Wei Wuxian had never been more excited in his life, and that was saying something, considering he had once broken into a zoo at midnight just to “see if flamingos glow under UV light.” (They did. Sort of. The security guard hadn’t been impressed.)

Now, he had an immortal zombie influencer under his management. A silent, sweet, awkward, porridge-stirring immortal who attracted millions of followers with nothing more than wide eyes and a slightly eerie aura. If that wasn’t destiny, Wei Wuxian didn’t know what was.

Lan Wangji, of course, didn’t see it that way.

“You should not exploit him,” Lan Wangji said, adjusting the ring light for the third time that evening. Wen Ning sat obediently at the table in his gray hoodie, bowl of porridge steaming in front of him like a ritual offering.

“Exploit?!” Wei Wuxian gasped dramatically, clutching his chest. “How dare you, Lan Zhan? I am guiding him! Nurturing his potential! Shaping his destiny! I am practically his fairy godmother!”

“You are loud.”

“I am visionary!” Wei Wuxian shot back, pointing at Wen Ning like a general unveiling his master plan. “Look at him! Look at those haunted eyes! Look at the way he lifts that spoon like he’s remembering a past life! The fans are eating it up, Lan Zhan! Eating it up like… well, like porridge!”

Wen Ning ducked his head. “I don’t really understand why people are… interested.”

“They don’t need to understand,” Wei Wuxian said grandly, “they just need to feel. And you, Wen Ning, are a feeling. A vibe. A whole atmospheric aesthetic. You’re the soft apocalypse wrapped in a blanket. You’re comfort horror. You’re the warm glow of a rice cooker in a cold, empty world.”

Lan Wangji gave him a long, slow stare. “…Stop talking.”

“Never!”

The third official video was a hit: “Comfort Zombie Eats Porridge.” Wen Ning didn’t even do much—he just sat there, staring at the camera, spooning porridge into his mouth at an unhurried pace. Every few bites, he paused, tilted his head, and blinked very slowly, as though reconsidering the meaning of existence.

The internet went insane.

“Why is this so calming?”
“I’ve been watching this on loop for an hour. I feel like I’m ascending.”
“He eats like he remembers when utensils were first invented.”
“Immortal confirmed.”

Fan art began to pour in. Someone drew him as a zombie king sitting on a throne of rice cookers. Another person made a gifset of him slowly lifting the spoon, captioned: “When you’ve seen eternity but still need carbs.”

Wei Wuxian printed all of it out and taped it to Wen Ning’s fridge.

“You’re ART, Wen Ning! ART! People are worshiping you!”

Wen Ning nearly fainted. “Please don’t say worship—”

“Too late, you’re basically an internet deity now. Congratulations! We’ll build you a shrine later.”

Lan Wangji calmly ate his own bowl of porridge in silence.

Things escalated from there.

Wei Wuxian insisted on experimenting with new “content ideas,” all of which ranged from mildly questionable to utterly chaotic.

“Okay, okay, hear me out—porridge ASMR.”

“…What’s that?” Wen Ning asked.

“Simple! You stir the porridge extra close to the mic, let the spoon clink against the pot, maybe hum a little—no, no humming, silence is spookier—just let the ambience speak for itself. Millions of hits guaranteed!”

Wen Ning tried. The video was forty-five minutes long, consisting entirely of soft clinks, bubbling porridge, and Wen Ning’s occasional breath. Viewers called it “the most hauntingly soothing ASMR ever created.” Some claimed they fell asleep instantly. Others swore they had prophetic dreams.

One top comment read: “I dreamed I was a concubine in the Tang dynasty watching my immortal lover stir porridge for me. What the actual hell.”

Wei Wuxian nearly choked on his noodles when he saw it. “See, Wen Ning! You’re invading their subconscious! You’re literally a dream influencer!”

Lan Wangji, without looking up from his book, said: “Disturbing.”

Another time, Wei Wuxian made him try “Mukbang, but gothic.” He set up a dark background, put candles everywhere, and told Wen Ning to eat dumplings in absolute silence while staring into the camera. The result was both unsettling and hypnotic. The internet declared it “an avant-garde masterpiece.”

“Someone needs to stop you,” Lan Wangji muttered afterward, blowing out the candles.

“No one can stop greatness!” Wei Wuxian crowed. “We are unstoppable! We are inevitable!”

Then came the sponsorship offers.

A rice cooker company emailed Wen Ning with an official proposal: become the face of their new “Eternal Cook” line. The tagline they suggested was: “So reliable, it feels immortal.”

Wei Wuxian screamed for a full minute straight when he read it. “LAN ZHAN. LAN ZHAN. IT’S HAPPENING. THIS IS IT. DESTINY. WE’RE IN.”

Wen Ning tugged nervously at his sleeves. “But… I don’t know how to… endorse things…”

“Simple!” Wei Wuxian said. “You just do what you always do! Stare into the camera like you’ve seen unspeakable horrors, stir the porridge, and boom—instant product placement! The rice cooker cooks, you stir, the world weeps!”

Lan Wangji looked at him. “…No.”

Wei Wuxian gasped. “What do you mean, no?!”

“No.”

“But—but—Lan Zhan, it’s perfect!”

“No.”

“You can’t just keep saying no!”

“Yes.”

“ARGHHHHH!” Wei Wuxian flung himself dramatically across the couch, limbs sprawled. Wen Ning sat frozen on the edge of his chair, unsure whether to intervene or let them argue.

The brand deal didn’t happen, thanks to Lan Wangji vetoing it with relentless calm. But that didn’t matter, because by now Wen Ning’s follower count had reached five million.

Wei Wuxian threw a “5 Million Followers Party” in Wen Ning’s tiny apartment. He decorated with paper ghosts, streamers, and a banner that read: “LONG LIVE THE IMMORTAL ZOMBIE.”

Wen Ning nearly had a panic attack when he saw it. “You didn’t invite… people, did you?”

“Of course not!” Wei Wuxian said. “Well, not real people. Just us, and also all your fans—virtually! We’re livestreaming!”

“WHAT?!”

Wei Wuxian didn’t give him a chance to protest. He set up the camera, adjusted the ring light, and shoved a party hat onto Wen Ning’s head. “Smile! Or don’t. Actually, don’t. Blank stare only. That’s the brand.”

The livestream began.

Thousands of viewers flooded in instantly, spamming the chat with comments.

“OMG COMFORT ZOMBIE LIVE???”
“Immortal eyes piercing through my soul in real time!!”
“Is that a party hat?? Legendary.”
“Drop the skincare routine. (Don’t say immortality.)”

Wen Ning sat stiffly, holding a slice of cake like it was a dangerous artifact. His wide eyes stared into the lens. Occasionally, he took a tiny bite.

The chat lost its mind.

“The way he bites cake like he’s tasted centuries of sorrow—”
“Eternal vibes only.”
“Can’t believe I’m watching a literal immortal eat cake on my phone at 2am.”

Wei Wuxian was practically vibrating with glee beside the camera. “This is it, Lan Zhan. History is being made! This livestream will be studied by future generations!”

Lan Wangji, sitting quietly in the corner with his laptop, typed something into the chat under the username “hanguang-jun.”

The message read: “Eat slowly.”

The chat exploded.

“IS THAT HIS MANAGER???”
“Who’s hanguang-jun and why does he sound like the zombie’s immortal husband???”
“I SHIP IT.”

Wei Wuxian nearly fell over laughing. “LAN ZHAN. YOU’VE STARTED A SHIP. WEN NING x HANGUANG-JUN. IT’S HAPPENING.”

Lan Wangji closed the laptop. “No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes, Lan Zhan, yes!”

Wen Ning groaned softly, holding his slice of cake like it was the last thread of his sanity.

After the livestream, new fan theories sprouted everywhere. People claimed “hanguang-jun” was either Wen Ning’s secret immortal partner, his vampire handler, or the guardian angel assigned to watch over him. Entire fandom wars broke out over the “truth.”

Wei Wuxian fanned the flames gleefully. “We’re unstoppable! This is content gold! Do you realize how rare it is to have your own fandom wars?!”

Wen Ning buried his face in his hands.

Things reached peak chaos one night when Wei Wuxian decided they needed “outdoor content.”

“Think about it, Wen Ning! You walking through the city at night. Streetlights flickering. People catching blurry glimpses of you like Bigfoot but sexier. It’ll cement your immortal-zombie aesthetic!”

“I—I don’t like being… outside at night…” Wen Ning mumbled.

“Perfect! Your discomfort only adds to the vibe!” Wei Wuxian dragged him out anyway, Lan Wangji trailing behind with the ring light like an unwilling but dutiful assistant.

They filmed Wen Ning crossing the street slowly, standing in front of a noodle shop, and sitting on a park bench staring blankly at pigeons. The internet went feral when the clips were uploaded.

“HE WALKETH AMONG US.”
“This is literally found-footage horror but also kinda hot???”
“The pigeons are his immortal disciples.”
“I would die for him. Or undeath for him. Whatever works.”

Wei Wuxian beamed with pride. “We are legends, Wen Ning. Legends.”

Wen Ning just wanted to go home and hide under his blanket.