The charity gala was held in November. As the business van neared the stadium, light snow could be seen falling outside the tinted windows. The makeup artist held Qi Bailu’s chin with one hand while applying a pale lipstick with the other. Qi Bailu sat motionless in the back seat, his eyes fixed slantwise on the world outside. After packing away her tools, the makeup artist smiled with satisfaction and reminded him to maintain his look before hitting the red carpet.
Qi Bailu remained silent. He leaned back against the seat, his down jacket rustling softly. The heater in the car was running high, yet he still tucked his hands deeper into his sleeves. The man sitting beside him suddenly asked, "Are you cold?"
There was no answer. Qi Bailu turned his head further away, watching the snowflakes cling to the glass. Besides the two of them, there were five others in the car: the driver, Qi Bailu’s manager, an assistant, and the makeup artist. Since the two principals weren't speaking, the others held their breath, not daring to strike up a conversation.
Zheng Kunyu took a careful look at Qi Bailu’s face. Night was falling fast, and the interior lights were off; Qi Bailu’s profile was shrouded in shadow, making his expression difficult to discern. Not wanting to say much in front of so many people, Zheng Kunyu raised his wrist to check his watch. Seeing the movement in the rearview mirror, the driver quickly said, "President Zheng, we’re almost there."
A minute later, the car pulled smoothly into the parking lot. Zheng Kunyu was the first to push open the door and step out. Behind him, the manager said, "President Zheng, we’ll bring Xiao Qi over in a moment."
Zheng Kunyu gave the manager a thin smile, one that didn't reach the eyes behind his glasses. He was a man in his early forties; though his age wasn't readily apparent, he couldn't hide the somber, twilight-like aura that clung to him. Qi Bailu stepped out from the other side of the car. He had intended to turn and leave immediately, but Zheng Kunyu stood there, clearly waiting for him. Qi Bailu walked around the vehicle and came to a halt in front of him.
"Don't cause trouble. Go on," Zheng Kunyu instructed simply.
What trouble could there be? Last time, he had merely kept a cold face in front of the reporters. Qi Bailu didn't bother to respond. His gaze drifted over Zheng Kunyu’s face before he turned and strode away. The manager and assistant were both middle-aged men, stronger than Qi Bailu; they kept pace with him immediately. From a distance, it looked as though they were flanking him, almost escorting him forward by force.
The red carpet was set up inside the stadium. They had arrived early, so they didn't encounter any familiar stars on the way. Before walking the carpet, Qi Bailu shed his down jacket, which the assistant promptly took. Dressed in his suit, he walked to the backdrop for the media photos. Flashes went off incessantly as reporters shouted his name, gesturing for him to look their way.
Qi Bailu felt nothing but cold. He gave the red carpet host a perfunctory interview. As they walked off, the manager complained, "Your posing was too stiff just now. And when the host asked for your thoughts on charity, your answer was too brief."
"I know."
The manager continued to nag as he ushered him to a backstage lounge for an exclusive interview. A staff member handed over a script. After reviewing it, the manager crossed out several questions. The waiting reporter laughed. "That won't do. There are hardly any left." The manager haggled with the reporter until a revised script was finally handed to Qi Bailu. He saw that several questions had been marked with an 'X'—all of them private matters regarding his love life.
Once the camera was aimed at Qi Bailu’s face, the manager made a gesture in front of his own face, reminding him to smile. Qi Bailu adjusted his expression and greeted the lens with a smile.
The initial questions were standard. Only the last one was tricky. The reporter held up the microphone and asked, "What kind of girls does Xiao Qi like?"
Qi Bailu had been looking at the reporter, but now his eyes shifted toward his manager. The manager nodded. After a few seconds of silence, Qi Bailu said, "Someone... gentle."
The reporter smiled and, before leaving, asked if they could take a photo together. Qi Bailu agreed. After getting the photo, the reporter asked for an autograph. Qi Bailu had gone through this process many times; his signature was practiced and fluid. Finally, the reporter shook his hand and smiled. "You’re even better looking than you were in *The Boy in the Afternoon*. I’ve watched that bicycle scene several times. I really hope to see your new work soon."
Sensing the reporter’s sincerity, Qi Bailu relaxed and offered a genuine smile, saying, "Thank you."
He was much more beautiful when he smiled than when he didn't; his eyes seemed to hold the shimmer of spring waters. The photographer seized the opportunity to snap a few more shots. The manager previewed the photos and looked satisfied; the company had always wanted Qi Bailu to appear more approachable. He was only twenty-two, yet after filming three movies, he had become a popular young lead, rising to the ranks of a second-tier actor. Seeing his potential, the company was intent on grooming him into a "cash cow."
The next star to be interviewed was running late, so they sat in the room for a while. The photographer and the manager were old acquaintances and chatted casually. The photographer asked why they had arrived so early and if the film crew had given him time off. The manager replied, "This isn't early. The invitation said six o'clock."
"Well, your Xiao Qi is famous now, after all."
The annual celebrity charity gala was always a battlefield of vanity. Everyone fought not only for the grand finale slot on the red carpet but also for the "C-position" in group photos. The photographer assumed they had come early for similar reasons. In truth, the manager had considered it, but since the big boss was coming along this time, it was better to keep a low profile. Thus, the manager gave a vague smile. "Xiao Qi is in the eye of the storm right now. It’s better to avoid unnecessary trouble."
He was referring to a scandal from a few days ago involving Qi Bailu and a female co-star. Qi Bailu had merely been fixing the woman's hair, yet it had stayed on the trending searches for an entire day. Because of this, Zheng Kunyu had called Qi Bailu into his office and given him a dressing down. The manager wasn't sure exactly what was said, but Qi Bailu had been in there for a long time, and his eyes were red when he came out.
Zheng Kunyu never interfered with the company’s management affairs, yet that day he had replaced Qi Bailu’s assistant. The manager had worked with Qi Bailu for two years; no matter how much he disliked the boy, he felt a certain sense of being in the same boat. After learning that he had provoked Zheng Kunyu, the manager advised Qi Bailu to settle down and focus on acting and making money while Zheng Kunyu was still willing to spend it on him.
At the time, Qi Bailu had looked up and stared into the manager’s eyes. The manager felt his skin crawl under that gaze, half-expecting Qi Bailu to throw a teacup at him or call him a shameless pimp. Such things had happened before; he was used to Qi Bailu’s outbursts.
Instead, Qi Bailu forced a lukewarm smile. "You're absolutely right," he said, his tone unreadable—neither clearly sarcastic nor sincere.
Seeing him so reasonable made the manager lose his words. A bright moon fallen into the gutter—he had played his part in that fall. The manager couldn't help but feel a twinge of pity for Qi Bailu. When a person has made enough money, they can't help but reach out to touch their lost conscience. However, that bit of compassion lasted only as long as a cigarette break before it was tossed to the back of his mind.
The speakers on stage were blaring; the venue was even noisier than Qi Bailu had expected. Once the banquet began, the manager led him to his seat. A stir rose from the audience behind them as fans shouted Qi Bailu’s name. He turned and waved. Zheng Kunyu, seated next to him, was talking to a friend. Seeing him sit down, Zheng Kunyu glanced over, but Qi Bailu only spoke in low tones with his manager.
After a while, the manager left the banquet for the backstage lounge. Qi Bailu drank by himself. Once Zheng Kunyu finished socializing and saw that the boy wasn't taking the initiative to speak, he leaned over and asked, "Still angry?"
"No."
Zheng Kunyu studied his face. When Qi Bailu’s glass was empty, he personally poured him another. Qi Bailu knew this was an unspoken apology. He looked at the glass pushed toward him, then returned his gaze to the performance on stage. Zheng Kunyu also watched the show, but a moment later, his hand beneath the table pressed against Qi Bailu’s thigh.
The lights were all concentrated on the female singer; the banquet tables below were shrouded in blue-toned shadows. Only the dozen or so glass cups on the table reflected any light, the wine within them a deep, rich crimson. The hand did not move, yet Qi Bailu’s heart felt as though it were being squeezed and shaken by an invisible grip. He grabbed the hand and shoved it away.
This time, Zheng Kunyu was somewhat annoyed. Qi Bailu didn't look at him. Propping his elbow on the tablecloth, he picked up the wine glass with one hand, swirling it elegantly. This posture—of being about to drink yet hesitating—seemed quite charming to Zheng Kunyu. His annoyance vanished; outside of serious work, he was quite willing to indulge Qi Bailu’s petty moods.
Zheng Kunyu picked up his own glass and gave Qi Bailu’s a crisp clink. Qi Bailu finally looked at him. Zheng Kunyu finished his wine, and though he maintained his superior air, his tone softened. "My apologies."
Only then did Qi Bailu slowly sip the wine. After a moment, he said, "Don't take it upon yourself to ask for leave on my behalf next time."
Zheng Kunyu asked, "Is someone on set giving you a hard time?"
"No."
"Don't you dislike the script?"
"Taking this role was your idea, not mine."
"Once you become an A-list star, you can be as picky with scripts as you like."
Qi Bailu looked at him noncommittally.
Just then, an actor from a neighboring table approached to socialize, warmly calling out "President Zheng." After some pleasantries, he asked Zheng Kunyu directly if there were any new projects he could join. Zheng Kunyu turned his head and gave a perfunctory response. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Qi Bailu stand up to leave. Zheng Kunyu gave him an inquiring look. Qi Bailu mouthed the word "restroom," and without caring if Zheng Kunyu heard him over the noise, he walked straight toward the backstage area.
Before they had set out today, he had been lying in bed, his temper still simmering. Zheng Kunyu had gotten up to sign a check for two hundred thousand yuan, then returned to place it by Qi Bailu’s pillow, saying it was for him to use at the charity auction. Qi Bailu had picked up the check to look at it. Zheng Kunyu explained that since Qi Bailu had only debuted two years ago, donating too much would draw unwanted attention; this amount was just right. Qi Bailu had stared at those digits, and even when Zheng Kunyu flipped his body over and pressed his face into the pillow, he had still been clutching that check in his hand.
Cold water rinsed his palms, and Qi Bailu relaxed slightly. He looked up into the mirror as he washed his hands. In the mirror was a vessel, hidden beneath fine clothes, a physical shell without a single visible flaw. Though he was as young as he had been two years ago, his eyes had become those of a stranger. Qi Bailu stared for a long time, the water continuously slipping through his fingers.
It wasn't until the sound of a flushing toilet came from a stall behind him that Qi Bailu snapped back to reality. He shook his hands and held them under the dryer, waiting for his fingers to become dry and warm.
***
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