Two months ago, when Rong Xu and Yang Changzheng met at Huaxia Entertainment, this top-tier musician had only promised to compose at least seven songs. In reality, most albums average ten songs, so seven felt a bit lacking. Recently, Luo Zhentao had been reaching out to well-known composers, hoping to commission another two or three songs to round out Rong Xu’s album.

But now, Yang Changzheng had unexpectedly composed nine tracks.

When he heard this, Luo Zhentao was overjoyed.

Given Yang Changzheng’s reputation and prestigious standing in the industry, many younger musicians had turned down Luo’s invitation to contribute to the album, afraid that their work would pale in comparison to the master’s and that releasing their songs alongside his would be nothing short of showing off in front of a true expert.

Luo Zhentao had been worrying about this issue for days, losing sleep and hair over it. And now Yang Changzheng had solved the problem himself? Luo was thrilled and immediately ushered him into his office, offering tea and refreshments.

Warm, radiant sunlight poured in through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Outside, spring was in bloom, that early season of alternating warmth and cold. Inside, the heat was turned up high—no chill could seep in.

Yang Changzheng sat on the sofa, sipping tea. It was a premium-grade Biluochun tea Luo Zhentao had recently sourced from Dongting Mountain in Suzhou, picked before the Qingming Festival. The tea was top-quality, with bright green leaves and a fresh, crisp fragrance. Though Yang wasn’t a tea connoisseur, he listened patiently as Luo talked about tea and its preparation.

On the other side of the room, a handsome young man sat slightly apart on another sofa, his head lowered, studying several sheets of sheet music.

Rong Xu wasn’t reading quickly—he examined each piece with great care, his slender fingers slowly tracing the staff lines. As his eyes moved along the notes, he hummed softly. It wasn’t until the sun dipped below the horizon that he finally closed the last sheet.

From across the room, Yang Changzheng saw him do this and asked with a smile, “So, what do you think? Do you like them?”

The master had been discussing tea techniques just a second ago, yet now he turned abruptly to Rong Xu. Luo Zhentao was slightly startled, only now realizing that Yang’s attention had never really been on their tea conversation—it had always been on Rong Xu.

Feeling a bit awkward, Luo Zhentao didn’t speak.

Rong Xu walked over to Yang Changzheng, looked him in the eye, and nodded earnestly. “Teacher Yang, I really like all nine songs. They’re excellent.”

Yang laughed heartily, stood up, and extended his hand. “Then, shall we say—happy collaboration?”

Rong Xu smiled and shook the renowned musician’s hand with both of his. “Happy collaboration.”

With that, the partnership between Rong Xu and Yang Changzheng was officially sealed.

Huaxia Entertainment had a meticulous legal department when it came to music copyrights. Since both Rong Xu and Yang Changzheng were under Huaxia’s umbrella—as singer and composer respectively—everything proceeded through the proper company channels. Luo Zhentao quickly brought out the long-prepared contract. After a quick review by both parties, the documents were signed.

Yang Changzheng was also a celebrated lyricist. These nine songs had all been composed and written by him. Three were love ballads, two had traditional Chinese elements, three were in English. And one—the title track—had been written especially for Rong Xu.

Each of the nine songs had its own unique focus and style, but the standout pieces were the title track and one of the English songs.

All afternoon, Rong Xu and Yang Changzheng discussed the songs in depth.

Performing a song isn’t just about singing—it’s also about acting, about conveying the emotions woven into the music. Those feelings are hidden in every note, every lyric. When words and melody combine, even seemingly ordinary lines can stir the deepest emotions.

As the singer, Rong Xu naturally had to ask the composer about the deeper meanings behind each piece, to ensure he could truly grasp the emotions the songs aimed to express.

While the two of them discussed, Luo Zhentao remained on the sidelines, serving tea and pouring water, unable to get a word in. Despite the generational gap between them, the “grandfather and grandson pair” were engrossed in conversation. Before Yang left, he said directly to Rong Xu:

“If you have more questions, call me. I’m always available. It’s been years since I acted as a music producer, but I want to personally oversee the production of this album. What do you say, Xiao Rong? Can I?”

An entire album—written, composed, and produced by Yang Changzheng himself? This wasn’t just a golden opportunity. This was a gift from the heavens.

Luo Zhentao immediately shot Rong Xu a meaningful look. The young man smiled calmly and replied, “If you don’t mind the trouble, I’d be honored.”

Over the next month, Rong Xu focused entirely on recording the album.

Yang Changzheng was very strict with his standards, and Rong Xu had high expectations for himself too. The two of them working together meant perfectionism was inevitable. The first English song alone took four full days to record to both their satisfaction.

But once the initial track was complete and they’d found their rhythm, the rest of the recording went more smoothly.

For two straight weeks, Rong Xu left home early and returned late—out the door by 7 or 8 a.m., and sometimes not home until midnight. And every time he returned, he would find a certain man waiting at home for him.

The few chances they had to actually see each other were brief—they barely exchanged a few words before Rong Xu had to rush to bed and rest up for the next day’s recording.

By the time eight of the nine songs were finished and only the final track remained, Rong Xu became even busier.

The Golden Phoenix Awards ceremony was drawing near. Both the Black Clouds and Silence crews were in the final phase of promotional events. As the leading actor in both films, Rong Xu was expected to attend—yet he couldn’t neglect the last stages of the album.

So he began juggling both responsibilities, his daily schedule packed to the brim. Often, he returned home when the sun was already rising. But even then, he frequently saw the same man, still awake.

Whenever he opened the door, as the morning light filtered through the windows into the living room, he would see Qin Cheng there—waiting for him. Whether it was 5 a.m., 6 a.m., or even 7 or 8 a.m.—as soon as he opened the door, Qin Cheng would be there. Rong Xu didn’t know whether he had stayed up all night, or simply risen early.

In those moments, a warm feeling always rose quietly in his chest. A thousand words would condense into a single phrase:

“I’m home.”

But one morning over breakfast, Rong Xu suddenly frowned and asked seriously, “Aren’t you kind of like a housewife waiting for her husband to come home?”

Qin Cheng had just taken a sip of soy milk: “Cough! Cough! Cough!”

Rong Xu looked up at the man’s sharp, handsome face—and then imagined him as a gentle, demure housewife…

Rong Xu: “…”

Ugh, that image was way too R-rated. Better forget it.

Rong Xu had said it in passing, not thinking too much. But what he didn’t know was that after he slept for three or four hours and left again, that supposedly “idle” man stood by the window, gazing down at the bustling capital.

After a long silence, he took out his phone and sent a message.

One minute later, in the Huaxia Entertainment building, Xu Jin was busy with work when a new WeChat message popped up. He opened it and nearly twitched at the corner of his mouth—

Qin Cheng: “…Am I a little too idle these days?”

Having known this man for so long, Xu Jin certainly wasn’t naive. With all his intelligence, he knew exactly what Qin Cheng meant. On the surface, the message seemed like a casual self-deprecating remark.

But in reality, it was saying: You, as my manager, are too idle!

Idle? Him?!

Not at all!

Zhuang Hua Luo had just finished its theatrical run two months ago. In just half a month, he’d be flying to New Zealand with this same man to shoot another movie. And in the meantime, he had to accompany him to various endorsement events, fashion shows, magazine shoots…

Qin Cheng might be enjoying a leisurely break, but Xu Jin still had to show up at the office 9-to-5 every day, handling a ton of matters for a certain someone.

Besides, three major films a year—you call that idle?

In any year of the entertainment industry, that kind of output qualifies as a workaholic!

After carefully wording his reply, Xu Jin sent:
[Xu Jin: You’re idle? How are you idle? Enjoy your break and get ready for filming next month.]

A moment later, Qin Cheng replied:
[Qin Cheng: Can you arrange a few more events for me?]

Xu Jin: “……”
Arrange more work? What a sneaky way to say you want to work more and I should get busier!

After digging through some relatively unimportant engagements, Xu Jin sent over the revised schedule. Finally, Qin Cheng stopped messaging him. But the gold-medal agent of Huaxia Entertainment couldn’t help twitching at the corners of his mouth and decided to skip work altogether.

“I’m about to start flying around the globe again next week. What’s the point of going into the office now? I’m going home! Rest time!”

Qin Cheng glanced through the events Xu Jin had sent him. Just as he was reviewing the schedule, a new message came in. He paused, then replied:
[I might not be home this evening. Just have her come by and leave the stuff in the apartment.]

Aunt Qin replied immediately:
[Alright. Rongrong hasn’t tried the peach blossom cakes your grandma made. My flight out of B City is at 7 tonight, so I won’t have time to visit. I’ll have the assistant drop it off and leave. Make sure Rongrong eats it. I’ll come visit you and Rongrong next month when I have more time.]

Qin Cheng responded calmly:
[Got it. I’ll tell him.]

His maternal grandparents came from a famous literary family in Jiangnan. His grandmother, in particular, was skilled in both calligraphy and painting and also an excellent cook. She often made delicate, sweet Su-style pastries for her children and grandchildren.

True elegance isn’t about keeping away from the kitchen. Food, too, can be a form of refinement and art. Qin Cheng’s grandmother loved to make good food, and loved to eat good food even more. She was an honorary member of the Huaxia Calligraphy & Painting Association and a nationally recognized culinary critic.

Although Qin Cheng didn’t have much of a sweet tooth nowadays, a gift from an elder could never be refused.

At 4 PM, Qin Cheng left the apartment and drove to Huaxia Entertainment.

Yang Changzheng had something to attend to today and couldn’t stay late, so Rong Xu finally had a rare evening off.

Qin Cheng waited about twenty minutes in the parking garage. Soon, a teenager in a baseball cap and sunglasses came briskly out of the elevator and walked straight to the car, opened the door, and got in.

“Today’s session went more smoothly. At this rate, we should be able to finish recording the album tomorrow.”
Rong Xu took off his sunglasses and hat as he spoke. “But the promotion for Black Clouds and Silence is still ongoing, so I’m a bit busy. Oh, right—Qin Cheng, do you know what Old Yang told me today?”

As he casually tossed the hat and sunglasses into the glove compartment, Rong Xu chuckled.
“He said that back in the day, Ling Xiao and Gu Mingshu had arguments way more intense than the ones we acted out in Black Clouds.” He paused and turned to look at Qin Cheng. “I always thought Ling Xiao was super chill and never fought with anyone, but turns out—”

His voice suddenly stopped. Rong Xu blinked.
“…Why are you looking at me like that?”

With tightly pressed lips, the man’s elegant and handsome face was tinged with a shadowy intensity. His phoenix eyes narrowed slightly as he asked seriously,
“Do you notice anything different about me today?”

Rong Xu: “…Should I?”

Qin Cheng nodded solemnly. “Yes.”

Rong Xu studied him for a moment, then ventured, “Did you change your hairstyle?”

Qin Cheng shook his head.

“…Do you think I’m going to guess it?”

With a serious expression, Qin Cheng pointed to his own chin.

Rong Xu froze, stared at him closely for a long time, but still couldn’t see anything wrong. Qin Cheng’s finger twitched again. Rong Xu sighed, leaned forward, and looked from underneath.

And then—

Rong Xu: “…”

A tiny, rice-sized red pimple had popped up just beneath the man’s chin. It was sneakily placed—completely invisible from a normal angle, only viewable from below.

Rong Xu couldn’t help but laugh softly. He was just about to tease this man—who had actually gotten a pimple and cared so much about it—when suddenly, Qin Cheng leaned in and kissed him hard.

One hand cradled the back of Rong Xu’s head, pulling him firmly into his arms. Rong Xu, resting in the embrace, slowly closed his eyes and let himself be kissed.

Being held like this, surrounded by the man’s scent, made him involuntarily let out a soft hum.

When the kiss finally ended, Rong Xu didn’t move. Instead, he simply laid down on Qin Cheng’s lap and said bluntly,
“You did that on purpose.”

Qin Cheng raised an eyebrow. “Did I say I didn’t do it on purpose?”

The whole “look at my pimple” thing was just an excuse—the real motive was clearly to steal a kiss.

As an actor, Rong Xu often had overnight shoots. His sleep and meal schedules were a mess. At just twenty, still in his adolescence, even though he wasn’t prone to acne and had good skin, this kind of irregular lifestyle during filming sometimes made him break out. Usually, a bit of makeup and good lighting could conceal one or two pimples on camera—no big deal.

But Qin Cheng? He had been on vacation ever since the Rouge Flower roadshow ended. So why was he getting breakouts like someone filming overnight?

Rong Xu pursed his lips. “Don’t stay up waiting for me anymore. It’s not good for your health.”
Then he smiled. “But the album recording should finish tomorrow, so you won’t get the chance to wait up anymore.”

In response, Qin Cheng simply leaned down and kissed him again.

No one noticed the sports car tucked into a corner of Huaxia Entertainment’s second basement parking level. It had been parked there for a while, and around 5 PM, it finally drove off toward a high-end restaurant.

An hour earlier, Aunt Qin had finished a meeting and walked into a luxury apartment holding a simple, elegant food box. She entered the code, opened the door, and—unsurprisingly—the apartment was empty.

Without much thought, the graceful, beautiful lady placed the box on the dining table and prepared to leave. But just as she entered the living room, she noticed a few articles of clothing casually tossed over the sofa and two half-finished cups of coffee on the table.

She frowned slightly and sighed. “Young people just don’t know how to tidy up.”

Setting down her purse, she began to tidy up a bit—not a full cleaning, just organizing the clutter and putting things in their proper places.

She picked up the jackets belonging to Rong Xu and Qin Cheng and headed to the latter’s room to hang them up. Passing by the washroom, she glanced in casually—and froze in her tracks.

After a brief pause, she turned away and went into Rong Xu’s room. She folded and hung up his clothes, murmuring to herself, “Rongrong really has good taste. These pieces are all very stylish.”

After that, she made no attempt to snoop around either room. But for some reason, when she passed by the bathroom connected to Rong Xu’s room, she instinctively turned her head—and that glance made her stop cold.

A minute later, Aunt Qin entered the bathroom. She stared at the empty cup by the sink, dazed. After a long moment, she looked over at the towel rack inside the shower. There were no towels hanging on it—just a bare metal bar covered with a thin layer of dust.

She pondered for a second, then turned on the faucet. Clear water gushed out instantly.

There was water.

Next, she went straight into Qin Cheng’s bathroom. Her eyes widened at the sight of two toothbrushes by the sink. She turned her head and saw two towels on the rack.

After a while, Aunt Qin picked up both ceramic toothbrush holders. On the white marble counter were two clearly different-colored patches—stains left from long-term placement. The shapes matched the toothbrush holders exactly.

These toothbrush holders… that she now held in her hands…

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Author’s Note:
Qin Chengcheng: Rongrong! Look at this pimple! I got it for you!
Rongrong: Where, where?
Qin Chengcheng: Mwah~ Kiss it better =3=