From Apocalypse To Entertainment Circle (BL)-Chapter 44: The Thorn in His Throat

Sian woke up to a burning emptiness and pain that pressed against his heart. The world beyond him was insipid, the morning sunlight filtering through the curtains achingly bright compared to the crushing dark raging inside of him. He placed his hand on his chest, the tumultuous beat of his heart thrashing as though trying to erupt out of the emptiness encompassing him.

A huge sigh escaped his mouth, a resignation and longing sound. The burden of what was left unspoken and lost pressed down on him, making every breath a struggle. Memories flashed before his eyes, painful and poignant.

His body felt weighted, as though the bed was an ocean liner sucking him deeper into an ocean of emptiness. Sian’s eyes drifted around the room, but nothing arrested his attention for long enough to distract him from the chomping emptiness that gnawed in his belly. He felt tears threatening, a heat gathering in his eyes that he ached to release. It was a strange mix of hurt and anger, both directed against himself for feeling so lost.

There he stayed, and he thought about the minutes that had led him to this place. He ached to regain what was lost but was trapped within himself, unable to proceed. In the silence, Sian understood that he was not mourning for a person or a moment but for the pieces of himself that he felt were shattered beyond repair.

Many had been wronged in this world, as Sian had been. The streets were filled with the shadows of those who had been cruelly treated, their tired faces speaking of loss and betrayal. Some had suffered much more than he had, their battles inscribed into the very fabric of their existence. There were whispers in the alleyways—whispers of mothers searching for lost kids, of betrayed lovers, and of the innocent crushed beneath the heel of power. Sian was often beset by their stories, each one a reminder of a world that perverted the righteous into victims.

Sian could not save them all, could not change the history of the original Sian, the boy whose life had been taken from him too soon. In the quiet moments, he would catch the echo of that boy’s laughter and sense the touch of his gentle nature that left him in memory. Bittersweet, a precious reminder that urged Sian on. He was always wondering what might have been if fortune had been kinder to him.

But amid the pain, he vowed to himself that one day, if ever he were to find the ideal moment, if the stars were to all align just so, he would have his revenge. He envisioned it vividly—a moment when he could stand tall against those who had hurt him, drawing his strength from the kind and gentle boy who once called him "brother." It was that which had been forged in a world so full of conflict that gave Sian his sense of purpose.

The least he could do to pay the other back for allowing him to borrow his body and life in this world. Everything that he did was one step towards honouring that tacit promise. With a firm determination, Sian attempted to right the ills that he discovered, every small victory a reminder of the benevolent person who had lived before. Through this perilous country, he carried the weight of his task and of the boy’s legacy, entwining their fates in an indestructible tie.

What Sian did not know was that the opportunity for which he waited was already on its way to him at this very moment.

As he went about his day, unaware of what was happening, the winds of fate were shifting, tugging on threads that had been woven years and years ago before he even realized he was part of something larger.

***

Having witnessed Sian’s irresponsible act on live TV, Song Zijian was shocked. His eyes turned red with anger.

It wasn’t because of Sian’s combat skills—skills no one had known he possessed. Nor was it because of the now-altered public perception, which now saw Sian as a hero.

The government was even contemplating awarding him a medal and a commendation for having saved all those lives. The mastermind behind the coordinated attack was an old man—a great general, a revered figure in military ranks. With a sharp intellect matured by years of experience, he skillfully manipulated all the strings within his reach, employing a network of well-tended contacts to guide the government and people’s opinions. His dominance extended into every facet of power, as he deftly navigated the devious terrain of politics to ensure his vision became a reality, regardless of the cost.

As a result of this, Sian managed to duck both the Interpol and military investigations and wound up being a national hero loved by millions.

No, what actually made Song Zijian angry was that Sian had performed live on air.

He had never known that the latter was this good at singing. Each note wafted across the air like a gentle whisper, captivating anyone lucky enough to hear it. Of course, he had always known that Sian had a beautiful voice—its depth and richness had a way of surrounding him like a warm hug. Combined with an even more beautiful face, Sian commanded attention effortlessly.

His face was chiselled, cheekbones that went high and eyes that appeared to hold the weight of a million unspoken tales. How he walked, smooth but confident, added an adorable charm that beckoned people nearer. It was a seduction to see him on stage, every step a stunning complement to the melodies that issued from his lips.

That was the reason Song Zijian had set so many traps and plots for him—all to drive him out of the entertainment circle. Envy gnawed at him, a bitter reminder of the talent that overshadowed his. It was infuriating to observe how easily Sian won others over, leaving in his wake a river of adoration. Song Zijian’s pride began to twist into something ugly as he plotted and conspired, determined to tone down the brilliance of the star in his way.

Song Zijian had a burning jealousy towards Sian, craving the spotlight that only seemed to shine on his nemesis alone. With a fanatical desire to bring Sian down from his pedestal, Zijian plotted with utmost caution, creating schemes to propel himself at Sian’s expense. It appeared as if he was betrayed at the moment of triumph, his carefully thought-out actions on the brink of success. But everything was undone in the blink of an eye when the live broadcast of the survival show was telecasted, exposing the cruel truth of his intentions and shattering his carefully constructed dreams. The chance he had been fantasizing about went out of his hands at that moment, leaving a stain of frustration and broken dreams.

How can he sing like that?! Impossible!" Song Zijian yelled, throwing a wine glass onto the ground.

He was in his own space, in the midst of his cluttered flat, with paint-stained walls and canvases leaning irregularly against chairs. His hapless manager hovered beside him, clasping his hands in anxious frustration and dismay at his loss for what to do with his tempestuous artist. The desperate atmosphere in the room crackled like live wires, with shadows dancing against the walls as the artist threw his arms around in frustration, with anger spilling out like the colours in his half-finished painting.

The manager, with his perfectly slicked-down hair and freshly washed shirt, stepped back nervously, trying to come up with the proper words to placate the storm before him. Despite his best efforts, it became clear that reason would not be a part of this rant, and after an awkward silence broken only by the artist’s harsh breaths, the manager was promptly shown out of the apartment, leaving the residence heavy with unresolved tension and strife.

"Sian, Sian, Sian... Why don’t you just die? Why must you continue to be a thorn inside my throat? Why?"