Chapter Text
The folder lands on the polished surface of the table with a muted thud, the sound barely echoing in the sterile atmosphere of the office. It’s slim, tightly stapled, and neatly organized—traits synonymous with everything that manages to pass through the hands of the agency. On the surface, it appears innocuous, almost unassuming. Yet, despite its unremarkable exterior, there’s an air of foreboding about it, like a calm before an impending storm.
Lu Guang, however, makes no move to pick it up.
He feels no obligation to do so.
He is acutely aware of what secrets the folder harbors within its confines.
“Personal security is non-negotiable,” the assistant states, her voice smooth and calculated, the type crafted from hours of agency protocols. It spans the spectrum between cordial and commanding, too polite to challenge yet firm enough to make it clear that input from him isn’t part of the equation.
“I’m not a politician,” Lu Guang retorts, his tone flat as a blade. “I don’t need a bodyguard.”
The assistant counters without missing a beat, “You’re not being assigned one because of your prominence.” she clarifies, the crispness in her voice juxtaposed against the undercurrent of urgency in her message. “You’re being assigned one because you represent a risk.”
Lu Guang raises an eyebrow, skepticism evident in his expression, which earns him a tight-lipped smile in return.
“I meant,” she elaborates, gesturing vaguely as if trying to shovel her words into an acceptable frame, “you attract attention.”
So, that’s what this is. A euphemism delicately wrapped in pleasantries.
Still, he refrains from touching the folder that lies before him, a silent protest in the face of her insistence.
The assistant takes his inaction as an invitation to continue, her composure steady as she relays their findings. “We’ve analyzed your current itinerary, and the overlap between your upcoming shoots, press engagements, and international excursions necessitates a more streamlined security protocol. You’ll retain your driver—this is merely an addition to your existing setup, not a demotion.”
“He’ll hover.” Lu Guang replies, irritation creeping into his voice. “They always hover.”
That statement earns her the first crack in the façade she has maintained so carefully—a flicker of irritation crosses her features, and he relishes the moment. He has been collecting those cracks all week, each one a personal victory against the corporate façade.
“This isn’t a discussion, Lu Guang.” she states, her tone tightening just a fraction.
“It should be.” he shoots back, his resolve undeterred.
A heavy silence envelops the room, stretching across the tabletop as the folder continues to sit defiantly, as if mocking his unwillingness to accept what lies within.
He stares at it, his gaze unyielding, as if willing the object to dissolve into nothingness.
“I don’t like people.” he finally murmurs, the words low and edged with frustration.
“I know.” she replies, a hint of understanding creeping into her voice.
“I don’t want someone watching me.” he insists, an ember of passion igniting in his chest.
“They’ll be discreet.” she reassures him, but he can hear the unspoken limitations in her words.
“I don’t need them.” he presses, his conviction hardening like steel.
“That’s not the crux of the matter.” she counters, her tone unwavering.
Another pause ensues, stretching the tension further. The room is unnervingly quiet, every detail sharpened by the soundproof walls and matte fixtures. Even the hum of the air conditioning is diminished, as if it too wishes to remain unobtrusive in this tense exchange.
Lu Guang exhales slowly, feeling the weight of the conversation settling heavily upon him. A pulse behind his eye begins to twitch, barely perceptible. He forces himself to resist the urge to rub it away, to wipe the tension from his brow.
“I’ve gone five years without a shadow,” he asserts quietly, his resolve softening, if only briefly. “I can handle myself.”
The assistant, a picture of composure, folds her hands neatly on the desk in front of her.
“You were pushed at the Shenzhen airport two weeks ago,” she states coolly. “By a model who was clearly intoxicated.”
“She was drunk.” he defends weakly.
“And last month, you were cornered in an elevator by fans.” she presses, her eyes unwavering.
“I managed to escape.” he retorts, the words leaving his mouth with a touch more force than he intended.
“You sprained your wrist in the process.” she replies, unrelenting.
“Not from that.” he snaps, frustration bubbling just beneath the surface.
There is a moment of suspense as they both hold their ground, a silent battle of wills. The assistant, to her credit, remains unflinching.
Instead of retreating, she delivers her final blow with a calmness that belies the stakes. “Your public image is worth seven figures, Lu Guang. Your calendar is secured through October. The board has given their approval. The contract is active.”
Lu Guang closes his eyes, retreating briefly into the silence behind his eyelids, seeking a moment of respite. Exactly three seconds pass before he reopens them, the reality of the situation settling around him like a thick fog.
And finally—after what feels like an eternity of resistance—he reaches for the folder.
The first page resembles what one might find in a generic CV, bearing the basic details: name, date of birth, and an assortment of qualifications that hold little weight in this exchange. It notes a stint as part of a security detail for a number of mid-tier celebrities, as well as participation in some kind of stunt protection circuit two years prior. Tucked in the corner is a brief remark: “Athlete, used to do basketball.”
Of course, that makes sense.
Lu Guang turns the page, the paper nearly crinkling under his fingers from the slight pressure.
> CHENG XIAOSHI.
22.
5’11”.
Yet, there's no photo accompanying this name, no thoughtful quote to capture the essence of his character, no artfully crafted personality teaser to dissect. Instead, merely a sparse list of bullet points and a printed note from the head of logistics at the agency, distinctly blunt:
> "He's the best we have available on short notice. If he gets on your nerves, congratulations — that’s his charm."
Something about the phrasing captures Lu Guang's attention, and he fixates on the line for a moment longer than necessary.
Then, with an almost reflexive motion, he snaps the folder shut, the sound punctuating the room with a finality that echoes his impatience.
The following morning he meets him, but only for an instant.
An instant, because Lu Guang is not one to engage in formal introductions. He doesn’t bother with the pleasantries of “this is your new shadow” or extend a hand for a friendly shake. No, he strides out of Studio 3, coat already draped over his shoulders, pink sunglasses perched firmly in place, stepping into the morning as though Cheng Xiaoshi were merely a figment of the imagination.
For the record, this might have been a clever maneuver, had Cheng Xiaoshi not chosen that moment to play the role of the gallant sidekick, holding the car door open like they were both trapped in some cheap romantic drama.
Cheng Xiaoshi is taller than expected, even more relaxed, his shoulders hanging loose as if he carries no burden at all. His expression is a mystery, obscured beneath a black baseball cap that casts a shadow over his features. A faint scar lies beneath his left eye—nothing dashing, more the result of a regrettable bar scuffle.
Still, Lu Guang doesn’t stop.
He refrains from casting even a sidelong glance.
Instead, he smoothly slides into the back seat, shutting the door with a definitive thud, electing silence as his companion.
Cheng Xiaoshi, at least initially, mirrors this silence.
Yet ten minutes into their drive—a gentle light filtering through the tinted windows, the soft cadence of jazz wafting from the car's speaker system, and Lu Guang internally strategizing the day’s shoot, the minutes ticking by like an unhurried clock—a voice breaks the stillness.
“So,” Cheng Xiaoshi drawls from the driver’s seat, his tone expertly casual. “do I get a name, or should I keep calling you ‘payload’ in my head?”
Lu Guang remains unfazed, a stoic front refusing to crack.
Cheng Xiaoshi continues to maneuver through the streets, the rhythm of their silence stretching between them. “Ah, I see,” he remarks, a hint of dry humor in his voice. “Strong silent type. Love that for us.”
Another three minutes drift by, the uneventful drive like a backdrop to an unspoken understanding.
"Just so you know,” Cheng Xiaoshi ventures, nonchalant as though passing a benign observation, “you’ve got kind of a famous frown.”
Lu Guang glances at the rearview mirror, but Cheng Xiaoshi’s eyes are fixed ahead, unbothered.
“Seriously.” Cheng Xiaoshi presses on, “I’ve seen that exact expression plastered on billboards. You do that thing with your eyebrows—real photogenic scowl. Very chic.”
Lu Guang lets out a slow breath, exhaling from his nose with a hint of resignation.
“Are you always like this?” he asks, the curiosity emerging just beneath the surface of his demeanor.
Cheng Xiaoshi’s grin broadens, faint yet oddly disarming. “Only when ignored.”
“Good to know.” Lu Guang replies, taking the opportunity to pull out his phone.
The remainder of the journey whirs along in silence.
Not one of tension, nor bitterness.
Just an expansive emptiness that fills the car like an uninvited guest.
Cheng Xiaoshi refrains from probing further, while Lu Guang offers nothing in return. By the time they arrive at the studio lot, an air of cool detachment settles within the vehicle, two degrees lower yet measured in unspoken words. Lu Guang, already feeling the pull of his responsibilities, begins typing out a text to his agent, querying whether the security assignment could be rotated.
The response comes almost instantaneously:
> no.
He opens the car door, exiting without uttering a single word.
Not a backward glance offered.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm golden hue over the bustling cityscape, Cheng Xiaoshi leaned against the car with an air of effortless coolness. His figure seemed to merge with the vehicle, one leg casually propped against the sleek frame, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, giving off a vibe that was both relaxed and rebellious. The sunglasses perched on his nose, clearly deviating from the agency's standard dress code, hinted at a defiant spirit that was hard to ignore.
Inside the crowd, Lu Guang wrestled with his thoughts, contemplating the possibility of calling another car for a hasty escape. Yet, he knew deep down that he’d lost that fight from the moment he stepped outside. The proximity was undeniable, and it drew him in like a moth to flame.
“Good shoot?” Cheng Xiaoshi asked, his voice cutting through the air as he opened the car door before Lu Guang could even touch the handle. There was a playful glint in his eyes, a hint of expectation.
Lu Guang didn’t answer; instead, he slid into the seat, the leather cool against his skin. He instinctively pulled out his phone from his pocket, as if it could shield him from the mounting awkwardness that hung between them like a thick fog.
Cheng Xiaoshi followed, slipping into the car, he was perfectly content to take his time, as if their shared ride was merely another unremarkable Tuesday rather than an encounter with a stranger confined to a moving metal box with nothing but shared oxygen and unwelcome silence.
The engine purred to life, smoothly. The city slides by in blurred neon. Cheng Xiaoshi tapped the steering wheel lightly, his fingers dancing to a rhythm of a song only he could hear. It felt oddly familiar yet utterly foreign.
then he breaks the silence again. “You always this talkative, or is it just me?”
Lu Guang kept his gaze fixed on his lap, unwilling to engage.
“I didn’t sign up to chat with strangers.” he replied curtly, eyes still averted.
“Fair enough. But I’m the stranger who’s contractually obligated to take a bullet for you now, so maybe we could skip over some of the awkward formalities?” Cheng Xiaoshi’s tone was light, yet there was an undercurrent of sincerity.
Lu guang says nothing. Xiaoshi resumed drumming his fingers rhythmically on the wheel.
“Right. No small talk. Got it. How about medium talk, then? I can go philosophical. Ask you if art is dead or is a hot dog really just a sandwich?” Cheng Xiaoshi offered, a mischievous smile playing at the corners of his lips.
Lu Guang tilted his head back, resting against the plush leather seat, closing his eyes tightly as if blocking out the world around him.
Cheng Xiaoshi let out a low whistle, breaking the tension with a hint of frustration. “Alright.” he muttered, “We’re doing this the hard way.”
At the first stoplight, the abruptness of the moment was shattered when a group of teenagers carelessly dashed across the crosswalk, ignoring the changing signal. One girl caught sight of them, her eyes widening in recognition. Frozen in disbelief, she tugged at her friend's arm, pointing directly at the car.
Lu Guang instinctively sunk lower into his seat, his jaw tightening in response to the sudden awareness of their presence. He was acutely aware of the world outside.
“Fans?” Cheng Xiaoshi asked, his tone laced with casual curiosity.
Lu Guang remained silent, a stone wall of discomfort.
One of the teens raised her phone high, likely poised to capture the moment for social media. Cheng Xiaoshi, noticing their intent, inched the car forward, as if trying to navigate the storm brewing outside.
When the light finally turned green, they slipped through the intersection just ahead of the telltale sound of a camera shutter clicking.
“You know,” Cheng Xiaoshi chimed in, nonchalantly, “if you let me do my job effectively, you wouldn’t have to worry about juggling a game of whack-a-mole with those zoom lenses.”
Lu Guang finally opened his eyes, meeting Cheng Xiaoshi’s gaze through the rearview mirror.
“You’re not subtle.” he remarked dryly.
Cheng Xiaoshi’s smile was as unfazed as it was bright, eyes still trained on the road ahead. “It wasn’t part of my job description to be.”
“You were hired to ensure my schedule runs smoothly, not to fill it with unnecessary noise.” Lu Guang countered, a hint of irritation creeping into his voice.
“Noise is free.” Cheng Xiaoshi replied with an upbeat cheerfulness that felt almost buoyant against the backdrop of the tense atmosphere. “Protection is just the bonus.”
They remain silent for the remainder of the drive, a palpable tension hanging in the air like an unspoken conversation waiting to unfold.
Yet, Cheng Xiaoshi hums—a soft, melodic sound that ebbs and flows in the car's cramped interior. The tune is not perfect; it strays off-key occasionally, but there's a steady rhythm to it that somehow anchors the moment.
Despite his best intentions to feel irritated, Lu Guang finds that he doesn’t quite have it in him to be annoyed. Instead, he opts for a different escape, turning up the volume on his earbuds, drowning out the uninvited melody. He focuses on the sounds and rhythms of his playlist, trying to create a barrier between himself and the unwanted companionship.
However, he can’t resist stealing another glance at the rearview mirror. Just a quick look, he tells himself, to confirm that Cheng Xiaoshi is still there.
Cheng Xiaoshi isn’t paying him any attention. His gaze is glued to the road ahead, firm and determined, exhibiting a level of concentration that Lu Guang finds almost admirable. The steady hum continues to spill from his lips.
Feeling a flutter of something he can’t quite name, Lu Guang turns his attention back to the road, focusing on the pavement rushing past, but a part of him clings to that image — Cheng Xiaoshi, lost in his own world, seemingly unfazed by the quiet tension that envelops the vehicle.
Once they arrive at his apartment building, the sense of solitude he experiences when he opens the door is striking. The familiar, silent embrace of his empty home greets him. There are no staff milling about, no lingering sounds of life, no shadows crossing the threshold. He exhales sharply, letting the silence envelop him for a moment.
For exactly three seconds, he thinks the day is over, that the chaos of the world outside could give way to his much needed solitude.
But soon enough, the stillness is broken by the buzz of his phone, bringing him back to reality. He picks it up with some reluctance, his heart quickening as he sees an unexpected message from an unknown number pop up on the screen:
> [saved your number. let me know if your royal highness wants me around tmrw.]
Lu Guang finds himself staring intently at the message. He doesn’t respond; his fingers hover over the screen, conflicted. Nor does he delete the text, as if its presence somehow anchors him to the outside world and all its possibilities.
With a heavy sigh, he sets the phone down on the table, feeling its weight — the connection, the expectation.
Driven by an instinct, he walks over to the window, peering down at the street five stories below. There, a sleek black car is just pulling away from the driveway.
He imagines Cheng Xiaoshi still inside, probably still humming the same tune, lost in thought, driving away into the night, leaving Lu Guang alone with his silence once more.