Cheng Ping was thinking all sorts of messy thoughts about Li Baixi, unable to sleep until late into the night. The next morning, he was forcibly awakened by a call from his manager.

Manager: “What did you do last night?!”

Cheng Ping almost thought his perverse act of checking IDs had been discovered, feeling guilty: “What happened?”

The manager threw several screenshots at him.

It turned out that last night, as soon as he logged onto Weibo, fans received a notification from another app. The fans thought he had something to post and were eagerly waiting to get the top comments, but after two hours of waiting, he said nothing and logged off silently.

Confused fans were discussing this in their group chat when someone reported that Cheng Ping had logged into an account on a live streaming platform that hadn’t been used for ages.

Were they about to see a live stream? Fans hurriedly rushed over, but what awaited them was not Cheng Ping’s handsome face, but a shocking piece of gossip…

Manager: “Your former team captain said on a live stream, in front of tens of thousands of viewers, that you retired because you were obsessed with him, harassing him constantly, affecting his performance, and that’s why the team kicked you out. He said you blocked him because you couldn’t have him.”

She sent a screenshot of the live stream where the former captain was making a grotesque vomiting gesture towards the camera.

Cheng Ping stared at the exaggerated, twisted face for a long time without saying a word.

The manager sneered: “Do you know why he didn’t say this back then? First, when you just entered the entertainment industry, your fame wasn’t big enough, even if he exposed the scandal, it would only spread within the esports circle, not bringing him enough attention. Second, he had no solid evidence, and people tend to sympathize with the underdog. Just after you retired, he might have been accused of framing you and kicking you when you were down.”

Cheng Ping: “…” He wasn’t stupid and already understood what the manager was going to say next.

Sure enough, she continued: “Do you know why he said it now? First, because you’re finally famous enough. Second, because you blocked him publicly, which triggered him, making him feel humiliated and giving him a victim’s stance.”

The manager paused before asking softly: “Why didn’t you consult with us before doing something like this?”

Her voice was filled with exhaustion and disappointment, leaving Cheng Ping speechless.

Why? No reason, he didn’t know the former captain was live streaming at the time, nor did he consider public opinion.

Deep down, he still hadn’t adopted the “rising star” mindset, whereas the former captain, an outsider, had sharper instincts.

Cheng Ping: “I’m sorry.”

But the manager didn’t want to hear an apology; she had already switched to business mode: “For the next few days, don’t log into any social accounts. Follow our PR team’s lead.”

Before hanging up, Cheng Ping tried to explain: “I didn’t harass him.”

The manager paused and coldly said: “I don’t care.”

Soon, the manager sent an agreement, requiring him to hand over all his social media accounts to be managed by professionals. The team no longer trusted his ability to handle the online world.

Public opinion is public opinion, work still needs to be done.

Cheng Ping forced himself to focus and returned to the set, but he could clearly feel the change in atmosphere.

Fewer people asked for autographs, replaced by eyes secretly evaluating his chances of being gay.

The only one whose enthusiasm remained unchanged was the little actress who always found a way to greet him during makeup. But Cheng Ping had no mood to deal with her because he gradually noticed Li Baixi’s coldness.

This coldness wasn’t written on his face—come to think of it, Li Baixi never showed anything on his face—but seeped out from his every word and action, exuding a distant chill.

Li Baixi was angry.

Why?

Did he say something wrong during the makeup live stream? He couldn’t remember. Did Li Baixi find out he had checked his ID? Unlikely.

Cheng Ping felt guilty.

So did Young actor, who acted alongside him.

Young actor generally didn’t care about entertainment gossip, but half the crew was talking about it.

After listening for a while, Young actor was impressed.

This wasn’t ordinary straightforwardness. Paying such a price and attracting so much dirt just to block someone he wanted to block? If straightforwardness had levels, this guy would be a grandmaster.

He couldn’t help but look at Cheng Ping with the admiration one would show a hero. He even felt a bit inferior in front of this hero, so much so that when Cheng Ping repeatedly NGed due to his poor performance, Young actor, in an unprecedented move, awkwardly patted his shoulder and awkwardly comforted him: “Shall we practice more tonight?”

Cheng Ping was taken aback, instinctively glancing at Li Baixi off set, only to see him looking down at his phone, not paying attention to him at all.

“…Sorry, I have other plans after wrap-up.”

While Cheng Ping struggled with NGs, the PR team was already in full swing.

The team issued an official statement, saying the account had long been inactive and was accidentally hacked, and that the defamatory remarks by some individuals severely damaged the artist’s reputation and would be dealt with seriously.

Of course, the public didn’t believe this feeble explanation.

As if to satisfy their gossip cravings, some unofficial accounts released an alternative version of the story.

First, they posted a behind-the-scenes photo from the set, showing Cheng Ping wearing headphones and frowning at his phone.

Then someone claimed: “I work on the set. Cheng Ping was watching a match replay. His former team had just suffered a big loss a few days ago, and he was clearly in a bad mood while watching the replay.”

Someone else reasoned: “In a bad mood, so he logged onto Weibo late at night, staring at the screen for two hours, wanting to post something but ultimately giving up. Only esports fans can understand that frustration and anger! So, in the end, he blocked his former captain out of frustration!”

“Exactly. If it were really like the former captain said, that it was some unrequited love, then why didn’t he block him when he retired? Why wait until yesterday? It makes no sense!”

“And saying he harassed him, come on. Cheng Ping, with his temper and straight-man vibes, even if he were gay, what would he see in the former captain? That ugly face or his poor performance?”

…

The last comment garnered widespread agreement.

To be fair, the former captain wasn’t ugly and wasn’t always bad in good form.

But his recent performance had been terrible, already criticized to the point of no return. A quick search online revealed no good comments about him. In this context, calling him a “bad player” wasn’t even rebuttable by his die-hard fans.

Moreover, Cheng Ping had indeed saved him multiple times, even leaving behind legendary moments of silent swearing while making miraculous comebacks, which had been turned into widely shared videos.

Those videos were dug up and widely spread again.

Saving teammates is a fact; it’s just about how you phrase it. If someone said, “That was the power of love,” it would stir things up. But someone preemptively blocked it with, “With such a pig teammate, you’d have to be blind to like him,” and everyone agreed. After all, who hasn’t wanted to strangle a pig teammate over the internet?

Would you have a crush on a teammate who drags you down? Only a fool would. Didn’t you see Cheng Ping swearing?

As public opinion overwhelmingly shifted, the former captain wanted to fight back but, lacking the robust support of a mature PR team, quickly suffered a crushing defeat.

Even many of his original fans left, disgusted by his poor performance and focus on creating drama.

However, many curious onlookers flocked to his live stream, not to watch him play, but to see if he had any more explosive news.

But Cheng Ping’s “harassment” was limited to a drunken confession. He had no foresight to record it, so what evidence did he have?

Seeing that he couldn’t produce even a single image, the gossip-seeking crowd quickly dispersed with a few scornful remarks.

The former captain, gnashing his teeth in anger, swore to make Cheng Ping pay.

He realized that Cheng Ping was currently at the peak of his fame, and anything he said would be futile. But an artist’s fame doesn’t last forever, and he knew Cheng Ping’s secret—that he was indeed gay. Someday, he would slip up.

And when that day comes, do you think those fans who see you as their fantasy boyfriend will still defend you like they do now?

After wrap-up, Cheng Ping stopped Li Baixi outside the set.

“Li Laoshi.” He hesitated.

Li Baixi: “?”

What could he say? Why are you angry? The other would surely deny it with a smile. What do you think of my scandal? He would surely pretend not to know.

Finally, he blurted out: “Want to have dinner?”

Li Baixi was about to answer when Ma Koukou suddenly slapped his forehead: “Oh, I have a dinner date with a handsome guy from the production team. I won’t join you, see you.”

He walked a few steps but came back to ask Yang: “Want to join?”

Yang, caught between Ma Koukou’s suggestive look and Li Baixi’s warning glare, rolled her eyes: “I’ll order room service myself. Bye.”

As the two left, Li Baixi asked indifferently: “What’s up?”

Cheng Ping: “…Um… Are you…”

Li Baixi looked at the young man before him, whose eyes were darting around, hands f

idgeting, unable to reconcile this image with the stern-faced former esports god he had first met.

Cheng Ping’s shoulders slumped: “…Forget it. Let’s go find something to eat.”

Li Baixi’s heart softened but he was still somewhat angry: “Is it that hard to move on?”

Cheng Ping: “?”

Li Baixi: “I seem to remember you said you wanted to forget those crappy things and focus on improving your acting?”

Then why are you letting that scheming idiot affect you so much?

Does he deserve it?

He’s even less worthy than Young actor. If you blocked Young actor, he would at most block you back without making a fuss.

Li Baixi: “Cheng Ping, you are demeaning yourself.”

He rarely spoke so harshly, but this time he couldn’t help it. He was ready to face Cheng Ping’s anger.

But Cheng Ping paused, then said blankly: “I didn’t block him because of that. I didn’t even watch his match, I almost forgot who he was.”

Li Baixi: “?”

Cheng Ping: “I suddenly got his message and thought… I thought…”

His hand, hanging by his side, unconsciously clenched into a fist. He suddenly looked up at Li Baixi, clearly: “I thought it was time to move on and start fresh.”

Li Baixi was more puzzled than him at this moment.

It wasn’t Cheng Ping’s explanation that puzzled him, but his own reaction.

Listening to Cheng Ping’s heartfelt words, his chaotic emotions gradually cleared up, like sifting sand through a sieve, leaving only a pure realization: he was angry not because of any self-deprecation but because he thought Cheng Ping hadn’t moved on from his old feelings.

And that little bit of anger had vanished from the moment he heard “I almost forgot who he was.”

He coughed lightly, turning his head to hide his embarrassment: “I see. I misunderstood. Let me treat you to dinner.”

But Cheng Ping continued to stare at him, his eyes shifting from confusion to surprise, and finally, a subtle, almost mystical understanding.

In a barely audible voice, he asked a familiar question: “Were you jealous?”