was either in a meeting or working overtime, buried in documents.
For the first time in his life, he found himself looking forward to the holiday.
