The real young master thought he was hated by everyone

Li Heng was attempting to groom his colt when he got the call from Gu Mingyue.

They hadn’t stayed in this small town the entire time, often going out to explore other places. The mare gave birth to her foal when they were in the Netherlands and Belgium, and she even experienced a difficult labor. Fortunately, Slyan was present, grabbed the foal’s legs, and helped pull it out of its mother’s body, giving it immediate care until it could stand up. He sent a photo afterward, saying that although it looked a bit frail, it was a very healthy and lively young colt.

After consulting an encyclopedia (since he didn’t have a dictionary), Li Heng decided to name the colt Alexander. He explained to Slyan that he chose the name hoping the colt could grow strong and powerful like Alexander the Great and have a significant life of its own.

He added that, although Alexander the Great died young, a horse’s lifespan aligns with his age, so using the name wasn’t taboo in their culture.

To make his reasoning as convincing as possible, he prepared for the call with Slyan by writing out a draft and having Xie Duzhi help him refine it. Xie Sizhi also contributed a few ideas.

Their efforts succeeded, and Slyan was convinced that Alexander was indeed a good name that even aligned with Eastern naming traditions. He now mentioned Alexander in conversation often.

He even enthusiastically invited Li Heng to name the new foals in his stable next year. By the end of this year, he also planned to breed more horses.

Li Heng politely declined, saying he might not return around that time next year. In a rare show of creativity, Xie Sizhi made up a story about “the consequences of delaying a name for a child,” eventually convincing Slyan and his girlfriend (who was still in school) to name the foal themselves.

Alexander grew quickly, reaching up to Li Heng’s waist just a couple of weeks after birth, a growth rate that made Li Heng quite envious.

Since he’d been staying with his grandparents, he had been eating plenty of dairy products and meat, and he’d gained almost 20 pounds, much to the satisfaction of Mrs. Xie and Uncle Fu whenever they video-called. Uncle Fu would sometimes even bring their family’s cats and dogs in front of the camera, telling them to “learn from the young master” and eat well.

If only Xiaozhi’s weight hadn’t broken the fourteen-pound mark, Uncle Fu’s words might have held more weight.

Still, Li Heng thought optimistically that, once back in China, he might be able to lose weight by walking Xiaozhi around the garden every day.

“Mingyue, is your training camp over?” he put down the brush, feeling like this was the best news he’d heard in days. “It feels like it’s been forever since we last talked.”

“I just complimented your foal yesterday before I went to bed,” Gu Mingyue replied, sounding affectionate. “Our little streak of messages can prove it, so don’t accuse me, big brother.”

Li Heng imagined Gu Mingyue on the other end of the line, blinking and smiling with a slightly upturned mouth.

“I mean a real conversation like this,” Li Heng clarified.

He and Gu Mingyue kept a “fire streak” of daily messages going, but Gu’s participation in a talent show kept him busy, as the training schedule was intense and didn’t leave much downtime.

And like their former class rep, Gu was the kind of person who appeared relaxed on the surface, as if unbothered by rankings, while being fiercely competitive in private—and maybe a little addicted to being on top.

When he’d returned from Norway with a gold medal, he wasn’t even happy, and while out for ice cream, he’d mentioned the competition through clenched teeth.

Even though he’d won gold, his score hadn’t been the highest, and the person who scored higher was a few months younger than him.

Winning the show didn’t matter as much to him, as long as he kept his popularity above a certain threshold to ensure a debut spot. And with summer break ending soon, he would head off to Q University to study under his professor. Li Heng was confident that Gu was among the most hardworking of all.

On several occasions, Gu texted him at dawn in China, still practicing in the studio.

“Mingyue, isn’t your talent show almost over?” Li Heng asked, unable to hold back. “I should be back in China before summer ends, so if you have time, want to go out and have some fun?”

Ever since the show began, Gu Mingyue’s popularity had been sky-high. With his good looks and academic skills, he gained fans without needing a specific image.

Li Heng only watched the first few episodes of the show, but as Gu Mingyue kept him updated on the results, he gradually stopped following it live, though he did log in to the fan forum daily to show his support.

Earlier on, he had shared a voting link every day to get family members to vote for him. Eventually, Mrs. Xie took over the task.

After she found out that the person in the link was Gu, she began following the show.

She liked him a lot.

After all, he was adorable, sweet-talking, and had helped tutor Li Heng with schoolwork before—even, to some extent, predicting what might appear on his college entrance exam. With all these merits, it was hard for her not to like him.

“By the way, my mom wants your autograph,” he remembered. “She told me she bought a bunch of the yogurt flavor you endorsed, but she thinks the picture doesn’t capture how cute you are in real life.”

Li Heng agreed, as they had edited away Gu’s chubby cheeks, and his chin had been sharpened to look more pointed, which made him lose his lively charm.

“I’ll sign however many beautiful aunty wants,” Gu replied playfully. “When are you coming back? I’ll visit and give the autograph in person.”

They’d talked about the yogurt thing before in their messages, and Gu knew “Aunty Xie” was a big fan of his, a regular in his forum who often hosted events and giveaways as the famous “wealthy big sister.”

But close friends could repeat the same topic hundreds of times, and neither would tire of it.

“Oh, by the way, I already debuted a few days ago,” he added, suddenly switching to a serious yet proud tone. “And as number one.”

Li Heng was surprised, congratulated him, then realized, “You didn’t tell me!”

“When I asked you when you’d debut last time, you said it’d be Saturday,” he protested.

“It’s only Thursday in China.”

“You didn’t care enough to look it up,” Gu scoffed. “It would’ve been easy to search or check the top posts in the forum.”

“…” Li Heng, who hadn’t actually read any posts and just followed the routine of checking in, fell silent.

He changed the subject quickly: “I knew you’d be number one.”

“Mingyue, do you want to video-call to see Alexander? He’s grown a few centimeters since I sent you that picture.”

“It’s evening in China now, right? Have you had dinner?”

“Guess,” Gu teased, not giving a direct answer, explaining that he was out, so a video call wasn’t possible at the moment.

“You did eat,” Li Heng replied.

If he hadn’t, Gu would’ve played the pitiful card, telling him he’d been stuck rehearsing or something without a meal.

“Then let’s video call when you’re back home,” he suggested. “And I’ll show you the pets you wanted to see last time.”

“Alright~” On the phone, Gu’s tone rose with anticipation.

Li Heng was sure he was smiling that signature fox-like smile.

In fact, he was at the show’s filming location.

High popularity came with its downsides: even without a company managing him, his inbox was flooded with event invitations, and he had to sift through a slew of requests.

After screening for quality, he chose a show focused on travel and friendships, where participants could bring a friend or loved one from outside the industry.

He considered inviting Li Heng, at least formally, as a way to show how much he valued their friendship.

But he worried that forcing his friend into the spotlight was too selfish, so he instead asked one of his show friends, though they weren’t very close.

Still, when he had a few minutes to call a friend, it was always Li Heng.

After all, a phone call didn’t require being on camera, it only lasted a few minutes, and it would only be shown as a quick, edited clip in the extras—barely affecting Li Heng’s life.

“Right.” He suddenly thought of something interesting. “Did I tell you about the time we went for hotpot after our talent show?”

“I think you did,” Li Heng recalled. “I remember the photo looked super spicy, with oil floating on top.”

Just like Mrs. Xie, he couldn’t handle spicy food. The sight of that pot filled to the brim with chili peppers, nearly hiding everything else under a layer of red oil, had left a lasting impression.

“No, no, it wasn’t that time.” Gu Mingyue quickly denied. “That time we got caught, and then someone had a breakout the next day and got scolded by the makeup artist.”

“…”

“You’ve eaten hotpot a lot,” Li Heng couldn’t resist pointing out. “I even remember you once sent me a picture of you cooking it in the dorm.”

“Hotpot’s meant to be eaten in the summer,” Mingyue replied nonchalantly, then cleared his throat. “The time I’m talking about is when we treated the photographer who took our promo photos to hotpot as a thank-you.”

“The set that looked kind of like stage outfits,” he added, specifying the one he meant, “the one where you said I looked good.”

“Ah, that set!” Li Heng remembered it vividly. “Because that was the only one where you looked pretty close to real life.”

“Not like the one on that yogurt bottle,” he said, unable to resist pulling out Gu Mingyue’s endorsement photo for comparison. “I still think your natural look is the cutest and best. When Mom showed me your photo alongside the others, I could barely tell who was who.”

Gu Mingyue laughed out loud. “That’s why we treated that photographer to hotpot!”

“But that’s not the point.” After laughing enough, he glanced at the countdown timer on the screen, trying to steer the conversation back. “The point is, the hotpot restaurant owner seemed to recognize us. He called one of our names and even brought a paper and photo into the private room.”

“And then?” Li Heng asked, curious.

Since Mingyue said it was funny, it surely wasn’t a simple autograph request.

Li Heng couldn’t help but guess. Maybe something went wrong while they were eating, or they misinterpreted the owner’s intentions. Maybe he was just there to bring the menu since they were short-staffed.

“He walked over, and the person he called had already pulled a pen out of their pocket, asking where he wanted it signed.”

“But the owner didn’t even look at him; he went straight to the photographer and handed him the paper and photo! Hahaha!” Gu Mingyue couldn’t help laughing at the memory. “The owner was a fan of the photographer, an amateur photographer himself.”

He had even remembered the coworker’s name because the photographer had mentioned his unique look as an example on his account, sharing some tips.

Li Heng couldn’t help but laugh too. “Weren’t you all a bit embarrassed?”

“I wasn’t embarrassed at all.” Gu Mingyue shrugged. “I was just focused on eating hotpot, and I thought their dipping sauce was really tasty.”

“Their main store is in the capital. It’s the kind of traditional northern hotpot that isn’t spicy, perfect for when it cools down,” he emphasized.

But Li Heng didn’t catch the hint. “I’ve tried that kind before, right? The one with the copper pot?”

“Definitely great for cooler weather; it’s very warming.”

“… The point is, their main store is in the capital!” Gu Mingyue reminded him, “I’ll be heading to school in the capital after summer break!”

“Then you’ll get to eat there often—lucky you.” Li Heng was happy for him.

After all, hotpot is definitely tastier and more authentic at the source.

“Wait, you’re not planning to visit me in the capital?” He was shocked and disappointed. “Wouldn’t autumn be perfect for us to go together when it gets chilly?”

Li Heng had definitely mentioned him as a potential tour guide before.

“I never said I wouldn’t visit you,” he finally understood, amused. “Mingyue, you’re the one talking in circles. You should just ask me directly if I’d like to have hotpot with you when I visit.”

After saying this, he suddenly remembered he hadn’t told him about his upcoming travel plans.

“I’m planning to visit the capital during National Day.”

“It’s settled, then,” Gu Mingyue hurriedly ended the call, not giving him a chance to explain further. “I’m getting on the subway now; I’ll call back when I’m home to continue chatting!”

Before he could even say goodbye, he guessed Mingyue had probably taken his time entering the station, only to realize the subway doors were about to close, prompting the quick hang-up.

Sighing at Mingyue’s procrastination, he picked up a brush, intending to braid Alexander’s hair into a smaller braid, when several missed call notifications appeared on his screen, and the phone rang again.