By late November in Beijing, the deep autumn air brought a dull ache to the lungs with every breath. But ducking into a small alleyway in the evening, the lethal, sweet fragrance of roasted sweet potatoes pulled one right back out of the cold.

The roasted sweet potatoes were plucked from a rust-spotted iron barrel, their dusty skins covered in charred scars. Every day after camp training, Xie Lan would buy one to eat back at his lodgings. Today, the CMO (Chinese Mathematical Olympiad) national finals were finally over. Overjoyed, he bought two.

Jogging back to his temporary apartment, he had just shed his coat when Dou Sheng’s video call came through.

“Hey.” Xie Lan propped his phone on the table and picked a large sweet potato from the bag. With a light snap, the golden-red, soft flesh burst open.

Dou Sheng laughed through the narrow phone screen. “You bought two today?”

“Yeah, planning to eat one on your behalf.” Xie Lan took a bite, huffing and puffing the hot food in his mouth. “I’m… done… with the exams,” he said indistinctly.

“I know… it’s finally over. I’ve waited so long I’ve gone numb.” Dou Sheng sighed wistfully. “When are you coming back? Did you buy your ticket?”

“I did, for the high-speed rail tomorrow evening. I wanted to leave tomorrow morning, but the professor wants me to sign some materials tomorrow afternoon.” Xie Lan sighed, mumbling over his sweet potato, “I’m ‘returning heart like an arrow’ (homesick).”

“You used that idiom correctly.” Dou Sheng smiled as he placed his phone on a stand and leaned over to press the power button on his PC tower.

The top scorers from the CMO provincial rounds were invited to a winter camp, followed by the national finals. The training camp was held in Beijing for twelve days, and today the finals had finally concluded. Counting on his fingers, Xie Lan hadn’t seen his boyfriend for nearly half a month.

He set down the sweet potato and “picked up” Dou Sheng’s image to examine it closely. “You look like you’ve gained a bit of weight back.”

“I’m fully back to normal. I’ve finished editing the video,” Dou Sheng smiled. “I’m posting it tonight.”

Xie Lan pulled a tissue from the box on his table, which was surrounded by a chaotic mess of math materials. Usually, his desk was tidy, but the intensity of the winter camp practice was so high that he had eventually given up on cleaning; he’d just shove a finished paper aside, waiting to pack everything up and throw it away after the competition.

The CMO had officially come to a close.

Time had flown. It felt as though not much time had passed since Old Ma’s enthusiastic phone call two months ago, nor since Dou Sheng had flatly refused to join the winter camp and the national finals.

Xie Lan lay back on his bed, clutching his phone, watching Dou Sheng’s profile as he edited.

That day, Dou Sheng’s refusal had been blunt. With the winter camp clashing with his year-end video production period, he resolutely refused to enter the camp, participate in the national finals, or join the national team. He declared that taking the CMO was entirely “for fun” and that a rank in the league to secure a guaranteed university spot was enough, nearly sending Old Ma to the ER.

Even regarding the pre-admission qualification exam, Dou Sheng couldn’t reach an agreement with the admissions office. T-University was willing to lower the entry score to the Tier 1 line for him, provided he pre-enrolled in the math major. Dou Sheng refused again. In the end, he only got a 20-point reduction across all majors, and he might not even use that policy for T-University when the actual Gaokao came. He was very satisfied with the result himself, though Hu Xiujie and Old Ma both suffered from insomnia for several days.

The sound of mouse clicks and keyboard taps came through the video; Dou Sheng was still making final adjustments.

“What major do you want to take?” Xie Lan suddenly asked, snapping out of his thoughts.

“Hmm?” Dou Sheng paused. “I haven’t really decided yet… I want to study something helpful for making videos, to understand different people and industries. I think Sociology at T-University would be good, or Communications at P-University. But as a science student, I’d probably have to wait until sophomore year to switch majors. Or I’ll look for other fun majors.”

Xie Lan hummed in response.

Dou Sheng’s mouse started clicking rapidly again. His other hand rested on the keyboard, his long, fair fingers occasionally hitting editing shortcuts, moving across the screen in a way that made Xie Lan feel a bit distracted.

“Go to sleep. I’ll turn off the video once you’re out,” Dou Sheng coaxed softly. “You’ve worked hard lately. Sleep early tonight; I can see your eyelids fighting each other.”

“Okay.”

Xie Lan kicked off his slippers, scooted up, leaned his head against the pillow, and closed his eyes. His consciousness drifted until the sounds of clicking and typing gradually ceased, and he fell into a deep sleep.

It would be December tomorrow. This past autumn had indeed been somewhat frantic. At first, he and Dou Sheng were buried in early and late classes at school, racing to film videos during the mere half-day of their weekends. Having finally endured October, he had come to Beijing alone, diving into the training camp, with his only daily hope being to buy a roasted sweet potato after training and crawl back to his dorm to video chat with his boyfriend. Dou Sheng had it even worse; not only did he have to grind through videos, but he also faced the brutal review tasks shared by all seniors.

Plane trees were rare in the capital. Xie Lan had only passed by some once while going to the supermarket; the ground was covered in withered leaves. He had picked up a few to bring back for Dou Sheng. Even in his dreams, he was thinking about picking up two more before catching the train tomorrow after signing his documents. The plane trees in Beijing were slightly different from those in H-City; the leaves were broader, with sharp, crisp edges, possessing a vibe much like “Douzi.”

Suddenly, a WeChat notification tone blasted in his ear.

Xie Lan jumped, waking up with a start. He sat up in bed; the small apartment was pitch black. The curtains weren’t drawn, but it was dark outside with only a faint moon. The heating in the apartment was mediocre; sleeping in a sweater, he actually felt a bit cold.

23:58.

He had unintentionally slept for over four hours. Xie Lan rubbed his slightly flushed cheeks and opened the new message. He thought it was Dou Sheng saying goodnight, but the message was from a Bilibili operations staff member who had added him before.

– Great God Xie Lan, it seems your competition is wrapping up? When are you coming back to make videos? You haven’t updated in two months! /Seduce

Xie Lan sighed and sent a casual reply.

– Maybe December, maybe next year.

He got up and turned on the light, putting the cooled sweet potato in a bowl and microwaving it for twenty seconds. Drowsy and empty-headed, he continued eating.

– Oh, are there other competition tasks later?

– Yeah. Plus, I’m a senior. Busy.

– Being a senior is indeed busy. But you’ll have a few days of holiday before the New Year in January, right? Hehe, you must have a holiday.

Xie Lan’s chewing suddenly stopped. “What’s wrong?”

– Nothing, there might be some large-scale events at the end of the year. You’re this year’s rookie UP; you’ve pushed the traffic ceiling for the music category. You have to come.

Xie Lan frowned at the message. After hesitating for a long time, he replied: “You aren’t talking about the Top 100 Awards, are you? Are you implying you’re preparing to give me a Top 100 spot?”

– Don’t spread it around. The selection just started, but in our eyes, some spots are suspenseful while others aren’t—everyone knows it. Of course, this isn’t the final result, so I’m here to urge you to stay active.

Xie Lan hissed and sent three messages in a row.

– OK, I’ll update after the New Year.

– This Top 100 is being given a bit too casually.

– Think about it again. I’ve been on hiatus for so long, am I really worthy?

The other side went silent for a full minute before sending back a question mark. Xie Lan had already typed “What about Douzi?” into the input box, but he deleted it a moment before hitting send. He was more afraid than anyone to know the result. If the other person revealed that Dou Sheng wasn’t being considered, how would he tell him?

Soon, the staff member replied: “Is the competition pressure too high? You’re starting to talk nonsense… Relax. Oh right, Douzi’s new video is explosive. You two are a powerful duo; no one can compete. Speaking of which, this kind of collaborative creation counts as your output too, even if Douzi is particularly dazzling this time.”

The new video is out?

Xie Lan hurriedly sent an emoji and opened Bilibili. Dou Sheng had already submitted the collaborative creation; he must have logged into Xie Lan’s account to do it while he was asleep.

[Record of an Amateur Cosplayer’s History of Being Beaten | Anime Male Lead 101, Just Take a Casual Look]

The screen was immediately filled with a kaleidoscope of bullet comments.

– Coming back from the end to warn you: “Just a Casual Look”

– I knew from the title this video was going to be a big deal

– Dou has never been so casual with a title, I’m starting to panic

– LOL, the comments are full of “Dou-Demons”

– Dou-Demon: A person driven to madness by Dou’s flexing

The roar of a giant fan suddenly pulled attention from the comments. The screen was black, but the voice came from a vast, open space. A man was shouting in a dialect, his odd intonations echoing, sounding somewhat comical.

“Hey, this take is great! That movement of yours, it’s just like the one you drew in the storyboard… Wait!”

The world went silent. The man suddenly switched to standard Mandarin with a hint of fear, articulating clearly: “Where is the fur on Sesshōmaru’s shoulder?”

After a moment of silence, Dou Sheng let out a string of curses.

“When did it fall off? I… my mentality is collapsing! Can you Photoshop it on in post??!”

The image appeared. Dou Sheng was sitting on the familiar rug at home, forehead in hand, facing the camera.

“As you can see, I have, over the past two months, courted disaster.” He paused, lowered his hand, and sighed.

“Hello everyone, I am Peerless Handsome Dou. More than two months ago, I had a wicked thought: I wanted to collaborate with my beloved classmate Er-Mao on a video that would break my limits. What should the breakthrough be? I sat down, opened the Bilibili homepage, went through every category, and found a field I had never stepped into—Cosplay.”

“Yes, cosplay. After some superficial research, I found that reliable cosplayers have found their specialties—some are anti-heroes, some are ethereal, some are ancient style, some are sci-fi, and so on. As an amateur, after learning just how deep the water is in this industry, I made a very reckless decision.”

He coughed, articulating clearly to the camera: “Since I didn’t know what I was good at, why not try them all?”

Having said that, Dou Sheng took a deep breath and put his hand to his forehead again.

“So, that led to the tragedy of the following two months. I made a list of anime male leads myself. The first part of the work was handed to Er-Mao; he did the arrangement, and I did the filming after that. I was once very demanding of him regarding the music, to the point that when it came to live filming, reality paid me back a hundredfold for my cruelty toward him.”

Dou Sheng gave a long sigh. “Anyway, this video records the heart-wrenching fragments of these two months. I was too lazy to edit it properly, so just take a casual look. The last three minutes are the final cosplay products. They’re… okay. Check them out if you’re interested.”

Comments:

– Friendly reminder: do not believe this man

– Dou’s mouth is a lying ghost

– Coming back from the end: “They’re okay”

– Indeed, “okay”

The video wasn’t fundamentally different from Dou Sheng’s past vlogs, but every segment was miserable.

Segment 1: Dou Sheng is wearing ancient-style cosplay robes, explaining to the camera as he walks out. Just as he steps over the threshold, he trips on his clothes. The camera spins wildly as he falls into a giant prop box filled with foam. He is about to get up, laughing and crying, when a woman passes by. She mutters, “Why did you leave the cosplay outfit here?” and casually grabs Dou Sheng’s collar. Before he can even poke his head out of the foam, there is a loud rip—

Segment 2: After finishing a shoot on a Sunday evening, Dou Sheng doesn’t have time to remove his makeup. He hurriedly puts on a mask and runs back to school with Xie Lan. They run straight into the “Yama-faced” dean. The dean forces him to lift his head and pulls down his mask. In that instant, the female Yama nearly sat down on the podium in front of the whole class.

Segment 3: On the day he cosplays Shinichi Kudo, Dou Sheng specifically went to the local affluent area—Yu Fei’s neighborhood. He is shooting outdoors by a grove, wearing a Japanese high school uniform, posing with a mysterious walkie-talkie to his mouth. A security guard on a patrol vehicle drives by, brakes, freezes for a moment, and also lifts a walkie-talkie toward him.

Bullet comments plastered the screen from start to finish—nothing but “hahaha,” rolling on the floor laughing. Even Xie Lan, who had experienced those awkward moments with Dou Sheng, couldn’t stop laughing.

The last awkward segment was filmed at night. It was dark; the camera pointed at the streetlights of Yingzhong and the dry plane tree branches. Dou Sheng sighed off-camera: “You’re going to Beijing tomorrow, leaving only the last two characters. I’ll have to film them all alone.”

The sound of a hand stroking fabric came from the footage, as if Xie Lan was stroking his back to comfort him.

“You can definitely film them well,” Xie Lan said.

Dou Sheng mumbled, “What if the audience doesn’t like it?”

Xie Lan thought for a moment. “Kill them.”

Seeing this, the smile on Xie Lan’s face vanished instantly. He was stunned. He had no idea Dou Sheng had secretly recorded his voice with his phone and made his words public.

The comments erupted. Suddenly, the screen went black, and a line of menacing large characters flashed by:

—Did you hear that? If you don’t like it, I’ll kill you.

Immediately after, the violin intro began, stirring a clear, cool ripple in the listener’s eardrums. A black-clad swordsman skimmed across the water under the night sky, racing toward the lens. A gust of wind blew, and a corner of his mask fell, revealing the boy’s sharp silhouette.

The moment he looked down and smiled, the BGM roared to life.

The mercenary swordsman sped on the wind, decapitating in ten steps across the water. The magician covered half his face with a white glove, vanishing into the air the moment he unfurled his tuxedo cloak, leaving behind a shower of petals. The great yōkai Sesshōmaru stood proudly under the silver moon, leaping through the falling snow. The high school boy traded blows with men in black in a quiet forest; the moment an enemy’s leg swept across, the camera suddenly turned to the moon reflected in the water. Returning to the forest, there was only a scattered, lonely uniform on the ground.

Wind, Flower, Snow, Moon. Every change of costume, every turn, every frozen gaze precisely hit the musical beat. The transitions between the fixed movements were so smooth, flowing with the rhythm; both visual and auditory elements were merged exquisitely.

Close-ups directed at the lens occupied nearly half the weight, but Dou Sheng didn’t falter for a single frame. While striving to pay homage to the classics, the post-production also hid various clever details—for example, the wind effects were made into lines like sound waves; when Sesshōmaru returned through the snow, he was followed by two cuddling kittens; and the falling leaves that split against the blade when the swordsman struck were the exact plane tree leaves Dou Sheng usually liked to twirl in his hands…

The three minutes ended. Xie Lan took a deep breath, feeling as if he had been suddenly pulled out of another world. He reopened the bullet comments.

– EVERYONE STAND UP

– EVERYONE STAND UP

– Why are you standing? KNEEL

– HUSBAND!!!

– I! WANT! TO! GREEN! XIE! LAN! (Cheat with him)

– Sesshōmaru and Shinichi were my first and second husbands; I once fantasized about what to do if I favored one over the other. Only today did I learn that I don’t have to worry at all??

– Exquisitely smooth, exquisitely comfortable

– Anyway, AAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

The video ended there, without the usual outro.