Something in He Zheng’s nerves trembled sharply. Without thinking, he blurted, “Can I see you?”
The man slowly set the box down. “I’m not good-looking.”
“Just your eyes.”
“…”
“Please?”
“…”
“Alright,” He Zheng said with a small shrug, “sorry, I guess I’m just too curious.”
As soon as he finished speaking, a doorbell rang from the other end. The video shifted — the balcony view tilted ninety degrees and became a downward shot of the floor. The camera shook with movement as the man walked. He Zheng caught a glimpse of black slippers — pale feet with a faint blue vein running over the arch. Judging from the camera’s height from the floor, the man was definitely taller than him.
He watched intently. The man opened the door, and another pair of feet appeared — polished leather shoes, the surface wet and gleaming faintly from rain.
The newcomer whistled lazily. “What are you filming?”
The man didn’t hide it. “Not filming you. I’m on a video call.”
“With who?” The man tossed a gift bag carelessly to the floor. “Him?”
“Mm.”
He Zheng spoke up right then, “You should entertain your friend. We can talk later if it’s inconvenient.”
Before the man could answer, the newcomer leaned down, both hands in his pockets, tilting his head toward the camera with a crooked grin. “Hello. You’re really pretty.”
The man’s full face filled the screen — deep eye sockets, brows tapering into his temples, pupils a dark blue that hinted at mixed blood. His smile was a little roguish, his features bold and striking like He Zheng’s, but more easygoing.
“Hello,” He Zheng smiled back. “You’re very good-looking too.”
The Top Supporter moved the camera aside, breaking their eye contact, and warned the man: “Don’t flirt with him.”
The man made a surrender gesture. “Okay.”
The Top Supporter nudged the gift on the floor with his foot. “Thanks. You can leave now.”
“Aren’t you going to open it?” The man didn’t seem to be leaving. He plopped down on the sofa. “The old man’s still mad, so I’m staying here tonight.”
The Top Supporter said nothing and went straight to open the door.
“Don’t be like that,” the man spread his hands. “I’m not bothering you two.”
“You already are,” The Top Supporter said coldly.
He Zheng silently lowered the volume on his phone. “I’ll hang up first. I’m going to post the surveillance video on Weibo.”
The man spoke before the Top Supporter could: “Come on, chat with us for a bit—later we can—”
“Will you get lost?” The Top Supporter’s tone suddenly dropped low.
“I really have nowhere to go. My dad won’t let me come home. You can’t expect me to sleep on the streets.”
“Go to your friend’s place.”
“I did, and now I’m here.”
“…”
He Zheng said nothing and hung up the call.
He opened Weibo. Huang Chen had already wiped his homepage clean. There was no apology, but his ID had changed from “Actor–Huang Chen” to simply “Huang Chen.” The work email in his bio was gone, leaving behind just two vague words — “temporary retreat.”
He Zheng narrowed his eyes, a faint mocking smile tugging at his lips. He uploaded the surveillance video, pressed send without hesitation. No caption was needed — the video itself said everything he wanted to say.
He scrolled through his private messages — all kinds of opinions, even people claiming the whole scandal had been staged by him and Huang Chen for publicity. He read two of them and stopped. The logic was absurd; he couldn’t understand it.
Putting his phone aside, his thoughts drifted to something else —
The Top Supporter’s birthday gift.
The gift bag that man tossed on the floor was from LV, and the watch on the Top Supporter’s wrist was a Vacheron Constantin. So what should he give in return?
The Top Supporter wasn’t lacking in material things — he’d seen all the best of them. He either gave away an island or something heartfelt.
The more He Zheng thought about it, the sleepier he became. He wasn’t someone who valued ceremonies or holidays, nor did he usually give gifts. Now, having to rack his brain for something to please someone else, he truly didn’t know where to begin.
Besides, rather than mailing it, he wanted to give it to the Top Supporter in person.
But that day felt far away. Although he respected the Top Supporter’s boundaries, he didn’t fully understand them — why he always refused to reveal personal details: his name, address, face, even his voice at first. It was as if he devoted himself wholly to He Zheng, expecting nothing in return, yet had no intention of taking their relationship offline.
He liked him — wasn’t afraid to show it — yet guarded his own identity so tightly. That kind of defense was hard not to interpret.
In He Zheng’s experience with the wealthy, that kind of behavior usually pointed to one possibility — a fling.
Just playing around. When bored, he could walk away spotless, leaving no trace, no leverage, no strings attached.
Li Ru’s words echoed in his mind again. Though He Zheng trusted the Top Supporter, he had to admit — some of her suspicions were starting to make sense.
….
That afternoon’s livestream didn’t go much better than expected. Even though he had released the evidence video, public opinion had shifted from condemnation to conspiracy theories. Huang Chen’s diehard fans had withdrawn, and now random users were speculating it was all staged. He Zheng didn’t respond to any comments, propping his chin on his hand, watching with detached calm like an outsider. Meanwhile, the Top Supporter kept kicking out trolls and showering him with gifts to drown out the hateful remarks. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t silence everyone — the internet had too many ways to express malice.
Exhausted, He Zheng ended the stream early for the first time, slumped on the couch, zoning out. He lit a cigarette.
The phone rang as usual. Thinking it was the Top Supporter, he answered without checking.
“I’m fine,” he said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Just didn’t feel like streaming.”
A pause. Then a voice: “Hello, is this Mr. He Zheng?”
He pulled the phone away to check the number — unfamiliar.
“Yes, this is he.” He straightened up, voice more formal. “Who’s this?”
“Sorry to bother you. We’re from the Dialogue interview program. We’d like to invite you as a guest on our next episode. The topic relates to the recent Weibo incident. Do you have time for recording?”
“Yes, I do.”
“And your interest in participating?”
He Zheng didn’t answer immediately. “Who’s the other guest?”
The caller hesitated for a second — clearly not expecting him to react so fast. “Huang Chen.”
He Zheng tapped the ash off his cigarette, unfazed. “Where’s the recording location?”
“Beijing. I’ll email you the studio’s address. The session’s tomorrow at 2:30 PM.”
He Zheng checked the flight schedules. “Okay. I’ll leave tomorrow morning.”
“Alright. Beijing traffic can be heavy — if you’d like, we can book a hotel near the studio.”
“No need,” said He Zheng. “My mother lives in Beijing.”
“Understood. Then we’ll end the call here. We look forward to meeting you.”
“Mm, goodbye.”
After hanging up, He Zheng dialed He Linlin.
“Hello?” Linlin’s voice came amid the noise of children. “I just finished class, what’s up?”
“I got a job. I’ll be home tomorrow,” He Zheng said. “Probably around noon.”
“Then I’ll go home to cook for you,” Linlin said quickly.
“No need. I’ll have take out and wait for you.”
“Alright then,” she said, covering the receiver to muffle the noise. “I’ll hang up for now — one of the parents is waiting for me.”
“Mm, see you tomorrow.”