Chapter 18 – Liar

Fang Xiao saw the message in the early hours of the morning. Several freelance composition projects he had taken on after returning to Beijing coincidentally required urgent revisions—clients were willing to pay extra to get demos before the Lunar New Year. Fang Xiao had practically locked himself in his studio, his mind working nonstop, with only his ears granted the occasional break.

To any outsider, it wouldn’t seem like Fang Xiao was deliberately ignoring Gu Yiming. But Fang Xiao knew better—his delayed response wasn’t just because he was busy. He hadn’t ignored Gu Yiming, but he also hadn’t paid him the same attention as before. Quietly, he had taken half a step back, not wanting to give Gu Yiming the wrong signal. Yet Gu Yiming hadn’t picked up on the hint at all and had followed him closely regardless.

Having gone the entire day without drinking water or speaking, Fang Xiao’s voice was hoarse, and clearing his throat didn’t help. Worried that Gu Yiming might misinterpret his strained tone, he didn’t call or leave a voice message. Instead, he typed slowly: [We’re not a good match.]

After sending that message, he spaced out for a while, his mind gradually freeing itself from work mode. Gu Yiming saying he liked him was something Fang Xiao hadn’t anticipated. His offer to help Gu Yiming had been purely out of a fan’s mentality. Right now, he didn’t want to date anyone. He could handle his own affairs—he had a job that paid the bills and hobbies worth investing in. This wasn’t something that had come naturally; it had taken considerable effort. He was willing to care for his little idol unilaterally, but he didn’t have the energy to pour into a complicated romantic relationship.

Gu Yiming’s willingness to compromise or change for him reminded Fang Xiao of a musical adaptation he had worked on months earlier: “To have you, I’m willing to offer entirely new terms. Come, compose for me!” But that was the bishop’s one-sided concession—he didn’t understand the young composer’s true wishes. Hadn’t the composer loved him too? Hadn’t he compromised for him as well? In the end, it hadn’t mattered. Fang Xiao was twenty-nine now. At his age, love was no longer instinctive—it was a game of strategy.

What he was willing to give, what he hoped to receive, what Gu Yiming was willing to give, what Gu Yiming wanted—all four were misaligned.

Fang Xiao didn’t believe Gu Yiming truly liked him. During their journey westward, he had played the role of the helper in a codependent relationship—they had been engaged in mutual psychological support. Gu Yiming had relied on him, treating him as an emotional anchor, but an unhealthy mindset couldn’t truly distinguish between love and dependence. Just like how it had been with Xing Zongkai and him.

Gu Yiming might have already forgotten why he had stopped speaking in the first place. Staying silent for too long made speaking feel exhausting, which in turn made him even more reluctant to speak. A lack of communication skills and a lack of willingness to communicate reinforced each other. He rarely asked for help and seldom needed it—even at his most anxious, he kept everything bottled up, with only his gun knowing what he was thinking. And Fang Xiao had appeared at precisely that moment. Under such circumstances, how could an inexperienced Xiao Gu possibly distinguish between liking someone and relying on them?

These thoughts were somewhat harsh in Fang Xiao’s internal dialogue, and he knew it. But he had no intention of voicing them to Gu Yiming. He had always been soft-hearted toward Gu Yiming—he’d rather accept the resulting complications than let Gu Yiming, who had just begun rebuilding himself, continue doubting his own worth. The little idol Fang Xiao had admired in Shenyang was a warrior who could survive on earth even after being cast out of Eden—he shouldn’t stumble over Fang Xiao like this. He had to help Gu Yiming.

Leaning against the soundproof wall, Fang Xiao pressed his forehead against the cold doorframe. The prolonged high-intensity work and sudden emotional turmoil had left him slightly feverish—more pensive and reckless than usual. Gradually, an idea formed in his mind.

Gripping his phone, Fang Xiao typed: [Xiao Gu, have you ever been in a relationship before?]

Gu Yiming took a while to reply: [No.]

Fang Xiao thought, *I knew it*. But he didn’t say that aloud. Instead, he asked: [Xiao Gu, do you trust me?]

Gu Yiming quickly answered in the affirmative.

The speed of that unhesitating reply made his answer as firm as a young man’s dream. Fang Xiao stared at Gu Yiming’s response, his heart aching—he found it endearing, but also exactly as expected. Xiao Gu was still just a kid who hadn’t grown up yet.

Fang Xiao said: [I trust you too. Then let’s make a deal. Xiao Gu, try liking someone else. You don’t have to date them—just try it, meet more people.]

Without waiting for Gu Yiming to protest, he added: [If, after half a year, you still feel like you only like me, we can give it a try.]

This time, the “typing…” indicator stayed on screen noticeably longer. Fang Xiao knew Gu Yiming was thinking it over. A blunt rejection would only provoke resistance—offering a seemingly attainable goal made it easier to accept. The trick lay in the “seemingly attainable” part—it was actually impossible.

Liar.

Fang Xiao thought he was truly wicked. He had no real intention—he was dangling an impossible carrot in front of Gu Yiming precisely because he knew it couldn’t be reached. Though it was for Gu Yiming’s own good, he was still betraying Xiao Gu’s trust.

Fang Xiao splayed his fingers through his hair, pressing his palm against his slightly feverish forehead. This is how treacherous the adult world is, he thought. For the sake of my little idol’s healthy growth, I’ll spout any nonsense.

Big liar.

Gu Yiming took a long time to reply. Even though Fang Xiao had missed the moment, he still felt this person was far too easy to read. Through the cold screen of his phone, he could vividly imagine Gu Yiming’s aggrieved, dissatisfied, and doubtful expression—the emotions settling over time due to the lag in messaging, the sentences typed and deleted over and over in the input box. Yes, this was exactly the kind of conversation the adult Fang Xiao had deliberately engineered. He wouldn’t soften, and Gu Yiming couldn’t act impulsively.

[Is this the only way?]

[This is the only way.]

After another long struggle, Gu Yiming typed: [I could lie to you.]

Fang Xiao almost laughed at those words. He replied: [You can’t lie to me.]

Gu Yiming shot back instantly: [Fang Xiao, you’re really too much.]

But what could Gu Yiming do about it?

Gu Yiming was furious at Fang Xiao’s demand. He couldn’t like someone else—*ability-wise*, he might genuinely be capable of developing feelings for others, but right now, Gu Yiming liked Fang Xiao. Not just anyone—Fang Xiao specifically. Gu Yiming’s mental fastidiousness couldn’t even tolerate diverting his attention to other hobbies—how could he accept such an exchange? Unbidden, he recalled the sunlight slipping through Fang Xiao’s fingers. By now, Eden must have fallen into night.

Gu Yiming remembered Tang Shao’s words and felt his jokester friend had been right for once. Fang Xiao really did like domineering CEOs. A young, soft-hearted puppy like him would only be treated like a son and dragged off to blind dates.

But there was no helping it—he liked Fang Xiao. Some people’s love was about possession; others’ love meant surrendering control over their own emotions, like a humiliating treaty. Gu Yiming was the latter, though maybe Fang Xiao preferred the former. Who knew what was so great about domineering CEOs anyway?

Fang Xiao was the one in control—he had laid down the rules, leaving Gu Yiming no other choice. Gu Yiming, who had never been scheming, was now forced to resort to cunning. In the end, he said: [I can try, but only try. In return, you have to keep your word—and you can’t avoid me.]

I’m your little idol—you can’t avoid me.