Zhao Wenying slept the entire way home in the car, arriving fully “recharged.”

She had been away on this business trip for a long time and brought back many gifts, which were now spread across the living room floor in a dazzling display.

Xie Lan opened a box of soft, chewy red bean mochi. Finding them tasty, he casually held one up to Dou Sheng’s mouth.

Dou Sheng tilted his head away. “You eat it. I’m losing weight.”

“Losing weight?” Xie Lan froze, unable to believe his ears. “You? Losing weight?”

“Mm,” Dou Sheng hummed. “To be precise, I need to control my body fat. Next month, I’ll start filming the ‘Male Lead Kaleidoscope’ videos. I tried on a few costumes for the camera yesterday and felt like my face needs to be a bit thinner so the contours are more defined—more of that ‘2D paper man’ aesthetic.”

Zhao Wenying, sitting on the sofa with a face mask on, said displeasuredly, “Did I give birth to you just so you could spite me? How much thinner do you want to get?”

“It’s just for two or three months,” Dou Sheng explained. “I promise my weight won’t drop; I just want to burn some fat. I’ll eat plenty of protein.”

Hearing this, Zhao Wenying rolled her eyes. “Just keep at it then. Tossing and turning day and night just for a video. You even call yourself ‘Peerless Handsome Dou’—the world isn’t enough for you to show off in.”

Dou Sheng laughed. “Aren’t you basically wishing me dead with that?”

Zhao Wenying snorted, too lazy to engage further. She spent a long time messaging on her phone through her mask. “Lan Lan, isn’t your second trial coming up soon?”

Xie Lan gave an “um.” “Ten days away.”

Zhao Wenying calculated the dates. “Isn’t that right before school starts? If you go to Beijing for the interview a week later, you’ll miss the placement exam for the start of senior year.”

“Our grade doesn’t have placement exams at the start of senior year anymore,” Dou Sheng answered casually. “The competition-based admissions won’t be settled until next semester anyway. Placement exams are for the second half of the year, and they might not even split the competition classes.”

Zhao Wenying breathed a sigh of relief. “That’s good then. Oh, and Lan Lan, I looked into it for you. Your Senior He wasn’t wrong—P University is the strongest for math, though T University isn’t bad either. Do you have any thoughts?”

Xie Lan paused. “I’ve checked the professional rankings myself. I know P University is the best, but I’m definitely going to T University.”

Dou Sheng folded the wrapping paper, unsurprised. “He simply wants to get into the school Auntie Xiao missed out on back then. It has nothing to do with math rankings. Don’t worry about it for him.”

Xie Lan nodded, then asked, “But I don’t quite understand—if I pass the recommendation exam, do I still have to take the National College Entrance Exam (Gaokao)?”

“Not necessarily. Most often, the requirement is lowered to the ‘Tier 1’ cutoff line, but you’d likely have no problem hitting that anyway.” Dou Sheng smiled. “Don’t be nervous. Once the interview time is set in a few days, we’ll buy our tickets.”

Zhao Wenying, just as she was peeling off her mask, immediately frowned. “Go, go, go—stay out of this. Why would he need you to accompany him for an interview? Don’t you have classes?”

Xie Lan’s hand stiffened while unpacking a gift. Hidden by the coffee table, he secretly stepped on Dou Sheng’s foot.

Dou Sheng remained calm. “I definitely have to go with him to haggle with the admissions office. Otherwise, with his language level, they’ll just brush him off. Once he signs the contract, he’s sold; it’ll be too late to change his mind.”

“I know it’s important.” Zhao Wenying picked up the mask and headed to the bathroom. “But you go to your classes. I’ll accompany Lan Lan when the time comes. This kind of thing still needs a parent present.”

Xie Lan was stunned and looked at Dou Sheng. Dou Sheng was equally dazed; they clearly hadn’t expected this solution.

As Zhao Wenying closed the bathroom door, Dou Sheng hissed, “Should we come clean before the interview?”

“Get real.” Xie Lan couldn’t help but touch Dou Sheng’s forehead. “Will telling her you’re my boyfriend make her agree to let you skip class to accompany me?”

“…” Dou Sheng stared blankly for a second. “Oh, right.”

Xie Lan stacked the gifts and stood up with difficulty. “We’ll talk about it when the time comes. I don’t want to trouble Auntie Zhao; I can go by myself.”

Although he had ruthlessly mocked Dou Sheng, truth be told, his first thought at that moment had also been to come clean.

After Xie Jingming’s visit, both he and Dou Sheng had become brainwashed by the idea of coming clean. They couldn’t think of anything else, as if all the world’s troubles stemmed from their relationship.

Xie Lan sighed, resting his chin on a waist-high stack of boxes, and managed to free a hand to pat Dou Sheng’s head again.

“Stay calm. I’m not King Zhou, and you aren’t Daji.” (Note: References to a famous tyrant and his concubine).

Dou Sheng froze. It wasn’t until Xie Lan walked away that he realized the mistake, saying in despair, “It’s Dáji. The character is Dá—ah!”

The second trial was approaching, and the English High School prep group chat was buzzing from morning to night. Old Ma dropped thirty or forty problems into the group every day. For the difficulty level of competition math, this volume was terrifying. Even though it was still summer break, everyone in the group had entered “hardcore survival mode” early.

Xie Lan also began his own “hardcore mode,” but it wasn’t math that was torturing him. He only spent three or four hours a day on math, picking interesting problems to keep his intuition sharp.

What was torturing him was the music arrangement. During these last few days of break, he was working feverishly on the BGM for the anime montage. Dou Sheng had requested that the music be finalized first, so that the storyboards could be determined based on the score.

From a production standpoint, Xie Lan fully understood the “Client’s” requirements; after all, the costumes, props, and set construction required a lot of money and time.

But as a boyfriend, he really wanted to bite Dou Sheng.

One evening, on the livestream, Xie Lan stared expressionlessly at his computer screen, headphones on, clicking his mouse incessantly.

The bullet comments (Danmu) were gossiping quietly.

• Lan-zai doesn’t look very happy.
• The “stink face”—my baby is actually making a stink face. I’m taking so many screenshots.
• What is the host even broadcasting? I’ve been staring at his grumpy face for twenty minutes and didn’t dare to ask.
• +1 to the person above. I just clicked in brainlessly when I saw the notification.
• I wasn’t brainless. Dou was streaming Mahjong, but I hesitated before deciding to come see Lan-zai instead.
• Look at the title, guys.
  Livestream Title: 【No video again this month. Just chilling on stream for a bit. Don’t send gifts.】
  Intro: 【Dragged into forced labor by the Cruel Human Dou. Don’t ask, won’t answer.】

The comments were laughing wildly, but Xie Lan ignored them. He stared at the audio tracks on his screen with a look of deep-seated bitterness. He dragged the cursor back on the timeline, relistened, and frowned.

In front of the live audience, he picked up his phone and sent a voice message to a certain someone in the next room.

“Those two songs just won’t blend together. Do they have to be next to each other?”

• He sent that to Dou. Correct. I have two devices open and heard Dou’s phone ring.
• Dou didn’t seem to hear it himself. LOL. He’s addicted to Mahjong.
• Wait, are they both at home?
• Nice. Parallel streaming, each doing their own thing.

Xie Lan took off one headphone. The cheerful “Fight the Landlord” BGM from the next room suddenly flooded his ears through the half-open door.

“Check your phone!” he shouted.

In the next room, Dou Sheng flusteredly gave a few “ohs” and “oks.” A moment later, he replied through the wall, “I still want them next to each other. Everything else is fine, but I want these two sets of costumes to be side-by-side.”

• WTF are they actually doing?
• I have a feeling they’re planning something big.
• Same feeling. Neither of them will tell us what they’re editing.
• And have you noticed? Dou has lost some weight.
• He said he’s quitting sugar lately, but not specifically dieting.
• Something is suspicious!
• Are they getting married? If so, I’m going crazy.
• Dou is losing weight for the wedding? Xie Lan is making the wedding BGM?
• Laughing at these theories.

Xie Lan’s mouse clicked a few more times. He lowered his head toward his notebook, brow furrowed in worry.

After a moment, he looked up, and his gaze accidentally swept over the comments. A flash of a magnificent “Governor” (VIP) effect swept across the screen.

【Pei Qing: Are you working for that shameless director-scout in the next room?】

• Wow, it’s the Sponsor Daddy.
• Be precise, it’s the fired Sponsor Daddy.
• When did he come in?
• Come to think of it, Pei Qing is pretty good with music too, right?
• Wasn’t he a professional cellist?

Xie Lan frowned at the VIP badge. “When did you become a Governor?”

【Pei Qing: Forgot. Just did it randomly.】

【Pei Qing: Being a Governor is better. It doesn’t cost much, and the effects last a long time.】

Xie Lan was speechless. “I’m doing my own thing. It’s not a task for Shao Shi 2.”

He lowered his head to look at the score again, then paused and added, “My math competition is coming up. I don’t have time for other work lately, and I’m not taking consultations.”

【Pei Qing: Oh.】

The two anime OP segments Dou Sheng insisted on keeping together were vastly different: the first was a high-energy battle theme, while the second was one of tragic despair. Although both were allegro, their rhythms and styles were completely unrelated, making the transition very strange. One was seven seconds, the other five—both were the essence of their respective melodies; changing them would lose the “flavor.” Furthermore, Dou Sheng had set a very strict time limit, making it difficult for Xie Lan to add a transition.

He had tried several transition methods. One version with background padding was listenable, and Dou Sheng thought it was okay, but he himself was unsatisfied.

In other words, it wasn’t technically jarring in the musical structure, but the auditory experience was uncomfortable and sharp. If he used the words Pei Qing had used to critique him during the interview: it was “unfriendly to the heart.”

Xie Lan pondered for a long time but to no avail.

While taking a break to drink some water, he glanced at the comments and saw that the chat had suddenly shifted topics.

He didn’t know who started it, but everyone was now discussing a “Great God” who monitored Bilibili data to predict the “Top 100 UPs” list.

Xie Lan scanned the topic. This “Great God” used Python to build an open-source data backend that aggregated the annual data of UPs, including follower growth, reach, and comprehensive popularity. Every year after summer break, he would begin predicting the Top 100 list, and his predictions were incredibly accurate.

For example, last year, Dou Sheng had several high-quality outputs, and the audience felt he was a shoo-in for Top 100. But the Great God’s evaluation in the prediction post was: “Doubtful.”

Last year, this person said he preferred the UP “Gongzi Yeshen” for the general category because Yeshen had higher cooperation with official events, and despite controversial topics, his data wasn’t worse than “Peerless Handsome Dou.” In the end, he was right.

The comments kept scrolling. Xie Lan caught up on the latest news—the person had just posted the annual thread last night. Xie Lan was on the predicted list, but “Peerless Handsome Dou” was not.

Supposedly, the first comment in the thread asked about this, and the Great God’s reply was: “The two UPs are too tightly bundled, behaving like one UP. I don’t think Bilibili will give the award to both.”

Seeing those words, he suddenly felt very uncomfortable. Frowning, he said, “Don’t engage in this kind of meaningless discussion. Let’s talk about something else.”

Most of the audience was cooperative and immediately changed the subject with a laugh.

Xie Lan finished half his water, and his phone suddenly vibrated. Pei Qing had messaged him on WeChat.

Pei Qing: If it’s not a commercial secret, where are you stuck? Send it to me and I’ll take a look.

Xie Lan instinctively wanted to refuse, but after typing “No thanks,” he suddenly hesitated. After some thought, he deleted it.
There wasn’t really anything he couldn’t show Pei Qing. Sending those two short audio clips wouldn’t reveal anything.
So, he exported the audio of those ten-or-so measures and sent them over.

Afternoon Grape Ice: Taken from two anime OPs. Can’t connect them. The current version sounds mediocre.

Pei Qing: Indeed, very mediocre. Extremely unfriendly to the heart.

Afternoon Grape Ice: …Spoken like a true you.

He left the problem to Pei Qing and checked the group messages. Old Ma had sent another dozen problems in the competition group. After a quick scan, two were worth doing.

So, he briefly said goodbye to the viewers, ended the stream, put his phone on “Do Not Disturb,” and set a twenty-minute countdown to tackle the two difficult problems.

Presumably, someone in Dou Sheng’s chat had tipped him off. Before Xie Lan had even finished reading the first problem, he heard Dou Sheng say goodbye and end his stream in the next room, followed by the Mahjong music stopping.

Xie Lan focused and knocked out the two problems—seven sub-questions in total. After calculating the final result, he quickly looked at his watch: eighteen and a half minutes. Faster than the limit he had set for himself.

For a competition student, this was a major victory.

Xie Lan’s mood improved as he picked up his phone to check the answers in the group.

Everything was correct. No surprises. He already knew in his heart whether his answers were reliable.

His phone vibrated in his hand. Pei Qing had replied.

Pei Qing: I think your arrangement is fine. The transition is sufficient for the contrast between the two parts, but the violin can’t hold it up. The violin is too brittle. You should consider adding an instrument section—for example, a cello.
Then, he quickly sent over another audio file. Xie Lan clicked play. At the transition, the high-pitched, crisp violin began, and the listener’s heart felt a momentary friction—but only for an instant. A deep cello harmony quickly cut in. Before he could process it for a second, the melody had already shifted down, smoothly transitioning into the next segment.
That was it?
Xie Lan looked at the audio file in surprise and listened to it again.
It actually worked. The kind of work that was completely flawless. It even gave the illusion of “What was so hard about that?”

Pei Qing: Magical, isn’t it?

Pei Qing: Young man, you still have to acknowledge the necessity of “experience.”

Xie Lan quickly replied with a thank you and added that he would definitely help next time if needed. He then took his phone to Dou Sheng’s room.

Dou Sheng’s door was half-open. When Xie Lan walked in, he froze.

The screen showed the data monitoring website mentioned earlier in the comments.

But that wasn’t the important part. The important part was Dou Sheng himself—

Dou Sheng was wearing a thin, slightly translucent white shirt, with the collar unbuttoned about a quarter of the way down. He was scrutinizing himself in the mirror on his desk.

In the mirror, the young man’s expression was aloof. His cold, dark-gray eyes gave his features an unapproachable chill. His white wig fell in messy strands over his eyes, which he gently brushed aside.

That sharp aura lasted only a second. When Dou Sheng turned and saw Xie Lan, he laughed brightly as usual.

“I’m getting used to you walking without a sound. I’m not even scared anymore,” he muttered, nodding his chin toward the mirror. Scrutinizing the contours of his face, he asked casually, “Do you think I have the aura of an anime male lead right now?”

“Yes,” Xie Lan nodded, dazed. “It’s not out of place at all. It just gave me a start.”

“Quitting sugar has definitely shown results.” Dou Sheng clicked his tongue in satisfaction, then muttered, “But I feel like there’s still a bit of flesh where the jaw meets the neck. Needs to be a bit thinner, otherwise, it’ll be awkward with the wig and makeup. Oh, right, I can borrow my mom’s RF beauty devices. Just using them before filming should work; that kind of effect is temporary.”

Xie Lan wasn’t listening to what he said. He instinctively looked at the stood-up, not-yet-evened collar.

The collar masked a stretch of fair, slender neck. The white wig made him look as if he were literally glowing. His deep eyes and red lips were the most intense colors on his face, making it impossible to look away.

His boyfriend.

What was that word… the word the fans used…?

Oh right, Sīmàn (as if torn from a manga).

Xie Lan cleared his throat and looked away, catching sight of the forum on the screen again.

“Oh right, you saw this too,” Xie Lan said. “Is this person reliable?”

“The predictions from the last few years have been very accurate.” Dou Sheng walked over and casually closed the webpage. “The viewers were spamming the comments, so I remembered it was time for this year’s predictions to be public. But I haven’t followed him in a long time.”

Xie Lan nodded, wanting to say something, but the words stayed at the tip of his tongue.

Actually, there was no need to explain to his boyfriend, but he felt he should say something.

Dou Sheng was the most sincere video creator he had ever met. He was willing to put his heart and soul into every video, obsessing over details to the point of self-torture. In every sense, he deserved to be in the Top 100.

But Xie Lan had to admit in his heart that the predictor’s explanation made sense. There was a high probability of it being a choice between the two of them. If it came to that, regardless of who had the advantage, at the very least, he had the potential to take Dou Sheng’s spot.

Dou Sheng looked at him for a while and asked with a smile, “Little Xie Lan, with that conflicted face, you aren’t feeling guilty in advance, are you?”

Xie Lan, his thoughts suddenly exposed, looked up with an “Ah?”

“I don’t care,” Dou Sheng said with a casual smile, reaching up to adjust the white hair. “Actually, I thought of this possibility a while ago. But to be honest, my obsession with the Top 100 is long gone. When I kept saying ‘charge for the Top 100,’ I meant we are charging for the Top 100. Whether it’s you or me, it’s fine. Do you understand?”

Xie Lan nodded instinctively. “I understand.”

But he paused and said in a low voice, “You don’t have an obsession, but I do. I’ve imagined many times what it would look like to see that ‘Annual Top 100 UP’ certification in your bio.”

“Really?” Dou Sheng laughed. “I’m honored that my Senior has such high expectations for me.”

“However…” Dou Sheng paused and said, “I think the same as you. I’d rather you get it. I want to see you attend the Top 100 awards ceremony. This feeling is called Yǔ yǒu róng yān (taking pride in someone else’s achievement). Understand?”

Yǔ yǒu róng yān.

Xie Lan didn’t quite understand. But looking at Dou Sheng’s smiling eyes and his slight, emotional sigh, he swallowed. “I understand.”

“You understand f*ck-all.” Dou Sheng burst out laughing. “This idiom isn’t hard, but it’s not common either, and it’s not in your high school textbooks. It’s definitely outside your syllabus.”

“…”

Xie Lan’s face fell. “If you knew it was outside my syllabus, why did you use it?”

He gave Dou Sheng an annoyed look, but that glance landed straight into his boyfriend’s dark eyes. The translucent white hair swayed gently in front of those eyes, making his heart itch.

Xie Lan’s Adam’s apple bobbed. He turned his head away with a hint of irritation.

“Want to know what Yǔ yǒu róng yān means?” Dou Sheng asked softly. He reached out and opened the drawer of the nightstand, pulling out a piece of chocolate.

He unwrapped the chocolate and held it to Xie Lan’s lips.

Xie Lan took it into his mouth naturally. The rich chocolate melted on his tongue. He sucked on the sweetness and mumbled, “What does it mean?”

As soon as he finished, Dou Sheng reached out and hooked his chin, tilting his head to kiss his lips, stealing away some of that rich sweetness.

What happened to quitting sugar?

The brief kiss left a distinct trace of daze in Xie Lan’s eyes.

He had been caught off guard by his white-haired “manga-boy” boyfriend. The wonderful experience was fleeting, but that strange sense of novelty was engraved in his heart.

Xie Lan froze for a long while before coughing. He hurriedly turned his head to look out the window and whispered, “You’re breaking your rules, you know.”

Dou Sheng shook his head. “This isn’t breaking rules. This is teaching by example.”

He reached up and quickly wiped the corner of his mouth, giving a soft “tsk.”

“Teaching you what it means to take pride in someone else’s achievement.”