The drive from Urumqi to Altay takes eight hours. Before departing, Wei Zhi checked both Gaode and Apple Maps. The journey from Silk Road Ski Resort to General Mountain Ski Resort via the Lianhuo Expressway spans just over 200 kilometers, typically a three-hour drive. Accounting for slower speeds due to snow, it would take four hours at most. Leaving at 10:30 AM the next morning, they’d arrive in time for lunch.
Continuing to the Altay Region ski resort would take even longer, likely arriving after dark. Apart from those staying at Silk Road to enjoy Aiwen Avenue, the migrating group—including Wei Zhi and Jiang Nanfeng—numbered about seven or eight. They moved discreetly, resembling thieves in their secrecy.
At the hotel near Altay Ski Resort, Wei Zhi dozed off, her head bobbing on Jiang Nanfeng’s shoulder. The commotion during check-in roused her. Turning, she noticed a group that seemed to be International Ski Federation staff and sports media rights journalists. They discussed the upcoming competition, focusing on next year’s Winter Olympics in Beijing and Zhangjiakou.
Their main concern was the worryingly low number of local athletes who had accumulated enough points for the snow events, particularly in snowboarding. While freestyle skiing had historically won medals and even had gold potential, snowboarding posed greater challenges.
“In snowboarding, only the halfpipe has some contenders. Parallel giant slalom is lacking, and for big air… it depends on Dai Duo’s performance this time,” one staff member said. “If he doesn’t score well, he might not qualify.”
“Dai Duo can do it,” another replied, “but I think he’ll be the lone warrior in big air. It’s a shame Shan Chong isn’t coming.”
“Ah, Shan Chong… I saw his video recently. BS Cork 2160, is truly impressive. I looked it up—there are probably fewer than ten people worldwide who can pull off that move in training. We originally had two!”
“Really? Hasn’t he not jumped for a long time?”
“That’s what they say, but he probably practiced secretly.”
“Secretly practiced my ass. If he loves it so much, why did he retire?”
“Well, I heard there were some family issues… Anyway, he has his reasons for not participating. You can’t hold a knife to his throat and force him, can you? You’re anxious, but imagine how Wang Xin feels. When I was scouting earlier, I saw him—he has more gray hair now. I heard no one dare mention Shan Chong in front of him anymore. He gets furious if they do.”
“Wang Xin does have quite the temper.”
Their chatter faded as they were ushered away for COVID tests.
Once they’d gone, Wei Zhi turned to look at the man beside her. He’d been wearing a mask throughout the check-in process, from showing his ID to registering and presenting his travel and health codes. He hadn’t even lifted his head—as if they weren’t talking about him at all.
His composure left Wei Zhi in awe. This, she thought, must be what it means to have your legend live on even after leaving the spotlight.
Her admiring gaze was so intense that the man felt it burning into his face as he filled out the registration form. He paused while writing down the license plate number, lifting his eyes slightly. Suddenly, without warning, he looked up and met her gaze.
Wei Zhi, startled, took half a step back.
Shan Chong, amused by her jumpy reaction, nearly laughed. She was like a small animal, easily spooked by the slightest movement. It was… what was that word he’d rarely associated with himself before?
The man thought for a moment before landing on a term that likely had little to do with the first half of his life—cute.
“What are you doing?” he asked, his tone gentle. “Why are you staring at me?”
Wei Zhi stammered, “Ah,” gesturing first at him, then in the direction where the group had disappeared. She looked at him with wide eyes, silently asking if he hadn’t heard them.
Shan Chong narrowed his eyes slightly, considering before replying in a flat tone, “Mm, I heard them talking about me.”
So what? Let them talk. It’s not like he could control what others said—
Wei Zhi exclaimed, “Yes, it’s amazing!”
Shan Chong: “?”
Shan Chong: “What?”
The man was taken aback, never expecting her to draw such a conclusion from that conversation. He even began to wonder if her ears had some kind of filter, always reaching a uniformly positive conclusion about anything related to him.
Wei Zhi analyzed seriously, “Think about it—how many retired athletes are still fondly remembered and discussed before every major competition, even years later?”
There were some.
The ones who received the harshest criticism.
But those were all Olympic gold medalists. He hadn’t even managed to achieve anything in his two Olympic appearances. Mentioning his name alongside theirs felt like overreaching.
“…” Shan Chong fell silent for a moment. “Fondly remembered? More like eulogized.”
His tone was rather caustic.
Having said that, he ignored her, turning to complete the registration form. He tossed the pen aside and finished all the check-in procedures.
Everyone had checked in together this time, with rooms on the same floor. Wei Zhi and Jiang Nanfeng were staying next door to Shan Chong and his group. They all took the elevator up together after receiving their keys.
By the time everyone had settled in, it was nearly 6 PM. The sun hung low on the horizon, its golden light fading, and the ski slopes were about to close. No one planned to ski that day.
Standing in the elevator, Wei Zhi asked Shan Chong about the next day’s schedule. The man glanced at her, “Aren’t you resting tomorrow?”
“Why would I need to rest?”
“Is your stomach not hurting anymore?” Shan Chong said, “Just to be clear if it’s not hurting now but you start complaining halfway through skiing tomorrow, I won’t know if it’s real or fake. Am I supposed to carry you down the mountain again?”
“…” Wei Zhi was stunned by his coldness. “How would I know about tomorrow? What’s wrong with carrying me down the mountain? You did it in Zhangjiakou and at Silk Road Ski Resort.”
“It’s different here.”
“?”
“There are more familiar faces around.”
All his former teammates and competitors were here for official competitions. It was bad enough that they’d see him not competing, but to catch him playing nursemaid? Although he didn’t care much about others’ opinions…
Still, if he accidentally caused Wang Xin to die of anger, he might feel a bit guilty.
The man finished speaking in a calm tone just as the elevator arrived. As the doors opened, the young woman standing closest to the exit glared at him, grabbed her suitcase, and stormed out.
She quickly found her room and slammed the door in the man’s face.
Shan Chong stood in the hallway, staring at the closed door for a moment before turning to use his key card to open his room.
As he entered, he heard his disciple, who had been silent throughout, finally speak up behind him: “Master, I’m starting to doubt whether your solemn declaration yesterday about liking Little Junior Sister was genuine.”
The man, who was about to toss his key card onto the entryway table, froze.
After a few seconds of silence, he turned around, his expressionless face and dark eyes fixed on the person behind him. “Can you lower your voice?”
Bei Ci: “Huh?”
Shan Chong: “They’re staying next door.”
What if they overheard?
Bei Ci: “…What? Are you harboring a secret crush now?”
Shan Chong’s lips tightened. “Is that not allowed?”
Bei Ci, seeing his master’s matter-of-fact attitude, felt a chill run down his spine. He thought to himself, inexperienced older men in love are truly terrifying, bordering on creepy and perverted.
“It’s not that it’s not allowed, but even with a secret crush, you shouldn’t talk to her like that. Look how angry you made the poor girl—”
“What kind of secret crush would it be if the cover-up wasn’t convincing?” The man spoke with a tone that seemed to mock others’ intelligence. After a pause, he emphasized again, “Can you Freaking lower your voice?”
“Rough guys like me just naturally have loud voices.”
“Then shut your mouth. Not another word.”
“…”
I now reasonably suspect that you’re just upset about having a door slammed in your face earlier and are taking it out on me.
Tch.
…
The next day.
Having played the role of a health-conscious older man the previous day, Shan Chong had gone to bed just after 10 PM and woke up shortly after 8 AM.
Usually, he didn’t have the habit of checking his phone first thing in the morning, but somehow he’d picked up this new behavior. Now, upon opening his eyes, the first thing he did was reach for his phone, open WeChat, and scan the message list—
Word had gotten out that he was in Altay, and many people were trying to book lessons with him, either through intermediaries or directly.
Other than that, there wasn’t much else.
In short: no important messages.
With a blank expression, he exited the message list and checked his Moments feed, scrolling down to where he’d left off before going to sleep. He stopped when he saw a familiar avatar—
It was a simple post with just one image.
[It’s Christmas! The snow here is so thick, it feels like Santa Claus might appear!]
The location was tagged as Altay.
The accompanying photo showed several small wooden cabins in front of the hotel. He wasn’t sure when she had taken it.
The man narrowed his eyes slightly as he looked at it for a moment, then snorted with amusement. While internally musing about the childish caption, he casually tapped to like the post.
He then clicked on her avatar and entered their chat window.
[Chong: Are you up?]
[Chong: Not up.]
A quick self-Q&A.
[Chong: I’m heading to the park in a bit.]
He thought for a moment and added another message.
[Chong: You can come if you want.]
After sending the four messages, he reviewed them once more, ensuring the tone was normal and the content appropriate, before setting down his phone and proceeding with his morning routine.
By the time he finished washing up, it was past 9 AM. The man kicked Bei Ci awake, then put on a white hoodie he’d never worn before, paired with purple sweatpants. After some consideration, he also grabbed a small waist pack and stuffed it with various items.
When Bei Ci finished dressing and turned around, he was shocked: “Handsome guy, who are you?”
Shan Chong was debating between wearing his usual safety helmet or the white one with a brim that made him look a bit like a Tainan local, which he’d never really worn… As the man attempted to put on the safety helmet, Bei Ci couldn’t hold back anymore and said, “You are afraid of being recognized.”
As Shan Chong picked up the white safety helmet without a word, he grabbed this year’s new Burton Custom model from near the door, attached the bindings, and headed for the slopes.
He hadn’t been exaggerating yesterday. Unlike Silk Road Ski Resort, General Mountain Ski Resort was a significant competition venue. Located in the Altay tourist area, it boasted the famous “Sunset Road” photo spot, attracting many visitors. Even as the resort just opened, numerous people were already on the slopes—tourists and professional snowboarders alike, the latter cramming in pre-competition practice.
Shan Chong casually chose an advanced run for a warm-up lap. On his second run, he and Bei Ci entered the terrain park.
Early in the morning, the usually busy smaller features were nearly empty. Instead, a few early risers were clustered around the terrain features. As they approached, board in hand—
On the big jump, a figure in white soared into the air, executing a BS Cork 1800. Upon landing, they slid several meters before plopping down, kicking up a cloud of snow.
Below the jump, a figure in red stood with hands behind their back, shouting about “core,” “loosening up,” and “forget 1980, come down already” as the white-clad rider launched off the jump.
Only after the rider in white hit the ground with a “thud” and showed signs of movement did the red figure’s tension dissipate. Hands on hips, they started berating: “What’s wrong with your landings? I’ve told you a million times not to sit back. Is there a chair on the snow or something—”
The familiar scolding voice reached Shan Chong’s ears.
Neither of them had noticed him yet.
The man watched them for a moment, board in hand. Dai Duo had already gotten up and was walking back to the drop-in point, face dark, board removed. Wang Xin followed, his tirade unceasing: “Why don’t you keep practicing frontside rotations, solidify that 2160? Why have you been obsessed you’re your backside lately? You can’t even stand, scaring me half to death—”
Shan Chong found an inconspicuous spot on a slope near the big jump, dropped his board, and crouched down.
Bei Ci sidled up to him: “What’s going on?”
Shan Chong, perfectly still in his crouch, replied coolly with biting words: “Nothing’s going on. Why the rush? Let’s enjoy the show, shall we?”
Bei Ci: “…”
More people arrived gradually, including the ISF staff and media from yesterday. Shan Chong hadn’t recognized them at first, until Dai Duo’s fifth failed attempt at a BS Cork in 1980. He landed on his backside and rolled seven or eight meters—
Bei Ci: “Damn, that looks painful.”
Shan Chong grunted in agreement, saying, “He’s being foolish. If he can’t stabilize on his back edge, why not try the front edge? Wang Xin’s told him not to sit back. Wouldn’t digging the front edge into the snow be easier for control than the back edge?”
This is why they say carving is fundamental for big air.
After landing, a rider should have ultimate board control to quickly stabilize and avoid falling—
Going back to the basics of carving, even beginner skiers, usually learn the front edge first. When learning, the backhand typically touches the snow first when practicing front edge carving…
There’s no other reason; generally, people have better board control on the front edge than the back.
While Shan Chong pondered Dai Duo’s thought process, coach Wang Xin was nearing his wit’s end.
“Forget about this! Today’s not your day for backside rotations. Those short video platform people who just arrived were dumbfounded! They were asking me what’s going on, practically despairing about China’s big air prospects for next year!” Wang Xin walked over, hauling the prone Dai Duo to his feet, muttering, “I’ve never seen someone fly off a jump looking so hopeless… Please, try a different trick, give them some hope!”
Their voices carried.
“Who’s giving me hope while I’m giving them hope?” Dai Duo removed his board, pushing his goggles up to reveal a handsome face frozen in a scowl. “Even Shan Chong can do a BS Cork 2160!”
“…But you can do an FS Cork 2160, right?”
“You think if he can do BS, he can’t do FS?!”
“Why are you comparing yourself to him? Isn’t it better to compete with yourself? You’re regressing!”
Wang Xin was exasperated. Even mentioning that name pained him, but he couldn’t show it lest the one before him lose his composure entirely—
“It’s just one damn video, why are you so worked up? How do you know he can do it? Maybe the video was edited and spliced together! Just imagine that final landing was cut in from a straight air!”
“It was one continuous shot with zooming and everything. How could it be spliced? Even Nitro shared it like it was Christmas come early!”
“I’m trying to comfort you, why can’t you appreciate it?!”
“At least come up with a plausible excuse to comfort me! Emphasize plausibly! Not far-fetched!”
“What should I say? After so many years of snowboarding, Shan Chong must be a master of video editing too—how’s that?”
“…”
Their argument reached the ears of the crouching man nearby.
Hearing his name mentioned repeatedly, the man was speechless for a moment. He raised his hand to scratch his chin, though his face mask concealed any expression—
Bei Ci glanced at him.
He saw only calm in those dark eyes, without a trace of pride or contempt. Strictly speaking…
He seemed merely a bit resigned.
Bei Ci pondered before asking curiously, “Was Dai Duo always like this? Pushing to learn new tricks right after you did?”
“More or less. It’s just his nature, competitive,” Shan Chong replied without emotion. “Otherwise, he wouldn’t have been the first in China to land a Line 2160.”
Bei Ci felt a bit wistful—
Despite Dai Duo’s current tumbles, he knew the rider was quite talented. Young, a natural…
Gifted and hardworking.
With a strong competitive streak.
He mused about the miracles Dai Duo might achieve at next year’s Winter Olympics.
As they spoke, Dai Duo and Wang Xin returned to the drop-in point, preparing for the next jump attempt. From the snippets of conversation drifting over, they were still arguing over whether to try a frontside or backside rotation next…
Bei Ci asked Shan Chong, “Had enough of the show?”
The latter replied expressionlessly, “Let’s watch a bit more.”
Bei Ci, puzzled: “What’s so interesting?”
Shan Chong answered seriously: “It’s been a while since I’ve seen Dai Duo tumbling around. Feeling a bit nostalgic.”
Bei Ci was torn between feeling sympathetic or bewildered by the man’s acerbity and malice.
As he stared at the man’s profile, unsure what to say, Shan Chong’s phone rang in his waistpack. He took it out, glanced at the caller, paused briefly, and then answered on speakerphone with a lazy “Mm.”
A girl’s energetic voice came through: “Where are you? Didn’t you say you were in the park? I can’t see you at the halfpipe!”
Compared to the two grown men shouting at each other on the big jump nearby, Wei Zhi’s voice was like a chirping bird, cheerful and mood-lifting.
The corners of the man’s eyes crinkled.
His lazy, caustic demeanor softened.
“Stay where you are. I’ll be right there.”
He hung up and stood.
Bei Ci remained crouched, unmoving. Shan Chong glanced down at him, puzzled: “Let’s go.”
Bei Ci was shocked by the man’s unapologetic tone: “When I asked you to leave earlier, you didn’t budge an inch. Little Junior Sister calls, and you’re up in a flash?”
“Oh,” Shan Chong said, “I have double standards.”
“…”
“Can’t help it,” he continued, “Men in love are unreasonable like this. You’ll have to bear with it.”
“…………………………”
Bei Ci watched in disbelief as the “man in love” picked up his flashy yellow Custom and headed towards the halfpipe.
The two of them walked to the U-shaped halfpipe nearby, where they found the young girl crouching and waiting. She wasn’t wearing ski gear or carrying a snowboard, having come empty-handed.
The man stopped in front of her, unzipped the small bag at his waist, and, as if performing a magic trick, pulled out a hard fruit candy and tossed it to her.
Wei Zhi unwrapped the candy and popped it into her mouth, her cheeks bulging as she asked in a muffled voice, “Where’d you get the candy?”
“Grabbed a handful from the hotel reception yesterday,” the man replied. “There’s more in the bag.”
Backstab: “…”
Backstab: “I’ve been crouching with you like a thief under the big jump for over an hour, and you never pulled one out for me.”
Wei Zhi, with the candy in her mouth, turned to look at him.
Chong Dan merely gave him a lazy glance. “You’re just like Dai Duo, always wanting to compete over everything.”
Backstab: “Who’s like Dai Duo? How dare you insult me!”
Chong Dan took out a handful of candies from his bag and held them out to the young girl. “Which one don’t you want?”
Wei Zhi considered briefly, then pointed without hesitation at the lemon-flavored one.
Chong Dan picked up the lemon candy, unzipped Backstab’s jacket pocket, dropped it in, zipped it back up, and patted the pocket. He then asked Backstab, “Happy now?”
Backstab: “…”
Backstab: “Were you born in the Year of the Dog or something?”
Chong Dan zipped up his waist bag and replied without looking up, “Actually, yes. I was born in 1994. What else would I be if not a Dog?”
Backstab clutched his chest, nearly fainting from the shock.
…
After strapping on his board and climbing to the edge of the U-shaped halfpipe, Chong Dan looked down. He started with a few alley-oops, exiting the pipe normally, then performed a backside 180, switching sides and dropping vertically.
Once he completed a run, Backstab had adjusted his camera angle.
“Try a Michalchuk if you can,” Backstab suggested, following Chong Dan. “Didn’t you land a 540 last time? Even though you landed on the coping, I still think you can do it.”
What Backstab proposed was a combination move: a backside cork 540 followed by a backflip. It wasn’t difficult, but it looked impressive.
Earlier, when Chong Dan was performing the basic alley-oop (a move almost anyone with feet could do), Wei Zhi was already looking up in awe, making impressed noises. Backstab couldn’t understand what was so impressive about it…
He couldn’t allow his little junior to be so inexperienced.
Encouraging Chong Dan to perform a Michalchuk—
The man smoothly rode out of the halfpipe on his snowboard, launching about two meters high. This time, he didn’t land on the coping. At the moment of takeoff, he went straight up, his front hand casually gripping the nose of the board.
There was a distinct moment of suspension in the air.
He performed a side flip with a twist, scattering fine snow in the air. After one and a half rotations, his body stretched out, landing steadily towards the bottom of the halfpipe. At about two-thirds of the way down, his snowboard caught the curve, and he switched to the other side.
Backstab shouted from below, “Show the base of the board! Isn’t that the best part of this trick?”
This year’s custom board base had changed from the previous all-black to a striking bright yellow, which perfectly complemented Chong Dan’s colorful, non-traditional snow gear…
So from a distance, they saw him perform a frontside wall ride, not stopping at the bottom of the halfpipe, but directly riding up the opposite wall to gain height!
Another backside cork 540 followed, but this time, after flying out of the pipe wall, he didn’t add a flip. Instead, at the highest point, his front hand grabbed the back edge, lifting the snowboard, facing directly toward the camera, and executing a stylish mute grab—
The board-grabbing motion was as fluid as flowing water, with a strong sense of suspension, as if an invisible button had been pressed to pause the scene.
He hung in the air for three seconds.
Then he released the board, descended, and the snowboard landed with a “thwack” on the pipe wall. The edge of the board cut through the snow surface with a dull “swoosh”—the hardness and elasticity of the top-tier park snowboard, born for the terrain park, carried him safely down!
Chong Dan landed, bent down to remove his board, and didn’t immediately go to check Backstab’s video. Instead, he turned back to ask Wei Zhi, who was crouching by the halfpipe, “Did you see that?”
Wei Zhi turned to Backstab: “Send me a copy of the video. I want to post it on my Moments too.”
As she spoke, her eyes were brighter than Ultraman spotting a monster—
She had an air of eagerness to announce to the whole world that “My master is the best in the world.”
Behind his face mask, the man subtly curved his lips into a smile. Only then did he turn to look at the video on Backstab’s phone. The two discussed and decided to do a few more individual board-grabbing tricks to edit together—
The earlier combination moves were to demonstrate the board’s flexibility, hardness, and other hardware features.
The following 360 board grabs, including method grabs, mute grabs, nose grabs, and indy grabs, were purely to showcase the board’s aesthetic appeal in the air.
They were serious about promoting the product.
After discussing how to record the next video, Chong Dan dragged his snowboard, preparing to get back on the halfpipe… He took two steps, stopped, then walked back to stand in front of the young girl. “Was it good?”
Wei Zhi nodded.
He made a satisfied “hmm” sound. “Very good. Once you master the basics of skiing, I’ll teach you this.”
Wei Zhi nodded again.
This time, she didn’t mention a word about “carving” or “flatland tricks.” Chong Dan felt completely at ease. Satisfied, he raised his hand and patted her head before truly turning to leave.
He left behind Wei Zhi, fantasizing about her future prowess in the halfpipe…
And a dumbfounded Backstab—
It’s acceptable for ski instructors to give their students some aspirational goals, like pointing to someone skiing decently on the slope and saying, “If you practice well, you can be like that in ten days.”
…It’s meant to encourage progress.
But usually, these goals are set somewhat logically…
Unlike Chong Dan’s.
His was pure fraud.
The kind that would make even Wall Street con artists bow in admiration.
…
Chong Dan slowly climbed back up to the halfpipe.
At this moment, they were unaware that not far away, someone had already noticed them.
It started with a media section head who was crouching nearby, taking notes. During a break in Dai Duo and Wang Xin’s discussion about jump techniques, he casually turned his head to look at the nearby halfpipe—
Unexpectedly, his gaze was caught by a clean, crisp backflip and off-axis rotation in the halfpipe.
“Is there a halfpipe event in this Snow Federation points competition?” He nudged the person next to him with his elbow, asking his colleague in confusion.
“No, the halfpipe points events are almost over, and they’re not held in Xinjiang anyway. That thing has very strict terrain requirements—the angle, snow quality, and daily maintenance all have to be perfect.”
The person being questioned glanced at him, saw him staring intently in the distance, and followed his gaze. They caught sight of a white figure flying out of the halfpipe, performing a method grab. He exclaimed, “Wow!”—
“Why are there still athletes training in the halfpipe here?”
“I don’t know.”
“I heard Chong Dan’s group is in Xinjiang. Is Backstab with them? Could that be him? Isn’t he a halfpipe specialist?”
“I don’t think so. Aren’t they supposed to be at the Silk Road Ski Resort?”
As they spoke, their feet were already unconsciously moving towards the halfpipe. These two people attracted three more, then four, and soon a group of bystanders were heading towards the halfpipe—
From a distance, they could see a slender figure gliding through the halfpipe like a fish in water.
The onlookers exchanged glances, all wondering: Who is that?
Among the crowd, there was a self-media personality who knew about snowboarding and often collaborated with brand officials. With sharp eyes, he immediately spotted the yellow snowboard: “It’s a Burton rider. See that new custom board?”
Burton, as a brand, had a certain prestige, with only a handful of signed riders in the whole country.
“So Backstab came?” Someone craned their neck. “Is that him?”
“I don’t think so. Does Backstab have a contract with Burton? I don’t think he does!”
By now, the crowd had approached the edge of the halfpipe.
They had initially ignored the young girl cupping her face and crouching there, as well as the other person running around with a camera—
However, just as one of them mentioned Backstab again, the person holding the camera stopped.
He looked at them.
Then turned back to look at the man in the halfpipe.
After three seconds of silence, he remembered the lemon-flavored candy in his pocket.
So he directly lifted his goggles, pulled down his face mask, and asked expressionlessly to the people in front of him, who he guessed were not here to practice skiing judging by their cameras and equipment: “Can I help you?”
Media Person 1: “…”
Media Person 2: “…”
Media Person 3: “…”
Media Person 4: “Backstab?”
They collectively stared at the suddenly cued, suddenly appearing Backstab in bewilderment, falling silent.
Three seconds later, they unanimously turned their gaze to the man in the halfpipe not far away—
At this moment, he had also noticed the commotion here. With an alley-oop, he rode straight up to the edge of the halfpipe, steadied himself, and crouched down.
From the high edge of the U-shaped halfpipe, the man looked down at them from above. Even from a distance, through his goggles and face mask, one could sense the cold indifference and arrogance radiating from him.
“Hello,” one impatient person in the crowd shouted, “May I ask, who are you?”
The man crouching at the edge of the halfpipe continued to remain silent.
Three seconds later, he removed his goggles, reluctantly revealing the super idol face that all the media had been longing to see.
Everyone: “…”
Chong Dan?
Holy shit.