Let Me Be Spoiled - Chapter 38

That night, a third-rate makeup artist posted a vague, passive-aggressive Weibo, claiming they had nearly been beaten up just for “speaking the truth” about a minor celebrity sleeping with a sugar daddy. The tone was self-righteous and full of implication.

Naturally, gossip-hungry users jumped in, asking who they were talking about.

The makeup artist posted the person’s name in initials, hinting it was the same person at the center of the hot rumor—the one who received a check tucked inside a bouquet of roses.

Qin Haocheng had worked with that person before. Smooth and calculating, he just happened to see the post on his feed.

He had heard the rumor before too, but hadn’t thought much of it at the time, assuming Xie Yan was just pretending to be pure. Now that it had blown up into something real, he sensed danger. If Xie Yan really had the backing of a rich investor, he might start competing with him for Huida’s resources.

He had to make the first move.

Tonight’s drama was the perfect entry point. That makeup artist had posted with such certainty, and it sounded believable. All Qin Haocheng had to do was pay to push the topic onto the trending list—marketing accounts would follow, and once the public opinion started flowing, it wouldn’t be easy to stop. Xie Yan had no PR team to handle it and would definitely be caught off guard. Once the narrative took hold, it would spiral on its own.

Allegations of being kept—or “sugar-daddied”—would be devastating for someone like Xie Yan, who had no major works to his name and was still a relative nobody. It would destroy any favorability among casual audiences and kill any chance of gaining new fans.

Of course, there was still a possibility the rumor wasn’t true.

Qin Haocheng forwarded the post to several marketing accounts he often worked with and smiled.

So what if it’s fake?

If Xie Yan really had a sugar daddy, this would cut the threat off early. If not, he would still feel good spending the money.

Maybe it was jealousy.

The trending tag “xy sugar daddy” appeared on the hot search first.

Curious users clicked in to find a string of half-truths and speculation. Comments like “The entertainment industry is really a mess these days,” or “Some people just debut as leads thanks to connections,” or “Even top actors like YX are only getting supporting roles” flooded in—enticing passersby to dig deeper.

Soon, marketing accounts joined the fray, posting cryptic, mixed content that blended fact with fiction.

Then the trending topic vanished almost immediately, and any Weibo posts mentioning Xie Yan were scrubbed clean.

Even netizens who didn’t know who he was started getting angry—convinced that Xie Yan must have a backer. After all, who else could afford to wipe a trending tag in the middle of the night?

So, under subtle guidance, a new keyword began climbing the charts: “xy can’t be named.” It quickly shot into the top three.

The whole thing escalated rapidly. Overnight, Xie Yan, White Whale, Yang Xun, sugar daddy, roses, and check—these words were plastered across the timelines of gossip-hungry users.

Some even dug up old stories, claiming Yang Xun had been humiliated and forced to help whitewash Xie Yan’s image back then.

By that time, it was already deep into the night. Xie Yan had long since passed out drunk.

But not Fu Qing. He went to find Mo Fu in the middle of the night.

Mo Fu, always busy with nightlife, assumed it was urgent and rolled out of bed—leaving a male companion behind to meet Fu Qing.

Fu Qing waited in a nearby bar, sitting there with a glass of strong liquor, staring at his phone screen. He didn’t even glance up when Mo Fu arrived, just asked directly, “You put the check in?”

Mo Fu paused, then, realizing what he meant, grinned smugly. “Yeah, that was me. You only just found out?”

He hesitated for a beat, noticing something off in Fu Qing’s expression, and tried to explain. “Didn’t you say Huida was treating Xie Yan unfairly? You invested in White Whale for him, but apart from a few people in the crew, no one knew. Once the check rumor spread, people would realize he had someone backing him. They wouldn’t dare mistreat him anymore. And you wouldn’t have to worry so much. Plus, roses with a check? That’s romantic.”

It had all been his doing. The money had been transferred to him first, then he passed it along. Even the roses had been entrusted to him by Fu Qing. It was easy for him to handle.

Fu Qing downed the rest of his drink in one gulp and asked, “Romantic?”

Mo Fu was a classic playboy—gender didn’t matter, he would love anyone who caught his eye. He never hid his flings in the industry, treating boyfriends and girlfriends alike—spend money, sleep together, no strings attached.

The people he seduced usually went along happily.

He had never genuinely loved someone, never earnestly pursued anyone, so he had no concept of what that kind of feeling meant.

Just like how a bouquet of roses should never have a check inside.

Fu Qing knew Mo Fu well. He knew he didn’t mean any harm.

But the rage that had ignited when he found out this was Mo Fu’s doing hadn’t died down—it had been burning ever since. At first, it was anger at Mo Fu for acting on his own. Later, it was anger at himself—for investing in the film under the guise of being just a fan of Xie Yan.

There hadn’t been any real need for it. It was just a way to place his helpless affection and selfish desire.

But that selfishness had ended up hurting his little Xie.

It had before. Now, it was even worse.

He turned his phone face-down on the table and said softly, “Don’t make decisions for me.”

Just moments ago, Mo Fu had been explaining everything with growing pride, feeling like he’d done a great job. When he heard that, he finally realized something was wrong. He pulled out a chair and sat down beside Fu Qing. “Wait, are you seriously mad at me?”

Fu Qing didn’t respond. He picked up his phone, refreshed Weibo, and opened a post from a marketing account filled with slander. Sure enough, the comments below were full of mockery and sarcasm toward Xie Yan—unlike the gossip whispered behind closed doors in the industry, this was all out in the open.

So many people, so many mouths. There was no way to silence them all.

With his eyes lowered, Fu Qing said, “I really like him.”

He waved his phone in front of Mo Fu’s face, pausing for a moment. “Xiao Xie might not be hurt by what they’re saying, but I am.”

Liking someone meant protecting them, cherishing them, treating them with care and seriousness.

Things had escalated this far—yes, there were people deliberately stirring up trouble but it had started because he lost control and acted impulsively.

This was the first time Mo Fu had seen him like this. Even back when Xu San had led the people from Old Street to stab Fu Qing in the back—betrayed by the very ones he had always protected—Fu Qing hadn’t seemed to care. He calmly dealt with the situation, handled the aftermath, and spared their lives, only telling them to never come back.

Fu Qing had always been reliable and responsible, like he was born to carry Old Street on his shoulders, taking care of everyone. Whether people lived or died, trusted him or betrayed him, none of it could ever shake his composure.

Until Mo Fu realized that there was someone called Xie Yan.

After seeing the Weibo posts, Mo Fu basically understood what had happened. He ordered a drink himself and said, “Alright, calm down. My fault. I’ll fix it. I’ll get their accounts shut down—just give me a bit…”

Fu Qing stared silently at his phone screen, expressionless.

By dawn, Xie Yan woke up from thirst. He got out of bed barefoot, drank a whole bottle of mineral water, then climbed back into bed in the dark. He accidentally knocks his phone off the nightstand.

He bent down to pick it up, glanced at the time and just happened to see a Weibo notification.

It was about him.

Xie Yan frowned, unlocked his phone, and opened Weibo. The app nearly crashed under the weight of all the notifications. When it finally loaded, he was bombarded with tags, DMs, and insults.

He only had to read a few to understand—those industry rumors had now exploded online.

Lying half-reclined in bed, the first post under his name was from 11 p.m. the night before. A deep-dive exposé by a marketing account.

The content was nothing new. It was claims of manufactured fame, being kept by a sugar daddy, and bringing money into the project.

Xie Yan pressed his lips together and scrolled down to the comments. Most were gossip or people adding fuel to the fire, except for one that stood out.

【I’m part of the crew’s makeup team. I’m honestly amazed at how people can twist the truth like this. Isn’t it totally normal for someone as good as Xie Yan to be admired???】

He tapped into her profile. There were some selfies—Xie Yan recognized her. She always does his makeup while joking she was jealous of how flawless his skin was.

He thought for a moment and then opened Yang Xun’s Weibo.

At 3 a.m., half-drunk and half-asleep, Yang Xun had posted a tweet and pinned it.

【I’ve already explained this clearly once before. To those imagining I was humiliated, coerced, or bribed into writing those things—go check Baidu. My brother is the CEO of Yang An Real Estate. The studio I work at was funded by him.】

The replies were filled with fans leaving in disappointment, unable to control the flood of negative top comments.

At this point, Xie Yan didn’t need to make a statement. Posting anything might only add fuel to the fire. Seeing Yang Xun, that makeup artist, and all those girls with usernames that included his name—staying up all night, arguing line by line with obviously malicious comments—suddenly made him feel like this wasn’t something he could just shrug off.

He wrote a Weibo post. 

【None of it’s true. Don’t argue with them. It’s a waste of time. Go get some sleep.】

It was blunt.

Xie Yan didn’t have many fans, and the post was quickly overrun by gossipers and trolls. Only a few loyal fans remained, defending him and saying they wouldn’t believe anything without proof, and that their gege would never do such a thing.

After posting, Xie Yan, surprisingly, thought of Wang Zhuwei. He sent him a message to ask how they should handle things.

He had too much drink last night, was still groggy, and had a headache. He drank a glass of cold water and went back to sleep.

He had grown up hearing people insult him, sometimes openly, sometimes behind his back so it was nothing new. Xie Yan didn’t get angry over this sort of thing. First, because it didn’t matter. Second, because there was nothing to be angry at.

But now, the way people around him were reacting made him think—maybe he should feel angry. Or hurt.

Yet he couldn’t feel it. Instead, as he drifted back to sleep, his heart felt strangely light.

Because there was Fu Qing. There was Yang Xun. There was that makeup artist and there were so many unknown girls, staying up all night just to protect him.

How should I put it? Even someone as cool as Xie Yan—it felt pretty nice to be so thoughtfully protected by someone else.

As he drifted off to sleep, Xie Yan vaguely hoped that Brother Fu wouldn’t see those rumors, and that those little fangirls would listen to reason and go to bed early.

By the time he woke up again, it was already afternoon. There was still no word from Wang Zhuwu—she hadn’t replied. Yang Xun had bombarded him with countless memes and strings of “hahahahahahahahaha,” urging him to check Weibo.

Under the post he made last night, all the top comments had now changed to a single ID.

【@xieyan5566】

Xie Yan clicked into that user’s profile.

Default system avatar. Only one person followed. Just one Weibo post but it was a long one.

The first sentence read: “All those who spread false rumors in this incident will be held legally accountable.”

Then, the post tagged many influential accounts who had tried to stir up trouble, many of whom were hired trolls paid by Qin Haocheng.

“I’m the investor who was rumored to be his sugar daddy, but I’m just a fan.”

“I first noticed Xie Yan thanks to the recent airing of Eight Kings’ Rebellion—I happened to realize all those corpses were played by the same person and got really curious about the actor.”

“Later, I found out the production of White Whale was short on funding, so I invested sixty million as a film fan.”

Below were two photos of transfer receipts.

“When the director found out I was a fan of Xie Yan, he prepared three gifts for me. I really liked them. To show my appreciation, I invested another ten million into the film.”

Attached were several stills from Eight Kings’ Rebellion featuring the corpses, along with promotional images from White Whale.

“I sent roses because I felt they suited him. Only a color that intense could match someone like him.”

This time, the image was a high-definition still from the film. It was a shot of Lu Fengchun with his bare back, smoking.

Indeed, only roses could complement someone like Xie Yan.

“I included the check with the roses because I heard his company wasn’t treating him well. I’m truly sorry for the harm that caused him.”

The fan-investor’s final words were: “He belongs to the movies, not to me.”

Just like what Xie Yan had written on that postcard, “Hope you enjoy the film.”

Every sentence in that long post was backed by evidence. The investment agencies confirmed this person was indeed the investor. Sun Huaijun also released WeChat screenshots of his early chats with Wang Ning, the screenwriter of Eight Kings’ Rebellion, proving that Xie Yan had been recommended because of his performance as those eight corpses. The logic was watertight—even the harshest internet sleuths couldn’t find fault. In fact, even if this investor was hiding behind the guise of a fan, what they did had nothing to do with sugar daddies.

The post had been up for four hours, and the public opinion had completely flipped. After the detailed fact-checking, the comments turned into a flood of memes, jokes, and jealous admiration.

【2019, a truly beautiful fan-love story.】

【Eight corpse stills—what kind of… I have no words. Whatever, if the boss likes it, then it’s fine.】

【He got picked as the male lead for playing a corpse because he was too good-looking and too good at acting—his life is more dramatic than a movie.】

【Holy crap, what is a true fan? This is a true fan. Spending cash on merch and filling bags with endorsements is nothing.】

【I’m jealous. I’m bitter. This is a real big shot. Tossing out 80 million just to chase a star. I’m just a sour little lemon…】

【Am I the only one who noticed that even toward an investor who gave him 70 million, Xiao Xie is still so aloof? The postcard he gave as a gift had just one line! And you’re saying he’s cozying up to a sponsor? Stone-cold personality confirmed. (lol)】

【When you’re rich, you really can do whatever you want. Throwing money at a film for your idol—okay, I’m out. I don’t deserve to leave my broke-ass footprints under this money-soaked Weibo post…】

Xie Yan read the whole post twice. He thought, maybe Fu Ge was right. This investor probably just liked him the same way those fangirls on Weibo did.

So he reposted and commented on that Weibo.

【Thank you for liking me. No need to apologize. I wasn’t hurt.】

From then on, reaction memes made from Xie Yan’s corpse stills became wildly popular, often with a caption, “Repost this Xie Yan and you too might get a 70 million investment from a rich fan.”

All this time, the bio of “xieyan5566” contained just one sentence.

“You chase the light, I chase you.”