Part-time idol Little Jiang, with a base salary of two thousand a month, was just docked eight hundred yuan for saying a few (useless) words too many.

After walking out of the conference room, Jiang Lechen threw his head back and howled, “Aaaahhh, it’s been over seventy years since the founding of New China, how can capitalists like this still exist—!”

Wen Gui pressed the brim of his cap down and spat out two cold words: “You deserved it.”

Jiang Lechen: “Don’t I even have the right to ask a question?”

Wen Gui: “And do you think the poor tenant farmer got to ask his cruel landlord questions?”

Jiang Lechen: “…”

Wen Gui: “Come on, little peasant. Time to go practice your dancing.”

After the new boss’s first meeting ended, the ten young men looked at each other and broke into smaller groups of friends and strangers. Jiang Lechen and Wen Gui decided to go to the dance studio to burn some calories.

Their company’s two-story building looked simple from the outside, but it hid a secret. It had a full three-level basement. The lowest level had been completely knocked through to create a huge dance studio.

Jiang Lechen had always wondered why the original owner built such a house—two stories above ground and three below. The basement materials were especially sturdy, with thick, moisture-resistant walls and dedicated ventilation ducts… Was it meant to be a zombie apocalypse shelter?

Regardless, even a studio this large couldn’t hold 101 boys engaged in a chaotic mosh pit of flailing limbs. Setting aside the space issue, a single teacher could never supervise everyone.

So, they had to practice in groups. The company rule was that every little idol had to complete thirty hours of dance practice a week, or their base salary would be cut.

To complete the practice hours, you had to book a spot in the studio, but there wasn’t enough space… So the former boss had someone develop backend software so they could reserve studio slots on their phones.

Jiang Lechen thought: At school, I have to fight to register for classes, and at the company, I have to fight to register for classes. This is like Mickey returning to the Clubhouse—just wonderful! [meme_face.jpg]

When viewed in this way, the new boss was a genius for cutting 90% of the redundant staff in one fell swoop.

The dance studio suddenly became empty. Standing in the large, vacant space, Jiang Lechen and Wen Gui felt like their voices echoed.

As they danced, they had more mental energy to focus on their reflections in the mirror and could even correct each other’s small movements. While their group had released a few songs and choreographed a couple of dances, the quality of both was low. To improve their skills, they often learned the choreography of more established boy bands by watching their videos.

The reason their relationship was so strong, aside from being the two best-looking members of the group, was that they were both only free to practice at night and often ran into each other in the dance studio.

Jiang Lechen was a dedicated student at a prestigious 985 university, where veterinary medicine was known for its demanding schedule. He attended classes and internships during the day and only pursued his showbiz dreams at night.

Wen Gui’s circumstances were different. During the day, he worked multiple part-time jobs, rushing across the city and constantly traveling under the stars.

Jiang Lechen once asked him, “You’re not in school?”

Wen Gui: “Nope. The family’s poor.”

Jiang Lechen: “Oh…”

Wen Gui asked him, “Just ‘oh’?”

Jiang Lechen considered it and then asked cautiously, “You completed your nine years of compulsory education, right?”

Wen Gui: “…I finished high school.”

“Oh, good, good,” Jiang Lechen breathed a sigh of relief. “In our line of work, as long as you know the difference between ‘your’ and ‘you’re,’ you’re already ahead of most idols.”

From beginning to end, Little Jiang never pried into Wen Gui’s family situation, nor did he offer any of the unnecessary pity that others did.

And that’s why they were able to become friends.

The basement was cut off from sunlight, so they lost track of time. The two trained until they were completely drained, one sprawled on the floor, the other slumped in a corner, like two specks of mud flung off when the goddess Nüwa was creating humans.

Wen Gui was the first to recover. He scrambled to his feet, grabbed two bottles of water from a cardboard box in the corner, and threw one toward Jiang Lechen.

Jiang Lechen didn’t move. The bottle skimmed past his head and landed on the floor, nearly leaving a mark on his pretty face.

Wen Gui: “Are you dead?”

Jiang Lechen whined shamelessly, “I’m so hot. I want a cold one.”

Wen Gui: “You can’t drink cold things right after exercising. You’ll get a stomach ache.”

Jiang Lechen was unconcerned. “It’s fine, I have an iron stomach. Cold water won’t give me the runs.”

“I’m not worried about you getting the runs,” Wen Gui said. “I’m worried about your uterine health.”

“………………” Jiang Lechen was aghast. “You little brat, you still haven’t given up on the idea of topping me?”

Wen Gui didn’t answer directly. Instead, he asked, “How tall are you again?”

“One-seventy-nine.”

“Oh, 179 cm,” Wen Gui repeated in a calm tone. “Guess how tall I am now?”

Jiang Lechen froze for a second. When it clicked, he immediately stood up from the floor. He was so exhausted he could barely walk straight, but he forced himself to stumble over to Wen Gui’s side and stand tall next to him.

Little Jiang took a deep breath, puffed out his chest, and looked at their reflections in the mirror—he, who had been stuck at 179 cm since he was sixteen, was now truly, just a tiny bit shorter than Wen Gui!!!

What’s more, Wen Gui was wearing a backward baseball cap, pressing all his hair down, which gave him no advantage whatsoever.

“!!!” Jiang Lechen was horrified and immediately looked down at Wen Gui’s shoes.

Wen Gui: “Don’t bother looking. We bought these shoes together. The soles are the same height.”

It was true. They had gotten two identical pairs, from the color down to the size, during a buy-one-get-one-free sale. They were durable and perfect for dance practice.

Little Jiang wouldn’t give up. “No height-increasing insoles?”

Wen Gui: “…” He simply took off his shoe.

Seeing how honest he was being, Jiang Lechen muttered and grumbled as he took off his shoes. This time, they stood barefoot side by side. The difference in the mirror, although small, was still clear.

Wen Gui asked, “I’m taller than you now. Can I be the ‘1’?”

Jiang Lechen immediately launched into a dramatic performance. “Aha, you little rascal! We swore an oath to be the gatekeepers of 179 cm together! How could you secretly betray our vow?”

“Maybe it’s because I’m young and still growing.”

“I’m young too!! How come I’m not growing??”

“You’re not that young. You’re three years older than me.”

“Pfft, I’m only three years older than you!” Of course, Jiang Lechen had to drag someone else down with him. “Mr. Gu is thirteen years older than you! Does that mean he has one foot in the grave?”

Not expecting such shameless twisting of logic, Wen Gui was about to argue back. But at that very moment, the security camera on the wall, which had been completely inconspicuous until now, suddenly swiveled towards them.

The next second, a cold and magnetic male voice came through the camera’s built-in speaker.

[“Jiang Lechen, another eight hundred will be deducted from this month’s performance bonus.”] The voice was devoid of any emotion as it announced Jiang Lechen’s punishment.

Wen Gui: “…”

Jiang Lechen: “???!!!” He blurted out, “Isn’t that camera just for show??”

Back when the group was still large, teammate A’s wallet went missing. He left it behind and returned five minutes later, only to find it gone.

It caused a big scene at the time. Teammate A demanded that the company check the surveillance footage, but the former boss refused, claiming the cameras were broken.

Whether the cameras were “broken” or it was an attempt to protect the thief was a matter of perspective.

[“Obviously, it is not just for show.”] The voice from the speaker was frigid. [“Jiang Lechen, I told you, I despise fools. Are you sure you want to keep asking stupid questions that will cost you money?”]

“…” Little Jiang immediately zipped his lips.

In his office, Gu Yuzhe leaned back in his chair, scrutinizing the surveillance feed on his phone.

On the small screen, a young man looked up defiantly, hands covering his mouth, his face shouting injustice. The teammate next to him, under a baseball cap, shook his head, signaling him to be quiet.

Gu Yuzhe slowly raised an eyebrow.

His assistant had just reported that two members, Jiang Lechen and Wen Gui, had voluntarily stayed behind to practice and had been at it for four or five hours.

Gu Yuzhe wanted to see how they were doing and connected to the dance studio’s camera. He didn’t expect that the very first thing he’d hear upon connecting was Jiang Lechen wishing him a swift and peaceful burial.

The timing was perfect. Not a second too soon.

Talking behind the boss’s back is called being a fool. Talking behind the boss’s back and letting the boss hear you—what’s that called?

That would be called being a fool squared.

[“Jiang Lechen, if I’m going into the ground, you can be my burial sacrifice.”]

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Author’s Note:

Little Jiang: Heh, the money I earn isn’t even enough to cover this aggravation!