Chapter 85
“Mr. Fang, congratulations. You’ve passed the audition. The Song of the Nameless is tentatively scheduled to start filming in February. Someone will contact you later regarding the contract.”
Fang Huai: “…Oh.”
He slowly hung up, turning to look at Ye Yuyuan.
Ye Yuyuan pressed his lips together, looking a bit anxious. He had heard that the call was from The Song of the Nameless’s team, but he didn’t know the outcome.
The new year had just arrived, and the young people around them were still laughing and celebrating. In the city center, the grand lights came back on.
“Hm?” Ye Yuyuan lowered his gaze, brushing a snowflake off the tip of Fang Huai’s nose with his thumb. “…What did they say?”
“I passed the audition,” Fang Huai murmured.
“You passed?” Ye Yuyuan’s hand paused mid-air.
“I PASSED!!”
Fang Huai’s mind, which had gone blank from the overwhelming surprise, finally returned to reality. It was as if a student had just found out they got into Peking University after checking their exam results. He jogged in circles excitedly before rushing back to Ye Yuyuan, repeating,
“I PASSED THE AUDITION!”
Ye Yuyuan: “…”
After a brief silence, he gave in—lifting Fang Huai up and kissing him deeply. His usually serious expression softened, and a hint of laughter laced his deep voice.
“Mm, you’re the best.”
Fang Huai lowered his gaze to look at him. The ever-serious, quiet man had the corners of his lips lifted slightly. It was a very faint smile, but it was real.
Ye Yuyuan was even happier than Fang Huai himself.
Fang Huai stared at him in a daze, momentarily forgetting even the joy of passing the audition.
Why does Ye Yuyuan look so good when he smiles?
During the countdown earlier, the streetlights had gone out one by one. But now, they were lighting up again.
The very first streetlamp to turn on was the one right beside them.
“Hey,” a group of high school girls walked by with hand warmers, glancing their way. “They kinda look like—”
Fang Huai: “…”
Ye Yuyuan: “…”
Fang Huai was still being held by Ye Yuyuan. Without hesitation, he lowered his head and kissed him again, their knitted hats and scarves shielding their faces from view.
“Ahhh!”
The high school girls, seeing such a handsome real-life gay couple for the first time, practically squealed in excitement. Though they knew it was rude to disturb others, they couldn’t help sneaking a few more glances before scurrying away with hands over their mouths.
But others around them were still watching.
Fang Huai closed his eyes, his breathing a little unsteady. The kiss lasted longer than usual. Ye Yuyuan held him and walked toward a quieter area. In the dim surroundings, the only sounds were their breaths intertwining—deep and shallow, overlapping. Fang Huai’s heartbeat was fast, his blood seemingly set ablaze.
He liked kissing Ye Yuyuan, but it had always been simple—just a light touch of the lips before pulling away. Even that made him feel dizzy. And Ye Yuyuan was even more reserved than he was.
Tonight felt strangely different. The atmosphere of the new year, the first snowfall, and the fireworks blended together like some kind of magical catalyst. An unnamed fire crackled in the air.
After thinking for a long time, Fang Huai couldn’t help but lick Ye Yuyuan’s lips.
Ye Yuyuan’s body temperature was always on the cooler side, but his lips were warm, his breath carrying tiny embers of heat. Fang Huai didn’t realize Ye Yuyuan had completely frozen in place. He murmured softly, “Sweet.”
Ye Yuyuan: “…”
“Why are you sweet?” Fang Huai pulled back slightly, looking at him in confusion. After a moment, he licked his own lips, then confirmed, “I’m not sweet.”
Crackle—sparks burst in the air.
“Huaihuai.”
Ye Yuyuan pressed his lips together tightly, lowering his gaze to look at him for a long time before asking, “There’s… another way to kiss.”
Fang Huai instinctively asked, “What kind?”
Ye Yuyuan’s voice was slightly husky as he murmured, “I’ll teach you.”
He wasn’t sweet. The sweetness was—
In the end, Ye Yuyuan couldn’t hold back. When he closed his eyes and kissed him, he almost lost all reason.
For the first time, Fang Huai learned that a kiss could make someone breathless. He forgot to breathe.
They walked along the path toward the parking lot, fireworks continuously exploding overhead—one after another, lighting up the entire sky.
The day felt almost surreal, like a dream. But he was actually quite exhausted. When Ye Yuyuan carried him back to the car, he fought hard to stay awake.
“They set off fireworks for a long time today,” Fang Huai commented absentmindedly, gazing at the night sky.
Even though pollution was no longer an issue, large-scale fireworks were expensive. This year, they went on for so long—how much must that have cost?
Ye Yuyuan responded calmly, “Mm.”
Fang Huai, of course, had no idea.
The first five minutes of fireworks were officially arranged.
Every firework after that? The money came directly from Ye Yuyuan’s account.
…To celebrate his little one passing the audition.
*
The Next Day
#The Nameless Melody Fang Huai# shot to the top of the trending list in the early hours of the morning, surpassing a flood of other New Year-related hashtags.
[Our boy is amazing!! AHHHH!!]
[No way, is this real???]
[Did Jiang Yuan and Wang Shuli have no objections? Or did Director Xu play favorites again? Once was fine, but again? Does Fang Huai have a gold mine at home? How is he getting these backdoor opportunities?!]
[Is this for real? Even without Jiang Yuan and Wang Shuli, it still wouldn’t be his turn.]
[To be honest, the casting was made public, so there’s no need for these tricks. If Director Xu had already decided on Fang Huai, he wouldn’t have agreed to an open audition in the first place and wasted time. This should be real—Xu Tuanyuan’s character is not in question.]
Truth be told, that last comment was spot on. The Song of the Nameless was indeed Xu Tuanyuan’s film, but it wasn’t his sole decision to make. When he initially selected Fang Huai on his own, both the screenwriter and producer had some objections. Eventually, they went with the flow and held an open audition.
The reason the announcement wasn’t made until midnight was that they were still locked in debate until 11 PM.
Fang Huai’s performance exceeded expectations, but Jiang Yuan also did very well. It was hard to determine who was truly the best fit. After multiple rounds of voting, they ultimately chose Fang Huai after careful consideration.
It wasn’t that Fang Huai was better than Jiang Yuan or Wang Shuli—he was simply more suitable for the role.
Beyond that, Xu Tuanyuan also keenly noticed something—Fang Huai had improved significantly in a short period. He likely underwent some form of empathy training on his own. The kid was diligent, talented, and progressing at a pace beyond expectations.
But netizens wouldn’t see it that way.
Just as the doubts were growing louder, Jiang Yuan unexpectedly stepped forward to speak.
“@Jiang Yuan V: The result is fair. I can vouch for it. I wasn’t as good as Fang Huai—he worked really hard.”
Jiang Yuan had always been steady in his career, with no conflicts of interest in the industry. He had a reputation for honesty and seriousness, and he always valued his credibility. His words carried weight.
[Brother Jiang, if you’re being forced to say this, blink twice.]
[Fang Huai is undeniably hardworking. If there’s anything you can’t argue against, it’s that. During Frost’s busiest filming period, he was only getting four hours of sleep a day.]
[Accusing Director Xu and Jiang Yuan of conspiring to rig this is ridiculous. You might as well claim my boy bribed the entire entertainment industry!]
[Alright, fine. If Jiang Yuan says so, I’ll believe it.]
Whether people believed it or not, the lead role for The Song of the Nameless was already decided.
Meanwhile, Frost hadn’t even premiered yet, and the only impression the public had of Fang Huai’s acting was from a single trailer. Most remained skeptical, waiting to see whether The Song of the Nameless would crash and burn or once again defy expectations.
Some even felt that casting Fang Huai was a downgrade—that he wasn’t worthy of a Xu Tuanyuan film. Unlike television, the film industry had a rigid hierarchy, almost like a feudal system. Fang Huai came from a talent show background, wasn’t a formally trained actor, and had no major accomplishments in fashion or film.
Just like how luxury brands wouldn’t rush to have him as an ambassador, top-tier directors like Xu Tuanyuan typically wouldn’t cast actors with such limited experience and status as their leads—it could devalue the film.
This was the protagonist, after all. For Xu Tuanyuan, it was a high-stakes gamble.
What exactly did Fang Huai have that made him stand out?
Even Fang Huai himself wasn’t sure what Xu Tuanyuan saw in him.
But he wouldn’t belittle himself either—he knew his strengths and weaknesses. The Song of the Nameless was set to start filming in February. Before that, his main focus was to refine his acting skills and push himself forward.
What Fang Huai didn’t expect was that, on the very first day of the new year, he would receive a call from Jiang Yuan.
“Fang Huai, Happy New Year.” Jiang Yuan’s voice was warm, carrying a scholarly tone. “This is Jiang Yuan. Pardon my intrusion—are you interested in performing in a stage play?”
Fang Huai and Jiang Yuan had only crossed paths during the audition for The Song of the Nameless. Jiang Yuan’s acting skills were exceptional—far superior to his. It was clear that Jiang Yuan was a true theater enthusiast. Before the audition, he hadn’t paid Fang Huai any special attention, but after watching him perform that scene, he had taken the initiative to ask for his number.
“…A stage play?”
This was the first time Fang Huai learned that Jiang Yuan ran his own theater company, occasionally directing and starring in productions. Jiang Yuan himself had started out in theater before transitioning to the big screen.
Performing in a stage play was even more challenging than acting in a film—it required pure skill, with no room for post-production edits. Success relied entirely on live performance. That explained why Jiang Yuan’s fundamentals were so solid.
Fang Huai, having taken a non-traditional path into acting, was still making up for his lack of formal training. Though he had been working hard to strengthen his basics, he still had many shortcomings.
This was an incredible opportunity—not only could he improve his skills, but he could also seek guidance from Jiang Yuan. Without much hesitation, Fang Huai agreed.
After New Year’s Day came the twelfth lunar month, bringing the approach of the Spring Festival. Before New Year’s Eve, the theater had three scheduled performances. In the mornings, Fang Huai would train his fundamentals with Jiang Yuan at the theater. In the afternoons, he rehearsed both the stage play and The Song of the Nameless. At night, he would return home to spend time with his boyfriend. His days were packed.
It was exhausting, but Fang Huai could feel himself improving significantly. Stage acting forced him to push forward—any flaw would be immediately noticeable to the audience.
That afternoon, Fang Huai and Jiang Yuan were deep in discussion about a script issue, losing track of time. When they finally wrapped up, Fang Huai glanced at the clock and was startled. He quickly gathered his things and said, “Jiang Yuan, sorry, I have to go.”
“It’s too late,” Jiang Yuan said, picking up his car keys. Smiling, he ruffled Fang Huai’s hair. “Let me drive you home—and buy you dinner while we’re at it.”
“Thanks, but that won’t be necessary.” Fang Huai felt a little awkward. He wasn’t used to physical closeness with anyone other than Ye Yuyuan. He took a step back and said, “My family is picking me up.”
When Fang Huai was with Ye Yuyuan, he could call him whatever he wanted. But in front of others, he usually referred to him as either his “boyfriend” or simply “family.”
Jiang Yuan fell silent. He had heard from acquaintances that Fang Huai was an orphan and that his only grandfather had passed away.
As he watched Fang Huai leave, a Maybach was parked outside. A tall figure stood waiting for him. The dim night made it difficult to see his features clearly, but Jiang Yuan could make out the man’s towering stature, dressed in a wool coat. He lowered his head to adjust Fang Huai’s scarf, pausing briefly before looking up—his gaze landing directly on Jiang Yuan.
Those were a pair of deep, cold eyes, untouched by light.
It wasn’t until Fang Huai tipped his head up and gave him a quick kiss, then held his hand as they walked toward the car, that the man finally withdrew his gaze. He tightened his grip on Fang Huai’s hand and got into the car with him.
“…Family?” Jiang Yuan repeated the word.
*
The theater had only one more performance scheduled before New Year’s Eve. After this show, Fang Huai wouldn’t be coming back—he would be staying home with his boyfriend for the holiday.
Lately, Ye Yuyuan had been acting a little strange.
That day, Fang Huai noticed two books lying open on the sofa—An Actor Prepares and Fundamentals of Music Theory. Both were already more than halfway read, with carefully written notes in the margins.
Fang Huai had read these books before, but never with such focus. He had only skimmed through them and summarized the key points.
Also, Ye Yuyuan—who was always punctual—had actually overslept that morning.
“Sleep a little longer,” Ye Yuyuan murmured, hugging him from behind and speaking softly against his ear. “Huaihuai, let’s go later today.”
Ye Yuyuan was already on vacation. For the past few days, he had been driving Fang Huai to the theater in the morning, then returning home to work for a while, and at night, they would stay together, doing nothing in particular.
Fang Huai thought for a moment, then turned over and kissed him.
“I’m not going today.”
Ye Yuyuan was taken aback. “Hm?”
Tonight was the final performance. Fang Huai had been preparing for it for a long time.
Just yesterday, Fang Huai had realized—though he didn’t know why—that Ye Yuyuan didn’t like Jiang Yuan. Since Ye Yuyuan didn’t like him, then he simply wouldn’t go.
In the soft morning light, the two of them stared at each other from a very close distance for a long time.
Ye Yuyuan’s obsidian-like eyes, still hazy from sleep, lingered on Fang Huai. After a moment, he let out a quiet sigh.
“Go. I’ll take you.”
“Nope. Goo goo goo.” Lately, Fang Huai had been spending more time on Weibo and had picked up some new internet slang. He burrowed under the covers and muffled his face with a pillow. “Sleep.”
Ye Yuyuan: “…”
“Just go. You’ll be on break after tomorrow,” he coaxed.
“I’m already late anyway,” Fang Huai’s voice was muffled under the pillow. “…Not going.”
In the end, he still went. Fang Huai got up to wash up, brushing his teeth as he handed his phone to Ye Yuyuan.
“Teacher Ye, help me tell Jiang Yuan I’ll be late.”
Ye Yuyuan lowered his gaze to look at the phone. He took it, scrolling through the contacts until he found the one labeled “Jiang Yuan.”
Both Fang Huai’s emergency contact and the first name in his contact list were Ye Yuyuan. Ye Yuyuan could see that Jiang Yuan often sent messages to Fang Huai, but Fang Huai usually only replied with a brief Mm or Got it, thanks.
It was as if Fang Huai had done it on purpose—when he handed the phone over, the screen was already open to that conversation. His phone’s fingerprint lock was also set so that Ye Yuyuan could unlock it.
Ye Yuyuan couldn’t help but curve his lips slightly. The frustration that had been building up all day suddenly disappeared. He dialed Jiang Yuan’s number.
“Sorry,” Ye Yuyuan paused for a moment before continuing, “Fang Huai will be a little late today.”
Jiang Yuan was momentarily stunned, his brows furrowing. “Sorry, who are you? What is Fang Huai to you?”
Ye Yuyuan lowered his gaze, his eyes resting on the jade ring on his finger. His voice was calm as he said, “He is—”
“I’m his boyfriend.” Fang Huai, having just finished washing up, emerged while putting on his clothes. Hearing the conversation over the speaker, he answered casually, “Sorry, I overslept today.”
“Mm.” Ye Yuyuan nodded slightly.
Jiang Yuan: “…”
The play started at 8 PM. It was a classic script, and Fang Huai wasn’t the lead—he played a supporting role.
At first, many actors at the theater looked down on him. There was some professional rivalry at play, and many stage actors had little respect for TV drama stars, especially those who relied on CGI stand-ins and body doubles. Some even heard rumors that certain actors didn’t bother memorizing their lines, simply reading out the alphabet while post-production handled the dubbing.
But after spending some time with Fang Huai, their opinions completely changed. Talent was one thing, but having both talent and relentless dedication was another. Many people couldn’t push themselves to his level—some didn’t even have the nerve to be envious.
For one, as soon as he entered the practice room, he barely took any breaks, except for a brief call with his “family” at noon. If he wasn’t satisfied with a single line, he would rehearse it from morning until night—something most people would have given up on long ago.
Because of this, his progress was astonishing—so fast it was visible to the naked eye. He was like a resilient plant that thrived on any sunlight and water it could find, grasping every opportunity to grow.
At 6 PM, Fang Huai was getting his makeup done and changing into costume.
Jiang Yuan, the lead actor of the night’s play, was already prepared. He walked over to Fang Huai for one final rehearsal of their lines. The two got along quite well—aside from the occasional odd comment from Jiang Yuan.
“Pause here.” Jiang Yuan marked Fang Huai’s script with a pen. “About two seconds. The lights will dim.”
Fang Huai nodded.
Then, Jiang Yuan suddenly fell silent.
He studied Fang Huai for a long moment before smiling slightly. “Fang Huai, if you’re going to date someone, there are better choices than President Ye.”
The makeup artist had already packed up and left. At some point, they were the only two left in the small dressing room.
Fang Huai paused as he flipped through his script. “What?”
“He’s not necessarily serious about you. You’re young—it’s easy to deceive you.”
“Oh?” Fang Huai raised an eyebrow but didn’t look up from his script. “I don’t think so.”
Jiang Yuan smiled, gentle yet knowing, his eyes holding a hint of patronizing amusement, as if he had already seen through everything. “You don’t understand now. He says he likes you—but has he told a single person around him? Has he introduced you to any of his friends or family? Has he ever thought about making your relationship public?”
“No, right? He’s probably even been avoiding the media, making sure you’re never photographed together,” Jiang Yuan spread his hands. “Because he doesn’t think it’s necessary. To him, you’re just a little plaything—not someone who belongs in his world.”
Fang Huai: “…”
“Even if we put that aside, the gap between you two is too big,” Jiang Yuan continued. “The money you’d make in ten years might not even be what he earns in a single day. Financially and socially, you’re not equals. Right now, you’re in the honeymoon phase, so everything seems fine. But what about later?”
He casually rested a friendly hand on Fang Huai’s shoulder, speaking as if they were just having a chat, patiently and persuasively:
“You’re an actor and a musician—there’s no common language between the two of you.”
“I can teach you how to act. The resources I have in the industry are beyond what you can imagine. Your interests happen to be my interests, and I can accompany you. I genuinely want to find someone to spend my life with, and I’m willing to treat you well.”
“If you want to date someone, you clearly have better choices…”
Jiang Yuan had been eyeing this opportunity for a long time. He had been single for quite a while, and ever since Fang Huai’s acting caught his attention that day, he had grown interested. After spending some time together, he became certain—Fang Huai was inexperienced in the ways of the world and easy to deceive.
With one hand resting lightly on Fang Huai, he lifted his gaze toward the window. His smile deepened as he nodded politely to the person outside the door.
Behind Fang Huai, the window was slightly ajar. Outside the door, someone was just about to knock, their index finger pressing so hard it turned white. Their dark, indifferent gaze met Jiang Yuan’s. Jiang Yuan raised a finger to his lips, gesturing a ‘shh’—suggesting, Don’t you want to hear how he’ll respond?
After so many years in the industry, he had seen countless couples like this. Jiang Yuan thought with some irony—one moment deeply in love, the next turning into enemies was nothing new.
Love in this era was inherently practical. Something that looked perfectly seamless could be shattered with just a well-placed tap.
Finally, Fang Huai closed his script.
“Mr. Jiang, I think you’ve misunderstood something,” he said slowly, his gaze lowered. “I’m not looking for someone to date.”
Jiang Yuan was taken aback. “…What?”
“It’s because I met him that I want to be in a relationship,” the young man said earnestly. His light amber eyes reflected a hint of the room’s soft glow. “If I weren’t with him, I would have no problem spending my whole life alone.”
He had long grown accustomed to living on his own, adapted to solitude. It was only after meeting Ye Yuyuan that he had the desire to intertwine two lives, to look forward to any changes that came with him.
“Oh.” Jiang Yuan chuckled. “I see. Of course, that’s what you’d say now. But what about your future? You know, don’t you? If you two break up and the media exposes a scandal about your sexuality or any industry favoritism, all your efforts will be ruined.”
Fang Huai dedicated at least eight hours a day to honing his acting and music skills. He was incredibly hardworking—a young man deeply invested in his career.
Jiang Yuan had observed him carefully. He wasn’t just blindly in love. The fact that he still insisted on coming to the theater every day instead of staying home and indulging in romance showed that, in his heart, career and love held equal weight.
At that moment, Fang Huai lifted his eyes and gave Jiang Yuan a strange look.
That gaze made Jiang Yuan feel as if a bucket of cold water had been poured over his head, abruptly waking him up. He realized that after everything he had said, Fang Huai hadn’t wavered in the slightest—not even a flicker of hesitation, confusion, or fear.
“Mr. Jiang, you said earlier that my Ye Yuyuan is very exceptional.” Fang Huai lightly tapped his right hand against his left wrist. His lips curved into a clean, untainted smile. “So tell me, why do you think I work so hard at my career?”
Wealth, power, and fame—Fang Huai didn’t actually care about those things.
Perhaps children raised within societal norms would value them, but for Fang Huai, they were as insignificant as how city dwellers failed to understand why those in the mountains cared so deeply about the weather’s effect on their crops.
“I work hard to be worthy of him.”
Fang Huai opened his palm, revealing a small paper crane resting inside. He smiled. “If, as you say, one day in the future, he and I are no longer together, then what does it matter if your so-called ‘scandal’ gets exposed?”
But Fang Huai didn’t believe such a thing would ever happen. He was certain.
Ye Yuyuan had accepted his ring—he was family now. They would be together for a lifetime. Even heaven and earth had borne witness to it.
Jiang Yuan remained silent for a long time.
A staff member knocked on the door, notifying them that it was time to get ready. The voice, muffled through the door, sounded a little off. Fang Huai glanced at his script one last time, mentally running through the entire scene, then stood up.
Outside the dressing room was a hallway leading to the backstage area. The motion-activated lights hadn’t turned on yet, leaving the corridor in darkness.
As soon as Fang Huai closed the door behind him, someone suddenly grasped his wrist and pulled him into an embrace. The man bent down close to his ear, his breath warm and husky as he murmured, “Huai Huai.”
Fang Huai froze for a moment before breaking into a smile. He was already in his stage costume, making it difficult to move, so in the end, he simply held the man’s hand and whispered,
“There are still two hours left, Teacher Ye. You came too early—you’ll get bored.”
“I won’t.” Ye Yuyuan’s Adam’s apple bobbed slightly as he spoke. His deep, magnetic voice was intoxicating. He reached out and straightened Fang Huai’s collar, his tone low and gentle. “I missed you.”
Ye Yuyuan rarely spoke so directly. Usually, Fang Huai had to coax such words out of him. A tingling warmth spread across Fang Huai’s palm. His heart stirred. He didn’t feel like acting anymore—he just wanted to go home. But he couldn’t.
“I missed you too,” Fang Huai said with some difficulty. “Wait for me a little while. I’ll finish quickly.”
“Okay.” Ye Yuyuan nodded.
“Come backstage with me.” Fang Huai thought for a moment. “There’s a passage from the backstage to the VIP seats. You can sit and wait for me. Once I’m done, we’ll go home… hmm?”
Fang Huai followed Ye Yuyuan’s gaze. “What are you looking at?”
“Nothing. Let’s go.”
The motion-activated lights flickered on. Ye Yuyuan withdrew his gaze and took Fang Huai’s hand, leading him forward.
Just then, Jiang Yuan stepped out of the dressing room. Ye Yuyuan didn’t even spare him a glance. As he passed by, he simply uttered two low words.
Jiang Yuan’s body stiffened.
From his angle, he could clearly see the jade ring on Ye Yuyuan’s left middle finger—traditionally, the finger for engagement.
And the two words Ye Yuyuan had said were—
“Mine.”
Fang Huai was his.
