Chapter 14: Who Are You Calling a Fan?

After the variety show ended, Ji Jingchuan didn’t send a single WeChat message for three whole days to report what he had eaten. That alone was enough to show how serious this situation was!

That night, Shang Que had another dream.

The dimly lit room had no lights on, with only a sliver of moonlight seeping through the gap in the wind-blown curtains, casting a glow on a tall, upright figure.

Ji Jingchuan stood by the window, holding his phone. The light from the screen illuminated the sharp, tense lines of his jaw. His expression was a calmness on the verge of fury as he spoke into the phone, enunciating each word clearly:

“I said it—I didn’t do it.”

Whatever the person on the other end said made his lips press into a tight line. After a long pause, his shoulders slumped slightly.

“I understand. I won’t go out until this blows over.”

After hanging up, Ji Jingchuan silently walked back to his bed and sat down, lowering his head and remaining motionless in that position.

A long time passed before the phone screen, tossed aside earlier, lit up with an eye-piercing glow. Ji Jingchuan reached for it mechanically, but the moment he saw what was on the screen, his entire body stiffened.

The calm look on his face instantly turned urgent, almost frantic. He started calling someone over and over again, but each time, the only response he got was:

“The number you have dialed is currently on another call.”

Suddenly, he sprang to his feet, grabbed the motorcycle keys from the bedside table, and rushed out. But in his haste, he accidentally knocked over a photo frame.

Crash—glass shattered all over the floor.

Ji Jingchuan’s footsteps halted. He turned back and picked up the old, yellowed photograph, carefully tucking it inside his clothes, close to his heart. Then, without looking back, he left.

The scene shifted.

The endless night loomed over the city like a prison. Ji Jingchuan sped down the empty, silent roads on his motorcycle, the roaring wind making his clothes billow wildly.

As he passed an intersection, a black car suddenly charged toward him from the side, accelerating with clear intent.

Bang!

A loud crash erupted. The tremendous impact sent Ji Jingchuan flying. His body tumbled several times across the ground before finally coming to a stop.

He curled up in pain, his muscles twitching from the agony. Blood gushed out, quickly forming a crimson pool.

He tried to lift himself up by pressing a hand to the ground and arching his back. It seemed like he wanted to stand, but maybe his spine had been broken—he soon collapsed again.

Struggling, he flipped over onto his back, constantly trying to move, but all his efforts were in vain.

Then, just like in previous dreams, the scene repeated—Ji Jingchuan struggled, called out, and ultimately died unwillingly.

Blood soaked the photo on his chest.

Two children held hands tightly, smiling carefree at the camera.

Shang Que jolted awake.

The faint bedside lamp reminded her that she was in her own room. She buried her face in her hands, taking deep breaths.

Unlike last time, this dream seemed to reveal something that wasn’t in the original storyline.

After Ji Jingchuan was blacklisted online, he was supposed to stay at home to wait for the controversy to die down. But someone had sent him something—something that made him take the risk of going out and ultimately getting run over.

What was it…?

Shang Que tried hard to remember.

A voice, electronically distorted, surfaced in her mind.

The person laughed maliciously and said, “Take a look at this.”

A sharp pain stabbed through her brain, making it impossible to think further.

She shook her head and picked up her phone.

Because of back-to-back filming sessions these past two days, she had collapsed into bed the moment she got home this afternoon. It turned out it was still just past 9 PM.

She got up, took a bath, put on a mask and a hat, and stepped out.

Autumn had arrived, and the evening air was beginning to cool.

The commercial streets were still bustling, filled with people coming and going.

Shang Que wandered aimlessly, her mind gradually clearing.

When she fully regained her senses, she realized she had entered a merchandise store. Right in front of her, on the shelf, was a photobook of Ji Jingchuan.

…?

Did she get up too fast? Where was the disinfectant spray?

Noticing that she had been standing there for a while, a short-haired girl who was carefully selecting merchandise struck up a conversation.

“Sis, are you also a fan of Chuan?”

What a ridiculous question.

Shang Que frowned in disgust.

“How could I be?”

“I get it, I get it. Sometimes it’s embarrassing to admit being a Ji Jingchuan fan. I don’t even dare to say I like him at school.”

The girl nodded in understanding, as if they shared the same struggle.

Shang Que: …

You’ve Got It All Wrong, Sis.

But before she could say anything, the girl enthusiastically recommended, “Don’t buy this photobook. If you join our fan group, you can get it for 20% off. And this badge is a great deal too—the artwork is amazing! It’s from Chuan-ge’s concert, an iconic moment…”

Shang Que felt like she had something stuck in her throat. The moment she found an opening, she immediately interrupted, “You’ve got the wrong person. I’m a fan of Shang Que.”

“Oh, a fan of Shang Que?” The girl didn’t even pause. “Then you should get this stress toy.”

She picked up a chibi-style figurine that vaguely resembled Ji Jingchuan. “Take this home. Whenever Ji Jingchuan makes Shang Que angry, you can punch it twice—just imagine you’re hitting him.”

A surprisingly hefty object was shoved into Shang Que’s hand. She instinctively gave it a squeeze—the texture was soft and bouncy.

Just then, the girl was called away by her friend. Seizing the opportunity, Shang Que immediately put the item back. She took a few steps away, then hesitated, turned around, and looked at it again. In the end, she picked it up.

…Fine, it actually seemed like a great stress reliever.

After paying and leaving the store, Shang Que’s stomach growled in protest. Carrying the shopping bag, she casually entered a small street-side eatery.

Pushing the door open, she saw that the modest interior had a few plastic tables and chairs arranged on either side. The kitchen was sectioned off by a glass door, where a stainless steel pot was boiling water, sending wisps of steam curling up under the warm yellow lights.

Shang Que glanced at the menu hanging on the wall. “One bowl of wontons, to go.”

There was no air conditioning inside. The fan creaked as it spun, and the hot air from the kitchen made the place feel suffocating. After scanning the code to pay, Shang Que quickly moved to a table near the entrance.

Just as she set down her bag, the door behind her swung open again, bringing in a gust of night air—along with a familiar voice.

“Boss, one bowl of wontons, to go!”

Shang Que turned her head.

The newcomer had stopped at the table to her right. He was wearing a mask, and the brim of his baseball cap was pulled low. At that moment, he noticed Shang Que as well, his gaze sweeping over to her.

Their eyes met.

Even with their heavy disguises, they recognized each other instantly.

“Shang Que?”

“Ji Jingchuan?”

Shang Que’s eyes scanned him up and down before shifting to the table in front of him. A paper bag sat there, stuffed so full that the opening was stretched wide. With her sharp eyes, she immediately spotted something on top—her own fan support banner.

“You…” Shang Que eyed him suspiciously. “Are you my fan?”

Ji Jingchuan snatched up the bag and hid it behind him at lightning speed, loudly protesting, “Who are you calling a fan?!”

His eyes darted around nervously before he straightened up and declared, “This was forced on me by some anti-fan who sneaked into the crowd at my company’s entrance today! They were obviously trying to piss me off, so I was just about to throw it away!”

As he spoke, his gaze suddenly landed on the bag next to Shang Que.

“What did you buy? Merchandise? Let me see!”

Shang Que instinctively tried to move it away, but she was still a step too slow. Ji Jingchuan lunged forward, yanked open the paper bag, and, upon seeing the contents, immediately found his chance to strike back. His eyes lit up with glee.

“Ha! Shang Que, you’re the one secretly stanning me! You even spent money on my merch!”

Even with a mask on, his smugness was unmistakable.

Shang Que sneered. “A fan insisted on selling it to me, saying I could punch it when I was in a bad mood. I only bought it out of pity for the girl—she worked so hard to convince me.”

Ji Jingchuan narrowed his eyes. “Then give it to me.”

“Sure.” Shang Que’s tone was indifferent, as if she couldn’t care less. “In exchange, give me my fan support items.”

When he didn’t respond, Shang Que raised an eyebrow. “What’s wrong? Don’t tell me you’re too attached to it?”

“As if!” Ji Jingchuan shot back, reacting as if he’d been stung. “Fine, take it!”

The two of them exchanged paper bags.

Then, Shang Que added, “By the way, that stress toy was 69 yuan. There’s a receipt in the bag—remember to transfer me the money on WeChat. After all, you didn’t spend a dime on my fan support items.”

Ji Jingchuan’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Shang Que, you’re so stingy you could die from it!”

Shang Que squinted at him and smiled, looking utterly infuriating.

Just then, their wontons were ready. They grabbed their orders and left the store, parting ways at the door.

Shang Que walked briskly, putting as much distance as possible between them. Only after she was far away did her composed expression crumble, replaced by deep regret.

She never should’ve let her brain short-circuit and bought that stress toy.

Now look what happened—she nearly got laughed to death by Ji Jingchuan.

Meanwhile, Ji Jingchuan stood under a streetlamp, clenching his fist and gritting his teeth. His heart bled.

That was an ultra-high-priced, out-of-print limited-edition photocards set he had painstakingly acquired!!!