Silver Lake Hotel Room 2901 was the suite the banquet organizers had specially prepared for Fu Yanzong.
At this moment, the sky at six in the morning was still wrapped in a layer of unrelenting darkness. The entire world lay immersed in the quiet serenity of deep sleep. Only the door to this room stood half-ajar, spilling out a few strands of ambiguous light accompanied by faint, elusive low moans that stirred the imagination amid the silence…
They were so ridiculous that they made one want to laugh.
Through the half-open door, one could see Xiao Sun—the novice assistant still blissfully unaware of the world’s darker machinations—huddled fearfully against the wall.
His left hand clutched his phone in a death grip as he made a call, while his right hand, sheathed in a plastic glove, gripped half of a massive Hainan Guifei mango that was still dripping juice.
In the center of the oversize bed, Su Tang slumbered sweetly, clutching the enormous comforter and rolling back and forth.
At times, Su Tang’s brows furrowed tightly as he loudly protested, “No!” At others, he sobbed softly, his face delicate as a flower in bloom. In one seamless sequence of movements, he didn’t even bother wiping the mango juice from the corner of his mouth before launching into a vigorous solo performance—a full-blown kung fu routine performed entirely in the air.
Xiao Sun was on the verge of collapse. Xiao Sun despaired.
Here’s what had happened: After Fu Yanzong left the night before, he had sent Xiao Sun a message on his phone. Mr. Su had fainted from anger because he hadn’t gotten any mango at the banquet, it said. Xiao Sun should see the good deed through to the end and feed him some mango before leaving.
With the single-minded focus of a college student padding his volunteer hours, Xiao Sun had ordered a full platter of large mangoes. He peeled them, cut them into chunks, and carefully fed them to Su Tang’s mouth.
Su Tang had eaten them obediently. Afterward, he licked his lips, his face flushing slightly as he murmured, “No… no, more… I want more…”
Unsure whether Su Tang truly wanted to eat or not, Xiao Sun decided to ask again for clarification. “Mr. Su, do you want it or not?”
To his shock, Su Tang accused him in a deeply aggrieved tone, “When someone says ‘no’ at a time like this, of course they mean yes!”
Xiao Sun: …What kind of “time like this” is this?!
The boss had said to feed him. Su Tang had said he wanted to eat. And so, Xiao Sun had diligently peeled five or six large mangoes over the course of the night, all the while monitoring Su Tang’s condition closely. The moment any hint of an allergic reaction appeared, he planned to stop immediately.
But who could have imagined Su Tang’s allergic reaction would be this severe?
Xiao Sun listened in dread to his pained groans and watched his frantic, collapsing struggles. He even mentally prepared himself for how he might die.
He decided to call his boss, Fu Yanzong, first to report this disastrous workplace accident. Then he’d immediately dial the hotel’s emergency team and beg them to send someone to save Su Tang.
“Brother Fu…”
When the call connected, Xiao Sun’s voice trembled. Overflowing with guilt, he said, “I’ve messed up bad. Mr. Su’s condition is really serious right now…”
His pitiful state was simply too amusing. Fu Yanzong couldn’t hold back a chuckle. He lowered his head, a smile playing on his lips as he replied, “I know. Don’t panic—it’s fine.”
The familiar voice from the phone echoed simultaneously from the doorway. Xiao Sun looked up to see Fu Yanzong standing there.
Fu Yanzong wore a thin shirt and trousers loosely, looking utterly relaxed, as if he were truly vacationing at the hotel.
Tears welled in Xiao Sun’s eyes at the sight of his savior. “Boss—!”
Fu Yanzong stepped inside, having observed the entire spectacle. He patted Xiao Sun’s shoulder and calmly fabricated an explanation. “Don’t worry. Mr. Su has sleepwalking syndrome. This isn’t some allergic neurological disorder or epilepsy. It has nothing to do with you.”
At those words, the beleaguered assistant finally felt the massive weight lift from his chest.
Fu Yanzong shot him a glance, inwardly noting that the kid’s greatest virtue was how obedient and gullible he was.
He soothed him further. “You did a great job. Go back and get some rest. Your pay this month is doubled.”
Then Fu Yanzong eyed the half-eaten mango clutched in Xiao Sun’s right hand. He paused, then curved his lips upward without a trace of guilt, smiling as he said, “As for this, you can have it yourself.”
Xiao Sun: Whimper. Why say something that’d give anyone PTSD about mangoes?
Su Tang dreamed a sweet, magnificent dream. In it, he entwined himself passionately with someone whose face he couldn’t quite make out, locked in endless bliss.
He had no idea why he’d fainted—his memory was hazy on that point—but spending a blissful night with Fu Yanzong? That had to be right… Yeah, definitely right.
Nervously, he cracked his eyelids open halfway. There, backlit at the foot of the bed and facing him squarely, stood Fu Yanzong.
The man cut a tall, upright figure with a lean waist and abdomen. His high-waisted, form-fitting jeans were tucked perfectly into his shirt, accentuating an ideal waistline. His long hair hung loosely down his back, and beneath the loosely fastened collar lurked ambiguous marks that were difficult to discern…
Perfect! First cannon-fodder top secured. This round was in the bag!
As he roused the Heartthrob System—which had wisely gone dormant the night before—Su Tang tamped down his glee. With practiced ease, he lifted a hand to dab at the corner of his eye, contorting his face into an expression of aggrieved torment.
Then he lashed out with a straight-legged kick at Fu Yanzong, who had already risen from the bed. “What did you do to me?!”
Fu Yanzong blinked but didn’t dodge.
He tilted his head leisurely, watching Su Tang’s amateurish shift from one expression to another. In a low voice, he asked the Self-Rescue System, “What are those short legs of his even kicking at?”
The Self-Rescue System—shut down against its will all night and blissfully ignorant of its host’s antics—replied resentfully, “Beats me, dear.”
Having failed to land the kick, Su Tang felt a twinge of embarrassment. But then he reconsidered: it only proved how perceptive Fu Yanzong was, getting off the bed ahead of time.
With that thought, he sprang upright from the bed in a single fluid motion. Tears streaming down his cheeks, resolute and unyielding, he accused, “Teacher Fu… And here I idolized you. I never imagined you’d be this kind of person!”
Fu Yanzong didn’t bother responding.
According to the original plot, his morning scene was straightforward: get kicked off the bed by Su Tang, listen to the accusations, then watch him bolt for the door—reaching out to stop him but hesitating to actually do so.
Three simple beats, easier than filming a commercial.
He had already positioned himself ahead of schedule at the foot of the bed. All that remained was for this not-so-swift Su Tang to make his dramatic exit…
“Tang Tang, something’s off.”
The Heartthrob System’s voice cut urgently through Su Tang’s mind.
It halted the lines he had prepared.
“What’s off?”
“Last night. Your clothes are still on properly, right? No discomfort anywhere?”
With that reminder from the Heartthrob System, Su Tang’s rationality—which had apparently flown off to who-knows-where—finally returned.
Only now did he register the inconsistencies. His body was covered in glaring red marks, true, but aside from the itchiness, there was nothing amiss. It was nothing like the aftermath of a night of passion.
“Wanwan, what the hell is going on?” Su Tang’s lips pressed into a thin line as he demanded anxiously in his mind. “I did exactly what you said… So why didn’t Fu Yanzong touch me? It’s impossible. How could he possibly hold back?”
“I figured it out… It must be that glass of wine. Damn it, I knew something was always off about Song Linyu!”
The Heartthrob System fell silent for a moment before replying. “Could be. The plot hasn’t deviated too severely yet, but at this juncture, we need Fu Yanzong to feel guilty toward you. If nothing happened at all, wouldn’t that be…?”
“So what do we do?”
Su Tang panicked.
“Exchange for a prop.” The Heartthrob System’s decision rang final. “Your points are low, but you have just enough for a One-Time Hypnosis Item. It’ll cloud Fu Yanzong’s mind.”
Su Tang stared at the 200 points displayed on his system panel. Exchanging for the hypnosis item would leave him with only 50. His beauty halo, singing buff, and acting buff would all downgrade…
“Tang Tang, as you humans say: keep the green hills, and you’ll never lack firewood. The points you’ll earn from these cannon fodders down the line will far outweigh this.”
While the Heartthrob System and Su Tang wrestled with the dilemma, Fu Yanzong’s gaze darkened subtly.
He was convinced Su Tang was an utter misfit in this world—a fool who could be strung along through the original plot with minimal effort. And yet, that very certainty sparked an inexplicable doubt in Fu Yanzong.
For someone like Su Tang, unless every other character suffered a collective IQ drop, it would be impossible to guarantee they all fell “to their knees beneath his suit pants” as scripted.
The Self-Rescue System’s depiction of the original plot came solely from third-person perspectives filtered through those “cannon-fodder tops.” An unseen author wielded their gazes to proclaim desire, lavishing praise on Su Tang in voyeuristic detail.
As if he merely had to stand there for the entire world to adore him.
But the world didn’t work that way.
Even the most popular, most beautiful actor would fade without marketing, quality work, or a personality worth admiring. Fans wouldn’t stick around.
From his very first day in the industry, Fu Yanzong had been warned: the world overflowed with beautiful people.
To be remembered, you had to excel wherever eyes were on you.
So there had to be something about Su Tang that the Self-Rescue System didn’t know.
Fu Yanzong had started out testing the limits of what he could achieve. Now, it seemed, the answer was imminent—
“I confirm use of the One-Time Hypnosis Item.” Su Tang drew a deep breath, steeling his resolve.
He fixed Fu Yanzong’s lightly furrowed brow with a deathly stare, enunciating each word: “Target: Fu Yanzong.”
“Effect: Alter his memory. Make him believe that last night, he and I…”
A notification chimed as the Heartthrob System deducted the points.
The prop took effect. His memories reset to zero.
The Self-Rescue System detected traces of third-party cheat data intrusion, tacitly permitted by the small world. But as it had told Fu Yanzong before, the Self-Rescue System was merely a low-grade auxiliary tool from the Spacetime Administration Bureau. Unlike other systems that could independently traverse worlds to enforce order, it had no way to block this stream of data.
Its anxious calls to Fu Yanzong went unheard.
Fu Yanzong abruptly lowered his gaze. That dark bluish mole suddenly looked fragile, almost transparent in the morning light.
He took two steps back, his hand silently bracing against the edge of the desk behind him. A web of striking blue veins bulged silently across his skin.
Everything from the previous night grew foggy, like steam clouding a mirror, turning indistinct and hazy.
Faces, whispers, sobs, kisses—those achingly familiar expressions twisted and blurred, even trying to morph into something else entirely.
But Fu Yanzong would never let his thoughts be manipulated.
A one-time-use prop couldn’t inflict irreversible damage. A distorted truth couldn’t pry open a crack in solid logic. In the ensuing silence, his tangled thoughts swiftly regrouped.
Amid the clamor echoing in his mind, he uttered his sarcasm, laced with an icy edge of arrogance and spite:
“A bunch of idiots…”
He was stating the simple fact when the Self-Rescue System’s frantic cries suddenly pierced his mind once more.
And…
“Bro… Fu Yanzong…?!”
Song Linyu’s voice, too.
It hit him like a shot of ice-cold brandy poured into the snow—or like a sudden tide surging in after a long drought.
Fu Yanzong slowly lifted his eyes. A droplet trembled on his long lashes before drifting lightly into another man’s palm.
He wasn’t entirely sure if what he’d just heard was real.
His vision sharpened. Leaning against the desk’s edge, Fu Yanzong bent forward slightly at the waist. The first thing that filled his pupils was Song Linyu’s face—right there, half-kneeling before him.
…How was he here?
Song Linyu still wore that blank, emotionless expression, his face an unreadable mask.
Fu Yanzong lowered his eyes again, tuning out Su Tang’s bewildered stammers and hesitant probes from nearby.
He noticed Song Linyu’s hand trembling.
Fu Yanzong absently wiped the cold sweat from his knuckles. He waited a beat, until Song Linyu turned his head to rise—then asked in a perfectly even tone:
“What did you just call me?”
