Coming out of Waves Music, Fang Li instinctively reached for his phone, thinking of calling Qin Weidong to ask about the contract. But the moment he pulled it out, before even dialing, he already felt ashamed of himself. He’d made such a fuss about independence and freedom, and now at the first sign of trouble, the first person he thought of was still Qin Weidong. He stood at the entrance of Waves, sighing.
They had been together for over ten years. Since they were kids, Qin Weidong had always been the one standing behind him, handling everything. Anything Fang Li found tiring or bothersome, he tossed it to Qin Weidong—and Qin just naturally took it all on, whether it was managing affairs at the mine or handling the minutiae of daily life. What could he say? Habits formed over more than a decade are hard to break. Fang Li irritably scratched his head on the steps. Thankfully, his phone didn’t have international roaming enabled.
After a moment’s thought, he dialed Ding Haoyang.
Ding Haoyang was out of town on a commercial tour with his band. His assistant said they’d gotten a call from an unfamiliar number. Ding Haoyang thought it was a fan and didn’t want to return it. But when he heard it was from Fang Li, he immediately asked the assistant to hand over the phone and called back.
On the line, he first expressed genuine surprise that Fang Li was back in the country, and when he heard Fang Li was thinking of signing with Waves, he was even more astonished.
The contract was long and detailed. Fang Li didn’t even know where to start, so he simply asked Ding Haoyang: “Is it okay to sign?”
Ding Haoyang asked him about a few of the terms. While they were a bit different from what he had signed back then, overall it wasn’t too far off. Waves was decent—they’d started in music, and were genuinely professional when it came to production.
Compared to some fly-by-night agencies in Jinyang that had sprung up chasing trends, Waves had far fewer shady tricks. If it had been one of those empty shell companies, the exploitative clauses would be written right there in plain sight. Plenty of girls had signed before realizing it was a literal indenture, and by then they had nowhere to cry.
But when Fang Li told him it was a ten-year contract, Ding Haoyang was taken aback. “Ten years? He’s asking you to sign for ten years?” His own band had only signed for five.
Fang Li said, “Yeah. Isn’t that kind of long? I’ll be in my thirties by then…”
But then Ding Haoyang thought about it and realized—Fang Li was a gem, with looks and voice both top-tier. Any company would want to lock him in for as long as possible, ideally forever.
“Hold on, I’ll ask Brother Jin. Ten years really is too long. What if you blow up one day? You might end up signing with a label in Hong Kong—or even internationally.”
Hong Kong and international labels—Fang Li didn’t have much of a concept of that. He wasn’t thinking that far ahead. Honestly, if he hadn’t been in the right in this situation, Qin Weidong probably would’ve tied him up and dragged him onto a plane. If he tried running off to Hong Kong again, he might sign a contract, sure—but he probably wouldn’t live to sing.
As soon as Ding Haoyang hung up, he called his former agent, Han Jin. Not long after, Yang Yuecheng received a call from Han Jin.
Han Jin had climbed up the ranks in Waves over the past two years, now holding some shares. The moment he got on the phone, he started scolding: “You’re signing Fang Li and didn’t even bother to tell me?”
Yang Yuecheng was aggrieved. “Brother Jin, I discovered him in New York while on my honeymoon with my wife. How was I supposed to know you knew him? Are you sure you’ve got the right guy? He just got back to the country…”
Fang Li was someone Han Jin had wanted to sign back when he was still working at the piano store. Of course, he recognized him. He snapped at Yang Yuecheng over the phone, telling him to upgrade the contract immediately—give him the second-tier artist version.
“What? But that’s the preferential contract we only offer to artists with some fame. Fang Li’s still a newcomer, isn’t he?” Yang Yuecheng protested. “But Brother Jin, that kid’s got real potential. We’ve got to lock him down now while we can…”
Han Jin couldn’t hold back. “Are you stupid? The kid doesn’t know anything yet. If you scare him off with a ten-year slave contract, what then? Five years! Just get him to sign. That’s the most important thing. If he runs off, you can kiss your year-end bonus goodbye!”
With the directive from above, Yang Yuecheng rushed to the legal team to redraft the contract, then hurried to call Fang Li.
The record market was booming. A few hit Cantonese tracks from new artists in Hong Kong and Taiwan had taken off on the radio, making production companies rich overnight. Everyone in the industry was saying the same thing: sign the right artist, and printing records becomes as good as printing money. Their company had signed too many indie bands in the early days. Though high on emotion, they lacked commercial appeal—a long-standing headache. Now, they urgently needed a breakthrough solo star who could conquer both the mainland and HK-TW markets. Fang Li, without a doubt, fit the bill.
In the cab, still sore from earlier, Fang Li had shifted seats several times trying to sit comfortably. He picked up the call and heard Yang Yuecheng say they’d fought for him again—the new contract would be the artist-tier one, shortened to five years. He assured Fang Li not to worry and threw in a long spiel about their partnerships with gold-label companies in Hong Kong and Taiwan.
As Fang Li paid the cab fare, he simply said, “Alright.”
Yang Yuecheng was thrilled. “Alright? So, can we sign tomorrow?”
Fang Li did some quick mental math. Five years wasn’t too long. Hearing Yang Yuecheng’s repeated promises that revenue splits would strictly follow the contract, he said, “Okay. I’ll come by tomorrow afternoon.”
Yang Yuecheng was overjoyed, inwardly thinking Han Jin really knew what he was doing. But this kid—he was really too trusting. Thank goodness he’d landed with their company, a real music label. Otherwise, someone might’ve taken him for everything he had.
That night, Fang Li told Qi Jian about the contract with Waves.
Qi Jian was shocked. “A c-contract? You mean, as a singer?”
“Yeah.” Fang Li propped his chin in his hand, lazily tapping at a game of Tetris. “Don’t you think… standing on stage is kind of… intoxicating?”
From his first performance at the nightclub to the recent charity event, even with all the time that had passed, that thrill had never left him. It churned inside him like an unrelenting tide, confirming what he already knew: he loved being on stage. The spotlights, the countless eyes focused on him, the applause that belonged only to him—it made him feel affirmed, seen. It was a voice whispering he wasn’t worthless after all. He had his own light. A light that didn’t rely on anyone else. A light that belonged solely to Fang Li.
“That sounds… amazing…” Qi Jian was the kind who wished he could disappear into a crowd. Just imagining someone like Fang Li enjoying the spotlight made him feel in awe.
Then he asked, “Should you… maybe tell Brother Qin about this? He’s been calling Feng Hui a lot lately. Are you two still… fighting?”
Fang Li tapped twice on his screen—game over again. “Whatever…” It wasn’t like they hadn’t argued before, but nothing had ever been as serious as this time.
Maybe it was because he felt secure in the relationship, or maybe he just didn’t register the concept at all—but even in the middle of a fight, he never once worried about Qin Weidong messing around in the States. From beginning to end, it had always been just the two of them. When they were together, there wasn’t room for anyone else; and even apart, it stayed that way.
On the day Fang Li signed the contract, several of the top executives at Waves showed up. Once they saw Fang Li in person and heard him sing a few songs, the way they looked at him was like they’d just struck gold fallen from the sky.
Han Jin no longer managed artists himself, so he assigned Fang Li to Yang Yuecheng, one of his own protégés.
In the days right after signing, the company hired a vocal coach and an image consultant for Fang Li. He was treated like a porcelain doll, endlessly styled and trained. Waves wasn’t holding back—they were investing heavily in him. The vocal coach charged by the hour. They treated him as the company’s biggest gamble this year. The star-making game could be slow—some kids had been signed for over a year and hadn’t even stepped into a studio. But it could be fast, too. Some started selecting songs the day after signing. It all depended on how much the company valued them.
After several days of training, Fang Li ended up in classes with a few other new signings. Just one look at his appearance—and one listen to his voice—and it was clear: he had no real technique, but when he opened his mouth, it was all pure talent.
After spending a couple of days with him, the other trainees looked at him differently. There’s admiration for those who work hard—but someone like Fang Li, someone born with it—that kind of person invites envy. Especially when they learned his manager was Yang Yuecheng. That only made the jealousy worse.
Everyone in the company knew Yang Yuecheng was Han Jin’s guy—and Han Jin had serious pull in the Beijing entertainment scene. He had the resources, the connections. People said, if Han Jin wanted to make someone a star, it was a done deal.
Forget about how many big names he had brought up—just look at that Southeast-Northwest Band. Han Jin had packaged them into something that actually earned a name for themselves in the rock scene. Just a couple of years ago, they were still doing nightclub gigs.
Fang Li got busy, but he hadn’t forgotten Qin Weidong. They had been together for years, and no matter how much they argued, Qin Weidong always stuck to the nightly routine—hugging him through bath time, through sleep. They’d cuddle, chat, kiss—and whatever anger there was would disappear. But now, back in China, that wasn’t an option.
It had been nearly two weeks since they parted. During the day, Fang Li threw himself into the music company grind—trial recordings, coaching sessions. But at night, nothing felt right. Saying he didn’t miss Qin Weidong would be a lie. Over the years, they’d grown so used to sleeping entwined, kissing awake—being near each other was ingrained like muscle memory.
As for Qin Weidong, he was worse. He’d called Fang Li countless times—but Fang Li never picked up. He didn’t dare. Just thinking about how anxious Qin Weidong must be made his heart ache. He knew that if he picked up, he might crumble—might abandon all sense of reason and fly back to the U.S. without a second thought.
Sure, it always seemed like Qin Weidong was the one who caved first in their arguments—but when had Fang Li ever really been the one to make the final call in their relationship?
Fang Li just wanted to make one decision on his own—even if it meant he couldn’t sleep for days without Qin Weidong’s embrace at night, he would grit his teeth and endure it. What happened this time was a wake-up call. Even if Fang Li had been naive before, he now knew: if Qin Weidong dared lay a hand on him over something like this, there would be a next time. If he truly didn’t want to spend his life as a little bird kept in a gilded cage by Qin Weidong, he couldn’t turn back now. He’d come this far—how could he throw it all away? Revolutions, after all, don’t come without bloodshed and sacrifice.
But a few days after signing with Waves Music, Feng Hui found out. He was so shocked that he ignored his assistant telling him he had a video call with an international client and sped straight over to Qi Jian’s place.
“Fang Li?! You signed with a management company?!”
Fang Li had just gotten back. He set down the company’s guitar—it wasn’t one he was familiar with, didn’t play quite right. “Yeah, I did.”
Feng Hui nearly blacked out from the news.
“Which company did you sign with?” Feng Hui knew many big-name executives in Jinyang. Even if he didn’t know this record label personally, he could easily call in a favor and help Fang Li terminate the contract.
Fang Li said, “What’s with you? I already signed it—it’s for five years. If I break the contract, I’ll have to pay a big… what’s it called, penalty fee. Don’t be like Qin Weidong, trying to control every part of my life.”
“You think I want to?” Feng Hui’s head was spinning. “You’re always so impulsive. Did you even read the contract before signing? Go look at the girls working at nightclubs—half of them signed shady contracts with sketchy agencies. I don’t care how much the penalty is, I’ll pay it. Just tell me which company had the nerve to sign you. I’ll go get it canceled. I won’t tell Qin Weidong.”
“Why do you always assume the worst? I’m a guy—why would anyone want me to play escort?” Fang Li had never been in the thick of society and had no idea that some bosses actually liked messing with newly signed, inexperienced kids—didn’t matter if they were male or female. Feng Hui had seen that kind of thing and was thoroughly worried. “Fine. Then I’m calling Qin Weidong. I can’t deal with this—you let him handle it.”
“You’re always tattling to him…!” Fang Li flopped onto the bed and opened his phone to read the messages Yang Yuecheng had sent him. “It’s a legit music company. A music company! Can you stop assuming everything’s shady for once? I get it now—you’re just like Qin Weidong. You both think the whole world is out to get me and only you two are any good. Go ahead, call him. I’ve signed the contract. I’m not backing out.”
That was Fang Li’s personality—when he was willing to talk, he’d speak nicely. But when he wasn’t, no amount of persuasion would work. If you wanted to trace the root of that, well, it was all thanks to Qin Weidong spoiling him for years.
Feng Hui looked at him, at his wit’s end. “How long are you two planning to keep arguing? You’re not the only ones suffering here! Ask around the company—whenever anyone hears we have an international video meeting coming up, they practically memorize their reports word for word, terrified of saying something wrong. Your husband’s face these days looks like the King of Hell himself…”
“He can glower all he wants…” Feng Hui took a sip of water and set the cup down. He pulled up a stool and sat down beside the bed. “Look, what exactly do you want before you’ll forgive Qin Weidong? He’s been calling you nonstop and you won’t pick up. Do you know how worried he is? He’s so anxious… I felt bad just listening to his voice. He’s been so busy he’s barely sleeping two or three hours a night. Are you really going to push him until he breaks?”
Lying face-down on the pillow, Fang Li felt torn. A fight was one thing, but he knew what kind of man Qin Weidong was—he’d always wanted to keep Fang Li close, as if he could hold him in his eye or on the tip of his tongue. Not answering his calls must be driving him crazy. Another couple days and he really would go insane.
Fang Li pouted. “You think I want to fight with him? Or that I want to see him exhausted? But can’t he do some self-reflection for once?”
Feng Hui could tell Fang Li was finally softening—there was hope! He quickly signaled to Qi Jian to close the door and stealthily dialed a long-distance number on his phone.
“So tell me then, what exactly do you want him to reflect on? He’s your husband, after all. You can’t actually mean to drive him insane…”
“You think I’m the one pushing him?” Fang Li opened up the song he’d recorded earlier in the studio—a demo. He’d been feeling on edge these past few days. “Do you know why I came back to China in the first place? He laid a hand on me. He hit me!”
Feng Hui inhaled sharply. “You mean he dared to hit you?!” He honestly hadn’t known about this before.
“All I did was go up and sing a song without telling him first, and he hit me over that!” Fang Li was furious. All his life, he’d been the one hitting Qin Weidong—never the other way around! “Damn it, I should’ve slapped and kicked him to death back then if he hadn’t caught me off guard!” His ass had been sore for days! Still had marks even now! And all he had done was kick Qin Weidong once! The more he thought about it, the more cheated he felt. When that bastard showed up, he was definitely getting kicked a few more times!
“Shit! That guy’s a real bas—” Feng Hui was about to curse him out too, then suddenly remembered something. Glancing at the still-active phone call in his hand, he cleared his throat. “…bastion of power, yes. Brother Qin did cross a line there.”
Fang Li rolled his eyes. “Might as well call him ‘Brother Beast.’ He’s just a goddamn scumbag.”
Feng Hui thought: you hear that? Your wife cursed you himself.
Feng Hui said, “It’s been days. You can’t just stay stuck like this forever. Qin Weidong’s hanging on by a thread. If you keep ignoring his calls, he’ll end up in the ER. So tell me—what kind of reflection do you want from him?”
Fang Li lay on the pillow and thought for a moment. Then he said, “First of all… he needs to learn to respect me! He really doesn’t respect me at all! Especially in recent years! I have to get his permission for everything I do. If he disagrees, I can’t do a single thing. Is he my boyfriend or my dad? Even dads aren’t like this!”
Feng Hui glanced at the phone. “Right, right, absolutely right. And what else?”
Fang Li continued, “And also, he only ever gives me what he wants to give. Things he thinks are good. Sure, he earns a lot, but he thinks that’s enough to count as being good to me? He has his career, and I have mine—at least something I love, something I want to prove I can do! Has he ever listened to me? He doesn’t even care what I think! He has no idea how serious this problem is!”
Feng Hui chimed in, “Exactly! It’s a serious issue! He needs to really hear this!”
Fang Li gave him a look. “Are you doing stand-up comedy?”
Feng Hui quickly replied, “No, no, I’m just worried about the signal here—cough, cough—I mean, my hearing’s been a bit off lately, just emphasizing, that’s all…”
“You’ve clearly been crushed by that capitalist Qin Weidong,” Fang Li muttered.
He lay back down again and recalled what Qiao Shi had said. He punched the mattress and exclaimed, “Yes! One more thing! It’s about free love! Equal love! Over all these years, there’s been no freedom and no equality between us! So how can this be a healthy relationship?”
Feng Hui was dumbfounded, thinking: where did Fang Li pick up all this revolutionary talk? Still, for Qin Weidong’s sake, he brought the phone even closer to catch every word.
“That’s all a bit abstract…” he said. “You know what your guy is like. I’m afraid… I’m afraid he won’t understand a word of it. You need to spell it out clearly. Otherwise, with his personality, we’ll be waiting till kingdom come for him to reflect and he still won’t get it…”
Feng Hui thought: being a subordinate to this extent, Qin Weidong really should be paying me double.
Fang Li frowned. “Wasn’t I already being clear enough?! The point is: where there is oppression, there is resistance! And does he have any idea how much it hurt when he hit me? How much pain I was in on that plane? Signing that contract was my awakening from numbness! Unless Qin Weidong learns to respect me, I’m not going back! And I’m definitely not terminating the contract either—I love music!”
He was worked up, almost shouting by the end. Feng Hui snuck a glance at the phone—dead silent on the other end, no message or anything. Feng Hui muttered inwardly: This is classic—“the emperor’s not anxious, but the eunuch is.” Qin Weidong must be too used to being in charge. Even now, he’s waiting for someone to report to him!
Still, Feng Hui thought, I can’t keep babysitting Fang Li. If someone else wants to deal with this chaotic mess, be my guest. But for now, he had no choice but to press on: “So… anything more specific? Like, actionable stuff?”
Fang Li looked at him suspiciously. “Why do you want to know?”
Feng Hui coughed. “So I can convince him, right? Like, what does he have to do for you to forgive him?”
Fang Li thought: See? Feng Hui’s just like Qin Weidong—never thinks about real self-reflection, just wants to find a quick way to patch things up!
He huffed. “What does he have to do? Unless he shows up in front of all of you and lets me slap him hard across the face! Then shout at the top of his lungs that he was wrong! That from now on, I get to hit him, and he never lays a hand on me again! And… he can keep yelling until I’m satisfied! And if he can’t figure out how to reflect on himself? Then let him kneel at the door for three days and three nights until he does!”
Axolotl Translations 
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