Qian Xingzhi stared intently at the pale stretch of Shen Li’s neck. In truth, from the moment Shen Li had called his name, his fist had already clenched tight.
Shen Li’s skin glowed faintly red against its pallor, his thick lashes casting shadows in the deep sockets of his eyes. He looked like a handful of snow—cold, white, and soft. Utterly exquisite, and somehow tender too.
Shen Li’s tenderness was like a block of ice soaking in water at 37 degrees Celsius.
His words were never particularly pleasant to the ear, but the calm expression on his face as he spoke each one held a breathtaking pull for Qian Xingzhi, something electrifying.
And when something struck a person as unbearably cute, it often sparked a terrifying urge to possess, even to violate and destroy.
That was why Qian Xingzhi’s fist tightened at the sound of Shen Li saying “Xingzhi.”
The feeling was awful. And all too familiar.
He wanted to kiss him. Touch him. But he feared startling him even more.
Seven years was too long.
Truly, far too long.
Shen Li noticed Qian Xingzhi’s gaze drifting.
It hovered around the lower half of his face, like a daydreaming student in class or an audience member fixated only on looks—the intensity of Qian Xingzhi’s focus even reminded him of how he tuned out Yang Zhiqi’s lectures.
So Shen Li’s voice cooled. “Are you even listening?”
Qian Xingzhi saw Shen Li’s brows furrow, but it only made him look even more striking.
He shook off the indecent thoughts swirling in his head, his expression turning cool and his nod obedient. A few syllables tumbled from his throat.
“I’m listening. Sorry about that… just now.”
Shen Li knew himself well. He was easy to placate.
Or rather, he never stayed mad for long. A few soft words from Qian Xingzhi could smooth over even the gravest issues—a stark contrast to his professional demeanor, but it fit their long history together perfectly.
Shen Li’s brows remained knit as he eyed Qian Xingzhi, his heart tightening. Without a word, he took half a step back, refusing to dwell on the moment. Instead, he swiftly circled back to the shared housing issue.
“—Which room do you want to rent?”
“Your old room. We can add a bed.”
“It’s small. How would we fit one?”
“By the window.”
Shen Li: “…”
Then Qian Xingzhi added softly, “The other two are kingsize—not ideal for adding a bed to split sleeping. Unless you don’t mind sharing, then I—”
“Add the bed,” Shen Li said, stepping forward. “As long as it fits the rules.”
“Mm.”
Qian Xingzhi’s low voice rumbled in response as he fell into step behind Shen Li.
Before long, Assistant Xu’s control system for the cabin pinged with two internal messages.
[Qian Xingzhi]: 【Find a reason to tweak the rules. Allow a bed in single rooms.】
[Qian Xingzhi]: 【Shen Li doesn’t like sharing the frame with me. Cut back on our duo shots too.】
Assistant Xu read them and rolled her eyes so hard they nearly reached the heavens.
Once she saved up enough for retirement, she was quitting this soul-draining job on the spot…
Staring at the screen full of protesting comments, she muttered to herself, “There are so many rich people out there—why can’t one of them be me?!”
Netizen Discussion Zone:
【What the hell is the studio doing? Qian Xingzhi finally shows up, and you give him barely any screen time?!】
【WTF, I’ve been staring at Yang Zhiqi’s big head all afternoon, plus kjj and lx bickering nonstop, and even Li Weiwei and Kris got more shots than Qian-Shen. Studio, explain yourselves! I ignored my summer homework all day glued to this screen, and this is what you serve up?!】
【Did Brother Qian pull too many sneaky moves? Is the crew not on his side anymore?】
【Help! Qian Xingzhi’s an investor ffs—you’re spending his money but won’t film him? What’s wrong with more Qian-Shen shots? A little special treatment? He hits the bathroom, and poof, they’re gone again!】
【30 minutes [dead]—did he fall in the toilet? Send a search party!】
【Qian Xingzhi… you rascal… if you’re gonna kiss Little Li, at least don’t pick the bathroom, thanks [shattered]】
“—Xu Jie, what do we do?!” The camera crew leader looked distressed, practically rubbing a bald spot on his forehead. Following the head director’s orders, he trudged over and asked Assistant Xu carefully, “Should we check with Mr. Qian again? The backlash this afternoon has been brutal—all complaints about too little footage on him and Mr. Shen, too much on the others. Viewers are already calling the complaint line, accusing us of false advertising.”
Assistant Xu arched a brow, calm as ever. “What’s there to fear? They’re not cursing you guys out. Stick to the current shot plan. Same for tonight’s event.”
The camera leader confirmed, “So if Mr. Qian and Mr. Shen appear together in frame, minimize the shots?”
“Right.”
“Uh, but why?” The cameraman was baffled. “Logically, aren’t they the C-position? They’re the ones who brought funding…”
Assistant Xu’s face stayed neutral, her response polished. “This show is dedicated to deeply exploring the various issues in marital relationships, with a focus on the complexities of divorced families—like the roots of household conflicts, child custody disputes and enforcement—to spark public reflection and discussion on marriage and family matters. Not to zoom in on personal entanglements between investors and exes.”
The cameraman blinked, dazed.
He nodded.
Seeing he’d bought it, Assistant Xu pressed on. “The first three days had too much on Shen Li and Mr. Qian already. Lately, Yang and Zhao chatting about kids, Ke Lin’s impulsive marriage duo, Li Jiang’s asset division woes—they’re perfect for more airtime to guide viewer thought.”
Cameraman: …
“Got it. For tonight’s duo game segment, I’ll tell Group A to cut back on Mr. Qian’s pair shots—but solos? If one of them is alone, do we film?”
“Try not to catch Mr. Shen walking.”
“—Roger that. We’ve been on it since day one. Like when Mr. Shen came down from the forest that day—our guys just shot scenery the whole way, grabbed some dialogue audio.”
“Good.”
“But the bad reviews from unhappy viewers…?”
“I’ll have someone drop their night-talk voice clips as bloopers soon.”
A little candy for the howling fans to lick.
Sure enough, once the edited audio snippets went up, they pulled in a flood of attention. Even the CP thread bombed by solo stans got rebuilt by incoming shippers in hours—but that’s a story for later.
Shen Li, caught in the midst of it all, had no idea.
He was just puzzled why, after turning in their Day Task A together, the camera trailing them had vanished.
With over two hours until the 7 PM deadline, though, he decided to find another blind spot, knock out Task B at a leisurely pace, then head back to the cabin.
“Want to do 219?”
Ever since Shen Li had mentioned keeping distance, Qian Xingzhi’s voice had reverted to its recent chilly depth, now husky from illness in a way that sounded almost inhumanly seductive. One had to wonder if those were normal human vocal cords at work—or if he was pitching it deliberately.
Qian Xingzhi stood ramrod straight and added calmly, “—No one will bother you there. You could wrap up past six and head back.”
Shen Li dropped his gaze, pondering briefly. He mainly wanted to ditch the grass stuffed in his bag. Needed a no-cam spot, and a chance to split from Qian Xingzhi.
Heading back to the production low building might work.
There was a JD Mini Supermarket a few hundred meters away. He could send Qian Xingzhi down for corn or drinks—plenty of staff, centralized trash, big bins for sure.
“Sure.”
Shen Li agreed, watching Qian Xingzhi hop on the electric scooter. He settled in back but kept his hands on the seat behind him—no reaching for Qian Xingzhi’s waist.
Just like sophomore year, before they’d gotten together, when Shen Li rode Qian Xingzhi’s bike and planted his hands the same way.
Shen Li had once found it odd that a rich heir like Qian Xingzhi would bother with bikes or scooters. Later he learned Qian Xingzhi had picked it up just to get him home safe.
“Haven’t ridden in years,” Qian Xingzhi called from the front, voice stiff. “Hold on tight. If you fall, don’t blame me.”
Shen Li let out a soft laugh, gripping the seat harder. How could he miss the implication?
“Oh,” Shen Li replied, unmoving. “No need for you to take responsibility.”
“…”
Qian Xingzhi made a vague noise—a huff? A hum?—lost to the wind before Shen Li could catch it.
But too many similar memories flooded back on that breeze, surging in, then drifting away.
Like winter break senior year, the day after they got together. Qian Xingzhi, peeved that Shen Li still gripped the seat instead of his waist, pulled over on a deserted street with perfect justification. Turned around and claimed their first kiss.
Or that time Qian Xingzhi sulked for three hours after Shen Li rode Zhao Rong’s motorcycle and held his waist—didn’t speak till Shen Li coaxed him for six, swearing on two fingers he’d only ever hold his partner’s like that from then on.
Events as vivid as yesterday, now faded to sepia in memory.
The evening breeze no longer carried fine snow across lashes, just as the rust stains on school uniform cuffs held no tie to either of them anymore.
…
“We’re here.” Qian Xingzhi braked and told Shen Li, “Get off.”
Shen Li’s eyes dimmed. He pressed his right hand to Qian Xingzhi’s shoulder, pivoting his left foot for balance before planting his right. They climbed the stairs to the room in silence.
Save for Qian Xingzhi asking, “What’s in your bag? Heavy?”
Shen Li replied flatly, “iPad. Not heavy. I got it.”
Passing 208, Shen Li glanced over, questions piling up—but too much to voice now. Better inside.
As for the pressing matter at hand—
Shen Li watched Qian Xingzhi fiddle with the lock for a moment before speaking up in his usual offhand manner. “Is there any food in the house?”
Qian Xingzhi glanced back over his shoulder, his calm gaze flicking toward Shen Li. “Just a bowl of porridge from this morning.”
“Oh,” Shen Li replied flatly. “Then I’ll have that later. I’m a bit hungry.”
Qian Xingzhi pushed the door open and pocketed the key. With a forceful shove, he swung it wide, stepping aside with his tall frame to let Shen Li through. “It’s cold by now. Not good for your stomach. I’ll go buy something else.”
Shen Li nodded without protest.
Once Qian Xingzhi saw him step inside, he turned on his heel and left, his footsteps retreating with purposeful speed.
Shen Li waited until the sound had faded entirely before shrugging off his backpack. He then fished out the entire bundle of black plastic bags—the ones stuffed full of grass—from inside it.
In that instant, a rueful thought struck him. Among all the foolish things he had done over the years of navigating life’s messes, today’s blunder could now take its place right alongside them. It felt just like a criminal biding their time to dispose of the murder weapon…
Whatever. Best not to dwell on it. Cut himself some slack.
Shen Li eyed the door, which locked automatically, and considered hunting for a spare key.
Houses like this one—long neglected and rarely used—usually came with several copies of the key. After handing one over to a temporary tenant, the owners would stash the rest on a hook somewhere or tuck them into a drawer.
Shen Li figured he’d do a quick search: peek into a few bedside tables. If nothing turned up, he’d just leave the door ajar while he dumped the bags. The big trash bin was right downstairs, only a short walk away—far quicker than Qian Xingzhi could possibly return.
Swish—
He pulled open the bedside table drawer.
Sure enough, there was a ring of keys inside.
But pressing down on them was a small box…
Shen Li’s cool eyes narrowed sharply, his breath catching for a beat. He studied the angle of the box atop the keys for a moment before lifting it away with deliberate nonchalance.
When he finally took in the details printed on the box, those fine brows of his knit together in a deep frown.
Because the little box pinning down the keys was none other than…
an unopened pack of extra-large condoms.
