Had he heard that wrong? Had Jiang Yaolin just called him…
“What’s wrong, bro?” Jiang Yaolin asked slowly.
Hearing the familiar address of “bro,” Ji Zhi was just about to breathe a sigh of relief, thinking he’d misheard, when Jiang Yaolin’s voice continued: “I just called you Zhi Zhi.”
Ji Zhi’s heart sank as he realized he hadn’t misheard after all.
But a new doubt quickly arose. He had no idea if Jiang Yaolin had suddenly decided to use his nickname on a whim, or if he was calling out the name of another streaming account.
Ji Zhi asked, “Why call me that all of a sudden?”
Jiang Yaolin’s voice remained as steady as ever, giving Ji Zhi no clue to his emotions.
Jiang Yaolin clearly had no intention of answering over the phone. Instead, he spoke in a whiny tone, like a kid pouting for attention. “Bro, I’m right outside the school gates waiting for you.”
“I miss you so much…”
Ji Zhi fell silent.
Hadn’t they just seen each other yesterday?
But this clearly wasn’t the time to point that out.
Ji Zhi thought it over and decided to go meet him.
For one thing, Jiang Yaolin was already at the school entrance. If Ji Zhi refused, Jiang Yaolin might just drive in to find him, and if his identity got exposed, it would cause a huge stir.
For another, Ji Zhi really wanted to know why Jiang Yaolin had suddenly changed how he addressed him.
Once he knew where Jiang Yaolin was, Ji Zhi stood up and headed toward the spot.
Ji Zhi had been worried that someone at school might spot Jiang Yaolin and recognize him. He hoped the other man would stay put in his car.
But when he saw the photo Jiang Yaolin sent—a bright red sports car—he quickly realized the car was far more eye-catching than the person. Jiang Yaolin might as well get out wearing sunglasses and a mask.
The vehicle was just too flashy, like a blazing ball of fire.
Even though class was about to start and there weren’t many people at the gates, it still drew plenty of glances from passersby. Ji Zhi even spotted someone taking photos from a distance with their phone.
He’d forgotten that celebrities like Jiang Yaolin usually traveled in nondescript vans when filming shows or heading to the training base. Of course he’d have his own private ride.
Before his identity came out, Jiang Yaolin had once mentioned casually that right after getting his license, his parents had gifted him this red sports car.
Back then, Ji Zhi hadn’t imagined the car would ever pull up to his school gates, so he hadn’t given it much thought.
Ji Zhi pulled up the hood of his jacket and slunk toward the sports car with his head down, stealthily pulling open the door and sliding inside.
As the door shut, it blocked out the prying eyes from outside, and Ji Zhi’s gaze shifted to the driver’s seat beside him.
Jiang Yaolin hadn’t brought his management team today, so he was driving himself.
He wore a loose button-down shirt and pants, with the brim of his baseball cap pulled low and a pair of oversized sunglasses.
Meeting Ji Zhi’s eyes, Jiang Yaolin seemed to understand his concern and spoke up quickly. “Don’t worry, bro. The windows are tinted. No one can see inside.”
Ji Zhi said, “What if a paparazzo or fan recognizes you…”
Jiang Yaolin replied, “They won’t. They don’t even know this car exists.”
With celebrity parents and his own early debut, Jiang Yaolin had learned from a young age how to hide his private life from the media and fans.
Any vehicle he appeared in publicly was a standard van. He’d only driven this sports car out a handful of times in private.
Hearing this, Ji Zhi relaxed a little. “But the car isn’t exactly a great spot for a chat…”
He peered warily out the window and saw people still glancing their way.
In response, Jiang Yaolin started the engine. “That’s why we’re going somewhere else, bro.”
Ji Zhi suspected Jiang Yaolin had chosen this flashy car on purpose, forcing them to relocate for their talk.
He figured they’d head to a restaurant or a private room somewhere. Worst case, a hotel.
More than that, though, he was preoccupied with why Jiang Yaolin had switched up his greeting. He racked his brain, wondering if he’d slipped up somehow in daily life.
Weird—he hadn’t, had he…
It was only when he caught a glimpse out the window of what looked like a gated villa community that he sensed something off. “Where are we going?”
Jiang Yaolin chuckled. “Home. It’s super private here—no paparazzi staking it out.”
Ji Zhi said, “Wait a second…”
But he realized too late. Jiang Yaolin was already pulling up to the house.
As the car rolled into the garage, Ji Zhi had no choice but to follow him out.
For privacy’s sake, Jiang Yaolin lived in a standalone villa.
His parents had retired abroad and stayed there, so he lived alone in the country. He didn’t like having people around the house, so he only had hourly cleaners recommended by his manager come in.
Ji Zhi already knew Ji Zhi posters covered Jiang Yaolin’s bedroom walls, but seeing the living room sofa pillows printed with Ji Zhi’s in-game avatar still startled him.
If he hadn’t remembered why he’d come, he might have blurted out a question about whether anyone else had seen this.
But Ji Zhi held back with effort.
Having been tricked by Duan Zhao before, he decided to learn his lesson this time. Instead of jumping straight to why Jiang Yaolin had changed his greeting, he asked, “Why’d you come find me all of a sudden today?”
Jiang Yaolin said, “Bro, you are Zhi Zhi.”
Ji Zhi’s heart sank again. Though a bad premonition was already spreading through him, he forced himself to play dumb. “What?”
“I’m obviously Ji Zhi. That’s my nickname. What’s going on?”
Jiang Yaolin lowered his gaze to Ji Zhi, knowing they weren’t even talking about the same thing.
His tone finally shifted from its earlier casualness, taking on a low edge. “Yesterday, I saw a post on social media.”
After Ji Zhi left the day before, Jiang Yaolin had done his usual patrol of Ji Zhi’s fan super-topic and soon spotted the post.
It brazenly claimed that after only recently picking up the game, the poster had noticed strong ship potential between the protagonist and Ji Zhi. Unable to resist, they’d screenshotted the game and photoshopped some fantasies: the protagonist and Ji Zhi embracing, or both gender-swapped.
Jiang Yaolin had skimmed it and moved to delete, but then glanced at the comments. The post had hit the trending square, drawing reactions from non-gamers.
When someone commented that Ji Zhi’s model didn’t look very masculine, Jiang Yaolin decided to flame them first, delete later.
But one comment quickly caught his eye:
—The blogger’s genderbent version kinda looks like streamer Zhi Zhi.
Jiang Yaolin frowned.
He didn’t like seeing people say Ji Zhi resembled so-and-so.
But when he saw the attached image in that comment, Jiang Yaolin froze.
It was a screenshot from a stream. The person had long black hair and softer features, but it really looked like Ji Zhi.
As far as he knew, Ji Zhi had never mentioned any siblings. So was this resemblance a coincidence, or…
He quickly searched the account and learned it belonged to a pretty popular streamer on another platform. Since that site didn’t have many gaming streamers, Jiang Yaolin hadn’t paid attention before.
Searching “Zhi Zhi” on the platform turned up not just the account but also some stream clips.
Jiang Yaolin quickly realized it was the same person.
He also noticed that while Zhi Zhi and Ji Zhi sometimes streamed at similar times, their schedules never overlapped.
If they were the same person, that explained everything—Ji Zhi couldn’t split himself in two to stream simultaneously.
Realizing this, Jiang Yaolin had come straight to the school to find him.
When he called Ji Zhi, he’d deliberately skipped the usual “bro” and used the other account’s name instead.
And Ji Zhi’s reaction on the other end of the line had confirmed his suspicions.
Jiang Yaolin’s words came out clear and precise, ringing in Ji Zhi’s ears.
Ji Zhi’s heart plummeted. He hadn’t expected a single social media post to be the spark.
Jiang Yaolin had discovered his other streaming account.
Ji Zhi tried to play it off. “What other streaming account? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Maybe it’s just a lookalike. Aren’t there internet celebrities who…”
But before he could finish, Jiang Yaolin cut him off. “Bro, no matter how similar two people look, some details can’t be identical.”
Jiang Yaolin had considered that possibility, of course. There had been net celebs before with no blood relation to him but a decent three- or four-point resemblance who’d tried to imitate him.
So from yesterday’s discovery through midday today, he’d been combing through Zhi Zhi’s stream clips to verify his hunch.
He quickly saw that the similarities went beyond looks—little habits matched Ji Zhi’s too:
When embarrassed, Zhi Zhi would duck his head just like Ji Zhi;
Zhi Zhi always stepped off-camera to grab water, without fail, same as Ji Zhi;
Zhi Zhi absentmindedly brushed back his hair once, revealing the exact same red mole on the back of his neck as Ji Zhi…
Jiang Yaolin had recorded tons of Ji Zhi’s streams and rewatched them endlessly in private, so he knew these details well.
And as an actor himself, he paid close attention to people’s unconscious quirks. Even siblings couldn’t match perfectly on those.
Unless…
Zhi Zhi was Ji Zhi.
Ji Zhi trailed off into silence.
No wonder Jiang Yaolin excelled at mystery games—his observation skills were razor-sharp. Only now, hearing him point it out, did Ji Zhi realize he even had these habits.
His heart raced with shock. No matter how careful he tried to be, it was impossible to monitor every subconscious tic for repetition.
No, Jiang Yaolin had been watching him so closely—how could Ji Zhi possibly refute it?
After a brief silence, Ji Zhi realized that his own lack of response was essentially confirming Jiang Yaolin’s guess.
Once he saw there was no suitable excuse to make, he could only nod in admission. “Yes, I am still streaming on another platform.”
“I needed money back then, so I…”
He wasn’t exactly lying, so his tone came across as utterly sincere.
Jiang Yaolin’s expression and voice betrayed no hint of anger or joy, and Ji Zhi’s taut nerves eased slightly as a result.
“Bro,” Jiang Yaolin said, “if you were short on money, you could have told me.”
“But back then, I didn’t even know you yet…” Ji Zhi replied.
Jiang Yaolin paused, falling silent for a few seconds before speaking up again. “Are you still short on money now? Why keep streaming on that other platform?”
“It’s because the contract hasn’t expired yet,” Ji Zhi explained. “So I have to keep going for now.”
His account on the other streaming platform had already been discovered, so Ji Zhi saw no point in hiding the contract anymore.
Jiang Yaolin’s brows furrowed slightly.
Ever since his debut, he’d had a manager arranged by his parents and his own studio, so he’d never dealt with contract troubles himself. But he knew plenty of celebrities around him who had.
“Bro,” Jiang Yaolin said, “I’ll handle it for you. You don’t need to keep streaming.”
Ji Zhi froze.
If this had happened before, he definitely would have been thrilled. But now that his identity was exposed, even without streaming, Fu Huixu and the others would still track him down. His excitement had thus been greatly diminished.
As he pondered how to quickly respond and change the subject, he suddenly felt his wrist gripped tightly. His whole body was yanked straight toward Jiang Yaolin.
Their distance closed in an instant, and Ji Zhi instinctively looked up—meeting Jiang Yaolin’s gaze head-on.
At the same time, Jiang Yaolin’s voice sounded right by his ear. “And you don’t need to keep in touch with user 356789123 anymore.”
The calm facade Jiang Yaolin had been maintaining finally shattered in that moment, his tone laced with a chill.
