“Let me clarify once again—I’m only still using those Bluetooth earphones out of habit. I’m just too lazy to switch, that’s all. It’s not because I have any sentimental attachment to them,” Zhu Lianzhen explained seriously.
Besides, it wasn’t even really a gift. Tan Qing had just accidentally bought an extra pair one day and decided to give them to him. Of course, the sound quality was nowhere near that of professional-grade headphones, but they worked well with his phone and were convenient to use.
Zhu Lianzhen had an incredibly sharp sense of hearing, and when it came to things like earphones or in-ear monitors, once he got used to a certain pair, he didn’t like switching. Even if it was the same model, he could still feel the difference between an old and a new pair.
Ah-Xu nodded repeatedly, eyes sparkling with curiosity, eagerly waiting for him to spill the unknown history of this secret romance. “So back then, every time you guys were doing fanservice, you were actually getting paid to date?”
Zhu Lianzhen: “That’s not how it was! We still took our jobs seriously every day.”
Ah-Xu suddenly had an epiphany. “No wonder you don’t have a male assistant.”
Zhu Lianzhen: “What does that have to do with anything? I’m not gay.”
Ah-Xu: “?”
Ignoring his obvious denial for the time being, she pressed on. “So how did you two break up?”
Not wanting to go into details about such an unpleasant experience, Zhu Lianzhen kept it brief. “A stalker fan caught us.”
“Ugh, tragic.” Ah-Xu wasn’t too surprised. In recent years, most of the biggest scandals in the entertainment industry had been uncovered by fans. Their intelligence-gathering abilities rivaled the FBI, leaving many entertainment reporters with nothing to do.
However, out of love and tolerance for their idols, even if fans discovered their secrets, they wouldn’t immediately turn on them. At most, they would complain privately, and they’d only expose the truth if they had no other option.
Ah-Xu carefully recalled the major events that had happened to Acemon in the past. The only one that matched the timeline of their breakup was the controversy surrounding the lead singer’s departure from the group.
At the time, the group was at its peak, and every member was under intense scrutiny. The company couldn’t be bothered with minor details like members unfollowing each other on Weibo, but fans certainly noticed. The most widely accepted theory was that Tan Qing had sided with the lead singer and helped him conceal his decision to leave the group in breach of contract. Meanwhile, Zhu Lianzhen, known for his straightforward nature, disapproved of such betrayal and cut ties with Tan Qing over it.
Ah-Xu knew that while this rumor was somewhat exaggerated, Zhu Lianzhen had indeed lashed out at Tan Qing because of it. What no one had expected was that there had been an even bigger conflict between the two in private.
“We used to rent a standalone villa. After work, we’d go there and stay for a few days. It was in a remote location, and we thought it was safe,” Zhu Lianzhen said in an unhurried tone. “But we underestimated how persistent stalker fans could be. She tailed us the whole way and was better at hiding than the paparazzi.”
One day, the two of them were called in for a meeting with the company’s boss. As soon as they walked in, they saw a stack of candid photos spread out on the table. The photos showed them kissing inside a car, with the villa they had secretly lived in together visible in the background.
Their secret relationship was completely exposed.
During their conversation with CEO Chu, Zhu Lianzhen was shocked to learn that Tan Qing had received those photos long ago but had kept them from him the entire time.
The stalker fan had repeatedly sent messages threatening Tan Qing: either break up and maintain his professional ethics, or go public with their same-sex relationship and watch his image crumble.
Tan Qing had chosen neither and remained silent.
Of course, the stalker didn’t let it go. She directly sent the photos to the private email of Zuige Entertainment’s CEO, believing this would lead to severe consequences for the two idols. She was young, obsessive, and naive—she knew that Zuige Entertainment strictly managed its artists and had even fired idols in the past for secretly dating.
But every rule had exceptions. Acemon had been favored by the company since their trainee days, and among them, Zhu Lianzhen was especially valued by the higher-ups. No matter what mistakes they made, as long as they didn’t cross any major moral lines, CEO Chu was always willing to hold them to a different standard.
Of course, that didn’t mean the company would allow dating within the group, especially when society had yet to fully accept homosexuality. Even in the entertainment industry, where people pretended to respect and treat everyone equally, such matters were seen as vulnerabilities behind the scenes. Many artists who weren’t straight still had to insist they were either straight or bisexual just to avoid controversy.
The public was especially harsh on idols. If their relationship was exposed, even if it wasn’t officially classified as a scandal, the uproar it would cause and the chain reaction it would trigger would undoubtedly make it a milestone event in the industry.
The situation would spiral out of control. Short-term losses, like fewer opportunities, canceled endorsements, and damage to the group’s reputation, might be recoverable. But the public’s perception of them would be far harder to change. No matter how successful their future projects were, people would always prioritize gossiping about their sexual orientation.
As long as they remained popular, they would continue to be prime targets for paparazzi, exploited as clickbait for entertainment media.
They were still far too young to bear such consequences. So, the most responsible decision for both the group and their personal interests was to break up cleanly, avoiding potential disasters in the future.
CEO Chu stepped in as a mediator, giving them a chance to part ways amicably.
Afterward, Zhu Lianzhen blew up at Tan Qing.
Of course, he was upset. He had always prioritized honesty with Tan Qing, telling him everything and sharing everything with him—yet in the end, Tan Qing had concealed two matters that directly affected him.
Zhu Lianzhen could accept the issue of their teammate leaving the group. After all, no one could stop someone determined to go. If Fan Gerong had to inform someone within the group about his decision in advance, Tan Qing was indeed the most suitable choice.
But dealing with a stalker’s harassment alone, without saying a word? Zhu Lianzhen saw that as a lack of trust in him.
What infuriated him the most was that Tan Qing didn’t even try to defend himself. He had clearly anticipated this reaction, calmly apologized, and taken all the blame upon himself—yet there wasn’t a trace of regret on his face.
It wasn’t until Zhu Lianzhen accused him, “Why didn’t we try to figure it out together?” that Tan Qing countered in a measured tone, “Other than breaking up, do you have a safer and more effective solution?”
He even added, “The right answer is right in front of you.”
Blunt words always had a sting to them.
A “right answer”—as if not breaking up would make Zhu Lianzhen seem clueless.
From that day on, they simply cut off contact.
With all the turmoil within the group, Zhu Lianzhen was constantly on the move, his schedule chaotic. Before he even had time to feel dejected over the abrupt end of his first relationship, he had already been thrown headfirst into a new chapter of his life.
By the time things finally settled down, Zhu Lianzhen no longer had the energy to be angry about it. Being a celebrity meant being forced into many situations beyond one’s control. All that remained was a sense of regret: after knowing Tan Qing for so many years, even if they couldn’t continue dating, shouldn’t their friendship at least still be intact?
He thought that as long as Tan Qing made an effort to reconcile, they would surely be able to let go of past grudges and remain friends even after breaking up.
But Tan Qing didn’t seem to think the same way.
In the months after their separation, he never once took the initiative to contact Zhu Lianzhen—not even to post a birthday message on Weibo out of formality.
“Now that you mention it,” Ah-Xu murmured, “no wonder Tan Qing came looking for you in the middle of the night when you had a high fever.”
Zhu Lianzhen was confused. “When?”
“What do you mean when? You’ve only been seriously sick once in the past few years.”
Zhu Lianzhen had always been in excellent health, so it wasn’t unusual for him to go years without falling ill. When Ah-Xu mentioned the high fever, he quickly recalled the exact time.
After Acemon’s group activities were suspended, Zhu Lianzhen started his solo tour. Under the combined strain of high-intensity training and an exhausting workload, his body suffered numerous injuries, and his immune system weakened drastically, causing him to develop a persistent fever.
Determined to deliver a flawless performance, he insisted on going onstage despite being sick. Unfortunately, his body had reached its limit. By the final part of the show, his vision suddenly blurred, so he immediately signaled to the director that he needed to stop singing and walked backstage.
The moment he stepped offstage, he collapsed and was rushed to the hospital.
Fortunately, he recovered without major issues, and the audience hadn’t witnessed his worst moment. However, he still felt frustrated that he hadn’t finished the song, leaving fans worried for a long time.
Every time he recalled that incident, he considered it a shameful failure from his past.
“When did he come to see me?” Zhu Lianzhen doubted Ah-Xu’s memory. “Didn’t I sleep the entire time after being discharged, all the way until the next afternoon?”
“Huh? You were asleep the whole time?” Ah-Xu suddenly realized he might’ve let something slip.
Zhu Lianzhen continued to look at her in confusion, so Ah-Xu had no choice but to recall the details carefully and share everything she knew. “After you took your medicine and went upstairs to sleep, I was working in the living room. I don’t remember exactly what time it was, but someone rang the doorbell in the middle of the night.”
Ah-Xu vaguely remembered that it had been drizzling that night. When Tan Qing arrived, he hadn’t brought an umbrella, and his cap was pulled low over his face.
He was dressed very inconspicuously. If he hadn’t immediately asked about Zhu Lianzhen’s condition, Ah-Xu, seeing the tall figure of an unfamiliar man on the security monitor, might have mistaken him for some shady guy.
This was completely absent from Zhu Lianzhen’s memory. He frowned. “And then?”
“Then I opened the door, told him you were sleeping, and he went upstairs into your room,” Ah-Xu said.
Zhu Lianzhen froze. “What for?”
He had no recollection of this at all—he must have been completely out cold.
“How would I know? Wasn’t he there to check on you?” Ah-Xu reasoned. “The next morning when I came by, he was just coming out of your room and told me you were still asleep…”
“I never woke up.” Zhu Lianzhen found it unbelievable. According to Ah-Xu, Tan Qing had stayed in his room all night, and as for what had happened during that time, no one knew.
Zhu Lianzhen’s palms were slightly sweaty. Half-jokingly, he voiced his suspicion, “Could it be that after we broke up, he held a grudge against me and drugged me? You know, something that causes infertility.”
A question mark formed in Ah-Xu’s mind. “What kind of ‘if I can’t have you, I’ll ruin you’ emo nonsense is that? Isn’t the normal scenario that he’d steal a kiss while you were asleep, gaze at you affectionately, and be reluctant to leave? At the very least, he should’ve slipped you an aphrodisiac and gone for it!”
Zhu Lianzhen: “Your imagination is too vulgar.”
Speculating randomly was meaningless; only asking the person involved could reveal the truth. But the incident had long passed, and since it happened during their breakup, bringing it up now would only add to the awkwardness.
Later that evening, Ah-Xu got off work and went home. Zhu Lianzhen stayed behind, sitting alone in front of his computer, struggling with a school paper. When he ran out of inspiration, he picked up his phone.
Remembering Pei Qiao’s request, he opened Weibo.
Back then, he had unfollowed Tan Qing and even removed him from his followers. Later, he’d thought about it and felt his actions were a bit childish. Now, he was debating whether to follow back as a way to smooth things over.
After some hesitation, he searched for Tan Qing’s account and tapped “Follow.”
The moment he did, Zhu Lianzhen couldn’t help but curl his lips.
This would definitely make him seem too eager in the eyes of fans, leading to all sorts of speculation. It was probably better to leave things as they were and just unfollow again.
But barely a moment after putting his phone down, he reconsidered: was it really worth overthinking something so trivial? He was the youngest in the team, but that didn’t mean he had to act the most immature.
A man should have some grace. He should follow back.
Thirty seconds later, Zhu Lianzhen regretted it again.
He didn’t care if outsiders misunderstood and thought he was making the first move, but what if Tan Qing thought, So this kid still has feelings for me?
Unfollow! Must unfollow!
He followed, then unfollowed. Followed again. Then unfollowed. The cycle repeated until he nearly got addicted to pressing the button.
Just as he moved his finger to tap it one more time, the status at the bottom left suddenly changed to “Mutual Follow.”
Zhu Lianzhen: “…”
–
The moment Ah-Xu got home, she noticed his childish antics and immediately messaged him: “What’s this? Can’t sleep, so you’re messing with Tan Qing for fun?”
“How do you know?”
“There are tons of fan-tracking apps now that capture celebrity activity in real-time. If you post on Weibo, hit trending, follow someone, or interact with anyone, fans will know immediately.” Ah-Xu informed him. “Your endless notification spam was driving me nuts.”
“Oh.” Zhu Lianzhen belatedly realized. “So basically, I made a fool of myself again?”
