Jiang Nan had changed into a fresh outfit: a crisp white shirt, black trousers, gold-rimmed glasses, and a silver fountain pen tucked into his shirt pocket. He stood at the door, gazing at Shen Li with a warm smile that carried an unmistakable edge of aggression.
“I thought we’d already settled this just now. Does that mean Teacher Shen didn’t pick me?”
Shen Li’s eyelashes fluttered slowly under the glare of the fluorescent lights.
He truly hadn’t written Jiang Nan’s name, so the man’s arrival caught him off guard. He responded faintly, “Ah.”
“Then who did you pick? Am I lucky enough to know?”
Shen Li paused awkwardly for two seconds, licked his lips, and glanced away from the camera before answering honestly, “Brother Yang.”
“Yang Zhiqi?”
Jiang Nan hadn’t expected that answer at all. He raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Mind if I ask why you chose Brother Yang?”
Shen Li: …
That was tricky to explain.
He couldn’t very well say it was because he’d answered questions 1 through 6 honestly, and that sulky golden retriever might otherwise crawl into his blankets at night to cry it out.
This was the final question, so he had to pick someone who wouldn’t get jealous—not even a vinegar jar like that guy Qian.
Fortunately, Yang Zhiqi had clashed with him before, so he could frame the choice as mending fences, offering an olive branch.
“Fine, if you don’t want to answer, no worries,” Jiang Nan said understandingly, shrugging his shoulders. “Too bad Brother Yang and Little Zhao picked each other, so you two didn’t match. The rest get auto-paired by the system—looks like fate has brought us together.”
Shen Li’s brows furrowed slightly. His Adam’s apple bobbed as his pale, handsome face remained utterly expressionless.
Jiang Nan leaned in a fraction closer, his broad shoulders subtly enveloping Shen Li’s slimmer frame into his own territory. His low, resonant chuckle was polite on the surface as he asked, “So, Teacher Shen, would you do me the honor of joining me for dinner?”
Shen Li: …
Shen Li had watched Lin Jie play those otome games before. The guys in them all talked like this.
What was that word again?
Suave?
Shen Li’s brows knitted deeply.
This blatant flirtation felt like some low-level spell—immature, really.
He was past the age for romance and had little tolerance for foolishness. The only “immature” person he could stomach was Qian Xingzhi.
Shen Li retreated half a step, coolly detached. His lean frame stood straight and unyielding, his cool, narrowed eyes radiating an aura of unapproachability. “No need to be so formal. It’s just a friendly pairing.”
He bit down hard on the words “friendly pairing.”
Jiang Nan nodded knowingly, polite as ever. “Of course.”
–
Following the Program Group’s guidance, the two headed to the cabin’s basement level.
The space had been cleverly divided into six semi-private mini-rooms, each designed as an intimate, candlelit nook. Though compact, they were meticulously decorated to foster an air of seclusion and subtle romance.
“Shen Li, take a look—” Jiang Nan called him by his full name for the first time, but his tone was casually familiar. “Each room has a different topic. Which one catches your eye?”
Shen Li peered closer. Sure enough.
To help them bond, the Program Group had assigned a conversation topic to each room in the cabin.
Recalling the pre-show interviews, Shen Li knew this group pushed boundaries, asking anything and everything. He’d need to choose carefully.
And he hadn’t been wrong.
Glancing around, he saw topic signs like:
【Talk about what you hated most about your ex】
【Talk about who dumped whom in your last relationship】
…
Shen Li’s sharp gaze swept the options in an instant. Without a flicker, he strode to the one topic utterly divorced from any “ex” talk, glancing back at Jiang Nan.
Jiang Nan shrugged indifferently, ever accommodating. “Sure, whatever works. Your call.”
Pretending not to catch the flirtation, Shen Li stepped into the room marked 【Talk about the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to you】.
They had barely settled when a female server arrived with a tray, setting down minuscule portions: a sliver of foie gras that wouldn’t fill a tooth gap, a couple of forkfuls of pasta drowned in tomato sauce, a pair of flashy but flavorless Australian lobsters, a palm-sized half-raw steak, and a scattering of vegetable salad.
One look at the food, and Shen Li’s face turned faintly green.
He shouldn’t have skipped lunch. And that morning, when he’d bought little breads for Geng Qiuqiu, he should’ve grabbed one for himself to stash in his luggage.
Worse still, before he could eat more than a bite or two, Jiang Nan’s rich, magnetic voice dropped to a husky murmur, laced with a bubbly undertone. “I’m curious—what counts as weird to you? Should I go first, or do you want to start?”
Shen Li speared a piece of foie gras, keeping his distance. “You first.”
Jiang Nan swirled his red wine elegantly, lounging back in his chair with relaxed poise. “I racked my brain earlier and could only come up with petty stuff. Not sure if it qualifies as weird.”
Shen Li: “Go on.”
Jiang Nan: “Ahem. I have this cousin who graduated college jobless and begged me to hook him up. I said fine, come be my assistant. Honestly, I never shortchanged him—salary, bonuses, perks. I gave him double what others got, even booked business class for his flights on business trips. But get this?”
Shen Li played along as Jiang Nan paused dramatically. “What happened?”
Jiang Nan sighed. “One time, we flew from the capital to London with the team. I’d booked him economy—since business was sold out—and he lost it. Slammed the table, demanding, ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ I explained it wasn’t about skimping the sixty or seventy grand; that flight just had one business seat left. He didn’t buy it.”
Shen Li: …
“Not weird?” Jiang Nan pressed.
Seeing no reaction, Jiang Nan masked it with a sip of wine.
Shen Li’s brow twitched faintly. He stared at his nearly finished pasta, managing a polite, “It’s… something.”
“Haha.” Jiang Nan chuckled, probing for a spark. “You don’t seem too into my story. Sorry—was my telling too dull?”
Shen Li’s brows furrowed in helpless exasperation.
“…Not exactly…”
“Oh? Then what?”
“…Something us regular folks can relate to.”
The sharp Jiang Nan got it instantly: no flaunting wealth on camera. He laughed. “Haha, sorry, Teacher Shen. My tales aren’t very down-to-earth. Your turn—what weird stuff have you run into?”
Shen Li forked up the last garlic shrimp from his plate, pondering seriously. His stunning eyes lowered faintly. “Nothing major. Depends what kind you want to hear.”
“What kinds does Teacher Shen have?”
“There’s the caregiver auntie who raked in half a million a year—but clients hired her to play poisoner, letting her ‘care’ a bedridden elder to death. Or the guy who faked paralysis for twenty years to dodge school, wouldn’t even get up for his mother’s funeral, until his brother caught him sneaking snacks two decades later. Or the domestic abuse victim beaten to death—her killer hubby got six years and six months, while her sister, trapped in her own abusive marriage, plotted and killed hers, earning the death penalty.”
Shen Li’s features were exquisitely sculpted. As he casually recounted a few cases from his docket, his stomach—which had been nagging with dull pain—began twisting viciously.
When he looked up, Jiang Nan’s eyes were wide with faint puzzlement. “Are these… personal experiences of yours?”
Shen Li shook his head. “Just things I’ve seen with my own eyes.”
Jiang Nan’s lips curved. “If the Program Group allowed job questions, I’d be dying to ask what you do.”
By then, Shen Li had polished off the last morsel on his plate. He leaned forward slightly, seeking a more comfortable position—his right hand clamped tightly over his stomach, knuckles whitening from the pressure.
“Is your stomach hurting?”
Jiang Nan asked perceptively.
Shen Li, as if waiting for those words, furrowed his brows in pain. His face ghostly pale, he rose unsteadily.
“It’s fine. I’ll grab some meds. You eat.”
With that, he dodged the camera and hurried out.
Truth be told, he wasn’t so dramatic as to need pills; it’d pass once the worst wave ebbed. But with cameras rolling, he mainly didn’t want Qian Xingzhi seeing.
Shen Li rounded a corner to an unmonitored spot—the restroom—and stumbled in, steps unsteady.
He stared at his reflection.
Ghostly pale face, bloodless lips. He looked ready to collapse any second.
This was bad.
Reflecting on the day’s overload, Shen Li braced the sink and splashed cold water on his face, hoping it would rally his spirits.
He didn’t know how long passed.
Maybe ten seconds. Maybe minutes.
A man’s whistle echoed with approaching footsteps. Shen Li’s head snapped up—Jiang Nan.
Figured he’d come for the bathroom too. Shen Li lowered his gaze, washing his face without a greeting.
But then.
The footsteps halted somewhere behind him. The next instant, as Shen Li shuddered from the pain, a warm breath ghosted his ear. He whipped around—
Jiang Nan stood pocketed hands and all, invasively close. His foxlike eyes narrowed slyly, gaze mocking and unkind—devoid of his earlier gentlemanly charm.
Shen Li’s brows clenched. He jerked back to shove the man away.
But then a hand truly groped his waist.
“Such a slim waist.”
The large palm fondled his waist without restraint, toying with it like an object.
Shen Li’s eyes flashed coldly. He drove an elbow back, following with a savage kick!
He connected; Jiang Nan staggered in pain.
Yet the man’s next words made Shen Li’s pupils contract, cold sweat beading instantly on his pale, refined face:
“How much did Qian Xingzhi pay to keep you? I’ll double it.”
