Chapter 72: Birthday
Xie Xizhao had truly not expected that a casual remark from him would have such a significant impact on Guan Heng.
He had only spoken the truth.
Back during the initial stage performance, Guan Heng had indeed left a deep impression on him.
Of course, he had also noticed the struggles Guan Heng had faced all along, so he had been a little more generous with his praise.
He remained silent for a long time before sincerely saying, “I was serious at the time.”
“I know.” Guan Heng smiled. “Because you’re so sincere, that’s why I was especially, especially moved.”
The words “especially, especially” were deliberately emphasized, carrying less weight and more playfulness. Xie Xizhao knew that Guan Heng was actively trying to lighten the mood, preventing him from feeling too awkward in the face of such raw emotions.
Xie Xizhao couldn’t help but chuckle.
But just a moment later, he restrained his smile.
“To be honest, even with Song Yong,” he said seriously, “I don’t know exactly how your discussions went, but no matter how much they value you, they could still go back on their word afterward.”
“I know,” Guan Heng replied.
“And your contract termination lawsuit,” Xie Xizhao thought for a moment before adding, “It won’t be easy.”
“I know.” Guan Heng smiled again.
“And…”
Xie Xizhao was about to continue but stopped himself.
Guan Heng knew all of this, yet he still chose to go forward. On one hand, it was a calculated decision after weighing the pros and cons. On the other hand, Xie Xizhao thought, perhaps he was simply too exhausted.
When a person reaches extreme exhaustion, they seek salvation.
Escaping from an environment and people that drain them is the best form of self-rescue.
Even if it meant taking a loss.
Xie Xizhao didn’t know exactly what promises Song Yong had made to Guan Heng, but he could guess their intentions. It was nothing more than the fact that even a dying camel was still bigger than a horse. They needed an idol with an established fanbase who could open doors in the idol market.
Guan Heng was indeed a suitable choice.
And this also meant that Song Yong’s new group was already beginning to take shape.
It was just a gamble.
Compared to betting on a new company that had proactively extended an olive branch, Shenghong’s stance was much clearer.
Thinking of this, Xie Xizhao didn’t say anything more and simply said, “If there’s anything I can help with, feel free to reach out.”
“Money too,” he added after a brief pause.
Guan Heng looked slightly surprised, then smiled. “That straightforward?”
Xie Xizhao smiled as well. “Yeah, that’s how it is in the adult world—straight to the point.”
“Consider it a loan,” he said.
He did have some funds.
It wasn’t a gift from the system but simply the result of his sharp mind. His family wasn’t extraordinarily wealthy, but they had some spare money. Back in high school, he had made a small investment with some friends and managed to save up a bit.
He figured that Guan Heng would probably have to pay some compensation to terminate his contract—after all, he was still bound by it.
The entertainment industry was never short on ways to make money, so if he could help a little, he would.
But he also expected that Guan Heng wouldn’t take it.
Sure enough, Guan Heng only said, “If I’m completely out of options, I’ll come to you. Deal?”
Xie Xizhao understood.
Now that everything was out in the open, the tension on Guan Heng’s face had completely eased.
Quitting the competition at this moment wasn’t easy for him, but now, he had finally found someone to confide in.
Xie Xizhao thought of something. “Are you quitting now because you don’t want your fans to keep voting?”
Guan Heng replied, “Yeah.”
“It’s pointless,” he said. “Either way, I won’t debut. Song Yong asked me when I planned to withdraw. I think they were hoping I’d wait until right before the finals—that way, it’d leave a stronger emotional impact? But I told them, let’s just do it now.”
The reason he gave was that by withdrawing before his popularity completely declined, his fans wouldn’t have fully scattered yet.
In reality, he was just tired of seeing his fans exhaust themselves voting, so he made the decision directly.
“That’s pretty considerate,” Xie Xizhao commented.
Guan Heng smiled.
Because it hadn’t come easily, he cherished every fan who loved him even more.
His throat felt dry from all the talking, so he lowered his head to take a sip of water.
When he looked up, he saw Xie Xizhao hesitating, as if he wanted to say something but held back.
He paused for two seconds.
Then, after a brief silence, he gripped his cup tightly and tried to sound casual. “Are you wondering if Qing—”
“Did Song Yong ask you to do anything else?” Xie Xizhao interrupted.
Guan Heng: …
“You even guessed that?”
He sounded impressed.
“You probably didn’t agree, right?” Xie Xizhao said. “Otherwise, I would’ve been tactful enough not to ask.”
Truthfully, Xie Xizhao didn’t really want to ask either.
But since they had already talked this far…
Guan Heng said, “They wanted me to leak some dirt on Qingyuan, but I refused.”
Xie Xizhao asked, “Is there really anything on him?”
“There could be,” Guan Heng said calmly.
Then, he chuckled. “You know how he runs his mouth.”
Xie Xizhao understood.
—
It was only natural for Xie Xizhao to think of this.
After all, mentioning Guan Heng inevitably brought up Ai Qingyuan. Since Guan Heng was quitting the competition, leaving Shenghong, and still wanted to continue in the entertainment industry, he had to gain something while risking offending both Shenghong and the Ai family.
Entertainment companies weren’t charities.
If they could paint Shenghong and Ai Qingyuan as villains, then Guan Heng would appear more like a victim. His fans would become even more loyal. Not to mention, a significant portion of his fanbase consisted of CP fans.
CP fans were the most sympathetic toward the weak.
The only problem here was the Ai family backing Ai Qingyuan.
But Xie Xizhao thought that since Song Yong had come up with the idea of quitting the competition first and informing everyone later, they didn’t seem too afraid of the Ai family or Shenghong either.
As for this so-called dirt, it probably wasn’t anything that could completely ruin someone’s reputation. Xie Xizhao guessed it was just some minor gossip about Ai Qingyuan’s bad temper, subtly stirring up speculation about his relationship with Guan Heng and using him to emotionally manipulate fans.
After all, the Ai family wasn’t originally from the entertainment industry; their reach only extended so far. As long as the controversy remained confined within fan circles, Shenghong likely wouldn’t escalate the issue to higher-ups and make themselves look incompetent.
On the surface, Guan Heng’s withdrawal had absolutely nothing to do with Ai Qingyuan.
Cruel as it was, this was actually a good thing for Guan Heng.
So—
“Why did you refuse?” Xie Xizhao asked.
Guan Heng blinked. “Isn’t the current level of drama enough? If I push any harder, it’ll seem deliberate. Besides, I don’t actually want my former company chasing me down with a knife.”
Of course, things were already moving fast.
And also…
He paused briefly before finally saying, “It hasn’t reached the point where I hate him that much.”
Xie Xizhao’s fingers stilled slightly.
He was just about to say something when he noticed a sudden shift in Guan Heng’s expression.
He hesitated for a moment, wondering if it was really that serious—then he turned his head and saw Ai Qingyuan standing by the door.
His face was pale, and no one knew how long he had been standing there.
He just stood there, staring at Guan Heng, as if his soul had already been drained away.
After a brief silence, Guan Heng spoke first. “Qingyuan.”
Xie Xizhao could see his hand unconsciously clenching on the table, but his voice remained calm.
Ai Qingyuan said, “…Brother.”
Just that one word, and Guan Heng’s expression suddenly became a little dazed.
Ai Qingyuan didn’t call him “Brother” very often.
He used to, though—back when he first joined the company as a newly minted adult.
Ai Qingyuan didn’t have a great relationship with his family. At first, he was rebellious, and with his background, no one in the company really wanted to befriend him. He had seemed pitiful, so Guan Heng had taken him under his wing for a while.
Maybe that was why Ai Qingyuan developed a kind of imprinting attachment to him.
He used to say, “Brother Heng, I wish you were my real brother.”
Back then, Guan Heng had thought, ‘I wouldn’t be that lucky.’
There was envy in that thought.
And a little self-mockery.
Ai Qingyuan had been born into a life of wealth and privilege, a child placed atop a mountain of gold and silver, born with a silver spoon in his mouth. Not everyone had the luck of picking the right family. But beyond that brief moment of self-deprecation, Guan Heng had never dwelled on it.
Being born was a skill of its own.
And when it came to such things, Guan Heng had always taken it lightly.
And after that?
After that, nothing really happened.
They trained together, and then, when it came time for the internal selection for their debut group—Guan Heng didn’t make it.
He had passed, initially.
But then someone else had been parachuted into the lineup at the last moment.
At the time, he hadn’t yet reached the point where the company saw him as indispensable, so naturally, they let him go. Ai Qingyuan had clumsily tried to comfort him, saying, “It’s okay, Brother. We’ll debut together in the future.”
A simple, sincere wish.
At that time, Guan Heng had taken it rather well.
What he thought was—if I had the strength to crush everyone else, maybe the company wouldn’t have given up on me.
So he had told Ai Qingyuan it was fine.
Then he had waited for his third chance.
Eight years.
Guan Heng thought to himself.
Again and again, he had hoped.
Again and again, he had been let down.
He lacked luck.
He lacked strength.
He lacked parents who could pave his way through the entertainment industry.
But why?
Why couldn’t he be lucky just this once?
Did he really have to climb to the very top of the pyramid before fate would finally favor him?
Guan Heng didn’t know.
He only knew that he was exhausted.
He wanted to rest.
And that included leaving Ai Qingyuan’s world behind.
Ai Qingyuan fell silent after calling out that single word.
Guan Heng suddenly felt a sense of relief.
He had always known this day would come.
He was just an ordinary person.
An ordinary person who couldn’t bear the weight of someone else’s emotions forever, who had his own selfish desires.
He asked, “How much did you hear?”
His voice was gentle.
Ai Qingyuan’s lips parted slightly. “Everything.”
His voice trembled, tinged with confusion.
He felt like he should be angry. Guan Heng had said… had said he hated him. Maybe not exactly, but hadn’t he admitted that there was some hatred? Why? How could he? They had spent so many years together.
But he couldn’t bring himself to question it.
Because deep down, his instincts told him—he had no right to question Guan Heng.
So, after a long silence, he only asked, “We won’t be in touch anymore, will we?”
His voice was barely above a whisper.
Guan Heng hadn’t expected that to be his first response. He paused before replying, “…Not necessarily.”
“If you want to, that is.”
Then he hesitated again before adding, “But for now… let’s not.”
Ai Qingyuan let out a smile that looked worse than crying.
He took a deep breath, then suddenly turned to leave.
Guan Heng called out to him.
“Qingyuan.”
Ai Qingyuan stopped in his tracks.
Guan Heng suddenly felt like he was putting an end to the past eight years of his life.
“I’ve had plenty of heart-to-heart talks with you,” he said. “I don’t want to just end things without clarity.”
He smiled, then took a deep breath. “Do you remember how we spent your nineteenth birthday?”
Ai Qingyuan didn’t want to answer, but the words slipped out anyway. “…You snuck me out, and we ate street barbecue. You even bought me a cake.”
It was his first time eating street food.
High in calories, not particularly hygienic, and not exactly healthy.
“That afternoon,” Guan Heng said, “I had just been scolded by my manager.”
Ai Qingyuan stiffened.
“I was really upset,” Guan Heng continued. “She told me that with my current abilities, forget debuting—I might as well start packing my bags to go home. I told you about it, and you said, ‘It’s okay, Brother Heng, don’t listen to her nonsense.’
“A while later, you came back to me, all excited, and said, ‘Brother, today is my birthday.’”
Ai Qingyuan’s expression turned blank. “…And then?”
He truly only remembered sneaking out with Guan Heng that night. As for the scolding, he vaguely recalled something like that, but to him, their manager had always been someone he privately complained about. Later, he even asked the company to replace her.
He never thought her words were worth caring about.
“That’s all,” Guan Heng said with a small smile.
He stood up, not saying another word.
As he passed by Xie Xizhao, he simply said, “I’m leaving tonight. No need to see me off.”
Then, after a brief pause, he said, “Xizhao, I wish you a bright future ahead. Your journey is still long—keep moving forward. One day, your name will be known in every household, engraved on the milestones of the entertainment industry.”
He resented capital, but he had also been swept up by it.
Compared to him, there were many more unknown contestants in the show—eliminated early simply because they lacked the backing of a major company. Meanwhile, he had been deliberately nurtured by Shenghong and ultimately reaped the benefits of capital.
But Xie Xizhao was different.
He was clean.
For the first time, Guan Heng truly believed in the concept of the “Purple Star of Destiny.”
He genuinely felt that Xie Xizhao would become the one true anomaly in the entertainment industry.
After finishing his words, he patted Xie Xizhao on the shoulder.
Xie Xizhao said, “Safe travels.”
The two shared a brief hug.
Then, without sparing Ai Qingyuan another glance, Guan Heng walked straight off the rooftop.
On the other side, Xie Xizhao got up to leave but hesitated for a moment. In the end, he sighed and sat back down.
Ai Qingyuan stood frozen in place, dazed.
Xie Xizhao said, “Snap out of it.”
Ai Qingyuan jolted back to reality. He murmured, “…He’s gone.”
“He’s gone,” Xie Xizhao confirmed. “And he probably won’t come back. If you hurry now, you might still have time to apologize.”
Ai Qingyuan looked at him.
Xie Xizhao paused for a few seconds.
“You’re probably thinking,” he said, “that the suppression came from the company, that the failure to debut was also because of the company—so why should Guan Heng resent you when you didn’t do anything?”
The words were too sharp. Ai Qingyuan immediately refuted, “I never thought that!”
Xie Xizhao studied his expression and found no resentment on his face—only confusion.
He sighed inwardly again, but his tone softened a little.
“It’s precisely because he values his relationship with you,” he said softly, “that he chose to leave you. Because to him, your relationship had already become a burden.”
He understood Guan Heng.
If it were truly about blaming Ai Qingyuan for Shenghong’s actions, someone as clear-minded as Guan Heng wouldn’t go that far.
His dissatisfaction with Ai Qingyuan, at its core, was still about their relationship.
In this friendship, it had always been Ai Qingyuan who was “receiving” and Guan Heng who was “giving”—not material things, but emotions. This much was evident from the example Guan Heng had just given.
Was it that he didn’t want to celebrate Ai Qingyuan’s birthday?
Not at all.
On the contrary, it was precisely because he cared that he took his younger brother—who had rarely seen the ordinary world—out to experience life, treated him to cake, and gave him a birthday with a sense of ceremony.
But caring about his relationship with Ai Qingyuan and feeling disappointed in Ai Qingyuan’s attitude were not mutually exclusive.
He believed that Ai Qingyuan had never meant any harm. He simply hadn’t realized the helplessness and fear Guan Heng had felt at that time. Debuting had been easy for Ai Qingyuan, but for Guan Heng, it was his only chance.
And yet, Guan Heng was still bound by his contract. He couldn’t leave.
Just like how Ai Qingyuan had never fully grasped the difference in how the company treated them—or the pressure Guan Heng had been under all this time.
He also believed that if Ai Qingyuan had just comforted him for five more minutes, or if he hadn’t acted like nothing had happened and dragged him out to celebrate, in the end, Guan Heng would still have hidden his emotions and given his younger brother a happy birthday.
It was just that little bit of difference.
Xie Xizhao suddenly felt a wave of sentimentality.
Life was filled with disappointments more often than not.
Ai Qingyuan had such an enviable background, as if everything in life was within his grasp.
And yet, today, he still lost something he deeply valued.
If he were someone who only cared about material things, it wouldn’t have mattered. But in this relationship, Ai Qingyuan had clearly been the more dependent one.
This must have been a heavy blow for him.
“I take back what I said about you going to apologize.”
Watching as Ai Qingyuan’s face finally showed a trace of realization and turned pale in an instant, Xie Xizhao spoke. His tone was calm and sincere, but his words were undeniably cruel.
“Qingyuan, you and he are not suited to be friends. At least for now, you really aren’t.”
