Undeniably.
The moment Shen Li spotted those words, his brain’s CPU ground to a halt for a good three to five seconds.
By the time he realized what they meant, it was far too late to school his expression.
And so, everyone watching Shen Li on the live stream feed saw it plain as day—
The unflappable man who’d stayed stone-faced all afternoon, no matter what anyone said, finally cracked. A clear emotion flickered across his features.
He looked just like that viral golden gradient kitten meme:
【Huh?】
His big eyes brimmed with utter confusion.
Blank. Frozen. But lethally adorable.
Only after another three or five seconds did his brows snap together. He drew in a deep breath, squeezed his eyes shut like he’d resigned himself to fate.
As if he were still the cool guy—as long as he kept a blank face, he could pull off ice-cold indifference.
【Aaaaah, oh my god! It’s Little Cat! Gimme my daily dose!】
【Laughing my head off—Shen Li switching to poker face at warp speed is hilarious.】
【Whoa~ Someone got served, but I’m not naming names.】
【Okay okay, no matter who Shen Li’s ex is, this viewer is living for it hahaha.】
【Hold up, doesn’t the Program Group shut down the stream at midnight?】
【Holy shit, yeah!? Are they not closing it?】
At that moment, the director swung the camera closer to the door. Everyone could now make out the fine print below:
“Call equipment provided by the Program Group to ensure connection duration, but call content not live-streamed. Recorded up to 30 minutes as program behind-the-scenes footage, added to the bonus pack. Fan club viewers, unlock with SVIP 88.88 membership card to see it all!”
【Damn?!?! You messing with us, Program Group?!】
【Aaaaah, why do this to us?!】
【Talk about ugly greed [smiley]】
【This sucks. Shen Li knew about this segment ahead of time? They drop the one bit everyone wants to see, but lock it behind a paywall? Super pissed if he knew. Makes me suspect he’s a scripted actor.】
【Not impossible. Show logic says Shen Li’s the most likely plant. Hot amateur rando debuts big on day one, sets up his persona, next step: ship him with some observation room guest, fake a reunion fail, rake in the cash.】
【Upstairs is full conspiracy mode. Free live stream for you, some ads and you bitch? Now bonus pack and you’re whining the rando’s scripted? Broke? Don’t buy.】
【Dizzy already—day one and he has diehard stans?】
【Here we go. Walking the internet, one slip and you’re beefing with the fandom.】
【Use your brains. Without this setup, unedited ex-voice goes live, you’d ID them in seconds???】
【Enough, stop fighting guys? Real can’t fake, fake can’t real. Time proves all, chill.】
The extra lines of fine print turned the comment section into a full-on brawl.
Shen Li, stuck in the thick of it without an omniscient view, hadn’t yet considered the audience’s side despite his quick wits.
He merely glanced indifferently at the smaller text below.
A reflexive sigh of relief escaped him.
—So it wasn’t recording all night.
Was the Program Group worried Qian Xingzhi might talk in his sleep or blow raspberries?
Why bother with 30 minutes?
If they had to ham it up into mics for half an hour with no script provided, he hoped…
At least their chat would sound decent.
Shen Li pondered whether to dodge the camera later and ask the director if this 30-minute bit had a script.
But before speaking up, instinct kicked in with some logical deduction: If there was a script, the director would’ve tipped him off beforehand. Most likely, they were winging it, and the editors would decide what made the cut for the bonus footage.
They’d probably trim the boring bits.
At heart, though, it was still a performance of sorts—to keep the footage watchable.
All the while, what Shen Li really wanted to know was this: Had that paper been taped to the door from the start?
Or had the Program Group slapped it up after he picked the room?
Just like banning Jiang Nan’s phone?
Leveraging Qian Xingzhi’s top traffic for extra cash made sense for the Program Group.
But did Qian Xingzhi know ahead of time?
Had he even pushed for this?
Shen Li knew dwelling on it was pointless. He was just a pawn on the board—a grunt soldier. Even if the general ordered him across that river divide now, he’d wade in and obey.
Yet somehow, he couldn’t stop speculating about Qian Xingzhi, probing him like a suspect’s motive.
Which made him wonder…
Was he the messed-up one here?
Shen Li lowered his gaze silently, lips pale and pressed thin in cool arrogance. He turned his face from the camera, hiding the tangle of emotions.
In the warm light and shadow, his sharply defined jawline teased in and out of view.
The man himself seemed a masterfully sculpted side-profile silhouette: seven parts upright integrity, two parts fragile, and one part so faint it was nearly undetectable—gentle warmth.
“Brother Shen, how’s your room?”
Zhao Yunzhi and Lin Xu had rooms close by. They’d clearly chatted first, then come over together.
Lin Xu waved hello and was already stepping into Shen Li’s room, craning his neck to peek behind the door.
Shen Li, looking half-dead to the world, responded flatly:
“…Huh.”
He stepped aside to let Lin Xu and Zhao Yunzhi see for themselves.
Lin Xu zeroed in on the door and let out a “Holy shit!” He jabbed a finger at it, turning to Little Zhao. “Holy shit! Little Zhao?! His is the same as yours?!”
Shen Li glanced at Zhao Yunzhi, surprised.
She wore a smile, but it wasn’t from joy.
Her delicate, ladylike poise seemed gentle enough, but the slight droop of her brows and the furrow at her forehead betrayed a quiet helplessness.
Fellow sufferers, separated by fate.
Shen Li thought.
Surprisingly, Zhao Yunzhi then lowered her voice to a whisper the camera couldn’t catch and leaned in close.
“Brother Shen, I’m thinking… once bedtime hits and we can’t hang up, maybe we can drop the volume to zero? I mean, after the 30-minute bonus recording ends.”
A flicker of surprise crossed Shen Li’s eyes, but calm settled quickly.
Fresh idea.
Once connected to Qian Xingzhi, maybe he could run it by him?
–
Qian Xingzhi sat on an unpadded steel bench at the police station.
A long-brimmed baseball cap shadowed half his face; a mask covered the other half, with sunglasses sealing the deal. Barely any skin showed, but he still radiated handsome vibes.
White crewneck tee underneath, black ice-silk lapel vest jacket slung open over it—short sleeves. Black wide-leg cropped pants hugged his long legs as he sprawled across the bench like he owned it.
His straight calves tensed like sturdy pillars, rooted firm to the marble floor.
Flashy as hell.
And rude—no public manners, hogging two seats for one guy.
But he owned it, zero self-awareness.
Head down in deep immersion, the Bluetooth earpiece in his ear buzzed loud enough to leak sound:
A garbled mess.
Super annoying.
“Yo, Ex-Husband Bro still hanging around?” Lao Wang, a passing detective, chuckled as he eyed the long bench. “Tch, tuck those legs in—you’re blocking the way.”
Qian Xingzhi, long and lean like a black panther, instantly shrank into a compliant quail, pulling his legs in tight and sitting proper. “—Wang Bro, on duty today?”
“Overtime, thanks to that big case you dropped on us.”
Qian Xingzhi tugged down his mask, flashing a brilliant grin of respect. “Hard work, Wang Bro. Serving the people.”
“Cut the lip service.”
Lao Wang hustled off with his file folder in hand.
His young trainee cop trailed behind. Once they were a few steps away, he whispered, “Who’s that? Kinda familiar.”
“You’ll see soon enough. Don’t pry.”
“Oh…”
Once their figures shrank to specks, Qian Xingzhi smoothed his lips and readjusted his mask.
Behind those shades, his gaze locked back on his phone screen—anti-peep film and all. Long fingers danced across the soft keyboard.
The green-bubble chat was topped with a name:
Lian Xiaoqi
But the dialogue box was all outgoing green messages from him:
12:41
【What the hell you doing?】
【Your damn grandpa】
12:59
【So much drama】
13:49
【F your dad, you hear me?!】
【F your dad】
14:00
【Su Xilan】
【You’re done】
14:39
【Not in ads yet?】
【Reply damn it】
Qian Xingzhi’s cursor hammered away, typing ever cruder stuff—triple profanity combo sparking off his fingertips. Finally, Su Xilan pinged back a single character:
【?】
Qian Xingzhi: ?
That question mark lit his fuse. Fingers slipped, and he hit send on the half-typed curse in the input bar.
Su Xilan fired back fast:
【What’s the dog barking about】
【Get it straight】
【He ain’t your wife anymore】
Short. Punchy.
Qian Xingzhi: .
He shot up from the bench, glanced at the victim still being questioned in the interrogation room—still talking. He bolted straight for the empty hallway end.
One WeChat call straight to Su Xilan.
Ringtone dragged over fifty seconds before pickup.
Su Xilan’s background noise was chaos; his voice muffled. But Qian Xingzhi pieced it together:
“Make it quick, no BS.”
With a cheeky lilt at the end.
Qian Xingzhi: …
He seemed to draw a deep breath. His tall, broad frame swallowed a little potted succulent on the windowsill whole in his shadow.
His voice came out cold and heavy: “Why the hell did you say that on the show?”
“Oh?”
The young man’s tone dripped sickly sweet, like poisoned honey seeping into the ear. “Because I like Shen Li, duh. You couldn’t tell? So dense.”
Qian Xingzhi’s voice was rough, bordering on outright fury, laced with thick anger. Every word seemed to be brutally wrenched from deep in his throat.
“You’re joking, right? Shen Li is thirteen years older than you. You were only twelve when you met him!”
“So what about twelve?” Su Xilan let out a light chuckle. “That year, when I was twelve, he picked me up out of the snow. From that moment, I knew I’d never forget him for the rest of my life.”
“He wrapped you up in my clothes!” Qian Xingzhi couldn’t hold back any longer. “Get this straight—he took pity on you, was afraid you’d freeze to death, so he lent a hand. Hmph. Shen Li has saved so many people; he might not even remember it. Understand?”
“Snort. So what?”
Su Xilan laughed on the other end of the line, his tone light and breezy. “Anyway, someone like you could never understand what it feels like for a kid who thinks he’s about to die in a minus-twenty-degree blizzard to open his eyes and see a face as divine as one descended from the heavens…”
Qian Xingzhi frowned at how dramatically he put it. “What kind of feeling?”
“Like seeing Mommy. The feeling of a mother.”
Qian Xingzhi: .
He felt like he was dealing with a sicko.
He really couldn’t take it anymore.
