The Academic God Becomes an Internet Sensation After Joining a Dating Show - Chapter 72 - Confession

The paparazzo hunched over, the cracking sensation in his hand nearly forcing him to his knees. Face-to-face with Shen Xuzhi, the golf club loomed ominously above him.

Shen Xuzhi stepped forward, wrenched the man’s arm backward, and pinned it against his back, pulling it taut. The man collapsed face-down, screaming in agony.

With one hand, Shen Xuzhi restrained him; with the other, he searched the man’s jacket pocket, pulling out a plane ticket and an ID card.

After reading the name, he tightened his grip, voice cold and unflinching: “Contact Shen Xuzhi Studio later. I’ll reimburse your medical expenses before you get booked.”

“Qing Lin,” Shen Xuzhi called, lifting his head. “Go contact the owner.”

Within moments, the owner arrived, moving with practiced efficiency. He bound the paparazzi and led him away, leaving the courtyard quiet once more.

Shen Xuzhi, just to be safe, checked the surveillance around the guesthouse. Only after confirming the paparazzo had acted alone did he feel secure enough to bring Qing Lin back inside.

“Thud.”

The door closed behind them, and the room was swallowed by silence.

A thin veil of quiet hung between them, neither moving nor speaking.

The warm yellow glow from the ceiling lamp blurred their silhouettes, softening the edges of the tension that filled the room.

“I’m sorry.” Shen Xuzhi sank onto the bed, head bowed, the collar of his shirt loosened. “I realize I really suck at timing. I meant to… properly tell you.”

Qing Lin stood a short distance away; eyes fixed on him. His expression betrayed nothing—cold, distant, unreadable—making Shen Xuzhi hesitate.

Silence wasn’t going to solve anything. Shen Xuzhi took a deep breath, rubbed his fingertips together, and finally spoke, slowly, carefully.

“I have a crush on you.”

“Truth is, I’m your biggest fan.”

“I’ve followed you for ages. I comment and send gifts during every single one of your livestreams. I’ve written countless songs for you.”

“And yes, that person who messaged your WeChat ID… that was me. Please don’t block me.”

The words poured out in a single, unbroken stream, each syllable carrying the weight of years spent in secret. Shen Xuzhi felt a chill in his chest—he couldn’t predict the consequences of revealing this truth.

His heart pounded relentlessly.

Qing Lin’s voice remained steady, unreadable. “When did this start?”

Shen Xuzhi answered, almost without thinking: “High school.”

Qing Lin’s brow furrowed slightly. He hadn’t realized they’d been at the same school. Had their paths crossed back then?

Shen Xuzhi hurried to clarify. “No, I’m a creep. I’ve been secretly following you all this time.”

Qing Lin’s eyes blinked. “…”

He hesitated, then asked quietly, “What about the private WeChat message?”

Shen Xuzhi paused, swallowing hard. “That ‘I LOVR Linlin’ YouTube account? That was really me. I liked you back then and finally mustered the courage to reach out, but… you blocked me.”

Qing Lin’s breath hitched slightly. “…………”

So, it turns out he’s that “I LOVR Linlin.”

The top donor who had watched every livestream, never saying a word, just sending gifts. After the streams ended, he’d leave a simple comment: “Love it.”

Qing Lin had always respected and appreciated him—so much of the stream’s revenue came from that mysterious fan. And being Chinese, there had been a quiet warmth in those small gestures amid the flurry of international comments.

But then one day, that person had sent a private WeChat message—just a heart emoji.

On the internet, it was impossible to avoid malicious or vulgar messages, and Qing Lin despised that above all.

He only glanced at the message, said nothing, deleted it, and blocked the sender.

Now that he thought about it, his initial self-introduction had been something along the lines of, “I’m Shen Xuzhi…”

…That explained everything.

A dull ache suddenly pressed against Qing Lin’s temples.

Qing Lin asked, “So you knew who I was from the very beginning, and yet you still wanted to sign a couple of contracts with me?”

Shen Xuzhi decided to be completely honest.

“I wanted to get closer to you,” he admitted. “I’m sorry for using such underhanded methods.”

“Go ahead and scold me,” Shen Xuzhi added, bracing himself for Qing Lin’s anger. “Or hit me if you want. It’s my fault for hiding this for so long. You have every right to be furious.”

Qing Lin tilted his head slightly, his gaze calm and indifferent as ever, leaving the room in a heavy, tense silence. Shen Xuzhi imagined countless possible reactions—he could have cursed him, hit him, reacted in any way… anything but indifference.

Finally, Qing Lin spoke.

“Shen Xuzhi, lift your head.”

Shen Xuzhi slowly met Qing Lin’s striking amber eyes. They were clear, steady, and serene—like an ancient lake untouched by time.

Then, Qing Lin did something entirely unexpected. He leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to Shen Xuzhi’s forehead.

Shen Xuzhi blinked in shock, questioning whether he was hallucinating.

“Aren’t you angry?” he asked.

“I am angry,” Qing Lin admitted, “but I reward and punish fairly.”

“Thank you, Mr. Shen,” he continued softly. “At least now I know I haven’t been alone all these years.”

Warm yellow light filled the room, casting a soft, velvety glow. A mist formed in Shen Xuzhi’s eyes, and in the next moment, tears slipped down his cheeks.

He rose and bent down, wrapping Qing Lin tightly in his arms.

“Why are you crying?” Qing Lin asked, finding his vulnerability unexpectedly endearing. Patting his back, he comforted him, “Do you often cry in secret?”

Shen Xuzhi held him tightly, burying his face in the crook of Qing Lin’s neck, sobbing quietly.

When was the last time he had cried?

It hadn’t been that long ago.

He remembered that day vividly.

December 18, 2020.

The city streets lay deserted in the bitter winter cold. The wind howled, whipping withered leaves across the pavement.

Qing Lin stepped out of the civil affairs office, clutching the official document that formally ended his foster parent-child relationship.

The cold was biting, and his bare hands, reddened by the frost, gripped the folder tightly as he walked silently along the empty streets.

That day, Shen Xuzhi had quietly followed him, hidden beneath a mask, hat, and sunglasses, moving like a shadow.

He trailed him through darkened alleys, dimly lit avenues, and long streets where even the shops had closed their doors.

A hazy, gray stillness hung over the city. The sky pressed low and heavy, as if snow might fall at any moment.

The person Shen Xuzhi observed didn’t speak a word—he just kept walking forward.

He dared not approach. Any attempt to speak would have been absurd.

After what seemed like an eternity, Qing Lin abruptly stopped.

He paused before a massive LED billboard.

The advertisement showcased Shen Xuzhi’s concert. The man’s makeup was flawless, his shoulders broad, his features unforgettable. Clad in minimalist black, he radiated an imposing, almost overwhelming presence.

He softened his gaze, singing with a deep, focused intensity.

Qing Lin stood frozen ahead, motionless for a long moment.

The youth tilted his head back, his face bathed in the glow of the incandescent lights. His pale, cool skin took on a glazed, distant sheen.

Shen Xuzhi watched him from behind, desolate and tense, his eyes—so faint they seemed almost void of emotion—fixed silently on the singer.

Time stretched endlessly.

Then he heard him speak.

It was the first words of the night—and the only ones.

Qing Lin looked at the figure within the frame, the corners of his eyes lifting in the faintest smile. His gaze caught the reflected light, and his voice held a surprising warmth as he said.

“It’s truly beautiful.”

Shen Xuzhi remained hidden behind a wall not far away.

The road stretched wide before him. At its end, a sliver of sky had opened, and the temperature had dropped sharply. A single snowflake drifted from the frigid air.

A wave of overwhelming sadness swept over him.

Chaotic thoughts swirled, and a bitter ache churned deep in his chest, rising painfully up his throat.

He restrained himself. He wanted—more than anything—to step forward, not to speak or act, but simply to reach out, hold him, and whisper.

You are free. You can do whatever you want now.

The first snow of winter descended softly, dusting them from afar.

He leaned against the wall and wept.

_____________________________________________________________________________

Several months earlier.

An upscale residential district.

“So, that is why you rejected Miss Liu?” Shen Fu stood before the sofa, polishing a brand-new golf club. “You seem to have forgotten her family’s influence. This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”

Shen Xuzhi, hooded and masked, replied coldly, “If that’s all you wanted, there was no need to call me over.”

Every extra second felt nauseating. Once again, Shen Fu was sacrificing others’ lives for his own gain.

Shen Xuzhi grabbed his bag, preparing to leave.

But Shen Fu’s words stopped him.

“Qing Lin.” He casually met Shen Xuzhi’s eyes. “Right?”

The name struck Shen Xuzhi’s deepest taboo. He whipped around, voice low and dangerous. “Try touching him.”

Shen Fu remained unmoved, calm and laconic. “You know, Xuzhi, if I wanted to touch him… it would be incredibly easy.”

Memories surged—a parade of the lost and vanished, their final resting place the morgue of a funeral home.

“Death is agonizing,” he whispered inwardly.

People like them—profit was the only measure. Life and death were mere tools. A flick of the finger could condemn someone to a fate worse than death.

Shen Xuzhi’s fists clenched until the veins stood out starkly.

What could he do? How could he justify bringing him to safety?

Then he recalled a company announcement from a few days prior…

______________________________________________________________________________

A few days later.

“Shen Xuzhi!” Jiang Liao burst into his home, yelling, “Have you lost your mind?!”

“You think money grows on trees? Dropping three million like that!” Jiang Liao yanked Shen Xuzhi—passed out drunk on the sofa—by the collar. “Are you insane? Do you even know what you’ve done?”

Shen Xuzhi murmured, “He’s targeting him.”

Jiang Liao froze, knowing exactly who he meant.

“I’ll protect him.”

Shen Xuzhi reeked of alcohol, head bowed, unclear if he was even fully lucid. He rested his forehead on his fists, whispering repeatedly. “I’ll protect him. I swear, I’ll protect him.”

Sometimes protecting someone meant dragging them into the light.

For scum like Shen Fu, he would not allow contact under any spotlight. Just as now, he would not lightly touch Shen Xuzhi.

He wanted Shen Xuzhi to be strong, to show his worth, to belong fully to freedom.

“Shen Xuzhi, you’re seriously twisted,” Jiang Liao said with a shrug and a mocking laugh. “Come see me for a checkup sometime.”

Shen Xuzhi kept his head down, offering no reply.

He had longed for Qing Lin for too long, dreaming of him night after night.

He was no genius, no ambitious schemer, yet nothing he did was without purpose.

Every act, every plan, served this one selfish desire: to meet him in the thousand-and-first dream.