The Academic God Becomes an Internet Sensation After Joining a Dating Show - C51 - Silence

Qing Yejie had never liked this “older brother” brought home by Qing Bai Hu.

That guy was too bland.  Like a bowl of lukewarm water.

Since the day he arrived at their home, Qing Lin rarely showed expression. Like someone wearing a mask, he revealed almost no emotion, as if he had none at all.

Whenever Qing Bai Hu came home drunk and went berserk, Qing Lin would quietly stay alone, watching him wreak havoc without a hint of reaction.

To Qing Yejie, Qing Bai Hu was the absolute worst: domestic violence, gambling, aimless. The lowest of the low.

When Qing Bai Hu brought Qing Lin home, Qing Yejie had thought: This person is going to fall into ruin with him.

But Qing Lin didn’t.

Even when the two were used as punching bags after Qing Bai Hu lost at gambling, Qing Lin helped Qing Yejie clean his wounds and still completed his homework no matter how late it got.

He remained calm, unshakable—something Qing Yejie could never understand. How could someone maintain such a strong inner self in an environment like that, walking in the light while surrounded by darkness?

His grades were excellent. His social skills flawless, earning endless admiration and affection. He even lent money to that scumbag.

In every way, he was… perfect.

A perfection that breeds nothing but aversion.

Qing Yejie despised that inexplicable aloofness.

One day, trying to escape Qing Bai Hu’s wrath, Qing Yejie skipped class and sneaked into Qing Lin’s school.

Curious, he wandered the hallways, wondering what Qing Lin was like here.

Eventually, he found him in the art room.

Qing Lin sat in front of the easel, facing the light, tracing the image on the paper.

His long fingers held the brush lightly, his expression calm yet focused. Colors spread across the page, each stroke capturing what he saw and felt, rendered with meticulous care.

Qing Yejie admitted to himself. He was captivated.

When he regained his focus, he realized Qing Lin was looking back at him. Those amber eyes were cool and distant, reflecting the daylight and the colors on the canvas.

He handed Yejie a brush and asked softly, “Would you like to give it a try?”

That was Qing Yejie’s first encounter with painting.

All because of Qing Lin.

And then he left.

_____________________________________________________________________________

Yejie slumped in the dorm room the internet café provided, burying himself under the covers, silent.

He didn’t want to go online, didn’t dare. Everywhere on the internet, people were criticizing him. Even a single glance made him anxious.

“Bang bang bang!”

“Yejie! Yejie, are you in there?!” Guo Daishu’s voice called from outside the door. “What’s going on with you? Your phone’s off! You’re skipping class! Zhao said they’re going to dock your pay!”

Yejie only stirred when he heard the words “dock your pay.”

He opened the door. “What?”

“What? You ask me what? You’ve been sulking far too long.” Guo Daishu frowned. “Oh, right, do you have Weibo? The show posted an update. Orphic accepted the commission!”

Yejie blinked. “Accepted?”

“Yeah, really!” Guo Daishu said. “This thing’s been buried. Because your brother took the commission, no one online is talking about that fake high-paying commercial scam anymore!”

Guo Daishu added, “We really owe your brother. He didn’t report us, and he even took the commission to stop the online harassment. How can someone be this kind …”

“Snap!” Yejie kicked the door hard.

“Enough,” he exhaled, long and heavy. “I’ll go to work downstairs.” He added.

“Alright… that works.” Guo Daishu rubbed his temples. “Just remember to turn your computer on.”

Turn on the computer.

Yejie didn’t dare.

Once he powered it on, the debt collectors would bombard him, their voices taunting, terrifying.

In moments like this, his thoughts drifted to Qing Lin. He wondered if Lin had ever been chased and intimidated like this, forced to work desperately.

He thought of him painting, serene and focused.

But most of all, he remembered how Lin had left.

One day, he just vanished.

Leaving him completely alone.

Shattering the promise to face spring together.

______________________________________________________________________________

The Follow Heart production team returned to China.

The show’s success far exceeded expectations. Hong Shanyue was elated and insisted on taking the guests out to dinner.

Qing Lin politely declined. He didn’t feel the need to attend such events, being someone outside the entertainment world. More importantly, he simply had no heart for it.

Shen Xuzhi followed suit and also didn’t go.

Before returning, Qing Lin contacted Huai Si, asking her to delete the post exposing Yejie, blur the subject, and repost it.

He also reached out via Weibo to Follow Heart team, reassuring them that the poster commission had been accepted without charge, despite the scam.

Once he did this, the online attacks finally eased a little. Though some dissenting voices remained, the internet’s attention was fleeting. Without deliberate provocation, people moved on.

All Qing Lin wanted now was to see Yejie.

He called repeatedly but the calls either didn’t connect or went straight to voicemail.

But he had to see him.

Just then, Shen Xuzhi arrived.

“Let me help you,” he said.

Qing Lin gave Yejie’s number to Shen Xuzhi, who used advanced tech to trace the last call. It had originated from an abandoned residential building.

At the end of a blocked alley, dim yellow streetlights cast a sickly glow. Torn posters clung to the crumbling walls. The ground was uneven, litter and papers scattered everywhere by the wind.

Qing Lin entered the internet café at the alley’s end where cheap LEDs flickered over the words “Lele Internet Café.”

He lifted the sticky plastic roll-up door. Inside was even worse than he had imagined. Smoke hung in the air, mingling with the stench of sweat and feet.

Hearing footsteps, the receptionist, lazily puffing on a cigarette, said, “Three yuan an hour, twenty for overnight. Drinks and instant noodles are available here. How long will you be….”

“Qing Yejie.” Qing Lin stepped forward, lowering his mask, amber eyes coldly fixed on him.

Yejie froze when he saw Qing Lin, pupils widening. The ash from the cigarette he held in his mouth fell onto his thigh, the burning sting reminding him it was real. Qing Yejie winced and brushed it off, muttering, “Damn it.”

Qing Lin scanned the room, frowned, then gestured toward the door. “Out.”

Yejie followed him.

Outside the café, piles of garbage emitted a foul stench. They stepped into an alley so dark it felt almost as if light didn’t exist at all.

Yejie scratched his head in frustration, flicked the cigarette from his fingers onto the ground, and crushed the glowing embers under his shoe.

“When did you learn to smoke?” Qing Lin asked, glancing at him.

Yejie kicked a loose stone. “None of your business.”

Qing Lin had expected this attitude. He turned to ask, “Why are you here?”

Yejie drew in a sharp breath. It had been years since they’d faced each other like this, caught red-handed: “…Food, lodging, salary.”

Qing Lin calmly pulled a document from his bag. “You audaciously impersonated Orphic, started a fan group, accepted high-paying commissions under his name, and even tried to profit from pirated merchandise. Any one of these offenses would be grounds for a lawsuit.”

Qing Yejie’s eyes stayed fixed on the ground, his hands hanging limply at his sides.

“You said you can’t explain the crowdfunding merchandise. What exactly happened?” Qing Lin asked.

Yejie hesitated. “…There’s a guy called Ma Zi. He told me to chat with everyone in the group under Orphic’s name. Other than that, I didn’t do anything.”

Qing Lin pressed, “Then how did you get the commercial commission?”

“I don’t really know,” Yejie admitted. “Ma Zi just gave me a theme and asked me to draw a picture.”

Qing Lin paused, biting his lip. A trace of sorrow slipped into his voice. “Why would you do this?”

For a moment, time seemed to freeze. They stood facing each other, a distance apart, yet neither met the other’s gaze.

“Money.” After a long silence, Yejie finally spoke. “For money.”

Qing Lin’s eyes flickered with emotion. “If you needed money, you could have told me…”

“Don’t act all fake and righteous here!” Suddenly, Yejie’s voice flared, shouting as he tried to confront Qing Lin.

The anger that had built inside him cut through the piercing pain in his chest. His eyes were bloodshot as he yelled, “You left so easily back then, now don’t act like the good guy here! If you have the guts, come back! Come back with me, come back to help Qing Baihu pay off the debt!”

It should have been a predictable outcome, but hearing it come from Yejie’s mouth felt like a knife slicing straight through Qing Lin’s heart.

Those dark, painful years, that merciless demon glaring at him with malice, always ready to tear him apart, body and soul.

“Do you know how I lived these years after you left? All the debts he owed, they fell on me! I had to earn money! What choice did I have?!” Yejie’s voice cracked and hoarse, screaming.

“You could leave whenever you wanted! But me! What about me?! I’m not his adopted kid! I can’t run away!”

His eyes were red, teeth clenched as he forced the words out, “You were the one who didn’t want me first…”

Thoughts froze, consciousness muddled.

Qing Lin felt as if his breath had been stolen. Under Yejie’s relentless, shattering shouts, his body remained frozen, his heart both anxious and numb.

Yes, he felt guilt toward Yejie.

Qing Lin left, and life became nothing but a flight.

But Yejie had taken on all the burdens, living the same tormented life and becoming a second, equally wounded version of him.

He had not saved him, instead he had abandoned him.

Yejie drew a deep, shuddering breath, every blink threatening to spill the mist of tears he had held back. His consciousness felt like it was slipping out of his frail, empty body, floating somewhere as memories surged.

“Is this guy Qing Lin’s younger brother?”

“Oh, the younger brother, huh.” The debt collector kicked a man sprawled on the ground, crushing a cigarette into his coat. “Not as gutsy as his brother, though.”

…

“You’re Qing Lin’s younger brother? Pretty good drawing.”

The art teacher frowned slightly at his work. “But… it feels like it doesn’t have the same lines and colors as your brother’s.”

…

“Eh, your brother, that Qing Lin guy, wasn’t he some top student in one of the country’s major provinces? And you… why are you so bad at studying?” Guo Daishu smoked, shaking his head. “But it’s no big deal. I think your painting’s pretty good. That debt though… can you really pay it off?”

…

“Qing Yejie.”

“I’m Orphic.”

…

Humiliation, frustration, jealousy, resentment.

He could have ignored it all, but as long as Qing Lin existed, he could not escape the constant comparisons and the feeling of being overshadowed.

Weren’t they both from the bottom? Weren’t they supposed to fall together?

He had stopped painting for him, after all.

Yet why could Qing Lin still shine so brightly?

Hadn’t he chosen to leave?

Yejie laughed bitterly, glancing at Qing Lin. “Yeah… I’m powerless. I could only step in and borrow your light.”

He sneered. “But doesn’t that make things hard for me too? Do I have to work in some shady bar and earn money dishonestly?”

“Qing Yejie!”

Qing Lin’s face went pale. His pupils dilated, unfocused yet fixed on Yejie, unwilling to hear any more.

“Did I say something wrong?” Yejie continued, his voice rising. “Look at you, going on shows, entering the entertainment world. You’re fine now, living comfortably. And me? Me! Don’t come meddling in my life anymore!”

People are selfish. When thinking of such things, they first think of themselves. In an argument, they seek any way to belittle, expose, or wound the other, trying to crush them completely, claiming victory at all costs.

Qing Lin stood motionless, cold and numb, like ashes left after a fire. His arms hung limply, the pale, thin hands exhausted.

He had nothing left to say. Everything had drained into the final, powerless words. “Get out of here.”

Yejie trembled, swallowing back his sobs, his Adam’s apple quivering.

He wasn’t ignorant. He felt wronged too. He hated himself for staying silent, unable to voice the words he most wanted, yet least dared, to speak.

He knew how Qing Lin had struggled, how harsh life had been. He didn’t want to say anything, but anger and pain welled inside him anyway.

He wanted to prove himself, yet the person he most wanted to impress had shattered him completely. He wanted Qing Lin to come back.

Before leaving, Yejie clenched his fists and glanced back at Qing Lin.

A bitter weight pressed on him, and the words he had been holding back spilled out with his tears.

“Bro… didn’t you give up art…”

The night stretched around them, terrifyingly silent.

Qing Yejie walked on, his long shadow fractured under the flickering streetlights, fragmented like his own heart.

Qing Lin remained, standing for a long time, his pale eyes completely devoid of light.

Shen Xuzhi stayed hidden behind a wall, silently listening.

Four years ago, abroad, Shen Xuzhi had earned straight A’s at Berkeley, an outstanding student the university was proud to showcase.

Looking at his honors, he thought of Qing Lin, his white moonlight. By now, Qing Lin should be at the training camp too, pushing himself just like him, surely achieving results that shone just as brightly.

Shen Xuzhi returned home and called Sang Bo, asking about Qing Lin’s recent situation.

All he got in return was a single sentence.

“Young Master Qing has given up art.”

Shen Xuzhi remained standing as water streamed endlessly from the dragon-shaped faucet.

Outside the window, flocks of migratory birds passed against the gray winter sky. Massachusetts in winter was colder than he had imagined.

On the TV, a channel reported an approaching blizzard.

Even the birds, meant to fly free and guide him toward escape, soaring brightly in the sky, were ultimately trapped, confined like he felt himself to be.