Shen Li could pretty much guess that Qian Xingzhi wanted to remarry him. Otherwise, why would a big star like Qian Xingzhi bother showing up on a reality show like this?
But Shen Li wasn’t entirely sure.
Qian Xingzhi hadn’t released any new works in three years. Maybe he was short on cash lately and needed the variety show to grab some headlines. Yet Shen Li’s rational side knew that flimsy explanation didn’t hold water. Even if Qian Xingzhi craved attention, he wouldn’t trash his own image by appearing on a show like this just to dredge up his past private life.
And dragging him into it, no less.
The most likely explanation was exactly what it seemed on the surface: Qian Xingzhi really did want to get back together and had pulled every string to make this show happen.
The problem was, Qian Xingzhi’s attitude toward him in recent years didn’t match that at all. It felt more like the same stubborn energy from their divorce days.
Phone calls with nothing to say.
WeChat messages limited to three words.
Qian Xingzhi used to be such a chatterbox, but now it was like every extra word cost him money, all sulky like Shen Li owed him a fortune. It left Shen Li feeling conflicted, and in the end, he got fed up trying to figure out what the bastard really wanted.
Shen Li didn’t want to read too much into it or delude himself.
After all, he’d only agreed to do the show for the money himself.
He had no right to question Qian Xingzhi’s motives. Showing up on a reunion-with-your-ex program didn’t necessarily mean Qian Xingzhi wanted to reunite.
But those words Qian Xingzhi had said last night, plus everything he’d done…
Shen Li couldn’t sleep at all now.
To be precise, this was one of the rare bouts of insomnia he’d had in recent years.
It was almost as if Qian Xingzhi still liked him…
Still liked him? Was that possible?
But if he liked him so much, why divorce? They’d gone their separate ways for nearly seven years.
It made no sense.
Shen Li was a staunch materialist who didn’t believe love could spring up out of nowhere between two people with no contact.
Back then, while he was working a major cross-province case and hadn’t been home in half a year, Qian Xingzhi had sent over the divorce agreement. Shen Li’s first thought was that his husband was just throwing a tantrum again. Once the case wrapped up, he’d head home with some gifts and smooth things over.
But when the case finally ended and Shen Li returned gift in hand, he found the house half-emptied.
The last WeChat messages he’d sent Qian Xingzhi were stuck on the day the agreement arrived—three lines from him:
【What’s wrong?】
【Be good. I’ll be back next month. We’ll talk then.】
【I’m swamped right now and can’t call. Sorry.】
Qian Xingzhi hadn’t replied with a single word.
He’d left without looking back.
A chill ran down Shen Li’s spine as he realized this time it was serious.
But Shen Li still couldn’t wrap his head around it—especially when he compared it to others. Other cops’ spouses were so understanding and supportive, but his not only failed to back his work but kept stirring up drama. Coaxing Qian Xingzhi during his rare vacations was more exhausting than overtime on the job. Might as well stick to fieldwork.
Eventually, Shen Li came to terms with it. People were different, and so was the intensity of their feelings.
He and Qian Xingzhi had always been worlds apart.
Maybe they’d gotten together back then out of youthful recklessness and lust, and even marriage had been a stroke of luck.
Six years of marriage proved they just couldn’t make it work together. That was the hard truth.
What else could he do?
Shen Li had grown more pragmatic over time: Qian Xingzhi was skyrocketing in fame now, with assets piling up. Nothing like a salaryman like him, scraping by on a dead-end paycheck no matter how hard he busted his ass.
So it made sense that Qian Xingzhi wanted out.
When the feelings and communication dried up between two people, there was no point staying chained by a marriage certificate. Better to go their separate ways.
And so, seven years ago, Shen Li had sat in their empty house for three days, waiting for someone who never showed.
That was when he’d truly accepted it.
Without hesitation, he’d signed the divorce agreement, sent it to Qian Xingzhi’s studio, and never bothered him again.
“Does Qian Xingzhi not love him anymore?”
That had been the question haunting Shen Li most in the month after the divorce.
But cool-headed as he was, even scouring Qian Xingzhi’s social media hadn’t yielded a clear answer.
A decade of ups and downs together seemed trivial in the face of reality.
Whatever. It was time to give Qian Xingzhi his freedom.
Shen Li could never forget how Qian Xingzhi would sulk whenever jealousy hit, the hurt he tried to hide when Shen Li turned down sharing a bed, or the longing looks on every Valentine’s Day and anniversary that always went unfulfilled—
No doubt about it.
Shen Li hadn’t been a good partner.
Or rather, he knew deep down he had no idea how to love someone.
From school days through the divorce, Shen Li had always known crystal clear: in their relationship, he was the one who’d benefited.
Qian Xingzhi had poured his heart into pursuing him back then—indulging him, sweet-talking him, showering him with devotion. And what had come of it?
Shen Li snapped out of it, his head and right leg throbbing fiercely in unison.
Everything before his eyes blurred into a white haze. He couldn’t make out details, and even the voices around him faded into mush.
“Uncle Shen, Uncle Shen?” Geng Qiuqiu’s face was etched with worry. “Uncle Shen, are you okay?”
Shen Li took a moment to respond. He glanced at Geng Qiuqiu, then at Lin Jie, mumbling in a daze, “I’m fine. You two go ahead—Little Lin, thanks for your help. Dinner’s on me later.”
“Hey, Master, saying that slaps me in the face,” Lin Jie said with a grin. “But seriously, you look more beat than I do. What mischief did you get up to last night? Didn’t sleep well?”
At those words, Shen Li shot a quick, sensitive glance at Geng Qiuqiu, who was stifling a laugh. He coughed a few times to cover it up.
“Cough cough. No, I slept great.”
Lin Jie eyed Shen Li’s leg and shook her head. “You need to take it easy. On that show, don’t push yourself too hard.”
Shen Li chuckled. “It’s just a reality show. What’s there to push? No one’s testing my one-man-band skills—I’ll just play dumb and coast through.”
“Alright then, we’ll head out. Get yourself together. Call if you need anything.”
“Will do.”
“Bye, Uncle Shen! I’ll call you at ten-thirty tonight!”
“No calling. Bedtime’s ten-thirty sharp.”
Geng Qiuqiu pouted, clearly reluctant.
Shen Li ignored it and pulled Lin Jie aside for a quiet word. “See if she’s short on anything for daily life. Pick it up before school starts. I’m a guy, so it’s awkward—once you’ve bought whatever, just tell me the total, and I’ll transfer the money.”
Lin Jie sighed again, looking utterly exasperated, and whispered back, “Master, you’ve got such a worrywart streak. Relax a hundred percent—the kid’s in good hands with me. Besides, she’s not even blood-related, and you’re no dad to her. Spending your money or mine, what’s the difference?”
Shen Li yawned. “Cut it out. I’m here for a cushy gig at twenty grand a day—can your salary scrape together that much in a year and a half?”
Lin Jie exclaimed, “Damn! Program Group still hiring? Worst case, don’t they need toilet cleaners?”
After seeing off Geng Qiuqiu and Lin Jie, Shen Li checked the time: just past seven-fifteen. Plenty of room to grab breakfast at Xitulan Ya Restaurant before knocking on Qian Xingzhi’s door.
Then he spotted a tall, elegantly made-up woman holding Qian Xingzhi’s room keycard. She swiped it and slipped right inside.
Slam!
The door shut with a crisp, decisive click.
On instinct, Shen Li took a few steps closer, even rising on tiptoe to peer through the tall hallway window.
But his rational mind swiftly reined him in.
What then, if he saw something?
If she had a keycard, she was probably Qian Xingzhi’s assistant or manager.
Shen Li told himself that, yet his feet wouldn’t budge. He lingered outside Room 628 for a bit longer.
Until voices drifted out from inside—the woman briefing Qian Xingzhi on his schedule.
Shen Li turned and walked away briskly. He was overthinking it, imagining a star like Qian Xingzhi would need a wake-up call from an ex like him.
It wasn’t really a blow.
Still, the encounter snapped Shen Li fully awake. He shoved aside thoughts of Qian Xingzhi’s drunken ramblings from last night and forced himself to face reality.
At nine in the morning.
With the live stream set to kick off at noon, the Program Group had gathered all the civilian guests early in the hotel conference room for a general meeting.
What was supposed to be eight guests turned out to be only four.
The other three—a man and two women—sat around the round table, listening to the follow-cam director’s instructions like students absorbing exam rules from a loudspeaker.
Shen Li paid close attention at first, but soon realized every rule the director droned on about was straight from the Program Group’s booklet sent in advance. Things like:
No using personal communication devices without permission;
No revealing your ex before “Ex Reveal Day”;
No disclosing jobs or income before “Career Reveal Day”;
No faking a persona that doesn’t match who you are, or stirring up massive scandals for hype…
Shen Li had always memorized rules like these quickly, so he closed the booklet, lowered his gaze, and half-listened while sizing up the other three.
Yang Zhiqi from the Xitulan Ya Restaurant yesterday wasn’t there—maybe he’d skipped knowing the content already, or had something come up.
The guy next to Shen Li had long legs and broad shoulders, with an expensive cologne that was a touch overpowering. Shen Li couldn’t glance sideways without it being awkward, but he pegged the man as a gym regular, probably around thirty.
Looking straight ahead was easier.
Directly across sat the two female guests.
One in a sexy black miniskirt, also in her thirties, spent the whole meeting admiring her manicure.
Near the end, this beauty griped to the woman beside her: “So many rules, just repeating for people too lazy to read the booklet. But these big shots don’t show, so they don’t care, and we rule-followers get the lecture all over again. Pointless.”
The girl next to her looked like a young thing in her early twenties, with features hinting at southern Chinese roots. Her voice was soft and small, but she jumped right in prying about off-limits topics: “Mm… yeah… So, sis, was your last one a rule-breaker too?”
“That one’s a total nutjob. Grade-A trash.”
Shen Li’s eyebrow arched. Sounded like her ex and Yang Zhiqi had something in common. Could her ex-husband be Yang Zhiqi?
He had no idea yet that the show had more crazies than just Yang Zhiqi.
The young woman giggled coquettishly: “Heehee, then sis, you can consider me~ I’m super well-behaved!”
Her words drew glances even from the head director wrapping up the rules.
The woman’s voice dripped with saccharine sweetness, even though she’d deliberately pitched it low. That one line still turned heads—at least, most people in the room heard it crystal clear.
Sure enough.
The head director had been interrupted mid-sentence. He huffed through his beard, a touch irritated, but managed a milder tone, half-joking and half-warning. “Yeah, yeah, I get that you’re all eager, but hold your horses—there’s fifteen whole days ahead. Flirting already?”
The young woman in the pink dress pressed her palms together prayer-style. The bow perched on her head quivered with the motion as she cooed wheedlingly, “Sorry, Director! I’ll remember to play it like we’ve never met once we get to the cabin—but I really like this sister. Can’t I at least say hi~?”
Same-sex marriage had been legal in the country for thirty years now, and society had grown far more accepting. Sure, people still had their firm preferences, but the program group had likely stacked the deck with a few bisexual-leaning pairs on purpose. It made for better games and matchups.
Otherwise, someone like Shen Li—who’d actually married someone of the same sex—would stick out like a sore thumb among a pack of straight-laced heteros.
That was why Shen Li had checked the show’s guest roster. Four amateur guys, four amateur gals, plus Qian Xingzhi and one more studio guest of unknown gender. That shook out to a 5+1:4 or 5:4+1 male-to-female split, give or take. No way there’d be a ton of pure lesbians, whatever the math.
The director chuckled. “Nice try, Ke Jiujiu. You’re the only woman—and one guy—who checked ‘not bisexual’ on the survey. And you’re the sole one who said no to same-sex dates. So what’re you doing, flirting with her? Straight girl playing lesbo? Heaven’s gonna smite you with lightning, girl.”
Ke Jiujiu flashed a cheeky grin. “Hehe, I only filled that out to prove my loyalty to Ex-Husband Bro.”
As Ke Jiujiu bantered with the director, Shen Li’s mind churned through the details.
Only one man and one woman had checked “not bisexual.”
Yet only Ke Jiujiu had flat-out rejected same-sex dating.
Which meant the other “not bisexual” guy had to be a gay man who’d nixed opposite-sex dates.
Shen Li’s big blind spot was Qian Xingzhi—he had no clue if the man had even taken the survey. If he had, that other guy was probably Qian Xingzhi. And boom, Shen Li could peg everyone’s orientations.
But just as Shen Li’s cop instincts carried him that far, he slammed on the brakes.
Did it even matter?
This was a reality show, not a crime scene. He wasn’t profiling suspects.
Shen Li shut it down, sighed, and squeezed his eyes half-closed. He looked like he was meditating, but truth be told, he was this close to dozing off.
About twenty minutes of that, and the director clapped his hands. “All right, rules recapped for everyone. Now head to the interview rooms for post-shoot chats. We’ve got some questions prepped for promo clips. Xiao Cai, you’re on Ke Jiujiu. Liu Chuan, grab Li Weiwei. Xiao Sun, take Jiang Nan. Xiao Chen, you’re still with Shen Li.”
Shen Li had zoned out through the director’s endless spiel, his temples throbbing. He thought to himself, a job’s a job, wherever you clock in. But this beat his old gig by a mile—cool AC whispering over him, plush sofa cradling his body. Answer a few questions, let the camera guy snap some shots, and pocket two hundred grand for the day.
Shen Li popped to his feet with surprising pep and trailed Xiao Chen to the interview room. “Take it easy,” he said magnanimously. “Ask me anything.”
Xiao Chen was the same follow-cam director who’d shot his promo pics earlier—and the poor girl Yang Zhiqi had given a hard time to yesterday.
She lit up a bit more at the sight of Shen Li, her posture easing. “Got it, Mr. Shen. Let’s dive in.”
With that, Shen Li settled in front of the lens. His cool features and steely gaze made him look photogenic beyond words, but his vibe might as well have screamed “joining the Party tomorrow.”
Xiao Chen’s first question, though, nearly turned Shen Li to stone.
“Mr. Shen, your ex wrote on the survey that he sees ‘sexual life disharmony’ as the main reason for your divorce—over fifty percent of it, even. Do you agree?”
