In mid-September, the “Autumn Tiger” (a spell of hot weather) was in full swing.

As the large break’s running session ended, Xie Lan stood under the plane tree at the stadium entrance, his soul seemingly departing his body. At Yingzhong High School, there were two mandatory running sessions during the large breaks every day. Each class formed a square formation, sandwiching individuals like fillings in a biscuit, jogging at a leisurely but unrelenting pace for twenty minutes. It wasn’t that Xie Lan couldn’t exercise, but his endurance was poor; this kind of rhythmic jogging was practically a death sentence for him.

It was only when Dou Sheng finally jogged back with water that Xie Lan slowly snapped back to reality.

Life is hard; Xie Lan sighed. He had thought that with his guaranteed university admission in hand, his senior year would be easier, but he hadn’t expected life in a Chinese high school to be this grueling.

There was the “Gaokao Vocabulary Broadcast” that blared from the dormitory speakers at exactly 5:50 AM. There was Hu Xiujie standing at the gate every day after dinner, confiscating snacks bought from outside. Old Qin had assigned four real Gaokao essay prompts on a random Tuesday night. The chemistry teacher wore a Periodic Table T-shirt to work for a week, which changed to common chemical equations the following week.

And that wasn’t even the most extreme part. One Sunday evening, Xie Lan nearly died of shock upon entering the classroom. He froze on the podium, staring at the students below, only to realize that every single girl had cut her bangs to exactly half a centimeter above her eyebrows.

It was… quite “sudden” (and literally translated as “baldingly” in Chinese slang).

The only word to describe it all was “hardcore.” If Hu Xiujie hadn’t strictly forbidden Dou Sheng from bringing his camera to school during senior year, the amount of footage for Record of Hardcore High School Survival would likely have doubled.

Counting the days, they finally made it through September to the National Day holiday, looking forward to three days of rest.

It rained the night before the holiday. The corridor windows were open, and the cross-draft slammed the classroom doors into their frames one by one. When the bell rang for the end of the penultimate evening self-study session, Xie Lan went to the restroom.

Just as he was about to go, a guy from the “All-A” class next door suddenly cleared his throat.

“The wind is swift, the sky is high, and apes howl in mourning; the islet is clear, the sand is white, and birds hover in flight,” the person recited with perfect articulation toward the tiled wall. “Boundless fallen leaves rustle down, and the unending Yangtze River rolls on.”

Xie Lan was profoundly shaken. “What are you doing?”

“It’s a waste to squander time in the restroom, so I’m just reciting some poems,” the guy replied before switching to another: “The thick strings clatter like sudden rain, the fine strings murmur like a whisper. Chattering and murmuring intermingle, like large and small pearls falling onto a jade plate… Hey brother, sorry, am I making it hard for you to go?”

Xie Lan was speechless.

“Let me switch to one that might help,” he said. “The silver vase suddenly breaks, and water splashes out; iron cavalry charges, and swords clash. The song ends…”

“No need,” Xie Lan silently zipped up his pants and walked away with a blank face.

Back at his seat, Dou Sheng put down his pen and asked with a smile, “You okay, Er-Mao?”

Xie Lan sighed. “I want to escape this terrifying high school.”

“Do you know why?” Che Ziming turned around and said mysteriously. “It’s because you’ve already been admitted, so these pains feel unnecessary to you, making them feel twice as bitter. But we ‘Huang Gais’ (a reference to a loyal general who endured lashes) are still fighting; we find joy in this bitterness, you know?”

“Huang Gai?” Xie Lan was even more confused.

“Alright, alright,” Dou Sheng quickly pulled him down to sit. “Just bear with it a bit longer; the holiday is almost here.”

The bell rang for class, and the sound of Hu Xiujie’s high heels echoed in the corridor.

Xie Lan seized the moment to ask Dou Sheng, “We’re filming tomorrow, right?”

Dou Sheng hummed. “The costume and makeup team are all booked, and the sets for this shoot are finished. We’ll try to knock out three sets during these three days of National Day break.”

Xie Lan took a deep breath and nodded. “Okay.”

He knew Dou Sheng was serious about this “Anime Kaleidoscope” video, but he hadn’t realized how serious. After the music was finalized, Dou Sheng started contacting teams. He hired the most professional studios for set construction, makeup, photography, martial arts choreography, and post-production. One day, while Xie Lan was using Dou Sheng’s iPad to watch anime, a WeChat notification popped up in the background—over 80,000 yuan had been charged to his card.

Shocked, Xie Lan asked about it, only for Dou Sheng to say it was just the initial deposit. Xie Lan was stunned; he had never imagined spending hundreds of thousands on a single video.

There were four evening self-study sessions for senior year, ending at 10:30 PM. By the time they got home, it was past 11:00 PM. After showering, Xie Lan left the bathroom door halfway open to blow-dry his hair and vaguely heard Dou Sheng still on the phone.

He instinctively switched the hairdryer to low-speed mode.

“The snow needs to be artificial, not added in post-production, otherwise it’ll look too fake. Are your machines ready?”

“Mm-hmm, the moon can be touched up in post.”

“How many cameramen will be there tomorrow? …Camera positions? …Good, then we’ll arrive around 7:00 AM.”

Dou Sheng hung up and leaned in. “Young Hero, are you going to finish drying your hair or what?”

Xie Lan simply put the hairdryer down. “Is the plan for tomorrow finalized?”

“Yeah. These three days are for the ‘Snow’ set. Tomorrow is Sesshōmaru, the day after is Shen Yimu, and the day after that is Tianye,” Dou Sheng said.

Shen Yimu and Tianye were protagonists from fantasy Chinese manhua that Xie Lan wasn’t familiar with, but he knew Sesshōmaru very well.

“The great yōkai Sesshōmaru, huh.” He couldn’t help but stare at Dou Sheng’s face.

Dou Sheng laughed. “Sesshōmaru is the one I’m most worried about in this whole project. He’s the only non-human protagonist and very ‘2D.’ If we don’t pull it off, the whole video will fall apart.”

“I think it’ll work,” Xie Lan nodded earnestly. “Just the facial structure alone is very similar, don’t worry.”

He had been looking at a lot of cosplays online recently. In his opinion, the key to a successful cosplay was whether the face shape matched the character. For Sesshōmaru, some cosplayers’ chins were too sharp, making them look too sinister without Sesshōmaru’s ethereal air. Others had faces that were too full, losing that “2D character” feel.

But Dou Sheng’s face shape truly fit. He naturally had a pointed chin—pointed but not too long. A few days ago, Xie Lan saw Dou Sheng try on the long silver wig; even without makeup, just by practicing a few gazes, he already had that vibe.

Dou Sheng walked to the bathroom mirror and muttered, “Anyway, if the final result of the video is bad, I just won’t post it. Let it be.”

Not post it. After spending hundreds of thousands.

Xie Lan couldn’t help but gasp. “How did you even think of doing this project?”

“Just a whim…” Dou Sheng said to the mirror. “I’ve never cosplayed before, so I wanted to challenge myself. If I’m going to do it, I’ll do it big. If the money is spent, it’s spent, no big deal.”

Xie Lan didn’t dare say much. He was a complete layman when it came to cosplay; he was afraid of being too overconfident and getting “slapped in the face” by the results tomorrow, but also afraid of being too indifferent and discouraging Dou Sheng.

The night before the shoot, Dou Sheng was fine, but Xie Lan was the one who suffered from insomnia.

However, when they arrived at the set the next day and Dou Sheng emerged after three hours of makeup, Xie Lan was completely stunned.

His silver hair cascaded like a waterfall, and his snow-colored robes were ethereal and otherworldly. The armor, curved blade, and the fur draped over his right shoulder created a perfect balance of strength and grace. On his forehead was a crescent moon, and red markings adorned his cheeks. While he carried a masculine aura, his handsome, cold features also possessed a touch of celestial elegance.

The makeup artist smiled. “This look of yours is going to outshine many professional cosplayers. You truly live up to the fans’ title of ‘Lord Sesshōmaru’.”

Dou Sheng was fully in character, his slight nod carrying Sesshōmaru’s haughty arrogance. But as soon as he turned toward Xie Lan, he instantly switched back to his normal self, raising an eyebrow with a smile. “Am I handsome?”

Xie Lan pulled out his phone. “Mm-hmm, let me take a photo for my wallpaper first.”

His boyfriend was so handsome that he could only hide his reaction with a blank face while screaming silently behind his screen.

Dou Sheng was laughing so hard he could barely keep it together. He tried to find the Sesshōmaru feeling several times, but before Xie Lan could press the shutter, he would break into laughter again.

“Let’s just leave it at that, stop taking photos. We’ll definitely have a set of professional photos later anyway.” He smiled and touched the fur on his right shoulder. “This feels so good, almost as soft as Wutong’s (their cat) belly. My money wasn’t wasted.”

Xie Lan couldn’t help but reach out. “Let me feel.”

Dou Sheng stood close, turning sideways so Xie Lan could touch the snowy white fur draped over his shoulder. It was soft, smooth, and thick. As Xie Lan stroked it, he momentarily felt as if he were petting a cat.

Petting his “big cat.”

“Alright, that’s enough.” Dou Sheng let him do it for a while before backing away with a laugh. With a clink, he unsheathed his blade, looking majestic.

He sheathed the blade again and whispered to Xie Lan, “I’m going to start filming now. I can’t work properly if I keep looking at you.”

Xie Lan nodded. “Go ahead, I’ll watch from outside the studio.”

The studio was vast. The first set featured a bright moon against a backdrop of falling snow. The great yōkai Sesshōmaru stood high on a branch with his back to the moon, then drew his sword and leaped, “flashing” toward the camera in an instant.

The “flash” was done with special effects, but the jump and the charge toward the lens had to be filmed live. The jump required a sense of lightness, and the charge had to convey a cold, piercing killing intent. Dou Sheng repeated these two simple movements dozens, even hundreds of times. He said it was a whim, but he worked harder than anyone, fully immersed for hours.

Dou Sheng didn’t dare eat lunch, only chewing on two energy bars. Xie Lan waited at the studio entrance until evening when the dinner boxes arrived and the cart stopped right next to him. He picked the one that seemed to have the most meat to give to Dou Sheng.

A staff member from the next studio passed by and peeked inside curiously. “Is that a minor celebrity shooting for a magazine?”

Xie Lan was taken aback and shook his head. “No, we’re just filming for fun.”

“He’s so handsome.” The person looked at Dou Sheng again and laughed. “With looks like that, he could consider being an actor. Idol dramas love male leads with those kinds of features.”

Xie Lan knew Dou Sheng had no interest in acting, but he couldn’t help asking, “What do they film in idol dramas?”

“Male and female leads falling in love, kiss scenes, hugging, and carrying each other,” the person said casually.

“…” Xie Lan’s expression suddenly turned cold. “But his only hobbies are making videos… and petting cats.”

The staff member laughed. “I like petting cats too.”

Xie Lan watched her leave with her dinner box and, after a long while, “tsk-ed.” This feeling of his boundaries being invaded was somewhat inexplicable but hard to ignore.

He sighed, turned around, and took two dinner boxes inside. Dou Sheng was finished and was standing in front of a computer, discussing details intensely with the post-production team. As Xie Lan passed by, he caught a few seconds of the raw footage—every frame looked like a CG masterpiece from a major studio.

“How is it?” Dou Sheng smiled and snapped his fingers. “That’s a wrap. Let’s change and eat.”

He thanked the staff, watched the files save, and then walked toward the back with a slight limp.

Xie Lan froze and immediately caught up. “What’s wrong with your foot?”

“Sprained it a bit during that last charge.” Dou Sheng curled his lip. “It’s a minor thing, not as bad as when I sprain it playing basketball.”

He said that, but today was only the first day. The movements for the next two days were much more complex. Xie Lan could hardly imagine Dou Sheng continuing with a sprained ankle.

Dou Sheng himself didn’t seem to care. He changed back into his T-shirt and jeans, took off the wig, and sat down to eat without even removing his makeup. The dinner box had two meat dishes, one vegetable, and a piece of sweet cake. It looked a bit oily, but Dou Sheng ate with great appetite. He was truly starving. Xie Lan moved his chicken leg to Dou Sheng’s plate; Dou Sheng stripped the bone clean in two bites and moved his sweet cake to Xie Lan’s plate in return.

Xie Lan noticed that the skin on Dou Sheng’s ankle, where the costume had been tight, was white from sweat, and there were several bruises on his arms from unknown bumps.

“You’re working too hard.” He rubbed his boyfriend’s leg sympathetically. “I should have been more careful when choosing the topic.”

Dou Sheng swallowed a mouthful of rice and laughed. “I think it’s exhilarating. This is more fun than I imagined. Sigh, I should have dragged you in to record with me from the start.”

Since there was no one else in the dressing room, Xie Lan leaned in and kissed his cheek. “Just eat.”

Dou Sheng’s cheeks were puffed out as he chewed, and he returned the kiss with his lips. “Mm-hmm.”

The entire box of food was finished down to the last grain of rice. Dou Sheng put down the empty box and rubbed his stomach, suddenly letting out a hiss. “Wait for me a bit; I need to discuss one more detail with the post-production team, and then we’ll head out for some BBQ.”

Xie Lan’s chopsticks froze. “More BBQ?”

“Yeah.” Dou Sheng glanced at the empty dinner box. “This was just the appetizer.”

Xie Lan: “…” An entire pound of food as an appetizer. Impressive.

While Dou Sheng was out, Xie Lan couldn’t stop sighing. With a bit of indignation, he stuffed the two empty boxes into the trash. If this didn’t make him a “Top 100 UP,” then who on Bilibili could possibly be more deserving of the title?

He opened the post by the data expert and replied anonymously.

– Orange Cat at Large: If the Top 100 goes to Xie Lan and not Douzi, Bilibili is truly doomed.

After posting that, he continued scrolling through the comments.

– I have a good impression of Xie Lan, and he deserves to be in the Top 100, but if he takes Douzi’s spot, then I don’t think he’s worthy.

Xie Lan gave this comment a vigorous like.

– (Whispering) The platform considers many factors for the Top 100. Since Xie Lan is half British, he might not necessarily get it.

There’s such a thing? That’s great then. Xie Lan felt much better and gave that a like too. He scrolled all the way down, liking every comment that criticized him, finally feeling a sense of satisfaction.

When he walked out, most of the staff had already left. Dou Sheng was still talking to the project manager about the schedule. There were four sets in total: Wind, Flower, Snow, and Moon. They could finish “Snow” during the three days of National Day, and the other three were scheduled for late October, mid-November, and early December. This way, post-production could be finished by January for submission, just in time for the Top 100 evaluation.

The schedule was tight, mainly because senior year was so busy. Moreover, come November, Xie Lan would be away at the math competition winter camp and wouldn’t be able to stay by his boyfriend’s side.

He was sighing to himself when he suddenly heard a phone vibrating in Dou Sheng’s bag nearby. Before he could decide whether to help answer it, the vibration stopped.

Then, his own phone rang.

It was Old Ma. Seeing Old Ma’s joyful face on the screen, Xie Lan had a subtle premonition.

He cleared his throat, walked to the back, and answered. “Teacher. What is it?”

“The results of the second trial are out!” Old Ma’s voice was full of joy. “You and Dou Sheng are tied for first in the province! I never expected this. Where is Dou Sheng? Tell him to pick up; we need to start preparing for the next level of exams immediately!”