Chapter 41: There Is a Six-Pointed Star on My Waist

The next day.

It was the day the guests returned to film the variety show.

Xiong Xiong carried a steaming breakfast and pushed open the door to the lounge. “Bro, breakfast time! Eat up or your stomach will…”

“Hey, who are you?!”

Xiong Xiong stared blankly at the unfamiliar man sitting in the chair. “You’re not my brother…?”

Zhou Yili lazily lifted his eyes to glance at him.

Xiao Mo grinned and said, “That’s your sister-in-law, haha!”

Zhou Yili shot him a glare sharper than a blade, and Xiao Mo instantly knelt by the chair, penitently counting on his fingers. “Bro, I’m sorry, my mouth’s faster than my brain… boohoo…”

Xiong Xiong was slow to react.

He hugged the hot breakfast, checking the lounge number on his phone. “Isn’t this lounge 14? Did I go to the wrong place…”

Xiao Mo looked at the little assistant with a touch of sympathy.

Who would’ve thought he’d run into his big brother here.

He was about to explain when a cool, magnetic voice cut in, “You’re not in the wrong place.”

Shen Jixing stepped inside, bathed in the long rays of morning light. In the mirror, he caught sight of the drowsy Zhou Yili. “What are you doing here?”

Zhou Yili, upon hearing his voice, finally reacted and spoke his first words of the day.

“The lounge blew up.”

Xiao Mo’s face twisted as he tried to process it, then quickly caught up. “That’s right, that’s right,” Xiao Mo gestured wildly. “We’d just entered lounge 13, and boom! It blew up.”

Xiong Xiong: ⊙∀⊙?

Shen Jixing’s cool, indifferent gaze swept over the pair.

“And it didn’t blow you two up with it?”

Shen the actor’s sharp tongue attacked friend and foe alike.

Xiao Mo scratched his head. “Huh?”

So did it blow up or not? He looked to his brother for a hint.

Zhou Yili, having pulled another all-nighter, looked languid and weary, his long legs casually kicking the seat next to him.

“Sit.”

Xiao Mo elegantly set himself down.

And was promptly kicked off his seat by his brother.

Xiong Xiong obediently wiped the stool and sat. Shen Jixing calmly took a seat, opening his breakfast and drinking a bottle of hot milk.

The stylist began doing his hair and makeup.

Zhou Yili caught the scent of milk in the air, and slowly looked up at him. “I heard you didn’t come home last night?”

“Who told you that?”

“Me.”

“…”

Zhou Yili stared at him in the mirror. “I went home at eight last night to pick something up. You weren’t there.”

Xiao Mo listened in confusion.

Didn’t he go back to feed the little white bird last night? When did it become picking something up?

“I got home at nine.” Shen Jixing replied mildly. “Didn’t see you either.”

Eight o’clock counts as not coming home at night? Even parents’ curfews aren’t that early, though he had no parents.

Xiao Mo looked from side to side.

Eight, nine… he almost wanted to play “Lovers Who Missed Each Other.” Except he’d probably get beaten up by his brother for that.

But whatever, he was used to getting beaten anyway :-D

Just as Zhou Yili was about to ask where he’d been, the room was suddenly filled with deafening music:

“Didn’t your mother teach you to say sorry when you bump into someone—”

Zhou Yili’s nerves twitched; he wondered what he’d done to deserve this kind of assistant.

“Mo, Sheng, Sheng!”

Shen Jixing found it inexplicably amusing and commented blandly while eating, “His name is Mo Sheng, but he’s a chatterbox.”

“What, you like him?” Zhou Yili said offhandedly. “Do you want to swap assistants?”

Shen Jixing bit the straw, unfazed. “Six of one, half a dozen of the other.”

Xiong Xiong, always a beat behind, finally realized. “Huh? Swap what, me?”

Zhou Yili: …

With that, he dropped the subject.

No point in asking.

Better not let Shen Jixing think he cared too much.

…

The location for the first episode’s shoot was by the sea.

The director had generously reserved the entire coastline—cruise ships, beaches, the shoreline, and a seaside town.

Once the guests were made up, they gathered on the sand.

“Xiao Zhou, come quick! I have big news for you.” Sheng Que bounced excitedly on the beach, waving his arms.

Young Master Zhou was as flamboyant as ever; his variety show attire looked more like a fashion runway—black and blue highlighted hair tousled back, a floral shirt, black sunglasses, like a rich heir come to buy up the coast.

At the call, he arched an eyebrow and casually pulled a little palm sapling from the sand.

“I’m coming, wait up.”

Sheng Que dropped to his knees. “Master Zhou, come quick, your old servant has major news to report.”

Zhou Yili put the little tree back and strolled over lazily.

“Speak.”

Sheng Que leaned in and whispered, “Yesterday, I almost poisoned my little uncle to death.”

Zhou Yili: “Righteous family betrayal?”

“Oh, I didn’t do it on purpose.” Sheng Que covered his mouth, giggling.

Zhou Yili snapped a photo for evidence.

Sheng Que: “?”

“For the day I’m in a bad mood and want to report you.”

A brother’s happiness built upon another brother’s misery—Zhou Shuren.

“You say it wasn’t on purpose?” Zhou Yili drawled. “Is your uncle still alive?”

“I really didn’t mean it.” Sheng Que insisted, though he couldn’t deny it felt good to finally get one over after all the years of being pushed around.

Such an aloof man, lying sick in bed, retching and in pain until his lips were bloodless.

Well… perhaps he did feel a little guilty.

“He never said he was allergic to seafood. I offered it and he ate it instinctively,” Sheng Que tried to defend himself.

Zhou Yili sneered, “You’ve known him ten years and don’t know he’s allergic to seafood.”

He spoke without malice, but Sheng Que took it to heart.

He scratched his head. His little uncle was always so cold and taciturn, never revealing a hint of emotion. He’d genuinely never heard before.

“You knew?” he asked Zhou Yili.

“Mm.”

Hearing this, Sheng Que felt a little less than human.

“When did you find out?” he pressed.

“Just now,” Zhou Yili replied.

Sheng Que dug up the little palm tree and charged at Zhou Yili.

“Take this, you—!”

Zhou Yili clicked his tongue. “Childish.”

He took off running, heading straight for someone who’d just walked over.

Shen Jixing had just glanced at his phone—it was a message from Ruan Jia—and was about to read it when a tall figure barreled into him, knocking him onto the sand.

His phone fell into the soft sand and his eyes lost focus for a couple of seconds from the impact.

He drew a deep breath. “Zhou—”

“Shen Jixing.”

Zhou Yili looked at him over his sunglasses. Though the world was dim behind the lenses, the closeness between them made his heart pound violently.

Shen Jixing: “Speak.”

“Give me a tattoo,” Zhou Yili suddenly said, fixing his gaze on him.

“…”

Zhou Yili stood first, pulling the slender man up as well.

Shen Jixing retrieved his phone from the sand.

[Ruan Jia]: Thank you for coming to find me.

[Ruan Jia]: I think, though I don’t have a formula to turn back time, I do have the courage to change my fate.

A faint smile touched Shen Jixing’s lips.

He put his phone away and met Zhou Yili’s intent gaze.

“What is it?” he asked.

Zhou Yili glanced at his phone but said nothing. After a moment, he spoke. “You haven’t answered me.”

About the tattoo.

“I can,” Shen Jixing replied. “After the recording.”

The director was already waving them over. Shen Jixing took the lead, walking toward the gathering.

Zhou Yili pushed his sunglasses up to rest on his head and strolled after him with long, lazy strides.

“Do you know how to tattoo?” His tone was relaxed.

Shen Jixing glanced sideways at him. “Only now you think to ask? Isn’t it a bit late?”

“Not too late.” Zhou Yili looked at his face, his voice languid yet vaguely threatening. “If you mess it up, I’ll tear down your shop on the spot.”

After all, it was his face.

Strangely, in that moment of closeness, he’d felt a sudden urge to let Shen Jixing come so near of his own accord.

Shen Jixing couldn’t guess what he was thinking, but he sensed a hint of worry behind the bravado.

“Don’t worry.”

Shen Jixing smiled faintly. “I won’t ruin it. My first test subject was myself.”

All around, the waves roared. His voice was both soothing and secretive, calmly sharing a secret as if he were a night sky hiding its stars.

“There’s a six-pointed star tattoo on my waist.”