Chapter 28 part 1
◎ A Reunion That Is Meant to Be ◎
He had to fly back to the agency early tomorrow morning to officially begin the final closed-door intensive training before their comeback.
For the coming period, he would have to focus entirely on training, meaning there was a high probability he wouldn’t have the time or energy to visit the Little Master. Berlin decided to deliver the food tonight.
He had considered the logistics: the Little Master lived in the mountains with no nightlife, so he likely went to bed early and rose early.
If the Little Master was already asleep, Berlin would just leave the things at the door; he would see them as soon as he got up the next morning. Since the Little Master was the only one living on the mountain, no one would steal them anyway.
Han Yuzhe was holding eight extra-large plastic bags, and Berlin’s hands were fully occupied as well.
During the previous two teleportations, Han Yuzhe had covered Berlin’s eyes. This time, realizing Han Yuzhe couldn’t spare a hand, Berlin cooperated by closing his eyes on his own. “I’m ready.”
Han Yuzhe watched quietly as Berlin squeezed his eyes shut in anticipation, and tilted his head, laughing soundlessly.
If Berlin were to open his eyes at this moment, he would discover that Han Yuzhe wasn’t honestly carrying the bags at all—that was just a show put on when humans were present. Demons are incredibly lazy; once out of sight, all the plastic bags hovered in mid-air, moving along with him.
He took a leisurely step forward and tapped Berlin lightly on the head.
The surrounding temperature plummeted.
The higher the mountain, the lower the temperature at night. Without the warming spell Han Yuzhe usually left behind, Berlin should have been shivering, but he found he wasn’t cold at all.
He processed this for a moment, then looked at Han Yuzhe with sudden realization. “Did you patch it up?”
Han Yuzhe hooked a finger at the bags floating in the air and nodded slightly.
Berlin thought for a moment. “What if the person in my dream removes the spell again? He’s a bit sensitive.”
In Chinese, you couldn’t hear the distinction between “He” (the person) and “He” (the deity).
Having read the Baidu Encyclopedia entry and automatically typecasting the entity as a ‘Dream-Eating Tapir,’ Han Yuzhe didn’t mind. “It’s fine. If it’s gone, I’ll just patch it again. It’s no trouble.”
Berlin smiled foolishly, a little touched.
“No trouble”—coming from the mouth of Han Yuzhe, who was too lazy to walk a few steps, this was arguably the most comforting thing he could say.
Berlin responded earnestly, “Don’t worry, Ah Zhe. Once we start training, I’ll practice dancing with you every day. I guarantee we’ll turn your reputation around.”
The smile on the corner of Han Yuzhe’s lips stiffened slightly. “……”
Han Yuzhe was well aware that he was the weakest link in Skye in terms of skill.
In the official positioning given by the agency, he was Skye’s “Visual”—but that didn’t mean he was actually the best-looking member.
In a group of five, you couldn’t really pick out who the definitive Visual was. Other groups couldn’t pick a Visual because there were no true handsome men, just guys who looked roughly the same after makeup. Skye, however, was different; every member could have been the top Visual in any other group, using their face to “bully” their teammates. Put them all in one group, and it was a clash of titans—you couldn’t choose because beauty has no standard, only preference.
The reason the agency ultimately gave the “Visual” title to Han Yuzhe was, at its core, due to a widespread joke in the industry: the “flower vase” who is useless at both singing and dancing is the Visual.
This statement isn’t objectively true; many Visuals in groups fit the literal meaning (best looking) but are not weak in skill. Talented Visuals might even be “nerfed” by their company—given less screen time and fewer lines—switching to a wide group shot during their solo “killing part” for fear that the individual would outshine the group and become too popular to control.
But when applied to Han Yuzhe, this joke didn’t wrong him in the slightest.
The racial characteristics of a demon dictated that Han Yuzhe was simply too lazy. His professional competency was stuck right at the passing line of what the audience could accept—not good, not bad. You couldn’t exactly say he was slacking, but you certainly couldn’t associate him with hard work or dedication.
Han Yuzhe didn’t slack off on stage, but during training, he was always in “power-saving mode.” The company had lectured him several times; each time, Han Yuzhe would listen silently, his mind wandering, and then continue to be as lazy as ever.
When Skye was being formed, the company couldn’t bear to let his face go to another group, so they gritted their teeth and let him debut as a member of Skye. Of course, legends say the whispers of demons are most beguiling to the human heart; whether Han Yuzhe pulled any strings in this regard, no one knew.
Berlin felt a headache coming on just mentioning this. “Ah Zhe, you really have to step it up for this comeback. Let’s try to wash away the title of ‘Slacker King’.”
Actually, Berlin was putting it gently. The nickname netizens used more often for Han Yuzhe was “Slacking Blue-and-White Porcelain”: meaning the best-looking one in the slacker group.
Han Yuzhe: “…”
He really wanted to say he didn’t care, and that he thought the fans and the public weren’t wrong. But the moment he thought about explaining this to Berlin—and how, after the explanation, Berlin would surely urge him to work hard and improve together—Han Yuzhe began to feel tired in advance.
So, he nodded. “Okay.”
Berlin smiled in relief, his mind put at ease.
While they were talking, his eyes adjusted to the light. However, there were no lamps on the mountain at night, so the visibility wasn’t as clear as the last time.
Han Yuzhe snapped his fingers lightly.
Specks of light, like fireflies, floated up from the snow, slowly gathering around Berlin to guide the way to the temple.
The scene was dreamlike and illusory. The points of light illuminated the withered tree branches bent under the snow, as if stars from the night sky had flapped their wings and descended to the mortal world.
“It’s so beautiful.”
Berlin struggled to lift the hand holding the bags a little, trying to touch the lights.
The light touched by his fingertip scattered, turning into a powdery mist.
Berlin walked forward, taking deep and shallow steps in the snow. “They look just like fireflies. I know fireflies are actually ugly bugs when you look closely, but from a distance, they really feel like something out of a fairy tale.”
The bags were floating around Han Yuzhe, and soon, the bags in Berlin’s hands also broke free and floated into mid-air. Han Yuzhe replied, “These are fireflies, just souls that have left their shells and faded away.”
Surprised, Berlin looked again at the lights surrounding him. Paying closer attention this time, he realized they did seem to have a life of their own.
Han Yuzhe’s voice was flat, hazy and indistinct in the night. “The end of life, the beginning… it is but an eternal cycle.”
Berlin was focusing on stepping through the snow to avoid falling and didn’t hear him clearly. The landing spot Han Yuzhe had chosen was very close to the temple, and he could already see its silhouette. “…Ah Zhe, what did you just say?”
Han Yuzhe timely controlled the plastic bags to return to Berlin’s hands. “Nothing.”
He manipulated the bags around himself to float to the temple entrance first, landing silently. Then, with hands in his pockets, he leaned lazily against a tree trunk. “You go ahead. I’ll wait for you here.”
Knowing Han Yuzhe had no common topics of conversation with the Little Master, Berlin nodded and waved. “Okay, I’ll be right back.”
The Little Master swept the snow from his door every day, but he couldn’t stop the heavy snowfall during the day; within half a day, the ground was covered again.
The temple gate wasn’t particularly high. It was only when Berlin got close that he saw light leaking through the cracks of the loosely fitted door.
Just as he was hesitating whether to knock, and looking down to stomp his feet lightly to shake off the thick snow on his shoes, he heard the door creak open.
Berlin was surprised by the other person’s keen hearing. He was just about to look up and say hello when he saw the wooden stick raised vigilantly in the Little Master’s hand. “……”
The Little Master holding the stick: “……”
Berlin, startled into tilting his head back so far his beanie slipped off: “Don’t hit! It’s me, friendly!”
Chen Qingqiu: “……”
He calmly set the stick aside. “Why are you here at this hour?”
The Little Master paused. “It’s very dangerous to come up the mountain at night. Don’t do this again.”
The light shining from the courtyard behind him was yellowish. The Little Master looked very different from the sharp, capable monk in robes Berlin had seen last time; he was wearing black-rimmed glasses and draped in daily sleepwear that looked very warm.
His gaze drifted downward, landing on the bags in Berlin’s hands and the pile of colorful snacks on the ground.
Berlin dumped his bags onto the ground with the rest. “How did you hear me coming? I shouldn’t have made that much noise.”
Chen Qingqiu tucked his hands into his sleeves, answering honestly, “I didn’t hear anything. I installed a video doorbell and saw someone.”
Berlin: “……”
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