No one could explain why that dream had haunted him for five whole years.

Every time he saw the fireworks burst in that dream, a deep sense of guilt welled up inside him—as though he had always owed something to the owner of those eyes. Over time, it became a knot in his heart he didn’t dare to touch.

But back then, he was young and naïve. Within the first month of being plagued by that strange dream, he told Wang Xiaoyu about it.

At the time, Wang Xiaoyu was still a middle-school boy going through a “chuunibyou” phase, obsessed with Kamen Rider and World of Warcraft. One day, he told Fu Shicang very seriously that it might be a prophecy.

“A prophecy about what?” Fu Shicang had already started quietly studying business and pharmaceutical development. He looked up from a thick textbook and adjusted his glasses. “A prophecy that the earth will be destroyed by a meteor? Or that you’ll be mind-controlled to assassinate the lady mayor?”【1】

“No no no, prophecies are usually about the person themselves,” Wang Xiaoyu argued passionately. “You dreamt about losing someone when the fireworks went off, just like how the Ring of Stars is N’Zoth’s prison—maybe the starlight is what’s trapping that person too.”【2】

He looked on with envy and longing. “Maybe he’s calling out to you, wanting you to break through the starlight and rescue him.”

At the time, Fu Shicang scoffed at Wang Xiaoyu’s wild imagination.

But the guy wouldn’t shut up about it. He kept coming up with reasons why his theory made perfect sense.

Ten years had passed. Wang Xiaoyu himself had long forgotten what he said back then, but today, Fu Shicang suddenly remembered.

Realizing he actually kind of agreed with that ridiculous, juvenile theory, Fu Shicang shook his head.

Sure enough, spending too much time around unreliable people turns you unreliable too.

The sunlight tilted westward, the evening breeze dispelling the heat of the afternoon. He stood up, stretched his body, and casually ruffled the sleeping beauty’s hair. “Wake up, time to clock out.”

An Leyan stirred drowsily. The citrusy mint scent in his nose tugged him into a dream—he dreamt he was once again at Fu Shicang’s side, attending a birthday banquet at the Fu family estate.

The banquet was grand and lavish, but he was anxiously searching through the crowd, not knowing where the man had gone.

He looked around desperately, but even as the banquet food all turned into sandwiches, he still couldn’t find that familiar figure.

Woken up, An Leyan had a bit of groggy grumpiness, blinking blankly at the person in front of him. But when he realized who it was, he suddenly smiled.

The tension at his temples eased slightly. In that smile, his eyes regained a fleeting sharpness.

Fu Shicang’s heart gave a sudden jolt.

But when he looked again, those puppy-like eyes were still gentle and obedient, just like always.

On the way back, An Leyan was the one driving, softly humming along with the songs on the radio.

Even though he had a bad dream, the fact that he found the person right after made his mood soar.

He even felt like he’d seen his “Cang-ge” again.

Could it be possible… that Cang-ge hadn’t really left? Maybe he’d just gone somewhere to heal, and along the way, learned how to sleep in, how to relax, how to reach his goals more gently?

An Leyan smiled. If that were true, wouldn’t it be wonderful?

Meanwhile, Fu Shicang sat quietly in the passenger seat, elbow resting on the open window, the evening wind rustling his hair. No one knew what he was thinking.

Neither of them realized that by now, their photos had already gone viral across the internet.

[Location: West District Fountain Park. Turns out lunch romance is real! (pics)(pics)(pics)]
[Also had a lunch encounter. This guy is too pretty. That smile! That vibe! Could I see him again tomorrow?]
[Regret of the day: didn’t go for lunch, ordered horrible takeout instead. Furious.]
[Okay but… am I the only one more attracted to the guy in the dining area? Those broad shoulders! Those long legs! Makes me want to be carried. (pics)(pics)]
[Wait, isn’t that Film Emperor Fu? That trademark pair of long legs!]
[I thought it was Fu-ge at first too. Even sat across from him to check. Nope. Doesn’t have the same striking features, but the aura is still on point. The actor is too far away—this kind of “mortal” I can actually dream about.]

That last comment got tons of likes and was pinned to the top.

But soon, everything started to shift.

[Hey… isn’t the sandwich-selling guy An Leyan? That cosplayer who did that dramatic confession online?]
[Compared it with his Weibo—yep, it’s him! Isn’t he filming Delicious Connection right now?]
[A food truck, An Leyan, a hot guy who looks like Fu Shicang… wait, don’t tell me this week’s episode is this kind of setup? I’m loving it!]
[First time I’m paying attention to this show. Just looked it up. Says the guests are supposed to work together to sell food. How did no one recognize them?]
[Ah, that’s because of our beloved Director Zhang. Each week the format changes. First episode had them work in restaurants, second week was a breakfast stall, and now we’re doing food trucks?!]
[I’ve got relatives who live near their filming villa—they’ve definitely seen those trucks.]
[Love the food truck idea. Support! But uh… for those who missed it, if this is from Delicious Connection, then that hot guy across the table is very likely the real Fu Film Emperor.]
[He’s a movie star. Of course he wouldn’t be easily recognized. Totally normal if no one noticed. There, there.]
[Waaah! I’m crying. Please let me bump into them next filming day, pleaaaase—]

Before long, hashtags like #EncounterWithAFilmEmperor, #FuShicangMagicalDisguise, and #DeliciousConnectionFoodTruck all shot to the trending list.

In front of the surveillance monitor, Director Zhang Mao was laughing as he read through the comments online.

“This is only the third day,” he chuckled, “and we’ve already hit the trending list. The weekend viewership is gonna spike—I don’t even need to pay for promotion this time.”

“Director Zhang,” the assistant director Wang leaned in, “didn’t we announce before that each filming day’s revenue would be calculated, and the investor would donate a hundred times that amount? Should we decide today’s donation recipients first?”

Zhang Mao froze.

That had been a rule set all the way back in the first episode of Delicious Connection. But because the show mostly featured amateurs, and hardly any of them could cook, the revenue from selling food had always been trivial. They honored the donation pledge, sure—but it never cost much and was mostly an afterthought.

Now that Wang mentioned it, he remembered.

Zhang Mao raised an eyebrow. “They only sold coffee and sandwiches today, and only for half the day. How much revenue could there be?”

Wang handed him a tablet.

Under the show’s official Weibo post, someone had already done the math.

The Numbers Team got bored and decided to come over and audit the show. According to netizens, the best-selling item from today’s food truck was the Chef’s Special Combo — a cup of coffee and a plate of sandwiches, priced at 20 yuan. (Honestly, that price is way too cheap.)

Fountain Park is located between the city’s three major CBDs, so many office workers choose to have lunch there. Just judging from the photos and how crowded the food truck looked, it’s estimated they sold at least 100 sets today, meaning the show earned around 2,000 yuan. In other words, the donations from today alone totaled 200,000 yuan…

Zhang Mao suddenly felt the world go dark. These netizens really were something!

He scratched his head. “I’ll call the investors in a bit and check on the situation at the villa.”

“Quiet,” Xiao Li, who was nearly asleep in front of the monitors, replied, “It’s been a whole day and they barely spoke to each other.”

Inside the villa, Yin Xin was spacing out. Just days ago, he had been interested in the monstera plant, but now it had fallen out of favor — he had even plucked off a few leaves.

Nie Changxing seemed to be studying. He had noise-canceling headphones on and hadn’t moved from his room all day.

After calling his manager, Bai Jingchen lay on the bed staring blankly at the ceiling.

Mu Wei was also on the phone, but his personal mic was turned off. Judging by the slight frown on his face, the conversation didn’t seem pleasant.

“Looks like he’s breaking up…” Xiao Zhang, who was tailing Mu Wei, whispered to Xiao Li.

Xiao Li sneaked a glance at Zhang Mao and asked in a low voice, “How can you tell?”

Xiao Zhang pointed to his monitoring headset and whispered, “I can pick up a bit of sound from the room, and with some lip reading, I pieced together part of it. Sounds like he’s cutting ties with all his former lovers.”

“That’s a big decision!” Xiao Li was shocked. “Is the playboy turning over a new leaf?”

“Well, Mu Wei’s great in every way — he just used to be a bit too flirtatious. But now, settling down for love? Who wouldn’t fall for that?”

Just as Xiao Zhang finished his emotional comment, he felt a slap on the back of his head.

“Focus on your work and stop gossiping about the guests’ private lives,” Zhang Mao scolded him. “Save this clip. We’ll decide later whether to use it — but only with the guest’s consent.”

When An Leyan drove back to the villa, it was already past six. The sunset bathed the sky in vibrant hues, and the lights on the villa’s first floor were already on.

He carried down a large shopping bag from the camper van and smiled as he looked back at Fu Shicang. “Look at that light — it really does feel a bit like coming home.”

Fu Shicang remained silent but took the bag from his hands and walked into the villa first.

“Something happen?” Zhang Mao was already waiting for them under a tree. “Why so late? Did you two have a fight?”

“Not really,” An Leyan glanced toward the villa door. “It’s just… when we were at the supermarket earlier, someone recognized Cang-ge, even though he had makeup on.”

“You did his makeup but not your own — of course someone would recognize him,” Zhang Mao chuckled and pointed at him before he could respond. “Don’t say you’re not popular — you already have a fan base, and now you’re on our Delicious Relationships show. Just wait — stardom’s coming your way.”

He didn’t mention how much buzz there had been about him online today. He figured if he brought it up, An Leyan would just insist it was all because Fu Shicang is too charming.

Sometimes he really wanted to give the kid two smacks, just to see what was going on in that head of his. As someone already half in the entertainment industry, how could he have zero ambition to be famous?

Zhang Dao sighed inwardly. But maybe that completely non-utilitarian personality was exactly what made An Leyan so uniquely appealing. Hard to complain, really.

When An Leyan entered the villa, everyone except Fu Shicang was gathered in the kitchen.

Bai Jingchen and Yin Xin were boiling noodles, while Mu Wei stood at the sink, clumsily slicing cucumbers.

“You already started cooking dinner? What are we having?” An Leyan glanced at his grocery bag, said nothing, and started storing ingredients in the fridge.

“Cold noodles,” Nie Changxing was studying how to make shredded egg garnish. “You worked hard today — just help guide us a bit with the final steps.”

An Leyan nodded and ran over to check the pot of boiling noodles.

The cold noodles turned out great.

It was the first meal the guests had made together. It wasn’t candlelight and red wine romantic, but eating tasty noodles and chatting about the day’s funny moments felt cozy and pleasant.

After dinner, Zhang Mao came by again to inform everyone that the second round of “heartthrob messages” would be sent tonight.

“Think it over and send them out quickly!” he said at the door. “This round will determine the workday schedules going forward.”

After saying that, he returned to the control room. Glancing at the villa monitors, he suddenly asked, “Where’s Fu Shicang?”

“By the lake in the neighborhood,” said Assistant Director Wang, pointing at the monitor. “Xiao Jing’s with him. He went over after dinner and has just been standing there feeding the mosquitoes.”

By the man-made lake, a half-moon hung low on the treetops, heavy enough to seem like it was bending the branches.

Fu Shicang stared at the misty moon, and couldn’t help but recall the sight of An Leyan just waking up from his nap that afternoon.

That fleeting moment of illusion had yanked him out of the comfort of the present.

These past few days had been too easy.

Someone was always by his side, caring about his injury, making the foods he liked, leaving the door open for him, buying him medicine, even enduring his bullying with a gentle smile — and “getting back at him” in childish ways like sneaking him snacks…

If all of this had been orchestrated by his uncle, he had to admit — he had almost fallen into the trap without resistance. Though he knew full well, this probably wasn’t Fu Xinghuai’s doing.

It’s just… the vengeance before him didn’t allow for such warmth. And he had no intention of dragging someone else into his hell.

What he needed was dagger-sharp hatred, flesh-ripping resolve, the burning fury hidden behind shadowed moonlight — kindled by those slightly upturned eyes.

That was where he belonged — in darkness, distortion, danger — not beneath red-and-white picnic tents or the bright smiles on green grass.

Ding—
His phone chimed softly. It was the “heartthrob message” from the production team.

“Fountain Park is beautiful. Today’s work was enjoyable. Looking forward to better interactions in the future.”