Chapter 81
Kissing really did help ease his nerves.
Walking under the flashing lights and camera lenses, Fang Huai no longer cared about the countless eyes on him. His mind was entirely consumed by the rush of being in love, making him appear unexpectedly calm and composed.
The suit had been a perfect choice for him. He carried a unique presence that straddled the line between youth and maturity. The final touch, however, was the deep red rose tucked into the breast pocket of his jacket.
On anyone else, it might have seemed cliché. But on Fang Huai, it worked effortlessly. One hand casually in his pocket, his back straight, the rose petals slightly curled and withered—giving off a sense of quiet storytelling. His fair skin and delicate features were even more pronounced, making him look like a carefree, romantic little prince.
The detail subtly echoed a scene from Frost‘s recently released trailer—the iconic moment where Fang Huai knelt down and kissed a rose. Fans had already started calling him their “Little Prince,” and tonight, that image only solidified further.
Adding to the attention were the sapphire cufflinks gleaming on his wrists—keen-eyed reporters quickly realized they were also the latest release from Oranto.
Photos of the moment swiftly spread online.
[Why does my baby suddenly feel so overwhelmingly masculine today…? Did he fall in love? No, please no, 55555 ]
[These cufflinks are called ‘Neptune’—globally limited to… five pairs. Just one pair could buy multiple luxury apartments in the capital’s city center. Understand? No, poor people and nouveau riche can only look at its concept images online. [manual goodbye]]
[Full marks for today’s stylist!!! Someone give them a bonus!!! My little prince 555, I want to kneel at his feet and kiss the rose in his hand.]
[Ehhh, so where did he get the money? I thought he was a country bumpkin.]
[If you think he’s broke, have you actually looked at Abyss Moonlight’s sales? Its daily average sales are about the same as last year’s Drug. Back then, when Drug was at its peak, Duan Yang was ranked top 1 or 2 in total assets within the industry.]
This banquet was filled with prominent figures in the industry. Almost immediately, one or two luxury brand representatives for the Asian market started inquiring about this young man.
Sure, Fang Huai was quite popular, but he had debuted not long ago and had only endorsed one premium brand—he hadn’t fully broken into the luxury market yet.
As for those calling him “rustic,” well, the representatives weren’t blind. From his looks to his demeanor and speech, there was nothing remotely small-town or unsophisticated about him. He might not know everything, but he never came across as uncultured or ignorant.
That said, luxury brands primarily targeted the upper class. When they heard that Fang Huai had once worked construction and performed on the streets, they hesitated. He had the perfect look and presence, but his background was just… too much.
Fang Huai didn’t care about any of that.
He subtly observed the reporters’ reactions, and his instincts told him that today’s look was a hit—he felt a little proud.
Ye Yuyuan had chosen everything for him, from the suit to the shoes, cufflinks, and even the rose. Fang Huai thought to himself, My baby seems to know everything. I’m so lucky—I found a treasure.
Of course, if Fang Huai ever saw Ye Yuyuan’s wardrobe filled with seven identical sets of shirts and suits, he might not think that way.
Director Xu had yet to arrive. After presenting his invitation, Fang Huai entered the venue.
He wasn’t used to these social gatherings, and many attendees looked down on him—while Abyss Moonlight had sold well, he was still a newcomer compared to the industry veterans present.
Some, considering themselves of higher status, dismissed him outright. No degree, no family background, no prestige—what was he even doing here?
Most guests clustered into small groups, chatting amongst themselves. Fang Huai glanced around, grabbed a glass of juice, and quietly settled into a corner, nibbling on fruit.
But from the moment he walked in, quite a few people had been stealing glances his way.
Including Xu Shu.
Xu Shu had just wrapped filming Chronicles of Spring and Autumn two days ago, only to see Frost release its trailer right after—his mood had been foul ever since. Technically, he wasn’t even qualified to attend this banquet, but thanks to a certain connection, he had managed to slip in, hoping to expand his network.
And the moment Fang Huai entered, his expression darkened for a brief second.
…How should he put it?
He was also wearing a gray suit today, just a slightly darker shade. His original intention was to go for a youthful, handsome look. At twenty-nine, he still hadn’t successfully transitioned to more mature roles and was forced to maintain the same image as younger, high-traffic idols.
Originally, most of the attendees were in their thirties and forties, and Xu Shu’s look was decent—until Fang Huai walked in and instantly stole the spotlight!
What was Fang Huai doing here?!
Some people had already heard about the morning’s runway incident, so many gazes subtly flickered between the two of them.
However, Xu Shu gripped his wine glass tightly and quickly regained his composure. He had one advantage over Fang Huai—connections.
“Director Li, is Ruyi releasing soon? Wishing you great success at the box office.” He smiled at the man beside him, whom he had worked with before.
“Xiao Xu, congratulations,” Director Li responded politely, offering some courtesy in return. “I heard you landed the Casie endorsement? Moving up in the world. What are your plans from here?”
“Wow, Casie’s endorsement.” Another person joined in—someone who was even more familiar with Xu Shu—teasingly hyping him up. “That’s a brand most people can’t even dream of getting close to.”
This was actually a bit of flattery—Casie didn’t even qualify as a high-end luxury brand. Compared to Fang Huai’s Oranto suit, Casie was leagues apart, barely ranking above premium brands.
The comment was originally neutral, but Xu Shu deliberately glanced at Fang Huai before saying meaningfully, “You flatter me. It’s just luck—brands tend to prefer someone like me over a… bricklayer-turned-street-performer, that’s all. Haha.”
Everyone: “……”
That was… a bit too blunt.
If this had been said publicly, people would definitely call him out. But here, where many attendees were arrogant about their status, some were already unhappy about Fang Huai’s presence. They remained silent, and a few even chimed in.
“It’s not that we’re being old-fashioned, but… you have to admit, a bricklayer and us, we’re just… different.”
“If I were Casie, I’d pick Xu Shu too.”
“Brand executives aren’t blind.”
“Not old-fashioned,” a slightly husky, lazy voice cut in. “Just a little… petty.”
Everyone: “…………”
Duan Yang stood there with one hand in his pocket, looking utterly nonchalant. If Fang Huai’s style was effortless elegance, then Duan Yang’s was just… effortless.
He clearly wasn’t here for the banquet—he wore a hoodie and sweatpants, Beats headphones around his neck, and a pair of limited-edition Air Jordans on his feet. He looked sickly, like a sleep-deprived college student who had just skipped class. His expression carried a bit of sharpness, and after speaking, he smirked slightly and strolled over to Fang Huai.
“Here.” Duan Yang casually dropped onto the sofa beside Fang Huai and handed him something. “Your boyfriend left this for you—forgot to bring it.”
For this kind of event, Ye Yuyuan showing up in person wouldn’t have been appropriate—he had nothing to do with the industry. So, he had called Duan Yang at the last minute to ask him for a favor.
Fang Huai: “……”
So… they all knew he was in a relationship?
Fang Huai took the Bluetooth earphones and coughed lightly in embarrassment.
“Thanks.”
For the earphones—and for speaking up for him earlier.
Duan Yang waved his hand dismissively and scoffed, “Just a bunch of idiots.”
Fang Huai: “…………”
“Can I laugh?” He held it in for a moment but couldn’t help himself. “This is too funny… Hahaha.”
Duan Yang usually spoke in a lazy, husky tone, but when he cursed, his Tianjin dialect was impeccably crisp and precise.
“Hahaha… Sorry,” Fang Huai finally managed to stop laughing when he saw Duan Yang raising an eyebrow in disbelief. “It just feels kind of familiar.”
Fang Jianguo was from Sichuan and usually spoke in a thick Sichuan accent—except when he cursed, which always came out in fluent Tianjin dialect.
As a kid, Fang Huai would bring back stray puppies and go looking for Fang Jianguo to cook dinner. More than once, he had found him at a mahjong table, launching into an expletive-filled tirade in perfectly theatrical Tianjin dialect, his tone rising and falling like a comedy sketch.
Back then, Fang Huai didn’t understand why. Only recently did he realize—Fang Jianguo had spent some time in Tianjin in the past, and Lin Shuheng was from Tianjin.
Duan Yang looked at him with a slightly complicated expression, studying him for a moment before saying, “Alright then.”
The two chatted for a while longer. After all, they had lived together for quite some time, so they weren’t short on conversation. Duan Yang kept him company until Xu Tuanyuan and the producer arrived, then bid Fang Huai farewell and left.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the room, an awkward atmosphere had begun to spread.
How to put it… This group of people prided themselves on their elite status, but embarrassingly enough, some of them hadn’t won as many awards in their entire careers as Duan Yang had in a single year.
That was… a little humiliating.
In the end, Director Li changed the topic.
“Director Xu is coming today as well… Ah, Xiao Xu, you’re acquainted with him, aren’t you? You acted in A Kite, right?”
“Yes.” At the mention of this, Xu Shu’s ego immediately swelled. He conveniently left out the fact that his role had only lasted five minutes. “Director Xu is an incredible filmmaker. I learned a lot from him, and I really look forward to working together again.”
“Director Xu came back to China this time to cast for The Song of the Nameless, didn’t he? Xiao Xu, you’ve got a great shot.” Someone chimed in, hyping him up.
To be fair, judging from the hints that had been leaked so far, Xu Shu did seem to have a slim chance—of course, not for the lead role, but perhaps for a significant supporting part. His image fit the character, and he had previously worked with Director Xu.
Xu Shu himself thought so too.
“Well, it still depends on Director Xu’s decision.” He smiled modestly.
Just then, the doors opened, and the final two guests arrived, fashionably late.
Xu Tuanyuan had come in with the producer, a Spaniard who had just gotten off a flight. Xu Tuanyuan had been at the airport to pick him up, which explained their delay. He was dressed even more casually than Duan Yang—just a middle-aged man’s plaid shirt and slacks. His broad, Buddha-like smile radiated warmth, but no one dared to underestimate him.
In fact, the moment he walked in, the entire atmosphere of the banquet shifted. Almost everyone who had been deep in conversation paused, subtly angling themselves to get a chance to speak with him.
But Xu Tuanyuan simply chuckled, waved away all the wine glasses being offered to him, and shook his head—then walked straight in a particular direction.
A sudden sense of unease settled over the crowd.
They watched in stunned silence as Xu Tuanyuan headed toward a corner of the room, where Fang Huai had already stood up. Fang Huai bowed slightly and, somewhat nervously, handed him a glass of champagne.
“Director Xu.”
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Xu Tuanyuan said, taking the champagne. “This is our producer, John. John, this is the young man I told you about—the one with exceptional talent—Fang Huai.”
The two exchanged polite, friendly handshakes.
Everyone: “………………”
What’s going on???
Xu Shu’s face instantly darkened.
He nearly lost his composure. How did Fang Huai even know Xu Tuanyuan? Could it be because of The Song of the Nameless…? Impossible.
But if it wasn’t about the movie and was just a casual acquaintance, then why would Xu Tuanyuan go out of his way to introduce him to the producer, John?
Many people made the connection almost immediately, their expressions shifting subtly. Did Fang Huai just get incredibly lucky and land a supporting role? But supporting roles didn’t usually require such a grand introduction to the producer. Besides, there didn’t seem to be a character in the film that fit his image. And—no matter which role it was, did Fang Huai even deserve it?
Even so, not a single person dared to consider the possibility that Fang Huai was actually cast as the lead in The Song of the Nameless. That was simply too unbelievable.
Xu Tuanyuan had only ever worked with Oscar-winning actors and actresses. In his last five films, he had propelled two actors to Best Actor and one to Best Actress—his productions were practically a god-making factory. If Fang Huai had really landed this role, it would be nothing short of a meteoric rise.
But did he deserve it?
Many people—not just Xu Shu—had that same question.
Just because of a few minutes of screen time in Frost?
Someone who was familiar with Xu Tuanyuan approached, feigning casual interest as they asked, “I don’t believe I’ve met this young man before. Director Xu, would you introduce him?”
Xu Tuanyuan smiled and answered bluntly, “This is Fang Huai, the lead actor of TThe Song of the Nameless. Not bad, right? I have a good eye.”
Everyone: “…………”
Xu Shu couldn’t hold it in anymore. His expression turned darker and darker as he stepped forward and said, “Director Xu, you must be joking.”
Xu Tuanyuan looked at him in confusion, as if trying to remember who he was. After a long pause, he finally said, “Oh, Xiao Xu? No, I’m serious. John is quite satisfied as well. Isn’t that right, John?”
The tall, brown-haired Spaniard smiled and nodded.
“Forgive me for being blunt,” Xu Shu said, his jealousy clouding his judgment as he glanced at Fang Huai. “But I really don’t understand your choice. As you know, Fang Huai doesn’t have any notable works, and his abilities are… immature and inexperienced. Frankly, I can’t help but suspect that your personal feelings may have influenced your decision.”
His words were a barely veiled accusation—implying that Fang Huai had been cast through favoritism or something even more disgraceful. The insinuation was disgusting.
Xu Tuanyuan, whose Chinese was still not completely fluent, listened to the translation. His smile gradually faded. Then, in Spanish—his first language, as he was of Chinese-Spanish descent—he said one simple sentence: “You insult me, and you insult Fang Huai.”
Many people inside and outside the industry knew that Xu Tuanyuan and his wife had been together since high school. She came from a wealthy family, while he was just a poor kid. After twenty years of being together, Xu Tuanyuan finally won the Academy Award for Best Director at the age of 33—and that was the year they got married.
Their relationship was strong, despite many hardships. At one point, his wife was in a coma for three years due to an accident, and Xu Tuanyuan, at the peak of his career, gave up everything to care for her by her bedside.
By saying what he did, Xu Shu had thoroughly offended him.
“So,” Xu Tuanyuan, having weathered far greater storms in life, quickly collected himself and asked, “Xiao Xu, what do you want? What will make you accept this?”
“An open audition.” Xu Shu, now realizing he had crossed a line and there was no turning back, gritted his teeth and doubled down.
“That’s impossible,” Xu Tuanyuan rejected him outright, nearly laughing in anger. “This is my film, Mr. Xu. Why should you have any say in it?”
He and Fang Huai had already reviewed the contract. After meeting with the producer tonight, they were set to sign.
Xu Tuanyuan had never even considered such an issue before, but now, he found himself reflecting on it. The industry was chaotic, and Fang Huai, being relatively unknown, would probably be gossiped about endlessly. His reputation might suffer… The only solution was to wait until the film was released. He was confident in both Fang Huai and his own judgment.
At that moment, Fang Huai, who had been silent all along, finally spoke.
He glanced at Xu Tuanyuan, then at Xu Shu, raised an eyebrow slightly, and said, “I think that’s fine.”
The entire room turned to look at him.
Xu Tuanyuan’s eyes widened.
An open audition? What if someone else got the role? He only wanted Fang Huai for TThe Song of the Nameless. This kid—he was being completely reckless!
Tall and lean, just over 1.8 meters, Fang Huai stood under the scrutiny of the entire room without any sign of nervousness. His voice was clear and steady as he spoke at an unhurried pace, his thoughts organized:
“Let’s hold an open audition. If Director Xu and the other judges find someone better suited, I’ll accept the result without complaint. But if there’s a disagreement—if the other judges prefer another actor while Director Xu insists on casting me—
“Well, I’ll be grateful for the opportunity, and I won’t take a single cent in pay,” he said with a slight smile, a faint dimple appearing at the corner of his lips. “I’ll work for Director Xu for free. How about that?”
Thinking about it carefully, this was actually a brilliant solution. While artistic integrity shouldn’t be swayed by public opinion, films still had to be released and make money—it wasn’t possible to completely ignore outside voices. This was why many films held open auditions in the first place: to broaden the casting pool and to gain a natural advantage in public perception.
Of course, in some cases, so-called open auditions were just for show, with the roles already decided in advance. But since Fang Huai had suggested it himself, that clearly wasn’t the case here.
The room fell into silence.
Xu Tuanyuan didn’t respond immediately. He weighed the idea in his mind and found himself agreeing with it—at least in principle. And holding an open audition… wouldn’t be too difficult. But…
“What if you don’t get the role?” Xu Tuanyuan lowered his voice and asked Fang Huai. “Xiao Fang, think about it. Either you won’t get to act at all, or you won’t get paid a single cent. That’s too much of a loss for you.”
“I believe in myself,” Fang Huai replied matter-of-factly. “As for the money—”
Through his Bluetooth earpiece, Ye Yuyuan’s deep, rich voice, tinged with amusement, sounded softly in his ear, “Our family is very rich.”
The young man’s lips curved into a smile, his light amber eyes shimmering under the lights. His gaze swept across the entire room, landing on each person as he solemnly and earnestly repeated, “Our family is very rich.”
*
By the time the banquet ended, it was already late.
A silent Maybach was parked in the darkness, waiting—who knew for how long. Fang Huai was exhausted, completely drained. He was terrible at socializing, especially in formal settings like banquets. Fortunately, he hadn’t been forced to drink; he didn’t like alcohol—one sip, and he’d be tipsy.
He hadn’t expected Ye Yuyuan to be waiting outside.
“You didn’t have to wait for me,” he said, feeling a little guilty. “That must’ve been so boring.”
“It wasn’t boring.” Ye Yuyuan lowered his gaze and closed his laptop.
Anything related to Fang Huai was never boring.
The Maybach drove a short distance away. Fang Huai, dizzy from a night of small talk and formalities, started feeling carsick. Ye Yuyuan immediately told the driver to stop. Fortunately, they weren’t far from the Signal Cabin.
“Huaihuai, I’ll carry you back,” Ye Yuyuan said lightly.
“I can walk by myself,” Fang Huai shook his head. “No need to carry me.”
Ye Yuyuan frowned slightly, fell silent for a moment, then said, “I won’t get tired.”
He wanted to do this.
Fang Huai hesitated, troubled. “But I don’t want to wrinkle this suit.”
Ye Yuyuan: “…”
“Our family is very rich,” Ye Yuyuan finally said, amused despite himself. “I’ll buy you ten more when we get back.”
“It’s not about the money,” the young man looked at him seriously, exasperated. “You gave this to me.”
If it was something from Ye Yuyuan, even a ten-yuan T-shirt from a roadside stall, Fang Huai wouldn’t want to ruin it.
Ye Yuyuan: “…”
His ears turned slightly red. He didn’t know how to respond to that.
In the end, he carried him anyway.
Fang Huai was just over 1.8 meters tall but had the lean frame typical of boys his age—he was all height, no weight, making him surprisingly light. He leaned against Ye Yuyuan’s shoulder, eyes closed, drowsy. He liked Ye Yuyuan’s scent—cool and clean, like cedarwood.
Because he liked Ye Yuyuan.
Their shadows stretched long under the streetlights. On this winter night, the moonlight was soft, and the warm glow of nearby apartments spilled onto the streets. Christmas was just around the corner.
“Do you think any reporters will take pictures?” Fang Huai suddenly wondered aloud.
Ye Yuyuan’s steps faltered. After a brief pause, his voice tightened slightly as he asked in a low tone, “You don’t want to be photographed?”
He had already ensured that there wouldn’t be any paparazzi along this route, but now—he wanted to hear Fang Huai’s thoughts.
He wanted to know what Fang Huai really thought.
“A little,” Fang Huai mumbled sleepily, yawning.
Ye Yuyuan didn’t say anything.
His fingers felt a little cold, but his heart was filled with a gentle indulgence. He had anticipated this answer and wasn’t disappointed, but for a moment, he felt afraid.
He was afraid that Fang Huai would tell him to let go.
…But he wouldn’t be able to do that.
A long time passed.
The quiet streets stretched ahead, the night breeze blowing softly. Moonlight spread across the ground, and from afar, faint voices and the distant warmth of city life drifted over.
Time seemed to slow down.
Fang Huai yawned, clinging to the last shred of wakefulness, and said, “If I get photographed now, it’s too early. I want to win… an Oscar, hmm.”
Ye Yuyuan: “Hm?”
The words sounded a little arrogant, but Ye Yuyuan didn’t think so. He only thought that Fang Huai was someone impossible not to love.
No matter what he said or did, he was always endearing.
Fang Huai had always liked acting, but he had never been this passionate about it. His insistence on starring in The Song of the Nameless had puzzled Ye Yuyuan.
He still didn’t know—what kind of obsession did his little one have with the Oscars?
“When you win an Oscar, there’s an awards ceremony, right?” Fang Huai gestured with his hand. “A really prestigious one, watched by the whole world.”
He smiled, a faint dimple appearing at the corner of his lips—clean and bright. His voice was soft, like he was weaving a dream, but his tone was incredibly serious.
“When I win that award,” he said slowly, “then… no one will question me anymore. Baby, I’ll finally be worthy of you.”
“And at that awards ceremony, in front of the entire world—”
He leaned closer to Ye Yuyuan’s ear and whispered, enunciating each word with care,”I will tell everyone… that I like you.”
