Chapter 33: Zhou Jielun Is a Real Friend

That night, Zhou Yi, stuffed full, dreamed of a ridiculous fantasy of wine pools and meat forests.

Fan Zhongzhong, Gao Yuanyuan, Jia Jingwen—all played “catch me, catch me and I’ll Heiheihei with you” with him, while a Korean girl named Qiu Cixuan fed him grapes.

He ate with great relish.

Then, as emperor, he ignored Empress Diaochan’s objections, waved his hand, and granted each of them a princely title, carving out territories for them.

Huh?

Carving out territories?

As Zhou Yi’s absurd dream grew stranger, a thunderclap seemed to flash through his mind—and the next second, he blinked open his sleepy eyes.

The alarm clock on the brown bedside table was still dutifully ticking; irritated, Zhou Yi slapped its button, and the thunder in his dream instantly ceased.

“Fuck, why do people have to go to work?”

After burying his head under the pillow for nearly ten minutes, Zhou Yi finally dragged himself out of bed, yawning as he turned off the air conditioner.

It was already past eight.

Last night’s barbecue roundtable had dragged into the early hours, so he’d slept several hours later than usual—and waking up was the last thing he wanted.

Thinking of the pile of songs waiting to be arranged and mixed, plus dancing lessons he still had to attend, Zhou Yi wished he could split himself in two.

Since his rebirth, this was the first time he’d felt that same frantic busyness from his past life.

But the money he could earn was clearly far more than the mindless hustle of his past life.

Zhou Yi, still in his pajamas, yawned into the bathroom to wash up—just halfway through brushing his teeth, the doorbell rang.

“Who is it?”

“Zhou Yi, it’s Jielun.”

Outside, Zhou Jielun’s unmistakable voice came through. Zhou Yi, toothbrush still in his mouth, walked out to open the door, surprised to see the man standing there with two breakfast boxes.

“I figured you hadn’t eaten yet, so when I went down to buy food, I grabbed one for you too,” said Zhou Jielun, holding up the boxes with a smile, now that their relationship had grown somewhat familiar.

Warner had rented Zhou Yi’s apartment on the same floor and same building as Wang Lihong’s purchase—this was why Zhou Yi had once stumbled upon the gas leak.

At present, Zhou Jielun was so broke he couldn’t even muster confidence to chase girls; he basically lived, ate, slept, and relieved himself either at Wu Zongxian’s Alpha Company or at Wang Lihong’s place.

After all, though Wang Lihong had gradually faded, he was still an artist who needed to appear on shows, so his home sat empty anyway. As long as his girlfriend wasn’t visiting, his place was essentially Zhou Jielun’s home.

“Thanks, how much? I’ll pay you.”

“No need, it’s just breakfast.”

As Zhou Yi stepped aside to let him into the living room, Zhou Jielun placed the breakfast on the coffee table and shook his head, then glanced at Zhou Yi’s bare upper body and teased: “Didn’t notice yesterday—you’ve got six-pack abs. Nice physique.”

“Sharp eyes.”

Zhou Yi, having quickly washed up, gave him a thumbs-up: “Guess I’ll have to tone down my workouts.”

“Huh?”

Zhou Jielun blinked: “Why? Isn’t this physique great?”

“Moderate fitness attracts the opposite sex; excessive fitness attracts the same sex.”

Zhou Yi casually grabbed a white T-shirt from the sofa, slipped it on, and sat down laughing: “I consider my sexuality perfectly normal.”

“….”

Zhou Jielun, unable to keep up with Zhou Yi’s erratic thinking, fell utterly silent, finally managing a stiff explanation: “Uh, Zhou Yi, I’m not gay.”

He was never good with words, and facing Zhou Yi—a social terror who spoke without filter—was simply overwhelming.

“Ah, just kidding.”

Zhou Yi pried open a pair of disposable chopsticks and waved him off: “Don’t you have to go to work? How do you have time to come here?”

“No, I just write songs at the company. My only project before was the demo for ‘Hell Angel,’ and once I finished it, I got hit by the gas poisoning.”

After a slightly embarrassed nod, Zhou Jielun’s mood sank as he spoke of his situation.

His current cash reserves probably only surpassed Zhang Shaohan’s by a little—wait, no, Zhang Shaohan had sung two songs and filmed two MVs; his savings might already be higher.

“You can write your own songs already. Since you’ve got nothing else to do, why not apply to debut with your company?” Zhou Yi ventured, noticing Zhou Jielun still showed no signs of debuting.

To his surprise, Zhou Jielun waved his hands frantically: “Xian Ge says I can’t sing, my vocal style is weird, and I’d never become popular if I debuted.”

“Not that bad—I think your vocal stamina’s strong. Why not apply and try? Look at me—I’m self-taught too. I got into music originally just to chase girls.”

“….”

Zhou Jielun, who secretly harbored a singer’s dream, visibly stirred—but after a moment’s hesitation, his expression dimmed again.

He’d sung before, but every attempt had been rejected.

Zhou Yi was about to say more when his phone suddenly rang in his pocket—

He pulled it out and saw clearly: Xiao Yaxuan.

"Hey, what do you want at this hour?"

“Of course to hang out—free today?”

“Technically, I’m not free—I just finished filming a music video yesterday, and today I need to go to the company for post-production.”

Zhou Yi slurped his noodles carelessly.

“Really? You don’t strike me as a good kid. The bad boy who doesn’t listen—that’s you. Think it over? Come downstairs if you’ve decided.”

“?”

Zhou Yi paused his slurping, then seemed to realize something—he walked to the balcony and peered down: a woman with long hair, wearing a baseball cap, sunglasses, and a mask, stood beside the flowerbed below, waving at him as soon as she saw his gaze.

Confused, Zhou Jielun thought something was wrong and quickly set down his bowl to join him on the balcony—just in time to see Xiao Yaxuan waving at Zhou Yi.

“You really aren’t afraid of being recognized, Xiao Yaxuan,” Zhou Yi laughed, leaning on the railing.

Zhou Jielun, who had been clueless until now, suddenly widened his small eyes—he remembered the recent gossip splashed across entertainment sections of every newspaper.

“What, you scared?”

“You might regret saying that.”

Zhou Yi hung up, turned to Zhou Jielun, still in shock, and called out: “Jielun, someone’s here—I’m going down. Here’s the key. When you leave, lock the door and just leave the key under the mat.”

“Huh? Ah? Wait, that—”

Zhou Jielun snapped back to reality, fumbling to catch the key Zhou Yi tossed him, speechless.

An hour later, Zhou Jielun, now at Alpha Company, received a call from Sun Yanzi—

“Jielun, do you know where Zhou Yi is? I called him, no answer. Texts ignored. He’s not at the company.”

“...Uh, I hadn’t eaten barbecue in ages, so last night I ate too much and got acute gastroenteritis. Zhou Yi took me to the hospital—you know, we live on the same floor.”

“Then he helped me move, so maybe he didn’t notice his phone.”

Remembering how familiar Sun Yanzi had been with Zhou Yi yesterday, Zhou Jielun, unsure of how to play it, ducked into a quiet cubicle, hesitated, then spoke with a weak, hesitant tone.

“Oh, I see. How are you feeling now? Are you okay?” Sun Yanzi replied, suddenly understanding.

“N-not bad. I feel fine now.”

After an awkward stutter, Zhou Jielun hung up and immediately called Zhou Yi—three tries before it was answered.

“Jielun? What’s up?”

Zhou Jielun quickly explained his story to Zhou Yi, giving him a heads-up, then hung up.

Zhou Yi, upon hearing this, was left both amused and exasperated.

Zhou Jielun’s a good guy—he’s genuinely loyal.

But he didn’t need to cover for him at all.