Chapter 16 PART 1
That evening, back at the hotel, Berlin was struggling to eat dinner in a bizarre, zombie-like posture with his arm dangling at an odd angle.
His arm was temporarily too sore to lift, so Berlin, with a Buddhist-like serenity, tilted his head and used his mouth to reach for the spoon – if the mountain won’t come to Muhammad, then Muhammad will go to the mountain. No big deal.
He believed a hard day’s work deserved a good meal, so he spent an hour diligently and laboriously eating three pairs of fried chicken wings, a bowl of beef soup, and two pieces of tiramisu that Han Yuzhe had brought back.
After a satisfying meal, Berlin did a full set of stretches and applied heat packs before expertly using a fascia gun to relax his excessively sore muscles.
Berlin winced and gasped twice, feeling as if his soul had momentarily flown away.
The intensity of his long-term dance training was no less than archery. Although Berlin looked thin, his stamina actually surpassed 99% of his peers. A good night’s sleep would restore him to about 60-70% of his full energy.
Physical fatigue actually improved his sleep quality. Berlin slept soundly without dreams and woke up early, feeling refreshed.
Every morning, unless he was particularly pressed for time, Berlin would habitually follow a B站 (bilibili) uploader he’d been following for a long time, practicing the Eight Brocades (a set of Qigong exercises).
He didn’t often leave comments, but he would always give a “one-click triple” (like, favorite, and repost) to support the uploader every time a new video was posted. Some time ago, the system had congratulated him on receiving the uploader’s exclusive fan badge.
Berlin woke up at 5:40 am today. After loosening his shoulders, he opened the uploader’s exercise video.
The uploader’s background had remained the same for ten years: it was filmed in the mountains, surrounded by mist and clouds, a fairyland, a paradise.
It was a rare sanctuary of nature that brought peace of mind amidst the clamor, full of artistic conception.
The comment section often had newcomers asking which mountain it was and wanting to visit, but no one could answer.
This mysterious mountain did not belong to any tourist attraction with a recognizable name, and it didn’t require tourists to pay or burn incense. Netizens opted for a virtual offering, using “one-click triple” support as a form of free access.
After various apps displayed IP addresses, netizens immediately stormed the uploader’s homepage to check the IP –
Okay, the great dream of visiting the uploader’s simple vegetarian meal was completely shattered.
The snowy region, a synonym for pristine nature, is vast and sparsely populated. The northernmost part, in particular, is a largely inaccessible no-man’s-land with complex terrain, where no roads have been built to date.
This Shaolin uploader became the only one who didn’t have to worry about his IP address being exposed and his offline life being invaded.
Not everyone can climb wild mountains, bravely venture into no-man’s-land, just to have the uploader teach them a lesson with a single punch –
No one doubted the powerfully muscled physique hidden beneath that seemingly slender frame.
The Shaolin uploader was very young, kind-eyed, quiet, and taciturn, but he could beat thirty people with one punch.
The complete Eight Brocades, adapted and adjusted by the Shaolin uploader, lasted a full twenty-three minutes. Even with Berlin’s excellent stamina, his back was soaked with sweat after completing the exercises. The Shaolin uploader’s face remained clean and his breathing steady; his light green monk’s robe remained dry and crisp after finishing.
Berlin had reason to believe he was safe.
After stretching, Berlin slapped his forehead, remembering he had forgotten to brush his teeth. He paused the video and went to the bathroom.
Last night, after brushing his teeth, he had a sudden tremor, and his toothbrush fell to the floor. Although the bathroom floor was clean and gleaming, due to psychological factors, Berlin didn’t want to use it again.
He originally planned to use the hotel’s disposable toothbrush, but after searching for a while, he realized the staff had likely forgotten to put one out.
Berlin scratched his head and muttered to himself, “Ah, I wonder if asking the front desk will cause someone to lose their job…”
The hotel where Skye was staying was arranged by the program team. As a top star, the conditions would inevitably be excellent. In hotels of this level, if a public figure with influence reports such low-level mistakes, it would be seen as inadequate service and would lead to repercussions.
Berlin had witnessed firsthand how a certain celebrity in the entertainment industry posted a comment on their social media, saying they had mentioned something missing from their room, and the temporary staff member responsible was immediately fired. He didn’t mean it that way, suspecting the hotel management intentionally used him as an example to make a point, that he just happened to be the unlucky one who got caught in the crossfire, regretting having mentioned it.
What that person posted wasn’t necessarily the truth; the actual situation might be far more complex, with the celebrity worried that the fired person would expose the information online. It’s not to say that all hotels will magnify trivial matters and take a one-size-fits-all approach. Berlin simply didn’t want this kind of unclear trouble to happen.
He opened WeChat, hesitated for a moment over several chat windows, and sent a message.
Two seconds later, there was a knock on the door.
Han Yuzhe’s low, pleasant voice sounded, faintly coming through the door: “Delivery.”
Berlin: “…”
Two years later, he still couldn’t adapt to his teammate’s sudden appearances.
He opened the door, and the sight of Han Yuzhe standing outside caused him to widen his eyes slightly.
Han Yuzhe was dressed in a sharp overcoat, a black turtleneck underneath, with unmelted snowflakes on his hair and shoulders. He wore sunglasses, held a half-drunk cocktail in one hand, and a disposable toothbrush in the other.
Han Yuzhe chuckled softly: “Hello, please sign for this.”
Berlin took the toothbrush from him; many points of contention piled up in his mouth, so he stepped aside to let Han Yuzhe enter the room: “…”
After the door closed, Berlin couldn’t help but curiously ask, “Uh, did you go out again?”
Han Yuzhe expertly settled into the sofa, legs crossed, casually unbuttoning his overcoat to reveal a neatly pressed suit underneath; his face was the epitome of refined debauchery: “Yes, I went to a bar in Iceland for a vacation.”
Berlin: “…”
Ah, no surprise.
Han Yuzhe wasn’t afraid of the cold; he wore extra layers to avoid standing out too much in a crowd.
Though his current suit and overcoat combo would look out of place even in the icy landscape of Iceland.
As for why he was wearing sunglasses – sunglasses wouldn’t provide any disguise, but trendsetters can wear sunglasses at night, indoors – basically, don’t question the ways of trendsetters.
Iceland was a place Han Yuzhe had publicly mentioned in an interview as his ideal place to live, citing the minimal daylight hours; sometimes, there were only four hours of sunshine a day.
Berlin remembered that interview vividly.
Han Yuzhe had exclaimed with delight, “It’s simply hell.”
Berlin: “…”
He strongly suspected that Skye’s future world tour would be unlikely to set foot in Iceland.
He still remembered the host’s words getting stuck in their throat, looking like they wanted to pinch their acupoint to revive themselves, only managing to laugh dryly and force out two “hahas” as a comment: “Brother, you’re so funny.”
At that time, Han Yuzhe frowned slightly, about to retort, but Berlin quickly stopped him.
And now, Han Yuzhe, relaxing on the sofa, lazily propped his head up, a hint of intoxication in the upturn of his lips: “It’s so good, it really is hell.”
Berlin: “…”
Berlin: The people of Iceland probably won’t thank you for your assessment.
To avoid further discussion of hell with Han Yuzhe, Berlin turned to the bathroom to wash up.
After brushing his teeth, Berlin found Han Yuzhe still there: “I’m fine now, thank you for bringing the toothbrush, go back and continue drinking, don’t let anyone take pictures of you.”
Han Yuzhe didn’t move. His gaze fell on Berlin’s phone resting on the stand: “Practicing that Eight Brocades again?”
Berlin clicked play and nodded: “Yes, it’s very effective, you can also try—”
He stopped mid-sentence: “Ah, it wouldn’t do you any good.”
Han Yuzhe glanced at the screen, resting his chin on his hand, staring at Berlin for a while: “Do you also want to practice on the mountain?”
Berlin paused the video, imagining the scene, and answered affirmatively: “Of course, the mountain air is fresh and more relaxing than the hotel. Exercising while watching the sunrise would be so beautiful, it’s a pity I don’t have the opportunity.”
Han Yuzhe seemed thoughtful.
Seeing that he wasn’t speaking anymore, Berlin was about to resume the video when he saw Han Yuzhe calmly stand up and walk towards him.
Inside the room, beyond the camera’s view, Han Yuzhe took a step, his figure disappeared, and his voice was next to Berlin’s ear.
Han Yuzhe exuded the crisp chill of the heavy snow; he leaned over from behind, his long, pale hand gently covering Berlin’s eyes.
He whispered softly in his ear: “If you want to go, let’s go see it now.”