Chapter 99 - Rosebud
"I heard you’ve been mixed up with some male star lately?"
Ruan Qiuji paused, his chopsticks hovering as he looked at the man sitting across from him. His father, Ruan Zhenrong, sat with a spine as rigid as a spear, his expression unreadable. His tone was indifferent, as if the scandalous matter he was discussing carried no more weight than a comment on the weather.
Ruan Qiuji’s heart skipped a beat—a rare flicker of agitation born from genuine concern—but he quickly smoothed his features into a mask of calm. He resumed eating, picking up a piece of braised vegetable as if he hadn't heard a thing.
Seeing his silence, Ruan Zhenrong launched into a familiar litany of platitudes. Eventually, the lecture veered toward the inevitable: when did he intend to get married? At thirty-four, Ruan Qiuji was well past the age of bachelorhood in their social circles. His peers—the usual crowd of wealthy, idle scions—had long since settled down, and were merely waiting to drink at his wedding feast. In their world, love was a pastime, but marriage was a transaction. It was an unspoken rule that married men often played the hardest on the side; the domestic stability only served to make the external dalliances more thrilling.
This was exactly what Ruan Zhenrong expected. Ruan Qiuji was his only son. He didn't care who the boy played with in private, but the family line required a legitimate union. Until now, Ruan Qiuji had never truly disappointed him—at least, he hadn't caused a public spectacle like Zheng Kunyu had.
Ruan Zhenrong’s current partner, Jiang Tianwei, often remarked that the son was the spitting image of the father: the same eyes, the same temperament, the same penchant for wandering among flowers. Ruan Zhenrong usually met these comments with a touch of suspicion. Jiang Tianwei was young, a former university classmate of Ruan Qiuji’s who had known hardship before graduation. When she had come to Beijing for a visit, Ruan Qiuji had hosted her as a courtesy, only for Ruan Zhenrong to take a sudden, intense interest in her. Though he couldn't marry her so soon after his wife’s death, he kept her by his side as the unofficial mistress of the house.
The rift between father and son ran deep. Ruan Zhenrong had wanted his son to study law and politics to enter the family business, but Ruan Qiuji had defied the entire clan to study business in Switzerland. Even when his father cut off his allowance, Ruan Qiuji hadn't uttered a word of complaint, stubbornly earning his degree on his own terms.
The relationship had hit a freezing point after graduation. No one knew the specifics of their explosive argument in the study, but Jiang Tianwei had overheard fragments through the door. Ruan Qiuji had called his father "shameless, incompetent, and devoid of virtue." Though she and Ruan Qiuji were never lovers, he had never looked at her with anything but cold disdain since that day. Even after the father and son reached a superficial truce, their interactions remained perfunctory.
Ruan Zhenrong had known about his son’s cohabitation with a male actor for some time, and it had rankled him. Jiang Tianwei had teased him, saying the son was merely following the father's philandering footsteps. Ruan Zhenrong had wrestled with a strange, bitter jealousy, wondering if he was competing with his own son for the same kind of youthful beauty.
He had assumed it was a passing whim. But as the year dragged on, Ruan Qiuji showed no sign of ending the affair. In fact, he seemed to have grown "honest," retreating from the social scene. Ruan Zhenrong finally realized his son was serious, but by then, the roots had grown too deep to pull.
"If you want me to marry," Ruan Qiuji said, his voice level, "I can propose to my boyfriend."
*Boyfriend.* The word was a deliberate provocation, a sharp blade aimed at his father’s pride. Jiang Tianwei, sitting nearby, glanced at Ruan Zhenrong, sensing the impending storm. She reached out to press his hand, a silent plea for restraint, but Ruan Zhenrong slammed his chopsticks onto the table. He was on the precipice of a towering rage. He let out a short, mirthless laugh.
"You wouldn't dare."
Ruan Qiuji saw right through him. "If anything happens to him," he said, "the same will happen to you."
Jiang Tianwei pulled her hand back, realizing she could no longer bridge the chasm between them. In a fit of fury, Ruan Zhenrong seized the teacup beside him and hurled it across the long table. Ruan Qiuji didn't flinch. The cup missed his face, clipping his temple before shattering against the floor in a spray of porcelain and hot liquid.
"Get out!" Ruan Zhenrong roared.
The tea was still scalding. Ruan Qiuji winced slightly as the heat bloomed against his skin. He picked up a napkin, calmly wiped the tea leaves from his shirt, and stood up. He didn't even go upstairs to change. He simply turned and walked out.
He drove himself, his hands steady on the wheel, unable to check his phone until he reached his own apartment. After changing his clothes, he finally saw the messages from Qi Bailu.
Qi Bailu was currently filming in Dalian. The production wasn't breaking for Christmas, so they were spending the holiday apart. In Beijing, the sun was setting over a bleak, wintry landscape, but in Dalian, a heavy snow was falling. The production crew had abandoned their artificial snow machines to rush through outdoor scenes in the natural blizzard.
Qi Bailu had sent a series of photos and videos. One showed the crew members bundled in thick down jackets, waddling through the white expanse like a colony of plump penguins. In another, Qi Bailu’s hand appeared in the frame, his fingers flushed a vibrant, frozen red as he flashed a peace sign.
He seemed to be in high spirits, sharing every mundane detail: the crunch of his boots in the deep drifts, a half-finished cup of milk tea that had frozen into a slushy solid, rattling like sand when he shook it. Ruan Qiuji hadn't realized how much the boy enjoyed sharing his life until they had truly committed to one another. Beneath the cool, distant exterior of the "National First Love" was a surprisingly clingy soul.
In the last photo, Qi Bailu held a snowball in his palm. His long, slender fingers looked like translucent stalks of white radish against the icy sphere.
Ruan Qiuji watched the silent videos, and the cold knot in his chest slowly began to unravel. He typed out a reply: *When do you wrap for the day?*
*In about an hour,* came the voice message. Qi Bailu’s voice sounded muffled, likely because his hands were too cold to type.
The hour felt interminable. Qi Bailu had sent pictures of the snow, but none of himself—not even a small "benefit" for his lonely partner. Unable to wait, Ruan Qiuji messaged Cheng Wenhui. The manager, knowing exactly what the boss wanted, opened a video feed with trembling, frozen hands, practically weeping as he provided a "live broadcast" of the set.
"Keep the camera steady," Ruan Qiuji commanded. A moment later: "Stand closer."
Cheng Wenhui, his fingers nearly falling off from the cold, finally reached his limit. When Qi Bailu took a break, the manager shot him a desperate look, signaling that he was being bullied by the big boss. Qi Bailu saw the camera and assumed it was for behind-the-scenes footage. He offered a small, radiant smile, then ducked behind a male co-star to hide, playfully pretending he hadn't seen the lens.
The co-star laughed, leaning in to say something in Qi Bailu’s ear.
Cheng Wenhui’s expression froze. A sharp *ding* echoed as Ruan Qiuji abruptly disconnected the call.
A second later, a single question mark appeared on Cheng Wenhui’s screen.
The manager scrambled to type out a frantic explanation, but Ruan Qiuji didn't call back. Jiang Tianwei had arrived at his door. He wasn't surprised she knew his address. After a moment of hesitation, he opened the door. Though they were old classmates, there was no warmth left between them.
"Our family matters are none of your concern," Ruan Qiuji said coldly, blocking the entrance.
"Who said I wanted to interfere?" Jiang Tianwei replied with a poised, elegant smile.
"Then why are you here?"
She looked into his eyes, her voice dropping to a confidential whisper. "For your own sake—and for Bailu’s—you shouldn't treat your father this way."
The way she used Qi Bailu’s name, with such casual intimacy, was a calculated move to show she knew everything. Ruan Qiuji’s gaze sharpened. "Don't use your petty schemes to measure me."
"You really aren't afraid, are you? Aren't you afraid your little boyfriend will find out about your past?" When Ruan Qiuji remained impassive, she continued, "There's no need to go this far, is there?"
"What about my past?" Ruan Qiuji asked, almost curious.
Jiang Tianwei didn't answer directly. She simply stared at him.
Should she mention his chaotic private life? His reputation for being two-faced and vindictive? The way he had meddled in Zheng Kunyu’s affairs before leaving for America? The fact that his initial connection with Zheng was forged in the murky, dangerous waters of the Hebei underworld? Or perhaps his lack of filial piety, his cold-bloodedness, and the fact that he had never truly given his heart to anyone?
Ruan Qiuji waited, a faint, icy smile playing on his lips. It made Jiang Tianwei uncomfortable. she knew how gentle he could appear on the surface, and how utterly ruthless he was underneath. That mask had deceived many; surely Qi Bailu was just another victim of the charade.
"Then keep wearing your mask forever," she spat. "Just be careful. One day, your beloved might be the one to strip it off."
She saw that he truly didn't seem to care. Her triumph turned to a strange mix of pity and amusement. If a man wasn't afraid of losing his lover, he didn't understand love at all. He had never been loved, so he could only show the world a facade. He was pathetic. In this one regard, Jiang Tianwei felt she had finally bested him.
"You can leave now."
Ruan Qiuji held the door for her. As the sound of her high heels faded down the hallway, his composed expression slowly crumbled. Each sharp click of her shoes seemed to crack a piece of his mask.
Was he really not afraid? They had been together for only a year, yet in his more delirious moments, he felt as if they had been together for a lifetime—as if Zheng Kunyu had never existed, as if his own dark past had been erased. His entire world had shrunk to the line between himself and Qi Bailu.
Lin Yuewei had once told him that their biggest problem was that they rarely fought. Their relationship had been forged with such difficulty, like two piles of shattered porcelain carefully glued back into a work of art. Because of that, they lived with a constant, quiet trepidation, terrified that one wrong move would shatter the masterpiece again.
He had thought about being honest. But every time he looked into Qi Bailu’s smiling eyes, he only wanted to preserve the present—even if it was temporary, even if it was a lie as fleeting as a night-blooming cereus.
His greatest fear was that Qi Bailu would see his wretched side and leave.
For Qi Bailu, the hour passed quickly. He messaged Ruan Qiuji to say the crew was having a celebratory barbecue and that he’d call later. This had become their favorite long-distance pastime: voice-calling while playing small games like *Fall Guys* or *Super Bunny Man*.
Once, during a game of *PUBG*, Ruan Qiuji had stepped away to take a business call. Qi Bailu, left alone on a grassy slope, had aimlessly circled Ruan’s character with his gun drawn. When Ruan returned, he found both their characters dead, lying head-to-head as their health drained away—looking for all the world like a couple performing their wedding bows.
"What happened? An ambush?" Ruan Qiuji had asked.
"The poison circle caught us," Qi Bailu replied.
"Why didn't you run?"
"I wanted to die with you."
The words had sent a jolt through Ruan Qiuji. He had suppressed a dark, almost twisted thought: *If I die, you must die too.* He couldn't bear the thought of Qi Bailu loving anyone else.
Even though he still wasn't sure if Qi Bailu truly loved him.
When Ruan Qiuji didn't reply for a long time, Qi Bailu sensed something was wrong. He sent a video of the noisy barbecue pit, showing the drunken crew members singing Christmas carols off-key. Finally, Ruan Qiuji sent back a cute emoji, though his face remained devoid of joy.
The game of *Super Bunny Man* never happened. Qi Bailu said he’d had a bit too much to drink and needed to rest. He felt guilty for making Ruan wait, sensing the underlying gloom in the older man’s messages.
*What are you doing?* Qi Bailu asked.
*Watching a movie,* Ruan replied.
Qi Bailu didn't want to disturb him, but then Ruan sent a photo. It was taken in his home theater. The screen showed a scene of Qi Bailu—naked.
Ruan Qiuji loathed Qi Bailu’s sex scenes, but he allowed them because he knew they were professional artifice. Qi Bailu was not the type to fall for a co-star. Yet, watching Qi Bailu close his eyes to kiss someone else with such apparent sweetness and devotion was a special kind of torture.
On the screen, the character said, "I will love you forever."
Ruan Qiuji rewound the film. A little bit, then a little more. He listened to Qi Bailu say it again. And again. A sighing, haunting refrain: *I will love you forever.*
Qi Bailu, feeling a flush of longing, accepted Ruan’s video call request. He knew what Ruan wanted. Even after a year, exposing himself to the camera still felt embarrassing, but the desire was a physical ache. Ruan wouldn't let him finish.
"Do you want me?" Ruan asked.
"Yes," Qi Bailu whispered.
The digital distortion made their breathing sound heavy and ragged. As the haze of lust slowly cleared, Qi Bailu turned the camera to his face. "I don't think I said it yet. Merry Christmas."
"Merry Christmas," Ruan replied.
It should have been enough, but something was missing. The warmth in Ruan’s voice didn't quite reach his eyes. When the call ended, Qi Bailu stared at the ceiling, a hollow sense of melancholy settling over him. He shook it off and tried to sleep.
In Beijing, there was no snow. Ruan Qiuji looked out the window at the flickering Christmas lights draped over the trees in the complex. Against the pitch-black sky, they looked small and profoundly lonely.
Qi Bailu loved the snow. A Christmas without snow wasn't a Christmas at all.
Ruan Qiuji checked the tickets from Beijing to Dalian. With the storms, flights and high-speed trains were likely to be delayed. The December cold in the north was brutal, and the weather reports warned against travel.
He decided to drive.
He changed his clothes and headed out. The mechanical voice of the GPS informed him the journey was 830 kilometers. At first, the city lights blurred past his window, but as he left the urban sprawl and hit the highway, the world dissolved into an endless, ink-black void.
By the time he crossed into Liaoning Province, the snow began to fall in earnest. The road became treacherous, white flakes swirling like ghosts in the glare of his headlights.
An image from a film flickered in his mind: a glass snow globe slipping from a dying hand, rolling across the floor until it came to rest, the tiny flakes inside drifting in eternal silence. Then, the image shifted to Qi Bailu napping by the sea in Tahiti, as if a single breath from behind the lens might startle him awake.
Like a rosebud.
The windshield wipers struggled to clear the accumulating drifts. Ruan Qiuji lit a cigarette, staring at the white road ahead. He hadn't seen snow this heavy since he left Switzerland. When his mother was dying, he had fallen asleep on the train to the airport, dreaming he was already back in Beijing. He had woken to see the snow sliding off the pine branches outside the window.
The journey was grueling, lasting a full eight hours. At the start, Ruan Qiuji had planned to tell Qi Bailu everything—to lay bare his pain, his ugliness, his depravity. But by the time he reached the hotel, he only wanted one thing. He just wanted to see him. He wanted to look into his eyes.
Qi Bailu, clad in pajamas and bleary-eyed with sleep, opened the door to find Ruan Qiuji standing there, his heavy overcoat dusted with snow. Shock gave way to a mix of anger and joy. Ruan Qiuji reached out to touch him.
He just needed to look into those eyes.
"Is it still snowing outside?" Qi Bailu asked, burying his face in Ruan’s chest.
"Yes," Ruan whispered. "It's still falling."
***
