Mad Dog

As November approached, Zhi Qi returned to school, and a moderate event unfolded in the entertainment industry.
For Zhi Qi and Jiang Qi, it wasn’t anything earth-shattering, but for the online gossip crowd, it was quite a scoop, even challenging some of their long-held biases.
—The incident stemmed from a lengthy post by Qu Heng on his Weibo.
The title was artistic and rather cryptic: “The Story of That Boy.”
Upon clicking, people were surprised to find that Qu Heng’s post wasn’t a reflection of his own emotions but rather a letter written to Jiang Qi.
He addressed the online audience in a tone akin to that of an old friend, recounting a young boy’s story that moved him to write.
Coincidentally, this boy happened to be the male lead in his film.
The article described some events from Jiang Qi’s life before he entered the industry, detailing the people around him and his growth. Qu Heng was subtle where he needed to be, emotional where it was warranted, and he also directly addressed a few points:
1. He discreetly explained the reason behind Jiang Qi’s imprisonment.
3. He tackled the question of whether the boy truly had a mental illness, and whether the diagnosis was genuine or a fabrication to “clear his name” as some netizens claimed.
……
Regarding the last point, Qu Heng humorously expressed, “If that kid didn’t have a problem, would I let him delay my crew? I’d definitely sue him!”
And indeed, that was Qu Heng’s genuine thought back then.
However, time had passed, and his mindset had significantly changed.
As a director and screenwriter, Qu Heng wielded his pen like a weapon—sharp, emotional, satirical, and profound; he could craft articles that manipulated people’s hearts with ease.
Yet this time, he simply portrayed “the story of that boy” in a straightforward manner, without unnecessary emotional flair or ornate language, just a candid narration.
The reason was simple: Qu Heng was a discerning director who believed that Jiang Qi’s growth experiences were moving enough on their own, and the girl who had always accompanied him, Zhi Qi, was even more compelling.
In the article, Zhi Qi was depicted as Qu Heng’s “sun,” illuminating everything around her. She never gave up on redeeming Jiang Qi.
She thought of every possible way to shine through for him, just like the sun’s rays.
To protect the privacy of the non-public figure, Qu Heng hadn’t explicitly mentioned her name.
However, anyone who carefully read the article would understand that this “sun” was, in fact, Jiang Qi’s non-public girlfriend.
Many people were moved to tears by Qu Heng’s masterful writing, while others questioned the authenticity of the content.
They still focused on Jiang Qi’s usual two points of criticism: the reason for his imprisonment and his medical records.
If Jiang Qi had, as Qu Heng stated, willingly taken the blame for that old man and went to prison, then where was that old man? Wasn’t this another form of crime—protecting the real criminal? Regardless, the traces of abuse on Jiang Qi were evident; otherwise, Qu Heng wouldn’t have needed to use “body painting” for the nude scenes.
So his explanation provided some clarification.
The other point was the ongoing criticism of Jiang Qi’s “mental health issues.”
Even with medical records, the gossip crowd and haters were never shy about interpreting a person’s situation with the most malicious intent. So Qu Heng’s article primarily explained things to those genuinely curious, while the haters remained obstinate—after all, they had their own beliefs.
Nevertheless, this article did help improve Jiang Qi’s reputation to some extent.
Especially with subsequent shares from Shen Lei and others, Qu Heng’s post gained further traction.
When Jiang Qi read the article, he was cuddling with Zhi Qi at home. Having not seen each other for months, their reunion was naturally passionate. He had Zhi Qi pinned against the sofa, teasing her, when he received a call from Qiu Mi.
“Ha ha, you should answer the call first.” Zhi Qi, feeling ticklish all over, took the opportunity to escape, smiling mischievously. “Hurry up and pick up.”
It was clear that she didn’t want to continue “playing” right now. Jiang Qi smiled helplessly and answered the phone, his voice surprisingly gentle, with a hint of lingering warmth: “Hello.”
Then he heard Qiu Mi conveying the news.
Jiang Qi paused for a moment. After hanging up, he first checked Weibo and, unsurprisingly, saw his name alongside Qu Heng’s, ranking third on the trending list.
#Qu Heng Writes Long Article About Jiang Qi#.
Seeing his unusual expression, Zhi Qi leaned over curiously and saw the content on the screen.
“Director Qu…” she murmured, taking Jiang Qi’s phone to open the article. After reading it carefully for a while, she suddenly realized, “So that’s why he asked those questions.”
Earlier, Qu Heng had added her on WeChat, saying he wanted to learn about Jiang Qi’s past to help with his character exploration for the script. She thought this request was reasonable and agreed.
In the subsequent chats on WeChat, Zhi Qi had told Qu Heng quite a bit about Jiang Qi’s previous experiences.
But she hadn’t expected the director to use this information to write an article about Jiang Qi.
This meticulously detailed writing shared all his grievances with the world… Zhi Qi felt a surge of emotion, almost like a motherly fan.
Jiang Qi quietly pressed his lips together and, after a long pause, took the phone and called Qu Heng.
Zhi Qi heard him ask, “Qu Ge, why did you do this?”
In the quiet living room, both of them fell silent.
It was so quiet that Zhi Qi could hear the man’s voice on the other end of the line, clear and smiling, as he replied, “Consider it my ‘acting fee’ for you.”
Jiang Qi frowned. “Qu Ge, I really didn’t…”
“Shh, Xiao Jiang, let me talk.” Qu Heng interrupted him, his bright voice taking on a serious tone: “You’re a very good actor, talented and hardworking. I believe you can thrive in this industry.”
“But here, you can’t believe in the nonsense about ‘a clear conscience clears the mind.’ You’re as stubborn as a blockhead, unwilling to explain, but you can’t remain silent.”
“You can’t let others think you’re ‘guilty’ just because you’re quiet, especially if you want sustainable development.”
“I treat you as a friend, so I wrote this little essay for you. Do you understand?”
Jiang Qi remained silent for a long time. He gripped the phone so tightly that his long fingers turned pale before he finally spoke in a hoarse voice.
“Qu Ge,” the boy said softly, “thank you.”
“No need to thank me. I told you this is an acting fee, something you deserve.” Qu Heng laughed on the other end, appearing very relaxed. “Moreover, a good reputation for the male lead is beneficial for my box office too.”
Jiang Qi smiled, not flattering Qu Heng’s statement.
“The final cut will be ready for the Venice Film Festival by January.” Qu Heng sighed. “I hope to win an award.”
He seemed to casually mention this before hanging up.
However, Jiang Qi recalled what Shen Lei had said before—Qu Heng had long since stopped looking at the domestic awards he had already won; he was aiming for international recognition, the big three.
Qu Heng had also mentioned that the script for “Proud Princess” was the one he had polished the longest and had the best chance of being nominated.
January was still over two months away, but it felt as if time had suddenly accelerated, and before he knew it, it would be gone in the blink of an eye.
Jiang Qi silently hoped Qu Heng’s wish would come true. As he thought this, Zhi Qi’s small, soft hand grasped the fingers resting on his knee.
“Jiang Qi,” Zhi Qi leaned her head against the boy’s shoulder, looking at him closely. “What are you thinking about?”
After a moment of silence, Jiang Qi honestly said, “Qi Qi, I owe Qu Ge a favor.”
Both Shen Lei and Qu Heng could be considered “benefactors” who had changed the course of his life; their kindness weighed heavily.
But Jiang Qi didn’t know how to repay them.
He was the kind of person who could calmly handle others’ indifference and malice. If things didn’t go well, he would respond in kind without fear of cold looks or ridicule, so he never explained his supposed “dark spots.”
But when it came to kindness conveyed by others, he felt at a loss.
“Jiang Qi, do you feel pressured?” Zhi Qi rested her forehead against the boy’s, smiling gently as she asked. Her long legs curled up against his waist, the two of them were incredibly close—almost intimately connected, their breaths mingling. This tender closeness made Jiang Qi unconsciously feel a sense of security and satisfaction.
So he honestly nodded, softly saying, “Mm.”
“Don’t feel pressured, and don’t think of yourself as carrying a mountain of debt.” Zhi Qi understood Jiang Qi, so she knew what was troubling him. She shrugged and wrapped her arms around his neck, her voice light-hearted. “You know? The true hope these two directors have for you is that you can develop well in this industry, hone your acting skills, and flourish…”
At this point, her tone shifted as she smiled and asked him, “If you want to repay them, do you know how to do it?”
Jiang Qi shook his head, his eyes genuinely confused, looking at the girl with a thirst
for guidance.
“Become successful, really successful.” Having undergone Meng Chunyu’s “training,” Zhi Qi, now a level ten fan, smiled and said without hesitation. “Then act in their films for free and promote them well; that’s the real repayment.”
This was also Shen Lei and Qu Heng’s true expectation for Jiang Qi, or one could say, it was an “investment.”
The boy, once bewildered and confused, gradually gained clarity, emerging from his previous daze. Looking at the girl’s gleaming white teeth biting into her rosy lips, her smiling face made his heart dim slightly, and he lowered his head to kiss her.
“No.” However, Zhi Qi’s small hand covered his lips.
She knew Jiang Qi too well; if he truly kissed her, it would go on endlessly—wouldn’t that waste the precious time they had together today?
The boy blinked, looking at her, seemingly asking why.
“I don’t want that; it hurts.” Zhi Qi’s face flushed slightly as she pouted playfully, “Let’s go out and play, okay?”
Jiang Qi naturally acquiesced. Hearing this, he picked the girl up and started putting on clothes. “Where to?”
Zhi Qi thought for a moment; she didn’t have a particular place in mind for a date, so she said, “Let’s go see the little dolphins.”
Her little dolphin.
Due to recent events, she hadn’t visited it in a while.