Tan Qing could no longer clearly remember what had prompted him to become an artist. Maybe it was his mother’s expectations before she passed that made him understand regret, or maybe it was Pei Qiao’s persistent invitations that convinced him he was suited for it. And then, there was that sentence left to him by someone… May your dreams come true.
That evening, when the clouds blazed like fire, had never faded from his memory.
He didn’t believe that achieving some goal was necessary to make life valuable. “Meaning” itself was an abstract concept, and Tan Qing rarely fantasized about the future. But when Zhu Lianzhen offered him a blessing with such sincere, bright eyes, Tan Qing felt a desire to explore.
Whether it was to explore Zhu Lianzhen, or to explore himself through him.
“Since birth, I’ve mostly been ‘chosen,’” Tan Qing said calmly. “There’s nothing wrong with following the path others think is right. Even when I get to choose for myself, I rarely consider things from my own perspective. There are always things more important than my feelings, so I’m willing to become the version of myself others expect.”
Hearing him speak so calmly, Zhu Lianzhen furrowed his brow slightly, but soon suppressed his urge to interrupt and chose instead to just listen.
Tan Qing looked down at the spot where the tree took root and said, “I’ve thought about it before: when I’m fulfilling others’ expectations, can I feel happiness myself? It doesn’t seem so. But even when I’m questioned, I don’t feel wronged. That is enough to prove that this kind of personality still suits me.”
Of course, he also knew he couldn’t meet everyone’s expectations, such as Zhu Lianzhen’s. Tan Qing had hoped to leave a good impression on his teammates during their first meeting, yet Zhu Lianzhen wasn’t swayed by that. No matter what he did, he seemed to irritate Zhu Lianzhen. Zhu Lianzhen didn’t care about him, didn’t expect anything from him, and didn’t need him.
That also meant, in front of Zhu Lianzhen, he didn’t need to put on any act. He could simply be himself.
But what was Tan Qing’s true self like? He didn’t know. The time he’d spent ignoring himself had already surpassed the time he had truly owned himself.
When he realized this, Tan Qing didn’t feel lost. In fact, it was as if he had found the path to a solution. He thought it didn’t matter—he could slowly come to understand himself through getting to know Zhu Lianzhen.
“Xiao Zhu, sometimes recognizing who you truly are isn’t necessarily a good thing,” Tan Qing told him. “That night, it was snowing too. After we left the celebration banquet, the choice I hesitated over the most was whether to kiss you.”
Zhu Lianzhen was briefly stunned. Then he recalled his own flustered panic at the time, instinctively assuming that Tan Qing had just acted on impulse. It seemed he had oversimplified his intentions.
“Once I made that decision, it would’ve thrown us off course. Whether you accepted or rejected me, we wouldn’t have been able to return to being just pure friends. That wouldn’t have been fair to you. But I still did it,” Tan Qing said.
Zhu Lianzhen slowly exhaled a puff of white mist. “Mm, that was the day I realized someone could sincerely apologize while feeling no remorse at all.”
“But if I had the chance to choose again, I think I would still choose that wrong outcome,” Tan Qing said. “Before that, you once told me that I seemed more real in person than I did on camera. I’ve always remembered that.”
Zhu Lianzhen had only a faint memory of it. He asked, “Was that sentence really important to you?”
“Very important.”
Zhu Lianzhen took off his earmuffs, wanting to hear his voice more clearly.
He fell silent for a moment in thought, then said, “Then let me add one more thing now.”
“—In front of me, it’s okay if you want to be fake. After all, you’re not the only one who can tell the difference between a lie and the truth.”
After he finished speaking, Zhu Lianzhen realized his tone might’ve come off a bit too much like he was trying to act cool. With the snow absorbing all the ambient noise, he came off unusually solemn.
He gave a dry cough, wanting to say something to break the tension. Noticing Tan Qing’s knuckles were a little red, he quickly changed the subject. “You always remind me to wear a scarf and gloves when going out, but don’t you forget just as often?”
Tan Qing reached out a hand toward him, and Zhu Lianzhen instinctively took it. Then he reminded, “Holding hands like this warms slowly. You might as well just put them in your pockets.”
“I just wanted to hold your hand,” Tan Qing said.
“Huh? Oh…” Zhu Lianzhen pressed his lips together, knowing this wasn’t the time to say anything inappropriate, and quietly moved a little closer to Tan Qing.
Then Zhu Lianzhen asked, “So, what was the answer you said you were looking for?”
He had a hunch he could help Tan Qing find it, but he still didn’t even know what the question was.
Tan Qing looked into his eyes. “I asked you a few days ago.”
Zhu Lianzhen thought for a moment and immediately recalled the day Tan Qing had asked him solemnly at home. “Do you think I love you?”
“Mm, I remember.” Both of them understood each other without needing to say more. “Did my answer back then meet your expectations?”
Tan Qing interlaced their fingers. “Actually, more than having your affirmation, I wanted to know what loving someone looks like to you.”
Zhu Lianzhen asked, “Because your idea of it is different from what I said?”
Tan Qing didn’t respond right away. His gaze seemed to sink, and after a few seconds, he said, “Because I’m not sure if I’m even capable of it.”
Thanks to his profession, Tan Qing had met many people. They came from different walks of life, but somehow ended up in the same place. Something had to be pulling them forward: money, family, ideals, idols, power… No matter where they projected their desires, they couldn’t avoid experiencing emotions beyond happiness along the way. And yet, they couldn’t let go. So the cycle of joy and sorrow repeated itself, over and over.
There was no one Tan Qing could use as a reference to understand the correct way to express love.
“Xiao Zhu, the chance to be loved might be something you’re born with, but the ability to understand love isn’t.” He turned to look directly at Zhu Lianzhen’s face and casually gave a weighty answer, “It’s made up of the happiness I can imagine, and the pain I can’t.”
Zhu Lianzhen stayed silent. He slowly took off his gloves and held Tan Qing’s hand again. At first it felt cold, but as warmth passed between them, the familiar feeling returned to his palm.
“Then do you want to hear my answer?” he asked Tan Qing.
Tan Qing didn’t reply, so Zhu Lianzhen took it as silent permission.
“At the beginning, I thought as long as we were happy together, that would be enough. I didn’t think about any real-world issues—just like when I was a kid, I thought being an artist only meant standing on stage,” Zhu Lianzhen said slowly. “You know, in some ways, I’m much slower than you. Even when you were hurting, we couldn’t be on the same wavelength.”
While Tan Qing had already willingly accepted the inescapable constraints of love, Zhu Lianzhen had only come to realize the entanglement, panic, sensitivity, and confusion it brought. Clearly, letting go of this relationship would free him from all the negative emotions, and he could go chase other kinds of happiness. But instead, Zhu Lianzhen chose to quietly adapt to all these complicated consequences.
“Only you can make me feel this way. These feelings aren’t worth any less than happiness,” Zhu Lianzhen said. “So no matter how many wrong outcomes you think we’ve created, even if we really had the chance to start over, I’d still want us to make the same choices we did before.”
“Otherwise… we wouldn’t have the chance to hold hands right now,” he added in a slightly embarrassed whisper.
Tan Qing stared at him for a moment, feeling a kind of long-lost helplessness. Over the years, it was as if his heart had collapsed and been rebuilt countless times, until it disguised itself as calm and unshaken. But all attempts to cover things up were always laid bare before Zhu Lianzhen, just as they always had been.
In that moment, Tan Qing finally understood it wasn’t that Zhu Lianzhen always had unexpected answers, but that Zhu Lianzhen was his only answer. From the moment they met, the solution to the riddle had always been destined to reveal itself here.
After a deep breath, Tan Qing softly called his name, “Zhu Lianzhen.”
Then Tan Qing said, “Maybe in the future, I still won’t be able to love things the way you do. But if I can wait for you to wake up every morning, I’ll be grateful I chose the path that led me to you.”
The serious mood had lasted so long that Zhu Lianzhen’s cheeks were burning. He instinctively replied, “But you didn’t wait for me this morning, did you?” Then immediately regretted it, realizing how unromantic that sounded.
Tan Qing chuckled quietly and pulled him into an embrace, saying in a low voice, “Then we’ll try again the next day.”
Zhu Lianzhen buried his face in Tan Qing’s shoulder and blinked, his tone light and cheerful. “Mm.”
Anyway, we have a long future ahead of us.
So there would be plenty of chances to say good morning, and plenty more winters to watch the snow fall together.
And countless hugs, just like this one.
–
In the following two days, they went to Husavík. Along the northern coast, vast fields of lupines spread across the lush green meadows, as if luring people into a purple dreamscape. The air was much warmer than before, the sun no longer glaring, and the town seemed to glow.
They boarded the whale-watching boat they had booked in advance and reached the whale feeding grounds. As Zhu Lianzhen looked down to check if seawater had splashed onto his camera, he heard a few delighted exclamations from other tourists behind him. When he looked up again, he caught sight of a massive black whale tail gracefully sliding into the sea.
On the lower deck, hot drinks were offered. Zhu Lianzhen took the hot cocoa Tan Qing handed him, drank it quickly, and pulled him up to the second deck to make sure their view wouldn’t be blocked by others.
The guide said they had given each whale here a name. The whales usually traveled alone, and their tails were key identifiers, so they never got them wrong.
A whale spouted a spray of white mist and flipped back into the sea. Watching the whales, Zhu Lianzhen asked Tan Qing, “They’re feeding here and the boat keeps trailing them. Do you think the whales get annoyed by humans?”
Tan Qing thought for a few seconds and said, “They probably don’t care.”
Zhu Lianzhen stared at the ocean, lost in thought. After a while, he suddenly said, “I still think being a shark is cooler.”
His words came out of nowhere, and Tan Qing had to think for a moment before remembering the joke from before. Zhu Lianzhen had once said he wanted to be a shark in the sea and eat him.
Tan Qing chuckled and turned his gaze to the ocean as well.
The midnight sun froze the world in time. Before the vast sea and endless snow-capped mountains, any human being felt insignificantly small. Though this trip had been rushed from the start, in the end, it reached a quietly profound sense of completion.
–
After their brief holiday in Iceland came to an end, they returned to the hectic preparations for their upcoming concert tour.
All ten songs for the new album had been recorded, and the music video sets were beginning to be constructed. In the final round of discussion, everyone unanimously agreed that this year’s tour theme would align with the album’s title track—Phoenix.
It symbolized eternity and rebirth through fire.
The chief director used animation to simulate several key stage designs. One particular detail required the members’ input. “At the end of this song’s performance, balloons will fall from the sky. We’ve already tested the daytime effect, and it looked great. But since there are so many balloons, it’s best if they’re all the same color.”
The director played the demo animation for them. After watching, everyone agreed that pink was the most suitable. Firstly, because it closely matched the group’s official support color, and secondly, because the song itself was about the mutually supportive relationship between them and their fans. Pink fit that gentle tone well.
Ji Yunting had just sighed, “It’s so dreamy,” when Fu Rong coolly added a much more precise description, “Looks like a giant clump of apple snail eggs falling from the sky.”
“I’m seriously gonna throw up. Can you just stop talking?” Ji Yunting’s expression froze, and his romantic mood evaporated on the spot.
The director, long accustomed to their dynamic, had learned to ignore it entirely. He spoke seriously. “If there aren’t any issues with the other elements, then let’s lock in this plan. Rehearsals start next Monday, and we should have time to run it three times.”
Everyone nodded in agreement. The director gave a signal to his assistant. “Alright, let’s head to the venue now and confirm the opening sequence.”
The drive was short. Soon, they arrived at the Ronggang Arena—the same stage where they had made their debut, now ready to witness Acemon’s rebirth.
Atop a tall platform in the distance, a torch stood upright, supported by a base at four corners. Behind it hung a large black cloth, several meters wide and long, suspended midair, hiding something massive behind it.
Since the theme was “Phoenix,” fire elements were essential. The director hadn’t been confident in earlier proposals to make a strong visual impact until he accidentally stumbled across an old video online of Zhu Lianzhen competing in an idol sports event. That clip gave him new inspiration.
Zhu Lianzhen took the compound bow handed to him by the staff, along with an arrow with a flammable tip. He still moved with practiced ease as he nocked the arrow. When he brought the arrowhead close to the flame, it quickly began to emit white smoke. The front ignited slowly, not hot enough to burn his hand.
He aimed at a specific point in the distance, lifted his arm slightly, drawing the bowstring taut.
Then, at just the right moment, he let go—
The arrow released with a twang, tracing a delicate arc through the air. The flame struck the target dead center, and a wave of searing light rapidly spread outward, beginning to burn through a section of the cloth.
At that moment, all the lights in the venue went out, leaving only the blazing fire in front of them. When the giant cloth had burned away completely, it revealed a fully illuminated steel phoenix behind it, wings spread as if ready to take flight.
Thousands of “bones” interlaced to form its structure, and a red glow pulsed from within like boiling blood. Faced with such a colossal presence, everyone felt an intense sense of pressure.
Zhu Lianzhen was so absorbed in gazing up at the red light that he almost missed Tan Qing reaching out to him. Turning his head, he saw Tan Qing’s side profile flickering in the firelight and realized he was checking whether the archery had caused any scrapes on his hand.
A blurred memory crashed into his mind, and Zhu Lianzhen suddenly recalled that concert in Changsha when, standing before tens of thousands of spectators, Tan Qing had leaned in to his ear and quietly asked, “What would happen if I kissed you right now?”
Zhu Lianzhen finally understood that hadn’t been teasing or provocation. It had simply been a moment when suppressed desire had inevitably slipped through.
Tan Qing let go of his hand, and when he looked up, he found Zhu Lianzhen ignoring the grand scene before them, eyes fixed on him instead. The reddish firelight flickered in those bright eyes. Tan Qing softly called, “Xiao Zhu,” then asked, “What do you want to do?”
Not “What are you thinking?” but directly cutting through to the emotion in his gaze. Zhu Lianzhen snapped out of it. Taking advantage of the dim firelight around them, he leaned his head slightly forward and gently touched the corner of Tan Qing’s lips in a light kiss, like a dragonfly skimming the surface of water.
“I think I owed you one,” he whispered.
The directing team was very satisfied with the fire effect on set. It turned out that all the time and money invested had been worthwhile. As a result, the day’s work ended ahead of schedule, giving everyone a bit more time to rest.
Their driver had been waiting at the roadside and took them back to the villa.
Tan Qing didn’t get in the car; he needed to head to the company to meet Chu Yu and deal with the previous contract. After much consideration, he had finally decided to decline the film and television contract and not sign with another company. Apart from that, he also chose not to pursue any future business collaborations with Tan Ruisheng. People had to learn how to say goodbye. When Tan Qing was younger, he hadn’t been ready, so this time, he would be the one to take the initiative.
“Try to come back early,” Zhu Lianzhen reminded him. “Koty said Ting-ge’s treating us tonight. If you’re too late, there might not be much left for you.”
Tan Qing: “Mm.”
Ji Yunting happened to be just two meters away from them. Hearing Zhu Lianzhen’s words, he looked baffled. “Treating who? Did either of you get my permission?”
As everyone knew, in this group, the person directly involved had the least say, and the leader’s words carried no authority at all. The driver hit the gas and took them straight back to the dorm. Ji Yunting’s phone was immediately snatched by Koty to place a food order. He deliberately chose an outrageously expensive high-end Japanese restaurant, then switched to a liquor store and carefully picked out several bottles.
When Ji Yunting got his phone back, his brow furrowed deeply. He counted the digits on the bill with his fingertip several times. “One, ten, hundred, thousand… ten thousand? You spent the price of a car on one meal?! And you ordered all this expensive booze—what, planning to drink yourself into a damn bloated corpse?!”
Before any major project began, Pei Qiao always strictly monitored their lifestyles. Rehearsals for the concert tour were starting next Monday, so today was the last day they could let loose.
“Opening champagne early is bad luck.” Even though Zhu Lianzhen said this, he couldn’t resist taking advantage of Ji Yunting. So, as a compromise, he took a few sips and then stopped.
Fu Rong wasn’t in a rush to taste the wine. He quietly examined the pattern on the wineglass and casually asked, “Did the assistant buy this?”
Zhu Lianzhen also lifted his glass for a closer look. The glass was crystal clear, with three-dimensional etching, intricate detail, and a brand logo on the bottom. It was clearly handcrafted. There was no way a staff member would buy such expensive glasses with the company’s funds.
“Tan Qing probably bought them. A few sets of the tableware we usually use were brought here by him too. I think he also had a coffee machine delivered. You used it this morning,” Ji Yunting said.
Mentioning coffee reminded Koty of his newest hobby: grinding beans. Not only did he enjoy using a hand grinder, but he also bought a full set of tools on a whim. When he had nothing to do at night, he’d go into the kitchen and make soy milk using a millstone. Although his technique was a bit rough and it took a fair amount of effort, the fruits of his labor brought him great emotional satisfaction.
Recently, he had also been watching a lot of gardening tutorials online and planned to try growing vegetables at home when they had some time off.
Ji Yunting asked him, “You’re not even fully Chinese—how come you’re suddenly awakening some kind of ancestral instinct like this?”
“Koty’s not like other people. If anything’s awakening in him, it’s probably something else,” Zhu Lianzhen jumped in, eager to roast him. “He was probably a donkey in his past life, and now he’s here to grind.”
“How can you say that!” Koty snapped.
“And don’t you go laughing at the donkey either. You’re the pig waiting for slaughter.” Zhu Lianzhen turned to Ji Yunting.
Ji Yunting: “Then what about you?!”
“Me?” Zhu Lianzhen thought for a second. “A kind-hearted person!”
When Tan Qing came back, everyone except Fu Rong was already fast asleep on the couch. He walked over and gently shook Zhu Lianzhen’s shoulder. Thankfully, he was only lightly asleep and opened his eyes immediately.
“Do you want to sleep in the bedroom or take a shower?” Tan Qing whispered near his ear.
Zhu Lianzhen glanced at the wall clock. He didn’t want to rest too early and mess up his routine. “Let’s take a bath. You finished your business? Everything go smoothly?”
“Mm.”
Zhu Lianzhen relaxed and lifted his arm to drape it over Tan Qing, letting him help him up from the sofa. The two went upstairs together. While waiting for the bathtub to fill, Zhu Lianzhen rested in the bedroom’s soft chair, slowly unbuttoning his shirt with one hand.
Seeing him so lazily sprawled out, Tan Qing had no choice but to help him take off his outerwear. As he bent down, their faces were very close. Zhu Lianzhen’s wrist rested on Tan Qing’s shoulder, his fingers playing idly with the hair near Tan Qing’s ear.
Tan Qing paused, his lips nearly brushing Zhu Lianzhen’s, and asked in a low voice, “Was the alcohol lemon-flavored? Or peach?”
Zhu Lianzhen’s gaze slowly focused on the bridge of Tan Qing’s nose, his voice slightly hoarse. “Why don’t you taste and find out?”
Tan Qing kissed him immediately.
When their lips first touched, Zhu Lianzhen instinctively shrank his neck a little because Tan Qing had just come in from outside and his lips were still cool. But the back of his head was quickly held in place, unable to move. Zhu Lianzhen closed his eyes and let Tan Qing’s tongue slip in. Their chests pressed together, and without realizing it, their skin drew closer and closer together—until the sound of running water from the bathroom made it clear it was close to overflowing. Only then did they reluctantly end the kiss.
Zhu Lianzhen’s face was flushed. Just as he was about to get up to cool off, he noticed Tan Qing was still leaning over him, staring intently.
He had barely had any alcohol tonight, yet Zhu Lianzhen felt as if he were drunk from the kiss, completely indulging in the lingering intimacy. He couldn’t help asking, “When you look at me like that, what do you usually think about?”
“You mean right now?”
“Mm.”
Tan Qing’s lips curved into a deeper smile. “I want to grow up with you all over again.”
Zhu Lianzhen was speechless, not having expected that kind of answer. It felt like warmth had surged into his heart, softening him under the gentle tone of Tan Qing’s voice.
“Didn’t you say before that I was fine even if I never grew up?” Zhu Lianzhen asked.
A rare look of surprise flickered across Tan Qing’s face. “That was so long ago.”
The implication was: You still remember?
“I already told you, didn’t I? As long as I want to, I can always remember.” Zhu Lianzhen’s arms remained wrapped around Tan Qing’s neck. “Want to guess why?”
Tan Qing’s eyes were full of laughter as he played along. “I don’t know.”
“Because…” Zhu Lianzhen looked into his eyes, but just as the words reached his lips, he suddenly didn’t feel like saying it outright.
So, instead, he borrowed what Tan Qing had once said.
“—Nothing. Just the kind of nonsense you can’t help saying.”
