Backstage, Xu Zhen controlled his electric wheelchair, moving closer to the floor-to-ceiling mirror. The venue often hosted dance performances, so the large mirrors were mostly used by dancers to check their full outfits. But for Xu Zhen, they served little purpose now.
His left hand remained limp on the armrest, while his right hand shook as he threw off the heavy blanket draped over his legs, which hung lifeless from his waist to the floor.
He stared at his reflection in the bright lighting, which made him look a little better than he felt. He reached out, wanting to touch his face in the mirror, but the wheelchair couldn’t move forward anymore. His knees hit the mirror, preventing any further movement.
His right hand trembled, reaching out for a while, before he suddenly snapped. With a crazed expression, he tore the blanket off his legs and threw it across the room, furiously pressing the forward and backward buttons on the wheelchair. The wheelchair bumped back and forth, hitting his knees each time, yet he felt no pain.
It wasn’t the force of the collisions; it was him. He had become numb.
After a while, he stopped his futile attempts and rested his hand on his empty pant legs. The massages from the caretakers had done nothing to improve his condition. The doctor had made it clear—there was no hope for recovery. His legs had been unused for so long they had begun to atrophy, growing thinner and even starting to deform. Xu Zhen no longer looked at his body when bathing. The last time he accidentally glanced down and saw his knees, the skin wrinkled like a Shar-Pei (dog), he had stared blankly for a long time before smashing his bathtub with the showerhead.
This violent outburst made him realize something was wrong with him. He still remembered the episode, but at the time, it was like watching himself from the outside—coldly observing, unable to stop his body from acting.
It wasn’t who he wanted to be.
Xu Zhen sat there for a while longer before moving toward the blanket he had thrown in the corner.
The door opened, and the caretaker’s voice drifted in. “Director Xu, Mr. Su wants to speak with you.”
Xu Zhen didn’t lift his head. “I’m busy.”
The caretaker hesitated, intimidated by Xu Zhen’s frequent outbursts, and didn’t dare push further. She closed the door and relayed the message to the other end of the phone. “Mr. Su, Director Xu says he’s busy.”
The ability to convey a message in the worst possible way was truly a skill.
Su Shengbai wasn’t dumb. Hearing that, he could tell exactly what had happened. His voice cracked with desperation. “Please, I’m begging you! I really have something important to tell him. Please, just ask him again! Or if you could bring my pass to the theater entrance and let me in, that would be fine too…”
He made countless promises, and the caretaker, tempted by the potential rewards, decided to take a chance. She opened the door again, but before she could speak, Xu Zhen was right there, causing her to yelp in surprise.
Xu Zhen, expressionless, hadn’t managed to retrieve the blanket, leaving his legs exposed. He didn’t look up but raised his eyes just enough to shoot a sharp, triangular-eyed glare that sent a chill down the caretaker’s spine.
“Give me the phone.”
Trembling, the caretaker handed it over.
Xu Zhen chuckled darkly into the phone, not bothering to speak. Su Shengbai quickly realized it was him and started pleading, “Xu Ge! Xu Ge! Xu Ge! I’m outside! Please let someone bring me a pass to get in, okay?”
Xu Zhen said only one thing: “Don’t call me again.”
“Xu Ge!!!!” Su Shengbai’s voice grew panicked and shrill. “Assassin is already finished filming! Why are you holding a press conference now?! Please, stop messing around and let me in!”
Xu Zhen only laughed.
Su Shengbai’s worst fears were confirmed. Nearing a breakdown, he screamed, “What more do you want?! Why does it have to end like this?!?!”
Ignoring Su Shengbai’s cries, Xu Zhen calmly moved the phone away from his ear, staring at the large red “End Call” button on the screen.
A rare smile spread across his face. The caretaker, well aware of Xu Zhen’s temper, quietly slipped away to the wall. Not even a second later, the phone flew out of Xu Zhen’s hand, crashing against the opposite wall in the hallway. With a muffled thud, the screen shattered into a mosaic of cracks. Xu Zhen stared at the broken device for a moment before grinning again.
The call abruptly ended, leaving Su Shengbai sobbing. But his mind was racing.
He quickly formulated the best plan for the current situation: run.
As fast as he could, no matter what, he needed to leave.
Back home, he packed only the most basic warm clothes, stuffing half a suitcase. He withdrew his savings—about two hundred thousand—and filled a backpack and small suitcase with cash. Then he borrowed a few artists’ IDs from the company, claiming he needed them for something urgent. He bought multiple tickets for different destinations, switching between flights and trains.
The train car reeked of sweat, instant noodles, smelly feet, children shrieking as they ran around, men playing cards, and women gossiping and singing.
He had been away from this level of society for too long. After clawing his way up, he’d finally become a somebody, only to be thrown back down in an instant.
Having once tasted success, it was impossible for Su Shengbai to return to this “simple” life.
Dressed in fashionable clothes with a handsome, clean-cut face, he stood out like a sore thumb among the passengers. Many people were secretly watching him, but Su Shengbai was too consumed by his thoughts to care. His eyes were vacant as he kept reassuring himself that perhaps Xu Zhen’s press conference was merely to… announce some new project? Or maybe he was retiring?
At a large station, with a full signal, Su Shengbai pulled out a newly purchased phone—one that didn’t require an ID—and opened the news. Sure enough, the top headline featured a video of Xu Zhen’s press conference, front and center. The clip was short, only twelve minutes long.
With trembling hands, Su Shengbai clicked on it.
Xu Zhen’s slow, raspy voice came through his earphones.
“I have a few things I need to confess to the public…”
Xu Zhen produced the original copy of his marriage certificate with Cao Dingkun, holding it up for the cameras to clearly capture every word.
The room fell silent for a moment before erupting into chaos. Reporters swarmed like flies in a marketplace, shouting questions, with microphones practically thrust onto the stage. One reporter, quick on the uptake, asked, “By revealing this, are you trying to claim the fund and assets left by Mr. Cao?”
Xu Zhen let out a chilling laugh, sending shivers down Su Shengbai’s spine.
Su watched in horror as Xu Zhen ordered one of the caretakers to bring him a voice recorder and a box of memory cards.
Under the watchful eyes of the press, Xu Zhen played the recordings, opening the door to a dark new world.
Su Shengbai covered his mouth, tears streaming down his face and falling onto the screen, which he quickly wiped away.
It had started all the way back then…
The recordings included the conversations he’d had with Xu Zhen after the accident, where he begged him to cover up Cao Dingkun’s death. Every time they talked, Su’s voice dripped with flattery, each statement more shameless than the last.
As a former singer, Su Shengbai’s voice was distinctive, even distorted by the poor quality of the recording. It was unmistakably him.
The reporters hadn’t expected such explosive revelations at the press conference. Listening to the contents of the recording, the room fell into stunned silence. It wasn’t until several seconds after the audio ended that people began asking questions again.
“So you’re saying that Mr. Cao Dingkun’s death wasn’t just an accident?!”
“Can you guarantee the authenticity of the recordings?!”
The press turned into a frenzy, shouting for their stations to cover the breaking news.
Everyone was watching the show, but Su Shengbai and Xu Zhen were no longer behind the screen; they had become the lead actors in the drama.
Xu Zhen’s voice remained slow, steady, and grave.
But the expression on his face was one of clear, easy satisfaction.
“I owe Cao Dingkun my life,” Xu Zhen said, smiling faintly. “It was I who helped cover up Su Shengbai’s crime, all for my own career and benefit. But now, living or dying makes no difference to me. Lao Cao gave everything for me, and I can’t leave him without clearing his name. He was a careful man, never one to drive recklessly.”
For a moment, his eyes reddened as he spoke, but nothing more. “The recordings were made later. But here’s the original investigation report I received right after the accident.”
He produced a sealed file, opening it to reveal the investigation notes. The report confirmed multiple impact marks on the back of Cao Dingkun’s vehicle, along with traces of paint from another car.
“My car had a dashcam. I removed it before the investigation, but I still have the footage.”
Xu Zhen expertly fast-forwarded to the relevant part of the video, clearly familiar with every second of it.
The screen showed a dark, winding mountain road at night. The branches of trees swayed in the wind, and Su Shengbai’s faint sobs could be heard in the background.
Ahead, a van appeared, moving slower than the pursuing vehicle. The car quickly gained speed.
*Crash!*
A deafening roar filled the air.
Another crash.
The window of the van rolled down, and Cao Dingkun’s angry shout echoed: “Are you out of your mind?!”
One more unhesitating crash, and the SUV’s force sent the van flying into the air. After the screech of brakes, there were only the muffled sounds of the van’s final descent.
Inside the car, a pair of trembling hands reached out, fumbling for a phone.
Moments later, Su Shengbai’s choked voice came through. “Xu Ge… I’ve killed someone…”
Su Shengbai immediately closed the video, feeling a chill spreading from his toes upward, his entire body trembling uncontrollably.
Sweat beaded on his forehead. He fumbled for tissues from his bag, but after several failed attempts, he had to wipe the sweat with his sleeve.
His odd behavior had caught the attention of those around him. A middle-aged woman with a yellowish complexion leaned in, speaking in a rural accent. “Young man, are you feeling unwell?”
Su Shengbai stared at her for a moment before catching his breath, panting as if he’d just finished running a marathon. He hurriedly shook his head. “I’m fine.”
The woman seemed about to ask more questions, but Su Shengbai lowered his hat brim, packed up his things, and quickly left.
He was nearing a small station. He couldn’t get off at his planned destination. Now that everything was exposed, the police would definitely be after him. He needed to find a safe place to lay low. He had two hundred thousand in cash. If he was careful, it would last a lifetime.
He didn’t want to go to jail, and he didn’t want to die.
Inside the train car, a child resting on an adult’s lap suddenly spoke up. “Daddy, that uncle had a lot of money in his bag.”
The father chuckled. “How do you know? Did you go through it?”
The child replied earnestly, “I saw it when he was packing his laptop. So much money, it was almost falling out.”
The father tousled the child’s hair, telling him to go back to sleep.
But a group of young men with varied hair colors perked up at the mention of money, sitting up straight and exchanging excited glances. They all looked in the direction Su Shengbai had gone.
******
Duan Xiubo had nothing to do for the next few days and was available 24/7 to help Luo Ding prepare for the red carpet. When Luo asked if he had made his own preparations, Duan laughed it off. “With my looks, what red carpet can’t I handle?” He acted like the Golden Lion was no big deal at all.
Luo Ding couldn’t help but feel frustrated by how little Duan seemed to care about such honors.
Both of them had been nominated for Best Actor, but Duan kept saying things like, “You’re definitely going to win.”
It gave Luo Ding the impression that Duan didn’t care at all about winning such a prestigious award.
The clothes from the brand were delivered, and Duan set down the cufflinks, tie pins, and watches he’d been holding up to Luo Ding, hurrying out the door. “I’ll go get them for you.”
As Luo Ding wandered around the room, he realized it was a space specifically for storing Duan’s jewelry. Before seeing this, Luo hadn’t understood how a man could own so many accessories. But now, three and a half walls were covered with racks and drawers. Opening them revealed countless perfumes, ties, watches, earrings, handkerchiefs, bow ties, and decorative pins—enough to make him dizzy.
His gaze lingered on a pair of sapphire cufflinks, as large as broad beans, before he remembered he had a Zhen Jian watch he had brought from China. He stepped out to retrieve it, glancing at Duan’s wardrobe along the way. Suddenly, he had a thought.
He had never been to Duan’s room.
Given how often Duan barged into his space, it seemed only fair to return the favor, right?
The secret door was easy to push open, revealing a small gap with just a bit of force.
As soon as Luo Ding stepped into Duan’s room, he thought he had walked into a library.
Three walls were lined with meticulously organized shelves.
“…” Luo Ding’s eyes widened as he noticed something unusual near Duan’s bedside—a pile of items that looked suspiciously like his own albums.
Wait, how many are there?!
Half a wall was dedicated to Luo Ding’s EPs and records. There were only two sets, but the sheer volume made it look overwhelming.
Luo Ding stepped out of the wardrobe, his eyes scanning the room’s books and other belongings, only to be stopped in his tracks by a flash of gold.
What he saw next left him truly speechless.
An entire wall filled with trophies, medals, and certificates.
Starting from the bottom were school awards—sports day medals, marathon trophies, rugby cups, football cups, basketball cups, curling trophies…
There were even trophies from school for being an excellent student.
At the top were the awards Duan had earned after starting his career.
From his early days winning newcomer awards at small film festivals, he quickly leaped to major Best Actor trophies, and even collective awards for team performances were somehow there.
Everything was arranged in perfect order. The glass shelves were spotless, polished to a gleam.
Luo Ding stood there, stunned. When he heard the door lock turning, he quickly retreated into the wardrobe, carefully arranging the clothes before quietly slipping out.
When he returned to the jewelry room, Duan was already waiting for him.
“The clothes are beautiful,” Duan said. “The tailoring is on par with high-end bespoke. You must have a great relationship with D&S.These brands tend to cut corners.”
Luo Ding smiled at him, letting Duan undo the tie and unbutton his shirt. As Duan worked, Luo Ding suddenly asked, “You know, we’re in competition now. Doesn’t it feel strange to be helping me so much?”
Duan paused, looking at him. Seeing the smile in Luo Ding’s eyes, Duan couldn’t help but feel smug.
“You underestimate me. It’s just a Golden Lion award—what’s that compared to you?”
He immediately realized his words might sound wrong, as if he was belittling the award. Just as he was about to explain, he caught sight of Luo Ding’s soft, heart-melting gaze.
He nearly drowned in it.
Duan Xiubo: “…?” Huh, did Luo Xiaoding eat a smiley pill today? Why is he in such a good mood?
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