Honestly… Pei Tingsong felt he’d been far too easygoing lately, letting things slide to this extent. Just as he was about to speak, his phone buzzed in his hand. He caught a glimpse of the lock screen and happened to see the words [Astar Liang Ruo].
His mood plummeted instantly, an inexplicable surge of irritation rising within him. Pei Tingsong wasn’t exactly known for his patience to begin with. The thought that Fang Juexia had specifically asked him to bring the phone over—perhaps just to chat with her—made the connection all too clear. His chest tightened with frustration. Still, he managed to hold back. He didn’t want Fang Juexia to get angry, and frankly, he had no right to be upset. So he merely placed the phone face-down on the ground, pulled Fang Juexia up, and shoved the salad box into his arms.
Fang Juexia wasn’t particularly sensitive, yet he sensed Pei Tingsong’s displeasure almost instantly. He couldn’t pinpoint why, but he expected a sharp retort. This silence felt off, the atmosphere thick with tension.
But if he were genuinely angry, the reaction would likely be more intense.
It was strange. Fang Juexia couldn’t figure it out and didn’t want to press the issue. So he opened the salad box, took a few bites, and spotted the cucumber slices again. He never liked cucumbers to begin with, and the sandwich from a few days ago had left him with a lingering aversion to pickles. He used his fork to push all the cucumbers to one corner of the box, eating the other vegetables and chicken breast instead.
This series of small actions didn’t escape Pei Tingsong’s notice. Though he’d been sulking, now he felt like laughing. “Hey, how old are you to still be a picky eater? I’m two years younger than you and I don’t pick.”
Fang Juexia placed his fork on the edge of the box and mumbled, emphasizing, “Three.”
“Two and a half.” ” Pei Tingsong picked up his fork and began eating each of the cucumber pieces Fang Juexia had left behind.
In Fang Juexia’s mind, sharing a meal and finishing everything on the plate with another person was an ambiguous act—especially eating the foods the other person disliked. When he was very young, he’d seen his father do the same thing: eating all the celery his mother didn’t like and telling her not to be picky.
Seeing him lost in thought, Pei Tingsong tapped the box with his fork. “What are you thinking about so intently?”
Fang Juexia snapped back to reality and blurted out, “Nothing. Just that you don’t seem like a spoiled young master at all. Someone might think the company mistreats you, not giving you enough to eat.”
“I’m upholding the fine tradition of not wasting food or being picky. That’s why I grew to 190 cm while you only reached 180 cm.”
“You grew taller again?”
Pei Tingsong seemed rather pleased. “Just measured yesterday—exactly 190 cm.” He stood up, walked to the door, and switched on the practice room lights.
“Kaleido can’t hold your massive frame anymore.” Fang Juexia picked up his phone from the floor. He glanced at the time, saw Liang Ruo, and immediately locked the screen.
He felt nothing for Liang Ruo and, in theory, didn’t quite believe the “important matter” he mentioned. After all, they had almost no connection now, aside from their unequal competitive relationship. If it were something from the past, he would have distanced himself long ago and wouldn’t want to revisit it.
The other teammates returned, and Fang Juexia felt relieved that they hadn’t stumbled upon him and Pei Tingsong alone together in the dark earlier.
Wait, why should he be afraid? He hadn’t done anything wrong.
Fang Juexia found himself constantly trapped in this quagmire of conflicting logic and emotion lately. Rationally, he’d never done anything to warrant guilt, shame, or remorse, yet these feelings kept surfacing.
Especially guilt.
Late into the night, they were dragged back to the studio to finish recording the final track of the album. The hard-won result prompted Cheng Qiang to sigh, “Finally done. You’ve all worked hard. Go home and take a hot shower. We have a meeting at ten tomorrow morning. Xiao Wen will pick you up. Don’t stay up too late.”
The moment he finished, a chorus of groans erupted.
“Another meeting?”
“I’m numb to meetings lately. The moment the boss starts talking, I get sleepy.”
“Alright, you lot,” Cheng Qiang dismissed them from the studio. “Tomorrow’s about discussing styling and MV design. It probably won’t run long. You’d have to get up early for practice anyway, so at least you can rest during the meeting.”
By the time he got back to the dorm, Fang Juexia’s phone was dead. He went to his room to plug it in.
“Yiyi, are you gonna shower?”
Ling Yi was already sprawled on the bed. “You go first. I’ll scroll through Weibo for a bit.”
Fang Juexia hummed in acknowledgment, retrieved a pack of medicated patches from his desk drawer, grabbed a fresh set of pajamas from the wardrobe, and headed to the master bathroom.
He took a quick shower and pulled on his pants. Injuries were inevitable for dancers, especially with the recent ramped-up practice intensity. Despite diligent rest and stretching, he’d still strained something. Fang Juexia took off his shirt, pressed his slightly sore lower back, tore open the patch, and aimed it at the mirror. But looking in the mirror like this was a bit of a struggle—his neck was already getting stiff.
Just as he was about to reach behind his back, the bathroom door suddenly opened. Thinking it was Ling Yi, he looked up and saw Pei Tingsong instead.
The other seemed slightly startled too. “The door wasn’t locked, so I thought no one was…”
Fang Juexia blinked a few times, straightening up while still holding the pain relief patch. “Oh, I… I was just about to apply this.”
Sure enough, that peculiar feeling surged within him once more—an utterly illogical emotion.
Pei Tingsong scratched his hair, gripping the doorknob, unsure whether to leave or stay. Remembering Fang Juexia’s awkward posture when he’d pushed the door open earlier, he decided to speak up. “I’ll help you.”
He simply stepped closer, reaching out to take the patch from Fang Juexia’s hand. Fang Juexia didn’t even have time to refuse.
“Where should I put it?”
Fang Juexia stood with his back to him, recalling how he’d been playfully pinned against the mirror in the practice room that afternoon. His hand moved around to his lower back, his fingers pressing briefly on the spot just above his right hip before releasing. “Here…”
The bathroom’s harsh light made his skin dazzlingly pale, droplets of water still clinging to it. That tugging sensation from the practice room surged back, tightening his breath. Pei Tingsong pulled a towel to dry the remaining moisture from his waist, pressing his index and middle fingers together against Fang Juexia’s side. “Here?”
“A little more to the right.”
“Here?”
“Mm.”
Pei Tingsong felt something was off. His heartbeat quickened, chaotic and unrestrained. Yet he wasn’t unfamiliar with Fang Juexia without his shirt—he’d even held him close all night before, and it hadn’t felt like this.
What was happening now?
He applied the medicated plaster, smoothed it with his fingers, then lowered his head slightly. “All done.”
“Thanks.” Fang Juexia touched the spot, picked up his pajamas, and draped them over his shoulders. He turned his back to fasten the buttons before facing him again. “Want to take a shower?”
“Yeah.” Pei Tingsong couldn’t quite bring himself to look at him properly. He knew he was acting strange, feverish even, so he shifted his focus. “Is your back okay? Why the patch? Did your injury flare up?”
Fang Juexia dried his hair with a towel. “No. Just a little soreness. This isn’t for pain relief—it’s medication to help ease the stiffness.”
“That’s good…”
Fang Juexia said nothing more, stepping aside to let him in and closing the bathroom door behind him. But Pei Tingsong stood there for a moment longer, waiting until his emotions settled before locking the door. He slipped off his shirt with one hand, the bathroom light irritating him. Back in the underground scene, he’d seen plenty of people flaunting their lust openly around him. Back then, he’d felt nothing—even a touch of disgust for such base animal instincts.
Pei Tingsong was a contradiction. His demeanor seemed cynical and carefree, yet he neither fully embraced the world nor retreated from it. He was a thorn stuck in the borderland—a stubborn splinter that refused advice and defied control. Outwardly a playboy, inwardly a blank slate—a stubbornly unyielding one at that. Hard to ignite, but once a spark caught, there was no turning back.
Water cascaded down, filling the bathroom with steamy mist. Mid-shower, an inexplicable image surfaced in his mind—Fang Juexia standing here, bathing. Pei Tingsong turned the water cold and finished hastily.
Fang Juexia returned to hisroom to find a message from Liang Ruo and four missed calls. He couldn’t fathom why Liang Ruo was so persistent. As he hesitated over whether to reply, another message popped up on WeChat.
[Guide Dog: When your back aches, try sleeping with a small pillow under it.]
Pei Tingsong lay on the bed, turning a page in his book. Finally, his phone vibrated.
[Pretty as a Picture: No small pillows here.]
This Fang Juexia was scarier than a steel-plated straight guy. Pei Tingsong set down his book and glanced around. His bed had two pillows—one large, one small. The big one was for leaning against, while the small one was one he’d once snagged from the bay window in his apartment, now serving as his sleeping pillow.
He grabbed the small pillow, ready to leave, but then thought about He Ziyan seeing him like this. Sitting on the bed, he pondered for a moment before standing up and walking to the window. He turned his head to look at the balcony next door.
Fang Juexia had just pulled back the covers when he heard a clatter. He spun around abruptly, as if something had hit the balcony. Walking over, he found a black backpack had landed squarely on the cactus, knocking it askew.
He used a trowel to straighten the cactus, muttering slowly to himself, “Why such urgency?” Only after fixing that did he attend to the mysterious black bag. Pulling it open, he discovered a snow-white little pillow inside. Fang Juexia cradled the pillow and moved to the left side of the balcony. Gazing at the neighbor’s window, he murmured a quiet “thank you.” Unexpectedly, a hand reached out from the window, coolly waving twice.
With the pillow, Fang Juexia slept soundly all night. Yet the person on the other side of the wall tossed and turned all night, dreaming of Fang Juexia dancing, his smooth back, and how he used to walk alongside others, smiling at them.
“Whoa, Pei, why do you look like you’ve been indulging? Did you… Shut up!” Before Ling Yi could finish, Pei Tingsong, sitting beside him, clamped a hand over his mouth. “I didn’t sleep well. Don’t mess with me.”
“Is that so?” He Ziyan had grown increasingly fond of teasing him lately. “Little Pei didn’t sleep well, and I, his roommate, didn’t even know? It’s all my fault. I haven’t been paying enough attention to you lately. It’s all my fault.”
Pei Tingsong’s eyelids drooped, radiating utter world-weariness.
Chen Zhengyun entered with the planning department team. “Morning. Been exhausting lately, huh?”
“Dead tired~”
“It’ll be a bit grueling at first, but things ease up after we finish recording the song. Chen Zhengyun signaled to the planning director, then briefly outlined the upcoming tasks to the six members of Kaleido. “Our comeback is scheduled for April 5th, so we have just over two weeks left. Yesterday we finalized the MV filming location and signed the contract. Director Zhang will discuss the MV’s concept design and styling team with you shortly—he’ll be here in half an hour.”
“The main focus remains on rehearsing the lead track. MV filming starts next Monday, so rest well these next few days to ensure you’re in peak condition for the shoot.” He deliberately glanced at Ling Yi. “Great progress on your weight management recently—I’ve reviewed the data. Well done.”
Ling Yi gave a smug nod.
Cheng Qiang adjusted the schedule. “Here’s the current plan: the first teaser drops at midnight on the 26th, followed by daily solo teasers for each member. The full MV releases on the 2nd, simultaneously opening the full album for sale on music platforms. Your mini fan meet for the new album is on the 4th, featuring your first live performance of the lead single. We’ll also record the music show performance that day, with broadcasts starting on the 5th.”
This schedule was remarkably considerate—paced and deliberate, granting them ample rehearsal time.
Pei Tingsong inquired, “Won’t releasing the song and MV simultaneously dilute attention?”
Chen Zhengyun replied, “We’re still discussing that. We might release the main track first in late March, depending on how things look then…”
Before he could finish, the conference room door burst open. A frantic staff member rushed in, his expression panicked. “Mr. Chen!”
“What’s wrong? Why the rush?”
“It’s bad news! The demo for Kaleido’s new album lead track has leaked. It’s already spreading online!”
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