Following the screenshot from the video, Zhu Lianzhen finally found the New Year gift again amidst a pile of miscellaneous items.
Although he had promised Tan Qing to return it unopened, Zhu Lianzhen couldn’t help wondering what was inside. The box was about the size of a notebook, and when he weighed it in his hand, it felt very light.
Tan Qing had said it was something that represented the past, so it probably wasn’t jewelry. Maybe a love letter? After all, he liked writing handwritten notes. But a letter didn’t need such elaborate packaging. Could it be a book or a drawing? That seemed too light.
A photo, a videotape, an album… Zhu Lianzhen guessed one possibility after another, only to dismiss each one. He remembered Tan Qing had said it was something that could make things complicated for the two of them in the present.
So maybe it really was better not to dig any further.
“Damn it, now I’m even more curious,” Zhu Lianzhen muttered.
He didn’t contact Tan Qing right away and just left the item as it was. Ah-Xu advised him to return it sooner rather than later, or he’d only be torturing himself by keeping it around and wondering.
But Zhu Lianzhen had another theory. “What if Tan Qing actually wants me to open it, and he just said all that because he knows I have a rebellious streak?”
Ah-Xu heard the deliberate seriousness in his tone and scoffed, “Stop overanalyzing. You just want to look, and you’re making up excuses.”
In the end, Zhu Lianzhen decided that satisfying his own curiosity was more important than sticking to Tan Qing’s instructions.
He first took a few photos of the packaging with his phone so he could put it back together later. Then he grabbed a craft knife and carefully sliced open the tape.
The wrapping paper came off cleanly, and he couldn’t wait to open the box.
As his eyes landed inside, Zhu Lianzhen let out a slow, bewildered, “Huh?”
Ah-Xu, standing beside him, was clearly caught off guard by the change in his expression.
Zhu Lianzhen handed her the box.
“Can I see?” Ah-Xu took it, and her eyes widened in surprise. “Fuck, this is…”
Inside the box was a red document with gold lettering, labeled “Certificate of Property Ownership”… A house deed.
Zhu Lianzhen was silent for a long time before asking Ah-Xu, “What does he mean by this?”
“How would I know? Hey, isn’t this the address of that villa you asked me to look into a while back?” Ah-Xu said. “So he bought it that early? And you made me go investigate—what a waste of effort.”
That was exactly what stunned Zhu Lianzhen the most.
He had originally thought that Tan Qing bought the property after their breakup, as a way to hold on to the memories. But unexpectedly, Tan Qing had already settled on it before they even broke up.
It was so strange. Tan Qing had left something like this with him and hadn’t seemed the least bit worried over two whole years. Was he really not afraid that Zhu Lianzhen might accidentally throw away something so important?
Zhu Lianzhen didn’t have time to dwell on what Tan Qing’s purpose had been in showing this to him back then. Maybe, just as Tan Qing had said, it had simply been on a whim.
Indeed, it wasn’t a gift. It felt more like… more like a…
A notice?
That was the only way Zhu Lianzhen could describe it.
It was as if Tan Qing had used this method to tell him that he already regarded that place as home.
Logically speaking, if he had opened the box right after getting off stage back then, he would’ve returned the item to Tan Qing immediately. But instead, Zhu Lianzhen had tossed it to the back of his mind and ended up keeping the property certificate all this time.
Clearly, Tan Qing had known, even two years ago, that he had never opened the “gift.”
And it was entirely possible that Tan Qing had already noticed his deliberate avoidance even before they broke up, but had chosen not to point it out.
Was that why, later on, when Tan Qing received that text message, he chose to keep it from him? Maybe Tan Qing felt the ending was already inevitable, so there was no need to leave room for discussion. Or maybe he was just tired at the time, and simply went along with the flow, allowing external forces to dictate their separation, so that neither of them had to be the one to speak first.
Whatever the reason, Zhu Lianzhen could now accept it calmly.
When faced with conflict, both of them had made similar choices. One evaded, the other concealed—each believing it would keep the peace, when in reality, it merely covered up the cracks.
They were the same in the end.
Zhu Lianzhen found some tape, quietly resealed the wrapping paper, and restored the gift to its original state. Then he took a picture and sent Tan Qing a message: “Found it. I’ll give it to you another day.”
Tan Qing didn’t reply for a long time, probably because he was filming on set.
Zhu Lianzhen didn’t wait for a response and went on with his own plans.
Pei Qiao had told him the company was currently holding auditions for members of a new boy group. If he had time, he could drop by to observe the trainees’ current skill level and offer some guidance.
Zhu Lianzhen had received plenty of support from his seniors when he was younger. Naturally, now he was happy to mentor newcomers. It just so happened that today was the trainees’ weekly assessment. He drove to the company and entered the practice room with the dance instructor.
As soon as he stepped in, the noisy room fell completely silent. The boys who had been chatting froze, staring at him in a daze.
At the company, the trainees often gossiped about the artists from Zuige Entertainment. Among them, Acemon had the darkest reputation—practically an urban legend. Stories included things like: “Fu Rong hides razor blades in his mouth and needles in his sleeves,” “Zhu Lianzhen is an idol by day and a nightclub DJ by night,” or “Every time Ji Yunting falls for a girl, he cuts his wrists, and it’s always Fu Rong who does it for him.”
There was even one rumor that went, “Acemon got into a street brawl over a pretty girl. Zhu Lianzhen chased Koty from Wangfujing to Gongzhufen[mfn]Wangfujing and Gongzhufen are well-known locations in Beijing[/mfn] with a machete in hand, accidentally dislocating Tan Qing’s arm along the way.” Brutal and completely ridiculous.
Characters who had only existed on screens and in rumors were now standing right in front of them. Naturally, the trainees were stunned.
Still, what drew the most attention was Zhu Lianzhen’s appearance, which made those around him feel plainly inadequate.
He wasn’t wearing any makeup today, yet looked so handsome and delicate, like someone who had just come of age. Dressed head to toe in black, the stark contrast with his fair skin gave him an effortlessly unrestrained aura.
“Sit here,” the dance instructor offered, pointing to a seat.
Today’s assessment focused on dance. The trainees took turns performing, and with such a popular star like Zhu Lianzhen watching, it was only natural that everyone felt a little nervous.
Zhu Lianzhen picked up a stack of trainee profiles and flipped through them. Each contained basic information and a brief resume. One section asked about their future aspirations.
“I want to become the top idol in the country.”
“An all-around artist who can sing, dance, act, and host.”
“I don’t have to be the most popular, but I want to have my own style.”
There was no shortage of dreams like these.
Some trainees, with clearer goals, even listed artists they admired. Zhu Lianzhen noticed several had written his name, mostly boys who had been training in dance since childhood. As he flipped further, he also spotted Tan Qing’s name.
Once all the trainees had performed, the dance teacher gave feedback to each of them. Zhu Lianzhen also offered praise to the ones who stood out to him.
When he finally spoke, his demeanor was noticeably softer than it had been while he remained silent. Everyone quickly realized he wasn’t the type to put on airs. It was a rare opportunity, so many trainees gathered around, asking for autographs and photos. Zhu Lianzhen obliged them all.
Coincidentally, a few of the trainees who had written down Tan Qing’s name came over as well. As he signed autographs, Zhu Lianzhen casually asked, “Why do you guys see Tan Qing as your goal?”
The boys weren’t shy, answering honestly.
“Because we think Tan Qing-laoshi has amazing self-discipline! He gets so much done in just 24 hours. I’d be happy with even half his focus.”
“Pei-jie said his EQ is really high and told us to study his interviews to learn how to speak well…”
“It just feels like he doesn’t have any weaknesses. I want to develop in all areas like him, hahaha.”
“But I heard he only joined the company in high school and debuted in less than a year. He’s a natural talent, right? Not really someone we can compare ourselves to.”
Hearing that, Zhu Lianzhen’s pen slowed unintentionally. The image of Tan Qing at seventeen flashed through his mind—a face already blurred by memory, no longer matching the person he had become.
Zhu Lianzhen smiled and told them, “His talent was nothing compared to how much effort he put in. You have to believe in yourselves—aim to surpass him one day.”
“Got it!”
That evening, after leaving the company, Zhu Lianzhen was scrolling through his phone in the car when he noticed a message from Tan Qing.
It had been sent that afternoon, but he’d missed it since his phone was on silent.
Tan Qing had written: Almost wrapped shooting^_^
He’d even used a rare emoticon, which made Zhu Lianzhen laugh. Was he really happy, or trying to act cute on purpose? Zhu Lianzhen wondered if he used those when chatting with other people too.
–
Tan Qing’s final scene on set involved falling into the water. As soon as the shot ended, his assistant rushed over to wrap him in a towel and led him into a warm trailer to rest.
Just as the assistants were about to dry his hair, Tan Qing reached for the hairdryer and said, “I’ve got it. You guys go eat.”
“Should we bring you something back?”
“No need.”
After they left, the trailer fell quiet, save for the faint hum of the air conditioning.
Tan Qing pulled off the towel from his shoulders, swept his dripping hair back, and walked straight to the AC panel. He switched it to cooling mode and set the temperature to the lowest setting.
A cold breeze quickly swept down from above.
He sat beneath the vent, calmly scrolling on his phone. About half an hour later, the trailer door opened again, and the assistants returned from dinner.
“Why’s it so cold in here?” one of them frowned, heading straight to the control panel. “Aiyo, don’t catch a cold.”
Tan Qing replied in a slightly embarrassed tone, “I couldn’t understand those icons without labels, so I just tapped around randomly and it ended up like this.”
The assistant patiently explained what each button did. Tan Qing nodded and thanked him. “Got it. I’ll remember. I’m thinking of reading for a bit. You guys should head out early.”
“You don’t need a ride back to the dorm tonight?”
“It’s late already, let’s not make a fuss. Tomorrow’s fine,” Tan Qing said with a smile.
With that, the assistants cheerfully clocked out and returned to the hotel.
Tan Qing watched them walk away, then reached out again and tapped the panel—
The cooling button on the wall lit up once more.
…
The next day.
After waking up in the afternoon, Zhu Lianzhen was still lazing in bed, lying on his side while scrolling through Moments.
He noticed that half an hour earlier, Tan Qing had posted a photo from home. It wasn’t a selfie, but a shot of the bedroom ceiling. The lighting was dim, and judging by the angle, it looked like it had been taken while lying in bed.
The caption read: The weather’s been getting hotter. Everyone, be careful with your AC settings. Don’t catch a summer cold ❄️☀️
A mutual friend of theirs had commented on Tan Qing’s post: “Is that a thermometer on the blanket? Are you sick?”
Tan Qing didn’t directly answer the question, replying instead: “I saw your new drama is airing. Congrats.”
Zhu Lianzhen didn’t really share the same social circle as Tan Qing, so most of the comments weren’t visible to him. After pondering for a while, he couldn’t think of anything to say and just liked the post.
Not long after, a red notification dot appeared in his activity feed. He clicked on it and saw it was related to Tan Qing.
Tan Qing had replied to the comments under the photo: Thank you for the concern. Just a slight fever, I’ll be fine soon. Everyone, take care of your health too ^_^
Zhu Lianzhen zoomed in on the photo, trying to make out the numbers on the digital thermometer, but it was too blurry to see clearly. So he left a comment: “How high is your fever?”
A few seconds later, a chat notification popped up from Tan Qing: 38.
Just wrapped filming and already collapsed—his immune system really clocked out with him.
Zhu Lianzhen replied: “Then why aren’t you going to the hospital?”
Tan Qing: “Just woke up. Still feeling weak. I’m going to sleep a bit more.”
At that point, the conversation couldn’t go on. Zhu Lianzhen usually joked around with people he knew well and rarely expressed concern so directly. The only thing he could bring himself to say was: “Then I won’t disturb your rest.”
But before hitting send, he paused, reconsidered, and edited the message: “Then go sleep for now, we’ll talk when you’re up.”
He set an alarm for two hours later, planning to remind Tan Qing to go to the hospital—though someone like Tan Qing, who scored full marks in self-care, hardly needed someone like him, who failed at basic life skills, to keep track of that. But what if he really just passed out for good?
Still, he was probably overthinking it.
Twenty minutes later, Tan Qing took the initiative to message him again: “Can’t sleep. Sigh.”
Normally, Zhu Lianzhen might’ve joked, “Try punching yourself as hard as you can and see what happens.” But right now, he was actually trying to think of real suggestions that might help.
“Listen to some music. I’ve got a sleep playlist. I’ll send it to you.”
—My ears are ringing a bit. Probably from the fever.
“Take some medicine first. Don’t you have any at home?”
—It’s expired. I haven’t been sick in years, so I forgot to restock.
“Delivery should be able to bring it to your door. Are you feeling unwell anywhere else?”
—Hungry, but a bit nauseous.
Why did all these symptoms have to show up at once… Zhu Lianzhen switched the delivery app’s location to Tan Qing’s address and started browsing nearby pharmacies and restaurants on his behalf.
People with a fever probably could only eat liquid food, right? There didn’t seem to be any places selling plain congee nearby, and even if there were, who knew if it was clean enough?
He paused his scrolling and glanced at the gift box on the table.
Might as well do it today.
“I happen to be out right now. I’ll drop by your place in a bit and bring you some medicine.” As he typed that out, Zhu Lianzhen lifted the blanket and got out of bed.
