Chapter 63: When Iron Trees Bloom

The duet episode had eliminated more contestants, drawing the finale ever closer.

The production team’s multimillion post-production budget was a masterclass in clipping viral gold. With S-tier variety show marketing muscle and a prime summer slot, it might not have been a nationwide phenomenon, but even after the hype drained away, it still held a top spot on the seasonal charts.

Many viewers had tuned in at first for the dream team of music producers Ding Zhi and Zhuang Yue, with nostalgia front and center in the pitch deck. But as the competition heated up, they found themselves stanning the contestants.

Zhong Jia was riding high. Her romance with Xie Yingnian had gone public, her movie was about to hit theaters, and her performances were stealing the show. Her fan numbers exploded, transforming those cold, abstract online figures into inescapable real-world pressure. She got recognized at school all the time now, and some fans were straight-up camping out below her company building.

Before heading to the recording, Zhong Jia swung by the company first. She had a commercial deal to hash out.

Fangtang Entertainment had built a rep in recent years for running idol groups, and Zhong Jia was used to getting escorted through the underground garage by the wife fans of her male group seniors. She never imagined the day her own fans would show up—a massive crowd clustered outside the barriers, mostly girls and full-on diehards waving her banners and lightsticks. They bounced alongside the business van the whole way, faces flushed as they shrieked: “Hubby—!”

The screams cut right through. Everyone in the car heard it crystal clear, and so did Xie Yingnian on the other end of the voice call.

In the VIP lounge at Shanghai Airport, Xie Yingnian sat with her legs crossed, lounging idly in a quiet corner. She held a paper cup of coffee, faint lipstick smudged on the rim. She curved her lips, repeating the word playfully, as if she hadn’t quite caught it: “Hubby?”

Xie Yingnian had gotten leave from her new film’s director to fly back to Yanjing and record the finale as a guest. It was a trip locked in ages ago, but to outsiders, it smacked a little of a freebie date on the public’s dime.

She didn’t give a damn what anyone thought. Her usual cool, buttoned-up demeanor had flipped on its head from the jump. The official announcement had been high-profile, the street kiss that followed screamed “this one’s different,” and last episode, she’d even sent a bouquet of roses onstage to celebrate Zhong Jia’s advancement.

The media, ever eager for drama, hounded her exes at every turn, stirring the pot. The answers were unanimous: when iron trees bloom.

Hardly anyone nailed a lifetime love on the first try. Finding that perfect fit was a unicorn. Most folks got stuck in marriages and spent decades grinding out compatibility.

Dumping an old flame for a new spark? Par for the course.

Her exes had dated Xie Yingnian, tried their luck with others before or after, recalibrated their standards, and eventually found their true match. They couldn’t say they walked away empty-handed.

These days, any love or hate had washed away with time. What lingered was pure sentiment, summed up in those words: iron tree blooming. Xie Yingnian in love brought actual warmth—practically scorching compared to her track record.

The van rolled down the slope into the dimly lit garage, leaving the fans’ near-fatal screams far behind.

Xie Yingnian’s tone was flat as a board, like she was asking if Zhong Jia had eaten yet. Zhong Jia knew all about her possessiveness; it sent shivers down her spine. She rushed to explain: “Fans! Uh, some call me daughter too, but they’re not as loud.”

Her manager led the way, assistant brought up the rear, both glued to their phones. They were clearly used to their artist pulling this spineless-wifey routine.

What kind of hubby was that? No real husband would let their partner leash them that tight. Shi Heng sighed inwardly. Ever since getting married, his paycheck had never once passed through his own hands.

Xie Yingnian tossed back the rest of her coffee and handed the empty cup to Jujiu. “Mm. Teacher Zhong’s very likable.”

She wasn’t one to talk. She’d been mobbed by fans on the way from the car into the airport, but once things quieted, they’d chatted the whole way. Fans of actors seemed way more low-key than singer stans—maybe because the stage shrank that distance, turning admiration into obsession.

“Cough cough, nah, I only like you.” Zhong Jia wasn’t about to climb the ladder she’d dangled. Pure survival instinct had her pivoting smoothly. “So, you coming to the show? To hear me sing.”

Jujiu returned with a fresh coffee and clocked the dark circles under her artist’s eyes. This time, she was in deep. Xie Yingnian had pulled all-nighters to wrap things up and make it back to Yanjing in time for the recording. She was wiped out.

She gripped the coffee meant to chase away the drowsiness but didn’t drink. Her eyelids fluttered sleepily. Zhong Jia’s eager voice sharpened her bleary gaze. A smile crinkled the corners of her eyes, but her words said: “Might not be able to make it.”

The assistant’s eyes bugged out. Jujiu was baffled. Might not make it? Then what was the point of this flight? But she caught on in a flash.

Tsk tsk. Iron tree blooming for sure. Teacher Xie pulling cute couple games now.

Xie Yingnian and Zhong Jia had agreed to total honesty. She was the type to let actions do the talking anyway. Once she made a promise, she kept it. This little fib was just to surprise her.

Before Zhong Jia came along, Xie Yingnian had never pictured herself getting romantic. Imagining her reaction, she couldn’t help touching her lips to her teeth. She was ready for the girl to sob with joy and bite down hard a few times.

“Oh. Like that? Work comes first. It’s fine.” Zhong Jia stared at her shoes, a quiet sigh of disappointment slipping past her lips.

She really was okay with it and totally got it, but the disappointment was real too. She’d secretly prepped a song, hoping to perform it for Xie Yingnian on the finale stage.

The call didn’t end until they hit the elevator and lost signal.

Shi Heng’s agent skills were solid if unremarkable. He’d always been dogged by bad luck with his artists. His most promising actor had vanished from the scene out of nowhere, earning him a “jinx” rep for years. The head of the management department dragged him in for “performance reviews” constantly—really just piling on pressure. The industry was in a rut lately; layoffs weren’t unheard of.

This current gig felt like a luck cleanser. Debut lead in a big director’s movie, solid buzz from the invite-only screening crowd, killing it back in music variety, commercial value through the roof.

Contract signed, the group piled into the elevator, down to the garage, and straight to the recording studio.

“Bro, you think Tiantian can snag first tonight?”

A Cha pulled up the latest preview on the show’s Weibo. The fans’ controlled commenting was a dizzying bore, papering over the comment section with fake harmony. But it was temporary. Once results dropped after midnight, the fanwars would explode.

Shi Heng couldn’t shake his old-dad vibes. He’d nagged Zhong Jia the whole ride about what to watch out for, capping it with: relax. Win or lose, she’d already crushed expectations.

“I’m pretty chill.”

Zhong Jia sported a pair of cat claw earrings. When she smiled at people, her eyes lit up bright, radiating that unbeatable life force and refusal to back down.

“Because your girlfriend’s not coming?” Shi Heng scoffed.

Zhong Jia wore slightly upscale casuals, barely any makeup. She’d just gotten over a bout of illness, so her complexion was off, but the thin layer of vivid lipstick on her lips perfectly offset the fragile pallor.

She gazed at the cityscape sliding past the window. “I just want to sing. Doing what I love makes me happy enough. I’m not sweating the win or loss.”

Dodging the first bit, Shi Heng didn’t bother calling out her sulky-stay-at-home-wife energy. Tonight did feel like a powder keg. No big upset for first place—it’d be Zhong Jia or Shi Cainran. Both tight with Xie Yingnian.

The footage that made the final cut had been heavily edited. Shi Heng sat in the audience from start to finish, spooked more than once by Shi Cainran’s venomous stares. He’d glance up at Zhong Jia on stage, a weird panic stirring in his chest without knowing what beef they had.

He’d run into Jiang Nai at a dinner once, and the guy vented hard. Shi Cainran was a nightmare to manage. Agents and artists were supposed to be partners, but she lied in eight out of ten sentences. Fake college degree, skipped training, impossible to rouse from bed, massive attitude when you did, average family background—who’d spoiled her into this princess act?

And she thought she could take the crown? Everyone in the finals was heaven-sent talent. What made her bowl heavier?

“You raised her up nice. Don’t want her anymore?” Shi Heng poured him a drink.

Jiang Nai snorted. “Friends screwed me over. She hooked He Lifu. No shortage of shots for her. Once she’s famous, boot to my face.”

A grudge over He Lifu?

Had Zhong Jia spent more than a day under the same roof with this brother outside the womb?

Shi Heng racked his brain but came up empty—until he stumbled on a clip from the first episode one day. Then it clicked what felt off.

Going by Shi Cainran’s old press releases, she and Xie Yingnian should’ve been thick as thieves. But Xie Yingnian only retweeted the confirmation and nothing else. Their shared screen time was so awkward, they’d checked with the director and cut it all. So the premiere had zero sister interaction.

Was that murderous glare from Shi Cainran because of Xie Yingnian?

“Tiantian, let me ask…”

He turned and saw Zhong Jia slumped awkwardly in her sleep, her frail little frame twisted at odd angles. He couldn’t bring himself to rouse the sickly young actress so roughly. After all, it was nothing but speculation on his part—he could always question her tomorrow without jeopardizing her competition.

“This stage setup is way too gorgeous,” A Cha said, scrolling down to the next few posts with a click of her tongue in admiration.

Shi Heng glanced over and picked out Zhong Jia’s photo from the nine-panel grid. “Director Yu just loves all these flashy gimmicks. A slow ballad doesn’t need to go flying off into the stratosphere, does it? Though to be fair, San Cai’s stage effects last time were pretty impressive.”

As he spoke, a sharp throb suddenly pulsed through his temples. Shi Heng rubbed his brow, a vague sense of foreboding creeping over him. Something terrible was about to happen, his heart confirmed with erratic, pounding beats.

~~~