Withdrawal 08

“Not going to get a haircut?”

“No. Just make it a bit fluffier,” the stylist said, then added with a smile, “Your fans are actually really satisfied with your current look. They say you look like a fallen noble.”

“Is that so?” Shen Wang sounded mildly surprised. “I feel more like a vagrant.”

The stylist laughed. “You should see what your fans are saying.”

“Fans always say nice things. You can’t trust that.”

“It’s because you’re good-looking,” the stylist replied simply.

An hour later, he finally became “Shen Wang” again.

In the mirror stood a man so polished, so exquisitely handsome, it almost didn’t feel like him. That feeling came back to him often—this flawless face was both familiar and alien, like it had been cut straight out of a magazine cover and pasted onto someone else’s life.

At work, it always felt like he was being stuffed into a shell, dressed in extravagant clothes that didn’t belong to him, parading through the world in borrowed skin.

But in reality, most of the time, he wore oversized hoodies and casual pants, rarely even bothering to shave.

Before going on stage, Mei He repeatedly reminded him not to speak carelessly. If there were sensitive questions, he should deflect them vaguely.

“Got it, got it,” Shen Wang said with a smile.

The interviewer was a young woman, still visibly inexperienced. She looked at him carefully, reading from a fixed script—questions agreed upon by the company and the press, the same talking points used for the public over the past two years.

“As the ‘genius superstar’ in the public eye, you haven’t released a new album in eight years, and instead keep appearing in scandals and gossip. What do you think about that?”

Shen Wang smiled faintly. “Whether it’s ‘genius superstar’ or ‘king of gossip,’ neither label is something I ever wanted. I should say—I’ve never had a specific goal at any stage of my life. Becoming a certain kind of person was never intentional. I just let things take their course. It’s just that now I haven’t released a new album, so the public pays more attention to my scandals instead.”

The host followed up, “Do you have plans for a new album this year?”

“Not at the moment.”

He answered honestly.

From below the stage, Mei He frowned slightly at him.

The interviewer continued with a few more standard questions—mostly gossip and rumors. Shen Wang answered them all the same way: just friends.

Then she asked, her tone sharpening slightly, “Suicide of Ji Xiao caused a huge stir. As his close friend, did you notice any changes in his emotional state?”

The way she emphasized “close friend” felt deliberate.

Shen Wang kept smiling—flawless, controlled. “No. That period I happened to be extremely busy, so I didn’t notice his inner suffering. It’s something I deeply regret.”

“Do you know the reason for his suicide?”

“He never told me.”

The interviewer paused, clearly unsatisfied.

Then she asked the final question, choosing something lighter:
“There have been rumors that you and Xue Yansheng are mortal enemies. Is that true?”

Shen Wang smiled again. “We actually get along quite well. We even ran into each other in Shanghai recently and had a drink together. A lot of those news stories are fabricated.”

The interview ended.

Shen Wang walked off stage and slowly peeled off his layers of clothing, exhaustion settling into his bones.

In truth, most people in the entertainment industry were just speaking lies with their eyes open.

He and Xue Yansheng were not friends.

Xue Yansheng probably wanted nothing more than to tear him apart.

Xue was eight years younger than him, with delicate looks and massive popularity. He could neither sing nor act particularly well, but his fanbase was enormous—fiercely loyal and aggressively purchasing power-driven. He was marketed as an “unexpectedly cute contrast idol.”

They should have had nothing to do with each other.

The feud started years ago when Shen Wang served as a temporary mentor on the finale of Xue Yansheng’s debut survival show.

At the time, the popular diva Sun Qing was hospitalized, and as a fellow artist under Chengtian Entertainment, Shen Wang stepped in to substitute during the live broadcast.

He gave Xue Yansheng a low score and bluntly said: “Tone-deaf. Breath control is unstable.”

The other judges all gave high marks.

Only later did Shen Wang find out that Xue Yansheng had been financially backed by a wealthy patron, and the debut win was basically guaranteed. But Shen Wang’s interference pushed him down to third place instead of champion.

Naturally, Xue Yansheng remembered that grudge.

On the way back, Mei He suddenly said, “The travel variety show you’re doing… they’re now in contact with Xue Yansheng’s team.”

“He probably won’t agree. It’d be too awkward.”

“No,” Mei He sneered as she turned the steering wheel. “He’ll agree. You’re underestimating how deep his grudges run.”

“Remember last year’s end-of-year red carpet? He even bribed Seven to deliberately wear the same outfit as you, then pushed a wave of ‘visual dominance’ articles to overshadow you.”

Shen Wang touched the bridge of his nose, finally recalling it.

They had worn the same outfit that night. Shen Wang had been in excellent condition—skin, physique, everything sharp and well-maintained.

But the photos were manipulated. The photographer Xue had influenced deliberately enhanced flaws in Shen Wang’s image, making his skin look uneven and his smile stiff, even greasy.

“I didn’t think male celebrities would do ‘red carpet domination’ too,” Shen Wang murmured. “I thought that was only a female celebrity thing.”

Mei He glanced at him, clearly unimpressed. “Don’t act so indifferent. Do you remember how many posts you were dragged through? Thirty thousand hate comments.”

“Public figures can’t avoid that,” Shen Wang said lightly.

“And that’s exactly why you didn’t listen to me back then,” she snapped. “I told you three times—give Xue Yansheng a high score. Giant Entertainment had already decided he would win.”

“I probably got distracted,” Shen Wang said.

“Distracted?” Mei He’s voice cooled further. “Or was it because you were arguing with Gu Chong?”

At the mention of that name, the air in the car shifted.

“Every time you fight with Gu Chong, your work falls apart. But then you act like you don’t care about anything, like he’s not important at all—yet you keep meeting old flames, messing with people’s feelings—”

“Enough,” Shen Wang interrupted softly. A tired sigh slipped out of him.

Mei He didn’t stop. “I just want to know—what exactly is always on your mind?”

Part Four – Lower Section

Shen Wang dreamed.

He remembered a long time ago.

After he and Gu Chong finished, both of them drenched in sweat, Shen Wang sat naked on the bed, lighting a cigarette.

Gu Chong frowned and grabbed his wrist. “Don’t smoke in bed.”

Shen Wang squinted at him, smiling lazily. “Post-sex cigarette.”

He looked completely unbothered—lying there naked, cigarette between his fingers, smoke curling through the air.

On his pale hips were the faint handprints Gu Chong had left behind.

The smoke blurred his expression, softening it into something hazy, ambiguous… almost intimate.