ASFSODS 2

Before Sang Sang could say “Holy crap, it’s Movie Emperor Jiang,” Wen Chi already had a “Are you seriously laughing at me?” expression on his face, his slightly round almond eyes glaring up at the man.

At this moment, what Wen Chi didn’t know was that he looked exactly like a tiny white kitten trying to swat at an evil human with a completely harmless paw.

Super fierce.jpg

And then—

Sang Sang: “Holy crap?! That’s Movie Emperor Jiang!”

Wen Chi: “?”

The elevator dinged and the doors opened. Wen Chi was still reeling from the shock of having just glared, dead-on, at one of the entertainment industry’s biggest names. Not just anyone, but the man who was going to be his assigned CP on the show.

“Aren’t you going in?” the movie emperor asked softly.

Wen Chi instinctively let out an “Oh,” and stiffly walked into the elevator, stepping with the same hand and foot like a poorly coded NPC, before gluing himself to the corner.

Not a word.

Unlike Wen Chi’s “ready to die and be buried” state, Sang Sang was vibrating with excitement while clutching her Chi Ge’s hoodie sleeve.

It’s Jiang Siheng, it’s Movie Emperor Jiang, it’s Teacher Jiang, it’s Jiang Siheng, it’s Movie Emperor Jiang, it’s Teacher Jiang…

Never in her life did she imagine that she, Lin Sang, would one day ride the same elevator as the Movie Emperor.

The elevator wasn’t small, but once Jiang Siheng and the two men accompanying him stepped in, Wen Chi felt like the air had thinned out significantly.

He looked down at his feet, trying to focus all his attention on his toes. Were his sneakers whiter today?

A moment later, a pair of white sneakers stepped into his field of vision. They looked to be one or two sizes larger than his own.

“Just finished dinner?”

A clear and gentle voice sounded from above his head.

Wen Chi nearly jumped. Well, almost—his body still gave a visible shudder.

Wen Chi almost jumped, his body gave a visible shudder.

He quickly lifted his head and shot Jiang Siheng a glance. “Yeah.”

Jiang Siheng hadn’t expected his voice to startle the boy. He looked at Wen Chi a few more times, but the boy kept his head slightly lowered, so he couldn’t get a clear view of his face.

Next to him, the older man—the one who entered with Jiang—cleared his throat several times, pulling Jiang’s attention away from the kitten he was staring at.

Jiang Siheng gave him a flat glance.

The elevator quickly arrived at their floor. Sang Sang had pressed the button earlier, so Wen Chi realized with some surprise that Jiang Siheng was staying on the same floor as him.

As they stepped out of the elevator, Wen Chi started fretting over how to say goodbye. He took a step forward, and Jiang Siheng followed behind.

Wen Chi paused. Sang Sang naturally stopped with him. Strangely, the other three men all stopped as well.

Wen Chi was suddenly confused.

Not just him—the other two men were also bewildered. Why did we stop again?

Five people stood frozen at the elevator exit.

After a second, Wen Chi remembered why he stopped. He turned to face Jiang Siheng and gave a small, polite bow.

“Goodbye, Teacher Jiang.”

Very proper. Very respectful.

Aside from that earlier moment when the boy had turned and glared directly at him, this was Jiang Siheng’s first proper look at the young man’s face.

He wore a short white puffer jacket, his features were delicate and striking, his eyes bright and clear. His long curled lashes cast tiny shadows under his eyes. He had that fresh and clean look that made people feel at ease.

The older man who cleared his throat earlier was Jiang Siheng’s manager. Seeing his star fixated on the boy, he helplessly pulled Jiang back to his side.

Then, turning to Wen Chi with a warm smile, he said, “Goodbye.”

Wen Chi smiled back, then quickly turned and left with his assistant.

Jiang Siheng’s room wasn’t in the same hallway. Watching Wen Chi and Sang Sang turn the corner and disappear, Manager Zhou Cheng looked at Jiang Siheng, utterly exasperated.

“If a paparazzo had caught the expression on your face just now, do you know what would be trending tomorrow?”

Jiang Siheng looked unconcerned as he started walking. “What kind of trending?”

“#JiangSihengDating#, #JiangSihengLateNightTrystWithAMan#.” Zhou Cheng deadpanned.

Their assistant, Xiao Du, couldn’t help snorting with laughter.

Zhou Cheng: “…”

Jiang Siheng ignored them, his long legs strided quickly down the hallway. He swiped his keycard and opened the door, but before stepping inside, he looked back over his shoulder and said, “Wake me up tomorrow.”

Xiao Du immediately replied, “Got it! I’ll remind Zhou Ge.”

Zhou Cheng: “?”

As the door shut, Zhou Cheng turned to give Xiao Du a whack on the head. “What, trying to get me killed so you can take my job sooner?”

Jiang Siheng’s morning mood was infamous—who in their right mind would dare wake him up early?

Xiao Du with chubby and pale face, looked completely innocent.

—

The next day, the weather was clear—perfect for a trip.

Wen Chi had set five alarms the night before he finally woke up on the third one.

Today was the official start of filming and the livestream broadcast. There would be no pre-shoot meeting. The director had said this was a relationship show that thrived on authenticity.

Everyone only knew who their initial CP was. They might have done some secret background research online, but people could be very different in person from their public image.

Heart’s Confession didn’t only cast celebrities—some guests were regular folks or well-known streamers.

Around 8 p.m. the night before, the crew had sent messages to each guest’s show-issued phone, telling them what time they’d depart for the Heart House. The livestream would begin the moment they left the hotel.

Each person had their own camera operator and livestream room.

Wen Chi stood in front of the sink, staring blankly at his bedhead in the mirror.

His departure time was 8:30 a.m. He didn’t know about the others, but it was a bit past 7 now, so he had time to grab breakfast on the hotel’s second floor.

Still a bit dazed, he brushed his teeth, washed his face, peed, changed clothes, packed up his suitcase, and zipped it shut.

Sang Sang came to knock, and the two of them headed off for breakfast together.

Just as Wen Chi finished eating, a staff member came over to tell him the car was ready out front.

He spotted downstairs his assigned cameraman.

Assistants weren’t allowed on camera, so Sang Sang quietly slipped off ahead of him and got in the car.

Wen Chi wore a cream-colored crewneck sweatshirt with a little embroidered fried egg on the chest, gray drawstring sweatpants, white sneakers, and a black puffer jacket slung over his elbow.

As he stepped towards the hotel exit, his cameraman made a gesture—countdown to livestream.

Ten seconds later, Heart’s Confession 2’s third livestream feed switched from a black screen to a live broadcast.

[Omg! Room 3 is finally live!]

[Let’s see who guest 3 is! #doge]

[Wen Chi? Who’s Wen Chi? Is he a non-celebrity?]

[Aaaah this little guy is so cute #thirsty]

[Totally my favorite soft-boy little brother type!]

[He’s a baby!!!]

Wen Chi was no stranger to cameras. Back when he filmed, he had five or six cameras pointed at him at once. Facing just one now? No pressure at all.

He smiled at the lens as a quick greeting, put his suitcase in the trunk, and got into the car.

There were cameras inside the car too, mainly for future editing.

A staff member sat in the passenger seat, ready to ask a few warm-up questions.

Staff: “Chi, this is your first time on a variety show—and it’s a dating show too. How do you feel?”

These kinds of questions had textbook answers.

Wen Chi gave a polite yet mildly awkward smile, the curve of his lips just right. “Um… I guess I’m curious and excited? Anyway, I’m really looking forward to meeting everyone on the show.”

[Hahahaha that answer is so textbook]

[I thought he’d say something different. Boring. I’m out.]

[He looks so reserved lol]

[How old is this baby? He looks like he’s twenty or something.]

[Aaahhh my Chi Sugar’s here! He’s 23 this year~]

Staff: “What’s your ideal type, Chi? Can you share with us?”

This one caught Wen Chi off guard. He thought about it seriously and said, “Maybe… someone who’s gentle and considerate?”

The staffer glanced over—his cream-colored sweatshirt made his skin look even fairer.

She was about to say something about how he liked gentle girls, but then Wen Chi continued:

“Yeah, I think I prefer gentle and considerate… guys.”

A full-on, no-warning coming out.

Staff: “…” Okay, that was unexpected.

These days, same-sex couples were becoming more common, and society was far more accepting than a few years ago. Just last year, a gay celebrity couple had come out publicly in the entertainment world.

Though fans and netizens had been shocked, the majority had sent their blessings.

[Why are all the pretty boys gay T_T]

[I knew it. Gorgeous guys only love other gorgeous guys.]

[But what if he gets matched with a girl on the show?]

[Don’t worry, that won’t happen. The director screens for orientation.]

[Yeah, they won’t pair a gay guy with a girl. It’s all handled.]

The staffer gave a slightly awkward laugh. “Oh, I see.”

She asked a few more questions. Wen Chi gave all very safe and PR-friendly answers. Maybe because he wasn’t well-known, the conversation didn’t create any viral moments. Among the three livestream feeds, his had the lowest viewership and engagement.

The people still watching were probably just here to look at his face.

Behind the scenes, there was a staff member monitoring the stream analytics in real time. The person in charge of Wen Chi’s feed frowned as the numbers dropped lower and lower.

To be honest, before being assigned to Wen Chi two days ago, he hadn’t even heard of him. Apparently, he was just a small-time actor.

Confused, the staff member turned to the director. “Ge, why did you agree to let Wen Chi join the show? I’ve never seen an artist with popularity this low.”

Even the amateur streamer in the first livestream room had several times the traffic.

The director didn’t respond—he was flipping through paperwork.

Someone sitting beside him patted the confused staff member on the shoulder and whispered, “Actually, this slot wasn’t supposed to go to Wen Chi. The person who originally confirmed it suddenly said they couldn’t make it, so their company pushed Wen Chi on us.”

The staffer asked, “Who was the original guest?”

“Xu Zhouwei—the idol who just blew up recently.”

Hearing that name, the staff member instantly understood why they’d bailed.

Idol careers were different from actors or singers. Actors relied on acting while singers on vocals. Their fans mostly supported their work—if you could still act or sing well and had a decent personality, no one cared if you were single.

But idols were different. Most of them debuted from talent shows, and their appeal was built around image. A large portion of their fans were “girlfriend fans”—women who imagined the idol as their own boyfriend. Some were so obsessed they couldn’t stand their idol interacting with any woman who wasn’t them.

If an idol joined a dating show during their rise, it could spark a mass fan exodus and tank their popularity.

It’d be like this: We girlfriend fans voted and spent money to get you where you are, and now you’re running off to flirt on some love show? You’ve betrayed us. We’re done.

The staff sighed and turned back to watching Wen Chi’s stream.

At that moment, the car arrived in front of the Heart House gates.