HIM Chapter 4: Insomnia
“Is it true that you're getting married?” Luo Ming asked as he crossed his legs and played with his phone.
Bo Qin gave a short “Mm,” taking off his hat and mask. Just as he was about to say something, Chen Jie walked over with a stack of documents, her face stern. She slammed them on the table with a loud bang and gave Bo Qin a sharp look.
Bo Qin: “I'll explain everything.”
His phone buzzed with a message. He opened it to find a WeChat friend request. The profile picture was a single character “舟” (“Zhou”) written in flowing black calligraphy on a white background. The note simply said “He Xizhou.”
Bo Qin accepted the request. He Xizhou messaged him, asking if he had any specific requests regarding the new house’s decor and setup.
Bo Qin raised an eyebrow and tapped his phone case with his index finger before replying:
“Just a soundproof studio for composing music and a dance practice room.”
Chen Jie sharply asked who he was texting.
Bo Qin replied: “My fiancé.”
Chen Jie turned around and left without a word.
Luo Ming: “You're done for, bro. The last time I saw that look on Chen Jie's face was four years ago—when you broke your contract with Tiancheng Entertainment.”
“Oh, right!” Luo Ming suddenly burst out laughing as he held up his phone. “That idiot Xiao Chen just followed you with his main account and bought a trending topic for it.”
Bo Qin glanced at the screen. “Is he nuts? Tell Zhu Guanyun to suppress it.”
Luo Ming teased, “This is what they call can’t let go of you. Guess you’re the one that got away.”
Bo Qin kicked him.
Half an hour later, the core team of Bo Qin’s studio gathered. His assistant Xiao Zhu served coffee. Bo Qin took a sip and said calmly,
“When I said I’m getting married, I wasn’t joking.”
Luo Ming gave him a skeptical look. “To who? You're so busy you barely have time to breathe. Who’re you dating, a ghost?”
“Dating a ghost might actually be easier,” said Zhu Guanyun, head of publicity. “At least they won't get caught by the paparazzi. Saves us trouble.”
Everyone chuckled and joked around. Bo Qin just smiled and listened, saying nothing. When they were done, Chen Jie tapped his desk with her pen.
Bo Qin took another sip and said,
“It's a business marriage. Don’t worry too much from the PR side. Ninety percent chance it won’t go public. It’ll end in two years. I’m telling you all so you’re prepared.”
Everyone: “...”
Luo Ming shoved his phone into Bo Qin’s face.
“Dad, look—it's 2020. We’re in the new century, and you're still doing arranged marriages?”
Secretary Hu Ling chimed in:
“The word ‘arranged marriage’ only popped up this morning in the BL novel I was reading.”
Luo Ming joked:
“Who are you even marrying?”
Bo Qin set down his coffee cup, pointed to the towering building across from theirs, and said,
“President He Xizhou of the He Group. If nothing changes, it’s him.”
Everyone: “...”
Luo Ming:
“I mean, if you're gonna aim high, go for the biggest fish... but this is too much.”
Zhu Guanyun:
“Boss, stop joking. If the He Group wants to destroy us, it’d take less than a minute.”
Bo Qin sighed:
“What do I have to say for you to believe me? You think I have a reason to joke about this?”
Luo Ming:
“Even you saying you're getting married is already unbelievable. If your family is rich enough to marry into the He Group, then why the hell are you working in entertainment?”
Chen Jie, ever the calmest, asked,
“Xiao Qin, the money for terminating your contract with Tiancheng—did your family pay for it?”
Bo Qin nodded.
“Ah.” Luo Ming said.
“Bro, that’s shady. Are you some rich heir coming to experience the struggles of the common folk?”
Luo Ming opened his browser.
“Don’t tell me your dad is Bo Nanhai.”
Bo Qin gave a slight nod.
Everyone’s eyes turned to him. Luo Ming held up the search results for Bo Nanhai’s profile.
“Say it again. Who is this real estate tycoon?”
Bo Qin expressionless:
“Bo Nanhai. My father.”
Everyone: “...”
Luo Ming:
“His profile says Bo Nanhai has two sons.” He stood up. “Why are we even having a meeting? Let’s just quit. Forget taxes, forget music, cancel the drama—what’s the point of trying when our boss is a freakin’ heir?”
Bo Qin knew Luo Ming was mad. He’d hidden it from him for years. He pulled Luo Ming back into his seat.
“I didn’t mean to hide it. I’m not close to my family. I was sent away at birth.”
Bo Qin explained:
“I only found out who my parents were when I was sixteen. That they had status. The money to end the Tiancheng contract four years ago came from my family, but the condition was this arranged marriage.”
The room was silent as Bo Qin continued,
“I wasn’t trying to hide it to be deceitful. I just didn’t know how to explain. I grew up with my grandfather on an island. My parents were strangers to me. This marriage is purely a business deal. I don’t even have inheritance rights. Bo Nanhai’s company shares have nothing to do with me.”
“But you’re right—I should have told you. You’ve been my partners all along.”
Luo Ming patted his shoulder. The mood turned heavy.
After a while, Chen Jie asked:
“Do we need to prepare anything?”
“No,” Bo Qin shook his head. “Everything stays the same. He Group will handle it. It's just a formality. We’ll divorce in two years.”
He added:
“All shows, appearances, and plans proceed as usual. I just wanted to give you all a heads-up.”
Silence.
Hu Ling:
“This is surreal.”
Luo Ming:
“Is this what rich people’s lives are like?”
Zhu Guanyun:
“Didn’t even have time to celebrate getting a powerful backer before finding out he’s not actually that powerful.”
Bo Qin chuckled, then stood up.
“Alright, time for the big meeting.”
As the boss of his studio, Bo Qin was the real decision-maker. Though Chen Jie acted as his manager, all key decisions were ultimately his. During small meetings, he was laid-back with his team. But at big meetings, he became a different person—calm, decisive, and all business.
Last year, Bo Qin released his fourth album. PR had been handled in-house, but results weren’t ideal. He was considering outsourcing, and the two top contenders were Tiancheng Entertainment and He Group’s Hedong Entertainment.
Both options gave him a headache.
The meeting lasted two hours. Everything was settled except for choosing the PR agency. When it ended, Chen Jie told him Director Wang had messaged—Bo Qin passed the audition.
He was surprised—he thought he hadn’t done well and hadn’t counted on getting the part. He hadn’t even included acting in this year’s plan.
Chen Jie asked if he wanted to take the role.
Bo Qin read the script again. A Republican-era drama, with a strong character. The male lead was Cheng Ziye, last year’s Golden Statue Best Actor.
“Cheng Ziye hasn’t done a drama in years.” Bo Qin considered it, checked his schedule, and tapped his laptop.
“Let’s do it. My costume drama from two years ago still hasn’t aired. If this finishes smoothly, maybe I can have back-to-back releases next year.”
Chen Jie:
“With Director Wang, landing a role is already a win. The drama’s already got a TV slot lined up.”
She handed him a lozenge.
“Your voice has been sounding hoarse lately. Take care of it.”
Bo Qin smiled and ate one, then lay on the couch to rest. He wasn’t wearing makeup, his skin pale as ever, but he looked drained. Sunlight streamed through the window. Bo Qin frowned and covered his eyes with his hat.
Chen Jie, knowing he wasn’t asleep, kept talking about work.
“...The DVD for your concert, we’re thinking…”
She turned and realized he’d actually fallen asleep—for once.
She sighed, a little heartbroken, and asked Xiao Zhu to fetch a small blanket and gently laid it over him.
The break room fell completely quiet.
When Bo Qin woke up, it was already evening. Rarely had he slept so soundly. He got up too quickly, feeling dizzy, and turned on the light as he stepped out—only to find the studio empty except for Luo Ming playing games on the first-floor sofa.
Bo Qin kicked Luo Ming’s leg to make space and sat down beside him, joining him for a match on his phone.
Forty minutes later, they stretched and got ready to go. Bo Qin put on his mask and hat, then lazily followed Luo Ming to the car.
He played his own music in the car.
Luo Ming asked:
“What do you want to eat?”
“Hotpot.”
Luo Ming gave him a look.
“Yuan-yang broth. I’ll take the light soup side. Just let me indulge—I haven’t had it in three months.”
The place they picked was private. They skipped the alcohol and chatted aimlessly. After eating, Bo Qin realized he was too full.
Bo Qin groaned:
“Now I have to work out again.”
Luo Ming patted his beer belly and burped:
“Must be nice having such problems.”
Bo Qin told him to get lost.
Luo Ming dropped him off at his apartment at 3 a.m. Bo Qin, after digesting, ran on the treadmill and did his usual workout. Then he showered and walked out of the bathroom shirtless.
There was a message from seven hours ago from Bo Youzhao. Bo Qin had avoided reading it to keep his mood intact. Now he opened it—it was a notice to return to the old house.
He deleted it out of habit. He had no intention of going.
Unable to sleep, Bo Qin wanted a drink or a smoke but didn’t dare ruin his voice.
The moon was beautiful that night. He wanted to open the curtain but gave up, worried about paparazzi. To distract himself, he went to the second-floor music room and dove into his work.
But tonight wasn’t productive. After two hours of composing, he deleted everything.
He played one of his favorite songs on loop and sat on the couch, staring at his reflection in the window—expressionless—listening to his own voice shout, “Don’t walk into the sea!”
In the end, Bo Qin still tasted what he feared most: that dullness that came when all the spotlight faded.
Call it loneliness, if you want.
Bo Qin hated every sleepless night, because he couldn’t control his emotions.
Maybe it was his childhood—he lacked love and security. When he was young, he always wanted to be special, to feel like he mattered. He lived too long in the shadow of his older brother. He was always trying to prove that Bo Qin is Bo Qin, not anyone else.
That’s why he became a star—he loved hearing people call his name, loved the public, blatant affection.
Because of that, he could take all the malicious insults, the hate, the prejudice that came with it. After all, nothing in this world comes free.
If you have to endure hate in exchange for love, then Bo Qin felt it was worth it.
That way, at least, it all felt fair. And that fairness made it bearable.
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