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Hey friends!

Guess what? After wrestling with my old hosting site (it was not a pretty fight), I’ve finally moved the blog to a shiny new home! The old site is still limping along, but it won’t be for much longer—so this is where the magic will happen from now on.

Now, full disclosure: I’m not a tech genius. There were tears. There was confusion. There may have been snacks used as emotional support. But we made it through!

If you spot anything weird or glitchy, please holler in the comments. I’m still tidying things up and trying to make this place look cute again.

I know I went quiet for a while—life threw some curveballs and I needed a minute (or several). But I’m back, and ready to start fresh. Thanks a million for sticking around. You’re the best.

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Chapter 55: That Vanity Fair No Longer Has Anything Left To Draw From…

The address Shen Lei sent was Tengyun Tower in the southern district. He said it was a restaurant, but in reality, it looked more like a private club with a high level of discretion.

Meeting here was indeed Shen Lei’s style.

Jiang Qi brought Zhi Qi along. From a distance, he saw a familiar figure—Qiu Mi. He was now Shen Lei’s assistant, following him everywhere, so naturally, the task of welcoming Jiang Qi fell to him.

When Qiu Mi spotted Jiang Qi and Zhi Qi, his eyes lit up, and he rushed over excitedly.
“Brother Qi!” he exclaimed.

Jiang Qi, wearing a mask, gave a slight nod.

He had always been very reserved in front of others, even with someone as familiar as Qiu Mi.

After his brief excitement, Qiu Mi noticed the girl leaning against Jiang Qi and quickly greeted her:
“Miss Zhi!”

“Long time no see.” Zhi Qi, unlike Jiang Qi, was much warmer toward people. She smiled with her eyes curved:
“Little assistant.”

…

Qiu Mi couldn’t help but blush.

The three of them entered Tengyun Tower. Qiu Mi explained that Shen Lei had a lunch meeting there earlier. After it ended, he saw Jiang Qi’s post on Weibo and decided to invite him over.

They took the elevator to the third floor. Before knocking on the private room door, Jiang Qi hesitated as he looked at Zhi Qi’s petite, graceful figure.

There was something he hadn’t told her yet—he had a feeling that by walking into this room, he would inevitably be tied back to the Vanity Fair he once wanted to escape from.

It was an inexplicable feeling.

But like a duck being pushed onto the rack, he had to go in.

As if something deep inside was urging him on. Later, Jiang Qi would realize that this restless feeling he couldn’t understand at the time was called “unwillingness to give up.”

So meeting Shen Lei this time was almost inevitable.

After months apart, Shen Lei hadn’t changed much, except for a slight flush on his face, probably from drinking earlier.

What surprised Shen Lei, however, was seeing Zhi Qi come in with Jiang Qi. He raised his eyebrows slightly.

“Sit down,” Shen Lei said casually, motioning for them to take a seat. Tengyun Tower’s private rooms were large and luxurious, but the four of them sitting around the huge round table looked oddly comical and a little desolate.

Jiang Qi greeted him:
“Brother Shen.”

Shen Lei gave him a once-over, surprised by Jiang Qi’s “mental state.” After a pause, he asked:
“How have you been feeling lately?”

He didn’t ask outright, but everyone knew he was referring to Jiang Qi’s mental health.

Jiang Qi nodded slightly and replied in his usual concise way:
“Not bad.”

He always liked to end conversations with five words or fewer. To those who didn’t know him, he might seem cold and distant. Fortunately, everyone here understood his temperament.

Zhi Qi smiled and explained for him:
“Director Shen, after Jiang Qi left the industry, I took him to the hospital for a treatment course. He’s much better now—just needs medication to keep things under control.”

Shen Lei’s eyes lit up. After a moment, he asked bluntly:
“Then can you come back to acting?”

Before coming here, both Jiang Qi and Zhi Qi had guessed Shen Lei might bring this up—but neither expected him to be so direct, without any pretense or hesitation… leaving Jiang Qi momentarily speechless, unable to come up with a refusal.

“How much can you make in a month at a repair shop?” Shen Lei had already started his relentless persuasion, his words practically brainwashing:
“I’ll say the same thing as before—the entertainment industry is the fastest way to make money, and acting is the most suitable career for you.”

For someone like Jiang Qi, with his looks, working in a car repair shop, doing a 9-to-6 job for a few thousand yuan a month… In Shen Lei’s eyes, that was a complete waste of talent.

“Brother Shen.” Jiang Qi shook his head and coldly reminded him:
“I’m a disgraced celebrity.”

As he said this, he clearly felt Zhi Qi’s hand tighten around his under the table. Jiang Qi knew the girl didn’t like hearing him describe himself that way, but it was the truth.

Shen Lei froze for a moment, then shrugged indifferently and said matter-of-factly:
“So what if you’re a disgraced celebrity?”

His frankness left Jiang Qi and Zhi Qi a little stunned, but Qiu Mi didn’t look surprised at all, as if he also thought it didn’t matter.

“Ah Qi, you still don’t know the ultimate rule of this industry—your work speaks for you, strength redeems everything, and all those gossiping netizens are essentially worshippers of power.” Shen Lei spoke with conviction, openly revealing the most important truth about this ‘big dye vat’ called the entertainment industry:

“As long as you’re not officially banned by the broadcasting authority, you can return to the industry anytime.”

“Disgraced celebrity? Ha! What does that even mean?”

“This industry is full of people doing shady deals, trading money for resources, and so on. They just haven’t been exposed. If you count as disgraced, then basically everyone in this circle is a villain.”

“You were just unlucky—one of the few who got exposed and photographed.”

“But at the same time, you’re lucky too, because you have an official medical diagnosis as a safeguard.”

“After receiving your compensation, those two extras have already posted on Weibo saying they forgive you.”

“As long as you want to come back, aside from a few loudmouthed haters, you really don’t need to care about anything else.”

…

With every word Shen Lei spoke, Jiang Qi and Zhi Qi felt like they were hearing about a side of the world they had never encountered or truly understood before.

At the same time, it felt like an invisible door was opening before them.

“Uh, Brother Shen.” Qiu Mi finally interrupted Shen Lei, who was now speaking with great enthusiasm, and pointed out a fact:
“But Brother Qi has already announced his retirement. If he comes back, won’t he get roasted online?”

Such flip-flopping would probably make the already large ‘Jiang Qi Global Anti-Fan Club’ explode with rage.

“Getting roasted? So what? Does being cursed out stop you from making money? Does it stop you from eating?” Shen Lei snapped impatiently, then turned to Jiang Qi and asked bluntly:
“Are you afraid of being cursed out?”

Shen Lei could already guess Jiang Qi’s answer—because this young man was the least concerned about public opinion of anyone he’d ever met in the industry. Would being cursed out even matter to him?

Sure enough, Jiang Qi shook his head and said calmly:
“No.”

Shen Lei couldn’t help but smile knowingly. But his joy was short-lived, because before he could finish smiling, the young man added:
“But I have no plans to return to acting.”

…

So everything he just said was for nothing?

Shen Lei stared at Jiang Qi in stunned silence, feeling like his scalp was about to explode from frustration.

“Brother Shen, don’t be mad.” Jiang Qi gave a barely noticeable smile, his light-colored eyes lowered as he looked at the delicate white hand in his palm, his long fingers gently rubbing it:
“I appreciate your kindness.”

But he really wasn’t ready.

If his only goal in life was to make money, then yes, he could return to the entertainment industry as a ‘pretty face,’ shoot magazines—he’d had countless magazine offers before. His last cover before retiring, Winter Sunshine, had even set a sales record.

Can’t act well? Then don’t act. Just numb yourself shooting magazines and commercials, or something else… There were plenty of ways to make a living.

Or rather, not just make a living—Jiang Qi remembered that a single magazine shoot could earn him tens of thousands, even hundreds of thousands.

Just as Shen Lei said, making money in the entertainment industry is far easier than being a “corporate drone,” working 9-to-6 and fixing cars under the scorching sun.

But Jiang Qi didn’t want to live like that.

Maybe it was because he was still young, with a bit of unrealistic “idealism” in his heart—Jiang Qi wanted to earn money by doing something meaningful with his own hands. He didn’t want to be a decorative vase, nor a “golden canary” locked in a cage, dressed in fancy clothes for others to point at.

So, in the end, Jiang Qi still refused Shen Lei’s earnest proposal.

Because that Vanity Fair no longer had anything that could attract him.

And Zhi Qi supported all of Jiang Qi’s decisions unconditionally.

On the way back, when Jiang Qi asked her if she thought it was a pity to turn down Shen Lei, Zhi Qi just smiled and said one sentence:
“Jiang Qi, as long as it feels right to you.”

She had never hoped for him to become some wildly successful, wealthy man. All Zhi Qi ever wanted was for Jiang Qi to be safe and healthy.

If the entertainment industry couldn’t make him happy, and might even affect his gradual recovery, then it was better not to return at all.

Those so-called “golden opportunities” that the world considered priceless were, in truth, nothing special.

What truly mattered was cherishing the present.

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