HIM Chapter 9: It’s Good to Be Famous
At 4 a.m., Bo Qin had been lying in bed for two hours without falling asleep. He threw on a jacket and got up. The song that had been playing on loop—his own voice singing, “Don’t walk into the sea—” came to an abrupt stop.
He unlocked his phone, the pale glow lighting up his face. In the silence of the night, utterly alone and wide awake, he suddenly found everything incredibly dull.
Maybe it was the contrast—after feeling the warmth and motherly love at the He family home, being back alone at Bluewater Bay felt oddly disorienting.
Bo Qin headed to the top floor, walking out to the rooftop pool. He sat on a lounge chair, staring at the shimmering water.
Nighttime was when emotions ran wild—everything, real or imagined, came to mind. Inevitably, Bo Qin thought of Xiao Chen and Jiang Rong.
It was a feeling he hadn’t experienced in a long time. The last time he’d confronted those names so directly was four years ago. Back then, he’d felt like his life had fallen apart, convinced he wouldn’t make it through. But time had passed, old empires crumbled and rebuilt, and now, after countless turns in the entertainment industry, he and Jiang Rong had swapped places.
Bo Qin let out a soft laugh, thinking: It’s good to be famous.
He took off his jacket and dove into the pool. Eyes open underwater, he basked in the moonlight and the rush of oxygen deprivation, savoring that near-suffocating thrill. Just before hitting his limit, he broke through the surface, gasping for air.
He pulled himself out of the pool, water dripping from his face. Standing at the pool’s edge, he tapped one foot on the surface in rhythm. Suddenly inspired, he turned and sprinted to his music room.
As the guitar strings hummed around him, Bo Qin sat cross-legged, hugging the guitar, jotting down some edits. Then he moved to the piano, worked out a simple melody, and finally stretched with a yawn—realizing only then that he was still shirtless.
He threw on a shirt and walked to the balcony. The sun was rising, gilding the thin clouds in gold. He narrowed his eyes, exhaling. The heaviness in his chest slowly faded.
He sent a simple demo to Luo Ming. When Luo didn’t respond, Bo Qin found it odd—until he checked the time. It was only six in the morning.
Bo Qin took the chance to nap on the sofa for half an hour. Then his assistant Xiao Zhu showed up with stylist Mark and the rest of the styling team right on time.
Wearing a face mask, Bo Qin stood like a puppet, trying on outfit after outfit while Xiao Zhu read his schedule aloud.
During makeup, Bo Qin rested with his eyes closed. His phone suddenly vibrated. Xiao Zhu said it was from Luo and answered, holding the phone to Bo Qin’s ear.
“Hello,” Bo Qin said weakly.
“I listened to your demo. Going for a sad pop ballad? That’s rare for you.”
“How does it sound?” Bo Qin opened his eyes.
“It’s okay. I’ve gone through all the possible harmonies—it’ll be solid, but nothing groundbreaking.”
Bo Qin replied, “I know. Nothing innovative, but the quality’s there. Still feels a bit flat, though. We can release it, or shelve it.”
“Then why release it?”
“To cater to the market and the public.”
As Mark applied eyeliner, Bo Qin didn’t pay attention and teared up. He grabbed a tissue, apologized, and waved off Mark’s concern.
He added, “Just let me finish it in the next two days. You handle the arrangement, and we’ll see if it fits the new album.”
At 8 a.m., Bo Qin was ready. He put on a baseball cap and headed to the airport, forcing himself to perk up as he walked through the flashing cameras. Two hours later, he landed and was greeted by more flashes and fans with flowers and letters.
His assistant shielded him as fans handed over letters.
“Ge, did you cut your hair?”
Bo Qin took off his cap. “Yeah. Doesn’t look good?”
“It looks great!” the fans laughed. “So hot!”
Bo Qin was actually a bit dizzy—he’d barely slept. When he accepted a large bouquet of white roses, he looked up, stunned, and smiled at a girl holding a DSLR.
“Long time no see. Thought you left me for someone else.”
She laughed, voice trembling but steady: “Nope, I just got married recently!”
Bo Qin paused. “Congratulations!” Then he turned to the surrounding fans, “Thank you all for liking me.”
With arms full of flowers and letters, Bo Qin walked through a fan-made path—his fans knew his habits well and gave him space. They quietly watched him get into the van.
Inside the van, he exhaled deeply. Exhausted but unable to sleep from the adrenaline, he took the script from Xiao Zhu and reviewed the lines he’d read on the plane. When tired of memorizing, he read fan letters. Upon arriving at the film set, he drank coffee to rally before meeting Director Wang.
Tall and long-legged, Bo Qin wore casual clothes fitting his character. In a black cap, sleeveless tee, and white sun jacket, he looked like a sunny teenager as he strolled under dappled trees. When he entered the lounge, Director Wang joked: “Which high schooler is this?”
Bo Qin took off his hat and greeted him.
“You got a haircut! Looks good, way better than that in-between style. What a sharp young man.”
The director, sipping soy milk, asked if Bo Qin had eaten.
Bo Qin hadn’t. Starving, he sat across from the director and started eating the offered fried dough.
“You nailed that concert. I told Old Xu yesterday—you’ve got insane stamina. Eleven shows, singing and dancing non-stop.”
Screenwriter Xu walked in with tea, laughing. “Bo’s here!”
Bo Qin greeted him and made space. Xu sat down, and Bo Qin squatted nearby, munching his breakfast.
“You seem more mature every time we meet, but also still the same,” Xu joked.
Bo Qin smiled and chatted with them. They’d given him his breakthrough role in Riding the Storm, and helped hone his acting.
After eating, Bo Qin discussed the upcoming scenes with them. He shared his thoughts and asked questions. Director Wang, impressed, asked, “Have you thought about leading roles?”
Bo Qin had mostly played supporting roles in serious dramas, avoiding idol shows.
“Not yet,” he said. “Still honing my skills—I don’t feel ready to carry a whole show.”
“Good attitude,” Xu said. “Even Jiang Rong’s recent lead flopped. He used to have talent.”
“Talent’s nothing without drive,” Director Wang grumbled.
Bo Qin didn’t respond. No one knew about his history with Jiang Rong—publicly, they were just distant acquaintances.
“I should go. Just wanted to say hi. I didn’t sleep at all last night,” Bo Qin said.
“Go rest before you drop dead,” Wang waved him off.
“Don’t forget tonight’s table read,” Xu reminded.
Back at the hotel, Bo Qin showered. As he lay down, Luo Ming called.
“Writing the lyrics or not?”
“If not, I’ll get Xiao Ran. He’s good at this stuff.”
Bo Qin chuckled. “He’s on honeymoon. Can he write a sad song right now?”
“Tch. You’re just bullying the single guy now.”
Bo Qin removed his earrings—worn all day, they were starting to irritate him.
He put the phone on speaker, intending to end the call quickly—but the longer they talked, the more energized he felt. They decided not to include the song in the album but to release it as a single on Qixi (Chinese Valentine’s Day).
Wide awake now, Bo Qin and Luo Ming discussed details, and he called Chen Jie for a video meeting. Zhu Guanyun sighed, “Bo Qin, you workaholic,” but Bo Qin, with bloodshot eyes, didn’t care. He finalized the single’s release strategy.
By the time the meeting ended, it was afternoon. Bo Qin didn’t even close his laptop—he collapsed and fell asleep instantly.
At 8 p.m., still groggy, Bo Qin dragged himself to the table read.
Xiao Zhu had removed his makeup while he slept. Now bare-faced and tired, Bo Qin wore a tee and loose shorts, chewing gum, headphones in, looking nothing like the glamorous star from that morning.
He was the last to arrive. Scanning the room, he saw most people were already there. He greeted a few familiar faces, then Xu waved him over.
“Bo, come sit here.”
Next to Xu sat a man in a black shirt—tall, handsome, with classical features and a cold demeanor.
“Bo Qin, this is Teacher Cheng.”
Cheng Ziye extended a hand. “Hello, Bo Qin.”
Bo Qin sensed Cheng Ziye’s subtle resistance but smiled and shook his hand. “Nice to meet you. I loved Watching the Sea—I’ve watched it several times.”
That was true—it was Cheng Ziye’s breakout, and Bo Qin had seen it at least three times.
“Alright, sit down,” Xu said. “You’ll be next to Teacher Cheng.”
Bo Qin sat and nodded politely. Xu added, “First time working together? You’ll learn a lot.”
“I hope so.” Bo Qin smiled at Cheng Ziye. “Looking forward to learning from you.”
Cheng Ziye replied coldly, “That depends on the individual.”
Even Xu frowned at the tone. Bo Qin just smiled, brushing it off.
The reading began. Xu didn’t try to create more interaction between them—perhaps sensing the awkwardness. Bo Qin didn’t mind the quiet.
By the end, Bo Qin’s throat was raw. He sipped herbal tea while packing his script, thinking he really needed to work on his line delivery—next to Cheng Ziye, he felt completely outclassed.
Back at the hotel, he realized their rooms were on adjacent floors. In the elevator, Bo Qin hesitated, then said, “Teacher Cheng, my room’s above yours. I might practice dance—if it gets noisy, just let me know.”
“You practice dance?” Cheng asked, surprised.
Bo Qin blinked. What else would I do? But he replied, “Yes. Let me know if it’s too loud.”
He paused, then added, “Can I add you on WeChat?”
Cheng glanced at him, then pulled out his phone.
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