Chapter 8: Shen Jixing, Am I Your Dog?

Aunt Zhang fell silent. She glanced at that sharp, wild profile, sensing beneath his sardonic remark a trace of genuine concern.

“The first dose of medicine has already been taken,” she said, placing the rest on the coffee table. “When Mr. Shen wakes up this evening, remember to remind him to take it again.”

Zhou Yili lazily lifted his eyes and shot her a glance. “Is he a child? Does he need to be reminded just to take medicine?”

Aunt Zhang smiled at him with the patience of a saint, clearly preparing to launch into another round of gentle nagging.

He interrupted her spell. “I know.”

Satisfied, Aunt Zhang went to tidy up in the kitchen. On her way out, she passed behind the sofa and ruffled the blue hair on his head, which was sticking up all over the place. Suppressing a laugh, she whispered, “You’re the child here.”

…

“Vice President, you wanted to see me.”

Sunlight poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the top floor as Pei Ming stood respectfully before the desk. He had known this day would come. The vice president couldn’t handle Shen Jixing, so now he’d come after him. What Pei hadn’t expected was that it would happen so soon.

“You—” Chu Wen raised his hand, but before he finished his sentence, there was a crisp crack as he snapped two fingers against the black tabletop. His voice remained steady and cold. “What are you doing?”

“Kneeling,” Pei Ming replied.

…Well, he was just an employee. What else could he do—be killed on the spot? Chu Wen’s meteoric rise had already determined his composure; even in the midst of this madness, he remained unflappable.

With long fingers, Chu Wen turned his laptop around. “Do you know this person?”

Pei Ming awkwardly withdrew his hands. “I do. That’s Fang Siqian, basically our rival.”

This man had debuted by imitating Shen Jixing and was constantly stirring up trouble.

“You have rivals?” Chu Wen questioned.

Though he’d been Shen Jixing’s first manager, Chu Wen had stopped paying much attention to Shen after his promotion. The implication seemed to be: is there really anyone worthy of being Shen Jixing’s rival?

Pei Ming smirked. “Sort of. That guy’s always pulling stunts.” Suddenly, he realized, “Wait—are you saying this latest mess is his doing too?”

“Mm.”

Chu Wen’s finger slid across the laptop, switching to Shen Jixing’s Weibo page.

Followers: 130 million.

Shen Jixing’s Weibo was famously dull—apart from official endorsements and promotional posts, he rarely shared anything personal. Pei Ming always marveled at how fervent his fans remained.

But now, the comments painted a very different picture.

“Top-tier idol? Pretending to be pure? Disgusting.”

“Fake identity, fake education—what else about Shen Jixing is real? Is that face his fans rave about also fake?”

“Agreed, doesn’t even look like a natural face.”

“Where does he get those amazing resources? All our idols openly professed love to the brands, yet they still picked Shen Jixing as global ambassador. Turns out he has a sugar daddy…”

“He’s benefited so much from his public persona. He should just kneel, apologize, and leave the industry—maybe then I’d reluctantly forgive him.”

“….”

Pei Ming fumed, “These comments are outrageous.”

Letting public opinion run wild only meant every kind of filth would be flung at his client. As a manager, he knew exactly what to do. “I’ll reach out and try to clean things up.”

Even if someone had to be cursed, it shouldn’t be by these brainless trolls.

“It’s paid for,” Chu Wen said.

Pei Ming froze. “Someone paid for the trolls? Fang Siqian???”

“Yes.”

Genuine comments from bystanders were buried in the flood.

“Damn, is it really over?”

“Int… fish… balls…”

“Honestly, though, his face seems real. There was that time Emperor Shen walked into a glass door—his fans had those huge zoom lenses and still couldn’t catch a bad shot, just a beautiful tear-streaked face.”

“This hurts more than ever. I stanned the most beautiful face in the industry, and now it’s all come crashing down. I’ll never idolize anyone again…”

“Honestly, he never really cashed in. If Shen Jixing hadn’t been exposed, I’d never have known he was supposed to be some rich young master.”

“I’ve been a fan for eight years—there’s no denying this. The company hyped it up in the early days, and all it got him was a bunch of haters calling him pretentious. With this scandal, I’m just heartbroken.”

…

“Hilarious. Shen Jixing’s already hooked up with his sugar daddy, but you fans are still losing your minds?”

“Shen Jixing’s quite a talent. The sugar daddy sleeps with him, he sleeps with the fans, haha.”

“…If you don’t have solid evidence, shut up.”

Shen Jixing’s fans were comparatively rational. If the rumors were true, those who wanted to leave would leave, and those who stayed endured the abuse in silence. But as nothing had been proven, they weren’t about to accept defeat.

Pei Ming muttered, “It’s not just them—even I don’t believe it.”

He’d been by Shen Jixing’s side for years. Shen was always frantic with work—where would he find the time for secret rendezvous with sugar daddies or male fans?

And yet, here they were, accused as if it were true.

“Vice President? Vice President?” Pei Ming called twice.

Chu Wen snapped out of his thoughts, speaking calmly. “Some of the things Fang Siqian has were leaked from our company.”

Pei Ming’s heart skipped a beat. Did that mean… there was a traitor among them?

Before he could ask, Chu Wen had already dismissed him, cold and businesslike. “You’re dismissed. Just a warning—listen to him for the next steps.”

“Yes, sir.”

The office fell silent once more. Chu Wen’s gaze landed on the latest Weibo post—a brand’s newly announced campaign image.

Shen Jixing stood on the deck of a yacht in a white suit, behind him a cascade of stars unfurled like a galaxy, a vast sea storm rising at his back.

His features were as cool and serene as ever, his smile gentle as he gazed out at the viewer.

“If only you were more obedient,” Chu Wen murmured.

“Would things have ended up like this?”

His finger slid across the screen, and he looked past the top floor’s windows to the sky beyond.

He didn’t want to assume the worst. Slowly, he closed the laptop.

“It’s a shame you’re so willful. Now, even I can’t protect you.”

…

The sun was setting in the west.

Zhou Yili emerged from the music room. The walls had been specially treated—no one outside could hear the racket he was making inside.

“Yo, you’re awake.”

He leaned on the bar, sipping water, and noticed an extra bowl and spoon in the dishwasher.

Had the medicine been taken?

He glanced at the coffee table in the living room—the medicine was untouched.

No.

He set down his glass, strode over, and picked up the box to check.

Indeed, it hadn’t been taken.

A wave of inexplicable irritation surged within him. Zhou Yili ground his teeth. “What’s the difference between raising you and raising a rebellious little white bird?”

He snatched up the medicine box, stalked over to the bar, and busied himself with an air of aggression.

He poured a glass of water, precisely at 45 degrees Celsius, then set his jaw and strode upstairs, face cold.

“Shen Jixing, do you really like being waited on by others so much—”

He shoved open the door with a bang, but his icy voice cut off abruptly.

The bed was empty.

Face still dark, Zhou Yili checked the guest room, then finally, through the glass doors to the balcony, he saw him—fast asleep on the garden swing.

The setting sun splashed the world in fiery orange. The white piano glowed with brilliance.

Shen Jixing slept peacefully and quietly, surrounded by blooming flowers and lush greenery, a thin blanket—left by Zhou Yili himself—pulled halfway up around his slender, pale jaw.

Zhou Yili’s throat bobbed imperceptibly.

That blanket… it was the one he always dragged around the house. To put it bluntly, it was saturated with his scent.

Zhou Yili stepped calmly onto the balcony. The wind was chilly in the rooftop garden, carrying the fresh scent of pine needles.

“You’re such a handful,” he muttered.

His tall, lean figure stood over the sleeping man, blue hair tossed wildly by the breeze.

He stared at that peaceful face for a moment, then bent down and scooped him into his arms.

The soft, warm cheek rested lightly on his collarbone.

It was as if Zhou Yili’s heart had been scalded. He looked down at him coldly.

“Shen Jixing, am I your dog?”