The sky was a deep blue, streaked with hints of gray.
It looked like rain was coming, yet there wasn’t a cloud in sight.
After returning to his room, Shen Li realized that choosing a date for tonight wasn’t as straightforward as he’d imagined. It wasn’t just a matter of sending a text or filling out a form to say who he was interested in.
Every room had a tablet computer on the table, and the screen was already displaying a set of questions.
Shen Li glanced at the sheet briefly, and the problems nearly sent him packing right then and there.
He racked his brains for nearly ten minutes and managed to neatly fill in only the first three:
【1. In the first day’s production activities, which guest in the cabin gave you the best impression?】
【Answer: Li Weiwei】
【2. In the first day’s production activities, which guest in the cabin gave you the worst impression?】
【Answer: Yang Zhiqi】
【3. Would you choose to go on a date with this “most favorable” guest?】
【Answer: No】
【4. Between your ex and today’s “favorable guest,” who better matches your partner criteria?】
【(No answer)】
【5. What shortcomings does your ex have compared to today’s “favorable guest”?】
【(No answer)】
【6. What similarities does your ex share with today’s “unfavorable guest”?】
【(No answer)】
【7. Which guest do you want to invite out tonight?】
【(No answer)】
…
How was he supposed to answer this?
Just a handful of questions.
Yet they felt like a dividing line in his life.
Shen Li stared fixedly at the sky, his expression blank, a touch of melancholy about him.
No matter how he turned it over in his mind, he couldn’t figure out how to answer without making Qian Xingzhi angry—though he wasn’t even sure if such agonizing held any meaning anymore.
They were divorced, after all.
Even if Qian Xingzhi had gotten drunk last night and mumbled something about wanting to remarry, there was no real reason for Shen Li to cater to him like this over a few careless words.
But his first instinct when facing these questions had been to uphold “marital virtue,” which was laughably pathetic. The memories replaying in his head were crystal clear, sharp and fluid, each frame piercing his heart. Qian Xingzhi was practically a walking jar of vinegar.
Jealous every three days for small things, every five for the big ones.
A towering guy over six feet two, yet whenever jealousy struck, he’d go silent and slump over the dining table. Those soulful peach-blossom eyes would droop in grievance, the corners tugged down, rims turning red as he stared at Shen Li in the kitchen pouring water, waiting for Shen Li to scoop him up and carry him back to the bedroom. No matter how Shen Li teased, he wouldn’t utter a word.
Adorable.
Only when Shen Li said, “I’m off duty tomorrow,” would those eyes brighten faintly. Then he’d grab Shen Li’s waist and pounce.
For a long time, Shen Li couldn’t tell if Qian Xingzhi was genuinely jealous or just playing games to spice things up.
He knew Qian Xingzhi’s real motive was probably just to have him around.
But work was work—he couldn’t change his schedule. So he compromised wherever he could.
To that end, Shen Li yielded his principles time and again, even crossing lines he never thought he would.
He wasn’t the type to bend easily, but Qian Xingzhi was the only person he’d ever tried to please in his thirty-five years.
Yet he could never quite hold on.
Qian Xingzhi was too mercurial, shifting with the wind. No matter how hard Shen Li tried to figure him out, he couldn’t grasp what was going on in that head.
Eventually, Shen Li started to wonder: Were they even compatible?
Even if he didn’t have as much free time as most people, he’d spent every holiday with Qian Xingzhi.
He’d learned to whisper sweet nothings, even silently allowed those videos Qian Xingzhi loved—the ones Shen Li personally couldn’t stand—for Qian Xingzhi to do as he pleased. What more did he have to do to satisfy him?
Did Qian Xingzhi really want him to quit his job, trail after him like a lapdog or a caged bird, available day and night?
That thought crept in during the later stages of their relationship.
It wasn’t healthy. Qian Xingzhi grew more demanding, wanting to be glued together twenty-four-seven. Sometimes it got absurd—he’d even suggest staying buried inside overnight.
Shen Li rarely cried.
But after that, there were a few times when, with Qian Xingzhi asleep, he’d turn away and shed silent tears.
He couldn’t adapt to that kind of relationship.
It was suffocating.
His rational side forced him to face facts: their breakup was inevitable. They’d never been on the same path and never would be.
But his emotional side kept pulling him back, urging him to endure. Qian Xingzhi’s intentions came from love. If they both adjusted, could there be a better way?
Through trial and error, Shen Li conceded over and over. Even in the end, when he walked away, he still didn’t fully understand what kind of love Qian Xingzhi truly wanted.
After the divorce, though, Shen Li knew with perfect clarity that he needed an emotionally stable partner, a solid pillar in life. Qian Xingzhi simply wasn’t right for him.
But why…
Why, even after thinking it through so thoroughly, did a single mention of remarriage from Qian Xingzhi still make his heart race painfully?
Why did the mere thought of Qian Xingzhi watching from the other side of the screen make him want to choose what Qian Xingzhi desired?
Shen Li gazed blankly at the sky until reason finally triumphed over emotion.
They’d reached this point because he’d been too passive, letting Qian Xingzhi run rampant step by step.
He’d once believed that would lead to forever, but reality proved otherwise. Two people with clashing personalities had reaped this bitter harvest. He couldn’t let a fleeting, irresponsible sentiment make him repeat the same mistakes just because he’d forgotten how sour the fruit was.
Until their issues were resolved, if he bent completely to Qian Xingzhi’s whims and remarried on a whim…
What would their future look like then?
Personality shapes destiny.
No one changes easily.
With that realization, Shen Li stopped agonizing.
He quickly filled in the rest according to his true thoughts. The system chimed that matching was complete; his partner would arrive within three minutes to invite him out.
Three minutes later.
A knock sounded at Shen Li’s door. He turned to look.
In the camera feed, Shen Li’s eyes widened slightly in surprise as he said,
“…How are you here?”
The man replied,
“Shouldn’t it be me? Who else did you want to ask out?”
