In late October, the weather had turned cooler and the temperature was comfortable.
Gu Lizhou sat in front of his computer, typing away in a loose hoodie, with two other screenwriters and an assistant from the game team seated nearby.
The entire business suite still carried the lingering aroma of seafood risotto.
This was their third day staying in X City.
He had already written five storylines based on the plotlines requested by Cheng Hang’s side. The other writers on the team were responsible for additional side plots and enhancing character dialogue.
His main job was to provide inspiration, link characters and storylines together, control the pacing, and ensure that each level would leave people wanting more.
The other writers in Cheng Hang’s team were all professional game writers. Occasionally, there would be creative disagreements, but everyone had good tempers, and they worked together to learn from and motivate each other.
Overall, things were going smoothly.
As soon as the meeting ended, the rest of the team headed out to shop and grab some late-night snacks, but he remained in front of his computer, still typing away.
He hadn’t written in a long time, and his typing speed was slow—an hour had passed, and he had only managed to type a little over 900 words, not even half of what he used to manage.
Even though he had mentally prepared for this, he was still a little surprised when he checked the word count.
He logged into the Xinghe Century website and saw that Jiumang Star’s name was all over the major charts. Several of his novels had been adapted into TV dramas and had become the site’s most buzzworthy content.
The film Storm, which Cao Zhiheng had previously mentioned to him, was now starring top-tier actor Shen Jing.
After scrolling through the cast list, he saw that it was filled with low-profile veteran actors. The official account had announced the wrap-up back in June, and Jiumang Star’s Weibo had been heavily promoting the film—it looked like they were aiming for a New Year blockbuster release.
To say it had no psychological impact on him would be a lie.
Outside the window stretched an endless sea. As Gu Lizhou gazed into the distance, his thoughts drifted as well.
He and Cui Sheng had been university classmates. They even joined the same literature club. They shared similar interests and had plenty to talk about, often gathering to discuss writing. Their relationship had been quite good—
Until his father, Gu Zisheng, exposed the fact that Cui Sheng’s father had accepted bribes…
His father lost his job and was thrown in jail, his mother divorced and remarried—for a teenager, it was nothing short of a world-shattering event. His self-esteem was severely wounded, and his motivation to write was deeply affected. He stopped updating his stories for half a year and nearly terminated his contract with the site.
Cui Sheng resented his father, resented Gu Zisheng, and by extension, grew to resent Gu Lizhou as well.
After being avoided three times in a row, Gu Lizhou realized that Cui Sheng intended to cut ties with him completely.
He wasn’t the kind of person to cling on shamelessly and beg for reconciliation. Besides, he didn’t think he’d done anything wrong. Reaching out three times was already the limit of his patience.
At the time, he thought he’d simply lost a friend—he never imagined he’d gained an enemy instead.
It was like a physical ailment: every time he saw or heard the words Jiumang Star, his chest tightened, his head spun, and he felt like throwing up.
Zhong Weishi’s few messages had brightened his mood from cloudy to clear. He sent back a voice message: “Why aren’t you asleep yet?”
Zhong Weishi seemed to always have his phone on him, because the typing indicator appeared almost immediately.
— Still early. What about you, are you busy?
Gu Lizhou closed his laptop and stretched lazily toward the window.
— Not busy.
Zhong Weishi sent a video call, but the screen was pitch black.
“You’re wrapped hiding like a cat?” Gu Lizhou asked.
“Yeah.” Zhong Weishi’s voice sounded a little hoarse.
“What’s up with your voice? Caught a cold?”
“Mm, a little. Had to film a scene where I fell into water a couple days ago.” Zhong Weishi coughed once. “But I’m feeling a lot better today.”
Gu Lizhou searched online for a few cough remedies. “Do you know how to make steamed pear with fritillaria?”
“No. What’s fritillaria?”
“Something tasty.” Gu Lizhou laughed and sent him a screenshot of the recipe. “Make it yourself. When you’re done, send me a photo, then drink it.”
“…Okay. I’ll go buy the stuff tomorrow.”
Gu Lizhou felt a little weird talking to a completely black screen. “Stick your head out so I can see you.”
Half of his head poked out from under the covers, revealing only a pair of eyes, but Gu Lizhou could still tell he was smiling.
His mood instantly lifted, but he still felt a little unsatisfied. “Why only half your face?”
Zhong Weishi lowered his gaze, speaking softly, “I got a pimple on my nose. It hasn’t gone away yet, it’s a bit ugly.”
“Yo,” Gu Lizhou chuckled, his eyes crinkling. “You’re still trying to maintain your image with me? Is there any ugly side of you I haven’t seen?”
It’s exactly because it’s you that I want to look good!
Zhong Weishi let out a cold snort. “What if you take a screenshot and show it to my fans? I’m just taking precautions.”
“Like I don’t already have plenty of your embarrassing behavior?” Gu Lizhou sent over a picture of him applying ointment in a park.
In the photo, Zhong Weishi was baring his teeth and grabbing at the phone, looking like a puffed-up, furious cat—downright hideous.
Zhong Weishi was fuming. “Why do you still have that ah!!”
Gu Lizhou raised an eyebrow. “Because I want to. I look at it when I need a laugh.”
“Hurry up and delete, delete! This is a violation of my image rights!”
Gu Lizhou retaliated by sending over a video of Zhong Weishi dancing in a public square.
It was pure public execution.
Zhong Weishi, now deflated like a wilted eggplant, retreated back under the covers.
Gu Lizhou: “Oh, right. Let me show you the sea.”
“Yes ah!” Zhong Weishi popped back out again, his dark, shiny eyes full of anticipation.
The camera turned toward the window.
First, he saw a tall watchtower, then the dark stretch of the sea. This was the first time he’d ever seen the ocean, seen an island, seen a beach.
The sea really was just like how it was described in books—vast and boundless.
Gu Lizhou’s room was right by the shore. Outside the house was a small tent, and hanging from the tent was a long string of warm yellow star-shaped lights. Many small insects danced around the halo of light. One step out, and you’d be on soft sand and pebbles.
The sea breeze lifted his hair and the hem of his clothes. As Gu Lizhou walked, he introduced the scenery of the city. “That direction over there is Yucheng.”
Zhong Weishi, a completely directionless road idiot, simply nodded along while saying “mm-hmm.” He noticed Gu Lizhou’s bare feet and the sharp lines of his collarbones, and his senses told him—he had lost weight.
Definitely lost weight.
Gu Lizhou said the seawater was a little salty, and even the sea breeze had a distinct scent.
Barbecue.
Zhong Weishi couldn’t help but laugh.
He felt as if he were very close to that vast sea, as though he could even smell the waves.
Gu Lizhou: “Did you have a late-night snack?”
Zhong Weishi: “No. You?”
Gu Lizhou: “No. Why didn’t you eat?”
Zhong Weishi: “Wasn’t that hungry today. What about you?”
They exchanged this kind of completely pointless small talk for over an hour, until Zhong Weishi let out a long yawn.
“Tired?” Gu Lizhou glanced at the time, it was already past eleven. He hadn’t even noticed. Every time he chatted with Zhong Weishi, he could feel time flying by at a wild pace.
“Not really,” Zhong Weishi said with another yawn. “What about you?”
Gu Lizhou smiled and said, “I’m tired. Let’s stop here. You should go to bed early too.”
“Oh.” Zhong Weishi pouted. “Then goodnight.”
Three minutes later, neither of them had hung up…
Zhong Weishi rubbed his nose. “You haven’t finished telling that story of the Little Prince last time, Is there more?” His voice, made soft and husky by the cold, sounded like he was acting coy.
Gu Lizhou chuckled, brushed the sand off his pants, and stood up to head back to his room.
“Where did I leave off?”
“You said the Little Prince was about to visit Earth.”
In the story, the Little Prince arrived on Earth and met a little fox, hoping the fox would be his friend and play with him.
The little fox said that without being tamed, it couldn’t play with him.
The Little Prince asked what “taming” meant.
Zhong Weishi heard a soft click, and guessed that Gu Lizhou had just lit a cigarette.
Gu Lizhou said, “‘To you, I’m nothing more than a fox, just like a hundred thousand other foxes. But if you tame me, we’ll need each other. To me, you’ll be unique in all the world. To you, I’ll be unique in all the world too…’”
Late at night, when everything was silent, Zhong Weishi hugged a small pillow to his chest and happily closed his eyes.
In his ears was the voice he knew best. Coming through the phone, it carried a hint of husky magnetism. Occasionally, he could also hear the crashing of waves against rocks—surging, powerful. The two sounds layered together brought a deep sense of calm.
He felt as if he could see the boundless sea, and had taken a step into that fairytale world Gu Lizhou described.
“The little fox asked the Little Prince, ‘Are there hunters on your planet?’ The Little Prince said, ‘No.’ The little fox got excited, ‘That’s wonderful! Are there chickens?’ The Little Prince replied again, ‘No.’” At this part, Gu Lizhou suddenly laughed.
“This fox is so greedy. Really reminds me of you.”
Zhong Weishi giggled like a fool under the covers. In his mind, Gu Lizhou was just like the Little Prince who traveled from planet to planet.
“So did the Little Prince tame the little fox in the end?”
“Tamed,” Gu Lizhou said. “The little fox really liked the Little Prince, and the Little Prince really liked the little fox. They weren’t lonely anymore.”
In the story, the Little Prince had to leave Earth, and the little fox was so reluctant it nearly cried.
Half-asleep, Zhong Weishi mumbled softly, “Then, will he ever come back to Earth?”
Gu Lizhou exited the reading app and changed the ending. “Yes, of course .”
A good night’s sleep.
It was as if their conversation had triggered something, making everything start to unfold naturally.
From then on, every day, Zhong Weishi would find something to talk about with him. It became such a habit that when one day passed without any messages even by midnight, Gu Lizhou grew restless and video-called him.
“Our troupe’s been rehearsing. The official performance is next week!” Even at two in the morning, Zhong Weishi still looked full of energy.
Gu Lizhou was skeptical. “It can’t possibly take that long to rehearse, right?”
Zhong Weishi pouted slightly. “I’m just a bit nervous… afraid I’ll mess it up, so I practiced a few more times.”
Even though he had played all sorts of roles in front of the camera, this was his first time performing live in front of an audience, nervousness was inevitable.
Gu Lizhou looked up the play online. There were already 322 electronic tickets sold, which meant that the live audience would definitely exceed 300 people.
It reminded him of his high school days, when he had to give speeches on stage. Looking down at the sea of heads and the countless pairs of eyes staring up at him felt like being scanned by X-rays.
Absolutely spine-chilling.
He had memorized the speech perfectly, but the moment he stepped on stage, it was like someone had whacked him on the head—all forgotten. He read through it blankly and stammering, and nearly tripped over his own feet walking off the stage.
Ai, memories best left buried.
Gu Lizhou smiled into the camera. “You’re amazing. You’ll definitely do great.”
He wasn’t just saying that to be nice. He had seen with his own eyes how Zhong Weishi memorized lines—almost a photographic memory.
What made Zhong Weishi truly impressive was his ability to quickly immerse himself in a role. He could cry on command without hesitation, and that was something Gu Lizhou deeply admired.
He believed Zhong Weishi had what it took to adapt to this new stage.
That was also why he wanted to help him find more opportunities.
This kid really had talent. And on top of that, he was easy on the eyes. If someone was willing to dig deeper and hone his potential, Gu Lizhou believed that one day, he’d soar.
“You can try performing at Da Fei’s barbershop first… Just don’t be afraid. Believe in yourself. Anyone I set my sights on can’t be wrong.”
The. One I. Set. My. Sights. On.
Gu Lizhou had no idea how those few casually spoken words of encouragement were like a powerful shot of adrenaline for Zhong Weishi.
True or not, the man was already floating.
After several rounds of ‘art performances’ at the barbershop, Zhong Weishi’s first stage play went quite smoothly.
Before the show, Qiangzi and the others even spent a small fortune buying couple tickets. Da Fei dusted off his old skills and dressed up as a woman again—though the real purpose was to let Qiangzi, that peac0ck, show off his stuff in public.
The video was secretly recorded by Qiangzi and the others. In order not to disturb the surrounding audience, it was just a short clip—barely a dozen seconds long—but the camera followed only one person the entire time: their Weishi-ge.
It just so happened to be a monologue from Zhong Weishi.
Gu Lizhou had known he was acting in a play, but he hadn’t expected him to be the lead. Watching that long string of lines spill fluently from his mouth, Gu Lizhou couldn’t help but smile.
His voice was deep and resonant, his tone natural and genuine—not the slightest sign of stage fright.
Blue spotlights crisscrossed the stage of the small theater, but to Gu Lizhou, it felt like Zhong Weishi himself was the brightest beam of all, effortlessly drawing every ounce of his attention.
He realized he might be starting to rely on Zhong Weishi more than he thought.
As the end of the year approached, Gu Lizhou took the initiative to invite the Cheng brothers out for dinner.
He used to scoff at the idea of wining and dining to make connections, but after stepping into society, he understood—sometimes a single sentence could completely change the course of someone’s life.
Cheng Yue was somewhat of a fan of his work. As soon as they met, he asked when Gu Lizhou’s next project would be released.
They exchanged a round of mutual praise before Gu Lizhou gradually steered the conversation toward Zhong Weishi.
“My friend once stood in for you as a body double. He said you were passionate and talented, really good at what you do.”
“Oh?” Cheng Yue perked up. “Who’s your friend?”
“Your nude body double.”
“Ah…”
The name Zhong Weishi wasn’t unfamiliar to Cheng Yue. Among the crew, he’d been one of the most lively young actors. He had some solid line delivery and acting skills, and a face that left a strong impression. Unfortunately, his educational background was lacking—not even a high school diploma—and he had no formal acting credits.
Cheng Hang took a sip of hot tea. “How did you end up becoming friends with someone that young?”
So Gu Lizhou briefly explained the whole story.
Cheng Hang’s eyes widened like copper bells the entire time. His expression was almost identical to the one Gu Lizhou had worn when he first heard it, completely stunned.
“Such a pitiful background? No wonder he’s out working so young.”
“En, so if there’s ever an opportunity, I’d appreciate it if you could help him out. I’ll personally keep an eye on the areas where he’s lacking academically. What he needs is just a chance.”
Cheng Hang was a smart man. By this point in the conversation, he had already figured out Gu Lizhou’s true purpose in inviting them to dinner.
But the Gu Lizhou he knew had always been a reserved loner, someone who had to be begged three times before showing up to a gathering—like some old hermit in the mountains. And now, here he was, initiating a meetup just to speak up for a friend?
Impossible.
“Can I ask who exactly is he to you?”
Gu Lizhou was momentarily stunned. He put down his teacup, licked his lips, and replied, “My godson.”
Cheng Hang immediately choked on his tea.
In the entertainment industry, any familial term prefixed with “god-” usually implied a certain shameful connotation…
He never imagined that his old classmate Gu Lizhou—once the embodiment of propriety—would be into that.
The world was truly going downhill.
Back in their school days, Gu Lizhou had been cold and upright, with countless seniors and juniors chasing after him, yet he remained aloof and single, standing out like a crane among chickens.
Who would have guessed this was the real reason behind it all!
“You too…” Cheng Hang trailed off, unsure how to even express his complicated feelings.
Cheng Yue, meanwhile, recalled the figure of his nude body double and thought Gu Lizhou had excellent taste.
He completely understood how tough things were for such a niche group. “Hey, it’s really nothing these days. Society’s so open now. Having a godson is just fine.”
Gu Lizhou didn’t quite follow what an open society had to do with a godson.
He looked completely lost.
Cheng Yue continued, “Our company is currently partnering with a streaming platform to prepare a talent show. The <Power of Idols> is scheduled to premiere next fall. You could have your fri—no, your godson participate. The winner will definitely be signed directly to our company.”
Tianyao Media, where Cheng Yue worked, was one of the most prominent media and talent management conglomerates in the industry. Its operations spanned film, television, variety shows, music, and more—all with dazzling achievements. The company was a true leader in Asia-Pacific entertainment.
The film adaptation rights of his <Lost Souls> had been bought by Tianyao, and the production of <Storm> by Jiumang Star was also backed by Tianyao Media. Many of the hottest top-tier celebrities in the mainland right now had all been brought into the spotlight by Tianyao.
Cheng Yue explained that the main goal of this talent show was to discover more promising newcomers.
If Zhong Weishi could get into this company, he’d never have to worry about not getting acting gigs in the future—but signing with them was no easy feat.
Cheng Yue added, “Honestly, even if he doesn’t win first place, it’s fine. As long as he has talent and drive, he can still make it in this industry. Once the sign-up period opens, I’ll let you know early. If there’s any trouble, just come to me.”
Gu Lizhou stood up and poured them more tea. “Thank you. I really appreciate it.”
“No problem at all.”
Just before leaving, Cheng Hang couldn’t resist reminding him: “You’re really sending your little canary into the entertainment industry. Aren’t you afraid one day he’ll just spread his wings and fly away?”
“…”
Gu Lizhou broke out in a cold sweat—at this point, he felt like even jumping into the Yellow River wouldn’t wash him clean.
—
One afternoon after New Year’s Day, Gu Lizhou was sitting at his desk typing away when his phone started buzzing.
Caller ID: Lunatic.
Now this was unusual. Except for that one time he’d been caught by the police and called for help, this guy usually only sent WeChat messages or video links.
Could it be another life-or-death situation?
Gu Lizhou immediately tensed up.
“Ge! Do you have a TV nearby? Quick quick quick, quick, quick, turn on the TV!” Zhong Weishi’s voice was frantic, like a second’s delay might be fatal.
Immediately, an image flashed in Gu Lizhou’s mind—Zhong Weishi in handcuffs, showing up on the local news.
In the span of two seconds, he’d already mentally prepared himself to fly back to Yucheng to fight a lawsuit and bail someone out.
“Which channel? Are you okay?”
“Sparrow TV!”
Gu Lizhou let out a breath of relief. Thankfully, it wasn’t the Legal Report channel.
At this hour, Sparrow TV was broadcasting a large-scale indoor obstacle course show called<Brave Charge Ahead>.
On screen, a muscular man in a black tank top was walking across a cylindrical balance beam. The beam was spinning continuously, and soft pads were laid out below it.
A countdown timer was ticking away in the top right corner of the screen—thirty seconds left.
Zhong Weishi heard the TV audio in the background. “You turned it on, right?”
“Yeah, but what’s so great about this?”
“I’m running out of call credit! Let’s talk on WeChat!”
“…” Now that’s the God of Stinginess himself.
Zhong Weishi sent a video call request, his face full of excitement. “I also participated in this program! I didn’t think I’d actually be on TV! Just wait a bit—four more contestants and then it’s my turn!”
Gu Lizhou couldn’t help but chuckle. This guy’s thought process really is something else. Wanting to get famous by joining a show like this? But when he saw the prize for clearing the stage, he understood.
—It was a fully automatic washing machine worth 3,999 yuan.
Author’s Note:
The story Daddy told was The Little Prince.
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