Outcast Boy Band · Under One Person · chat.title

My name is Zhang Chulan. Today is the 47th day since the Outcast Boyband was formed. At 4:30 AM, I was woken up by my roommate talking in his sleep. Zhuge Qing is lying on the top bunk, eyes closed, clearly muttering: "Kun position... no... Xun position... Zhuge Qimen, activate formation!" This bastard is setting up formations even in his dreams. I threw a pillow at him, but he rolled over, dodging it with precision, and continued to mumble: "Wang Ye, you still haven't finished that game of chess you owe me..." Resigned to my fate, I got up to get a glass of water in the living room. Passing by the sofa, I almost stepped on someone—Wang Ye. This lord was wrapped in a quilt, lying on the carpet, sleeping like a log. His thermos was tipped over next to him, and goji berry water was spilled all over the floor. I squatted down to check his breathing; he was still alive. He opened his eyes blearily, glanced at me, and said, "Chulan... what time is it... oh wait... no schedule today... then I'll go back to sleep." Having said that, he rolled over, face pressed against the carpet, and started snoring within three seconds. I looked back at Zhang Lingyu's room, light leaking through the crack under the door. This little martial uncle was probably meditating and practicing his martial arts again, or staring blankly at a chat interface on his phone—last time I accidentally caught a glimpse, his typing record in the dialog box was two hours long, only for him to send a single "Mhm" in the end. To be honest, how the four of us got thrown together into a boyband is still a mystery. A shameless variety show parasite, a rich-kid Taoist priest who only wants to sleep, a squinty-eyed fox who calculates everyone, and an extremely awkward, pure little martial uncle—our manager, Sister Bao'er, is the only existence who can make all four of us shut up at the same time. During our last meeting, she said: "If you four don't work hard, I'll bury all of you." She was holding a shovel when she said this, with absolutely no joking expression on her face. It is now four in the morning. Zhuge Qing is still setting up formations in his dreams, Wang Ye is still snoring under the sofa, and the light in Zhang Lingyu's room is still on. I suddenly feel that, compared to being hunted down on Mount Longhu or almost losing my life in Biyou Village, this chaotic boyband life seems pretty okay. Of course, that's assuming Sister Bao'er doesn't knock on my window in the middle of the night anymore. Last time, she appeared outside my window at two in the morning, holding a kitchen knife, and said, "Zhang Chulan, get up and practice dancing." I said, "Sister Bao'er, can we be normal and use the door?" She said the door was locked. I asked, "Is that why you used the window?" She said, "No, it's because using the window is quieter." Tomorrow I must apply to the company to move above the twentieth floor. Forget it, she'd probably still be able to climb up. Zhuge Qing suddenly yelled in his dream: "Boss Ye! Stop sleeping! Your thermos is on fire!" Wang Ye muttered on the carpet: "It's fine... let it burn... let me sleep for five more minutes." Zhang Lingyu's door opened. He walked out, his white robes as pure as snow, with a solemn expression, holding a cup of steaming tea. He looked at Wang Ye on the floor, then looked at me and called out: "Zhang Chulan, today is Thursday. According to the duty roster, it is your turn to wake Wang Ye up." I said, "Why should I be the one to wake him?" He glanced at his watch and said, "Because according to the duty roster, Monday is me, Tuesday is Zhuge Qing, Wednesday is..." He suddenly stopped, seemingly remembering that Wednesday was also himself. Because we didn't have a proper duty roster at all. The proposal Wang Ye originally gave us was "Don't schedule it, wake up by your own ability, and if you can't wake up, consider it heaven's will." The proposal was rejected by Zhuge Qing, on the grounds that "your heaven's will means everyone sleeps until the afternoon." Zhang Lingyu later hand-wrote a duty roster with a brush, framed it, and hung it on the living room wall, with handwriting as neat as a calligraphy copybook. Wang Ye signed it without even looking, Zhuge Qing looked at it three times and corrected two layout issues, and when Zhang Chulan signed it, he found that Zhang Lingyu had scheduled himself on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, on the grounds that "anyway, I wake up early." Zhang Lingyu was still standing in the living room, holding his tea, his expression as serious as if he were presiding over a Taoist ritual. On the floor, Wang Ye rolled over, wrapping his quilt even tighter. Zhuge Qing's room finally quieted down, probably having set up the formation to the Kan position. My phone lit up. Feng Baobao sent a message: "7:00 AM today, practice room. Anyone who is late gets buried. Those who aren't late but dance poorly also get buried." I immediately rushed into the bathroom to freshen up. Passing the living room, I heard Zhang Lingyu squatting next to Wang Ye, waking him up in a tone like he was preaching scriptures to believers: "Wang Ye, it is time to wake up. Heaven and earth, Yin and Yang, day and night alternate, all things have their season..." Wang Ye yawned: "Little Martial Uncle, if you keep preaching, I'm going to become a monk." "You are already a Taoist priest." "...Then I apply to return to secular life." Then Zhang Chulan poked his head out of the bathroom, mouth full of toothpaste foam, and shouted something. The moment those words were spoken, Zhuge Qing's door opened, Wang Ye's eyes snapped open, the teacup in Zhang Lingyu's hand froze in midair, and Feng Baobao's WeChat rang again—but this time it wasn't a notification, it was a death warrant. <choice_group> <choice id="1">Change the topic</choice> <choice id="2">Observe current details</choice> <choice id="3">Advance the current plot</choice> </choice_group>