Lu Ziqiu pretended not to look, casting a casual glance at Wen Yin. Her face was unreadable—cool, composed, giving away nothing of what she might be thinking.
His gaze swept on, and met a pair of ice-dark eyes.
Shao Yinan didn't look away. If anything, he watched Lu Ziqiu with the brazen interest of someone openly witnessing a private act. The look had an edge to it—predatory, precise—and it made the hair along Lu Ziqiu's spine prickle. He turned his head away before the stare could press the air from his lungs.
"I choose dare," he said.
"Then let's see what Ziqiu's dare will be." Wen Zhi reached into the pile and drew a slip, reading it aloud with a blush already rising in her cheeks. "Pick a female guest. The two of you must perform a kabe-don—press her against the wall—and the girl has to say, 'Little brother, are you interested in grabbing a drink tonight?'"
She read the line and blushed harder, clearly picturing how red everyone's faces would be in a moment.
"Which girl will you choose, Ziqiu?" Wen Zhi cocked her head, eyes glittering like mischievous stars. Her coquettish look begged to be fussed over.
Lu Ziqiu's inner balance tilted. In the past he would have picked Wen Zhi without a second thought. But now—
His eyes settled on Wen Yin. She sat on the small stool, compact and delicate, lashes lowered so her expression was half-hidden. There was a thin, almost indiscernible shadow behind her calm, as if something had dampened her mood.
Fine. He'd do it as a favor. He pursed his lips, as if committing himself to something important. He would indulge her this once.
Wen Zhi, sensing his hesitation, prodded. The live chat exploded with commentary.
"There's no suspense here—Ziqiu will pick Wen Zhi. He defended her this afternoon, remember?"
"As a bystander, I just want these two to be official already. Don't hurt Wen Yin!"
"Top comment must be Wen Yin's stan. Stop brown-nosing."
Wen Zhi's fans couldn't stand back down and fired back.
"If the top comment can't shut up, why do you even have a keyboard?"
"What is that stan barking about? Can't their own idol be more embarrassing?"
"We're not pushovers—this has a line!"
"Girls, we've seen enough. Let’s go! If we keep letting them stomp on us, they'll think we're weak."
"Don't smear people without reason—it's animal behavior."
"Defend our A-Yin at all costs!"
Wen Zhi's folks had no idea that after that afternoon's fiasco, Wen Yin's followers had turned into a different breed—resolute, fierce, impossible to bully.
Lu Ziqiu lifted his head. "I choose Ms. Wen."
Wen Zhi's smile froze into a flustered, half-surprised pout. "Then I—" she started, but he cut her off.
His eyes looked at her, but there was none of the old softness; only a calm reserve. "I mean A-Yin."
When he said the nickname his expression shifted, eyelids drooping so his long lashes veiled whatever feeling flickered beneath them.
Wen Yin looked up, puzzled. The nickname landed on her like a small, unexpected pebble. Her black hair fell across her shoulders, softening the usual sharpness of her presence—like a hedgehog who'd lowered its spikes. Lu Ziqiu surprised them all with a smile that showed two small canines, bright and boyish in the kindest way.
Wen Yin thought, silently: Starving yourself for two days—has it fried his brain?
Actually, from some angles he still looked pretty perfect: handsome, principled, all the right things.
Wen Yin framed a quiet "okay" and climbed to her feet. The little curl at the tips of her hair swung, brushing at Lu Ziqiu's arm like a feather.
Shao Yinan had never found Lu Ziqiu so irritating. Seeing him, the twitch in Shao Yinan's brow was hardly concealed. He looked blank as ever, but in his mind there was a sharp, vicious impulse: I want to gouge his eyes out.
Wen Zhi sat down awkwardly, trying to steady her breath; the hit had clearly staggered her. For the briefest second she shot a plaintive look at the pair, but Xiao Mo and Jiang Shihuai were watching—she couldn't let anything slip.
"Shall we begin?" Wen Yin said. She trusted herself to handle whatever he might throw at her.
Lu Ziqiu nodded and moved forward to do the classic wall-press—but his hands never reached the wall. Wen Yin caught his wrists with a single, effortless motion and pinned them, turning the situation on its head. In an instant he was the one trapped, his hands locked, his back against the cold surface, facing her composed, unflinching face.
The commissioning role had flipped without anyone noticing. The chat went wild.
"Oh my god, they're cute together just on looks alone!"
"Don't stop me—I have to Photoshop my face on him as the wife. A-Yin is killing it."
"The decisiveness, the lethal beauty—I'm dead."
"Ziqiu's face is turning red!"
A flush bloomed across Lu Ziqiu's neck and climbed to his ears. They were so close he could feel the tiny warm strokes of Wen Yin's hair across his arm—ticklish, electric. She had done nothing to style it; the slight disarray made her somehow human, a touch of ordinary life in the middle of the staged moment—like a goddess fallen into everyday light.
Her eyes were deep pools: arresting, impossibly clear. Her nose was small and precise, her lips a gentle, inviting rose. Her lashes trembled once, twice, and her voice—normally cool—lowered and thickened with something that could almost be called husk.
"Little brother," she said, looking straight at him. The honorific was casual, intimate. "Are you interested in grabbing a drink tonight?"
The words dropped, soft and deliberate. Right then, the glass in Shao Yinan's hand shattered with a sharp, splintering crack.