41: Chapter 41: Five words! Five words!

After the dinner gathering ended, the night breeze blew from the direction of the Han River, carrying the unique chill of early spring.

Jiang Zhiyu stood at the entrance of the barbecue restaurant, zipping his jacket all the way up and turning up the collar to cover half his neck.

Kim Minjeong stood on his left, Ningning stood on his right, and Karina stood next to Ningning.

The four of them stood under a streetlamp, their shadows stretched long and thin, cast upon the sidewalk like four trees standing side by side.

The bus arrived. Kim Minjeong was the first to board, her movements quick; she swiped her card, turned around, and walked toward the back of the bus.

She didn't look back, because she knew Jiang Zhiyu would follow.

She found a seat in the last row, sat down, and left the window seat empty. It wasn't just "empty"; it was "reserved for Jiang Zhiyu."

She placed her bag on the adjacent seat to occupy it—no, not occupy, but reserve. Reserve it for him.

When Jiang Zhiyu boarded the bus, he saw Kim Minjeong waving at him from the last row. He walked over and sat down next to her.

Kim Minjeong picked up her bag from the seat, placed it on her lap, and then leaned back against the seat, a small curve appearing at the corners of her mouth.

Karina stood in the middle of the bus, opened her mouth, but didn't say anything.

She wanted to say, "Minjeong-ah, I want to sit in the last row too," but she didn't say it.

Because there was only one seat left in the last row, and it was taken by Kim Minjeong and Jiang Zhiyu. She couldn't make them separate, because she had no reason to.

She wasn't his girlfriend, not his sister, not anyone who could rightfully say, "I want to sit next to him." She was only a "Noona."

A Noona should be generous, should be accommodating, and should yield good seats to her younger sister. So she yielded. She sat with Ningning in the middle section of the bus.

Ningning was by the window, and Karina was by the aisle. Ningning occupied the armrest between them, her elbow propped on it, her palm supporting her cheek, watching the night view outside the window.

The nights in Seoul were bright; neon lights flowed across the bus window—red, blue, green, yellow—like an oil painting washed by water.

Karina looked at Ningning's side profile, watching her silhouette illuminated by the lights. She suddenly wanted to ask Ningning a question— "Why do you think Jiang Zhiyu calls me Noona?"

She didn't ask. Because she was afraid that Ningning's answer wouldn't be what she wanted to hear. She didn't know what she wanted to hear; she only knew that she was afraid.

Im Nayeon boarded the van with Lee Tima and Momo, filled with "self-doubt" and "self-loathing."

She sat in the innermost seat, by the window, her body curled up on the seat like a rabbit drenched in the rain.

Her head rested against the window, her gaze lost in the night sky outside, unfocused.

Her mind was replaying the scene from just moments ago—the expression on Jiang Zhiyu's face when he said, "I am seventeen years old this year," the tone when Jiang Zhiyu said "Noona," and the look in Jiang Zhiyu's eyes when he looked at her.

Every image was like a needle pricking her heart; it didn't hurt, but the sensation was dense.

"Nayeon Unnie, what are you thinking about?" Lee Tima sat next to her, looking up at her face.

Im Nayeon lowered her head, looking at that small, pale face that looked like a porcelain doll. She was silent for a moment.

"I'm thinking—whether I'm a pervert." "Why do you think you're a pervert?" "Because I have feelings for a minor." "Who do you have feelings for?" "Jiang Zhiyu." "Oh." Lee Tima nodded, like a student listening attentively. "Then you really are a pervert."

Im Nayeon's face darkened. "Lee Tima—" "Hmm?" "You are from JYP, he is from SM. You are a senior, he is a junior. You are an adult, he is a minor. You, towards a minor—" "Enough! I know I was wrong! Stop talking!" "To recognize one's mistake and correct it is the greatest virtue." "Are you lecturing me on how to live?" "I am helping you recognize reality." "You—" "Nayeon Unnie." Momo turned her head from the passenger seat, looking at Im Nayeon. "Zhiyu is still young, don't harm him."

Im Nayeon took a deep breath, leaned back against the seat, and closed her eyes. "...I want to be quiet." "Who is Jingjing?" "Lee Tima—" "Alright, alright, I won't say anything else."

A few days later, the concept for Red Velvet's new album was finally decided. A dark fairy tale: "Iracebeth."

When Jiang Zhiyu stood in front of the whiteboard and wrote these words with a black marker, the practice room was very quiet.

Yeri sat on the sofa, Seulgi sat on the floor, Joy leaned against the wall, Wendy sat in a chair, and Bae Joo-hyun sat by the window. Five people, five different postures, but all their gazes landed on the same place—the words on the whiteboard.

It wasn't that no one had thought of the dark fairy tale concept, but few could execute it well. This concept was too easy to derail, too easy to turn into pure dark fetishism, and too easy to make listeners feel like "this is just trying to look profound."

But SM was willing to gamble this time because the person in charge of this project was Jiang Zhiyu. The genius boy who had been the subject of much discussion recently, whether it was creating "Prince Rupert's Drop" which dominated the music charts, his much-talked-about appearance, or the rumors circulating within SM—that Jiang Zhiyu had a strong learning ability, an inexhaustible supply of creative inspiration, and that his sister Lee Tima was also a genius.

All these pieces of information stacked up, like stacking buffs, raising everyone's expectations very high. The media was waiting, fans were waiting, and other entertainment companies were waiting. Waiting for Red Velvet's comeback, waiting for the birth of "Iracebeth," and waiting to see if Jiang Zhiyu could create a miracle once again.

Kim Taeyeon's "뒤집힌 도시" had been at the top of the Korean music charts for two weeks. Second place was Kim Taeyeon's "Prince Rupert's Drop," and third through eighth were tracks from IU's album. The top eight spots were split between two people.

First place: Jiang Zhiyu. Second place: Jiang Zhiyu. Third through eighth: Jiang Zhiyu. Although he used his real name and codenames, they were all actually his works.

Online discussions were all titled "Who is better, Jiang Zhiyu or Z?" Some said Z was a newcomer, some said Z was Jiang Zhiyu's pen name, and some said Z was Jiang Zhiyu's sister, Lee Tima. No one knew the correct answer, because Jiang Zhiyu wouldn't say, and Lee Tima wouldn't say either. They just watched the names "Jiang Zhiyu" and "Z" appear alternately on the charts, like two children playing a chase game. Chasing each other, overtaking each other, neither willing to yield to the other.

The planning for Red Velvet's "Iracebeth" was proceeding in an orderly fashion. The MV script was set, the styling concept was finalized, and the first draft of the choreography was submitted. All aspects were moving forward, except for one place that was stuck—the composition of the main verse.

Jiang Zhiyu still couldn't figure out how to write it. It wasn't that he "couldn't think of it," but that "everything he thought of wasn't right." He wrote over a dozen versions of the main verse; each one was different, and each one was unsatisfactory. The first version was too sad, the second too angry, the third too rational, the fourth too emotional, the fifth too complex, the sixth too simple, the seventh—he stopped thinking about it.

He deleted all those dozen versions, not leaving a single one. Deleted meant it was gone. Gone meant starting over. Starting over, he didn't know where to begin.

SM's retaliation continued. Every day, new documents were delivered to his desk, every day there were new meetings he had to attend, and every day there were new projects for him to approve. He couldn't finish it all, but he wasn't in a hurry. He learned to procrastinate. Putting it off until the day before the deadline, then submitting it. Submitting meant it was done. Done meant he wouldn't be given more work. Not being given more work meant—he was free.

During the "time without submitting documents," he had a lot of free time. Kim Taeyeon's solo had come to an end; she didn't need him anymore. She was busy running schedules, promoting songs, appearing on variety shows, and holding fan signing events. She was so busy she didn't have time to eat with him, no time to bicker with him, and no time to ban his bubble tea with "The King's Card." He was free. But he wasn't used to it. He wasn't used to no one monitoring his bubble tea, not used to no one fighting him for meat, and not used to no one going "hing~" at him. He was free, but also more bored.

Ever since Karina and the other two learned that they had a chance to enter the debut group by mid-year and had hopes of debuting by early next year, they became even more diligent. Kim Minjeong practiced until the early hours every day and appeared in the practice room again the next morning. Ningning's throat went hoarse, but she kept practicing because she said, "There won't be time to practice after debut." Karina's ankle was swollen, but she kept dancing because she said, "I can't let myself stop." Diligence meant no free time. No free time meant Jiang Zhiyu couldn't see them often. It wasn't that he "couldn't see them," but that "the number of times they met had decreased." Previously, they would come to his office every day, sit on the sofa, flip through his documents, drink his bubble tea, and eat his snacks. Now they didn't come because they were practicing. Practicing meant no free time. No free time meant they didn't come. They didn't come meant he couldn't see them.

Actually, wanting to see them was nothing more than a matter of taking the elevator. The fourth floor was the office, the fifth floor was the practice room, and it took less than five minutes to go back and forth. But he didn't want to disturb them. They were practicing, and practicing required focus, and focus required quiet. If he went, they would be distracted. If they were distracted, they wouldn't practice well. If they didn't practice well, they would be scolded by the teacher. If they were scolded, they would be in a bad mood. If they were in a bad mood, it would affect their state. If their state was bad, it would affect their debut. If their debut was affected, that was—something he didn't want. So he didn't go.

So, what should he do in his free time? This question became Jiang Zhiyu's biggest problem.

In the past, he was busy, so busy that he didn't have time to think about this question.

Now that he was free, he was so free that this question stuck in his mind like a thorn, impossible to pull out.

He tried writing songs, but couldn't. He tried reading books, but couldn't focus. He tried sleeping, but couldn't fall asleep. He tried zoning out, but while zoning out, he would think of Bae Joo-hyun's face.

That face—shy and angry, petulant, and as blooming as a peach blossom.

He closed his eyes, and she was right before him. He opened his eyes, and she was gone.

She was gone, so he thought of her. Because he thought of her, he couldn't write. Because he couldn't write, he kept thinking. It was a vicious cycle.

Jiang Zhiyu sat in the chair in the recording studio, facing blank audio tracks and a blinking cursor.

He stared at the screen for a long time. Then he picked up his phone and opened the group chat "The Four of Us."

Ningning sent a photo of the practice room floor with three pairs of sneakers scattered on it, captioned, "Wore out another three pairs today."

Kim Minjeong sent a crying face emoji, saying her heels were blistered and still hurt even after applying two bandages.

Karina didn't send a message, but she changed the group chat name to "Worked Hard Today Too."

Jiang Zhiyu looked at that name, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly. He wanted to reply, but he didn't know what to say.

Say "You worked hard"? Too polite. Say "Fighting"? Too perfunctory. Say "I miss you"? Too—he couldn't say it.

He placed his phone face down on the table, leaned back in his chair, and looked at the ceiling.

That fluorescent light was still the same; the tungsten filament inside the tube was glowing, not flickering, not dimming, and not making any buzzing sounds.

He stared at that light, thinking—he should go to sleep.

There were still many things to do tomorrow. Red Velvet's main track hadn't been written, SM's documents hadn't been approved, and Loen's contract hadn't been reviewed.

He had many things to do; he just didn't want to do them. Not wanting to do them was procrastination. Procrastination was—he closed his eyes. Sleep.

——

Jiang Zhiyu guessed that because he was too excellent, he simply couldn't stay idle. This wasn't narcissism; it was a fact.

He had tried to be idle before, lying on the bed in his exam room, staring at the ceiling, watching that broken fluorescent light flicker on and off.

He stared for ten minutes, and three melodies, two sets of lyrics, and one variety show proposal popped into his brain.

He sat up, opened his computer, wrote them down, and then lay back down. He lay there for another ten minutes, and four more melodies popped up. He wrote them down again and lay back down. More popped up. He gave up.

A genius's brain doesn't rest, just as a heart doesn't stop beating just because you want to rest. He accepted his fate.

The call from the radio director came on a Wednesday afternoon. Jiang Zhiyu was zoning out in the recording studio at the blank audio tracks when his phone rang, an unknown number.

He answered, and the other party introduced himself as a director from KBS Radio, surnamed Park. His tone was very polite, so polite that it sounded like he was afraid of being rejected.

Director Park said that Kim Taeyeon's radio show "Listen" wanted to invite him to be a guest again. The response last time was very good, there were many listener comments, and many people said they wanted to hear the interaction between Producer Jiang and Kim Taeyeon again.

After listening, Jiang Zhiyu remained silent for a moment.

"Director Park, thank you for the invitation. But I've been very busy lately, so I probably can't make it." He said it very politely, so politely that it sounded like he was declining a dinner party he didn't really want to attend.

Director Park was also silent on the other end of the line, then said "Alright then" and hung up.

Jiang Zhiyu wasn't lying; he really was busy. Red Velvet's main track hadn't been written, SM's documents were still piling up on his desk, and Loen's contract hadn't been reviewed.

If he went to the radio show and Kim Young-min found out, Kim Young-min would think, "I gave you so much work and you still have time to go on a radio show?" Then he would investigate the documents he was sitting on, and if he found out, Jiang Zhiyu's work would increase even more.

He didn't want more work, so he refused. The reason was sufficient, the logic was clear, and it was impeccable. He thought he had won.

Kim Taeyeon's barbecue invitation came on Friday night. A KakaoTalk message, no text, just a photo.

The photo showed a plate of grilled Korean beef, marbled with fat and lean meat, steaming hot, with lettuce, garlic slices, and chili paste on the side.

Jiang Zhiyu looked at the photo and swallowed his saliva. Then Kim Taeyeon's text message came— "Coming or not?" Three words, no question mark, but the tone was full of questions.

Jiang Zhiyu typed a few words, deleted them, typed again, and deleted them again. He sent a "Yes."

In the barbecue restaurant, Kim Taeyeon sat opposite him, with three empty Korean beef plates in front of her.

She was eating the fourth plate, picking up a piece of meat, dipping it in sauce, wrapping it in lettuce, stuffing it into her mouth, chewing, and swallowing. Her movements were fluid, her pace neither fast nor slow, and she chewed every bite very carefully.

Jiang Zhiyu watched her, watching the white sesame seed on the corner of her mouth, watching her cheeks slightly puffed from chewing, and watching her eyes squinting because she was eating something delicious.

He thought—Noona has a great appetite today. In the past, she would be full after two plates; today she was already on her fourth and still hadn't stopped.

"Noona, you ordered so much, can you finish it?" "I can." "Didn't you say you were on a diet?" "I'll diet tomorrow." "You said you'd diet tomorrow yesterday too." "Then I'll diet the day after tomorrow."

Jiang Zhiyu fell silent. He picked up his cola and took a sip; it was cold and sweet to the point of being cloying in his throat.

He put down his cup and watched Kim Taeyeon stuff the last piece of meat from the fourth plate into her mouth, chew, and swallow. She put down her chopsticks, picked up her water glass, took a sip, and cleared her throat.

"Zhiyu-ah, how have you been lately?"

Her tone was very casual, so casual that it was like asking, "How is the weather today?"

Her gaze landed on Jiang Zhiyu's face, with a faint curve at the corner of her mouth. She was asking knowing the answer; she knew what he had been busy with lately, knew he was making an album for Red Velvet, knew he was so busy he didn't have time to eat, sleep, or send messages. She knew it all.

But she still had to ask, because she was Noona, and Noona had to care for her juniors.

Jiang Zhiyu's tone was flat. "Doesn't Noona know? Making an album for Red Velvet."

Kim Taeyeon made an "Aigoo" sound and waved her hand. "I know that, of course. What I'm asking is—how are you!"

She enunciated the word "you" very heavily, so heavily that it seemed like she was emphasizing something. "I see you... are quite bored too. You've worked hard; why not relax with me?"

Jiang Zhiyu picked up his cola and took another sip. Cold, sweet to the point of being cloying. He put down his cup and looked at Kim Taeyeon, looking at that face flushed from sitting in the barbecue restaurant for so long, looking at those eyes that were so bright under the lights.

"Noona, isn't your way of relaxing just lying at home and being with Zero? Relaxing with you, you wouldn't want me to relax by lying around at home like a corpse and petting your dog, would you?"

Kim Taeyeon thought to herself— "Want to live with me? You little puppy, you're acting suspicious."

On the surface, she looked aggrieved, her mouth slightly pouted, her eyebrows slightly furrowed, her whole face written with "You're wronging me." "Do I look like that kind of person?"

Jiang Zhiyu looked at her aggrieved face, looked at her slightly pouted lips, looked at her furrowed eyebrows. His gaze was somewhat hesitant; he wanted to say something, but didn't.

Kim Taeyeon read that look; it wasn't "You're not that kind of person," it was "You are exactly that kind of person." Her lips pursed, forming a thin line.

"Yah! I want you to accompany me to the radio station!"

Jiang Zhiyu said directly right after she finished speaking. "No."

Kim Taeyeon's eyes widened. "Hey, hey, hey, that rejection was too fast!"

"Noona, if Kim Young-min finds out I still have time to go on a radio show, do you know what will happen to me next?"

Kim Taeyeon looked up at the ceiling slightly, as if thinking about a very profound question. "Hmm... becoming a senior executive?"

Jiang Zhiyu looked at her, at that serious face that didn't seem to be joking. "It's becoming a multi-functional tool! Kim Young-min will use me until I'm the SM Building!"

Kim Taeyeon tilted her head. "SM Building? What does that mean?"

"It means a company's fixed asset, the kind that doesn't depreciate. Used until it breaks, and when it breaks, it isn't scrapped; it's repaired and kept in use. Used until it can't be repaired, and when it can't be repaired, its parts are dismantled and used elsewhere. In short—always being used, never breaking, always there."

Kim Taeyeon tilted her head and thought about it. "I don't understand. Anyway, it airs next Thursday, you know the location, you must come."

Jiang Zhiyu was speechless. He complained inwardly—so Noona, you didn't listen to a word I said, right?

His mouth opened, wanting to say "No" again. But he saw that Kim Taeyeon had already started picking up the fifth plate of Korean beef.

She picked up a piece of meat, dipped it in chili paste, and the whole piece of meat turned red. She wrapped it in lettuce, stuffed it into her mouth, chewed, and swallowed.

Then she raised her head, looked at him, and smiled. The smile was very short, so short it lasted only a second, but in that second, there was so much—it wasn't "You must come," it was "I want you to come." It wasn't "I want you to come," it was "I want to see you."

She couldn't say it, so she used eating to say it. She ate five plates of Korean beef because she wanted to say "I want to see you." Jiang Zhiyu understood. He sighed.

"When the radio is live, can I wear a mask? Or wear a mask with 'I am not Jiang Zhiyu' written on it."

Kim Taeyeon laughed. "We'll see when the time comes."