Chapter 60

A tearful warning: Don’t let a determined man play with claw machines.

Gu Yi thought Liang Daiwen had lost his mind.

She had seen boys in middle school who liked their class “idols.” They were so inexperienced that receiving a love letter would leave them breathless. Agreeing to go to a music store together would make them jump up excitedly. Holding hands while running five hundred meters or chasing after buses on bicycles—she’d always found these guys mysterious. What was there to get so worked up about? Their pointless excitement only made them seem immature.

But seeing Liang Daiwen occasionally show these small details, Gu Yi felt for the first time... kind of intrigued. Every time she saw him, he smiled right away—not the kind of smile you’d expect from a man his age, but the genuine happiness of a young boy. A few times, she thought he was about to leap high into the air before he held himself back with reason. So each time they met, she felt like his neck stretched unusually long.

When passing by a shopping mall, Gu Yi asked if they wanted to go inside. Liang Daiwen agreed without expression, but out of the corner of her eye, she saw him taking tiny steps. As they passed the glass doors, he even checked his reflection in the mirror.

They walked through the mall for about fifteen minutes. Liang Daiwen thought she might buy clothes, but instead, Gu Yi lost interest and dove into the game area on B1 floor to play claw machines. Liang Daiwen stood nearby with his arms crossed, looking silently disapproving.

Gu Yi was puzzled. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s fun about this?”

Gu Yi ignored him completely. After becoming a member, she wandered among the claw machines and stopped in front of Donald Duck. “This one looks good.”

“Don’t tell me it reminds you of me.”

“Why not?”

“It doesn’t look like that at all.”

Gu Yi pursed her lips, hunching over and squinting at the claw machine from different angles. The claw seemed perfectly positioned above the plushies, yet it always missed by a hairbreadth. It brushed against Donald Duck’s rear time after time, while the duck itself was rotated this way and that—still no success. After ten failed attempts, Liang Daiwen said, “Move it slightly right, about two centimeters toward you. Trust me, we’ll get it this time.”

Gu Yi remained skeptical, but after hitting the confirm button as instructed, the claw hooked onto Donald Duck’s tie. Gu Yi snatched up the duck, exclaiming, “Holy crap! This is the first time I’ve ever won a plushie! How did you do that?!”

“Let’s not make too big of a deal out of it,” Liang Daiwen said with a dismissive wave of his hand, as if it were nothing special.

Impressed despite himself, Gu Yi greedily asked for another try. “Let’s grab one more to make them a couple.”

Liang Daiwen feigned nonchalance. “Oh, how about that junk cat next door?”

Gu Yi’s eyes nearly popped out of their sockets—the large-eyed junk cat with a pink patch on its head looked almost as if it had been waiting just for them. Already smugly satisfied, Liang Daiwen declared, “Scan the code for me. You’ll see I can nail it in one go.”

Without even bending his waist, he easily swiveled the direction lever, pressed confirm, and waited for the junk cat to take the bait. His claw swept over the junk cat’s head, but it didn’t react. The second time, he tried a bit more earnestly, moving his claw around and scratching at the junk cat’s patchwork, but still no movement. The third time, he bent down and aimed carefully for half a minute before lifting his hand to press confirm. The twenty-second countdown passed.

Liang Daiwen sucked in a cold breath. “Try again.”

Wasn’t he not angry earlier? Did he get too caught up in the game?

They played ten times in a row. Liang Daiwen hunched over, staring at the claw machine, stubbornly determined to beat that junk cat plushie. Inside the machine, the junk cat tumbled this way and that, almost like it was about to be cooked through. An employee said, “Sir, this machine has a limit of sixteen tries. If you can’t catch it, we’ll give you one for free.”

“I won’t.” Even Liang Daiwen’s eyes were bloodshot from exhaustion. Gu Yi scratched her head, really not understanding—wasn’t it just a stuffed animal?

After each failure, the employee opened the cabinet to adjust the angle for Liang Daiwen, hoping more than anyone else that this unlucky star would leave quickly. Finally, Liang Daiwen got the junk cat she wanted. She had recharged four times, making seventy-eight attempts, and spent eight hundred yuan.

When Gu Yi saw the payment record, her pupils contracted. Couldn’t he have just taken the freebie after sixteen tries? Why did he insist on catching it himself? What could he possibly do with eight hundred yuan instead?

Liang Daiwen’s lips had turned pale as he solemnly stuffed the doll into Gu Yi’s arms and strode off. Gu Yi chased after him, grumbling about why this doll seemed to be her fault. It wasn’t until she saw Liang Daiwen’s relieved posture that she realized it wasn’t about the doll at all—he just wanted his “trash cat.” These quirky obsessions must have been what made Liang Daiwen see her as his owner.

It’s oddly cute, she thought. But there was no way she’d go shopping with him again—it was too expensive!

The most puzzling thing was how much Liang Daiwen relied on his favorite foods. After three dates, each time eating at Aunt Zheng’s place, Gu Yi now felt physically sick at the sight of grilled pork belly and soybean-paste soup. Meanwhile, Liang Daiwen seemed still entranced by the joy of making wrapped rice cakes. He’d never played house like this before; after folding the meat-wrapped cabbage several times, he found an angle where they wouldn’t fall apart, arranging them neatly in a square shape. Watching the man before her, Gu Yi felt he’d discovered real pleasure in eating. As they walked out, Gu Yi noticed their clothes were heavy with the smell of grilled meat. “Promise me one thing,” she said, “let’s find a new restaurant next time.”

“Isn’t it nice here?”

“You won’t get tired of eating like this?”

“It’s all right. I think rice tastes about the same no matter how you cook it. The grilled food is similar too. But sitting on the floor around a table full of food feels very... homey.”

These words caught Gu Yi off guard; it was the first time he’d mentioned something related to ‘home’. Liang Daiwen didn’t elaborate further. Instead, he moved behind her, placed his hands on her shoulders, and made chopping motions with them. Then, applying gentle pressure along her spine, he slid his hands down. Following their lead, Gu Yi leaned back, and he exclaimed excitedly, “I saw online that doing this would make people fall backward—it actually works!”

“How old are you?”

He answered indirectly, “It seems to work better on people who are more sensitive to touch.”

Liang Daiwen left with a grin, head tilted, a few strands of hair standing up—a sign that he had succeeded in his little prank. Was that just...a dirty joke? Gu Yi’s heart pounded against her chest as she watched him go. She realized then that when it came to flirting, there wasn’t much difference between ordinary people and someone like Liang Daiwen—he acted just as foolish, childish, and yet somehow...rarely seen.

After all, her journey had been anything but smooth.

As she drifted off in thought, Liang Daiwen suddenly turned back and pinched her nose playfully. “Guang Xin mentioned wanting to invite you over this weekend. It’s probably about that virtual idol group debuting. Did she tell you?”

“Yeah, and I’m the only one invited.”

“Girls have so many secrets between them. I’ll be working overtime on weekends, so... if you’re free, remember to find me.”

He was being a bit clingy.

When Gu Yi arrived at Guan Xingxin’s house, she saw a pair of black canvas shoes by the door. Her heart skipped a beat—her worst fear had come true. Xu Guanrui was sitting in the living room.

The whiteboard was covered with scribbled notes: group image guidelines, details for signing contracts, key terms like “中之人” (the person behind the character) and “掉马甲” (removing the disguise) highlighted in circles. He looked up and said, “You need to carefully check the penalty fees with the company. Your personal image is crucial; no smoking, cheating, or gambling allowed. Even though you’re dating, they’ll nitpick these details. Your past issues could easily become targets for fans...”

He looked up just as Gu Yi entered through the door, greeting her awkwardly. The two sat opposite each other on the sofa while Xu Guanrui continued writing on the whiteboard:

We need to separate group earnings from personal income. Let me give you an example: The other four girls aren’t as popular as you, so their share of the profits might be smaller. Don’t underestimate this—when virtual idols debuted in Japan, otaku had their own preferences, leading to huge differences in sales. The clearer the contract is, the better.

Xu Guanrui clearly didn’t want to talk to Gu Yi. She’d been left behind with a fever while he rushed off to confess his feelings, only to be stood up at the last minute. Even if it wasn’t Xu Guanrui, anyone would find their current situation embarrassing.

Guan Xingxin was pouring juice in the kitchen when she noticed the awkward silence between them. Sitting down between the two, she tried to ease the tension:

“Since Yu Dule went out, I invited Xu Guanrui over here. He really gets it! Better than some of our planners even—he explained how popular Love Live! is. It’s rare for friends to all gather like this; hasn’t it been ages since you’ve seen each other?”

“Yes.” Xu Guanrui’s familiarity with Gu Waking’s home surprised Gu Yi. She had barely sat down when she knocked over a stack of anime photos. Inside were several handwritten notes from Xu Guanrui, their dates recent.

Many of them mentioned her. As Gu Yi picked up the stack and handed it back, an awkward silence fell between them.

Guan Xingxin ran over barefoot, eager to show off his latest project. “Listen to this demo we recorded! My character is supposed to be an aloof 18-year-old woman. I’m not sure what the song means, but I enjoyed singing it anyway. It’s fun playing pretend.”

The melody was inspired by ancient Chinese music, with a hint of melancholy. Midway through, various instruments joined in—a synthesizer piano, drums... It was the kind of thing middle school boys and girls would like. The mix of traditional Chinese style and anime aesthetics was popular on Bilibili, quite different from Japan’s energetic virtual idols.

Gu Yi stared at Xu Guanrui, feeling as if any touch would make pieces of disappointment fall from him—pieces he himself had brought upon. Guan Xingxin noticed something was off. “Rabbit, can virtual idols get featured in Yi Zhou?”

“It might not be possible for everyone,” Xu Guanrui said quickly, “but it could work for Bypass.” He explained, “If she writes a top headline for their commentary section, we can skip paying for ads. Otherwise, these money-hungry media outlets charge a lot.”

After speaking, he smiled gently. Feeling wronged but outnumbered, Gu Yi reluctantly agreed. Guan Xingxin pretended to take a call, leaving only two people in the living room.

Xu Guanrui chuckled and asked if they should have lunch together next week.

Gu Yi didn’t understand this question—just days ago, he had clearly refused to meet her, acting like he wanted to break all ties.

“Being with Liang Daiwen doesn’t change our cooking partnership. Unless...he’s actually jealous? If he needs strict boundaries between us as friends, that’s just his issue.” He laughed sadly. “Look, my work has been tough lately. I can’t let both my job and relationships fall apart at the same time.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. The pain was mostly from misunderstandings. When you didn’t come that day, I thought about it carefully. You might’ve given me an explanation, but there wasn’t one. Unconsciously, I felt overshadowed, but never did I think it was because of your light.”

To escape her guilt, Gu Yi shifted her gaze elsewhere. The whiteboard displayed photos of Guan Xingxin’s idol group members. As she casually looked at them, suddenly a girl with dyed blonde hair caught her eye. She was one of Guan Xingxin’s teammates, probably younger than herself, with full cheeks and an upbeat personality. Gu Yi stared for a while before saying, “Let’s start eating together next week. We’re still friends at least.”

Xu Guanrui leaned back on the sofa, smiling in agreement. Her heart raced as she remembered how Xu Guanrui had voted for AKB idols early on, showing he understood virtual idols well. Now he was even helping Guan Xingxin actively—it seemed like the answer was being delivered right to her doorstep.

But she wanted to observe him some more.

Knocking on the Van Gogh Museum door, Liang Daiwen answered, having just taken a shower. He poked out his fluffy head. “Oh, you’re here.”

“Yeah. I saw Xu Guanrui today. He went to Guan Xingxin’s place to talk about virtual idols.”

“He’s everywhere, isn’t he? Did you chat? What did you talk about? Did he try to hit on you? No stealing my crush!”

That youthful jealousy flared up again. Gu Yi grabbed Liang Daiwen’s head, patting it like a basketball, and said, “Go take your shower.”

It was an invitation with ulterior motives.

Gu Yi had tried to be a responsible adult—she wanted to have a relationship but not let it turn into a physical one. The highest joy comes from self-restraint! But she couldn’t help... her lustful desires. Though exhausted and lacking any interest at first, people in love can’t stay away from each other’s bodies, as if desperately needing to find their own scent on the other person. Her tired body quickly became excited again; Gu Yi grabbed his hair and dragged him out of bed. As expected, those moist eyes and lips were playful. Liang Daiwen had a strong sense of revenge and learned quickly how to use what he’d learned against her. Those tiny bites all over her body seemed like he was marking her, the strawberry-shaped bruises fading only to reappear deeper, as if afraid she might get lost. After getting out of the shower, wet, he opened up some comics she’d been working on recently—they were about life when she couldn’t come up with jokes—and said:

Liang Daiwen appeared behind her. “There’s nothing about me in these comics?”

“You’ve got cameras watching me everywhere, you’re stealing my jokes through file transfers, and now you pretend you haven’t seen my public account.”

“I won’t read it,” Liang Daiwen said from his seat on the sofa. “Everyone has their private thoughts. I can’t invade all your personal space.”

“Ounce is changing its name next month. I might not have anywhere left to perform my jokes. Before, I used to get a chance every two weeks when they had three shows a week. Now, people from Yu Dule Company come here to practice their acts, so it’ll be harder for me to get picked.”

“Do you want to sign with them?”

“Not really. I understand this well enough. Each club is like a small group. Except for the experienced actors and some top performers, everyone else gets pretty much the same treatment. For new actors... we still get some benefits from popularity, but it’s rare to get a lot of attention. Last time, Yu Dule asked me if I wanted to make a living doing stand-up. Going full-time would take a long road. But right now, I don’t have the skills or money to be that picky. That club that wanted me last time promised to promote me. Words like ‘promote’ and ‘push’ are still kind of... tempting.”

“Are you scared of them?”

“No. Right now, they bring attention and traffic, benefiting the whole industry. Comedy isn’t just stand-up; as it gets more popular, we’ll discover new forms. When that happens, talented newcomers will challenge those who’ve been successful so far—then we can talk about real ‘success.’ Everything now is still in its infancy.”

Liang Daiwen watched her with interest.

Gu Yi snapped out of her thoughts after a moment. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Let’s go check out Ounce first. Is April really sold out?”

“I don’t know. We won’t find out until we try.” Gu Yi leaned against the desk. Her public account had 20,000 followers, and she wondered how many fans Worry-Free Club had.

April’s Ounce had rebranded as Gazelle Club. When Gu Yi went downstairs, she found a long line snaking along Xiangyang North Road. The popularity of variety shows was much greater than she’d imagined. On the first day of reopening, the official account mentioned Li, the owner, would be present. Gu Yi looked up at the neon sign reading “Gazelle”—times had changed; stand-up comedy was indeed booming. As she opened the account to see the lineup, someone next to her spoke up. It was Liu Ran, who had reached out to her before. “Want to grab a drink at the bar next door?”

The two of them once again discussed the contract. Yu Dule sent a video, showing Ounce filled with an audience. The small space had swapped the sofa for wooden tables and chairs, and the place was crowded with people.

Liu Ran introduced the situation for half an hour and, seeing that Gu Yi was still hesitant, added, “Miss Gu, you might think we don’t have as much traffic as other places, but with companies that do variety shows, you might not even get a chance to go on stage. You’ll just be a host in the corners, while everyone focuses on the stars who appear on variety shows. But here, you can be featured as a star actor on the homepage. At least you can be in a prominent position, even if it’s toward the end. We recognize your talent. Don’t you want to become an actor like Shan Liren or those who are popular in current variety shows? Becoming a regular, constantly practicing your skits, will bring you closer to your dream. Waiting for the selection at Ounce, though, is lonely, especially since Ounce has now changed its name to ‘Antelope.’“

The last few sentences made her feel melancholy.

Gu Yi thought about it carefully the whole night. The stage and microphone at Ounce kept spinning in her mind. The actors she hadn’t met before took turns going on stage, all with high spirits, sharpness, and confidence. They were recognized for their ability. Liang Daiwen’s words made sense—comedy clubs would always sprout up like mushrooms after rain, but few would sign contracts for regular performances. The assurance brought by the term “signed” was unmatched for stand-up comedians. She also wanted to make people laugh in a full theater, to show Liang Daiwen the moment when she shone. With that thought, she signed the contract and sent it back, planning to perform a couple of shows, get familiar with it, and then surprise Liang Daiwen.

On the day of her first performance, Gu Yi happily walked on the road, feeling that her comedy career was finally beginning. She mentally went over her skits. When she arrived at the theater, she went into the mall’s sixth floor, walked through the bookstore and the drama center, and reached the innermost part. She opened the door to “Don’t Disturb, Comedy,” but the theater inside was different from what she had imagined. The white walls and white lights gave it no wild atmosphere—it looked more like a New Oriental cram school.

Most importantly... there were no audience members inside... not a single one.