Jiang Luo ignored the comment and looked toward the lower bunk beneath Fu Wei.
This room had bunk beds for four. The bed below Fu Wei’s was empty, a name sticker still attached—one of the three deceased trainees.
The assistant led Jiang Luo over, but the bunk was completely blocked by Fu Wei’s long legs. To get in, Jiang Luo would have to duck down and squeeze past under Fu Wei’s feet.
Jiang Luo looked up at him. “You’re blocking my bed.”
The angle wasn’t great—his eyes had to pass through Fu Wei’s triangle zone, all the way up to his broad chest and rising and falling Adam’s apple. The man didn’t seem to care. He looked down at Jiang Luo, smoke drifting from his lips toward Jiang Luo’s hair. After getting a good look, he finally, lazily, pulled his legs back and propped them on the side railing.
Jiang Luo tossed his bag onto the bed and glanced around the room.
There were cameras, but one had been covered with a shirt. The assistant began nagging Fu Wei again, clearly stressed. “Fu Wei, can you be more mindful of your image? There are cameras rolling and you’re still smoking and drinking. What if this gets edited into the broadcast again and even more people call for your removal?”
Fu Wei, clearly irritated, flicked his ash. “Then just turn the cameras off.”
The assistant stopped for a moment, sighed, and muttered a few more words. From his tone, Jiang Luo could tell that Fu Wei held a high position in the show.
If Fu Wei really did quit, Next Stop, Idol would probably collapse immediately.
With someone else in the room, the assistant didn’t say much else to Jiang Luo. “Alright, you can settle in here. Let me know if you need anything.”
Jiang Luo: “Got it.”
Once the assistant left, Jiang Luo finished tidying up his bed and stood beside it, eyes falling on the name stuck to the wooden frame.
The bed’s original occupant was “Chen Lezhi.”
Jiang Luo remembered that Chen Lezhi had ranked pretty high in Next Stop, Idol. His memory was excellent—he could still recall the voting list from episode one.
In the first episode, Chen Lezhi had been decent-looking, though he made a mistake during his stage performance. But he had a great sense of humor—he was quick with jokes, and the mishap ended up playing to his advantage. Viewers remembered him, and his votes just barely landed him within debut range.
The show was supposed to debut eight people total.
As for the other two deceased trainees, they had also ranked fairly high—right around the cutoff line.
Fu Wei came down from his bed and sat at the desk. The dorm wasn’t large to begin with, and with his tall frame and intense presence, the space suddenly felt much more cramped. Jiang Luo quickly realized how unapproachable he was.
But Jiang Luo wasn’t really here to participate in the idol show, and he didn’t plan on getting close to the top-ranked trainee. Still, Fu Wei had shared a room with Chen Lezhi, so he might know something useful.
“Hi,” Jiang Luo said, seeing that Fu Wei glanced over. He pointed to the bed behind him. “The guy who used to sleep here—Chen Lezhi, right? Were you close with him?”
Fu Wei said, “What do you want to ask?”
“Just curious about why he quit the show,” Jiang Luo replied. “You were his roommate—did he act strange before he left?”
“You’re asking the wrong person,” Fu Wei lazily turned his head, uninterested, eyes falling back on the sheet music in his hands. “I don’t care why he quit. Why would I pay attention to him?”
Jiang Luo studied his expression. Fu Wei wasn’t lying.
Outside the door, voices called out: “Jiang Luo!”
It was Lu Youyi and Ye Xun.
Jiang Luo stepped out of the room.
The two of them had been asking around about the three trainees who had died. They’d managed to learn a bit. All three had something in common: weak skills, but strong public appeal.
“Public appeal is such a mysterious thing. No skills, yet the audience likes them. That kind of thing easily makes people resentful or jealous,” Jiang Luo mused.
Whether someone becomes popular is almost a kind of superstition. There’s no end to celebrities who visit spiritual masters daily in hopes of fame. This mission might very well be related to something like that.
Who loses the most if the show stops airing? Logically, it’d be the trainees who haven’t debuted yet.
If the culprit is human, that’d at least make sense. But the strange things that have happened on this show don’t seem like something people could pull off.
Jiang Luo’s lips were dry. He walked over to a vending machine and bought a bottle of water. “Want to go check out the studio tonight?”
Ye Xun and Lu Youyi naturally agreed.
After dinner, Jiang Luo returned to the dorm. Most of the trainees had come back by then, and news about the three of them had spread quickly. As he walked down the hallway, he could feel more curious—or outright unfriendly—eyes on him.
Not many people can keep a friendly face in front of a powerful competitor who parachutes in out of nowhere.
Jiang Luo suddenly thought that being hated might actually be a good thing.
Based on what the dead trainees had in common, the real culprit clearly didn’t like “vases”—people with looks but no talent. And the three of them? They could draw talismans, catch ghosts, and read feng shui—but sing and dance? Does radio calisthenics count?
In this setting, they were essentially “useless vases”—the kind of people that attract disdain.
When Jiang Luo reached the dorm room, he heard several voices inside. He pushed the door open. Two unfamiliar faces were sitting by the desk.
The two boys were cute, with a fresh and youthful look—completely different from Fu Wei’s style. When they saw Jiang Luo, a flicker of amazement flashed in their eyes. The brown-haired one said, “Wow, you’re really good-looking.”
“Oh, right, your name is…” He glanced toward Jiang Luo’s bed, but when he saw that the name tag still said “Chen Lezhi,” he smiled awkwardly. “Sorry, what’s your name again?”
Jiang Luo gave them a subtle once-over. “I’m Jiang Huan.”
“Which ‘Jiang’? Which ‘Huan’?”
Jiang Luo picked up a marker from the table and wrote “Jiang Huan” below “Chen Lezhi” on the nameplate by the bed.
His handwriting was bold and flowing. He capped the pen, tapped on the name “Chen Lezhi,” and casually asked, “By the way, do you guys know why he dropped out?”
He smiled. “I was kind of surprised when I got the call to replace him.”
The two boys exchanged a look. “We were surprised too.”
“Chen Lezhi got along with us pretty well, except…” One of them glanced subtly toward the bathroom. “…He even said he wanted to lose weight for filming. We didn’t expect him to quit.”
Jiang Luo didn’t miss the look. He followed it and saw a tall shadow moving behind the bathroom door.
Did Chen Lezhi not get along with Fu Wei?
The other boy tugged at the brown-haired one’s sleeve, signaling him to stop talking.
Jiang Luo looked at the names on their shirts. The brown-haired one was Zhang Cheng, the rounder-faced one Zhao Ban.
They were both decently skilled—ranked higher than Chen Lezhi in the evaluations—but had fewer audience votes.
“I came in late, and the show’s already started airing,” Jiang Luo said lazily, eyes downcast. “It’s been doing really well. I remember you two—your rankings were pretty high.”
Zhang Cheng lit up with joy. “Really?!”
Zhao Ban looked pleased too, but he quickly suppressed it. He lowered his voice and said to Jiang Luo, “The director said we’re not allowed to talk about that. You shouldn’t either. Oh, and did they take your phone yet?”
Of course they hadn’t. But Jiang Luo wasn’t going to tell the truth. “Yeah, they collected them.”
He leaned back against the desk, turning his back to the camera. “If you two keep working hard, you’ll break into the debut rankings soon. But the most popular is still…” He glanced at Fu Wei’s bunk and smirked, watching their reactions closely. “That guy. The vote gap is insane—his stats are scary.”
Zhang Cheng and Zhao Ban fell silent. Clearly, they were already aware of Fu Wei’s popularity.
“People still like someone who smokes and drinks?” Zhang Cheng mumbled, voice so low Jiang Luo barely heard it.
They clearly didn’t like Fu Wei much either.
Jiang Luo was about to say more when the bathroom door opened and Fu Wei walked out.
He wasn’t wearing a shirt, bare-chested. His muscle lines were sleek and firm, damp hair falling across his forehead, eyelids half-lowered. His pants weren’t done up properly, a band of white underwear peeking out—there was a kind of lazy, sexy masculinity about him.
Zhang Cheng’s eyes flashed with jealousy. He said, trying to sound helpful, “Fu Wei, why’d you come out without a shirt?”
Fu Wei looked up at the camera and frowned. His displeasure was easy to hear in his voice. “Who moved the shirt I put over the camera?”
Zhang Cheng and Zhao Ban looked awkward and didn’t respond.
Dorm life also got cut into highlight videos. Most people wanted more camera time—who’d go and cover a camera? The two of them had yanked the shirt down the moment they came in. They knew Fu Wei was showering but didn’t expect him to come out like this.
Fu Wei curled his lips and lazily lifted his eyelids to glance at Zhang Cheng and the other before turning and walking back into the bathroom.
Zhang Cheng and his friend instinctively held their breath for a few seconds. Jiang Luo, watching their reactions, couldn’t help but laugh.
When the two younger boys looked at him strangely, he waved a hand while suppressing his laughter. “Nothing, I just suddenly remembered a joke.”
He got up and walked to the bed, seemingly searching for clothes, but in truth rummaging for his talismans.
Using his clothes to cover them, Jiang Luo entered the bathroom as well.
Inside, Fu Wei had already put on a shirt. The slightly damp white T-shirt clung to his body. The bathroom was filled with steam, the tiles were slick with moisture, and the mirror was completely fogged over.
Fu Wei heard the sound and glanced at Jiang Luo. The black-haired young man still had a trace of red on his lips from smiling. Fu Wei threw the empty cigarette box into the trash can and noticed the bundle of clothes in Jiang Luo’s arms. “There’s no hot water.”
One had to admit, Fu Wei’s voice was genuinely captivating—just hearing him speak felt like being seduced. Jiang Luo gave a casual “oh,” and said, “Then I’ll just use the toilet.”
Fu Wei lit another cigarette and made no move to leave.
Jiang Luo turned around and opened the bathroom window. “Sorry, I can’t stand the smell of smoke.”
He looked back at Fu Wei with an intentionally provocative gaze from above. “This is a shared space. Try to be more considerate.”
Chen Lezhi hadn’t gotten along with Fu Wei.
Now Chen Lezhi was dead.
Everyone here was suspicious. The real killer might not be a ghost—it could be someone controlling the ghost. Fu Wei was suspicious too, and Jiang Luo decided to provoke him a little to see how he’d react.
Fu Wei stubbed out his cigarette and looked at Jiang Luo.
The black-haired youth had an overtly provocative expression. He was smart and knew exactly what kind of look would most easily set off men like Fu Wei. Fu Wei’s eyes darkened as he stared at him meaningfully.
Jiang Luo deliberately dragged out his words, repeating what the assistant had said earlier that had annoyed Fu Wei: “This is a recording set. With so many bad habits, why become an idol? If you want to corrupt the youth, maybe try acting on the legal education channel.”
Fu Wei finally moved, stepping toward Jiang Luo.
Jiang Luo didn’t move, standing his ground.
When Fu Wei got close, he suddenly grabbed Jiang Luo by the collar and yanked him forward. A strong scent of smoke hit Jiang Luo in the face.
“Can’t stand it?” Fu Wei said. “Then get used to it.”
