That was just an ordinary day for him.
The air was churning with smog and coal dust as usual, seeming no different from any other time.
Yet for him, it was also a bleak, ash-colored day.
The dance class came to an end. He took a sip of coffee, sensed something amiss, and immediately hurried to the restroom to rinse out his mouth.
A pair of large hands landed on his shoulders.
The fingers were sweaty and clammy.
“Stop acting so high and mighty. We are cut from the same cloth.”
The man’s face, which could otherwise be considered handsome, now looked like a demon with its abyss-like jaws split wide open.
“So what if I added a little something to your coffee? You will thank me later!”
This was a parent of a student who was taking street dance lessons from him, and his expression was as sickeningly distorted and persistent as a parasitic leech.
Since he was already too disgusted to speak, Zhao Yaojin no longer resisted the surging restlessness raging in his chest.
He had no desire to endure it any longer. With a single hip throw, he flung that man onto the ground like a dead fish, heavily trampled a few times on the large hands that had dared to touch him, and bolted outside with every ounce of strength he had left while the man curled up on the floor amidst a stream of vulgar curses.
Sweat soaked his back, yet in such a wretched and crumbling moment, he also felt an incomparable sense of exhilaration for fighting back.
Struggling to steady his ragged breathing, he cinched the black drawstrings of his hoodie tight and slowly walked forward along the river embankment.
He felt somewhat lost and out of sorts.
The moment that fellow lodged a complaint with the studio accusing him of violent assault, he would probably be fired by the dance troupe all over again.
Zhao Yaojin furrowed his brow.
Although he was accustomed to a life of wandering, having to worry about three months of rent was a headache.
Only one month had passed so far.
Feeling rather troubled, Zhao Yaojin pulled the brim of his baseball cap down lower and came to a halt.
Ahead of him seemed to be a film crew. Black-clad bodyguards cordoned off the area with warning tape, and the warm, orange-yellow sunset light, resembling a salted duck egg, fell upon their shoulders, radiating a keep-out-of-my-way aura.
A tall boy dressed in black standing beside the camera glanced in his direction inadvertently.
He paused for a fraction of a second, then straightened up and strode quickly toward him: “Zhao Yaojin!”
That was a familiar voice.
The person who usually sounded so aloof and detached did not seem quite so composed right now. He began to jog over, looking somewhat tense.
Zhao Yaojin widened his eyes and lifted his head, recognizing his face clearly.
It turned out to be Jiang Shiyue.
The boy came to a halt right in front of him.
He was slightly out of breath. In Zhao Yaojin’s memories, this person rarely ever lost his composure.
He was always unfailingly calm and reliable beyond his years, making people naturally look up to him almost like an older brother.
“What, do you not remember me?” Those thin lips lightly tossed out a teasing remark. With a relaxed expression, he gave Zhao Yaojin’s shoulder a light pat.
“I remember.” Zhao Yaojin pressed his lips together, revealing a charming dimple on one side of his cheek: “Older Brother Shiyue.”
This clearly pleased the matured man standing before him. Chuckling softly with one hand tucked into his pocket, his gaze fixed intently on Zhao Yaojin, making Zhao Yaojin self-consciously lower his gaze.
Yet no matter how many times he saw it, Zhao Yaojin could never help marveling at how deeply favor was bestowed upon him by the heavens.
Jiang Shiyue possessed a flawless face suited for serious dramatic roles. They used to joke that him participating in a survival show was a waste and that he should have gone straight into acting.
Sure enough, his very first drama after graduating from Idol Workshop became an overnight sensation, and now, no matter where he went, people addressed him respectfully as Teacher.
Zhao Yaojin stared fixedly at the tips of his shoes.
He neither liked acting nor possessed any talent for it, so he would not force himself onto the big screen just to be an eyesore for everyone.
Yet even the stage he loved so dearly now seemed light-years away from him.
The daylight grew dim, and street lamps lit up along the riverbank.
Jiang Shiyue had grown a bit warm from running, so he straightened his hair and took off his jacket.
The two of them chatted casually back and forth about their respective experiences over the years.
Zhao Yaojin felt a bit dazed. His tone was so familiar, and dressed in a crisp white T-shirt, it felt as though he had been transported right back to that scorching summer of sweat and hard work.
Zhao Yaojin could not help turning his head to steal glance after glance at him. Jiang Shiyue remained entirely oblivious until a helpless warning drifted into his ear: “Zhao Yaojin, if you keep looking at me like that… I am going to get a little shy.”
“Ah…” Zhao Yaojin lifted his head. Jiang Shiyue was looking down at him slightly, his eyes stained with a smile, yet his pupils shone with astonishing brightness beneath the streetlamp.
His face flushed bright red.
He parted his lips to speak, but before any words came out, a man hurried over from afar:
“Teacher Jiang, filming is about to start!” Wiping away sweat, the man called out loudly: “We are losing the light fast, and the director wants you to hurry up.”
“Alright.”
With people urging him from behind, Jiang Shiyue furrowed his brow and lightly pressed his lips together. Looking somewhat conflicted, he said: “I will go shoot this scene first. As soon as I wrap up this cut, we can…”
As if feeling that it was improper to let someone wait here idly for nothing, he changed his tune and made up his mind: “I will go talk to the director and have this scene filmed tomorrow instead.”
Jiang Shiyue shoved his phone into Zhao Yaojin’s arms: “Hold onto this for me, I will be right back.”
He turned abruptly, the hem of his clothes fluttering wildly in the wind from his sprint.
Zhao Yaojin tightened his grip around the phone and walked toward the vicinity of the film set.
Jiang Shiyue had always been extremely dedicated; delaying time and damaging his reputation on his account was simply not worth it.
Jiang Shiyue was anxiously negotiating with a middle-aged man wearing a yellow baseball cap. His back was held straight, but neither of their expressions looked particularly pleasant.
Catching sight of Zhao Yaojin out of the corner of his eye, Jiang Shiyue paused.
“Is that him?” The director crossed his arms, looked Zhao Yaojin up and down, and stated unsparingly: “An old colleague coming to visit the set is one thing, but how does affecting your filming help anything?”
He stepped forward two paces and tugged on Jiang Shiyue’s arm: “You can catch up another time.”
Perhaps to avoid putting Zhao Yaojin in an awkward spot, Jiang Shiyue ultimately compromised.
He tore off a piece of sticky note and had his assistant bring it over.
On it was written a phone number. “Add my WeChat.”
Seeing Zhao Yaojin nod, Jiang Shiyue finally left with the staff members.
Zhao Yaojin stood blankly in the studio area for a while, feeling completely out of place amidst all the bustling activity.
He handed Jiang Shiyue’s phone over to the assistant for safekeeping and turned away to leave.
Better not to get close after all.
What meaning would there be in having contact information anyway?
They were simply not people from the same world.
“Zhao Yaojin? Zhao Yaojin?”
Someone was calling out beside his ear.
Profound darkness, thick and boundless. His head ached terribly, and his temples throbbed rhythmically.
Moving his fingers ever so slightly, everything felt as though it did not belong to him.
Wine…
Was it because of the alcohol?
“Time to get up! This is our first recording today, we are going to be late!”
Recording? Recording what?
His body felt so heavy it seemed detached from his own will.
“Zhao Yaojin! Damn it, are you going to get out of bed or not? If you miss the first stage performance, do you still want any camera time later?” The voice carried dissatisfaction, and his body was shaken roughly.
“Why is he still not out?” That voice was chilly, tinged with a hint of impatience.
“Bro, who knows what kind of madness this guy is on? I cannot pull him up at all!”
Who was he complaining to?
Zhao Yaojin felt his head splitting with pain.
“Are you not feeling well?” A warm, cool palm pressed against his forehead. His tightly closed eyelids fluttered, and his eyelashes parted.
Through the blurriness, his gaze slowly focused.
The person before him had deep contours and a high nose bridge. The hair on both sides of his head was cleanly shaved off, revealing dark stubble.
The remaining hair had been grown out, casually tied into a small bun at the back of his head along his crown and set with styling mousse, giving off quite a bit of a Japanese anti-hero vibe.
Although it was an act of concern, the innate sense of aloofness in his brows and eyes kept others from daring to approach him casually.
Ji—Jiang Shiyue?
Zhao Yaojin sat up, his mind in complete chaos.
“Sick? Of all the terrible timing!”
Yu Xu complained, though genuine concern was unmistakable in his tone: “It got colder yesterday; could he have caught a cold from standing outside and letting the wind blow after practicing?”
Watching Zhao Yaojin sitting dazed by the bedside, Yu Xu also experienced somewhat complex feelings.
Zhao Yaojin was a parachuted-in newcomer freshly plugged into the lineup, and nobody knew where his manager had dug him up from.
Starlight Entertainment was a massive company, and participating in this idol debut show Superstar Trainee meant he undoubtedly brought his own built-in popularity.
As a veteran contestant, Yu Xu had previously released albums with a group, giving him a small foundational fanbase of his own.
Yet Zhao Yaojin was entirely different. On the very first day they met Zhao Yaojin, they had looked at each other and read that subtle, secret jealousy and unease in one another’s eyes.
Yet physical appearance was something born with one; no matter how much one tried to alter it later in life, it could never compare to someone naturally born to eat this bowl of rice.
Which scout possessed such sharp eyes?
Yu Xu dragged his gaze away from the fair, pale skin exposed at the collar of Zhao Yaojin’s loose T-shirt, even feeling a trace of self-consciousness well up inside him.
Confident as he was, he had to admit the superior quality of Zhao Yaojin’s physical appearance.
Seeing this porcelain-fragile, pale person open his eyes and stare blankly right at him, Jiang Shiyue felt a flicker of awkwardness.
After all, he was only a nineteen-year-old youth, and having those light brown pupils lock onto him steadily the moment he woke up as if nothing else existed in the world left him somewhat at a loss.
He pressed his lips together, refusing to look at the brilliant starlight flickering in the boy’s eyes, and resolutely turned to walk away.
His spine remained straight, the proud backbone of youth revealing itself unreservedly in the split second he turned around.
“Jiang Shiyue…” He could not help calling out. Though he dared not fully believe it, how could the person right in front of him not be the teammate with the youthful, unjaded face he had seen in his midnight dreams?
“Hmm?” Jiang Shiyue halted his steps slightly and turned back to look at him.
“Is there anything you need me to do?” He seemed somewhat puzzled as to why he had addressed him so familiarly. Zhao Yaojin gripped the bedsheet tightly, nervously twisting it into wrinkles.
“…No.”
Zhao Yaojin now felt as though he had gone somewhat out of his mind. His eyes simply refused to tear away from Jiang Shiyue’s face, scanning him from top to bottom as if glued in place.
Could anything be this coincidental? He had just finished watching his awards ceremony speech, and now he was looking at him from six years in the past?
Jiang Shiyue’s gaze landed on Zhao Yaojin with a trace of faint confusion, openly letting him examine him.
Zhao Yaojin pulled back his gaze, threw off the blanket, and sat kneeling on the bed.
The air conditioning indoors was cranked up quite high, and the blanket felt ice-cold against his skin.
He wore only a T-shirt. The calves exposed outside were smooth and delicate, slender and straight, glowing so white they hurt the eyes.
Seeing that he had finished looking, Jiang Shiyue gave a gentle cough as a reminder.
“Then get yourself properly prepared. The stage performance costumes for later are over there, and everyone is meeting downstairs at seven-thirty.”
Such an aloof and detached tone felt rather unfamiliar.
“Alright.” Zhao Yaojin rubbed the bridge of his nose and pulled open the curtains beside the bed, revealing bright daylight outside.
“Hurry up!” Unassured, Yu Xu poked his head back in to emphasize.
“Hmm.” Zhao Yaojin knelt back down on the bed, dazed for a moment, and patted his throbbing forehead.
The sunlight cast a golden halo over his strands of hair, as if declaring the creator’s partiality toward him.
Having just woken up, combined with physical discomfort, left the corners of his eyes flushed red, with fragments of starlight shimmering in his pupils.
Finally fully awake, Zhao Yaojin rubbed his eyes, steadied himself by the railing as he stood up, and pushed open the bathroom door.
Reflected in the massive vanity mirror was a young, energetic face caught somewhere between the softness of boyhood and the sharpness of youth:
His skin was as smooth as a mirror, and his hair was dyed a messy shade of blonde. A few tufts of hair stuck up like a lazy ginger cat flicking its tail impatiently.
His skin also glowed with whiteness, completely devoid of dark circles from staying up late or the sickly pallor of someone who had shut themselves indoors for years. Instead, it was an oriental porcelain-white, practically flawless.
The corners of his eyes were reddish, carrying a fragile and delicate charm that commanded pity.
He tried tugging at the corner of his mouth, and the reflection in the mirror curved into a matching arc.
Was this not a dream? Not only had Jiang Shiyue turned cold and Yu Xu grown cool, but how had he himself suddenly grown younger too?
Startled, Zhao Yaojin widened his eyes into perfect circles, looking somewhat babyish.
Zhao Yaojin tilted his head, watching his own replicated movements in the mirror, feeling thoroughly bewildered.
He had no idea where he was right now. Time travel?
Returning to the center of the dormitory, he picked up the clothes Yu Xu had provided to inspect them, then hurriedly shoved them into his suitcase and zipped it shut.
Zhao Yaojin reached behind his back and slipped off his T-shirt.
An eighteen-year-old youth’s body radiated a healthy glow, the entire form shimmering with vitality.
His slender, well-proportioned frame was covered with a layer of lean, resilient muscle. The faintly visible six-pack abs showed that the body’s owner paid close attention to physical training, brimming with an eager sense of youthful vigor.
Before long, a simple, loose white short-sleeved shirt once again enveloped everything.
Finishing simple preparations, he closed the door, dragged his name-tagged suitcase along, and hurried downstairs.