“This mouth of mine—I should just rip it off!”

The next morning, Jiang Lechen was sprawled on his bed, head in his hands, watching a video on his phone of his grand pronouncements at the grilled fish stall last night.

The Young Master had gone to the library early in the morning, leaving the entire dorm to Jiang Lechen. Da and Xiao Ding were hanging off the railing of Jiang Lechen’s bunk, looking at him with faces full of sympathy.

Jiang Lechen: “Did I really say that?”

The twins nodded.

Da Ding: “Every last word.”

Xiao Ding: “We have video evidence.”

Xiao Ding recorded the video himself. Jiang Lechen personally spoke the words.

His path as a flop idol was officially ruined last night.

Jiang Lechen shrieked, “Why didn’t you guys stop me yesterday?!”

Da Ding: “How were we supposed to know you’d go that wild after three-quarters of a bottle of beer? You even dared to talk back to your own boss! If you’d finished a whole bottle, you probably would’ve tried to become the boss yourself, wouldn’t you?”

Jiang Lechen was filled with regret. It was all his fault for getting carried away yesterday. He’d earned fifteen hundred yuan and completely forgotten his own name, daring to say his boss was just feeding him empty promises.

The internet was full of stories about Gen Z shaking up the workplace, but this wasn’t him shaking up the workplace; this was the workplace shaking him down.

Jiang Lechen was such a lightweight that he only had a vague impression of last night’s events. He couldn’t recall how Gu Yuzhe reacted after his little speech.

And it was precisely this ignorance that made his heart pound even more anxiously.

Jiang Lechen spent the next few days in a state of nervous suspense, yet nothing happened.

He continued his daily commute between the east and west sides of the city. By day, he wore a white coat, treating cats, giving dogs shots, and filing rabbits’ teeth. By night, he transformed into the fastest electric scooter-riding kid on the East Fifth Ring Road.

He had learned his lesson, though. He wore a mask every day before entering the company, lest his mouth get him in trouble and his money disappear from his pocket again.

He practiced dancing diligently every day, intending to show his new boss his hardworking and motivated attitude, hoping to move that iron-faced landlord. But unfortunately, despite all his efforts, Gu Yuzhe never appeared again.

Little Jiang couldn’t stand it anymore and asked the receptionist for information. He learned that Mr. Gu had flown to Xihong City this week to discuss a new variety show collaboration with the local TV station.

Jiang Lechen’s eyes lit up, instantly recalling the big promise Gu Yuzhe had made him. “Our group gets to be on Xihong TV’s new variety show?”

“In your dreams,” the receptionist said, spitting out a melon seed shell and sighing dramatically. “Mr. Gu has award-winning actors and powerful singers under him. How could a sweet gig like that possibly fall into your laps?”

“…” Jiang Lechen’s fire was extinguished.

He was right. He had been thinking too much.

Dejected, he headed toward the basement dance studio. He had thought he would have the whole room to himself at this time. He never expected that when he pushed open the soundproof door, he would be struck by a wave of rhythmic music. A tall young man was standing in front of the large floor-to-ceiling mirror, his body moving to the beat.

Every lift of the boy’s arm, every stomp of his foot, was filled with power. His cheap sneakers glided across the smooth floor, propelling his body into a spin, sweat flying from the tips of his hair.

In the empty dance studio, on this stage without an audience, the boy was shining. He rode the wave of the music, lifted by the intense drumbeat, pushed to the very crest of the wave.

—Wen Gui was born for the stage.

No matter how many times he watched Wen Gui’s solo dance, this sentence would pop into Jiang Lechen’s mind.

Jiang Lechen had been busy with his school internship lately, and Wen Gui had many part-time jobs, so their practice times often didn’t overlap. He hadn’t expected to run into him at the company today.

Wen Gui wasn’t dancing to one of their own songs, but to “Darwin’s Theory of Evolution,” the new solo track by Sheng Zhixun, the lead singer of China’s top boy band, B.R.E.A.K.

The digital version of the solo track cost 6 yuan, and its sales surpassed 100 million within an hour of its release. Fans were throwing money at it like water.

Jiang Lechen also contributed his 6 yuan the moment it came out.

It wasn’t because he was a fan of B.R.E.A.K. or Sheng Zhixun, but because, as a bad student, he wanted to see what a top student’s exam paper looked like.

After watching the music video for the title track, Little Jiang was nearly drowned by a tidal wave of jealousy. Damn, it must be nice to be rich!

He also wanted to hire a Grammy-winning composer, a Korean choreographer, shoot on location in England, and have an Australian special effects team do the post-production!

But jealousy was jealousy. Jiang Lechen was jealous of many people; he envied the two Jack Mas, but life had to go on.

Seeing Wen Gui immersed in the music, Jiang Lechen didn’t disturb him. He carefully closed the door, circled to the back of the dance studio, and gently set down his backpack.

“Darwin’s Theory of Evolution” wasn’t a long song. After the climax, the chorus repeated again before heading into the finale.

For the final ending pose, Wen Gui formed his hands into wolf claws, crossed them in front of his chest, and then tore them apart to the sides, like a young wolf cub baring its fangs for the first time, ready to rip through the concrete jungle before it.

Wen Gui’s gaze met Jiang Lechen’s behind him through the large mirror.

The young man’s eyes burned with an unquenchable fire—the raw ambition he had never bothered to hide.

The music stopped abruptly.

Jiang Lechen froze for a second, then immediately raised his hands to his chest and started clapping like a seal. “WEN GUI, I LOVE YOU!!! OPPA, SARANGHAE!!!!!! GEGE, HOW CAN I LIVE WITHOUT YOU!!!”

It was sickeningly sweet, loaded with who knows how much artificial sweetener.

“…” Wen Gui took a deep breath, straightened up, and flipped his baseball cap backwards on his head, revealing smooth skin and flawless, delicate features. He walked over to the water cooler, filled a cup, and downed it in one go.

Jiang Lechen hadn’t seen him in a while and happily went over to chat, but he made an unexpected discovery as he got closer.

Wen Gui’s T-shirt was completely soaked with sweat from the dancing. The sleeves were rolled up to his shoulders, revealing his arms’ tight, muscular lines.

Jiang Lechen: “!!!” He was shocked. “My dear Gui-gui, have you been working out lately?”

“Yeah,” Wen Gui explained casually. “I got a new part-time job as a spin class instructor. I can use the gym for free. What’s up?”

Tears were about to well up in Jiang Lechen’s eyes. He squeezed Wen Gui’s strong bicep and advised him earnestly, “My sweet girl, you have to exercise in moderation! If you keep this up, your head and your body won’t match anymore!”

In just a short time, his homie had grown taller and gone from a delicate flower to a buff melon! A fairy-like face paired with such solid muscles—Jiang Lechen felt sorry for all of Wen Gui’s ‘mom fans’.

Wen Gui scoffed. “Heh, if I don’t get bigger, how am I supposed to top you?”

Jiang Lechen spoke with the air of an experienced elder: “Brother, as an idol, you need to watch your words! You’re so young; what are you doing talking about topping or not topping?”

“Don’t worry, Gege,” Wen Gui raised an eyebrow. “Even if I die tomorrow, I’ll have three big words carved on my tombstone: I AM A 1.”

“……………………” Little Brother Jiang gave up trying to communicate with him.

Seeing him retreat, Wen Gui suddenly changed the subject. “Instead of worrying about me, you should worry about yourself.”

Jiang Lechen: “?”

Wen Gui: “I heard you told the boss to his face that he was feeding you empty promises.”

Jiang Lechen’s face instantly paled. He stammered, asking how he knew. Wen Gui had never been one for gossip. He was always the last to know about any happenings in the company, the classic “ears deaf to the outside world, heart set on hip-hop dance.”

“It’s not just me; the whole company knows now,” Wen Gui said, giving him a pitying look. “Mr. Gu made the call from his office. Besides him, several junior agents and publicists were in the room at the time.”

Jiang Lechen: “…”

“I heard you contributed quite a few memorable quotes. ‘Five years in the industry, and still a plain commoner.’ ‘I don’t need vegetable side dishes with my meat; I’m plain enough as it is.'”

Little Jiang’s toes were about to wear a hole through the dance studio floor. If he had known this would happen, he never would have drunk three-quarters of a bottle of beer.

When Wu Song drank too much, he could fight a tiger. When Li Bai drank too much, he could write poetry. But why is it that when he drank too much, he ended up destroying his own idol career?

Wen Gui’s voice was tinged with concern. “I haven’t seen you these past few days. I thought Mr. Gu had already found a reason to fire you.”

Jiang Lechen shook his head. “You’re overthinking it. Mr. Gu wouldn’t go out of his way to find a reason to fire me just because I ran my mouth a bit.”

Wen Gui: “You trust him that much?”

Jiang Lechen sighed deeply. “Because a landlord doesn’t need a reason to fire one of his own farmhands!”

Wen Gui: “………………”

Just as Jiang Lechen’s words fell, the camera on the ceiling of the dance studio swiveled once again. A familiar voice then came through the speaker below it.

[“Jiang Lechen, I seem to recall telling you last time that the camera in the dance studio is not just for show.”] Gu Yuzhe’s stern voice came through. [“It seems you haven’t learned your lesson at all.”]

Jiang Lechen was stunned. How could he have known that the only two times he complained about Gu Yuzhe, the boss himself would overhear it?

 Wasn’t Mr. Gu on a business trip in Xihong City? Was he so busy that he still managed to remotely control the cameras and spy on him?

Gu Yuzhe: [“Jiang Lechen, another eight hundred will be deducted from this month’s performance bonus…”]

“—Wait!” The hardworking proletarian Jiang Lechen stood up. “Mr. Gu, my base salary is only two thousand a month! First you dock eight hundred, then another eight hundred, and now another eight hundred today… You’re docking more than I’m earning!”

What kind of logic was this? Other people went to work to chip away at the capitalist’s wall. He went to work, and the capitalist was the one chipping away at his wall. If this kept up, Jiang Lechen might become the first artist in the world whose house collapses because his own wall was chipped away.

Jiang Lechen asked cautiously, “You’re not going to carry over the deductions to next month if there’s not enough to dock this month, are you?”

Beside him, Wen Gui glanced quietly at the camera and lowered his voice. “Do you need me to lend you some?”

“If you lend it to me, what will you live on? The northwest wind?” Jiang Lechen shook his head like a rattle drum. “You have to pay back over ten thousand in debt every month.”

The landlord on the other end of the speaker interrupted their whispering. [“Who said your salary isn’t enough this month?”]

Jiang Lechen: “?”

Wen Gui: “?”

[“Jiang Lechen, Wen Gui, report to the vocal studio immediately.”] Although Gu Yuzhe’s words were brief, every word he dropped was enough to shock them. [“Next week, at the Sanshan Music Festival, your names will be on the performance list.”]

---

Author’s Note:

Little Jiang: Tomorrow, I will present a ceremonial Hada scarf to my landlord 🙂