YMW CH 44

Broken Heart

He Yao suddenly realized that Xie Guilan always getting into fights and being picked on in the past wasn’t without reason.

Damn it, who wouldn’t be pissed off?!

But with the performance about to start, He Yao didn’t argue with him and quickly followed him onto the stage.

Xu Lingling wore a flowing white European-style gown, while Zhang Yuanzhou dressed in a black suit with a half-white mask. As the lights dimmed, the Phantom of the Opera silently emerged.

On stage, one spotlight after another flickered to life, only to fade again. The prince chased after a towering, six-foot-three Cinderella, nearly colliding with the Ugly Duckling. Lu Wang spun around, narrowly avoiding a crash, just as Cinderella opened her eyes inside the crystal coffin.

The lighting shifted, weaving through medieval knights’ armor, drifting through London’s fog, and then transporting the audience into yet another fairytale world.

Even on stage, Xu Lingling could tell the effect was incredible. They hadn’t rehearsed with lighting—during practice, the stage lights had simply been left on.

All of this had been set up by Cen Wu the night before.

Cen Wu wasn’t great at walking in heels. As he stepped onto the stage, he trembled, but Xie Guilan held him close, one arm securely around his waist, the other gripping his hand firmly. When he lowered his head, his cold lips nearly grazed Cen Wu’s ear, sending a shiver down his spine.

“Cen Wu,” Xie Guilan’s palm pressed against the bare skin of his back, fingers tracing his spine as he whispered, “Look up.”

Without thinking, Cen Wu obediently lifted his head—only to meet Xie Guilan’s deep, unreadable gaze. Xie Guilan’s thin, crimson lips seemed to curve slightly as he murmured teasingly, “So obedient.”

Cen Wu: “…”

Obedient, my ass.

Xie Guilan’s large hand gripped his waist, guiding him step by step to the center of the stage. Cen Wu didn’t even notice. His emerald-green eyes remained locked on Xie Guilan the entire way.

Offstage, Guan Hangxue snapped picture after picture, while Cen Xiao covered his face, on the verge of a breakdown, resisting the urge to pry Xie Guilan’s hand off Cen Wu’s waist.

What the hell was he touching?! Who gave him permission?!

Even though Xie Guilan wasn’t playing the princess, the fact that Cen Wu was willing to crossdress was enough to send the whole school into shock.

Everyone from freshmen to seniors knew Cen Wu—the arrogant young master who practically wore My dad is Cen Junshan on his forehead.

And yet, here he was, willingly participating in a school event.

Cen Wu’s waist was already slim, but with the corset, it looked like Xie Guilan could wrap his hand around it completely.

Tonight, with his makeup done, his striking green eyes sank deeper into his features. His pale, porcelain skin became even more delicate under the shifting stage lights. When the lighting dimmed for a brief moment, his eyes were the only thing still glowing—reflecting the moonlight from outside the auditorium, burning like flames in the darkness.

The rich green velvet of his skirt billowed under the high ceiling lights. Cheers and applause erupted from the audience.

Cen Wu barely noticed.

Not until Xie Guilan suddenly tightened his grip, pulling him into his arms. Cen Wu crashed against his chest, nearly getting kissed in the process.

Xie Guilan’s breath was scorching. The heat spread to Cen Wu’s face, making his lips tremble. He instinctively bit down on his lower lip, but the moment he let go, his reddened lips almost brushed against Xie Guilan’s.

Or maybe they did touch. His lips trembled—like something warm and soft had just grazed them.

Or maybe it was just his imagination.

His ears flushed red. The deafening cheers from the crowd rang in his head, making his legs go weak. He wanted to push Xie Guilan away but had no strength left.

“Holy sh*t, am I really getting to see this for free? Is Cen Wu’s family going to hunt me down for this?”

“WHAT IS HAPPENING? I was only out sick for a month, and now my mortal enemies are in love???”

“Xie Guilan’s legs are longer than my entire lifespan. If he had joined the drama club in freshman year, I would’ve recruited him in a heartbeat.”

“As if you’d dare. He’s still a sophomore, why don’t you go ask him now?”

“…Nah, I like my face intact.”

Cen Wu was too dazed to care about social anxiety—he barely even knew what he was doing on stage.

Only after the final bow, when Xie Guilan led him offstage, did he finally snap out of it. His face still burning, he sneakily kicked the back of Xie Guilan’s shoe.

“Got it out of your system?” Xie Guilan smirked, lounging against a table. His leather shoe lifted slightly, grazing Cen Wu’s calf beneath the skirt in a way that felt far too ambiguous.

Cen Wu: “…”

This felt suspiciously familiar.

Before he could figure it out, Xie Guilan bent down and grabbed his ankle—slipping off the high heels and holding them in his hand.

“Xie, Wu! Second Young Master!” Zhang Yuanzhou called. “Come take a photo!”

Meng Liangping had also come backstage, waving them over. Cen Wu tugged Xie Guilan along, and Lu Wang saved them a spot near the center-right of the group.

The class was buzzing with excitement. Behind them, a couch was piled with costume props. The freshman class had performed The Werewolf, and wolf-ear headbands were scattered everywhere.

Cen Wu picked up a pair of gray wolf ears and plopped them onto Xie Guilan’s head.

Even in heels, Cen Wu wasn’t as tall as him. Xie Guilan rested a hand on his waist, lowering his head slightly.

“HOLY SH*T,” He Yao gasped, walking past. He took a few steps back, staring at them before clicking his tongue. “That actually suits you. It’s like you were born with them.”

If nothing else, at least he looked the part of a well-dressed mutt.

Xie Guilan shot him a cold, warning glance.

He Yao puffed out his chest fearlessly.

“Alright, settle down!” Meng Liangping scowled. “Get into position!”

Xie Guilan wasn’t one to cooperate. He had never joined a class photo before. Even with the wolf ears on, he still looked distant and moody.

But just as Meng Liangping hit the shutter, Cen Wu suddenly tiptoed, hooked his arms around Xie Guilan’s neck, and pulled him down.

Xie Guilan froze. Cen Wu smiled up at him, his eyes crinkling in delight.

Xie Guilan stared at him for a second, then found himself smiling back.

Under the backstage lights, for once, there was no darkness in his expression. Just an ordinary day in his high school life.

Surrounded by laughing classmates, he had danced with the person he liked. That person’s long curls cascaded over pale shoulders, lips painted a delicate red—beautiful, like a porcelain doll.

And in that moment, as he held his porcelain doll close for the picture, his heartbeat pounded so fast he wished it could belong to them instead.

His life ahead was supposed to be just as lonely and silent as the past decade.

But because he met one person, his once-quiet youth suddenly ignited, and his heart burned fiercely.

“The freshmen are doing a group chorus,” Zhang Yuanzhou ran to peek from behind the curtain, then rushed back to tell them. “Wanna go check it out?”

Only the freshmen’s chorus performance remained. Xie Guilan wasn’t interested in these things, but Cen Wu wanted him to experience the full event. Without even bothering to change, he pulled Xie Guilan along to watch.

Who would’ve thought? His social anxiety had already been half-cured by Xie Guilan.

As they were heading out, Cen Wu’s parents happened to arrive backstage. Guan Xingxue was holding a large bouquet of white roses wrapped with green ribbons. She didn’t hand them to Cen Wu, afraid he’d be too tired, so she held them for him instead. Then, she reached out to hug him, her voice brimming with excitement. “Great performance!”

Cen Wu froze for a moment, reminded of that night in Berlin over six months ago. When he left the award ceremony, the media’s noise was swallowed by the city’s night. There was no one waiting outside for him.

The Berlin night was bathed in bright moonlight. He had walked a long way alone, clutching a bouquet in his arms.

He hesitated for only a second before turning to look for Xie Guilan, but Xie Guilan merely gestured at him before slipping away from backstage.

Cen Wu lifted his head. Maybe it was a trick of the light, but for a fleeting moment, he thought he saw Song Lingwei.

Xie Guilan hadn’t expected Song Lingwei to show up either.

Her health wasn’t great, but she wasn’t completely bedridden. She wore a knitted cardigan, her long black hair flowing over her shoulders, still beautiful. From behind, she looked no older than her thirties.

Zhang Yuanzhou, who had been running around all evening, was the busiest person there. He had just gone on stage to deliver flowers for another class.

When he passed by Xie Guilan and Song Lingwei, he couldn’t help but exclaim, “Xie bro, is this your mom? Auntie looks so young!”

Song Lingwei smiled at him.

Feeling a bit embarrassed, Zhang Yuanzhou scratched his head. He only knew that Cen Wu’s mother was a famous actress—he hadn’t expected Xie Guilan’s mother to be just as stunning.

No wonder Xie Guilan had such a ridiculously good-looking face.

Some things just couldn’t be envied.

“Xiao Lan,” Song Lingwei rubbed her arms against the cold, her voice so soft it was almost a whisper. “You seem really happy tonight.”

Xie Guilan still hadn’t taken off the wolf ears that Cen Wu had put on him earlier. She had been sitting in the parents’ section and had watched Class 2-3’s performance. On stage, Xie Guilan had actually smiled—because Cen Wu, flustered while lifting the hem of his skirt, had accidentally stepped on his foot.

Cen Wu’s face had turned crimson as he tried to avoid Xie Guilan, but Xie Guilan had only drawn closer, his arms tightening around Cen Wu’s waist, pulling him forcefully into his embrace.

Song Lingwei had never imagined this. She had thought the child she raised was a heartless monster. But now, this monster had begun coveting her own biological son.

Xie Guilan’s Adam’s apple bobbed. His deep, dark peach blossom eyes were engulfed in the shadows as he stared at her coldly.

“It doesn’t matter which hospital I go to,” Song Lingwei took a step forward, gripping his arm and persuading him, “but if the Cen family finds out, do you really think you can keep studying in Huaijing?”

They stood in the passageway beside the audience seating. No one could hear their conversation in the darkness, but just a few steps away, the backstage lights glowed.

Song Lingwei gazed at Cen Wu’s back.

Cen Xiao had his suit jacket draped over his arm, his shirt sleeves rolled up as he reached out to hook an arm around Cen Wu’s neck. Guan Xingxue, standing beside them, slapped his hand away, scolding him for bullying his younger brother. Cen Junshan held Guan Xingxue’s purse and also carried Cen Wu’s bouquet. He didn’t dare provoke anyone—he could only pray he wouldn’t get dragged into anything.

Song Lingwei had never regretted her decisions. Though her child had grown up away from her, she had given him a good life.

“Xiao Lan,” her lips were pale. With a soft, motherly sorrow in her eyes, she said, “You know what you’ve done. I understand you, but what about others?”

She pointed toward the Cen family. Anyone looking at them would see a family worth envying. She wanted Xie Guilan to feel the sting of that—to reflect on just how selfish he was to try and ruin Cen Wu’s life.

Cen Wu was meant to have everything in this world that people could envy. And yet, Xie Guilan’s love had become the only stain on his life.

Cen Xiao wanted to know how far things had gone between Cen Wu and Xie Guilan. He could tolerate Cen Wu dating someone, but if Xie Guilan dared to take things further, he wouldn’t hold back.

“Brother,” Cen Wu’s pale ears flushed so red they looked like they might bleed. His lips trembled as he stammered, “W-What are you even saying?”

He immediately turned to glance at Cen Junshan and Guan Xingxue, afraid they might have overheard.

Truthfully, he didn’t mind sleeping with Xie Guilan. Xie Guilan was exactly his type.

But only if there wasn’t so much mess involved.

And Xie Guilan was straight. He wouldn’t be okay with something purely physical, even if it was done out of spite.

So Cen Wu never entertained the idea.

Cen Xiao remained skeptical, wanting to press Cen Wu further. But suddenly, from backstage, a sharp, piercing sound erupted.

Xu Lingling had been pleased with her makeup that night. She had taken a selfie, intending to post it on Weibo to keep up her public presence. After all, she was an actress with over six thousand followers.

But the moment she opened Weibo, her phone lagged for a second.

For a brief, heart-stopping moment, she thought she had been canceled online. Her hands went ice-cold, and her pulse nearly leaped into her throat.

But when she checked, she saw that her follower count had skyrocketed by fifty thousand.

And it was still climbing.

Every time she refreshed, thousands more followers appeared.

Her long-time fans were weeping in the comments.

【Lingzi, your big break is here.】

【Holy crap, I’ve never seen anything like this. Could Ling really be about to blow up? Wuwuwu.】

【Ahhhh, for a second, I thought this was a new movie. The production quality—who edited this for Huaijing No.1 High?】

Xu Lingling was completely bewildered. She had no idea what was happening.

Beside her, Zhang Yuanzhou was staring at his phone.

Then, he let out a shriek even sharper than hers.

“Holy crap! Who is this hot guy?! Is this really me?! Why the hell don’t I look like this?!”

Tonight marks the grand centennial celebration of Huaijing No. 1 High School. The event is lavish, attended not only by the entire faculty and student body but also by numerous prominent figures. The opening performance, a stunning display of music and dance, captivated the audience. With media present and a live broadcast underway, the celebration has already made it to the trending list.

Just moments ago, after Class 3 of the second-year students finished their stage play, someone uploaded a video online—an expertly edited highlight reel of the performance. The video featured a dramatic “dark twist” for every character, perfectly synced with the beat, showcasing impressive editing skills.

It started with comedic, fairy tale-like scenes, but with a sudden shift in lighting and angles, the atmosphere transformed into a night shrouded in thick, eerie fog.

The boy playing Snow White had initially performed an exaggerated scene of eating a poisoned apple, contorting his face in a grotesque manner before collapsing—an act that had the audience nearly dying of laughter. However, in the video, shadows obscured part of his face, making his eye sockets appear hollow and dark. Blood dripped from his fingers clutching the apple, suggesting a sinister plot twist.

Cinderella emerged from the mist, lifting the hem of her gown. The stage lights sliced through the scene, severing her from the pumpkin carriage, as well as from the prince. Their gazes met, tangled in shifting light and shadow—fragmented, broken.

It was like an entirely different world.

Among the many standout shots, Lu Wang and Xu Lingling’s long takes were particularly remarkable, seamlessly transitioning in a single, unbroken camera movement—a true test of cinematographic skill.

Lu Wang had fair skin, though he wasn’t particularly handsome. His features carried a slight dullness, further emphasized by his ridiculous duck costume, making him look even more foolish. But under the camera’s gaze, his pale face appeared vacant and lost. As the other performers dispersed from the stage, only a lone duckling wandered in the darkness.

He kept walking forward, even though he had no idea where he was going, until he was swallowed by the thick fog.

All Lu Wang had done was follow Cen Wu’s instructions, waddling around on stage with his duck costume. He never expected to be filmed in such a way—suddenly, it was as if he had “acting skills.” The video portrayed him as a brave yet deeply sorrowful ugly duckling.

Lu Wang clutched his phone and rushed to show his parents. The moment his face appeared on screen, he excitedly pointed, exclaiming, “That—that’s me!”

His parents had always been kind to him, and Lu Wang knew that. But he also understood that while childish clumsiness was seen as adorable when young, he had grown up. One day, he would grow old. Without the innocence of childhood, he would no longer be “cute”—just a fool. Most people might feel pity, but few would genuinely love and care for an intellectually slow adult.

Even parents were no exception.

Though his family always praised him—telling him he did well on this, or performed well on that exam—he could sense that they were merely humoring him. They didn’t truly believe it.

Watching the video, Lu Wang’s mother gently patted his head. For the first time in years, she spoke with genuine admiration: “You acted really well.”

In that instant, Lu Wang’s tears fell uncontrollably. He wanted to cry, to sob, but even more than that—he wanted Cen Wu.

He wanted to be best friends with Cen Wu for a lifetime.

Even though Cen Wu hadn’t said anything, Lu Wang knew for certain that the video was his work. Cen Wu had given him noticeably more screen time than anyone else. No one else treated him this well.

They had known each other for many years, yet it felt like they had only truly met a few months ago.

And Cen Wu now was not quite the same as the Cen Wu from before.

But these past few months had already surpassed all those previous years.

Xu Lingling had the most screen time. The video opened with a shot of her embracing Zhang Yuanzhou, and it ended with her running, lifting the hem of her dress, glancing back over her shoulder.

When the scene darkened into its “corrupted” version, Zhang Yuanzhou’s white mask took on a chilling, skeletal quality—pale and obsessive. He gripped the female lead’s hand tightly, veins bulging across his knuckles.

Even his veins looked intense under the camera.

“This shot right here.” Zhang Yuanzhou frantically took a screenshot. “A hundred years from now, when I’m dead, please stick this onto my tombstone. Thanks.”

Xu Lingling was also enthusiastically taking screenshots—of herself. The two of them kept cropping each other out of their respective pictures.

Zhang Yuanzhou rubbed his chin, unable to pull himself away from his own on-screen charisma. Who knew he had such good acting skills? He was born to be a mysterious, captivating figure! Smirking at Xu Lingling, he teased, “Ling-jie, I never knew I loved you this much.”

Xu Lingling smacked him across the head.

But all of that paled in comparison to the final shot.

In the last frame, the female lead’s curls streamed behind her as she ran, dress billowing. Her makeup emphasized her sharp bone structure and wide, innocent eyes. Beneath her feet, thorny vines slowly sprouted, inch by inch.

The entire scene was bathed in cool-toned lighting. Her skirt lifted with each step, like a frigid night-blooming cereus. Even the way her hair curled in the air was flawlessly captured.

She turned her head, lashes lifting—her gaze shifting from pure innocence to the wild ambition of a nightingale.

Xu Lingling’s name had been an afterthought.

When her father went to register her birth, he had expected a boy. When his wife gave birth to a girl instead, they got into a heated argument—almost to the point of abandoning her. Neither of them cared enough to even pick a name.

The registrar had told them that without a name, the child couldn’t be registered. Her father, impatient and irritable, snapped, “A girl’s name? Just pick anything—Lingling, Cuicui, whatever. Just write one down already. Stop wasting time.”

The staff, unwilling to argue, simply wrote down the first name he blurted out.

Xu Lingling had fought hard for everything she had. She excelled academically, sometimes ranking in the top three of her class. In Huaijing No. 1 High School, that was no small feat. With grades like hers, she was guaranteed a spot in a prestigious university.

But that wasn’t enough for her.

She had a deep, unshakable feeling—one day, she would step into a much bigger world.

A future even brighter than this.

It sounded like wishful thinking, so she never told anyone.

But that final shot—

It was as if the camera had seen right through her. Every bit of her pride, her ambition, had taken root and flourished on screen. It carried an irresistible allure.

【@Huaijing No. 1 High School—three minutes! Give me this girl’s full contact info!】

【She looks like an actress.】

【Holy crap—I just realized I’ve seen her in a movie before! She only had a few minutes of screen time, but I remember thinking she looked stunning. I had no idea she was still a high school student.】

Others might not realize it, but Xu Lingling had experience on set. She could tell that all these shots were from last night’s dress rehearsal. Especially that final scene—Cen Wu had made her run dozens of times to get it just right.

“Er Shao…” Xu Lingling turned, searching for Cen Wu.

Cen Wu shook his head at her.

Xu Lingling sensed that he didn’t want others to know, so she didn’t press further. But she already understood what Cen Wu meant—he wanted her to focus on her studies. With this scene in the performance, she wouldn’t be forgotten for the next three years.

The makeup Cen Wu adjusted for her perfectly complemented her bone structure, especially resembling how she would look in a few years.

When the time came for her to make a comeback, as long as the script wasn’t too bad, she could pull out this scene again. It wasn’t impossible for her to regain fame overnight.

Many people would be curious to see what the little nightingale had grown into.

Xie Guilan’s film and television company had top-tier resources and scripts. After tonight, Xu Lingling’s path would be smoother than in the original storyline.

Their stage play was called True Love’s Heart, but the dark-themed edit that Cen Wu made was retitled #Shattered Heart#. The moment it was posted, without any hired promotion, it shot up to the top three trending searches.

Many people came across the video while scrolling. Realizing the Huai Jing No.1 High School’s gala was still ongoing, they flocked to the school’s official blog to check it out.

And then they discovered the edit wasn’t complete.

【??? Who’s the girl in the green dress? Why wasn’t she included?】

【Wuwuwu, my queen, how many more years must I wait for you?】

【What do you mean “girl”? That’s Cen Wu, Guan Xingxue’s kid.】

【And who’s the guy acting alongside Cen Wu? Help—does Huai Jing No.1 High just admit students based on looks?】

【Holy crap, did no one see what the official blog posted?】

The school had uploaded many behind-the-scenes clips of students rehearsing. Last night, Cen Wu had been directing Lu Wang and Xu Lingling’s performance, and he was captured in the footage.

He was wearing that dark green velvet dress, with Xie Guilan’s black blazer draped over his shoulders. His complexion was icy pale, and he was thin, his back straight and distant. His misty, beautiful eyes, when he turned his head, overlapped with a fleeting moment from his past life.

But his current face was still so, so young, his curled lashes carrying a hint of softness.

The comment section under the official blog was a mess of people wailing.

Cen Wu had almost pulled an all-nighter. With limited resources, he only had the rehearsal footage. He had originally planned to include clips of himself and Xie Guilan, but then he realized there was no way to make Xie Guilan any more “darkened” than he already was. That guy was just inherently blackened.

Besides, editing himself into the video felt like social suicide, so he ended up cutting that idea.

While waiting backstage, he scrolled through his phone for a bit. The video had blown up far more than he expected. He’d probably start getting some editing commissions soon—not only enough money to escape, but also to support Xie Guilan.

Tonight’s hosts were Xie Shangjing and his girlfriend—the school beauty from the second-year class. The school had put a lot of effort into this anniversary event, and the hosts couldn’t afford to make mistakes. But it was obvious that after Class 2-3’s performance, the atmosphere on stage wasn’t as lively as before.

Xie Shangjing was responsible for announcing the programs. Standing at the side of the stage, he watched as Cen Wu and Xie Guilan finished their play, forcing down the frustration roiling in his chest, though his mouth was filled with the taste of blood.

He had seen the trending video. He had also seen the official blog’s post. The comments underneath were all talking about how well Cen Wu and Xie Guilan matched.

Xie Shangjing ground his teeth.

Song Lingwei.

That woman was useless.

He had thought Song Lingwei could keep Xie Guilan in check, keep him away from Cen Wu. But in the end, Xie Guilan was still sticking to Cen Wu like a dog.

He had spent his whole life as a pampered young master. He would never lower himself to chase after anyone. It had always been others chasing after him.

Besides, he couldn’t.

Tonight, Xie Mingcheng was also present, wearing his signature cold silver-rimmed glasses, his sharp gaze locked onto the stage.

He would never allow his son to embarrass himself in a place like this.

Xie Shangjing maintained his polished, friendly smile, keeping up the host’s charismatic demeanor. But the moment he turned to step off the stage, his delicate, handsome face suddenly darkened with a chilling fury.

Beside him, his girlfriend was so startled that she didn’t dare say a word, watching him walk toward the audience with a pale expression.

The crowd below was already abuzz with gossip, their eyes gleaming with intrigue. Some even risked being caught by Xie Shangjing as they whispered to each other.

“Holy sh*t, what’s going on? I always thought Cen Wu and Xie Shangjing were a thing, but Cen Wu and Xie Guilan also seem kinda… weird. Xie Shangjing’s face just now looked awful.”

“No way, Xie Shangjing has a girlfriend! The host on stage just now—that’s his girlfriend.”

“Why not? Xie Shangjing’s girlfriend is just for show. He changes them like clockwork—several per month.”

“I even heard that Xie Shangjing and Xie Guilan might be brothers. Like, actual blood brothers.”

“Sis-in-law, open the door, I’m your brother (?)”

“What the hell are you on about? There are plenty of people with the surname Xie at this school. I could say I’m a Xie too. If Xie Mingcheng gives me a billion tonight, I’d reluctantly call him ‘Dad.’”

Xie Shangjing knew Xie Mingcheng was watching him. The school was probably buzzing with talk about him too. But even so, he walked straight toward Cen Wu.

Cen Wu had been waiting backstage for over ten minutes, but Xie Guilan still hadn’t returned. Feeling uneasy, he went out to look for him. But before he could find Xie Guilan, he ran into Xie Shangjing instead.

The sight of Xie Shangjing was instantly irritating.

In the original timeline, Xie Shangjing’s girlfriend had committed suicide in their third year. Xie Shangjing had been in a fight with the original Cen Wu at the time, furious at himself for ever liking such an idiot.

Why should he waste his time entangled with this fool when he could walk a golden path toward marriage, heirs, and inheriting the family business?

So he had slept with that girl, promised to marry her—then took it back after the fact. It had never meant anything to him. After all, he’d slept with countless women.

He wasn’t about to take responsibility for every single one.

To him, this girl was no different from the ones he picked up at clubs.

But she hadn’t been able to take the blow. In their third year, she jumped off the school building’s rooftop.

Xie Shangjing had thought she was just a sore loser. Too much trouble. The original Cen Wu had also been annoyed with her, because people had already been treating him like Xie Shangjing’s boyfriend, and now he was dragged into the mess and scolded too.

Cen Wu turned to leave. But Xie Shangjing grabbed him.

“Did you even listen to what I said?!” Xie Shangjing’s voice was low and cold. He tightened his grip. “Do you even know why he and Song Lingwei came to Huai Jing? Do you know how his stepfather died? I’m trying to protect you—I don’t want you to end up dead because of him too! Do you have any idea what he—”

Xie Shangjing hadn’t even finished speaking when Cen Wu cut him off.

As soon as the topic of movies came up, Cen Wu felt the shadow of his past life creeping over him. The cold indifference buried deep inside him stirred uncontrollably. He lifted his head, his gaze detached and distant, stepping closer to Xie Shangjing. His voice, sharp with undisguised contempt, didn’t even stutter. “I know him better than you do. I don’t care—so what are you making a fuss about?”

Xie Shangjing stared at him, his brows furrowed, his expression still cold and tense.

“And what’s wrong with dogs?” Cen Wu’s beautiful eyes curved slightly, lips parting to speak in a tone so cutting it was almost cruel. “At least dogs know how to wag their tails. What can you do?”

Since the Cen family had already interfered with the competition, Xie Shangjing had undoubtedly realized that Cen Wu was protecting Xie Guilan. There was no longer any need to keep up pretenses with him.

Besides, Cen Wu didn’t want that girl to get dragged into this mess. It was better to sever ties with Xie Shangjing sooner rather than later.

Xie Shangjing froze for a moment, almost doubting his own ears. His expression darkened, his face growing more and more ominous. “What did you just say?”

From a distance, Xie Mingcheng had been watching them with a stony expression for quite some time. Now, he finally called out, his voice sharp, “Xie Shangjing.”

Xie Shangjing’s entire body stiffened. He couldn’t afford to expose himself as gay, or Xie Mingcheng would cast him aside without hesitation. His feet shifted slightly—he wanted to press Cen Wu for an explanation, yet he didn’t dare to linger.

“I said—” Cen Wu leaned in mercilessly, making sure Xie Shangjing heard every word clearly. “You don’t even have the guts to bark too loudly, so what gives you the right to compare yourself to a dog? You’re not even as good as one.”

Xie Shangjing’s breathing grew heavier with rage.

“If you claim to like me, then act like a dog—wag your tail, be obedient. Maybe if I’m in a good mood, I’ll spare you a glance.” Cen Wu’s cold, indifferent eyes reflected pure disdain. His lips, thin and soft with a natural red hue, curved slightly as he added icily, “But honestly, I don’t even want to hear you speak. You’d be better off shutting up.”

With that, Cen Wu turned to leave for the backstage.

But before he could take a step, Xie Shangjing seized his wrist in a death grip.

Fury consumed Xie Shangjing. In all the years he had known Cen Wu, he had never been spoken to like this. His breathing turned ragged, his entire body trembling from the humiliation.

It was as if he were something filthy, something rotten.

But Xie Guilan was the truly filthy, rotten one. Cen Wu had been deceived. Once he realized the truth, he would come back to him. At the very least, things could return to how they once were.

Xie Shangjing didn’t even understand what had come over him. His bones burned under Cen Wu’s cold and mocking gaze. He gripped Cen Wu’s wrist tightly, lowering his head, intent on kissing him.

But the moment he leaned in, Cen Wu slapped him across the face.

A sharp, stinging pain erupted across Xie Shangjing’s cheek, his head snapping to the side.

Cen Wu frowned. “Don’t make a scene.”

The lights in the hall were dim, but the stage was still illuminated. The momentary glow had cast enough light for many to witness the slap—Father Cen, Mother Cen, and Xie Mingcheng among them.

Students sitting nearby had been itching to gossip but now felt like their lives might be at risk if they pried too much.

When Cen Wu’s palm landed, one of them even flinched instinctively, too afraid to glance at Xie Shangjing’s expression.

Xie Mingcheng, seeing his nephew get slapped, turned furiously toward the Cen parents, expecting to see guilt on their faces.

To his shock, they looked even angrier than he was. Cen Junshan even stood up, face dark, looking ready to settle accounts with him.

Because if Cen Wu had hit someone, there was no way Cen Wu was at fault.

Obviously, Xie Shangjing must have bullied Cen Wu first!

Xie Mingcheng’s face darkened with fury. This was exactly why he hated dealing with the Cen family. In his entire life, he had never encountered parents so utterly devoid of principles. No wonder Cen Wu was so out of control.

Xie Shangjing stood there, dazed.

As a child, he had been struck on the hands while practicing piano, had felt the sting of Xie Mingcheng’s whip before. But never in his life had someone told him he was beneath a dog—let alone slapped him across the face.

Xie Mingcheng’s voice dropped to a low growl as he shouted his name again, but Xie Shangjing’s eyes were already red. He ignored everything else, striding after Cen Wu toward the backstage.

Meanwhile, Xie Guilan had been sitting with Song Lingwei for the past half hour. From the corner of his eye, he could just make out the shimmering green fabric of Cen Wu’s dress, flowing like light, radiant yet soft like the moon.

He knew he had no right to be with Cen Wu. He had nothing—no power, no means to change anything. No matter what he said now, it would be nothing but empty promises.

He couldn’t ask Cen Wu to wait for a future he himself wasn’t even sure he could achieve.

And maybe Song Lingwei was right. Perhaps Cen Wu was simply unaware of everything. Once he found out, he would avoid him—just as Song Lingwei had avoided him for years.

Even though he visited the hospital every day, Song Lingwei always kept her distance. She avoided him whenever possible, never letting their paths cross.

Song Lingwei’s lips were bloodless. She had never been in good health, and the crowded auditorium was suffocating. When she felt herself growing weak, on the verge of collapse, she quietly asked Xie Guilan to take her outside.

By the time Xie Guilan returned, he saw Cen Wu speaking to Xie Shangjing. The hall was too noisy to make out their words, only catching broken fragments of their conversation.

His dark eyes, blacker than the night itself, bore into the wristwatch clutched in his palm. The metal edges dug into his skin, a sharp pain pressing into his flesh.

Song Lingwei might be right about everything.

But Cen Wu belonged to him.

His.

Unless Cen Wu stopped loving him, they wouldn’t be apart—no matter what it took.

Even if Cen Wu didn’t love him anymore… they still wouldn’t be apart. He would wait until Cen Wu loved him again.

Cen Wu couldn’t kiss someone else.

He couldn’t hold someone else.

He couldn’t slap another man.

Why? Cen Wu had never even slapped him before.

Cen Wu finally shoved Xie Shangjing away and walked backstage.

There, he saw Xie Guilan standing in the corridor, his head lowered, his face pale with an icy sharpness.

“What’s wrong?” Cen Wu paused, confused. He quickly approached, tilting his head to see Xie Guilan’s face—only to be pulled into an embrace.

Xie Guilan lowered his head, the taller boy curling around him, completely engulfing him in his arms.

He hunched over, burying his face in the warmth of Cen Wu’s neck.

Cen Wu froze. Again?

He gently patted Xie Guilan’s back in reassurance, instinctively wanting to ruffle his hair.

But Xie Guilan held him too tightly, his arms locked firm around him—so tightly that Cen Wu couldn’t even lift his hand.

Xie Guilan’s voice was low and hoarse as he said, “You slapped him.”

Cen Wu: “……”

Do you want one too?

Cen Wu felt like he was raising a rebellious child—if he wasn’t trying to be a male model, he was asking to be slapped. What was there to compete over?

Xie Guilan held him so tightly that Cen Wu almost couldn’t breathe. He was too busy coaxing Xie Guilan to notice Xie Shangjing had followed them. Not far away, Xie Shangjing stood, his eyes bloodshot, staring at him and Xie Guilan.

“Young Master,” Xie Guilan’s burning breath brushed against Cen Wu’s neck, almost coaxing, his dark, upturned eyes lifting to lock onto Xie Shangjing’s red-rimmed pupils. His voice was hoarse as he murmured, “I’ll be good. I’ll be your little dog, alright?”

Xie Shangjing’s face twisted for a moment.

Xie Guilan lifted his head. Though the words from his lips sounded almost humble, his pitch-black eyes were filled with a ruthless, chilling hostility. Like a dragon guarding its treasure, his hand pressed firmly on Cen Wu’s thin shoulder, fingers cold and unyielding, a gesture of complete control.

His thin lips moved, forming a single silent word to Xie Shangjing—

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