The trainees nearby all stared in terror at the newcomer, too frightened to utter a word.
Only one person looked like he might speak up—only to see Chu Xingxiao lift his head.
Shit. Chu Xingxiao was awake.
Every trainee wore the same expression—We’re screwed. The demon has risen! Can we survive a few more days?
A look of pure despair spread through the room.
When Chu Xingxiao was in a foul mood, he made sure no one around him had it easy. He rarely spared a thought for anyone else’s feelings.
Chu Xingxiao slowly lifted his head and opened his eyes. They were unfocused, hazy—clearly, he was still half-asleep and groggy.
Everyone knew it wouldn’t take long for those eyes to sharpen into icy daggers, the killing intent cold enough to drop the room’s temperature to sub-zero. One of the trainees even began edging toward the door, hoping to escape before the storm hit.
Everyone held their breath. Then, in his dazed stupor, Chu Xingxiao’s gaze finally landed on the person who’d woken him.
“—Gege?”
His voice was soft, muddled with sleep and confusion, completely devoid of any threat.
“What are you doing here?” Chu Xingxiao rubbed his eyes, then smiled. “Did you come to have lunch with me?”
“……”
They called him gege too—so why the hell did they get such a different result?!
***
Chi Zhan had actually come to “inspect” things.
This floor had been set aside as a makeshift classroom for the trainees, though the facilities were still incomplete. Chi Zhan had planned to swing by after lunch to check on the setup and ask about the class schedule. But the moment he opened the door, he spotted a boy sprawled out on the floor, fast asleep and completely out of it.
“What happened? Why are you sleeping like this?” Chi Zhan chuckled, reaching a hand out to Chu Xingxiao. “Class that boring?”
“…Not really,” Chu Xingxiao replied with a grin. “Is this a post-class evaluation? I’m not snitching.”
He grabbed Chi Zhan’s hand and gave it a gentle tug.
Chi Zhan hadn’t expected him to be so heavy—his arm dipped with the weight, and he nearly got dragged down, stumbling slightly.
Chu Xingxiao reached out with one hand to steady Chi Zhan by the waist, then—like a gentleman—let go and stood up himself.
“……”
They were both twenty-two, but the difference was crystal clear.
“Gege, take me to lunch. I still don’t know where the cafeteria is.”
Chi Zhan was on his way to eat anyway, so he readily agreed.
With one hand in his pocket, Chu Xingxiao obediently followed at his side, leaving behind a room full of dumbfounded trainees.
Was that… really Chu Xingxiao just now?
The cafeteria was bustling. Zhou Rui’s meal plan was generous, with food stipends for everyone. If you went too late, you wouldn’t get a seat.
As they stepped inside, Chi Zhan heard sharp intakes of breath ripple through the crowd, one after another—like exaggerated sound effects straight out of a soap opera.
“That’s really Chu Xingxiao!”
“My little sister loves him. He’s super popular right now.”
“Yeah, I heard recently he…”
Chu Xingxiao, however, remained utterly unfazed. He was long used to the stares and whispers. Without a flicker of emotion on his face, he calmly lined up at one of the counters.
Chi Zhan had just finished getting his meal when he saw that Chu Xingxiao had already, without any instruction, claimed seats for both of them and was now waving him over.
He had a full bowl of zhajiang noodles—thick, glossy sauce heaped high with minced meat. It was steaming hot and smelled divine. Maybe the lunch lady recognized him or something, because she’d even tossed in a braised chicken leg and a soy egg.
Chi Zhan’s tray, by comparison, held the usual bland health meal—nutrient-balanced, sure, but barely filling.
He didn’t know much about how idols managed their figures, but he couldn’t help wondering if Chu Xingxiao was really allowed to eat like that. Just the other day, the guy said he wasn’t even allowed fruit juice.
“Don’t tell my manager,” Chu Xingxiao pleaded. “He’d flip if he saw this. It just looked way too good… I swear I’ll only eat it this once, never again.”
He looked at Chi Zhan with big, pitiful eyes. Chi Zhan’s heart softened.
“Go ahead.”
Chu Xingxiao’s eyes lit up instantly. He dropped a chicken leg onto Chi Zhan’s tray, then dove in with gusto.
Chi Zhan stared in awe.
Had this kid not eaten in days? Was he that hungry?
To be fair, the way Chu Xingxiao ate was downright contagious—it made your own appetite spike just watching him. Chi Zhan even went back for a small extra bowl of rice.
Chi Zhan ate slowly, savoring each bite with quiet precision. But halfway through, something felt off. He looked up—and saw Chu Xingxiao’s bowl already empty. He was resting his cheek on his palm, head tilted, watching him intently.
There was something in his gaze Chi Zhan couldn’t decipher. It was as if he were tracing the contours of Chi Zhan’s face with his eyes—curious, probing. But the look vanished as quickly as it came.
Chi Zhan’s phone suddenly rang.
“President Zhou? I’m at the company cafeteria. Right now? I’ll head back immediately.”Â
Chi Zhan hung up, said goodbye to Chu Xingxiao, and left in a hurry.
Chu Xingxiao stared at his retreating back for a long time, deep in thought. His guess still needed further confirmation.
***
“Are you kidding me? You move into the company apartment and don’t even tell me?”Â
His manager had been scouring the earth looking for him—only to finally spot a blurry candid in the group chat and track him down.
Yesterday, Chu Xingxiao had tossed out a vague “I’m going to find him,” and then vanished. Today, he casually clocked in at the company like nothing happened and showed up for class.
The manager, half having a heart attack, sat down and quickly scanned the area for eavesdroppers. In a low voice, he asked, “What the hell are you up to?”
The company’s new variety show had been pitched to Chu Xingxiao the moment it was confirmed, but he’d rejected it outright. Said he wasn’t interested.
Chu Xingxiao hated variety shows. Thought they drained his energy and dulled his spirit. Everyone knew those shows were just cash grabs—he wouldn’t even glance at one. And yet here he was. Not only had he accepted the gig, he was also dutifully attending the acting classes he despised most.
Something wasn’t right.
Chu Xingxiao curled his lips into a smile—but there was nothing kind about it.
