After the Secrets of the Passerby Were Leaked, He Was Cherished by the Entire Family of Antagonists

The first time Zhang Qiran and Song Zhehan met as adults was in a waiting room before the recording of a variety show.

At that time, Song Zhehan had only been in the entertainment industry for a few months, but thanks to his good looks and popular image, he had already gained some fame. The show’s production team had arranged a private waiting room for him.

After his makeup was done, there was still some time before the show’s recording began. Song Zhehan leaned back with his eyes closed, resting.

It was then that someone knocked on the door.

Lazily, Song Zhehan lifted his eyelids.

His assistant stood up, saying, "It’s probably a staff member. I’ll get the door."

Song Zhehan always took his work seriously, and hearing that it might be a staff member, he inhaled slightly, immediately switching to the gentle and polite expression he reserved for the public.

But when the door opened, it wasn’t a staff member who appeared—it was a young man with striking looks. Song Zhehan’s gaze first fell on his eyes, and his attention gradually focused.

Caught off guard by Song Zhehan’s intense stare, the young man seemed startled. His eyes turned slightly red, and he spoke with a mix of excitement and nervousness, his voice trembling, "H-hello… I’m Zhang Qiran, a guest on this episode too. I just wanted to… greet Song…"

Hearing this, everyone in the room understood.

The entertainment industry was much like any other workplace—whether you wanted to or not, certain social courtesies had to be observed.

Even someone as proud as Song Zhehan had, when he first entered the industry, followed his agent around to greet all the senior actors on set.

Song Zhehan quickly withdrew his gaze, his smile not faltering in the slightest, as he gave a distant nod. "Hello, I’m Song Zhehan. Want to come in and sit?"

Zhang Qiran’s eyelashes fluttered rapidly. He opened his mouth but couldn’t seem to get a word out.

Seeing this, Song Zhehan, ever considerate, added, "It seems like you’re in a bit of a rush. I’ll see you later during the shoot then."

Zhang Qiran’s lips moved, but instead of speaking, his gaze dropped in disappointment. He didn’t say anything else, simply waving goodbye with a forced smile, "No, it’s fine… I’ll go now."

Song Zhehan didn’t stop him. The door closed behind Zhang Qiran as he left.

The smile on Song Zhehan’s face faded. He reclined on the sofa once again.

His agent, observing him, suddenly asked, "Did you get a good impression of that newcomer?"

Lazily, Song Zhehan responded, "Hmm? Why do you say that?"

The agent, who had known him for over a year but still couldn’t fully read his personality, could only answer, "Just a gut feeling."

Song Zhehan gave a slight, ambiguous smile, one that could be seen as mocking or amused. He said softly, "I just think he looks somewhat agreeable. Besides, we’ve only met once—who knows what kind of person he really is? I wouldn’t say I have a good impression."

If Song Zhehan had to describe his feeling, he would use a simple phrase—"not too bad," and that was it.

That was their first meeting as adults.

It wasn’t particularly good, nor was it bad.

In fact, Song Zhehan didn’t even associate Zhang Qiran with Xiang Yang at the time.

He simply didn’t dislike Zhang Qiran.

Perhaps that’s why, when that bucket of ice water was dumped on him later, Song Zhehan’s attitude toward Zhang Qiran shifted dramatically.

It was a freezing winter day. Even though the room was heated, the ice cubes in the water that splashed onto Song Zhehan had barely melted. The shock of the cold water made him almost forget he was on camera—he struggled to maintain his usual calm expression.

Thankfully, Zhang Qiran rushed over, anxiously apologizing, which helped Song Zhehan regain some composure. "It’s fine," he said.

After speaking, he even gave Zhang Qiran a faint smile.

His deep, dark eyes left Zhang Qiran momentarily stunned.

From childhood to adulthood, Song Zhehan had never really changed.

He was petty, vengeful, sarcastic, and sharp-tongued, but he wasn’t unreasonable.

So even though he was angry, he didn’t show it on his face. Instead, he thought through what had happened—why did Zhang Qiran spill the water on him?

They weren’t even on the same team. Young people got carried away in games, and getting splashed was understandable. It wasn’t a big deal.

As Song Zhehan turned to wipe the water off, he thought to himself, "It seems our relationship will go no further than this."

He wouldn’t hold a grudge against Zhang Qiran, but that didn’t mean he would let it go either.

Especially after the recording, when he sneezed three times in a row.

His agent looked at him with concern. "You’ve still got a shoot later tonight. Can you handle it?"

"Whether I can or not, I have to," Song Zhehan replied.

He had only just started his career—so what if he had some fame? The entertainment industry was full of people who could replace him. He couldn’t afford to stop.

His agent suddenly noticed something. "Hmm? Where did this cold medicine come from?"

The assistant rushed in, "It was just brought over by Zhang Qiran’s assistant. He also said—"

"Throw it away," Song Zhehan said coldly, not even glancing at the medicine.

Both the agent and assistant froze at his words.

No one noticed the figure standing just outside the slightly ajar door.