Sickly Bigshot CH 16 Theft
Translated by The BL Muse (ko-fi)
Shi Zhou thought there was still a full hour and a half before the red carpet event began, so he might as well wander around and see if he could spot any handsome men. He refused to believe that the entire entertainment industry didn’t have anyone better looking than Qin Yancheng.
As he strolled to the entrance of the venue, he saw numerous fan signs. Fans were eagerly waiting for their idols to walk the red carpet later, ready to chant slogans at a moment’s notice. Some were even practicing their cheers or warming up their voices in advance.
Shi Zhou took out a cigarette from his pocket and lit it—this was actually confiscated from Qin Yancheng earlier. Even putting aside his asthma, which could flare up at any time, nicotine was bad for the stomach. Surprisingly, when Qin Yancheng had his cigarettes taken away, he merely froze for a moment before expressionlessly letting Shi Zhou confiscate it. After that, he either hadn’t bought any more cigarettes or simply avoided smoking in front of him.
Usually, at Qin Yancheng’s villa, Shi Zhou refrained from smoking out of concern for the man’s fragile health and respiratory system, not to mention not wanting to tempt him. But now, he had no such reservations. He happily exhaled a cloud of smoke, mentally praising the cigarette’s quality—it didn’t seem to be available on the market, and he wondered if he could ask Qin Yancheng to get him some more.
Just as he was thinking this, a young man with a baby face and delicate features walked over, likely also killing time. He smiled familiarly and said, “Hey, aren’t you afraid of being caught on camera by the media?”
Shi Zhou sensed no malice from him and joked, “No one’s interested in photographing a small-time nobody like me right now. Might as well smoke while I can—who knows if I’ll still be able to in a couple of years if I get famous?”
The baby-faced young man probably wasn’t an idol, given how warmly and unfashionably he was dressed—a thick black down jacket enveloped him from head to toe, making him look like a tower when he crouched slightly. He might have been a young elite from some other field.
He picked up Shi Zhou’s thread. “Makes sense! In that case, you’d better give me your autograph now—in a couple of years, I might not even be able to get in line.”
Shi Zhou handed him a cigarette. “I’m Shi Zhou.”
“Xin Jing,” the young man replied cheerfully, accepting the cigarette and borrowing a light. After taking a slow drag, he added, “This industry’s a mess. You shouldn’t just accept cigarettes from strangers, you know.”
Shi Zhou was momentarily taken aback, realizing that the entertainment industry operated by different rules than the business world he was used to. Just as he was wondering how Xin Jing could be so sure he wasn’t a bad guy, someone called out, “Shi Zhou! Your stylist wants you in the dressing room to put on your accessories. She’s about to start packing up.”
Shi Zhou gave an acknowledging “Mm” and waved at Xin Jing. “Gotta go. See you inside if fate allows.”
As he walked away, he took one last drag before stubbing out the cigarette in a trash can, letting the cold wind disperse the smell. Pushing open the door to the dressing room, he found it empty—most of the artists, inexperienced with red carpet events, had gone ahead to scope out the venue in groups.
But the stylist was downright unreliable, summoning him only to disappear herself. Typical of the haphazard management at Qixing Entertainment. A pile of accessories—necklaces, earrings, brooches—lay scattered on the table. Left with no choice, Shi Zhou studied the mirror, trying to figure out how to put everything on. After much effort, he managed to adorn himself properly.
While he was in the dressing room, he missed the commotion caused by an “unexpected surprise”—the sudden appearance of a mysterious guest at the gala.
If not for someone recognizing him and shouting, “That’s Qin Yancheng!” everyone would have assumed he was just another celebrity or top male model, given his looks, height, and aura. But the name “Qin Yancheng” was universally known. Regardless of whose fans they were, everyone wanted a glimpse of the legendary young tycoon shrouded in mystery.
Xin Jing, still smoking by the one-way glass near the entrance, watched as even the aloof and dignified Qin Yancheng struggled to navigate the enthusiastic crowd, flanked by bodyguards who barely managed to shield him from the onslaught. He burst into laughter, waiting by the door just to mock him face-to-face. “Qin Yancheng, you look downright pathetic, hahaha…”
Qin Yancheng’s expression remained icy. Not wanting to provoke him further, Xin Jing stifled his laughter and changed the subject. “Hey, who’s Shi Zhou to you? He’s so handsome—I think I’ve fallen in love at first sight!”
“...Where is he?” Qin Yancheng asked.
“Oh? So concerned?” Xin Jing teased. “Aren’t you going to ask how I know you two have an ‘unusual’ relationship?”
When Xin Jing first saw Shi Zhou, he’d been startled—at a glance, the young man bore a resemblance to a younger version of Qin Yancheng. But unlike Qin Yancheng, who had always been cold and statue-like, Shi Zhou was far more charming.
And when Shi Zhou casually handed over a cigarette—a rare, unique brand—Xin Jing was even more surprised. Qin Yancheng’s cigarettes and lighter were in Shi Zhou’s possession?
The resemblance and their closeness made their relationship—and Qin Yancheng’s motives—highly suspect.
After wandering around, Shi Zhou concluded that compared to a certain beauty surnamed Qin, everyone else paled in comparison. Some even looked unnervingly artificial up close, as if they’d been molded from the same silicone template.
Just as he lamented that his future boyfriend probably wouldn’t be found in this industry, Jiang Song and his entourage suddenly cornered him with aggressive intent.
Jiang Song’s attitude was polite and proper, unlike their first encounter. In front of everyone, he didn’t act arrogantly. “Shi Zhou, have you—seen the watch I left on the table?” His tone was anxious, as if genuinely worried about losing the watch and afraid of wrongly accusing someone.
The surrounding crowd immediately turned curious eyes toward them.
Shi Zhou froze for a moment, then glanced at Jiang Song’s smirking assistant. Finally, he understood why he’d been summoned to the empty dressing room earlier.
Where there was a “good cop,” there had to be a “bad cop.” The assistant’s sharp, piercing voice cut in, “The surveillance footage shows that after our Brother Jiang left the dressing room, you were the only one who went in! That watch might not be the most expensive, but it’s still worth over 200,000 yuan!”
Jiang Song immediately scolded his assistant, “What are you saying? ‘A truly noble man cannot be corrupted by poverty’—even if Shi Zhou’s financial situation isn’t great right now, he’d never do something like this!”
The coordinated accusation was blatant. No one in the industry was foolish enough to miss that Jiang Song was subtly framing Shi Zhou. The crowd’s gazes grew increasingly probing.
Shi Zhou wasn’t particularly famous, but the “poor but hardworking” persona clung stubbornly to his name. A no-name artist who allegedly relied on his looks to get ahead—it wasn’t unthinkable that he might steal something under the radar. After all, similar incidents had happened in the industry before.
The accusation of theft and the word “poverty” were like public slaps to Shi Zhou’s face, striking at both his dignity and his financial struggles.
If he’d been as timid as the original host, stammering and unable to defend himself, it would have cemented his “guilt.” But Shi Zhou remained calm, unfazed as he asked coolly, “Let me guess—you’re also going to say the surveillance in the dressing room just happened to be broken?”
Having his lines stolen, the assistant pressed on, “You thought destroying the surveillance would let you get away with it? The hallway cameras still caught you going in—after Brother Jiang, you were the only one!”
A sycophantic hanger-on in the crowd chimed in, “We shouldn’t wrong an innocent person. Why not just search him? It’s for Shi Zhou’s own good—right, Shi Zhou?”
Before Shi Zhou could respond, Jiang Song’s assistant eagerly stepped forward, as if ready to strip Shi Zhou’s clothes off by force.
The spectacle drew more and more onlookers, eager for some entertainment.
Shi Zhou tilted his head slightly, thinking this frame-job was almost embarrassingly crude. Their brazen insults were baffling—in his twenty-three years across two lifetimes, this was the first time he’d encountered such shameless bootlickers.
If this had happened three years ago, when he was still the spoiled young master under his older brother’s protection, he’d have rolled up his sleeves and thrown punches. But now, Shi Zhou just smirked and said playfully, “Are you my grandson, thinking you can pat down your grandpa whenever you want? Or are you just obsessed with my outfit?”
Speaking of outfits, their clashing outfits today really highlighted who wore it better. Jiang Song’s face, though meticulously sculpted into a generic template of perfection, lacked distinctiveness. His proportions were off too—short legs and a thick waist.
In contrast, Shi Zhou was tall and poised, with bright eyes and gleaming teeth. His aristocratic aura and high ponytail only added to his striking charm, making him impossible to look away from.
Jiang Song paled in comparison, especially standing next to Shi Zhou, who was noticeably taller. The difference was almost painful to witness.
Shi Zhou narrowed his eyes, then suddenly smiled. “Alright, a search it is. But Brother Jiang has to do it himself—don’t stand so far away.”
He was mostly bluffing, expecting Jiang Song to keep his distance and avoid an unflattering side-by-side comparison.
But it was also a backup plan. In a crowded, media-saturated environment like this, if Jiang Song’s assistant actually searched him—or worse, stripped him—photos would inevitably end up online, plastered across the trending searches. By then who would care whether he was guilty?
But if Jiang Song personally frisked him, the narrative would shift entirely. At worst, it would be framed as a joke between “friends.” And given how unphotogenic Jiang Song was next to him, those pictures would never see the light of day.
To Shi Zhou’s surprise, Jiang Song pulled his hands from his pockets and spread them magnanimously. “Shi Zhou, I’m only doing this to prove your innocence to everyone. My apologies.”
With that, he stepped forward and began rifling through Shi Zhou’s pockets—jacket, pants, inside and out—without hesitation.
Shi Zhou was baffled. Leaning down, he whispered in Jiang Song’s ear. “Want to help me take off my shoes too? Check if the watch’s hidden there?”
He realized he might have overestimated Jiang Song’s intelligence. Maybe the man had simply planned to exploit the original host’s fragile psyche, pushing him to break down in tears or call the police in front of the media.
Jiang Song’s anger flared. Shi Zhou had indeed guessed most of his plan, but the young man’s composure and sharp wit were unexpected—as if he’d been reborn as a completely different person. Fortunately, Jiang Song had one last trick up his sleeve.
In a flash, Shi Zhou’s heart lurched inexplicably. A sudden sense of foreboding made him step back, avoiding Jiang Song’s hands as they rubbed insistently against him. He looked down at his ivory trench coat—still pristine white, except for a damp spot where Jiang Song’s hands had brushed against it.
Wait. Jiang Song’s hands had been in his pockets earlier. Where had the water come from? Was it really just water?
Frowning, Shi Zhou met Jiang Song’s sinister smile. He was about to take off his coat to inspect it when someone in the crowd suddenly gasped. “Wait—Shi Zhou’s watch is a Vacheron Constantin limited edition! It’s worth at least 10 million!”
The entire area fell silent, including Shi Zhou.
He’d never cared much for watches. The day before, Qin Yancheng had told him to pick one to match his outfit, so he’d randomly chosen this flashy gold one that suited his flamboyant taste. Had it really been that expensive?
Jiang Song’s assistant seized the opportunity, sneering, “You can afford a watch like that? Where’d you steal this one from?”
To everyone present, Shi Zhou was not only obscure and poor but also unconnected to any elite circles. Combined with the ongoing “stolen watch” drama, this new revelation painted him as nothing more than a petty thief.
The crowd’s earlier skepticism turned into outright disdain:
“Looks like he’s all flash and no substance. Probably not his first time stealing, huh? And here I thought it might’ve been a misunderstanding.”
“With numbers this big, we should definitely call the police, right?”
The situation deteriorated rapidly, with murmurs of “poverty breeds dishonesty” spreading like wildfire.
Fortunately, Shi Zhou kept his cool enough to prioritize. The red carpet event was about to start, so he first inspected his coat again.
Still nothing unusual.
Yet the unease in his chest only grew.
Earlier, there had been no “stolen goods,” but now, with “evidence” in hand, Jiang Song was practically gleeful, eager to call the police and muddy the waters. Whether there’d been a misunderstanding or not, disrupting the gala in Shi Zhou’s name was enough.
With a glance from Jiang Song, sycophants in the crowd began clamoring to call the police, while others pulled out their phones, ready to “do the right thing.”
Shi Zhou took a deep breath, weighing whether to just admit his “improper” relationship with Qin Yancheng, when a sudden commotion erupted nearby.
One of Jiang Song’s assistants, who’d just returned with coffee, announced excitedly. “Brother Jiang! Mr. Qin is coming this way!”
Including Jiang Song, nearly every young star in the vicinity subtly adjusted their posture or expressions. Rumors had long circulated that Qin Yancheng would attend tonight. The implications of securing his patronage were undeniable—which was precisely why Jiang Song couldn’t tolerate Shi Zhou outshining him in matching attire.
Shi Zhou turned in surprise, spotting a familiar figure approaching in the distance.
“Brother Jiang, should we still call the police about Shi Zhou?” the assistant whispered furtively.
“Of course! Now’s the perfect time to make a scene!”