Chapter 99
The female livestreamer gripped her selfie stick, her face turning bright red.
She had never imagined that, in her lifetime, she would get to be in the same frame as Film Emperor Feng—let alone in such a public setting.
They were at the foot of the mountain, just outside the police cordon. A large crowd had gathered, mostly curious local villagers and mountain dwellers peering over with interest.
Bai Tingting, still dazed, thought to herself, He looks even more handsome up close… Wait, no—this is a business opportunity!
As Bai Tingting’s mind spiraled into chaos, the live chat exploded.
[Damn, what’s going on today? Someone spotted Duan Yang in this area too.]
[Did he come to rescue Fang Huai? 23333]
[Looking at them side by side, the livestreamer and Film Emperor Feng actually look kinda cute together.]
[No way, no way! Vomit. A plastic surgery face trying to leech off Mr. Feng’s popularity? Has her brain melted?]
“Uh… hello,” the livestreamer stammered. “Do you… need something?”
“I do~”
Feng Lang, in contrast, didn’t seem to mind the livestreamer clinging to his popularity at all. He smiled pleasantly.
His mixed-race features were striking—light-colored pupils, paired with a Hawaiian-style floral shirt, making him look like a charming foreigner who had just arrived in China.
“What do you need?” The livestreamer’s mind was still a mess. Why is Feng Lang talking to me?
Feng Lang didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he glanced at the top right corner of the screen, waiting until the viewer count officially crossed 400,000. Then, he spoke leisurely, “I’m very rich.”
Livestreamer: ????
Audience: ????
[He’s rich, so what? Hahahahaha??]
[Is this a proposal? Why does this feel so weird?]
“Being rich means,” he said, extending his long, well-defined fingers to outline a shape, smiling cheerfully, “I can hire a lot of lawyers.”
Bai Tingting’s face froze instantly.
“I have plenty of time,” Feng Lang shrugged. “So for those spreading rumors…”
“—I don’t mind suing each and every one of you into bankruptcy.”
He said this almost like a whisper in Bai Tingting’s ear, his tone light and intimate, as if they were sharing a secret.
But Bai Tingting froze completely.
And the microphone captured his words perfectly, transmitting them word-for-word. The livestream chat fell into stunned silence.
As soon as Feng Lang finished speaking, the viewer count skyrocketed again. Someone clipped the moment and uploaded it to Weibo, where the topic began trending rapidly. Meanwhile, the tags accusing Fang Huai of drug use and shady dealings started losing traction.
Feng Lang was never one to make empty threats.
Several marketing accounts that had been stirring the controversy nervously rubbed their hands together, glancing back at their previous posts with growing unease.
But Feng Lang didn’t care what others thought. After making his statement, he let out a whistle, casually slid his sunglasses onto his nose, stuffed his hands into his pockets, and strolled away leisurely.
Meanwhile, the internet behind him was exploding in waves.
The official channels that had announced the takedown of Fang Huai’s work had yet to issue a formal response, but his supporters were the first to take a stand.
Feng Lang, of course, needed no introduction.
Surprisingly, the next to step up was the production team of Stellar Light. The show’s head director, currently preparing for the second season, posted on Weibo despite opposition:
“Our show’s star @FangHuai, I hope you’ll always be well.”
At a time like this, openly taking a side was considered unwise, leading some to suspect the director’s account had been hacked. But what followed was even more unexpected.
Next up was Duan Yang.
“@DuanYangV: People keep asking about Dance’s release date. Let me put it simply—Dance will go online whenever Abyss Moonlight is reinstated.”
[……………………]
[Yangyang, were you hacked too?]
[Calm down! Dance is supposed to compete in an international event!!]
[This is so weird. Abyss Moonlight passed the initial selection for the Seahorse Awards, meaning there’s nothing sensitive in it. So why was it suddenly taken down domestically?]
However, even by 8 p.m., the officials remained silent, showing no intention of reversing their decision. The latest official document still listed Frost and Abyss Moonlight among the banned titles—now with an added entry: The Nameless Melody.
The haters immediately erupted in celebration.
[If he had nothing to hide, he wouldn’t be in this mess. Being officially blacklisted proves there’s a problem.]
[I feel bad for the hardworking teams behind these projects. They got dragged down by this mess.]
[I just want to know—has Fang Huai died yet?]
Then, at 9 p.m., Lin Shengyun and Xu Tuanyuan posted on Weibo at the same time.
@LinShengyunV: Frost has been internally reviewed and found to have no issues. We’ve submitted an appeal for a re-evaluation. Stay calm. Hoping everyone in our production team stays safe and sound.
Xu Tuanyuan was much more direct.
@XuTuanyuanV: Who said The Nameless Melody has issues?? When I submitted it for an Oscar nomination, they had nothing but praise for my lead casting choice.
*
Fang Huai fell asleep.
He could sense that he was in a very familiar environment. From the air to the sounds, everything carried a long-lost familiarity, as if light and sound had seeped in through the thin walls after a long period of isolation.
It felt like he had been asleep for a long time, and in the end, it was a burst of noise that woke him up.
The sound of mahjong tiles clacking against each other.
Fang Huai’s brows furrowed slightly. He struggled to open his eyes, and the first thing he saw was a tall cabinet and a cramped, cluttered interior.
It seemed to be afternoon, with warm sunlight streaming through paper-covered windows. Everything around him looked huge. Fang Huai stretched out his hand—his fingers were small, soft, and slightly chubby.
Fang Jianguo was never one to keep things tidy. Their living space was always messy, and finding a single pair of socks required rummaging through every drawer. By the time Fang Huai was six, he had already learned to bend down and clean the floor himself.
He sat up in bed, his short little legs dangling off the edge, unable to reach the floor. After some effort, he finally climbed down.
A small golden retriever trotted over with a slipper in its mouth, dropping it at his feet, its round eyes gazing up at him. Fang Huai reached out and patted its head.
He remembered this puppy. He had picked it up on a stormy night when it was nothing more than skin and bones. It had barely survived.
Fang Huai had asked Fang Jianguo to name it. Since its fur had a natural curl, Fang Jianguo decided to call it “Goat.”
He had never heard of a dog being called “Goat” before.
The glass fish tank on his cabinet was empty. Fang Huai stood on tiptoe and stared at it for a while before realizing that his fish were gone.
Did Fang Jianguo cook them in a stew?
A hint of unease settled in his chest. After raising them for so long, he didn’t really want to eat them.
Slipping on his slippers, the little boy hurried out of the room. As he moved toward the courtyard, the sound of mahjong tiles grew louder, but there was no chatter or laughter.
Fang Huai walked through the narrow corridor, stepping into the light.
A crimson bird landed on his shoulder, tilting its head to preen its feathers. It had intricate markings, golden rings around its tail feathers, and pale golden irises.
The whole bird looked extravagant and striking.
He had also picked up this bird. It hadn’t been with him for long, but it had grown quickly. It was tiny when he first found it, but now it was larger than both of his hands put together.
In the courtyard, there was a phoenix tree with a bird’s nest resting in its branches.
At this moment, Fang Jianguo sat alone in the courtyard. It was the peak of summer. He was shirtless, exposing his beer belly, fanning himself lazily while yawning—playing mahjong all by himself.
Someone stood beside him, facing away from Fang Huai, their gaze lowered toward Fang Jianguo’s mahjong tiles.
“You need to play the One Bamboo here,” Fang Jianguo explained in a teacherly manner. “The dealer is waiting on the One Circle.”
Fang Huai stood at the edge of the corridor, blinking but staying silent.
The person standing with their back to him seemed odd.
Despite the sweltering summer heat, they wore an elaborate outfit. They were tall, with long hair, wide sleeves, and a jade pendant hanging from their waist. The exposed wrist beneath their cuff was a pale, almost jade-like white.
The elderly man, in his sixties, held a cigarette between his lips, exhaled a slow sigh, then casually spoke a few more words before finally saying, “I know you’re not meant to stay in a small pond. When you meet water, you will turn into a dragon.”
“I still have more than ten years left. In two years, I’ll take him away for a while. By then…”
He removed the cigarette from his mouth, glanced at the man beside him, and smiled. “Oh, you were already planning the same thing?”
Fang Huai looked at the little bird on his shoulder, then at the two men in the distance, feeling a strong sense of unreality.
The summer scenery in the mountains was breathtaking—the sky a vast, deep blue, the cicadas’ hum carried by the wind, dense green trees flourishing all around. It wasn’t too hot, just enough to make one drowsy.
At that moment, Fang Jianguo, without turning his head, raised his voice and said, “Xiao Yao, come over and meet someone.”
“Xiao Yao” was meant for Fang Huai, but he didn’t move.
He hadn’t seen a stranger in a long time.
But the other man moved instead. He turned around and walked toward the corridor, his long sleeves and flowing hair shrinking away, transforming into a simple shirt and dress pants, with his sleeves casually rolled up.
Lowering his dark eyes, he picked up Fang Huai, and the scent of mist and cedar enveloped him.
He furrowed his brows slightly, seemingly puzzled by how small the child was, unsure of how much strength to use, afraid that holding him too tightly might hurt him.
Fang Huai stared at him.
The man looked uneasy.
He wanted to be closer to the boy but didn’t dare to, appearing restrained and hesitant.
“I don’t like you,” Fang Huai said.
He didn’t understand what Fang Jianguo meant by this. Was he planning to sell him to this man? Kidnapping children was illegal.
The man stiffened slightly upon hearing those words.
Fang Huai clutched his little bird, wriggled out of the man’s arms, shuffled back inside with his slippers, and buried himself under the blankets.
After sulking by himself for a while, he fell asleep again, his face peeking out from the covers.
The crimson bird tucked its wings and paced along the windowsill, while the little dog under the bed dozed off, its belly rising and falling in rhythm. The courtyard filled with the aroma of food as smoke curled up from the kitchen chimney.
In the once-empty glass tank, fish had reappeared. Through the thin layer of glass, it cautiously pressed its lips against the boy’s forehead.
That sleep lasted for many years.
The paulownia tree in the courtyard grew taller. The maple leaves turned red, then green again. Year after year, the wind swept through the same yard, and the snow fell only to melt away.
The dog and the bird both grew up, and just as Fang Jianguo had said, the fish in the glass tank transformed into a dragon when the rain came.
The place they once lived in became deserted, and the pond was left untended for many years.
The man who once played mahjong in the backyard now lay buried in foreign soil. With a heavy downpour in June, his breath and heartbeat faded away, merging with the ocean. At the crossroads of time, he reunited with someone he hadn’t seen in years.
The little boy left and came back—taller now, grown-up.
But it was as if he still lived in his own utopia, lying in bed with his eyes closed, lost in a dream that stretched on and on.
*
Duan Yang stood under the eaves, lighting a cigarette. Feng Lang sat under the corridor, one long leg propped up, teasing a wild rabbit that was peeking out from behind a tree.
Neither of them knew exactly how many years it had been since they last came back, but neither had any intention of reminiscing. There was a trace of awkwardness in the air.
If they counted carefully, it had been exactly eight years.
On June 10th, eight years ago, Fang Jianguo locked the wooden gate of the small courtyard and took Fang Huai on a flight to a foreign country. They hadn’t returned until today.
There were actually many things they could talk about, but at this moment, none of it seemed necessary.
“Removed from all platforms,” Duan Yang stubbed out his cigarette and asked, “What happened?”
Feng Lang smiled.
“It wasn’t targeted at him,” he stretched out his index finger. “The same-sex marriage bill was rejected again. This is probably the last time.”
This long night was coming to an end. Dawn was approaching.
The wooden door was ajar, and the sound of the boy’s steady breathing could be heard.
Moments later, both the sitting and standing figures had disappeared.
They were carried away by the wind to the ends of the earth, but this place would always be home. They didn’t come back with any particular purpose—just because they missed it.
And they missed the one who had given them a new life.
The boy slept deeply, a bird pacing on the windowsill, a golden retriever curled up on the slightly damp wooden floor—just like many years ago.
“…”
Fang Huai was drowsy, unsure of how long he had been asleep.
He was being carried on someone’s back, moving forward step by step. At times, he felt awake; at other times, it felt like a dream. This early summer overlapped perfectly with the midsummer of years past—cicadas chirping, tree shadows swaying—it was as if he had never grown up.
The person carrying him was completely silent. He was tall, dressed in a simple shirt.
An elderly man leaning on a cane stood at the crossroads, watching them leave. After a moment of quiet, he muttered, “It’s not time yet.”
A gust of wind blew, and the figures scattered like mist.
The road wasn’t long, but the man carried the boy for a long time.
The fog ahead was slowly lifting. Dawn was near.
Just a little further, and they would reach the end.
*
Fang Huai woke up in a hospital.
The police had already come and gone. Li Mang and Lu Yu had been taken away. As soon as Fang Huai opened his eyes, he saw his boyfriend peeling an apple by his bedside.
He picked up the file on the nightstand. Inside was a printed photograph of Fang Jianguo’s grave, showing the strict security measures around it. There had been no theft. The urn had been a forgery—just an incredibly convincing one.
Ye Yuyuan wore gold-rimmed glasses, his shirt sleeves rolled up. Like this, he looked even more like a teacher. He focused on the apple as if it were a delicate piece of craftsmanship requiring meticulous precision.
Of course, he knew Fang Huai had woken up, but he pursed his lips and didn’t speak to him.
“Baby,” Fang Huai called softly, “I’m sorry.”
Ye Yuyuan remained silent for a moment before replying coldly, “You don’t need to apologize to me.”
Fang Huai thought to himself—he’s really mad.
“But I was wrong,” Fang Huai said sincerely. “I went somewhere dangerous without telling you, ignored your calls, and even when I was in trouble, I didn’t contact you right away.”
“I was wrong, so I need to apologize,” he said.
Ye Yuyuan: “…”
Ye Yuyuan’s index finger curled slightly. He didn’t know how to respond to Fang Huai.
He had known about Li Mang and Lu Yu for a long time, but he couldn’t control Fang Huai’s movements. All of this could have been avoided.
It was just that Ye Yuyuan had been too confident—he thought he had already become irreplaceable to Fang Huai.
“Mr. Ye.”
Fang Huai suddenly called him. He wasn’t really injured, just wearing a hospital gown, looking clean and handsome, though his eyes were slightly red with anxious frustration.
The night had long fallen, the stars burning hot. Without hesitation, Fang Huai reached out, grabbed Ye Yuyuan’s tie, pulled him down, and kissed him.
“What you’re thinking isn’t true. I don’t see it that way,” Fang Huai spoke hastily, his words losing structure, like a nervous boy confessing for the first time. “I like you… I love you. I didn’t tell you because I was afraid you’d worry, and—”
He kissed Ye Yuyuan again, his voice soft and a little aggrieved as he murmured:
“This is my first time liking someone this much. You have to give me the chance to make mistakes.”
Stop overthinking. Don’t just sentence him to life without parole.
Ye Yuyuan was silent.
In the quiet room, only the sound of their slightly rushed breathing intertwined.
“Okay?” Fang Huai asked.
Ye Yuyuan didn’t answer.
Fang Huai leaned back slightly, rubbed his nose, and asked again, “Want another kiss?”
This time, Ye Yuyuan finally responded.
His lips pressed into a tight line, as if he was forcing himself, and in a hoarse voice, he said:
“…Okay.”
*
The next morning.
Fang Huai stared at the ceiling, slowly piecing together everything that had happened.
His original plan was just to go back alone and take a look.
If what he suspected was true—that he had lived for many years—then the place he and Fang Jianguo had lived would show some evidence of that. And now, it seemed that was indeed the case. At the time, everything was chaotic, but when he opened the cabinet, he caught a glimpse of an old photograph that had been left behind.
The first photo showed Fang Jianguo in his early thirties with a little boy. Rather than grandfather and grandson, they looked more like father and son. The second photo was of an old man, past his mid-fifties, with the same little boy. After that, there were no more pictures.
But the questions he wanted answered still hadn’t been resolved. In fact, they had only multiplied.
Would he ever grow old? What was it that he encountered at the mountain lake? And…
That dream.
The only thing he was certain of now was that he wasn’t normal. But beyond that, he had no clue. His old home didn’t hold the answers.
Suddenly, his phone rang.
“Hello? Yeah, it’s me… Hmm?”
Shi Feiran had brought some bad news.
Fang Huai hadn’t been online in a long time. He had no idea what had been happening on the internet over the past two days.
Frost and The Nameless Melody had been indefinitely pulled from domestic theaters. Abyss Moonlight was taken down. Heartbeat Signal 5.0 was removed from all platforms. All of Fang Huai’s current engagements had been canceled.
Simply put, he was half-unemployed.
No matter how many people online were calling out the unfairness, no matter how many voices spoke up for him, it couldn’t change the reality. It sounded almost unbelievable—Fang Huai was in the prime of his career, gradually making a name for himself internationally as a rising star from China.
And yet, at this moment…
He had been completely blacklisted.
“But… what’s the reason?”
Fang Huai was confused.
“This is just my guess—no one has said it outright,” Shi Feiran paced outside with his phone in hand, hesitated for a long moment, then gritted his teeth and said, “It’s probably not targeting you specifically. You still have work opportunities… as long as they don’t involve LGBTQ+ themes.”
“And also, in this kind of situation, whatever you do, you and President Ye absolutely cannot go public with your relationship,” Shi Feiran warned.
The social climate in the country had been improving, with many same-sex couples even starting to plan weddings. No one had expected things to take a turn like this.
But Fang Huai hadn’t been caught up in the storm yet—there was still a way out.
Right now, the public was organizing a fourth protest, but celebrities were keeping their heads down more than ever. Actors who had taken on LGBTQ+ roles were scrambling to distance themselves—deleting posts, backtracking on their previous statements. Those who had once marketed themselves with queerbaiting were now trying to clear their names. Even industry couples who had been semi-public had chosen to separate for now to avoid the heat.
Everyone knew this was a “shoot the bird that sticks its head out” situation. The question was—who would be the unlucky one to get made an example of?
Fang Huai: “…???”
He truly couldn’t understand it.
But that didn’t change the fact that he was now semi-unemployed. After being discharged from the hospital, he found himself with nothing to do, idling at home. He thought it was completely absurd—impossible to reason with.
With so much free time, he spent his days playing piano, writing songs, and every day, he would take out Lin Shuheng’s notebook, intending to open it—but in the end, he never did.
He felt that whatever Lin Shuheng wanted to say to him must be something very important. But somehow, it still didn’t feel like the right time.
Feng Lang and Duan Yang often came over to visit, despite Ye Yuyuan making it very clear that they were not welcome.
Two more days passed.
Fang Huai opened Weibo, looking at the eerie calm on the platform. He felt a suffocating tightness in his throat, as if something was blocking him.
It was now mid-June.
In recent years, the Oscars had changed several of their rules, including the award ceremony date and the submission window for films. The Nameless Melody had actually premiered in the UK a month ago, with great reception and strong box office performance. It had originally been scheduled for domestic release as well, but was abruptly pulled—meaning that within the country, discussion around the film was still minimal.
There were three months left until the next Oscars.
That evening, when Ye Yuyuan returned home, his young lover was asleep, slumped over the piano, a red mark pressed against his cheek. His expression looked troubled.
The man propped one hand on the edge of the piano, stood in silence for a moment, then leaned down. As dusk settled in, he placed a soft kiss on the boy’s forehead.
—He wanted to give him an ideal world.
But that wasn’t something that could be achieved overnight.
It would take time.
Fang Huai stirred in his sleep, the aroma of dinner drifting from the kitchen. Under his wrist, his phone started buzzing—again and again—until it finally woke him up.
When he answered the phone, he was still groggy, yawning as he absentmindedly glanced at Ye Yuyuan’s silhouette behind the slightly ajar kitchen door.
“Hmm, I’m listening. What is it?”
“You got a job offer,” Shi Feiran’s voice carried a dreamlike disbelief. “An endorsement… for a luxury brand.”
Fang Huai shot up at once. “Huh?”
Shi Feiran looked at the person in front of him, couldn’t help pinching himself again, and then finally said, “Orlanto.”
Even though this industry freeze hadn’t been specifically targeting Fang Huai, there was no denying that his career had plunged into an unprecedented low. Shi Feiran had originally thought they would have to take things slowly—first wait for the storm to pass, then gradually climb back up.
The road ahead wouldn’t be easy. Opportunities wouldn’t be great. He could still release albums, but acting would come with many restrictions. As for endorsements—domestic brands were avoiding him like the plague. Most likely, they wouldn’t take the risk.
But no one expected Orlanto, sitting at the top of the luxury industry, to extend an olive branch.
Fang Huai had previously shot promotional photos for Interpretation. Though that episode had never aired, the photos had somehow ended up in the hands of Orlanto’s Asia regional agent.
It was midsummer in the photos. Sunlight streamed through the windows, illuminating the young Chinese man dressed in traditional Tang attire, his hair tied back in a small braid. He stood before a dust-laden bookshelf, a calligraphy brush between his lips, reaching for an ancient text on the top shelf. He turned his head slightly, casting an inadvertent glance toward the camera.
His expression carried a touch of defiance, his lips perfectly shaped, his brows slightly raised—strikingly handsome, almost unreal. The interplay of light and shadow became mere embellishments, while the unspoken story in the image wove itself effortlessly.
Fang Huai had always had incredible bone structure. His features were unique—undeniably attractive, yet not in a way that felt overly refined or rigid. There was a distinct youthful charm to him—like a glass of chilled sparkling water on a hot summer day. In that outfit, in that atmosphere, he perfectly embodied everything the designer had envisioned for “the East.”
And his physique was impeccable, even meeting modeling standards.
As the designer put it: “It’s like he waltzed right across my inspiration switch.”
Many domestic brands no longer dared to approach Fang Huai for endorsements, but Orlanto, reigning supreme at the pinnacle of luxury, was completely unaffected by the controversy. They barely even debated it. A brief internal meeting was held, during which Fang Huai’s photos and basic information were passed around.
The designer had no objections. Headquarters had no objections. The regional agent made the decision on the spot.
—The summer collection. Limited edition. A global exclusive.
