The press conference made waves, sparking heated discussions across various media platforms.
While Tang Rui wasn’t particularly famous, his resume was impressive, having won numerous awards both domestically and internationally. He’d worked with a slew of big-name actors, and his circle of friends in the industry included some of the most powerful figures. Collaborating with someone like him was a clear boost to Luo Ding’s status, aligning perfectly with Yaxing Studio’s branding of him as a “high-end, top-tier” star. Even though Tang Rui’s previous films hadn’t always been box office hits, fans were still thrilled for Luo Ding. After all, what Luo Ding needed wasn’t box office validation, but recognition within the industry. Winning more awards could only benefit him.
Many went into the press conference expecting a discussion about an artsy film, but Tang Rui’s revelations quickly shattered those expectations.
Was this some kind of “art” film? Hardly. It was the story of a male model’s rise from clueless beginner to superstar. Tang Rui promised extravagant scenes and a storyline that would deviate from his usual style, incorporating many popular elements. Sure, it might sound a bit cliché, but it was undeniably intriguing!
The press conference video was filled with laughter from start to finish.
Luo Ding and Duan Xiubo, the stars of the show, commanded the spotlight, delivering a performance that delighted not only CP fans but also casual viewers. Over the course of an hour, the two exchanged countless glances. Initially, reporters tried asking them separate questions, but by the end, the pair kept grabbing each other’s microphones, forcing the journalists to simply interview them together.
“Duan Da, tone it down with the flirting! Hahaha!!”
“Alright, folks, CP fandom leaders, it’s time to chip in! Let’s pool some money to treat the poor journalist to dinner. Their eyes must be burning!”
“What the hell is fundraising? Hahahaha!!”
“The journalist’s about to cry, Duan Da! Stop interrupting! This question’s for Luo Ding! Why don’t you take a look at the reporter’s ‘I’m so done with this’ face while you answer?”
Duan Xiubo seemed completely oblivious to the shouts coming from screens across the internet. He kept one arm around Luo Ding, chatting away happily, while occasionally exchanging a knowing smile with him. The two of them laughing together was enough to make fans want to scream.
Video editors and content creators across the CP fandom couldn’t help but gush: “I bow to the masters! How can they be this sweet?!”
The way Duan Xiubo and Luo Ding interacted — so natural, so full of mutual understanding — made fans want to tear off their clothes and run laps around the field in sheer excitement.
Even casual viewers were puzzled. “Isn’t Duan Xiubo afraid of offending people with this? That reporter’s expression looks so weird. I don’t get what’s so funny between Duan Xiubo and Luo Ding. What on earth are they laughing about?”
CP fans were screaming, “Duan Da, have you just given up? I’ll chip in fifty bucks — please, just get married already! You’re making us single folks cry!”
“Why isn’t my boyfriend this sweet?”
“My husband and I must not be true love. Time to file for divorce, goodbye!”
The fandom buzzed with jokes about going home and divorcing their spouses, and while it was all in good fun, it certainly brought a lot of laughs.
But for most outsiders, their closeness didn’t seem too out of the ordinary. Outside of the CP fan circles, shouts of “wheat bran” were few and far between. After all, Luo Ding wasn’t exactly a small star anymore. Duan Xiubo’s status in the industry meant that no one linked his actions to cheap publicity stunts. Duan’s openness also made it difficult to accuse Luo Ding of using him for fame. Few truly believed they were a couple. After all, if they were, wouldn’t they be more discreet in front of the cameras? Who would act this close if they were trying to hide something?
****
Yu Chanjuan pressed the remote, silencing the press conference video about “Supermodel.” She sighed and slumped back onto the sofa, gently massaging her temples.
Luo Ding. Duan Xiubo.
Exhausting.
In the end, she hadn’t sent an invitation to Luo Ding for her birthday banquet. Duan Xiubo had been too hostile toward her. Last time, when she met Luo Ding in private, she hadn’t even mentioned her connection to Duan Xiubo, yet Duan had still called and unleashed his fury afterward.
Following that, he stubbornly refused several events related to Triumph, including the company’s annual anniversary banquet, which he had always attended in previous years. This sparked rumors among the media that Duan Xiubo’s collaboration with Triumph was coming to an end. As a result, Triumph’s stock prices had plummeted several times, leaving Yu Shaotian scrambling to put out the fires. Only recently, after Duan Xiubo returned to the country and made more public appearances at the company, did the situation finally start to stabilize.
The rumors weren’t entirely wrong, though. Duan Xiubo had called the company multiple times, expressing his desire to terminate his contract. His contract was far different from that of regular artists, and breaking it wouldn’t be difficult. As the company’s top star, Duan’s departure would undoubtedly shake things up. If he were malicious enough to take a few rising stars with him, it would be disastrous. And based on Duan’s personality, this was entirely possible.
After days of receiving angry calls from Duan, Yu Shaotian had even started advising her to stop meddling in Duan Xiubo’s personal affairs. The things Duan had reportedly said, as relayed by Yu Shaotian, had deeply hurt her.
But there was nothing Yu Chanjuan could do. Duan Xiubo had built his career on his own, unlike Yu Shaotian, who couldn’t survive without Triumph and could easily be manipulated through shares. While Yu Shaotian obediently let her pull the strings, Duan Xiubo was a different story. He didn’t even want to talk to her, with his warnings being conveyed solely through Yu Shaotian.
Yu Chanjuan felt utterly wronged. She hadn’t even planned on interfering. She was aware of her limitations. All she did was meet with Luo Ding once, and she had been polite!
But that one meeting seemed to have transformed Duan Xiubo’s indifference into outright hostility, something she hadn’t anticipated. And now, the headaches kept piling up.
Glancing at the clock, she estimated that Yu Shaotian would be home soon.
As she pondered this, she saw a servant hurrying to open the door. Instinctively, Yu Chanjuan stood up and watched as Yu Shaotian strode in, twirling his car keys with a smug grin.
Seeing her, his smile widened. “Mom, I’m home!”
“Mm.” Yu Chanjuan responded coolly. “How did it go?”
Yu Shaotian was clearly excited. “Dad looks a lot like Xiao Bo! Even though he’s older now, he’s still in great shape. Look!” He dangled a set of Aston Martin keys in front of her. “He even gave me a car!”
Yu Chanjuan wasn’t surprised by his enthusiasm. Yu Shaotian had never hidden his yearning for a father figure. Maybe it was because of his age when they divorced — he’d always had a subconscious image of “father” in his mind. Growing up, he’d always kept a photo of him and Duan Wanqing in his room. At first, seeing it had made her sad, but eventually, she came to terms with it, realizing that it was the adults’ irresponsibility that had robbed the child of a complete family. She never tried to suppress his longing for his father.
After more than twenty years, Duan Wanqing had returned to China, saying he wanted to meet Yu Shaotian. Yu Chanjuan hadn’t objected, so he went.
They must have had a great reunion, but Yu Chanjuan didn’t care much. She calmly told Yu Shaotian to head upstairs to wash up and rest.
Yu Shaotian twirled the car keys and left. As he ascended the stairs, his smile faded.
Counting the steps as he climbed, his mind replayed the scene of meeting Duan Wanqing. The man was unexpectedly handsome. Though older, he had kept himself in great shape and didn’t look his age at all. He had a good build, thick black hair, and sharp eyes. He naturally exuded the aura of a successful businessman.
His resemblance to Duan Xiubo was striking, with flawless features, but to Yu Shaotian, he felt like a stranger.
This wasn’t the father he had imagined.
The gift of a car, worth eight figures, was no small gesture. But it was clear that Duan Wanqing wasn’t particularly interested in him. Meeting his son for a meal, he’d even brought two seductive women along. The excitement Yu Shaotian had felt from receiving the car had evaporated the moment he saw the women.
The rest of the meal had left a sour taste in his mouth. Duan Wanqing had spent most of it bragging about his newborn child, proudly mentioning how the baby had inherited his young wife’s beautiful Western features. He hadn’t spared a thought for how these words might affect his other son, sitting right across from him.
A 22-year-old wife, more than ten years younger than him. Yu Shaotian gripped his car keys tightly and sighed, glancing back at his mother, who had settled back on the sofa.
Forget it. There was no point in telling her.
*******
By early April, Luo Ding had finished recording his new album. The workload for ten tracks was significantly heavier than for an EP. With the work done, Gu Yaxing finally granted Luo Ding the promised half-month vacation. The day after the announcement, Luo Ding returned to his apartment and slept like a log, only waking up in the afternoon.
He was awakened by a delicious aroma.
Still half-asleep, he sniffed the air. The scent of Master Kong’s braised beef noodles lingered, but it wasn’t quite right.
He stumbled out of bed. The apartment was massive, with light-colored wooden floors underfoot and a serene, minimalist aesthetic that was easy on the eyes.
Someone had drawn back the curtains he had closed before sleeping, and the balcony door was open, letting the wind blow the curtains high into the air.
Leaning on the railing, Luo Ding slowly made his way downstairs. He really liked this place. Recently, Gu Yaxing had been negotiating with the owner. If all went well, this apartment would soon be under Luo Ding’s name. He really didn’t enjoy moving.
Glancing toward the kitchen, Luo Ding wasn’t surprised to see Duan Xiubo. Wearing a blue apron, he was busy cooking, his back to the door. The overpowering scent of braised beef noodles filled the air.
Yawning, Luo Ding asked, “When did you get here?” Duan had his key card and knew the password, so he’d come and go without needing permission, already making himself quite at home.
“You’re up?” Duan Xiubo glanced back at him and frowned. “Why aren’t you wearing slippers again?”
Still groggy, Luo Ding plopped down on the floor, cross-legged. “The floor isn’t cold. Don’t you have work today?”
Duan Xiubo sighed, putting down the eggs he’d been stirring. He walked over to Luo Ding, pulling him up from behind and guiding him to the sofa, telling him to rest while he closed the balcony door, which was still letting in cold air.
Luo Ding was a man of many contradictions. In front of the camera, he was nearly perfect — handsome, clean, confident, and composed. But in private, he was shockingly unkempt. His habit of sitting cross-legged on the floor, for example, seemed like something he’d picked up from who knows where. And when it got hot, he’d throw on a tank top and lie down right in front of the AC vent, in a manner far from dignified.
“I came to eat at your place,” Duan replied. Luo Ding had slept for at least ten hours straight. Without someone to wake him, he could easily stay in bed for two or three days. Having finished his work, Duan came over, unsure what to cook. Whenever they were together, instant noodles were the usual go-to.
Two bowls of instant noodles sat on the table. The eggs hadn’t fully cooked, with the yolk spilling all over the noodles. Luo Ding took a bite and said bluntly, “It smells good, but it tastes like nothing.”
Duan Xiubo couldn’t eat it either. The braised beef noodles were too unpalatable, and the taste of pickled vegetables and braised vegetables was scary.
He set down his chopsticks.
“Let’s go out to eat.”
Their eyes met, sparks flying in the air, and in the next second, they moved in sync.
“I’ll go change!”
“I’ll wash the dishes!”
Damn, this is our first date!
—
**Author’s Note**: Some readers mentioned that I’m dragging out the plot, so here’s a quick explanation. What you might feel is dragging is actually part of my unique sense of storytelling.
The story will definitely be wrapped up by the end of the month.
Before starting this story, I worried about falling into the trap of typical superstar narratives. I wanted to write an entertainment industry story that was different, even though the foundation is still fluffy and sweet.
Before this, I had never chased after any idols and didn’t really understand the fanaticism of idol worship. People go crazy for someone so out of reach, and many may never even see their idol in person.
Then, I started exploring different fandoms — popular ones, smaller ones, both in the real world and online communities. I observed and tried to immerse myself in that world. And that opened a new door for me.
A lot of things were different from what I imagined, and what I had imagined may have been similar to what many readers who have never chased after idols might think.
Though I still haven’t found an idol that drives me to the same level of craziness, I now understand where the passion comes from — the desire to pursue something distant and unattainable.
I want to show an optimistic side of fandoms to outsiders. The fluffy and sweet tones of fan culture are similar across different groups, but without the fan wars or scheming. Instead, it’s a story of fans and idols supporting each other through thick and thin, in a journey that’s filled with romance. I believe that many readers who’ve had similar experiences will find memories worth cherishing here.
For those who feel the story is dragging, I can only apologize. This is the story I want to tell, and I won’t change that initial intention.
Bows —
If any of you would rather not read about fandom-related elements, I’ll try to avoid them. The story does involve various mature support systems from different fandoms, and even though it’s not unique to one fandom, if it feels familiar to you, it just means I’ve done my research well!
—
Duan Da (“大” Dà ): This is a term used in Chinese fandoms to respectfully refer to prominent or skilled individuals, particularly fan artists or content creators. It can be loosely translated to “big shot” or “master” in a playful, endearing sense.
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