The camera flashes popped incessantly as the lenses focused on Lin Xiu, the center of the press conference.
Lin Xiu wore a pale-colored long dress. Her bright red lipstick left a dry, cracked pattern on her lips as she bowed deeply to everyone present, and even more so to the fans watching the livestream. “I’m sorry, everyone. Because of my personal reasons, you have all been affected recently. I sincerely apologize here, and at the same time, I want to say goodbye to all of you.”
“From now on, I will be leaving the entertainment industry. Thank you for your care over the years. Because of you, Lin Xiu was able to shine so brightly.”
Lin Xiu turned to leave. Reporters from various entertainment news outlets stood up and rushed forward to interview her.
The bodyguards hired by the company shielded Lin Xiu, preventing the reporters from getting close. They could only stretch out their arms, thrusting microphones toward her face.
Lin Xiu’s hair fell over her eyes, obscuring her vision as she vanished from the crowd’s sight.
While Xiu Tuanzi wept in heartbreak, she saw the final farewell her idol had posted on Weibo.
Actually, I’ve wanted to leave the entertainment industry for a long time, but I know you don’t want me to go. I understand, and I’m reluctant to leave. But I’ve always known that the one you love is the glamorous superstar in front of the camera. Behind the scenes, I’ve never been like that. My home isn’t as neat and clean as it is on variety shows. Don’t believe me when I say I go to bed early and work out every day—I can’t even get out of bed. I’ve had plastic surgery, I’ve had my jawline altered, and my nose is fake. From the side, it looks like a slide. Promise me, Xiu Tuanzi, that you will never get surgery on your face.
Forgive my preaching.
Next, thank you for always being by my side. Because of you, the name Lin Xiu has become famous at home and abroad. Because of you, Lin Xiu has achieved her childhood dream. And it is also because of you that Lin Xiu wanted to become better, and even better. Unfortunately, I’ve disappointed everyone during this time. My relationship with Liu Chen will also end today. I will go on to live my own life alone. You all should live better lives too. If we happen to meet on a street corner someday in the future, I hope we are both doing well.
Finally, Lin Xiu uploaded a photo from her early days in the entertainment industry. Back then, she was young and naive, with pale yellow skin and a bare face. She was so frail and small that she could only take on minor roles in various productions. She never imagined she still had fans.
On that rainy night, three or four fans approached her, clutching bouquets of fresh flowers.
Weibo quickly crashed. The screens in front of countless fans froze, and the comments they typed vanished.
Meng Xinghui pulled out a tissue, wiping away tears and sniffling. “Will Actress Lin really never come back?”
Shen Qiu handed him a tissue. “Yes.”
“What did you show her that made her quit the industry?”
“I just provided photos of her boyfriend in bed with someone else. Of course, that tactic wouldn’t work on you.” Shen Qiu’s tongue was sharp, and he didn’t miss the chance to mock Meng Xinghui.
Tears clung to Meng Xinghui’s lower eyelashes as he choked back a sob.
“You should focus more on your studies. You have the college entrance exam in six months.”
The tears in Meng Xinghui’s eyes froze. The “deadly” knowledge began to circle his mind. “I-I’ll try my best.”
“Oh, right. What about the project analysis report I asked you to write?” Shen Qiu adopted the posture of a boss, beginning to enslave the weeping, innocent-looking shou before him.
Meng Xinghui’s neck stiffened. “I’m writing it, just give me two more hours.”
“Too long. I want to see the project analysis report in one hour, or you’re getting a pay cut,” Shen Qiu said, his words still hanging in the air as the office door slammed shut.
Meng Xinghui returned to his desk, opened his contact list, and started making calls to the novel platform’s representatives.
An hour later, he was the only one left in the office.
Shen Qiu smiled as he made a call, twirling a fountain pen between his fingers.
The HR assistant answered the President’s call, holding her breath. “President Shen?”
“Meng Xinghui wasn’t working diligently today. Deduct a quarter of his performance bonus for this month.”
The door was slightly ajar, and Shen Qiu precisely heard the scream from outside. His Adam’s apple bobbed as a white pill slid down his esophagus into his stomach.
Winter in Kyoto was always windy, sometimes carrying the yellow sand of the North.
The garden was covered in frost and snow, with a few snowmen standing by the pebble paths.
A knock sounded on Shen Qiu’s door. “Shen Qiu, I’m going to buy groceries. What do you want for the New Year’s Eve meal?”
Shen Qiu opened the door, his silver-rimmed glasses glinting coldly. He rubbed his temples.
“You brat, you have to come back for dinner,” Shen Qiu said, hanging up the phone with an impatient swipe.
Meng Xinghui only managed to catch that last sentence. The sound of bowls and chopsticks smashing against the floor echoed from the phone—Shen Qiu’s father was furious. “Shen Qiu, why don’t you just come home for the New Year? Your dad really misses you.”
“Him? Forget it. We’re enemies.” Shen Qiu’s voice was a nasal drawl, laced with a chill. He was utterly unwilling to go back and watch those two play happy family.
“Enemies—” Meng Xinghui started to ask, but stopped. This was Shen Qiu’s private business, after all. Shen Qiu clearly despised his family, and Meng Xinghui had never met them. The only friend he’d ever seen Shen Qiu with was that unscrupulous doctor, Yang Wenlun.
“Do whatever you want. I don’t care what we eat,” Shen Qiu said, his appetite gone. For him, the New Year was just another ordinary holiday, stripped of any deeper meaning.
“Alright then.”
Meng Xinghui headed out to buy groceries. His destination was the large shopping mall outside the villa complex, where the selection of fruits, vegetables, and meat was always plentiful.
Meng Xinghui picked up some corn, placed it in his basket, and headed toward the freezers.
A blurry figure appeared in his vision, gradually sharpening into focus. It was Gao Jiade, wearing a slim-fit trench coat, his entire being focused on protecting the woman in his arms. With his other hand, he pushed a shopping cart containing a basket of crabs.
The woman clung to Gao Jiade’s arm, her movements intimate, her belly slightly rounded.
It was the woman he had encountered at the hotel before. Meng Xinghui gripped the basket’s handle. Lin Miao was pregnant.
He snapped back to his senses, the surrounding noise rushing back in. He forced himself to turn away, his footsteps heavy as he headed toward the snack aisle, desperate to avoid running into Gao Jiade and Lin Miao.
“Stop right there, Meng Xinghui.” Lin Miao stroked her belly, her gaze fixed on the man before her. He looked even more handsome than the first time they had met, his complexion noticeably fairer.
Gao Jiade turned his head. “Miaomiao, we should still go back. Mom is waiting for the two of us to have New Year’s Eve dinner.”
“How could that be? I have no feelings for Meng Xinghui. Now, I only care about you and the baby in my belly.”
Inside the cafe, Meng Xinghui sipped plain water.
Lin Miao suddenly sneered, “What are you drinking?”
“I don’t need anything. Let’s finish this quickly; I still have to go back and cook.”
Lin Miao had randomly run into Meng Xinghui and Shen Qiu while walking. They were walking one behind the other, and Meng Xinghui was saying something to Shen Qiu. Even with Shen Qiu’s profoundly cold personality, he was still patiently answering questions.
Later, she learned that Meng Xinghui was now a low-level employee at Shen Qiu’s company.
She wondered how two people from such vastly different worlds could end up together. When had Shen Qiu’s standards dropped so low as to associate with someone like this? She stirred the juice in her glass with a spoon. “You’re working at Shen Qiu’s company. Let me guess—you played the victim, begged for his pity, and convinced him to keep you around.”
Meng Xinghui looked up, his almond-shaped eyes now holding a fierce, unyielding glint. “Watch your words. Shen Qiu and I have no other relationship, and that is not the reason he is doing this.”
“Then what is the reason? No, I should be thanking Shen Qiu for his sudden act of kindness. If it weren’t for him, my Jiade would have been stuck with your pathetic life.” Lin Miao’s red-nailed fingers tightened around her glass.
“We shouldn’t keep talking.” Meng Xinghui stood up to leave.
Lin Miao’s voice rose in triumph. “I can’t wait to see you get dumped by Shen Qiu in the future.”
Snow began to fall, turning the world a hazy white. Each breath formed a frosty mist. His face, frozen numb, was a mask of stillness, and his eyes, visible beneath his hood, were rimmed with red. Meng Xinghui walked silently along the roadside, making no attempt to hail a cab.
His feet were ice-cold, as if he were walking barefoot on a frozen floor.
“Something came up,” Meng Xinghui said, his voice dry and strained. “I didn’t buy any groceries. I’ll order express delivery and have them bring the ingredients up. I’ll cook quickly—we can definitely eat before midnight.”
Shen Qiu looked up from his book. He noticed the faint redness of Meng Xinghui’s nose, the damp, darkened tips of his hair, and the chill radiating from him.
He must have walked all the way back without a cab. Shen Qiu’s brow furrowed slightly. “No need. I’ll just make noodles.”
Shen Qiu’s figure appeared in the kitchen. With deft movements, he chopped scallions, kneaded the flour into a smooth ball, and pulled it into distinct strands. The moment the water boiled, the noodles went into the pot.
Meng Xinghui stood at the kitchen doorway. Seeing Shen Qiu searching for salt, he immediately stepped forward and handed him the salt cellar.
A clear smile touched Shen Qiu’s lips. “Go rest. I can handle this.”
Meng Xinghui shook his head in refusal. “No, I want to watch.”
“Fine. After all, this is the only time you’ll get to eat my cooking.”
“Can’t I eat it more than once?” Meng Xinghui asked from the side.
“No, you’re not my boyfriend,” Shen Qiu replied coolly, ignoring the heartbroken look in the “little white flower’s” eyes.
Meng Xinghui picked up his chopsticks and ate bite by bite. The food was clearly delicious, but why did it taste so bitter in his mouth? It was like the black coffee Shen Qiu drank every morning—thick, dry, and bitter.
Under the moonlight and snow-white glow, the man’s gaze was focused beneath his eyelashes. The black and white piano keys rose and fell beneath his fingers, and a celestial melody unfolded from his fingertips as a silver luster enveloped him.
There was an extra person in the living room.
Meng Xinghui stood far away, a great distance from Shen Qiu, yet Shen Qiu could reach him in just two or three steps.
Fireworks exploded in the sky, their crackling bursts illuminating Shen Qiu’s handsome face.
Meng Xinghui couldn’t help but draw closer.
Shen Qiu shifted slightly to make room, his eyes gesturing for him to sit.
“Follow my fingers. Don’t be afraid,” Shen Qiu’s deep, reassuring voice murmured in Meng Xinghui’s ear.
Meng Xinghui’s mind went blank as a pair of well-groomed hands covered his own. Following Shen Qiu’s demonstration, their fingertips touched and intertwined.
Shen Qiu withdrew his hand, his expression relaxing. His fingertips tapped a black key, and he continued to play.
Meng Xinghui caught the rhythm. “What piece is this?”
“The Symphony of Life,” Shen Qiu replied.
Bang!
Yang Wenlun dropped the fireworks on the ground and rubbed his arm. “I’m exhausted. Why did you guys turn off the lights in the middle of the night?” He flipped the living room switch.
The two of them were still playing the piano.
Lin Yi smiled, her eyes observing them from behind her glasses.
Yang Wenlun rarely got time off, and he’d brought Lin Yi along. They weren’t here to spend their holiday listening to them play the piano. “Hey, hey, hey! Stop playing. It’s Lunar New Year—we’re supposed to be setting off fireworks!” He dragged them both outside.
“Oh man, Shen, how are you so clumsy? You can’t even light a fuse!” Yang Wenlun seized the opportunity to roast his childhood friend.
Shen Qiu’s voice was cold. “Are you sure your fireworks aren’t expired? I tried lighting them, but they wouldn’t catch.”
“Bullshit! I just bought these. They were made in December 2024,” Yang Wenlun scoffed, pouting. “I’m telling you, you’re just incompetent.” He crouched down to light them himself.
Shen Qiu silently backed away, terrified this idiot was about to get them killed. “Get away from me.”
The next second, the fuse hissed and sputtered to life.
Yang Wenlun shrieked and jumped up. A spark had landed on his leather shoe, and the sudden pain shot through his nerves. “Ahhh! You scared the hell out of me!”