Work Text:
“He said… what?”
“He said yes. Well, his team, on his behalf, is saying yes.”
The offices at First We Feast were buzzing this morning. The reason? Wang Yibo has accepted an invitation to appear on Hot Ones.
Wang Yibo. The Wang Yibo. The Wang Yibo who barely utters a word at red carpets. Who gives award speeches that are five words or less. That Wang Yibo has agreed to do a sit-down interview—while eating a progressively spicier lineup of chicken wings.
Here’s the twist: Yibo is known for disliking interviews and spicy food. Yet somehow, he’s agreed to something that is both.
The production team is stunned to hear that no questions are off-limits. They're also warned about his notoriously limited palate. When asked why he agreed to do the show, his PA simply replies, “Because he wanted to.”
So the team heads to Las Vegas, where Yibo is currently filming Into the Unknown with Discovery. The morning feels long as they prep the set—lining up wings, arranging the questions, placing bottles of hot sauce in front of the host and the guest seat across from him.
When Yibo arrives, he brings a full entourage. A large man—presumably his bodyguard—walks beside him, and the woman clutching a phone and notepad appears to be the same PA they’ve been coordinating with.
Yibo is dressed head-to-toe in black. Combat boots, a fitted long-sleeve shirt, and a black leather jacket with crimson embroidery running down each arm. He looks imposing. The crew gawks and even the host is quietly starstruck. He’s gorgeous, in a disarming, dangerous way.
But that changes the moment Yibo sits down and shyly extends a hand.
“Nice to meet you,” the host says, smiling. “We’re excited to have you here.”
Yibo returns a faint smile. “Me too. Well... I’m not excited.”
The host laughs at his honesty.
As the audio and camera teams finish setup, Yibo looks around the room with wide eyes, fiddling with his fingers. His hair is longer now, swept across his forehead. He looks healthy, slightly tanned from the Vegas sun.
They run through the rules: ten wings, increasing spice, semi-structured questions throughout. Yibo nods. He seems ready—if cautiously so. The host points out a glass of water and milk to his left. “In case you need it.”
Then the cameras roll.
“Hey, what’s going on, everybody? Welcome back to Hot Ones—the show with hot questions and even hotter wings. Today, I’m joined by someone who needs no introduction. Actor, singer, dancer, pro racer, fashion icon—and possibly the most mysterious man in East Asia—Wang Yibo. You know him from Hidden Blade, The Untamed, and of course, that wild motorcycle race he won while filming three dramas at once. Yibo, welcome to the show.”
Yibo squints at the wings. “Thank you. I already regret this.”
The host laughs. “You told your team you don’t even like spicy food. So why are you here?”
“...I don’t know. Curiosity? Ego? Stupidity, maybe.” He picks up the first wing and sniffs it suspiciously. “I’ve never eaten ten wings in a row in my life. This might be my last interview ever.”
The host grins. “Let’s go for it. The first one’s Hot Tropic—mango-flavoured. The heat level is 1 / 10.”
Yibo takes a careful bite. He chews thoughtfully, pausing. “...Okay. Not bad. I can’t taste a lick of mango though.”
The host chuckles. “Let’s go down memory lane. You left home at 13 to train in Seoul. What was that like, being a kid from Luoyang alone in a new country?”
Yibo sips water. “Scary. I didn’t speak Korean at first, so I listened a lot. I got used to being quiet. Alone. You build a shell. But I loved it too. I wanted it. That hunger kept me going. Seoul is intense. Luckily, my UNIQ brothers were very protective. That helped keep me grounded.”
The second wing: Ranch and red Savina pepper. Heat level: 2 / 10. Yibo takes a bigger bite this time.
“China and Korea—two very different entertainment worlds. You’ve worked in both. What’s the biggest difference?”
“China’s a huge domestic market. We don’t cater much to international audiences, which is both a strength and a weakness. Korea really cares about international reception though. That's why idol culture there can be toxic. I felt it, especially as a Chinese artist in a Korean group. Coming back to China was healing.”
His tone is frank but thoughtful. The team had crafted deeper questions, knowing Yibo loathes superficial interviews. So far, he’s delivering.
Wing three is pickled garlic sriracha. Heat level: 3 / 10.
Yibo blinks and clears his throat after chewing. “Why do people do this voluntarily?”
More laughter blares around them. Yibo's bluntness seems to be one of the qualities that makes him so endearing and likable.
Yibo squints at the bottle and shakes his head. “Pickled garlic sriracha? This is ridiculous.”
The host laughs again. “Let’s talk Hidden Blade. You worked with Tony Leung—a legend. You’re still young, doing huge projects. Ever feel imposter syndrome? Any advice for young actors?”
Yibo grins behind his glass. “You’re good at this.”
The host beams in response.
“Honestly, no.” Yibo says. “I treat everything as a chance to learn. Tony is a legend. But I bring value too. If you don’t believe in yourself, you’ll miss opportunities. Be confident. I’m good at what I do. Why should I be worried?”
Wing four: Serrano mango. Heat: 4 / 10. Yibo laughs as the host bites a chunk. “That was a big bite.”
“Couldn’t help it.”
Yibo chews, then tilts his head. “Still no mango. False advertising.”
They talk about his nature documentary with Discovery. “I love nature. Rock climbing, free soloing... pushing limits. Fame is suffocating. Nature frees me. Your identity shouldn’t be just work.”
The host smiles and lets the next words roll off his tongue bluntly. “Does your boyfriend worry?”
Yibo freezes. Then he exhales, cheeks flushed. “…He does. More than he should. But it feels good when someone worries for your safety.”
His blush deepens. The crew stifles their grins. No questions were off-limits, and everyone wanted answers to the same thing: what is this famously private couple like behind closed doors? Xiao Zhan had already dropped a few breadcrumbs in a Vogue interview months ago. Now, it was Yibo’s turn—if he chose to share. Known for being blunt and unbothered, Yibo wasn’t above shutting down a question with a simple “what a stupid question” or “I’m not answering that.” But today, he didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he almost looked eager to talk about the man he once pined after for months—and has now been with for years.
Wing five: Spicy sauerkraut and mustard. Heat: 5 / 10.
Yibo bites into the meat reluctantly. “I can feel heat radiating from my mouth.”
The host chews along with hin. “Do you taste the hints of mustard?”
“All I taste is heat.”
The host adjusts his posture. “Let’s turn up the heat then. Let’s talk love—”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Let’s do the next wing first?” Yibo says, lips flushed, refilling his water.
Wing six: Tropical Amarillo with yellow Fatali pepper. Heat: 6 / 10. He bites. “…Oh. Oh no. That was a bad idea.”
“Yeah?”
He gulps more water. “It’s spreading. My tongue. My whole mouth.”
The host laughs gently and tries to redirect the conversation. “What is love to you?”
“Love is—” Yibo wheezes and pauses abruptly. The spice seems to have hit the back of his throat. “I fully forgot what I was going to say.”
The host gestures to the other glass on Yibo's left. “There’s milk.”
“You haven’t touched yours,” Yibo accuses.
“I mirror guests.”
Yibo squints. “But you haven’t mirrored me.”
The host drinks to humour him and Yibo lets out an airy chuckle that lights up the room.
“Love is… bold. Fleeting. It shows on your face. In your words.”
Wing seven: Aprichot. Apricot and chilli peppers. Heat: 7 / 10. They both take a bite.
“How did you know you were in love with him?”
Yibo sucks in a breath. Then he lets out a cough and winces when the air travels through his nasal cavity. “F-From the moment I saw him. I’m a love-at-first-sight guy.”
“Did you show it?”
“Immediately. I was clingy. Talked too much. Always wanted to impress him. He’s handsome. But more than that, it’s Xiao Zhan. He has that sort of affect on people.”
The name drops like a pin in a silent room. This is the first time in years he’s said it publicly. It's also the first time he's introduced Xiao Zhan as his partner—not as a friend or even a work colleague.
Wing eight: Da Bomb. Heat: 8 / 10. Yibo bites into it. Shuts his eyes. Then he whimpers. “I can’t. Oh my god.”
“That one’s brutal. Everyone hates it.”
“DO YOU WONDER WHY?!”
The room erupts in laughter as everyone watches Yibo completely lose his mind.
“Most couples have a love language they show, and one they prefer to receive,” the host says, still chuckling. “What are yours?”
Yibo places a hand over his mouth and lets out choked words. “I need you to do something for me.”
The host leans forward. “Anything.”
“I'm going to need you to shut the fuck up.”
There are a few snorts from the crew and the host tries to suppress his smile. “Got it.”
“Wait. Shit. Am I allowed to swear on this show? Can I say fuck?” He blinks rapidly, genuinely concerned. “Oh god. Sorry. I’m not trying to get you canceled. I don't want to get banned either.”
The host is doubled over laughing. “You can say whatever you want, man. This isn't that type of interview.”
Yibo wipes his mouth with a towel and nearly brings it to his eyes while trying to dab sweat from his temple. The host quickly warns him to be careful, and Yibo freezes, eyes wide.
“Shit. Shit, shit, shit,” he mutters, gingerly setting the towel down like it’s a bomb.
“Do you need ice cream?” the host offers.
Yibo nods vigorously. “Please.”
The host signals for it, and a staff member rushes over with two bowls. Yibo grabs one like it’s sacred and looks up at the crew suspiciously.
“This is real ice cream, right?”
They laugh and reassure him. He takes a few frantic spoonfuls before setting the bowl down, his hands trembling slightly. There’s a visible tremor in his fingers.
“The ice cream isn’t HELPING.”
The host gives him a sympathetic grimace. “You’re almost there.”
“TALKING MAKES IT WORSE,” Yibo blurts, fanning his face and blinking furiously.
The room practically howls with laughter.
“Try doing milk and ice cream back to back,” someone suggests.
“It’s like the HEAT is spreading from my tongue to my gums to my nostrils,” Yibo huffs. He mutters another curse under his breath, rubbing the bridge of his nose with the back of a clean hand. Sweat glistens on his upper lip as he breathes through his mouth like he’s trying to survive a fever.
He forces himself through the pain. “I think my love language is... quality time,” he manages, wincing. “I—” he curses again, swallowing hard. “I like when we do things together. Doesn’t matter if it’s something I like or something he likes. We’re both so busy, so time together matters. Even just visiting each other on set.”
And then the host notices it—something trailing down the side of Yibo’s face.
It’s not sweat.
No, it’s coming from the corner of his eye.
Oh.
Oh.
Wang Yibo is crying.
“Are you crying because of the spice or because you’re... emotional?”
Yibo sniffles, blinking rapidly as tears keep spilling. “It’s the SPICE THAT WON’T LEAVE MY MOUTH.”
He dabs at his face with the towel as another dramatic tear escapes. “Yeah... I’m definitely getting an ulcer.”
The host leans back, equal parts amused and horrified. “You’ll be okay. I promise.”
Yibo shoots him a deadly glare. “Nothing is okay right now.”
He carefully blots beneath his eyes before continuing, his thoughts clearly split between the fire in his mouth and the fire in his heart—Xiao Zhan, stubbornly lodged in both.
“I think my love language to give is acts of service,” he adds, trying to catch his breath. “I’m not great with words, but I’ll do things to show him I care. I’ll clean the apartment. Make sure he eats when he’s being a workaholic. But every once in a while, I’ll say something sweet, and it’ll—” he coughs, covering his mouth. “It’ll catch him off guard.”
The host grins. “Sounds like a textbook Leo.”
Yibo is clearly struggling now, but he pushes through. “Y-Yeah. I guess so. Like for Valentine’s Day, I went all out. Bought a ridiculous amount of flowers. Took him up to a rooftop. I said, Happy Valentine’s Day. I love you. And he was like, Ooh, I love you?” Yibo mimics a fake gagging sound with a weak smile. “It was cute. I swear I show it more than I say it.”
He’s rambling now—giddy, flushed, and completely wrecked by spice and love. He starts talking about how Xiao Zhan has the sweetest smile, how they went on a recent camping trip alone, just the two of them and a quiet lake. How they sneak out in the middle of the night in Beijing wearing masks, holding hands like any ordinary couple, completely invisible to the world.
“I’m sorry. I really don’t like this,” Yibo says sincerely, eyes slightly red and lips pulled into the faintest pout. He takes a long, steady sip of water like it’s the only thing holding him together.
“That’s okay,” the host says gently, trying not to laugh.
Yibo sets the glass down, then glances up with a soft look in his eyes as his voice drops to a quiet murmur. “I won’t be back.”
Laughter ripples through the crew. The host lets out a grin and shakes his head. “I don’t blame you. And I promise I won’t take it personally.”
It’s astonishing, really—how Wang Yibo, notoriously private and press-shy, is now pouring his heart out while his tastebuds are being set on fire.
Wing nine: The Torchbearer. With Carolina Reaper peppers. Heat: 9 / 10. Yibo stares at the bottle, still choking on the remnants of spice in his throat. “I can’t.”
“We can stop.”
Yibo looks a bit offended now. “No. I’ll do it.”
He eats. Gulps milk.
"How has your relationship with him changed since The Untamed? I know a lot of couples who work together go through ups and downs, and I imagine you two did as well. Did it make your relationship stronger, or were there some rough patches?"
Yibo blinks through the heat before answering, his voice a little unsteady. "It definitely had its ups and downs. He went through a really tough time with all the backlash. And honestly... we grew apart for a while. But eventually, we found our way back. We chose to come back to each other and stay true to how we felt."
His voice cracks as he says it, and suddenly, the room goes still—everyone listening now with quiet, genuine focus.
“I love him. I wanted to protect him. But we were young—just starting our careers—and back then, everything felt like the end of the world. Then he left for a while... to Japan. And I swear, it felt like there was a hole in my chest without him.” Yibo chokes out a shaky laugh, wiping at his eyes. “Sorry. I can’t even speak—my tongue is numb. Everything HURTS.” He swallows hard, voice thick. “I missed him so much. I’m an all-or-nothing kind of guy, so when he came back, I just said it: I love you. I want you to be with me. I know you want it too. Can we just try? Thankfully, he felt the same way. It’s been a little over five years now.”
“Any advice for couples?”
“Love is—” Yibo gasps, fanning his mouth with both hands. “—love is... sacrifice.” He coughs. Hard. Reaches blindly for the milk. “You protect it. You... cherish it. Oh my god.” He takes a swig of ice cream, then another. His eyes are watery, nose red, dignity long gone.
“Be willing—” he wheezes, “to move mountains for each other.” He gestures vaguely at the ceiling, as if that’s where the mountains are. “Like people always wonder...” he stops to suck in air. “Why we don’t sit together, or... work together.” He holds up a trembling finger. “Boundaries. It’s—” he hiccups, “it’s about boundaries.”
A beat of silence as he pants like he just finished a marathon.
“He deserves to be celebrated on his own. I stay out of his professional space—more water, please—and support him from the sidelines.” A staff member returns with a new pitcher of ice water and Yibo downs a full glass. “And he does the same for me. It's a respect thing.” He’s blinking rapidly now. “It’s about respect.”
Then, with tears streaming down his cheeks and a dramatic sniff, he leans in, voice hoarse but proud. “But I’d also do anything he asks. No questions asked.”
The entire crew is losing it—laughing so hard some of them have to turn away from the cameras just to breathe. Watching the famously stoic, effortlessly cool Wang Yibo crumble under the pressure of hot sauce is nothing short of comedy gold. He’s usually the picture of calm composure, barely cracking a smile in interviews, always smooth, always unreadable. But right now? He’s red in the face, eyes glassy, lips trembling, desperately trying to keep his “cool guy” mask on while visibly fighting for his life.
And yet, somehow, the harder he tries to maintain that image—waving his towel, muttering dramatic curses between spoonfuls of ice cream—the more endearing and hilarious he becomes. This is Wang Yibo unplugged, and no one in the room can seem to get enough.
Wing ten: Xperience. The final boss. Heat: 11 / 10.
“This is our very own sauce. Just dip the wing in it and take a bite. That’s it.”
“Thank God,” Yibo mutters. He takes a tiny bite. Nods through the pain.
“You’ve done it, Wang Yibo. This camera, this camera, this camera—tell the people what’s going on in your life.”
“I’m... just trying to survive whatever this was.”
Laughter erupts.
“No, really. I’m working on Exploring the Unknown Season 2—filming in the Americas. And The Legend of Zang Hai just wrapped. Watch it if you haven’t. The male lead’s decent-looking.”
“Wang Yibo,” the host says with a grin, “thank you for facing the spice with us.”
Yibo grabs his bowl of ice cream and smiles. “Thanks for having me. I’m still not coming back though.”
As the crew wraps and the cameras start to pan out, Yibo leans back in his chair, a bowl of half-melted ice cream in front of him, face flushed and lips still tingling. His phone, forgotten beside him all day, buzzes to life with a message.
The host glances over as Yibo picks up his phone, unreadable as ever—until he smiles.
Yibo lets out a quiet laugh, then leans back and says just loud enough for the host to catch. He turns his phone and points the screen towards him and the host catches a glimpse of the message on his phone. It's from none other than his boyfriend.
[Xiao Zhan 🐰]
Lele sent a clip. You’re ridiculous. I’m making congee. Come back soon.
The host barely has time to react before Yibo sighs like a man rescued, tucks his phone away, and slowly leans forward to polish off what’s left of his ice cream.
The host blinks now. “Wait—he’s here?”
Yibo nods, looking entirely too smug. “He’s visiting. Thought he’d keep me alive after this.”
The host laughs, and Yibo shrugs like it’s no big deal, like having your globally adored actor-boyfriend cooking congee for you in a rented kitchen somewhere in Nevada is just a Tuesday.
By the time the credits roll and the episode hits the internet, Yibo is trending across Weibo with several super-topics.
#YiboSaidLoveIsSacrificeThenSacrificedHisTongue
#WangYiboSworeOnCamera
#YiboTalkingAboutXiaoZhanWhileOnFire
#XiaoZhanComeGetYourMan
#YiboILoveYouIDoIDoIDo
#WangYiboHotterThanTheWings
And by the time the shoot is over, Yibo’s already on his way back—with his phone in one hand, and someone very warm waiting on the other side of the door.