16: Chapter 16 Tianshan plum-breaking hand!

When Jiang Zhiyu pushed open the door to the practice room, Kim Minjeong and NingNing were already seated on the floor. Spread out before them were triangular kimbap and banana milk they had bought from a convenience store; they looked like they had just finished breakfast, with rice grains still clinging to the corners of their mouths. Karina was sitting by the window, her back against the floor-to-ceiling mirror, holding a cup of iced Americano. A layer of fine water droplets had condensed on the cup's surface. There was no food in front of her, only that cup of black liquid, so bitter it made one frown.

Jiang Zhiyu walked in and placed the items in his hand on the floor. One was a cup of strawberry milk tea—full sugar with pearls, coconut jelly, pudding, and red beans. The pink liquid sloshed inside the transparent cup, which had "Full Sugar" written on it in marker; the handwriting was scrawled but forceful. The other was a white plastic bag, tied tightly at the top, with oil stains seeping from the bottom, forming a dark circle on the white bag. Inside the plastic bag was fried chicken. He had ordered it on his way over, the delivery guy had dropped it at the back door, and he had gone down in his slippers to pick it up.

The moment Kim Minjeong saw that white bag, her eyes lit up. Then she remembered something, and her eyes dimmed again. The monthly evaluation was next week, and her weight was still a bit off from the target. Last night she had secretly stepped on the scale, and the number was 0.7 kilograms over the standard. 0.7 kilograms didn't sound like much, but on the scale, it was a red warning zone. She had only eaten an apple this morning and planned to eat nothing for lunch; as for dinner—she'd decide later. But now, Jiang Zhiyu had walked in carrying fried chicken. That bag of fried chicken was like bait placed on a trap by a cunning fox, waiting for her, a hungry rabbit, to walk right into the snare. She bit her lip and shifted her gaze from the bag of fried chicken to the kimbap in front of her. The rice in the kimbap was brown rice—no oil, no sugar, just a little salt and vinegar. She took a bite and chewed for a long time, as if chewing on a piece of flavorless rubber.

NingNing's reaction was much more direct than Kim Minjeong's. She looked at the bag of fried chicken, then at the banana milk in her hand, and put the milk down. "Teacher, you're doing this on purpose, aren't you?"

Jiang Zhiyu placed the bag of fried chicken beside him without opening it. He didn't answer NingNing's question, but instead took a stack of papers out of his bag and placed them on the floor. The thickness of the paper caused a dull thud as it hit the ground. It wasn't just a few pages, or even a dozen, but a thick stack. Kim Minjeong counted them—exactly ten pages. A4 paper, printed, with small, densely packed text. A title was printed in bold at the top of the page: "She Doesn't Know I'm Watching Her."

Karina's hand holding the iced Americano paused. Her gaze moved from the milk tea in Jiang Zhiyu's hand to the stack of papers. The title was very prominent, in bold, and several sizes larger than the main text, like a sentence someone had repeated many times and finally couldn't help but say out loud. "She Doesn't Know I'm Watching Her." Not "You Don't Know I'm Watching You," but "She Doesn't Know I'm Watching Her." Third person, like a bystander recording something. Not a dialogue between "me" and "you," but the distance between "me" and "her." That sense of distance made Karina's fingers curl slightly against the side of her cup.

Kim Minjeong flipped to the first page, her eyes scanning the text beneath the title, and her mouth slowly fell open. It wasn't surprise; it was shock. Her eyes were wide and round, the words on the paper reflected in her pupils like a high-speed scanner. NingNing leaned over, their heads pressed together. The two of them flipped pages at the same time, stopped at the same time, looked up at Jiang Zhiyu at the same time, and then simultaneously lowered their heads to continue reading.

Jiang Zhiyu sat opposite them with his legs crossed, holding the strawberry milk tea. The straw stirred in the cup, making the crisp sound of ice cubes clinking. He didn't drink it, just stirred, as if drawing an invisible circle with the straw. His gaze was fixed on the floor, not looking at anyone, but the tips of his ears were red. It wasn't the red from the steam of a hot drink, but the kind that seeped from beneath the skin, as if something were accelerating through his veins.

When Kim Minjeong flipped to the third page, she let out a short "Ah." It wasn't pain or surprise, but a sort of "so that's how it is" feeling, as if she'd been struck by something. She nudged NingNing with her elbow and pointed to a diagram on the page—it was a mock-up of an Instagram page screenshot. The profile picture, nickname, post layout, and caption format were all marked with gray boxes for position and size. Arrows next to them explained the intent behind each design: use a profile shot for the avatar to create a sense of distance; use the real name for the nickname to enhance authenticity; arrange posts in sets of three to maintain visual rhythm; use short sentences for captions to leave blank space for fans to feel for themselves.

After NingNing finished reading, she flipped back to the first page and looked at the title again. "She Doesn't Know I'm Watching Her," she read the words aloud, very slowly, with a pause between each word, as if savoring a complex wine. Then she looked up at Jiang Zhiyu, the corners of her mouth slowly curling up. "Teacher, this is completely a secret crush proposal, isn't it?"

Karina sat by the window, holding her iced Americano, her gaze fixed on Jiang Zhiyu. Her expression remained that cold, unreadable calm, but her fingers curled against the cup again. She noticed a detail. From the moment Kim Minjeong said the words "secret crush," the tips of Jiang Zhiyu's ears turned from pink to deep red. It wasn't the red of being "wrongfully accused," but the red of being "found out."

Hearing NingNing's words, Kim Minjeong also looked up, her mouth wearing a meaningful curve identical to NingNing's. The two shared a look and simultaneously let out a "Hehe" giggle. The laughter wasn't loud, but it was exceptionally clear in the quiet practice room, like two cats that had just snuck some dried fish—satisfied and devious.

Jiang Zhiyu coughed. It wasn't loud, but it was very deliberate, as if using the cough to cover something up. His face was also red. It spread from the tips of his ears to his cheeks, and from his cheeks to his neck, as if someone had lit a fire under his skin, and the blaze was slowly and uncontrollably spreading. But that face of his, which sat somewhere between a boy and a man, actually looked better when he blushed. It wasn't the "fair skin with a rosy glow" kind of good-looking, but the "I know I'm blushing but I'm pretending I'm not" kind of good-looking, tinged with a bit of stubbornness and a bit of embarrassment. Looking at his flushed face, a voice inside Karina said: He's shy. Jiang Zhiyu is shy. The Jiang Zhiyu who had single-handedly taken down four thugs by the Han River, who had silenced everyone in the recording studio with a single song, and who handled himself with ease in front of company seniors, had turned red over the words "secret crush." The contrast was so great that she couldn't help but steal a few more glances at him.

"This proposal," Jiang Zhiyu's voice was a bit higher than usual and his speaking speed was faster, as if he were rushing, "is clearly a trainee record proposal filled with hard work and sweat! Don't let your imaginations run wild."

Kim Minjeong and NingNing simultaneously let out an "Oh—," drawing out the sound as if to say "as if we'd believe you." The curves of their mouths were identical, and even the angle of their head tilts was almost the same. They had practiced together for so long that their chemistry was ingrained in their bones, even synchronizing their way of teasing people.

Jiang Zhiyu didn't look at them again. He placed the milk tea on the floor, picked up the stack of proposals, flipped to the first page, and tapped the paragraph beneath the title with his index finger. His fingers were long with distinct joints and thin calluses on the pads—left from years of playing instruments. His tone returned to its usual steadiness, as if the person who had just blushed and coughed wasn't him.

"The core of this 'She Doesn't Know I'm Watching Her' proposal isn't surreptitious filming or a secret crush; it's the 'second-person perspective.'" His voice echoed in the practice room, clear and stable. "It's not 'I' speaking; it's 'you' watching 'her.' The lens is the eye. The person watching isn't you; it's the person looking at the photo. You want the person looking at the photo to feel that they aren't looking at a stranger, but that they are stealing a glance at someone they know. That feeling of 'I'm watching someone, but she doesn't know I'm watching her.'"

Kim Minjeong stopped smiling and looked seriously at the text in the proposal. Her expression shifted from gossip to focus, like a student listening to a teacher's lecture—even though she had just been teasing this "teacher." NingNing also quieted down, her finger slowly sliding across the page as she read line by line, occasionally stopping to think with a frown before continuing.

Karina didn't look at the proposal. She looked at Jiang Zhiyu. She watched his finger move across the page, watched the curve of his lips as they moved while he spoke, and watched how his eyes would narrow slightly as if focusing when he reached a key point. She knew this proposal was written for her. Every word, every image, and every annotation was for her Instagram account, her photos, her aesthetic, and her as a person.

"The accompanying photos must be exquisite." Jiang Zhiyu flipped to the second page and pointed to the sample images. "It's not about 'taking a good photo,' it's about 'taking a photo with a sense of story.' A photo should make someone feel the urge to zoom in and see the details. Composition, light and shadow, tone, negative space—every element must serve the 'story.' You aren't just taking a photo; you are writing a diary entry without words."

Kim Minjeong looked up. "Oppa, who's going to take these photos?"

Jiang Zhiyu was silent for a second. "Me."

Kim Minjeong's eyes went round again. "You know how to take photos?"

"I don't. But I have an aesthetic sense."

NingNing whispered a small "That's actually true" from the side. It wasn't loud, but everyone heard it. Kim Minjeong nodded in agreement. Jiang Zhiyu's aesthetic sense was indeed good. Those photos he took of them—even though they were just casual snaps without any conscious composition, and some were even candid—every single one looked good. It wasn't the kind of good-looking that just "made the person look pretty"; it was the kind that "captured how that person truly looks." Kim Minjeong had one photo of herself slumped on the floor after dance practice, hair soaked and stuck to her face, the collar of her T-shirt turned dark gray with sweat, looking like a dried-up salted fish. But there was something in that photo—not beauty, but reality. It was so real it made people feel, "This person isn't posing; this is exactly who she is."

"The project is only for one week." Jiang Zhiyu flipped to the last page and circled a date on the calendar with his finger. "After one week, there must be visible returns. Likes, comments, shares, follower growth—every metric must be backed by data. It's not 'I feel it's effective'; it's 'the data proves it's effective.'"

NingNing looked at the date circled in red and frowned. "One week is too short, isn't it? Other people's promotional plans are calculated in months."

"There is no more time. IU and Loen Entertainment won't wait for me." Jiang Zhiyu's tone was very calm, so calm it was like stating a fact that didn't need discussion. "Next week, I must take the data to see the CEO of Loen Entertainment. It's not 'I can do it'; it's 'I have already done it.' Data is the evidence."

Kim Minjeong and NingNing fell silent at the same time. They knew about the IU situation. Jiang Zhiyu had told them at the SM back door—he wanted to write a song for IU, he wanted to fight for the position of promotional lead for IU's album, he wanted to prove his ability. At the time, they thought he was just speaking casually, or at least that it was a "take it slow" kind of plan. But now, the proposal was already written—ten pages, densely packed, with every detail considered. He wasn't "planning to do it"; he had already started.

Karina placed her iced Americano on the floor and picked up the stack of proposals. She started from the first page, flipping through them one by one, reading slowly. Her gaze lingered on every line of text, as if swallowing the words one by one with her eyes. Her expression didn't change at all, but her fingers gently brushed against the edges of the pages, making a faint rustling sound.

Watching her flip the pages, Jiang Zhiyu suddenly said, "Since we're going to promote this model, Karina's Instagram alone actually isn't enough."

Karina's fingers paused.

[part:gemini-3.1-flash-lite]

"Thirty thousand followers is enough for a case study, but not enough to be a 'phenomenon'." Jiang Zhiyu's voice was soft, but every word was clear. "I need something bigger, something that allows more people to see this model. A few days after Ji-min's Instagram gains traction, I'll have Yeri make a similar update."

Kim Minjeong and NingNing simultaneously gasped. Yeri. Red Velvet's Yeri. The Yeri with millions of followers on Instagram. The Yeri who was close enough with Jiang Zhiyu to frequently eat together and bicker back and forth. If Yeri also posted something similar, it wouldn't be 'a trainee's daily record,' but 'something even Red Velvet members are paying attention to.' The scale would be completely different.

"Will Yeri agree?" Kim Minjeong asked.

"She will. But she'll take the opportunity to fleece me for a meal."

"Fleece you for what?"

"Food. She said she wanted to eat Korean beef last time, and I told her to wait until I got paid. I still haven't been paid yet."

NingNing listened from the side, the corners of her mouth slowly curling up. "Teacher, your connections are really…"

"They aren't connections," Jiang Zhiyu interrupted her, "they're debts. All debts. The money to treat Yeri to Korean beef, the money to treat Taeyeon Noona to coffee, the money to treat Yoona Noona to a meal, the money to treat Seulgi Noona to barbecue. I remember every single one."

"You actually keep track of them?"

"I do. One day, I'll have to pay them back." Jiang Zhiyu's tone was very serious, so serious that it didn't seem like he was joking.

Kim Minjeong looked at him and suddenly felt a bit heartbroken. It wasn't the kind of heartbreak where she thought, "He's so pitiful," but the kind where she thought, "He's carrying so much by himself." He was sixteen, alone in South Korea, with no family and no support. Most of the money he earned from writing songs was deposited into an account called the "Five-Year Plan," untouched and unspent. The number of times he treated others could be counted on one hand, and each time was because he "had to." Treating Yeri was because he needed her help, treating Kim Taeyeon was because she was a senior, and treating Im Yoona was because—he probably just wanted to treat her, but he said, "Because she has treated me many times." He wasn't someone who didn't know how to spend money; he was someone who didn't dare to. Because every penny could become a brick in his five-year plan.

Karina finished turning the last page. She closed the proposal, placed it on her lap, and looked up at Jiang Zhiyu. Her expression remained that cold, emotionless calm, but her eyes had changed. It wasn't "I understand," it wasn't "I agree," but a quieter kind of confirmation, as if to say, "I see what you are doing."

"Oppa."

"Yeah?"

"This money," Karina's voice was soft, but very clear, "will you eat it all back from the Loen Entertainment cafeteria?"

Jiang Zhiyu looked at her and was silent for a second. Then he smiled. It wasn't a polite, social smile, nor was it an awkward smile from being exposed, but a genuine, heartfelt smile, with a hint of slyness that said, "How did you know?" "Yes. From breakfast to dinner, from Monday to Sunday, three meals a day, I'll eat it all back. Until the CEO knows me, until the cafeteria auntie starts preparing my food the moment she sees me."

Kim Minjeong and NingNing laughed simultaneously. Not the "haha, you're so funny" kind of laugh, but the "fine, you win" kind, filled with a bit of helplessness and a bit of admiration.

Karina didn't laugh. But looking at Jiang Zhiyu's smiling face, a voice in her heart said: He won't hurt me. It wasn't "I think he won't hurt me," it wasn't "I believe he won't hurt me," it was just "He won't hurt me." It was like an axiom that needed no proof, like a fact that needed no explanation. From the moment he looked up at her in the recording studio, she knew. He used her—that was certain. His proposal wrote clearly that he wanted to use her Instagram account as a case study, use her data to convince the CEO of Loen Entertainment, and use her growth as proof of his ability. He used her, but he also promoted her. His proposal also wrote clearly that the core of the project "She doesn't know I'm watching her" wasn't "what Jiang Zhiyu did," but "who Karina is." He wanted to push her in front of more people, not as "an SM trainee," but as "Karina." The Karina who knew how to take photos, who had an aesthetic sense, and who made people want to take a second look.

She didn't know if this project would succeed. She didn't know if her followers would go from thirty thousand to fifty thousand, or to one hundred thousand. She didn't know if Jiang Zhiyu could land the promotion manager role for IU's album. She only knew one thing. He wouldn't hurt her. Not because of what he said, but because of what he did. When he single-handedly took down four thugs by the Han River, his first reaction was to pull her behind him. When he listened to her sing in the recording studio, he never told lies—good was good, bad was bad. On the day she got her braces off, he captured those few seconds of her smiling, then sent the photo to her with the caption "Pretty." She didn't know if "Pretty" referred to her looking pretty without braces or her smile looking pretty. She only knew that he never told lies.

"Ji-min." Jiang Zhiyu called her.

Karina looked up.

"Next week, your Instagram followers will increase." Jiang Zhiyu's tone was calm, so calm that it sounded like he was stating a proven fact. "It's not because I did a good job, but because you deserve to be seen by more people."

Karina looked at him without speaking. But her fingers pressed lightly on the cover of the proposal, as if making a silent promise.

Kim Minjeong and NingNing sat on the side, watching the silence between the two. That silence wasn't empty; it was full. It was as if the two didn't need to speak to understand what the other was thinking. Kim Minjeong looked at NingNing, and NingNing looked back at her. Both simultaneously wiped away the meaningful curves at the corners of their mouths and sat there quietly, not disturbing them.

Jiang Zhiyu stood up from the floor, patted the dust off his pants, and walked to the window. The sky outside was gray, as if covered by a layer of gauze. But his mood wasn't as gray as the sky. His five-year plan, step two "collecting funds," started today, starting with Karina's Instagram, starting with this ten-page proposal. It was no longer "in planning," it was "in progress."

He turned around and looked at the three girls in the practice room. Kim Minjeong was eating the bag of fried chicken he brought—she finally couldn't resist, picked up a chicken leg, took a bite, and her eyes crinkled into crescents. NingNing reached out to grab another piece, and the two began a small-scale battle again. Karina sat by the window, holding the half-finished iced Americano, her gaze falling on the stack of proposals on the floor. Her expression remained that cold, emotionless calm, but there was a tiny, almost invisible curve at the corner of her mouth.

Jiang Zhiyu watched that curve, and the corners of his mouth also lifted slightly. He picked up his strawberry milk tea and took a sip. Full sugar, sweet enough to make his throat feel cloying. But he felt that today's cup didn't seem as sweet. Not because the milk tea had changed, but because his mood had changed. It hadn't become bitter; it had become milder. The sweetness was still there, but he tasted something else. He couldn't describe that taste; it wasn't sweet, bitter, sour, or spicy. It was that kind of—the taste of having someone by your side.

—— Karina's Instagram account was restarted on a Tuesday noon. Jiang Zhiyu sat beside her, holding her phone, his thumb swiped across the screen a few times, flipping to the account's homepage. The last post was from two years ago, a backlit profile photo, with a caption consisting of only one punctuation mark—a period. At that time, she had just entered SM, fifteen years old, knowing nothing about the future, only knowing training, training, training every day, tired enough to fall asleep on the floor, and when she woke up, she had a jacket thrown over her by someone she didn't know. She hadn't deleted those old posts, nor had she set them to private. She had just stopped updating. Like a half-written diary, closed by someone and placed on the highest shelf, covered in dust. Now, Jiang Zhiyu took that diary down, blew off the dust, and turned to a new page.

The first photo was a group photo of the three by the Han River. Karina stood in the middle, with Kim Minjeong and NingNing on either side. All three were wearing casual clothes, their hair slightly messy from the river breeze, their expressions natural, not the kind of smile deliberately posed for the camera, but a moment captured in the gap of chatting, with the corners of their mouths just lifting. The sunset shone from behind them, gilding their silhouettes with a golden-red glow. The river surface shimmered in the distance, and the traffic on the bridge stretched into ribbons of light in the twilight.

The caption was only one sentence. "그녀는 내가 그녀를 보고 있다는 것을 모른다." She doesn't know I'm watching her.

Kim Minjeong leaned over to look at the screen, read the Korean sentence once, then again, and then looked at Jiang Zhiyu with a frown. "Oppa, who is this sentence about looking at whom? Me looking at you? You looking at me? Her looking at her?"

"All of them," Jiang Zhiyu said.

Kim Minjeong's brows furrowed even tighter. "What do you mean?"

"When everyone sees it, they will think they are 'her,' and the person looking at the photo is 'I.' The person looking is watching 'her,' but 'her' doesn't know someone is watching." Jiang Zhiyu's tone was calm, as if explaining a mathematical formula, "You post this photo, and people who see it will think—who is this 'I'? Is it the person who took the photo? Is it the person looking at the photo? Or is it someone in the photo? They can't figure it out, so they will discuss it. The more they discuss, the more traction it will get."

NingNing listened from the side, was silent for a moment, and then said something that almost made Kim Minjeong choke. "Isn't this just fishing?"

Jiang Zhiyu glanced at her. "Fishing requires bait. This doesn't need it, because the fish will hook themselves."

Kim Minjeong still wanted to ask, but her gaze fell on her and NingNing's faces in the photo—two blurry mosaics, covering their features completely, only allowing the colors of their hair and clothes to be seen. She froze for a second, then turned to look at Jiang Zhiyu. "Oppa, why did you blur our faces?"

Jiang Zhiyu was adjusting the photo's color tone; hearing this, his fingers paused. He didn't look up, his tone as matter-of-fact as if he were saying "the weather is nice today." "This is the discussion factor. Think about it, a group photo of three people, one person's face is clear, the other two people's faces are blurred. What will the people who see it think? They will think—who are those two people who were blurred? Why were they blurred? Are they non-celebrities? Are they trainees? Or are they already debuted artists? What is their relationship? The caption says 'She doesn't know I'm watching her,' which 'her' is it? Is it the one in the middle, or one of the blurred ones? Or are all three?"

Kim Minjeong opened her mouth, only to find she couldn't answer a single question. NingNing nodded thoughtfully from the side. "So, the blur wasn't to protect our privacy, but to make the fans guess?"

"Guessing is the best interaction." Jiang Zhiyu finally looked up, looking at NingNing. "Better than likes, better than comments. During the process of guessing, they will look at this photo repeatedly, read that caption repeatedly, and think repeatedly about 'what does it actually mean?' If a photo can be viewed ten times, its reach is ten times greater than being viewed once."

NingNing's eyes brightened. "Then what if they can't guess?"

"It's even better if they can't. If they can't guess, they will keep guessing. If they keep guessing, they will keep looking. If they keep looking, they will recommend it to friends to guess together." Jiang Zhiyu handed the phone back to Karina, "Post it."

Karina took the phone and looked at the color-graded photo on the screen. The golden red of the sunset, the shimmering light on the river, the hair of the three people ruffled by the wind. Her gaze paused for a second on the two blurry mosaics over Kim Minjeong and NingNing's faces, then she pressed the send button. The post flew out of the drafts folder, traveled through Seoul's network, and landed on the screens of everyone following the account. Over thirty thousand people saw the photo. Some scrolled past, some tapped to take a look, and some stopped at the caption, read it a few times, and then clicked into the comment section.

On the first day, there were very few comments. About twenty, mostly things like "You're finally back," "Long time no see," and "Nice photo." There were only two hundred-something likes. Kim Minjeong refreshed the page every little while, watching the numbers tick up slowly—from two hundred thirty to two hundred forty to two hundred fifty—jumping slower than a snail. She was a bit anxious, but Jiang Zhiyu was not. He sat on the practice room floor, leaning against the wall, holding a strawberry milk tea, eyes closed, looking like he was sleeping, or perhaps waiting for something.

"Oppa, shouldn't you buy some promotion?" Kim Minjeong couldn't help but ask.

"No need."

"But the data is growing so slowly—"

"Slow is normal. The account hasn't been updated in nearly three years; the fans have long forgotten its existence. Having over two hundred likes on the first day means there are still people who remember. That's enough." Jiang Zhiyu didn't open his eyes, but a tiny curve appeared at the corner of his mouth.

On the second day, the numbers started to move. It wasn't an explosive growth, but rather like the river water beneath the spring ice, slowly and irresistibly surging upward. The comments went from twenty to sixty-something, and the likes went from two hundred to over four hundred. Someone noticed the two mosaics. "Why is it censored?" "Who are the two people on the side?" "The one in the middle is Ji-min, right? Can't see the two on the side clearly." "What does the caption mean? Who is looking at whom?"

Kim Minjeong sat cross-legged in the practice room, reading the comments one by one to NingNing. When she read the one about "Who is looking at whom," she stopped and looked at Jiang Zhiyu. "Oppa, someone is guessing."

Jiang Zhiyu gave a hum and continued drinking his milk tea.

On the third day, things started to get different. According to the plan, the third day was the first small burst after the teaser phase. The photo needed to be more refined, and the caption needed to be more deliberate. Jiang Zhiyu had been lurking in the cafeteria for three days, waiting for a single moment. He had taken over a dozen photos of Karina eating, but none satisfied him—either the lighting was off, the angle wasn't right, or the expression on her face was too dull, so dull that no emotion could be read. He wanted that moment where "everything was just right." The lighting just right, the angle just right, the expression just right; a fraction more would be too much, a fraction less would be not enough. He was waiting.

At noon on the third day, the cafeteria was crowded. The trainees finished their morning training and flooded into the cafeteria, carrying trays to find seats. The air was filled with the smell of soybean paste soup and the sourness of fermented kimchi, mixed with the clinking sound of stainless steel trays. Karina sat by the window, with a bowl of buckwheat noodles, a small dish of kimchi, and a glass of water in front of her. She ate the noodles very quietly; chopsticks picked up the noodles, twirled them twice, sent them into her mouth, chewed, swallowed. Repeat. Kim Minjeong sat across from her, saying something—probably about being scolded by the dance teacher during the morning training because her hand movements were always half a beat slow. NingNing sat next to her, eating while chiming in, occasionally interjecting with, "The teacher is too strict."

Then Kim Minjeong said something. Jiang Zhiyu didn't hear what that sentence was because he was several rows of tables away, the distance too far. But he saw Karina's reaction. Her chopsticks paused in mid-air, the noodles slid off and fell back into the bowl, splashing a little soup. The corners of her mouth began to lift, not that slow, restrained lift, but that "I can't hold it back" kind of lift, as if something was gushing out from within her body. Her eyes curved, her nose bridge wrinkled slightly, her lips parted, revealing a row of neat teeth. Laughter rushed out from her throat, not loud, but very genuine. It wasn't a "haha" kind of laugh, but a "pfft" kind of laugh, like a balloon being squeezed until it popped, the air inside escaping all at once.

Jiang Zhiyu pressed the shutter. Not one, but a burst. A dozen photos, from the moment her mouth corners began to lift, to the moment she laughed out loud, to the moment she covered her mouth with her hand. He chose the third one. The corners of her mouth were at the perfect maximum curve, her eyes curved into the deepest crescent moons, and that tiny wrinkle on her nose bridge was perfectly highlighted by the light. Everything was just right.

The photo was posted. The caption had only one sentence. "Eighteen years old, laughing like this, won't you regret it later?"

When the post was sent out, it was 12:47 PM. Within an hour, the likes broke three thousand, and comments exceeded two hundred. Kim Minjeong was in the practice room looking at the numbers on her phone screen, her mouth forming a perfect circle. "Oppa, look at this—look at this number—is it broken?" She held the phone up to Jiang Zhiyu; the screen showed the like count increasing at a speed visible to the naked eye, jumping by dozens every time she refreshed.

Jiang Zhiyu took a look and pushed the phone back. "It's not broken."

"Three thousand! Three thousand! It's only been an hour!"

"Hmm."

"Oppa, why aren't you excited?"

Jiang Zhiyu didn't answer. It wasn't that he wasn't excited; it was that he had known it would be like this all along. Not because he had the ability to foresee the future, but because he knew how good that photo was. It wasn't that he shot it well; it was that Karina laughed well. He just pressed the shutter at the very moment she laughed. He just placed "her" in front of the lens. The rest was "her" shining on her own.

The messages in the comment section began to become rich. Someone wrote, "This smile is so healing," someone wrote, "Eighteen is the age to laugh like this," someone wrote, "Seeing this photo, I laughed along too." Someone noticed the caption, "Won't you regret it later—that line is so touching." Someone was guessing who took the photo, "Boyfriend, right? Only a boyfriend can capture this feeling." Someone retorted, "Not a boyfriend, a friend, the kind of friend who knows her very well." Someone was guessing the two people who were mosaicked in the previous group photo, "The one on the left is Chinese, right? Judging by the vibe, it looks like it." Someone replied, "Is the one on the right that... what's her name... that trainee."

Kim Minjeong scrolled through those comments, the expression on her face changing from shock to a trance, and from a trance to something complicated that couldn't be described. "Oppa, someone is guessing who I am."

"Hmm."

"They're guessing who I am, guessing which company I'm from, guessing if I've debuted yet."

"Hmm."

Kim Minjeong looked up at Jiang Zhiyu, her eyes slightly red. It wasn't being moved, but a feeling of "I have been seen." That feeling wasn't the kind of "being seen" where one stands on stage watched by thousands of eyes, but—someone had looked through a layer of mosaic, seen her outline, and then said, "That person seems very interesting." She didn't know how to describe this feeling. She just felt that the mosaicked face seemed closer to her true self than the expressions she had practiced countless times in front of the mirror in the practice room.

NingNing was also scrolling through the comments. Her fingers slowly slid across the screen, her gaze moving from one comment to another, her mouth carrying a quiet, soundless curve. She saw someone write in Chinese in the comment section, "This laughing girl is so pretty," froze for a moment, then showed the phone to Jiang Zhiyu. "Teacher, someone commented in Chinese."

Jiang Zhiyu took a look and nodded. "Hmm. It means overseas fans have already seen it."

NingNing took the phone back and stared at that Chinese comment for a long time. Then she exited the comment section, opened her own Instagram, switched to her alt account, and left a comment in Chinese under the post. "Yeah, she is very pretty." After posting, she placed her phone face down on the floor, leaned against the wall, and looked at the ceiling. There was a fluorescent light on the ceiling with two tubes; the ballast of one of them was broken, flickering every few seconds. She stared at that light, and a voice in her heart said—I also want to be photographed like this. Not "being photographed in a good-looking photo," but "being seen." Being seen by someone who understands you, someone who knows when you look your best, someone who presses the shutter at that exact moment.

When Karina returned from the cafeteria, she didn't yet know what had happened. She had finished eating at the cafeteria, then went to a convenience store to buy a bottle of water, and then encountered a trainee she didn't recognize in the hallway. That trainee looked at her, wanting to say something but hesitating, and finally spoke up. "Ji-min sunbae, your Instagram... is amazing." Karina froze for a moment. She took out her phone and opened Instagram. The notification bar was flooded; likes, comments, new followers, every single one was jumping. She clicked on the post and saw herself in the photo—herself laughing until her eyes curved into crescent moons, a tiny wrinkle on her nose bridge, mouth open revealing her teeth. She looked for a few seconds, then put her phone away and continued walking toward the practice room. Her pace didn't speed up, her expression didn't change. But her fingers were gripping the phone in her pocket, gripping it very tightly.

She pushed open the door of the practice room. Kim Minjeong and NingNing looked up at her at the same time, both of their eyes shining. Jiang Zhiyu was leaning against the wall, eyes closed, holding that cup of strawberry milk tea that had already gone cold. Hearing the door, he opened his eyes, looked at her, and the corners of his mouth lifted slightly.

"Saw it?" he asked.

"I saw it."

"How do you feel?"

Karina sat down across from him, placed her phone on the floor, and looked at that photo on the screen. She looked at herself in the photo, that eighteen-year-old self who was laughing without any defenses, not knowing that someone was taking a picture. She was silent for a moment, then said one sentence.

"It's quite good."

Jiang Zhiyu looked at her, waiting for her to say the next sentence. She didn't. But at the corners of her mouth, there was a smile exactly the same as the one in the photo, only the curve was much smaller. That smile wasn't directed at the camera, not at Kim Minjeong, not at NingNing. It was directed at him. He saw it. He didn't say anything.

— — [ Where is magical Dongdong? ]

(19:20) Minjeong who doesn't reply to messages: [Chinese version practice finished! When singing "You give dreams color" in front of the mirror, I realized I was smiling too obviously... had to re-sing it ten times before I could barely steady my expression. (Sends a photo with half her face covered by the lyric book, only showing her curved eyes)]

(19:23) Minjeong who doesn't reply to messages: [Cooked ramen for dinner, added the cheese slice Oppa recommended! When it melted, it was like a soft, fluffy cloud covering the noodles, reminding me of the warmth of Oppa's palm~ (Sends a picture of ramen steaming hot, with the cheese stretching)]

(19:26) Minjeong who doesn't reply to messages: [The third leaf of "Little Dong" has grown a bit, I filmed a growth record video for it, tentatively named "The Baby Working As Hard As Dad"... Ah, what am I saying! (Buries face into a throw pillow)]

(19:29) Minjeong who doesn't reply to messages: [Tonight's moonlight is honey-colored, flowing in from the window and spreading on the floor. I stepped on it barefoot and spun around, pretending to dance with the moonlight Oppa sent~]

(19:32) Minjeong who doesn't reply to messages: [Suddenly really want to hear Oppa's voice... Can you send a voice message? Even if it's just saying "Minjeong-ah, it's time to sleep," that's fine too. (Sends a meme of an expectant puppy with its ear pressed against a phone screen)]

(19:35) Minjeong who doesn't reply to messages: [Today was also an ordinary day gilded with gold by Oppa's existence. Good night, my exclusive color palette. (Sends a photo of fingers framing the outline of the moon outside the window)]