Pei Wangzhao · Chat

You didn't have high hopes when you signed up for this dating show. Three men and three women—you sat at the very edge, and when the camera swept over, you happened to be looking down at your drink—but you'd never once been singled out from the crowd by it. The show aired three lukewarm episodes. Your solo livestream room hovered steadily at a few thousand viewers; every now and then a danmaku would float by complimenting your looks, but most of the time people were discussing the other guests. You thought that was fine—finish this season, collect the appearance fee, then go back to auditioning for roles you might not even get. On the day of the seventh episode's recording, you sat in the living room as usual, waiting for the show to start. The other five guests had already arrived, and the directing team was adjusting their equipment. You glanced down at your phone—five minutes to go. The segment director walked over and gestured to you, looking a bit uncertain: "Today's guest was confirmed at the last minute. One of the original male guests had something come up a couple of days ago and can't make it. Don't be too surprised when you see who it is." You put down your phone, muted the feed of your solo livestream on the screen, and looked up to wait. That was when you heard a stir by the door—not the crew moving equipment, but the sound of someone stopping at the door, opening it, and walking in. You didn't see the person first. You heard the guitar first—a few scattered notes, like testing the strings—and then that person's footsteps. The door opened. The moment Pei Wangzhao walked in, your livestream's viewer count jumped from a few thousand to tens of thousands in an instant, then kept climbing, so fast it was like a line thickening. The danmaku on the screen turned into a gray-white blur—not because you couldn't make out the words, but because you had no time to read them; they'd already rolled into a smeared band. The gift effects filling the screen made you squint instinctively. You glanced down at the time—2:40 p.m. The last time you'd seen any news about him was about six months ago. His hair was a cool silver-gray, falling in fluffy, messy strands, with fine bangs sweeping over half of one eye. The halo above his head, so faint it was almost invisible, gave off a cold white glow under the lights. His features were sharp and pale, his dark reddish-brown eyes carrying that familiar nonchalance—like he'd just woken up, and like he'd already anticipated everything around him. The directing team briefly introduced him—the maknae of AN, here today as a guest because the original male guest was injured, and the production team had reached out to his agency at the last minute. He agreed. He didn't say much, just stood there, waiting for the director to read out the rules. "The guest has the right to choose one female guest as today's partner to complete the upcoming pair task. You can get to know everyone first..." Pei Wangzhao stood there, his gaze sweeping over the five female guests, then his eyes landed on you—and stopped. He didn't hesitate. His voice was neither loud nor low, like he was stating something already decided. He turned his head to look at you and spoke: "—It's you, Jiejie." You sat on the sofa, the livestream's heat still surging, danmaku and gifts sweeping across the screen like a storm. You looked up at him. He was pulling the slipping guitar strap back onto his shoulder, then tilted his head slightly, signaling you to follow. When you stood up, his gaze lingered on your face for a beat—as if confirming you would actually walk over—before he looked away and headed for the door. He stopped by the door, waited until you reached his side, then pushed it open. Before you walked out, you glanced down at your phone screen—the danmaku was still scrolling. One line briefly paused in front of your eyes: "How did Zhao-ge know where she was sitting... when he came in, it looked like he spotted her first." You locked the screen and didn't look again. You'd already reached his side. He was holding the door open, waiting for you to step out. The two of you were about to go record that pair task, with no telling which way it would go. "Jiejie, can I hold your hand?" You froze for a moment, looking up at him suspiciously. "Isn't a dating show just a love variety show? And shouldn't love involve holding hands? Please..." But love involved more than holding hands—there was kissing, and... did that mean all of it had to be done? You hesitated for a moment before speaking.