It’s not unusual for an official announcement to coincide with a splash screen ad, but on the day of the concert, the brand put up a full-platform splash screen ad to support the event — a first in the entertainment industry.
It wasn’t just Lù Chéng; even his agent, Sister Cen, was both flattered and stunned. She hadn’t received any notice from Kuncheng Motors beforehand and had been kept entirely in the dark.
Sister Cen teased him, “You really do have some powerful people looking out for you.”
As far as she knew, several artist studios had tried to negotiate with Kuncheng Motors for an endorsement.
In the end, Kuncheng Motors not only directly gave Lù Chéng the highest title of global spokesperson, but also chose to make the announcement the day before his concert.
She hadn’t expected something even more impressive today — a splash screen ad, giving him the utmost recognition.
The fans went wild.
Inside the dressing room, Lù Chéng was getting his hair and makeup done, reminding his agent to be sure to call Kuncheng Motors and thank them.
“Of course.” Sister Cen immediately found Du’s number and dialed.
Du was in the middle of complaining about Zhōu Shíyì to Zhan Liang. When he saw the incoming call, he adjusted his tone before answering.
On the other end, Sister Cen first expressed her gratitude, then especially emphasized, “During the contract period, we’re willing to add two more offline events, at Lù Chéng’s own request.”
“We’re especially grateful to you and Kuncheng Motors for your strong support of the concert.”
The number of online and offline events an endorser attends during the contract period is all written in the contract.
Kuncheng Motors gave their splash screen support, and Lù Chéng added two more offline events — a true show of mutual effort.
Du responded with a few polite words and once again wished for the concert’s success.
After hanging up with Sister Cen, Du asked Zhan Liang, who was sitting across his desk, “Where was I just now with my complaints?”
Zhan Liang, of course, didn’t remind him. “You interrupted yourself, I don’t remember either.”
“You’re so young, how come your memory’s just as bad!” Du took a sip of tea and continued griping about Zhōu Shíyì.
“Usually, trying to get him to cooperate with activities is like pulling teeth! But when it comes to spending money, he doesn’t even blink — straight to a full-platform support! Is he a Lù Chéng fan or something?”
“……No.”
“Then is his wife?”
“……Also no.”
“So why make such a big scene? Go on, tell me.”
“I’m just as curious as you are.”
Du waved his hand. “You can go.”
“Du, I’ll let you get back to it.” Zhan Liang took his leave.
Leaving the Vice President’s Office, he reported to the Boss about Lù Chéng’s willingness to add two more offline events.
[I’m at the downstairs restaurant.] Zhōng Yì messaged Zhōu Shíyì, waiting for him to have breakfast together.
These past two days, she had reinstalled her social media apps.
This morning, she opened one to check for any news about her parents, and as soon as she launched it, she saw Kuncheng Motors’ splash screen ad supporting Lù Chéng’s concert.
It must have been Zhōu Shíyì’s doing.
No other brand would go to such lengths for their spokesperson.
Zhōu Shíyì replied: [Waiting for the elevator.]
Zhōng Yì ordered food first. Aside from forgetting he didn’t like nuts in his oatmeal porridge, she remembered all his other preferences.
Two minutes later, he appeared in the restaurant, dressed in a white shirt and dark gray trousers.
Elegant and noble, yet giving off a touch of coldness.
“What do you want to eat?” Zhōu Shíyì sat down and asked.
Zhōng Yì: “I’ve already ordered.”
Zhōu Shíyì, influenced by her, said, “Thank you.”
Zhōng Yì just drank her water without replying, then changed the subject. “After the concert, I’ll go back to work.”
Zhōu Shíyì looked up at her. “Didn’t you take three months off?”
“I get restless if I’m idle for too long.”
She didn’t say more about why she was returning to work early. @无限好文,尽在晋江文学城
“What project do you plan to take on when you’re back?” @无限好文,尽在晋江文学城
“We’ll see, depends on what the company assigns.”
Zhōu Shíyì was a bit surprised, nodding slowly.
She’d always followed her own ideas; for her to be willing to go with the company’s arrangements was already a big compromise.
***
At five o’clock in the evening, the two of them headed to the sports center.
Two kilometers from the stadium, both sides of the road were lined with support flags, colorful banners fluttering in the wind as far as the eye could see.
Looking out the car window, Zhōng Yì recalled how she and Lù Chéng had fantasized about such a scene countless times on the bus back to their small town.
Back then, a concert was an unattainable dream.
But in just a decade or so, that dream had become reality.
She had always hoped his wish would come true.
All the regrets from that first love had faded away, now that she had a new relationship and had met someone who suited her better, and he was shining in the career he loved.
Perhaps, Lù Chéng had long since let go as well.
The only one who hadn’t was Zhōu Shíyì.
Traffic was already backed up on the way to the stadium. Many young people were walking along the sidewalk, holding up their phones for selfies and taking pictures with the support banners.
The driver glanced at the rearview mirror from time to time, seeing the two of them gazing out their respective windows.
Zhōng Yì’s phone vibrated in her canvas bag, pulling her attention back inside.
Jì Fánxīng had sent her a photo from inside the venue.
Zhōng Yì: [So early?]
Jì Fánxīng: [Afraid of traffic jams.]
Of course, that was just an excuse.
Why did she become a Director? Wasn’t it so that one day she could work with Lù Chéng?
That’s the ultimate level of being a fan.
So it’s understandable that her father always found her a bit exasperating.
“Jì Fánxīng is already inside, in the venue.”
Locking her phone, she said to the man beside her.
Zhōu Shíyì wasn’t surprised — he’d long known Jì Fánxīng was a Lù Chéng fan.
A few years back, they attended a birthday banquet for an elder of an influential family. She had a few drinks and didn’t bring her driver, so she hitched a ride back with him.
Once in the car, she rummaged through her bag. He asked what she was looking for.
“Earphones. I want to watch Lù Chéng’s variety show.”
Judging by her look, she didn’t find them.
He told Jì Fánxīng to stop searching and just play it on speaker.
“Won’t it bother you?”
“It’s fine.”
At that time, he and Zhōng Yì were still together, and he’d just seen her photo with Lù Chéng not long before.
He agreed to let Jì Fánxīng play it out loud, partly to get a feel for what kind of person Lù Chéng was.
Lù Chéng rarely appeared on variety shows; that time was for promoting a new drama.
During a game segment, one question’s answer was about the most iconic local food from their hometown.
Lù Chéng blurted out, “Dingsheng Cake.”
Before he’d finished, another guest from Jiangcheng anxiously reminded him, “Jiangcheng has so many famous foods, how could Dingsheng Cake be the most iconic? Quick, quick, pick another, or we’ll have nothing to eat!”
“It’s the most iconic one,” the host emphasized, handing the mic back to Lù Chéng. “Try again, anything else?”
Lù Chéng: “Wupeng Boat.”
At that, the whole audience burst out laughing.
Even Lù Chéng couldn’t help but laugh.
“Jiangcheng’s most iconic food — Wupeng Boat!”
The host nearly laughed until he cried. “Lù Chéng, what were you thinking? Are you taking a Wupeng Boat to buy Dingsheng Cake?”
Lù Chéng just smiled and didn’t answer.
When the host stressed “most iconic,” all he could think of was Wupeng Boat, completely forgetting the question was about food.
After that show, Lù Chéng wrote a song called “Dingsheng Cake and Wupeng Boat.”
At first, the title didn’t inspire much interest, but as soon as the music started, the misty, rainy Jiangnan came alive before your eyes.
The lyrics were full of endless tenderness, tinged with a little sadness and an unspoken longing. @无限好文,尽在晋江文学城
The words, the melody, the mood — all beautiful, and unexpectedly, the song became a hit.
Jiangcheng, already quite famous, saw a tourism boom because of the song, especially for Dingsheng Cake and Wupeng Boat — people lined up for ages to get both.
The song later became one of Jiangcheng’s official tourism promotion tracks.
The Meibach stopped at the parking lot nearest the stadium. The driver turned and asked, “President Zhōu, what time should I come pick you up?”
Zhōu Shíyì: “No rush. I’ll call you in advance.”
“Alright.”
Ever since he learned his Boss was coming to Lù Chéng’s concert, the driver had mixed feelings. He hoped they could untangle their knots, but also worried the concert might make things worse.
Zhōu Shíyì and Zhōng Yì got out, accompanied only by security staff.
His long legs made him walk fast. When he turned around and saw her lagging behind, he stopped to wait.
Zhōng Yì was looking down, searching her canvas bag for sunglasses. She took them out and put them on her nose.
Zhōu Shíyì glanced at her lenses. “The box is far from the stage, he won’t recognize you.”
“I’m not worried about him recognizing me. I just don’t want to be recognized by any high school classmates or people from my year who might be here.” She didn’t want any acquaintances to spot her.
After so many years and with her hair cut short, plus the sunglasses, even if a former classmate stood right next to her, it’d be hard to recognize her at a glance.
Only the Main Organizer knew that Zhōu Shíyì was coming to the concert; Lù Chéng’s studio had no idea.
The Main Organizer’s representative was waiting at the staff entrance. When they arrived, he came forward to greet them.
Zhōu Shíyì formally introduced Zhōng Yì. “My wife.”
“Pleasure to meet you. Congratulations on your marriage!”
Zhōng Yì smiled. “Thank you.”
The Main Organizer’s representative escorted them all the way to their box before leaving.
Jì Fánxīng waved at them. “Over here!”
When they approached, she pointed at the table. “I got the drinks for you.”
“Are Third Uncle and Third Aunt coming?”
“Yes, but they’re not sitting in the box — probably with Director Yu and the others up front.”
Speaking of Director Yu, the video of Jiang Jingyuan and Zhōng Zhuóhuá eating late-night snacks at home had gone viral. The sky hadn’t fallen for netizens, but for Director Yu, it had.
Netizens joked with Director Yu: The family you worked so hard to protect was torn apart by the paparazzi!
“Do you have any spare masks?” Zhōu Shíyì asked Jì Fánxīng.
“Yes. You want one?” As she spoke, Jì Fánxīng pulled one out of her bag for him.
Zhōu Shíyì took the mask, opened it, and handed it to Zhōng Yì.
With a mask on, even Lù Chéng himself might not recognize her, let alone her old classmates.
Zhōng Yì put on the white mask and fixed her short hair in her phone’s selfie camera.
Her finger accidentally hit the shutter, snapping a shot that caught the man next to her — though only half his profile.
Zhōu Shíyì noticed the selfie. She used to love taking selfies while leaning against him.
Ever since he’d carelessly said that her feelings for him were only physical, she’d never leaned on him again. Once, he’d come home late from overtime to find her asleep on the sofa waiting for him.
When she woke and saw him, she instinctively opened her arms for a hug, but suddenly remembered something and let them fall, dejected.
From then until their breakup, they never hugged again.
Zhōng Yì glanced at the accidental selfie. Even though only half his face was in it, she didn’t delete it.
Zhōu Shíyì swallowed a sip of wine. “Want to take another?”
Zhōng Yì hadn’t planned on taking selfies, but since he offered, she nodded.
Zhōu Shíyì leaned a little toward her, but didn’t deliberately look at the camera, just kept sipping his red wine.
Zhōng Yì raised her phone and snapped several shots in a row.
Jì Fánxīng watched the two of them. There was no need for her to play host, so she stood up with her wine. “I’m going to find some friends. Catch up later.”
At seven o’clock sharp, the concert officially began.
As the crowd cheered, Zhōng Yì looked toward the stage.
The lights went out, the holographic screen lit up, and a 3D misty Jiangnan filled the giant screen.
As the familiar melody played, the oar sliced through the water, and in the misty rain, a Wupeng Boat floated toward everyone.
The concert opened with “Dingsheng Cake and Wupeng Boat.”
Zhōng Yì watched as the person slowly descended onto the stage. After so many years apart, they were now like strangers.
Now, he had achieved his dream.
And she had someone to love.
She glanced sideways.
Zhōu Shíyì happened to be looking at her, too.
“Have you ever heard this song before?” she asked.
“I know the story behind it.”
Zhōng Yì said, “I only happened to hear it after I returned to the country.” By then, she and Zhōu Shíyì had already broken up.
She first heard the song in a Jiangcheng promotional video. Lù Chéng’s voice was so distinctive, she recognized it instantly.
“When I was as young as Chénchén, I loved riding boats. Later, when I went to Teacher Yu’s house for art lessons, I’d always try to get out of painting by making my dad take me to buy cake on a boat.
So whether I like boats or cake, it has nothing to do with anyone else — it’s just what I like.”
Zhōu Shíyì looked at her. “Now I know.”
Zhōng Yì finally understood why he cared about the small town more than she’d expected.
Taking this opportunity, she asked again, “The splash screen support — that was your idea, wasn’t it?”
It definitely wasn’t something Du from Kuncheng would have arranged.
Zhōu Shíyì didn’t deny it, just nodded.
“Didn’t you make a wish once?”
He reminded her.
Zhōng Yì remembered: on that New Year’s Eve before they got together, she’d made a wish for Lù Chéng at midnight.
She looked at him, recalling how she’d turned him down back then, and felt a wave of bittersweet emotion. “Thank you for remembering everything about me.”