Chapter 99.2: The Romance of Buying Roses in a Storm
While Shen Xiu’s inbox on Weibo was blowing up, he had just completed the funeral for his parents according to staff instructions.
Once the ceremony ended, the hired workers who had helped with the burial quietly left, as was customary, leaving Shen Xiu some private time to grieve.
The cemetery staff were all in their forties or fifties, having worked there for many years and well accustomed to the process. But this was the first time they had ever seen a burial with not a single relative present—just one person from start to finish.
They quietly guessed there must be some unspeakable hardship involved. No one dared to ask, for fear of touching a raw wound.
Once the staff left, Shen Xiu stood alone in front of his parents’ tombstone.
He had placed the bouquet of over a hundred red roses, which he’d bought earlier, right in the center of the grave marker with his obsessive precision. The vivid crimson of the roses brought a hint of life to the otherwise cold and somber black marble.
Holding a black umbrella, Shen Xiu listened to the raindrops hitting its surface, one after another. As he stared at the tombstone—which bore only names, no photos—he conjured the image of his parents in his mind. The rain didn’t seem to be falling on the umbrella anymore, but directly on his heart, each drop making it colder, heavier, more painful.
His mouth opened several times, but no words came out. At last, he managed to speak:
“This is your new home. Congratulations.”
Having broken the silence, it became easier to keep talking.
“All the things I burned for you earlier—new clothes, a new phone, a new wheelchair, a new hearing aid, all of it was new…”
Shen Xiu had a good memory. As long as he paid attention, he could remember almost everything he had bought. Carefully, he listed off each item he had picked out at the paper-offering shop and burned as offerings. Then he added:
“The clothes I’m wearing right now are new too.”
He paused for a few seconds before continuing.
“I had some friends over the day before yesterday. Brought them back to the place I’m renting. Don’t worry, even though I’m living alone, I know how to be a good host. Everyone ate the food I prepared. When I saw them off, none of them looked unhappy.”
After finishing his sentence, Shen Xiu carefully added, “That’s a score of sixty out of a hundred—there’s still forty points of room for improvement.”
As soon as he said it, Shen Xiu belatedly realized that his words sounded a bit too serious, and he fell into an awkward silence.
Ever since he had to attend middle school in the county, the time their family spent together had grown shorter. And when he was home, for various reasons, the three of them—who all had similarly reserved personalities—mostly kept to themselves and quietly did their own tasks. They didn’t talk much.
Now, standing in front of the tombstone, Shen Xiu felt self-conscious even when he spoke more than a few words.
But even if he felt awkward, Shen Xiu still wanted to speak.
After a long pause, he spoke again:
“I’m doing really well now. I’m doing well now, and I’ll be even better in the future. You two have to be like me over there too.”
Another stretch of silence followed.
Then Shen Xiu spoke again.
Silence—speaking—silence—speaking…
Repeating this cycle, Shen Xiu ended up staying in the cemetery for several hours without realizing it.
On a stormy day like this, there were few visitors to begin with. After the staff had left, Shen Xiu was the only living person left in the cemetery.
As the downpour grew heavier and the wind blew harder, Shen Xiu was finally forced to leave.
Before he left, Shen Xiu said the words he most wanted to tell his parents—the ones he believed they most wanted to hear.
“Mom, Dad, I’ve always remembered the promise I made to you. I’ve been obedient. I’ll live well. Goodbye. I’ll come visit you again next time.”
After saying this, Shen Xiu took a long look at the tombstone, gripped the handle of his umbrella tightly, turned around, and walked away with heavy steps.
While speaking with his parents, Shen Xiu hadn’t felt much emotion. But as he walked away from their grave, his eyes began to sting and turn red.
He walked slowly, and by the time he reached the cemetery gates, the wetness in his eyes had already been dried by the howling wind.
—
On the day he returned from the cemetery, Shen Xiu was surrounded by a gloomy air. He didn’t feel like doing anything, ate a little something casually, washed up, then changed into home clothes and sat in front of the floor-to-ceiling window, staring blankly at the pouring rain outside.
The next morning, Shen Xiu woke up as usual at seven.
After waking up, he went for a run, and after the run, he visited the cemetery again.
When he came back from the cemetery, much of the gloomy aura around him had dissipated.
After taking a shower, Shen Xiu sat on the sofa. He first greeted everyone in the group chat with a “good morning.” Everyone was probably busy, so no one replied. Shen Xiu then opened Weibo, curious to see what gossip he might have missed during his time away from the app.
Following yesterday’s explosive video—Thor’s hammer style—Duan Mingfei had already been cremated. But the matter was far from over. Former teammates who had been b*llied by Duan Mingfei began posting exposés on Weibo one after another, repeatedly dragging the former PR darling out to be publicly shamed all over again.
Shen Xiu was so engrossed in the gossip that his mind was full of reactions like “It can happen like that?!” “Seriously?!” and “That’s terrifying!”
After finishing his deep dive into the drama, Shen Xiu once again felt grateful that all the people he had encountered were good ones.
As for the video in which Duan Mingfei got “hammered to death,” Shen Xiu only glanced at the thumbnail before frowning and immediately closing it. He had no desire to click on it.
After finishing with the entertainment gossip rankings, Shen Xiu opened his private messages. A glance showed they were all recommendations for the role of Li Yang in The Immortal Path.
“Immortal Path? Li Yang?”
Shen Xiu had never read the novel and wasn’t familiar with it.
Following the instructions sent by netizens in his messages, he quickly found the official account of Immortal Path, clicked into the DMs, and saw the invitation sent by the production team.
After carefully reading the invitation, Shen Xiu recalled the itinerary he had already finalized. Comparing it with the timeline given by the production, he found a scheduling conflict—he wouldn’t be able to manage both. So, he had no choice but to turn it down.
The social media manager of Immortal Path’s official account finally received a reply from Shen Xiu. Without even clicking the red notification dot, they excitedly grabbed their phone and ran to find the assistant director.
“Director! Shen Xiu replied!”
The assistant director took the phone, anxiously opened the message…
One minute later, after reading Shen Xiu’s long and carefully written response, the joy on the assistant director’s face disappeared, and their expression collapsed.
With a sigh, they said, “He turned us down…”
“School starting, commercials, group projects…” the social media manager mumbled while looking at Shen Xiu’s list of reasons, “Honestly, his refusal sounds really reasonable. As expected, in the heart of a top overachiever like Shen Xiu, studying is the most important thing. Filming? That’s nothing!”
The assistant director sighed, “He could have taken a leave. These days, probably 99% of actors are willing to take time off or even temporarily withdraw from school to film. This is the first time I’ve seen someone turn down a role because of school.”
Social media manager: “Unfortunately, Shen Xiu is that 1%…”
The assistant director sighed again. “Shen Xiu definitely doesn’t need our paycheck either. His refusal was expected. Let’s start looking for someone else.”
…
Back on Shen Xiu’s end, upon seeing their reply included an emoji sticker, he opened his photo album and sent one of the stickers Xiang Yueting had shared with him via WeChat.
Xiang Yueting had once told him that using emojis appropriately in conversations makes both sides happier.
The social media manager, upon seeing the reply with the sticker, froze for a moment—and then ran off to find the assistant director again.
“Director, I think we still have a chance! Look at this adorable cat-face emoji—does this really look like something Shen Xiu himself would send?”
Before the assistant director could respond, the manager continued confidently, “Absolutely not! There’s no way someone like Shen Xiu would send such a cutesy emoji—it’s totally not his style. That means the person replying right now must be his agent or assistant!”
Thinking of Shen Xiu’s famously cold expression, the assistant director shuddered. “You’re right. Anyone else might send a cute sticker—but definitely not Shen Xiu! We still have a shot. Hurry and try to arrange a way to talk to Shen Xiu directly!”
After replying to the message, Shen Xiu saw a new WeChat notification pop up. He closed Weibo and switched over to WeChat.
Assistant Wen: Mr. Shen, as stated in the contract, the company will send a car to pick you up at 9 a.m. tomorrow for the commercial shoot at the studio.
Shen Xiu: Got it.
Shen Xiu sent over his address.
After sending the message, memories of his first commercial shoot resurfaced, and the psychological shadow he thought had faded came flooding back.
When he signed the contract, Shen Xiu had carefully read through it three times. He remembered very clearly that the agreement included not only an ad for Starlight Ring, but also for a watch called Rose Night.
The contract also clearly stated that during the shoot, he must fully cooperate with the photographer.
Based on the photos released from the Starlight Ring shoot, Shen Xiu was confident there would be no revealing scenes involved. But when it came to Rose Night, he wasn’t sure.
He opened the chat with Assistant Wen, hesitated for a moment, then finally mustered the courage to ask:
Shen Xiu: Assistant Wen, will there be any revealing scenes in the Rose Night shoot?
The deposit had already been accepted, so there was no way Shen Xiu could back out. If there were going to be such scenes, he needed to prepare himself mentally in advance to avoid making mistakes during the shoot and affecting the team’s work.
Assistant Wen glanced at the production plan on the desk and replied:
Assistant Wen: There won’t be any for Rose Night.
The shoot that included revealing scenes was for Starlight Ring, not Rose Night.
Shen Xiu: Okay, thank you.
Assistant Wen: You’re welcome.
After ending the chat, Shen Xiu let out a sigh of relief, placed his phone on the desk, and headed to his study to watch commercial footage—studying the way experienced actors moved and expressed themselves on camera.
…
The next day.
At 10 a.m., Shen Xiu arrived at the studio in a car sent by VG.
As soon as he stepped into the studio, he saw a familiar face walking straight toward him.
“…Director Shi.”
The moment Shen Xiu saw Shi Buwen, he had a bad feeling in his gut.
“Hey, surprised? Delighted?”
Filming Shen Xiu was a genuine pleasure for Shi Buwen—he wouldn’t miss a chance to do it again.
Shen Xiu fell silent. He didn’t have the heart to admit that what he actually felt was horror.
Shen Xiu had always been quiet and reserved, so Shi Buwen wasn’t surprised. He led Shen Xiu further inside.
“Come, come—this is the makeup room.”
Shi Buwen patted the first clothing rack. “Here’s the outfit you’ll be wearing. Hurry up and get changed so we can start hair and makeup.”
Shen Xiu’s eyes landed on the rack, which held nothing but a single pair of beige, loose-fitting sweatpants. His mind blanked. “?”
What on earth was Director Shi planning to shoot this time?!
