Two months before the concert.
After finally finishing a full day of magazine shoots, the five of them returned to the villa completely exhausted. Zhu Lianzhen furrowed his brows tightly, continuously rubbing his earlobe with both hands, complaining about the poor quality of the earrings he wore today and suspecting he was having an allergic reaction.
Tan Qing lowered his head to examine it for him and, after a moment, gave a conclusion that reassured Zhu Lianzhen. “It’s a little swollen in the back, probably because the backing is too tight. Just apply some ointment and it’ll be fine. Nothing serious.”
Fu Rong ignored the two of them completely, rummaging through his bag for makeup remover. Koty, however, couldn’t move his feet, staring intently at Tan Qing as he applied ointment to Zhu Lianzhen’s earlobe, a contemplative and meaningful look on his face.
Zhu Lianzhen glared at him from the corner of his eye.
But one couldn’t really blame Koty for letting his thoughts wander. Ever since the short summer break ended, anyone with eyes could see something was off between the two of them—their schedules gradually overlapped, they kept disappearing together without anyone knowing where they went, and sometimes they simply didn’t return to the dorm. If Naisi could talk, it would’ve been the first to rush out and complain that Zhu Lianzhen and Tan Qing’s scents had mixed together so much they were indistinguishable.
“All right, remember not to sleep on it tonight,” Tan Qing reminded Zhu Lianzhen as he put away the ointment. Then he looked up at Koty and asked politely, “Do you need something?”
Koty immediately shook his head and stood far away, clearly determined not to disturb them.
“Who used up the face towels and didn’t replace them?” Ji Yunting came out of the first-floor bathroom grumbling, water dripping from his face and hands. He strode quickly to the living room to grab a few tissues to dry off while walking toward the sofa.
Then, with great precision, he stood directly between Zhu Lianzhen and Tan Qing, and without the slightest sense of tact, said, “Move aside, you two.”
With that, he squeezed in between them and sat down.
“What are you doing here? Aren’t you going to remove your makeup?” Ji Yunting even thought he was being considerate when he asked this.
Tan Qing: “…”
Zhu Lianzhen: “I’m going.”
Whenever all five of them removed their makeup at the same time, the common area in the dorm always ended up in complete chaos. As usual, one unlucky person would be randomly picked to clean up.
“No rock-paper-scissors! You guys cheat every time!” Zhu Lianzhen was the first to protest.
Koty said, “You don’t get it, this is psychological warfare. I’m going with paper.”
“Then I’ll go paper too.” Ji Yunting raised his arm, and Fu Rong beside him gave a light nod, indicating he was doing the same.
Tan Qing glanced over, probably aware that everyone was already tired enough today, so he had no interest in participating in this daily farce and voluntarily took on the task. “I’ll clean up.”
“No way!” Zhu Lianzhen stepped forward in two strides, grabbed his arm, and pulled him to his side. “You always end up doing it. That’s not fair.”
Tan Qing didn’t think this amount of work qualified as actual labor. By the time they finished picking someone, he could’ve cleaned everything up himself. But since Zhu Lianzhen insisted, Tan Qing didn’t argue and joined in the rock-paper-scissors game cooperatively.
Before the results of the five hands were revealed, Zhu Lianzhen’s brain worked at lightning speed: whenever Koty announced what he would throw in advance, it was always a decoy and couldn’t be trusted. If he said “paper,” then he must be going with “scissors”; Ting-ge and Fudemort didn’t have fixed habits and were quite random, but they might have also figured out what Koty would choose, so most likely they would go with “rock”; as for Tan Qing, he wasn’t very enthusiastic right now and probably couldn’t be bothered to change gestures, so his hand would most likely stay as “rock.”
As long as he also chose “rock,” then Koty would definitely lose!
“Rock, paper, scissors—”
Zhu Lianzhen confidently threw out his fist, and at the exact same moment, he found his hand surrounded by four open palms.
“?”
Zhu Lianzhen instinctively pulled his hand back. “Uh, that can’t be right? Why! Why did all of you go with paper!”
His astonished reaction confused the others as well, and Koty couldn’t hold it in. “Didn’t we all just say we were going with paper? If you had gone with scissors, you would’ve won! Don’t tell me you were spending all that time analyzing the situation.”
Ji Yunting sneered. “You just had to use that broken brain of yours.”
Even with four people letting him win, Zhu Lianzhen still managed to lose completely, and he felt too embarrassed to ask for a redo, so he had no choice but to accept his fate. Tan Qing let out a helpless sigh, and Zhu Lianzhen shot him a look, warning him not to help. He already felt guilty enough.
After dawdling for over half an hour, Zhu Lianzhen finally finished the cleanup, took out the trash bag, and left to throw it away. When he returned, he noticed a bright orange paper bag placed in front of the delivery box by the front door, with a pumpkin-patterned sticker on it.
“The property office sent candy.” Zhu Lianzhen placed the paper bag on the coffee table. When everyone saw the pattern on it, they suddenly remembered that tonight was Halloween Eve, and tomorrow would be Halloween.
Since it wasn’t a local holiday, Pei Qiao didn’t require them to do any promotional activities, but lately they had been in closed rehearsals practicing songs and dances, and the media content they filmed wouldn’t be released right away, so fans hadn’t seen any new updates from them for a while. They figured they might as well use this chance to post some casual daily life photos, so the fans wouldn’t start spreading nonsense again about the group vanishing or dying in the villa.
It was already late at night by then, so they decided to go to bed early. Since tomorrow was a day off, they could discuss the details then.
The next morning, Zhu Lianzhen woke up naturally and found the whole house unusually quiet when he went downstairs. On the dining table sat a cup of iced-free Americano and a plate of vegetable wraps sealed with plastic wrap. It was obvious Tan Qing had left them for him.
Zhu Lianzhen opened the fridge to get some ice cubes and heard movement from the back door. Tilting his head to look, he saw Fu Rong coming in from the garden, carrying a white sack.
“Who’d you just butcher?” Zhu Lianzhen took a sip of coffee. “Where is everyone?”
“Inside this.” Fu Rong raised the sack in his hand with a blank expression.
Zhu Lianzhen pulled out his phone to check unread WeChat messages, and sure enough, Tan Qing had left him a message before heading out: We’re going to the supermarket to buy ingredients, we’re making cookies today.
By around eleven in the morning, they returned with the groceries. Upon seeing Zhu Lianzhen leisurely drinking coffee and snacking, Ji Yunting immediately wanted to complain. “How can you sleep so soundly? Tan Qing said he called you three times and you didn’t even stir.”
“…” Zhu Lianzhen truly hadn’t heard any knocking that morning, but he suspected that Tan Qing had never come at all and was just brushing Ji Yunting off.
He casually made up an excuse. “I had earplugs in.”
After everyone washed their hands, they followed a tutorial video in the Western-style kitchen learning how to knead cookie dough step by step. Earlier, they had agreed not only to make cookies with a Halloween theme but also to subtly insert hints about the new album in the photos to stir up fan anticipation.
The others picked beginner-level recipes like spider cookies, finger-shaped biscuits, and pumpkin pies, but Zhu Lianzhen suddenly had a flash of inspiration and decided to go down a more unconventional path. He wanted to make a coffin, and inside the coffin, there had to be a skeleton. So, while everyone else had already taken their semi-finished cookies out of the oven, Zhu Lianzhen was still carefully shaping a skeleton.
“You keep kneading the dough while glancing up at me. What’s that supposed to mean?” Koty keenly noticed Zhu Lianzhen’s sneaky behavior. “Don’t tell me you’re trying to sculpt something based on my face!”
Zhu Lianzhen said, “Well, your features are the most defined—it makes you the perfect reference for a skull.”
After working until around four or five in the afternoon, Acemon’s Halloween cookies were finally completed. The others had chosen simple designs and followed the tutorials step by step, so their final products looked pretty decent; Zhu Lianzhen hadn’t expected the cookies to expand so much in the oven and distort the shape, but he patiently used syrup to glue them together into a coffin that was full of gaps on all sides.
As for the skeleton’s frame, most of it had already broken during baking, and in a fit of frustration, Zhu Lianzhen stuffed it all into his mouth to destroy the evidence.
“For you.” Fu Rong slid a small plate of freshly baked cookies in front of Koty.
Koty froze in place.
The next second, he was overwhelmed with surprise and carefully accepted it with both hands, nervously examining the cookies. On top were a few spirals of dark purple decorations. “This must be a plate of… worm cookies? Made with gummy candy? It looks so real.”
After marveling at it, he eagerly picked one up to take a bite, but just as the edge of the cookie was about to touch his lips, Tan Qing, who happened to be walking by, suddenly stopped and smacked Koty’s wrist with his hand. The sudden pain made Koty reflexively let go, and he turned toward Tan Qing in shock.
Koty: “Why did you hit me?”
“We didn’t buy gummy candy,” Tan Qing said.
Zhu Lianzhen also caught on, leaned in to examine the cookies on the plate, then curled his lips in disgust. “Ugh—do you know why they look so real? I saw with my own eyes that Fu Rong went outside this morning and dug up a whole sack of dirt.”
Ji Yunting looked at Koty with a mournful expression. “I’m really afraid one day he’s going to poison you, and then we’ll be one rapper short.”
“It’s fine, it’s just one Koty. We’ll go to Yiwu[mfn]Yiwu is a city in China for its massive wholesale markets[/mfn] and wholesale a few more,” Zhu Lianzhen said solemnly. “There are plenty of cheap Kotys in this world.”
Aside from the worm cookies, the rest of the Halloween treats they made were carefully arranged on a plate by Tan Qing, even Zhu Lianzhen’s failed coffin was angled just right to appear nearly successful. In addition, Tan Qing carved a spooky face out of an apple to substitute for a pumpkin and gave it to Zhu Lianzhen to take a photo for posting on Weibo.
After washing his hands, Zhu Lianzhen finally began reading fan comments. Quite a few popular ones assumed the apple was his creation, and as the praise became increasingly exaggerated, Zhu Lianzhen quickly added a photo in the comments of Tan Qing focused on carving the apple and clarified: “The apple was carved by him, okay! I’m only responsible for eating him later.”
A few minutes later, Zhu Lianzhen realized he had made a typo and hurried to add another comment: “It! I typed it wrong, I meant the apple!”
[? Of course we know you meant the apple, what else could it be?]
[Baby, now you’re just making it sound even more suspicious.]
[No one even asked you]
[Did you secretly take this picture of him? So handsome, and you even added a star filter. my heart soft soft (T_T)]
[Zhuzhu-bao munching an apple, so cute]
…
The short Halloween update offered fans a bit of comfort. In the group photo of the five members, fans noticed some items in the corners that looked like lyric notebooks and MV props, and just guessing the style of the new album was enough to keep the conversation going for several days.
Later that evening, Zhu Lianzhen sat on his bed with his laptop, browsing the “Aviator” messages in the Fan Club backend.
The company had already assigned several staff members to screen the content daily and select a portion that might later be presented at the concert in a special format. But Pei Qiao often reminded the members that when they had time, they should go read some fan messages themselves. After all, each one had a word limit and wouldn’t take up too much of their time.
Given their level of popularity, just opening their Weibo DMs would drown them in countless messages—it was never fans’ confessions they lacked.
Even so, Zhu Lianzhen obediently logged onto the official site. Pei Qiao usually reminded them to avoid reading too much online chatter, whether positive or negative, and not to take it to heart. But this time her attitude had changed, and Zhu Lianzhen instinctively felt he should trust her judgment.
At first, he couldn’t really concentrate while browsing; most of the messages were similar to Weibo comments and DMs: “I love you,” “Good morning,” “Good night”… the usual greetings.
This only started to change after about a week. Since the message board limited both the timing and number of messages fans could post each day, those who truly wanted to use the platform as a kind of confessional space had to carefully choose their words and cherish each opportunity to send a message; fans without much desire to share at the moment wouldn’t bother opening the website again and would continue expressing themselves more conveniently through Weibo messages.
Once the content in “Aviator” started becoming more meaningful, Zhu Lianzhen found himself gradually drawn in. He remembered the first post that caught his attention: Lianlian~ I have an interview on the 3rd. Which of these three outfits should I wear?
Each message could only include one image, so this fan had stitched the three outfits together into a single long image and sent it, along with pros and cons of each based on her own comparison. Zhu Lianzhen studied her listed height, weight, and skin tone for quite a while, only to realize there was no reply function on the message, and that infuriated him. His first reaction was that it had been a waste of time.
When he clicked on “New Balloon,” that message vanished into the vast database, replaced by the next fan’s shared slice of life: Hello! I don’t know who will see my balloon, but I just wanted to say I had a really delicious bowl of noodles today!
Or: I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve thought about breaking up. On our anniversary, I spent three months’ salary buying him the projector he wanted most, and in return, he gave me a low-quality fake LV. I actually laughed from anger when I saw it. I thought maybe he didn’t know better and got scammed, but when I secretly checked the order, I found he had deliberately searched for a counterfeit, 128 yuan.
And then this one: Slacking off at work, I tried to remove my phone case but used too much force and flung my phone across the room. Of course, it had to hit the thermos on my manager’s desk. He had just poured boiling water, and it spilled all over him. He screamed from the burn while I couldn’t hold back a laugh, even as my coworkers rushed to get ice. I’m devastated. How could I mess up this badly?
School applications and job hunting, family matters, emotional outbursts… All kinds of events condensed into less than a hundred characters, which Zhu Lianzhen received and understood with full attention, only to quickly leave behind.
One day at work, an intern came to handle the coordination. She was dressed and made up properly, but that just made her seem a bit nervous. Somehow, Zhu Lianzhen suddenly recalled a certain message long since buried in the sea of words.
The 3rd had long passed—he wondered if that person had nailed the interview.
For just a few seconds, Zhu Lianzhen felt anticipation and anxiety on her behalf.
…
Later that evening, Tan Qing came by to return his phone charger. Zhu Lianzhen happened to be scrolling through a balloon he found interesting and waved him over. “Come look at this.”
Tan Qing came closer and sat beside him, glancing at the computer screen where there was a photo of an interior space, accompanied by the caption: Little by little, I’m putting together my own home.
“Are you thinking about redecorating?” Tan Qing asked. Not long ago, Zhu Lianzhen had mentioned wanting to change the layout of the villa they used to live in together and stay there occasionally for a change of pace. It had seemed like a passing comment at the time, so Tan Qing hadn’t taken steps to act on it.
Zhu Lianzhen thought for a moment and changed his words. “I want to furnish it.”
“The door lock might be out of battery. I’ll look for a spare key for you tomorrow,” Tan Qing said, then turned his gaze back to the screen and asked, “You’ve been looking at the backend all evening?”
“Mm, sometimes you come across really interesting ones.” Zhu Lianzhen pulled the laptop closer so Tan Qing could see more clearly.
Now and then, there would be particularly moving messages—achieving something, receiving a confession from a longtime crush, surviving a surgery… The joy flowing between the lines made Zhu Lianzhen want to take a screenshot and save it.
He more or less understood Pei Qiao’s intention now. The “Aviator” section wasn’t just a space for fans to pour out their hearts; it was also a subtle reminder to the members: behind every word were real, tangible people. These “balloons” were like portals to countless small worlds, eventually drifting into the sky, letting good things be cherished and bad things be accepted.
“It felt like I was hugging a lot of people from afar, and then we all said ‘cheers’ together,” Zhu Lianzhen said.
He let out a small yawn and leaned against Tan Qing’s shoulder. The other asked if he wanted to sleep, and he said, “Okay.”
After turning off the lights, Zhu Lianzhen didn’t close his eyes right away. The room was quiet for a while, then he turned over, poked Tan Qing’s chest, and asked softly, “Where do you keep the photos you take with your camera?”
Tan Qing answered truthfully, “When I have time, I transfer them to the computer, or sometimes I just leave them on the memory card.”
After a pause, he asked, “Do you want to see them?”
“No, if you find something interesting, you’ll naturally think of showing me,” Zhu Lianzhen said. He didn’t want Tan Qing to treat the act of sharing as a task.
“Mm.” Tan Qing reached out and gently rubbed Zhu Lianzhen’s ear. “Does it still hurt?”
“It’s fine now.” Zhu Lianzhen lay flat again and closed his eyes.
He seemed to be mulling something over. After a while, he suddenly muttered, “Hey, do you think she broke up?”
Tan Qing: “…Who?”
