Deep into the night.
In his mind, that cross pendant was still swaying incessantly.
Thud!
Bai Tan slammed his forehead against the desk once, then twice, repeating it until his brow turned a dull red.
He knew he shouldn’t have, yet how could he like a beast devoid of morality or shame wrap his legs around the other man and murmur, “The cherry over here wants some, too”?
Was he living out some smutty web novel script?
Bai Tan rubbed his backside. It hurt. There was still a lingering sense of “foreign presence” that was impossible to ignore.
More than the madness of losing his mind to lust, what felt even stranger was that Huo Yang had driven him home and, before he could get out, pulled him into a kiss inside the car.
Analyzing it in his head, Bai Tan could only attribute this behavior to the fact that Huo Yang had been repressed for too long due to his work. Having finally met someone who wasn’t a leak risk and with whom he could completely let go, he was likely just “savoring the flavor.”
After all, Huo Yang was a man in his prime. As a man himself, Bai Tan naturally understood.
Just as Bai Tan was about to bash his head against the desk again out of sheer embarrassment, his manager, Yu Jian, sent a message:
Yu Jian: Welcome to the family, Xiao Bai! Let’s work hard and strive together from now on. If you run into problems, communicate with me promptly. Also, you need to register a professional Weibo account and make an official post about joining the team to let Huo Yang’s fans know.
Only then did Bai Tan realize that, in a daze this afternoon, he had signed a five-year contract with Huo Yang.
Five years. It sounded like an eternity.
Feeling distracted, Bai Tan dug up an old Weibo account and changed the name to “Crazy Crucifix.” He then went through the motions, posting a two-sentence induction statement and tagging Huo Yang and his head fan club account.
He had used Weibo back in university, hoping to share bits of his daily life as an author to gain some popularity. But in the three years since he linked the account to his author profile, his follower count had grown by exactly ten people.
Not to mention, whenever he posted, the comment section was always a ghost town. Occasionally, he would accidentally click on Xiao Wan’s profile and feel a pang of envy toward her millions of followers and tens of thousands of comments.
This time, he didn’t expect to make any waves either; much like his writing, he had a “cold comment” constitution. He wiped his old posts clean and even removed the ten followers he did have.
Just as he put his phone down to take a shower, it chimed.
Ding-dong!
Before he could reach the bathroom, a barrage of notifications followed, so rapid that the phone actually lagged. Bai Tan hopped back on one foot, clutching his sore rear, to retrieve the device.
His eyes widened instantly.
In just five minutes, the comments section showed 99+. Huo Yang’s fans were incredibly enthusiastic, rushing in to warm up the space.
“Welcome, Big Brother Xiao Bai! [Rose][Heart] We’re family now!”
“Hello, Xiao Bai-ge! The ‘Back-Scratchers’ (Huo Yang’s fans) were so looking forward to you joining. When the manager said you weren’t sure about renewing, we were plotting how to kidnap you back haha. Now that you’re here, all is well!”
“Our brother has a lot of work, so it’ll be hard on you. Keep it up!”
“Welcome, baby! With you taking care of Yang-ge, we can rest easy!”
“Xiao Bai, Xiao Bai! Can you whisper in Yang-ge’s ear for us? Just showing his chest isn’t enough; next time, show the abs and the happy trail together, please! [Thirsty face][Drool]”
The comments kept stacking up, passing a thousand before he knew it. Bai Tan knew this had nothing to do with him it was purely the “Huo Yang Effect.” Anything involving Huo Yang drew a crowd.
He smiled. It was fine; having people notice was better than nothing.
Aside from comments, he received many warm private messages. Forgetting the pain in his backside, he scrolled through them happily. Amidst the blur of icons, he tapped on a notification.
An image appeared. The background looked like floor tiles, but the subject was a glittering diamond cross. Below it was a line of text:
Huo Yang: Do you like it? It’s for you.
Bai Tan: “?”
Then he saw the ID at the top. Huo Yang!
Bai Tan looked at his own ID: Crazy Crucifix.
His head dropped as he banged it against the desk again. Why on earth did he pick that name? It looked like a blatant hint. He tried to change it, only to find that non-members could only change their name once a year.
How humiliating.
Crazy Crucifix: I don’t want it!
He typed the reply with lightning speed, turned off the phone, and went to shower.
The next day.
Bai Tan woke up early. He had to go collect the signed contract from Huo Yang and then head to L.W Media for Li Wenyan’s signature.
Standing before the mirror, he put on new clothes only to immediately rip them off. He touched his neck and clicked his tongue in frustration. The marks from their first night had finally started to fade, only for a fresh patch to be sucked into existence yesterday. Huo Yang seemed to have a fixation on his neck.
Despite the warm weather, Bai Tan was forced to dig out a thick turtleneck to hide the evidence.
When he arrived at Huo Yang’s house, he found the man once again showering first thing in the morning. Bai Tan began to suspect this was intentional.
With a flourish, Huo Yang signed two bold, vigorous characters on the contract. As he handed it over, he hooked an arm around Bai Tan’s waist, pulling him close as his head leaned in.
Bai Tan pressed his hands against Huo Yang’s chest to push him away, laughing awkwardly. “Huo-laoshi, I need to head to the office. I’ll come find you at the film set once the paperwork is handled.”
“Alright,” Huo Yang smiled, casually using a towel to dry his hair.
It wasn’t until he reached the company that Bai Tan’s racing heart finally calmed down. He looked at the contract to confirm the signature. As he stared, his eyebrows quirked.
The handwriting looked familiar. He felt like he had seen it somewhere before. He couldn’t place it, but he gave up being a writer already killed off enough brain cells; there was no need to torture himself further.
Bai Tan knocked on the door. Looking inside, he saw a smiling Li Wenyan. The man stood up to pour black tea and led Bai Tan to the sofa.
“Has Huo Yang signed it?” Li Wenyan asked, taking the contract.
Bai Tan nodded.
Looking at those two large characters, Li Wenyan recalled the photo of the cake and roses Bai Tan had sent him. The handwriting on the small card tucked into the cake was identical to this signature.
They say two things are hard to change: habits and handwriting.
Li Wenyan chuckled softly, reviewed the contract, and signed it. He chatted with Bai Tan for a few moments about work when suddenly, his gaze froze.
“This…” Li Wenyan slowly raised his hand. The smile vanished from his eyes, replaced by a biting chill.
His fingers lightly brushed Bai Tan’s neck specifically, the hickey that was peekabooing from above the turtleneck.
Bai Tan stiffened and immediately raised a hand to cover the mark. This was already his highest collar; he couldn’t exactly wear a scarf in September.
“This is…” Bai Tan’s brain scrambled for an excuse.
A mosquito bite? That trope was so overused in dramas it had zero credibility.
“Sorry,” Bai Tan said, pulling his collar up further. “Someone… sucked it out.”
Honesty was his greatest virtue.
Li Wenyan slowly lowered his hand, though his smile did not return. He crossed his hands, his thumb lightly stroking the back of his other hand. After a silence that felt like a century, he spoke, his voice sounding strained.
“And… who did it?”
The image of the card in the cake flashed in his mind again.
Bai Tan straightened his back and took a deep breath. “Actually, it’s…”
Li Wenyan’s fingers tightened. He gave a soft, distracted “Mm.”
“It’s my little nephew,” Bai Tan blurted out, holding his breath.
Li Wenyan’s fingers instantly relaxed. He blinked at Bai Tan for a moment, then let out a soft laugh. “Your little nephew seems quite mischievous.”
Bai Tan nodded repeatedly, continuing the lie without a shred of shame. “The kid comes over a lot. His parents are busy, so I look after him during breaks. He’s very clingy. I told him people would misunderstand, but he still insists on hugging and kissing me constantly.”
Li Wenyan rested his chin on his fist, hiding a chuckle. “I’m a bit envious.”
Bai Tan: “?”
“Envious of whom?”
Li Wenyan tilted his head, leaning back into the sofa. “Envious of you. You’re so popular with kids. Unlike me children usually start crying the moment they see me.”
Bai Tan couldn’t help but laugh, though he didn’t quite know what was so funny. His beautiful eyes curved like a crescent moon, breaking through the thin clouds and rippling with warmth.
Li Wenyan watched him, his hand on the back of the sofa moving unconsciously closer until it rested behind Bai Tan’s shoulder, still.
“I need to get to the set to find Huo-laoshi. I won’t disturb you further,” Bai Tan said, gathering the papers to leave.
“Wait,” Li Wenyan called out. “Mid-Autumn Festival is coming up. Are you going home, or…?”
The smile on Bai Tan’s face slowly withered. After a long pause, he gave a self-deprecating shrug.
“It just so happens that various companies will be holding a ‘Mid-Autumn Night’ event at the central venue. I’ll be there. Will you come?”
“If Huo-laoshi is attending, I’ll definitely be there.”
Li Wenyan nodded. “Good. I’ll see you then.”
Downstairs, Bai Tan looked up at the scorching white sun in the blue sky. It was blinding. He shaded his eyes with his hand.
They say writers are highly sensitive people. He hadn’t even been writing that long why did small things still affect his mood so much?
Taking a deep breath, he pulled out his phone and opened his contacts. His finger hovered over the word “Dad” for a long, long time. Finally, he closed his eyes and tapped.
The phone rang for a while before someone picked up. The moment the ringing stopped, Bai Tan’s body tensed, his back as straight as a ruler. Before he could even get the first syllable of “Dad” out, a hurried, loud voice came from the other end:
“Xiao Tan, is something wrong? Make it quick, I’m very busy. I have to go to a village meeting right now.”
In the background, Bai Tan could hear local dialects he didn’t understand. He gripped the phone, his throat as tight as his muscles.
“Dad… I… I just wanted to ask, Mid-Autumn is coming. Are you coming back for the holiday?”
Unconsciously, a tremor crept into his voice. If his father said yes, he would go back upstairs right now and beg Li Wenyan for leave.
Bai Tan’s father let out a heavy, impatient sigh. “Son, you know your father is busy with poverty alleviation work. I have a lot to deal with every day.”
Bai Tan’s grip on the phone slackened. One “busy” was all the answer he needed. Yet, he couldn’t let it go.
“But you didn’t come back for Spring Festival this year. Or last year…”
By his count, he hadn’t seen his father in two years. He realized with a jolt that he could barely remember what the man looked like only a blurred outline remained.
Another heavy sigh from the phone. “I can’t help it. I can’t just abandon the villagers on such an important day. How about this: call your mother. See if she’s willing to let you join her and her family for the holiday.”
Buzz— A string snapped in Bai Tan’s mind. For a moment, he couldn’t tell if his father was being genuinely socially inept or deliberately mocking him.
“You…” The words stuck in Bai Tan’s throat like a handful of razor blades.
“If there’s nothing else, I’m hanging up,” his father said.
“Dad.” Since childhood, Bai Tan had feared his strict father. They rarely met, and when they did, it was a formal dinner where he listened to lectures from a man who was never home. Back then, he would just lower his head and swallow his rice with bitter difficulty.
“If you think poverty alleviation is so much more important than your own child, then I don’t understand why you had me in the first place. Was it just to get married for the sake of marriage? To have a child for the sake of having one?”
Perhaps the sun was too bright, making his eyes sting. The world around him began to blur. He gripped the phone tighter, voice rising.
“My mom is gone. To her, I’m not her child anymore. How am I supposed to have the thick skin to ask her family to take me in?”
“How can you say something like that?”
The other end went silent.
Bai Tan didn’t want to hear whatever lecture was coming next. He slammed the “end call” button.
He remembered the parent-teacher meetings in school. Rows of middle-aged people with him a scrawny kid sitting among them. Whether his classmates were good or bad, whether they got a beating afterward or not, at least their parents had shown up.
But Bai Tan always had to sit there, out of place in the crowd of adults, head down, wishing the floor would swallow him whole.
He took a deep breath and wiped his eyes.
Forget it. He wouldn’t hope anymore. Every obsession related to his parents was, at this moment, completely released.