FIG CHAPTER 38

When had he started giving Tan Qing a special place in his heart?

Zhu Lianzhen couldn’t clearly recall.

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People often say you need to be a little cunning to make it in showbiz. But for certain people, the path to stardom opens effortlessly, without the need for scheming.

Zhu Lianzhen was destined to be one of those people.

From the moment he could read, all he had to do was open a newspaper to see his grandfather’s name in the finance section. Every year on his birthday, gifts from strangers filled his entire room. If he liked a cartoon character, someone dressed in a mascot costume would show up the next day to play with him.

He thought this was normal, until he started interacting with kids his own age and realized that not everyone needed bodyguards when going out, and not everyone had a nanny watching over them at night.

At four years old, Zhu Lianzhen learned a lot of new vocabulary from watching cartoons. One phrase stood out: “running away from home.”

He packed his Ultraman backpack with his favorite cookies and chips, three bottles of AD calcium milk, and a stack of pocket money. On a dark, windy night, he snuck out after the nanny had fallen asleep, carrying the bag he’d carefully prepared.

He didn’t even make it five minutes before the butler in the downstairs lobby picked him up and brought him back. His grand escape ended in failure, and the next morning he still had to go to kindergarten, sleep-deprived and in tears as he sat in the car.

But his bad moods never lasted long. After a brief tantrum, he calmed down and happily went off to play with the other kids again. He was the most popular child in class—delicate features, a cheerful and generous personality, and he never kept snacks or toys to himself.

He had promised to invite the whole class to his house during the holidays, but the idea was shut down by his father, who told him not to reveal too much about their family situation. It might attract bad people, or others might judge them, he said.

An innocent child couldn’t yet grasp what “status” and “family background” meant, but adults were especially sensitive to it. Zhu Kaiping had come from humble beginnings, building everything from scratch and climbing his way up through hardship. He had seen all kinds of people and understood deeply the importance of keeping a low profile.

Even so, while Zhu Lianzhen’s parents always told him not to feel superior to others, they were constantly overprotective.

When he had a birthday at an amusement park, his parents would rent out the entire place, though Zhu Lianzhen would have preferred the noisy fun of a crowd. A driver picked him up and dropped him off at school like clockwork, but what he really wanted was to walk with his classmates to the corner store for candy or take the school bus home.

Living a life of effortless privilege meant he couldn’t easily complain. If he did, his father would mock him, “Others dream of a life like this, and you still don’t know how to appreciate it.”

Zhu Lianzhen seemed like he was born restless. The more he felt his parents tightening their grip on him, the more he wanted to break free and leave home.

When he was six or seven, he worked as a child model, appearing in several fashion magazines. Then, in fourth grade, he traveled to the U.S. to compete in a world-class street dance competition. It was his first time entering, and he won the junior division championship outright.

With such natural advantages, it was almost impossible for major talent scouts not to notice him. As soon as he returned to Shanghai after the competition, he received an invitation from Zuige Entertainment.

It was the biggest entertainment company in the country, home to the once wildly popular Asian boy group C.A.N.

Zhu Lianzhen already loved singing and dancing on stage, so when opportunity came knocking, he accepted without hesitation.

But the training program was in a northern city, and he was still so young. How could he travel so far from home on his own? Naturally, Zhu Kaiping was firmly against it. Zhu Lianzhen pulled out every trick he had, crying and throwing tantrums, until his mother finally gave in. She contacted relatives in Beijing and arranged for them to take care of him in Ronggang.

“He inherited that from us,” Tang Wen said to comfort Zhu Kaiping. “If you hadn’t been stubborn back then, you wouldn’t be where you are today. And if I hadn’t pushed back against my family, I never would’ve met you.”

Zhu Lianzhen had hit his rebellious phase early. He didn’t like listening to adults, and once he set his sights on something, he’d rather charge forward blindly; even if there was a brick wall ahead, he needed to crash into it himself just to see how thick it was.

He became the youngest trainee at Zuige Entertainment and the one who received the most attention. Outside of training, he joined a dance club and performed whenever he had time.

Zhu Lianzhen felt surrounded by people who shared his passions, and even their rebellious streaks felt familiar. He listened as others vented their frustrations and tried his best to empathize. But when it came to sharing his own troubles, there weren’t many who truly wanted to listen. They’d just ruffle his hair with a smile and say, “That’s it? Sounds more like showing off.”

A young master who had never suffered hardship—even his complaints sounded high and mighty.

Most of the people in the dance club were more than a decade older than him. Even someone as dense as Zhu Lianzhen eventually realized that, after all the time they spent together, they still only saw him as a kid.

That kind of friendship wasn’t solid, and Zhu Lianzhen didn’t plan to force it. He kept dancing and hanging out with everyone as usual, but he stopped sharing any more of his “silly little struggles.”

Less than a month after joining Zuige Entertainment, Zhu Lianzhen was selected to join a new boy group. His three teammates also came from privileged backgrounds, so there should’ve been some common ground, but in reality, they all thought the others were idiots. No one was willing to back down.

After what felt like forever, the final member finally arrived. No one knew where the company had found him, but the moment they saw him, everyone was stunned.

“Guess if that person’s a guy or a girl?” Zhu Lianzhen whispered to Koty.

“Are you stupid? Of course it’s a guy if he’s going to be in our group,” Koty replied firmly, but after saying that, he fell into self-doubt. “He should be a guy… right?”

At the time, androgynous styles were both highly popular and widely controversial. As soon as the new member’s photo was posted on the official website, it triggered a wave of polarized reactions. Terms like “neither male nor female,” “freak,” “sissy,” and “transgender” were among the milder comments.

Zhu Lianzhen didn’t care what people looked like, so he was happy to get along with their uniquely styled new teammate. What he didn’t expect was that Fu Rong turned out to have the worst temper of them all, often telling him to get lost at the drop of a hat.

Zhu Lianzhen originally wanted to challenge Fu Rong to a man-to-man showdown, but after accidentally witnessing him slam Koty into a doorframe, he gave up on that idea for good.

The five of them had clashing personalities and constant friction. Fortunately, each member had their own strengths and exceptional talent, which allowed them to maintain a consistently high standard in both singing and choreography.

Just as they were about to debut, no one expected the company to add yet another new member.

Of course, the company had its reasons. Zhu Lianzhen understood that. His dislike for Tan Qing stemmed mostly from the subtle sense of insincerity the guy gave off.

Zhu Lianzhen knew he shouldn’t judge someone based on first impressions, but he had always trusted his instincts.

Tan Qing seemed naturally sociable from the start, yet still maintained the humility expected of a newcomer. His sense of boundaries was incredibly well-balanced, and since his arrival, the group’s atmosphere had somehow become much more harmonious.

But Zhu Lianzhen wasn’t buying into that overly polite act. What good were sweet words? If Tan Qing wanted real respect, he needed to prove himself with actual skill.

Tan Qing didn’t have any background in singing or dancing. At first, his progress was clearly slow, but he worked hard and stayed focused, often seeking advice from his teammates.

What annoyed Zhu Lianzhen most was how Tan Qing always tried to get close to him. He wasn’t good at hiding his feelings, so Tan Qing should’ve noticed the cold shoulder. Yet even then, he always came to Zhu Lianzhen first with questions, even when the team leader was around.

The two of them had never had an open conflict, and Tan Qing always spoke softly, so Zhu Lianzhen couldn’t just lash out at him. That only made him suspect Tan Qing had figured this out and was deliberately bugging him every day.

Another thing that made Tan Qing annoying was his habit of giving random compliments that always sounded strangely sarcastic.

While most people might praise Zhu Lianzhen’s looks or dancing skills, Tan Qing would say things like, “You’ve gotten taller again.”

Anyone with eyes could see that Zhu Lianzhen was the shortest in the group and the slowest to grow. So when Tan Qing chose to compliment that, it didn’t feel sincere at all.

Zhu Lianzhen secretly measured his height afterward—it had only increased by about one centimeter. That all but confirmed his suspicion that Tan Qing’s compliment had been a veiled jab.

Their debut concert was still a long way off, but Zhu Lianzhen was already planning the details of his solo performance.

His song had a fragmented rhythm and involved many hand movements, so after some thought, he decided to incorporate magic tricks to make the performance more surprising.

The company brought in a well-known magician to design tricks that could be integrated into the choreography. Zhu Lianzhen trained relentlessly for two weeks before he finally mastered them. During that time, his frustrated howls could be heard echoing across the entire floor.

What he didn’t expect was that on the magician’s final day, he went to give Tan Qing a private lesson as well.

Zhu Lianzhen’s first thought was: Is this guy trying to copy me again?

It was one thing to secretly listen to his playlist, but if Tan Qing was going to steal his concert concept too, that was way over the line.

Jumping to conclusions, he only got angrier the more he thought about it. He searched everywhere, from the dorm to the practice room, before finally spotting Tan Qing at a shop.

Zhu Lianzhen stood in the doorway and called out to him as he was checking out at the counter. “Hurry up and come out. I need to talk to you.”

Tan Qing glanced over, then calmly told the shopkeeper to add another cup of freshly squeezed pear juice and some throat lozenges.

After paying, he walked outside with the bag and stood with Zhu Lianzhen in the shade.

Just as Zhu Lianzhen was about to speak, Tan Qing handed him the pear juice. His words stalled, and he shook his head. “I’m not drinking that.”

But Tan Qing still shoved it into his hand.

“Why are you learning magic? You’re going to perform it too?” Zhu Lianzhen asked bluntly.

When Tan Qing simply looked at him without answering, Zhu Lianzhen felt even more certain he was right. His eyes narrowed as he snapped, “Our solo styles are completely different. Why are you copying my concept? I hate repeating ideas, and now, because of you, I have to come up with a whole new choreography!”

Tan Qing listened patiently, then calmly explained, “I was just a little curious, so I decided to learn. I didn’t plan to perform it in front of anyone.”

“Huh?” Zhu Lianzhen’s expression softened, and his voice dropped. “Then what did you learn?”

“Just some simple stuff—making cards or flowers appear out of thin air,” Tan Qing said, raising a hand and lightly tapping Zhu Lianzhen’s ear. “Like this.”

A shadow flashed at the corner of Zhu Lianzhen’s eye. When he blinked, a small bird folded from white paper appeared in Tan Qing’s palm, resting there quietly. Its eyes had been drawn with black ink—really cute.

Zhu Lianzhen let out a soft “Whoa” and, without thinking, took the paper bird from Tan Qing’s hand.

“You really don’t plan to perform this on stage?” he asked again, still not entirely convinced.

“Never had that thought,” Tan Qing replied. “I wouldn’t get in the way of something you’ve already planned.”

“Alright then…”

Realizing he had misunderstood, Zhu Lianzhen figured he shouldn’t blame him. He muttered a quiet “Sorry about that,” and decided to drop the matter.

He walked off, humming a tune and sipping the refreshing pear juice. The cup was covered in condensation, dampening his hand. Not wanting to get the paper bird wet, he slipped it into his pocket.

As he did, his fingers brushed against something hard. Pulling it out, he found it was a box of throat lozenges. Zhu Lianzhen frowned in confusion, then turned back and shouted toward Tan Qing, who hadn’t gone far, “Hey! When did you put this in!”

Tan Qing turned around, saw what he was holding, and smiled. “You’re in your voice-changing period, so take it easy on your throat.”