Twelve hours later, at 19:00 Beijing time, Bo Yu arrived in Los Angeles.

However, he was greeted by the early hours of the morning in L.A. The 4:00 AM sky was not a thick, inky black as it had been before; the city was eerily quiet, and aside from a faint moon, not a single star could be seen. After leaving the airport, a dim white light began to glow on the distant horizon—faint, yet impossible to ignore.

Bo Yu looked up. The white light grew bit by bit, as the brightness of snow eroded the dark night, finally tearing it open by force to become dawn.

Switching his phone from flight mode to normal, the signal gradually restored. A message sent over eight hours ago finally arrived. In the chat box, amidst the sea of white bubbles indicating countless long call logs, a single splash of gold appeared.

[Wife]: Bo Yu

It was from Gu Qichi.

Bo Yu realized that Gu Qichi really loved calling his name at every possible moment. At the second the call connected, when swept by sleepiness and falling into a dream, when breathless from being kissed, or when dazed and overwhelmed during sex… He would always call his name, as if trying to confirm something.

Bo Yu felt, for no reason, that Gu Qichi was confirming “reality.”

He was like a drowning man who had fallen into a boundless illusion; everything he saw and touched was absurd and void. He was exceptionally insecure, waking up in terror every night in search of a straw to help him float to the surface. He called Bo Yu’s name every night—sometimes clearly, sometimes blurred.

Bo Yu always responded immediately, and Gu Qichi would always settle down the moment he heard the response and fall back asleep.

Bo Yu was the straw Gu Qichi gripped so tightly. Bo Yu was his reality.

The golden light finally broke through, penetrating the heavy layers of clouds. The morning sun poured over thousands of miles, staining the gray-blue mist inch by inch. Orange-red clouds of haze wrapped around the heavy sky, and the sun rising above the horizon dazzled with a ring of blinding light, as magnificent and unreal as a heavily colored oil painting.

This was actually the first time Bo Yu had witnessed a sunrise. It was hard to describe what he was thinking the moment the scenery seared into his eyes, but it made him think of Gu Qichi without reason. Cool white skin, low-set eyebrows, yet features so lush they were beyond words—like a double-petaled peony blooming intensely.

Bo Yu was a person with very little desire to share; even with the mother he respected, he was usually silent. Madam Bo would often glance at him and tell him to get lost and stop ruining her mood. Before, he felt chatting was meaningless, let alone sharing things; he thought that extra time was better spent on business proposals.

But now, he seemed to understand the meaning of sharing.

At the moment the sunlight spilled out, he took his phone, aimed the camera, and recorded the scene. He sent it to Gu Qichi on the other side of the ocean. It was as if by doing this, he could transmit his inner thoughts.

Bai Heng followed silently behind, peeking at the phone. After seeing the word “Wife” flash by, he wanted to look more, but Bo Yu turned around.

Bo Yu’s eyelashes lowered, making his expression hard to read. His tone was ambiguous. “Is there an estimated time for this negotiation? What’s the minimum number of days needed?”

Bai Heng suppressed his gossiping heart and answered professionally: “If things go smoothly with Mr. Peter, it’s estimated to be five days. If not…” He peeked at Bo Yu’s expression and swallowed before continuing, “Then we have to implement Plan B, but that time frame depends on the specific execution…”

The airport was crowded, a surge of people pouring from the exit toward different destinations. Light and shadow flickered across Bo Yu’s face. In the noisy hall, Bai Heng heard him speak:

“It must be a success on the first try. That way, we can go back sooner.”

---

At 7:00 PM, Gu Qichi was still filming. Today was a major scene for Xing Tian Qing: the moment Shi Tianlin is framed by Shen Qingye and exiled to the Western Border on charges of treason.

Under the desolate, quiet high walls, Gu Qichi sat on a sedan chair carried by eight men. His right arm rested casually on the armrest, his index and middle fingers slightly bent to support his chin. The camera was aimed at him, but the angle was slightly off. After adjusting the lighting, Lin Shuangyi emerged from behind the lens with a megaphone to direct the positions.

Song Zhian’s assistant was resentful, hiding in a corner and complaining to him: “Brother Song, you’re the lead! Why is Lin Shuangyi putting all his effort into the second lead?” Seeing the director personally adjust Gu Qichi’s sitting posture, the assistant’s chest heaved with anger. “How many extra scenes are they giving him? He’s practically being turned into the main lead. No wonder they say he has a sugar daddy…”

Song Zhian’s hand adjusting his costume froze. The smile in his eyes turned cold and dark. He asked in a raspy voice: “What did you say?”

“Gu Qichi has a sugar daddy?”

He said it one word at a time. Song Zhian’s expression was terrifying, making the assistant shiver. The assistant stammered a “Yes.” By then, Lin Shuangyi had finished the adjustments. The director was satisfied and shouted toward Song Zhian: “Lead, get in position!”

Song Zhian wiped his expression, returning to his refined image, and walked up.

“Props team! Rain!”

The rain wasn’t heavy. Under the misty city walls, a line of figures appeared in the camera’s frame. Shen Qingye sat on the sedan chair, head propped up as if napping. Rain pitter-pattered against the oil-paper umbrella above him.

The umbrella was raised slowly. Under the piercingly bright lights, Gu Qichi’s skin was as white as snow. His crimson official robes were soaked, turning a decadent dark red. His hair was not bound in a crown but loosely tied with a ribbon, draped softly down.

The sedan chair moved slowly. In the quiet, they encountered the group escorting Shi Tianlin. The once high-and-mighty prince was now a prisoner, looking wretched. Song Zhian wore only thin prisoner’s clothes, with heavy rusted chains on his hands and feet dragging in the puddles.

The two groups stopped under the wall. Shen Qingye, who had been “sleeping,” suddenly opened his eyes. His voice was lazy, drawn out, and unconsciously seductive:

“Stop.”

He looked down at Shi Tianlin from his height, his eyes full of clear, undisguised loathing.

Song Zhian dazed for a moment, momentarily falling out of character. Gu Qichi’s loathing was too real—it wasn’t Shen Qingye’s hatred for the prince; it was Gu Qichi’s own undisguised emotion toward Song Zhian.

Gu Qichi’s voice soon hit his ears. His delivery was perfect, his voice pinched into the high-pitched tone of a eunuch: “Second Prince…” He laughed. Through the mist, he lazily raised his eyelids, the corners of his eyes painted with deep red eyeshadow. “You see, I’ve become muddled. I should call you Master Tianlin now. It is the Emperor’s decree to strip you of your rank; if I called you Second Prince, I would be defying the decree.”

Song Zhian’s Adam’s apple rolled. He forced himself to stay in character: “Shen Qingye, you traitor! The Shen family was full of loyal martyrs; how could they produce a rebellious traitor like you!”

Everyone held their breath. Everyone knew the old grudges between them. Now that Shen Qingye held power, Shi Tianlin’s provocation was a death wish.

The “Lord of Nine Thousand Years” laughed slowly and signaled: “Lower the chair.” He stepped down into the rain, his robes turning a dark red. He leaned in close to Shi Tianlin, his eyes bright with hatred:

“Shi Tianlin, you know my family was loyal. Then why did you shamelessly fabricate evidence to frame my father? What did the 415 members of my family do wrong? They were innocent, and so was I. I owe everything I am today to you, my dear Highness.”

“Don’t worry. I’ve sent word. On your way to exile, people will take very ‘good’ care of you.”

He was so close that his breath vibrated against Song Zhian’s ear. Song Zhian could see the fine hairs on his face. Gu Qichi’s expression turned ruthless. In the pouring rain, his pale fingers tightened around Song Zhian’s neck, lifting him upward.

The camera focused on Gu Qichi’s hand, the blue veins rising against the cool white skin.

“Cut!”

Lin Shuangyi shouted, looking dissatisfied. “Redo from the neck-choking part. Song Zhian, don’t daze out! You didn’t catch Gu Qichi’s energy just now. Again!”

Gu Qichi let go of Song Zhian’s neck and turned away expressionless. He looked toward Luo Qianqian and the phone on the chair. He was inexplicably irritable.

Why is there still no message from Bo Yu?

On the other side, as the makeup artist touched up Song Zhian, his eyes remained fixed on Gu Qichi.

A sugar daddy, huh?

If someone else can do it, so can I…