Inside the photography studio, under the flickering lights, male and female stars struck alluring poses, while Zeyang waited off to the side.

Zhang Zhixing checked her watch. It had been almost an hour—why wasn’t it his turn yet?

This shoot was for one of the country’s more renowned fashion magazines.

As the session wrapped up, the photographer stood to the side, reviewing the shots on his camera.

Zhang Zhixing approached him. “Excuse me, teacher, how much longer before it’s Zeyang’s turn?”

The photographer looked up, his expression tinged with impatience. “Zeyang?”

Zhang Zhixing gestured toward Zeyang. “Him.”

“Oh—him,” the photographer said, his gaze landing on Zeyang. A flash of astonishment crossed his eyes. “Alright, let him touch up his makeup and get ready for the shoot now.”

The photographer’s attitude left much to be desired, which irritated Zhang Zhixing.

In the original storyline, she was a renowned agent in the industry. However, after her previous artists had all branched out independently, Zhang Zhixing hadn’t managed any breakout stars for nearly a year before signing Zeyang. In this fame-obsessed industry, her influence had waned considerably.

Zhang Zhixing walked over to Zeyang and signaled for him to go touch up his makeup and prepare for the shoot.

In the makeup room, Zeyang had just left when the two makeup artists exchanged sympathetic glances.

“He’s really handsome.”

“Yeah, it’s a shame today’s photographer is Wang Qiu.”

No one knew what the makeup artists regretted, but Zeyang was already ready for the shoot.

“Zeyang, is it?” A man clapped Zeyang on the shoulder. “I’m Wang Qiu, your photographer.”

A sense of unease flickered in Zeyang’s heart, though he maintained his polite smile. “Hello, Teacher Wang.”

“Good, good. Get up there for the shoot.”

Wang Qiu grabbed Zeyang by the shoulder and pushed him toward the set.

Zeyang sat on a prop chair and struck a pose.

Wang Qiu snapped a few shots, glanced at the camera, and shook his head. “Ah, Zeyang, this won’t do.”

He walked over, placing both hands on Zeyang’s shoulders. “Let me adjust your posture.”

Zeyang stiffened, sensing trouble.

Wang Qiu’s hands slid to Zeyang’s waist and gave it a squeeze. “Relax your muscles, Zeyang. It’s okay, just relax.”

Zeyang forced a smile, trying to pull away. “Teacher Wang, I think I can adjust it myself.”

“Don’t say that. Trust your teacher’s experience.”

Wang Qiu wrapped his arms around Zeyang’s waist, guiding his arms as he posed. “There, isn’t this much better?”

Zeyang gritted his teeth, instinctively searching for Zhang Zhixing, but she was nowhere to be found.

She had left.

Of course. She disliked him so much.

Around the studio, the staff busied themselves with their tasks, all conspicuously ignoring the scene.

Wang Qiu was the nephew of the magazine’s editor-in-chief. His targets were always unknown rookies, and no one wanted to risk their jobs confronting him.

Wang Qiu’s actions grew increasingly audacious, his hands roaming up and down Zeyang’s body. “Don’t be so tense, Zeyang. I’m just helping you adjust your posture.”

Zeyang’s eyes darkened. Biting his lip, he forced a smile.

“Teacher Wang, perhaps it’s time to start shooting.”

“Ah, yes. Let’s shoot,” Wang Qiu said, releasing him and picking up his camera.

The shoot didn’t last long before Wang Qiu put the camera down again. “Why are your movements stiff again? Relax, let me help you.”

He walked over with a feigned sigh of exasperation. “Let me adjust you again.”

Zeyang lowered his gaze for a few seconds, then pulled a blank smile. “Thank you, Teacher.”

Wang Qiu, Ruixiu Magazine—he would remember both names.

Just then, the studio door swung open, and a female voice rang out. “What are you doing?”

Wang Qiu turned and saw Zhang Zhixing. His face showed a flicker of annoyance. “Zeyang’s having trouble getting the poses right, so I’m just helping him adjust.”

Zeyang remained silent.

Zhang Zhixing frowned. “Zeyang, is that true?”

Zeyang kept his head down, his voice calm and devoid of emotion. “Yes, it is.”

Zhang Zhixing studied the two of them for a long moment without saying a word.

Zeyang couldn’t help but feel a faint glimmer of hope.

But Zhang Zhixing simply said, “In that case, I’ll leave. Xiao Li will pick you up after the shoot.”

The hope shattered.

Zeyang wasn’t even surprised. He couldn’t muster any emotion.

After all, getting an opportunity like this was already fortunate. If something unpleasant happened, what could he do about it?

“Got it,” Zeyang said flatly.

Zhang Zhixing walked away.

Wang Qiu grew bolder, his hands nearly reaching Zeyang’s chest when—

Click.

The studio door opened again, startling Wang Qiu.

Turning around, he began impatiently, “Agent Zhang, can’t you just—”

He froze upon seeing the editor-in-chief’s grim expression.

“Uncle, why are you here?” Wang Qiu stammered, quickly withdrawing his hands.

Zhang Zhixing’s face was icy. “I’ve never seen such a ‘professional’ atmosphere in your esteemed magazine.”

The editor-in-chief’s face turned ashen. He stormed over, grabbing Wang Qiu by the collar. Bowing repeatedly toward Zhang Zhixing, he apologized profusely. “Agent Zhang, we’ll handle this immediately. Please—”

“I don’t care about your internal issues. This shoot is over. My artist and I won’t be working with your magazine again.”

Zhang Zhixing walked over to Zeyang, grabbing a blanket from the prop area and tossing it onto him. Her tone remained cold. “I’ve always had good relationships with my artists. I’m sure they’ll have reservations about collaborating with your magazine in the future.”

The editor-in-chief turned pale.

Zhang Zhixing had represented many top-tier stars. Her words clearly implied…

In a fit of rage, the editor-in-chief grabbed the camera and smashed it against Wang Qiu.

Uninterested in the drama, Zhang Zhixing sneered. “Why are you still sitting there? Let’s go.”

Her face was cold, her red lips pressed tightly together.

Zeyang clutched the blanket, unsure how to react to the situation.

He followed Zhang Zhixing out of the studio. In the hallway, only the clicking of her high heels echoed.

A lump formed in Zeyang’s throat, his usually calm mind now in turmoil.

After a long pause, he finally said, “Thank you, Sister Zhang.”

Zhang Zhixing turned to look at him.

Zeyang’s handsome face appeared nervous, his smile forced and unnatural.

The innocence and naivety were completely gone, leaving only a vulnerable and pitiful young man.

More feigned pity.

Rage simmered in Zhang Zhixing’s chest, memories of a similar scene replaying in her mind.

In her head, a man’s mocking voice echoed: “Little Axin, why are you making yourself look so pathetic again, hmm?”

Her tenuous control snapped. Zhang Zhixing swiftly grabbed Zeyang’s jaw and shoved him against the wall.

Bang.

The back of Zeyang’s head hit the wall with a dull thud. Pain shot through his skull, stars dancing before his eyes. Her grip on his jaw was painfully tight.

Zhang Zhixing released him, her expression laced with irritation. “Don’t show me that face on purpose.”

Zeyang struggled to catch his breath. For a moment, he wanted to protest that he wasn’t pretending—he really…

Realizing what he was thinking, Zeyang felt a wave of shock and confusion.

Zhang Zhixing, meanwhile, recognized that her emotions had gotten the better of her.

She took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing emotions.

Turning away, she said, “Let’s go. I’ll take you back to the company.”

The two got into the car, and silence filled the space. Neither of them spoke.

When they arrived at the company, Zhang Zhixing parked the car.

Zeyang remained seated in the back, not moving. After several seconds, he said, “Sister Zhang.”

“Hmm?” Zhang Zhixing didn’t turn around.

Zeyang asked, “The show’s first episode airs tonight. Will you watch it with me?”

“I’m busy,” Zhang Zhixing rejected him flatly. “I trust your performance. Now get out.”

Even though he’d already expected this outcome, Zeyang couldn’t suppress a surge of irritation.

Gripping the seat’s fabric tightly, he spoke in a low voice. “If you dislike me so much, why didn’t you just leave me there? After all, Ruixiu Magazine is a valuable opportunity.”

Zhang Zhixing gripped the steering wheel and turned to look at him. “What’s the contradiction between disliking you and helping you?”

Zeyang lifted his gaze. “So, you admit you dislike me.”

What the hell.

That was all Zhang Zhixing could think.

Staring at the steering wheel, she replied, “This is a professional relationship. Even if I dislike you, it doesn’t affect my ability to do my job.”

Zeyang leaned forward, staring intently into the rearview mirror. “Sister Zhang, do you really know what kind of person I am?”

Zhang Zhixing stayed silent.

Zeyang’s hand reached over the seat, hooking around the back of her neck. “Some people can only live by being hated.”

Are you possessed by a demon?

Zhang Zhixing’s expression didn’t change. “Get out.”

---

Idol Project premiered that evening.

Zeyang sat on the couch, tapping his fingers against his knee.

On the TV, canned laughter and flashy effects made the program lively and entertaining.

Two hours long, the show quickly reached Zeyang’s segment.

The screen showed the young man introducing himself briefly, followed by him picking up his violin.

Zeyang unconsciously straightened his posture.

But suddenly, the screen transitioned into fast-forward effects accompanied by captions like: “Simply amazing!”

His performance was sped up and reduced to a blink-and-you-miss-it moment, leaving only the scene where his ranking was announced.

Zeyang froze, staring blankly for a few seconds before turning off the TV and leaning back on the couch.

It wasn’t hard to guess—these shows often negotiated debut slots with companies in advance. Since Yicheng Entertainment hadn’t secured a spot for him, it was only natural for his standout moments to be cut to avoid overshadowing others and attracting unnecessary attention.

It was normal.

Absolutely normal.

He understood these unwritten rules, but so what?

Zeyang leaned his head back against the couch, forcing himself to suppress his emotions.

He would go further. He still had time.

For some reason, he suddenly felt like calling Zhang Zhixing. As her artist, what would her reaction be?

Zeyang dialed her number.

“Beep… beep… Hello? What’s up?” Zhang Zhixing’s voice came through, slightly breathless, with a noisy background.

Zeyang hesitated for a moment. “Did you watch Idol Project? I—”

Before he could finish, Zhang Zhixing’s voice interrupted.

“I did. Don’t be upset. They were probably worried you’d steal the spotlight. It can’t be helped—”

“That’s bull—!”

A male voice in the background cut her off, followed by muffled sounds and what seemed like Zhang Zhixing soothing someone.

“Zeyang, we’ll talk about this later—”

Beep. The call ended.

Zeyang stared at the phone screen, the timer frozen at 00:57. He chuckled softly.

It was a trivial matter anyway. Why had he felt the need to make the call?

---

Meanwhile, Zhang Zhixing hung up and wrapped her arms tightly around Liang Yao’s waist, growling, “Stop it!”

“No! I won’t!” Liang Yao wriggled free from her grip, shouting angrily. “What kind of garbage editing turned me into that? Are they insane?”

Zhang Zhixing felt a headache coming on.

Just moments ago, the two of them had been peacefully watching Idol Project until Liang Yao’s segment aired.

Compared to Zeyang’s fast-forwarded performance, Liang Yao’s treatment was even worse.

The footage juxtaposed his casual expression with the judges’ disapproving faces, followed by a cut to Liang Yao smirking. His violin performance was completely omitted.

As the sequence aired, the screen filled with real-time comments from viewers.

“This guy looks handsome, but his attitude is disgusting.”

“What’s wrong with this contestant? His violin performance was cut—doesn’t seem like he was all that great anyway.”

“I thought he’d be my new favorite, but nope. Arrogant brat.”

Before Liang Yao could explode, Zhang Zhixing had swiftly grabbed his hands.

Liang Yao flung the remote aside, grabbed whatever was within reach, and smashed it. “I’m so mad! What kind of garbage production team edits like this? I’m buying this trash show and shutting it down!”

“Everyone involved is trash! Producers? Trash! The whole company? Trash! They should all die!”

Zhang Zhixing clung to his waist, preventing him from smashing the TV. “Okay, fine! I’ll call you ‘big brother,’ alright? Just don’t smash it—I’m broke!”

After much commotion, both of them collapsed onto the couch, utterly drained.

Liang Yao, still fuming, continued grumbling, “They’re just bullying me because I don’t have connections! Trash! My performance wasn’t good? Are they blind? My future performances will be paid events!”

Buzz, buzz, buzz—

Liang Yao’s phone rang. He answered furiously. “What the hell do you want?”

A few seconds later, his expression turned sullen. “Fine, who cares about your stupid show anyway? Get lost.”

Slamming the phone down, Liang Yao moved to throw it.

With what little strength she had left, Zhang Zhixing grabbed his wrist. “What happened?”

Liang Yao’s voice was low. “They said the contract with the show is terminated due to unforeseen circumstances. They’ll compensate me but want to announce it as me voluntarily withdrawing.”

Zhang Zhixing stayed silent for a moment. It seemed his family had put pressure on them.

Liang Yao hugged his knees, his silver hair appearing dimmer than usual. “I’m fine, just pissed off.”

Zhang Zhixing leaned over and patted his head.

Liang Yao buried his face in his knees, shaking his head. “Don’t touch me!”

Pausing for a moment, Zhang Zhixing then used both hands to ruffle his hair aggressively. “I will!”

Liang Yao’s hair turned into a chaotic mess. He grabbed her wrists, exasperated. “Let go! Can you stop annoying me and let me be quiet?”

Zhang Zhixing released him without a word and walked away.

Liang Yao pouted, watching her retreating back.

Annoying.

He knew this was just how things worked in the industry, but he couldn’t accept it. He was so talented, so skilled—why should he be treated like this?

Frustrated and stifled, he buried his head in his knees again.

Suddenly, something thin and cool pressed against his hand.

Confused, he looked up, his dark eyes hazy. Zhang Zhixing had stuck a sticky note onto his hand.

Peeling it off, he saw a phone number. Biting his lip, he asked reluctantly, “What’s this?”

Zhang Zhixing crouched in front of him, resting her chin on her hand. “A number I got for you—the script editor responsible for cutting your footage.”

Liang Yao blinked, holding the sticky note. “You… what are you saying?”

Zhang Zhixing grinned and ruffled his hair again. “Want to prank call them?”

“Huh?”

Liang Yao’s mouth fell open. After a pause, he snorted. “Sister, how old are you to still be this childish?”

“Is it childish?” Zhang Zhixing propped her chin with one hand, the other continuing to ruffle his hair. “Well, you’re childish too, kiddo.”

Liang Yao turned his face away as heat crept up his cheeks, his head buzzing.

What was she saying? Kiddo?

She’s the childish one, still thinking of prank calls! So outdated! So pointless!

Hugging his knees, he felt her hand gently stroking his hair.

This woman is so childish. But… it feels nice.

Liang Yao’s mouth curled into an involuntary smile that practically stretched to the back of his head.

A few seconds later, he noticed the hand had stopped. His muffled voice came out. “Keep going.”

In response, he heard Zhang Zhixing’s soft laugh.

Then, the warm hand returned, stroking his hair again.

Liang Yao’s face turned so red that even his eyes felt hot.

Fine. Just let her keep doing it a little longer.

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