Chapter 18 - A Chance Encounter
Qi Bailu stared at him as if he were a visitor from another world. Their gazes remained locked, drawn together like opposing poles of a magnet. Seeing no immediate reaction, Zheng Kunyu cupped Qi Bailu’s face with a single hand and leaned down to claim a kiss. Confused by this sudden shift in temperament, Qi Bailu jerked his head to the side.
"So," Qi Bailu remarked, his voice laced with a thin veneer of irony, "it turns out you actually know how to say 'sorry.'"
From his peripheral vision, Qi Bailu watched the slight rise and fall of Zheng Kunyu’s chest. The man was likely calculating his next move, searching for the right words to coax him back into compliance. Qi Bailu let his body go limp, leaning back against the cool surface of the wall to see what else the man had to offer. When the kiss missed its mark, Zheng Kunyu didn't pull away; instead, he traced Qi Bailu’s lower lip with his thumb, his touch light and rhythmic.
"If that’s what you want to hear," Zheng Kunyu said softly, "I can say it again."
The words carried a deceptive sweetness, a hint of honeyed manipulation that might have swayed a lesser man. Qi Bailu, however, remained unmoved. He gave Zheng Kunyu’s foot a sharp nudge with his own, a silent command for the man to move his leg and vacate his personal space. It was a blatant dismissal. Yet, Zheng Kunyu merely pressed his knee firmer against Qi Bailu’s thigh and wound an arm around his waist, pulling him into a restrictive embrace.
"How many times must I say it?" Zheng Kunyu murmured.
Exasperated by the man's persistence, Qi Bailu snapped back in a fit of pique, "A hundred times."
The words had barely left his lips when Zheng Kunyu seized his chin, tilting his head back to capture his mouth. It was as if he had been lying in wait for that exact moment of vulnerability—like a snipe waiting for a clam to crack its shell just a fraction. His tongue pushed past Qi Bailu’s teeth, tangling with his in a kiss that was aggressively, almost performatively, carnal.
Qi Bailu had only just stepped out of the shower; his hair was still damp, and he wore nothing but a thin bathrobe. Zheng Kunyu sensed the lack of barriers and arched an eyebrow in silent inquiry. Qi Bailu gripped the man's wrist, his eyes flashing a warning, but such a look held no weight against Zheng Kunyu’s resolve.
The man buried his face in the crook of Qi Bailu’s neck, alternating between inhaling his scent and nipping at the sensitive skin. Having shared a bed for so long, Qi Bailu found his body betraying him, his desire flaring up despite his mental resistance. As Zheng Kunyu pulled him closer, molding their bodies together, Qi Bailu gasped out, "You’re going too far."
The protest was ambiguous—it could have been a stern condemnation or a piece of flirtatious roleplay. Zheng Kunyu chose to interpret it as the latter. After all, he intended to go much further. He gripped Qi Bailu’s jaw, remembering the slight lingering baby fat from their first encounter years ago. Now, the young man was far too thin; his chin was a sharp point beneath his fingers, and his eyes, when they looked up, were as cold and distant as winter stars.
Zheng Kunyu continued to kiss him, maneuvering him toward the sofa. When they reached the edge, they tumbled onto the cushions together. For a fleeting second, the sensation of falling backward felt like plunging off a cliff. Instinctively, Qi Bailu threw his arms around Zheng Kunyu’s neck, the weight of the older man nearly knocking the wind out of him.
Even as Zheng Kunyu took him, a spark of resentment flickered in Qi Bailu’s chest. The more he thought about their recent friction, the angrier he became. At the height of the man’s passion, Qi Bailu leaned in and whispered into his ear, his voice fractured and breathless, "I haven't forgiven you yet."
Zheng Kunyu, lost in the rhythm of the moment, didn't quite catch the words. By the time he pulled back to look at Qi Bailu’s face, the younger man had already closed his eyes, shutting him out.
Once was not enough for Zheng Kunyu. He pulled Qi Bailu up and began again. Annoyed by the friction of Zheng Kunyu’s clothes, Qi Bailu insisted he strip. Eventually, they lay tangled on the sofa—or rather, Zheng Kunyu lay back while Qi Bailu remained draped over him, the furniture being far too narrow to accommodate them side-by-side.
Qi Bailu reached for a cigarette, and for once, Zheng Kunyu didn't object. He even took one for himself. Qi Bailu watched as the man fished a lighter from his discarded jacket on the floor. Zheng Kunyu lit his own first, then leaned over to light Qi Bailu’s. After a few drags, Qi Bailu reached across to the coffee table, grabbed the ashtray, and set it directly onto Zheng Kunyu’s bare chest. Zheng Kunyu shot him a look that bordered on a scowl, but Qi Bailu ignored the silent threat, casually flicking his ash into the tray.
Zheng Kunyu extinguished his cigarette halfway through, watching Qi Bailu through the shifting veil of smoke. Qi Bailu knew that as the man aged, he had become increasingly health-conscious; consequently, Qi Bailu took a perverse pleasure in making him inhale second-hand smoke. They sat in silence until Qi Bailu reached for the pack again. This time, Zheng Kunyu confiscated it, nodding toward the half-finished butt in the ashtray.
Cursing him silently, Qi Bailu picked up the discarded half and relit it. Just as he set the lighter down, Zheng Kunyu spoke.
"You won't leave me."
It was a statement of supreme arrogance. It should have been a question, perhaps even a plea, but Zheng Kunyu delivered it with the finality of a closing argument.
Qi Bailu didn't take another puff. He watched as the ash grew long and crumbled onto the fabric of the sofa. He looked down, brushing the grey flakes away with his fingers, and offered no verbal reply. But Zheng Kunyu’s gaze remained fixed on him, heavy and inescapable. Finally, unable to bear the scrutiny, Qi Bailu gave a very slight, almost imperceptible nod.
To Zheng Kunyu, the gesture was insultingly dismissive. His expression darkened, and his hand clamped down on Qi Bailu’s arm. "Say it."
Qi Bailu’s expression became unreadable. This was always the point where things stalled; they had transitioned from the mindless pleasure of the flesh back into the suffocating reality of their dynamic. Qi Bailu felt as though he were standing on a gallows. He feared that if he ever uttered the word "love," his soul would be bound to his body there forever, condemned to endure a thousand years of wind and rain.
Zheng Kunyu’s grip tightened. Finally, Qi Bailu spoke, his voice flat and quiet. "I won't leave you."
***
Zheng Kunyu remained in Hengdian for a few more days, staying through Christmas before returning to Beijing to attend to business. He left it unclear whether he would return for the New Year. Qi Bailu had been invited by a regional satellite station to perform at their New Year's Eve Gala, which meant he would likely be spending the holiday in Shanghai. Since rehearsals were scheduled several days in advance, Qi Bailu traveled to the city via high-speed rail, accompanied by his manager and staff.
The "Abortion-gate" scandal had mostly subsided, but two other significant events had occurred in the interim. First, *How Much Sorrow the West Wind Bears* had finally wrapped filming, granting Qi Bailu a much-needed hiatus. Second, a malicious "tell-all" post had surfaced online. A supposed former college classmate claimed that Qi Bailu had acted like a "big shot" backstage at events, possessed a terrible personality, and hinted at scandalous reasons for his withdrawal from school. The post garnered tens of thousands of shares before being identified as targeting Qi Bailu.
Cheng Wenhui dismissed the post as a complete fabrication, likely written by someone desperate for clout. He handled it quietly, hiring a PR firm to scrub the internet of the thread while arranging for actual former classmates and colleagues to offer positive anecdotes in interviews.
Though the fire was extinguished, the old interviews regarding Qi Bailu’s withdrawal from school were unearthed and began trending again. This was the only thing that truly gave Cheng Wenhui a headache. He knew both Zheng Kunyu and Qi Bailu were sensitive about that period, so he exhausted every resource to suppress the topic.
During his break, Qi Bailu rarely left his room or went online. In Shanghai, aside from rehearsals, his days were spent sleeping, watching movies, or playing video games. He declined a mountain of dinner invitations. While Qi Bailu rested, Cheng Wenhui remained frantic—arranging formal wear, booking photographers, reviewing new scripts, and handling social obligations on Qi Bailu’s behalf. Since Qi Bailu was expected to sing at the gala but wasn't a professional vocalist, Cheng Wenhui eventually dragged him to a recording studio for two days of emergency coaching with a vocal instructor.
Inviting high-traffic idols to New Year's galas was a popular trend. Though Qi Bailu wasn't yet a top-tier star, his rising profile made him a viable candidate for a solo performance.
The first rehearsal was a chaotic affair. There was little actual singing; instead, the focus was on blocking, stage effects, and lighting, none of which were fully ready. Despite it being his first time at such an event, Qi Bailu felt no sense of novelty. To him, it felt remarkably similar to the freshman orientation performances back in university. He spent the day being shuffled around the stage by directors before returning to his hotel to collapse into sleep.
By the second rehearsal, the bigger stars began to arrive. Some merely did a quick walkthrough before vanishing, while others had private, early sessions. Qi Bailu’s segment was scheduled for the latter half of the show, so his rehearsal time was pushed to the very end of the day. He didn't mind, but Cheng Wenhui was vocal about his displeasure, grumbling about the slight as they exited the restroom.
The backstage area was sweltering. Qi Bailu had shed his coat, wearing only a simple hooded sweatshirt. He walked down the corridor, half-listening to Cheng Wenhui’s complaints, when a familiar figure rounded the corner ahead.
The hallway wasn't particularly wide, making it easy to notice when someone’s gaze landed on you. Qi Bailu hadn't been paying much attention, as he had already been recognized by several people along the way. It wasn't until he heard a voice call out, "Bailu," that he finally looked up.
Standing before him was Ruan Qiuji.
Hearing the name, Cheng Wenhui stiffened almost imperceptibly. He recognized Ruan Qiuji, of course, but he hadn't realized the two were on such familiar terms. Aside from Director Lin Yuewei, he had only ever heard Zheng Kunyu address Qi Bailu so casually. The man standing beside Ruan Qiuji also cast a curious glance at Qi Bailu.
The two groups met in the middle of the narrow corridor. Protocol demanded a nod of recognition and a brief exchange of pleasantries.
"President Ruan," Qi Bailu greeted.
Ruan Qiuji appeared unchanged. He wasn't dressed formally; his hair was swept back, and a faint, permanent smile played on his lips, as if nothing in the world could truly surprise him.
Taking charge of the social interaction, Ruan Qiuji introduced his companion—the Deputy Station Director of the television network and a personal friend. They were backstage to inspect the live broadcast control rooms. As the Deputy Director was a former high-profile journalist and host, Qi Bailu recognized him instantly. Cheng Wenhui stepped forward to shake hands with both men, offering polite greetings.
A busy hallway was no place for a real conversation. After the initial introductions, the Deputy Director asked how Qi Bailu’s rehearsal was going and if he had finished for the day, noting that they were headed to the auditorium to watch the proceedings. Cheng Wenhui handled the bulk of the response. Throughout the exchange, Ruan Qiuji remained silent, standing directly across from Qi Bailu. It was normal for Qi Bailu to be quiet, but Ruan Qiuji’s uncharacteristic silence was striking. Finally, Ruan Qiuji gave Qi Bailu a small, knowing nod before the two groups parted ways.
Cheng Wenhui watched Ruan Qiuji’s retreating figure as they continued down the hall. This time, he didn't ask any questions. Instead, he stole a glance at Qi Bailu’s expression. The young actor looked perfectly composed, leaving Cheng Wenhui to wonder if the seeds of suspicion he felt were even meant to take root.
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