Chapter 13 – An Octave Higher

After the little orange cat arrived, the atmosphere in Chu Yin’s home suddenly became tense.

For example, that night when the power went out, Chu Yin tossed and turned in bed late into the night.

Chu Yin shook Wei Lai awake, his deep, magnetic male voice resonating with maternal love: “Wei Lai, listen—Big Orange has been meowing outside this whole time.”

Wei Lai groggily opened his eyes and indeed heard the kitten’s faint cries. “Isn’t that normal? Cats meow at night,” he said.

Chu Yin lowered his voice. “Do you think… Big Orange might be seeing a ghost?”

Wei Lai: “???”

Chu Yin presented his meticulous reasoning: “They say cats can see ghosts. Big Orange is so tiny—she must be even more likely to see them.”

Wei Lai really, really wanted to sleep. With a world-weary sigh, he said, “She’s probably just hungry. Go out and give her some milk.”

Chu Yin’s courage was nonexistent. Trembling, he said, “Come with me. I’m not scared of ghosts or the dark. But I think you are.”

Wei Lai: “…Wow. ‘I don’t care what you think, I only care what I think.'”

As the kitten’s cries grew increasingly pitiful, Chu Yin shrank further into himself. Wei Lai relented, “Fine, I’ll go feed her.”

Chu Yin refused. “I’ll come with you. I’ll protect you.”

Wei Lai let out an enormous yawn. “…Alright. Sigh… You’re so damn ridiculous. What can I even expect from you?”

Chu Yin’s house was quite large. The rustling shadows of trees, paired with the eerie meowing, genuinely conjured the atmosphere of a horror movie.

Clutching Wei Lai from behind, Chu Yin whispered, “Wei Lai… I hear footsteps.”

Wei Lai hadn’t been scared before, but now that Chu Yin mentioned it, he felt a chill too. He hunched his shoulders, tightened his grip on Chu Yin’s hand, and the two of them—flashlights in hand, fingers intertwined—stuck close together, shuffling forward in tiny steps. Three steps forward, one step back, moving at a snail’s pace.

Chu Yin tilted his head, listening intently. “Big Orange stopped meowing.”

“Yeah.”

Nothing was scarier than sudden silence. The two exchanged a glance and immediately broke into a sprint.

When they reached the living room, under the faint moonlight seeping through the window, Chu Yin spotted a short, dark figure crouching in front of the kitten’s cage.

All the photographers in the house were burly men. Wei Lai barked, “Who are you?!”

At the sound of his voice, the shadowy figure sprang up and lunged toward Wei Lai.

In that instant, Chu Yin shoved Wei Lai aside, planted himself in front of him, and delivered a flying kick. The moment his foot connected, he immediately curled into Wei Lai’s arms, fists clenched, unleashing a powerful shriek that could’ve scared off Liu Huan¹A Chinese singer and music producer, renowned for his powerful and versatile voice..

“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!”

Whether it was the kick or Chu Yin’s sonic attack, the shadowy figure collapsed on the spot, unconscious.

The photographers rushed over at the commotion, bewildered. “What the hell happened???”

Wei Lai: “Burglar.”

At the police station, the truth came out. The burglar had thought no one was home and had chosen that moonless, windy, blackout night to strike it rich. He’d just entered the living room when the kitten caught his attention. He’d barely given it a single pet before Chu Yin and Wei Lai discovered him—only to be kicked unconscious in the living room.

Truly, petting cats is the downfall of men.

After the first episode of My Idol at Home aired, it exploded across trending searches.

#Chu Yin: The One Punch Man of Crybabies#

#Tenor Chu#

#Wei Lai: Life Is So Hard#

#When Your Mom Throws Your Stuff Away#

The duo of Wei Lai and Chu Yin was a perfect storm of highlights and cringe, hitting all the right notes for modern netizens’ sense of humor—as if they were handed a script full of absurdity by the production team.

Amidst the flood of meme-worthy hashtags, one phrase suddenly surged ahead, overtaking the rest to claim the top spot:

#ChuLai CP Is Actually Amazing#

As Chu Yin’s manager, Wei Lai was under immense pressure. His Weibo used to be clean—just a selfie here and there, with maybe two or three thirsty comments praising his looks. But ever since he became Chu Yin’s manager, he’d been receiving thousands of hateful DMs daily.

The reason was simple: Wei Lai’s reputation in the industry was terrible. Abuse of artists, forced prostitution, the “Rich People’s Happy Stick,” black-hearted manager—scandal after scandal piled up. The thought of their beloved idol falling into Wei Lai’s clutches brought Chu Yin’s fans to tears.

“Protect the best CY in the world.”

“WL must’ve used some shady tricks to trap our gege!”

“So when is Wei-dog gonna die?”

And so on. Wei Lai had never mentioned any of this to Chu Yin. After all, Chu Yin was the type to jump three feet in the air at the slightest disturbance, burrowing under the blankets to sob—a crybaby perpetually teetering on the edge of a breakdown.

Chu Yin sat on the plush sofa, scrolling through Weibo with a grim expression as he clicked on a trending topic: #ChuYinCrybaby.

“…Wei Lai, my cool guy persona seems to have collapsed.”

Wei Lai: “That’s called contrast-cuteness. Don’t worry, it’s not a big deal. Only stuff like a devoted husband cheating, a gentle man committing domestic violence, or a doting dad abusing kids is truly irredeemable.”

Chu Yin hummed in acknowledgment. “Sometimes, I feel like the fans don’t like me, just the persona I put on. I’ve been acting, on and off screen, for so many years. It’s exhausting. So many people say they love me, cheer for me, scream for me… but when I think about how none of it’s real, it makes me really sad.”

Wei Lai, who’d been sweeping the floor, glanced up in surprise. “I thought you didn’t care what fans said?”

Chu Yin pursed his lips. “I care a little. The first few years, I’d get really mad—but it’s not like I could crawl through the internet to fight them. Now, it’s mostly fear.”

Chu Yin had grown unnaturally thin. Wei Lai had initially thought it was because of Chen Meixian, but upon reflection, he realized every hardship Chu Yin faced became a nightmare that devoured his vitality.

Wei Lai couldn’t help but think—maybe quitting the industry would be best. As long as Chu Yin was happy.

Wei Lai: “There’s nothing worth seeing. Give me your phone. Go scoop the litter.”

“Wait a sec.” Chu Yin clicked into the #ChuLaiCP topic. After skimming a few posts, he suddenly laughed.

“Madam Wei, they’re saying you’re a 1! Haha, ‘gentle top.'”

Wei Lai, sprawled on the floor scrubbing, said, “That’s only because you make me look tough by comparison. I never got a chance to show my delicate side. Lift your feet.”

Chu Yin obediently curled his long legs up, glowing with excitement. “Madam Wei, let’s go find a 1!”

Wei Lai: “…Are you kidding? What’s the difference between that and fishing for the Monkey King’s staff in the ocean?”

Chu Yin: “If we can’t find one, it’s fine. Let’s just go out and have fun.”

Wei Lai figured it’d be good for Chu Yin to get some fresh air. “Alright.”

“I’ll go get ready!” Chu Yin sashayed into the bathroom with a flourish.

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  A Chinese singer and music producer, renowned for his powerful and versatile voice.