Chapter 4: Ji Tingqian ascended the stairs, his mind still replaying that kiss—seemingly illusory yet undeniably real. Ming Huai's low chuckle, his slightly labored breathing, those bright eyes; though they had met only twice, Ji Tingqian remembered him vividly. Ji Tingqian halted his steps and gazed ahead. Standing before the door was Xu Hanchao. The building enjoyed excellent natural light, rendering every shift in Xu Hanchao's expression perfectly clear. His face underwent several changes before he finally spoke: "Let's talk inside."

Ji Tingqian opened the door, and Xu Hanchao followed him in. Ji Tingqian disliked having others in his home; ordinarily, he lived alone, with housekeeping staff arriving only on a scheduled basis. Strangely enough, despite his wealthy background, Ji Tingqian could cook exceptionally well—a skill that enabled him to live independently. Upon entering, Ji Tingqian first brewed a cup of coffee for his guest and poured himself a glass of cool boiled water. Having already drunk one earlier, he had no desire for another. He placed the coffee and the water respectively on the table before them, then waited for Xu Hanchao to speak. Xu Hanchao's return was driven by an important matter he needed to discuss with Ji Tingqian, though he also harbored a hint of试探 (testing). Ji Tingqian's behavior that afternoon had been truly peculiar, yet Xu Hanchao hadn't expected to actually uncover something.

"You really did have an appointment this afternoon, didn't you?" Xu Hanchao said with a smile.

It was a statement, not a question; he offered Ji Tingqian no opportunity to refute. Still, Xu Hanchao chose not to dwell on the matter. After all, it was ultimately Ji Tingqian's private affair and his own freedom.

"If you're going to start dating, you must tell me. I know you're not young anymore; I understand."

Ji Tingqian offered no explanation, merely nodding.

"By the way," Xu Hanchao added,

"I forgot to mention something earlier."

Ji Tingqian raised his eyes.

"What is it?"

"Do you remember Director Gao?"

As he spoke, Xu Hanchao opened his browser, typed in a string of characters, and then handed his phone to Ji Tingqian. Taking the phone, Ji Tingqian scanned the information displayed.

"I remember."

Pointing to the screen, Xu Hanchao explained, "This variety show was orchestrated by Director Gao. Since its broadcast, ratings have climbed steadily, securing the top spot in its time slot. Remarkably, it has also garnered an excellent reputation. They're about to record the final few episodes, and your name has been coming up frequently among viewers."

Seeing Ji Tingqian about to speak, Xu Hanchao quickly interjected, "I know you usually avoid variety shows, but please consider this carefully. After all, Director Gao once took great care of you."

Amused by Xu Hanchao's urgent demeanor, Ji Tingqian let out a soft laugh. Returning the phone, he said, "Brother Xu, I never said I wouldn't accept it."

That meant he would take it. Xu Hanchao arched an eyebrow; this outcome wasn't entirely unexpected. Then, shifting gears, he continued, "There's one thing I need to tell you in advance: Ming Huai is part of this show's MC lineup. You know, the two of you…"

Xu Hanchao trailed off with a knowing smile. It had long been established that Ji Tingqian and Ming Huai belonged to the same agency. They had never collaborated professionally nor interacted privately, yet they shared one defining trait: immense popularity. Where there is fame, controversy follows. Being under the same roof, close in age, and following similar trajectories from debut to subsequent development, they were inevitably compared. Most crucially, Ming Huai was promoted precisely during Ji Tingqian's temporary withdrawal from the entertainment industry, fueling constant comparisons between them. Neither Ming Huai nor Ji Tingqian ever responded to these rumors. Several times, tensions escalated to the point where fans from both sides were ready to charge into battle, yet the principals themselves acted as if oblivious to everything. Both fanbases possessed formidable fighting prowess. While remarkably polite when encountering other fandoms, their dynamic shifted dramatically when facing each other: trading barbs, launching smear campaigns, and igniting arguments whenever they crossed paths—without exception.

Yet, there was an amusing twist: if another fandom attacked Ming Huai, Ji Tingqian's fans would instantly unleash an air of domineering protectiveness, as if declaring, "Only we are allowed to criticize them; who do you think you are?"

The reverse held true as well.One can only imagine what would happen if Ji Tingqian and Ming Huai were to appear on the same stage.

"It's fine," Ji Tingqian said calmly.

On April 5th, Ming Huai woke up early in the morning. Standing by the window, he gazed outside; the sky was overcast, the temperature rather low, and a dense, slanting rain drifted through the air. This year's Qingming Festival, like those before it, was a rainy day. Ming Huai rubbed his hair, his eyes momentarily vacant before regaining their usual spark. At seven in the morning, Dudu was still asleep. Ming Huai didn't wake the child; instead, he freshened up first, then quietly went to the walk-in closet to change. By the time Ming Huai came downstairs, Aunt Chen was already simmering porridge. Seeing him arrive, she paused her work. Her smile was exceptionally kind, her tone gentle and warm, embodying the grace of a woman from Jiangnan.

"Xiao Huai, it'll be ready soon. There's warmed milk over there; go ahead and drink it."

"Alright," Ming Huai replied with a smile.

Seated at the dining table, Ming Huai fixed his gaze on a bouquet of fresh flowers placed there, sipping milk in small mouthfuls from the cup in his hand. Today, Ming Huai wore a grayish-white hoodie paired with simple jeans. Given his attire and demeanor, no one would guess he was already the father of a three-year-old; he looked more convincingly like a high school student. Then again, Ming Huai wasn't particularly old; he wouldn't turn twenty-five until November this year. Knowing Ming Huai was going to visit the graves today, Aunt Chen had prepared breakfast especially early.

Before long, a bowl of preserved egg and lean meat porridge along with a stack of small steamed buns were served. Aunt Chen and Ming Huai had always shared a close bond; due to certain circumstances, their relationship felt more like that of family. Thus, there were no strict rules between them, only ease and informality. Aunt Chen sat beside Ming Huai and said, "You should eat more while you're at home. When you're out working, who knows if the food elsewhere will suit your taste."

"Yes, yes," Ming Huai agreed, already picking up a small bun with his chopsticks.

These buns were handmade by Aunt Chen, with thin wrappers and generous fillings. One bite released fragrant broth throughout the mouth. Paired with Aunt Chen's homemade chili sauce, they were Ming Huai's absolute favorite. However, recently Aunt Chen had forbidden Ming Huai from eating overly strong flavors in the morning, so items like chili sauce would never appear on the breakfast table. It was not yet 7:40 when he finished eating. Checking the time, Ming Huai felt it was about right. After bidding farewell to Aunt Chen, he grabbed his car keys and left home. Ming Huai disliked driving; whenever possible, he avoided it. When others asked why, he would merely smile, offering no further explanation. On the way to the cemetery, Ming Huai stopped at a florist along the route to buy a bouquet. Gazing at the flowers resting on the passenger seat, his mood suddenly sank into an indescribable melancholy, his eyes stinging slightly.

In the past, he had never gone alone. During Qingming, even the usually quiet cemetery gained some liveliness. Although Ming Huai arrived relatively early, many people were already there paying respects. The rain intensified. Holding an umbrella in one hand and the flowers in the other, Ming Huai walked forward, water splashing up from the stone slabs beneath his feet. As a precaution, he wore a face mask, revealing only a pair of dark, gentle eyes. After navigating around several paths, Ming Huai stood before a double grave. The photograph on the tombstone was a couple's portrait: the man handsome and refined, the woman beautiful and graceful. Even in a mere photograph, one could sense the deep affection flowing between them. The man's name was Lin Zhen; the woman's, Su Yuan. They were husband and wife. Ming Huai bowed deeply, then crouched to place the bouquet before the grave. Reaching out, he gently traced the photograph, nostalgia filling his eyes.

The corners of his lips curved slightly upward as he whispered softly, "Dad… Mom…"

Ming Huai's parents had passed away due to unforeseen circumstances when he was only seven years old. Yet even now, he still clearly remembered the beautiful moments shared with them during his childhood.On the anniversary of his parents' death each year and during the Qingming Festival, Ming Huai would always make time to visit them, no matter how busy he was. Here, he could always find a sense of peace unavailable elsewhere. He liked to chatter endlessly to his parents about the troubles in his life, as if doing so could somehow resolve them.

"I didn't bring Dudu today; next time, I'll bring him for you to see, okay?" Ming Huai murmured to himself.

Suddenly, his eyes reddened. He rubbed them and whispered, almost inaudibly, "Next time, I want to bring Dudu's other father too."

It was as though he were praying to his parents, or perhaps making a promise to himself.

"It will happen, won't it?"

A gust of wind blew, and raindrops struck Ming Huai's face. For a moment, he couldn't tell whether the moisture at the corners of his eyes was tears or rain. He stood there silently for a long while without speaking. By the time he turned to leave, he had already composed all his emotions, yet his eyes remained misty, as if washed by water, clouded with indescribable feelings. However, Ming Huai hadn't taken more than a few steps when he froze abruptly in place, unable to move even an inch. Staring at the man and woman merely a few paces away, he felt his entire body stiffen, his mind buzzing incessantly. Again and again, he questioned himself: Hadn't he calculated the timing carefully? He distinctly remembered that Ji Kun and Dong Ruman habitually arrived only around sunset in the afternoon, bringing a bouquet of flowers and a bottle of wine.

Ming Huai lowered his head, blinking as he gazed at the bluish-gray stone slabs beneath his feet.

"Xiao Huai…"

Dong Ruman appeared barely over forty, her features delicate and beautiful. Dressed in a light-colored dress, she exuded a gentle and dignified aura. Her eyes were misted with tears. She wanted to approach Ming Huai but seemed somewhat at a loss, just like the man beside her. Silence stretched on until a sudden clap of thunder erupted overhead. Though it was still morning, the sky grew increasingly dark. The heavy, gloomy canopy pressed down oppressively from all sides. Gray birds, unable to soar high, skimmed past one by one, their occasional cries piercingly sharp.

"Dad… Mom…" Ming Huai called out softly.

Lifting his gaze, his heart surged with rising and falling emotions. Separated by the curtain of rain, it was as if he saw the past once again.