ADTCP Ch35part2

Qiqi managed a smile, cutting a covert glance at Zhu Wensheng as he tamped down the odd agitation in his chest. Rehearsal was starting, so they paused the photo-ops and moved to the wings as arranged. While waiting, someone patted his shoulder.

Sunflower, Xiang Yan, a creator with nearly eight million followers—was staring at him, excited.
“Qiqi, was that ‘ZhengZhibang’ just now? You two seem close, think you could pass me his WeChat?”

Qiqi blinked. “We’re close… Why do you want his WeChat?”

Xiang Yan gave a meaningful grin. “What do you think?”
The instant he’d seen Tao Zhen his eyes had glued themselves there. The blond boy was even more stunning than on video—long lashes, curved smiling eyes, obedient and beautiful. It made his heart itch.

“Cut it out, gross,” Qiqi shuddered at that grin. “He has a boyfriend, okay? They’re together right now—they really suit each other.”

“What?”

Xiang Yan looked over, surprised.

Just then the volunteers had finished lugging the mountain of water. Everyone was bedraggled, queueing at the catering truck for boxed meals. Zhu Wensheng and Tao Zhen were no exception, especially Zhu Wensheng, who’d done extra for Tao Zhen. His blue vest and hands were dusty; he looked a bit down-at-heel. After they got food, he found an open patch with Tao Zhen, pulled two tissues from his pocket to pad Tao Zhen’s seat, then sat himself down without fuss, like a seasoned laborer—forming a stark contrast with the polished, glamorous internet stars on stage.

Xiang Yan stared for a moment, then relaxed, drawling, “You sure? That boyfriend doesn’t look like much, just an ordinary poor student.”

“?” Qiqi recalled those ice-cold eyes and that familiar silhouette, frowning slightly. “But he…”

“But what?”

Qiqi pressed his lips together, then scrubbed his hair in annoyance. “Nothing. Forget it.”

It… shouldn’t be possible, right?

That one is the Crown Prince, after all. Forget volunteering, if he wanted a private song at the concert, it’d be a single word. Why would he go to such trouble?

***

The boxed lunches at noon weren’t exactly gourmet—greasy fatty meat, gummy greens, and dry rice. Most people griped as they ate. Luckily, Tao Zhen wasn’t picky; he shoveled it down quickly and, like a lazy little animal, tilted his head back to bask in the sun. Zhu Wensheng sat quietly beside him; like a diligent house elf, he packed up the plastic boxes and tidied the area without a word.

With no dedicated lounge, they napped briefly in the stands, then got back to work at two: dressing the venue, distributing materials, assisting with the stage… After a mountain of chores, the busiest stretch of the day finally arrived—

At six in the evening, the honk of cars and the roar of countless voices swelled outside the stadium—like a siege of zombies, an army at the gates.

The volunteers’ scalps prickled. When ticketing actually began, they all sucked in a breath: a dense black tide of people surged from afar. One wave passed, another pressed in behind. In the crush there were acrid body odors and cloying perfumes; everyone pushed shoulder to shoulder toward the entrances…

Masked up, Tao Zhen and Zhu Wensheng were assigned to guide people to Section 16—pointing, explaining, over and over. Whenever the crowd threatened to knock Tao Zhen off balance, Zhu Wensheng would silently step in to steady him. They helped so many people without a word, and nearly got recognized once. By the end of that grueling check-in, Tao Zhen’s throat felt like it was on fire.

Night fell; lights flared inside and out.

Seizing a lull at the gate, Tao Zhen tugged Zhu Wensheng a bit farther in and looked down from on high. Tens of thousands filled the stands, most with light sticks in hand. As if from some invisible cue, a field of brilliant silver-white lights bloomed, like the most gorgeous star-sea in the universe.

The fatigue of work ebbed in an instant. Dazed by the sight, Tao Zhen couldn’t help a soft gasp.
“Beautiful…”

Zhu Wensheng turned without thinking, lowering his gaze to him.
The blond boy’s lips were pressed together as he stared at the stage, eyes like glossy onyx reflecting the glittering lights—easily stealing all attention.

“Like it?”

Tao Zhen nodded first, then shook his head, a little troubled. “Mm, I… don’t really know how to put it…”

The rest of his sentence was swallowed by a tidal wave of cheers and screams.

The hosts of tonight’s concert appeared on the giant screen. They were all the most traditional star anchors, dressed in elegant gowns and suits as they stepped onto the stage, smiling as they greeted the audience. After a smooth, well-crafted opening speech, they quickly introduced the first performance of the night.

Amid the thunderous applause, Tao Zhen simply shut his mouth and stared quietly at the stage.
His acquaintance Qiqi, along with a slightly unfamiliar teammate, slowly rose up from beneath the stage, appearing under the spotlights alongside the booming music.

Their faces were caught by the cameras, magnified in each frame upon the screens. They stood in front of tens of thousands of people, microphones in hand, singing and performing.
Although there were a few mistakes, even some trembling notes, none of it mattered—none of it diminished the enthusiasm of the audience.

After all, it took courage to go on stage with live mics, courage to give the audience such a stirring performance.

Audiences can be picky; they want performers to hold themselves to the highest standards and provide the best experience. But audiences can also be forgiving; they let themselves be carried away by emotion, not nitpicking over trivial flaws.

The only condition is—they must see the performance first.

When the song ended, the two of them laughed and greeted everyone, carefree and at ease.
Tao Zhen couldn’t help clenching his fists. It felt like something was about to burst out of his chest. His gaze, fixed on them, carried both admiration and envy.

Beside his ear, Zhu Wensheng’s voice sounded again: “Do you like it?”

This time, Tao Zhen didn’t hesitate. He nodded seriously, his voice soft, as if holding a fragile treasure:

“…I like it.”

“So then,” Zhu Wensheng’s voice was very quiet, “why don’t you try?”

“…”

Tao Zhen looked like he’d heard something unbelievable. His eyes widened, like a startled little rabbit, and he stumbled back several steps, frantically waving his hands in denial: “Me? No way, I can’t, I could never… stand on a stage in front of so many people, I really—”

The words “I can’t” rolled around his tongue like barbed wire, cutting at the inside of his mouth. Suddenly he couldn’t speak anymore. Biting his lip, he lifted his head, his eyes wet as he looked at Zhu Wensheng.

The night wind tousled his golden hair, making him look rather pitiful.

“Not directly at a concert,” Zhu Wensheng’s dark eyes were heavy, but not cold. “If possible, start small. Or try livestreaming online first. If you like it, then no matter what, you must keep going.”

It was the same encouragement Tao Zhen had once given him.
Now, it was his turn to encourage Tao Zhen.

“…”

From afar came another wave of deafening music and screams. But at this moment, Tao Zhen felt as if the noise in his ears had suddenly gone silent, leaving only Zhu Wensheng’s words echoing in his mind. Without realizing it, he stepped forward.

The two of them stood by the railing at the top of the stands. Behind them was a sea of glowing light sticks, a brilliant galaxy of stars. The colored lights shimmered, blurring their profiles, while the wind tangled their warm breaths together.

They gazed at each other for who knows how long before Tao Zhen finally spoke, voice a little dry:
“Next time… if there’s a chance.”

He also wanted to try—take the first step.

***

The concert lasted nearly four hours. The audience had sung and shouted to their hearts’ content. One by one, they gathered their things and left. But the volunteers couldn’t go yet—they had to stay behind to help clean up and restore the venue. They’d already been running around all day, and by the end they were like walking corpses, working on instinct alone.

By the time they finally finished everything and boarded the buses, it was already past midnight.

The ride back wasn’t nearly as noisy as in the morning. Exhausted and disheveled, no one had the energy to talk. Even Li Jie had lost the mood to whisper behind Tao Zhen’s back, slumped wretchedly against the window.

Tao Zhen’s body was tired too, his eyelids battling to stay open, but some nerve in his brain was still too keyed up, making him restless as he shifted around in his seat.

Finally, just as he decided to force himself to sleep in that uncomfortable position, he suddenly felt someone gently supporting his neck.

A second later, his ear grew warm, his head had been tilted onto a broad, solid shoulder.

Realizing what had happened, Tao Zhen’s body loosened. Drowsily, he mumbled, “Ah-Sheng.”

Zhu Wensheng gave a soft “mm,” and said lowly, “Sleep.”

The bus jolted again, but this time Tao Zhen didn’t feel any pain, because the young man’s arm carefully cradled his head and shielded the tip of his nose.