Chapter 98
In just half an hour, the hashtags #FangHuaiKidnapped and #LiMangLiveStream had shot into the top ten trending topics on Weibo. The local police officially posted that they had launched an investigation.
To everyone watching, the situation seemed simple: Li Mang had been exposed, was desperate, and had kidnapped Fang Huai in a last-ditch effort—broadcasting it live to frame him.
Li Mang claimed that Fang Huai was a drug addict and a kept man, but almost no one believed him. Who would take the word of a lunatic?
But just as the public outrage reached its peak, a rumor spread from the higher-ups.
The domestic release date of Frost was suddenly postponed indefinitely—it might only be shown overseas. Abyss Moonlight was pulled from all platforms. Heartbeat Signal 5.0 was completely removed from the internet.
And those weren’t the only ones. Other web dramas were taken down, some movies had their release dates pushed back. But these three stood out the most because all of them were connected to Fang Huai.
[What the hell? What does this mean?]
[Taken down for “sensitive content”? Did Fang Huai really do drugs?? 666.]
[No one even said it was because of an actor doing drugs. If that’s the case, what about the other ones? A Rainbow’s Path and Shell Girl got taken down too.]
A Rainbow’s Path was a documentary about the lives of lesbian women in the country. Shell Girl was a web series featuring a transgender protagonist.
The same day, the marriage equality bill was completely struck down.
Those who were politically aware had already sensed this storm brewing for a long time. There had been signs, but no one had taken them seriously.
Most people, however, were still clueless. They thought Fang Huai’s personal scandal had dragged an entire production down with him.
Slowly, the public opinion started to shift. The internet trolls seized the chaos and flooded Li Mang’s live stream.
[That Fang guy looks like a pretty-boy junkie…]
[Li Mang is trash, but Fang Huai doesn’t seem much better.]
[Disgusting.]
[Why isn’t he dead yet? Just die already.]
Inside the small wooden cabin, the two men locked in confrontation were completely unaware of what was happening outside.
Li Mang quietly tightened his grip on the syringe hidden behind his back, his heart pounding. From the start, he hadn’t expected to successfully frame Fang Huai—after all, Fang Huai had never left behind any incriminating evidence.
But destroying a person didn’t necessarily require framing them.
The syringe contained a highly pure, new type of drug, at a concentration potent enough to be lethal. Every now and then, some unlucky fool would misjudge the dosage—what started as a thrill-seeking high would end with their corpse being discovered.
And dying from a drug overdose was nothing like peacefully drifting off from sleeping pills.
He would lose control of his bodily functions, convulse violently, and struggle pathetically on camera—
Li Mang swallowed hard and said, “The thing you’re looking for is with me. Come here.”
Fang Huai didn’t move.
His gaze remained lowered, the curve of his profile appearing calm under the moonlight.
“The thing.” He repeated the word, pausing briefly.
What he was looking for wasn’t an object—it was a person.
The newly turned adult hesitated for a moment, then finally took a step forward. Li Mang watched him, struggling to keep his expression neutral, though deep inside, he felt the urge to laugh. He tightened his grip on the syringe, his finger ready to push the plunger at any moment.
“His name is Fang Jianguo,” Fang Huai said, walking forward without any hint of defensiveness. His tone was serious. “He has a really bad temper.”
“Oh?” Li Mang swallowed again. He exchanged a knowing glance with someone outside the door, then sneered, “So what?”
Fang Huai stopped in front of him.
His light amber eyes were clear, shimmering faintly like they had been washed clean. He smiled slightly and said—
“…So do I.”
Fang Jianguo had a bad temper.
—And so did he.
A sharp jolt shot through Li Mang’s chest, like an electric current striking his heart. A cold sweat broke out at the back of his head. He didn’t even know where the sudden, overwhelming sense of danger came from—after all, he was the one in control here.
Everything happened in an instant.
The accomplice waiting outside kicked the door open, a knife in his hand. Li Mang raised the syringe, preparing to strike.
The mountain wind howled, shaking the narrow window violently.
Fang Huai shifted slightly, easily dodging the ambush from behind. One hand remained tucked in the pocket of his hoodie as he moved a couple of steps within the cramped space. The wind roared through the room.
Two black drongos shrieked sharply as they swooped in through the open window.
One darted forward and pecked viciously at the man’s eye, forcing him to stumble back. The other landed on his wrist, its claws digging in. His hand trembled, and the knife clattered loudly to the ground.
The black drongo was a fierce mountain bird—small in size, but with an especially sharp beak.
“Shit!!”
The man couldn’t open his eyes at all, clutching his head and shouting in pain:
“Brother Mang, help me out! I can’t hold on!!”
But Li Mang had no time to help him—he could barely handle himself.
Just moments ago, he was sure the tip of his syringe had pressed against Fang Huai’s skin, but it felt like hitting glass—no matter how hard he pushed, the needle wouldn’t go in. As if that wasn’t enough, just as he stepped forward, he suddenly heard the sound of police sirens.
Li Mang: “!!!”
A chill ran down his spine. The cops were already here?!
Fang Huai casually opened a cabinet, sending a pile of miscellaneous junk tumbling out.
This was where Fang Jianguo used to stash things. He never liked organizing, stuffing anything and everything into the cabinet.
Fang Huai whistled along with the sound of the sirens. Li Mang’s panic deepened, but he gritted his teeth and forced himself to move forward. Fang Huai, hands still in his hoodie pockets, lazily lifted his leg and gave him a light kick—not hard at all, almost gentle, with no malice on his face.
Yet Li Mang stumbled back uncontrollably, suddenly stepping on something.
His worn-out cloth shoes had no rubber soles. A sharp, searing electric current shot up from the ground, coursing through his entire body. Within seconds, he lost consciousness.
What he had stepped on was an electric drill that Fang Jianguo had tinkered with and modified himself.
As soon as Li Mang went still, Fang Huai reached out and turned off the small siren on the table—the “police sirens” had been coming from there all along.
The livestream chat:
[……]
[Damn.]
[Disgusting. This pretty boy is way too skilled at this—bet he’s done shady stuff before.]
[??? What kind of logic is that???]
[That syringe definitely wasn’t ordinary. That was close.]
The other man was still struggling on the ground when Fang Huai crouched beside him, resting one knee down. He nodded politely and said,
“Hello.”
The man: “……”
Shit.
“Have you seen a…” Fang Huai thought for a moment, then gestured with his hands, “a box? The person I’m looking for is inside.”
He said this with a strange mix of seriousness and stubbornness—polite, yet entirely matter-of-fact.
As if he genuinely believed that the person was still inside the box, alive, able to speak and joke around. And now that the box was lost, he simply had to find it again.
“In…” The man winced, clutching his eye. “…The bag.”
Fang Huai had already checked—there was no bag in the room.
Meanwhile, the two black drongos had tucked in their wings, now perched obediently on Fang Huai’s shoulders.
“Where’s the bag?” he asked.
“It’s—”
The man, lying on the floor, subtly reached for the knife beside him and suddenly swung it up.
“—on your road to the underworld!”
“……”
“Come on now,” Fang Huai said, looking mildly embarrassed.
He leaned back, narrowly dodging the knife. The man, unable to stop his momentum, crashed headfirst into the wall—specifically, right into the open cabinet door.
The impact triggered a switch.
Inside the cabinet was a mechanical piling machine that Fang Jianguo had modified—originally meant for back massages, its heavy, fist-shaped attachment swung forward and slammed squarely into the man’s face.
His head wobbled. Then he collapsed.
Fang Huai got up, walked over, and switched off the camera that had been recording the entire scene.
He searched the room again but found no sign of any bag—nor Fang Jianguo’s ashes.
He opened the cabinet again. It was still a mess—photographs, a flashlight, and wine corks all crammed together. Fang Huai pulled out two yellowed photos, stared at them for a long moment, then slipped them into his pocket.
He said nothing, silently tidying up the room, restoring it as best as he could to its original state, and dragging the two unconscious men outside.
The moment he stepped out, he froze.
At some point, a group of people had gathered in the small courtyard.
One of them was even a familiar face.
Lu Yu looked much better off than Li Mang—at least he was dressed neatly and didn’t appear disheveled. But everyone knew he wasn’t doing well. His scandals had been exposed, his reputation was in shambles, and his career was in a downward spiral. In just three months, he had received two court summons and was likely facing jail time.
Compared to his former glory, where he had been the center of attention, he had fallen from the heights of fame to the depths of disgrace.
Lu Yu looked at Fang Huai and smiled, greeting him as if they were old friends who hadn’t seen each other in years.
“Fang Huai, long time no see.”
.
At such a sensitive time, online discussions were chaotic and tangled. Gossip accounts and tabloid blogs thrived on stirring up drama, eager to blow even the smallest incident out of proportion.
And this? This wasn’t just a small incident. It was an official order to take down all of Fang Huai’s works from the internet.
No matter the reason, it had to be Fang Huai’s fault. Otherwise, why were only his works taken down and not anyone else’s?
Maybe he really was into drugs and shady deals. The entertainment industry was so dirty—nothing he did would be surprising.
Bai Tingting was a relatively unknown internet influencer. She didn’t have any standout traits, unless you counted her incredible luck.
But in the past, her luck had only extended to things like winning giveaways. Never before had she gotten as lucky as she was now.
When the Fang Huai incident broke out, she just so happened to be filming a vlog at the foot of a mountain in a small county town—making her the closest person to the scene. Seizing the opportunity, she immediately started a livestream.
As expected, her viewer count skyrocketed in real time, quickly shattering all of her previous records.
“Yes, I’m in S County. S County is near the mountains, though I’m not sure which one exactly… Wow, I see police cars! There are so many people gathered here,” Bai Tingting said, rotating her selfie stick. “And journalists, too.”
Fang Huai? Bai Tingting ran her fingers through her long, wavy hair, her mind racing.
With all of Fang Huai’s works being taken down, it was clear he had been blacklisted by mainstream media. The reason was still unknown, but that didn’t matter.
She needed to make her stance clear.
Back when Fang Huai was popular, Bai Tingting had clung to his fame, even calling herself his fangirl. Now, she knew she had to delete those old Weibo posts as soon as possible.
“I used to think he was pretty good. Never expected him to do something like this.” She shrugged. “How should I put it? Drugs and shady deals are a matter of principle. He’s too young, so it’s normal that he couldn’t resist temptation, but he really shouldn’t have crossed that line.”
[Idiot, which eye of yours saw him doing drugs? Spreading rumors is illegal, you know that?]
[Oh wow, the fangirls are already here to do damage control.]
[Hope Li Mang and Fang Huai both die together. That’d be a blessing for society.]
Bai Tingting smiled and was just about to continue speaking when someone patted her shoulder in a friendly manner.
She turned her head—her eyes nearly popped out of their sockets.
“F-F-Feng… Film Emperor Feng?”
The man’s shirt had two buttons undone, and he casually yet elegantly draped an arm over her shoulder. He pulled down his mask, smiled at the camera, and said—
“Hello, everyone.”
Bai Tingting: “…………”
The livestream chat: “………………”
Everyone, both watching the screen and present in real life, fell into dead silence.
Meanwhile, Feng Lang’s manager, who was still stuck outside the airport waiting for a car, was staring at his phone, practically rolling his eyes out of his skull in frustration.
The only thing breaking the silence was the skyrocketing viewer count.
Bai Tingting’s stream had surged in popularity so fast that it was now featured on the platform’s homepage, making it instantly accessible to anyone opening the app or visiting the site.
So what exactly was Feng Lang trying to do?
Longtime fans knew he never played by the rules, but pulling something like this? No one saw it coming.
*
At the same time, on the outskirts of the same county, a once-deserted mountain foothill was growing livelier. Criminal investigators and reporters had begun arriving one after another.
Authorities had already put up barriers to prevent people from trespassing up the mountain—or to stop any suspects from escaping.
Duan Yang yanked off his Beats headphones, his expression dark. After a moment, he asked, “I can’t go up?”
“That’s right. It’s a matter of principle.”
The young officer nervously touched his chest, both excited and a little terrified. This was his first time meeting a celebrity. But he was also afraid Duan Yang would actually hit him—after all, he had a record.
Years ago, after one of his concerts, Duan Yang had once thrown a mic at a paparazzo and ended up in a foreign detention center.
“……”
The two of them stared each other down for three long seconds.
The officer stood stiff as a board, breaking into a cold sweat, while Duan Yang’s eyes slowly narrowed into thin slits—
Then, without a word, he turned around and walked away.
The officer watched as Duan Yang casually abandoned his eight-cylinder motorcycle right there in the middle of nowhere—an almost eight-figure-priced machine, left unlocked in the wilderness. Then, just like that, he disappeared around the bend.
Duan Yang had taken a different path.
Or rather, a place that could barely be called a path. It was steep, filled with loose gravel and jagged rocks—not meant for human passage.
But for him? It was nothing.
The sky darkened.
His milk-gold hair seemed impossibly soft under the fading sunlight. His pace quickened. His limited-edition AJs stepped over the rough terrain without so much as a scratch.
And as the last traces of daylight vanished—so did the figure climbing the mountain.
What remained was only a fleeting shadow.
That shadow leaped into the trees, moving at a speed far beyond human limits, racing toward the mountaintop.
*
Fang Huai looked at the man in front of him and slowly nodded.
“Long time no see.”
“Seeing me here must be quite a surprise,” Lu Yu smiled. “…You’ve been doing well?”
Fang Huai himself might not have even realized it, but from head to toe, he exuded the aura of someone who was cherished and well taken care of. His slightly wavy hair—difficult to manage—seemed to have someone tending to it every day. Even his casual hoodie was custom-made, and his short boots fit snugly and comfortably.
Meanwhile, Lu Yu couldn’t help but recall what he had been through these past two months. Back then, Fang Huai had been riding high—winning Stellar Light, then filming Frost, releasing an album, and even joining Heartbeat Signal 5.0. He was the biggest sensation in the industry.
All of those should have been his, Lu Yu’s.
And yet, he had spent every day hiding in a tiny rental apartment, buried under a mountain of scandals, too afraid to answer his phone in case it was another call from the courthouse.
“I’m alright,” Fang Huai, of course, could tell that Lu Yu wasn’t here with good intentions. After a slight pause, he returned the courtesy, “How about you?”
The group of men surrounding Lu Yu didn’t look like friendly company—tattoos covering their arms, eyes glaring as they watched the exchange.
The question clearly struck a nerve.
“What do you think?” Lu Yu’s smile twisted into something ugly. “You saw this coming, didn’t you? What’s the matter? Happy to see me like this?”
Fang Huai: “…”
How should he put this?
As he watched Lu Yu’s mouth open and close, he couldn’t help but think—what was this guy’s name again?
“If there’s a misunderstanding, we can talk it out,” Fang Huai said seriously. “…Mr. Lu Mao.”
Lu Yu: “…………”
The crowd: “………………”
The black drongo perched on Fang Huai’s shoulder fluffed its wings.
A second later, an enraged shout tore through the air, startling a few birds from the treetops.
“GET HIM!!” Lu Yu was shaking with fury, his face turning pale with rage. “Don’t let him get away!”
The tattooed men with gold chains immediately lunged forward, weapons in hand. Fang Huai was alone—no way he could take on this many people head-on. But fortunately, this was his childhood home.
Even before he could walk, he had played in this dirt, making mud pies.
Fang Huai sidestepped, taking two steps back—
Then, Lu Yu spoke again.
“Are you sure you want to run?”
He had calmed down.
Lu Yu pulled something from his bag, raising it casually in one hand. Across the crowd, he locked eyes with Fang Huai.
Fang Huai stopped. A chilling sensation spread from the top of his head down his spine.
He changed his mind. Raising both hands, he said, “I won’t run. Give him back to me.”
“Beg me.”
“Please,” Fang Huai said immediately.
“Come here.” Lu Yu, now feeling triumphant, smirked as he slowly broke into laughter. “Do you dare?”
Fang Huai pushed through the crowd and stopped in front of Lu Yu.
Lu Yu stared at Fang Huai’s face—handsome and clean, as if he had never suffered a day in his life. The malice in his heart swelled uncontrollably.
After a moment, he said, “Kneel. Kneeling before your grandpa isn’t too much to ask, is it?”
He hadn’t expected Fang Huai to bend his knees without hesitation.
And in that split second—
Everything happened at once.
Lu Yu flung open the urn, scattering its contents, just as Fang Huai lunged forward, hooking his leg around Lu Yu’s to trip him, following up with a direct punch. The men around them swarmed in, eight or nine thugs all attacking Fang Huai at once—one of them even wielding a knife.
But Fang Huai didn’t flinch. He only gripped Lu Yu tightly, refusing to let go, no matter who hit him.
It had been a long time since Fang Huai had been in a fight, but his body still remembered. His hands still remembered. Lu Yu, caught between rage and fear, howled in frustration.
Fang Huai’s mind was blank.
Only one thought echoed inside him—Fang Jianguo.
Fang Jianguo had been lazy and loved to sleep.
Before he died, illness had tormented him, keeping him from resting peacefully. He had finally found some peace—so why disturb him now?
The night wind rushed into Fang Huai’s lungs, his senses blurring. He felt powder sticking to his skin—he didn’t know what it was. His heart felt like it was being hoisted up by a rusted iron chain, the discomfort making him nauseous.
At the edge of the chaos, someone crouched behind a tree. Amid the disorder, they adjusted their rifle scope, taking aim at Fang Huai from dozens of meters away.
There was no way he could leave here alive.
The sniper swallowed, shifting his gaze to the side—and suddenly, his heart clenched.
A young man in a hoodie and Beats headphones sat lazily beside him, half-lidded eyes watching him. He smirked.
His eyes slowly turned a glowing, vivid red. As he smiled, sharp canine teeth were revealed.
Fang Huai knew none of this. He only felt pain.
That feeling from filming The Nameless Melody returned—the sensation of sinking deeper and deeper into the cold abyss of the sea. This time, there was no one to pull him up, no one to press a kiss against his lips underwater.
Until—
Everything around him fell silent.
Someone approached from behind, covering his ears, pressing a kiss just behind them. A faint scent of cedar washed over him—something that always, without fail, soothed him.
“It’s not real.” The voice, familiar from countless nights, was low and certain. “That powder isn’t him—it’s just flour.”
“I was late. I’m sorry.” Ye Yuyuan’s voice was hoarse. He paused, then added, “Huaiai, I’m here.”
The wind carried the fine powder into the sky—nothing but cheap, low-quality flour.
A translucent spirit stood a few meters away, leaning on a cane, staring at what was supposedly his “ashes.” After a moment, he muttered, unimpressed, “Shoddy workmanship.”
Fang Huai didn’t respond.
His mind was still blank, trapped inside a vast, echoing, transparent box. He stared ahead, dazed, for a long time before finally asking, “Really?”
“Yes.” The person answered without hesitation.
The boy’s expression gradually shifted from blankness to confusion, then finally softened into trust and relaxation.
This was his Ye Yuyuan—the one he trusted unconditionally.
“I missed you a lot. I also missed Fang Jianguo,” Fang Huai murmured, his words disjointed. “I’m so tired. I’m going to sleep for a bit… Teacher Ye, hold me.”
Ye Yuyuan tightened his embrace, pressing his lips together. His voice was hoarse as he replied, “Alright.”
The moment he spoke, Fang Huai’s breathing evened out, and sleep wrapped around him like a warm cocoon—a sweet dream.
Only then did Ye Yuyuan lift his gaze, coldly surveying the people on the ground.
Lu Yu’s mouth hung open, but no sound came out. His bloodshot eyes were wide with terror. The tattooed, gold-chained thugs around him wore the same expressions, trembling in fear.
The tall, silent man stood against the light, his only visible brightness coming from his pupils.
The inky darkness faded from his eyes, revealing a pair of inorganic, dark-gold slit pupils.
