The incident of Tang Zhen’s suicide had its roots several years ago. There was a period of time when Tang Zhen had very few public appearances, hardly a few times in a month. Many fans questioned and protested, and even his fan club organized and disciplined themselves to condemn Asia Star Entertainment for shelving their artist. ASE had no one come forward to explain, not even Tang Zhen’s agent, Guo Xiaoli, who was too busy to respond. As a result, occasional marketing accounts would come out and leak information, claiming to have heard from someone’s aunt or distant relative that Tang Zhen had been admitted to the hospital and had died by suicide. It seemed like everyone could comment with R.I.P. now.
If this had happened to any other artist, a decrease in public appearances would either be attributed to the artist being too busy or not busy enough, at most a sign of fading popularity. But with Tang Zhen, it seemed like rumors of his suicide had never ceased since his debut.
Zhou Zike sat in his seat, watching his sister as she held a small porcelain bowl filled with white sauce and a plate with a sliced baguette, placing them in front of him like a precious offering. She then walked around the long table and sat across from him, looking at him with anticipation on her face.
“Try your sister’s cooking,” a young man beside them said.
“This French herb cheese dip is very appetizing. Zike, give it a try, come on,” Zhou Ziyuan urged him.
Zhou Zike looked up at his sister and said, “I don’t have an appetite.”
“I know, that’s why you need an appetizer,” she replied.
Zhou Zike said, “I really don’t—”
“If you don’t have an appetite, why sit at the dining table?” a stern voice came from the right side of the long table. “What are you hungry for?”
For a moment, no one spoke at the table. Zhou Zike remained silent, while Zhou Ziyuan rolled her eyes dramatically.
“Dad!” Zhou Ziyuan exclaimed in frustration. “I finally ran into Zike downstairs at their company, and I managed to bring him home for a meal. Can’t you stop causing trouble?”
Zhou Shiyou kept his eyes fixed on Zhou Zike’s face. “After all the effort your sister put into this, you won’t eat anything.”
Zhou Zike fell silent for a moment, then reached for a piece of baguette.
Zhou Ziyuan breathed a sigh of relief and said, “I’ll go check if the lamb leg is done roasting!”
The young man sitting next to her watched her with interest as she disappeared into the kitchen.
“Your company must be very busy lately,” he turned to Zhou Zike and said.
Zhou Zike chewed on the bread and looked up at him.
“I heard from our clients that a celebrity committed suicide,” the young man said.
Zhou Zike took a sip of water. “What happened?”
The young man smiled and said, “A few of our clients had signed this celebrity as their spokesperson. Now they are all panicking, rushing to replace advertisements, terminate contracts, and even seek compensation.”
Zhou Zike was taken aback.
We’re sorry for MTLers or people who like using reading mode, but our translations keep getting stolen by aggregators so we’re going to bring back the copy protection. If you need to MTL please retype the gibberish parts.
“Pa’r tfgf! Pa’r tfgf!” Itbe Ilsejc mjwf bnfg klat atlmx uibnfr, mjggslcu j qijaf bo rilmfv ijwy ifu. “Pa’r yffc gbjralcu obg atgff tbegr, Ilxf, sbe tjnf ab ags la, la’r vfilmlber!”
Itbe Ilxf jrxfv, “Qts jgf atfs afgwlcjalcu mbcagjmar?”
Ktf sbecu wjc abbx atf ijwy ifu atja Itbe Ilsejc tjcvfv ab tlw jcv rwlifv, rjslcu, “Qtja firf mbeiv la yf?”
“What are you guys talking about?” Zhou Ziyuan took off her gloves and sat down as well.
“We were talking about the artist who recently committed suicide in Zike’s company,” the young man said.
“Oh! I know, Tang Zhen, right?” Zhou Ziyuan said, taking a bite of the lamb leg and sticking out her tongue because it was hot. “I saw it online, his news is everywhere. Zike knows him, right?”
Zhou Zike lowered his head, looking at the lamb leg that had been placed in front of him, and remained silent.
“Do you know why he committed suicide then?” Zhou Ziyuan asked. Without waiting for Zhou Zike to respond, she turned to the young man next to her and said, “Today, my colleague told me that it was because he got too immersed in his role.”
The young man chuckled and reached for the handkerchief on the table. “You’ve got it all over your face.”
“Really! Listen to me, my colleague knows Qiao He’s wife, you know Qiao He, right?”
“I don’t know,” the young man said.
“You don’t even know him? He’s a stage actor. He and Tang Zhen performed in ‘The Butterfly Lovers’ before, you know, that famous ‘The Butterfly Lovers’.”
The young man smiled at her. “But ‘The Butterfly Lovers’ is a play about a man and a woman, right? You said this person has a wife, so both he and Tang Zhen should be men. How did they perform ‘The Butterfly Lovers’?”
“They were both men. The famous thing about ‘The Butterfly Lovers’ is that it was performed entirely by men,” Zhou Ziyuan explained.
“How do you know all this? I thought you didn’t like watching plays,” the young man asked.
“Just something I heard from my colleague,” Zhou Ziyuan smiled, but noticed that Zhou Zike didn’t smile. “Ever since Qiao He became popular after performing in ‘The Butterfly Lovers,’ his wife has been going crazy. It’s been so many years, and they still argue about it all the time.”
“Let me find it for you. Someone on my timeline shared it today,” Zhou Ziyuan took out her phone and read aloud, “‘Liang Shanbo got married, but the bride isn’t Zhu Yingtai.’ And there’s another post saying, ‘Tang Zhen committed suicide because Zhu Yingtai couldn’t wait for Liang Shanbo. Ten years later, she finally went to transform into a butterfly alone.'”
Zhou Zike held half a baguette in his hand, but perhaps he really had no appetite. He chewed it reluctantly.
The young man continued to smile, his eyes half-closed. “It seems Mr. Qiao is having a difficult time.”
“They were still arguing yesterday,” Zhou Ziyuan whispered. “I also heard that Tang Zhen made a phone call to Qiao He before he committed suicide.”
Zhou Zike suddenly looked up.
“Where did you hear all this from?” The young man’s voice carried a strangely “gentle” tone that didn’t match his age.
“It’s from my colleague,” Zhou Ziyuan said. “And it seems like it’s spreading everywhere online. They say the emergency personnel who went to Tang Zhen’s house that night saw his phone and leaked the information to the media.”
“The media always finds a way in,” the young man remarked.
“That’s true, and people nowadays too,” Zhou Ziyuan took a sip of sparkling water. “Those accounts on the internet that have been posting a lot about commemorating Tang Zhen, praying for Tang Zhen, and such, they have a huge number of followers. They used to love sharing the footage of Tang Zhen having a seizure on stage during a concert, it was so disrespectful.”
“Had a seizure?” the young man asked.
“It seems like Tang Zhen had an illness, one of those that many celebrities have,” Zhou Ziyuan suddenly looked at her younger brother. “Zike, is that true?”
Before Zhou Zike could respond, the person sitting beside him spoke up slowly and leisurely, “What celebrities? They’re just performers.”
Zhou Zike glanced at him from the corner of his eye. Zhou Ziyuan became annoyed and said, “What do you mean performers, Dad? They’re called idols now.”
“What idols?” Zhou Shiyou continued in a slow, leisurely manner. “It’s all nonsense.”
Zhou Zike put down his knife and fork, letting them land on the plate with a crisp sound.
“Dad, what are you saying? You—” Zhou Ziyuan could tell that her younger brother was upset, and she hurriedly tried to silence her father.
“What’s wrong with what I said?” Zhou Shiyou replied, his thick eyebrows raised, his gaze shifting to Zhou Zike’s profile on his left. “These days, all these idle and useless people, without a proper career, they go off and become ‘idols’.”
“Here you go again,” Zhou Ziyuan exclaimed. “It’s because you’re always like this that Zike never comes home—”
“Whether he comes home or not,” Zhou Shiyou interrupted, “without this family, what is he?”
Zhou Ziyuan looked desperately at the young man beside her, seeking his help.
The young man subtly shook his head.
Zhou Zike sat across from them, silently staring at his glass in front of him, and no one knew what he was thinking.
Zhou Shiyou glanced at him.
“Those who used to be called ‘idols’ at least had some skills, some talents. They could do things that others couldn’t. They were regarded as ‘idols’,” Zhou Shiyou said, his tone unpleasant and full of meaning. “But now, look at yourself, don’t you see what you’re capable of—”
“In your eyes, I’m useless,” Zhou Zike suddenly spoke up.
Zhou Shiyou’s old face immediately turned sour.
Zhou Zike stood up, grabbed his car keys, and walked away.
“Zike, wait, I made a pot of soup, try it before…” Zhou Ziyuan said.
“Stop right there!” Zhou Shiyou suddenly said from behind.
A string of Buddhist prayer beads slipped out from Zhou Zike’s sleeve, encircling his whitening knuckles. He released his grip.
“I speak to you, and if you don’t listen, so be it. Your sister has been busy for your sake,” Zhou Shiyou stood up, leaning on the table from behind, “and this is how you treat her.”
“Dad—” Zhou Ziyuan turned around to try to persuade him.
“In this family, are there still people you care about?” Zhou Shiyou lowered his voice, “Do we, your family, owe you anything?”
Zhou Zike listened as Zhou Shiyou’s voice, once strong, now trembled with age. He turned around and said, “For the sake of our mother, I used to call you Dad.”
Zhou Shiyou was stunned.
Zhou Zike fell silent for a moment. “It is not my family that owes me, but I who owe you all.”
Zhou Shiyou stared at him.
Zhou Zike walked out the door.
“Zike…” Zhou Ziyuan hurriedly tried to go after him, circling around the table.
Zhou Shiyou’s hand trembled as he threw away his cane.
The young man quickly stood up and supported Zhou Shiyou as he sat back. “Get Uncle Cao here quickly!” the young man said. The restaurant door swung open, footsteps, people shouting, chaos ensued.
When Wen Xin called Zhou Zike, he was still lost in his thoughts, leaning against his car. His mind was blank. Wen Xin said over the phone that Tang Zhen had woken up. Zhou Zike paused for a moment and instinctively replied, “I’ll come right now.”
Wen Xin said that he didn’t need to come to the hospital. As soon as Tang Zhen woke up, he insisted on going home. No one could persuade him. They were all in the car on their way back with the doctor.
Zhou Zike put down his phone, blinked forcefully, and hurriedly felt for his car keys to reverse. However, as soon as he started reversing, a piercing beep resounded from behind the car.
“Who is it?” someone shouted, “Can’t you see there are cars behind you? You almost crashed into me! Even if you’re driving a Bugatti, you can’t lack awareness!”
Sitting in the driver’s seat, Zhou Zike felt his heart racing. He glanced back, got out of the car, closed the door, and bypassed the long line of parked cars. Tang Zhen had woken up, Zhou Zike thought to himself. He walked faster and faster until he reached the exit of the parking lot. Zhou Zike stood in the crowd, looking around in confusion, and sprinted towards an intersection.
