“No.”
The manager pushed up her glasses, entirely unmoved by Zou Songpu's fixed stare. She calmly finished tidying her artist's home, tied the garbage bag, and placed it beside the door so she could throw it away when she left.
“Aren't you supposed to be capable of anything?”
“Within the scope of my job, of course I can do anything. But my job is to fight for resources, negotiate partnerships, handle public relations, and coordinate your schedule. Your assistants handle your daily needs. Your subjective dislike of another person is also outside my professional responsibilities.”
She pulled several boxes of medicine from the drawer beneath the coffee table and set them before him.
“If your throat is acting up again, stop talking. Take your medicine.”
The vast room became deathly quiet. Only the man's breathing remained, making the sounds of opening the boxes and swallowing the pills unusually distinct.
Zou Songpu tipped all five tablets into his mouth. He had not drunk enough water, and one pill lodged in his throat, refusing to move either up or down. A breathy noise escaped him. He quickly seized his glass and drank again.
Water spilled from the corner of his mouth and ran beneath his clothes, leaving a dark trail across his shirt. The winding scar underneath showed faintly through the damp fabric.
The previous year had been the unluckiest of Zou Songpu's life.
During his first variety show, a stalker had poured a sodium-hydroxide solution into his drink. The moment he swallowed, violent burning and agony tore through his throat. Although he spat it out immediately, his throat swelled and reddened so fast that he could no longer speak.
His manager sensed something wrong, stopped the recording, and rushed him to the hospital. But Zou Songpu's beautiful voice never fully returned. He would need continuous medication and had been warned to avoid excessive talking. Whenever he caught a cold or fever, his throat would now be the first part of him to stop working.
Opportunity and time waited for no one.
While recovering, he lost the leading roles in two productions, three commercial campaigns requiring livestream appearances, and even a music competition for which he had spent months practicing his singing.
He was also strictly forbidden from continuing the sanda he had studied since elementary school. He needed rest, and rest was unbearably boring.
Fortunately, during a walk, he found a stray cat that loved to yell and possessed a remarkably loud voice.
If I can't speak, you can speak for me.
And so the stray cat received its name: Shuohua—“Speak.”
The house became noticeably livelier after Shuohua arrived.
The cat leaped and scrambled everywhere. Knocking over glasses and biting through charging cables were ordinary events. A male star whose career had temporarily stalled found a companion who stayed beside him twenty-four hours a day—and belonged completely to him alone.
During that period, his manager constantly revised his schedule according to his recovery and dealt with every online discussion about him. He had sent his assistant traveling on paid leave, and the housekeeper left after preparing three meals and finishing the chores.
Zou Songpu and Shuohua had only each other.
Shuohua was clever. One lesson was enough to teach it the litter box. Zou Songpu searched online and discovered that the cat had very long “wisdom whiskers.”
Pets really do resemble their owners. I've placed first in every exam since childhood. My Shuohua must be a genius among cats.
At the time, Zou Songpu had just moved and finally owned a home of his own. His parents opposed him living independently. After tracing his new address, they stormed over and berated him for moving without consulting the family and for being so disobedient.
The three of them had an enormous argument. In the middle of it, the feline genius slipped through a door that had not been closed properly.
By the time Zou Songpu discovered the cat was missing, six hours had passed.
Frantic, he opened the tracking application for the chip in Shuohua's collar. He and a friend drove after the signal until they reached an isolated factory district, where they found a truck packed with cages of cats outside an abandoned warehouse.
The roller shutter rose. The stench of blood spread outward, accompanied by a few scattered feline screams.
Zou Songpu could not bear to imagine what was happening inside. Gooseflesh covered him. In a rush of fury, he charged forward and began fighting the men climbing from the truck.
“Where is my cat?!”
His fist slammed into one man's face. The man froze, then shouted. Several more people ran from the warehouse, each carrying a weapon.
Barehanded, Zou Songpu blocked a knife thrusting straight toward his abdomen. He stepped forward and drove an uppercut into the man's chin, dropping him to the ground.
His friend, hidden nearby, realized the situation had become dangerous and immediately called the police.
Zou Songpu's throat had not recovered, and the doctor had advised against strenuous exercise. But the search had driven him beyond reason. He did not even feel the cuts opening across his arms. He wanted only to reach the truck, pull every cat from every cage, and search them one by one for Shuohua.
He ducked an oncoming club, seized the attacker's arm, twisted, and threw him to the ground. When he raised his eyes again, a silver flash crossed his chest.
Warm liquid began to flow. Only when he looked down did he see blood soaking his expensive tracksuit.
Blood loss darkened his vision. In the final moment before he lost consciousness, he vaguely saw someone tumble from inside the truck holding something in one hand. Police sirens shrieked in his ears.
The private hospital room was spacious, but its soundproofing was mediocre. Zou Songpu heard every word of the conversation outside.
“Who knew he'd raise some worthless cat? He never said he liked cats before. It's better that it disappeared. The house was covered in fur. I sneezed every time I went inside. I hated it.”
“His throat hasn't recovered, but instead of worrying about his career, he keeps a useless animal at home. He doesn't seem anxious about work at all. These months are the same as throwing away money every day!”
Zou Songpu opened his eyes numbly and turned his head away.
Outside the window, spring was thriving. Branches had new buds, birds sang, and everything seemed full of life.
To him, it was unbearably noisy.
After leaving the hospital, he blocked his parents' contact information and changed the code to his door. He expected furious demands.
Instead, several months later, he learned from the news that his family had invested in a new overseas project.
In the interview, his parents behaved like a perfectly respectful couple. When asked about their son, his mother wiped the corner of her eye and answered sadly.
It was absurd.
They know I no longer have value. Why continue this meaningless performance? I should have understood long ago that no one cares about me.
Zou Songpu locked himself inside and stopped taking his medication. His projector played old videos of his cat in an endless loop.
His manager was overwhelmed with work. One day, the hospital called because it could not reach Zou Songpu and needed him to return for a checkup. She immediately contacted his assistant, Xiao Chen, and ordered him to come back and find a solution—even if he had to watch Zou Songpu at home every day.
The gold-medal manager's exact words had been: “If he says he's leaving the industry, let him. I have plenty of ways to make him popular again. Just don't let him die.”
Xiao Chen arrived with an enormous suitcase and rang the bell. He expected to be turned away, but the door opened.
Zou Songpu held a tablet. Cat meows sounded intermittently from the device.
Assuming his boss's attention was elsewhere, Xiao Chen quickly turned sideways and dragged his rattling luggage inside.
“Why are you here? Weren't you abroad?” Zou Songpu did not lift his head. His eyes remained on the screen.
“Brother, Sister Zhuang told me to stay here for a while.”
She had told him to keep watch, but Xiao Chen did not dare say that part.
Zou Songpu turned away to cough, then drank some water. “I don't even leave the house now. Why watch me? I won't cause her any more trouble.”
It was perfectly normal for a story about a top actor fighting people in an abandoned warehouse at night and being hospitalized covered in blood to reach the trending list.
After spending heavily to remove it, his manager investigated the warehouse operation. She and Zou Songpu's friend handed their evidence to the police. The entire profit-making network that livestreamed animal abuse was eventually destroyed, and the case appeared on local news.
Netizens wanted to know the identity of the brave man who had intervened. Even reporters could not find him.
Who could have imagined he was the temporarily mute Zou Songpu sitting before Assistant Chen now, his house a wreck and his tablet seemingly welded to his hand?
“Our Tingting is tired from playing, so today's stream ends here. Thank you for watching. See you next time!”
Xiao Chen's hearing was sharp. He leaned closer. “Brother, what are you watching?”
Zou Songpu turned off the tablet before he could see. “Nothing. Just a cat.”
“People can make cats livestream now? They'll sacrifice anything for money.”
“Why would you say that?” Zou Songpu frowned. “Their cat is as energetic as Shuohua. If it doesn't run around outside, it destroys the house. And she follows it through the entire livestream.”
His expression dimmed, and another light cough followed.
Xiao Chen shut his mouth, poured fresh water, and handed it over. Zou Songpu drank.
“How long are you staying?”
“Uh... Sister Zhuang didn't say.”
Zou Songpu checked the time. “The housekeeper will arrive soon. Have her prepare the guest room.”
He walked straight into his bedroom and closed the door, leaving his assistant sitting blankly in the living room.
The housekeeper came at noon, cooked, cleaned, and left. At the table, one man had a bad throat and the other was afraid to speak. They ate in silence.
Eventually, Xiao Chen could no longer endure it. He swallowed and asked, “Brother, has Sister Zhuang contacted you?”
“No. Or I may not have seen it. My phone broke a few days ago.”
“Broke? How? Where is it? I'll have someone repair it.” Xiao Chen set down his chopsticks, ready to call a reliable technician.
Zou Songpu waved for him to calm down. “I smashed it.”
“Oh...”
“Certain people said in an interview that they would fly back immediately to care for me. I waited so long that even if they'd ridden a unicycle with a square wheel, they should have arrived.”
His throat could not support too much speech at once, so he paused.
“I have no work now. I have scars, so I can't take jobs that show my body. I can't talk much, so I can't do spoken promotions. Did you see things shining in the bushes when you arrived? They're all stalkers and photographers. I threw away the phone so no one could bother me.”
“Brother, Sister Zhuang already found a way to clear everyone from around your home.”
“When?”
“A few days ago, I think. She told me when she asked me to return.”
They had finished eating. Xiao Chen cleared the dishes while Zou Songpu wiped the table.
“Oh, right. Sister Zhuang also said Director Qin Sheng's new film will begin casting soon. I heard the male lead is a lawyer...”
Xiao Chen mentally slapped his treacherous mouth. A lawyer would obviously have enormous amounts of dialogue. He should not have said anything.
“Oh. I understand.”
Those four words ended all conversation with his assistant for the day.
That night, Zou Songpu ordered a new phone. The following day, he contacted Qin Sheng himself.
The director gave no definite answer and only asked about his recovery.
Qin Sheng did not particularly insist on actors using their original voices, but an actor unable to deliver even one complete passage during filming was another matter.
Zou Songpu did not want to give up.
He studied the message he had typed for a long moment, then pressed send.