Chapter 102.1: End of Practice and the Start of the School Term
Under the lights of the residential complex, when Mu Zhenchu turned around to face him, Shen Xiu could clearly see the exhaustion on Mu Zhenchu’s face—he looked noticeably worse than the last time they met.
Shen Xiu felt puzzled, but Mu Zhenchu only called his name and didn’t say anything else. Since he didn’t volunteer any explanation, Shen Xiu didn’t feel it was appropriate to pry into someone else’s privacy.
He simply asked out of curiosity, “Is something wrong?”
It was already ten at night—Mu Zhenchu definitely wouldn’t come over without a reason.
Although Shen Xiu’s tone was calm and expressionless, Mu Zhenchu didn’t feel he was being cold. On the contrary, he felt a kind of familiar reassurance.
Thinking of the company’s schedule for him starting tomorrow, Mu Zhenchu looked even more embarrassed as he glanced at Shen Xiu.
Licking his dry lips, Mu Zhenchu explained softly, “You said earlier, if I had time, I should come practice with you, so I…”
Before Mu Zhenchu could finish speaking, Shen Xiu understood and said, “Let’s go.”
After all, it wasn’t his rest time yet.
Shen Xiu walked ahead, used facial recognition to open the gate, and led Mu Zhenchu into the residential complex.
‘H-he agreed just like that?!’
Walking behind Shen Xiu, Mu Zhenchu’s gaze was filled with both guilt and gratitude.
If it weren’t for the next few days being packed with the company’s schedule—every day starting at 8 a.m. running from one location to another with no free time, and not being released until 8 p.m.—he wouldn’t have come over so late at night.
But if he didn’t come tonight, he wouldn’t have a chance to practice, and he’d fall behind everyone else. If he missed this group performance, he might never have the opportunity to stand on the same stage with them again.
Having come sincerely from the training camp together, TG held a special place in Mu Zhenchu’s heart.
Even if he would one day fade away, at least at this moment, he was truly alive.
Shen Xiu walked ahead, feeling the silence between them grow increasingly awkward.
Maybe I should say something. Staying quiet like this is just weird.
How have you been lately?
No, that wouldn’t do. Mu Zhenchu clearly hadn’t been doing well recently. Asking that would be like picking at someone’s wounds—pouring salt on them, even.
Have you eaten?
Come on, it’s already ten at night. Who wouldn’t have eaten by now?
The moon sure is round tonight…
Help—how did he even come up with such a cringey topic?!
Being alone with a teammate he wasn’t all that close to, trying to find something to talk about was ridiculously hard.
Shen “mentally sighing in exhaustion” Xiu.jpg
Shen Xiu had never felt the walk home to be this long. Hoping to end this awkward atmosphere as quickly as possible, he silently quickened his pace.
Once they got home, things would be fine. They could jump right into practice. At that point, there wouldn’t be any room left to think about whether things were awkward or not.
Just like earlier today at Xiang Yueting’s studio with the rest of the team.
The more Shen Xiu thought about it, the more awkward he felt. Just as he was still struggling to find something to talk about, he suddenly heard Mu Zhenchu speak from behind him.
“Shen Xiu, I’m sorry for taking up your rest time.”
“!”
He finally spoke! Great—now Shen Xiu didn’t have to come up with topics on his own!
Filled with relief and excitement, Shen Xiu immediately replied, “You didn’t.”
Then he realized that sounded a bit too short, especially after Mu Zhenchu had said a whole sentence. So he added, “It’s not my rest time yet.”
No, that still wasn’t good enough—as the team leader, how could he say less than his teammate?
Before Mu Zhenchu could say anything else, Shen Xiu quickly added, “If you hadn’t come, I would’ve spent the time watching a movie for class until midnight.”
Two hours—just enough to finish a movie. After practice tomorrow, they’d likely get back around ten again, giving him another two hours—just enough time to write a film analysis to submit to his teacher.
Shen Xiu was very satisfied with his schedule.
Mu Zhenchu: “……”
Who treats watching movies as homework? Shen Xiu was definitely saying that just to make things easier—for both of them. To ease his own guilt, and to comfort him so he wouldn’t feel so bad.
“Thanks, I’ll work hard!”
Shen Xiu was sacrificing his rest time for him—if he didn’t put in the effort and ended up performing poorly in the group special, the first person he’d be letting down would be Captain Xiu, then the rest of the team, and only lastly himself.
Shen Xiu realized he really admired people who worked hard. Hearing that, he responded with genuine encouragement, “Yeah, let’s work hard together!”
It was Shen Xiu’s first time being an idol, and he wasn’t entirely sure what was expected of idols. He’d looked it up online and found out that group specials and their sales were extremely important.
If they didn’t give it their all and ended up flopping their debut group release, what reason would fans have to support them?
The more he thought about it, the more fired up he got—like he’d just been injected with adrenaline. He proactively asked Mu Zhenchu, “What time do you want to practice until?”
As the captain, he was ready for anything!
Mu Zhenchu asked cautiously, “Would midnight be okay?”
The practice time was short, but with Shen Xiu’s guidance in those two hours, he could at least understand where the team was at. Then during tomorrow’s break, he could practice on his own.
Shen Xiu replied, “Sure.”
A few minutes later, the two arrived at Shen Xiu’s place.
It wasn’t Mu Zhenchu’s first time here, but seeing Shen Xiu’s home again—this time with only the two of them, without the other teammates around—made him feel a little self-conscious.
Shen Xiu opened the shoe cabinet and took out his own slippers. Seeing Mu Zhenchu just standing there, not moving, he glanced at the row of house slippers and, thinking Mu Zhenchu might have forgotten which pair he used last time, said:
“The blue pair is yours.”
After he spoke, Shen Xiu worried that Mu Zhenchu might misunderstand and think he was only allowed to wear that pair, so he added an explanation:
“You guys are the only ones who’ve ever been here. The shoes you wore last time have only ever been worn by you. Any pair you’ve worn can be your indoor slippers here.”
“Of course, there are new ones down there too. If you’d rather wear those, feel free.”
Shen Xiu knew some people didn’t like wearing shoes that others had worn, so he had memorized which color each person had used, so no one would accidentally wear the wrong pair.
After hearing this, Mu Zhenchu’s gaze swept across the two rows of shoes in the cabinet.
The top row—those were the ones they had already worn.
The bottom row—those were the brand new ones.
“This red pair—whose are they?” Mu Zhenchu picked up his blue slippers but asked in a low voice, his emotions barely contained.
Shen Xiu didn’t even need to look. “Xiang Yueting’s.”
“And the green ones?”
“Zhuang Yi’s.” Shen Xiu remembered clearly—last time Zhuang Yi had muttered something about the little blue dinosaurs on the shoes being cute, which made them easy to remember.
“The pink pair?”
“Song Chengwang.”
Shen Xiu hadn’t expected it either—Song Chengwang looked so tough and unapproachable, but apparently liked pink.
Mu Zhenchu: “……”
Using slipper color to distinguish who had worn which pair—Mu Zhenchu was certain that none of them had paid attention to that detail. But Shen Xiu remembered it all perfectly.
And that was just the surface.
What moved and shocked him even more deeply was the realization behind it—Shen Xiu had quietly prepared a dedicated pair of slippers for every member of their team in his own home.
If he hadn’t asked today out of curiosity, Shen Xiu probably would never have told them.
That kind of thoughtfulness made a tight ache swell in Mu Zhenchu’s chest.
Their captain, Shen Xiu, always looked so distant and indifferent, like he didn’t care about anything. But time and time again, he proved himself quietly considerate—so much so it made your nose sting with emotion.
In that moment, the idea Mu Zhenchu had been holding onto—of quitting the team—completely vanished.
“Captain Xiu, don’t worry. I won’t be the one to drag everyone down!”
“…Okay.”
As expected, every one of them truly cared about this group special.
The apartment didn’t have many rooms, but it was fully functional. Shen Xiu picked an empty, spacious room—aside from a projection screen on one wall, it was completely bare, making it perfect for practice.
Even though the system claimed the place was well soundproofed, Shen Xiu still didn’t dare to play sound out loud. He found two pairs of headphones—one for himself and one for Mu Zhenchu. He also laid down two thick layers of carpeting so that their footsteps wouldn’t make any noise. Only after that did he turn on the projector, playing the footage of the group training session recorded earlier that day.
When Mu Zhenchu saw the video on the projection and noticed the space everyone had deliberately left open for him during practice, his emotions reached a peak.
While fiddling with the projector, Shen Xiu asked without even looking up, “Did you watch and practice the part I sent you earlier today?”
As soon as the choreography parts had been assigned, Shen Xiu had sent Mu Zhenchu his portion right away.
But he didn’t know whether Mu Zhenchu had had time to practice. If not, they’d need to spend at least half an hour going over it first—making sure he could sing and dance it—before combining it with the recorded group footage for synchronized practice. Shen Xiu could then correct his movements.
There wasn’t a large mirror here, so Mu Zhenchu wouldn’t be able to see himself—Shen Xiu would need to monitor and correct him directly.
Mu Zhenchu nodded. “I practiced.”
The company had indeed been running him ragged, but he still had a bit of time during lunch and breaks.
Shen Xiu nodded slightly. “Then let’s start right away.”
Mu Zhenchu: “Okay!”
Over the next two hours, Mu Zhenchu wore one earbud, watching the projection and practicing in sync with the music playing in his ear. He left his other ear free to listen for Shen Xiu’s corrections.
Shen Xiu gave direct feedback whenever something was off—he didn’t bother with sugar-coating or tact. Subtlety simply wasn’t something Shen Xiu ever considered.
“This part needs to be stuck using your chest. Why is your waist flailing around?”
“I don’t get it—why is your voice shaking on the last few words of this line?”
“You stood up? I thought you were going to just lie there and never move again. I told you to lie down—not actually lie flat like a corpse.”
…
After two full hours of Shen Xiu’s intense corrections, Mu Zhenchu—who had thought he’d never again experience the feeling of being dominated like back in the training camp—was thoroughly reminded of what it was like to be under the tyrannical rule of “Demon King Shen.”
