Withdrawal 05

He had thrown himself into drowning his sorrows far too early.

Shen Wang was a celebrity surrounded by controversy.

A critic once said that Shen Wang’s scandals alone were enough to keep every entertainment tabloid in Hong Kong alive. His private life was a mess; he smoked, drank heavily, and never filtered his mouth. More than half the photos on his social media were cigarettes and alcohol. His fans had long since grown used to his recklessness, but that did nothing to stop the endless public condemnation directed at him.

He never cared.

Only two days after returning to the country, Shen Wang was dragged by Meihe straight to Chengtian Entertainment to meet Huang Sheng. Huang Sheng had climbed all the way up to director level now, but his temper hadn’t improved in the slightest. The moment Shen Wang stepped through the door, he got cursed out from head to toe.

Shen Wang only grinned as he lit a cigarette, not taking a single word to heart. He even had the nerve to joke around.

“Bro, haven’t seen you in a few days and your hair’s gotten even blacker.”

“I dyed it, damn it! Otherwise I’d be fully gray by now!” Huang Sheng exploded. “Do you even realize you’ve been photographed drunk seven times this year alone? And every damn time your face is practically glued to somebody else’s. Do you need to stand that close just to talk? Are you deaf?”

“It’s noisy in bars.”

“And it’s a different person every single time! We’ve already used the ‘just friends’ excuse so many times our PR team’s becoming a joke because of you!” Huang Sheng jabbed a finger at him. “Have you reflected on yourself at all?”

“Yes, yes, deeply reflected.” Shen Wang immediately pulled out a bag of coffee beans he’d brought back from New York. “A little apology gift for you, Brother Huang. I swear I won’t do it again.”

“I’ve heard that line eight hundred times already!”

“Then one more won’t hurt.”

Seeing Huang Sheng’s face turn the color of pig liver, Shen Wang knew he was teetering on the edge of blowing up for real. He obediently stubbed out his cigarette.

Huang Sheng lifted his eyelids. “Fine. Tell me, then. How exactly did you reflect?”

Shen Wang thought for a moment. “Then next time I’ll invite people to my house instead.”

“I’m afraid you’ll turn it into a goddamn orgy! At that point I’ll probably have to visit you in prison.” Huang Sheng pinched the bridge of his nose, exhausted. “You’re thirty already. Start acting like it. You’re not eighteen anymore—you can’t keep fooling around like this. There are too many eyes on you now.”

“I know, I know.” Shen Wang smiled lazily. “From now on I’ll behave myself and stop causing trouble for you.”

Huang Sheng stared at him for a second before asking quietly, “Did Ji Xiao’s suicide have anything to do with you?”

“No. Seriously, no.” Shen Wang raised a hand. “I swear to heaven.”

Huang Sheng looked at him suspiciously, but didn’t pursue it. Instead, he shifted to business.

“Your visibility’s high right now. The public’s paying attention to you, which makes this the perfect time to do a variety show. It’ll help improve your image too. They’re being very sincere with the offer—the pay is excellent.”

Shen Wang perked up immediately. “What kind of show?”

“My Journey. A travel reality show.”

He paused.

A program like that didn’t feel suited to him at all.

But after flipping through the proposal and seeing the number attached to the contract, he instantly changed his mind.

“Well, if they’re paying that much, I’m in. Only idiots refuse easy money.”

“When you get there,” Huang Sheng warned, “watch what you say. And try not to alienate everyone.”

Shen Wang laughed like he’d heard a joke. “But my acting skills are terrible.”

Huang Sheng looked at him strangely. “You drink too much and smoke too much, but you’re not a bad person. If you’re willing to try, people will like you.”

Shen Wang replied lazily, “It’s not that simple.”

But Huang Sheng sounded certain.

“You can underestimate your own charm, but don’t underestimate my judgment.”

Shen Wang didn’t really believe him, though Huang Sheng was clearly serious. Then, as if suddenly remembering something important, Huang Sheng added:

“And don’t mess around with the guests there either. I heard they’re inviting a bunch of young idols.”

“I’m not interested in younger guys. They still smell like milk.”

“Oh, spare me.” Huang Sheng snorted. “Wasn’t Gu Chong only twenty back then too?”

Shen Wang froze.

The moment the words left his mouth, Huang Sheng realized he’d said the wrong thing.

Silence settled between them.

In the end, Shen Wang casually rubbed at the seam of his trousers and pretended nothing had happened.

“True enough.”

“But he was an exception.”

Shen Wang quietly turned to look out the window.

He was beautiful—beautiful enough that even in an entertainment industry overflowing with attractive people, his face still stood out. Small head, small face, the classic delicate oval shape, yet not quite the polished prettiness of a conventional flower boy.

His peach blossom eyes were dark and deep, always seeming to gaze directly into people. The corners of them naturally drooped slightly, so when he smiled, it looked like ripples splashing across still water.

And yet even when he smiled, his lips stayed faintly pressed together, muting the warmth of it. No matter how bright the smile, there was always something distant about it.

Huang Sheng still remembered the first time he met Shen Wang—that rich voice, those melancholy eyes.

Thinking back now, twelve years had already passed.

Huang Sheng couldn’t help sighing.

“If you ever decide you really want to settle down,” he said earnestly, “tell me. I’ll help you find someone suitable.”

Shen Wang laughed. “What, even gay men have to go on blind dates now?”

He wanted to keep joking, to brush it all aside with another careless remark, but Huang Sheng only patted him heavily on the shoulder.

Suddenly, Shen Wang found himself unable to speak.

To him, Huang Sheng was something between a drinking buddy and a stern father figure. That single pat on the shoulder made an ache quietly rise in his chest.

But none of it showed on his face.

He still wore that careless smile.

Shen Wang had never been good with money.

He’d stayed with Chengtian Entertainment for twelve years, earning the company an absurd amount of profit. His popularity and awards were undeniable; by all rights, he should have been drowning in money.

Instead, he was barely comfortable.

Most of his income now came from the modest royalties on his songs. Even the villa he lived in at Chunlan Gardens was rented.

Because in the past, he’d donated away most of what he earned.

He’d grown up in an orphanage. One steamed bun had to be split into two meals. When his shoes tore open, his toes stayed exposed through the winter cold. He’d never seen a computer or ridden in a car as a child.

Whenever he attended charity galas and saw those coal-smudged little faces, something inside him would tighten painfully, as though his heart had been dropped into sour plum soup—wrinkling, shrinking in on itself.

He still carried strange habits with him even now. No matter how comfortably he lived these days, he could never forget what hunger and cold had felt like.

He just kept donating and donating until he forgot to leave anything behind for himself.

It wasn’t until the last two years that he finally started feeling a sense of crisis. Fortunately, he still had fame, still had enough popularity to make money while he could.

As long as he could afford the cost of his pleasures, he didn’t really care how much sat in his bank account.

After all, no one could take money into the urn with them.

He signed the contract carelessly.

The sky hadn’t darkened yet, but when Shen Wang looked up at the gloomy clouds overhead, his mood inexplicably sank.

He couldn’t pinpoint what felt wrong.

Only that the sky seemed unbearably low and dark, as though it were slowly collapsing toward him.