The dinner was arranged at a high-end Japanese restaurant — elegant and minimalist, every dish plated with meticulous artistry.
The patrons moving in and out were all well-dressed. When He Zheng entered and looked down at his casual clothes, a wave of awkwardness and self-consciousness rose.
“Is it still possible to go back and change?” he asked, glancing at Wei Zheng.
Wei Zhenye didn’t answer. He simply loosened his tie, took off his suit jacket, and opened it up to show He Zheng.
He wasn’t wearing a dress shirt underneath — instead, he’d chosen a black home T-shirt for He Zheng’s sake. Still, while He Zheng’s outfit at least matched top and bottom, Wei Zheng’s mix of a black T-shirt and suit pants made him the most out-of-place person in the room.
“Don’t worry about it.”
He neatly folded the jacket and draped it over his arm, just enough to cover his tattoo.
With someone else sharing the “embarrassment,” He Zheng felt more at ease.
As the waiter slid open the door to their private room, three men seated around the table looked up simultaneously at Wei Zhenye.
He Zheng’s heart skipped. He recognized one of them instantly — an award-winning veteran director, Du Guosheng, whose latest film had just won a national gold prize.
Someone he’d only ever seen on TV was now sitting right across from him.
Not only that — Du Guosheng gave him a polite nod and a small smile.
Startled and flattered, He Zheng quickly bowed. “Hello, Director Du.”
He knew very well — for a minor extra like him, it could take years of struggle just to appear for a one-second cameo in Du Guosheng’s film.
“Sit.”
Du Guosheng tilted his chin slightly, signaling him to take the seat opposite.
He Zheng’s seat was between two other investors, with a bit of distance separating him from Wei Zhenye. After greeting the two beside him, he heard Director Du Guosheng ask,
“So, President Wei, have you given it more thought since last night?”
He Zheng froze. Last night?
Wei Zhenye had attended a charity gala the previous evening—was it for his sake?
Wei Zheng lowered his eyes, watching the floating tea leaves in his cup, his tone even and calm.
“Your conditions aren’t a problem. The budget can be increased—I’ll try to meet whatever amount is needed. But as I said before, Mr. He Zheng must play the first male lead, and the romantic scenes from the original script should be cut.”
“The first lead?” Du Guosheng frowned. “This film’s theme is rather niche, and the role is quite complex. I’m afraid a non-professionally trained actor might not be able to handle it.”
He paused, then added, “There’s still an opening for the second lead. Would you like to consider that instead, President Wei?”
Another investor chimed in, “If we’re focusing on box office performance, I’d suggest giving He Zheng the second lead, and casting Xu Ke or Zhang Jiayue as the first.”
Those two were the hottest stars in recent years—top-tier in both acting and looks—leagues above He Zheng.
He Zheng stayed quiet, pressing his lips together. He looked down at the plate of vegetables in front of him, picked up a small bite with his chopsticks, and put it in his bowl. Everyone else at the table was rich and powerful—he had no voice here. The only thing he could do was eat to ease the awkwardness.
Business dinners and social networking—the two hurdles he had never been able to overcome in his life.
“If it’s the second lead,” Wei Zhenye said calmly, “I’ll have to withdraw half of my investment.”
The room fell silent.
Du Guosheng’s eyes drifted toward He Zheng. Sensing he was about to be called on, He Zheng instinctively lowered his head further and reached out with his chopsticks—just as the investor beside him turned the lazy Susan, sending the only vegetarian dish spinning away out of his reach.
With no food left to hide behind, He Zheng’s mouth was free—and sure enough, Du Guosheng took the opportunity to ask, “He Zheng, what are your thoughts?”
“…Uh.”
He Zheng lacked confidence but still answered honestly. “Although taking the lead role would be a big challenge for me, I… want to try.”
Du Guosheng’s brows knitted tightly. He’d thought He Zheng was the easygoing, compliant type—but clearly, both of them were more determined than he’d expected.
Wei Zhenye’s lips curved into a barely noticeable smile. As he asked lightly, “Director Du, is it still unacceptable?” he reached for the glass turntable and gently spun it back—bringing the plate of vegetables right in front of He Zheng again.
He never once looked directly at He Zheng, yet still managed to take care of him in the smallest ways.
After a long hesitation, Du Guosheng excused himself with one of the investors, saying he needed the restroom. They clearly discussed it outside. When he returned, his expression was resigned—because before absolute capital, his concerns were like an ant trying to shake a tree.
“Alright, we’ll proceed with this for now,” he finally said. “Once the script revisions are done, I’ll send them to you. Filming will take place in Beijing. Be ready for the audition notice—try to be available anytime.”
He Zheng nodded seriously. “Okay.”
After a few more words with Wei Zhenye, the dinner wrapped up. One investor nudged He Zheng with his shoulder, urging him to toast Director Du, while another joined in, egging him on until they caught Wei Zheng’s attention.
He Zheng shot him a pleading look.
Help. Help!
Wei Zhenye’s smile widened slightly. Then, to He Zheng’s disbelief, he turned away and pretended not to see him.
That was when Director Du turned his head too, watching He Zheng expectantly.
The arrow was on the string—there was no choice but to release it.
He Zheng braced himself, stood up, and poured wine for Director Du before filling his own glass to the brim. Holding it up, he stumbled over his words:
“Thank you… thank you, Director Du, for giving me this opportunity. And thank you to all the investors…”
Wei Zhenye “accidentally” coughed.
He Zheng turned his glass toward him, his face flushing red, and added quickly, “Thank you, President Wei.”
Director Du lightly clinked glasses with him and downed his drink in one go.
The dinner lasted less than two hours. Afterwards, He Zheng added Director Du on WeChat and watched him leave. Everything had gone so smoothly it felt unreal—almost dreamlike. He pinched the inside of his palm; it hurt. Not a dream.
Wei Zhenye stood by the passenger door, one arm resting on the open frame. When He Zheng turned back, he met the man’s calm, unreadable gaze. Wei Zhenye made a small inviting gesture.
He had opened the car door for him. Fastened his seatbelt too.
This was He Zheng’s first relationship, and he didn’t know if this kind of treatment was normal—but it made him feel almost helplessly cared for.
Once they were in the car, Wei Zhenye reversed out of the parking spot with one hand—his other hand still holding He Zheng’s. The sun visor couldn’t block the harsh noon light; under its glare, Wei Zhenye’s fingers on the steering wheel looked long and slender, their pale knuckles catching the light like polished ivory.
Noticing He Zheng staring, Wei Zhenye grew a little flustered and muttered under his breath, “Stop looking. You’re making me press the brake instead of the gas.”
“Oh.” He Zheng turned away, suppressing a smile.
“I didn’t help you block the drink earlier—are you mad?” Wei Zhenye asked, uncertain of his thoughts.
“No.”
“I know you’re not good at that sort of thing,” Wei Zhenye explained patiently. “And you don’t like putting on appearances. But I can’t always be there with you. I want you to go far, so there are some things you need to learn.”
“So that one day, even if I’m not around, you can stand on your own. I just don’t want to worry about someone bullying you.”
He Zheng didn’t respond for a long time.
The car was silent. For a fleeting moment, in the barren world of his twenty-eight years, a new emotion sprouted—an impulse to rely on someone.
That someone was far more mature than he’d imagined; gentle and obedient before him, yet a commanding presence to everyone else.
“I understand,” He Zheng said at last.
The car stopped in front of a jewelry store.
Wei Zhenye, as usual, got out first, opened the door for He Zheng, and asked in confusion, “Why are we here?”
He Zheng said, “To make up for your birthday gift.”
“I don’t wear jewelry,” Wei Zhenye shook his head. “Giving me this isn’t as good as giving me one of your used hair ties.”
“Almost the same,” He Zheng replied vaguely, pulling him into the store.
A year ago, when He Zheng had filmed a scene here, he’d already forgotten what the shoot was about, but one thing he remembered clearly was that this store could weave bracelets out of hair.
He had hair, and Wei Zhenye had hands—all that was missing was the bracelet.
When the salesgirl took out a pair of scissors from the drawer, Wei Zheng finally realized what He Zheng wanted to do.
“Don’t cut too much…”
“It’s for a bracelet, not a sweater—how much can I even cut?” He Zheng couldn’t help laughing at the look on his face.
The salesgirl cut about three-fifths of a lock of his hair, wound it into a red string, tied knots, folded and wove it with lightning speed—one loop took shape, then the second was done. She trimmed the excess string and hair, and He Zheng took it, putting it on Wei Zhenye’s wrist himself.
His wrist was pale and clean, and with the contrast of the red string and black hair, the colors popped vividly—it was strikingly beautiful.
He Zheng patted the back of Wei Zhenye’s hand. “Alright, go post it on your Moments and show off.”
Wei Zhenye’s face turned red, ears burning as he lowered his head. He Zheng thought he wouldn’t actually make it public, but that night when they got home, he really did see the photo on Moments—with the caption: Yeah, my boyfriend bought it.
A mutual friend, Yang Cheng, commented below: “You’re not Wei Zhenye—you’re Wei the Damn Dog.”