In the third year of studying abroad, Mu Xianqing and the collector Mr. Wendell co-hosted an art exhibition for Jiang Ruotang at a gallery in New York.

Originally, Jiang Ruotang didn’t plan to exhibit the paintings he did of Lu Guifan. But after Mu Xianqing’s persistent persuasion—with phrases like “Love can’t be shared, but the joy of love can,” “Let those who admire your art believe in love again,” and “Lu Guifan isn’t someone you need to hide”—plus the fact that Lu Guifan himself agreed, the theme of Jiang Ruotang’s exhibition became Returning Sail (Gui Fan).

Not only Professor Clavin came to see his student’s works, but also many artists and painters, and even some fans from Asia and Europe who flew in just to attend the exhibition—fearing they’d miss the rare chance to see the “lover” in Jiang Ruotang’s art in person.

On the first day of the exhibition, the number of visitors and attendees already far exceeded Jiang Ruotang’s expectations.

Family and friends even came all the way from home to support him.

For instance, Jiang Huaiyuan and his wife strolled around the gallery, making Jiang Ruotang blush, because almost every corner of the gallery displayed works themed on Lu Guifan. Paintings of Lu Guifan relaxing on the balcony in the evening breeze, Lu Guifan sleeping in the study with sunlight on his face, even intimate moments where Jiang Ruotang captured Lu Guifan’s passion while they kissed—it all felt like one big public display of affection, at least through the eyes of Jiang Huaiyuan and Zhao Yunshu.

Luckily, Jiang Huaiyuan’s appreciation for art outweighed his fatherly emotions. He paused in front of every painting, even following a few art critics to hear their evaluations, nodding behind them like a leader expressing agreement.

Apparently, the critics said good things, and Father was very pleased.

To preserve some mystery—and to allow Jiang Ruotang to see the audience’s genuine reactions—Mu Xianqing hadn’t published any of Jiang Ruotang’s photos in advance. So aside from family and friends, no one recognized him or tried to chat with him.

What Jiang Ruotang didn’t expect, though, was that someone long familiar yet unseen for years stood silently in front of a painting of burning flames.

Jiang Ruotang truly didn’t expect him to come. After all, they hadn’t been in touch for two whole years, and he hadn’t even sent a message beforehand.

Jiang Ruotang slowly walked over and looked at him from the side. The scar on the man’s face was now barely visible—easily covered with concealer and invisible to the casual viewer. He seemed to be in no rush to return to the screen. In these past two years, although his fanbase had shrunk, it had become more rational and stable, and the plays he acted in were still selling out.

“You’re not planning to take on TV dramas again? Didn’t your mother borrow money to pay her fines? She must be eager for you to make a comeback,” Jiang Ruotang asked calmly.

Speaking of a comeback, Bai Yingchuan’s face showed no emotion. He only said, “This painting is about desire and love, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Jiang Ruotang smiled faintly.

“Then it looks like you and he are happy together.”

“Yes,” Jiang Ruotang closed his eyes and nodded.

“This is your art exhibition, so the theme is you.”

Meaning: there’s no need to talk about me in this gallery.

But Jiang Ruotang knew what Bai Yingchuan was thinking. His pride wouldn’t allow him to keep exploiting the sympathy of fans and the public. He was patiently waiting for that sympathy to fade, so he could reappear with dignity—not for traffic, but to be a real actor.

Later, after Jiang Ruotang walked around the gallery with Jian Sha and Cai Ji, he looked back and found Bai Yingchuan had already left.

He only sent a single message:
[I’m going to audition for the role of Qiao Jing in The City of Sand.]

If Jiang Ruotang remembered correctly, Ling Song was also going to audition for that role.

In these two years, Ling Song’s fame and popularity hadn’t lagged behind Bai Yingchuan’s. More importantly, his acting had earned strong praise in the industry—even the veteran Feng Moshang publicly praised Ling Song as a cornerstone of the younger generation.

Not only that, but many high-end brand endorsements had shifted to Ling Song—several luxury deals that once belonged to Bai Yingchuan.

Reading the message, Jiang Ruotang understood why Bai Yingchuan had traveled all this way to his exhibition. It wasn’t so much a declaration of war, but a statement of intent.

After all, Ling Song was someone Jiang Ruotang had chosen to mentor. Competing for the same role as Ling Song was like competing with—or proving something to—Jiang Ruotang himself.

Life always demands periods of silence. Some fall away completely, while others wash off the glamour and reemerge into the sunlight.

The competition between Bai Yingchuan and Ling Song—even if it ended in a tie—would still be a grueling ordeal.

But as long as the role in The City of Sand was earned through real skill, no matter who played Qiao Jing, Jiang Ruotang would profit from it.

The other guest Jiang Ruotang hadn’t expected was Qin Zhanchao.

He’d done quite well these past two years. He understood the film industry better now—knowing that as an investor, he shouldn’t meddle in production. As a shareholder of Huanyu Films, the Jiang family had earned plenty of dividends recently, so naturally, they were quite satisfied with him.

Qin Zhanchao’s interest in art was limited. His real reason for attending the exhibition probably wasn’t about the art at all.

He waited until the show ended to approach Jiang Ruotang and ask if he could treat him to a meal.

That was rare. Jiang Ruotang wasn’t involved in any recent scandals, nor had Huanyu Films experienced any crisis. So this invitation… felt unusually sincere.

Qin Zhanchao had even booked a highly prestigious restaurant in advance. But when Jiang Ruotang heard the name, he immediately shook his head, saying he’d been there with Lu Guifan once, and the food had been so bad that Lu Guifan had to cook him tomato-and-egg noodles afterward.

Jiang Ruotang chuckled, “President Qin, why don’t I take you somewhere better?”

So Jiang Ruotang drove, and the two suited-up men ended up at a burger joint near M University, where Lu Guifan was studying.

When they got out of the car, Qin Zhanchao looked a little stunned.

Jiang Ruotang lifted his chin. “At least this place is local. The buns are good, the meat is juicy, and no one in here speaks Chinese—so you can say whatever you want, no need to be polite.”

Since he was the one asking for help, Qin Zhanchao had to follow Jiang Ruotang’s lead. Plus, the smell wafting from inside really was tempting.

Jiang Ruotang ordered burgers and drinks and took them to an outdoor table. In the distance, a few young people were drinking beer. The wide, open space and casual food helped Qin Zhanchao relax a little.

Jiang Ruotang took a big bite of his burger, cheeks puffed up. “Brother Qin, these past two years I’ve noticed and appreciated how much you’ve supported my dad’s projects. I think our families are finally back to where they were when I was a kid. But you came all this way just to talk to me—honestly, I’m surprised. Logically, if it were anything official, you’d go to my father first. So this must be something only I can help with. Why don’t you just say it?”

Jiang Ruotang’s bluntness caught Qin Zhanchao off guard. All the carefully prepared speeches he had planned suddenly seemed useless.

“Have you heard of the project The City of Sand?” Qin Zhanchao asked.

“I have. It’s going to be our first domestically shot and produced sci-fi apocalyptic movie. Young people are really excited for it. The budget is 1.5 billion, and they hired Amos, a famous disaster film director…” Jiang Ruotang wiped the sauce off the corner of his mouth. “Amos may be good at large-scale scenes and technical direction, but can he really understand the Chinese emotional tone in our script?”

Qin Zhanchao took a deep breath. “That’s exactly the problem… Last week, Director Amos had a major disagreement with the assistant director and writing team. He’s obsessed with spectacle, which flattens the plot. He wants to turn all the characters into superheroes…”

“You’re trying to rehire him?” Jiang Ruotang frowned. If that was the case, he’d rather have Sweetfruit Studios withdraw its investment than fund a confused and culturally tone-deaf production. Audiences would be turned off or even offended.

“No. My grandfather and I have both ruled him out. We’ve considered Director Chang Jun, Director Chen Hongtao, and Director Fei Jinong, even your father. But none of them have worked with this kind of genre before. If the film flops or isn’t received well, their reputations could take a serious hit. And big-name directors like them always have other projects—they don’t need to risk something like this.”

“Have you spoken to my dad?” Jiang Ruotang asked, brows furrowed.

“No. Grandpa says he knows your father too well. If all the other directors turn it down, your father would probably feel obligated to take it on. But Grandpa doesn’t want to pressure him. However… Amos pulling out has caused major investors like Qilin and Yunfeng to consider backing out.”

Jiang Ruotang exhaled silently. So this was the real reason for Qin Zhanchao’s anxiety.

“How much have they—those investors and their faction—put into this project?” Jiang Ruotang asked again.

“Close to a billion.”

In other words, if Director Amos truly walked away, the entire project might collapse.

“What did Grandpa Qin say?”

“My grandfather is, of course, not willing to give up. Many years ago, when he and your grandfather attended international film festivals, people would say we couldn’t make large-scale sci-fi productions. Now, nearly twenty years have passed, and we still don’t have a sci-fi film that’s truly presentable. This script has been polished over many years by several screenwriters and teams, all for a sci-fi story with an Eastern core… If this fails, all their efforts will become nothing.”

Qin Zhanchao had no appetite for the burger. His hand tightly gripped the cup of cola.

No matter what doubts or tensions there were before, at this moment Jiang Ruotang could understand his pursuit as a filmmaker.

“With a project so meaningful, letting my father carry the full burden would make him lose sleep. I think it’s not about which single director can handle it, but that if directors can work together, they could each contribute their strengths. For instance, my father excels at pacing, cinematography, and atmosphere, while Director Fei Jinsong is just as capable of handling large-scale scenes as the renowned Amos. Why not see if they can collaborate? They’ve worked together before on a tribute film, and their visions aligned well — the outcome was great. The City of Sand might become a legendary film if they join hands.”

Besides, Director Fei Jinsong was practically Jiang Huaiyuan’s old war buddy.

Fei Jinsong was very particular — earlier in his career, he didn’t have the best social ties and often couldn’t secure investments. But Jiang Huaiyuan deeply appreciated his directorial skills. When no one else would fund him, Jiang Huaiyuan pushed Huan Yu Films to invest. So in Fei Jinsong’s heart, Jiang Huaiyuan was a true confidant and comrade.

In a past life, after Jiang Huaiyuan passed away, Fei Jinsong also took great care of Jiang Ruotang. Whenever Ruotang came to him asking for a role, the usually stubborn director would give him rare face time.

Now, if they really wanted to shoot a sci-fi doomsday film like The City of Sand, how could they let Jiang Huaiyuan shoulder the pressure alone? If they were brothers, they should fight side by side.

Jiang Ruotang’s suggestion seemed to lift a heavy veil for Qin Zhanchao.

“But… even if the two directors agree to collaborate, it doesn’t guarantee that Qilin and Yunfeng’s factions won’t pull their investments,” Qin Zhanchao leaned back, exhaling deeply, and looked at Jiang Ruotang. “Ruotang… You have a lot of influence with Mu Xianqing. Could I ask you… to help persuade him to have Tianxia Pride add more investment?”

Jiang Ruotang paused. So this was Qin Zhanchao’s real reason for seeking him out.

“How much more are we talking?”

“At least enough to cover Qilin and Yunfeng’s share…”

So, at least one billion yuan.

Jiang Ruotang went silent. In the past, whenever he asked Mu Xianqing to “share risk,” it was usually because he was confident about the profits. He wasn’t comfortable letting his friends take on such uncertainty because of his own suggestions.

One billion might just be a drop in the bucket for Tianxia Pride. Even if they lost all of it, it wouldn’t hurt them. Mu Xianqing and Mu He might even invest just to give Jiang Ruotang face.

But Jiang Ruotang didn’t want that. He preferred investments made because they believed in the project and wanted to support the progress of the film industry.

“Brother Qin, I can’t promise you anything. I can only suggest that you stay calm and find the most suitable directors for the project. If you can’t even pull together a good team, then I don’t have any reason to invest, right? All I can say is, in my view, a one-billion gap isn’t that big a deal.”

Hearing Jiang Ruotang say that, Qin Zhanchao felt as if a huge weight had been lifted off his chest.

Even though he didn’t know where Ruotang’s confidence came from, that calm and steady demeanor was contagious.

“Come on, Brother Qin. The burger’s getting cold. This is my first time treating you to a meal. You’ve got to give me some face, right?”

Qin Zhanchao chuckled, suddenly starving. He rolled up his sleeves — never mind the suit — and took a huge bite.

“This actually tastes amazing.”

“In a bit, after I pick up my boyfriend, you’ll come home with me,” Jiang Ruotang said casually.

“Huh?” Qin Zhanchao looked flustered. “I… I booked a hotel… I wouldn’t want to intrude…”

Jiang Ruotang shook his head, smiling. “My parents are staying at the villa that Gui Fan and I rented. There’s a spare guest room on the first floor. I thought you could keep my dad company tonight, have some wine on the terrace, chat a bit. Tomorrow we could all go fishing in the nearby mountains.”

Qin Zhanchao immediately understood his intent — and was deeply grateful.

Just then, an Eastern man walked up behind Jiang Ruotang, naturally brushing a strand of hair off his forehead and pulling him into an embrace.

“Did I keep you waiting?”

Lu Guifan’s warm voice sounded.

Qin Zhanchao instinctively looked up — and saw the man who had appeared countless times in Jiang Ruotang’s paintings.

He had assumed Jiang Ruotang’s art had exaggerated his beauty, but now seeing him in person — the gentle, composed, intelligent aura — it was overwhelming.

“Nope. Brother Qin and I were having a great chat,” Jiang Ruotang said cheerfully.

“Then let’s go home.”

Lu Guifan glanced at the half-eaten burger in front of Ruotang. “Not going to finish that?”

“I’m full.” Ruotang shook his head. “Had afternoon tea with Mu Xianqing and Mr. Wendell, so I’m not very hungry.”

“All right then.”

Lu Guifan smiled, picked up the half-eaten burger, and leisurely took a bite.

Jiang Ruotang quickly shielded his glasses with a napkin. “Careful, you’re getting sauce on your lenses.”

Qin Zhanchao watched all of this from the side. He hadn’t really understood the paintings — but at this moment, he felt he finally grasped the love expressed in Jiang Ruotang’s brushwork, so adored by critics and collectors.

That night, after returning home, Qin Zhanchao ended up chatting with Jiang Huaiyuan on the terrace for hours. They were so excited they even called Fei Jinsong in a cross-continental video chat. The three of them talked until 3 a.m.

Originally, Jiang Ruotang had planned to take them fishing the next day — but that had to be canceled. Jiang Huaiyuan needed to sleep in, and Qin Zhanchao had to deal with jet lag.

Before bed, Jiang Ruotang mentioned to Lu Guifan that he’d seen Bai Yingchuan that day.

Lu Guifan was calm. “I actually understand where Bai Yingchuan’s coming from.”

“Oh? What do you think he’s feeling?” Ruotang turned over, resting on Lu Guifan’s chest.

“He has his pride. When he was basking in popularity, he wanted people to see beyond his looks — to notice his real talent. But after falling from that pedestal, he realized that ‘relying on skill’ means bleeding and sweating in ways he never imagined. If he wants to climb back up, he needs a goal. And that goal… is you.”

“But after seeing the exhibit, he should understand what you mean to me. I’ll never have eyes for him.”

“He just wants your recognition. Everyone else in the world can say, ‘You’ve come a long way,’ or ‘You’ve achieved a lot.’ But only you won’t hand out praise easily. And only you will give him a fair evaluation. From now on, he has to compete with Ling Song, compare himself to actors already considered ‘serious.’ He’ll have to refine his craft constantly. If he relaxes even a little, you’ll see it and think, ‘Figures.’”

Ruotang sighed, resting his chin on Guifan’s chest. “Suddenly I feel like I’m so harsh. But how do you know that’s what he’s thinking?”

“Because I’ve had similar thoughts,” Guifan removed his glasses and turned off the bedside lamp.

Ruotang grabbed his shoulder and shook him. “What kind of thoughts? Don’t pretend to sleep! Tell me or I’ll shake you harder!”

Guifan chuckled. “All right — if you shake me well enough, I’ll tell you.”

“What the hell? Are you really Lu Guifan?” Ruotang’s face turned bright red.

Guifan pulled his head into his chest, whispering, “Back when I first realized I liked you, I thought… What if I never win you over? Then I’d make myself a part of your life — be the battery in your phone, the power in your car. I’d do interviews just so you’d see me. If I couldn’t be loved by you, I’d at least be remembered by you.”

Listening to his heartbeat, Ruotang felt his own heart flutter. He suddenly rolled over on top of Guifan.

“What now?” Guifan asked.

“I’ve decided to reward you… by shaking.”

Guifan pinched him and laughed, “How many shakes can you do?”

“As many as I can. The rest is all yours.”

Guifan covered his eyes and rolled them over, wrapping Jiang Ruotang in his arms. “I trust myself more than I trust your shaking.”

---

On the final day of the exhibit, after it closed to the public, Jiang Ruotang and Lu Guifan finally had their private time.

Until then, Guifan had avoided coming to the gallery to prevent being recognized.

Now, with the exhibit over, he could walk beside Jiang Ruotang openly.

“I heard you’re covering the investment gap for The City of Sand?” Lu Guifan asked while admiring a painting.

“What, regretting not investing in our clean energy company? Watch me burn cash on a film, and if it flops, I’ll cry in your arms,” Ruotang joked.

“I just think… you have a unique attachment to this story. Is it really just about completing a missing puzzle piece in our film industry’s sci-fi genre? Or about showcasing your dad’s skills against international directors?”

“It’s because of you,” Jiang Ruotang said.

“Me? Why?”

“You remember I once told you I’d make a sci-fi movie — the kind you love. You even reviewed the script’s science with your mentor.”

“That’s it?”

“And because the two protagonists in the film — one is a physicist, the other a photographer — they’re strangers who get to know each other through radio signals. Like a version of you and me, in another world, finally meeting in the City of Sand.”

Lu Guifan looked at Jiang Ruotang’s smiling face. Behind him hung the vibrant painting Roche’s Limit.

So whether it was a painting or a movie, both could be Jiang Ruotang’s way of loving him — and loving his world.