Chapter Ten: Both Sides of the Hand Are Flesh

Across the way, in Chen Siyang’s single dorm room, she too lay awake. The window was half open, half closed, letting a gentle breeze drift in, the curtains swaying softly. In the past, she would have gotten up to close it. But tonight, she couldn't be bothered.

Who could have guessed that the male contestant she’d picked for his looks would turn out to be so mysterious? Chen Siyang replayed every detail of her encounters with Tang Zhichu. Her first impression was that he was tall, then that he was quite handsome, just not much of a talker. After he had shared his profession that evening, she even suspected he struggled with self-esteem.

To Chen Siyang, feeling inferior was nothing out of the ordinary. She felt it herself, especially after entering the industry. Among the girls in her idol group, one teammate had a supportive father. No good project? He’d invest in one. The legendary “brought her own funding” type. Sometimes, Chen Siyang wondered what was the point of working hard. But if you had no background or resources and didn’t work hard, you probably wouldn’t even have the right to dream.

“Why is it? Social anxiety on top of low self-esteem—Chen Siyang, why are you so useless?” she muttered to herself. The more she thought about Tang Zhichu, the more she felt like she was the one truly lacking in confidence. They came from similar backgrounds—so why was he so composed?

She turned over in bed, another thought surfacing. Should she eavesdrop at the door again tomorrow? Chen Siyang shook her head, her cheeks flushing. She doubted she’d ever do something like that again. She even suspected he was just playing dumb.

Why had she “run into” Tang Zhichu that morning? It was because she thought his personality was too introverted and aloof. You couldn’t expect someone like that to take the initiative—no initiative, no story, so what would the audience watch? So, Chen Siyang got up at six-thirty, freshened up, and sat on a little stool by her door, listening for the sounds of doors opening. Her dorm was diagonally across from Tang Zhichu’s—she could tell by the sound if it was him leaving. What Tang Zhichu thought was a coincidence was actually her careful planning. Forced interactions were the only way to create stories, even if it was awkward at first. Awkwardness becomes habit, after all.

But all these idle thoughts weren’t why she couldn’t sleep tonight. What truly kept her awake was Tang Zhichu’s message: “I’ve heard another version of ‘Good Morning, Good Morning.’ I think that one sounds better.”

Even huddled under her covers, sneaking a look at that text made her cheeks burn. He was definitely playing dumb. Too good at it, in fact.

...

The next day.

Tang Zhichu woke earlier than yesterday. It was Saturday, and everyone had a free day. The men would prepare their gifts in the morning, and in the afternoon, there would be blind dates. He took a deep breath as he opened the door—today, he was going to visit his ailing father in the hospital.

He hadn’t reached the stairs when he heard another door open behind him. Turning around—well, fate was truly strange—it was Chen Siyang again.

“Good... morning,” she stammered. Beneath her white bucket hat, her pale, delicate face was tinged with red, her striking features made even more enchanting by the blush, like a fairy stepped down to earth.

Tang Zhichu sensed something was off with her and asked, “Morning. Are you catching a cold?”

She lowered her head, murmured softly, then hurried past him down the stairs.

Tang Zhichu shrugged, baffled.

In the kitchen, Tang Zhichu began making noodles. He’d promised breakfast and meant to keep his word. Breakfast in Yuzhou was all about noodles—simple and convenient. Surveying the ingredients, he chose a few that would work: minced meat and pickled vegetables for a quick stir-fried sauce, then scallions, ginger, garlic, and onions to make fragrant oil. Poured sizzling hot over chopped chili, with a sprinkle of sesame seeds for extra aroma—the chili oil was done.

Next up, noodles—just a few rolls in boiling water, not overcooked or they’d lose texture.

“So early?” Jiang Lan appeared in the kitchen, glancing at the clock—it was only ten past seven.

“Morning. I said yesterday I’d make breakfast. Want some noodles?” Tang Zhichu glanced up.

She wore a pale blue chiffon blouse, chest slightly puffed, and black casual pants. Her figure was curvy but not overweight—soft, full, with an air of a young aunt. Maybe that’s why Zhou Yun always called her Sister Lan; she did look more mature than the others.

“Sure. Didn’t we move our turn to cook to tomorrow?” Jiang Lan asked.

Only she and Tang Zhichu hadn’t cooked yet, but today was for dates, and there were evening plans, so no need to cook dinner.

“Yeah, don’t worry, leave it to me. I’m a professional,” he replied, picking out noodles. “Do you want it light or strong flavored?”

“Light, please.”

“Oh, right—you’re not from Yuzhou. I almost forgot. These noodles might not be to your liking, since I didn’t make broth.”

Jiang Lan laughed. “Breakfast doesn’t need much fuss. I usually just grab some bread. What about the others?”

“Yangyang’s already out. The rest—well, here they come.”

As he finished, Huang Zejun walked in.

“I could smell it the moment I came downstairs. That chili oil is top-notch, Zhichu,” Huang Zejun praised as soon as he entered, then greeted them.

Tang Zhichu raised an eyebrow and tossed another serving of noodles into the pot.

“I have to head out later. Jun, could you tell the others to just toss the noodles in and cook them? The sauce and condiments are all here...”

Huang Zejun waved him off. “No problem. You eat first, I’ll make my own.”

Jiang Lan, bowl in hand, looked over. “Why don’t you take mine first? I haven’t touched it—honestly.”

Tang Zhichu smiled. “The next bowl’s already done. No rush.”

...

While eating, Tang Zhichu ordered a car. After breakfast, he left. Only Jiang Lan and Huang Zejun remained in the dining room, and the air between them was subtly tense.

Several times, Huang Zejun looked up as if to speak, swallowed his words, while Jiang Lan ate noodles and browsed her phone.

Huang Zejun suspected the anonymous texts he’d been receiving for two days were from Jiang Lan. Chen Siyang interacted most with Yang Jiaxing, so his texts must be from her. Zhou Yun was friendly to everyone, so Tang Zhichu’s must be from her. By that logic, the ones he got had to be from Jiang Lan.

He understood why Jiang Lan was ignoring him—everyone knew he and Yang Jiaxing were both vying for Chen Siyang. It left Huang Zejun feeling restless, like he’d let someone down.

“These noodles are really good!” Jiang Lan suddenly exclaimed. Putting down her phone, she stretched lazily. Work kept her busy, even on weekends, but today, per the production team’s rules, she finally relaxed.

Her sudden stretch left Huang Zejun stunned, and he quickly looked down at his noodles. His heart raced—could a figure really be this alluring? Even he was surprised by his reaction.

He couldn’t help but marvel at the director’s casting this season. All three female contestants were stunning, each in their own way. For a moment, he was lost; how could one possibly choose between them all?

ps: The new book needs everything—asking for support of all kinds. Thank you, everyone.