Around ten in the morning, Li Ru knocked on the door of the rented apartment. The building’s on the seventh floor with no elevator, and she had rushed all the way up. Panting heavily, she stood at the doorway for a while before shuffling inside and collapsing onto the sofa.
“Damn, giving birth wasn’t this exhausting.” She propped one leg up on the coffee table, chest heaving. “I heard about what happened last night. I owe you an apology. Next time, I’ll find you a decent film crew.”
He Zheng looked drowsy, eyes unfocused, hair messy. He rubbed his head and yawned. “Mm.”
“That Mexican tycoon of yours has some real pull,” Li Ru said, catching her breath and pulling out a cigarette. “That new director’s an arrogant one—wouldn’t even bow his head during contract talks. I didn’t think he’d fold to a rich man that fast. Did he give you the surveillance footage?”
He Zheng checked his phone. Half an hour ago, the Top Supporter had already forwarded it to him. “Yeah.”
“Your Weibo views are too low. Once you post it, let me know—I’ll hire some bots to boost it.”
He Zheng nodded absentmindedly and sent a message to the Top Supporter: “Why are you up so early?”
“I don’t know Huang Chen well,” Li Ru went on, taking a drag, “but I’ve heard things. His acting’s trash—spends all his time drinking and networking. Don’t stoop to his level.” Her gaze drifted around the apartment until it landed on the kitchen. “Haven’t been here in ages. You still keep in touch with that kid?”
He Zheng’s brain froze. “Which kid?”
“You told me when you first joined the industry,” Li Ru said, sitting up straighter. “You found a little boy downstairs, remember? The one who always cooked for you? Don’t tell me he’s dead?”
“No,” He Zheng said, lifting his head from his phone. “He’s been sending me letters all these years.”
“Oh,” Li Ru replied casually. “He’s probably finished university by now, right?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t read the letters.”
“You’re something else,” she said with a laugh. “Once, when you and I were smoking downstairs, I looked up and saw that kid watching us from your window. The way he looked—like he was terrified we were a couple.”
“Really.” He Zheng’s attention was still on his phone, waiting for a reply. “That’s kind of cute.”
“Little brat had quite the possessive streak,” Li Ru chuckled. “I’m telling you, there was another time—”
A buzz in his palm interrupted her. He Zheng instantly accepted the call.
The Top Supporter’s voice came first, nasal and drowsy: “It’s around eight p.m. here. I slept a long time. I dreamed you got into a fight with Huang Chen.”
He Zheng couldn’t help but smile, unable to hide his amusement. “So did I win?”
The Top Supporter said calmly, “No. You’re weak.”
“Then did you help me fight back?”
After a pause, the Top Supporter admitted, “I couldn’t beat him either.”
Their back-and-forth left Li Ru so distracted she forgot to flick her cigarette ash—until it fell and burned her finger. “Ow, damn it!” she yelped.
The Top Supporter went quiet for a second. His tone stayed even. “There’s a woman with you, isn’t there?”
“Yeah. My former agent.”
Li Ru went pale, mouthing silently, I’m leaving, I’m leaving.
He Zheng waved her off, opened the door, and gestured politely for her to go.
“She’s helping you handle the Huang Chen situation?” the Top Supporter asked. “Go ahead and talk to her. Call me later.”
“She’s gone.”
He Zheng closed the door, walked to the bathroom, set his phone on the sink, and turned on speaker mode while he started washing up.
“She’s gone?” The Top Supporter chuckled softly. “Alright then.”
A strand of hair fell loose by his ear. He Zheng tied it back into a low ponytail, toothbrush in his mouth as he mumbled indistinctly, “Have you eaten dinner?”
“I was waiting for you,” the Top Supporter said. “Can’t finish it alone.”
“What did you order?”
“Cake.”
He Zheng froze mid-brush.
“It’s my birthday today,” the Top Supporter said casually.
He Zheng hurriedly rinsed, wiped his hands on his pants, and picked up his phone. His tone quickened: “Can I still send you a gift right now?”
“There’s one I want,” the Top Supporter said after a pause.
“Tell me.”
He took a deep breath. “I want to video call you—so you can blow out my candles.”
He Zheng didn’t hesitate. He immediately sent a video call request.
The ringtone for video and voice calls was the same—same rhythm, same beat—but He Zheng’s heartbeat pounded faster and faster. He didn’t know why he was so worked up.
But he knew the Top Supporter must be even more so.
Because the Top Supporter suddenly hung up.
But a few seconds later, he called back.
Before answering, He Zheng couldn’t help glancing at the mirror. For a brief moment, he regretted not getting up earlier to wash his hair.
The video connected. The camera on the other side seemed to be facing a balcony — the sky outside was dark and heavy. On a black table sat a small black cake with a single unlit candle on top.
As expected, the Top Supporter didn’t show his face.
He Zheng’s tense heart slowly settled. He had the phone on speaker, and everything on the other end was eerily quiet — every small sound amplified in the night. Amid that faint awkwardness between them, He Zheng clearly caught the soft click of a lighter being pressed.
“You smoke?” he asked, surprised.
The man’s voice came through the video clearer than it ever did in audio — a deep, magnetic voice with a faint electric buzz. “I’m nervous.”
Even though he tried to keep his tone even, the tremor at the end of his words gave him away.
He Zheng instantly remembered how, during their first call, the man had been too shy to even speak. He teased lightly, “So you smoke when you’re nervous? That’s not good.”
The Top Supporter still didn’t relax. He stayed silent, quietly smoking.
So He Zheng changed the topic. “Your birthday setup is kind of simple, huh? Doesn’t really match your rich-guy image.”
The man exhaled a slow breath of white smoke. His mood seemed to calm a little as he said in a low, neutral tone, “That’s because I don’t have many friends.”
He Zheng opened his mouth but didn’t know what to say — he couldn’t tell if that had been said with sadness or calm indifference.
And once both fell silent, the awkward air began to gather again.
After the man finished his cigarette, he casually flicked the lighter once to test it. “Let’s light the candle.”
“Okay,” said He Zheng — and then a hand appeared on the screen.
An incredibly beautiful hand.
Pale and slender, with long, elegant fingers and faintly reddish joints. When he gripped something, a small hollow appeared in his palm. Below the wrist, a black watch with silver edges clasped that lean wrist tightly.
The camera shifted slightly, and He Zheng could see the ink bamboo tattoo. Seeing it in person was far more striking than in photos — each stroke and line detailed and natural, the leaves finely drawn, every transition between joints smooth and powerful. The color wasn’t bright but carried a quiet, contained strength.
It suited bamboo — and it suited him.
He Zheng didn’t come back to himself for a long while.
A tiny flame flickered to life, trembling in the dark. The man cupped his hand around it to block the wind and said softly, “Help me blow it out.”
He Zheng blinked twice, then blew softly into the mic, “Hoo.”
The man clapped both hands over the flame. It flickered, struggled for a second, then went out.
“You didn’t make a wish,” He Zheng suddenly remembered.
“I don’t have one,” the man replied, setting the lighter down. That beautiful hand that had captured He Zheng’s gaze disappeared from view. “Only kids make wishes. I’m not one.”
“Ah, right,” He Zheng laughed lightly. “You’re twenty-four now. Happy birthday, Top—”
He paused, suddenly realizing something. “Wait, you’ve never told me your name, have you?”
“The one from last night is fine,” the man said. “As long as you like it.”
He Zheng thought for a moment. “Little puppy?”
The man played along: “Woof.”
He Zheng chuckled. “Happy birthday. I’ll make sure to get you a real gift tomorrow.”
As he said that, another pair of hands appeared on screen — this time holding a black gift box. One hand opened it, revealing a white long dress inside.
It was the dress the man had once said he wanted to buy for him.
He Zheng had thought he’d only been joking — he hadn’t expected him to actually buy it.
When the dress’s hem fluttered down, He Zheng suddenly understood that none of this — the simple setting, the quiet dark tones — had been careless at all.
It was a kind of waiting.
In the midst of all that dim black, he had been waiting for this white dress — and in that single moment, the world gained its only color.
Both sides went quiet. The dress shimmered softly, moonlight spilling across it like flowing starlight — gentle, radiant, beautiful.
The man folded the dress neatly back into the box and said softly, “I don’t have a wish. But I hope you can always stay beautiful.”