The first joint meeting ended with a result far beyond the production team’s expectations, because no one fought, no one cried, and no one collapsed from embarrassment, while every Alpha in the room managed to keep their pheromones under control.

Since no noble family immediately contacted the programme team’s legal department either, the director could at least call it a success from a safety perspective.

From a variety-show perspective, however, it was an even greater success, because the phrase “That is a statement. What is the question?” had already climbed onto the star network’s trending list.

At first, people used it to mock Mu Xiyu, but not long after, office workers began using it to respond to vague supervisors. Students used it to reply to group members who only complained without assigning tasks, while researchers used it under academic posts where someone had written three hundred words of emotional opinion without providing a single piece of data.

Within half an hour, the phrase had somehow developed three separate meanings. The first meaning was that Mu Xiyu was socially difficult, the second was that Mu Xiyu was strangely funny, and the third was that some people truly needed to learn how to ask direct questions.

The director stared at the trend ranking for a long time, and his expression gradually became complicated. He had expected the show to become popular, but he had not expected its first viral quote to come from a student treating social interaction like a faulty input command.

Still, popularity was popularity, so the director turned off the projection and clapped his hands. “Everyone, take a twenty-minute break. After the break, we’ll film the first group allocation segment.”

The A-Class students visibly relaxed, because even camera-ready people needed time to breathe after sharing a room with S-Class. Tang Miao immediately checked his appearance in the reflection of his terminal, while Han Yue leaned closer to Bai Suling and whispered, “Do you think I looked ordinary enough earlier?”

Bai Suling looked at his cuff buttons again before asking, “Do you want an honest answer?”

Han Yue paused, then said, “No.”

Xu Cheng took out a nutrient bar and ate it with the expression of someone completing a military supply task. Ruan Qingyao, however, sat quietly with her eyes lowered, because she was still thinking about Xu Cheng’s earlier words.

Senior Mu had been quiet then too, but he had not been hostile.

Not hostile.

It was such a simple sentence, yet for some reason, it remained in her mind like a small thorn.

On the other side of the hall, the S-Class students had also entered break mode, although unfortunately, S-Class break mode was not visibly different from S-Class working mode. He Lianzhou opened three route maps again, Wen Shuo began reading a new academic message and typed “the premise is questionable” into the reply box, Qi Nian hugged his teddy bear and closed his eyes, and Luo Jingshen glanced at the show’s temporary budget estimate before frowning with professional disgust.

Mu Xiyu sat at the long table near the window and took out the miniature mechanical model he had been working on earlier. It was not the same nerve-core from the morning, since this model was slightly larger, about the length of his forearm, and shaped like the skeletal frame of a small combat-support mecha. Its outer armour had not yet been installed, so the fine wires, pressure joints, energy channels, and half-finished movement system were all exposed.

After placing it on the table, Mu Xiyu activated his data ring, and a small diagnostic screen immediately projected above the model. Then he lowered his eyes and resumed work.

To him, this was a break, while to the production crew, it looked more like he had switched from one research task to another research task with fewer confidentiality restrictions.

The director watched for three seconds before whispering, “Is Student Mu resting?”

The academy liaison teacher replied calmly, “Yes.”

The director looked at the mechanical model, and the teacher added, “For him, this is low-intensity.”

The director: “…”

At that moment, Yin Canglan sat down beside Mu Xiyu, although this time, the Crown Prince did not bring military reports. He brought a small food box.

The box was black, with a silver dragon crest engraved on one corner. At first glance, it looked simple, but Tang Miao only needed one look to recognise the craftsmanship, because the material came from a palace-grade temperature-control workshop, and even the lock mechanism was custom-made.

The Crown Prince opened it, revealing several kinds of fruit, all cut or prepared differently. Some were pale gold, some were translucent green, and some looked like small red crystals, while all of them were expensive enough that Han Yue’s “ordinary student coffee” suddenly seemed genuinely ordinary.

Yin Canglan selected one round moon-gold fruit, and then, under the cameras, in front of A-Class, S-Class, the production team, and the entire livestream audience, he began peeling it.

His movements were calm, practised, and elegant, while the thin fruit skin curled beneath the small silver knife and fell in one unbroken line. His fingers were long and steady, the kind of hands more often seen signing imperial documents, holding ceremonial swords, or pointing out fatal flaws in governance reports.

Now those same hands were peeling fruit for Mu Xiyu.

Mu Xiyu did not look up, because he was adjusting the mechanical model’s left-side pressure joint.

After Yin Canglan finished peeling the fruit, he cut it into small pieces, removed the bitter core, and placed the plate near Mu Xiyu’s left hand. Then he paused, looked at Mu Xiyu’s current working posture, moved the plate from the left side to the right, and shifted the small fork half a finger’s length closer.

Since Mu Xiyu’s dominant hand was occupied by a micro-adjustment tool while his left hand was free, Yin Canglan picked up one piece of fruit and held it beside his lips.

Mu Xiyu opened his mouth and ate it naturally, while his eyes remained fixed on the model.

For a moment, the hall went quiet.

A-Class collectively forgot how to pretend not to look, while Ji Ran’s fingers stiffened and Tang Miao’s expression management nearly failed. Han Yue’s eyes widened so much that Bai Suling glanced at him out of concern, Xu Cheng stopped chewing his nutrient bar, and Ruan Qingyao slowly looked up.

Even Qi Nian opened one eye and glanced over, although he closed it again soon after, as if this scene was not worth surprise. He Lianzhou did not even turn around, Wen Shuo continued writing his reply, and Luo Jingshen looked at the fruit box before saying, “That supplier increased prices last month.”

Yin Canglan fed Mu Xiyu another piece of fruit and replied, “I know.”

Luo Jingshen said, “Unreasonable increase.”

Yin Canglan answered, “Mm.”

Luo Jingshen continued, “Switching suppliers would reduce annual cost by twelve percent.”

Yin Canglan said, “Xiyu likes this texture.”

Luo Jingshen fell silent for two seconds before saying, “Then the cost is justified.”

The production team: “…”

The bullet comments exploded.

【Wait.】

【Wait wait wait wait.】

【Is His Highness peeling fruit?】

【That is the Crown Prince, right?】

【The same Crown Prince who reorganised three border supply systems?】

【The same Crown Prince whose smile made the Minister of Finance apologise publicly?】

【Yes. And now he is removing fruit cores.】

【He moved the fork closer to Mu Xiyu’s hand!】

【Not just the fork. He adjusted the cup too!】

【Why is he so skilled?】

【Mu Xiyu did not even look up.】

【This is normal for them. This is terrifyingly normal for them.】

Mu Xiyu changed tools, and the micro-adjustment needle in his right hand was replaced by a thinner silver probe. Yin Canglan glanced once, then moved three small parts closer to Mu Xiyu’s right side before Mu Xiyu could reach for them.

Mu Xiyu’s fingers landed exactly where the first component had been placed, and after picking it up, he installed it with a calm expression.

“Third connector,” he said.

Yin Canglan selected the third connector from a tray of nearly identical parts and placed it between Mu Xiyu’s fingers, while Mu Xiyu accepted it as naturally as if this had happened countless times before.

The production crew looked at the tray, where at least twelve connectors were present. To ordinary people, they looked exactly the same, yet Yin Canglan had picked the correct one without hesitation.

A young cameraman whispered, “His Highness understands mechanical parts too?”

The academy teacher said, “His Highness has watched Student Mu work since childhood.”

The cameraman nodded slowly, and then, after realising what that meant, he silently aimed the camera closer.

Tang Miao finally could not help whispering, “Are they always like this?”

Xu Cheng’s expression became strange before he said, “Yes.”

Han Yue muttered, “I thought His Highness was terrifying.”

Xu Cheng said, “He is.”

Han Yue looked at Yin Canglan, who was currently wiping a drop of fruit juice from the edge of Mu Xiyu’s cup, and asked, “Where?”

Xu Cheng said seriously, “Everywhere except there.”

There meant Mu Xiyu.

This sentence was too soft to be picked up clearly by the audience, but the camera captured Han Yue’s expression, and it was the face of a person whose understanding of imperial power had suffered a direct collision.

Meanwhile, Yin Canglan adjusted the cup. The cup had a straw, and the straw had been tilted at an angle that allowed Mu Xiyu to drink without lifting his head too much.

After Mu Xiyu finished installing the third connector, Yin Canglan tapped the side of the cup lightly and said, “Water.”

Mu Xiyu lowered his head and drank, while the timing was so precise that it looked less like care and more like a long-established maintenance protocol.

Ji Ran watched from across the hall, and his chest felt tight.

This was wrong, though not because Yin Canglan treated Mu Xiyu well.

Ji Ran had known about the engagement, and he had also known that Yin Canglan protected Mu Xiyu. The later extras had mentioned it vaguely, as part of Mu Xiyu’s untouchable status, but words in a story and reality under a camera were completely different.

In the story, Yin Canglan’s devotion had felt like background power, a symbol of privilege, and a reason ordinary students could not criticise Mu Xiyu openly. On camera, however, this devotion became something else.

It became specific, visible, and daily.

It was not a political shield, but peeled fruit. It was not imperial pressure, but a cup adjusted by half an inch. It was not cold possessiveness, but knowing which connector Mu Xiyu needed before he spoke.

This kind of attention made isolation impossible, because a person who was loved so naturally did not look abandoned by the world, and a person who accepted care so naturally did not look like an emotionless monster.

Ji Ran’s fingers tightened around his cup.

No.

This could still be framed as overindulgence, privilege, and a Crown Prince lowering himself too much for an Omega who did not even say thank you.

Yes, that was it.

Mu Xiyu accepted everything without gratitude, because he did not look moved, he did not smile, and he did not respond warmly. The audience would notice eventually, and they would realise how strange it was, how unequal, and how cold.

Ji Ran’s expression softened again as he lowered his eyes and carefully chose the right moment.

Before he could speak, however, Han Yue accidentally said what many people were thinking.

“Senior Mu,” Han Yue asked with genuine curiosity, “do you usually work while His Highness feeds you?”

The entire A-Class side looked at him.