Tommy Lee’s personality made him somewhat unpopular. In the entertainment industry, people were cautious around him because of his family background, but in this high-society circle, preferences were more openly displayed.
His two older brothers and one younger brother were all at the party, mingling and having fun—completely ignoring Tommy.
Fortunately, Tommy had his own group of friends. Seven or eight young people, all in their twenties, with similarly defiant gazes and a rebellious air, sat together, distinct from the more proper crowd of young elites.
They drank and secretly shared their stashes—heroin for some, marijuana for others.
Marijuana wasn’t considered particularly “cool,” earning the person who brought it a chorus of boos.
Luo Ding, noticing how out of sync he was with their way of thinking, frowned slightly.
Immature.
Yet, thanks to his social skills, no one seemed to notice his sense of disconnection. The young group quickly took a liking to him, impressed by his broad knowledge and ability to share tidbits they didn’t know. These obscure facts gave them something to use in future conversations, so before long, Luo Ding found himself seated at the center of the group.
Youthful friendships developed quickly, and no one held back around him. They proudly displayed their stashes and even tried to sell him on the idea: “Give it a try. You don’t know how good it feels until you do.”
Luo Ding stared at the pile of white powder, his frown deepening as he shook his head firmly.
His refusal immediately chilled the atmosphere.
The group exchanged glances before breaking into mocking expressions, booing him. “Oh, look at Mr. Perfect, too good for us.”
“Don’t be like that,” Luo Ding, aware of their sensitivity, didn’t want to offend them but still felt compelled to warn, “This stuff is addictive and dangerous. Besides a fleeting high, what good does it do? It’ll ruin your health.”
Tommy Lee, taking a foil packet from the person next to him, scoffed at Luo Ding’s words. “That’s the point. We’re not trying to get healthy.”
“Tommy,” Luo Ding tried to stop him, gripping his hand, meeting his eyes in an attempt to dissuade him.
But Tommy Lee impatiently furrowed his brow. “I’ve already tried quitting three times! Everyone says the same thing you’re saying, but if quitting were that easy, I would’ve done it by now. So, are you in or not?”
“No, I’ll just smoke,” Luo Ding replied. He’d once only known Tommy Lee in passing, but now, getting a deeper understanding of him, Luo Ding realized they weren’t the same kind of people after all.
He would need to distance himself from Tommy in the future.
“There aren’t any cigarettes here,” the young man offering the heroin sneered at Luo Ding’s “cowardly” decision, flopping back onto the couch with a derisive laugh.
Luo Ding stood his ground. He had seen too many celebrities ruined by drugs to even consider touching them. Even if someone held a knife to his throat, he would never allow himself to fall into that trap.
The others glanced at each other, their expressions growing increasingly hostile, including Tommy Lee’s.
Sensing the awkward tension, one of the young men sitting on the outskirts stood up abruptly. “Okay, okay, everyone calm down. Luo, don’t take it personally. We’re not always this tense. It’s just that…”
“I get it, I get it,” Luo Ding said, understanding their sensitivity. These young people had likely grown up in situations similar to Tommy Lee’s—overlooked, never quite good enough, and increasingly jaded under the weight of constant judgment. As a result, they were especially touchy when faced with dissenting opinions, easily feeling their dignity had been slighted.
Without a doubt, Luo Ding’s rejection of the heroin had made them feel judged. But to them, using drugs was “cool,” while his decision made him seem uptight and old-fashioned.
“I’ll grab you some cigarettes,” the young man said, relieved to see that Luo Ding’s expression hadn’t soured. He quickly ran inside the house to fetch them.
Their corner of the garden was secluded, with few passersby. There were no police patrols, and the adults were nowhere to be seen. The young people gathered in a tight circle, lighting up their stashes under the flickering glow of a small flame, seeking their escape.
Feeling out of place, Luo Ding accepted the cigarette handed to him by the young man but quickly decided he couldn’t stay seated much longer. He excused himself, saying he needed to get some fresh air.
As he wandered alone, a few glamorous models noticed him, laughing as they approached, asking for his name. Luo Ding handled their advances with ease, gracefully accepting a few perfume-scented business cards. Just as he was about to head back toward the main house, he ran into Duan Xiubo, who had come out looking for him.
Though Duan was smiling, Luo Ding could tell right away that his energy had waned since entering the event.
“What’s wrong?” Luo Ding asked.
Duan Xiubo grabbed his arm, pulling him toward a quieter corner, his voice low. “Come with me for a bit.”
They walked past the fountain and into a small grove behind the villa, pushing through the undergrowth. They exchanged a glance of mutual understanding as they overheard the distant sounds of a couple engaged in rather private activities, moving deeper into the woods.
As they walked, Duan Xiubo spoke, “My father’s getting remarried.”
“Your father?” They had switched to Chinese now. Duan Xiubo’s formal and emotionally detached use of the word struck Luo Ding as odd. “Are you not happy about it?”
“He’s been remarried so many times, I thought I’d be used to it by now.” Duan Xiubo stopped, leaning against a thick tree trunk, his eyes tracing the stars peeking through the leaves overhead. The familiar presence and scent of Luo Ding nearby suddenly made him feel the urge to vent.
“Do you know how many times he’s been married? I’ve lost count. Fifteen at least, maybe more. He’s had at least fifteen wives.”
Luo Ding, unsure how to respond, tried to piece together the situation. “Your father isn’t Chinese, is he?”
“He is, but he didn’t grow up in China.” Duan Xiubo placed an arm around Luo Ding’s shoulder, pulling him closer as they sat down together. “I was born in Switzerland and started school in America when I was seven, raised by a nanny. I only got to see my father once a year, during Christmas. He never really cared about me.”
Luo Ding patted him on the back. “Compared to me, you had it pretty good.”
Duan Xiubo sighed. “That’s why I admire you. You started so young, fighting your way through the entertainment industry all on your own. My first film role was handed to me by Mr. Xia Rui, the grumpy old guy you met earlier. I’ll always be grateful to him. In fact, those uncles have given me far more care than my father ever did.”
“I thought I’d gotten used to it—to his marriages. Every Christmas, I’d go back to Switzerland, and there’d be a new woman by his side. Some of them broke up with him before they could even marry, while others divorced soon after the wedding. They’d make me call them ‘Mom,’ and I refused. A few would secretly take revenge on me for not respecting them, pinching me or worse. I’d tell him about it, but he never took it seriously. And if he ever confronted them, a bit of flirting or sweet talk was all it took for him to forget about me again.” Duan Xiubo rested his forehead against Luo Ding’s, venting his frustrations in a stream of complaints. It was clear he still harbored a lot of resentment. “That’s when I knew I couldn’t rely on him.”
Luo Ding patted him again, feeling sympathy for the poor guy. Experiencing such duplicity during his childhood had surely left deep emotional scars.
The forest was filled with the quiet sounds of insects chirping, adding a tranquil background to their conversation.
After venting, Duan Xiubo seemed to regain some of his energy. He stood up, pulling Luo Ding along with him, chuckling awkwardly. “Sorry for dumping all of that on you.”
The more Luo Ding got to know Duan Xiubo, the more he realized how multifaceted the man was. On the surface, Duan appeared composed and steady, like a natural mask he could wear whenever needed—much like Luo Ding himself. But underneath, he was still a man of his age, prone to vulnerability, pride, and moments of anger. The closer someone got to him, the more likely they were to feel the brunt of his frustrations.
It was uncanny—Luo Ding felt like he was looking at a reflection of his former self.
In the recesses of his distant memories, Luo Ding still held onto the love and care of his parents. Compared to Duan Xiubo, he realized he might have been luckier in some ways. Patting Duan Xiubo’s arm, Luo Ding spoke softly, “That wasn’t garbage. I actually liked hearing it.”
Under the starlight, Duan Xiubo gazed at Luo Ding’s large, earnest eyes, softened by concern and kindness.
Such purity. Duan Xiubo’s heart was struck, his pulse quickening with each beat, pounding like a drum in his chest.
The prolonged eye contact slowly shifted the atmosphere, turning it more intimate. Duan Xiubo’s throat felt dry as he hesitantly reached out, his long fingers brushing against the corner of Luo Ding’s eye. “You…”
Luo Ding, sensing a sudden wave of nervousness, felt the slight scratch of Duan Xiubo’s fingers against his skin, leaving behind a tingling sensation. He nearly closed his eyes in anticipation but abruptly caught himself, quickly pushing against Duan Xiubo’s advancing shoulders.
Duan Xiubo’s forehead pressed against his, their noses almost touching, their gazes locked in place.
“Do you have a cigarette?” Duan Xiubo asked, his voice hoarse. He desperately needed an outlet for his swirling emotions.
Luo Ding pushed him away, standing up and fishing a cigarette pack from his pocket. “I don’t have a lighter.”
“I’ve got one,” Duan Xiubo replied, lighting up a cigarette. The flame flickered in the dim light, casting shadows across Duan Xiubo’s chiseled features.
Clearly in need of release, Duan Xiubo took a long, aggressive drag on the cigarette, exhaling forcefully.
But as soon as he did, his eyes widened in shock, and he began coughing violently. Bent over, he struggled to catch his breath, the cigarette dangling between his fingers.
Startled, Luo Ding rushed to his side, his earlier awkwardness forgotten. “What’s wrong?”
Clutching his chest, Duan Xiubo slowly regained his composure, his face taking on a peculiar expression. “What kind of cigarette is this?”
“It’s just a cigarette,” Luo Ding replied, snatching the half-smoked stick from Duan Xiubo’s hand, growing more concerned. “Are you okay?”
“I just smoked it too fast,” Duan Xiubo said, still clutching his chest as he leaned back against the tree, his face calming. “But this cigarette… it feels different.”
Luo Ding blinked, thoroughly confused. He glanced at the pack in his hand. Wasn’t this just a normal, high-end cigarette?
Curious, Luo Ding took a drag from the same cigarette Duan Xiubo had been smoking.
As soon as the nicotine-laced smoke filled his lungs, a strange, coarse sensation rushed through his system, faster than anything he’d ever felt before. His heart clenched, and his nerves went taut.
Now, Luo Ding understood the pressure Duan Xiubo had felt earlier. His strength seemed to drain from his limbs, and he collapsed against Duan Xiubo, using the tree behind him for support as he tried to fend off the mental assault.
Suddenly, his tightly wound nerves relaxed without warning.
It was as if all the tension melted away in an instant.
Like the receding tide, the emptiness it left behind was quickly filled. A hand reached out, pulling him into the clouds.
His mind filled with vivid, colorful images. With his eyes closed, behind his lids, he saw windmills, Ferris wheels, fireworks exploding, the shimmering Milky Way, mountains, torrential rain, rainbows after the storm…
A barrage of strange and overwhelming temptations he couldn’t resist.
His fingers trembling, Luo Ding threw the cigarette to the ground, stomping it out with a curse.
“Damn it, those little brats tricked us.”
Suddenly, a shadow fell over him, and Luo Ding barely had time to react before Duan Xiubo loomed over him, trapping him between his chest and the tree in a near-overpowering embrace.
Though Luo Ding’s mind remained somewhat clear, his thoughts felt fuzzy, with hallucinations and reality blending together until he could hardly tell them apart.
“Duan Ge…” His voice, though unmistakably his own, sounded distant, as though it were coming from beyond a watery veil. He couldn’t remember what else he wanted to say—it had slipped from his mind.
He locked eyes with Duan Xiubo, who was staring right back at him.
Their faces inched closer.
“Duan Ge…” Luo Ding whispered again, his weakened arms rising to rest on Duan Xiubo’s shoulders. He couldn’t tell if he meant to push him away or pull him closer.
The marijuana’s intense effects surged through his body, consuming his thoughts and emotions. Shame, morality, societal expectations—everything evaporated like bubbles bursting at sunrise, vanishing into the air.
Duan Xiubo drew even nearer, the gap between them closing. His mouth hovered close to Luo Ding’s ear.
“Duan Ge…” That whispered name pierced straight to his core. Their noses brushed, their breaths mingled. One last step.
“I’m right here…”
Their lips met.
Heat rose between them as they both instinctively closed their eyes.
Along with Luo Ding’s rapidly diminishing self-control, the two of them abandoned their reason and surrendered to their instincts.
The moment their lips touched, their tongues met in a heated tangle, as if they couldn’t bear to be apart.
R : We’ve waited so long for this part aiyaah… ❤︎⁄⁄꒰* ॢꈍ◡ꈍ ॢ꒱.*˚‧
Keep me fueled with caffeine! Support me on Ko-fi! ★~(◡‿◡✿)
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