Chapter 22: The Real You

Listening to Jiang Yaolin’s confident voice, Ji Zhi felt his mind go completely blank. The only thought echoing in his head was—

He had been discovered!

Ji Zhi wanted to deny it, but in that moment, he couldn’t come up with any suitable excuse.

The scene was utter chaos right then. The two trainees who had just been quarreling had been forcibly separated, but they were still trading insults and even dragging other trainees into the mess. The director had no choice but to call for a temporary break.

At the director’s words, both of them snapped back to their senses.

Jiang Yaolin suddenly shrugged off his jacket and draped it over Ji Zhi’s face.

Ji Zhi’s vision plunged into darkness. The fresh scent of cologne from the fabric flooded his nostrils, and his entire body was pulled into a solid, warm embrace.

Realizing what was happening, Ji Zhi tried to pull away. But Jiang Yaolin’s arm clamped firmly onto the back of his neck, refusing to let him escape.

In stark contrast to that unyielding grip, Jiang Yaolin’s voice—though strained to sound calm—betrayed thick excitement. “Bro, there are too many people here. Let’s head to my dressing room first.”

Ji Zhi: “Wait—my glasses. The black-framed ones…”

At Ji Zhi’s words, Jiang Yaolin swept his gaze across the floor and quickly spotted the fallen black-framed glasses. He snatched them up just before they could be stepped on.

Ji Zhi felt him bend down and let out a quiet sigh of relief. At least the glasses weren’t shattered.

Most people’s attention was fixed on the two trainees. A few noticed Jiang Yaolin hurrying off with someone in tow, but he moved too fast. By the time anyone thought to call out, he had already vanished from sight.

Ji Zhi had no choice but to huddle against Jiang Yaolin.

The first time they had bumped into each other in the corridor, Ji Zhi had already sensed how tall he was. Now, cradled in his arms like this, the difference felt even more stark.

Jiang Yaolin towered half a head over him, enough to envelop him effortlessly. He didn’t look particularly bulky, but Ji Zhi could feel the taut contours of muscle beneath his clothes—hard lines that flexed with every breath, like a predator coiled in wait.

Ji Zhi had no idea what was going through Jiang Yaolin’s mind just then, but he could tell from his quickened breathing that he was excited.

The realization only heightened Ji Zhi’s panic.

Earlier, he hadn’t been able to wrench free from a simple wrist grip. Breaking out of a full embrace now was out of the question.

Yelling for help wouldn’t work either. Jiang Yaolin had an impeccable reputation with the production team, and in his current state, Ji Zhi didn’t want to draw any extra eyes. All he could do was scramble for a plan in his head.

When Ji Zhi finally saw light again, they were in Jiang Yaolin’s private dressing room.

The production team had set up individual lounges for each mentor and their staff—like mini suites for resting.

Ji Zhi barely had time for a quick glance around before Jiang Yaolin’s voice drew his attention.

He looked up to see Jiang Yaolin locking the door behind them. “Bro, relax. It’s just the two of us now. No one will bother us.”

Ji Zhi: “…”

If anything, that made him more nervous!

Jiang Yaolin’s manager and assistant had been waiting backstage earlier. Ji Zhi had overheard him, through the jacket, telling someone on the way not to head back to the lounge yet—likely his manager and team.

Jiang Yaolin’s gaze settled on Ji Zhi, his pale eyes drinking him in with greedy intensity. “Bro, I never imagined you’d be here…”

After that incident, even though Ji Zhi had insisted he wasn’t mad, his request for no more messages had plunged Jiang Yaolin into wordless dread.

He was terrified that Ji Zhi had given up on him.

The radio silence on his messages only confirmed his worst fears, leaving him more restless by the day.

He hadn’t slept well in days. He even dreamed that he and Ji Zhi had parted for real, just like that game ending they had played. In the game, the protagonists still crossed paths now and then. But he and Ji Zhi? Total cutoff. No matter how desperately he searched or pleaded, he couldn’t find him.

The physical toll he could mask with ice packs for now. But the mental fog? Even his manager had picked up on it.

Work hadn’t suffered yet, but who knew how long that would last.

His manager—who had always disapproved—had even offered to custom-order more Ji Zhi merch to plaster around the lounge and snap him out of it.

But all Jiang Yaolin wanted was a reply from Ji Zhi.

Moments ago, he had been half-listening to another mentor’s fawning pitch for a collab, hand jammed in his pocket, clutching his phone and praying for that telltale buzz.

It wasn’t filming time yet, so mentors kept their phones handy. Pointless for him, though—the vibration he craved never came.

Instead, he fiddled with the phone charm.

Ji Zhi’s charm.

He had spotted it during one of Ji Zhi’s streams and thought it looked like a matching set—maybe even a couple’s item. He had asked about it privately on impulse.

Ji Zhi had laughed it off as a buy-one-get-one-free deal, not even checking if they matched. Jiang Yaolin had claimed it on the spot.

He knew Ji Zhi had a spare and kept nudging him to use it. Toying with it now eased the knot of panic in his chest, just a little.

Then came the commotion.

Jiang Yaolin heard the argument too.

Any other day, he might have tuned in, piecing together who was pulling strings behind it.

Today? Just noise. Rehearsal would grind to a halt anyway. Better to head home—at least there, he had his Ji Zhi collection waiting.

Until the bump.

The instant he saw him, familiarity hit like lightning.

Seconds later, he knew exactly who it was.

Ji Zhi.

Excitement crashed over him like a wave. Heart hammering, he recalled how Ji Zhi had instinctively covered his face. Clearly, he didn’t want to be spotted. So Jiang Yaolin threw his jacket over him for cover and scooped him close.

He had hugged Ji Zhi’s life-sized body pillow a thousand times, savoring its warmth, convinced it was enough. But now? Real skin rose and fell under his palm with every breath—fair, silky skin that seemed to yield to the slightest pressure.

Those sleep-hug dolls felt pathetic now. Plastic eyes couldn’t capture expressions this alive. Stuffing couldn’t match the taut flex of a real waist.

Jiang Yaolin barely watched where he was going, eyes locked on the Ji Zhi in his arms.

A tiny mole on his nape. A frame even daintier than on camera. A waist so slim one hand could circle it easily.

Details no merch could fake.

Remembering Ji Zhi’s mention of the glasses, Jiang Yaolin held them up—but didn’t hand them over. He made a vague gesture instead. “Bro, you’re the staffer who got into it with Long Yan before, right?”

He crossed paths with plenty of people, but his memory was sharp. The connection clicked fast.

Ji Zhi: “…”

How did Jiang Yaolin even remember that?

Ji Zhi stayed silent, but Jiang Yaolin took it as confirmation.

Seeing him chased away all the gloom. His mood soared. “Bro, so you’re on staff here too. Guess that means we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.”

He glanced at the name badge and committed “Ji Zhi” to memory. Then: “Bro, so part of why you ignored my messages before was work keeping you busy, right?”

“Will you pay attention to me now?”