Feng looked at himself in the mirror, in appreciation. His long hair was tied in a bun, and he had on white robes. He was the picture of purity. He smiled and came out of his dressing room.
As he walked to the set, he quickly peeked at Atlas' dressing room, whose door was open.
He wished he hadn't because now his mood was sour. The quick peek was enough for him to learn that his dressing room was a joke, compared to Atlas'. Plus, while he only had two people helping him, Atlas had five.
Feng sat on his chair, his hand tightened on the arms. He should be the one everyone is waiting for. He should be the one surrounded by an army of helpers. Feng should be the one everyone idolizes.
He is special, not Atlas, he is nothing more than insane, but no one seems to see that. Feng knows that right now, he has to wait until they film enough of the show, or the show won't be as successful, as it can be.
