HIM Chapter 30: Don’t Walk into the Sea.
The director of “Exploration” was named Jian Ling—her filming style matched her name: simple yet sharp. The first season featured all non-celebrities, and the theme was cultural, which should have made it boring. But as Bo Qin watched the whole season, he realized the pacing was excellent, the narration and post-production were original, combining both cultural depth and entertainment.
Afterward, he started watching Jian Ling’s past documentaries. As the credits rolled, Bo Qin fell into deep thought, once again wondering, “This kind of prideful genius director—why on earth would she choose me?”
That afternoon, Bo Qin had a shoot for a brand’s autumn-winter campaign. After it ended, Chen-jie adjusted his schedule—his workload wasn’t as intense as before. He couldn’t win against her on this, but felt restless with all the free time, so he went to the dance studio and danced for an entire afternoon.
Dripping with sweat, he saw Xiao Zhu’s expression the moment he stepped out and knew something had happened. Xiao Zhu had never been able to hide this stuff over the years. Bo Qin calmly asked, “Where’s my phone?”
Xiao Zhu handed him an opened bottle of water. “No one messaged you,” he said. “Not even Mr. He.”
Bo Qin whistled in his mind. Wow, making progress now, huh?
He took a sip. “Who asked about He Xizhou? Gimme my phone—I want to play some games.”
Xiao Zhu slowly responded, “Oh,” and handed him the phone. Bo Qin opened his game app right in front of him. Xiao Zhu sat nearby, playing on his own phone, sneaking glances at Bo Qin now and then, thinking he was being subtle. But Bo Qin was composed—played two matches, and just as he was about to start the third, Xiao Zhu left the dance studio.
Bo Qin exited the game and opened Weibo.
His private phone’s data was usually off, with all app notifications muted. If something hadn’t trended, it’d be peaceful. But he tapped into the trending page, and the top trend was #BoQinFanpageMaster#.
He had a rough idea what this was about.
Scrolling down, the fifth trend confirmed his guess: #BoQinBigFanUnfollows#.
Bo Qin shut off his phone and leaned over his knees, head down, wondering, Why did they unfollow me?
His songs had quality, his singing and dancing had wowed audiences, and his professional skills had only improved...
The top trend was marked “explosive,” which meant someone was clearly pushing this. The force was so strong that even Zhu Guanyun was powerless to stop it.
He clicked into the trend and saw the fan account ID: MintBlueECF, now grayed out—cold and silent—with a following of 360,000.
MintBlue had left an article. Bo Qin didn’t dare read the comments—just quietly read the post.
He didn’t know how long he stayed like that—maybe half an hour, maybe more. By the time he closed his phone, the sky outside was already dark. He thought to himself, MintBlue still writes so gently... gave me a lot of dignity.
Bo Qin stood up and went back into the dance studio.
By 8 p.m., things reached a peak. News of Bo Qin joining the second season of “Exploration” leaked. In the comment section of a well-known gossip account that always slammed Bo Qin, everyone was saying he was uneducated and would drag the show down. They even pushed #BoQinNineYearsOfCompulsoryEducation# to the trending page.
At the same time, Jiang Rong was asked in an interview what he hated most. Smiling, he said, “I hate being compared to Bo Qin.”
Trouble never comes alone. Everyone seemed to jump in to trample Bo Qin. A former teammate from his debut group—now so obscure he was doing livestreams—claimed Bo Qin had a bad temper, violent tendencies, and had violated company rules by dating some rich heir.
Zhu Guanyun was stressed bald—literally.
“When you recruited me, you said handling PR for you wouldn’t be easy,” Zhu said. “Back then I thought, wow, you really think too highly of yourself.”
Bo Qin handed him a cup of coffee with a smile. Zhu took it and said, “Now I get it. In the face of overwhelming capital and power, no technique works.”
He slammed the table. “You get it? The public sentiment report showed the shift starting this afternoon. But we were powerless. Even our official statements were throttled. We did everything we could and still had to watch it all spiral.”
“I get it,” Bo Qin looked at him and smiled faintly. “No one gets it more than I do.”
Zhu’s frustration and anger faded suddenly. “Sorry. I’ll keep trying.”
Bo Qin patted his shoulder. “Just do your best. At least you’ve contained it as much as you can.”
That night, Bo Qin had six trending black tags—at the top. Chen-jie confiscated his phone. As usual, after dancing and eating a late snack, Bo Qin went to the studio to work on a song with Luo Ming.
He Xizhou’s call came in at dawn. Xiao Zhu cautiously asked if Bo Qin wanted to take it.
Luo Ming, making instant noodles, went “Ooooh” teasingly.
Bo Qin took off his headphones, rolled his chair to the door, and answered. Sure enough, it was He Xizhou.
Bo Qin answered, smiling: “Why are you still awake?”
“You’re not asleep either,” He said. “What are you doing?”
Bo Qin tapped a few keys. “Writing a song. Couldn’t sleep.”
There was a sound like a lighter clicking. Bo Qin paused—probably He Xizhou lighting a cigarette.
“I couldn’t sleep either,” He said.
Bo Qin chuckled. “Calling to comfort me?”
“Yes,” He said honestly. “Do you need help?”
“No, no need.” Bo Qin was getting a cigarette craving. Chen-jie had confiscated his smokes. Luo Ming waved a pack at him, but Bo Qin refused and instead grabbed a cookie stick, chewing on it. “This may be easy for you, but it’s unnecessary.”
“Bo Qin,” He said, “It really is easy. I just have to make a call and people will give me face. You don’t need to feel pressured. I really want to help.”
Bo Qin made a sound and crunched the cookie. “I know. But favors are hard to repay. You help me now—what about next time? Can you help me for life?”
He Xizhou didn’t respond. Staring at his reflection in the window, he thought, If you want me to, I can.
“And as long as I’m in this industry, I’m bound to step on people’s toes. Unless I sign with a company—it’d ease the pressure. But that’s not happening.”
He finished the cookie and took another. “Also, He Xizhou,” Bo Qin said, “I don’t want our relationship to get complicated. It’s good the way it is.”
He paused. “I like what we have now—clean and simple.”
Slurping his noodles, Luo Ming shivered. Here we go again, he thought. Bo Qin’s pure-hearted teasing mode is ON. Wonder if that big guy on the other end can resist.
He Xizhou stubbed out his cigarette, fingers tapping the ashtray. This kind of obliviously seductive behavior is lethal.
Bo Qin didn’t want to keep talking about it. He changed the subject, rolled back to the keyboard. “Want me to play you some piano? If you can’t sleep, I’ll play a lullaby.”
Luo Ming rolled his eyes dramatically. He finally muttered, “Bo, give him a break.”
Bo Qin looked at him, puzzled.
“So far,” Luo Ming whispered, “the only person I’ve ever played piano lullabies for was my girlfriend.”
Bo Qin accidentally hit a loud key. He glanced at the phone on the keyboard, whispered back, “Shut up.”
He played a short piece, heart pounding over whether He Xizhou had heard what Luo Ming said. When the music paused, Bo Qin cleared his throat. “Go to sleep. Don’t you have work tomorrow?”
“I can’t sleep,” He said. “Xiao Qin, where are you?”
“The studio.”
Then Bo Qin heard a metallic sound from the phone. Next, He Xizhou said, “Since we’re both up, let me take you somewhere.”
Bo Qin sat up. “Now?”
“Yes. Now,” He said. “I’ll pick you up in 40 minutes.”
Bo Qin suddenly felt lighter from his earlier gloom, so excited he couldn’t sit still. He stood up. “I’m going out!”
“You’re a kid?” Luo Ming jumped. “You sound like it’s a school trip.”
“Pretty much.” Bo Qin left the studio. Luo Ming called after him. “Where you going?”
“To wash my face,” Bo Qin replied.
“Good god,” Luo Ming said. “What kind of god is this He Xizhou guy?”
True to his word, He Xizhou showed up 40 minutes later. He messaged Bo Qin to bring a jacket—it was windy. But before he could hit send, Bo Qin—just in a thin sweatshirt—opened the car door.
“It’s cold,” He said. “Wear a jacket.”
“Too lazy to go back up,” Bo Qin said, pulling off his mask and hat. “Nice ride.”
He Xizhou handed him a jacket from the backseat. “Then wear mine.”
Bo Qin sighed. “Fine, I’ll go get mine. Can’t let you freeze.”
He Xizhou held his arm. “No need. I’m dressed warm enough.” He started the car. “Let’s go for a ride.”
Night fell quietly. The city lights were bright, refusing to sleep. Bo Qin and He Xizhou drove into the night, leaving behind the steel city, chasing the wind and the moonlight.
He Xizhou lowered the top. Music and wind intertwined. Bo Qin’s gloom faded in the rushing air—then, he heard waves.
He remembered this place.
The car stopped by the coastal road. Darkness all around, except for the headlights. Waves crashed endlessly into the night.
He Xizhou took two drinks from the car, opened one, and handed it to Bo Qin sitting on the hood.
“I thought it’d be beer,” Bo Qin said, smiling.
“No drinking while driving,” He grinned. “I’m a model citizen.”
They clinked cans.
“I’ve been here before,” Bo Qin said. “Four years ago.”
He Xizhou quietly looked at him.
“There used to be fireworks here. They canceled it later,” Bo Qin said. “The night I broke my contract with Tiancheng, I drove here alone. When I got back, I wrote a song.”
“What’s it called?” He Xizhou asked.
“Don’t Walk into the Sea,” Bo Qin replied. “It’s still my favorite.”
He Xizhou pulled out his phone. A minute later, Bo Qin’s voice filled the night.
Neither spoke.
When the song reached its climax—Bo Qin’s voice cracking in a shout—He turned it off.
Bo Qin looked at him.
“This kind of song,” He Xizhou said, locking eyes with him, “I hope you only ever write once in your life.”
He understood, Bo Qin thought.
He lowered his head—his hands were trembling. An unfamiliar feeling grew quietly inside him, overwhelming and unstoppable. Bo Qin was shocked by its intensity. He trembled from head to toe, curled in on himself, seemingly calm on the outside, but inwardly shattered.
It was a feeling wild and fierce—like spring tides, like the crashing waves before them. It even hurt. He wanted to curl up, couldn’t breathe. Vision blurry, he realized—
This feeling had broken down all his walls.
[Author’s Note]: Brother Bo, you’re finally catching feelings, huh?
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