HIM Chapter 31: The Second Redemption
The sea stretched endlessly, waves crashing endlessly under a sky of scattered stars. The night blended seamlessly with the ocean. He Xizhou cupped his hand to light a cigarette, the flame briefly illuminating his sharp, handsome features. Bo Qin’s gaze followed the elegant arc of He Xizhou’s eyes. He Xizhou looked up and caught Bo Qin’s stare, then smiled slightly. “Want one?”
Bo Qin nodded.
He Xizhou opened the cigarette pack. Bo Qin took one between his lips, but when He Xizhou handed him the lighter, he didn’t take it. Instead, he stared at He Xizhou in the night, as if trying to confirm something. With a raspy voice, he said, “Help me out.”
He leaned toward He Xizhou.
In that moment, He Xizhou's breath caught, his fingers tightening around his soda can.
Bo Qin's long, thick lashes trembled as he tilted his head slightly. The cigarette in his mouth touched He Xizhou’s, and a sudden spark briefly lit up the darkness before fading. Bo Qin glanced up at the light in He Xizhou’s eyes and seemed to smile faintly.
“This way is more convenient,” Bo Qin said.
He pulled back. A tingling warmth spread from his chest throughout his whole body. This was the first time Bo Qin had felt this — like even his organs hurt. So this is what it’s like, he thought.
He Xizhou slowly loosened his grip, reminding himself not to overthink. Bo Qin was just asking for a light. Then he noticed Bo Qin’s hands trembling in the car’s headlights. He grabbed Bo Qin’s fingers. “What’s wrong? Are you cold?”
Bo Qin’s hands weren’t cold. Realizing his reaction was a bit much, He Xizhou let go and murmured, “...Your hands are warm. Why are they shaking?”
“I’m fine.” Bo Qin flicked ash from his cigarette, then suddenly changed the topic. “Have you read that article by Mint Blue?”
He Xizhou nodded. “I did.”
“I read it too,” Bo Qin said. “Mint Blue always had a way with words.”
He Xizhou looked at him in surprise.
“I remember her. Mint Blue.” Bo Qin hunched slightly, hands on his knees as he looked at the waves. “By tomorrow, she will have been with me for six years.”
Waves roared endlessly as Bo Qin watched the smoke curl from his cigarette, his voice low and even. “Mint Blue was there from my very first stage performance. Even during my toughest times, she stayed.”
Ash fell onto his hand and burned lightly. He brushed it away. “She was a fansite master, only took photos of me. Followed me across the country. That winter after I terminated my contract, she stood in negative ten-degree weather with her camera and told me I’d make it big.”
He Xizhou gently draped his jacket over Bo Qin’s shoulders.
“When things were at their worst, when even Chen-jie had to pay out of pocket to keep me afloat, she was my only fansite still there,” Bo Qin smiled slightly. “She once gave me her Weibo ID and told me I could find my pictures there.”
The wind picked up. He Xizhou took Bo Qin’s cigarette and stubbed it out. “I read her article. She didn’t unfollow you out of hatred. She just…” He searched for the right word.
“She was just tired,” Bo Qin finished.
“I know,” Bo Qin continued. “She said she still liked me, but couldn’t feel my love for the fans anymore, couldn’t sense the honesty I had when I debuted.” He paused. “She was right.”
He Xizhou placed a hand on his shoulder in silence.
Bo Qin chuckled, “No need to be so careful around me.” He said, “Back in the day… I was pretty arrogant, especially after our group debut took off.”
“I was a chatterbox. Posted everything on Weibo: Chen-jie banned snacks because I skipped dance practice, the stray cat downstairs seemed pregnant, sneaking out for late-night snacks with Xiao Zhu and getting recognized... stupid stuff like that. I shared it all.”
He laughed. “I used to roast everyone online too, total internet junkie. Loved posting selfies and reading fan comments. Sometimes I’d chat in the replies for hundreds of comments deep.”
He Xizhou laughed. “Really?” He pulled out his phone. “Let me see.”
“You won’t find anything,” Bo Qin replied. “All deleted.”
“At first the company told me to delete them, so I just made them private,” he smiled. “But they had my password, so eventually, they were gone.”
“That was probably my happiest time.” He deliberately skipped over his contract termination with Tiancheng. “Later, things happened. I’m a coward. Once I got hurt, I stopped being open to kindness. And as more people liked me, more people hated me too. To protect myself — and because I lacked the courage — I chose not to give, only to receive.”
“When I started my own studio, I didn’t have as many restrictions. I could finally be myself. But Chen-jie told me to post less to create mystery and distance.” Bo Qin continued, “Then my emotions wore down. I felt like no matter what I posted, it would be misinterpreted. So I stopped caring. Fans can tell — they really can. They know when your love fades, when you’ve grown distant.”
He Xizhou’s hand on his shoulder gently tightened, as if trying to transfer strength and warmth.
“I’ve never had real courage,” Bo Qin’s voice cracked. He lowered his head. “I thought I did. But that was just ignorance. I thought I could be myself, but I ended up retreating into my shell.”
He buried his hands in his lap. “Mint Blue thought the Bo Qin she supported was brave and decisive, someone who could handle love and hate. But in the end, she realized Bo Qin was just a product — a packaged idol pushed into the spotlight.”
His hands trembled. His voice shook. “Bo Qin isn’t Bo Qin. He’s just a symbol.”
He Xizhou stepped in front of him, placing both hands on his shoulders. His voice was calm and gentle. “Xiao Qin, look at me.”
Bo Qin stayed silent for a few seconds before slowly looking up. His eyes were red and wet.
“You’re not a product, or a symbol,” He Xizhou said. “You are Bo Qin.”
His hands gripped Bo Qin’s shoulders tightly. For once, he cursed his inability to find better words. How could Bo Qin think he lacked courage?
He lived with clarity and restraint, fighting pain with quiet bravery. He saw everything clearly — knew beauty would fade, fame would pass, some fans were not genuine. He was overworked, his private life consumed, emotions exploited. He was a vessel for others’ dreams. And yet, he still chose to shine.
How could someone like Bo Qin think himself weak?
“Xiao Qin, no one is unbreakable.” He Xizhou’s voice was hoarse. “You’ve done nothing wrong. You’ve made it here because you made it happen. You completed yourself.”
The waves kept crashing. Even the wind seemed gentler now.
“People grow. Protecting yourself is human instinct,” He Xizhou smiled. “You’ve done incredibly well.”
He restrained the urge to cup Bo Qin’s face in his hands. Seeing his red-rimmed eyes, full of unshed tears, he softened his voice. “Everyone views you differently depending on where they stand — even I had my biases at first.”
He gently wiped Bo Qin’s eye with a finger. “You’re in the spotlight. People admire you, so they love you. Others envy you, so they attack you.”
“But being in the spotlight isn’t wrong. Beauty isn’t a crime. Neither is being excellent,” He Xizhou said. “You just have to be yourself and do what feels right. People come and go. Not everyone will see you clearly or treat you equally.”
Bo Qin blinked. His fair face flushed, eyes and nose red. His tears fell uncontrollably. Embarrassed, he turned away and wiped his face with his sleeve.
He Xizhou’s heart clenched. It hurt to see Bo Qin cry — and what hurt more was that in this moment, all he could think was: He even cries beautifully.
“Xiao Qin,” He called softly, voice gentle like he was afraid to startle him. Just as he was about to speak again, Bo Qin suddenly reached out and hugged his waist.
He Xizhou froze. The words caught in his throat. He embraced Bo Qin tightly. One stood, the other sat in front of the car. He Xizhou rested his chin on Bo Qin’s head and gently patted his back. “Xiao Qin, it’s okay to cry out loud.”
Bo Qin shook his head. After a while, he looked up. His eyes and nose were still red, but his emotions were under control. He stared at the damp spot on He Xizhou’s gray-blue shirt and muttered, “...Sorry.”
He Xizhou smiled and ruffled his hair. “It’s okay.”
That night, they talked for a long time. Bo Qin told stories of his youth on a seaside island, of his trainee days. He Xizhou leaned against the car beside him, talking about his life abroad and how he grew up. It was like they exchanged lives, sharing memories from times the other had missed.
By dawn, they were driving along a coastal mountain road. As the sky brightened, they stopped. Bo Qin sat in front of the car, eyes squinting at the brilliant sunrise. The crimson light stretched across the sea, bathing the world in warmth.
A new day began.
He Xizhou quietly took a photo of the scene.
The sun grew brighter. Bo Qin turned to He Xizhou under the morning glow and said, “I’m going to write a song when I get back.”
He Xizhou smiled. “What’s it called?”
Bo Qin didn’t answer. He Xizhou didn’t mind. On their way back, passing the beach where they had embraced the night before, Bo Qin suddenly played a song — his own: "Don’t Walk Into the Sea."
As the electric guitar faded, Bo Qin sang the final line:
"Don’t walk into the sea — life isn’t perfect, but even with nothing, you still have cheap freedom and free air."
Bo Qin said, “He Xizhou, I think I’ll never forget this place for the rest of my life.”
“Why?” He Xizhou asked teasingly, one hand on the wheel, the other propping up his head. “Because you cried here?”
“Of course not,” Bo Qin laughed.
“Because this place saved me. Twice.”
Author's Note:
Dumb straight guy Bo Qin has officially had his awakening. From now on, he’ll be using the Straight-Man Style of Flirting — simple, direct, and blunt. But hey, He Xizhou falls for it every time. Sigh. [Lights cigarette]
He Xizhou, you're doomed. [Points accusatorily]
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