ASPWL Ch109: Zhang Qiran x Song Zhehan

Zhang Qiran and Song Zhehan’s first encounter as adults happened in the waiting room before the recording of a variety show.

At that time, even though Song Zhehan had only been in the entertainment industry for less than six months, his good looks and standout persona had already gained him some popularity. The production team had arranged a private waiting room for him. After finishing his makeup, there was still some time before the show began, so Song Zhehan leaned back on the sofa and rested with his eyes closed.

It was during this moment that someone knocked on the waiting room door from outside.

Song Zhehan lazily opened one eye.

His assistant stood up and said, “It’s probably someone from the crew; I’ll go open the door.”

Song Zhehan had always been serious about his work. Hearing that it might be a staff member, he inhaled slightly, and in the next moment, he switched to his public persona—a gentle, moonlit glow of warmth.

When the door opened, however, it wasn’t a crew member but a young man whose appearance was both striking and charismatic. Song Zhehan’s gaze first landed on the young man’s eyes, and his attention lingered there for a moment.

Caught off guard by Song Zhehan’s scrutiny, the young man seemed startled. The corners of his eyes turned a faint red, and his tone carried a mix of excitement, nervousness, and a tremor of uncertainty. “H-hello… my name is Zhang Qiran. I’m also a guest on this episode… I just wanted to come say hi to Song…”

Upon hearing this, everyone present understood.

The entertainment industry is, at its core, just another workplace. Whether you like it or not, some social customs and courtesies are unavoidable. Even someone as proud as Song Zhehan had, during his first shoot, accompanied his manager to greet the senior members of the cast.

Song Zhehan quickly retracted his gaze. His expression didn’t change, maintaining the faint smile of politeness. He nodded slightly at Zhang Qiran. “Hello, I’m Song Zhehan. Would you like to come in and sit?”

Zhang Qiran’s eyelashes fluttered quickly. He opened his mouth but didn’t say anything for a moment.

Song Zhehan tactfully broke the silence. “It seems like it’s not convenient for you right now. See you during the shoot.”

Zhang Qiran’s lips moved. He shook his head, as if he wanted to say something, but then seemed to realize something and lowered his gaze with a sudden sense of dejection. In the end, he didn’t speak further and only gave a small wave before turning to leave. “No, I’ll… go now.”

Song Zhehan, of course, didn’t stop him. The door to the waiting room closed quietly after Zhang Qiran left.

The smile on Song Zhehan’s face faded, and he sank back onto the sofa.

His manager, observing him closely, suddenly spoke. “You seem to have a good impression of that newcomer.”

Song Zhehan responded lazily, “Hmm? Why do you say that?”

The manager studied him. Having worked with Song Zhehan for over a year, he still hadn’t completely figured out the actor’s personality. “Just a hunch.”

Song Zhehan’s lips curved faintly, though it was hard to tell if it was mockery or amusement. He replied softly, “He just… seems likeable enough. Besides, it’s only our first meeting. Who knows what kind of person he really is? I wouldn’t say I have a good impression of him.”

If Song Zhehan had to describe it, he could only say one thing: Zhang Qiran wasn’t entirely unlikable. And that was it.

Thus concluded their first encounter as adults.

It wasn’t particularly good or bad. Song Zhehan didn’t even connect Zhang Qiran with Xiang Yang in his mind.

He merely found Zhang Qiran not unpleasant.
And perhaps because of this neutral impression, Song Zhehan’s attitude toward him changed drastically after a bucket of ice water was dumped on him.

In the freezing winter, even though the room was heated, the bucket of icy water—with chunks of ice still unmelted—soaked Song Zhehan thoroughly. For a moment, he nearly forgot he was in the middle of filming, struggling to maintain his composure.

Fortunately, Zhang Qiran rushed forward, apologizing profusely and nervously. His frantic demeanor brought Song Zhehan back to his senses. “It’s fine,” he said.

Afterward, Song Zhehan even offered Zhang Qiran a faint smile.

His deep black eyes made Zhang Qiran freeze for a moment.

In truth, Song Zhehan hadn’t changed much since childhood.
He was petty, vengeful, sharp-tongued, and sarcastic, but he wasn’t unreasonable.

Even though he was annoyed, he didn’t show it on his face. He even tried to consider why Zhang Qiran had accidentally drenched him. They weren’t on the same team, and young people often lost control when playing games. It was understandable—hardly a big deal.

As Song Zhehan turned to dry himself, he thought to himself that their relationship would end here.

He wouldn’t hold it against Zhang Qiran, but that didn’t mean he’d let it go easily.

Especially not after sneezing three times in a row once the recording wrapped up.

His manager looked at him with concern. “You still have to return to the film set tonight. Are you going to be okay?”

“Okay or not, I have to be.” Song Zhehan replied.
Having just debuted, in a cutthroat industry like this, he couldn’t afford to stop.

The manager suddenly glanced over and asked, “Hmm? Where did this cold medicine come from?”

The assistant hurried in and said, “It was just delivered by Zhang Qiran’s assistant. He also said…”

“Throw it away.” The medicine box landed on the table as Song Zhehan spoke indifferently.

As soon as these words were spoken, no one noticed the figure standing just outside the slightly ajar lounge door.

“Why throw it away?” The manager frowned. “You don’t look too well right now; you might as well take it…”

“The person I hate most is someone who’s fake.” Song Zhehan said coldly.

The assistant glanced at the manager in confusion.

The manager suddenly realized. “You can’t mean—”

“Yes, the person I hate most among all these guests is Zhang Qiran,” Song Zhehan, never one to hide his true feelings around familiar people, said bluntly. “Throw it away. I will never accept anything from someone I dislike.”

Outside the door, there seemed to be hurried footsteps passing by.

The manager and assistant turned their heads simultaneously.

The assistant quickly stepped out, glanced around, and sighed in relief. “There’s no one…”

The manager looked at Song Zhehan, puzzled. “Why? Didn’t you say this afternoon that he was a good…”

The lounge door closed again as Zhang Qiran, hiding behind the adjacent cluttered storage room, clenched his fists, his eyes red.

Inside the tightly shut lounge, Song Zhehan’s voice remained cold. “I also said before, a good first impression is one thing, but getting along is another.”

The manager said no more, merely sighing softly. “Alright then. Let’s go. You still have a shoot tonight. Later, I’ll park by the roadside and buy you some medicine. Don’t actually get a fever…”

The lounge door opened again as Song Zhehan and his group left.

Even though he took the cold medicine the manager prepared in advance, by the time the night’s shoot ended, Song Zhehan had come down with a high fever.

Thankfully, his filming had wrapped up, giving him a brief moment to relax.

Yet, as he endured the torment of the fever, his head heavy and his feet light, Song Zhehan couldn’t help but think—this was all Zhang Qiran’s fault. That bucket of ice water had been too much.

Fortunately, Song Zhehan had no intention of forming any deep connection with Zhang Qiran in the future.

But what Song Zhehan didn’t expect was that his decision not to pursue the matter would be met with Zhang Qiran’s “revenge.”

When he saw gossip accounts comparing the two of them side by side, with one defamatory post after another popping up, Song Zhehan finally realized just how naive he had been.

He was never one to endure quietly. If he could retaliate, he would.

So that very night, Song Zhehan’s manager took action.

What followed became common knowledge. Zhang Qiran snatched a role from Song Zhehan and took away his endorsement, leaving the two at loggerheads.

After losing two consecutive projects, just as Song Zhehan was about to take a vacation, a travel variety show was offered to him.

At first, Song Zhehan didn’t pay much attention to this show, nor did he expect it to explode in popularity on the very first day of filming.

As its popularity suddenly soared, Song Zhehan’s manager grew exceptionally nervous.

Whenever the cameras weren’t rolling, she would seize every opportunity to message him, reminding him to stay composed and keep his persona intact.

Looking at these messages, Song Zhehan found them absurd. Was it possible that on the first day of filming, he had already broken character?

Song Zhehan had two private Weibo accounts: one for monitoring his anti-fan groups and the other for venting about the industry.

After the first day of filming, the anti-fan group erupted in celebration, editing a video of every out-of-character moment from Song Zhehan that day.

Song Zhehan watched the video himself.

He had to admit, the anti-fans’ attention to detail surpassed even that of his fans. Those emotional slip-ups were indeed moments he had failed to conceal entirely.

Under normal circumstances, Song Zhehan would take this as a lesson and strive to perform better the next day.

But for some reason, that night, as he watched the video, Song Zhehan suddenly thought of Ye Leyao.

Ye Leyao and Song Zhehan were polar opposites.

One was always in character in front of the camera; the other was always unapologetically himself.

When Du Yueqin lashed out at two female artists, Ye Leyao watched gleefully.

When Li Ranyuan retorted against Du Yueqin, Ye Leyao’s eyes practically sparkled with excitement.

When Du Yueqin approached Zhou Zijian with goodwill, Ye Leyao’s delight was so obvious it reached his smile.

Song Zhehan found this incredibly fascinating. It was the first time he had encountered such an artist—someone who didn’t bother hiding his emotions.

No, it wasn’t that Ye Leyao didn’t hide them; he did. But his efforts were so faint as to be negligible.

Anyone could see his blatant love for gossip.

After editing another rant post on Weibo, Song Zhehan suddenly felt a bit tired.

He couldn’t help but wonder, why couldn’t he be like Ye Leyao?

Playing a character so different from his own personality was exhausting, and he constantly feared he might slip up. In the year since his debut, Song Zhehan had been perpetually fatigued.

It was only on Let’s Traveling Together, the variety show, that he experienced brief moments of joy.

Song Zhehan suddenly wanted to try. If he stopped pretending, would his fans still like him?

Once this question took root, Song Zhehan couldn’t wait to experiment.

So, after filming the first episode, he shared his thoughts with his manager.

What did the manager say back then? She told him that if he really wanted to let himself go, he’d have to bear all the consequences alone.

The company wouldn’t protect him, and neither would she.

The road was his to choose, but equally, the manager had her own choices to make.

The manager asked him, “So, do you still want to do this?”

Looking at her, Song Zhehan laughed abruptly. “Why not?”

The manager froze.

Song Zhehan, however, didn’t say anything else, just waved her off and left.

After that day, the agent brought up the topic of persona with Song Zhehan a few more times, hoping he would reconsider.

But each time, Song Zhehan refused. Once he made a decision, he wouldn’t change it easily—just as he had decisively thrown away that SIM card back then.

The recording of the second episode of the variety show became the most relaxed recording of Song Zhehan’s career.

Even though he wanted to show his truest self right away, Song Zhehan also considered whether he might scare the other guests.
So, in this episode, his change was very gradual and cautious.

Until the production team handed him a golden opportunity.

Song Zhehan knew it was a once-in-a-lifetime chance.
Without hesitation, he revealed one of his alternate accounts in front of countless netizens.

At that moment, he felt incredibly liberated.
When his agent called afterward, he was completely unfazed.

But what surprised Song Zhehan the most was his agent’s decision—

In the end, she didn’t truly let go.

Song Zhehan was an artist she had discovered and nurtured from the beginning. Now that he had finally gained some fame, she couldn’t bear to give up on such promising talent.

What’s more, she realized Song Zhehan’s words had a point.

Audiences and netizens today weren’t fools. Rather than pretending endlessly, it was better to reveal one’s true self sooner.

Thus, the agent made her choice.

And Song Zhehan didn’t let her down.

The netizens accepted the imperfect Song Zhehan, and quite a few even became fans specifically because of his imperfections.

Song Zhehan felt a mix of emotions, but above all, he felt free.
Because at this moment, he had finally escaped the cage he had built for himself.

So, he found Ye Leyao and earnestly thanked him.

Unfortunately, Ye Leyao had no idea what Song Zhehan meant by the thanks, looking at him in complete bewilderment.

Song Zhehan didn’t explain either, simply smiling and leaving.

Though the public sentiment was temporarily under control, the following days were still busy for Song Zhehan.

At the top of the list was dealing with the company executives.
Although Song Zhehan’s bold move was a success, the executives were still unhappy about their artist acting independently.

In the first meeting, the discussion even veered toward suing Song Zhehan for breach of contract.

It wasn’t until the issue was resolved, just the day before the third episode’s recording, that things finally settled down.

A few days earlier, the directors had approached Song Zhehan to ask which guest he’d like to invite for the next episode.

Not just him—all the regular guests were eager to see Zhou Zijian’s drama unfold, so without hesitation, Song Zhehan suggested Wen Huai’s name.
But unexpectedly, that morning, the production team informed him that Wen Huai had declined and asked him to suggest another name.

Song Zhehan, who hadn’t slept well for two nights, found himself momentarily stumped.

After all, even though he had been in the industry for a year, he didn’t have many close artist friends—only a long list of people he disliked.

And one of them was Zhang Qiran.

The thought had barely crossed his mind when Song Zhehan couldn’t suppress a laugh.

If he invited Zhang Qiran, would he refuse?

But Song Zhehan wanted to give it a try.

So, without hesitation, he submitted Zhang Qiran’s name.

What Song Zhehan never expected was that Zhang Qiran actually agreed.

Truly unexpected.

But with Zhang Qiran joining, this episode was bound to be entertaining. For some reason, Song Zhehan suddenly felt a sense of anticipation.

Before he knew it, the recording day had arrived.
All the guests were curious about who Song Zhehan had invited. Zhou Zijian, especially, was so nervous he broke into a sweat.

When Zhang Qiran got into the car, Zhou Zijian let out a sigh of relief.

Ye Leyao, however, looked at Song Zhehan with surprise, clearly aware of the animosity between him and Zhang Qiran.

That made it all the more interesting.

Song Zhehan scrutinized Zhang Qiran and noticed that, perhaps sensing his hostility, Zhang Qiran seemed tense. His beautiful eyes flickered nervously, avoiding Song Zhehan’s gaze.

Seeing this, Song Zhehan felt even more amused.
Now that he was free to be himself, he enjoyed seeing others squirm.

So, without thinking, Song Zhehan walked over to Zhang Qiran with a smug grin.

When he suddenly approached, Song Zhehan clearly saw Zhang Qiran swallow nervously.

Scared of him?

Yet he dared to mimic his persona and steal his roles and endorsements?

How amusing. Truly amusing.

Why hadn’t he noticed before that Zhang Qiran was such a coward?

A mischievous streak stirred in Song Zhehan, and he couldn’t resist wanting to tease him further, curious about Zhang Qiran’s reactions.

So, Song Zhehan suggested sharing a room with Zhang Qiran, sparred with Yu Bai, and even dragged Zhang Qiran into the mix.

When Yu Bai’s scandals broke out, Song Zhehan didn’t miss the chance to give Zhang Qiran a fright.

Unexpectedly, Zhang Qiran, being so timid, was genuinely scared by Song Zhehan’s antics. Early in the morning, he ran off crying to call his manager—only to bump into Ye Leyao by chance.

After that, Zhang Qiran threatened to quit the show.

Li Yuan even joked that it was his fault for scaring Zhang Qiran into quitting.

Song Zhehan found it dull.
He hadn’t even done much—just said a few words—and Zhang Qiran was already this frightened?

But what did Zhang Qiran’s departure have to do with him?

Whether Zhang Qiran quit or not didn’t matter to Song Zhehan.
Because after this day’s shoot, he had vented enough.

If Zhang Qiran did leave now, that would be fine.

However, who knows what Qin Yao said to Zhang Qiran, but in the end, he chose to stay.

Still, throughout the second day of filming, Zhang Qiran wore a hat and kept his distance from Song Zhehan as if he were some ferocious beast.

Song Zhehan found it amusing and couldn’t help but wonder how swollen Zhang Qiran’s eyes were.

Unfortunately, Zhang Qiran hid it well, and Song Zhehan only caught a glimpse of his profile.

Under the brim of the hat, the boy’s eyes were red and swollen—not alarming, just pitiable.

An odd feeling flickered through Song Zhehan but was quickly suppressed.
He didn’t dwell on it, nor did he act like a do-gooder.

Still, he decided not to pick on Zhang Qiran anymore.

Maybe—
It was because Song Zhehan hated it when others cried.

That evening, the atmosphere was particularly lively. Everyone was in a good mood and gathered for drinks.

Since debuting, Song Zhehan hadn’t drunk much, but he had inherited his parents’ remarkable alcohol tolerance.

Even after drinking quite a lot, his mind remained clear.

It seemed like the meal was about to end when Zhou Zijian asked, “Xiao Zhang, can you still drink?”

Hearing Zhou Zijian’s question, everyone present turned to look at Zhang Qiran.

Song Zhehan also glanced at him and could tell Zhang Qiran had drunk too much, but he didn’t care. He even had the mood to tease Ye Leyao.

Of course, it wasn’t because Song Zhehan had any feelings for Ye Leyao—it was because he had long noticed there was something going on between Ye Leyao and Qin Yao. That’s why he deliberately brought it up.

Unfortunately, Ye Leyao was dense. When he heard Song Zhehan’s remark, he angrily asked if Song Zhehan was being too narcissistic.

Song Zhehan found it amusing. But just then, a sharp screech of a chair dragging across the floor broke the moment.

Everyone raised their heads again and looked at Zhang Qiran.

At this point, Zhang Qiran was also staring at Song Zhehan.

Song Zhehan met his gaze for two seconds, realizing the man was truly drunk. He found it funny and was tempted to tease him again. So, Song Zhehan said:

“What? Do you want to drink with me? But sorry, I don’t like drinking with drunks…”

Before he could finish his sentence, Zhang Qiran interrupted him loudly:
“You don’t like it? Then why did you eat the cake I gave you?!”

As soon as the words fell, Song Zhehan’s brows furrowed deeply.

He suddenly felt a twinge of regret. Drunk people were the most troublesome. If he’d known, he wouldn’t have said anything earlier.

But unexpectedly, with this emotional outlet cracked open, Zhang Qiran didn’t let go. He not only angrily accused him but also spoke with a hint of sobbing in his voice.

Everyone began scrutinizing Song Zhehan as if he were some heartless scumbag.

Song Zhehan felt irritable and annoyed. He wanted to reason with Zhang Qiran, but before he could, he heard Zhang Qiran cry out in a choked voice:
“I will never like you again! Song Zhehan, you’re a complete liar!”

For a moment, Song Zhehan’s expression went blank.

What did he just hear?
Zhang Qiran liked him?

Wasn’t this a bit ridiculous?
Why would Zhang Qiran like him?

And more importantly, how dare he like him?

Song Zhehan found it laughable, even absurd.

But there was no way to reason with a drunk right now. For a moment, Song Zhehan’s face turned exceptionally sour.

When Ye Leyao also glanced over with a look of suspicion, Song Zhehan suddenly couldn’t hold back anymore. He said:

“I’ve lived this long and only eaten cake twice. Once was in middle school when a dumb kid gave me a goat milk cake…”

He stopped mid-sentence, abruptly falling silent.

That’s right.
Because he’d been allergic to cow’s milk since childhood, he couldn’t eat anything related to it—not just cakes.

Whenever people learned about his allergy, their first reaction was to avoid giving him food containing milk.

But there was one fool who was different. That person would go to great lengths to substitute other types of milk for him.

Song Zhehan had lived so long, and as far back as he could remember, he had only eaten cake twice.

The first time was in elementary school when his desk mate gave him a piece. After eating it, he had an allergic reaction and ended up in the hospital.

It was from that moment that he discovered he was allergic to milk.

The second time was when Xiang Yang delivered a small cake to him.

A six-inch cake, simple in decoration with nothing flashy, but the taste was exceptional.

That afternoon, after Xiang Yang brought the cake, Song Zhehan sat with a small spoon and ate every last bite of it.

When he was done, Xiang Yang’s face was red as he softly asked if Song Zhehan liked it.

Without thinking, Song Zhehan replied, “I like it.”

Xiang Yang then said, “If you like it, I’ll make you more in the future, okay?”

Song Zhehan looked at him, slightly surprised. “You made this yourself?”

Xiang Yang nodded a little sheepishly, his face round, fair, and now blushing deeply. It was hard to tell if it was from the sunset’s glow or something else. Avoiding eye contact, he spoke softly but firmly: “If you like it, I’ll keep making cakes for you.”

Years later, Song Zhehan could no longer recall what day that was.
He only remembered that the sunset was vibrant that day, Xiang Yang’s ears were so red they looked like they might bleed, and in that fleeting moment, he heard his heartbeat quicken slightly. Without thinking, he had replied, “Okay.”

Song Zhehan raised his head and stared intently at Zhang Qiran.

Zhang Qiran was crying miserably. The skin around his eyes was red and swollen, and his black pupils were misted over with tears, looking exactly like those from Song Zhehan’s memory.

Nine years apart.
The features of that youthful face in his memory had long since blurred.

But now, at this moment, that face became clear again.

Song Zhehan heard a strong thud within his chest.

He didn’t know how long he stared at Zhang Qiran—maybe just a few seconds, or perhaps several minutes. Soon enough, Zhang Qiran lowered his head in grievance, sobbing so hard his shoulders trembled.

He looked just like the boy who used to trail behind him, crying uncontrollably whenever he felt wronged.

But this time, he didn’t timidly plead for Song Zhehan not to be angry, as he had back then. Instead, he bitterly accused him: “Song Zhehan is a horrible person… He’s really too much…”

Song Zhehan slowly stood up.

It took all his strength to keep himself from losing control as he walked over to sit beside Zhang Qiran.

In truth, Song Zhehan had many questions he wanted to ask and many things he wanted to say.

But none of those questions were appropriate to ask in front of a crowd, so he changed the topic.

Even though he tried to keep his tone from sounding sharp and cold, perhaps because of those three lingering years in high school or the difficult third year of middle school, he couldn’t fully control his emotions.

Song Zhehan was impatient.
He had always been impatient.

Song Zhehan hated tears and disliked people crying in his ear.

But after meeting Xiang Yang, those feelings had suddenly stopped being a problem.

Seeing Zhang Qiran crying so miserably, choking as he explained himself, Song Zhehan’s frustration and resentment suddenly found an outlet.

When he finally heard the real reason Zhang Qiran had thrown water on him, he nearly called him foolish. But the words caught in his throat, and instead, he took the tissue Huo Yan handed him and passed it to Zhang Qiran.

Patiently, he explained why he had been angry back then, even throwing in a bit of self-pity.

Sure enough, Zhang Qiran felt sorry for him.

Song Zhehan couldn’t help but say, “Are you stupid? That was so long ago.”

The moment the words left his mouth, Song Zhehan froze.

Yes, it was so many years ago.
Yet even now, Song Zhehan still couldn’t let go of Xiang Yang’s sudden departure without a word.

Zhang Qiran was foolish.
But wasn’t Song Zhehan just as foolish?

If Zhang Qiran weren’t foolish, he wouldn’t have taken on those two disastrous roles and endorsements for Song Zhehan.

And if Song Zhehan weren’t foolish, he wouldn’t still remember every little thing related to Xiang Yang to this day.

The summer after graduating from high school, Song Zhehan thought his feelings had long faded with time.

But five years later, when those remnants of affection were uprooted entirely, he realized that beneath the brief love he thought he had buried, there was an endless forest.

So, when everyone else had left, and only Zhang Qiran and Song Zhehan were left in the room, Song Zhehan stood up, turned off the surveillance camera, and faced Zhang Qiran’s red, swollen eyes.

Song Zhehan asked, “Why?”

The dim light in the room was faint. Zhang Qiran, truly tired from crying, was dazed. He mumbled, “Huh? Why what?”

Sitting by Zhang Qiran’s bed, Song Zhehan heard himself ask, “Why didn’t you contact me after you transferred schools?”

The room suddenly fell into silence.

Song Zhehan didn’t know how long they stayed silent. All he knew was that just as his patience was about to run out, Zhang Qiran croaked, “I…”

Looking up, tears streamed down Zhang Qiran’s face again as he stared at Song Zhehan, sobbing uncontrollably. “Song Zhehan… You know my dad was sick. Really sick… For a long time, he suffered terribly from his illness. I knew he wouldn’t live much longer, but… my dad, he didn’t die from illness…”

Song Zhehan suddenly realized something.

Choking back sobs, Zhang Qiran continued, “He… he…”

“Xiang Yang,” Song Zhehan interrupted, not wanting to hear him finish.

But Zhang Qiran had already said it: “He jumped from the top floor of our building…”

That single, simple sentence pierced through nine years of estrangement like a dagger, shredding Song Zhehan’s heart to pieces.

Song Zhehan regretted it.