Chapter 11 – Fitness Fever

On the third day, Fang Yunshi indeed made grilled lamb chops. The aroma wafted from the kitchen all the way to the living room. Wei Buyan said, “We’re in for a treat today.”

Cheng Yichi noticed the sparkle in his eyes and thought, “Is this guy going to flirt with Fang Yunshi again?”

Tang Yinuo exaggeratedly sniffed the air. “Mmm, smells amazing.”

Cheng Yichi sneaked into the kitchen to take a look, planning to wash some fruit while he was at it.

There, he saw Jiang Heng standing to the side, dumbfounded as he watched Fang Yunshi work alone. When Fang Yunshi noticed Cheng Yichi enter, he happily waved and cut off a small piece of lamb chop. “Yichi-ge, want a bite?”

His eyes were bright, sparkling with anticipation. Cheng Yichi leaned down and took the lamb chop from his chopsticks. “Hss—so good…”

It was fragrant, crispy on the outside, tender and chewy on the inside. Cheng Yichi squinted in bliss. He realized that ever since joining this show, his meals had improved drastically—these three could cook, each one a master chef.

“I’m doomed,” Cheng Yichi said. “I’ll have to do extra push-ups tonight. The food’s been too good lately.”

“Yichi-ge, you’re already so slim. Why do push-ups?” Jiang Heng asked.

They had a small gym. Gu Zichen, Jiang Heng, and Li Yi worked out there every night. Wei Buyan had only gone once, while Cheng Yichi preferred morning runs.

But today, he was stepping into the gym.

“No choice. The camera adds ten pounds, and it’s easier to land roles when you’re leaner.”

Idols and celebrities tended to be even slimmer. Cheng Yichi had a standard build—lean in clothes but well-toned underneath. Still, compared to the others, he looked small, especially next to Li Yi and the rest, who were a full ten centimeters taller. It made Cheng Yichi seem almost huggable at a glance. But he knew he could easily lift someone weighing 120 pounds—maybe even more with training. So no, he wasn’t that slim.

“What’s your definition of ‘fat’?”

“Actresses are stricter about their weight. Sometimes I think they’re too thin. For me, at 178 cm, I usually stay around 130 pounds. It fluctuates based on roles, but 145 would be pushing it.”

“Can you lose the weight if you gain it?”

“Of course,” Cheng Yichi said. “Celebrities might slack in other areas, but weight is never one of them.”

Jiang Heng glanced at Cheng Yichi, then at his own muscles. “Ge, you’re already perfect.”

Cheng Yichi chuckled. “Just camera-friendly. In real life, I envy builds like yours.”

Ah. Jiang Heng flushed slightly. Cheng Yichi had just said he liked his physique.

He conveniently ignored the plural “yours.”

Fang Yunshi listened quietly as they talked, diligently working away. He looked well-behaved.

But after dinner, he trailed after Cheng Yichi like a little tail, following him into the gym.

“Joining me?”

Cheng Yichi asked, amused. Fang Yunshi nodded obediently.

Upon entering the gym, the spacious atmosphere suddenly became charged with tension. Gu Zichen was on the elliptical machine, still wearing his white dress shirt, though now soaked with sweat from his workout, clinging damply to his skin. He casually grabbed the towel from the machine to wipe his forehead and paused when he spotted Cheng Yichi and the others.

Jiang Heng, who had been doing push-ups, stopped and sat on the floor to drink water. He wore a thin, sleeveless orange basketball jersey—likely his team’s—that suited his vibrant energy. Sweat trickled from his forehead to his chin, which he wiped away carelessly before flashing Cheng Yichi a bright grin. To Cheng Yichi, Jiang Heng was the very embodiment of youth.

“What brings you here?” Gu Zichen asked.

“I’ve been eating a bit too much lately, so I thought I’d work out. Yunshi came with me,” Cheng Yichi replied, scanning the gym equipment and considering his warm-up options. Maybe a brisk walk on the treadmill first?

Li Yi stopped mid-workout at the sound of Cheng Yichi’s voice. His fitted gym wear accentuated his well-defined abs—if Tang Yinuo were here, she’d surely gush, “So hot!”

“Wanna compete?” Li Yi raised an eyebrow.

“Sure,” Cheng Yichi grinned. “What’s the challenge?”

He was no stranger to fitness and wasn’t about to back down.

“How about push-ups?” Li Yi suggested. “There’s no pull-up bar here. You guys in?”

“Count me in,” Jiang Heng was the first to respond.

“If we’re competing, shouldn’t there be stakes?” Gu Zichen stepped off the elliptical, unbuttoning the top of his sweat-drenched shirt to reveal flushed skin, adding an unexpectedly alluring touch.

“We barely know each other—what could we possibly wager?” Cheng Yichi chuckled. Was this really men’s competitive spirit at work? Betting over push-ups?

Li Yi smiled. “How about this: the bottom two buy breakfast for everyone tomorrow morning.”

It was a fair suggestion—no one had to wake up too early since they usually rose around 7:30, and it was easy enough. Everyone agreed.

“Are you joining?” Cheng Yichi quietly asked Fang Yunshi.

Fang Yunshi shook his head. “You guys go ahead.” After a pause, he added, “Good luck, Yichi-ge!”

Such an endearing younger brother. Cheng Yichi couldn’t resist ruffling his hair. “Then keep count for us, okay?”

Fang Yunshi nodded.

The four lined up, and at Fang Yunshi’s signal, they began. They counted their own reps—no need to cheat, as their initial speeds were evenly matched, and none would stoop to inflating numbers. Push-ups were different from other exercises; holding the position alone drained energy, making endurance the true measure. The counting was just for motivation.

Cheng Yichi started faster, being the leanest of the group. His movements were fluid and precise, like a butterfly in flight, each push-up executed flawlessly, leaving Fang Yunshi mesmerized.

The others maintained good form too, but Fang Yunshi’s gaze remained fixed on Cheng Yichi, utterly captivated.

But the first to give up was him. Cheng Yichi let out a bitter laugh, collapsing completely at around fifty push-ups when he could no longer hold out, his waist giving way. He’d forgotten about the slight soreness in his back from filming. Waving his hand, he signaled Fang Yunshi—who was about to come help him—to stay back with a quiet “shh,” then turned to watch the other three continue their push-ups.

Fang Yunshi withdrew his outstretched hand.

Cheng Yichi observed the three with an appreciative gaze. Their pace had slowed, but their form remained impeccable. Gu Zichen’s neck was flushed deep red, as if it would burn to the touch. His expression hadn’t changed, though his movements grew slower until, after two or three more, he chuckled and stopped. Cheng Yichi, sitting on the floor, smiled at him.

Gu Zichen’s hands, gripping the towel, were also flushed but strong. Watching those fair yet reddened fingers clutch the fabric, Cheng Yichi was reminded of a restrained character he’d once played—someone whose skin flushed easily, outwardly composed but secretly burning with desire. In the end, every scene had been intense, restraint giving way to pure, overwhelming lust, those same hands gripping the heroine’s wrist, tongue slowly tracing her skin. Of course, much had been altered for censorship.

Pursing his lips, Cheng Yichi wondered: Is Gu Zichen like the character in the script?

The advantage of youth soon became apparent. Li Yi and Jiang Heng were still going. Li Yi was slightly taller, with a longer frame, but Jiang Heng’s arm muscles were more defined. Both were dripping with sweat, locked in a battle of masculine pride. Li Yi’s elbows bent and straightened rhythmically, his gaze fixed ahead, while Jiang Heng glanced sideways at him.

“How many have you done?”

“Must be a hundred by now?” Gu Zichen and Cheng Yichi sat together, murmuring.

“Ah, the stamina of young men,” Cheng Yichi sighed, impressed they could maintain such perfect form after so many.

Gu Zichen nodded but said nothing.

“You did well too,” Cheng Yichi praised. “I thought doctors didn’t exercise much.”

A faint smile finally appeared on Gu Zichen’s face. “I work out after shifts. Otherwise, I’d age prematurely.”

Finally, Jiang Heng surrendered. “No more, no more!” He stopped as if suddenly remembering how to breathe, panting heavily.

Li Yi, however, leisurely completed a few more before stopping—almost as if taunting him.

Cheng Yichi: Tch. Annoying. I want to hit him.

“A bet’s a bet. We’ll buy breakfast tomorrow,” Gu Zichen said, unfazed by the loss.

Only then did Jiang Heng realize Cheng Yichi had been the first to quit. “Bro, I didn’t expect you to last that long. Don’t actors usually have back problems?”

“Ahem.” Cheng Yichi coughed. “Don’t spread rumors. My back’s fine.”

Damn. The same thought flashed through everyone’s minds: A man’s waist is a deadly blade…

“Yichi-ge, you—” Jiang Heng was at a loss for words.

Only Fang Yunshi didn’t get it, tugging Cheng Yichi’s sleeve. “Yichi-ge, what are you guys talking about?”

“Nothing, just that a man’s gotta have a strong waist. Health is important, after all.”

Wait. Jiang Heng suddenly realized—if Cheng Yichi was gay and this concerned about his waist, then…

Could he be a top?

Losing the competition hadn’t fazed him, but this revelation made Jiang Heng’s brows furrow.

Teacher Cheng, who would’ve guessed?