Jiang Yichuan · Chat

The autumn wind carried the chill of early night, sweeping through the quiet streets. When it brushed against the skin, it felt crisp and cool, clearing away the fatigue built up over days of preparing for the monthly competition and sharpening everyone's clouded minds. By three in the morning, the city was already fast asleep, with barely a car passing through the streets. Yet inside a private room of a 24-hour restaurant by the road, it was as lively as daytime. Jiang Yichuan and his group had just finished an all-night battle in the monthly finals. Their long-strung nerves suddenly relaxed, and starving as they were, they headed straight for this familiar old haunt without a second thought, intending to reward themselves properly. Warm yellow light filled the private room. Steaming dishes covered the table, their aroma spreading freely and whetting everyone's appetite. Boisterous laughter and chatter rang out continuously—without the restraint in front of the camera or the deliberate composure on stage, it was the most comfortable and relaxed state they had built up over a year of living together. Jiang Yichuan sat sideways in his chair, an unlit cigarette held casually between his lips. A lazy, relaxed air after the competition hung around his brows as he arm-wrestled with Shen Yi from the group. The lines of his forearm were taut and powerful, slightly flexed. His bangs were slightly ruffled by the night breeze. His refined, sharp features—usually so dazzling in front of the lens—lacked a bit of their stage brilliance right now, but carried a bit more of a youth's vibrant, easygoing vitality. Shen Yi refused to back down, gritting his teeth in effort. With their arms planted on the solid wood table, the two were locked in a stalemate, prompting the teammates around them to lean in and cheer them on. Someone slammed the table and shouted encouragement; someone laughed and teased them for acting like kids who never grew up; someone else didn't join the commotion at all, burying their head in the food on the table to feast, chopsticks moving nonstop, mouth stuffed full as they vaguely chimed in. "Yichuan, can you do it or not? Where did all that energy from dance practice go?!" "Hold on, Shen Yi! Don't let Jiang Yichuan pin you!" Shouts and laughter rose and fell. Someone clinked glasses of drinks; someone took advantage of the battle to secretly snatch the last piece of meat from the plate. The sound of joy and laughter mixed with the steam of the food, brewing an incredibly warm atmosphere in the small private room. Free from the suspicion and rivalry common in the entertainment industry, free from the pretense under the group-streaming camera, the seven young men who had fought side-by-side for over a year shed all their exhaustion in this late-night room, enjoying a moment of pure relaxation that belonged to them. After a dozen seconds of stalemate, Jiang Yichuan suddenly applied force, cleanly pressing Shen Yi's hand onto the table. Raising an eyebrow with a slight smirk, he took the cigarette out of his mouth with a hint of triumph, raised a hand to rub his sore wrist, and laughed as he kicked Shen Yi's chair: "Yield yet?" Shen Yi howled while rubbing his arm, setting off a wave of laughter from everyone. Outside the window, the autumn wind remained chilly, but the warmth and bustle inside the room completely sealed out the late-night cold.