Moonlight streamed through the gap in the curtains like a curved blade, suspended at Shen Li’s throat.
Qian Xingzhi had rarely heard Shen Li say that he liked him.
In the past, the most they ever got were those moments in bed—and even then, Shen Li hadn’t said it of his own accord. It had only spilled out in broken gasps when he was pushed to his limit.
That was why the recent “I like you” struck Qian Xingzhi’s ears like a deafening thunderclap after a long drought.
Shen Li fell silent for a moment, as if realizing that his words carried a bit of unintended ambiguity.
Without time to dwell on Qian Xingzhi’s complicated emotions, Shen Li clarified his meaning more precisely.
“What I mean is, we can try spending time together again.”
It wasn’t as if they were rushing off to get remarried right that instant.
“Good.” Qian Xingzhi’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he stared at Shen Li with an expressionless face. “And if things go well…?”
Shen Li murmured softly, “Then we’ll remarry.”
Qian Xingzhi went rigid all over, though his blood seemed to surge with heat. He steadied himself and asked the second half of his question.
“…And if you’re not satisfied?”
Qian Xingzhi trailed off, waiting for Shen Li to finish the sentence as he saw fit.
Sure enough.
Shen Li’s voice remained rational and calm, carrying an indescribable gentleness. “It’s not that I wouldn’t be satisfied. You could take more time to think it over. If it’s still the same as before in the end…”
Qian Xingzhi watched him coldly, his lips pressed into a thin line.
More than ten seconds passed before Shen Li continued.
“If it doesn’t work, then we’ll call it quits.”
Qian Xingzhi lowered his gaze. The look on Shen Li’s face as he said it reminded him of the old days, when Shen Li used to explain math problems to him.
“No worries—try again.”
“But I’ve been trying so hard! How come I still can’t figure it out?”
“Then just skip it. Don’t waste time on this one.”
“You’re telling me to skip it? What happens to the problem then? You’re so ruthless!”
“Time and energy are limited during an exam. It’s perfectly normal to move on if you can’t solve it.”
“If it were you, and you couldn’t solve one, would you skip it?”
“Yes.”
Qian Xingzhi’s grip tightened on the damp clothes. He nodded indifferently, as if it hardly mattered either way. “So, how long do you plan to test it out?”
Shen Li had originally intended to say until the show ended in six days—at the very least, that would give them enough time to decide if further probing was worthwhile.
But seeing Qian Xingzhi’s furrowed brow, the icy chill pooling beneath his lashes, and the faint tremor in his eyes, Shen Li held back. Instead, he turned the question around. “…What do you think?”
Qian Xingzhi paused, then replied with calm composure. “Forty-nine days.”
Shen Li frowned, puzzled as to why it wasn’t a nice, round number. “Why forty-nine days?” he asked.
Qian Xingzhi hung up the clothes in silence. His arm muscles trembled slightly from the tension as his deep, magnetic voice explained, “Heaven is three, earth is four; together they make seven. Forty-nine days completes a full cycle of yin and yang energy.”
Shen Li: ?
Qian Xingzhi continued, “To put it in scientific terms, it takes humans an average of twenty-one days to form a new habit. Major cognitive restructuring takes longer—forty-nine days aligns with the brain’s neural rewiring cycle, helping to build stable decision-making pathways.”
Shen Li: …
Qian Xingzhi pressed on. “Seven weeks is also enough time to uncover eighty percent of potential variables. An observation period like that filters out errors from impulsive decisions.”
Shen Li: .
Qian Xingzhi added, “Plus, it’s a 1.5-month cycle—”
“Then we’ll do it your way.”
Shen Li cut him off with a blank expression. “But after the show ends, I’ll be heading back to the village. I won’t have time anytime soon, and when exactly I can come find you will depend on the school’s schedule.”
“That’s fine.” Qian Xingzhi nodded. Shen Li had his own plans, so this wasn’t much of a surprise. It was just…
When Shen Li had answered that Conflict Card earlier, he’d written that he had eight months free next year. What did that mean?
“You said something about ‘long separations and few reunions’ in your answer…”
Before he could finish, a knock sounded at the door—not too light, not too heavy. Knock knock knock, knock knock knock.
Qian Xingzhi and Shen Li both looked toward the sound. A woman’s voice came from outside. “Brother Qian? Brother Shen? …Are you asleep? It’s Xiao Chen.”
It was Xiao Chen, the director shadowing Shen Li.
Qian Xingzhi glanced at Shen Li. He swallowed the rest of his question as Shen Li gestured for him to answer the door. Shen Li, meanwhile, silently tightened his loosely tied bathrobe, grabbed his phone and iPad, and tried to transfer the file Zhou Yulin had sent him over to the tablet.
He could look at it tomorrow when he had time.
But transferring files between a domestic Android phone and iOS usually required some intermediary app.
Downloading and logging into one on the iPad would take several minutes at least…
From the doorway came a voice.
“Ah, Mr. Qian, it’s time. You’re the only ones who haven’t turned in your phones yet, so Director Cao sent me to check in.”
Qian Xingzhi glanced back at Shen Li, who was focused on his phone. He seemed to understand what was going on.
In his low, magnetic voice, Qian Xingzhi replied unhurriedly, “Is your surname Chen?”
Xiao Chen blinked. “Uh, yeah?”
“No problem.” Qian Xingzhi crossed his arms, his tall frame blocking the doorway. “Among the guests in the observation room, aside from Su Xilan, is there anyone you like?”
Xiao Chen: “Huh? M-me?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“I… I think they’re all pretty okay?” Xiao Chen was utterly confused by Qian Xingzhi’s intent. “W-what’s this about?”
“I could help you get an autograph if you’d like.”
“Ah! My little sister likes Wang Zixin—could I get one from her?”
“Sure.” Qian Xingzhi agreed in his usual cool, detached tone. “Want a personalized one?”
“Can I?! If so, write: ‘Chen Su, keep pushing for the 2026 college entrance exam! Thanks a ton!'”
“Got it.”
Qian Xingzhi agreed, his brows knitting tighter. He glanced at Shen Li again, figuring they still needed about three more minutes.
“The DS Magazine shoot tomorrow—is it at eight or eight-thirty?”
“Hm? Nine, right? Wasn’t that the time you requested so Teacher Shen could sleep in a bit longer…?”
“Ahem.” Qian Xingzhi coughed awkwardly, his expression darkening a shade.
Shen Li had been paying attention to the exchange. He transferred the “Feasibility Acceptance Report” as quickly as possible, powered off his phone, and coughed in Qian Xingzhi’s direction.
Without even turning his head, Qian Xingzhi strode over to Shen Li with a cold face. He bent down and took the phone from Shen Li’s hand…
He seemed almost obedient.
The next moment, Xiao Chen watched as the man approached her, his face set in that haughty, I-own-the-world expression. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”
“Uh, no trouble at all.”
Even after Qian Xingzhi closed and locked the door, Xiao Chen wondered if she’d just hallucinated the whole thing.
What was that about?
Had the Great Film Emperor seemed… a little obedient in front of Teacher Shen?
That intuition felt completely off the rails…
Still, she couldn’t help but wonder how the two of them got along in private. After all, they seemed so mismatched in every way except their looks.
Xiao Chen had scored the autograph for her sister and was in high spirits. She casually posted on her 【C-Ent Worker Complaint Bot】:
“Ah~ Teacher Qian is such a nice guy, super polite too. Fans of Teacher Qian are so lucky [confetti] But the real winners have to be the Thrifty Husbands shippers—I got a glimpse of them interacting from afar, and damn, there’s some real sweetness there [teary-eyed]
“If I hadn’t had every CP I’ve ever shipped implode on me + my phenomenal curse of flipping whatever pair I touch, I’d legit be tempted to ship these two [shattered]”
Meanwhile.
Shen Li sat on the edge of the bed, his bathrobe parted halfway to expose his right leg.
The ugly scar was secondary; what mattered more was that he hadn’t paid much attention over the past few days, and now his knee was seriously swollen with fluid.
“…Are you sure you know what you’re doing? Don’t make it worse.”
Shen Li gazed down skeptically at Qian Xingzhi, who was half-kneeling on the floor.
“I got certified.”
“For what?”
“Physical therapy.”
With that, the man fell silent, as if he had no intention of elaborating. Instead, he quietly grasped Shen Li’s calf with both hands. Starting just above the ankle, he slowly pushed upward to just below the knee, repeating the motion five to ten times.
Then, from the inner side above the knee, two inches and three finger widths along the upper edge of the patella, he applied gentle pressure.
Qian Xingzhi’s palms were almost too hot… Shen Li’s eyes drifted shut as he massaged, a tingling shiver racing from the sore spot on his knee all the way up his tailbone and spine.
“No, stop. You’re making it worse.”
Shen Li’s knee ached and throbbed more intensely now. He tried to halt Qian Xingzhi.
“Just bear with it a little longer.” Qian Xingzhi suddenly bent his knuckles to press into the acupoint. Shen Li winced in pain, his fingers whitening as they gripped the bed edge, his brows furrowing deeper.
After a long moment of contemplation, Qian Xingzhi asked, “I saw in your answer that next year, you have eight months free. What’s that about?”
Shen Li had known this question was coming ever since Qian Xingzhi expressed dissatisfaction with one of his fan hotline responses. He’d planned to explain anyway.
“Mm,” Shen Li acknowledged softly. “The school’s in the process of converting to a public institution right now. Local government approval takes three months, asset and legal procedures six more. At the fastest, it’ll be rebranded and operational by next summer. Once the two exemptions and one subsidy policy is approved, my workload will lighten up.”
“That quick?”
“Mm.” Shen Li’s fine brows narrowed slightly. “The school’s assets are straightforward, it has high priority, and the survey phase is already done. The rest of the process could wrap up in under a year at best—hiss…”
Pain abruptly cut off Shen Li’s explanation.
Even gritting his teeth through it, a fractured groan escaped his throat.
Qian Xingzhi had been listening quietly while applying more medicated oil to his hands, making Shen Li’s skin gleam. Each press pulled up sticky threads. When he saw Shen Li wince and shoot him a scrutinizing, suspicious look, Qian Xingzhi said innocently, “This isn’t my fault. You stood all day and pulled weeds for hours— just tough it out a bit.”
No sooner had he spoken than Qian Xingzhi pressed his wrist bone into the soft hollow behind Shen Li’s knee and bore down hard on the acupoint.
Shen Li yelped in pain and kicked out with his good leg, not paying much mind to where it landed. His foot thudded against Qian Xingzhi’s chest as he snapped in a mix of anger and reproach, “Enough already! Are you trying to kill me?”
In the next instant, Shen Li felt his left ankle seized firmly. The man below him tilted his head roguishly and planted a casual kiss on the fibula just above his foot.
That kiss left Shen Li holding his breath. His lean, pale body trembled faintly beneath the loosely draped bathrobe.
The instigator lifted his gaze, those sparkling peach-blossom eyes brimming with bleak resentment and the faintest hint of wetness. Before Shen Li could process it, Qian Xingzhi leaned down again and pressed his lips to the knife scar on Shen Li’s right knee.
Like a dragonfly touching the water’s surface, ever so lightly.
Warm breath brushed against the swollen spot on his knee—
as if in prayer, or perhaps a blessing.
Shen Li, whether from age or an allergy to romance, felt his heart clench sharply. With some resolve, he yanked his leg back completely.
“…Go to sleep, Xingzhi. That’s enough.”
Without even daring to glance at Qian Xingzhi’s expression, he took the initiative to slip under the covers, resolute and unyielding.
Qian Xingzhi watched his back with a hint of amusement. “So, after the school situation was sorted out, what were your original plans?”
It couldn’t possibly have been to actually come work as his assistant.
By Qian Xingzhi’s reckoning, the man had probably just said something polite for the cameras.
But then Shen Li fell silent for a long while—so long that Qian Xingzhi thought he might have drifted off—before murmuring slowly, “Sometime in the second half of next year, there might be news about rehiring special talents. So I figured I’d wrap things up in the village first, then come find you… and see how things stand.”
Qian Xingzhi froze.
“Find me?”
“Mm.”
Qian Xingzhi cut straight to it. “See how what stands?”
Shen Li rolled over, finally meeting his gaze.
His calm eyes studied Qian Xingzhi for nearly a full minute before he spoke softly. “If it were you who’d been suddenly dumped, wouldn’t you want to get to the bottom of it?”
Qian Xingzhi’s gaze darkened.
Shen Li continued, “If you’d cheated on me, that’d be one thing—”
“Hm?”
Shen Li looked away and finished the thought. “…But in your current state of mind, I’m afraid you might just up and die.”
Qian Xingzhi: .
His brow furrowed tightly, dark emotions swirling in those deep eyes of his. He leaned halfway over.
“So what you’re saying is, even if I cheated on you, it’d still be better than me dying?”
Shen Li: ……
What kind of twisted logic was that?
Was that even what he’d meant?
“You don’t seem worried at all that I might end up with someone else,” Qian Xingzhi said.
