HIM Chapter 8: "So Urgent?"
Bo Qin and He Xizhou finally finished that huge bowl of noodles. When Bo Qin swallowed the last bite, he thought, Finally, it’s over.
Then he watched as He Xizhou calmly drank the remaining soup from the bowl.
Bo Qin: …Bro, that’s intense.
He glanced at He Xizhou, who elegantly and gracefully used a handkerchief to slowly wipe his hands, completely ignoring Bo Qin’s stare.
He stood up, and for once smiled a little. “Take your time. The soup’s pretty good too.”
Bo Qin: “…”
Mama He looked at him with hopeful eyes.
Bo Qin closed his eyes and downed the soup in one go.
Mama He smiled with satisfaction.
On a summer night with cicadas chirping, Bo Qin stood on the balcony of the He family’s second floor, a cigarette between his fingers but unlit. His handsome face appeared faintly behind wisps of smoke.
Honestly, he was still in shock from that bowl of noodles.
It had left him bewildered.
Suddenly, his phone rang, breaking the stillness of the night. Bo Qin snapped out of it and answered the call.
A soft female voice on the other end said, “...Did I catch you at a bad time?”
Bo Qin smiled a little. “Nope.”
“I just got into town today to buy supplies after coming down from the mountains. My phone only just got service. I know it’s late, but I still wanted to congratulate you on your concert’s success.”
Bo Qin thanked her with a smile.
Wen Hua said, “I received another payment from your studio today. Why was it more than usual?”
Bo Qin stubbed out the cigarette. “I took on a watch endorsement this month. That’s where the extra came from.”
Wen Hua responded with an “Ah,” and said, “But you really don’t have to send so much. You must have plenty of expenses in the entertainment industry.”
Bo Qin comforted her, saying it was no big deal—he knew what he was doing.
Though Wen Hua’s voice was gentle, she was someone who acted swiftly and decisively. Bo Qin met her while filming a public service ad for free lunches in mountain villages. He had been there just as a celebrity appearance, while Wen Hua, the project’s founder, was coordinating things.
Bo Qin would never forget the moment he walked into that mountain village and saw the children. It had been drizzling, the mountains vast and desolate. He stood there in glamorous clothing, surrounded by spotlights and cameras, while the children stood awkwardly behind him. When the “prop” meals were brought out for the shoot, the looks in those children’s eyes made his heart ache.
After filming, Bo Qin privately got Wen Hua’s contact and started sending her money monthly. She named the project Spring Sprout—after the charity song Bo Qin released after the ad campaign.
Wen Hua still thought the money was a bit too much and tried to get Bo Qin to take some back.
Bo Qin sighed and said, “Sis, I admit I might’ve had other motives at first—maybe I was just putting on a show, maybe my conscience just got pricked—but I’ve been sending money for years now. That proves I genuinely want to help.”
Wen Hua replied, “I know, I know.”
“So don’t worry. Compared to the real groundwork you and your team are doing, my money’s nothing. I can only contribute financially—you’re the ones handling the gritty, difficult parts. I’ll keep sending as much as I can.” He chuckled. “As long as I haven’t fallen off the radar in showbiz, that is.”
The evening breeze was gentle as Bo Qin leaned against the balcony railing, staring at the star-filled sky.
Wen Hua laughed and changed the subject, sharing a few cute stories about the kids. As they wrapped up the call, she added, “Oh right, the kids recorded a group performance of Spring Sprout for you. I filmed it, but there’s no internet in the village, so I’ll send it once I’m back in town.”
Bo Qin smiled. “I’ll wait. No rush.”
Just as Wen Hua hung up, his manager Chen Jie called.
Bo Qin answered weakly, “Hello…”
Chen Jie reminded him about work the next day and told him to rest early—no gaming tonight. Bo Qin agreed, “Got it, Mama Chen.”
Chen Jie snapped back, “Like hell you got it. And hey, figure out something to post. It’s been almost two weeks since your last appearance.”
Bo Qin thought about it. She was right. “Okay, I’ll see what I can record.”
After hanging up, he realized it was a bit of a problem—he was still at He Xizhou’s house, and the video background might not be ideal.
Bo Qin asked Mama He about it. When she heard he wanted to play piano, she was thrilled and immediately took him up to the third floor.
“I always wanted a child to learn piano when I was pregnant,” she said, opening the door with a key. “But neither of them had a musical bone in their body.”
Bo Qin hadn’t been hopeful, and once he saw the long-unused piano, he completely gave up.
The piano was high-end, the equipment top-tier, and the room exquisitely decorated—clearly expensive.
Bo Qin asked, “Auntie, did you get this to play yourself?”
She blinked. “Nope. Just liked it, so I got one.”
Bo Qin: “…”
The world of the rich is beyond me.
As expected, the piano was out of tune. Mama He looked a little disappointed. Bo Qin thought for a moment and asked, “Do you have a guitar? Or a violin?”
Her eyes lit up. “Xizhou has one in his study!”
Bo Qin was about to refuse, but she eagerly dragged him toward the second floor. “Let’s go borrow it!”
He quickly stopped her. “No, Auntie, let’s not bother him while he’s working.”
“What bother? It’s just a guitar!”
She was clearly excited. “You don’t know how bored I get here. Linglan’s married and gone, Xizhou’s so quiet and always working, and his dad’s off filming in Africa. I’m all alone.”
She grinned like a kid. “I want to hear you play guitar!”
Bo Qin paused, then smiled. “I’ll play for you later.”
He Xizhou’s study was at the end of the second floor. Mama He knocked softly, and he immediately responded.
He wore silver-rimmed, rimless glasses and had his hair down. Probably because he was at home, he looked a lot gentler. As he opened the door and let them in, Bo Qin once again caught that familiar, cool scent.
He Xizhou gently asked what they needed.
Mama He replied, “Xiao Qin wants to record a video. We’re here to borrow your guitar.”
He Xizhou glanced at Bo Qin, who rubbed his nose, a bit embarrassed.
The study stunned Bo Qin—it was lined with wooden bookshelves packed with books. A refined scent of paper and ink lingered in the air. One wall was filled with antique shelves showcasing porcelain and artifacts, even Bo Qin could tell were worth a fortune.
More than that, the study felt warm and lived-in. The carpet muted footsteps, a reading lamp stood beside the sofa, and a book bookmarked midway rested gently on the side table. Every corner had signs of reading—books, photos, scattered casually but artfully.
This was a room curated by someone with exquisite taste—clearly well-used and loved.
He Xizhou retrieved the guitar case from the wooden cabinet and handed it to Bo Qin.
Bo Qin thanked him and asked, “When was the last time you played this?”
He Xizhou understood. “Might need retuning—it’s been a while.”
He added, “I might not have a tuner, though.”
That wasn’t a problem for Bo Qin. Slinging the guitar over his back, he sincerely said, “No worries, I prefer tuning by ear anyway. Thanks.”
Mama He looked at them and said, “Didn’t you want to record the video? Just do it here!”
Bo Qin panicked. Borrowing the guitar was already pushing it. Recording the video here? He’d lose it.
He rejected her instantly. “No need, really, I’ll manage elsewhere.”
She looked a little disappointed, but before she could say anything, He Xizhou said, “Just record it here.”
Bo Qin looked at him like he’d seen a ghost.
He Xizhou raised an eyebrow. “Sit on the sofa. Close the curtains behind you—no one will know where you are.”
Five minutes later, Bo Qin sat on the sofa with the guitar. Mama He and He Xizhou sat cross-legged on the carpet across from him. He Xizhou was adjusting his DSLR camera.
As the camera started recording, Bo Qin tuned the guitar, the strings humming softly. Gradually, the music eased his nerves, and he forgot his earlier tension. His pale, slender fingers contrasted beautifully with the guitar’s darker wood.
It was striking—like art.
Mama He leaned against He Xizhou, resting her cheek on her hand, quietly listening to Bo Qin play.
He played Spring Sprout.
He didn’t sing, just played quietly. Every note resonated with a sense of hope for the future.
Powerful yet soothing.
When the song ended, Bo Qin smiled a little and said, “I cut my nails recently—fingering still kinda hurts.” He looked at the camera. “Goodnight.”
He Xizhou looked through the camera and locked eyes with him as he ended the recording.
Mama He hugged her knees and said, “That was so beautiful. Really.” Then she asked, “What’s the song called?”
Bo Qin carefully put the guitar back in its case. It felt custom-made—different in his hands. “Spring Sprout,” he said. Then, a little shyly, “It’s a charity single I released.”
She clapped excitedly. “No wonder it’s so good—it’s your own song!”
Bo Qin felt his face heat up.
He handed the guitar back to He Xizhou and thanked him again.
He Xizhou put it away. “Do you need the video now?”
Bo Qin: “Yeah. If you don’t mind, I can transfer it myself.”
“It’s no big deal.” He Xizhou sat behind his desk and turned on his computer. The file he had been working on earlier immediately appeared, and Bo Qin quickly averted his eyes.
He Xizhou saved and exited, saying, “It’ll only take a few minutes.”
Bo Qin thought he was just being protective of his camera and totally understood. He waited quietly on the sofa.
Mama He smiled and left to cut up a fruit platter.
Bo Qin felt awkward. Pulling out his phone felt rude, but small talk with He Xizhou felt unthinkable. He turned to the book on the side table—Ulysses—and went into a daze.
Ten minutes passed.
Bo Qin thought to himself, Seriously? You spaced out for ten minutes? What are you, a moron?
He looked up. He Xizhou was still focused on his screen. Bo Qin asked, a little sheepishly, “Um… is the video not done yet?”
He Xizhou: “I exported it ages ago.”
Bo Qin: “? Then why didn’t you send it to me?”
He Xizhou chuckled. “You were zoning out so intently, I didn’t have the heart to interrupt.”
Bo Qin: “…”
He Xizhou tapped on his phone. “Done. Sent.”
Bo Qin stood up. “Thanks.” He briskly left the study and ran into Mama He carrying a fruit platter.
She asked, puzzled, “Xiao Qin, what’s the rush? You’re not having any fruit?”
Bo Qin, already halfway down the stairs: “No thanks, I gotta post the video.”
Mama He: “In that much of a hurry?”
[Author’s Note]: Some people look like cold, aloof CEOs on the outside…
But inside, they’re softcore literature nerds.
(Not talking about President He or anything.)
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