After a full day of activity, even when the free performance ended, no one felt tired.
“Young people really are full of energy,” Qiu Hao said, giving each of them a high five. They had performed four songs in total that night, and it still didn’t feel like enough. Now, they were heading out with the staff to find a place to celebrate.
“Stop pretending you’re old. You’re only a few years older than us,” Ji Yunting said.
Qiu Hao yawned. “Being an adult just means smelling like the office. Let’s eat quickly—I need to get home and sleep early.”
Koty stepped up and slung an arm around his shoulders. “Sleep? No way. Come drink with us. Our leader’s buying.”
Ji Yunting gave him a helpless glance, but since everyone was in high spirits tonight, he was happy to treat.
“I’m not going,” Fu Rong said bluntly. He changed out of his clothes and headed straight for the car.
Koty watched his figure disappear completely, then turned back to explain to the others, “Fu Rong has another job early tomorrow morning. It’s good for him to get some rest.”
If Fu Rong had suddenly become sociable, that would’ve been the real surprise. Everyone was already used to how he did things—whatever made him happy was fine.
They settled on a hotpot place, opened by someone in the industry as a way to pass the time. It operated on a members-only basis. The environment was elegant and quiet, with strong privacy, and the food tasted as good as any well-known chain. Many artists who found it inconvenient to appear in public often chose to gather there.
To accommodate a few colleagues who couldn’t handle spicy food, all the tables had divided hotpots. Zhu Lianzhen glanced around at the seating and turned to Tan Qing. “Aren’t you going to switch seats with them?”
Tan Qing looked at him. “You don’t want me sitting next to you?”
Zhu Lianzhen opened his mouth but couldn’t respond. That wasn’t what he meant at all—how did Tan Qing’s brain even work like that?
“I just thought it’d be more convenient for you. You can’t eat the spicy side,” Zhu Lianzhen explained.
Tan Qing didn’t reply. He simply lowered his head, rinsed his utensils in hot water, then wiped them clean with a napkin. Zhu Lianzhen frowned but didn’t say anything else.
After a while, it finally dawned on him: was Tan Qing actually hinting that he wanted to sit next to him?
Damn. His own thinking had been way more straightforward. He genuinely just wanted Tan Qing to enjoy the hotpot!
It was rare for Zhu Lianzhen to have this kind of realization. While no one was paying attention to the two of them, he nudged Tan Qing with his elbow and quietly suggested, “Let’s go get a late-night snack later.”
He was clearly trying to be considerate, his expression purely one of goodwill. The curve of Tan Qing’s lips deepened slightly. He shook his head gently. “It’s too hot today. I don’t really have an appetite.”
“Then forget it,” Zhu Lianzhen said, sitting upright again.
The hotpot was bubbling, and the atmosphere gradually warmed up. There was alcohol, of course, but the content wasn’t high—just enough to keep things lively. Zhu Lianzhen didn’t drink much. As soon as he felt a bit of a buzz, he sensibly stopped.
By then, the meal was nearing its end. Zhu Lianzhen leaned lazily against his chair, tilting his head to glance at Tan Qing’s tableware. Seeing that his glass was still full, he raised his hand and tapped the edge of Tan Qing’s bowl to get his attention. “Have a sip.”
Tan Qing grabbed his hand and moved it under the table before letting go. “You should probably stop talking now.”
It took Zhu Lianzhen a few seconds to understand what Tan Qing meant. Did he look drunk to others? He felt fine himself, just a little flushed in the cheeks, that was all.
“I’m going to wash my face.” Zhu Lianzhen stood up.
Cool water splashing on his face made him feel much more refreshed. He then stepped outside for some air. The restaurant had traditional Chinese-style decor, and in the courtyard outside the main hall were a few small ponds. The sound of flowing water was soothing.
There weren’t many stars in the city’s night sky, but the moon tonight was full.
“Should I take you back?” someone asked from behind.
There was no need to turn around to know it was Tan Qing who had followed him out. Zhu Lianzhen sat on a wooden bench, took a deep breath, and let himself soak in the moment of tranquility. He listened to the sound of Tan Qing approaching, and only when the other sat down beside him did he finally speak. “Let’s rest a bit before heading back.”
Tan Qing nodded.
“Tonight I was…” Zhu Lianzhen spoke slowly, “really happy at first.”
“‘At first’?”
“Getting over fifty thousand people to come for a performance in a single day—isn’t that something to be excited about?” Zhu Lianzhen exhaled deeply. “Forget it. I guess I’m the only one who really cares. You guys—”
He unconsciously dragged out the last syllable, but in the end, didn’t finish the sentence.
Tan Qing understood what he had left unsaid and followed up, “Everyone’s used to this kind of scene by now, so of course it doesn’t feel like a big deal.”
“But that’s exactly your gift, Xiao Zhu.”
For people who had been in the spotlight for a long time, every bit of composure was the result of being polished by time. But even as the years passed, there were still those who held on to their original sincerity and kept a passionate heart. That was proof of youth.
Zhu Lianzhen’s cheeks began to feel warm again under the influence of alcohol. He rubbed his hair, thinking back over the past two years. At the beginning, there were many times on stage when he instinctively tried to interact with others, only to turn and find that it was just backup dancers beside him. No one was there to respond with the same unspoken understanding.
It had taken him months to get used to that kind of solo life fully. Of course there had been loneliness and disappointment, but now he couldn’t clearly remember those feelings anymore. He’d never been one to dwell on negative emotions.
To fans, going solo was something worth celebrating. But when he smiled back at them, the feelings on both sides were completely different.
He still felt that standing on stage as Acemon’s main dancer had felt better.
There was a world of difference between a concert venue and an ordinary performance stage. The former felt like a completely separate world. And this was the very place where they had debuted, which made Zhu Lianzhen feel especially sentimental today, so much so that he forgot one important fact—
Even when they shared the same stage, they had always been looking toward different things.
Koty enjoyed the process of performing. Ji Yunting cared about his own appeal. Fu Rong was probably in it for the astronomical paycheck.
Zhu Lianzhen found it hard to define what he wanted most. He wanted Acemon to reach the top, go international, and attract fans from all over the world. He cherished the weight and honor that came with his name. When he rewatched old concert footage, he especially liked the feeling of them once fighting side by side as a strong team.
He was too greedy. He seemed to want everything.
But in the entertainment industry, no one could “have it all.”
After two years of going solo, Zhu Lianzhen had come to terms with Acemon’s current state. It was okay for everyone to have different goals. They were teammates, after all, each getting what they needed.
Even so, when his joy today felt a little out of place, he couldn’t help but feel disappointed.
Zhu Lianzhen didn’t feel like thinking about it anymore. Alcohol, that annoying thing, really made people sentimental. His voice sounded a little weary. “Wanna go back?”
Tan Qing asked, “Back to the dorm or your place?”
Zhu Lianzhen’s mouth was dry. He wanted water and a hot bath, but he knew better than to soak after drinking, so he gave up on that idea. To be as comfortable as possible, going home seemed like the better option.
“Let’s head out first. Looks like they’ll be talking for a while.” Tan Qing looked down at his phone, sending a message to his assistant.
Zhu Lianzhen gave an “Mm,” but right after agreeing, he started sulking: Why am I going along with his lead, even thinking about whether to go to the dorm or home?
There was no reason for it to be a choice. If Tan Qing hadn’t brought it up, he would’ve naturally defaulted to going back to the dorm.
Trailing behind him, Zhu Lianzhen silently grumbled to himself. And as if Tan Qing sensed what he was thinking, he turned back and glanced at him again.
Zhu Lianzhen: “What?”
“Drink some water before we go.”
“Oh.” Zhu Lianzhen turned back. He had to admit, Tan Qing’s concern always came with uncanny timing. Maybe he’d heard him subconsciously clear his throat just now because it felt dry.
After buying the water himself, Zhu Lianzhen drank a little too quickly. Droplets slipped from the corner of his mouth and slid down into his collar, but he forgot to wipe them away. His eyes were fixed on Tan Qing, who was waiting not far off.
A vague question stirred in his mind: Where had Tan Qing’s gaze been fixed all these years since deciding to step onto the stage in his youth?
