Chapter 21: Help

It was 5:50 AM, and the sun had yet to fully rise.

When Chuxue pushed open the door, I was already sitting inside.

I sat in the chair by the window, my long hair draped over my shoulders, holding a cup of black tea.

Hearing the door, I looked up at her.

She gave me a slight smile.

“Good morning, President Lin. You’re quite early today.”

She closed the door and stepped inside.

I didn’t respond.

She took a step forward, her gaze sweeping over me before drifting downward — eventually landing on my chest.

On that pocket.

The pocket that had held the Ultimatum Card yesterday.

Today, it was empty.

“The matter with the card is settled?” she asked.

Her tone was still leisurely, but her eyes lingered on my long hair — I was no longer hiding it, letting it hang loose.

“It’s about Su Nian,” I said.

She blinked, startled.

“Miss Su? Isn’t she already in training?”

“20 days,” I said.

“She’s going to debut in 20 days.”

Silence.

Outside the window, the sky began to brighten.

Across the street, a lamppost flickered out, leaving behind a faint wisp of white smoke.

Chuxue’s hand, clutching her bag, froze in place.

After a few seconds, she set her bag down and took a seat.

“…President Lin.”

Her voice was still slow, but the space between her words stretched out.

“What are you talking about?”

I said nothing.

“No matter how conceited one is,” she continued, “it would take at least 4 months… no, more than 6 months.”

She looked at me.

This time, there was no probing.

She was genuinely bewildered.

“I’m not joking,” I said.

“20 days. For that, I need help — your help, and as much help as possible.”

I looked her straight in the eye.

I didn’t flinch.

She stared back at me.

The light outside grew a bit brighter, illuminating her face and softening the look of her snow-white hair.

Then, she let out a small chuckle.

“Are you serious?”

There was a hint of helplessness in her tone.

“…President Lin, you think far too highly of me.”

She had declined.

Softly, but clearly.

This time, there was no sound of birds outside.

The surface of the tea in my cup was perfectly still, reflecting a small spot of light from the ceiling lamp.

I spoke.

“I’ll be blunt.”

Her eyes shifted.

“As for that stuff about me being Alice’s Little White Face or whatever,” I said, “as you know, it’s highly unlikely.”

I decided to lay my cards on the table.

She didn’t speak.

She just waited.

“Just like I said before,” I continued, “I have my own past.”

“I don’t know what it is you want. But you can ask me directly. Within certain limits, I will give you an answer.”

I could hear my own breathing.

I could hear my own heartbeat.

The light outside intensified, climbing from her shoulder to her profile, casting a fan-shaped shadow from her eyelashes onto her cheek.

The leisurely smile on her face vanished.

It was replaced by an expression I couldn’t read.

She opened her mouth, about to say something —

*Click.*

The door to the inner room opened.

Su Nian emerged, her hair a bit messy, her face wearing the grogginess of someone who had just woken up.

“President —” She let out a yawn.

“Morning —”

I looked at her.

Then I turned back to Chuxue.

“Think about it.”

With that, I walked over to Su Nian.

There was no sound behind me.

***

The training room.

Su Nian stood before the mirror, already changed into her athletic gear.

I stood beside her, holding the Notebook.

“20 days,” I said.

“Today is the first day.”

“Yes!”

Her voice was louder than usual.

No wailing, no complaining.

Just that one word.

I looked at her through the mirror.

Those dark red eyes were fixed on her own reflection.

She wasn’t looking at me; she was looking at herself.

“Training.”

I began listing the items.

Morning run, stretching, vocalization, and dance.

“Begin.”

***

By the river.

Su Nian stood at the starting line, did two deep squats, and began to run.

I followed behind on a bicycle.

For the first 500 meters, her pace was steady.

At 1,000 meters, her breathing began to falter.

At 2,000 meters, her steps slowed, but she didn’t stop.

By 3,000 meters, she leaned against the railing to gasp for air for 10 seconds before continuing.

4,000 meters.

5,000 meters.

At the finish line, she bent over with her hands on her knees, panting heavily as sweat dripped from her chin.

I checked the timer.

“31 minutes and 47 seconds.”

She looked up at me, unable to speak.

She just gasped.

“One minute faster than yesterday,” I said.

She blinked.

The corners of her mouth twitched, but she couldn’t manage a smile because she was still out of breath.

“Next… next item…”

***

The dance studio.

In front of the mirror.

“Do —”

She opened her mouth.

She was off-key.

“Again.”

“Do —”

Still off.

“Do —”

Off.

“Do —”

Off.

The seventh time.

“Do —”

One note was actually on pitch.

She was stunned herself, staring at her reflection.

I said nothing.

She blinked and then continued.

“Re —”

Off.

The eighteenth time.

“Re —”

She hit it.

She stopped and turned to look at me.

“President…”

“Keep going.”

She turned back.

“Mi —”

***

Break time.

Sunlight streamed through the window, hitting the corner where she was sitting.

Chuxue stood at the doorway, watching.

The light spread across the floor in a warm rectangle, slowly crawling toward her feet.

***

The last dance movement was finished.

Su Nian sat on the floor, gulping down water.

She recovered quickly.

I walked over.

“Su Nian.”

She looked up.

“Come here.”

“Oh.”

She scrambled up from the floor, not asking where we were going as she followed.

Chuxue was still standing at the door.

I walked past her without stopping.

Su Nian followed behind, also without stopping.

But when I reached the doorway, I paused.

I didn’t turn around.

“Follow us if you want to watch.”

The space behind me was quiet for a second.

Then came the sound of light footsteps.

***

In the car.

Su Nian sat in the passenger seat, looking out the window.

Chuxue sat in the back, silent.

I was in the driver’s seat, but I wasn’t driving, nor did I need to.

People these days were used to AI auto-driving.

However, human supervision was still necessary —

I pressed the start button.

**[Beep! — Auto-navigation in progress]**

The dashboard lit up, and a green route icon spread across the screen.

The car moved on its own.

After crossing three intersections, I spoke.

“The basic training is over. Your body can’t grow overnight, but your brain can.”

Su Nian turned to look at me.

“Are we going to see other agencies?”

“Yes.”

She had guessed it.

‘Her brain’s working much faster than usual.’

***

The car pulled over to the curb.

Kageyama Rei Agency.

It wasn’t large, but it was clean.

A few photos of idols were hung by the entrance.

I turned off the engine.

“Go,” I told Su Nian.

“Have an exchange.”

Su Nian was taken title.

“…An exchange?”

“Yes.”

“Exchange what?”

“Figure it out yourself.”

She blinked and looked at me for 2 seconds.

Then she pushed open the car door and stepped out.

I watched her back disappear into the entrance.

Then I leaned back against the seat.

In the rearview mirror, Chuxue was still looking out the window.

Sunlight poked out from behind the clouds before receding again.

The shadow of the tree across the street moved slowly across the wall, drifting from the left side of the window to the right.

Through the glass door, I could see the reception desk inside — a small white table with a Malabar chestnut tree that was nearly withered, its leaves drooping and half-yellowed.

When Su Nian pushed the door open and entered, the person at the reception looked up and glanced at her.

Then they looked back down.

They went back to their phone.

I watched the scene from the car.

After 3 seconds, I looked away and scanned the entire building.

Three stories.

The outer walls were covered in tiles that had been popular many years ago, and several were cracked, with no one bothered to replace them.

The windows were old-fashioned sliding types, with rust along the aluminum alloy frames. A sign hung on the second floor with the words “Kageyama Rei Agency” written in black ink on a white background; the letters were still clear, but the paint at the edges had begun to peel.

I withdrew my gaze and looked at my phone.

Kageyama Rei Agency. Established 9 years ago.

Current idols: four people.

Average time since debut: over 3 years.

Highest ranking: Top 16 of the Regional Tournament.

No awards.

No appearances on mainstream programs.

No viral success.

9 years.

Four idols.

Highest ranking: Top 16.

I swiped the phone screen, reading those lines twice.

Then I locked the screen and leaned back again.

I waited for about 3 minutes.

Su Nian still hadn’t come out.

I glanced toward the glass door — she was standing by the reception desk, and the person on their phone had finally stood up and was talking to her.

The sunlight broke through the clouds completely, shining on the glass door with a piercing glare.

I looked away and continued to study the building.

A window on the second floor was cracked open, and I could see someone moving inside.

A woman, wearing an ordinary blouse, her hair pulled back tightly, was holding something — I couldn’t tell what it was.

She stood by the window for 2 seconds before walking away.

I stared at that window.

The sunlight shifted slightly, sliding from the edge of the second-floor window to the center.

After 3 seconds, I lowered my gaze.

There was a small alley on the side of the first floor where several cardboard boxes were piled, held down by two bricks.

The cardboard had gone soft, showing clear signs of being soaked by rain.

There was also a bicycle in the alley, its basket filled with several courier bags, the writing on them no longer legible.

I turned back.

I looked at the passenger seat.

Su Nian’s bag was tossed on the seat, the zipper not fully closed, revealing a corner of the Notebook — the one I had written for her.

She had brought it with her.

I looked away.

I checked the rearview mirror.

Chuxue was still looking out the window, but the corners of her mouth twitched.

“President Lin,” she said, “what do you see?”

It wasn’t a question.

I ignored her.

“What are you looking at?” she asked.

“The building.”

“The building?”

“The walls. The windows. The cardboard boxes. The bicycle.”

She paused.

“…And then?”

“And then I’m guessing.”

The sunlight moved a bit more, climbing from her shoulder to her profile.

She let out a short laugh.

“What have you guessed?”

I looked at her through the rearview mirror and shared my observations and deductions.

“The walls are cracked and no one fixes them — no money.”

“The windows are old — no intention of replacing them.”

“The cardboard boxes are piled in the alley and no one cares — no one is paying attention.”

“The plant is dying and no one replaces it — no spirit.”

“The posters haven’t been changed — they don’t want to recruit new people.”

She stared at me after I finished, then began her own observation once more —

As if she were checking her own answers against mine.

“The second-floor window is open and someone is standing inside; they saw Su Nian enter but didn’t come down — it’s not that they don’t want to manage things, it’s that they don’t feel the need to.”

I paused.

“9 years. Four idols. Highest ranking: Top 16.”

“With results like that, supporting four people is fine. But they can’t support any more.”

“So they don’t recruit. They don’t fix the walls. They don’t repair the windows.”

“They just stay here.”

“Waiting.”

“Waiting for what?”

Chuxue interrupted.

“Waiting for someone to suddenly get famous. Or waiting until there’s no one left, and they close the doors.”

The sunlight moved again, climbing from her cheek to her earlobe.

Chuxue sat in the back, motionless.

She continued to look at the building.

“9 years,” I said, “is not a short time.”

“Being able to survive for 9 years means the boss has some skill. At least enough to keep four people around.”

“But to still be like this after 9 years means that’s as far as their skill goes.”

“Not quite up, not quite down.”

“Neither dead nor truly alive.”

“They just… exist.”

I stopped.

“This is what most agencies look like.”

“Not every idol can become a Supernova, and not every agency is top-tier.”

“Most agencies are just like this.”

“Ordinary.”

“Liable to disappear at any moment.”

“Liable to reappear at any moment.”

Silence.

Sunlight shone through the car window, spreading a warm rectangle on the carpet, slowly crawling under the seat.

After hearing my words, she didn’t know what to say for a moment.

There was still hesitation in her eyes.

I didn’t intend to let her hesitate, so I cut in.

“Have you seen enough, Miss Chuxue?”