Chī Xīngyǔ walked over and slightly raised his chin, “Of course, who wouldn’t like someone who is gentle, reliable, and can cook?”
Zhōu Sīyuǎn replied, “Thank you for the compliment.”
Standing on the side, Sāng Cǎi watched the seemingly harmonious conversation between the two and felt a subtle tension, as if needles were being pointed at each other.
While Sāng Cǎi was pondering this, suddenly Chī Xīngyǔ turned and asked him, “What about the other guests?”
“The other guests?” Sāng Cǎi said, “Xiǎo Suì is resting upstairs, and Cí Yàn has stepped out for something.”
Chī Xīngyǔ glanced at the stairs leading to the second floor and asked the staff, “Can I go up to rest?”
The staff responded, “Yes, but your room is temporarily on the third floor, and you’ll be alone there.”
Chī Xīngyǔ was taken aback, “…”
He had considered the possibility of not being in the same room, but he hadn’t expected to be on a different floor altogether.
He carried his luggage upstairs and paused briefly on the second floor, looking at the tightly closed door for a moment before finally heading up to the third floor.
The third-floor room had been hastily organized; it was originally a storage room for miscellaneous items and could only fit a single bed.
Compared to the room on the second floor, it could only be described as shabby.
As Chī Xīngyǔ stepped inside, he nearly hit his head on the ceiling.
“……”
The comments section went wild:
— Hahahaha
— Help, why does he look so pitiful?
— Others come to participate in a love variety show, but Chī Shén appears to be here to serve time; he probably never imagined he would stay in a room like this in his life.
Chī Xīngyǔ set down his luggage and sighed.
He lay on the bed and looked at the small patch of sky visible through the skylight. The sky had darkened, revealing scattered stars.
When Tóng Suì woke up and came downstairs, he was still a bit groggy and was halted by Sāng Cǎi in the kitchen, “Today’s flying guest is so handsome, he seems to be about your age, but his personality seems a bit cold, not very easy to get along with.”
“Really?” Tóng Suì looked around, unable to spot any new faces.
Sāng Cǎi continued, “He should be resting on the third floor. Dinner is about ready; why don’t you go up and call him down?”
“Sure.”
As Tóng Suì walked upstairs, he thought to himself, he remembered the original flying guest being a very easy-going guy…
He arrived at the door of the room and reached out, just as he was about to knock, the door swung open from the inside.
Tóng Suì said, “Hello, I’m here to call you down for dinner—”
He stopped mid-sentence.
Because standing in front of him was none other than Chī Xīngyǔ, the one he had played games with and called a bad egg.
His features were more pronounced than in the live broadcast, bathed in light, obscuring the emotions in his eyes, except for his tightly pressed lips forming a straight line.
Could this be the plot he couldn’t escape?
Even if he took Chī Xīngyǔ’s place, the latter would still return to this show.
Perhaps the feeling from online interactions differed from reality; Tóng Suì could insult people online and immediately log off, but standing before Chī Xīngyǔ, he felt the weight of pressure.
Tóng Suì softly asked, “Chī Shén, have you finished the game?”
The silence around them was palpable; Tóng Suì could even hear Chī Xīngyǔ’s breathing and the gaze that slid down his body, finally landing on the faint red imprint on his face.
A familiar voice broke the quiet, “Did you sleep well this afternoon?”
Tóng Suì dared not meet his gaze and lowered his head with a hum.
Even though on the show one could sleep like a pig, Chī Xīngyǔ admired kid’s attitude, while he hadn’t slept well any night, with his mind filled with chaotic thoughts.
He had fantasized many times about kid’s real-life persona; seeing it in reality surpassed all his imaginations, which felt bizarre.
Chī Xīngyǔ took a step forward.
Tóng Suì, standing still, suddenly felt the urge to flee.
The reality of Chī Xīngyǔ was no longer just the smirking, eighteen-year-old boy he saw online but a living, breathing adult right before him, exuding an overwhelming pressure.
Chī Xīngyǔ asked, “Do you have a crush on those people?”
Tóng Suì honestly nodded.
In the next moment, he felt the atmosphere around them drop heavily, accompanied by the deeply hidden sorrow within Chī Xīngyǔ’s dark gaze.
“Kid ba.”
His voice was hoarse, almost seductive.
Tóng Suì felt an odd sense of embarrassment surge as Chī Xīngyǔ said his online name, making his ears flush with warmth.
He dared not look up and kept his gaze fixed on the floor.
“You don’t need to call me that; you can call me by my real name…”
Chī Xīngyǔ said, “Tóng Suì?”
“Mm.”
Tóng Suì didn’t understand why hearing his name from Chī Xīngyǔ felt somewhat strange, as if it were something beyond just calling his name.
He thought he was overthinking; after all, they had only played games together for a few days, and meeting offline was their first time.
What other meaning could there be?
At that moment, a slightly impatient voice from downstairs, Zhong Yì, called out, “Hey, why aren’t you guys coming down yet?”
Tóng Suì jumped in surprise, taking a step back and turning to leave.
But his hand was caught.
Chī Xīngyǔ held his hand tightly, the warmth radiating from his palm.
Tóng Suì felt Chī Xīngyǔ standing right behind him, his breath mixing with his own.
“Do you like that person named Zhong Yì?”
Tóng Suì hurriedly tried to shake off his hand, but Chī Xīngyǔ tightened his grip as if ignoring Zhong Yì’s voice.
Chī Xīngyǔ had held other people’s hands before, but never had anyone made him reluctant to let go. Even though they were both male, Tóng Suì’s hand was soft, delicate like a piece of water-rich tofu.
“Among these people, I only have a crush on you,” Chī Xīngyǔ said in a low voice, “I came to find you.”
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