The tangled discord between Sheng Zhixun and Wen Gui began three years ago.

Back then, seventeen-year-old Wen Gui had just joined Hotboys101. His face, so beautiful without any artificial modification that it defied the heavens and angered the masses, made him the designated cash cow in the eyes of the (former) boss.

In truth, before Wen Gui joined, their group had another potential cash cow: Little Jiang. Unfortunately, Jiang Lechen was a part-time idol who prioritized his studies above all else and couldn’t participate in many of the company’s activities. Thus, the former boss began to shift his goal of “cultivating a superstar of a generation” onto Wen Gui.

The former boss’s calculations were loud and clear: as the saying goes, when one person succeeds, their chickens and dogs ascend to heaven with them. He had signed 101 young men; if just one of them became famous, couldn’t the others be dyed a nice shade of pink, too?

During that period, he tried every possible means to secure resources and shove them down Wen Gui’s throat.

Unfortunately, the resources he found were utterly second-rate.

Who has ever heard of a boy band member participating in a show like Bravely Snatch the Treasure and Charge Forward in his stage costumes?

Wen Gui was tormented for half his life on that show. The first two times, an inflatable club knocked him directly into the water. Only on his third try did he finally reach the top and win the grand prize—a double-door refrigerator.

The little cubicle Wen Gui rented couldn’t fit the large refrigerator, so it had to be placed in the company’s break room. Over time, it was gradually filled with everyone’s pickled vegetables, frozen dumplings, and bibimbap sauce.

In the summer, the freezer was stocked with rock-hard mung bean popsicles and creamy puddings. But ever since the receptionist froze her pet goldfish, which had died an untimely death, inside it, no one has put popsicles in there anymore.

After all that effort, the boss saw that Wen Gui was still a complete nobody in the industry. A wicked idea suddenly grew in his mind, and he decided to risk it all on a big play—he bought a water army of online trolls to spam press releases for Wen Gui.

For years, artist press releases have followed the same formula. The main content is just a flowery stream of rainbow farts: a god-tier face seen once every five thousand years, a title track that could make a comatose person jump out of bed and dance, a future box-office champion and cinematic miracle… If you were bold enough, you could praise yourself to the moon, and no one would stop you.

But empty praise was useless; people still didn’t know who Wen Gui was. The head of the water army suggested giving Wen Gui a “Little XX” moniker to ride on someone else’s fame and cling to their coattails.

And if you’re going to cling to coattails, you might as well go for the biggest ones. They aimed directly for the idol who was at the peak of his fame: Sheng Zhixun!

Sheng Zhixun’s group, B.R.E.A.K., was a top-tier domestic boy band created by an internationally renowned music company.

Sheng Zhixun was both the lead singer and the leader, with the deep-set eyes of a mixed-race heritage, a super-high IQ, and fluency in six languages.

As an idol, his professional skills were impeccable, with his live, open-mic vocals being incredibly stable. In short, he was a “perfect idol” with no discernible flaws.

Little Jiang was the first to object after learning of the boss’s decision. “Man… no, Boss, you’re playing with fire! From head to toe, Wen Gui and Sheng Zhixun are nothing alike!”

The boss had his own logic. “Who says they’re not alike? Look at these two photos, the angle is so similar!” The boss pulled out two pictures, pushed them in front of Jiang Lechen, and said, “Can you tell which one is Wen Gui and which is Sheng Zhixun?”

Jiang Lechen looked down at the photos. He looked and looked, trying his best, but no matter how hard he stared, he couldn’t tell who was who in the left and right photos.

Jiang Lechen had to admit, “Looking at it this way, they really do look alike.”

The boss: “See? You’re Wen Gui’s good friend, and even you can’t tell.”

Jiang Lechen: “You’re showing me two pictures of the back of their heads! Forget being his good friend, even if I were his own mother, I wouldn’t be able to tell the difference!!!”

Jiang Lechen suspected the boss was treating him like an idiot, and he had now fully grasped the evidence.

And so, just like that, a flurry of press releases titled:

“He, Known as Sheng Zhixun’s Successor,”

“Excelling in Both Singing and Dancing! ‘Little Sheng Zhixun’ Wen Gui’s Charismatic Stage Presence on Variety Show,”

“A Look at the Rising Stars Posing the Biggest Threat to Sheng Zhixun,” and other such toe-curlingly cringey articles were unleashed upon the world.

The boss was confident he could ride Sheng Zhixun’s wave of popularity. He never expected that not only would he fail to gain any traction, but he would also infuriate Sheng Zhixun’s fans.

Since Sheng Zhixun’s debut, countless people have tried to bring him down from his pedestal. The number of fake scandals and hit pieces has been endless. But when a rival’s team issued a press release, it was called “pitting them against each other.”

When an unknown person like Wen Gui, whom no one had ever heard of, issued a press release, it was called “moon-landing porcelain bumping”—an audacious attempt by a nobody to leech fame off a superstar.

Sheng Zhixun’s fans launched a massive “Chewing Gum Removal Campaign.” As the name implied, Wen Gui was a piece of chewed-up gum with no value, shamelessly stuck to the bottom of their idol’s shoe. As Sheng Zhixun’s fans, it was their duty to help their idol clean it up.

In just one day, the fans had dug up every piece of information about Wen Gui from his childhood to the present.

Sheng Zhixun graduated from a top international music conservatory, while Wen Gui was a high school dropout.

Sheng Zhixun came from a family of artists, but Wen Gui’s mother sold vegetables.

Sheng Zhixun was busy leading his group on a world tour, but Wen Gui’s last performance was on ‘Bravely Snatch the Treasure and Charge Forward.’

During that period, the comment section and private messages on Wen Gui’s Weibo turned into a chaos. Fans created a comparison chart of the two’s lives and held a lottery for retweets so everyone could see this moon-landing porcelain-bumping failure. Everything Wen Gui said was wrong, everything he did was wrong, even his breathing was wrong.

They asked relentlessly: Wen Gui, are you worthy? Are you worthy? Are you worthy?

Even as a bystander, Jiang Lechen felt a cold shiver run down his spine. He had grown up surrounded by light and love; he had never seen so much spiteful ridicule in his life. He wanted to comfort Wen Gui, but he didn’t know how to start.

After all, at that time, Jiang Lechen was only twenty, and Wen Gui was only seventeen. All Jiang Lechen could do was cry for him.

He sobbed his heart out, but Wen Gui never shed a single tear.

The lights in the dance studio stayed on all night. Wen Gui turned off the DMs filled with photoshopped funeral portraits and ghost pictures, handed his phone to Jiang Lechen, and then put on a song by B.R.E.A.K.

B.R.E.A.K.’s music always had a very strong group style—bold and domineering, just like their name, capable of ignoring all rules and breaking all chains. The lead singer, Sheng Zhixun, had an incredibly distinct voice. Whether it was vocals or rap, he had no weaknesses. When he sang softly, it was like a lover whispering sweet nothings in your ear.

Wen Gui moved to the fierce beat, dancing song after song, singing verse after verse. That night, the music in the dance studio never stopped. He practiced until he was utterly exhausted, collapsing on the floor, unable to lift a single finger.

In the end, Jiang Lechen had to carry him home on his back.

Jiang Lechen clearly remembered that it was a cold, pitch-black night, without a single star in the sky. He walked with Wen Gui on his back along the dark little road on the East Fifth Ring, their only companions the trucks speeding past on the highway a few meters away.

Twenty-year-old Jiang Lechen walked forward through the darkness.

Seventeen-year-old Wen Gui had fallen asleep on his back, his head resting in the crook of his neck, his breathing so light it was almost inaudible.

As he walked, Jiang Lechen thought about the situation. From the fans’ point of view, they were defending their idol; they weren’t in the wrong. From Sheng Zhixun’s point of view, he was the victim of porcelain-bumping; he wasn’t in the wrong either.

Wen Gui was naturally not at fault; he hadn’t written the press releases, and he didn’t want to be Little Sheng Zhixun.

The press releases were the boss’s responsibility. The boss runs a company, needs to make money, and wants to help someone become famous. It seemed he wasn’t at fault either…

It was strange. It seemed like no one had done anything wrong, yet Wen Gui still got hurt.

The entertainment industry was truly a bizarre place.

Jiang Lechen could get into a 985 university, maintain a top GPA for four consecutive years, and list the similarities and differences among three types of gestational trophoblastic diseases, but he couldn’t understand why everyone couldn’t just happily follow their idols without always fighting.

From that moment on, Jiang Lechen made up his mind. He would become the number one player in the entertainment industry—he would only be in it for the money, never for the feelings.

…

However, that was all in the past, three years ago. The little conflict between Wen Gui and Sheng Zhixun’s fans was over… right?

Jiang Lechen wondered how Wen Gui would react if he knew Sheng Zhixun would also be at the Sanshan Music Festival.

He wanted to tell him but didn’t dare. After all, Jiang Lechen was a vet, not a human doctor. He could soothe an injured puppy, but he couldn’t diagnose whether Wen Gui’s wounds had healed.

In the blink of an eye, the day of the music festival arrived.

The festival took place at the foot of a mountain north of the capital. It lasted three days, drew over ten thousand attendees, and was among the biggest music festivals in the country.

When news broke that B.R.E.A.K. would headline on the third day, tickets for that day sold out immediately. The scalper price was the original price with an extra zero tacked on.

Hotboys101 was scheduled to perform at four in the afternoon. Because they were slotted in at the last minute, their performance was only twenty-five minutes long, but that was enough for four songs.

Jiang Lechen arrived at the company at seven in the morning. His eyes weren’t even open as he sat down in front of the makeup mirror, waiting dazedly.

Today, they were getting stage makeup, which was complex. In addition to foundation and eyebrows, eyeshadow, eyeliner, and mascara were all essential.

To ensure the makeup wouldn’t smudge, the artist applied the powder with more force than if they were painting a wall. Jiang Lechen felt like a beauty blender had thoroughly beaten him up. Maybe the makeup artist was a boxing coach in a former life.

By the time he was done being assaulted by the beauty blender, he opened his eyes to find Wen Gui sitting next to him.

The boy’s hair was dyed a metallic lead-gray that shimmered with a silver sheen from certain angles. Every strand was carefully styled.

Jiang Lechen: “!!! Holy crap, your hair looks so damn cool.”

He had thought his own orange hair was pretty good, but compared to Wen Gui, he felt he’d been completely outshone.

Wen Gui glanced at Jiang Lechen in the mirror and said modestly, “The stylist did a good job.”

The stylist didn’t speak, but his assistant (that’s right, they as idols didn’t have assistants, but the stylist did) chimed in with a boastful tone, “Of course. Our Teacher Kevin is a renowned stylist in the industry who only works with A-list artists. Several of Sheng Zhixun’s most iconic stage looks were done by our Teacher Kevin. This time, out of respect for Mr. Gu, Teacher Kevin turned down the invitation from B.R.E.A.K.’s team. Don’t you worry, with Teacher Kevin here, we’ll definitely make this handsome boy the next Sheng Zhixun!”

Jiang Lechen: “…”

Wen Gui: “…”

Thank you to this very considerate assistant. If there were a Minesweeper championship, Jiang Lechen wouldn’t watch it if this guy weren’t in it.

Because others were waiting, after dousing Wen Gui’s hair with setting spray, Teacher Kevin and his assistant hurried off to do the next person’s hair.

Only Jiang Lechen and Wen Gui were left sitting in silence in front of the makeup mirror.

Jiang Lechen’s leg was shaking so hard he could have powered a sewing machine.

Wen Gui pressed down on his left leg. “Stop shaking.”

His left leg stopped shaking. His right leg started shaking.

Wen Gui pressed down on his right leg. His legs stopped shaking, but now his eyelid started twitching.

Wen Gui said helplessly, “I don’t even have Sheng Zhixun PTSD. Why are you having it for me?”

Jiang Lechen whispered, “I was just worried it would be awkward for you.”

“What’s there to be awkward about?” Wen Gui said calmly. “Besides, we’re on at four, and he’s headlining at seven-thirty. There are several artists between us; we won’t even run into each other.”

Jiang Lechen went “Ah!” “So you knew Sheng Zhixun was going to be here?”

“Yeah, I knew a while ago,” Wen Gui said. “Even if I didn’t know now, once we get there, the place will be covered in Sheng Zhixun’s support banners. I can’t just pretend I don’t see them.”

That was true. The number of Sheng Zhixun’s solo stans was terrifying. Every time he held a concert, the number of people in the stadium holding solo stan banners far exceeded the group fans and others.

Jiang Lechen thought for a moment and comforted him, “It’s been so long. With Sheng Zhixun’s fame, there are tons of people trying to ride his coattails every month. How could he and his fans remember a flop like you? So just relax. Sing when you need to sing, dance when you need to dance. If some fans have a good memory and still remember you and throw eggs at you, make sure to turn around and protect your head—today’s hair and makeup were expensive, they can’t be ruined.”

“…Thanks,” Wen Gui said, half-amused, half-annoyed. “Your comfort is great. I appreciate the sentiment.”

…

It took over three hours just to do the hair and makeup for the ten members. Then they rushed to change their clothes and went to the dance studio for two final run-throughs.

After a simple lunch at the company, they headed out to the music festival.

There were ten members, along with the makeup artists, temporary assistants, company publicists, and executive agents—a grand procession of nearly twenty people. This was Hotboys’ first appearance in front of an audience since their restructuring.

The company took it very seriously and arranged two large vans for them.

Jiang Lechen had intended to get into the first van with Wen Gui, but before he could even take a step, the door slammed shut right in front of him. If he hadn’t reacted quickly enough, it would have hit him in the nose.

“Sorry,” a member already in the van said. “We’re full. You guys can take the second van.”

Jiang Lechen: “…”

He had to laugh. Ten members split between two vans, and he and Wen Gui were the only ones squeezed out. They might as well have put up a sign announcing their group’s internal discord.

The first van sped off, leaving a cloud of dust. Holding his bag, Wen Gui watched it go with a cold expression.

Wen Gui said, “You’re the leader, yet the members pushed you aside. I thought you’d be angry.”

Jiang Lechen replied in a theatrical Taiwanese accent, “It’s fine. Being ostracized is my destiny, I understand.”

Wen Gui: “…”

Jiang Lechen shrugged nonchalantly. “Besides, don’t I have you, the ace, to keep me company?”

They stood at the company entrance for a while. Fortunately, it wasn’t long before the second van slowly pulled up in front of them.

Jiang Lechen knew little about cars, but he had a gut feeling that the second van was better than the first. Setting aside the design, the paint job looked much more expensive.

Jiang Lechen thought, This is what they call a blessing in disgui—

Before he could even get the last word out, the door of the second van slid open silently.

Inside the van, a man in a couture suit put away his tablet and looked up. Behind rimless glasses, a pair of eyes fell coolly upon Jiang Lechen, taking in the young man’s shocked expression.

“What are you still standing there for?” Gu Yuzhe’s tone was full of ridicule. “When a farmhand sees his landlord, doesn’t he know to say hello?”