Chapter 39

The wings brushed past the clouds, then passed through them to return. As the plane landed slowly, the view outside the cabin had changed to a northern winter scene. After the taxiing ended, Qu Yanting unhurriedly closed his book. The cover was simple, and its contents were about traditional folk crafts.

Qu Yanting carried his bag out of the cabin. As he stepped into the jet bridge, a chill shot straight to the crown of his head. The wind had indeed picked up and the temperature had dropped over the past two days.

Yu Nan was there to pick him up, holding a hot coffee he had timed his purchase of. Seeing him, he waved and called out enthusiastically, "Boss! I'm over here!"

Qu Yanting approached with an unruffled expression, took the coffee, and with the coldness of a ruthless capitalist, sized up his assistant from top to bottom before uttering a single sentence: "You've lost weight."

Yu Nan gave a bitter smile. During this period, he had been running back and forth every day, crossing more than a dozen kilometers to feed Qu Yanting's cat and water his flowers. The dozen or so types of flowers and plants were each more delicate than the last, not to mention the cat's droppings. Scooping it once made him lose his appetite for two days from the smell.

He spoke from the heart, "Boss, I've missed you so much."

"Thanks for your hard work." As Qu Yanting said this, he shoved his bag into Yu Nan's arms, then leisurely strolled on while warming his hands with the coffee.

By the time they picked up the car and left the airport, it was already afternoon. Qu Yanting was heading straight home. As the car merged onto the highway, Yu Nan reported the work schedule for the next day.

There was a meeting at nine tomorrow morning. Qu Yanting took a sip of the sweet mocha and said, "Order afternoon tea. My treat."

"Thank you, boss." Considering the exhausting journey, Yu Nan asked, "Boss, should we buy some dinner on the way?"

They gradually drove into the bustling city center. The concrete jungle was blooming with colorful signs. Delicacies from all over the country and the world—Chinese, Western, Japanese, Korean—could be found everywhere. Qu Yanting said thoughtfully, "Let's have preserved egg and lean pork congee."

An hour later, the car came to a stop at the west gate of the residential complex. Qu Yanting was home.

He lived in a high-end residential complex that was a bit old. Back in the day, with its layered lakes and overlapping hills, deep woods and flourishing flowers, it was a famously beautiful property. Now, the building walls were old, hidden in the dense shade of trees, giving off a sense of a beauty's twilight years.

Qu Yanting lived on the ninth floor, with two units per elevator. His neighbors were an elderly empty-nester couple.

The lock turned. In the center of the small hall just inside the entrance, Commander Huang was squatting plumply on the floor. Its whiskers were long and its fur glossy, its body full of solid meat. Hearing the footsteps, it had clearly been waiting for a long time.

Seeing that it was the master of the house who had returned, it excitedly leaped onto the suitcase.

Qu Yanting entered the house. The moment the door clicked shut, it was like a lone wild goose returning to its nest; every single nerve relaxed. He picked up Commander Huang, weighed it in his hands. This little beast seemed to have gotten even heavier.

Qu Yanting had previously said that the house was a bit messy, so Yu Nan had obediently left it untouched. Everything was still the same as before he left. He put down the cat and walked through each room.

It was a two-bedroom apartment with a simple, modern decor style. The entrance was a small, square hall. Against one wall was a full-sized ecological tank with an enthusiast-level aquascape that Qu Yanting had designed himself.

The small bedroom served as a study, storing a large number of treasures: books, out-of-print movie discs, a projector, photography equipment. In the corner were piled various LEGO sets and models.

The master bedroom was decorated in cool tones. The mattress was on the softer side, forming a shallow depression when one lay on it. Qu Yanting changed into his pajamas, opened his suitcase, and hung his clothes in the wardrobe one by one.

Soft and dense to the touch was that smoky purple sweater. Worried that hanging it would deform the shoulders, Qu Yanting folded it, unable to help but wonder if Lu Wen had found the note in the shirt.

He opened the interlayer of the suitcase and carefully took out the Huangjuelan flower wrapped in a paper towel. The moisture had been absorbed. He picked out the intact blossoms and placed them inside a book to be made into a specimen.

The take-out congee was a bit cold. After a ding from the microwave, Qu Yanting carried the porcelain bowl through the living room, slid open the glass door, and stepped onto the long, large balcony that connected to the master bedroom.

The number of flowers and plants was dazzling. Pale orange Asiatic lilies, purple Pufeng plant, pinkish-white clematis, and a dazzling and hard-to-distinguish array of European and Sun and Moon roses. There were over fifty pots of succulents—Jusi, Jiulun Ta, Diehua Yangkui... filling an entire brass shelf.

The monstera was lush green and glossy. Qu Yanting casually caressed a leaf as he sat down on a small sofa. He ate his congee at a small French round table he had found at an antique market, beside the blooming meadow-rue on the table.

Qu Yanting was completely relaxed, like Commander Huang curled up in its nest, flipping over to show its belly or scratching an itch whenever it pleased. This lasted until his phone rang, making him jump and knock his spoon against the rim of the bowl.

With his usual procrastination, Qu Yanting answered belatedly, "Hello?"

"Yanting, it's me!" It was Ren Shu calling. "Did you get home safe?"

Qu Yanting had forgotten to let him know. He replied, "I'm home, don't worry. I'm already having dinner."

"Eating alone?"

"What else?"

Ren Shu was uncharacteristically gossipy. "Not with people from the studio? A gathering or something?"

Qu Yanting fiddled with his spoon and said deliberately, "It's so cold. Who would want to eat with their boss? Of course they'd find their partners to cuddle with for warmth."

"Makes sense." Ren Shu paused for a moment. "Hey, does that Screenwriter Qiao of yours have a partner?"

Qu Yanting broke into a smile. He had just gotten back, and Ren Shu was already asking so eagerly. Sparks must have flown during that seminar. Unfortunately, he didn't know about Screenwriter Qiao's love life and would need to investigate.

Suddenly, Ren Shu shouted at someone in the distance through the phone, "Xiao Lu! Stop eating!"

The spoon clinked crisply again. Qu Yanting asked, feigning nonchalance, "What are you shouting about?"

"Shouting at Xiao Lu," Ren Shu said. "We have a big night shoot, a couple of eating scenes. I told him to come with an empty stomach, but he secretly got a boxed meal."

Qu Yanting said, "He's probably hungry."

"How could he not be?" Ren Shu fumed. "He said he didn't eat lunch or sleep. I don't know what's gotten into him. He's been bouncing around excitedly, running all over the set like a wild bear."

Qu Yanting chuckled. He could picture the scene. Before hanging up, he meddled, "Alright, stop yelling at him. He'll digest it after running around for a bit."

Dusk fell suddenly. A layer of vivid light draped over the grapevines. Lu Wen sat underneath them, eating his boxed meal. Beside him was a bowl of ice jelly, which Sun Xiaojian had given him to calm his overflowing adrenaline.

Lu Wen held a spoon in his right hand. His hanging left hand brushed against his jacket pocket. Inside was his wallet, and inside the wallet was the note Qu Yanting had left.

He took a sip of the ice jelly. The coolness was no match for the sweetness of the brown sugar syrup. The adrenaline surge became even damn stronger.

Night fell. Time to work.

It was a scene between Lu Wen and Tao Meifan. In the plot's timeline, it was after Ye Xiaowu's death.

Mother Ye was deeply shaken. She cooked a table full of Ye Xiaowu's favorite dishes, with a basin of water-boiled fish in the middle. Ye Shan felt as if he were on a torture rack. The guilt and pain from this period had twisted into a chain that bound him tightly. His soul was already on the verge of collapse.

This meal, an offering for Ye Xiaowu, and Mother Ye's silent cold shoulder, were the last straws that broke Ye Shan. Ye Xiaowu's portrait was on the table, facing him. That face, identical to his own but in black and white, was smiling at him.

Ye Shan tremblingly reached out his chopsticks, picked up a piece of the water-boiled fish, and ate it.

He slowly stretched his mouth into a smile, copying the curve and spirit of Ye Xiaowu's smile from the photo.

This scene was extremely difficult. Ye Shan's psychological defense, as fragile as a hanging thread, had collapsed. There was no hysteria, no heart-wrenching pain. It was a rebound from the extremity of suppression, a rebirth from the edge of death after being covered in scars by familial love.

Lu Wen calmed his mind. The control of his lines, the rhythm of responding in a scene, the depth of his expression determined by the camera's distance—all of this was what Qu Yanting had taught him.

And the satisfaction in his chest transformed into a strength that Qu Yanting had given him.

Lu Wen and Tao Meifan had an intense acting scene together. One table, a mother and son deceiving themselves. Ye Shan pretended to be Ye Xiaowu, and Mother Ye would serve him food and stroke his head, each seeking a misplaced comfort from the other.

The set was quiet and oppressive, with only the actors' voices reciting their lines. Ren Shu's brows were tightly furrowed, but he never called cut.

That night was utterly exhausting, even more so than filming the rainy night car crash. After it was over, the first thing Lu Wen did was hug Tao Meifan. He came out of Room 302 and ran downstairs. The horizon was the pale white of a fish's belly at dawn.

On the way back to the hotel, Lu Wen was lost in thought. He wasn't so immersed in the scene that he couldn't pull himself out; he was just pondering about Ye Shan, about dissociative identity disorder... He understood that this was Qu Yanting's creation, but while the plot was fictional, that young man's heavy struggle might not be.

Lu Wen wanted to do something for every "Ye Shan" in the real world.

After returning to the hotel and taking a shower, Lu Wen sat on the sofa with his bathrobe open. The sumptuous room service breakfast was left to the side as he focused on scrolling through his phone contacts.

Although his management company had only assigned him Sun Xiaojian, at the Lu family's company, he had more than one capable assistant. Swiping to the "Work" group, his accountant, lawyer, tax consultant, financial manager, and so on, formed a long list.

But after considering his options, Lu Wen chose Old Zheng, Lu Zhanqing's assistant.

It was just eight o'clock, not yet office hours, but the phone, on standby twenty-four hours a day, was quickly answered. A rich, middle-aged male voice came through, his tone cordial, "Wen'er? How long has it been since you last spoke with Uncle Zheng?"

Lu Wen joked, "My schedule's too packed. It's terribly frustrating."

"You little brat!" Old Zheng laughed heartily. "Go on, what is it? Uncle Zheng will sort it out for you."

Lu Wen said speechlessly, "I haven't caused any trouble!"

It was no wonder the other party misunderstood. Lu Wen had never been one to let people rest easy since he was a child.

In the second grade, he called Old Zheng, claiming he was being bullied by a man at school, describing how terrifying it was. Old Zheng rushed over, only to find out the man was his math teacher.

During his first military training in middle school, he was determined to be a soldier. He refused to wear his school uniform, dressing in full camouflage to go to school. He sneaked into the school's broadcasting room and changed the morning exercise music to military boxing routines, leaving the entire school's teachers and students bewildered during the exercises.

In high school, he became obsessed with music, formed a band, bought instruments, and roamed the school holding concerts, completely bidding farewell to his studies. Lu Zhanqing disbanded his band midway through, gave him a sound beating, and in a fit of anger, he ran away from home and traveled around Fujian.

He was even harder to manage after graduating from university. He started a music studio, signed with a record label, and released an album, a whirlwind that lasted several years. Lu Zhanqing had once reached the end of his rope, saying, "To spoil a son is to kill him," and that he couldn't let it go on.

"Really no trouble?" Old Zheng changed his line of thinking. "Then you must be short on cash."

Lu Wen didn't beat around the bush. He drew out his words and announced with great solemnity, "Wrong. I'm going to give you money."

Old Zheng was stunned for a moment. "Are you kidding me this early in the morning?"

Lu Wen held the phone, his voice very soft as he said this, "I want to donate a sum of money to the Wen Jia Foundation."

Wen Jia was Lu Wen's mother. After she passed away, Lu Zhanqing established the "Wen Jia Foundation" in his beloved wife's name. It was a private foundation, initially aimed at helping single-parent families in difficulty and orphans. Now, it had diversified to include many other charitable projects that received less public attention.

Lu Wen wanted to donate his salary from this drama. It was the first sum of money he had properly earned, and he wanted to hand it over to the mother he had never met, while also helping people in need.

Old Zheng let out a sigh, skipping over a thousand words, and asked, "Just tell me what you have in mind. Uncle Zheng will handle it."

Lu Wen had already thought it through. "Something related to mental illness. It can be for research, or for non-profit organizations that do public education, counseling, and treatment for mental illnesses."

"Okay, I'll get on it right away." Old Zheng agreed immediately, then asked with some concern, "Wen'er, is everything alright with you? The entertainment industry is a mess. If you're under any pressure, don't you dare carry it all by yourself."

Lu Wen was exasperated. "I'm doing great."

Only then did Old Zheng feel relieved.

Lu Zhanqing personally managed the Wen Jia Foundation. Firstly, it was an emotional anchor, and secondly, there could not be the slightest mistake in charitable projects. Old Zheng said, "Your dad will find out about this. Why not just go to him directly?"

Lu Wen replied, "You coax me, he scolds me. Who do you think I should go to?"

"This is a good thing. He definitely won't scold you," Old Zheng said helplessly. "You ungrateful kid. A while ago, the weather forecast said there would be heavy rain in Chongqing. Your dad was worried and called to tell you to wear more clothes. Why don't you remember the good things he does?"

After he hung up, the phone slipped from his fingers. Lu Wen leaned back against the sofa, a bit dazed by Lu Zhanqing's silent fatherly love.

After breakfast, Lu Wen went to bed. He dreamt that he and Qu Yanting were sitting side-by-side in the booth of an RV when his phone suddenly rang, and Qu Yanting shrank back behind his shoulder.

He slept in a daze until mid-afternoon. Lu Wen was woken by thirst; his throat felt like it was full of sand after eating the water-boiled fish. He got up to drink water, picked up his phone, and saw over thirty unread messages from Old Zheng.

Donations followed a strict procedure. Old Zheng had first sent him some relevant information, such as subdivided project categories, the qualifications of various non-profit organizations, and assistance plans for specific groups.

Lu Wen read through it from beginning to end. He wasn't an expert and only understood the gist of it. Among them, an organization called the "Fir Tree Project" caught his attention.

It was a non-profit organization that provided free psychological counseling for teenagers. Last year, it had cooperated with the Wen Jia Foundation to set up a website. Old Zheng sent him the URL.

Lu Wen logged in on the hotel's computer. He had thought it would be a website for promoting public welfare, but he didn't expect it to be a forum. The sections were very clear: Depressive Disorders, Stress Disorders, Anxiety Disorders, Phobias... People who had received help through the "Fir Tree Project" had a home online where they could confide.

Lu Wen stumbled into this harbor and browsed for a long time. Among the various psychological issues, he clicked on the "Social Anxiety" section. For some unknown reason, he thought of Qu Yanting's various behaviors.

Website registration was divided into two categories: users who needed help, and unpaid volunteers.

Lu Wen chose the latter. He went through registration and verification, provided real information, passed an assessment... and he got an account. He hadn't set up anything yet. The system randomly assigned him a one-on-one user.

The other party's tag was the one he had browsed the most: "Social Anxiety."

"What am I supposed to do, be a chat buddy?" Lu Wen thought of therapy dogs that provided psychological relief. "Damn, there's even a trial period..."

He muttered to himself as he clicked on the username. The other person was offline. He didn't know their gender, age, or personality, and there was no profile picture. Only the nickname was clear at a glance.

"That's pretty cute," Lu Wen read aloud. "Socially Anxious Little Writer."

He thought for a moment and edited a nickname for himself—Unlucky Little Singer.

The author has something to say:

Although the superstar is silly, every decision he makes is divine. If he were any smarter, what would become of him? (This comment costs five yuan.)