13: Chapter 13 Tianjin Twisted Doughnuts

By the end of April, the cherry blossoms in Seoul had mostly fallen. The last few pinkish-white petals clung to the branches, swaying precariously in the wind as if reluctant to leave this spring behind. Jiang Zhiyu was walking to the company, and as he passed through the alley lined with cherry blossom trees, a petal happened to land on his shoulder. He didn't brush it off, carrying it with him as he entered the SM Building.

Practice Room A was at the end of the fourth floor, the largest one in the company. Floor-to-ceiling mirrors stretched from one wall to the other, visually doubling the room's size. The wooden floor was polished to a shine, with a few darker patches in the corners—marks left by years of sweat soaking into the wood. Speakers were embedded in the walls, with two large subwoofers that made the entire wall vibrate slightly whenever powerful dance tracks were played.

When Jiang Zhiyu pushed open the door, the sound of music rushed over him. It wasn't the gentle kind that served as background noise, but a dance track with a powerful rhythm, dense drum beats, and a bass so heavy it made his chest resonate. He stood at the door for a second, waiting for his ears to adjust to the sound pressure, then walked in and sat cross-legged on the floor against the wall. He placed his bag beside him, took out a cup of strawberry milk tea, inserted the straw, took a sip, and then leaned against the wall, half-squinting as he watched the girls in the practice room.

Kim Minjeong stood on the far left, wearing the birthday gift he had given her—a cream-colored hoodie with sleeves a bit too long. When she danced, the sleeves would swing around like two soft tails. Her hair was tied in a high ponytail, and the ends would trace a perfect arc whenever she turned. Her movements were the most standardized among the three; every angle and every curve was precisely calculated, like a calibrated instrument. But standard sometimes meant a lack of surprise—you knew exactly what her next move would be, and she did it perfectly, without the slightest error.

NingNing stood in the center, her hair tied into two buns, revealing her smooth forehead and the row of small studs in her ears. Her range of motion was the largest of the three, not because she couldn't control her strength, but because she liked the feeling of 'throwing her body out.' Her dancing had the same quality as her singing—a natural, unpolished sense of rhythm that seemed to grow from within her body. Karina stood on the far right, wearing a black long-sleeved shirt and dark gray wide-leg pants, with her hair down. Her movements were the most effortless of the three, not because she wasn't serious, but because she knew exactly when to exert force and when to relax completely. Her body was like a fully drawn bowstring—usually relaxed, but once released, it would explode with incredible speed and power.

Jiang Zhiyu leaned against the wall, watching them quietly. He didn't close his eyes to listen to the music as he usually did; instead, he kept them open, his gaze lingering on each of the three in turn. Then he took out his phone, opened the camera, switched to portrait mode, and aimed it at Kim Minjeong.

Kim Minjeong was in the middle of a turn, her hair swinging from left to right, the ends tracing an arc in the air. Jiang Zhiyu pressed the shutter. He didn't deliberately compose the shot, adjust the lighting, or shout 'look here'; he just pressed the shutter at her most natural moment, when she was unaware of the camera's presence. A photo appeared on the phone screen—Kim Minjeong's profile, her hair frozen in mid-air, the hoodie sleeve swinging into the edge of the frame, with the blurred floor-to-ceiling mirror and the grayish-white sky outside the window as the background. It wasn't pretty, but it was real.

Jiang Zhiyu saved the photo into an album named 'Trainee.' This album already contained over a thousand photos, all of them daily moments of Kim Minjeong, Karina, and NingNing in the practice room. They weren't the polished, made-up photos taken under the best lighting, but real, unadorned, and sometimes even messy photos of them practicing until their hair was soaked with sweat, sitting on the floor staring blankly while drinking water, or frowning and practicing a move repeatedly because they hadn't gotten it right. He planned to keep these photos until the day they debuted, until they stood on the stage of a stadium for ten thousand people, surrounded by countless flashes, and then show these photos to them.

NingNing saw him holding up his phone in the mirror, and the corners of her mouth curled up slightly. She didn't stop dancing, but as she turned, she deliberately made a funny face toward the camera—sticking out her tongue, rolling her eyes, and wrinkling her entire face. Jiang Zhiyu pressed the shutter. This photo was much uglier than the one of Kim Minjeong just now, but he felt it would probably be one of his favorites in the future.

The music stopped. The girls came to a halt, gasping for breath. Kim Minjeong bent over, hands on her knees, sweat dripping from her chin onto the floor. NingNing lay directly on the floor, limbs spread out like a dried-up octopus. Karina stood where she was, hands on her hips, taking deep breaths, her chest heaving violently, but her back remained perfectly straight.

Jiang Zhiyu stood up from the floor, patted the dust off his pants, and walked over to them. He turned his phone around, screen facing out, to show the three of them the photos he had just taken. When Kim Minjeong saw the profile shot of herself, she froze for a moment, then blushed. 'Oppa, this one is so ugly.'

'It's not ugly,' Jiang Zhiyu said. 'It's very real.'

'Real is ugly.' Kim Minjeong reached out to grab the phone. 'Delete it.'

Jiang Zhiyu held his hand high. Kim Minjeong couldn't reach it, even on her tiptoes. She glared at Jiang Zhiyu huffily, while he looked back at her expressionlessly; their height difference made this confrontation one-sided from the start.

NingNing leaned over to look at her funny face photo, froze for a second, and then laughed. 'This one is good, I like it. Teacher, send it to me.'

'Okay.' Jiang Zhiyu sent the photo to the group chat.

Karina didn't lean in to look, but her gaze fell on Jiang Zhiyu's phone screen through the mirror for a moment. She didn't ask to see her own photo, nor did she ask Jiang Zhiyu to delete anything. She just stood there quietly, wiping the sweat from her neck with a towel.

Jiang Zhiyu put away his phone, sat back down by the wall, and continued scrolling through videos. He had recently been paying attention to something—radio. Not because he liked listening to the radio, but because Kim Taeyeon had told him she had a regular radio show that broadcasted live every Thursday night, and sometimes she would invite guests. She had said it casually, as if sharing a daily trifle, but Jiang Zhiyu had seen a certain expectation in her eyes.

'Noona, do you want me to go?' he asked.

'It's up to you,' Kim Taeyeon said. 'If you want to go, I'll let the PD know.'

Jiang Zhiyu thought about it. He had indeed never been on a radio show. Back on the Tianxuan Continent, as the Head of the Artist Management Department at TG Entertainment, he often dealt with TV and radio stations, but always as staff, never as a guest. He had seen countless live radio broadcasts and knew exactly how that small soundproof booth operated—the angle of the microphone, the volume of the in-ear monitors, the speed of turning script pages, and the PD's hand signals from behind the glass window. He was no stranger to the process of a radio show, but he felt an indescribable unease about 'participating in a radio show as a guest.' It wasn't out of fear, but because he felt he didn't belong there.

But he agreed anyway. 'Okay.'

It wasn't out of curiosity or a desire for fame, but because Kim Taeyeon had said that sentence—'If you want to go, I'll let the PD know.' When she said it, there was a sense of 'I've got your back' in her tone. In front of Kim Taeyeon, he didn't need to prove anything. She had seen his truest self—the obsession of repeatedly revising a single note in the recording studio, the childishness of his eyes lighting up when eating Hanwoo at a barbecue restaurant, and the hidden vulnerability in his voice when singing demos in the recording studio late at night.

Kim Taeyeon's radio show was called 'listen.' It aired live every Thursday at 10 PM and lasted for an hour. The format was simple—playing songs, reading messages, and chatting with guests. Kim Taeyeon was the sole host, and there was usually only one guest, sometimes a singer, sometimes an actor, and sometimes an entertainer from other fields. Jiang Zhiyu wasn't an entertainer; he was a producer. But Kim Taeyeon said it didn't matter, 'You're much more interesting than many entertainers.'

On the day of the broadcast, Jiang Zhiyu arrived at the radio station building half an hour early. He was wearing a light blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, paired with black casual pants and white canvas shoes. His hair wasn't styled, just hanging naturally with his bangs just covering his eyebrows. In his hand, he held a cup of strawberry milk tea—not for himself, but for Kim Taeyeon. Kim Taeyeon didn't drink milk tea, but she said, 'I feel better just seeing you hold it.'

Kim Taeyeon was waiting for him in the waiting room. She was wearing a white knit cardigan over a black turtleneck, with her hair styled in large waves cascading over her shoulders. Her makeup was light, with only eyeliner and lipstick, but she looked much more energetic than usual. When she saw Jiang Zhiyu enter, her gaze lingered on him for a second before she said, 'You look good today.' Jiang Zhiyu handed her the milk tea. She took it, didn't drink it, and placed it on the table. Looking at the pink liquid, the corners of her mouth turned up slightly. 'Let's go.' She stood up, picked up the script, and walked out of the waiting room. Jiang Zhiyu followed behind her, his hands empty—he had finished his own milk tea on the way there.

The studio wasn't large, about ten square meters. There was a long table, two chairs, two pairs of headphones, two microphones, a computer, and a mixing console. The walls were covered with dark gray acoustic foam, wrapping the entire room like a cocoon. Outside the glass window was the control room, where the PD, Writer, and Sound Engineer sat side-by-side, with audio waveforms dancing on the screens in front of them.

Kim Taeyeon sat on the left, and Jiang Zhiyu sat on the right. Both put on their headphones, with the microphones positioned about a fist's distance from their mouths. The PD gave an 'OK' hand signal from behind the glass window. Kim Taeyeon nodded, took a deep breath, and then spoke into the microphone.

'Hello everyone, today is Thursday, and it's time for "listen" again. I'm Taeyeon.'

Her voice was different from usual. Normally, her speaking voice was light, soft, and had a slightly lazy trail at the end. But on the radio, her voice became clear, bright, and resonant, with every word sounding as if it had been individually polished, rounded and full. This was the muscle memory accumulated from over a decade of broadcasting experience—without needing to think, her body automatically switched to 'radio mode.'

'Today we have a special guest.' Kim Taeyeon turned her head to glance at Jiang Zhiyu. 'There's a song recently that everyone should have heard. It debuted at number one and has been dominating the charts for several days. The producer of that song has come to our studio today.'

Jiang Zhiyu bowed slightly toward the microphone. 'Hello everyone, I am Jiang Zhiyu.'

When he spoke, his voice wasn't loud, but it was steady. There was no nervousness, no stage fright, and none of the awkwardness of a first-time radio appearance. His tone was like greeting an old friend, so natural that he didn't seem like a sixteen-year-old boy. The PD outside the glass window raised an eyebrow and wrote a line on the script: 'This newcomer is good.'

Kim Taeyeon asked a few standard questions according to the script—'When did you start writing songs,' 'Why did you come to Korea,' and 'How does it feel to work at SM.' Jiang Zhiyu answered them all. His answers were standard and contained nothing out of line, but the way he answered was anything but standard. He wasn't just 'answering questions'; he was 'chatting.' He would ask Kim Taeyeon a question back after answering, describe certain events with exaggerated expressions and tones, and chime in with a perfectly timed 'Really?', 'And then?', or 'Oh my god' after Taeyeon finished a segment, never stealing the spotlight but never letting the conversation hit a dead air.

[part:gemini-3.1-flash-lite]

Taeyeon soon discovered a problem—Jiang Zhiyu was better suited to be a radio host than she was. It wasn't because she wasn't good at it, but because he was just too good. He possessed a natural, almost instinctive sense of rhythm, knowing exactly when to speak, when to stay silent, when to play the straight man, and when to drop a punchline. His reaction speed was incredibly fast, so fast that sometimes Taeyeon hadn't even processed a thought before he had already picked up the topic. This wasn't something trained; it was a gift.

When the program reached its second segment, a small accident occurred. Taeyeon read a listener's message about feeling too much work pressure lately, losing direction, and not knowing what they wanted. After reading it, Taeyeon fell silent for a moment, then said, "I've had times like that too." She wanted to continue, but her thoughts got stuck. It wasn't that she had forgotten what to say, but that she had recalled too many things she didn't want to remember—the controversies Girls Generation had experienced over the years, the turmoil of members leaving the group, the malicious comments online, and the nights she spent crying alone in the dorm until dawn. Those memories were like a bottle whose lid had been opened; the contents poured out, clogging her throat.

Jiang Zhiyu noticed. It wasn't because of any obvious change in her expression—her expression remained that calm, restrained, unreadable look. But he noticed her fingers had stopped on the script, neither turning the page nor writing anything. He noticed her breathing had changed, shifting from steady, rhythmic breaths to shallower, faster ones. He noticed her lips press together slightly, like someone holding back words that shouldn't be said.

He spoke up. "Taeyeon, may I interject?"

Taeyeon looked at him. Jiang Zhiyu spoke into the microphone: "Hearing this listener's message, I thought of a saying—'Confusion isn't because you're walking the wrong path, but because you're walking uphill.'" He said this with a very serious tone, so serious it didn't feel like a show, but more like chatting with a friend. "Downhill is easy; you can walk it with your eyes closed. Uphill is tiring, breathless, and you can't see where the summit is, but every step is upward. If you feel lost now, it means you're going up."

Taeyeon looked at him, silent for a moment. Then she smiled—not that polite, social smile, but a genuine, heartfelt one, her eyes curving into crescents. "You're right," she said. "The uphill path is indeed tiring. But the view from the summit is worth it."

Jiang Zhiyu heard something in Taeyeon's tone—not relief, not release, but a confirmation of "I understand." He didn't press further, nor did he continue the topic. After Taeyeon finished speaking, he simply said in a relaxed tone, "Of course, I haven't even reached the foot of the mountain yet, so I'm much more confused than you are." Taeyeon was amused by his self-deprecation, and the atmosphere in the studio shifted from the previous silence to a warm, relaxed vibe that made people want to keep listening.

Outside the glass window, the PD gave Jiang Zhiyu a thumbs-up.

The next segment was reading fan messages. The Writer had pre-selected a dozen messages, printed them on A4 paper, and highlighted the key points of each with a fluorescent marker. Taeyeon picked up the paper, scanned it, and said into the microphone: "A listener says, 'Taeyeon Unnie, your singing voice accompanied me through the most difficult senior year of high school. Every time I wanted to give up, I listened to your songs. Thank you.'"

When Taeyeon finished reading this message, her eyes reddened slightly. She wasn't about to cry, but she was touched. She cleared her throat and was about to speak, but Jiang Zhiyu spoke first.

"'Taeyeon Unnie—'" He read these three words in an exaggerated, fanatical tone, as if imitating some crazy fan. His voice went up half a pitch, the trailing note rising with a deliberate, dramatic tremor. He clutched his chest, putting on an "I'm going to faint" expression. "I—after listening to your songs—my grades went from the bottom to the top ten—I got into Seoul University—I found a job—I got married—I had a child—my child is listening to your songs too—Taeyeon Unnie, you are the light of my life—!"

Taeyeon burst into laughter at his rapid-fire "fanatical fan declaration," laughing until she doubled over and tears almost came out. She reached out and patted Jiang Zhiyu, not hard, but landing precisely on his shoulder. "That's enough," she said with a smile.

Jiang Zhiyu put away his exaggerated expression, turned to the microphone, and resumed his normal tone. "That was the collective will of millions of fans possessing me; I am actually very calm." He paused, then said seriously, "But, all jokes aside, Taeyeon really is worthy of everyone's love. Not because she sings well—though she certainly does—but because she uses her voice to be with you during your hardest times. That is not an easy thing to do."

The studio fell silent for a moment. Not an awkward silence, but the kind where "everyone felt struck by something."

Taeyeon looked at him, saying nothing. There was a light in her eyes—not tears, but a brighter glow, as if something had ignited it. Outside the glass window, the PD gave a thumbs-up again, this time with more force than before.

The program ended in laughter and joy. In the final segment, Taeyeon sang the chorus of a song, and Jiang Zhiyu accompanied her with whistling. He whistled very well, with precise pitch and long, steady breath, as if reinterpreting the song with a different instrument. After Taeyeon finished singing, she said the last sentence of the night into the microphone. "Today was very happy. Thank you, Zhiyu."

"Thank you, Taeyeon," Jiang Zhiyu said. "Thank you to all the listeners. Good night."

The live signal was cut. Taeyeon took off her headphones and let out a long breath. She leaned back in her chair, turning her head to look at Jiang Zhiyu. "You talked a lot today."

"Wasn't it you who told me to talk more?"

"I told you to talk more, not to imitate a fanatical fan."

"Was the effect not good?"

Taeyeon thought about it. The effect was indeed good. During the broadcast, the name "Jiang Zhiyu" had surged into the top ten on the real-time search rankings, and the listenership for "listen" was nearly twenty percent higher than last week. The PD in the control room was grinning from ear to ear, and the Writer was already asking Jiang Zhiyu if he could come back next week.

"Good," Taeyeon said. "So good that the PD is already asking if you can come back next week."

"Next week won't work."

"Why?"

"I have to go to the mall with Minjeong and the others to buy clothes next week."

Taeyeon looked at him, the corners of her mouth slowly curling up. "You, a guy, going shopping for clothes with three girls?"

"They're treating me to a meal."

"...You really are something."

Jiang Zhiyu picked up the strawberry milk tea on the table—Taeyeon hadn't taken a single sip, but the water droplets on the cup had been wiped clean with a tissue, and the words "Full Sugar + Pearls + Coconut Jelly + Pudding + Red Beans" on the cup were clearly visible under the light. He put the milk tea into his bag, stood up, and pushed his chair back into place. "Noona, I'm leaving first."

"Mhm. Take care on the way."

Jiang Zhiyu walked out of the studio, and when he passed the control room, the PD poked his head out and patted his shoulder. "Young man, you did a great job. Come back next time."

"Thank you, PD."

He walked out of the radio building; the night breeze blew in, carrying the scent unique to late April, a mix of cherry blossoms and earth. He stood by the roadside, took out his phone, opened the search bar, and typed in his name. The search results were much more numerous than last time—news, forum posts, SNS updates, most of them related to today's radio program. He clicked on a few at random and saw comments in the threads— "This producer is so funny," "His chemistry with Taeyeon is so good," "Please make him a regular guest," "Who is Jiang Zhiyu? The one who wrote 'prince ruperts drop'? He can whistle too?" He put his phone away and walked toward the subway station. His pace was neither fast nor slow, his expression calm as if nothing had happened. But he was thinking about one thing—would his performance today make more companies notice him? Would more singers come to him to write songs? Would there be more income coming in? Could his five-year plan, the second phase "Capital Accumulation," accelerate a little bit because of this radio show?

He didn't know. But he felt that, at the very least, it wouldn't be any slower than before.

Life at SM remained as plain as ever. Jiang Zhiyu's daily routine hardly changed—exam room, company, recording studio, practice room, cafeteria, subway station, exam room. Occasionally, he would have a meal with Taeyeon and Im Yoona, occasionally have a coffee near the company with Yeri and Seulgi, and occasionally sit on the practice room floor chatting with NingNing, Kim Minjeong, and Karina. His income was much higher than it had been half a year ago, but most of it was deposited into the account called "Five-Year Plan," untouched, unspent, waiting for the day he would use it to do that thing he hadn't told anyone about.

So he was still very poor. Poor enough that every time someone treated him to a meal, he would silently thank the person in his heart, then eat a few extra pieces of meat to save up the calories from this meal for the next one. Poor enough that every time he received a credit card bill, he would stare at the numbers for a long time, then silently write the payment due date on the calendar and circle it in red. Poor enough that every time he passed a convenience store, he would stand in front of the rice ball shelf for a while, pick up a tuna rice ball, check the price, put it back, and then walk away.

But he didn't feel it was bitter. Not because he was used to it, but because he knew this was just the process, not the destination.

Today was the day Karina removed her braces. Jiang Zhiyu heard it from Kim Minjeong—she had sent a message in the group chat, "Karina Unnie removed her braces today!" followed by a dozen exclamation marks. Karina didn't reply, but two hours later she posted a selfie, her lips slightly parted, revealing neat teeth without braces. Her teeth were already very neat; she had worn transparent braces for a year just for a slight adjustment, so there wasn't much change after removing them, but the way she smiled had changed—before, she would subconsciously press her lips together when smiling, afraid the braces would show. Now she didn't have to.

The location for the dinner was chosen by Karina, at a barbecue restaurant near the company. It wasn't one of those high-end Hanwoo beef places, but an ordinary, moderately priced shop that trainees could afford. When Jiang Zhiyu arrived, Karina and Kim Minjeong were already seated. NingNing was still on the way, sending a message saying, "Traffic jam, you guys eat first." Jiang Zhiyu sat down, placed his bag on the chair next to him, took out the strawberry milk tea, and placed it on the table. Kim Minjeong glanced at the milk tea, and the corners of her mouth twitched slightly. "Oppa, how many cups of milk tea do you drink a day?"

"One cup."

"One cup every day?"

"One cup every day."

"Aren't you afraid of getting diabetes?"

"Not afraid."

Kim Minjeong looked at him speechlessly, then turned to Karina and said, "Karina Unnie, say something to him."

Karina glanced at Jiang Zhiyu, was silent for a moment, and then said something that almost made Kim Minjeong fall off her chair. "As long as he's happy."

Kim Minjeong stared at Karina with wide eyes, as if seeing her for the first time. "Karina Unnie, when did you become so indulgent with him?"

Karina didn't answer. She lowered her head, wiped her hands with a wet wipe, then picked up the menu and flipped to the pork belly page. "Order three servings of pork belly, one serving of pork neck, one soybean paste stew, and one kimchi pancake. Is that enough?"

"Enough," Jiang Zhiyu said.

"If it's not enough, we'll order more." Karina handed the menu to the waiter.

The charcoal was brought out. The red charcoal was piled into a small hill in the iron basin, flames creeping out from the gaps between the charcoal pieces, licking the grill above. The heat rushed toward them, carrying the unique charred scent of charcoal. Jiang Zhiyu naturally picked up the barbecue tongs. His movements in flipping the meat were the same, unhurried and calm; every piece of meat was flipped precisely, and every side was grilled to a golden, crispy finish. Kim Minjeong watched him flip the meat and suddenly said, "Oppa, if you get married in the future, you'll definitely be the kind of husband who's in charge of grilling meat at home."

Jiang Zhiyu glanced at her. "Why?"

"Because your grilling technique is too good. And you seem to like grilling meat."

"Liking barbecue doesn't mean I like the person who makes it."

Kim Minjeong froze for a moment. Then her face slowly turned red, starting from the base of her neck, spreading all the way up to her earlobes and hairline.

"I... I didn't mean that!" She lowered her head, burying her face in her hands. "Oppa, you are really annoying!"

Jiang Zhiyu didn't look at her. He cut the grilled pork belly into small pieces and divided them into three plates.

Karina's portion was as small as ever, Kim Minjeong's portion was as large as ever, and Jiang Zhiyu's portion was medium-to-large—because NingNing hadn't arrived yet, and he had to save her share.

NingNing arrived twenty minutes later. When she pushed the door open, she was carrying a bag with a bakery's logo printed on it.

"Teacher, I brought you some bread. It's whole wheat, no added sugar."

Jiang Zhiyu took the bag, glanced at the bread inside, and then looked at NingNing. "Why give me something with no sugar?"

"Because you need to control your sugar intake."

"I don't need to control your sugar."

"You do. You drink a cup of full-sugar milk tea every day; you'll regret it one day."

"That day hasn't come yet."

NingNing sat down speechlessly, picked up her chopsticks, and put a piece of cold pork belly into her mouth.

"The meat is cold, it doesn't taste good." She chewed twice with a frown, swallowed, and then looked at Jiang Zhiyu. "Teacher, grill another portion."

Jiang Zhiyu ordered another portion of pork belly. NingNing ate happily, Kim Minjeong ate with restraint, and Karina ate quietly.

Jiang Zhiyu was responsible for grilling, serving, and using the tongs to pick up the tiny scraps of meat left on the grill to eat, not wasting a single bit.

Halfway through the meal, NingNing suddenly put down her chopsticks and looked at Karina. "Ji-min Unnie, you look much better when you smile now that you've taken off your braces."

Karina froze for a moment. Then the corners of her mouth lifted slightly; the arc wasn't large, but it was genuine. "Thank you."

"So you can laugh freely now," NingNing said. "You don't have to cover your mouth anymore."

Karina looked at her, silent for a moment. Then she laughed—not the restrained, pursed-lip kind of smile, but a real, toothy smile with eyes curved into crescents.

The smile was very short, only lasting a few seconds, but in those few seconds, she changed completely. She was no longer the cold, restrained Karina who kept all her emotions buried under an iceberg, but an ordinary, happy seventeen-year-old girl who felt shy after being complimented by a friend.

At that moment, Jiang Zhiyu picked up his phone and pressed the shutter. He didn't capture the few seconds she was laughing, but the moment right after, when the corners of her mouth hadn't fully returned to their resting position and laughter still lingered in her eyes.

In that photo, Karina's mouth was slightly upturned, her eyes were curved, and there was a shallow dimple on her cheek—he had never known she had dimples before.

"Oppa!" Kim Minjeong saw him taking the photo. "You're taking candid photos!"

"It's not a candid photo," Jiang Zhiyu said as he put his phone away. "It's documentation."

"Documenting what?"

"Documenting the time before you debuted."

Kim Minjeong looked at him, silent for a moment. Then she lowered her head and poked at the piece of cold pork belly on her plate with her chopsticks, her voice very soft, small enough that it sounded like she was talking to herself. "...Then you have to keep recording."

Jiang Zhiyu didn't answer. But he took his phone out of his pocket and placed it on the table, screen facing up, with the camera application left open.

The charcoal fire was still burning. The pork belly on the grill sizzled, and fat dripped onto the charcoal, sparking a small flame.

The four of them sat around the table, eating meat, drinking water, and chatting about this and that. No one checked the time, no one urged to go back.

NingNing was talking about funny things that happened in Harbin, Kim Minjeong was talking about how her mother had recently learned to order takeout on her phone, and Karina was listening quietly, occasionally interjecting.

Jiang Zhiyu was responsible for grilling, serving, staying silent while NingNing and Kim Minjeong bickered, and chiming in at just the right moment when they needed him.

Outside the window, the night in Seoul was deep. The barbecue restaurant's sign swayed slightly in the night breeze, and the red light fell onto the street like a pool of blood scattered by the wind.

In the distance, the Han River flowed in the darkness; the river water was black, reflecting the lights on both banks like a river studded with stars.

Karina looked out the window and suddenly said, "When I debut, I'll treat you all to Korean beef."

The table went quiet for a moment. NingNing was the first to react, her eyes lighting up. "Really?"

"Really."

"Not the 'occasionally' kind?"

"No."

"Ji-min Unnie, I love you." NingNing clasped her hands together, making a pious expression as if she were praying.

Kim Minjeong laughed beside her, bending over with laughter. Jiang Zhiyu looked at Karina, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly.

He didn't say "Okay," nor did he say "Thank you." He just looked at Karina, saying with his gaze—I know you will.

Karina saw that look. She didn't speak, but she lowered her head, a tiny, almost invisible curve at the corners of her mouth.

The charcoal fire was still burning. The night was still long. The four people's dinner was not over yet.

——

SM's efficiency was truly slow. So slow that Jiang Zhiyu sometimes wondered how this company had become one of the three major entertainment companies in South Korea.

He sat in the recording studio chair, a freshly ordered strawberry milk tea in front of him—full sugar, with pearls, coconut jelly, pudding, and red beans. The pink liquid condensed into a fine layer of water droplets on the cup wall.

On his phone screen was an unread email from a person in charge at the A&R department, the content essentially saying, "The song you submitted is under review, please wait patiently."

Jiang Zhiyu had already seen the words "please wait patiently" more times than he could count. The wording of every email was about the same—"under review," "please wait patiently," "we will notify you as soon as there is news."

Translated, it meant: We received your song, but when we'll use it, if we'll use it, or which one we'll use, we don't know. Don't rush us; rushing won't help.

He placed his phone face down on the table and took a big sip of the milk tea. Sweet, very sweet, sweet enough to make his throat feel cloying.

But this cloying sensation made him feel grounded; at least one thing was certain—full-sugar milk tea was definitely sweet.

SM's efficiency wouldn't speed up because of his complaints, and his five-year plan wouldn't pause because of SM's slow efficiency.

He couldn't sit here and wait. Wait for the A&R department to pick a song from his folder, wait for the planning department to stuff this song into some album, wait for the company's schedule to allow this song to be recorded and released.

If he followed this process, it would take a few months at the least, or a year or more at the most. He couldn't afford to wait.

He needed more channels. More channels meant more exposure, more exposure meant more income, and more income meant faster capital accumulation.

This was a simple, self-explanatory causal relationship. The contract SM gave him was fair, but fair didn't mean efficient.

He understood the company's way of operating—big companies have their own rhythm; every decision has to go through multiple layers of approval, and every penny has to be spent where it counts.

Understanding was one thing, but his five-year plan wouldn't complete itself just because he understood. He had to find a way himself.

Jiang Zhiyu put the milk tea on the table, opened his laptop, and created a new folder. He named it "External Submissions."

Inside were works he had carefully selected from those hundred-plus backlogged songs that were suitable for other singers.

Each one had been re-arranged and mixed, and the quality was no less than any song he had submitted to SM.

He planned to submit these songs to other companies, to independent labels, to anyone willing to pay.

This wasn't betraying SM—the contract didn't forbid him from submitting songs externally. This was a second path he was carving out for himself within the limits of his contract.

During a department dinner, Jiang Zhiyu heard some news from his seniors. This news was like a pebble thrown into the lake of his heart, causing ripples that were neither small nor large.

IU. Lee Ji-eun. The head female singer of Loen Entertainment, the digital music queen ranked alongside Kim Taeyeon, was collecting songs, planning to release a new album. The offer was very high.

Jiang Zhiyu's hand holding his cola paused. Not because he was surprised, but because he felt he should be surprised, yet in reality, he wasn't.

IU was making a comeback; this wasn't news, it was a cyclical law. Every year or two, she would release an album and then, without suspense, dominate all the major digital music charts.

But the four words "offer is very high" sounded synonymous with "opportunity has arrived" to his ears.

"How much exactly?" he asked. The senior sitting across from him held up three fingers. "The buyout price for one song starts at 30 million."

30 million won. Approximately 180,000 RMB. This was dozens of times his fee for writing a song for SM.

Of course, a buyout meant he gave up all copyrights to the song; no matter how much money the song made in the future, it had nothing to do with him.

But for him, this was precisely the most suitable model—he needed cash, enough cash that he could get his hands on in the short term, not those royalty shares that would take years to slowly recoup.

He didn't say anything at the dinner. He just drank his cola quietly, committing every detail the seniors mentioned to memory—who was the head of IU's A&R team, when the submission deadline was, what preferences they had for song styles, what types of songs were the title tracks of past albums.

This information was like pieces of a puzzle, slowly piecing together a complete picture in his mind.

The opportunity was there, and the channel was there. But the problem was, he needed time to write a song.

Not the kind written casually, but a song of high enough quality to truly move IU and her team, a song that would stand out among hundreds or even thousands of submissions.

Jiang Zhiyu decided to start from the SM Building's back door.

The back door of the SM Building was a narrow alley, with dusty walls on both sides, crossed power lines overhead, and the occasional pigeon flying by.

The alley wasn't long, about fifty meters, and at the end was an iron gate that was locked year-round, only opened when the garbage truck came.

This wasn't the company's official entrance or exit, and usually, no one walked here.

But it had one advantage—no surveillance, no security guards, and no coming-and-going staff. If you wanted to do something secretly here, it wasn't easy to be discovered.

Jiang Zhiyu sent a message to Kim Minjeong at 3 PM. "Back door, come."

Three words, no emojis, no unnecessary chatter. Kim Minjeong replied after about thirty seconds, a question mark, and then an "Okay."

When she arrived, Jiang Zhiyu was already there. He was leaning against the wall, holding a white plastic bag with a fried skewer shop's logo printed on it, grease seeping from the bottom of the bag, leaving a dark circle on the cement floor.

"Oppa, what is this?" Kim Minjeong jogged over, her hair fluttering in the wind, revealing her smooth forehead.

"Fried skewers." Jiang Zhiyu handed the bag to her. "Just arrived, it's still hot."

Kim Minjeong took the bag and opened it; an aroma mixed with chili, cumin, and grease wafted toward her.

Inside the bag were over a dozen fried skewers neatly arranged—chicken skewers, beef skewers, sausages, rice cakes, fish cakes, tofu skin, king oyster mushrooms, and sweet potatoes.

Each skewer was fried to a golden crisp, sprinkled with chili powder and sesame seeds, shining with a greasy sheen under the sunlight.

"When did you order this?" Kim Minjeong's eyes lit up.

"Twenty minutes ago. The delivery guy waited at the mouth of the alley for a while, and I told him to just leave it on the ground."

Kim Minjeong picked up a sausage skewer and took a bite. The outer skin of the sausage was fried to a crispy texture; the moment she bit into it, the juices inside burst in her mouth, mixed with the spiciness of the chili and the aroma of cumin.

She chewed twice, then closed her eyes and made a muffled sound, like a kitten purring. "Delicious," she said.

Jiang Zhiyu leaned against the wall, watching her eat. He didn't eat—he wasn't very hungry, and he preferred watching her eat. When Kim Minjeong ate, there was a sense of authenticity that disregarded her image. She didn't chew slowly like Karina, nor did she comment while eating like Ningning. She just ate, taking big bites, her cheeks puffed out, chili powder staining the corners of her mouth, occasionally gasping when the spice hit her, then continuing to eat.

"Oppa, aren't you going to eat?" Kim Minjeong held out a skewer of rice cakes to his lips.

Jiang Zhiyu looked down at the skewer, then took a bite. The rice cakes were crispy on the outside and chewy on the inside, and the sauce was the perfect balance of sweet and spicy—it was a flavor he liked. "It's good," he said.

"Of course it's good. I found this place." Kim Minjeong lifted her chin proudly. "I discovered it when I was shopping with Ningning last time. It's hidden in the alleyway, has no sign, and only the locals know about it."

Jiang Zhiyu finished the rice cakes and took a skewer of tofu skin from the bag, eating it slowly. The alley was very quiet, with only the occasional sound of cars from afar and the fluttering of pigeon wings overhead. Sunlight leaked in through the gaps at the alley entrance, casting dappled light and shadows on them.

"Minjeong."

"Hmm?"

"I'm going to submit songs to IU."

Kim Minjeong's hand paused. She was still holding half a fish cake skewer, which glistened in the sunlight. She turned to look at Jiang Zhiyu, her eyes wide. "IU? That IU?"

"Yeah. That IU from Loen Entertainment."

"You know her?"

"I don't."

"Then how are you going to send her songs?"

"She has an open submission channel. It costs 50,000 won to submit a song, 100,000 for high quality. If it gets selected, the price is negotiated separately."

Kim Minjeong blinked, digesting this information. "50,000 won per song? That's so cheap."

"It's cheap for IU, but it's a cost for me." Jiang Zhiyu finished the tofu skin and wiped his hands with a tissue. "I plan to submit a few dozen. If I'm lucky, even if only one or two get selected, I'll break even."

Kim Minjeong looked at him, silent for a moment. Then she finished the remaining half of the fish cake, wiped the chili powder from the corner of her mouth with her sleeve, and looked at him earnestly. "Oppa, you can do it. The songs you write are so good; IU will definitely like them."

Jiang Zhiyu looked at her earnest, sparkling eyes, his lips curving slightly upward. "You have that much confidence in me?"

"Of course," Kim Minjeong said. "You are the most amazing songwriter I've ever met."

Jiang Zhiyu didn't speak. He reached out and ruffled Kim Minjeong's hair. Her hair was soft and fine, like a ball of cotton warmed by the sun. His fingers slid from the top of her head to the back, his fingertips gently massaging her scalp—not intentionally, but as an instinctive bodily reaction; the "Eight Head and Face Acupoints" massage technique from Medicine King Valley triggered automatically the moment he touched her hair. Kim Minjeong's eyes narrowed, her shoulders relaxed unconsciously, and she leaned against the wall, as if she had been melted from within by something.

Footsteps came from the alley entrance. Not one person's, but two. One light and brisk, the other steady and calm. The light one was NingNing, the steady one was Karina.

"Teacher—!" NingNing's voice echoed in the alley, startling a few pigeons overhead. "What are you two sneaking to eat?!"

Jiang Zhiyu withdrew his hand, and Kim Minjeong also snapped out of that half-dreamy state, her cheeks flushed, chili powder still clinging to the corner of her mouth. She tried to hide the plastic bag behind her back, but NingNing had already rushed in front of them and spotted the fried skewers in the bag at a glance.

"Betrayal!" NingNing pointed at Kim Minjeong, her finger trembling in the air, her expression as exaggerated as if she were acting in some cheesy drama. "You two are traitors! Eating secretly without calling us!"

Kim Minjeong's face turned even redder. "I... I just hadn't had the chance to call you yet—"

"Hadn't had the chance? How many skewers have you already eaten? Look at how many are left in the bag!" NingNing snatched the plastic bag and rummaged through it. "Five! Five! You two ate over a dozen, and you only left us five?!"

Karina stood behind NingNing, silent. Her gaze swept from Jiang Zhiyu's face to Kim Minjeong's, then fell from Kim Minjeong's face to the plastic bag. Her expression remained that cool, emotionless calm, but Jiang Zhiyu noticed her gaze linger for a fraction of a second on the skewer of tofu skin in the bag.

Kim Minjeong looked at NingNing's "I've been betrayed by the whole world" expression and was silent for a second. Then she took a deep breath, as if she had made a major decision. "I'm treating tonight."

NingNing's performance stopped instantly. "Really?"

"Really."

"What are we eating?"

"You choose."

NingNing's eyes lit up like two illuminated light bulbs. She turned to look at Karina. "Karina Unnie, what do you want to eat?"

Karina was silent for a moment. "Korean BBQ."

"Okay, Korean BBQ it is," Kim Minjeong said. "Korean BBQ tonight, my treat."

NingNing nodded in satisfaction and handed the plastic bag to Karina. "Karina Unnie, you eat first."

Karina took the bag and pulled out the skewer of tofu skin. She didn't perform dramatically like NingNing, nor did she eat in big bites like Kim Minjeong. She just ate quietly and slowly, chewing each bite carefully, as if savoring something precious.

NingNing watched her eat, waiting for her to finish so she could take the next skewer herself. But after Karina finished the first skewer, she didn't hand the bag to her. She took out the second one. Tofu skin. Finished it too. Then she took out the third. Still tofu skin.

"Karina Unnie!" NingNing's voice raised half an octave. "Leave me a bite!"

Karina glanced at her, then popped the last little piece of the third tofu skin skewer into her mouth. She chewed twice and swallowed. Then she handed the bag back to Kim Minjeong and said, "Thank you." NingNing stood there, mouth agape, eyes wide, as if she had seen something incredible. She turned to look at Jiang Zhiyu, who was leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets, his expression as calm as if nothing had happened.

"Teacher, did you see that?"

"I saw it."

"Karina Unnie, she—"

"She's hungry," Jiang Zhiyu said.

NingNing opened her mouth to retort, but realized she couldn't find a reason to argue. Karina was indeed hungry—she had practiced dancing for four hours this morning, only had an Americano for lunch, and practiced for another two hours in the afternoon. There was nothing in her stomach but caffeine. Those three skewers of tofu skin were the first proper thing she had eaten all day.

"Let's go." Jiang Zhiyu straightened up from the wall and brushed the dust off his pants. "Didn't you say you wanted Korean BBQ? Let's go now, it'll be less crowded."

The four of them walked out of the alley and along the street toward the Korean BBQ restaurant. NingNing walked in front, her steps so light and brisk it was as if she were dancing. Kim Minjeong walked in the middle, still carrying the plastic bag with the five fried skewers—she planned to take them to the restaurant to eat; no point in wasting them. Karina walked beside Kim Minjeong with a steady gait, her gaze calm as she looked at the road ahead. Jiang Zhiyu walked at the very back, watching the three of them, and suddenly felt like he was herding sheep.

He thought about the IU matter. Submitting songs. Dozens of them. A cost of 50,000 won per song. Dozens meant an investment of several million won. His savings weren't much; this investment was not small for him. But if he could get one selected, even if it was just a non-title track included on the album, the royalty income would be enough to cover all costs. What if two were selected? What if three were? What if the title track was selected too? An image appeared in his mind—IU's new album released, and on the music charts appeared "Lyrics by Jiang Zhiyu, Composed by Jiang Zhiyu, Arranged by Jiang Zhiyu." His name hung side by side with IU's, like with prince ruperts drop》, but different. prince ruperts drop》 was sung by Kim Taeyeon. Kim Taeyeon was a senior at SM, the leader of Girls Generation, and a national female singer. IU was on another level—the star of Loen Entertainment, the queen of music charts, the only solo female singer who could be mentioned in the same breath as Kim Taeyeon. If his song were selected by IU, his name would appear on IU's album, before everyone who followed IU. He would no longer be "SM's rookie songwriter," but "the songwriter selected by IU." The value of that label was far greater than tens of millions of won in royalties.

Jiang Zhiyu's lips curved slightly upward. It wasn't a smile, but a confirmation that "the plan is in motion."

"Oppa, what are you smiling about?" Kim Minjeong turned her head and saw the curve of his lips.

"Nothing."

"You must be thinking of something bad."

"I'm thinking about Korean BBQ."

Kim Minjeong looked into his eyes, trying to determine if he was telling the truth or just brushing her off. She looked for two seconds, then gave up. "You are really hard to understand."

"Not hard to understand," Jiang Zhiyu said. "I just think about a lot of things."

"What things?"

"Thinking about when you guys will debut."

Kim Minjeong's steps faltered for a moment. Then she quickened her pace, walked over to NingNing, and didn't look back. But Jiang Zhiyu noticed the tips of her ears had turned red.

Karina walked beside Kim Minjeong and turned her head to glance at Jiang Zhiyu. That glance held too much—not gratitude, not being moved, but a quieter confirmation, like "I know what you are doing." Jiang Zhiyu met her gaze and didn't speak. The communication between the two needed no words.

The sign for the Korean BBQ restaurant was lit up ahead, the red neon tubing particularly eye-catching in the twilight. The four of them pushed the door open and went in; the heat of the charcoal fire and the aroma of roasted meat rushed toward them, instantly dispelling the chill from the alley.

Jiang Zhiyu stood at the entrance for a second, then followed them inside. He thought that tonight's Korean BBQ would probably be very good. Not because the meat was good, but because the people eating together were right.

——

Oh no, what do I do if I'm falling for Minjeong???

(22:10) Minjeong who doesn't reply: [Just finished a bath~ feeling all warm! After the curtain call today, Oppa gently patted my head backstage and said, "Our Minjeong was the brightest star tonight"... I'm still kicking my feet under the blankets thinking about it now! (Sends a blurry video of squirming under the blanket)]

(22:13) Minjeong who doesn't reply: [Folded the scarf Oppa gave me and put it by my pillow. Even though I've only worn it once, it smells like Oppa. Ningning said, "Unnie, you're so clingy," and I answered righteously, "Of course the sun has to revolve around it!"]

(22:16) Minjeong who doesn't reply: [Saw news about TG Entertainment on the TV in the waiting room today. I pretended to look down at my phone, but my ears were actually pricked up~ I couldn't help but giggle when I heard the words "President Jiang," and got hit with potato chips by Karina Unnie.]

(22:19) Minjeong who doesn't reply: [Secretly named Oppa's succulent "Xiaodong." Every day when I water it, I say, "Xiaodong, let's grow even better together." Does this count as having a baby together with Oppa? (Suddenly blushes like crazy after saying it)]

(22:22) Minjeong who doesn't reply: [Oppa has a cross-border meeting tomorrow, right? I'll secretly make a wish in the early morning to make all the time zones go according to Oppa's wishes! My secret agent skills are very impressive~ (Sends a meme of a cool puppy wearing sunglasses and holding a rose)]

(22:25) Minjeong who doesn't reply: [Last one before bed! I like Oppa a lot today too, a little more than yesterday, and a little less than tomorrow. Because I'll like you even more every day! (Sends a goodnight photo with half her face covered by a scarf, only showing her smiling eyes)]