Pei Tingsong froze, but he had to maintain an air of confidence—otherwise, he’d risk being exposed as a clueless newbie in cross-server chat.
Japanese, Western, domestic… Could they really be talking about watching videos?
No way? Could they actually air that?
“Vote again.”
He Ziyan, Lu Yuan, and Pei Tingsong still voted for the captain. Even the fence-sitter Ling Yi changed his vote, eliminating Jiang Miao with four votes.
“Then Miao Miao is out. Miao Miao, come over.” “ The host grabbed Jiang Miao’s arm. ”Don’t give anything away.”
As soon as Jiang Miao saw everyone’s cards, she smiled. “Alright then, good luck everyone.”
“Alright, game continues. Zi Yan goes first again.”
He Ziyan smiled and said, “This time, the back row should go first.”
Fang Juexia glanced at Pei Tingsong. Pei knew that refusing now would only heighten suspicion.
“Alright. I’ll go first.”
Whether they’d seen the video or not, their descriptions were so similar that there must be parallels. Pei took a gamble. “This is an activity that requires the use of your eyes.” ”
The other four teammates nodded meaningfully, then turned their attention to Fang Juexia.
Was it over?
Fang Juexia described, “Hmm… This activity can be done alone or with others. The atmosphere might be different with multiple people.”
Hearing this, more question marks filled Pei Tingsong’s mind.
Could it really be about getting laid?
Pei Tingsong was baffled. Why couldn’t he figure it out? And why did Fang Juexia say he couldn’t?
From their earlier descriptions, Ling Yi sensed something different about the previous participants. What did “Western/Japanese” or “haunted house” even mean? There shouldn’t be national distinctions here. But he had a trump card up his sleeve. In games like this, the mole card usually shares similarities with the good guy card.
“Hmm…” Ling Yi pondered, “I think this kind of activity might… make people feel a bit tense.”
When it came to Lu Yuan, he stated plainly, “Someone will scream.”
“Hahahahahaha!”
“This group is toxic!!”
Pei Tingsong’s mind was already filling with persistent, bizarre images.
He Ziyan cleared his throat. “It feels more intense when it’s late at night and quiet.”
Host Chen Mo couldn’t hold back anymore. “I used to watch this game and sweat bullets for the mole and the whiteboard. Now I’m sweating bullets for our show.”
The other host struggled to stifle laughter. “So curious where this round is headed.”
“Hahahahahaha!”
The female host said, “Alright, let’s vote now.”
He Ziyan cast his vote for Ling Yi. “Ling Yi seemed a bit slack. He said this activity makes him nervous, but I mentioned mental fortitude was needed back in the first round. It feels like Ling Yi was just guessing.”
Fang Juexia, however, gave his vote to Lu Yuan. “I think Yuan Yuan was a bit off in both rounds. How to put it… his descriptions were a bit skewed…”
“What did I say?” Lu Yuan asked.
He Ziyan chuckled, “Kids aren’t suitable, and they’ll scream.” After saying it, he felt something was off too. “Wait, the more I think about it, the stranger it gets…”
Fang Juexia found common ground, “Right? It really is weird.”
He Ziyan nodded. “I wouldn’t scream.”
Fang Juexia echoed, “Me neither.”
“Hahahahahahahaha!”
“No, wait,” Lu Yuan suddenly grew agitated. “You guys don’t seriously think I’m…” He paused, emphasizing the first two syllables. “…that kind of card, right?”
His words instantly reminded Pei Tingsong. The kind of card game Lu Yuan was referring to was the one he’d mistakenly assumed—clearly not the one He Zi’an and Fang Juexia were holding.
What was it? Something you watched with your eyes. Famous in Japan and Europe, not so much domestically. You could play alone, but it felt different with others. Late at night, when all was quiet.
The problem was, he, Pei Tingsong, couldn’t do it.
This was ridiculous. He’d never failed at anything before. Well, except that haunted house last time.
Ghosts?
Pei Tingsong suddenly understood. Horror movies!
These guys were too much, nearly turning his blank slate into something else.
Having guessed the answer, Pei Tingsong began stirring the pot like a gamer who’d finally recovered his main account password after endless struggles. He analyzed with authority, “In this kind of game, the front-row player rarely ends up a blank slate because they don’t know how to describe things. I think Yuan Ge might be the mole card, setting the pace.”
Ling Yi felt extremely vulnerable, having just escaped He Ziyan’s clutches moments ago. He quickly agreed with Pei Tingsong, “I think so too. Things started going off track from the moment Yuan Yuan joined.”
The captain standing nearby thought: Didn’t it start with me?
So, with much laughter, the entire team unanimously voted out Lu Yuan.
The host cleared his throat. “Game continues.”
Ling Yi let out an exaggerated gasp. “It continues?”
“Start describing from Zi Yan.”
He Ziyan stood up straight, microphone in hand. “It’s so hard to describe at this point. Might as well just say it outright.” He paused, then uttered a key phrase. “Everyone, please type XX in the chat.”
“Hahaha, auto-mute.”
Hearing this, Ling Yi felt He Ziyan’s card was similar to his own. He couldn’t help but wonder: Was he not the mole? Could it be that Er Huo had been following someone else’s lead earlier?
He cautiously described, “Um… Xiao Pei ended up trending on hot search because of this.”
The moment he said this, everyone understood what the mole card was. Fang Juexia remained composed. “It hasn’t appeared in our group variety show yet, but there have been similar segments.”
Pei Tingsong knew Ling Yi had the haunted house card. Hearing Fang Juexia’s explanation confirmed his suspicion that these people had horror movie cards. He stated plainly, “This activity might not actually let you experience it firsthand, though sometimes it can feel pretty immersive.”
“Alright, let’s start voting!”
Pei Tingsong chuckled inwardly. The one being bullied is probably me, not you.
Only three people remained on stage, yet the game wasn’t over. He Ziyan held the microphone and declared, “It’s obvious. It must be Little Pei. He just happens to be the last one.”
Pei Tingsong had already stated his premise that the front row wouldn’t reveal a blank card. Voting for He Ziyan now would contradict his earlier logic. “I’m confused. I don’t know who to vote for now. You can vote for me if you want, but I’ve made it clear this activity can’t be taken literally.”
He Ziyan stared into his eyes, a hint of doubt visible. He tried to recall what Fang Juexia had said in the previous two rounds—it seemed rather vague. In the first round, he followed the majority vote; in the second, he said one person was fine, but multiple people were also acceptable.
But Fang Juexia suddenly began defending Pei Tingsong: “I don’t think Little Pei is the problem. When I said he wasn’t suitable, he didn’t argue back.”
“Hahahahaha! Can’t argue with that!”
“Pei Tingsong is no good! Hahahaha!”
Pei Tingsong could only play along. “I’m just not qualified, no question about it. I’m extremely unqualified.” He looked at Fang Juexia. “Trust me.”
Fang Juexia carefully reviewed both their reasoning and statements. No matter how he thought about it, He Ziyan couldn’t possibly be the blank slate. As the first to speak, even the possibility of him being the mole seemed unlikely. Though Pei Tingsong’s logic held water, he chose to trust the game’s fundamental rules. “I’ll still vote for Little Pei.”
Fang Juexia’s vote change made He Ziyan suspicious again. Could it be that Fang had defended Pei earlier to win his vote, only to realize his position couldn’t sway anyone, so he switched sides?
So He Ziyan played his own boomerang move. “I vote for Fang Juexia.”
Pei Tingsong’s mind was filled with question marks. This double boomerang had him spinning. But he was a blank slate—to win now, he had to follow the votes.
What was love anyway? Pei Tingsong pointed at Fang Juexia. “I vote for Juexia.”
The audience below the stage was already laughing themselves silly, especially at the final scene of the two rivals’ love-hate dynamic.
“Alright.” The host struggled to maintain composure. “We now announce—”
Background music began to play.
“The blank slate wins!”
He Ziyan instantly realized his mistake—he’d changed his vote incorrectly at the last moment.
“I knew it.” Fang Juexia slapped the table twice. He wasn’t usually competitive, but this game had gotten to him. He’d exposed the blank slate, and success was now just one step away.
The thought stung a little. Fang Juexia turned to Pei Tingsong, nudging his leg a few times. His tone remained steady, yet his words carried a playful edge, “You liar, you voted for me.”
Pei Tingsong dodged Fang Juexia’s nudge, laughing uncontrollably. “You two completely confused me at the end, okay? You two were the ones fighting amongst yourselves.”
He Ziyan raised his hand. “Blame me, blame me. It’s my fault. I overthought it at the end.”
The other members returned to the stage. “And this is how you let the blank board win? You guys are the ones who’ve been on that famous high-IQ escape room show, you know.”
Fang Juexia stood by his claim. “If we’d voted according to my final suggestion, we’d have won.” The words left him seething. He wanted to punch Pei Tingsong, but remembering the other’s injured left hand, he held back, clenching his own fist mid-air.
“Can’t help it—I’m just too smart.” Pei Tingsong shamelessly grabbed Fang Juexia’s wrist, pulling it down to hold his hand under the table.
Even the host couldn’t resist chiming in, “This is the most dramatic game of ‘Who’s the Mole’ in our show’s history.”
“Exactly, bouncing back and forth on the edge of the review line.”
Lu Yuan asked Pei Tingsong, “Little Pei, did you have a lot of question marks at the start?”
The team leader worried habitually, “I’m so worried that after this episode airs, Little Pei will trend on social media for being ‘unfit’.”
“Hahahahaha!”
The game wrapped up in high spirits. The band performed a ballad from their new album (not a lead single), then played song relay and charades prepared by the production team. The recording stretched from noon to night—a full five hours—leaving fans reluctant to part ways.
Wrapping up coincided with dinnertime. Chen Mo, ever the gracious host, had his assistant book a renowned local private kitchen restaurant well in advance. He treated the entire host team and the Kaleido members to a feast of regional specialties. The city’s residents favored spicy flavors, leaving Fang Juexia—accustomed to Guangdong’s milder cuisine—sweating profusely through the meal.
Drinking is inevitable during meals. Before Fang Juexia could explain himself, Pei Tingsong beat him to it: “Brother Juexia can’t hold his liquor.”
“Oh, I see. What about you, Little Pei?”
“I’m not much of a drinker either. I’ll stick to plain water.”
Having sidestepped the alcohol issue and the minor challenge of chili peppers, Fang Juexia picked through the table laden with dishes, selecting what he could eat. He’d assumed the chili in the stir-fried pork would be the spicy part, not the meat itself—but he’d been wrong.
His tongue felt like it was on fire. In his panic, he grabbed the wrong cup and drank from Ling’s glass of baijiu.
“Ugh.”
Chen Mo looked at him. “Juexia, what’s wrong? Too spicy?”
Pei Tingsong quickly handed him water. “Slow down.” Then he explained for Fang Juexia, “He’s from Guangzhou. Can’t handle spicy food.”
“Oh, I see. Then have some dessert. This glutinous rice dessert is delicious.”
Pei Tingsong took the opportunity to pick up a piece of dessert and place it in his bowl. He then ladled a bowl of milky-white fish soup for him, letting it cool before setting it aside.
He wasn’t very skilled at such thoughtful gestures; while serving the soup, he nearly scalded himself, acting like a child.
But Fang Juexia loved it.
Throughout the meal, Chen Mo shared many insights with them. Receiving guidance from such a well-connected veteran in the industry was a rare opportunity.
“You’re newcomers with a long road ahead,” Chen Mo said. “But you have talent and a bright future. This industry is complex, though. Every step requires caution. I’ve heard about your previous leak incident. Similar situations may arise again—always be prepared.”
Jiang Miao nodded. “Thank you, Teacher Chen.”
After dinner, the weather had turned slightly. Fang Juexia, wearing only a thin black short-sleeved shirt, sneezed softly as soon as they stepped outside. Just as he wrapped his arms around himself, a jacket was draped over his shoulders.
It was the green hoodie cardigan Pei Tingsong had been wearing.
“It’s fine, I’m not cold.” Fang Juexia tried to take it off and return it, but Pei Tingsong deliberately feigned anger, glaring at him. “Put it on.”
While everyone else was saying their goodbyes, he whispered softly in Fang Juexia’s ear, “Be a good boy.”
Fang Juexia had completely lost the ability to refuse him—though it seemed he never really had it to begin with.
By the time they returned to the hotel, it was already ten o’clock at night. Cheng Qiang had agreed to let them stay in the city for a free day the next day. Everyone was exhausted after a full day of filming the show, so they all retired to their rooms early.
Cheng Qiang had been running around all day, supervising the entire recording process, and was already exhausted. After helping Xiao Pei bathe and change, he glanced at the clock—it was nearly eleven. He quickly showered himself, climbed into bed, turned off the light, and said, “Get some sleep.”
Pei Tingsong lay beneath the covers, soon hearing his agent’s snores as he drifted off. But he couldn’t sleep. His mind was wide awake, replaying the day’s events like a slideshow. Finally, it lingered on Fang Juexia dancing. The way his waist moved was so beautiful, like flowing water in the night.
He loved everything that flowed.
Fang Juexia opened the door to his room alone. He had a mild潔癖, so the first thing he did upon entering was take a shower. The hot steam in the bathroom made his head spin, growing heavier with each wash. He turned off the water, changed into clean pajamas, and stepped out still damp. After taking a few steps, he collapsed onto the soft, white bed.
Tilting his head back, Fang Juexia recalled the image of being pinned beneath Pei Tingsong earlier that day. He couldn’t explain why, but the memory kept intruding on his thoughts.
The solitude of the room felt eerily quiet. The ticking of the clock echoed steadily, its rhythm merging with the small clock in his heart, making his pulse race.
Fang Juexia tilted his head toward the window. The pitch-black sky held only a full moon—white and luminous.
Whether it was the lingering effect of that sip of wine or not, as he stared, Fang Juexia began to see the dark sky as an extension of the black clothes he wore today. The slanted moon resembled a round hole, perfectly sized for a heart.
And so, Fang Juexia treated himself as a mathematical problem, applying the substitution method. The equivalent replacement meant his heart had been carved out, leaving only a luminous hole in his dark, hollow chest.
Indeed.
His outstretched arm brushed against the green jacket by the bedside. Fang Juexia lifted it, hooked his fingers through the collar, and draped it over his face. Despite his aversion to dirt, he found himself fantasizing about this soiled garment.
This was Pei Tingsong’s jacket, carrying Pei Tingsong’s scent.
Fang Juexia closed his eyes and inhaled.
It seemed to carry the scent of his own heart too.
What a ridiculous notion, utterly illogical, a completely unrealistic fantasy.
He felt himself becoming more and more like Pei Tingsong.
The vibration snapped him back from the edge of his fantasy. Fang Juexia opened his eyes, his heart pounding. With a hint of secret guilt, he moved the clothes away, reached for his phone beside the pillow, and checked the message.
[Heng Zhen Shi: Are you asleep?]
It was as if he’d summoned it by thinking about it. Fang Juexia took a deep breath and replied, Not yet.
Clutching the phone, a flicker of anticipation stirred within him. Soon, the phone vibrated again.
[Heng Zhen-style: The moon on my bed isn’t pretty. I want to go to your bed to see the moon.]
Author’s Note: Heng Zhen-style can be understood as a proposition that is always true regardless of circumstances, also known as a tautology.
