Fang Juexia froze. His powerful, stable logical framework shattered in that instant, losing all functionality.
His gaze shifted from their clasped hands to Pei Tingsong’s face. “Take a point”—the meaning was crystal clear to him. No one else in the world could grasp the significance of those words better than he, for they were originally his own words to Pei Tingsong. Words about his closed-off and pessimistic view of love, about how little he believed people could truly find true love.
Yet just now, Pei Tingsong had redefined his words.
It was too direct. More direct than the words “I love you.”
Fang Juexia opened his mouth but no words came out. It was as if he’d lost the ability to speak.
“I’m not asking for an answer right now,” Pei Tingsong remained earnest and composed, “and I know that whatever you say now will be a refusal. Truthfully, you needn’t dwell on it. You can treat what I said today as some sort of self-introduction.”
“Saying ‘I like you’ is no different from saying ‘My name is Pei Tingsong, and I’m 20 years old’—both are forms of self-expression.”
Too many things caught Fang Juexia off guard. He hadn’t expected Pei Tingsong to seek him out, hadn’t expected him to be angry, and certainly hadn’t expected him to express his feelings using his own rational theory to refute true love.
Likewise, he hadn’t anticipated that when the words [I like you] reached his ears, his heart would race so wildly, as if it had gone mad. Just moments ago, he’d heard those same three words from someone else’s mouth, yet back then he’d remained perfectly normal, still in a state of equilibrium.
Suddenly realizing he was still holding Pei Tingsong’s hand, Fang Juexia hastily let go. “But… you said before you weren’t gay.”
Pei Tingsong showed no trace of shame for his earlier certainty. “Self-understanding evolves over time, doesn’t it? When I was so sure I wasn’t gay, I hadn’t fallen for you yet. Now I can confidently refute that version of myself—because I have compelling evidence.”
Fang Juexia didn’t know how to respond. This man’s unguarded gaze and candid confession poured into his eyes and ears like molten lava, scorching his throat, his chest, his earlobes.
In his twenty-three years, he had never encountered someone like this. Unafraid of anything, even capable of dialectically and impartially criticizing his past self.
Fang Juexia looked up at him. “Then why tell me now?” But the words barely left his mouth before he recalled Pei Tingsong’s plea for trust before confessing. He added, “I’m not questioning your sincerity, nor do I think this is a passing whim.”
Pei Tingsong had expected his hand to be released, and Fang Juexia’s demand for an explanation was entirely characteristic of him.
Pei Tingsong held nothing back. “Can you imagine? I, who detest lying more than anything, have been deceiving myself daily—telling myself my emotional fluctuations and actions stem solely from friendship. But from the very beginning, this friendship was a sham. Not only did I deceive myself, I deceived you too, making you play along in this charade. I refuse to continue using the guise of friendship to draw close to you—it’s too unfair to you.”
These words struck like an alarm bell, resonating deep within Fang Juexia’s own heart. The illogical emotions that had plagued him these past days seemed to echo in harmony.
“Besides, we’re about to face incredibly difficult times. We’ll be overwhelmed. I don’t want you to feel like you’re carrying this burden alone. You need to understand: I’m your comrade-in-arms—and the most special one. I’m the comrade who likes you. I’ll charge into battle with you, and I’ll protect you unconditionally.”
He laid everything bare for Fang Juexia to see, without pretense or embellishment. Knowing Fang Juexia valued logic, he explained the reasoning behind every action, sparing him unnecessary speculation.
“And,” Pei Tingsong continued candidly, “the reason I lost my temper just now is because I’m jealous of Liang Ruo. I’m afraid of losing you. I’m afraid you might be swayed by him. Even though I know you’re not someone who can be swayed by a few words, even the slightest possibility terrifies me.”
He smiled. “And I knew that if I didn’t express my feelings for you, you wouldn’t understand why I was angry. You’d only reflect on whether you’d done something wrong. The situation was so tense just now that even if we made up, you’d still blame yourself. I couldn’t bear seeing you like that, just as I couldn’t bear hearing your explanation just now.”
He couldn’t bear to hear his explanation.
Fang Juexia felt a sudden sting in his nose. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d felt this way.
Pei Tingsong gazed at him with crystal-clear eyes. “My anger stems from my own reasons, so I must speak it.”
Every word he uttered was a direct hit—no ambiguous niceties, no wordplay, no hidden meanings. Fang Juexia knew this was something only Pei Tingsong would do.
Just like back in that escape room, when Pei Tingsong first discovered the medical records and confirmed his knight identity. Within mere minutes, he’d mapped out his strategy, moving with unwavering confidence and boldness.
This was Pei Tingsong.
Yet Fang Juexia felt lost. He didn’t know if he should respond now, or what to say. It all happened too fast. He felt like he’d truly become that cautious Dark Knight—unable to see his own heart, terrified of making a misstep. Receiving two confessions in one day, both from men, felt more dramatic than any soap opera.
What puzzled him most was why, upon hearing Liang Ruo’s confession, he felt only a slight surprise and nothing more. Yet facing Pei Tingsong, even thinking became this difficult.
Fang Juexia painstakingly repaired the glitch in his mind, trying to speak. “I… I haven’t…”
Pei Tingsong cut him off. “Don’t say it. At least not now.” He leaned back against the steering wheel, reverting to the demeanor of a twenty-year-old boy. “You might think I was acting bold just now, but I was actually terrified of being rejected. I know you must be confused right now—I am too. I’ve never been like this before. This is my first time.”
He turned his face toward Fang Juexia. “Teacher Fang, don’t roll up the paper so quickly. Give me a chance.”
Under the brim of his cap, his eyes shone brightly. “Let me chase after you. Okay?”
Hearing Pei Tingsong address him like this for the first time, Fang Juexia’s ears flushed red, and he stammered, “Chase… chase me?”
“What else? I like you.” Pei Tingsong showed no shame, his words flowing more smoothly than before. “You know what kind of person I am. Once I set my sights on something I like, I won’t stop until I get it.”
“I… I’ll just drive myself back…” Fang Juexia tried to open the door, but Pei Tingsong grabbed his arm, repeating his earlier words. “You’re not in the right state of mind to drive safely.” He raised an eyebrow at Fang Juexia. “How’m I doing? Good student, right?”
“You…” Fang Juexia was momentarily speechless, realizing for the first time that he truly had no way to deal with Pei Tingsong.
Taking the car keys back from Fang Juexia, Pei Tingsong instructed him to fasten his seatbelt. But Fang Juexia was still in a daze, staring blankly without speaking.
“Hey, do you need help?” Pei Tingsong tilted his head to look at him.
Fang Juexia snapped out of it and pulled the seatbelt over his shoulder to fasten it.
“Okay, let’s go home.”
Pei Tingsong didn’t speak again for the rest of the ride. Fang Juexia could sense he was deliberately giving him space to sort through his thoughts. His internal clock had broken down, making the drive back to the dorm feel so fast—so fast that before he could fully process it, they had already arrived.
The defense system he’d painstakingly built over twenty-three years of work was now under attack, teetering on the brink of collapse. Pei Tingsong truly was the greatest crisis of his life.
His hand slipped into his pocket and brushed against the USB drive, making Fang Juexia’s heart clench once more. Ever since obtaining this evidence, he’d been consumed by self-reproach. Pei Tingsong’s sudden confession had stunned him, nearly making him forget about it entirely. Fang Juexia leaned against the entryway cabinet, standing with his back to Pei Tingsong.
“You’re still worried about the leak.” Pei Tingsong stated flatly.
Fang Juexia turned to face him but kept his head bowed. “I rarely dwell on ‘what ifs.’ I’ve never regretted anything that happened in the past. But today…”
“You regret not responding to Liang Ru sooner.”
Hearing Pei Tingsong voice it, Fang Juexia couldn’t deny it. He stared at an inconspicuous stain on the toe of his canvas shoes, silent.
“You know what? Liang Ru wanted to help you. Even though I dislike him intensely, I admire his courage this time. He didn’t hang up on me, letting me hear him out. That shows he’s moved past it, doesn’t want misunderstandings between us. In this matter, Liang Ruo’s intentions and actions were both good. But, Juexia, even if you had responded to him three days ago and obtained this evidence, could we truly have avoided this disaster?”
Pei Tingsong said, “You’re so smart, you don’t need me to spell this out. Even if we’d gotten the evidence earlier, what difference would it have made? Quzi and his crew already had it. If they wanted to leak it, they would have. They could easily sacrifice the song thief as a pawn—that’s how capital works. If Astar was truly intent on malicious competition, no amount of advance warning could stop them.”
Fang Juexia understood this well, but he was too accustomed to shouldering everything alone. He’d grown used to tracing every mistake back to himself. He wasn’t ignorant of the entertainment industry’s underhanded tactics. Even without Astar’s intervention, kaleido was already a thorn in many eyes. They might evade today’s attacks, but they could never dodge every strike. Being in the spotlight was its own original sin.
Pei Tingsong tossed the car keys onto the entryway cabinet and said to him, “Don’t blame yourself for arrows you can’t block. You haven’t done anything wrong.”
Hearing this, Fang Juexia relaxed completely, a weight lifting from his shoulders. His head remained bowed, his body swaying slightly back and forth. As he swayed, his head came to rest against Pei Tingsong’s shoulder. He took a deep breath.
Seeing him like this, Pei Tingsong couldn’t help but raise his hand, then paused and let it fall back down. He cleared his throat softly and lowered his voice. “Hey, leaning on a guy who just confessed to you like that—isn’t that a bit too careless?”
Fang Juexia immediately lifted his head, leaning against the entryway cabinet, his beautiful eyes fixed on him.
To his surprise, Pei Tingsong flashed a smile, deliberately switching to a British accent as he affectedly addressed his in English, “Clearly, I am a gentleman.”
Amused by his teasing, Fang Juexia couldn’t help but laugh out loud.
“Don’t get too excited,” Pei Tingsong said. “You have more important things to do right now. I know when to be tactful, which is why I chose to be a gentleman. But don’t forget what you said—my boundaries are firmly in the third quadrant.”
Laughing, Fang Juexia choked. He swiftly changed his shoes and fled to his room, closing the door before breathing a sigh of relief.
Ling Yi wore a frog eye mask, sprawled out on his bed hugging a Minion. Fang Juexia walked over to tuck him in, then sat back down on his own bed.
He forced himself to push Pei Tingsong out of his mind, calming down before pulling out the recording to listen. The voice was unmistakably Jin’s, and it sounded remarkably like someone drunk.
Fang Juexia didn’t doubt the recording’s authenticity. His willingness to visit Liang Ruo without his phone stemmed from understanding Liang Ruo’s fundamentally decent nature. Liang Ruo hadn’t checked if Fang Juexia truly left his phone behind, nor did he seem concerned whether Pei Tingsong recorded the call after answering. He’d laid everything bare, likely genuinely wanting to sever ties with the past.
Several names were mentioned in the recording. Fang Juexia had a vague recollection of them, but they weren’t familiar faces—not the kind of staff he interacted with regularly. After much deliberation, he dialed Chen Zhengyun’s number. Presumably busy handling matters, it took a long time for the call to connect. Fang kept it brief, stating only that he had obtained highly credible evidence. He couldn’t reveal the source, but he could provide the names of those involved.
When Fang Juexia had left Astar for Star Chart years ago, Chen Zhengyun had privately inquired about the situation and discussed it with him. He understood the reasons behind Fang’s falling out with his former company and knew there were many hidden truths involved. The entertainment industry was full of such secrets—he understood that.
“Understood. I’ll have people discreetly investigate these individuals. Frankly, I suspected it was As. Such matters can’t be pursued openly, and the company bears some negligence too,” Chen Zhengyun reassured him. “Every cloud has a silver lining. Don’t stress too much. Get some rest. Leave the rest to the company.”
After hanging up, Fang Juexia removed the USB drive and tucked it into a corner of his drawer. He lay back on the bed, staring at the patterns on the ceiling.
For him, whether it was same-sex or opposite-sex made no difference. Love was love—something he neither trusted nor embraced.
Yet despite this clarity, he still couldn’t bring himself to decisively reject Pei Tingsong or warn him to stay away.
It was all too chaotic. Fang Juexia closed his eyes and mentally recited the multiplication tables.
When he opened them again, Ling Yi was sprawled across his bed, already snoring softly. It was this soft snoring that woke Fang Juexia. Rubbing his eyes groggily, he glanced at the time: 3:30 a.m.
“Yiyi.” He nudged Ling Yi’s shoulder and sat up. “How did you end up on my bed?”
Ling Yi jolted awake. “You’re up, Juexia.”
“I’m already up.”
“Oh, right, right,” Ling Yi climbed off his bed, yawning widely. “My alarm went off just now. I opened my eyes, half-asleep, and came over to wake you up. But after trying twice, I ended up falling asleep on your bed.” He finished, got off the bed, and stretched. “I’ll go check on them.”
Fang Juexia neatly folded his blankets before heading out. Seeing everyone already seated at the dining table, he asked in surprise, “Miao, you didn’t sleep? How come you made food?”
Jiang Miao, who was dividing chopsticks, looked up at him. “No, I didn’t. I didn’t make this. It was already on the table when I woke up. I don’t know who ordered takeout.”
“Me,” Pei Tingsong emerged from the bathroom. “Just delivered, still warm. You all slept through lunch, didn’t you? Eat up—we’ll need energy for tonight’s work.”
Ling Yi rushed over and gave Pei Tingsong a bear hug. “Thanks for the meal, Mr. Pei!”
Fang Juexia walked over and noticed he’d ordered a huge spread of Cantonese dim sum, plus abalone shrimp congee and fish fillet congee.
“Mmm! These chicken feet are so good!”
Lu Yuan took a bite of tripe. “Weird. Little Pei actually ordered dim sum today instead of pizza.”
He Ziyan chuckled, “Maybe he was called by the spirit of Chinese cuisine in his dreams.”
Pei Tingsong shot back, “I just felt like dim sum. What’s wrong with that?”
“Fine.” Jiang Miao smiled as she ladled a bowl of congee for each of them. Handing one to Fang Juexia, she asked, “So, is Little Pei’s choice authentic?”
Fang Juexia nodded. “It’s delicious. Haven’t had this in ages.”
“Of course,” said Ling, the seasoned foodie, flipping the restaurant’s name tag on the takeout box. “This place is pricey. I’ve only ever eaten in before—had no idea they did delivery.”
As they ate, chatter filled the air. It was as if they’d woken from a dream, all silently filtering out the morning’s leak incident. No one mentioned it, focusing instead on the evening shoot.
After finishing his warm bowl of porridge, Fang Juexia felt much more at ease. Home-style food always had a magical way of soothing the soul—it felt less like eating food and more like consuming familiarity.
That familiarity meant stability.
Xiao Wen arrived punctually to pick them up. On the way, she reassured them that the company had handled the leak promptly, and its impact was smaller than anticipated. She urged them not to worry too much.
Familiarity meant stability.
Xiaowen arrived punctually to pick them up. On the way, he reassured them that the company had handled the leak promptly, and its scope wasn’t as extensive as imagined, urging them not to worry too much. The six of them rushed straight to the studio upon arrival, spending several hours completing the first set of makeup and hairstyling. The outfits were modified black military uniforms—similar in style but with distinct details—designed to complement the first red-themed indoor set.
The group’s dedicated cameraman had also come along to document the entire shoot. Spotting Pei Tingsong with his makeup and hair done, he asked if he liked the look. Pei Tingsong used the camera as a mirror, glanced at himself, and replied, “It’s pretty good.”
“What part do you like best?”
“The part I like best…” Bae Hee-sung walked toward the large mirror, the camera following him. Unexpectedly, he suddenly sat down beside Fang Juexia, who was having his hair styled. “I like this part best.” He pointed to the birthmark at the corner of Fang Juexia’s eye.
“What?” Fang Juexia had just spoken when he caught sight of the camera in the mirror and realized what was happening.
The makeup artist had meticulously traced intricate red patterns over the birthmark with a fine lip liner, resembling phoenix feathers. Paired with the military cap, it created an aura of restrained beauty.
After finishing the last member’s makeup and hair, they finally entered the filming location. Fortunately, the director they hired was a close friend of boss Chen Zhengyun—a renowned music video director in the industry—who agreed to do his old friend a favor by starting early to rush the shoot.
This wasn’t their first time shooting an MV, but such an intense schedule was unprecedented. They shot from 8 PM until 7 AM, moved between two studios, then relocated to an outdoor location. Filming continued from dawn until afternoon, wrapping only after capturing the sunset shots. They returned to the green screen studio for additional takes. The six members worked a grueling 25-hour stretch, repeating the dance routine countless times until their arms felt like lead weights.
“You’ve worked hard.” After wrapping, they bowed repeatedly to the entire crew, too exhausted to say much else. When the cameraman in the studio asked how they felt, everyone was dazed. Team leader Jiang Miao forced himself to speak, and Lu Yuan cracked a joke, finally reviving their spirits as they picked up the thread.
“Juexia, how do you feel about how this shoot turned out?”
Fang Juexia smiled at the camera. “The outdoor locations were gorgeous—we rarely get to shoot on location. The Chinese-style indoor set was pretty cool too. Hope everyone likes this MV.”
“Tired?”
He nodded honestly, then smiled again. “But really happy.”
But they didn’t have much time to sleep. The early return meant the company needed to release various photo materials and promotional videos immediately. The six of them worked nonstop, catching only half an hour of sleep on the bus back to the company. Before getting off, they saw fans swarming outside the building, mixed with paparazzi and media. To avoid exposing their hair colors, each of them stepped off the bus wearing a jacket over their heads, completely concealed.
“Xia Jue!!”
“Xiao Pei! Pei Tingsong!”
“Ling Yi, look at your mom! Ling Yi, you’re the best!”
“Go He Ziyan!”
“Lu Yuan! Jiang Miao!”
“Go Kaleido!! Domino never gives up!”
Back at the company, they changed into new outfits, filmed promotional videos for three apps, and then waited for the album photo shoot.
The first photo shoot setup was in a dark studio. For close-ups, a spotlight would hit each person’s right eye, requiring the background to be dimmed. For ordinary people, this was relative; for Fang Juexia, it was like turning off the lights. After the first shoot, Ling Yi took his place. Fang Juexia wanted to see how his shots turned out and headed toward the monitor. Everything in his line of sight was blurry. He slowed his pace, moving forward inch by inch.
He could hear the photographer’s voice growing closer, using it to gauge his direction.
But he didn’t realize that as he drew nearer to his destination, he was also approaching a set of steps. Taking a cautious step forward, he suddenly missed his footing.
His body instantly lost balance, his center of gravity lurching forward. Fang Juexia’s heart lurched upward, only to fall unconsciously into an embrace. The familiar scent of sea salt and musk enveloped him, unexpected yet safe.
“This was your idea.”
Fang Juexia’s guide dog had changed. Instead of immediately coming to his side to guide him to his destination, it stood calmly before a predetermined trap, waiting for him to walk across a stretch of flat, unthreatening ground. Holding the unknown, step by step, it paced toward him.
Throwing himself into the embrace.
Author’s Note: The new song will still be presented in a live stage format.
