Chapter 73

Day seven of filming for “Broke Defense? Ex-Husband Bro.”

11:39 a.m.

One of the cameras undergoing adjustments accidentally captured a scene.

That moment later became a meme that swept across the internet for over a decade:

A tall figure who looked just like Qian Xingzhi cradled someone in his arms and—whoosh!—flashed right past the lens!

Fast as lightning.

Viewers with sharp instincts had only just started screen-recording, so they paused precisely at that frame and caught only a blurry shadow.

From the rough outline of the shadow, it was clear enough that the man was indeed Qian Xingzhi. The person in his arms wasn’t as clear, but netizens weren’t above wild speculation—and they all figured he was holding Shen Li.

And so…

Devious netizens quickly screenshotted, edited the image, and slapped a caption on the GIF:

[I’ve got my wife, I’m outta here.gif]

That very meme sparked a minor frenzy on the forums:

[This pair’s really going at it behind our backs…]

[Stolen kisses yesterday, stolen hugs today—what’s next, sneaking off to cook up a storm tomorrow?!]

[To be precise, who knows if they haven’t already?]

[Building plank roads in plain sight while sneaking across at Chencang.]

[Stop making stuff up. You lot can ship anything. Your teeth must be made of steel lol. These sugar crumbs they’re dropping? Straight out of the CP playbook: flash a ring, stage a pap shot, all to keep us hooked.]

[An unspoken relationship like that isn’t real love. It’s just traffic-chasing.]

[??? Not everyone’s into public displays of affection, you know.]

[The ones calling it traffic-chasing: it’s only a few more days anyway. We’ll see if they pick remarriage or not.]

[By the way, who’s checking out today?]

[Zhen-Yang-Jiang candles lit 🙏🌸 Clean air for the show, please!]

[But can those three even meet the elimination criteria? Feels like none of them qualify.]

Noon, 12 p.m.

The program group simultaneously announced yesterday evening’s heartbeat readings on Weibo and the forums.

“Heartbeat Acceleration Pair Rankings”

First place:

[Zhao Yunzhi x Shen Li]

Second place:

[Ke Jiujiu x Lin Xu]

Third place:

[Jiang Nan x Zhen Tian]

Fourth place:

[Li Weiwei x Kris]

Fifth place:

[Qian Xingzhi x Yang Zhiqi]

Once the rankings dropped, the forums exploded.

Medical students pored over the ECG graphs, spotting Ke Jiujiu’s sinus arrhythmia and Qian Xingzhi’s flatline of utter despair. But try as they might, they couldn’t find a trace of Photoshop on Shen Li and Zhao Yunzhi’s chart.

The Live Observation Room was in shock too. Liu Jinci, front and center, gaped in disbelief as she turned to Qin Zhao. “Teacher Qin, could this chart be wrong or something?”

Qin Zhao gave an awkward chuckle and scratched his head. “The program group double-checked it multiple times. It’s accurate.”

Wang Zixin chimed in, “But Little Zhao and Brother Shen… tch, they seem like total opposites. How could there be sparks? Is the program group faking it? Pulling some stunt?”

Qin Zhao chuckled awkwardly again. “No way that’s happening. But I figure there must be some special reason.”

At the same time…

The #ZhaoYunzhiShenLi topic trended briefly, with nonstop online chatter. Netizens dug up yesterday’s video footage, frame by frame.

It wasn’t long before…

The program group released the day’s departure list. Only Zhao Yunzhi had chosen to leave voluntarily. On her application form, a few lines in cute, rounded handwriting read:

[Participating in this show gave me a chance to discuss our child’s education and overseas tuition with the child’s father. Mr. Yang has now happily agreed to all my demands. Since he’s willing to fulfill his duties as a father, and neither of us wants to remarry, I see no reason to stay. So, I’m heading out first—and thank you to the viewers for the company these past few days.]

Little Zhao’s handwriting was adorably plump and round. Those few lines sparked even more online speculation.

Some said she’d been isolated and forced out, betrayed by Ke Jiujiu’s pivot to love over friendship.

Others praised her choice: sticking around that circle would just be self-torture.

Still others guessed she’d already planned to leave when she asked the butler that question yesterday—maybe clearing space for a Catfish Guest.

But the real truth? The audience could only wonder.

Little Zhao skipped the seventh-day lunch gathering and stayed silent on social media.

Netizens, starry-eyed and hopeful for two more departure slots—ideally landing on some guys—were gutted when Qin Zhao regretfully announced:

“Since only Little Zhao submitted a voluntary departure yesterday, and none of the remaining guests meet all three ‘passive departure criteria,’ today’s departures are just Little Zhao alone.”

Qin Zhao’s words ignited unusual fury among netizens:

[WTF?! What’s the point of an elimination round if you’re not eliminating?! Don’t you know what we viewers want?!]

[That’s it? Reporting you guys.]

[I’ll call in a complaint too. Gonna get this traffic-scam show shut down eventually 🔥]

[Yang-Jiang-Zhen must’ve saved your lives or something?]

[One shady move after another. Look, the hot topics are buzzing again.]

[LOL, pretty funny. Just rename it “Broke Defense? Netizens Edition.”]

[Yeah, a romance show, but the ones dodging romance stick around? Keeping them for live shopping later?]

The observation room’s barrage scrolled wildly, leaving Qin Zhao speechless.

That was the state of domestic entertainment these days: anywhere there was traffic, everyone swarmed it. Folks like Little Zhao—who weren’t chasing clout, didn’t care about screen time, and came only to solve real problems—were rarer than rare, even if you threw in streaming platforms.

And just like that, #ZhaoYunzhiShenLi gained a clearer answer.

The odds of Zhao Yunzhi and Shen Li having “something” were slim to none. Last night, when Shen Li went for the cream but got stalled by a hand grabbing his for ages, and Zhao Yunzhi peeking from the door—that scene got dragged back up, more suspicious than ever.

Suddenly, their heartbeat spike had an explanation.

[The answer’s obvious, right? No need to dissect every Shen Li-Zhao Yunzhi frame. Mass amnesia?]

[Qian Xingzhi’s the real culprit.]

[Then why didn’t Qian Xingzhi’s heart race?]

[Forgot?? ‘Cause he took off the wristband, duh!!]

[Qian Xingzhi planned this ages ago.]

[Devious as hell. Didn’t see what we wanted, just Yang Zhiqi farting around 😂]

After Qin Zhao announced Little Zhao as the sole departure, viewers vented their rage as live viewer counts plummeted.

Their frustration was understandable. People tuned into entertainment for fun; once it felt like a drag, no one stuck around.

Dropped shows, dropped games, dropped novels, dropped variety shows—it was all the same.

Meanwhile…

Qian Xingzhi’s Weibo follower count dropped faster than it had risen in previous days.

Viewers who’d once hyped him as “domestic entertainment’s last sane man” now tore into him just as viciously: “Serving up a steaming pile and force-feeding it to us,” “Great show, don’t do it again.”

His DMs flooded with haters, their rants logical and pointed, zeroing in on two issues:

1. Why set such harsh departure conditions? Deliberately keeping the guests we hate around?

2. What shady interactions with Shen Li? Always dodging cameras to get cozy. If you hate being seen that much, why join the show? Cozy up at home instead.

At that moment, Assistant Xu was managing Qian Xingzhi’s Weibo account.

Watching message after message stuff the inbox—more hate than Qian Xingzhi had gotten in his entire career—Xu couldn’t help feeling indignant on his boss’s behalf.

Yeah.

All effort, no payoff.

The boss had busted his ass for years just for this show, but anyone could guess:

Cleaning up industry practices and cracking down on underhanded tactics? It’d get spun as cutthroat business rivalry.

Seeking justice for victims? Twisted into personal ties—or even an affair.

As for his thing with Shen Li, it wouldn’t hold up to scrutiny. Xu had seen it all these years: Qian Xingzhi and Shen Li’s divorce was no one’s fault but their own—practically a “group prayer” from both families and friends.

Showing that to viewers? Might just piss them off to death.

So Assistant Xu had warned his boss plenty about the risks of the show. But Qian Xingzhi always figured the pros outweighed the cons.

Thus…

When Assistant Xu reported the online sentiment and DM feedback, Qian Xingzhi barely reacted. He just replied, “Got it,” with no further instructions.

–

Ever since Qian Xingzhi had harshly grilled Shen Li and learned his injury was serious, his face had stayed thunderous.

Shen Li tried to reassure him he was fine—just surface wounds, and he knew his own body.

But the words died on his tongue. He knew Qian Xingzhi would blow up if he downplayed it, so he held back.

Say nothing, though, and Qian Xingzhi would get even madder.

Problem solved…

Shen Li dithered between soothing him and staying silent for mere minutes before Qian Xingzhi’s scowl deepened. He summoned a car without another word, intent on shipping Shen Li straight back.

Shen Li made one last plea. “Can’t I just sit and rest on-site? Leaving outright feels off.”

Qian Xingzhi’s voice cut like ice. “Today, you’re lying in bed sleeping. Nothing else.”

Shen Li started, “I…”

Qian Xingzhi cut him off. “This isn’t a negotiation from your ex-husband. It’s an order from the investor footing the bill.”

Hearing the unyielding tone—rare for Qian Xingzhi—Shen Li dropped the tough act.

Shen Li had come to work through sheer professionalism—”take the money, do the job”—despite pushing himself. Taking half a day off to slack and recover from his “severe injuries”? No harm in that when Qian Xingzhi put it that way.

Under Qian Xingzhi’s arrangements, Shen Li once again left the location of today’s tasks. Qian Xingzhi’s driver took him to a private hospital, where he underwent a more thorough examination before being wheeled into a single-patient room.

He couldn’t help but wonder if history was repeating itself. Every time Shen Li had returned home injured in the past, Qian Xingzhi had acted just like this—unyielding attitude, overwhelming control, and a temper like a powder keg, ready to explode at the slightest spark. Shen Li wasn’t one to back down either. A little coaxing might work, but when it came to work issues, their arguments turned into full-blown clashes, always ending in bad blood and a cold war.

Qian Xingzhi would storm out, slamming the door behind him. Sometimes Shen Li would wait for his return; other times, in a fit of anger, he would pack his things and head back to the team’s dorms for a few days until Qian Xingzhi showed up to drag him out—or until Shen Li simply cut off contact, grabbed his luggage, and joined a new production crew.

Now, looking back on those old events, Shen Li felt as though they had happened yesterday, even though more than a decade had passed. It was almost as if they had never parted.

But would that familiar history play out again?

Lost in these thoughts, Shen Li finally drifted into a hazy sleep, free from cameras and interruptions for the first time.

It was a deep, long-overdue slumber.

Before falling asleep, Shen Li had forced his heavy eyelids open, intending to check his phone for a bit—whether it was Weibo, WeChat, or his Moments feed. At the very least, he wanted to catch up on the real-time public opinion or see what was happening on the show now.

He had just glimpsed some game rules about chasing and ripping off name tags when exhaustion overwhelmed him. His eyelids felt glued together by magnets, sticking the moment they met. Before long, he was out.

He couldn’t remember what he dreamed about, but it seemed to involve his and Qian Xingzhi’s teenage years. In the blink of an eye, they were both gray-haired old men.

When Shen Li fully awoke from the dream, he glanced at the electronic clock on the wall. It was already 9:30 p.m.—he had slept for over ten hours straight.

Where was Qian Xingzhi? Hadn’t he come yet?

How was the show going? What had they played today?

And the case? Any progress on it, no matter which one?

Shen Li scanned the hospital room around him. The main lights were off, with only the nightlight at the entrance of the single room glowing faintly. Outside, it was quiet, as if no one was around.

He stretched his arm to grab the phone from the bedside table. First, he checked the top of his messages—empty. Then he opened the chats with Lin Jie, Zhao Rong, and the others to catch up on the latest case developments. When he returned to the main chat list, a Weibo repost immediately caught his eye:

[Geng Qiuqiu]: [@Repost // The new male guest who made Yang Zhiqi fall in love at first sight?!]

Shen Li: ?

Something like that happened?

Curiosity killed the cat. Shen Li ignored the other notification badges and opened the live streaming app instead. For the first time as a viewer, he tuned into the ongoing broadcast, located Yang Zhiqi’s screen, and tapped right in.

There, Yang Zhiqi had drawn a massive pink heart on his gift card, clearly preparing to send it to the new guest as a token of affection.

Accompanying the card were a few lines of text:

[Dearest Little Zhou, I know this might seem too abrupt since we’ve only known each other for less than ten hours, but you know there’s a thing called “love at first sight,” and another called “heart fluttering.”

From the moment I laid eyes on you, I was completely captivated by your mature and steady demeanor, your elegant poise like a jade tree swaying in the wind, and your erudite conversation.

I’ve never told anyone, but I like mature men like you…]

It wasn’t that Yang Zhiqi had flipped the page; Shen Li simply couldn’t stomach reading any more.

The phone’s glow illuminated Shen Li’s entire face. From initial confusion, he now had a rough idea of what was going on.

His fingertip swiped lightly to the “Nighttime Activity Rules” section. Sure enough, one rule stood out boldly:

[Today’s one eliminated guest will be selected from those who receive no romantic choices from anyone.]

[Note: Making a romantic choice indicates intent to pursue; treat it seriously and choose carefully.]

The barrage of comments had exploded into a frenzy:

[YZQ is so gross, no limits just to stay.]

[Haha, Jiang Nan and Zhen Tian picked each other—Yang Zhiqi’s stunt is small potatoes by comparison.]

[But this guy forcing himself to act gay is hilarious, hahahahaha, I’m dying.]

[You’re dying of laughter? Poor Professor Zhou, the top scholar who just arrived.]

Shen Li: ?

Shen Li frowned slightly, a bad premonition rising in his chest.

[I think Professor Zhou’s enjoying it. He must like guys—he didn’t refuse Yang Zhiqi’s invites once during name-tag ripping this afternoon. There was even a bit where they ran arm-in-arm.]

[Hahahahaha, isn’t it because Qian Xingzhi was chasing him like a mad dog the whole time?!?]

[OMG, Qian Xingzhi’s speed was terrifying.]

[And Qian Xingzhi only went after him—no interest in this Zhou guy too, right?]

[Just male rivalry. A guy like himself shows up, and of course there’s some subtle competition.]

[Same type? You sure? These two are obviously not.]

Shen Li: …

Upon seeing those comments, Shen Li’s vision went black for a moment. He swiped to the adjacent split screen.

Zhou Yulin’s face appeared on the screen—

Not the man himself, but a Polaroid photo that Ke Jiujiu had pasted onto the photo wall in the cabin.

In the picture, Zhou Yulin and Yang Zhiqi had their arms linked, both smiling toward the camera.

Only then did it click for Shen Li. A few days ago, the two things Zhou Yulin had wanted to discuss with him—the unfinished one was this. And why Qian Xingzhi had insisted on sending him away from the show’s premises today, refusing to let him rest anywhere nearby…

But a new question arose.

As an investor, why had Qian Xingzhi included Zhou Yulin in the pool of “Catfish Guests”?

Shen Li checked Weibo and learned that the Catfish Guest selection involved preliminary auditions followed by public voting. Zhou Yulin had used an English name in the public vote phase and a photo with half a mask—if you didn’t look closely, it wasn’t easy to recognize him. Perhaps Director Li and others had pulled strings…

Audiences tended to admire the strong. To actors and celebrities like Qian Xingzhi, Zhou Yulin’s impressive credentials felt more attainable than those of an average person.

As a result, Zhou Yulin’s personal Weibo had surged with new fans, flooding the comments:

[Aaah, bro, don’t pick YZQ!! Begging you, don’t go for the ugly one!!!]

[Bro smiles so warmly. No idea who you’ll pick—can you pick me?]

[Zhou Yulin, do you like Qian Xingzhi? You gazed at him gently all day [question mark]]

[Aaah, you’re not voting for Qian Xingzhi, right? Don’t!! Vote for me!!!]

Shen Li felt a wave of dizziness. He was tempted to turn off his phone, wash up, and go back to sleep.

If he slept through it, maybe he wouldn’t have to deal with this mess.

But no matter how complicated things got, in a situation like this…

He still had to placate his own puppy.

Shen Li switched back to the live stream, searching for any sign of Qian Xingzhi or Zhou Yulin. No luck.

Without further ado, he dialed the pinned contact—Qian Xingzhi.

Meanwhile.

Qian Xingzhi and Zhou Yulin, accompanied by a cameraman, had just arrived breathless at the hospital entrance.

To keep the hospital’s location secret, they hadn’t continued filming en route. Only after entering the second-floor inpatient hallway did the cameraman switch the camera back on.

The moment it started recording, the lens focused on the two men’s long legs, shooting from behind forward.

A ringing phone sounded—ringing and cutting off, then ringing again.

Their conversation crackled with tension:

Zhou Yulin: “That’s some urgent calling. Not gonna pick up?”

Qian Xingzhi: “Heh, it’s Shen Li. We’re almost there anyway—just a few steps. Answering would just waste call minutes.”

Zhou Yulin: “Haha, Little Qian, you’re loaded and you’re worried about a few cents?”

Qian Xingzhi: “Shen Li taught me that.”

Zhou Yulin: “Oh? I thought it was you again, setting a fake Shen Li call alarm—like you haven’t done that before.”

Qian Xingzhi sneered coldly. “You’re a real comedian. Bringing up high school stuff? Because Shen Li hasn’t called you in over a decade?”

The barrage detonated:

[Holy crap, holy crap HOLY CRAP!!!]

[I thought it was flirty, but it’s a full-on love triangle battlefield?!]

[Zhou Yulin saying Qian Xingzhi fakes alarms as Shen Li calls? Hahaha, kinda cute.]

[Qian Xingzhi’s on the verge of exploding…]

[So aggressive.]

[Go, go, go—open Little Li’s door quick!]

Shen Li was on his third call, his face cold, when a knock sounded at the door.

He frowned, reached to turn on the light, and eyed the entrance warily. He had just said “Come in” when—

A figure dashed in like a shot!

Shen Li focused—

Qian Xingzhi’s sharp-featured face, tinged with obvious jealousy, filled his view entirely—

The next second.

Viewers saw Qian Xingzhi practically pounce to the bedside, claiming the spot right next to Shen Li.

Those misty, peach-blossom eyes slanted toward Shen Li, his usual aloof composure burned away by agitation.

Qian Xingzhi said, “Pick one between the two of us.”