Viki laughed at him, saying he was about to crash and burn this time.
Shen Wang was the type who excelled at beginnings—and endings too. But after chasing that young rich boy for so long with no response, he knew when to step back. He stopped showing interest.
Yet somehow, Gu Chong seemed to take an especially strong dislike to him. Anything Shen Wang touched, Gu Chong wouldn’t touch again. If they played a game and Shen Wang picked A, Gu Chong would definitely choose B. Sometimes, even things Shen Wang showed interest in, Gu Chong would deliberately take first.
And yet, no matter how many bars Shen Wang went to, he would always run into Gu Chong.
It annoyed him to no end. Halfway through the night, he’d end up escaping to the bathroom just to smoke.
He hadn’t even finished half a cigarette before Gu Chong appeared again.
Gu Chong looked him up and down, then—unusually—spoke first.
“Is your taste always this bad?”
Shen Wang was already in a foul mood, so he sneered back, “Young Master Gu, does something only count as good taste if it’s you?”
Gu Chong bit his cigarette and glanced away. Then he let out a low laugh, head tilted slightly.
Only then did Shen Wang realize he was smiling.
Under the dim bar lights, that already dangerously attractive face looked even more intoxicating—almost indulgent, almost cruel.
Shen Wang thought privately: this face was too much. Too exactly his type.
If Gu Chong truly had no interest in him, then the first thing he needed to learn was to block this face out of his mind—otherwise he’d keep losing.
Suddenly, Gu Chong stepped closer.
“Free this weekend?”
Shen Wang’s eyelid twitched. “Why?”
“Kill time.”
Shen Wang frowned slightly. “Anyone else?”
Gu Chong gave a faint smile. “Just the two of us.”
At that moment, Shen Wang thought blankly to himself—he really was hopeless.
He agreed almost immediately.
All because Gu Chong looked too good. Too well-built. Too unfair.
That weekend, before leaving, Shen Wang hesitated for a long time and still slipped a box of condoms into his bag.
But “killing time” meant something completely different from what he had imagined.
He had expected a hundred possibilities—none of them included this.
Basketball.
Video games.
If it weren’t for how seriously Gu Chong played on the court—how effortlessly he dominated everything—Shen Wang would’ve thought he was being messed with.
Shen Wang wasn’t athletic at all. Soon enough, he could only sit at the side and watch Gu Chong show off.
But even he had to admit it—there was something unbearably magnetic about a man in motion. Sweat, focus, raw physical energy.
Afterward, Gu Chong sat down beside him, breathing slightly hard.
Shen Wang reached into his pocket for tissues—and instead pulled out the box of condoms.
He would never forget the way Gu Chong looked at him then.
That gaze alone made him feel pinned in place.
Gu Chong stared at him for a long while, then let out a faint, mocking laugh.
“So this is how you always are?”
Shen Wang forced himself to stay calm. “Not really.”
“Then it’s just me?”
Shen Wang froze. He didn’t know how to answer.
“Forget it.”
“Mm.”
He finally exhaled.
But then Gu Chong added, “I spent the whole day playing basketball with you. Don’t you think you should repay me?”
“Wasn’t I the one accompanying you?” Shen Wang shot back.
Gu Chong pressed his lips together. “You refused to play. Sing me a song.”
Shen Wang blinked. “Here?”
“Of course not.” Gu Chong held the basketball, turning slightly away. “Go to Huangtu’s practice room. They’ve got proper equipment.”
“You forgot I’m a Chengtian artist?”
“So what?” Gu Chong frowned hard.
Shen Wang sighed. “Huangtu and Chengtian don’t get along.”
Gu Chong answered immediately, almost impatiently, “Then go to Chengtian’s practice room. Problem solved. I don’t care about your rules. Worst case, I get scolded.”
“…Fine. What do you want to hear?”
Without hesitation, Gu Chong said, “Nonna ge my love for you.”
Shen Wang knew the song. He was about to ask why Gu Chong wanted that one so badly—
But Gu Chong’s face, flushed—whether from heat or something else—suddenly tensed. He cut him off.
“Just sing it. Don’t ask.”
Chapter 4 (continued)
When Shen Wang woke up, his head felt like it was splitting open. Something inside his skull seemed to be twisting with needles.
He couldn’t even remember how much he had drunk.
He was used to hangovers by now.
Once the pain eased slightly, he took some sobering medicine. Only then did he see Viki’s message:
Rest well.
Below it was a WeChat ID.
While drinking milk, Shen Wang replied: What’s this?
Viki answered almost instantly:
Gu Chong’s new WeChat. You were crying on me way too hard last night. I thought about it and decided to give it to you. Remember to treat me to a meal! I don’t even know how long I comforted you.
Shen Wang froze.
Thanks.
He stared at those numbers for a long time—but didn’t dare move.
His heart was pounding uncontrollably.
Carefully, he typed the number into WeChat search.
A profile popped up.
A daisy cartoon avatar—bright, vivid colors.
Shen Wang couldn’t help himself. He rolled around on the bed several times.
Gu Chong was still using a daisy avatar.
Did that mean… he didn’t actually hate him that much?
Shen Wang liked daisies. It was also his first tattoo—on the inside of his wrist.
Every time they were together, Gu Chong would kiss that spot.
He had once said it was the most attractive part of him.
Shen Wang stared at the “Add to Contacts” button, afraid to even breathe.
Just as he was about to press it, the screen lit up—an incoming call.
He nearly dropped the phone in panic.
It was Meihe, notifying him of an interview in two hours.
Shen Wang sighed. He still didn’t press the button.
He left it there, like a fragile hope suspended in place.
At least… it could stay a possibility.
In the mirror, he looked terrible—dark circles, pale skin with no color, overgrown messy hair sticking to his scalp.
He already knew exactly how Meihe would scold him.
And she did.
As expected, she arrived, checked his face, and launched into a lecture. Shen Wang just smiled lazily and soothed her with a few careless words until she gave up.
He always managed to slip through like that.
Meihe drove him to the studio. Then he sat in a chair like a lifeless mannequin, letting makeup artists and stylists work on him.
His hair was soft and fine, difficult to style, always falling flat. Worse, it was in that awkward in-between length now.
But the stylist didn’t seem particularly interested in fixing it at all.
