Shen Li enlarged those few pictures Qian Xingzhi had sent, staring at them silently for a long time. He didn’t know what to say.
Instinctively, he let out a sigh and sent Qian Xingzhi a system [like].
The back-and-forth felt a bit like a conversation in a family group chat—one person dropping a cringy pic, the other replying.
Even better, half a minute later, Qian Xingzhi fired back a [pouty] bean emoji.
Shen Li fell silent.
Qian Xingzhi’s chatting style had changed a lot.
In the past, whenever Qian Xingzhi thought he’d accomplished something big, he’d bombard Shen Li with dozens of messages.
He’d describe the event in exhaustive detail first, then explain his motives, often throwing in his current emotions and mood—
Not like a formal report or a little essay, but one text after another in rapid fire.
Exclamation points outnumbered commas, and the whole thing probably ran over three hundred words.
So Shen Li used to open Qian Xingzhi’s chat and find a string of messages waiting.
Sprinkled among them were plenty of silly dog emojis.
Come to think of it, Qian Xingzhi’s go-to back then was a big golden retriever wagging its tail, happily leaping into its big brother’s arms and knocking away the other puppies with its butt.
But now…
Shen Li gazed silently at that [pouty] little bean emoji from Qian Xingzhi. Even though he’d long known how much Qian Xingzhi had changed, a moment of bewilderment still washed over him.
Over these seven years, Qian Xingzhi had matured more than a little—almost excessively so.
Xiao Zhang drove fast. The scenery outside the window streaked backward, unfolding rapidly before his eyes only to vanish in an instant.
Trees, telephone poles, and houses blurred into afterimages, as if time itself had compressed in that moment.
Shen Li sat there with a blank expression a while longer. In the end, he deleted the words he’d typed out after agonizing over them: [Are you still running a fever?]
Qian Xingzhi’s side showed he was typing, but after a long wait, no message came through.
Whatever. Just leave it.
Shen Li’s slender fingers swiped up on WeChat, about to lock his phone, when a new message popped up.
But it wasn’t from Qian Xingzhi:
[Zhou Yulin]
[Little Li, I’ve been watching your show lately.]
Shen Li’s brows furrowed slightly. He tapped it open right away and saw that Zhou Yulin’s message was as concise and polite as ever.
Two more messages followed from him:
[I’m flying back the day after tomorrow.]
[I heard you can use your phone after 11:30 PM. If you’re not busy tonight, mind if I give you a call?]
By the time Shen Li read that, his brows had knit tighter.
Half a year ago, during Chinese New Year, he’d just seen Zhou Yulin once. He hadn’t expected the guy to return after only six months.
Without overthinking it, Shen Li tapped back a simple [Sure, sounds good].
Shen Li’s chats were always this efficient.
Zhou Yulin didn’t seem fazed by his curtness and added:
[I saw Qian Xingzhi just disbanded his fan support group. Did you see that?]
[Yeah, I saw.]
[Good.]
[I checked his PR statement too. Seems like he’s changed a lot.]
[Yeah, he has.]
[Haha, Little Li, you’re still the same style.]
[I checked the time here and thought maybe someone else had your phone, but two sentences in and I knew it was you.]
Shen Li’s fingertips paused.
Unsure what to say, he sent a simple emoticon made of punctuation:
[= =]
Luckily, Zhou Yulin didn’t bring up any new topics. He just added that he’d call later that night.
Shen Li didn’t reply. Before long, he’d put the whole thing out of his mind.
By the time he returned to the cabin, it was already past eleven-thirty, almost lunchtime.
The sky was overcast today, threatening rain.
With the live stream starting at noon sharp, the staff bustled through the cabin, their movements swift and organized, as if every second counted.
The camera Jiang Nan had smashed that morning had been a heavy-duty rig. Less than two hours later, they’d swapped in a spare.
But Shen Li eyed the new one—it was clearly older, not as good as the broken one.
“Shen Li! You’re back?!”
Lin Xu spotted him at the door and hurried over in three strides.
They’d left earlier while Lin Xu was still sleeping in. Now fully awake, he’d clearly heard about “Shen Li taking Jiang Nan to the police station.” Glancing behind Shen Li, he saw only the driver Xiao Zhang—no Jiang Nan, no director Xiao Chen!
Lin Xu’s eyes widened even more, his gossip instincts igniting: “…No way, right? Where’s Brother Jiang?”
Shen Li glanced at him coolly. “Looking for him?”
“Nah, nothing like that! But seriously, did they lock Brother Jiang up?” Lin Xu’s booming voice drew half the room’s attention. “Whoa, Shen Li, that’s intense! I figured you’d just take him out to cool off, maybe fine him or give him a talking-to!”
Shen Li could tell not just Jiang Nan had thought that.
Li Weiwei looked surprised. Ke Jiujiu’s mouth hung open. Yang Zhiqi, midway through sneaking a quail egg from the platter, dropped it.
The group crowded around Shen Li in a loose oval, with him at the focal point on one side, suddenly the center of attention.
“Little Shen, what happened? Fill us in.”
Yang Zhiqi clapped his hands and approached like a boss on inspection.
Shen Li shot him a flat look and said nothing. Then Cao Sheng’s voice rose from behind, picking up the explanation:
“Ahem, Xiao Chen’s still giving her statement. She just called back—Jiang Nan’s agreed to pay double the camera’s original price, and his attitude’s good. Shouldn’t be long before he’s out. But the police said they still need to give him some ideological education. No firm release time yet, so he probably won’t make today’s shoot.”
Silence fell over the room at Cao Sheng’s words.
Including among the staff.
They’d slaved away in the industry long enough to see countless celebs smash things, throw tantrums, even get physical. Anyone with clout or fame would take out their bad moods on regular workers like them.
A couple curses were mild; the real terror was if something hit your head, and most just had to grit their teeth.
Quit if you couldn’t take it—but that only made the bully happier.
They’d just find a new punching bag, no consequences.
But someone like Jiang Nan, who’d only smashed a camera and gotten hauled straight to the station… with no immediate release?
It was downright satisfying.
A few cameramen and follow-shot directors exchanged glances at Cao Sheng’s words, their lips twitching upward. Someone muttered “Badass” under their breath, but the whole room heard it.
With everything explained, Shen Li had nothing to add. He slipped a few steps away from the crowd’s center.
He was about to head to his room for a quick knee massage—his joints had been aching all morning.
But then Ke Jiujiu latched on, grabbing his arm.
“Come on, Brother Shen, let’s eat! I just made caviar mini truffle potato towers, lemon foam sea urchin pasta, and truffle cheese mousse with fig preserves. Try some!”
Shen Li’s eyes narrowed. Just hearing it filled him up.
His head spun, his stomach churned with acid reflux, and the knee pain he’d ignored amid the chaos all morning now throbbed like it wanted to die.
Brows furrowed coldly, Shen Li let Ke Jiujiu drag him to the table. At least he sat down.
Ke Jiujiu on his left, Lin Xu on his right, Yang Zhiqi across—chatter from three sides.
But Shen Li couldn’t really refuse.
He’d skipped the recent brunch cooking segments, just eating bread or others’ dishes, washing a few plates at most. He didn’t want to dampen their enthusiasm. Dragged over anyway, he picked up a fork and speared a bit to eat.
One bite of pickled cucumber, and his roiling stomach rebelled harder.
Everything felt off—consciousness fuzzy. He could barely focus on the table talk, forcing himself to look less miserable while dodging chit-chat.
As they ate, noon struck twelve.
Right on cue, every camera in the cabin switched on silently for the live stream.
[Holy crap! They’re eating! Let me peek!! Any sign of Qian Xingzhi in there?!]
[No sign. Wasn’t he supposed to join today? Observation room, spill if he’s coming or not—teasing us all night is annoying!]
[Today’s host in the observation room is Yao Shuang. No Qian Xingzhi or Su Xilan.]
[Refund refund refund! Refund what I bought in the live chat yesterday. Only got it for Qian Xingzhi’s sake, and now he’s disbanded the fan group. Don’t want it anymore.]
[Upstairs, just hit up customer service. If it hasn’t shipped, you’ll get your money in ten seconds. Yelling here gonna help?]
[What tea? What happened? Haven’t checked Weibo yet!]
[Qian Xingzhi just disbanded his solo fan group over his CP with Shen Li.]
[Epic. You should write headlines for the dailies.]
[…As a fangirl, real talk: if I were Money Jar, I’d be crushed too. What Qian Xingzhi did really hurts fans’ feelings, especially saying it so bluntly.]
[Really? Pure passerby here—I think this quick response scores major points. Handsome as hell.]
[C-ent melon-muncher here, kinda wanna stan now lol]
[Stars and fans should just be light admirers. Qian Xingzhi disbanding the group means he doesn’t want blind fanaticism.]
[OMG! Yao Shuang’s about to drop the news!!!!]
In the Live Observation Room.
Yao Shuang faced the camera, a bit worn from shilling. Her eyes glued to the teleprompter, she ran through the script professionally:
“Alright, next up on our broadcast: we’ll reveal if yesterday’s guesses about ‘Observation Room Ex-Husband Bro’ were right. Zhen Tian, what do you think?”
Zhen Tian grinned wryly, spouting a long string of polite words as he gazed longingly at the screen, his expression sour and his tone full of feigned envy for Qian Xingzhi.
Yao Shuang waited patiently for his three-minute performance before rolling her eyes discreetly and passing the mic to the next person. “Okay, so what does Jiang Cheng think?”
Two more minutes dragged by.
The viewers were on the verge of erupting in curses at the torturously slow program flow when the bot began deleting a flood of profanity-laced comments. Only then, at the peak of the audience’s frustration, did Yao Shuang leisurely sip a cup of flower tea and signal the director for a camera switch.
There, on the public screen—
An inky blotch began to spread.
First, a blurry ID photo emerged, and upon closer inspection, it was unmistakably Qian Xingzhi’s upper body!
Even with the other half completely obscured, anyone could tell at a glance that this was clearly a photo from a marriage certificate.
Qian Xingzhi’s chiseled features were as inimitable as ever—that same strikingly handsome face.
Yet the usual stern resolve was absent from his typically cold brows. His eyes lacked their familiar cool nobility.
In the photo, those aloof, emotionless peach-blossom eyes were curved into something resembling puppy-dog eyes.
—The corners of his mouth lifted happily, revealing an open, infectious smile.
He radiated a joyful, carefree vibe.
The online comments went silent for about ten seconds before exploding in a torrent of new posts.
The live stream barrage paused for three seconds, then scrolled with a barrage of single words:
【Fuck】
【Holy shit】
【Damn】
【Whoa】
【What?】
【…】
Yao Shuang calmly took another sip of her flower tea and continued with the segment. “Ahem, well, as everyone can see, Qian Xingzhi has indeed been married. But we’ve obscured the date and his partner’s info here because our next public poll is to guess who Qian Xingzhi’s ex is. At the same time, the civilian guests in the cabin will do a quick guess of their own—two hours, time limit.”
The barrage was already cracking up:
【Huh? Qian Xingzhi’s ex… isn’t it just picking between Shen Li and Kris?】
【Like asking if 1+1 equals 2—what’s the difference?】
【LOL, treating the viewers like idiots】
【Would anyone actually be dumb enough to pick Kris?】
【AAAAHHH! The cabin doorbell just rang!!!】
In the live feed, the moment the cabin doorbell rang, the scrolling barrage seemed to freeze in time.
Every head in the cabin turned toward the sound in unison. Ke Jiujiu scampered over excitedly and flung open the door—
Tall.
Incredibly tall.
Even after he’d taken two steps inside, the fixed camera couldn’t frame both his face and Ke Jiujiu’s in the same shot.
The mobile camera hurriedly chased after him. As the barrage detonated, the director cut to a close-up—
Qian Xingzhi’s face.
Qian Xingzhi looked overheated, sweat beading on his forehead.
Sweat droplets clung to his bobbing Adam’s apple with each swallow, like snowmelt cascading from a glacier—because his expression…
Remained utterly noble and aloof.
He wore a navy linen short-sleeved shirt, its buttons fastened only to the third one, exposing sharply defined collarbones. A bead of sweat trailed down the open collar toward his taut chest.
The camera panned as Qian Xingzhi strode toward the dining table. The linen fabric stretched subtly over the muscles of his shoulders and back, forming faint wrinkles before draping sharply at his narrowing waistline. A belt cinched it, accentuating a powerful midsection.
He nodded curtly to Ke Jiujiu in greeting, then loped toward the table on long legs.
At the same time, everyone seated at the table shot to their feet with a collective whoosh.
Amid enthusiastic applause, several people stepped away from their chairs to offer Qian Xingzhi a warm welcome.
Shen Li had been in a daze ever since sitting down to eat. Now, as Qian Xingzhi arrived and the people around him leaped up suddenly, Shen Li hadn’t even figured out what to say when Lin Xu tugged at him from the right. “Hurry up and stand! Why are you still sitting there?!”
Shen Li: ?
“—If I tell you now, you won’t get flamed for it. Better than the viewers ripping into you later…”
Shen Li: …
Lin Xu saw that Shen Li had zero interest in playing along with the formalities. It was hard to drag him into it. So Lin Xu prioritized getting himself in position: he stood, took a few steps forward, and waited to shake Qian Xingzhi’s hand.
—Truth be told, he was a big fan of Qian Xingzhi. He could even say he’d grown up watching Qian Xingzhi’s movies. And up close now, the man looked even better in person than on screen—insanely handsome from a distance alone.
“Whoa, if it isn’t the Great Film Emperor himself!” Yang Zhiqi’s voice rang out cheerfully. “Come here, let me get a look—this time I finally get to see the real deal.”
“It’s real, it’s real. Feels just like a dream.” Ke Jiujiu chimed in, hurrying over.
Little Zhao was clearly thrilled too. She squeezed forward, mustering her courage. “Brother Qian, hello! C-can I shake your hand?”
“Hello. Just call me Qian Xingzhi.”
Qian Xingzhi extended his hand for a polite shake with Little Zhao, who barely reached his chest.
His movements were crisp and firm, but his tone was courteously distant.
Nearly everyone watching, inside the stream and out, could sense the inherent distance in his every gesture—an inborn quality, as cold and remote as an iceberg.
“Hello, everyone. No need to stand on ceremony. Call me Xingzhi or Qian Xingzhi, either works.”
As his deep voice finished, Qian Xingzhi had shaken hands all around.
His steps carried him unobtrusively to the edge of the table.
Just as Lin Xu flashed a bright smile and moved to point out the seat Jiang Nan had left empty today, Qian Xingzhi extended a long arm. His slender fingers splayed out, fingertips lightly pressing the table and blocking Lin Xu from squeezing past.
Before Lin Xu could speak, Qian Xingzhi plopped down right in the seat Lin Xu had just vacated—on Shen Li’s right.
Lin Xu: ?
The next second, Shen Li’s brows furrowed slightly. He shot Qian Xingzhi a cold sidelong glance.
One look at Qian Xingzhi’s arrogant demeanor, and Shen Li looked away. Instead, his gaze swept toward the plate Lin Xu had used, gesturing pointedly. “Can’t you see the utensils have been used? Someone’s sitting here.”
“Oh.”
The corners of Qian Xingzhi’s mouth hooked up in a wicked smirk before dropping sharply.
His eyes raked over Lin Xu with a hint of ferocity. “You were sitting here just now?”
“Yeah, yeah.”
Lin Xu nodded repeatedly, his eyes still holding traces of admiration for his longtime favorite actor.
But the next second, Lin Xu felt thoroughly turned off.
Because Qian Xingzhi showed no sign of budging. He simply reached out with long fingers, picked up the plate Lin Xu had used, and handed it over. “Appreciate it. I want to sit next to him—thanks.”
The barrage detonated instantly!
Forum:
【Uh, what…?】
【Do we even need to guess Qian Xingzhi’s ex anymore? [smile]】
