FIG CHAPTER 20

Early in the morning, the sound of the alarm suddenly echoed through the entire villa. Startled awake, everyone quickly realized that the company had installed speakers in the hallways so Pei Qiao could monitor their schedule.

Zhu Lianzhen was the last to finish washing up. Just as he stepped out of his room, a strong aroma of coffee hit him. Koty came sprinting up from behind, deliberately bumping his shoulder off balance before shouting, “Time to eat! Time to eat!” as he dashed down the stairs.

Fu Rong happened to be stepping out as well. Hearing Koty’s voice, he couldn’t help but frown and mutter coldly, “How has he not dropped dead yet?”

“You’re up early?” Ji Yunting pulled out a chair and sat down. The table was already filled with freshly made breakfast, all prepared by Tan Qing. He always managed the daily chores with meticulous order, which made Ji Yunting, as team leader, feel a bit ashamed.

“The ones on the left are soft-boiled; the right side are fully cooked.” Tan Qing set down two plates of fried eggs and untied his black apron, draping it over the back of a chair. “Iced Americano, fruit and vegetable juice, or milk—what do you want?”

“Fruit juice. No veggies,” Zhu Lianzhen answered first. Still looking half-asleep, he leaned lazily against the wall. His eyes drifted aimlessly for a moment before locking onto something, suddenly turning sharp. “Who told you to use my bowl?”

The target of his gritted teeth was Koty, who replied matter-of-factly, “There’s no name on it. I felt like using it, so I did.”

Already grumpy from just waking up, Zhu Lianzhen snapped, “Don’t we always assign tableware by color? I used that yellow one yesterday. Look, none of them mixed theirs up.”

Koty, who had argued with Zhu Lianzhen more times than he could count, didn’t back down. “The bowls were already set out. You just sat in the wrong place. Kissy, back me up—wasn’t it Zhu Lianzhen who grabbed that seat first?”

Tan Qing clearly had no intention of joining their childish squabble. He calmly stood and headed to the kitchen. “I’ll just grab another bowl.”

With the issue resolved, Ji Yunting belatedly tried to play peacemaker. “Alright, you’re bickering over something this trivial? How old are you two?”

Seeing his half-hearted attempt at smoothing things over, Fu Rong, seated across from him, couldn’t help but sneer.

Once Tan Qing returned, the five of them finally sat down to eat together. Ji Yunting had a habit of watching the morning news, but when he turned on the TV, he realized the dorm didn’t have a set-top box installed and couldn’t get any channels. It seemed Pei Qiao had deliberately limited their daily entertainment.

Koty noticed a row of DVDs on the TV stand. Picking one up, he saw they were official recordings of Acemon’s concerts. “Wanna watch this?” he asked.

No one voiced an opinion, so Koty took their silence as approval. He selected the concert DVD he remembered having the best performance and started playing it.

Ji Yunting glanced over. “Which show is this?”

“Changsha,” Zhu Lianzhen answered without hesitation. He had already watched these DVDs countless times at home and knew every detail of each concert by heart.

Unfortunately, the remote was in Koty’s hand. He fast-forwarded through to find the parts he liked and soon paused on Tan Qing’s solo stage.

Zhu Lianzhen always skipped this part during replays because he’d made a guest appearance in that performance.

“Wow, I remember this one! Interview with the Vampire,” Koty said, correctly naming the theme. “I like it! Kissy really suits this kind of… this kind of outfit.”

As he spoke, he gestured up and down his arms. On screen, Tan Qing wore a black 18th-century Rococo-style formal suit. The fabric had an exquisite texture, highlighting his noble air with every movement. He looked like a sculpture—flawless in form, elegant and ornate.

Zhu Lianzhen had appeared as a vampire hunter captured after a failed mission. His entrance involved being lowered in a giant cage, limbs bound in chains, slowly descending from above the stage.

Since he couldn’t overcome his fear of heights during rehearsals, the props team had to blindfold him with a ribbon. As a result, his entrance ended up sparking vivid fan fantasies, and the audience’s screams had left Zhu Lianzhen completely mortified.

Koty was thoroughly enjoying the show. He turned and asked, “Are you sure you were playing the hunter? Where’s your gun and cross? Don’t tell me the vampire took them. You were seriously unprepared. What’s that saying… like a lamb entering a tiger’s den?”

“Just watch and stop talking nonsense.” Zhu Lianzhen kicked Koty under the table. He avoided looking at the screen, lowering his head to bite into the crispy crust of an egg tart. The rich, sweet flavor melted instantly on his tongue.

But Koty kept up his live commentary, narrating what was happening on screen and tossing in his own takes now and then.

As the solo neared its end, Koty let out another exaggerated “Wow.” Zhu Lianzhen looked up—just in time to see himself being pulled into Tan Qing’s arms, fangs sinking into his neck.

He had accidentally caught the one scene he’d been hoping to avoid and suddenly didn’t know where to look.

Koty, acting like a rowdy schoolkid, lit up the moment he saw anything remotely intimate and started shouting, “Aiya, aiya,” like he was begging to get punched.

The original ending had the vampire collapsing alone, surrendering his immortality, just like in every other stop on the tour. But this time, Tan Qing abandoned the script and improvised, changing Zhu Lianzhen’s role from hunter to prey and delivering a surprise bite to tens of thousands of fans.

That change hadn’t been discussed in advance. When Tan Qing suddenly pulled him close, Zhu Lianzhen vaguely remembered shivering. His pulse had pounded in his neck as Tan Qing’s soft lips pressed down—probing, grazing, teasing… and finally, gently biting.

The cold, sharp fake fangs pressed against Zhu Lianzhen’s warm skin, as if they could pierce him at any moment.

To stay in character, Zhu Lianzhen had no choice but to close his eyes and pretend to endure the pain. But Tan Qing’s improvisation didn’t stop there. As the background music eased into its final, gentle phrase, he let his tongue and teeth brush together, producing a subtle sound—suggesting to the audience that this wasn’t a cruel turning ritual, but a passionate, tender kiss.

The concert venue erupted into an unprecedented frenzy.

At the end of the solo, Zhu Lianzhen had to take the vampire’s place, lying down at center stage while Tan Qing slowly turned away. A wide smear of crimson stained the left side of his face—very different from the original plan, which only called for a trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth. The change was thanks to Zhu Lianzhen, who had been in charge of applying the syrup and, seeking petty revenge, deliberately sabotaged Tan Qing’s carefully designed morbid makeup.

Unfortunately for him, the move only made Tan Qing look even more captivating. At the time, Tan Qing had been suffering from dry eyes due to overwork and couldn’t wear contacts on stage. His eyes were moist and slightly unfocused, and with just a casual smile toward the crowd, he ended up on the front page of every major entertainment outlet the next day, praised as a “master of expression control.”

Koty finished watching and said with emotion, “Normally I don’t think much about it, but just now, watching you two from a fan’s perspective, you actually kinda match.”

Zhu Lianzhen quickly denied it. “It’s just fake fanservice.”

“You two were inseparable on that stage. So sweet.” Koty sighed dreamily, then turned to glance at Fu Rong. “I wanna do fanservice with a teammate too.”

As soon as he said it, everyone held their breath, bracing for impact.

Koty didn’t dare say outright that he was thirsting for Fu Rong’s body, so he took the long way around, testing the waters with Zhu Lianzhen first. “How about you and me? I don’t mind a love triangle.”

He looked deadly serious, like he genuinely meant it. Zhu Lianzhen felt more humiliated than ever and blurted out in Shanghainese, “You wanna know what I think? Sounds like you’re asking to get your lights knocked out.”

Koty froze. That went way beyond his Chinese comprehension limit.

Though Zhu Lianzhen was born in Shanghai, he’d moved to Ronggang before finishing elementary school. He’d long since mastered standard Mandarin and often spoke with a crisp northern accent. Still, in moments of irritation, he sometimes slipped into dialect. Taking advantage of the fact that Koty couldn’t understand him, he fired off a rapid string of insults.

Unfortunately, his nasal pronunciation made every word sound lazy and drawled, so even though he was clearly fuming, it all came out soft and melodic to everyone else.

When Koty found out from Tan Qing that Zhu Lianzhen had actually cursed him out, he slapped the table and burst into laughter. “Hahahahahaha! If you’re gonna curse someone out, just do it—why are you acting like a spoiled kid!”

“Because it’s Xiao Zhu,” Tan Qing chimed in with a smile. “He’s the best at that.”

At least half the reason Zhu Lianzhen disliked group hangouts could be traced back to Koty. People who couldn’t read the room and had no filter were the most dangerous. Most normal people lived by some kind of guiding principle, but not Koty. He existed in his own world, completely unrestrained, and stuck firmly to his own questionable sense of humor.

The list of Koty’s classic misdeeds was nearly endless, ranging from sabotaging group unity—though there wasn’t much to begin with—to causing serious trouble for the company. For example, there was the time Pei Qiao was out of town and wanted to hold a meeting. She set up a private livestream through a work app, sharing the password only with the group members.

A normal person would’ve assumed she was just planning to lecture them online. But Koty’s brain worked differently—he thought Pei Qiao was trying to become a livestream influencer.

So the moment he got the password, he posted on his main Weibo account: “My manager’s going live! Show some love for my jie! Click here: link, room password: 1221. Let’s blow up the chat!”

A flood of clueless fans rushed into the livestream, only to find Pei Qiao explaining how marketing accounts manipulated fandoms into fighting. The topic instantly blew up online. Zuige Entertainment trended on social media for three days and nights. At the same time, it exposed the truth to both insiders and the general public: marketing accounts really were working hand-in-hand with celebrities, doing whatever it took to stir up drama and bait fans. Disgraceful!

From that point on, people started following celebrity news and gossip with a lot more caution, getting better at distinguishing what was real from what was fake. So in a way, Koty had accidentally done the internet a favor.

By the time they finished breakfast, the concert playing on TV was also coming to an end. Responding to the fans’ cries of “Encore,” the performers on screen lifted their microphones and led a chorus with tens of thousands of voices.

Every time he saw a scene like that, Zhu Lianzhen couldn’t help but feel a little sentimental. Back then, Acemon had been full of youthful pride and fearless energy, bold enough to believe they could take off and conquer the world.

At that time, he truly believed he was capable of anything. On stage, his eyes had always shone bright. He thought chasing dreams was that simple, that as long as he worked hard, the universe would reward him fairly with everything he wanted.

As for him and Tan Qing, the ambiguity had come without warning, and their feelings had flowed naturally. Maybe that’s just how first love was meant to be: no need to think about the future, no need to weigh the pros and cons. Just liking each other was enough to sweeten those days. The stage where they might grow tired of each other still felt far, far away.

Dreams, popularity, love, honor… everything that made him happy had just so happened to peak all at once. It was a time worth remembering.

But Zhu Lianzhen wasn’t someone who dwelled on the past. He still preferred to look ahead. Even if Acemon had become scattered stars when apart and nothing more than a pile of loose sand when together, it didn’t stop him from dreaming that one day the group would reach the top of the world.

“Rock, paper, scissors. Loser does the dishes. Tan Qing doesn’t have to participate,” Ji Yunting proposed fairly, raising his clenched fist. “I’m going with scissors.”

The dorm kitchen didn’t have a dishwasher, so after every meal, the same struggle played out over who had to clean up.

“Here we go again.” Zhu Lianzhen shot him a scornful look. “Every time you say that, you end up picking paper.”

Koty flashed a scissors sign and added, “Let’s all pick the same thing. Whoever breaks the pact washes the dishes.”

Fu Rong: “Do you even believe that yourself?”

“Aiya, let’s just get it over with.” Zhu Lianzhen couldn’t be bothered to argue. With a 25% chance, it probably wouldn’t be him. “Rock, paper, scissors—”

The moment the chant ended, Zhu Lianzhen looked down and saw his scissors surrounded by three rocks. “Damn it!”

Ji Yunting let out a breath of relief, having dodged the bullet. Zhu Lianzhen slammed the table and stood up. “Didn’t we agree to all pick scissors!”

Fu Rong pulled out his cigarette pack and gave him a contemptuous look. “Since when do we keep our word?”

Koty shrugged innocently. “No one said to go with scissors. I clearly said ‘all pick the same thing.’ You just misunderstood, man. Right, referee?”

He turned to Tan Qing.

Uninvolved, Tan Qing just smiled faintly, which was more than enough to confirm Koty’s version of events.

Zhu Lianzhen refused to acknowledge his loss and shouted, “One more round!”

“Don’t smoke at the dining table,” Ji Yunting kindly reminded Fu Rong in a low voice. “There are so many surveillance cameras.”

Fu Rong exhaled leisurely and flicked the ash straight into Ji Yunting’s coffee cup.

“…” Ji Yunting spread his hands and looked to the heavens. “Forget it. Let it all burn.”

In the end, Zhu Lianzhen still couldn’t reverse his fate and sulkily carried a large basin of bowls, plates, and chopsticks into the kitchen.

He had just finished washing two bowls when Tan Qing called to him from the doorway. “I forgot to tell you—your assistant came by this morning and dropped something off. It’s under the coffee table.”

“Oh.” Afraid he’d forget to grab it later, Zhu Lianzhen quickly dried his hands and left the kitchen. If Ah-Xu had delivered something early in the morning, it had to be important.

He found the paper bag. Half of it was filled with game cartridges; the other half held four small boxes. Zhu Lianzhen casually opened one and saw the custom in-ear monitor he had ordered earlier.

Oh, I almost forgot about this… Zhu Lianzhen began to feel conflicted. At the time, he’d been worried about the possibility of Tan Qing’s earpiece short-circuiting. On impulse, he’d asked Ah-Xu to order one for each of the four teammates.

The earpieces had transparent casings, with internal components customized in different support colors for easy identification.

Zhu Lianzhen picked out the purple one and hesitated, unsure how to give it to Tan Qing. Not long ago, Tan Qing had just given him earrings made from a ring—if he gave this now, it might really look like they were exchanging keepsakes.

He snapped back to his senses when he heard the faucet still running. Hurrying back to the kitchen, he saw that Tan Qing had already washed nearly all the dishes.

Zhu Lianzhen felt a little embarrassed. Then again, considering there were surveillance cameras all over the dorm and this might be edited into some new content by the staff, maybe Tan Qing had taken the initiative for that very reason.

When Tan Qing went upstairs to his room, Zhu Lianzhen followed. The bedroom was private, with no cameras. He called out before pushing the door open.

“I have something for you.” Zhu Lianzhen didn’t want to complicate things with vague excuses. After thinking it over, he’d decided being straightforward was better. “The company forgot to replace our in-ear monitors. I happen to know someone in charge, so I had one ordered for you as well.”

He placed the earpiece on Tan Qing’s desk. “Try wearing it next time during a performance. At least it won’t short out.”

Tan Qing silently looked at him. After a few seconds, he picked up the earpiece and examined it carefully. His fingertip brushed across the smooth casing. With a soft chuckle, he said, “Thank you.”

Being alone in a room with an ex inevitably created pressure. Zhu Lianzhen didn’t want to linger, so he quickly found an excuse to leave. “If the size doesn’t fit, just let me know. I’m heading out to drop off the others’ too.”

Tan Qing’s gaze followed him. “So everyone got one,” he said quietly.

Zhu Lianzhen turned back.

Tan Qing spoke again, his voice low. “Thanks for going through the trouble, Xiao Zhu.”

Zhu Lianzhen didn’t want Tan Qing to mistake this for special concern, nor did he want the earpiece to seem like a gift.

He simply said, “It’s nothing. Just wanted the group’s performances to go smoothly. If someone ends up with a faulty earpiece, not everyone can handle it like you.”

He emphasized once more, “Anyway, they were all ordered at the same time. No trouble at all.”

With that, Zhu Lianzhen shut the door and made a quick exit.

Although he couldn’t quite read Tan Qing’s mood, he still felt a sense of relief. As long as Tan Qing’s had been handed over without a problem, the rest didn’t matter. He could just toss them into each room—use them or don’t, whatever.

Fu Rong was practicing drums in his room and didn’t hear the knock right away.

When Zhu Lianzhen finally came in, he was about to complain about Fu Rong’s bad hearing, but his eyes landed on the drum kit and froze. “What the hell did you stick on that!”

Pasted across the drumhead were four worn, barely visible photos. Despite the fading, it was still possible to make out the four teammates in each shot. Zhu Lianzhen glanced at the drumsticks in Fu Rong’s hands, both slightly bent from overuse.

It said a lot about how intense his practice sessions were.

“What is it?” Fu Rong tossed the sticks into a corner.

Mimicking the casual motion, Zhu Lianzhen threw the silver earpiece over. “For you.”

Fu Rong caught the case between two fingers and examined it. “Why are you giving me this?”

Zhu Lianzhen repeated the same explanation he’d given before. Fu Rong accepted it without much of a reaction.

The next moment, he asked offhandedly, “Did you just want to give one to Tan Qing, so you pretended to be thoughtful and bought them for the rest of us too?”

Having his true intentions laid bare so bluntly, Zhu Lianzhen felt like his head might explode. “What’s it got to do with him? That’s completely unrelated!”

“Then forget I said anything.” Fu Rong opened a drawer and tossed the earpiece inside. He never used things given by others.

If Zhu Lianzhen had to pick the one person he least wanted to be alone with, it wouldn’t be Pei Qiao—it’d be Fu Rong.

Koty offended people because he was always lost in some twisted logic that normal people couldn’t follow. But Fu Rong? He offended people just because he wanted to.

Sometimes he’d target someone simply because he didn’t like their face. Other times, maybe he was just bored and felt like messing with someone. On the surface, he came off detached and indifferent, but deep down, he was the scheming type who thrived on chaos.

What made Zhu Lianzhen even more wary, though, was Fu Rong’s ability to read the room.

From what he’d just said, it seemed he might have already figured out the nature of Zhu Lianzhen’s relationship with Tan Qing—unlike Koty, who stirred things up just for fun.

If Fu Rong had really noticed, he definitely wouldn’t keep it a secret for their sake. The only reason things were still under control was probably because he didn’t care enough to bother.

Maybe he was just overthinking it… Zhu Lianzhen made a quick escape from the terrifying Fudemort.