Mad Dog

Chapter 12: Youre Not Worthy

Qiu Mi felt that their Brother Qi might have some issues.

While the assistant was organizing things at the table, he couldn’t help but timidly glance back. Jiang Qi, who usually treated his phone like a brick, was now sitting in a chair, elbow on his knee, holding the phone in his other hand, staring intently.

If you looked closely, you could even see Jiang Qi’s bony wrist trembling slightly. He lowered his head slightly, and his eyes, partially covered by the bangs falling on his forehead, were unnaturally bright, as if restraining some pathological state.

Jiang Qi was well aware that he had some issues. In certain moments, he couldn’t control his emotions and would become extreme—ecstatic, gloomy, irritable… All these emotions he experienced, but especially when it came to Zhi Qi, he found it challenging to control himself.

Just like now, as he looked at the private messages sent by the Weibo ID ‘Zhi Qi,’ he felt his heart swelling, about to overflow.

Yes… she was his little girl.

From the almost greedy messages Jiang Qi received from Zhi Qi on the first day he joined, he read them carefully, one word at a time, like a clumsy and naive elementary school student who didn’t know how to read until he saw the last one. Until the last one, the boiling blood all over his body seemed to slowly calm down.

The long eyelashes of the boy trembled slightly, thinking: Is she coming?

That meeting, Zhi Qi is coming to find him?

Qiu Mi was startled by his abrupt movement, subconsciously asking, “Brother Qi?”

Jiang Qi: “Which day is the meeting?”

He had only agreed to attend the meeting before, but he had never actively asked about the time, place, and other arrangements for the meeting. Now… he couldn’t wait to know.

Qiu Mi was briefly stunned, and then the few dates carved in his mind immediately made him reflexively answer, “The twenty-third.”

That’s eight days later. Jiang Qi blinked, and a rare smile appeared in his eyes. He nodded slightly to indicate that he understood. His ‘gentle’ appearance stunned Qiu Mi.

You know, since the day he was assigned as Jiang Qi’s assistant from the day “Gazing at the Sky” started, it has been more than half a year. Qiu Mi saw him so ‘gentle’ for the first time. He instantly felt like waiting for a miracle, and Qiu Mi, suppressing the excitement in his heart, asked, “Brother Qi, are you in a good mood?”

Jiang Qi even nodded, hmm, and then he shook the phone in his hand, “Can I take this?”

He wanted to read the private messages sent by Zhi Qi again.

…

Qiu Mi was stunned for a while, watching Jiang Qi about to pocket the phone and leave. He had no choice but to awkwardly speak up, “Brother Qi, um, that’s my phone.”

Jiang Qi took it. What was he going to use to communicate with the outside world then?

“Oh.” Jiang Qi understood and thought for a moment, then took out his own phone and handed it to Qiu Mi. “Then help me download Weibo.”

He decided to log in with his official account in the future to check direct messages, so he could receive messages from Zhi Qi promptly. However, this request from Jiang Qi sounded like a bolt out of the blue to Qiu Mi.

Jiang Qi, who usually despised online gossip and various messy apps, actually wanted to actively use Weibo one day? Qiu Mi excitedly asked, “Brother, are you planning to go public?”

Thinking about how Shen Lei had advised him several times to post some daily selfies on Weibo to attract fans, but Jiang Qi had ignored it. Now that Jiang Qi had ‘thought it through’ himself, Qiu Mi couldn’t help but be thrilled. However…

“Go public with what?” Jiang Qi frowned, coldly saying, “I’m just logging into my own account. I’ll manage my own account from now on.”

Qiu Mi never expected that not only did this guy refuse to go public, but he also took away his right to go public? How was he supposed to disguise Jiang Qi as an emotionless repost machine now?

However, Jiang Qi didn’t think much about it. He just didn’t want the messages Zhi Qi sent to him to be shamelessly watched by Qiu Mi. Sometimes, guys could be quite possessive.

After saying this, Jiang Qi ignored Qiu Mi’s petrified expression, urging him to finish setting up Weibo with his account before leaving.

He now lived in the east downtown area, got his driver’s license six months ago, and drove all the way back. Jiang Qi occasionally glanced at the phone on the passenger seat – half an hour ago, he never would have thought he’d become restless without checking his phone.

It was as if he had turned into an ‘Internet-addicted youth.’

Once people have expectations, they become dissatisfied. Zhi Qi had been sending him messages every day for the past two months, sometimes once, sometimes several times a day…

He could ignore it when he didn’t know, but now that he knew, he couldn’t help but feel anticipation. He waited for the girl to continue confiding in him as if he were a confession box, but unfortunately, his phone screen remained dark all the way.

Jiang Qi’s phone was almost empty except for WeChat, with no other entertainment apps installed, not even a push notification for junk messages. He never had the ‘opportunity’ for any misunderstandings. It wasn’t until he returned home that Jiang Qi finally received the private message he had been eagerly anticipating.

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In fact, numerous people messaged him on this account, but they were all turned off by Qiu Mi. Just now, following Qiu Mi’s guidance, Jiang Qi marked Zhi Qi’s message as ‘special,’ so when Zhi Qi sent him a private message, he could receive it immediately.

He always acted recklessly and unexpectedly, but designating a fan as special surprised Qiu Mi.

After hesitating for a long time, Qiu Mi asked, “Brother Qi, do you… know this fan?”

Jiang Qi nodded.

For some reason, Qiu Mi didn’t feel very shocked, maybe because of Zhi Qi’s writing style and words, which had already given him a sense that this fan was familiar to Jiang Qi. Jiang Qi didn’t bother turning on the lights when he got home, leaning on the sofa in the dim atmosphere. He stared at the private message Zhi Qi had just sent. The girl’s words were just daily records, but they somehow felt warm.

[Zhi Qi: Jiang Qi, Lang Lang has recovered. I visited it today.]

Lang Lang, the little dolphin Zhi Qi adopted, as Jiang Qi remembered her mentioning in previous private messages. The corners of the young man’s lips slightly lifted, and his sharp eyebrows softened a bit.

[Zhi Qi: Seven more days, and I’ll be able to see you.]

[Zhi Qi: DAY.60.]

Jiang Qi’s slender fingers moved on the screen. For a moment, he almost couldn’t resist replying to Zhi Qi—he wanted to tell her that if she wanted to see him, she could do so right now.

How could he bear to let Zhi Qi wait for him like this?

However, his fingertips hovered over the screen for a long time, and he couldn’t bring himself to type the message. He lacked the courage to contact her. The stubbornness that seemed to persist throughout his three-year prison life, the refusal to surrender and the fearlessness of death, the pretense of nonchalance after his release, all crumbled at this moment.

Jiang Qi slumped on the sofa, his eyes staring blankly at the ceiling in the dim room.

He had nothing to his name, and now he felt like a ‘negative’ presence. How could he bear to burden Zhi Qi and drag her down?

Jiang Qi knew the temperament of the girl. As soon as she saw him, she would ignore everything and stay by his side, always trying to pull him out of that swamp. She completely disregarded the danger of being dragged down herself, bold and reckless.

But Jiang Qi knew his own character. He knew himself… and that he was beyond redemption.

At this point, his nerves seemed to ache subtly, and Jiang Qi furrowed his brow, pulling open the drawer of the coffee table beside the sofa. The drawer was filled with medicine bottles from few presciptions. In the darkness, the young man grabbed a bottle, casually opened it, and took a few pills without water, swallowing them down.

Soon, the pills were crushed on his tongue, and the taste became bitter, numbing his taste buds. Jiang Qi, similarly numb, chuckled self-deprecatingly. Every time he couldn’t control the urge to find Zhi Qi, his head would ache, as if constantly alerting him to his foolish and delusional desires.

After taking the medicine, his thoughts drifted to other things, like Fu Yunbing, the troublemaker he encountered in prison. Jiang Qi remembered that in his second year of incarceration, Uncle Jiang Shi came to visit him.

Through the glass window, Jiang Shi’s wrinkled face looked awkward and dull. It took a while before he uttered, “Ah-Qi, that little girl came to see you, asking about… your matters.”

Although the man’s words were incoherent and hesitant, Jiang Qi immediately knew who the ‘little girl’ Jiang Shi was talking about.

Besides Zhi Qi, which girl was close to him?

The young man’s face, under his short buzz cut, turned pale. His cold expression mirrored the color of the prison’s iron bars. With a slight movement in his eyes, he softly asked, “Did you say anything?”

Jiang Shi quickly shook his head, looking somewhat timid, “No… you didn’t want me to say.”

Indeed, it was him who forbade the mention. From the moment he entered, the name ‘Jiang Qi’ should disappear from Zhi Qi’s life.

So, Jiang Qi, in a rare moment, lifted the corners of his lips, forming a semblance of a ‘smile.’ His light-colored eyes calmly stared at his uncle, “Good that you didn’t say.”

And don’t ever mention it again. During the conversation between him and Jiang Shi, Fu Yunbing happened to come to clean, witnessing the scene. Seeing the subtle change in Jiang Qi’s expression when he heard the words ‘little girl,’ Fu Yunbing immediately smiled with deep meaning.

When they returned to their cell, Fu Yunbing sarcastically asked Jiang Qi, “Hey, kid, got a girl outside?”

In the rudimentary prison environment, with six people in one cell, everyone turned their heads to look, eyes filled with eager anticipation of a good show—everyone knew that Fu Yunbing and Jiang Qi were not on good terms. Jiang Qi’s steps halted upon hearing the words. He turned to look at Fu Yunbing, his narrow phoenix eyes dangerously squinting.

He didn’t say a word, but his aura automatically turned icy.

“Who are you trying to scare? What’s the difference between your behavior and ours?” Fu Yunbing wasn’t afraid of him. With a stolen cigarette between his lips, he looked at Jiang Qi with a mocking and disdainful expression. His words were cutting—

“Can someone who’s been through the system ever clean up? Do you think you’re something special?”

“Do you think you deserve a good girl? You, with blood on your hands.”

“After you get out, that girl of yours will have run off with someone else!”

“You’re not worthy, got it?”

Jiang Qi had a cold and unpleasant temperament. From any perspective, he had nothing to do with the word ‘good.’ At this moment, the veins on his forehead were visibly throbbing due to the natural irritation. His face was pale, and before reason returned to his mind, his fist had already swung towards the disgusting face of Fu Yunbing!

*

Jiang Qi had fought countless times in prison during his three-year sentence, but this time with Fu Yunbing was the most brutal. In the end, the other four people in the cell had to step in to break up the fight. Both men had blood on their faces, and their eyes were locked onto each other with a fierce red glare.

Jiang Qi didn’t care why Fu Yunbing disliked him or why he picked a fight. He didn’t come to prison to make friends. What he cared about was when Fu Yunbing mentioned Zhi Qi, his girl. That was unacceptable.

He couldn’t tolerate these dirty individuals defiling his precious little girl.

In the end, Jiang Qi was confined to the small dark room for two weeks. The small dark room was the prison’s solitary confinement, a room of less than five square meters, pitch dark, with only a hand-width gap letting in a bit of light.

In the silent environment, one had to coexist with the stench of the toilet. Often, after three days, people couldn’t bear the torment, making it one of the harshest punishments in the prison. Jiang Qi’s punishment was unprecedented due to his repeated involvement in ‘brawls’ within the prison.

But he had no objections and quietly accepted the punishment. For Jiang Qi, even a small dark room of five square meters was better than being cramped in a cell with those people. He repeatedly got into trouble not just because he didn’t want to be bullied but also for another reason.

He deliberately wanted to be confined to the small dark room, at least… it was quiet there.

In the tranquil space with only himself, it was easier to think. The young man looked up at the narrow brightness high in the room, and his crystal-like pupils seemed to have a layer of ash floating over them.

Even though he resorted to violence, Jiang Qi knew deep down that he was ‘frustrated.’

He understood that Fu Yunbing was actually right, hitting him where it hurt the most. The difference between him and Zhi Qi was like night and day, especially with his three years of criminal records. Even though Fu Yunbing’s words about “your girl will run away sooner or later” were nonsense, why should he go back to find Zhi Qi?

Perhaps… perhaps if Zhi Qi had another boyfriend, it might be a kind of happiness for her. No matter who it was, they would be better than him, a criminal. Forced to tear apart the facade of false peace and realize the bloody truth, Jiang Qi felt like he couldn’t breathe.

His light-colored pupils slowly became bloodshot, and he felt a splitting headache.

…

Memories gradually overlapped with reality. Even though more than a year had passed, Jiang Qi still vividly remembered how he felt at that time.

The mirage finally collapsed, just as Fu Yunbing said. He didn’t deserve it.

Jiang Qi actually understood this better than anyone else. So, he never dared to look for Zhi Qi, even though he constantly wanted to in his crazy heart. During his time in prison, Jiang Qi heard an artistic youth say, ‘Love is restraint.’ Perhaps he should restrain himself — restrain from finding her, restrain from burdening her, and even restrain from loving her.

After getting used to it, he became numb.

After a tumultuous storm in his mind, Jiang Qi blankly closed his phone.

*

#Why does Jiang Qi never smile?#

When Calle Magazine’s October issue was released, the young man on the cover, lying wet on the ‘shore,’ had the pool digitally removed and replaced with another scene. The extremely high-definition photos made the boy’s sharp features extremely clear; his lapis lazuli-colored eyes were as cold as the clearest crystal, gloomy, profound, and dark.

In the rich interweaving of colors, the young man wore only a white shirt, achieving an extreme dark style.

This extremeness strangely suited Jiang Qi’s atmosphere.

Ji Ting had previously said that shooting Jiang Qi for this issue would be his most satisfying work of the year, and now it was evident that it wasn’t an empty boast. The magazine had been out for less than three days, and both the online electronic version and the physical copies were already sold out.

Whether it’s the cover or the inner pages, the theme revolves around the images of the youth with the backdrop of water.

The last chapter’s page resembles behind-the-scenes photos. Jiang Qi, draped in a large towel with semi-dry wet hair, sits on a tall chair with his long legs stretched out. In that captured moment, his expression appears somewhat bewildered, rarely showing a hint of ‘young and naive’ tenderness.

This image quickly became viral as numerous marketing accounts crazily shared it, turning it into the so-called ‘breaking-the-internet divine picture.’

Since Jiang Qi’s debut, he had limited exposure, giving off a predominantly gloomy impression. However, this candid shot, capturing a seemingly ‘pure’ side, allowed the onlookers to glimpse another facet of him, and of course, it was also because of his unparalleled handsomeness.

While fans and casual observers praised him, the detractors naturally couldn’t stay silent.

Early in the morning, rumors about Jiang Qi flooded the internet once again.

Amidst this chaos, some observant individuals discovered a topic: #Why does Jiang Qi never smile?#.

Someone took the time to tally up the “Gazing at the Sky” movie, which lasted 115 minutes. Throughout the entire film, Jiang Qi didn’t showcase a single smile. If it were due to the plot and character design, that would be understandable. However, even in later events, magazine shoots, and a few instances caught by paparazzi, he never displayed a smile.

In the entertainment industry, stars portray various personas, and there have been instances of celebrities adopting a ‘cold and aloof’ image. However, maintaining a consistent level of aloofness like Jiang Qi was quite rare.

For the intrigued onlookers who made this fresh discovery, lively discussions ensued, though some of the comments were not so kind:

[= =: Maybe the nerves in his face are malfunctioning when it comes to ‘smiling’?]

[= =: Can Jiang Qi trend just by smiling or not? Is he living on the trends? With the marketing budget for a year, he could buy a building in the second ring of Beijing, right? Tut-tut, instead of spending time on this chaotic marketing, why not quickly clarify whether he really harassed a girl!]

[= =: Is having a ‘smile or not’ persona interesting? If he smiles one day, wouldn’t that be a big contradiction?]

[= =: Some people’s malice is truly immense. Can’t he even smile? Is Jiang Qi an original sinner?]

[= =: If he ended up in prison because of an attempted assault, wouldn’t that be the original sin?]

The noisy chatter continued, and when Zhi Qi saw this trending topic, she recalled the appearance of Jiang Qi that she had seen online. He indeed never had a smile. But, of course, she knew he could smile, and most of the time, he would only smile at her.

Zhi Qi had long learned not to look at the malicious speculations about Jiang Qi online. She casually scrolled for a while and then closed her phone. She wasn’t worried that these comments would affect Jiang Qi in any way—keyboard warriors across the internet were the least valuable, while Jiang Qi had grown up enduring real-life sarcasm and mockery from those around him.

He had long developed an invincible heart.

As for herself, she should be the same. As for why Jiang Qi didn’t respond to the online gossip, she didn’t need to care. After all, the places not touched by sunlight were filled with the stench of the sewers.

They only wanted to believe what they wanted to believe.

*

December 14th, Lin Lan Chen Ding Entertainment’s broadcasting studio.

At nine in the morning, the fan meeting for the released drama crew. Following the instructions of the girl who sold her the tickets earlier, Zhi Qi arrived an hour early to queue up… only to see a dense crowd of people.

Wasn’t the fan meeting in the broadcasting studio, limited to only two thousand people? Why were there so many people now? Zhi Qi panicked and looked down at the ticket in her hand. It wasn’t until the security check and ticket inspection in the queue that she realized many of those people were fans who couldn’t get tickets and were waiting outside.

Zhi Qi: “…”

She followed the crowd into the broadcasting studio, found her seat according to the number on the card, and sat down. The ticket she bought secondhand wasn’t in a prime location, somewhere in the middle left and right, but luckily, the whole studio was just a small-scale fan meeting, not too crowded, and this position still offered a clear view of the stage.

After taking her seat, Zhi Qi took out the telescope she had prepared.

The girl next to her blinked in surprise when she saw it and asked, “Is it that professional?”

Zhi Qi smiled somewhat embarrassedly. Her profession was unique; she usually needed to observe animals with a telescope. This one was bought a long time ago and came in handy at this moment.

The girl next to her was very enthusiastic. Taking advantage of the fact that the main creators hadn’t arrived yet, she chatted with Zhi Qi, who was holding the telescope. “Are you here for someone specific? Jiang Qi, perhaps?”

Zhi Qi nodded.

“Ah, me too!” The girl held her face with both hands, starry-eyed. “He’s really handsome. I had a hard time getting this ticket. I begged more than forty people in my class to help me grab it! I treated them to bubble tea in the middle of the night!”

…

Zhi Qi understood why she couldn’t get a ticket. It seemed that her level of dedication was far inferior to the girl next to her. As they spoke, the lights in the studio dimmed.

“Ah!” The girl immediately exclaimed and, while rubbing her hands, said very skillfully, “The main creators are about to come up from behind, and there will be stage lighting.”

Hearing this, Zhi Qi immediately raised the telescope hanging around her neck and stared at the stage without blinking. She saw many staff members busy on both sides of the stage. After about five minutes of back and forth, the silhouette of the main creative team appeared in the telescope as they came up from the side steps.

Although it was a long distance away, separated by the telescope, Zhi Qi instantly captured the slender figure of Jiang Qi.

When he was in the first year of high school, he was already 183 cm tall, and he still was. Zhi Qi had remembered his shadow for many years, as if it were deeply engraved in her heart. Seeing the “real person” after a long time, her heart seemed to be squeezed for a moment, making it difficult to breathe, and her eyes were a bit misty.

In the midst of hundreds or even thousands of people, no one noticed the slight trembling of Zhi Qi’s little arm as she held up the telescope.

The girl next to her continued to scream amidst the noisy surroundings, “Ah, ah, ah, Jiang Qi is so handsome! He truly is the man I’ve set my eyes on!”

Zhi Qi couldn’t care less about the deafening cheers erupting around her as the main creators ascended the stage; she only focused on Jiang Qi.

Watching Jiang Qi sitting on the edge of the stage, his expression still carrying a stubborn and cold determination, Zhi Qi felt a deep familiarity. Even after he sat down, his habitual tapping of the table’s edge with his fingers remained unchanged.

Four years might change many things, but some aspects were ingrained and unchangeable.

Unconsciously, Zhi Qi’s palms became slightly damp.

At that moment, Jiang Qi suddenly looked towards the audience.

Seeing the momentary glimpse of those light-colored pupils, the girl’s hand trembled slightly. Perhaps it was just her imagination, but Zhi Qi had the illusion of making eye contact with him across the vast sea of people.