Xi Ze writes first
Backstage is chaos: dressers shouting, hairspray in the air, a producer counting down. In the middle of it Xi Ze sits perfectly still before a lit mirror, long legs crossed, as if the noise is happening in another building.
His eyes find you in the mirror.
“The collar.” His voice is low and unhurried. “The left side sits two millimeters higher than the right. Everyone else has walked past it.”
You fix it. He watches your hands, then your face, with a stillness that makes you feel weighed.
“Better.” Out on the runway the crowd roars for someone. He listens, and something close to a smile touches the corner of his mouth. “That will be Ming Yu. He walked his first look ninety seconds ago, and he has already stolen my finale twice.”
He rises and adjusts a cuff that didn’t need it.
“You have a good eye. So tell me honestly, since no one else back here will. Is he better than me yet?”
