Chapter 32

The city lights formed a dazzling galaxy in the night sky. Feng Ling sat at her desk, the light from her laptop screen illuminating her slightly tired yet focused face. The heavy workload kept her from slacking off, like a taut string.

The phone screen lit up, and it was a message from An Hesu, a document link, and a line of words:

"Ling, look at this."

Feng Ling clicked on the link, revealing a meticulously detailed project plan titled "One Me: Ankhsu's First All-Creative Concept Album and Art Project Plan." She read through it word by word, her heart racing. This wasn't just a plan for a music album; it integrated music, visual art, an in-depth documentary, and a series of public discussions on the definition of idols and the myths of youth. It was ambitious and grand.

At the end of the plan, in the "Core Team Members" column, after "Project Publicity Director", her name - Feng Ling - was clearly written.

She froze, her fingers hovering over the touchpad, unsure how to react.

A video call request popped up just in time. She answered, and Ankhsu's face appeared on the screen. He looked like he'd just finished work, still wearing makeup and hair. The familiar interior of the nanny van was in the background, but his eyes were clear and serious.

"Have you finished reading it?" he asked, his voice coming through the headphones with a hint of subtle nervousness.

"Yeah." Feng Ling nodded, her tone uncertain. "This 'publicity director'... me? Su, this is too sudden. Although I'm engaged in this work and have some project experience, your album is too important. I..."

"I know what you're worried about," Ankhsu interrupted her, his eyes blazing. "You don't rely on connections. I've seen several project proposals you've worked on at the company. They're logically clear, creative, and you have a keen sense for new media communications. Most importantly," he paused, his tone becoming more profound, "the core of this project is to break free from labels and find your true self. No one knows better than you what the real Ankhsu is like outside the spotlight. No one understands better than you what I'm trying to express about breaking free from constraints and pursuing freedom."

He looked at her with unconditional trust and a solemnity that bordered on entrustment. "Feng Ling, I need you. I don't need my girlfriend to help me. I need you, Feng Ling, an independent and capable individual. Use your expertise to help me fight this battle. Let's work together to create a work that is not defined by others. Okay?"

His words struck Feng Ling like a hammer. She remembered what she had always longed for: to break free from her "obedient" shell and pursue freedom of expression. What Anhesu offered her now wasn't just a position; it was a stage, a battlefield where her true value could be fully realized and recognized. This resonated perfectly with her deep desire to grow and prove herself.

"But..." She still had concerns, "Our relationship..."

"During this project, we are first and foremost comrades and partners," An Hesu said firmly. "This is my team, my project, and I have absolute control. Sister Liangliang knows this and agrees. She recognizes your abilities. Feng Ling, it's time for you to be seen, not as someone else's subordinate, but as yourself, a shining individual."

The power and deep understanding in his words instantly overcame Feng Ling's last hesitation. A warm current of challenge, responsibility, and recognition surged through her body. She looked at him and finally nodded solemnly, a flame ignited in her eyes: "Okay."

On the other side of the screen, Ankhsu breathed a visibly relieved sigh, his lips curled into a smile of immense relief, as if he had completed some crucial deployment. "When I get back, we'll discuss this in detail," he whispered, his eyes tender enough to overflow with tears.

***

A few days later, Feng Ling, in a break from her busy schedule, habitually opened a channel she often watched for in-depth interviews, hoping to relax. However, the latest cover story made her finger, ready to click the mouse, pause mid-moment.

The cover features a close-up of Qiqi's profile. He's wearing a simple dark gray sweater, the background blurred into a warm bookshelf. His eyes gaze calmly into the distance, his youthful exuberance gone, replaced by a restrained composure that comes with the passage of time.

For some unknown reason, Feng Ling clicked on the video.

The host's questions began with his training abroad and gradually delved into his understanding of dance and art. Qiqi's answers left Feng Ling feeling unfamiliar and shocked.

He talked about how dance is not only a physical skill, but also a carrier of culture and philosophy. He talked about how he saw the restraint and unrestrainedness of human nature from the rigor of classical ballet during his study abroad in Europe, and how he felt the Eastern aesthetic of "nothingness" from the improvisation of modern dance.

"The ultimate goal of art isn't to show off, but to communicate and heal." Qiqi, speaking calmly on screen, her eyes penetrating, said, "I've been exploring how to bring dance down from its 'altar' on the stage and integrate it into the lives of ordinary people, making it a way to express emotions and relieve stress. For example, could we design a body-movement-based 'emotional healing' course for stressed-out urban professionals?"

He even touched on the currently popular topic of "AI and Art": "Technology is a tool, but the soul of art always lies in the true touch of the human heart. We need to be wary of being alienated by data and traffic, and maintain the original intention of creation and the warmth of humanity."

These reflections far transcended the scope of a top dancer; they more closely resembled those of a thinker possessing independent artistic insights and humanistic concerns. Feng Ling stared blankly at the screen, a complex wave of indescribable emotions welling up within her. She remembered Qiqi as the boy in the dance club who would grit his teeth and practice in front of the mirror all night long because he didn't get a single move right; as the sunny boy who would excitedly carry her on his shoulders and spin around after winning a competition. His world consisted of music, sweat, his brothers, and her.

The man on screen, however, spoke with eloquent quotations, his vision spanning Eastern and Western philosophy, his business plans imbued with both artistic sensibility and social value. His composure and reserve, the product of time and knowledge, were a stark contrast to the passionate and forthright young man she remembered.

This strange feeling constituted the most fatal attraction. It was a world of mature men that she did not understand at all, yet it met all her rational expectations.

In her subconscious, a clear contrast quietly emerged: Ankhsu's world is gorgeous and dazzling, but it is also accompanied by ubiquitous cameras, the enthusiasm of fans, and the game of capital. Every step must be taken with caution. She needs to put on armor and build their city with him in the storm.

The world that Qiqi presents is calm, open, full of intellectual brilliance and down-to-earth feelings. It is an image of "successful career" that is freer and more recognized by mainstream values, and it will certainly make her parents feel at ease.

A subtle sense of imbalance quietly grew in her heart. She turned off the video, leaned back in her chair, and looked out the window at the dark night. For the first time, she realized so clearly that what lay before her were not just two outstanding men, but two completely different life paths.

Her heart fell into deeper confusion in this silent dark night.