Chapter Fifty-One: Persona

When Lin Yue carried out the freshly cooked rice dumplings, the two had just finished applying medicine.

At that moment, Lin Yue was utterly detached from the world, focused solely on the dumplings.

“My dumplings are always the best,” Lin Yue said, savoring them with an intoxicated expression.

He didn’t forget to remind Bai Chenxi, “When I leave, remember to bring some for me.”

Were these ordinary dumplings? Of course not. They were infused with his heart and soul.

Chu Muyun took a bite, and Bai Chenxi immediately asked, “How is it?”

“Mm.” Chu Muyun responded in his usual understated manner.

Perhaps these dumplings also contained Chu Muyun’s dedication, for he ate more than usual.

After their hard work, the meal tasted especially delicious. Everyone ate several dumplings in succession, faces full of satisfaction.

After resting for a while, Bai Chenxi went to the kitchen to pack the dumplings.

Seeing Bai Chenxi emerge carrying a large bag of dumplings, Lin Yue exaggerated, “I knew our Chenxi treats me best.”

He reached out to take the bag, but Bai Chenxi dodged and placed a smaller bag onto the table.

“This one is yours.”

Lin Yue glanced at Bai Chenxi’s hand, then at the bag on the table.

“Bai Chenxi, this is too much! Who are you taking that big bag for then?” he said, turning his gaze to Chu Muyun.

Reading Lin Yue’s look, Bai Chenxi explained, “Don’t overthink it! This is for Grandpa Chu and Grandma Chu.”

“Oh,” Lin Yue replied, not very interested. In his eyes, whether the dumplings were for the grandparents or Chu Muyun, it was all the same—they were family.

Lin Yue made his way to the entryway, and seeing Chu Muyun still firmly seated, called out, “Chu Muyun, aren’t you leaving?”

Chu Muyun glanced at him and replied, “I still have things to do.”

Fine. So all this time I’ve been in the way, Lin Yue thought.

After Lin Yue left, Bai Chenxi asked, “What else do you have to do?”

“Aren’t you going to deliver the dumplings? Let’s go together.”

Bai Chenxi thought for a moment. “Oh! Wait for me, I’ll be ready soon.”

Grandma Chu, who had been watching the livestream, was already prepared when she heard they were coming.

As soon as Bai Chenxi knocked, Grandma Chu opened the door, her face surprised. “Muyun, when did you come back? Why are you here with Chenxi?”

Chu Muyun wore an expression of helplessness—his grandmother really should have been an actress.

Did she really not know who bombarded him with texts every day after watching the livestream?

“Grandma, we made some dumplings today and brought some for you and Grandpa Chu to try.”

Grandma Chu quickly ushered them inside. The cameraman followed, but still avoided filming the elderly couple’s faces.

[I really want to know what the idol’s grandparents look like]
[Forget it, it’ll never happen]
[Are these two planning to go public?]
[Probably just acknowledging it!]
[What else could it be at this point? Do they want to keep it ambiguous?]

Unaware of the speculation, the pair listened to Grandma Chu’s many complaints directed at Chu Muyun.

“You child, you come home and don’t even say a word. If not for Chenxi, I’d never see you.”

“Chenxi, you really must keep an eye on him for me.”

Bai Chenxi understood Grandma Chu’s intentions—both were aware, nothing unusual.

But with the livestream still running and rumors about her and Chu Muyun just dying down, Bai Chenxi felt awkward answering.

Chu Muyun noticed Bai Chenxi’s discomfort and offered a way out: “Grandma, shouldn’t you try the dumplings first? They won’t taste as good cold.”

Grandma Chu acted as if she’d only just noticed Chu Muyun, exclaiming, “Where have you been? How did you get so tanned?”

...

Even Bai Chenxi couldn’t help but laugh.

Though the process wasn’t flawless, they successfully diverted attention from that awkward scene.

The screen was filled with laughter, and even #ChuMuyunGotTanned# trended online.

Countless netizens were curious about what he’d been up to, since Chu Muyun’s mysterious disappearances always brought surprises.

This time the curiosity reached new heights, everyone wanting to know what could have made Chu Muyun so tanned.

Bai Chenxi hugged Caesar reluctantly. “Though you barely pay attention to me, I’ll still miss you.”

She rubbed Caesar’s head—soon she wouldn’t be able to touch him again. Looking uneasy, she warned, “Don’t forget me, do you hear?”

“If you want to see him, you can do so anytime,” Chu Muyun replied.

Bai Chenxi looked up in surprise, “Really?”

Chu Muyun nodded, “Yes.”

When Chu Muyun said “anytime,” he meant it.

Right after Bai Chenxi finished recording, Chu Muyun called.

“Are you free tomorrow? I need to see you.”

“What for?”

Chu Muyun, rummaging through his refrigerator, explained, “Most of the food in my fridge has expired. I need you to go shopping with me.”

Bai Chenxi realized it had been over a month—time for a replenishment.

“Alright, what time tomorrow?”

“In the morning. I’ll pick you up.”

“Okay,” Bai Chenxi agreed readily.

Still worried, she reminded him, “Don’t eat anything from the fridge, just heat up the dumplings I brought you.”

“Oh, and…” Bai Chenxi kept listing things to remember.

In front of outsiders, Chu Muyun was always confident and unbeatable. But with Bai Chenxi, he was someone who required constant reminders and rarely listened.

Normally, Chu Muyun would get annoyed if someone spoke too much. But now, he listened quietly as Bai Chenxi went on.

If Zhang Kai were present, his jaw would drop in astonishment.

Bai Chenxi’s words always jumped from one thought to another, saying whatever came to mind. Chu Muyun often simply listened, quietly.

He heard Bai Chenxi talk about trivial matters, or some interesting thing she’d seen somewhere.

Chu Muyun seldom spoke—just responded occasionally, as if to let her know he was listening.

Bai Chenxi never found it boring, nor did Chu Muyun grow impatient. It had become a tacit understanding between them.

They could talk at length about the smallest things. If Bai Chenxi claimed she could chat with Chu Muyun for hours, no one would believe her.

After all, Chu Muyun was famous for cutting conversations short, a nightmare for interviewers.

[Mini Drama]
Reporter: First, thanks to Chu Muyun for joining our show. Congratulations on your new album release.
Chu Muyun: Thank you.
Reporter: We all know your albums are always popular. Could you introduce your new album to your fans?
Chu Muyun: Just listen to it and you’ll know.
Reporter: Haha, seems our king is confident in his album! Hurry up and listen, everyone.
Reporter: Let’s talk about the lead single, “Forgotten Encounters.” Just the name suggests a touching love story! You wrote the lyrics and composed it yourself. Did you draw from your own experiences?
Chu Muyun: No.
The reporter waited, but Chu Muyun said nothing more. Instead, he looked expectantly at the reporter to continue asking.

The reporter was flustered: Isn’t it normal to elaborate on the creative process?

Reporter: Let’s read some comments and questions from your fans online!
[When will your next album come out, idol?]
Chu Muyun: It’ll be a while.
[Husband, your songs are amazing. Whenever I feel helpless or sad, listening to your music heals me.]
Chu Muyun: Thank you, but I’m not your husband.
[Idol, I love your music. On my seventeenth birthday, you held a concert. I snuck out without telling my parents—it was incredible. I want you to know I’ll always support you.]
Chu Muyun: Wait until you’re an adult before supporting me.

You snuck out without telling your parents—what if something happened? Seventeen means you’re about to take your college entrance exams; your studies are what matter most. You can watch me anytime, but don’t let it interfere with your education.

All my fans are the same—study hard, work hard. Take care of yourselves first, then support me.

Chasing idols isn’t everything; you each need to live your own lives, and live them well.

This time, Chu Muyun didn’t just reply in a few words. All the interviewers were left speechless—his expression seemed to say he was addressing you personally.

But the production team felt this went against Chu Muyun’s established persona of being quiet, so they edited it down to just the first sentence.

Years of navigating the industry had left their mark—even with his genuine nature, Chu Muyun couldn’t help but be influenced.

He never tried to craft an image, but the public always had a fixed impression of him.

It was like a label—the production team would always edit to fit him into that mold for the audience.

Maybe it was real at first, maybe coincidence, but later it became deliberate manipulation.

Chu Muyun found it all rather pointless. Aside from promoting his music, he rarely accepted interviews.

Only because his albums always sold so well did he have the freedom to be so willful.