One sentence—and the conversation was dead.
The staff nearby practically lost it. Seven’s style was as direct as ever, cutting clean with no room for niceties.
Only Chi Zhan found it a little funny.
So Seven really was an equal-opportunity conversation killer. For a while, he’d thought it was just him.
The host reacted quickly, smoothly switching topics to avoid a cold silence.
“So, Seven, what made you decide to return to the scene?”
“Injury healed. So I came back.”
Seven had previously suffered a hand injury, causing an uproar across the community. But his public explanation had been vague at best, barely a few words. When asked for the real reason, all he’d ever said was, “Youthful recklessness.”
The year he won the national pro league championship, Seven had only been nineteen. After that came a sharp descent—falling from the peak into obscurity, until he vanished from the scene altogether.
At the time, everyone had been eagerly awaiting his next move, hoping he’d lead WT to win the global championship. Then, out of nowhere, came news of his withdrawal.
Without Seven, WT was like a plant deprived of water—wilting away bit by bit.
The camera cut to Seven’s hands.
Throughout the earlier match, his performance had been flawless—if anything, his skills seemed even sharper than before. No trace of injury was visible. The past had been turned over like an old page, leaving only a cloud of dust and a mystery still shrouded in sand.
“We hope everyone continues to support WT’s matches,” the host said with a bright smile. “And of course, Seven will be dropping into our livestream room from time to time, so don’t forget to like, follow, and subscribe~” She beamed. “Finally, let’s answer some questions from the audience!”
The livestream was fully interactive, allowing viewers to send in comments in real time. The screen displayed scrolling bullet chats and a lottery-style question picker. When the countdown hit one, the chosen question appeared.
Su Ran’s eyes sparkled with little pink hearts, totally forgetting the flag he’d set for himself earlier.
“Seven is so handsome! He’s like a real-life figure of the Ice King—beautiful, powerful, and tragically cool. Honestly, he’d make the perfect boyfriend. Secretary Chi, don’t you like Seven? You have to. Who wouldn’t?”
Chi Zhan was about to reply when, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Zhou Yanxing watching him. With the boss right beside him, how could any humble employee dare admit to switching sides?
So, sitting upright, he said seriously, “I’m not interested in dating. I’m only focused on my career.”
Zhou Yanxing’s expression seemed…satisfied.
Su Ran laughed.
“Secretary Chi really is just like President Zhou—total workaholic. But work isn’t everything! You’ve got to have hobbies too. Though, with all the idols at your company, maybe you’re just used to it.” He gave a playful wink. “I’ll drop by sometime myself for a look.”
“Didn’t you go to a concert this afternoon?”
“It got canceled last minute,” Su Ran sighed. “They said it’d be rescheduled for Province A. Total letdown. I was waiting to see the last romance target.”
His final words were drowned out by applause—the next question was for Seven.
Host: “Seven, the audience wants to know—what’s your relationship with that young man you came in with earlier? You even gave him your scarf! You two seemed really close. Are you dating?”
Xiao Wang, who’d just been told that scarf was a knockoff and had frantically scoured Taobao for a similar one—successfully finding one for just fifty yuan and placing an order—froze.
Wait. That scarf… Seven gave it to Secretary Chi?
Then how could it be a fake?
Xiao Wang instantly canceled the order. He knew that scarf was no ordinary item. Damn it!
Where the hell could he actually buy one?!
The host’s question silenced the entire studio. Everyone was waiting for Seven’s reply. Of course, they all expected a standard “just friends” or something equally bland. But Seven didn’t answer immediately.
He paused, clearly weighing how to respond. After a few seconds, he finally said, “We just met today. Not even friends. I lent him my scarf because it was cold outside. No other reason.”
But eagle-eyed netizens were already dissecting every frame.
[That pause was so suspicious! He wanted to say something else, but held back for the guy’s sake—classic awkward crush move.]
[‘Because it was cold’? Bro, I’m cold too! Lend me your scarf, Seven, I’m begging you!]
[So just say you’re cold and you get a scarf from Seven now? I’m about to give it a try (kidding, sorta).]
[‘Just met’? That tone had seven parts nostalgia, six parts melancholy, five parts helplessness, and four parts doting. I’m not buying it!]
[‘Not friends’? Then are they boyfriends? LMAO. [insert dog-head emoji]]
Chi Zhan felt a chill crawl up his spine.
Zhou Yanxing glanced at him, suspicious.
“So you already knew that male streamer?”
Chi Zhan stiffened.
“I really didn’t. Uh…”
“Didn’t you claim you never played games?” Zhou said slowly. “Yet you made a smurf account to pretend to be a newbie. You added both Cen Chi and that streamer as in-game friends, then shifted the blame to someone else. And I heard you’ve gifted him quite a bit of money—and even played games together? Secretary Chi… just how many secrets are you hiding from me?”
“……”
If you walk by the river often, you’re bound to get your shoes wet. Every lie he’d told had come back to bite him, not a single one spared.
“There’s really nothing else,” Chi Zhan said—then abruptly stopped.
Wait. That wasn’t right. He still had to fake having a boyfriend later on. The more he spoke, the guiltier he felt.
“Alright, that’s a wrap on the interview!” Su Ran announced. “Let’s head to dinner with the team. The place is already booked. I’ll go call the others. Dismissed!”
The staff began packing up and heading out.
“Hold still,” Zhou Yanxing frowned as he stepped closer. Chi Zhan instinctively leaned back, but the gap only narrowed between them. Zhou’s breath brushed his ear.
Then, Zhou reached up and plucked a stray fiber from Chi Zhan’s collar. His expression changed instantly as he flicked it aside with visible distaste.
