HIM Chapter 2: Posting
The car's air conditioning was blasting, and Bo Qin suddenly felt the chill. Even though he had just slept for a day, drowsiness crept back in. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes.
He Xizhou had a laptop on his lap, working away. His slender, jade-like fingers tapped the keyboard, and the watch on his wrist, paired with his fingers and wrist bone, formed a beautiful arc.
Bo Qin felt slightly uncomfortable—a rare thing in recent years. He Xizhou’s presence was overwhelming, enough to unsettle even Bo Qin, who usually kept his cool in front of countless cameras.
If, four years ago, Bo Qin had accepted He Dong Entertainment’s olive branch after terminating his contract with Tian Cheng, instead of starting his own studio, then technically, He Xizhou could have been his boss.
Bo Qin cracked the window. Wind whipped through his hair, and he squinted against the light.
He and He Xizhou were from completely different worlds. Their only interaction had been at a gala two years ago. Bo Qin went up to receive an award, and He Xizhou slipped out, escorted by a group. In a flash of light, Bo Qin caught a glimpse of his handsome face and aloof demeanor.
A fleeting encounter, like a brush with divinity.
The car turned a corner. Bo Qin looked out at the blindingly white land. He mused that he and He Xizhou really shouldn't have had any overlap.
He Xizhou and Bo Youzhao were cut from the same cloth—elite from birth, almost manufactured in the same mold. Meanwhile, Bo Qin felt like he was two people: one trapped in a shell and struggling, and the other breaking free and charging forward.
They arrived at a serene and elegant clubhouse. Hands in his pockets, Bo Qin followed He Xizhou through a long corridor. Watching his tall figure from behind, Bo Qin realized—He Xizhou was tall. Bo Qin was 178cm, and He Xizhou had half a head on him.
They stopped in front of the door. He Xizhou, ever the gentleman, opened it and gestured. “Please, after you.”
Bo Qin nodded his thanks.
He found it amusing—on their first day of meeting, they were more polite than strangers. Yet, they were bound together by an arranged marriage to form a “family.”
True magical realism.
Seeing Bo Nanhai and his wife inside made Bo Qin momentarily blank out. It had been a while. The woman smiled faintly and said, “Xiao Qin, you’re here.”
That “Xiao Qin” sent shivers down his spine.
Bo Qin knew the rules. He bowed to the Bo family elder. “Grandfather,” he greeted, then turned to He Xizhou’s grandmother—well-preserved, white-haired, and gentle-looking, a perfect contrast to the stern-faced Bo elder.
Bo Grandfather grunted, “Dressed like a slob. Hair neither masculine nor feminine.”
Bo Qin ignored it and greeted He Xizhou’s parents. His father exuded cold elegance, practically He Xizhou’s clone. His mother was poised and gentle, her smile perfectly timed.
“Xiao Qin, you’re very handsome,” she complimented.
Bo Qin didn’t know how to respond. He just smiled politely.
Then came He Xizhou’s turn to greet the elders. The whole ritual took about half an hour. Bo Qin stood upright, used to this. Every family gathering reminded him why feudalism had to be overthrown. Watching He Xizhou engage so gracefully with the elders, Bo Qin wondered if the man found it tiring too.
After the greetings, they finally sat. In the inner room, Bo Qin noticed a tea set. His heart skipped. As if on cue, Bo Grandfather looked at him. Bo Qin instinctively stepped forward to brew tea.
It had been ages, but his muscle memory kicked in. Years of training made his movements fluid.
Bo Grandfather stood ramrod straight with a cane. He wouldn’t sit, so no one else could. Everyone watched as Bo Qin prepared tea.
He didn’t really hear the compliments and small talk that followed. The tea set had thrown him off, dampening his mood. Still, he maintained a perfect facade.
By the time dinner ended, the sun was setting. Bo Qin and He Xizhou escorted Bo Grandfather out. As the car drove away, Bo Qin removed his hair tie, letting his shoulder-length hair fall loose. He exhaled deeply, finally relaxing.
He Xizhou glanced at him. His eyes bright, he asked, “Want me to drive you home?”
Bo Qin didn’t speak, just nodded.
In the car, Bo Qin slouched back. Beside him, He Xizhou unfastened his cufflinks, then loosened two buttons on his shirt, leaning back slightly. Bo Qin turned to see the graceful line of his neck, his Adam’s apple bobbing slightly as he swallowed.
He Xizhou sighed softly.
That sigh made Bo Qin laugh. There was a mutual resignation to their situation.
He Xizhou looked at him, the corners of his eyes curling slightly. The aloof demeanor softened. Was that… exasperation in his voice?
“This is more exhausting than any business meeting.”
Bo Qin raised an eyebrow in surprise. “I’d rather sing and dance for two hours than have that dinner again.”
“Your concert was amazing,” He Xizhou said. “Congratulations on its success.”
Bo Qin thanked him.
He doubted He Xizhou had even seen his concert.
But that didn’t matter.
From the front seat, the assistant handed over a folder. He Xizhou took it and said, “I know this isn’t the best timing, but I’m sure you're busy too, so please excuse the intrusion.”
He passed the folder to Bo Qin. “This is our marriage agreement. Everything’s outlined clearly, including compensation. Take a look—see if anything needs to be added.”
The air-conditioning was still blasting. As Bo Qin reached for the folder, he caught a faint whiff of a cold, clean scent. He Xizhou’s hand was pale and slender, nails neatly trimmed and healthy pink.
Bo Qin didn’t take it. He looked up, meeting He Xizhou’s eyes. The man’s face was unreadable, but there was a certain coldness, a sense of superiority.
“No need, Mr. He,” Bo Qin said. “I don’t need compensation. This marriage—we owe nothing to each other. We'll divorce in two years. As for this agreement—”
He accepted the folder, resting it lightly on his lap. “You’re the head of He Corporation. I’m just a celebrity. The gap between us is too great for me to have any improper thoughts.”
Bo Qin smiled. “I’m a top star. Believe me, I want to keep this marriage secret even more than you do.”
The car arrived at Blue Water Bay. The driver and assistant stayed quiet. Only Bo Qin's voice filled the space.
“Thanks for taking the time to draft this contract,” he said, handing it back. He put on his hat, mask dangling from one ear. “I’m very self-aware. You don’t need to worry.”
He opened the door, bent slightly, hand resting on the doorframe. “As for the new house your mother mentioned—we can split the cost. Though I’m sure the money means little to you.”
He smiled again—different from before. “You can decorate it however you want. I don’t have any preferences.”
He shut the door. “Thanks for the ride, Mr. He. Safe travels.”
Taking a step back, he put on his mask. From his angle, he could only see He Xizhou’s jawline. After a long pause, he finally heard: “You’re welcome.”
The car pulled away. Bo Qin watched it leave before turning to the elevator.
Bo Qin thought: That was impulsive.
Back home, he dug in the freezer and found some dumplings. Not expired. Good enough. The tense dinner left him too stressed to eat, and now he was starving.
He spent the rest of the evening working out, dancing, and locking himself in his music room for two hours. But inspiration was dry—he didn’t write a thing.
Coming out, his manager Chen Jie called.
“Xiao Chen sent him flowers to congratulate you on the concert.”
“It was a good concert until he ruined it,” Bo Qin said. “Send them back—drop them off at Tian Cheng’s office.”
Chen Jie laughed. “You used to be friends. It’s just a gift.”
“Doesn’t count,” Bo Qin said. “Even if I’m in the ground—it still won’t count.”
That night, Bo Qin felt like he was forgetting something. While applying his skincare, he thought and thought but couldn’t figure it out. Just as sleep hit him, he jolted—he forgot to post a selfie.
Wrapped in his blanket, he took some photos and uploaded two on Weibo.
Fans exploded. Bo Qin exited the app, sleepily played a game, then slowly logged back in to check the comments.
He was feeling down—it was late, and he didn’t want to see hate comments.
So he stuck to fan-curated comments: a lot of screaming, “Husband!!!” “Baby we love you!!” and “Don’t stay up late, we love you!”—endless waves of love and flattery.
Every time he read them, Bo Qin felt genuinely grateful to be loved like this.
He clicked on the newest comment—and paused. A familiar username: “The Woman Behind Bo Qin.”
His whole body tensed.
The avatar was his photo from a magazine shoot—a theme of flowers and ethereal youth. The image chosen made Bo Qin look... soft. Feminine, even. At first he thought it was a hater, but the pinned post was full of love declarations. Further down, the posts left him speechless.
Now, once again speechless, Bo Qin clicked, hoping maybe they’d changed. Instead, he saw:
“Wife, wife, wife—you’re so beautiful, sob sob sob. How did I get so lucky to have such a pretty wife?”
Followed by a yellow emoji with heart eyes and tongue sticking out.
Bo Qin: “……”
What did I do to deserve fans like this?
Trying to calm down, Bo Qin reminded himself—it’s been six years since debut. He knows about delusional/dominant-submissive fans. He respects fans who love him—just not always understands them.
He scrolled down. The fan had reposted his recent selfie—face buried in a pillow, only half showing. Even though it was modest (not even collarbones showing), they’d filtered it and captioned it:
“Hubby, I feel so bad…” —in Bo Qin’s supposed voice.
Comments:
“It’s our fault, sweetie. Let me kiss it better.”
“Stupid husbands don’t know how to be gentle!”
“Next time I’ll be gentle, wife~”
Bo Qin: “…...”
Expressionless, he exited the app, turned off the lights, buried himself in bed, and closed his eyes.
A moment later, he opened them again, lifted his shirt, looked down at his perfect six-pack abs, and fell into deep thought.
What the hell are my fans thinking all day...?
Author's Note:
泥塑 (ni su) / Reverse Su – essentially gender-swapping your idol, treating male idols as your girlfriend or female idols as your boyfriend.
Opposite terms: 整肅 (zheng su) / 正蘇 (zheng su) – portraying your idol as they are.
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