Zhu Lianzhen didn’t know which was more awkward—mistaking Tan Xiao for a stalker fan and driving her away, or realizing she’d been holding a CP light sign featuring her biological brother and himself.
The more he thought about it after getting home, the more embarrassed he felt. He sent a message to Tan Qing, questioning him: “She’s so young, and she’s already into this kind of thing? Even shipping people? Don’t you think you should be keeping an eye on her?”
Tan Qing replied almost instantly: “Is shipping something shameful? Why should I stop her?”
Zhu Lianzhen: “If you don’t care, that’s your problem. But as someone involved, it doesn’t exactly make me feel great.”
Tan Qing passed the message along to Tan Xiao directly.
“My bad, my bad. I owe you both an apology.” Feeling guilty, Tan Xiao hurried to explain everything to Tan Qing. A fan had helped her get a ticket, so she was just helping her hold the light sign. Unfortunately, she had been misunderstood by Zhu Lianzhen.
She added worriedly, “Lian-ge must’ve felt pretty offended, right? Sigh. I hope it didn’t put him in a bad mood.”
Besides, as a mom fan of Zhu Lianzhen, how could she possibly ship her own son with her biological brother? That would be beyond outrageous!
Tan Qing just laughed and told her not to overthink it. “Don’t worry. If anyone should be blamed for offending him, I’m probably first in line.”
Meanwhile, Zhu Lianzhen opened Weibo, and sure enough, the trending list was flooded with Acemon-related topics.
Things like “Acemon’s dance moves are so synchronized,” “Acemon full live singing,” “Zhu Lianzhen’s dance solo”… even a bizarre entry titled “Feels like New Year,” which, if an unsuspecting passerby clicked out of curiosity, would reveal Acemon fans spamming the page like crazy.
[Damn!! A-Group is insane!!! This level of coordination isn’t just beating every domestic boy group—it’s domination.]
[I came for the drama, hoping to watch some groups get publicly humiliated tonight, and somehow ended up a fan of a washed-up boy group instead.]
[I don’t think anything will top this for the rest of the year. A-Group’s performance tonight could sweep every year-end best group award (unless they completely screw up)]
[Fu Rong posted a selfie ahhh, I’m dead! Jie is killing me again—]
[#QingZhen: True Affection# Today is the blessed day of their remarriage 🌹🌹 Hello? Someone come check out this waist.]
[Holy shit, Zhu Lianzhen’s waist, his abs, those V-lines. So pale, so sexy]
[#Zhu Lianzhen# ??? He has a tattoo on his waist? This is news to me.]
Zhu Lianzhen’s heart sank. He immediately clicked on the photo to confirm.
It was all Tan Qing’s fault for messing around with that ring. There hadn’t even been any need for it in his styling. His pants were already low-waisted, and his shirt had accidentally been tugged up by Tan Qing, exposing his waist. That alone wasn’t a big deal, but if fans caught on to the tattoo design, explaining it would be nearly impossible.
Fortunately, none of the fans taking photos at the venue managed to capture the full tattoo. The scattered images couldn’t be pieced together, and the show’s replay didn’t offer a clear enough frame either. Everyone was left squinting at blurry outlines with magnifying glasses, desperately trying to guess the text.
Zhu Lianzhen let out a sigh of relief and told Ah-Xu to use a side account to pretend to be a fan and comment: “It’s probably just a temporary tattoo. Didn’t he post about using tattoo stickers in his selfies before? Don’t overthink it. It’s just for fun.”
There were plenty of fans online, and the comment was quickly accepted. But fans’ imaginations were terrifying—soon, no one was trying to guess the actual design anymore. Instead, they started coming up with a whole new persona for him.
[He stuck it on his lower back himself? Damn, such a flirt. I luv it.]
[New year, new vibes. Also, who says he put it on himself? Cough cough. Anyway, shoutout to Kissy-gege (and his ring) for the eye candy.]
[He’s always been secretly flirty. You’re only just realizing now? Look at how many piercings he has. What straight guy gets that many? Even Koty doesn’t go that far.]
[Fun fact: ZLZ once read a fanfic where Naisi got turned into a human.]
Zhu Lianzhen was left speechless by their imagination.
And seriously, who the hell reads fanfics about their cat? He wasn’t some pervert! He had no idea how that kind of rumor even started.
Tonight’s trending topics felt more like a warm-up. Most of the commenters were fans or anti-fans, and the conversation mainly revolved around Acemon’s styling and their live performance skills. But by the next morning, as clips from the show began to spread, more and more people started watching Acemon’s two stages from the night before, and without exception, they were all blown away.
After all, in the public eye, Acemon had long been considered a scandal magnet. The label “fallen idol group” had stuck for years. Many assumed they’d already disbanded, so no one expected a group that had been inactive for two years to still command the stage like that.
The audience’s eyes were sharp. Whether an artist had real talent could only ever be proven through their work, not some over-the-top PR campaign.
When the song “Shake” dropped at midnight, it immediately shot to number one on all major music platforms, with play counts more than double that of the runner-up.
Naturally, fans celebrated all night.
As a top dancer in the domestic idol scene, Zhu Lianzhen once again broke records. The speed at which his personal fancam surpassed a million views was unprecedented. Even on international platforms, he ranked among the top trending topics.
But what drew even more attention was his physique. Just the accidental exposure of a small section of his waist and abs was enough to make fans at home and abroad feel their blood rush. Unlike the results of deliberate gym workouts, his body reflected the form of someone who had trained in dance for years—supple and flexible. The fair yet defined abdominal muscles were beautifully proportioned, exuding a unique kind of youthful male allure that was both fresh and captivating.
[That healthy, gorgeous waist is just perfect for leaving hickeys on.]
[So hot, so hot! But it’s not just sexy-hot, it’s also got that innocent kind of hot (I’m rambling)]
[I love this kind of lean muscle… feels like if you put that in, the shape would just merge into his existing muscle lines…]
[I took a screenshot and DMed it to Tan Qing. No way he can resist this.]
[Ugh, QingZhen shippers again killing the vibe. Get lost, get lost, get lost]
[Can we not drag innocent teammates into this? What did Tan Qing ever do to you?]
…
Tan Qing stubbed out his last cigarette and walked into the study.
Sliding open a bookshelf, he revealed an enclosed workspace spanning several dozen square meters. The darkroom let in no natural light, so it was perfect for shooting stop-motion animation.
He sat down at the desk and began reviewing footage frame by frame on his computer. A few scenes had noticeable light source shifts. It wasn’t a difficult flaw to fix, so he pulled out new sheets of colored paper, sketched some line art, cut out the shapes, folded them to match the original figures, and reshot the affected frames.
Every single frame required meticulous adjustment of props. Tan Qing had always been good at this kind of patient work. Not only did he not find it tedious, he often became completely absorbed in it.
By the time his manager called, Tan Qing had already selected background music for the project. He paused the playback and focused on Pei Qiao’s voice.
“Moving into the dorm, right? I caught a bit of a cold today, so I’ll rest for a couple of days before heading over.”
As he spoke, he sniffled naturally, without the slightest trace of acting.
“Get some rest. I sent a few script outlines to your email. Make sure to go through them. We need to pick one and sign the contract by the end of the month.” Pei Qiao reminded him, “One more thing. March 21st is Zhu Lianzhen’s birthday, remember?”
Tan Qing: “Mm.”
Pei Qiao continued, “Don’t forget to prepare a gift. If you don’t have any ideas, have your assistant help you pick something. You’ll have to do it in the livestream for the fans.”
“No need. I’ll handle it myself.” Tan Qing idly spun a craft knife between his fingers. The sharp blade rotated dangerously close to his skin. “If that’s all, I’m hanging up.”
He ended the call. The enclosed space fell back into silence. Tan Qing switched off the desk lamp, leaving only the glow of the computer screen, which cast a faint blue light across his glasses.
He remained still, typing slowly with one hand into the editing software.
After one final check for dropped frames, he exported the video, uploaded it, and saved it in Weibo’s scheduled drafts folder.
Scheduled time: 03-21 00:00:00
–
Acemon was about to enter a busy period of group activities. For convenience and to prepare for their upcoming group variety show, they gradually moved into a new dorm arranged by the company.
The villa for this comeback was larger than before: a seaside property equipped with a billiards room, an esports room, an open-air barbecue deck… Fully furnished, luxurious, and comfortable.
Zhu Lianzhen dragged his suitcase upstairs, opened the carrier case, and let the cat out to get used to the new environment. He walked around the empty bedroom but didn’t like the layout, so he decided to switch rooms. He knocked on the door across the hall.
No response.
Feeling reassured, Zhu Lianzhen pushed the door open and stepped inside. The room had clearly already been tidied—the sheets and covers were fresh, and a few bottles of alcohol and some books were neatly placed on top of the cabinet.
A few familiar details confirmed that Tan Qing had already claimed the room, most notably, the solid black bedding that looked like it could lay someone to rest the moment they touched it.
Tan Qing wasn’t around, and Zhu Lianzhen had no idea where he’d gone, so he gave up on trying to discuss it with him.
When he returned to his own room, he noticed the door was slightly ajar. Sure enough, Naisi had run off. When did it learn how to open doors?
Just then, the sound of shattering glass came from downstairs.
He ran to the corridor and looked down, spotting Koty lifting Naisi and placing it on the couch, while Ji Yunting was searching for a broom.
“What happened?” Zhu Lianzhen called out as he headed downstairs.
Koty pointed at the shards on the floor. “The cat broke the full-length mirror. This one’s got some strength, huh.”
Zhu Lianzhen grabbed Naisi by the scruff and lifted it up, pretending to scold it. “Causing trouble on your first day here? No canned food for you today.”
He carried the cat back upstairs, planning to lock it in the room. Just as he stepped onto the last stair, he was startled by Tan Qing coming toward him.
“What are you doing on the second floor?”
“I’ve been on the second floor this whole time.” Tan Qing rubbed the corner of his eye, looking like he’d just woken up. “I heard something break. What happened?”
Zhu Lianzhen blinked. He’d clearly checked Tan Qing’s room just earlier, and no one had been there. The terrace door had been locked the whole time, and the staff hadn’t even given them the keys yet.
He couldn’t figure out where Tan Qing had been, and honestly, he couldn’t be bothered to. The guy just seemed to appear and vanish like a ghost.
With all the members living together, going to work each day became much more convenient. That evening, they headed out by car to a lakeside in the suburbs to film a food-themed variety show. The format involved drawing lots to assign tasks.
Zhu Lianzhen, unfortunately, drew the cooking role. Even more unfortunately, so did Tan Qing.
From washing vegetables to prepping ingredients, they coordinated surprisingly well—contrary to the director’s expectations. She had assumed Zhu Lianzhen, who looked like he’d never so much as lifted a finger in the kitchen, would be flustered and fumbling.
To stir things up for the show, the director suddenly assigned Tan Qing the more challenging task of fishing. From then on, Zhu Lianzhen had to handle all the cooking on his own.
Without Tan Qing by his side, Zhu Lianzhen hesitated every time he added seasoning. He was the type to cook based on instinct, occasionally hit with sudden bursts of creativity. The dishes that came out were passable at best. You could eat them, if you closed your eyes.
As for the presentation, no matter how much he insisted, “It doesn’t look good, but it tastes amazing,” the cameraman stood firm in his professionalism and refused to give any close-up shots.
By the time the other members had finished their respective tasks and collapsed around the dinner table, they all fell silent in unspoken agreement. Zhu Lianzhen was still bustling around. “Eat up, or it’s going to get cold.”
“I’m afraid if I eat it, I’ll be the one getting cold.” Ji Yunting eyed the plate of “chilled wine-marinated cherries” that looked suspiciously like organs floating in blood.
Koty, after scooping his rice, turned and spotted the newly plated sweet and sour ribs. He couldn’t help but exclaim, “Isn’t that the lump of charcoal I just saw in the trash? Ew, get it away from me!”
“Don’t you know what caramelizing sugar is?” Zhu Lianzhen said, knowing he didn’t appreciate good food. “Come on, it’s Gundam-level edible!”[mfn]Gundam is a robot from the anime “Mobile Suit Gundam”
[/mfn]
“If even a Gundam could eat it, did you throw in some motor oil too?”
Fu Rong picked up a plate of steamed crucian carp and headed toward the river, apparently intending to dump it. Zhu Lianzhen rushed to stop him, only to receive a disdainful response, “Shouldn’t this kind of thing be released back into the wild?”
Koty turned and saw Tan Qing quietly sitting down and picking up his chopsticks without a word. He leaned over and said, “Zhu Lianzhen, stop clowning around. Let’s hear Kissy’s verdict. How’s the color, the smell, the flavor?”
Tan Qing took a bite of the vegetable salad and answered honestly, “The taste is pretty good, just lacking visually.”
Koty spun around and shouted at Zhu Lianzhen, “Hear that? Weak visuals! Next time, serve it naked!”
The staff burst out laughing. After all the chaos, everyone finally settled down and ate dinner properly.
Once filming wrapped, they went to remove their mics and clean off their makeup. The dressing room was very small. Zhu Lianzhen, used to going in last to change clothes, stayed behind while the others returned to the van.
“Your clothes are downstairs. Hold on, I’ll go get them,” the stylist said before stepping out, leaving Zhu Lianzhen alone.
He glanced at his phone but kept catching something flickering in his peripheral vision. When he turned to check, he realized the white lights around the full-length mirror in the corner were broken.
It was probably just tossed there because it was no longer in use. Without thinking too much, Zhu Lianzhen got up and went over to switch off the lights.
The mirror had been placed at a random angle. He didn’t hold it steady, and it started to tip to the side. He reacted quickly and caught the edge, but just then, a faint voice came from inside the mirror, “Phew—close one.”
Zhu Lianzhen froze. Did he just hallucinate?
But he didn’t dwell on it. He turned off the power and went back to scrolling on his phone. A second later, a full sentence came from the corner of the room again. “Um… could you not leave me upside down?”
Zhu Lianzhen’s phone slipped right out of his hand. He leaned cautiously against the dressing table and looked around. “Who’s there?”
“Over here, over here!” The white lights around the mirror lit up again on their own.
Zhu Lianzhen was stunned into silence. His mind went blank for a few seconds before he registered that the voice had come from the mirror. It was clearly a synthetic female voice, younger-sounding than Siri.
He marveled at how fast technology had progressed. Even mirrors had voice assistants now? He wasn’t sure what had triggered it, but the whole thing was pretty creepy. He walked back over, trying to find another switch.
“That tickles, stop touching me.”
Zhu Lianzhen flinched again. “Can you just shut off by yourself?”
“Can you not leave me upside down?”
The mirror even talked back.
Zhu Lianzhen looked more closely and realized he really had placed it upside down earlier. The pattern on the frame was off.
This voice system was actually kind of amusing. It even reminded people to position it properly. Zhu Lianzhen picked up his phone again and called up Siri. “You should really learn from this one.”
Two seconds later, Siri responded, “I didn’t quite catch that.”
Zhu Lianzhen: “Scram.”
Before the stylist came back with the clothes, Zhu Lianzhen ended up passing the time talking to the mirror. At first, he thought adding a voice assistant to a mirror was overkill, but then again, smart home gadgets were all the rage. Surely someone out there needed compliments while getting dressed. Didn’t Snow White’s stepmother spend all day chatting in front of her mirror?
“What brand are you?” Zhu Lianzhen asked slowly.
“I don’t know.”
“Am I handsome?”
“You’re the most handsome person I’ve ever seen, hehe.”
Just hearing the first half of the sentence, Zhu Lianzhen thought it was quite the sweet talker, but that “hehe” at the end made it sound sarcastic. After all, it was just another dumb AI that couldn’t grasp the subtle nuances of human emotion.
Still curious, Zhu Lianzhen kept asking, “What kind of clothes do you think suit me?”
The ring of white lights around the mirror flickered, and a mechanical voice replied, “Scanning your body data. Please remain standing.”
Zhu Lianzhen obediently stood up straight.
“Basic data entered. Gender: male. Apparent age: 17.”
Zhu Lianzhen was dissatisfied. “How do I look that young?”
“Height: 179 cm.”
Zhu Lianzhen immediately corrected, “It’s 179.4!”
As the only member of the group who hadn’t broken the 180 mark, he was especially sensitive about the number—it had to be accurate to the decimal.
The mirror replied, “Rounded off.”
Zhu Lianzhen: “No way!”
If he were having this height conversation with a real person, he absolutely would have argued that 0.4 to the bitter end.
“Can you curse at people?” He suddenly felt the urge to tease the mirror. “Say something harsh. Let me hear it.”
The mirror’s lights blinked, as if it were thinking, then finally responded, “You’re like Koty.”
“What?” Zhu Lianzhen thought he had misheard. He was just about to ask if the voice assistant had really said Koty’s name when the door opened and the stylist walked in.
Zhu Lianzhen took the clothes and said casually, “This mirror’s kind of fun. Where’d you get it?”
“Which one?”
He pointed toward the corner. “That one. It talks—way smarter than Siri.”
The stylist looked confused. “Huh?”
“You don’t know?” Zhu Lianzhen guessed maybe someone else had brought it in, so he tried to demonstrate. But no matter what he said, the mirror didn’t respond.
The lights had completely gone dark, like it had shut down.
Seeing the stylist’s awkward, skeptical expression, Zhu Lianzhen quickly added, “Seriously, it talks. Try plugging it in, and you’ll see.”
The stylist laughed. “That beat-up mirror? No way it’s got anything like that.”
“Is it battery-powered, then?” Zhu Lianzhen insisted. “The lights were on just now.”
“Are you sure you weren’t just seeing things…”
Zhu Lianzhen helplessly turned the mirror over, intending to show the battery slot or power switch. But after inspecting it carefully from top to bottom, he found nothing. No mechanisms, no buttons.
It was just an ordinary mirror.
Now it was Zhu Lianzhen’s turn to be confused. Did the mirror actually come to life?
The stylist clearly had no interest in continuing the conversation and urged him, “Go change your clothes. The van’s waiting downstairs.”
“Oh.”
Once the door closed, the stylist quietly let out a breath of relief. She reached behind the water dispenser and pushed a camera further back, then made a hand gesture toward it.
A hundred meters away, inside a bus, Tan Qing removed his earpiece and voice changer. He followed the other members back to their van.
“It’s not too obvious, right?” Ji Yunting kept adjusting the camera’s position, using pillows to block it.
Trying to maintain a natural appearance, Koty stood by the van door smoking. “Wanna make a bet?”
Ji Yunting: “Bet on what?”
Koty: “Whether Zhu Lianzhen brings that mirror back.”
Ji Yunting: “No way. That’d be insane.”
“Don’t be so sure,” Fu Rong chimed in. “If you put a voice device on a dog and told Zhu Lianzhen it was Koty turned back into his original form, he’d probably believe it.”
“What do you take Zhu Lianzhen for…” Ji Yunting looked helpless.
Koty: “You should be asking what he takes me for!”
“He’s definitely bringing it back,” Tan Qing concluded with a smile. “He can’t resist his own curiosity. If he just walks away now, that mirror’s going to haunt him.”
“But we’re filming a show. If he actually takes someone else’s dressing room mirror, especially something that big…” Ji Yunting still sounded skeptical. “That’d be crazy. He really cares about appearances.”
As they whispered among themselves, Koty suddenly looked up and saw Zhu Lianzhen walking out of the building in the distance.
“Holy shit.” Koty flicked the ash off his cigarette with a quick motion. “He’s really carrying it!”
“…” Ji Yunting turned to look. Sure enough, there was a blurry figure dragging a rectangular object, slowly approaching the van. He knocked on the trunk twice.
Koty put on a surprised expression. “What’d you bring?”
“A mirror,” Zhu Lianzhen replied, trying to sound nonchalant. “The one at our dorm entrance got broken by Naisi. It feels weird going out without it, and the stylist here happened to be willing to give me one.”
His tone wasn’t entirely confident, but he tried his best to play it off casually, hoping to downplay the oddness of the situation.
Ji Yunting glanced toward Tan Qing. It was too dark to see clearly, but he could just barely make out what looked like a smile.
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