Duan Xiubo had long since outgrown any stage fright. He casually tucked the card back into his pocket. Luo Ding wasn’t particularly concerned about the card either—not because he wasn’t nervous, but because he didn’t believe he would win.
Awards at film festivals were far more competitive than those in the music industry. How long had he been in the business? Aside from a few unknown rookies, everyone in the room had more experience than him. In his past life, his first Best Supporting Actor award hadn’t come until he was almost thirty, after years of successful films and high box office numbers. Luo Ding knew he wasn’t naturally talented, and though he had impressed with his singing, acting wasn’t something he could boast about yet.
“Just take it.” Wu Fangyuan, clearly holding on to a sliver of hope, handed him the card.
After Wu walked away, Duan Xiubo leaned in. “Why didn’t you take it?”
“You mean this?” Luo Ding waved the card around. “I don’t need it. I’m not going to win anyway. It’s too thick to hold comfortably, and it’s just going to get in the way.”
Duan chuckled. “How are you so sure? You might win, you know?”
Luo Ding smiled but didn’t argue. Duan was always saying nice things, and it was nice to hear, but Luo wasn’t foolish enough to believe it.
Duan, however, was puzzled. At Luo Ding’s age, after climbing from one success to another, he should have been brimming with confidence, convinced of his impending triumph. He recalled how, when he was that young, his own career success had made him feel like he could reach for the stars. So why was Luo Ding, after all his recent achievements, so convinced that he wouldn’t even win a domestic Best Supporting Actor award? Duan couldn’t wrap his head around it.
Just then, a stir went through the crowd as people turned toward the entrance. Duan’s sharp eyes caught sight of a familiar and unpleasant face, and he nearly frowned.
“Who’s here?” Luo Ding, who had been skimming the key points on the card, turned to see the commotion and was surprised to spot yet another familiar face.
Su Shengbai.
He was walking in with a woman sporting wavy red hair, the two of them arm in arm, exuding an air of intimacy. The redhead clearly trusted Su Shengbai, judging by her expression. After exchanging a few words, she was led away by a short woman in a suit, leaving Su Shengbai to stand there, looking slightly lost.
Of course, Luo Ding knew better. That lost expression was something Su had perfected over the years—a mask he wore for the public, much like Duan Xiubo’s constant smile. Neither had any real meaning.
Seeing him alone like this, though, did strike Luo as a bit pitiful. No manager, no assistant—Su Shengbai was attending this event all by himself.
Luo Ding almost wanted to laugh. In his past life, he had always found Su pitiful, too. Isolated, constantly forcing a smile as he dealt with the endless scrutiny. He remembered personally scouting assistants for Su after he signed with Global, but none of them had stuck around. Su had rejected all of them, simply saying he wasn’t used to having someone know his every move.
And now, Luo understood why.
How could anyone else know about those unspeakable activities?
Luo turned his attention away, not wanting to dwell on the past, but Su Shengbai spotted him and approached.
“Luo Ding.” Su found his seat easily since Luo was near the aisle. “It’s been a while.”
Luo glanced up at him and gave a polite smile. “It has.” No sooner had he spoken than Duan Xiubo leaned closer, resting a hand on his shoulder.
Su, clearly accustomed to rejection, wasn’t as enthusiastic as before when faced with Duan’s presence. Luo Ding’s lukewarm response only made him more anxious.
Since the online media awards, Luo Ding had noticeably distanced himself from Su Shengbai. This wasn’t something Su had expected. Luo’s threshold for tolerance was clearly much higher than he had initially thought. The Luo Ding who once followed him blindly, without question, had vanished. Now, Su had to be on high alert.
He wasn’t sure how to repair the relationship, especially with the mounting pressures in his life. Things were falling apart, and he was nearing his breaking point. When Luo Ding showed little interest in conversation, Su took the empty seat next to him, settling into the aisle seat.
His eyes scanned the busy room, and his expression was distant, almost making a point of displaying his fatigue. It was both a refusal to fake pleasantries and an attempt to elicit some sympathy from Luo Ding.
Duan glanced at Su Shengbai, eyebrows raised as he observed the younger man’s melancholic demeanor, before returning his attention to Luo. He elbowed him lightly, “Hey!”
Luo Ding was still staring at his cue card, lost in thought. Su’s arrival had startled him, and he realized that he hadn’t thought much about Su or Xu Zhen lately. In the early days after his rebirth, the wrongs done to him by Su and Xu were constantly on his mind, making him seethe with resentment. But now, seeing Su, the emotions stirred in him were far milder than when he had seen Yan Jingjing earlier.
What had he been preoccupied with lately? Fan theories pairing him with Duan, Duan’s constant displays of affection, the ratings of *Tang Legend*, and his upcoming album release.
The past grievances that had once consumed him had now faded into mere background noise, no longer holding the same power to upset him.
This change had come gradually, reshaping his life until, by the time he noticed it, it had become irreversible.
Duan’s second nudge nearly knocked him into the aisle, but before he could fall, Duan grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back. Duan’s eyes, initially filled with playful mischief, now flashed with concern as he tried to justify his actions, “How can you be so weak?”
“What are you doing?!” Luo Ding retorted, adjusting his clothes in confusion.
Duan, sensing that he had overstepped, quickly corrected himself. “Were you thinking about him?”
Luo glanced at Su Shengbai, who was sitting just a few feet away, lost in his thoughts. Luo felt a wave of frustration. “Thinking about him? You must be kidding. I was thinking about something else.”
“You don’t think he looks pitiful?”
“Pitiful? Maybe you think so.”
“Not at all!” Duan quickly distanced himself from the idea. “I find him annoying.”
Luo Ding didn’t respond. After a moment, Duan nudged him again. “Aren’t you curious why I find him annoying?”
“Ugh, can you stop?” Luo Ding sighed, pushing Duan away. He knew exactly why Duan disliked Su Shengbai.
There was a small part of him that felt a strange satisfaction, like when a schoolboy discovers the class beauty has a crush on him. But Duan’s constant badgering was getting on his nerves. Couldn’t they have this conversation in private? What if someone overheard?
Duan, despite being shoved away, was surprisingly pleased with himself. Even though Luo Ding hadn’t given him much of a response, the fact that he hadn’t shut him down entirely made Duan’s heart race with excitement.
Throughout the ceremony, Duan leaned in close, whispering to Luo Ding. Luo, meanwhile, drifted in and out of focus, his mind wandering back to a conversation they had had during the filming of *Blade Warrior III*, when they had finally cleared the air. When the presenter announced the winners, Luo Ding was still lost in thought, convinced that he wouldn’t be among them.
But when his name was called, Duan reacted first.
“Luo Xiao Ding!” Duan gave him a hard nudge, snapping him back to reality.
Luo Ding blinked in confusion, staring at Duan as if he were dealing with an overly mischievous child. “What now?”
“You won!” Duan’s heart raced as he met Luo’s slightly indulgent gaze. He had to remind himself that the cameras were still rolling, or he might have blushed. “You won! Get up there!”
The audience applauded, and the presenter, laughing, said, “Luo Ding! Come on up, or I’ll have to give the award to Su Shengbai!”
Su Shengbai, who had also been nominated for Best Supporting Actor, smiled awkwardly. The cameras caught his uneasy expression just as he attempted to compose himself. The smile came too late, and it looked painfully forced.
Luo Ding straightened up, still dazed. “Me?”
“Yes, you!” The applause continued, punctuated by laughter. Luo gave Duan a quick glance, and Duan nodded in encouragement.
Although Luo Ding had been caught off guard, his composure returned the moment he stepped on stage. Facing the presenter’s teasing, he responded without a trace of awkwardness, “I can’t blame anyone for my slow reaction. The other nominees are all so talented that I never thought I’d win.”
The crowd laughed warmly, charmed by his humility.
The presenter was relieved. Luo Ding’s earlier dazed demeanor had been amusing, but if he had carried that confusion onto the stage, it would have made for an awkward acceptance speech. He would have had to work overtime to keep things on track.
Accepting the heavy trophy, Luo Ding bowed to the audience. It wasn’t until he reached for the microphone that he realized he had handed his cue card to Duan Xiubo earlier.
The presenter noticed the slip and braced for a stumbling speech.
But Luo Ding’s delivery was impeccable.
For someone who had faced far bigger crowds, the room full of entertainment industry veterans felt like nothing. In fact, many of them had far less experience than him, despite their seniority. Luo had memorized his speech flawlessly, speaking at a measured pace with calm, even breaths. His composure suggested that everything was under his control.
If not for the brief camera shot that had caught him looking confused earlier, the audience would have believed he had been prepared for this win from the start.
*******
Luo Ding’s fans erupted into laughter as they watched the live broadcast.
“My baby is too adorably clueless! He’s handsome when he’s serious, but he’s also so cute when he’s being silly!” Many of Luo’s fans, who had shifted from the “parent” fandom to shipping circles due to his growing maturity, were delighted to see this rare display of vulnerability. They quickly captured the moment he stood in confusion, making memes and gifs that spread like wildfire across the internet.
There was something undeniably charming about a good-looking young man being a little absent-minded. It was almost universally appealing. Even non-fans found themselves drawn to Luo Ding’s unexpected mix of poise and endearing clumsiness. His quick recovery only made the contrast more striking, and fans couldn’t help but gush over how human he seemed. The once-distant idol now felt approachable, like someone they could actually connect with.
The dichotomy of an unattainable star showing such down-to-earth moments resonated deeply with fans.
And so, they gushed:
“My baby, you can have anything you want!”
“Buy! I’ll buy everything for you!”
“Luo Ding! You’re not paying attention in class again! But I can’t bring myself to scold you!”
“Luo Ding at ten? More like Luo Ding at five!”
“Three years old, tops!”
“Baby, do you want cake? New clothes?”
While the “parent” fandom was busy fawning over their idol’s cuteness, the shipping fandom was losing its mind over the interactions caught on camera between Luo Ding and Duan Xiubo.
In the moments before the dazed look, the camera had captured Duan Xiubo nudging Luo Ding, who responded with an affectionate, slightly exasperated smile. His lips moved as if he was speaking softly to Duan, and that one scene set the internet ablaze.
“Oh my god, the way he’s indulging him! This is too much!”
“Is being in love such a big deal?! I have a boyfriend too!”
“Something feels off here…”
“I think I’m falling for the Luo-Duan ship! Is this a younger guy spoiling an older one?”
“Luo Ding! Please look at me like that!”
“Don’t spoil him too much! You’ll make Duan Xiubo impossible to deal with!”
The next day, Duan Xiubo felt a sense of pride when he saw this segment going viral. But when he saw the headlines in the tabloids, all he wanted to do was scream: “I didn’t do anything!!!”
All the major gossip magazines and tabloids seemed to have coordinated, with headlines that were nearly identical in their suggestiveness:
“Yan Jingjing and Duan Xiubo Share Intimate Moments on the Red Carpet: Longtime Friends Behind the Scenes.”
Pineapple : I just realized it’s so nice when characters have unique last names. That way, I can go by Su, Gu, or Duan, and everyone will know who I’m referring to—except maybe the Duan family! I’m extra careful to avoid confusing you all, lol.
Keep me fueled with caffeine! Support me on Ko-fi! ★~(◡‿◡✿)
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