The first snowfall of the winter came the day Sheng Min had been rehearsing at the theater for three weeks.
He had tried out every role in the script. Starting that Monday, he no longer performed as any side characters and focused solely on the main lead. Even Yin Qianpin’s script revisions were clearly tailored to better suit Sheng Min’s temperament.
“I told you,” Deng Jing said, having a bit more free time now. He leaned in, grinning. “Based on what I know, it’s probably happening in the next couple of days—they’ll talk to you about the contract.”
Sheng Min just smiled. Yin Qianpin himself hadn’t formally spoken to him about it yet, and until the contract was signed, anything was possible. Besides… speaking of contracts, another matter weighed on his mind.
In just a few days, his eight-year agency contract would be up.
As the deadline approached, gossip across entertainment forums was heating up. Everyone was speculating whether he would renew or, if not, which company would win the contract.
Some gossipers noticed his recent theater rehearsals with Yin Qianpin and even leaked photos of him entering and leaving the theater. However, the general consensus was that this was just a casual side project, something normal alongside his film and TV work. No one actually believed he was making a permanent shift to theater.
No matter how famous Yin Qianpin was, theater was still a niche industry.
Clickbait accounts started polls, and the option against contract renewal was winning by a landslide.
When the media questioned his agency, their response was a standard “no comment.”
Some familiar reporters messaged Sheng Min, trying to gauge his stance, but he just wanted the situation to settle quietly and didn’t bother replying.
Even sasaeng fans had started showing up at the theater, probably hoping to ask him directly. One particularly persistent young man had to be escorted out by security, only to return the next day. Sheng Min didn’t want his personal affairs to disrupt rehearsals, so he approached him—but the fan simply stared at him for a moment, said nothing, and ran away…
Speculation was rampant, even affecting the agency’s stock price. Meanwhile, Zhang Shan, who Zhang Zhihua had claimed had already returned to N City, hadn’t reached out to him at all since that phone call.
“Xiao Min.” Deng Jing clapped him on the shoulder. “What are you so deep in thought about? Your phone’s ringing.”
It was Yang Xu. His mother had ordered some highland lamb and sent a portion to Sheng Min. It would arrive that day, and he was reminding him to pick it up.
“Has Zhang Zhihua contacted you recently?”
“No, it’s been a while… Why, Ge? Aren’t you leaving the agency?” Yang Xu asked. “I’ve already started looking at bookstore locations, but if you change your mind, I won’t open the store—I’ll come back and be your assistant again.”
“It’s nothing, just asking.” Sheng Min pushed his thoughts aside. He had already made his decision; there was no need to dwell on it. “When the bookstore opens, let me know so I can show my support.”
“Of course!” Yang Xu laughed. “Oh, and when you cook the lamb, add some goji berries. This meat is really good—my mom buys it every year.”
“Tell Auntie thank you for me.”
“Ah, Ge, no need to be so formal! It’s cold today, and lamb stew is perfect for this weather.”
By the time Sheng Min left the theater, the snow was coming down even heavier.
A delivery notification had arrived half an hour earlier. He walked toward his car and sent a message to Li Xuan, asking if he would be home for dinner.
Lately, for some reason, Void Island had stopped making waves, and with that, Li Xuan’s workload had become smoother. That period of relentless overtime seemed to have ended overnight…
Li Xuan: “I’ll be home, but I’ll be late—around 7:30. I have to update tonight, and there’s an operations meeting later. After that, I’ll come back.”
Sheng Min:”I’m not hungry, had a late lunch. I’ll wait for you.”
He had bought a fish head to make soup with the lamb. Originally, he had only planned to add radish, lettuce, and tofu, but after some thought, he grabbed two packs of crab mushrooms as well.
Just as the soup started simmering in the clay pot, his phone rang again—this time, it was Yin Qianpin.
“Director Yin,” Sheng Min answered on speaker, setting the phone aside as he sliced tofu. “What’s up?”
“Are you home?”
“Just got in.”
Yin Qianpin gave a vague oh, chatted about random things for a while, and finally got to the point. “How do you feel about the rehearsals so far?”
“Pretty good,” Sheng Min said, finishing the tofu and hesitating between slicing the radish into rounds or chunks. “What do you think?”
“Ah, you,” Yin Qianpin sighed dramatically, then, as if making up his mind, said, “I think you’re doing great. That’s enough formalities—Deng Jing has probably been dropping hints, so I’ll get straight to it.
“I’ve been thinking about this for a while now—I want to sign a long-term contract with you. Three years, five years, I’m open to discussion… If necessary, even ten years will do.”
He paused before adding, “You know, I don’t like doing multiple tours, so I can guarantee you at least one new lead role every year. Before you, Deng Jing was the only long-term actor I’ve signed, so your contract terms will match his. But this is up to you—if you’re not ready for a long-term commitment, we can just sign for ‘Not Just a Mountain’ first. The tour starts in March, so we can’t delay much longer. The conditions remain the same—I need you to focus solely on the play and not take on any other work.”
Yin Qianpin had clearly prepared his words in advance, speaking smoothly and without pause. After finishing, he gulped down more than half a glass of water and, noticing that Sheng Min hadn’t responded, asked, “What? Too happy to speak?”
“Yeah.” Sheng Min placed the chopped radish onto a plate, then paused briefly before saying seriously, “Director Yin, thank you.”
“Don’t be so sentimental. There’s no need for thanks in a working relationship.” Though Yin Qianpin said this, his tone was clearly pleased. “So, come in early tomorrow? We’ll meet in your office before rehearsals to discuss the contract. I’ve already had a draft drawn up by a lawyer. You can take a look first, and once your current contract ends in a few days, we’ll sign it. Settling this will put both of us at ease.”
“Alright.” Sheng Min blinked. The steam from the clay pot condensed into fine water droplets on the glass, blurring the sight of the swirling snow outside. “See you tomorrow.”
“See you tomorrow.”
During dinner with Li Xuan, he didn’t mention it, deciding to wait until the contract was signed to give him a surprise. He thought he was calm, but that night, he felt like a child on the eve of a kindergarten performance, tossing and turning in anticipation of trying on new clothes the next day, unable to sleep.
“What’s wrong?” Li Xuan, half-asleep, reached out and gently pressed his hand on Sheng Min’s shoulder.
“Did I wake you?”
“I wasn’t sleeping that deeply anyway.” Li Xuan moved his arm slightly, pulling Sheng Min closer. “What’s on your mind?”
Sheng Min shook his head, then suddenly said, “Li Xuan, you’re really good to me.”
“Hm?” Li Xuan opened his eyes. “What’s this about?”
“Nothing.” Sheng Min smiled and nestled closer to him. “Go to sleep.”
“Alright, sleep.” Li Xuan lowered his head slightly, his lips touching Sheng Min’s forehead. In a childlike tone, he murmured, “You too. My Sheng Min is the best.”
He slept soundly, dreaming of nothing, and when he woke, daylight had already filled the room.
The soup from last night had been left in the clay pot. When Li Xuan returned home last night, he had brought some fresh noodles from the store at the entrance. At this time of year, the last batch of pea shoots was in season, fresh enough that no extra seasoning was needed. They simmered the noodles together that morning before heading off to work separately.
Since he was supposed to review the contract that day, Sheng Min arrived a little earlier. Yin Qianpin hadn’t arrived yet, and the tenth floor was quiet—he was the only one there.
Sheng Min’s new office had great natural light. The morning sun shone onto the pearwood desk, where two boxes of candied raisins sat—gifts from Deng Jing, whose office was diagonally opposite his.
He took out his script and made annotations while reviewing recordings of past rehearsals.
Once he was focused, he easily lost track of time. By the time he noticed approaching footsteps, they were already close to his door. It wasn’t Yin Qianpin; the sound of high heels gave that away. The steps paused outside his door.
Frowning slightly, he instinctively stood up just as a knock came at the door.
The face outside was one he hadn’t expected—but one that should have appeared long ago.
“I heard your car was parked in the lot, so I came up.” Zhang Shan smiled. “Xiao Min, long time no see. Hope I’m not disturbing you.”
“Not at all, President Zhang. Please, have a seat. We should be meeting anyway.” Sheng Min stepped aside. “Would you like something to drink?”
“No need. I’m here for business.” Zhang Shan entered without hesitation, pulling out a thick document. “Your renewal contract. Zhang Zhihua sent you a copy before, but I’m guessing you didn’t even look at it. No worries—I brought another one.”
Sheng Min gave a small, polite smile and pushed the document back toward her. “President Zhang, I won’t be signing it.”
“I’m not asking you to sign it now.”
“I don’t need to read it either.” Sheng Min sat across from her and met her gaze directly. “President Zhang, I believe you understand my stance. I won’t be renewing my contract. I truly appreciate the opportunities and care you’ve given me over the years, but I know I’ve earned the company more than enough. I have no regrets.”
“You haven’t done anything wrong, but the company needs you. That’s just how it is.” Zhang Shan smiled calmly. “Xiao Min, let me be clear—there’s no such thing as an amicable parting. The only reason we’re having this conversation is because I’m still willing to talk to you. I wouldn’t be talking to you if I didn’t have leverage.”
“My… sexual orientation?” Sheng Min asked calmly.
Zhang Shan didn’t deny it. “So, you’re aware.”
She pulled a stack of photographs from her handbag. “You two seem quite close.”
“You’ve had me followed?”
“I admit I had people keeping an eye on you, but I’m not the only one. In fact, your peace over the last two weeks has been thanks to me.”
Zhang Shan lowered her gaze to admire her freshly done nails, her tone unhurried. “Two weeks ago, someone sent these photos to a magazine. You should be grateful that I spent enough money to have them intercepted in advance. If these were published, what do you think would happen?”
“What could happen?” Sheng Min asked softly. “Every contract I’ve signed—whether with the company or brand sponsors—never stipulated that I couldn’t date. The closest thing to a clause like that might be a vague line about ‘damaging brand image.’ I do have many endorsements, but most of them are set to expire next year. I haven’t renewed any of them. If they want to take legal action, they can, but winning won’t be easy. Even if they do, do you think I can’t afford the penalty?”
“Xiao Min, you’ve grown up.” Zhang Shan shook her head but didn’t look fazed. “Since we’re laying everything out, that’s fine.” Her tone shifted. “Aren’t you curious about who’s been following and photographing you? Because I am. If someone is targeting my golden goose, I naturally have to get to the bottom of it.”
She picked up the stack of photos again, her fingertips gliding over the image of two figures walking side by side, leaving behind a glaring white scratch. “Turns out, it’s not just about you… Sheng Min, you’ve really outdone yourself with this boyfriend of yours. Most people date a rich second-generation heir for their resources, but you? You just had to pick someone who’s at odds with his own father, bringing yourself a world of trouble.”
The implication was obvious. Sheng Min frowned slightly.
Zhang Shan’s smile deepened. “Back when I started this company, people called me ruthless—an iron lady. That’s a bit of an exaggeration, really. But one thing is true: I never fight a battle unprepared. Do you know why I came to see you today?”
She deliberately paused. “If you don’t want to talk about the contract, we can discuss something else first… You haven’t checked your phone since I walked in, have you? Go online and take a look—any gaming forum will do…”
She left her words hanging just long enough to see Sheng Min’s expression change. Satisfied, Zhang Shan leisurely finished her sentence. “Your boyfriend’s company—something big just happened.”
Noooooooooooo!!!!