Chapter 79: Kwon Ji-yong sits alone in the fire station...

Kwon Ji-yong sat alone on the stairs of the fire escape, smoking. By the time the sun came up, there were already four or five cigarette butts on the ground.

"Don't take it to heart." Taiyang sat down next to him and handed him a can of coffee: "It's just a scolding. Anyway, we've been scolded plenty of times over the years." This has always been their unspoken understanding.

Kwon Ji-yong exhaled a puff of smoke without saying a word.

"Actually, the president isn't wrong..."

"Which part is right?" Kwon Ji-yong's cold laugh and sarcasm were almost impossible to suppress. His pent-up anger had nowhere to go: "The part that tells me to be grateful, or the part that reminds me not to forget who I am?"

The sun didn't speak, it just looked at him.

"Of course I fucking know who I am." Kwon Ji-yong extinguished the...

Yan: "G-Dragon, the leader of BigBang, the company's cash cow." He looked up at the sun: "But then what? He's thirty years old, and even going to see his girlfriend gets him lectured."

Over the years, he desperately tried to prove that he wasn't just a puppet of the company. He wrote songs, produced music, participated in planning, and even renegotiated contracts, all to gain more say in the business. He could confidently say that music was his foundation. He thought it was his strongest asset.

But reality always slapped him in the face.

He thought he was no longer that timid trainee.

The year he renewed his contract, he clearly fought for more autonomy. The contract renewal with the company was more like an equal partnership, giving him more say and freedom. But as it turned out, in Yang Hyun-suk's eyes, he might always be that 18-year-old Kwon Ji-yong who needed to be disciplined and controlled. No matter how high he flew, that invisible thread was always held in the other party's hand.

In the eyes of fans, G-Dragon is a top superstar, but in front of Yang Hyun-suk, he is still being manipulated at will; they live such separate lives.

Taiyang listened quietly as he finished speaking, letting the silence linger for a while. Only after he calmed down a bit did he sigh and slowly begin to speak: "The women's team head coach almost resigned." Taiyang pulled back the ring: "The women's relay and the all-around title—the two most important events in which we have the advantage—lost gold medals, relying solely on the 1500m as a fig leaf. The Winter Olympics are coming up soon, and the winter sports forums are practically exploding."

“It won’t burst.” Kwon Ji-yong interrupted him, denting the can in his palm. “It’s been two years. Has anyone noticed?”

"What if?" Taeyang lowered his voice: "Will the fans be able to accept it? What will the media write? Not just in South Korea, but in China as well? The public pressure will tear her apart."

The lights in the hallway suddenly went out. Kwon Ji-yong stared at the cigarette ash scattered on the ground, recalling Ren Xiyao's lowered head and trembling shoulders last night. The gold medal she had fought so hard to win might just be "evidence of shame for Han Bingxie" in some people's eyes.

"Zhilong," Taiyang sighed, "I'm not against you guys, Xiyao is a very good person. But the president is right about at least that, now is not the right time."

The shouts of staff looking for someone came from outside the fire door. Kwon Ji-yong threw the crushed coffee can into the trash can, the metallic clang particularly jarring in the stairwell.

“Do you know what I hate most about him?” he suddenly said. “He’s clearly losing money, but he insists on pretending to be doing it for my benefit.”

The sun was silent for a moment, then suddenly asked, "Do you regret it?"

"What's there to regret?"

"Be with her."

Kwon Ji-yong suddenly looked at him, his eyes sharp and frightening.

The sun raised its hands: "I'm just asking."

"No regrets." Kwon Ji-yong stood up. "Never."

The motion-sensor light went out again. In the darkness, the sun heard the click of a lighter, the flame briefly illuminating Kwon Ji-yong's taut jawline.

“Actually, what the president is afraid of is your attitude.” Taiyo said softly, “He would rather you be like before, dating a model or idol, and not care if you get photographed.”

Kwon Ji-yong exhaled a puff of smoke and suddenly laughed: "So he flew here today just to tell me, 'You can date, but you have to follow the company's standards'?"

The sun didn't reply, but its silence was the best answer.

Kwon Ji-yong returned to his room and stood by the floor-to-ceiling window for a long time until dawn slowly broke and sunlight began to filter through the towering buildings. He glanced at the time; it was almost time for her to get up and catch her flight. Only then did he dial the number. Holding the phone to his ear, he heard Ren Xiyao's steady breathing through the receiver.

"I can't go to the capital," he said.

There was a two-second silence on the other end of the phone, followed by her soft "Mmm".

There were no follow-up questions, no complaints, and not even a moment's hesitation.

Kwon Ji-yong tightened his grip on the curtains: "President Yang added something to the schedule at the last minute."

"I understand." Her voice was faint, like snowflakes in a winter night, melting as soon as they hit the ground: "Get some rest and take good care of yourself."

He suddenly felt a tightness in his chest.

"Ren Xiyao." His throat tightened: "You..."

“I have a day off next week,” she interrupted him, her tone still calm. “I’ll come see you after I finish what I’m doing.”

Kwon Ji-yong was stunned.

The morning light was just beginning to break through the window, but his attention was entirely focused on the voice that came through the radio waves—clean, clear, like a handful of snow water poured onto his agitated nerves.

He suddenly remembered their first meeting, in that club in 2013, and her. She was walking among the crowd in simple sportswear. Averted from the bizarre and dazzling world around her, he was instantly captivated. He smoked, drank, had tattoos, dyed his hair an outrageous color, frequented various entertainment venues, and was surrounded by all sorts of people. Logically, he and she should have come from two different worlds. But he was deeply drawn to the clean, pure, and unwavering strength she possessed.

He felt that Ren Xiyao was like a mirror, reflecting what he longed for deep down but seemed to have lost. She made him feel that he hadn't been completely swallowed up by this world of fame and fortune, hadn't become a faceless symbol of capital. She made him feel that... he still had the ability to love, and the right to be in love.

At that time, he had just climbed out of the trough. Tours, award ceremonies, media adoration... everyone said "Kwon Ji-yong is a superstar", but only he knew that he was standing on a high place, but his feet were empty.

Until I met her.

This short track speed skater, who didn't even know what K-pop was, looked at him with no admiration, no calculation, only the purest question, as if asking: Why do you dye your hair so bright? The first time someone said "Kwon Ji-yong is lucky," he thought, maybe it's true. Meeting her was the greatest stroke of luck in his life.

"Kwon Ji-yong?"

Ren Xiyao's voice pulled him back to reality. Quan Zhilong then realized that his finger had unconsciously drawn a heart on the glass, the mist condensing and then dissipating.

"Mm," he responded softly, "I'll wait for you."

The sound of papers turning over came from the other end of the phone; she must be looking through the training plan. Kwon Ji-yong could almost picture her like this: sitting cross-legged on the bed, her hair casually tied up, her brow slightly furrowed, with an earnest yet adorable expression.

"Did you rest yesterday?" she suddenly asked.

"No."

"Is there still time? If so, take a nap."

"Ren Xiyao".

"Um?"

"I miss you."

A barely audible sigh came from the other end of the phone, followed by the rustling of fabric, as if she had gotten up.

"I understand," she said.

Kwon Ji-yong smiled.

This is her "I miss you too".

Ren Xiyao hung up the phone and placed it beside her pillow. Outside the window, the unfamiliar city gradually brightened, with the occasional glow of streetlights still lit up filtering through the gaps in the curtains.

She knew what Kwon Ji-yong was trying to say; he wanted to explain, he wanted to apologize. But she didn't need it.

She had seen him argue in the YG conference room and then force a smile when he saw her again; she had seen him with a furrowed brow in the studio at four or five in the morning. This man, so radiant on stage, was being torn apart by capitalism behind the scenes, yet he still tried to maintain a facade of dignity. She knew all of this, from the moment she decided to be with him. The violent machine, when crushing everyone, seems to want to tear them clean.

For Ren Xiyao, Quan Zhilong was a type of person she had never encountered before in her life. He was complex, contradictory, exceptionally talented, and possessed destructive tendencies. His brilliance and shadows were equally intense.

The phone screen lit up briefly; Kwon Ji-yong had sent a photo of the sky just beginning to brighten outside the hotel window, with a blurry heart-shaped watermark on the glass.

The caption read: "I'm sending you the moon."

Ren Xiyao clicked on the larger image and found that the heart was drawn crookedly, with a small smudge in the lower right corner, as if it had been rubbed by a finger.

She smiled gently and replied, "Ugly."

Kwon Ji-yong replied instantly: "Just accept it, the artist's hands are shaking."

Ren Xiyao placed her phone face down on the bed and gently closed her eyes.

Kwon Ji-yong lay on the bed, his phone screen still lit up, showing his chat with Ren Xiyao.

He suddenly felt his eyes burning.

Over the years, he had heard countless empty words, but only Ren Xiyao never uttered anything insincere. If she said, "I'll come find you," she would definitely come; if she said, "Let's go for the championship," she would fight until the very last second.

Pure as ice, clean as snow. He even felt that Ren Xiyao was somewhat like... the person sitting on the lotus platform. Aloof, compassionate, with the calmness of an observer, yet willing to bend down, see his struggles and suffering, reach out and lend him a hand. She didn't judge his past, nor interfere with his present, but simply stayed quietly by his side, giving him strength and comfort in her own way.

Her phone suddenly vibrated; Ren Xiyao had sent another message: "Sleep well, goodnight."

Kwon Ji-yong stroked the screen and slowly typed: "Goodnight, my moon."

Ren Xiyao didn't reply, but he knew she had seen it. As for Ren Xiyao, she certainly knew why Quan Zhilong said she was the moon, not a high and mighty god, but someone who always shines ahead, guiding travelers in the darkness.