Luo Ding had wrapped his scenes, but Duan Xiubo hadn’t finished his filming yet. The day after the farewell party, Luo Ding boarded a plane back home.
The engine roared in his ears.
Wu Fangyuan, seated next to him, leaned over to chat, but then paused, squinting at Luo Ding’s lips. “Why are your lips swollen? They looked fine last night.”
Luo Ding froze, reaching up to touch his lips, feeling a wave of exasperation.
How had they swollen? Well, how else could they have gotten swollen? When Duan Xiubo started acting all needy and clingy, there was no stopping him.
News about Luo Ding’s official album preparations had started circulating, causing excitement in the fanbase.
After the success of his last EP, there was no longer any debate about Luo Ding’s singing skills. Since then, Luo Ding had focused on acting, delivering two high-quality performances within the same year. Although he had only played supporting roles, his characters left lasting impressions, especially with their less-than-perfect outcomes, which made them even more memorable. Luo Ding’s fans couldn’t help but feel proud.
Just a few months earlier, they had been defending Luo Ding’s live performance against accusations of lip-syncing. Now, Luo Ding was a household name, and no one would ask “Who is this?” in the comments of his popular Weibo posts. Gone were the days of dismissive remarks like, “He looks like a K-pop star, what’s the appeal?” In less than a year, the tides had shifted. It was like a bamboo shoot sprouting after years of slow growth, only to suddenly break through the soil and shoot up rapidly, standing tall and strong in no time.
The day a screenshot of Luo Ding’s feature in *The New York Times* circulated in the fan community, many fans cried tears of joy.
Whether they called him “son,” “boyfriend,” or “husband,” they all shared one goal: to help Luo Ding rise to greater heights.
As fans who had supported his rise, they all felt an indescribable sense of pride at that moment.
Meanwhile, the ever-growing CP (couple pairing) fandom had siphoned off some attention.
*Hidden Dragon* had been out for months, but fans were still discovering new layers in the story. Every rewatch revealed previously overlooked details. Plus, the behind-the-scenes footage that Director Huo Xie had released only whetted fans’ appetites for more. This newfound enthusiasm stirred up more buzz in the fandom.
From short stories to fanfiction, the creative output around the relationship between the characters played by Duan Xiubo and Luo Ding was soaring in popularity. The positive impact on the film’s box office gave Director Huo enough reason to ignore any concerns about fan-made content infringing on copyrights. As for Luo Ding and Duan Xiubo, the fan works rarely mentioned their real names, focusing instead on their fictional roles, so it didn’t directly affect them much.
However, the spread of such fan culture did lead to more people viewing them as a pair. Most fans treated this as harmless fun, something to indulge in during their leisure time. Few took the “true love” angle seriously. Given Luo Ding’s growing fame and Duan Xiubo’s high status in the industry, no one dared to stir up unnecessary drama between them.
Their lives and work remained largely unaffected—except for a small, private detail, which had nothing to do with the fans.
Luo Ding’s sharp eyes had spotted banners in the audience with the words “Top” and “Bottom” written on them, which made him cough in embarrassment. Lowering his head, he instinctively touched his lips, taking care not to let the microphone catch the sound.
The host glanced at the audience, his face showing an “I totally get it” smile.
The crowd in the studio, having noticed Luo Ding’s subtle reaction, erupted into thunderous cheers, their enthusiasm almost shaking the building. Startled, the host laughed and tried to calm them down. “Please, everyone, calm down, calm down.”
Luo Ding also stepped in, saying, “Let’s all try to keep things a little quieter, thank you.”
“Okay!!!!!!” The fans obediently quieted down but waved their banners with even more enthusiasm.
Luo Ding, holding the microphone, bowed politely to the audience, his smile unchanged. He had expected this sort of situation when he agreed to participate in a variety show.
The hugely popular variety show *Surprise! It’s A Show* consistently brought in large audiences, with high-profile guests from all walks of life—actors, artists, athletes, even politicians (albeit not from China). Given Luo Ding’s growing profile, just a few months ago, it would have been unimaginable for him to be standing here.
In the Chinese entertainment industry, top-tier stars rarely made frequent appearances on variety shows, preferring to keep a low profile. But *Surprise! It’s A Show* was an exception because of its high prestige.
The show thrived on open, unscripted interactions. Luo Ding was naturally quiet but never awkward. He played along when needed and accepted any punishments without complaint, going through the motions with an amiable smile, moving about the stage with a seemingly long reaction time. Of course, this “slow” reaction now had a more flattering label: “adorably dumb.”
The show’s magic was in revealing sides of stars that the audience had never seen before. Whether it attracted fans or not depended on the celebrity’s own charm. If the celebrity was likable, they’d gain fans; if their true personality was awful, the show would act as a magnifying glass to expose that. Luo Ding’s somewhat slow but good-natured persona surprised the hosts, and the audience was charmed, particularly when he was punished and had to do ten push-ups, his forehead sweaty, his eyes shining, and his face flushed as he caught his breath. The female hosts couldn’t stop squealing from the sidelines.
The male host glanced at them, annoyed. “Luo Ding,” he called.
Luo Ding looked over. “Yes?”
The host burst into laughter.
“Sorry about this. I don’t want to punish you either. But viewers, remember—it’s not my fault! I’m just following the rules! I don’t want to make him suffer!” Then he added, “Luo Ding, do you have your phone with you?”
This was a planned segment, so Luo Ding smiled and nodded. “Yes, I do.”
This particular part of the show involved the host calling one of the celebrity’s contacts and having a conversation without revealing they were on a TV show, just to see how the other person would react. Luo Ding had already arranged for Wu Yuan to help out with the segment. He wasn’t too worried.
On the big screen, Luo Ding’s contacts were displayed, and the male host made exaggerated sounds of excitement: “Oh, oh, Pan Jie, oh, oh, Yuan Jie, oh, oh, Wu Yuan, okay, we’ll call him!” The audience groaned in disappointment, as the contact they most wanted to see wasn’t selected.
Luo Ding smiled uneasily at the big screen, looking a bit nervous.
Unexpectedly, the call didn’t even connect. Instead, the screen showed: “The number you’re calling is currently busy.”
“…What’s going on?”
There was a brief silence onstage.
Then the crowd burst into laughter.
“Well, guess we’ll have to call someone else,” the male host shrugged. This sort of mishap wasn’t entirely uncommon on the show, and they could always try calling someone else.
Just as he was about to scroll through Luo Ding’s contacts again, an incoming call appeared on the screen.
The name “Old Duan” flashed across, causing the audience to erupt in cheers so loud that it nearly drowned out everything else.
With a mischievous grin, the host picked up the call before Luo Ding could stop him. Luo Ding felt his heart leap, but quickly reassured himself—Duan Xiubo would never say anything too revealing right at the start of a phone call.
“Luo Xiao Ding!” Duan Xiubo’s voice boomed through the speakers.
The room went silent for a second, then roared with laughter.
“…”
Luo Ding vowed to make him pay later, but for now, he smiled and responded, “Duan-ge!”
Hearing the way Luo Ding addressed him, Duan Xiubo seemed to catch on. He was probably driving, as there was the sound of wind in the background. “Are you recording a show?”
“Ooohhhhhhhh!” The audience collectively cheered at their perfect synchronization.
Luo Ding lowered his head, chuckling. The host, however, wasn’t having it. He stepped forward and mock-shouted, “How could you guess that right away?! Luo Ding didn’t even get a chance to follow the script! Now where’s the drama?! Even if you guessed it, you should’ve pretended not to know!” After a brief pause, his tone shifted to one of exaggerated flattery, “But, uh, could you maybe tell us how you figured it out? You called in first, after all. The show didn’t even call you!”
“Luo Xiao Ding,” Duan Xiubo called out again, “Should I tell them?”
Luo Ding glanced at the audience, laughing. “Go ahead.”
The cheers grew even louder.
Duan Xiubo answered dutifully, “It’s because he hasn’t been this respectful to me in ages. The last time he called me Duan-ge was at least two months ago. I haven’t heard him use that title in a long time.”
“What does he usually call you?”
Before Duan Xiubo could answer, the audience began shouting in unison: “Duan—Big—Cat!”
Luo Ding turned to the crowd, his laughter uncontrollable, his waist almost giving out as he doubled over. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted an elderly woman in the VIP section, dressed in a formal suit and somewhat out of place among the excited fans. He couldn’t help but glance her way a bit longer.
The woman was smiling quietly, watching him with a composed expression.
“What’s that noise in the background?” Duan Xiubo, hearing the muffled shouts, seemed to guess what was happening. “It’s not Big Cat. It’s Old Duan. Old Duan.”
Luo Ding, apart from laughing, had barely spoken during the call, but the audience’s cheers never let up, especially after Duan Xiubo repeated the nickname “Big Cat.”
On the surface, their interaction seemed like ordinary banter between two good friends. Nothing was said that would raise eyebrows, and Duan Xiubo, rather than being shy, seemed to revel in joking with the host, selling out Luo Ding for fun. Yet, despite the seemingly harmless conversation, many in the audience felt a rising excitement they couldn’t suppress. Something about their dynamic just felt off—it was too sweet, almost overwhelmingly so.
After the show ended, the audience chanted Luo Ding’s name as they filed out. Even as the lights dimmed, Luo Ding returned to the stage to wave and bow, thanking everyone.
Wu Fangyuan came from backstage, draping a slightly thicker coat over Luo Ding. As Luo Ding took a call from Duan Xiubo, reassuring him that everything was fine, he smiled at the stage crew and nodded at the staff. After washing up in the dressing room, he prepared to leave.
“Luo Ding! Wait a moment!” Someone called out to him from behind.
“I’ll talk to you later. Take care of yourself on set,” Luo Ding said into the phone, ending the call. As he turned around, his expression softened with affection.
He looked toward the voice and saw the show’s segment producer, Qiu Yi, walking toward him.
He gave Qiu a puzzled look and smiled. “Producer Qiu? Is there something else?”
“There’s someone who’d like to meet you,” Qiu Yi said, his expression serious as he gestured for Luo Ding to be patient. He then called over his shoulder, “Madam Yu, please take your time.”
Luo Ding stopped in his tracks, glancing over Qiu Yi’s shoulder. An older woman, supported by a young girl, was walking slowly toward him.
The woman wore a navy blue suit, and from her hair to her shoes, she was impeccably groomed. The wrinkles on her face reflected a lifetime of wisdom, and her eyes were bright and clear, her pace unhurried.
It was immediately obvious that she was someone of high upbringing and excellent manners.
Madam Yu?
Luo Ding recognized her—she had been sitting in the best seat during the show’s taping, smiling quietly throughout but never as wildly as the other fans.
Who was she, to command such careful attention from the producer of this top-rated show?
As the woman approached, her expression remained calm, the same gentle smile as when she had been watching the show. She met Luo Ding’s gaze and, in a soft voice, spoke.
“Hello, I’m your… fan. May I have the honor of getting to know you?”
Luo Ding frowned slightly in his heart.
A fan? She certainly didn’t seem like one.
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