HIM Chapter 5: Rich People and Their Endless Quirks
The next day, Bo Qin received the script from Director Wang. With a phone wedged between his ear and shoulder, he watched the printer slowly spit out pages and said, “The album probably won’t be released this year. Filming means staying with the crew for at least three months, so the promotional stuff will have to wait.”
Chen-jie on the other end of the line asked, “Really? I thought you were already more than halfway done?”
Bo Qin sighed, stacked the script together neatly, and stapled it. “I scrapped everything and started over. The theme was off. I need to rethink it.”
Chen-jie didn’t push further—Bo Qin had always been a perfectionist when it came to music. He’d rather take two years to release one song than churn out a rushed album just to milk fans.
She knew she couldn't win this argument.
“Oh, right,” Bo Qin added, “My back’s been acting up. If Dr. Li is free, can you ask him to come by?”
Her voice instantly went up an octave: “Is it serious? Why is it acting up again?”
“Not serious. Still manageable,” Bo Qin dodged the topic. “Also, call Tony for a haircut. The new role needs one.”
“...Tony flew to Sanya yesterday. Vacation.”
Bo Qin clicked his tongue, “Ran faster than me.” Then added, “See if Dr. Li can come. I’m at Bluewater Bay.”
After hanging up, he texted Tony. The reply was quick:
“Big star, you really can’t rest even at home without doing your hair?”
“I need a trim for the new role, and my hair quality sucks. Gotta cut it to give it a break.”
Tony sent a voice message in his usual exaggeratedly soft and flirty tone—oddly mismatched with his deep voice:
“You’re such a pain! I’m on vacation, y’know!”
Bo Qin replied,
“Who pays for your vacations again? Just find someone reliable. It’s just a haircut.”
Tony gave in:
“Fine. Send me the address. I’ll have my apprentice drop by.”
Bo Qin joked:
“Little Tony?”
Tony had been his stylist back in the group days and was pretty well-known in the industry. After Bo Qin went solo, he brought Tony along, knowing his aesthetic sense aligned perfectly with Bo Qin’s. Tony was one of the few who’d stuck with him the longest.
Tony replied:
“Pfft. His name’s Mark.”
When Mark arrived at Bluewater Bay, it was already 8 p.m. He followed the address Tony gave him to the upscale neighborhood—clearly a newly developed high-end place.
He rang the doorbell, oddly nervous, rehearsing what to say when they met.
But it wasn’t Bo Qin who opened the door. It was a middle-aged man. Mark froze slightly, but then heard a familiar voice say, “Mark?”
For the first time ever, Mark regretted this name choice.
The middle-aged man gave him a nod and turned to Bo Qin, saying, “Be careful during dance practice. I’ll come back next week for another session.”
Bo Qin was wearing a black bathrobe for easier access during Dr. Li’s massage. It hugged his muscular frame, the belt cinched tightly around his waist, exposing his well-defined collarbones and pale chest. The contrast of black fabric on his snowy skin gave off a striking allure.
Bo Qin nodded with arms crossed, “Thanks.”
Then he turned to Mark, raising an eyebrow:
“Come in.”
Mark stepped inside with his tools and heard Bo Qin say:
“Shoes go in the second cabinet.”
His voice was clean and cool, sounding crisper in person than over the phone—less magnetic, more icy.
Mark looked up and saw Bo Qin bending down to grab a cigarette. He placed one in his mouth, lit it with a flick, the flame highlighting his refined features and adding a touch of aloofness.
Mark thought: He’s even better-looking in person.
“Mark, right?” Bo Qin said with a hint of amusement, cigarette between fingers.
“Your name’s just like your mentor’s.”
Mark: “…”
He silently covered his face in embarrassment.
Bo Qin had medium-long hair, cut to neck-length for his concert. With his elegant, restrained looks, he suited more androgynous styles. His concert hair and outfit—designed by Tony and team—had been a peak moment that won over plenty of fans for his looks alone.
Bo Qin took a couple puffs before snubbing out the cigarette. He led Mark into the walk-in closet and said,
“Nothing too flashy. Just trim it up to the ears.”
As he removed his earring, he added, “Thanks.”
Mark stood behind Bo Qin, gently positioning his head, studying his face in the mirror. To break the silence, he joked:
“Bo-laoshi, you’re not quite how I imagined.”
Bo Qin didn’t ask how—just replied,
“That’s normal. Everyone says that.”
Mark lifted a damp strand of hair and began cutting, staying focused. But his mind wandered.
Bo Qin’s personality, like his looks, was vivid and unique. His songs, his stage presence, his performances, his interviews—everything about him was intensely, unmistakably Bo Qin.
He laid himself bare to the audience. That honesty made people either love him madly or hate him deeply.
Artists with standard public personas don’t provoke that kind of reaction. Being too sharp always hurts someone. Sometimes, being shallow is more popular.
“All done.” Mark removed the protective cape and said,
“You look pretty fierce, Bo-laoshi.”
Without the softening effect of long hair, Bo Qin’s features seemed even sharper. He smiled faintly, the fierceness melting away.
“Not that fierce, right?”
As he was about to leave, Mark carefully pulled out a physical album and asked for an autograph.
Bo Qin looked surprised when he took the album—its cover featured a topless version of himself, eyes blindfolded, holding a huge bouquet of sunflowers.
“This was my first solo album. You actually have it?”
He gently ran his fingers over the well-preserved cover, signed it, and said,
“There probably aren’t many people who still have this.”
Physical albums had high cost and low return. Basically a financial loss. After going solo and blowing up, Bo Qin insisted on releasing a physical album despite his team’s opposition. It flopped hard, and he never touched the idea again.
“It’s valuable now. You can’t even buy it anymore,” Mark said as he carefully took it back. “So… when’s your fifth album coming?”
“Not decided yet,” Bo Qin capped the pen.
“Lucky I’m still relevant. If I wasn’t, no one would even want this thing for free.”
Before Mark could respond, Bo Qin gently hinted,
“It’s late. You should head back and rest.”
After Mark left, Bo Qin showered, then lay on the couch reading the script. It was a Republican-era drama with compelling characters and plot. The role he was auditioning for was the second male lead.
As he read and memorized, he flipped through the script entirely and noticed it was already midnight.
Bo Qin wasn’t sleepy. He didn’t want to go to the music room either—he was creatively blocked, and that frustration was eating at him.
So he killed time by scrolling through Weibo on his alt account. After watching some memes and short videos, he made the mistake of opening the trending topics.
Right at the top was a name he really didn’t want to see:
Jiang Rong’s Medium-Long Hair in a Bun
Expressionless, Bo Qin tapped into it. The top posts were mostly fans hyping him up. Scrolling down, he found a poll comparing their similar hairstyles, with edited pics of him and Jiang Rong.
Comments:
-
“Aww, Rong Bao looks so cute! No comparison needed!”
-
“Honestly, Jiang Rong’s hairstyle looks a lot like Bo Qin’s. Don’t argue, just agree.”
-
“It does, but I don’t think it suits Jiang Rong. He should stick with clean-cut styles.”
-
“This hairstyle is picky. Not everyone can pull it off like Bo Qin.”
-
“Can Bo Qin just walk on his own instead of constantly riding on Rong Bao’s coattails?”
-
“Looks like six-years-ago Bo Qin—he was a skinny little dumpling back then~”
-
“LMAO, pretending to be neutral? Please.”
Another said:
“Bo Qin used to be a sweet bottom-type, now he’s a cold, aloof top—but I like both!”
Another:
“Not sure if I want to top him or be topped by him.”
Bo Qin exited the app.
Why the hell am I even reading this…
He was about to put down his phone when a WeChat message came in—from He Xizhou.
“What day are you free this month? The He and Bo families are hosting a banquet.”
Bo Qin rolled his eyes: Rich people and their weird traditions.
He asked Chen-jie to check his schedule. Five minutes later, he replied:
“Next Saturday?”
He Xizhou:
“Okay. Want me to send someone to pick you up?”
Bo Qin:
“No need.”
End of conversation.
Just as he was about to close the chat, he hesitated. Out of sheer boredom, he tapped into He Xizhou’s Moments.
Surprisingly, they didn’t match his aloof image at all—more homey, even kinda artsy.
There were no privacy settings—everything was visible. As Bo Qin scrolled back, he found mostly photos of a Samoyed dog, basically watching it grow up. Some family pics. But mostly... photos.
Art exhibits, travel, scenic shots, sketches… all beautifully composed and color-graded, with a strong personal style.
He double-checked. Yep, this was He Xizhou, CEO of He Group, not some artsy photography bro.
Bo Qin was genuinely intrigued now, curled under his covers flipping through images: majestic mountains, eagles soaring, crystal-blue oceans, sunsets on deserts, new sprouts in barren lands…
Looking at his own empty feed, Bo Qin reflected briefly on how boring he was.
You really can’t judge a person by appearance. Or even by vibe.
Lesson learned.
Just as he was about to close it, his finger paused—he saw a photo of He Xizhou that completely threw him off.
It was sunny, blue skies and fluffy clouds. He Xizhou’s hair was messy like a college kid’s. He wore a graffiti-covered white T-shirt, blue jeans, and white sneakers—laid-back and effortlessly cool. A black-and-yellow camera strap hung from his neck, framing his neck and collarbones perfectly.
Date: Four years ago.
Bo Qin saved the image before he even realized, then stared at it blankly—
That was kinda… gay.
He was about to delete it when Luo Ming sent him a link with a flood of laughing emojis:
“Bo Qin’s descent from sweet to sultry: the ultimate villain arc. Bro, I can’t with this!”
Bo Qin replied:
“...You done arranging the music?”
Luo Ming:
“With drama like this? Who’s arranging anything?! Also saw a Bo Qin × Jiang Rong CP post, I’m DEAD—”
Bo Qin, emotionally exhausted, ended the chat.
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