Chapter 2: You’re Absolutely Pathetic...

Gu Jingyi paused in his steps, turning to appraise Cheng Xiao from head to toe, as if he couldn’t believe such words could actually come from her mouth.

Cheng Xiao quietly hid her hands behind her back, giving herself a little boost of confidence. She put on a fierce expression and snapped, “What are you looking at? Got a problem?”

Her demeanor was indeed a bit intimidating, yet her neckline was cut a little low. The enchanting allure shattered the carefully built aura of dignity she had been trying to maintain.

Gu Jingyi’s gaze darkened with a hint of danger. With a smile that concealed a sharp edge, he asked, “Are you sure you want me to address you as ‘Mentor Cheng Xiao’?”

In Chinese culture, the term “mentor” carries a double meaning.

The “dao” in mentor also means to guide…

Standing at an imposing 1.85 meters, Gu Jingyi blocked the doorway like a silent mountain. His towering presence exerted a pressure on Cheng Xiao that she couldn’t articulate.

Yet she stubbornly nodded, “Of course!”

The moment the words left her mouth, she knew she was lying.

Their encounters had all been in bed.

In such a particular place. Just the thought of that scene made her shiver all over.

Not to mention, Gu Jingyi knew exactly how to handle her.

Every time they were together, this guy would always tease her.

Only then would he lean in to embrace her, gently caressing her hair.

Leaving such a handle for him to catch her slip-up was hardly surprising.

Gu Jingyi’s breathing grew heavier, as if trying to hide his excitement. With his lashes lowered, he managed his expression before flashing a provocative smile at Cheng Xiao: “Of course you can, but don’t come regret it later.”

The sudden use of an honorific made Cheng Xiao feel awkward.

Watching Gu Jingyi disappear outside the door, she knew they were thinking the same thing.

The drama “Little Happiness” had only been airing for less than two months, yet Gu Jingyi’s rise was meteoric. Not only did he top the Weibo Star Power Newcomer charts, but his fan group’s super topic on Weibo shot him into the top ten rankings.

Cheng Xiao felt happy for him but feared being left behind.

That provocation was nothing more than flirtation born from insecurity.

…

After leaving Cheng Xiao’s residence, Gu Jingyi drove home.

His phone buzzed incessantly, but he was so focused he barely paid attention.

For nearly a year, their relationship had been like this.

From intense entanglement to calm parting, all separated by the length of a bed.

His manager Lin Ze initially found it unbelievable, expecting Gu Jingyi and Cheng Xiao to soon deepen their relationship and become a couple.

Unexpectedly, no matter how intimate things were indoors, whenever they met outside, they remained distant, barely exchanging greetings.

Over time, Lin Ze grew reassured.

Artists on the rise can’t date openly but can relieve stress.

Finding a rising starlet like Cheng Xiao was far better than chasing after internet celebrities.

With smooth precision, Gu Jingyi reversed his Porsche into the parking spot, then picked up his long-neglected phone as he entered his spacious flat.

After showering and changing into comfortable pajamas, Gu Jingyi finally had time to handle his messages.

He took his phone from the bedside table, unlocked it with a glance, and opened WeChat.

The pile of unread notifications was overwhelming. Driven by a mild compulsion, he quickly tapped each red dot to open the corresponding chat, then immediately exited.

One by one, the annoying red dots disappeared.

—

Just as he was about to exit a chat, a message quickly appeared and was instantly retracted.

[Why would you participate in “Clay Doll”?]

Gu Jingyi barely had time to close the chat before the other party retracted the message.

The speed was lightning-fast, so fast he thought it might have been a trick of the eye.

[“Little Happiness” is still airing hotly. Why go to a talent show? Are you really going to relive the setbacks you had before?]

The sender seemed to think they had been too blunt and quickly withdrew the message again.

The chat window kept displaying “typing…,” piquing Gu Jingyi’s curiosity. Unlike before, he didn’t swiftly exit but stayed, intrigued to see what else might be said.

[Three years overseas as a trainee, you casually gave up your confirmed debut spot before. You’re really funny. Don’t tell me after all this time you want to try again.]

The messages came and went in a frenzy, each hastily retracted.

With no chat history visible after a long silence, only the latest timestamp and multiple “message retracted” notices remained.

Shanghai

Tian Xiwei, frustrated, grabbed her hair and muttered with eyes closed:

“You idiot, you’re hopeless.”

She hadn’t yet shaken off her mood when her phone vibrated.

With a buzz, Tian Xiwei opened her eyes and looked down.

Seeing it was a message from Gu Jingyi, her eyes widened in disbelief. She carefully tapped on his Moments posts multiple times to be sure.

The familiar starry background and the “visible for three days only” posts confirmed it. Tian Xiwei realized she had accidentally sent that voice message to him.

Frozen, she stared blankly at the message from Gu Jingyi.

First came a single question mark—at that speed, it was as if he was waiting right across from her and heard it as soon as it was sent.

What made her scalp tingle was the flood of “You retracted a message” notices, like evidence of her embarrassment that Gu Jingyi had witnessed.

“(Voice message, 9 seconds)”

Gu Jingyi sent a voice message. Tian Xiwei hesitated before opening it.

She stared at the message she’d sent unknowingly for a long time, then pale-faced, pressed play on speaker.

The voice was crystal clear:

“You idiot, you’re hopeless…”

Her roommate, applying a facial mask on the next bed, glanced over.

Startled, Tian Xiwei flushed deeply.

She scrambled to silence the phone, fumbling with the volume buttons.

After some effort, she cautiously placed the phone to her ear and tapped to play Gu Jingyi’s voice message.

“Don’t tell me you suddenly sent a message calling me an idiot to secretly say you miss me. That’s just too damn abstract…”

His voice was cool, lazy in tone. Through the static, it carried a slightly husky, moist timbre that was irresistibly seductive.

Hearing it clearly, Tian Xiwei’s face blazed red.

The heat spread quickly from her cheeks to her ears.

Embarrassment was fleeting; what had happened today wasn’t quite a social death.

—

Tian Xiwei recalled her previous embarrassing moments in front of Gu Jingyi and quickly regained her composure.

The fiery sister from Sichuan-Chongqing blurted out bluntly, “Are you free?”

After gathering her emotions, she was too lazy to type more.

He understood immediately, and a voice call popped up.

Noticing her roommate’s curious gaze, Tian Xiwei nervously rummaged through her desk, hastily found a pair of headphones, put them on, then answered.

“…Has the production team announced it yet?”

Gu Jingyi’s voice was faintly noisy, with distant barks from dogs.

His tone was low, sharply guessing the topic.

“Yeah, the official Idol Trainee account posted the contestant list.”

Tian Xiwei’s voice softened, her true feelings unreadable.

“How’s the fandom? Any unusual activity?”

She complained a little, “Not great. I went on Weibo today; my private messages exploded. Fans are cursing the flower agency, saying they sent you back to the talent show just for signing fees, ignoring your sensitive withdrawal history. Many are asking when the agency will collapse.”

Gu Jingyi was silent for a moment. “Thank you for your hard work.”

Tian Xiwei’s heart skipped; she grew flustered.

“Hey, what are you doing! I… I’m hanging up now!”

After ending the call, she jumped up from her chair with a scrape on the floor, the sound sharp.

Her roommate watching the drama looked up, concerned: “Tian, why are you so jumpy?”

“Sorry, sorry,” Tian Xiwei apologized for disturbing her.

She quickly grabbed her bag and headed for the dorm exit.

“Hey? What are you doing? Exams are coming; shouldn’t you be studying?”

Tian Xiwei turned back with a bright smile: “It’s okay, a little break won’t hurt. I need to get to the academic office to ask for leave. If I’m late, it’ll be too late.”

Like a flickering flame, she disappeared down the stairs.

“Gu Jingyi, wait for me! With me around, you’ll never be bullied by the production team!”

Unaware of Tian Xiwei’s worries, Gu Jingyi held the script for “The Big Boss” and smiled as he looked at the disconnected call.

Tian was completely smitten by that slightly cheesy line.

In truth, given their relationship, there was no need to say thank you.

In this world, those who truly care for him—besides family—are his fans.

Gu Jingyi could never take their efforts for granted.

Behind every fan was a vivid face and a sincere heart.

He could only do his best to live up to every fan’s love.

Placing his neatly packed luggage by the bed, Gu Jingyi drifted into sleep with a smile.