10: Chapter 10 Five Words

The official recording session for "Prince Rupert's Drop" was scheduled for Friday afternoon.

Jiang Zhiyu arrived at the recording studio an hour early. It wasn't because he was nervous—he wasn't. He had written, arranged, and mixed this song; he had sung the demo himself and discussed the details with Kim Taeyeon countless times. Every note, every breath, and every emotional transition was etched into his heart. He arrived early because of his obsessive-compulsive disorder. The faders on the mixing console had to be zeroed out, the microphone's pop filter adjusted to a precise angle, the monitor speakers' volume calibrated with a decibel meter, and even the studio temperature set to exactly twenty-two degrees Celsius—neither too high nor too low, the most comfortable temperature for the throat.

After finishing all this, he took a cup of strawberry milk tea out of his bag, inserted the straw, and took a sip. Full sugar, with pearls, coconut jelly, pudding, and red beans. The pink liquid was cloyingly sweet, but his expression remained as calm as if he were drinking plain water.

The door was pushed open.

Kim Taeyeon walked in wearing a light gray hoodie, the two drawstrings on the hood hanging down her chest. Her hair was tied in a low ponytail, she wore no makeup, and a pair of round-rimmed glasses sat on her face. She didn't have coffee in her hand—ever since seeing the milk tea on Jiang Zhiyu's desk last time, she had stopped bringing him iced Americanos. She brought a hot Americano for herself, the coffee shop's logo printed on the paper cup, with white steam rising from the lid's vent.

"Taeyeon Sunbae," Jiang Zhiyu stood up and gave a slight bow.

"Producer Jiang," Kim Taeyeon nodded. She walked to the mixing console, placed her hot Americano on the desk, and then took a tablet and a notebook out of her bag. The notebook cover was covered in stickers—cartoon characters, stars, hearts—looking like a high schooler's journal, creating a cute contrast with her age.

She flipped open the notebook, which was densely packed with writing—not lyrics, but her understanding and feelings about the song, as well as every detail she had recorded during practice. "For the breathing in the second verse, I tried three ways," she said, pointing to a line in the notebook. "The first is taking a breath after '바닥에', the second is after '흩어져 있는 건', and the third is singing it all in one breath without stopping. Which do you think is better?"

"The third one," Jiang Zhiyu said. "No breathing. The feeling of 'scattered all over the ground' should be continuous, irreversible, like water slipping through fingers. Taking a breath would break that continuity."

Kim Taeyeon nodded and drew a circle in her notebook. "I thought so too. But for '내 유일한 약점을' in the third chorus, I tried a new way of singing it yesterday—instead of singing '약점을' as three distinct syllables, I connected them as 'yak—jjeom—eul,' making the middle 'jjeom' slightly elongated, like a... hesitation. As if saying 'my weakness... that weakness of mine...'"

Jiang Zhiyu didn't speak after hearing her description. He walked into the recording booth, stood before the microphone, put on the headphones, and gave a gesture to Kim Taeyeon outside the soundproof glass.

Kim Taeyeon pressed the play button.

The sound of a piano flowed from the monitor speakers. Jiang Zhiyu listened to the intro with his eyes closed, then began to sing that part of the chorus. He handled '약점을' exactly as Kim Taeyeon had described—the three syllables were connected, with almost no gap between 'yak' and 'jjeom,' and 'jjeom' was drawn out for half a beat, like someone hesitating before saying the word 'weakness,' but ultimately unable to hold back and blurting it out.

After singing, he took off the headphones and walked out of the booth.

"Like that?" he asked.

Kim Taeyeon looked at him, her eyes filled with something complex and indescribable. "...You only heard me describe it once."

"Yeah."

"And you can already sing it."

"Yeah."

"And it's even better than I expected."

Jiang Zhiyu didn't respond. He walked back to the mixing console and took a sip of his milk tea.

Kim Taeyeon looked at his 'it's no big deal' expression and pursed her lips. She had seen many geniuses. In her dozen or so years at SM, she had seen countless trainees, songwriters, and producers called 'geniuses.' Some were born with perfect pitch, some had invincible rhythm, and some wrote songs as easily as drinking water. But Jiang Zhiyu was different from all of them. His 'genius' didn't lie in technique, but in understanding. He could understand what someone wanted in an instant and then present it precisely, without any unnecessary embellishment. This ability wasn't learned or practiced; it was innate—or rather, it was polished by some kind of extreme pain.

"Let's begin," Kim Taeyeon stood up and walked into the recording booth with her notebook.

The official recording went much smoother than Jiang Zhiyu had anticipated.

On the first take, Kim Taeyeon sang the entire song perfectly. Pitch, rhythm, emotion, and breath—every dimension was above ninety-five percent. Jiang Zhiyu listened in the control room, remained silent for five seconds, and then pressed the talkback button. "Very good. But for '부숴버렸어'—'shattered'—in the second chorus, you can sing it even more 'brokenly.' Don't sing the word completely; there can be a tiny pause between 'bu' and 'sweo,' like you're gritting your teeth."

Kim Taeyeon nodded without saying "okay" or "I understand." She simply turned to face the microphone, took a deep breath, and signaled Jiang Zhiyu to replay the accompaniment.

On the second take, she sang '부숴버렸어' brokenly. That pause between 'bu' and 'sweo' was only a fraction of a second long, but it was enough to change the word from 'I shattered it' to 'I—shattered it.' That pause in the middle was the final breath before a person used all their strength to utter that word.

Jiang Zhiyu's finger tapped lightly on the mixing console's fader. "Good. This version is enough."

Kim Taeyeon took off her headphones and stepped out of the recording booth. There was no smile on her face, but her eyes were bright, like she had just completed something that satisfied even herself. She walked to the control room, took a sip of her hot Americano, then leaned back in the chair, looking at the audio waveforms on the computer screen.

"I think it can be even better," she said.

"Where?"

"The bridge. '이 완벽한 형태는 본래 너를 위해 태어난 거야'—'This perfect form was originally born for you.' When I sang it, I felt it was... too stable. The bridge of this song should be the place with the most complex emotions—not a breakdown, not a venting, but a sense of fatalism: 'I knew it would be like this, but I still chose this path.' I sang it too 'cleanly.'"

Jiang Zhiyu looked at her. Kim Taeyeon's gaze was fixed on the screen, her brow slightly furrowed, her lips pressed into a thin line. Her expression didn't look like she was discussing work with a producer; it looked more like she was competing with herself.

"How do you want to sing it?" Jiang Zhiyu asked.

"I want to... not sing it like that," Kim Taeyeon said. "Not 'singing' it out, but 'speaking' it out. Like talking to someone, saying it to them, saying it to myself."

"Then try it."

On the third take, Kim Taeyeon didn't "sing" the bridge. She broke down the melody, keeping only the rhythm, and "spoke" the lyrics line by line in a near-recitative, breathy way.

"이 완벽한 형태는..."

This perfect form—

"본래 너를 위해..."

Was originally for you—

"태어난 거야."

Born.

She didn't sing the last note. That note should have risen, like a hand reaching toward the sky. But her voice dropped, like that hand falling before it could touch the heavens.

The recording studio was silent for a few seconds.

Kim Taeyeon took off her headphones and didn't ask Jiang Zhiyu "how was it." She just stood there, head lowered, looking at the lyric sheet in her hand. Her fingers rubbed the edge of the paper, once, then again.

Jiang Zhiyu pressed the talkback button.

"Taeyeon Sunbae."

"Yeah."

"After singing this song, do you feel sad?"

Kim Taeyeon looked up at him through the soundproof glass. Her expression was calm, but there was something in her eyes—not tears, not redness, but a deeper kind of moisture, as if they had been soaked in something.

"Yes," she said.

Jiang Zhiyu nodded. "Then it's right."

He didn't say "you sang well" or "this version is fine." He said "then it's right." Because the ultimate standard for this song wasn't technique, nor emotion, nor anything that could be measured or evaluated. Its ultimate standard was—after singing it, would you feel sad? If you weren't sad, it meant you hadn't entered that world. If you were sad, it meant you had been in that world, even if only for a few seconds.

Kim Taeyeon walked out of the recording booth and sat on the sofa. She picked up the now-cold hot Americano, took a sip, and then watched Jiang Zhiyu's back as he busied himself at the mixing console. He saved the third take, placed it alongside the first and second, and then listened to it from start to finish.

After listening, he leaned back in his chair, eyes closed, and remained silent for ten seconds.

Then he opened his eyes, turned around, and looked at Kim Taeyeon.

"Sunbae, what do you think?"

"I think... it's enough," Kim Taeyeon said. Her tone didn't carry the relief of "finally finished," but rather a restraint that suggested "it's reached this point; going any further would be too much."

"Then it's settled," Jiang Zhiyu said. "We'll use the third version."

He saved the project file, backed it up to a USB drive, and uploaded it to the company's cloud server. The upload progress bar went from zero to one hundred percent in less than ten seconds. Seeing that one hundred percent, a weight lifted off his chest, but only halfway. The other half was still hanging there because he knew that from the recording studio to the listeners' ears, there was still a long way to go. Mixing, mastering, cover design, promotional planning, distribution channels—every step was a hurdle, and every step could turn the song into something else.

But that was for later. Right now, he only needed to do one thing.

Mooch a meal.

Jiang Zhiyu's gaze shifted from the computer screen to Kim Taeyeon. She was sitting on the sofa, looking down at her phone, her thumb sliding across the screen as if scrolling through something. Her profile looked exceptionally small under the soft lights of the recording studio, so small she looked like a minor.

"Sunbae," Jiang Zhiyu spoke up, "do you have any plans later?"

Kim Taeyeon looked up at him. "No. Why?"

"Do you want to have dinner together?"

Kim Taeyeon looked at him without speaking. Her expression didn't change, but her eyes did—not with wariness or scrutiny, but with a kind of surprise that said, "Why are you suddenly asking this?"

"Why?" she asked.

"Because no one is making dinner for me tonight," Jiang Zhiyu said very frankly, so frankly it was as if he were stating a fact that had nothing to do with him.

The corner of Kim Taeyeon's mouth twitched. "No one is making dinner for you?"

"Yeah. Usually, three trainees take turns treating me to dinner, but today they went to the mall." Jiang Zhiyu paused and added, "To buy underwear. It wasn't convenient for me to follow."

The corner of Kim Taeyeon's mouth twitched again, this time with a larger movement. "You usually rely on trainees to treat you to dinner?"

"It's not relying. They offer to treat me," Jiang Zhiyu corrected. "I just don't refuse."

Kim Taeyeon looked at him, silent for three seconds. Then she stood up, put her phone in her pocket, picked up the completely cold hot Americano, walked to the trash can, and threw it away.

"Let's go," she said.

"Where to?"

"To eat. Didn't you want to mooch a meal?"

Jiang Zhiyu stood up and packed his things—threw the milk tea cup in the trash, put the USB drive in his pocket, zeroed the mixing faders, turned off the monitor speakers, and shut off the studio lights. He did these things quickly; by the time he turned off the last light, Kim Taeyeon had only just reached the door.

"What do you want to eat?" Kim Taeyeon opened the door, and the cold air from the hallway rushed in, colliding with the warmth of the recording studio to form a faint, swirling breeze.

"You decide, Sunbae. I'm not very familiar with Korean food."

"Haven't you been in Korea for over half a year?"

"Even after half a year, I'm still not very familiar. Every day I eat either convenience store food or the barbecue the trainees treat me to."

Kim Taeyeon thought for a moment and listed a few restaurant names. "There's a braised chicken place in Sinchon that's very delicious. There's a cold noodle place in Hongdae where you have to wait in line for a long time in the summer. There's a ginseng chicken soup place in Myeong-dong that's very nourishing. And—"

When she said "and," Jiang Zhiyu's eyes lit up. It wasn't a figure of speech; they actually lit up. His pupils dilated in that instant, like a cat seeing its prey.

Kim Taeyeon didn't notice the change in his pupils and continued: "And there's a Hanwoo barbecue place near Sinnonhyeon Station that I go to often."

"Hanwoo," Jiang Zhiyu said. Not "Hanwoo?" or "Let's do Hanwoo," but "Hanwoo." Two words, a declarative sentence, no doubt, no choice. It was as if he were saying, "That's the one."

Kim Taeyeon glanced at him. His expression was still that indifferent, emotionless calm, but his eyes betrayed him—the light in them hadn't gone out; instead, it was brighter than before.

Kim Taeyeon curled her lip. "Got it. Hanwoo."

The two walked out of the recording studio and along the hallway toward the elevator. The hallway was long, lined with numerous doors labeled for different purposes—Recording Studio 1, Recording Studio 2, Mastering Room, Mixing Room, Lounge, Equipment Room. Most of the doors were closed, but a faint light peeked through the cracks of a few, indicating people were working late.

Kim Taeyeon walked ahead at a steady pace. Her height only reached Jiang Zhiyu's shoulder; walking behind her, he could see the whorl of hair on the top of her head—it wasn't round, but oval, and the hair around it was a bit frizzy, as if blown out by static electricity.

He suddenly remembered something.

"Sunbae."

"Yeah?"

"You asked me in the recording studio earlier who I was thinking of when I wrote this song."

[part:gemini-3.1-flash-lite]

Kim Taeyeon's footsteps paused for a moment, then she continued walking. "Hmm."

"I didn't answer."

"I know."

"You can answer now."

Kim Taeyeon stopped. She stood in the middle of the hallway, turned around, and looked up at Jiang Zhiyu. The hallway lights were a warm yellow, falling on her face and softening her silhouette. Her expression remained that indifferent, unreadable calm, but there was a sense of expectation in her eyes—not the "tell me, tell me" kind of anticipation, but a restrained, adult expectation of, "If you tell me, I'll listen; if you don't, I won't ask."

"Thinking of someone," Jiang Zhiyu said.

"Who?"

"A woman."

Kim Taeyeon fell silent. She looked into Jiang Zhiyu's eyes, those eyes that were always calm and unreadable, and at this moment, they held something she had never seen before. It wasn't sadness—sadness was too simple. It wasn't nostalgia—nostalgia was too light. It was something more complex, like all the sorrow and longing had been pressed deep into the earth's crust, leaving only a tiny crack on the surface.

"Do you love her?" Kim Taeyeon asked.

Jiang Zhiyu didn't answer. But as he looked at her, that something in his eyes deepened.

Kim Taeyeon read the answer in his silence. She turned around and continued walking. This time, her pace was faster than before, so much so that by the time she reached the elevator, Jiang Zhiyu was still two steps behind her.

She pressed the elevator button. The elevator rose from the first floor, the numbers jumping from 1 to 2 to 3, stopping for a moment at 4—someone had entered the elevator from the fourth floor—then it continued upward, 5, 6, 7—the number stopped at 7.

The elevator doors opened, and a woman in a black coat stood inside.

Kim Taeyeon froze when she saw her. "Im Yoona?"

Im Yoona stood in the elevator, holding two cups of coffee, wearing that standard, sweet, and impeccable smile. When she saw Kim Taeyeon, her smile widened. "Unnie! I was just about to go look for you!"

She walked out of the elevator, then her gaze landed on Jiang Zhiyu, who was behind Kim Taeyeon.

"Ah, this must be Producer Jiang, who has been quite famous in the company lately, right?" Im Yoona's gaze swept over Jiang Zhiyu's face, landed on the strawberry milk tea in his hand, and returned to his face. Her smile didn't change, but her eyes did—it wasn't scrutiny, it wasn't assessment, but a more subtle look, as if she were examining an interesting toy.

"Thank you for your hard work." She handed one of the coffees in her hand to Jiang Zhiyu. "I'm Im Yoona. Taeyeon Unnie's song is really great."

Jiang Zhiyu took the coffee and looked at Im Yoona's smile.

The hairs on his body stood up.

Not figuratively. It was a literal, physical sensation of his hairs standing on end. Starting from the back of his neck, it traveled down his spine like a row of falling dominoes. He was all too familiar with this feeling. Back in the Tianxuan Continent, every time he encountered danger, his body would issue a warning a fraction of a second in advance.

But now, the danger didn't come from an assassin, a killer, or any physical threat.

It came from a sweet-smiling, seemingly harmless woman who was less than 1.7 meters tall.

Im Yoona's smile was too perfect. The perfect curve, the perfect angle, the perfect timing. Every detail was meticulously calculated, every expression just right. Jiang Zhiyu had only seen this kind of perfection in one other person—Lim Ying-er. The trainee at ASB Entertainment in the Tianxuan Continent known as the "Elf," who wore a harmless "white lotus" face while pulling all sorts of dark, prankish stunts, even making him suffer defeat at her hands time and time again.

Lim Ying-er's smile was like that too. Perfect, impeccable, impossible to find any fault with. But what lay behind the smile—that sharpness that saw through everything, that hidden intrigue, that ability to see through all your disguises and precisely poke at your pain points—was where the real danger lay.

Jiang Zhiyu looked at Im Yoona's eyes, which were curved into crescent moons, and saw that trace of extremely quick, fleeting curiosity and playfulness deep in her pupils.

Confirmed.

This person is the same species as Lim Ying-er.

Jiang Zhiyu quickly reined in his outward emotions, putting on a slightly shy and respectful smile appropriate for facing a senior, and bowed slightly. "Thank you, Senior Im Yoona. You flatter me; it's because Senior Taeyeon performed it so well."

His response was impeccable. His tone was respectful but not servile, his smile humble but not affected, and every word was precisely calculated to ensure no space was left for anything to be interpreted as "impolite" or "too familiar."

Im Yoona watched his airtight demeanor, and the playfulness in her eyes deepened.

"Producer Jiang, you are too humble." She tilted her head and said, in a natural tone as if chatting with an old friend, "I heard from Yeri that you can do magic tricks?"

The corner of Jiang Zhiyu's mouth twitched slightly. Yeri. Yeri again. Just how many people had that little lunatic told that he could do magic tricks?

"Just some small tricks," he said. "Nothing worth mentioning."

"Small tricks are still magic," Im Yoona blinked. "You must show me next time you have the chance."

"Okay," Jiang Zhiyu said. When he said "okay," the smile on his face didn't change at all, but inside, he was already thinking—it would be best if "next time" never came.

Kim Taeyeon stood between the two of them, her gaze sweeping back and forth between Jiang Zhiyu and Im Yoona. She had noticed Jiang Zhiyu's momentary hair-raising—not because he saw her, but because her peripheral vision had caught the subtle change on that small patch of skin on the back of his neck. She also noticed the playfulness in Im Yoona's eyes—she had known Im Yoona for over ten years and was all too familiar with that look. That look meant, "This person is interesting."

"Let's go." Kim Taeyeon linked her arm with Im Yoona's. "We're meeting for dinner, do you want to join?"

"Sure," Im Yoona said. "I don't have any plans tonight anyway."

The three of them walked into the elevator. Jiang Zhiyu stood at the very back, Kim Taeyeon in the middle, and Im Yoona at the very front, facing the elevator doors. The elevator went down from the seventh floor, and when it passed the sixth floor, Im Yoona suddenly turned her head and looked at Jiang Zhiyu.

"Producer Jiang, how old are you?"

"Sixteen," Jiang Zhiyu said.

"Sixteen?!" Im Yoona's eyes widened. "Then you're two years younger than Yeri?"

"Yes."

"Then you should call me Noona," Im Yoona tilted her head, her smile carrying a hint of mischief. "Calling me 'Senior' is so distant."

Jiang Zhiyu looked at the angle of her head tilt, the curve of her smile, and that hint of mischief in her eyes, and Lim Ying-er's face surfaced in his mind. Lim Ying-er also liked to tilt her head, and also liked to talk to him in that "call me sister and I'll protect you" tone. Then, the day after she called him "brother," she replaced his coffee with soy sauce.

"Noona," Jiang Zhiyu said.

His tone was calm, his expression natural, and his voice didn't tremble at all. But inside, he set a new behavioral guideline for himself—cherish life, stay away from all women whose names contain "Lin" and "er" and who have overly perfect smiles.

When Im Yoona heard this "Noona," the curve of her lips widened a bit more. She turned around to face the elevator doors, her smile reflected on the metal panel of the elevator door, blurry but still perfect.

Kim Taeyeon stood in the middle, looking at the beaming Im Yoona on her left and the expressionless Jiang Zhiyu on her right, and suddenly felt that this dinner might be much livelier than she had anticipated.

The elevator reached the first floor, and the doors opened. The three of them walked out, crossed the lobby, and headed toward the parking lot. Im Yoona walked in the lead, her steps light, her high heels making crisp sounds on the marble floor. Kim Taeyeon walked in the middle, head down looking at her phone, probably checking the address of the Korean beef barbecue restaurant. Jiang Zhiyu walked in the back, still holding the cup of coffee Im Yoona had given him.

He didn't drink it. He intended to give this cup of coffee to Kim Taeyeon, but she already had a hot Americano. Or maybe give it to the company receptionist, but the receptionist girl was on leave today. Or pour it out, but wasting food was bad—although coffee didn't count as food.

He thought about it, then put the coffee in his bag. Maybe he could give it to NingNing when she needed a pick-me-up. NingNing wasn't picky; she drank anything.

Kim Taeyeon's car was a white sedan, not big, but the interior was very clean. Jiang Zhiyu sat in the back seat, and Im Yoona sat in the passenger seat. The car drove out of the SM Building's underground parking lot and merged into the evening rush hour traffic. In Seoul, traffic jams on Friday evenings were the norm. Kim Taeyeon didn't drive fast, even a bit slowly, but she wasn't in a hurry, her fingers tapping lightly on the steering wheel to the car's music. The car's music was playing her new song—not "prince ruperts drop," but another unreleased ballad with a gentle melody and simple arrangement, featuring only piano and strings.

Im Yoona turned her head and looked at Jiang Zhiyu. "Producer Jiang, what do you usually do besides writing songs?"

"Eat, sleep, breathe," Jiang Zhiyu said.

Im Yoona froze for a second, then burst out laughing. "Your answer is so strange."

"What's strange about it?"

"Normal people would say things like 'watching movies,' 'exercising,' or 'shopping.' You said 'eating, sleeping, breathing.'"

"Because those are the things I do most often."

"You don't watch movies?"

"No."

"You don't exercise?"

"I exercise. But I don't exercise for entertainment; I do it to stay alive."

Im Yoona looked at him, the playfulness in her eyes deepening. "You talk so seriously. So seriously that it makes people think you're joking, but you're actually not."

Jiang Zhiyu didn't deny it. He really wasn't joking. Every word he said was true. Back in the Tianxuan Continent, his life was work, eating, sleeping, and training. No entertainment, no leisure, nothing done "for fun." It wasn't because he didn't want to, but because he didn't have the time. Later, he had the time, but he no longer knew how to "have fun." He had tried watching movies; sitting in the theater, watching the story on the screen, his brain would automatically analyze the structure of the plot, the motivations of the characters, the twists in the narrative—he couldn't simply "watch" a story; he could only "deconstruct" one.

Im Yoona looked at his calm, emotionless expression and suddenly said something that even made Kim Taeyeon glance at her.

"Producer Jiang, you don't look like someone who is sixteen."

Jiang Zhiyu looked at her. "Then how old do I look?"

"Like twenty-six," Im Yoona said. "No, like thirty-six. The way you talk, the way you look at people, your attitude toward handling things—none of it is like a sixteen-year-old. You're like someone who has lived for many years, experienced many things, and then returned to being sixteen."

The car went quiet.

Kim Taeyeon's fingers paused on the steering wheel, then continued tapping. Her gaze swept over Jiang Zhiyu's face in the rearview mirror.

Jiang Zhiyu's expression didn't change at all. But his hands, the ones resting on his knees, curled slightly.

"Yoona Noona," he said.

"Hmm?"

"You are very insightful."

Im Yoona tilted her head and smiled. "Is this a compliment?"

"It is a statement of fact."

Im Yoona looked at him, the smile on her lips slowly widening, widening until a few teeth were visible. That kind of smile wasn't the standard smile she usually wore in front of the camera, but a more real, more natural smile, like one when encountering something interesting.

"Producer Jiang, you are really interesting," she said. "I like you very much."

Jiang Zhiyu looked at her smile, and the alarm bells in his heart rang even louder. It wasn't because he thought she had malicious intent—she didn't. It was because he knew what it meant to be "liked" by a "Lim Ying-er type" of person. It meant you would become her primary subject of observation, it meant she would appear in your life from time to time, it meant you would be "tested" by her in various ways, and it meant your life would become so "colorful" that it would make your scalp tingle.

"Thank you," he said. His tone was calm, but inside, he silently added a new behavioral guideline for himself—don't let Im Yoona find you "interesting." Let her think you are "boring." Let her lose interest in you. That is the only way to survive.

Kim Taeyeon parked the car in an alley near Sinnonhyeon Station. The sign for the Korean beef barbecue restaurant wasn't big, but several nice cars were parked in front, indicating that the prices here were not low. The three of them walked in, and the waiter, who clearly recognized Kim Taeyeon, led them directly into the innermost private room. The private room wasn't large, with one table and four chairs, and on the wall hung several anatomical diagrams of Korean beef, labeling the names and characteristics of the different cuts.

Jiang Zhiyu sat down, picked up the menu, and turned to the Korean beef page.

His eyes lit up again.

Kim Taeyeon watched his eyes light up for the second time, and the corner of her mouth twitched. "You really like eating Korean beef."

"It's delicious," Jiang Zhiyu said.

"When was the last time you had Korean beef?"

"A few days ago. Karina treated me."

"Karina?" Im Yoona interjected. "A trainee at the company?"

"Yes."

"A trainee treated you to Korean beef?" Im Yoona's expression was a bit subtle. "Where would a trainee get that much money?"

"She is a chaebol," Jiang Zhiyu said.

Im Yoona and Kim Taeyeon fell silent at the same time.

The waiter came in to take the order. Kim Taeyeon ordered three servings of Korean beef, plus a soybean paste stew and a kimchi pancake. Jiang Zhiyu didn't speak, but the corners of his mouth were curling upward—not an intentional curl, but that heartfelt, irrepressible smile of "Great, I get to eat meat again."

Im Yoona noticed that upward curl. She noted that from the moment Jiang Zhiyu walked in until now, the number of times his expression had changed was pitifully small. But when he saw the Korean beef, his expression had changed twice. Once when he saw the words "Korean beef" on the menu, and once when the waiter confirmed "three servings of Korean beef."

"Producer Jiang," Im Yoona said, "do you really like eating meat?"

"Yes."

"Then what do you usually eat?"

"Convenience store rice balls."

"Why?"

"They're cheap."

Im Yoona looked at him, silent for a moment. "Does your family not provide you with living expenses?"

Jiang Zhiyu glanced at her. There was too much in that look, so much that Im Yoona understood everything in an instant—no home, no living expenses, no one to rely on. He was here alone, sixteen years old, earning money by writing songs, relying on trainees to treat him to meals, living in a room less than five square meters in an exam study room, eating convenience store rice balls and instant noodles every day.

Im Yoona didn't ask again. She lowered her head, picked up the water glass on the table, and took a sip. Her fingers lingered on the side of the glass for a long time, her fingertips rubbing against the glass surface, making a faint, almost inaudible sound.

The charcoal was brought out. Red charcoal was piled into a small mound in the iron basin, flames creeping out from the gaps between the coals, licking the grill above. A wave of heat rushed toward them, carrying the distinct charred scent of charcoal and a faint, lingering hint of smoke.

Jiang Zhiyu naturally picked up the barbecue tongs.

Kim Taeyeon and Im Yoona glanced at him simultaneously. He didn't notice their gaze because his attention was entirely on the piece of Hanwoo beef sizzling on the grill. The color of the meat changed rapidly under the high heat of the charcoal, shifting from deep red to light brown, the fat melting into transparent grease, dripping onto the charcoal, sparking a small burst of flame that quickly extinguished.

His movements for flipping the meat were very skilled. The tongs seemed like an extension of his hand, every piece of meat flipped precisely, every side grilled to a golden, crispy perfection, with not a single piece forgotten in the corner to be burned to a crisp.

"Your grilling technique is very good," Kim Taeyeon said.

"I've practiced," Jiang Zhiyu replied, cutting the grilled Hanwoo into small pieces and dividing them onto Kim Taeyeon's and Im Yoona's plates. Kim Taeyeon's portion was slightly smaller—he knew she was watching her weight. Im Yoona's portion was a bit larger—he didn't know her dietary habits, so he gave her a normal amount.

Im Yoona picked up a piece of Hanwoo, didn't wrap it in lettuce, and put it straight into her mouth. She chewed twice, then closed her eyes. "...Expensive really does have its reasons."

Kim Taeyeon also ate a piece. She chewed slowly, as if savoring the feeling of every bit of fat melting on the tip of her tongue. Her expression remained that indifferent, unreadable calm, but the corners of her eyes curved slightly—a subtle change that only appeared when she was in a good mood. She probably didn't realize it herself, but Jiang Zhiyu noticed.

Jiang Zhiyu ate a piece himself. The taste of the Hanwoo was not quite like the Hanwoo from Nanming in his memory—no, Nanming didn't have Hanwoo. He wasn't eating any food from the Tianxuan Continent, but rather Hanwoo from this world, from Seoul, from this barbecue restaurant at Sinnonhyeon Station. But the feeling of it being "delicious" was the same. That sense of happiness from the fat melting on the tongue, with a faint milky fragrance, as if being gently enveloped by something, was no different from any top-tier beef he had eaten on the Tianxuan Continent.

When he ate the second piece, Im Yoona spoke up. "Producer Jiang, are all the songs you write in this sad style?"

"Not necessarily," Jiang Zhiyu said. "It depends on my mood."

"What do you write when you're in a good mood?" "Dance music."

"And when you're in a bad mood?" "Ballads."

"Then, when you wrote 'prince ruperts drop', were you in a good mood?"

Jiang Zhiyu finished the second piece of Hanwoo, wiped his mouth with a tissue, and then looked at Im Yoona. "What do you think?"

Im Yoona looked into his eyes. There was no sadness, no pain, no emotion that could be defined as "negative" in those eyes. They were calm, as calm as a pool of stagnant water. But she couldn't see what lay beneath that stagnant water.

"Bad," she said.

Jiang Zhiyu didn't answer. He picked up the barbecue tongs, flipped the remaining Hanwoo on the grill, and then placed it onto Kim Taeyeon's and Im Yoona's plates.

Kim Taeyeon looked at the extra piece of Hanwoo on her plate without speaking. She picked it up, put it in her mouth, and chewed slowly.

Im Yoona also ate hers. While she chewed, her gaze remained fixed on Jiang Zhiyu, as if studying a complex, difficult-to-decipher puzzle.

Halfway through the meal, Kim Taeyeon's phone rang. She glanced at the screen, stood up, said, "I'm going to take a call," and walked out of the private room.

Only Jiang Zhiyu and Im Yoona remained in the private room. The charcoal crackled beneath the grill, heat and smoke rising between them, blurring their outlines.

Im Yoona put down her chopsticks, folded her hands on the table, and leaned forward slightly. She looked at Jiang Zhiyu, her lips curved into that standard, sweet, impeccable smile. "Producer Jiang." "Yoona Noona." "You seem very guarded against me." Im Yoona tilted her head. "Why?"

Jiang Zhiyu observed the angle of her head tilt, the curve of her smile, and the hint of mischief in her eyes. He wanted to say, "Because you remind me of someone," but he didn't. Instead, he said, "Because Noona is too beautiful, I dare not look directly at you."

Im Yoona froze for a moment. Then she laughed—not that standard, carefully calculated smile, but a genuine one, amused, her eyes curving into crescent moons. "You," she laughed until her shoulders shook, "really know how to talk."

"I am telling the truth," Jiang Zhiyu said.

"When you said that just now, your expression was exactly the same as when you said 'convenience store rice balls are cheap'." Im Yoona stopped laughing and looked into his eyes. "So when you say 'Noona is too beautiful,' and when you say 'I have no living expenses,' it's the same expression. This means—when you are telling the truth, and when you feel indifferent, it's the same expression."

Jiang Zhiyu fell silent. Im Yoona watched him in his silence, the smile on her lips slowly fading, transforming into a more subtle expression, one that seemed to say, "I've caught you."

"Producer Jiang, you are not very good at lying," she said. "Because when you lie, and when you tell the truth, your expression is the same. So no one knows when you are lying and when you are telling the truth. But precisely because of this—when you say anything with that expression, the listener will feel that it is true."

Jiang Zhiyu looked at her, silent for a moment. "Yoona Noona, you are really dangerous." "Dangerous?" Im Yoona tilted her head. "Where am I dangerous?" "You see through things too clearly."

The corners of Im Yoona's lips slowly curled upward, to an angle Jiang Zhiyu had never seen before. That angle was not "perfect," not "standard," but real, natural, carrying a hint of smugness and satisfaction. "Thank you for the compliment," she said.

Kim Taeyeon pushed the door open and entered, still holding her phone. "There's something up at the company, I have to go first." She glanced at Jiang Zhiyu, then at Im Yoona. "You two continue eating, I've already settled the bill."

"Unnie, you paid?" Im Yoona stood up. "We agreed that I would treat—" "You can treat next time." Kim Taeyeon patted Im Yoona's shoulder, then looked at Jiang Zhiyu. "Producer Jiang, thank you for your hard work today. Regarding the song, see you next week." "Take care, Senior." Jiang Zhiyu stood up and bowed slightly.

Kim Taeyeon left. Only Jiang Zhiyu and Im Yoona remained in the private room. The charcoal was no longer as fierce, and a few pieces of Hanwoo remained on the grill, the fat slowly solidifying in the residual heat into a thin white film. Jiang Zhiyu sat down, picked up the barbecue tongs, and flipped the remaining Hanwoo, but the fire was no longer sufficient, and the meat no longer made a sizzling sound.

"If you can't finish it, forget it," Im Yoona said. "Let's pack it up." "Hmm." Jiang Zhiyu placed the Hanwoo from the grill into a takeout box, his movements as careful as if he were doing a task requiring intense focus.

Im Yoona watched him packing it up carefully and suddenly spoke. "Producer Jiang, if you don't have a place to eat in the future, you can come to me." Jiang Zhiyu's hand paused. He looked up, watching Im Yoona.

Im Yoona's expression was serious. No smile, no head tilt, no superfluous expression. She just looked at him, calmly and seriously speaking those words. "Why?" Jiang Zhiyu asked.

"Because you are here alone, sixteen years old, with no family, no money," Im Yoona said. "The songs you write are very good, you are very talented, but talent can't be eaten. You can't keep relying on trainees to treat you to meals."

Jiang Zhiyu was silent for a moment. "Yoona Noona." "Hmm." "You only met me today." "Hmm." "You don't know me." "Hmm." "Aren't you afraid I'm a bad person?"

Im Yoona looked at him, the corners of her mouth curling slightly upward. The curve wasn't large, but it was very real. "You are not a bad person," she said. "You are just a sixteen-year-old genius producer who can't lie and loves eating Hanwoo."

Jiang Zhiyu looked at her without speaking. He thought of someone. Not Baek Ji-xin, not Lim Ying-er, not anyone he knew on the Tianxuan Continent. It was someone he had met in this world, someone he had known for less than two hours. Im Yoona. She sat before him, the expression on her face serious, the light in her eyes sincere, the words she spoke warm.

He didn't know how to respond. He was not a person accustomed to accepting kindness. In the Tianxuan Continent, his kindness was always calculated—give this person a benefit because it would be useful later. Help that person because it would be repaid later. It wasn't that he was cold, but the nature of his work dictated that every bit of kindness could be a resource, and every resource could become a weapon at some point in the future.

But Im Yoona's kindness was not a resource. It was not a weapon. It was just the words, "If you don't have a place to eat, you can come to me." "Okay," he said.

Im Yoona smiled. This smile was different from all the previous ones. It wasn't standard, it wasn't mischievous, it wasn't amused; it was a warm smile, like winter sunshine. "Let's go." She stood up, picked up her bag, "I'll take you back."

"No need, I'll take the subway—" "I'll take you." Im Yoona's tone brooked no refusal. "Where do you live?" "An exam study room." "Which exam study room?"

Jiang Zhiyu gave the address. Im Yoona thought for a moment and said, "It's on the way. Let's go." She walked in front, her pace light, her high heels clicking crisply on the floor. Jiang Zhiyu followed behind, carrying the takeout box in his hand, his bag holding the unconsumed coffee and a half-eaten sausage.

He walked behind Im Yoona, looking at her slender back, and suddenly thought of a word. Noona. A Korean term for a male to address an older female. He hadn't used this word while on the Tianxuan Continent because the Tianxuan Continent didn't have "Noona." But now he used it, and he felt the word was good. Not because it sounded nice, but because of what it represented—a female older than you, someone you can rely on, someone you can trust, someone in front of whom you don't need to disguise yourself.

He didn't know if Im Yoona was that kind of person. They had only known each other for less than two hours. But he was willing to try.

Walking out of the barbecue restaurant, the night wind blew over, carrying the chill of early spring. Im Yoona shrank her neck and turned up the collar of her coat. Jiang Zhiyu stood beside her, watching the traffic and pedestrians on the street, and suddenly felt that the Seoul night was not as cold as when he first arrived. It wasn't because the temperature had changed. It was because he was not as lonely anymore.

——Cute Minjeong divider line

(20:05) Minjeong who doesn't reply to messages: [Finished listening to the remix! The producer Unnie said my voice in the chorus part "is like a sigh when snow melts," but I know that's because when I sang the word "you," I thought of Oppa's fingertip temperature. (Ears turning red, shrinking into the corner of the recording studio)]

(20:08) Minjeong who doesn't reply to messages: [During the online meeting, I heard Oppa cough softly, and I almost reached out to the screen... Later, Oppa sent a message saying "just choked," and only then did I unclench my fist. Oppa must stay healthy, okay? My world needs the sun to shine forever.]

(20:11) Minjeong who doesn't reply to messages: [For dinner, I ate the seafood porridge Oppa mentioned last time, and picked out the shrimp one by one to arrange them into a heart shape~ Look, even the food is confessing for me! (Sent a photo of a crooked shrimp heart in a bowl)]

(20:14) Minjeong who doesn't reply to messages: [When returning to the dormitory, I met an auntie walking her dog downstairs. The Maltese barked at me, and the auntie laughed and said, "It probably thinks you are a puppy too." I squatted down to pet its head and whispered, "That's right, I am a puppy who is loved."]

(20:17) Minjeong who doesn't reply to messages: [Today in the practice room, it was just me, and I danced to Oppa's favorite "Next Level" in front of the mirror. When I danced to the spinning part, I suddenly felt that if Oppa were here, you would definitely catch me, right?]

(20:20) Minjeong who doesn't reply to messages: [Oppa, today I am also becoming someone more worthy of you. Good night, my universe that catches all my spins. (Sent a blurry photo of sitting on the floor leaning against the mirror, forehead pressed against the phone screen)]