Shen Li had just gotten out of school, soaked halfway through his clothes. The first thing he did when he got home was feed the dog, but he discovered that all the dog food was gone. He turned on all the lights and searched everywhere for Mao Tuan, but Mao Tuan’s bed was missing too. The spot where it usually sat was spotless, not even a single dog hair in sight.
In the dream, he sensed something was wrong and called out for Qian Xingzhi, but Qian Xingzhi was nowhere to be found.
On the double bed, only one pillow remained. In the spot where Qian Xingzhi usually slept, there sat a ring, neatly placed atop a divorce certificate.
By this point in the dream, Shen Li already knew it was just a dream.
He was still carrying his schoolbag—where would a ring and certificate even come from?
Mao Tuan was his mother’s dog. Even if Qian Xingzhi wanted to separate from him, he had no right to take custody of it.
Not to mention their ring…
Qian Xingzhi had never returned it to him.
Yet in the dream, he watched himself stand by the bed for a very, very long time before silently putting away the certificate and ring into the bedside table. Then he turned and headed to the kitchen to make dinner.
Before he could see what dish he was preparing, Shen Li gradually woke from the dream.
Shen Li glanced at the time on his phone’s lock screen: 5:31. He had slept for over four hours. Quite satisfied, he yawned and quickly unplugged the scorching-hot phone from the charger. He unlocked it and first checked the call status—it was still connected, though there was no sound from the other end.
With a light tap of his finger, Shen Li muted his own microphone, minimized the call window, and rubbed his sore eyes while scrolling through his phone in the dimness. Taking advantage of the extra phone time he’d earned from talking with Qian Xingzhi today, he yawned as he searched for things like cross-stitch factories.
But after just a few minutes, he dismissed last night’s sudden idea.
It seemed better to find something made from locally sourced raw materials. Cross-stitch items required back-and-forth shipping, had thin profit margins, relied entirely on netizens’ goodwill for sales, and weren’t all that practical as decorative trinkets. They weren’t sustainable or realistic.
He browsed a few more options and rejected them one by one.
He tinkered around for over an hour, until past six o’clock, but still hadn’t settled on anything concrete. In the end, he temporarily decided to wait until the show ended, then set up a dedicated live stream room for the village first. He’d draw in the traffic and sell some agricultural products in the initial wave; everything else could come later.
With that in mind, Shen Li checked out the show’s related topics.
The program certainly had plenty of traffic—tons of relevant discussions across every platform.
But Shen Li focused on Jiang Nan’s topics. The man had pitifully few, and he could scroll through them all in three to five minutes. So far, aside from:
YangZhiqiAndJiangNanAreSoCompatible#
IsThereSomethingBetweenYangAndJiang#
those two weird ones, nothing else stood out as particularly surprising.
Shen Li quickly closed Weibo and opened the live streaming app’s comments section. He typed “Jiang Nan” into the search bar and hit enter—
His eyes immediately caught the highest-ranked entry under the “Jiang Nan” topics.
It had already racked up over a hundred million views and several hundred thousand replies.
【When I photoshopped Jiang Nan’s face onto Qian Xingzhi’s, the words “perfect match” slapped me right in the face】
Shen Li frowned tightly and tapped into the topic.
The top posts were several edited images that, at first glance, actually looked pretty convincing—
If Shen Li hadn’t experienced it firsthand, he might have almost believed that the man sitting across from him in those pictures from their 1v1 date on the first night was Qian Xingzhi.
The original poster was an account called 【XingLiZhiJian Iron Fan No. 7】, who had posted eight edited screenshots. They were clips from the Program Group’s live footage of his dinner with Jiang Nan that first evening, captured by netizens.
Qian Xingzhi’s face came from suitable shots in his past film and TV roles, matching the expressions well.
Shen Li tapped on the one with the most replies, zoomed in for a closer look, and let out a speechless chuckle.
He had to admit, the edits had a bit of an uncanny vibe. They didn’t look like the work of a professional team or some elite PR handler.
More like something fans had whipped up on their own.
So Shen Li followed the 【XingLiZhiJian Iron Fan No. 7】 account to their profile. Among the poster’s other threads, one caught his eye: 【Me and my sisters posted a “XingLiZhiJian” CP fanfic on AO3—come check it out!】
Out of instinct, Shen Li clicked in.
【So tasty, so good, so delicious ahhhh [sobbing] You’ve got me all dizzy with the sweetness [sobbing] It’s a feast of fragrant rice [sobbing]】
【[yellow heart][yellow heart][yellow heart]】
【I’ll crown the OP as the [yellow heart] chef god】
【OP: Hehe, mine’s pure love remarriage trope. The other one’s by my sister—check them both out!】
Shen Li was utterly baffled.
He followed link after link but still couldn’t figure it out.
Finally, with guidance from a helpful commenter, he saved two images.
The first one was pretty good. It imagined their student days and married life, with a touch of bittersweetness in the writing. Shen Li felt a pang of emotion as he read it and didn’t dare dwell on it.
The second one required saving the image, flipping it horizontally, rotating it, zooming in, and adjusting the colors.
Shen Li fumbled with it for three minutes.
He only looked for three seconds.
By the time Shen Li realized what kind of fic it was, his brain had already processed those lines of text—
It was too late.
Without a word, Shen Li immediately turned off his phone screen.
He ruthlessly shoved the phone far away, sat up in bed, tidied himself, and headed off to brush his teeth and wash his face.
And so…
Some time later.
Qian Xingzhi, voice laced with the laziness of someone just woken up, coughed twice, yawned, and softly called into his microphone:
“…Shen Li?”
Shen Li’s voice carried a hint of barely perceptible stiffness and detachment: “Mm, I’m here.”
But before Qian Xingzhi could savor it—his lips curving at those words—he was about to say something more when Shen Li’s cool voice came through the speaker again, flat and businesslike:
“You’re awake? Hang up then. Get to work.”
?
Qian Xingzhi: …
He didn’t even get to say another word before a “beep—” sounded, and Shen Li mercilessly ended their all-night VX call.
Qian Xingzhi had taken a cold shower the night before and caught a bit of a chill. He’d lain on the creaky little cot half the night without daring to move, afraid Shen Li might hear—though Shen Li had said he’d mute it, Qian Xingzhi figured, with Shen Li’s sharp tongue but soft heart, he probably wouldn’t.
Thinking like that, Qian Xingzhi lay there with half his calf dangling off the bed, his excited mind wound up like a spring. He couldn’t sleep until late into the night.
Now, propping up his heavy, dizzy head, Qian Xingzhi checked the message from his assistant confirming the schedule. Then he opened yesterday’s recording file.
Thirty-nine minutes long.
Qian Xingzhi sat cross-legged on the creaky cot, listening to it for over two hours.
It wasn’t until past nine in the morning, when his assistant knocked, that he closed the file and sent the audio to Xiao Zheng at the studio for editing, with a note: Cut out that bit where we talked about Shen Li’s master.
“Boss?” Assistant Xu’s voice came from outside the door. “Are you up? Can I come in?”
Qian Xingzhi, now dressed, replied: “Come in.”
Assistant Xu pushed the door open, her high heels clicking crisply and rhythmically against the floor. She wore a tailored gray-blue professional dress, her makeup impeccable, looking both sharp and professional.
“Boss, let me sync up with you on your requirements for Director Li’s sudden new link-up project. Is now a good time?”
“Sure.”
Qian Xingzhi looked up slightly, his gaze carrying a touch of languid poise. As he casually adjusted his cuffs, he said to his assistant: “I already sent the recording to Xiao Zheng—have him edit out the usable parts. As for the release timing…”
Qian Xingzhi paused. Xiao Xu jotted notes in his memo pad and, hearing the boss stop, looked up to ask:
“What do you think—should we have the Program Group release it when?”
Qian Xingzhi coughed twice. His voice, hoarse from the chill, sounded even more magnetic and low:
“…If I’m leading the votes in today’s live stream gift-sending poll, have them drop the recording after I enter the cabin, when the negative buzz about me and Shen Li peaks.”
Assistant Xu: …
Six.
“Got it, boss. And if you’re not leading the votes today?”
Qian Xingzhi frowned irritably, his expression souring: “Then release it today. Tell them to hurry the edit.”
Assistant Xu’s smile didn’t falter: “Right away, boss. I’ll push them, but it probably won’t be ready in half a day.”
…
“Pay them extra.”
“Got it, boss.” A laugh flickered in Assistant Xu’s eyes. “Also, do you confirm releasing this recording for free as bonus content? Director Li’s team asked me to remind you—better to set some barrier to filter the audience. He still suggests reconsidering a small fee. Need time to think? If 88’s too much, how about 8.88?”
Qian Xingzhi sniffled through his stuffy nose, his face grumpy as he pondered seriously. Three seconds later, he concluded:
“0.88 it is—no more.” Qian Xingzhi slammed down his decision. “Have him track those earnings separately. I don’t want a single cent missing. I’ll need it later.”
“Understood, boss.” Assistant Xu noted everything and moved right on. “On Zhen Tian’s side, we’ve completely cleared the trending topic. But #Scripted# and #QianXingzhiOnlyFilmingTwoDays# have spread too far. Do we need to issue a statement to debunk them?”
“Yes. Issue it now.”
“Alright, the PR team has the blog post all drafted. I’ll send the images to your phone in a bit—take a look first. Once you give it the green light, I’ll have the studio post it immediately.”
“Mm.”
“Any other issues on your end? If not, I’ll go handle those two matters right now.”
Qian Xingzhi’s gaze drifted for a moment before snapping back into focus. He spoke up. “Is Lian Xiaoqi coming here today to do the voiceover?”
Assistant Xu paused, then checked her phone. “Ah, yes. Today it’s still Su Xilan voicing the System Voice in the cabin. Day one was him too, day two was Wang Zixin, day three Su Xilan, day four…”
Qian Xingzhi’s lazy drawl cut him off. “Alright, got it.”
–
That noon, the show went live.
The instant the 【Live Observation Room Guests – Ex-Voting Channel】 opened, footage from the observation room appeared.
The flood of viewers pouring in didn’t even have time to figure out who was sitting where or which camera angle belonged to whom.
Then the C-position camera cut to a close-up of a hand.
A slender, perfectly proportioned left hand, knuckles sharply defined, clearly singled out by the camera—whether by accident or design.
And on its ring finger sat a simple band ring, plain as day.
The shot lingered there a full half-minute.
Just then, the live chat lit up:
【Damn, kicking off with product placement already?】
【Product time’s not till later, bro!!!】
【Can’t you push some cheap stuff? I can’t even afford a ring lol】
…
The camera panned upward.
There, in the main C-position feed from the Live Observation Room, Qian Xingzhi’s sharply chiseled, peerlessly handsome face filled the screen. Expressionless, he propped his left hand under his cheek, half-obscuring his razor-sharp, flawless jawline with it.
As if somebody owed him a fortune.
Yet the motion flowed with effortless grace—a perfect little combo move.
