Pei Tingsong was left standing there, turning over Fang Juexia’s parting words in his mind. He dissected each syllable, letting them flutter like butterflies around his heart, circling in his chest.
He had never liked anyone this much before.
Having been immersed in humanistic musings since childhood, Pei Tingsong had always been arrogant about his knack for playing with words. It wasn’t until he met Fang Juexia that he truly saw a new world—one completely different from the cage he’d been in.
It was the emergence of this theme that created the conditions for liking.
Fang Juexia was the true romantic at heart, a born poet.
He embodied every fantasy one could have about a first love.
When they returned to the dorm, He Ziyan and Lu Yuan were still engrossed in their game, monopolizing the living room console. They donned VR headsets to play a duo match. Fang Juexia helped Pei Tingsong remove his sling. His hand had improved significantly, no longer as awkward as before.
“I can just jump in for a quick game myself.”
Fresh off a basketball game, his fair face glowed with post-exercise flush. Under the bathroom light, he resembled a plump peach, every fine hair becoming translucent. As he spoke, his rosy lips parted slightly, moving vividly, hinting at the tip of his tongue hidden within.
“If you really help me…” Pei Tingsong’s gaze drifted involuntarily to Fang Juexia’s lips. He tilted his head slightly, leaning closer. “It might not be something you can just rush through.”
Perhaps from speaking too much during the day, Pei Tingsong’s voice sounded slightly hoarse.
What did that mean?
Fang Juexia had grown accustomed to deciphering Pei Tingsong’s hidden meanings. It had been manageable before, but now, doing so felt like teetering on the edge of forbidden territory. He instinctively licked his lips, drawing his lower lip inward and pursing it—a habitual gesture when embarrassed, yet one that only made Pei Tingsong’s heart flutter more.
Outside the bathroom, teammates bellowed over intense gaming action—a cacophony of commands amid mounting pressure. Behind the door, the situation inside felt equally charged.
“Why so quiet?” Pei Tingsong edged closer. Fang Juexia instinctively stepped back, his retreat ending against the cold tile wall.
He was being forced into a tango with no escape.
“If you don’t need help, I’ll step out.”
Seeing him cornered like this, Pei Tingsong let out a soft chuckle. That single laugh pulled Fang Juexia’s resolve to escape right back. Not long ago, his feelings toward this boy had been pitying affection. But once the initiative slipped from his grasp, Fang Juexia seemed to revert to that helpless version of himself.
Pei Tingsong pinned him between the wall and his own body, creating a small pocket of space. “Are you thinking right now that the premise holds true, but you don’t like all the conditions?”
Pei Tingsong’s words carried a hint of jest. Yet they also reflected his inner thoughts. At times, he worried his overly direct heart might frighten Fang Juexia. So gentle and reserved, perhaps he couldn’t bear such blunt desire.
So most of the time, he chose to hide it.
Fang Juexia, who had been hesitating over who should take the initiative, lifted his head at his words. His gaze was clear and resolute. “No. It’s all the conditions.”
Pei Tingsong stiffened.
Fang Juexia was more honest than he’d imagined. “I might not be fully ready yet, but I like everything.”
Seeing his earnest expression, Pei Tingsong’s face softened into surrender. How could someone so skillfully grasp his weak spot—admitting he wasn’t ready while simultaneously declaring his acceptance with such pure, unblemished sincerity?
It stirred both your urge to destroy and your urge to protect.
“Alright, then I’ll just advance one kiss.”
With that, Pei Tingsong pressed his lips to Fang Juexia’s, wrapping one arm around him and pulling him close. The air compressed to its limit seemed to turn into some kind of gel, binding them together. All their love hovered on the edge of a cliff—to leap was to plunge into the abyss of desire.
Fang Juexia tilted his head back slightly. He offered no resistance, even seeming more indulgent than before. He raised his hand, gently wrapping it around Pei Tingsong’s waist. In that instant, Pei Tingsong pried open the soft lips and plunged deeper.
His hands slid beneath the hem of his shirt, pressing against his lower back as he tightened his embrace. His tongue was soft, his waist supple. Fang Juexia’s skin glistened with a fine sheen of sweat, burning warm against his palms. And so he too grew hot, every pulsing vein igniting, the temperature rising uncontrollably within this blurred fusion.
The sweetest ice cream was the one just beginning to melt—wet, soft, and dense. A slight suck sent it dissolving, spreading through every corner of the mouth, flowing down the throat with saliva, burying itself deep within the body.
A single kiss could fill an entire body.
Pei Tingsong knew himself well, aware of his limits. So he stopped, releasing Fang Juexia.
Spring retreated from the cold winter, leaving behind a trail of melting snow.
Finally, he pressed a long kiss upon his lips. Reluctantly, Pei Tingsong lowered his head, resting his forehead against Fang Juexia’s shoulder. He loved him so deeply that he refused to leave even a trace of regret in his first experience of love. He wanted everything to unfold naturally, mutual affection, so that no matter how long it took to recall, it would remain beautiful.
Because he had already missed out on so much. With such a poor start, he wanted every step forward to be perfect.
But his innate darkness screamed back, craving possession, craving to ravage, craving to crush him beneath him.
Love was a contradiction.
“Let me give you a heads-up.” His voice was still hoarse, his tone childish. “Certain conditions might be more extreme than you imagine—terrifying, utterly vicious.”
Fang Juexia hadn’t fully recovered from their lingering kiss, his chest rising and falling slightly, his legs weak. Yet when he heard Pei Tingsong’s half-threatening words, he couldn’t help but laugh.
“I’m not as fragile as you imagine.” He tilted his head to kiss Pei Tingsong’s hair, murmuring softly, “Besides, I’ve already seen your cruel side.”
Just then, the sound of a door closing came from outside, followed by Ling Yi’s voice. Fang Juexia’s alertness returned. Pei Tingsong rose from him and half-pushed him out. “Go take a shower in the guest bathroom.”
Fang Juexia was half-pushed, half-dragged out. Just before leaving the bathroom, he spun back swiftly and kissed Pei Tingsong’s jaw.
Then he departed lightly, flitting away like a little lark.
Pei Tingsong’s heart was carried out with him. Returning to the farthest corner of the bathroom, he flooded his mind with the theories of Song-Ming Neo-Confucianism—suppressing human desires to preserve heaven’s principles—and Kantian moral philosophy. Together with the cold water cascading from the showerhead, they extinguished the flame Fang Juexia had kindled.
Theories that extinguish human desires fail to extinguish human desires. Twenty years old really is a torment.
The busy schedule accelerated the passage of days, and before they knew it, it was time for the entire group to record the variety show.
This variety show was already a long-running staple on satellite TV, enjoying immense national popularity. Countless families spent their Fridays watching this program. It was no surprise how difficult this opportunity was to secure. Back when Seven Stars debuted, their first variety show appearance was on Happy Friday. After that, they gained countless fans and shot to stardom overnight. For the former Kaleido, such a resource was unimaginable.
The recording location wasn’t in Beijing, so they flew out the night before and stayed at the hotel arranged by the production team. Considering Pei Tingsong’s injured hand, they went straight through the VIP lounge at the airport. Cheng Qiang, worried about his inconvenience, made special arrangements when assigning rooms: “Jiang Miao and Lu Yuan, Zi Yan and Ling Yi. Take your room keys. Juexia gets his own room.”
Ling Yi flicked his room key. “Huh? Juexia gets his own room? Sweet deal.”
Fang Juexia was equally surprised. Taking his key card, he asked Cheng Qiang, “What about Xiao Pei?”
“Xiao Pei’s staying with me,” Cheng Qiang replied with a self-sacrificing expression, patting Pei Tingsong’s shoulder. “That way I can look after you if anything happens.”
“No way,” Pei Tingsong scoffed. “You can barely take care of yourself, let alone me.”
Cheng Qiang rolled his eyes. “Then who do you want? Your captain should be fine, right? He’s practically the group mom now.”
Jiang Miao laughed awkwardly. “I can’t. My arms are sore from practicing guzheng lately. Otherwise…” He nudged Fang Juexia toward Pei Tingsong. “Let’s just have Juexia take care of him.” Waking up to see the person you like first thing felt pretty nice too.
But to his surprise, Pei Tingsong refused. “Forget it, I’ll just stay with Brother Qiang. I was just joking earlier.”
“You’re such a little brat who needs a good scolding.”
Fang Juexia was a bit stunned, not expecting his little fantasy to be crushed so easily. They walked toward the elevator. Pei Tingsong stood beside him, his lowered right arm brushing against Fang Juexia’s left as it swung back and forth, their hands occasionally grazing each other’s backs.
“Sleep alone,” Pei Tingsong murmured suddenly. “It’s more comfortable by yourself.”
“Mm.” Fang Juexia nodded, stepping into the far corner of the elevator with him. Cheng Qiang and Jiang Miao blocked their view, discussing the recording schedule. As the elevator ascended, Fang Juexia lowered his eyes and caught sight of Pei Tingsong’s right sleeve, half-rolled up. He reached out, turned the cuff down, and tugged it lower.
The sensation of his fingers touching the wrist felt peculiar, like something tickling his heart. Pei Tingsong silently drew in a breath, suppressing the urge to take his hand.
To be in better shape, they didn’t stay up too late and went to rest. Fang Juexia had rarely stayed in a hotel alone before; most of the time it was with Ling Yi, occasionally switching to someone else. Honestly, his personality suited solitude better; quiet, solitary spaces were actually his comfort zone.
He opened his suitcase, laid out clean clothes, washed up, dried his hair, then sat on the bed replying to unread messages and calling his mother. Everything proceeded methodically. With each task completed in order, he should have rested.
Strangely, despite this rare moment of solitude, Fang Juexia found himself unable to sleep. He tossed and turned in bed, his eyes drawn to the moonlight streaming through the hotel window.
He hadn’t mentioned it in the lobby, nor as they walked toward the elevator. But now, Fang Juexia had to admit, he did wish he and Pei Tingsong had been assigned the same room.
He was smart enough to guess why Pei Tingsong hadn’t chosen to share a room with him in the end. Yet that realization only made him more uneasy, stirring up some ambiguous thoughts in the dead of night.
Fang Juexia sat up, retrieved the notebook he’d brought, and returned to bed, pulling the covers over himself. His fingers hovered hesitantly over the keyboard, his gaze fixed on the empty search bar.
He’d been a good student and received thorough sex education, but boys with boys had never appeared in the scope of what he’d learned. So he felt he might need to study up.
Across the hallway in another room, Cheng Qiang helped Pei Tingsong remove the sling from his arm before assisting him out of his jacket.
“When will the cast on my hand come off?” Pei Tingsong asked.
Cheng Qiang struggled to help the guy, who was taller than him, take off his undershirt, recalling what the doctor had said earlier. “Last time the doctor mentioned that wrist fractures usually take about two weeks before the cast can come off. But the exact situation still requires going to the hospital for an X-ray to check the healing progress. Once we get back to Beijing, I’ll take you for a follow-up appointment.”
Pei Tingsong nodded, sat back on the bed, and stared at the heavy cast on his hand with a sigh. At first, he’d thought the injury was convenient—a way to blackmail Fang Juexia into taking care of him. But now, he increasingly found the thing cumbersome and a hindrance.
“Oh, right—did you get Miss Pei’s email?”
Pei Tingsong chuckled at the thought. “I never check emails. If President Pei still cares about her little brother, she’ll just call me.”
These siblings were something else. Cheng Qiang plopped down. “You two are such a pair—both stubborn as mules, leaving me caught in the middle like a sandwich. Every time you ignore her, she floods my inbox with emails. Seeing her English name always makes me nervous.”
“Well, I couldn’t care less, and she can’t tell me what to do either.” Pei Tingsong flopped back onto the bed.
Cheng Qiang shook his head. “I suppose you’re right. Who could possibly tell you what to do?”
“Who could…” Pei Tingsong stared at the snow-white ceiling, his mind filled entirely with Fang Juexia’s face.
As a child, he’d found his grandfather’s recitations of Journey to the West absurd. Sun Wukong was described as so formidable—soaring through heaven and earth, capable of anything, destroying the Book of Life and Death at will, causing chaos in the Nine Heavens. Yet later, he was pinned down by a single hand, trapped alive for five hundred years.
Now, as Pei Tingsong reflected on it, he realized it wasn’t absurd at all—it was utterly realistic.
He too was gripped by a single hand, wrapped in a gentle embrace that left him unable to turn over, unable to escape no matter what.
The night was the same night, yet each person’s sleep was different. He Ziyan woke up complaining that Ling Yi had talked in his sleep all night, disturbing him. He even pulled Fang Juexia aside to ask how he usually put up with it.
Ling Yi defended himself, “It was just last night! I was exhausted from the flight!”
Hearing the words “last night,” Fang Juexia recalled his “research trip” and felt a twinge of guilt. “Yeah… Ling Yi doesn’t usually talk in his sleep.”
The group chattered noisily in the car. Fang Juexia gazed out the window. The weather here was southern-like, the air humid and carrying a hint of coolness.
Spring in many cities resembled this place—a continuous tapestry of rain. But Beijing’s spring was filled with falling clouds. Once the dancing poplar fluff settled, spring would soon fade.
Fang Juexia had never liked poplar fluff before. It irritated his nose and even affected his singing voice, hindering his stage performance. But once he grew fond of spring, these soft, fluffy seeds seemed to gain his affection by association. He no longer disliked them; he even wore a mask to let them linger a little longer.
Let spring linger a little longer too.
As he approached the satellite TV building for recording, Fang Juexia suddenly received a message from Pei Tingsong.
[Injured Guide Dog: I missed you last night.]
Just those six simple words sent Fang Juexia’s heart into a whirlwind. Though he sat right beside him—perhaps even watching him open the message—Pei Tingsong remained utterly impassive, leaving Fang Juexia’s heart pounding wildly.
He decided not to reply.
Watching Fang Juexia tuck his phone back into his pocket, everyone prepared to disembark, the carriage once again a noisy jumble. Pei Tingsong felt a slight pang of disappointment, having thought Fang Juexia might seize this moment to send a reply.
“Xiao Wen, call them and tell them we’ve arrived.”
“Alright!”
Pei Tingsong also prepared to stand up. Just then, Fang Juexia took his hand and leaned close to his ear in the noisy carriage, whispering softly.
“I haven’t missed you.”
Their hands touched briefly before parting. The boys jumped off the bus one after another like dumplings being scooped out of soup. Pei Tingsong followed Fang Juexia, his heart clinging to him.
The public wasn’t very accepting of long hair. Before the show, the stylist from Xingtu specifically removed all the extensions Fang Juexia had added, trimming his hair into a cleaner, more refreshing style.
For variety shows, they switched to the production team’s stylist, whose aesthetic leaned more mainstream. This time, the six members adopted a boyish style—a safe bet.
Pei Tingsong wore a navy suede baseball cap pulled low over his eyes, his sharp, sculpted features fully exposed. He wore an avocado green oversized hoodie, arms still dangling casually. Fang Juexia sported a simple black T-shirt with a slight waistline, paired with loose camouflage cargo pants. The stylist blew his bangs into a soft curve, revealing his smooth forehead and striking features.
Ling Yi maintained his signature cute younger brother vibe in a purple tracksuit, his hair styled into teddy curls. Captain Jiang Miao wore a loose striped shirt with dark gray jeans, a long black ribbon tied around his neck. He Ziyan had been forced by the stylist into a cheater’s foil perm, pairing a lake-blue top with long black athletic pants. Lu Yuan, unusually composed, wore a white T-shirt and brown trousers. Standing together as the main dancer line, they formed a striking black-and-white duo.
Before the official recording began, they encountered the host team and bowed repeatedly. Lead host Chen Mo, one of the industry’s most renowned entertainment presenters, commanded high status yet remained approachable. He held a favorable impression of Kaleido due to a previous live broadcast sound incident.
“You guys are really on fire lately. The satellite TV building is swarming with your fans, and my Weibo is flooded with requests to look out for you.”
Cheng Qiang chuckled beside him, “Well, we certainly need Teacher Chen’s care.”
The director signaled the start of recording, ending their conversation. The hosts took the stage first, warming up the crowd briefly. Backstage, Kaleido heard the hosts’ voices.
“Let’s give a huge round of applause to welcome today’s guests—the super-popular boy band, Kaleido!”
A wave of cheers from the fans surged like a tidal wave. Following the staff’s instructions, the six members of Kaleido took the stage and began their opening performance: “Break the Array” with an added intro section. Kaleido’s live performance was explosive as always, quickly transforming the stage into a concert-like atmosphere. Fans below held up their respective support banners, and the entire venue singing along was a spectacular sight.
After the song concluded, the six members struck their ending pose before gathering at center stage. Chen Mo led the other hosts onto the stage, guiding Kaleido to take the central position.
“Wow, finally hearing ‘Break the Array’ live.”
“Yeah, it’s even more breathtaking than I imagined. No wonder it’s dominating all the major music sites right now.”
Chen Mo leaned forward slightly, looking at Jiang Miao as he said, “Then shall we first invite Kaleido to greet our long-awaited audience below?”
Jiang Miao nodded, glanced at the members to his left and right, then softly counted, “One, two, three.”
All six raised their hands simultaneously, forming the letter K with their right hands. “Hello everyone, we are Kaleido!”
Cheers erupted once more from the crowd below. Fans, starved of such moments for so long, channeled their anticipation and longing into shouts. What began as screams transformed into a unified chant: “Kaleido! Kaleido!” This was the true measure of their popularity.
Chen Mo took the microphone and said, “We’re thrilled to have Kaleido join us for this week’s recording of Happy Friday. We heard you even cleared your schedule especially for our show—thank you so much.”
Jiang Miao shook his head. “Not at all.”
Ling Yi followed suit. “Not at all. We’re not that busy.”
A fan in the audience shouted, “They were so free before!”
He Ziyan picked up the mic, “That sounds like a die-hard fan.”
The fans below burst into laughter. The female host found it particularly amusing, “I see your group isn’t shy at all.”
Chen Mo asked, “Yeah, why does mentioning you guys being idle make someone a veteran fan?”
Pei Tingsong chimed in, “This kind of love-hate dynamic is typical of veteran fans. New fans just think everything their idols do is perfect.”
Laughter erupted again from the audience.
“We really did have a lot of free time back then, with few schedules.” Lu Yuan immediately sold out his teammate, pointing at Fang Juexia beside him. “Take Juexia, for example. He was so free he went and got a teaching certificate.”
“Hahahahahahahaha!”
Chen Mo was a bit surprised. “Really? What subject did he teach? Middle school or high school?”
Caught off guard by his teammate bringing up this topic, Fang Juexia felt a bit embarrassed. “…High school math. I majored in math in college. Back then, we really didn’t have that many schedules. Everyone else was taking the exam, so I just went ahead and got certified too.”
Ling Yi added, “And it was Beijing Normal University, no less.”
Another host joked, “So Juexia was thinking, if fame doesn’t happen, she’d go back to teaching, right?”
“Hahahaha!”
“Brother, come tutor me on the Wusan workbooks!”
Seeing the tips of his ears turn red, Pei Tingsong teased with the microphone, “Who wouldn’t want to be taught by Teacher Fang?”
