When they arrived at the studio, Yang Yuecheng was already there. Fang Li was immediately pulled over for makeup and styling.
The album’s release was on a tight schedule. The film A Date with the Millennium was still under review in the mainland but would premiere first in Hong Kong and Taiwan. The theme song would also launch there first, playing across major radio stations. The projected release date was the sixteenth of next month. Naturally, the album would first target that market, and the cover photoshoot was styled accordingly—infused with a distinctly Hong Kong-Taiwanese pop flavor to match the song.
Of course, good looks had always been an advantage. The makeup artist, despite years in the industry and working with countless stars, had never encountered such finely sculpted features on a young man like Fang Li.
He hardly needed any makeup—just a bit of contouring around the brows and eyes, and it was already a face so perfect one might accuse the heavens of playing favorites.
There were other artists shooting at the same time. Fang Li, being a freshly signed rookie with no works to his name, didn’t have a private dressing room. The crew was swamped. Yang Yuecheng had gotten special permission from Han Jin to bring in a personal stylist just for Fang Li’s cover shoot.
One young artist—also from Waves—was shooting his own poster nearby and was clearly unhappy with his styling. The look made him appear pale and washed out. When he saw that Fang Li had his own stylist, he complained to Yang Yuecheng, asking why a newbie like Fang Li deserved special treatment. Yang Yuecheng didn’t even look at him: “If you want one, go ask Brother Han.”
The young artist didn’t dare approach Han Jin. He sulked off, but not before throwing Fang Li a glare full of resentment.
Yang Xiaoliu came to check on Fang Li and noticed he hadn’t even registered the hostile look. With Qin Weidong back in New York, Fang Li felt a growing emptiness inside. It was spreading, slowly and silently. He took several deep breaths, willing back the sting at the corners of his eyes and nose. He figured by now, Qin Weidong’s flight was likely cruising steadily. When he landed, Fang Li wanted to be the first to call him.
The stylist looked him over and picked out a pale blue satin shirt from a rack of hanging outfits. “Try this one on.”
Fang Li took the shirt and sniffed it. It had someone else’s sweat on it, mixed with the remnants of cheap perfume—an oddly sweet and sour smell.
But that was normal. Dozens of artists and models passed through the studio every day, sharing outfits. Unless you were a top-tier celebrity, no one got their own sponsored wardrobe or pre-cleaned costumes.
“Brother Li, does it smell weird? I can ask if they have a different one…”
“It’s fine,” Fang Li said. He wasn’t fussy about cleanliness. He’d once slept on a train floor that had shoes walking across it all day. A little body odor didn’t bother him. What did bother him was how much he was already starting to miss Qin Weidong.
Qin Weidong was always busy.
But he never missed a single detail when it came to Fang Li—not one. At the very least, when they were together, every item of clothing in Fang Li’s wardrobe was clean and perfectly arranged.
Qin Weidong might restrict him in many ways, but when it came to the small, mundane tasks of daily life, Fang Li never had to lift a finger.
Fang Li changed into the shirt. The hairstylist adjusted his hair, not cutting much—just tousling it slightly. No hairspray, no elaborate prep. The entire styling process from head to toe took less than thirty minutes.
When Fang Li walked into the studio, Yang Yuecheng’s eyes practically lit up. He’d expected Fang Li to be handsome, but he hadn’t expected that with just a little grooming, Fang Li could look this good.
The photographer had been in the middle of shooting another artist. But when he heard that Fang Li—the one for the album cover—had arrived, he turned around. And froze.
His gaze stayed fixed on Fang Li’s face for a solid three to four seconds. He completely ignored the artist in front of him, lowered his camera, turned to Yang Yuecheng, and shouted:
“Holy shit! Where the hell did you dig up this gem?! Beijing Film Academy?”
Yang Yuecheng was clearly thrilled with Fang Li’s styling. No—more than thrilled, it far exceeded his expectations. He grinned, “Found him while honeymooning with my wife. What do you say? This kind of luck—you just can’t copy it!”
The photographer handed off the artist he was working on to his assistant and walked over, sizing Fang Li up from head to toe.
“Hi, Mr. Wang. I’m Fang Li.”
Introduced by Yang Yuecheng, Fang Li greeted the photographer, Wang Li. Only then did Wang Li realize that the boy’s entire presence shifted when he smiled. His face was finely sculpted, lips rosy, teeth white, and his upturned eyes had a sparkle. Without a smile, his striking features felt a bit untouchable—but when he smiled, he looked just like a spoiled, pampered little fox.
Wang Li had seen countless celebrities, some photogenic, some not. Some looked great in real life but dull on camera, their flaws magnified. But Fang Li’s face—this was what the industry called made for the lens.
“Take a look at these sample covers,” Yang Yuecheng said, handing over a few best-selling album covers from the Hong Kong and Taiwan markets over the past two years. “This is the style we’re thinking.”
Yang Yuecheng had strict instructions from Han Jin—this cover had to turn out well. Fang Li was a total newcomer, no experience in front of the camera, no training for poster shoots, and the timeline was tight. Playing to his strengths and focusing on just his face was the safest, simplest choice—and it would still look fantastic.
Wang Li nodded. Album covers in Hong Kong and Taiwan had a distinct style: “No worries. They love close-up portraits over there. Look at big stars like Li Shaofei or Huang Qing—huge hits, and they went with the same style. Your aesthetic? Let’s leave that aside. This kid’s face alone is impossible to mess up!”
That’s how it worked in showbiz. Some people could twist and pose all they liked and still not get a compliment. Meanwhile, superstars like Huang Qing could wear mascara clumped together, and their beauty would still shine through.
A seasoned professional, Wang Li turned to his assistant. “Change the background to White #4 and bring me a few bunches of prop lilies.”
At this stage, both photo spreads and album covers were still shot against interchangeable colored backdrops using mechanical scrolls. Once the lilies were brought over, Wang Li had Fang Li stand in front of the curtain.
Fang Li had never done a cover shoot and had no idea what he was supposed to do. Wang Li peered through his lens to adjust the frame. “Perfect. Just stand like that for now.”
Shooting an album cover wasn’t like shooting a fashion spread; it didn’t need elaborate poses or props. In fact, for most people, close-ups were the hardest—you couldn’t hide facial flaws behind styling or body posture.
But with someone like Fang Li, who had the perfect conditions, this direct close-up approach was exactly what Hong Kong and Taiwan markets favored.
“Give him the flowers.”
The assistant hurriedly handed Fang Li a bunch of lilies—plastic props that had clearly seen many shoots before.
The flowers, though fake, were impressively realistic. Wang Li snapped a couple of shots, trying to get a feel for things—it was clear that since this was Fang Li’s first time in front of a camera, he didn’t yet know how to connect with the lens.
Wang Li simply told him to hold the flowers and stand sideways, not to look at the camera for now. He took a few shots, then glanced at the screen and gave further instructions: “Hold the flowers like that, stand sideways… don’t look at the camera yet, just try to find the feeling… Hold them lightly, rest them gently on your shoulder… lower them a bit… yes, just like that!”
Click!
In that fleeting moment when Fang Li lowered his lashes while adjusting the lilies, Wang Li instinctively hit the shutter.
“Damn! That’s fucking gorgeous!”
The photographer immediately showed Yang Yuecheng the shot. In the photo, the young man wore a light blue satin shirt that shimmered subtly, the top two buttons undone to reveal his snow-white collarbones. His hair, styled in a carefree, tousled manner, brought out a fragile beauty against his almost unnaturally exquisite face.
What really pulled it all together was the cluster of lilies draped diagonally over his shoulder. The slightly curled petals obscured part of his jawline but revealed a sliver of his neck that seemed even fairer than the petals themselves. Though the flowers were old props used countless times before, the interplay of light and shadow made them seem like they were in perfect bloom, though with a faint premonition of wilting.
It was the perfect visual match for the bittersweet love and unresolved endings expressed in A Date with the Millennium.
Gradually, Wang Li found the groove of the shoot and began snapping away, nonstop. At some point during the session, several staff members wandered in. They had heard rumors from other artists at Waves about a ridiculously handsome newcomer.
Word had it that upper management was backing him heavily, and that he’d be shooting the album cover today. Naturally, everyone wanted a peek. After the shoot, even Yang Xiaoliu overheard people saying that this “Brother Li” was better-looking than that superstar so-and-so.
In the end, two photos were selected—one front-facing, one profile shot. Yang Yuecheng contacted the design team to mock up two cover versions. Once the samples were done, they would choose the final.
Within two days, Han Jin received an email from Baoyi Records in Hong Kong. Both of Fang Li’s photos turned out so well that the cover mockups looked fantastic. The supervisor there decided: they’d go with both. Two versions of the album would be released—one featuring the frontal shot, the other the profile.
As the movie’s release date approached, Waves also began coordinating with Baoyi to promote the song across major radio stations in Hong Kong and Taiwan. None of that required Fang Li’s attention.
He was busy studying Cantonese. Apparently, Waves hoped to capitalize on the momentum from the film’s publicity and release a Cantonese album for him early next year.
In the music industry, the market was generally divided into three segments: Mainland China, Taiwan, and Hong Kong. A singer’s album was typically all in Cantonese or all in Mandarin—never a mix.
And the Hong Kong-Taiwan music scene remained the most vibrant and trend-setting. If Fang Li could build some name recognition there first, launching in the mainland would be like returning from studying abroad—his value would soar.
Following Fang Li every day through recording studios, rehearsal rooms, and Cantonese classes, Yang Xiaoliu gradually realized that Fang Li wasn’t just a pretty face. He had a beautiful singing voice and was just as good on the piano. Especially when he played piano, Yang Xiaoliu felt he looked just like an angel.
What changed Yang Xiaoliu’s opinion of him most was discovering that Fang Li was nothing like the previous artist he’d worked with, who had a terrible temper. Fang Li, surprisingly, was very easy to get along with. He never made unreasonable demands. There were a few small mistakes Yang Xiaoliu made due to poor communication, but Fang Li never blamed him.
It seemed Fang Li just didn’t care that much—or rather, Yang Xiaoliu had a feeling that his “Brother Li” wasn’t someone who dealt with trouble directly.
Whether it was something in life or at work, whenever there was a problem, Fang Li would just look indifferent, like, whatever, just leave it. If Yang Xiaoliu could take care of it, he would. If not, Fang Li would make a phone call.
To whom, Yang Xiaoliu didn’t know. In fact, during his time as Fang Li’s assistant, his most frequent and crucial task had been keeping Fang Li’s two phones charged.
Fang Li had two phones, and the amount of time he spent on the phone was beyond anything Yang Xiaoliu could’ve imagined. He didn’t even know it was possible to talk on the phone that much!
Fang Li’s calls were practically never-ending. They stayed connected for hours, constantly. Yang Xiaoliu only realized this much later.
At first, he thought Fang Li hung the phone around his neck simply because he was messy and didn’t want to lose it. But one night, while Fang Li was practicing his Cantonese pronunciation, he picked up the phone and said, “How was that? … Mm, how’s your knee? … Still hurting?”
But he hadn’t even dialed a number!
Only then did Yang Xiaoliu realize, stunned, that the call had been ongoing the whole time.
As for how long it had been going—he had no idea. All he knew was that when he went to pay the phone bill for Fang Li, the number on the bill was so outrageous he thought the system must have glitched! But the clerk told him, It’s an international call. It’s supposed to cost this much.
Looking at that international bill—for just one month’s charges—Yang Xiaoliu realized it was equivalent to most of his yearly salary!
His heart bled for Brother Li as he handed over the money. It was such a waste! It wasn’t like he’d even heard Fang Li talking much during those calls—most of the time Fang Li just went about his business. Did they really need to stay connected like that across countries, just doing their own thing?
He was honestly dying to know who was on the other end of the line…
Truthfully, Fang Li felt the cost was painful too. But Qin Weidong had insisted on it. When Fang Li tried to say no, Qin Weidong’s tone instantly turned frosty—even from across an ocean—which scared Fang Li into immediately agreeing.
Because of the time difference, they weren’t connected all day, but whenever Fang Li was awake, he’d call. Qin Weidong would go about his own schedule and work.
But as soon as he picked up the phone set aside solely for Fang Li’s calls, he’d hear his voice—what he was doing, or sometimes, just the sound of him sleeping.
Sometimes, over the phone, Fang Li would also hear Qin Weidong giving out instructions or attending meetings—all rapid-fire English in that unceasing Manhattan rhythm. Qin Weidong rarely rested, and Fang Li knew he was keeping his promise: he would come back as soon as he could.
Come to think of it, despite Qin Weidong’s sharp features and cold, unapproachable demeanor, the man had always been too attached to him.
But Qin Weidong’s attachment wasn’t about constantly clinging to his side. It was the kind that insisted on keeping Fang Li within his sights at all times—watching, listening, staying alert—only then could he focus on his work… only then could he feel at ease.
Fang Li still found it hard to believe Qin Weidong had agreed to let him stay in the country on his own. It had been years since he’d seen anything like this. Back when he was taking night classes in the county, Qin Weidong would call three times a day begging him to quit. And now he was okay with this?
Maybe… maybe Qin Weidong really was feeling guilty this time. Maybe he was genuinely reflecting on his actions.
Fang Li figured that, for Qin Weidong to come this far, was already a big step. If he couldn’t even agree to something as “small” as staying connected every day… wouldn’t he be the unreasonable one? At this rate, Qin Weidong really might lose his mind, sitting alone in that Manhattan apartment.
Axolotl Translations 
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