Five minutes later.
Shen Li, whom the live stream viewers had been pitying, returned to the camera with a perfectly composed expression, his eyelids lowered. Aside from his earlobes flushed an unnatural red, nothing seemed amiss.
He simply handed the belated cream to Zhao Yunzhi, offering no explanation whatsoever.
Zhao Yunzhi, meanwhile, absentmindedly retrieved the cake base from the oven. As she gazed at Shen Li’s refined and pristine face, she couldn’t help wondering whether the white cream that had smeared it earlier had been washed off with water—or licked clean by that Great Film Emperor.
So Qian Xingzhi was actually like this in private…
Damn.
It was hard to put into words, but the contrast was massive. And it seemed like… he was pretty wild in that department.
Zhao Yunzhi didn’t dare say anything or ask. Her heart pounded furiously, terrified that Shen Li—with his background as a former criminal police officer—had already noticed her peeking.
And when people dread something happening, their minds inevitably spiral.
For instance…
Why wasn’t Shen Li so much as glancing their way?
Why was he avoiding eye contact altogether?
Had he really spotted her? Oh god, should she explain that she hadn’t meant to eavesdrop around the corner…
But wouldn’t explaining just dig the hole deeper?
It might even spark speculation and misunderstandings among the viewers.
Little Zhao was the introverted type, prone to endless inner monologues and scaring herself silly. So now, all she could manage was an awkward glance toward Qian Xingzhi and Yang Zhiqi’s decorating stations.
The two stations faced each other, separated mostly by panels, though the work areas were enclosed by glass hoods visible from outside.
Right now, Little Zhao had a clear view inside Yang Zhiqi’s station, where the instructor was demonstrating how to tint the cream and spread it evenly across the cake.
Instructor, Little Zhao thought, hurry up and finish so you can come over here and break this awkward tension.
Then her ex-husband’s voice boomed out loudly. “Holy shit, why’d you take off your fitness bracelet?!”
Qian Xingzhi replied calmly, “Just went out to wash my hands.”
Yang Zhiqi bellowed, “What the hell does washing your hands have to do with taking off the bracelet?!”
Qian Xingzhi’s face remained unflushed, his heart utterly untroubled. “Nothing at all. I’ll put it back on.”
Not a shred of guilt.
【? Premeditated much? Took off the bracelet to chase after Shen Li just so he could pick a fight with his wife?!】
【He’s scared his heart rate will spike if they argue too heatedly?】
【Correction: Not his wife anymore.】
【Kinda wanna know what they’re even fighting about.】
【Heh, bet they were making out.】
【Doesn’t look that way from Shen Li’s face. You guys see how ashen he is?】
【Qian Xingzhi doesn’t look thrilled either…】
【Holy crap… Take a closer look. Screenshot and zoom in! Doesn’t Qian Xingzhi’s right cheek have a faint handprint?! Am I seeing things?!】
Smack…
A faint sound.
Qian Xingzhi flicked the cream from his silicone spatula onto the cake and set the tool down.
His world-weary handsome face bore a suspicious red mark. He tugged the heart-rate monitoring bracelet back onto his wrist with deliberate nonchalance, irritation bubbling inside him—and showing on his face.
He was even starting to slack on the pretense.
He had indeed been scratched by that “cat” earlier.
Though…
He supposed he had it coming.
Still, Qian Xingzhi couldn’t quite fathom why Shen Li’s sense of shame was so peculiar. He’d let him grope earlier, let him kiss… even let him fuck him last night. So what if he said, “Your ass is so soft”?
That warranted a slap?
It wasn’t even that dirty. He hadn’t even dropped a single “fuck.”
About as polite as it got.
If someone recorded the sounds from their bed last night, it would be tame enough to nominate for a city civility ambassador award.
Last night, sensing Shen Li’s dislike, heaven knew how many filthier, lewder, more shameless dirty talk lines he’d swallowed. He’d been dying to let them out.
And tying it back to last night—Shen Li rating his technique a measly 5.9? That had left Qian Xingzhi stewing. The kicker was…
He genuinely had no clue what style Shen Li preferred in bed.
Had Shen Li been with anyone else?
Over these years, if not Zhou Yulin, then someone else?
Had he done it with them?
Logically, Qian Xingzhi knew he shouldn’t dwell on such questions. He understood Shen Li’s personality all too well.
—But.
He cared too damn much. Enough to spiral into wild thoughts, to crave control, to refuse to drop his guard even an inch. He was insatiably curious—if he rated a 5.9 by Shen Li’s standards, what would a perfect ten look like? Did Shen Li even have standards?
If he didn’t like the dirty talk, then what did Shen Li like?
Qian Xingzhi was in the dark.
All he knew was that over the years, even when he tried talking in bed, Shen Li’s restrained eyes would flicker with evasion. That body, fully tamed, would instantly rebel in shudders, the tight heat around him clenching vise-like.
Shen Li would slap him right away and sternly shut him down.
Yet Qian Xingzhi couldn’t help being a masochist.
Because in those moments, as the dirty words spilled out, Shen Li’s usually impassive eyes would surge with waves of humiliated fury. And all these years, Qian Xingzhi had thought…
Shen Li looked even more beautiful—more captivating—like that.
What did Shen Li like?
Why, after loving him for so many years, did he still not understand Shen Li’s heart?
Half his face burning, Qian Xingzhi’s gloomy eyes flicked repeatedly toward the opposite glass partition.
Shen Li’s hand, resting on the counter—its skin was as pale as the cream.
Head bowed, Shen Li appeared serene and delicate, like a frail scholar. In truth, he was strong as an ox, delivering solid slaps without hesitation.
Shen Li picked up everything fast. His piping bag extruded delicate little white flowers, one after another. He’d rather give a few to the perfectly capable Little Zhao than spare them a single glance…
“Holy shit, hahaha! Look at ours—it looks so fucking much like shit! Hahahahahahaha!”
Yang Zhiqi burst into laughter.
Qian Xingzhi’s heart turned to ash.
Only toward the end of the cake-making process did the production crew announce the next segment:
【Heartbeat Accelerator】
As the name implied, it was a classic flirtatious trope from romance variety shows—a tried-and-true setup to spark romantic sparks between guests. Qian Xingzhi had shoehorned it in for his own benefit.
Put plainly, it was his ploy to hold Shen Li’s hand.
Well, that had backfired spectacularly.
Holy fucking hell.
Across the glass, Shen Li stepped behind Little Zhao, politely asking, “May I?” After her slight nod, he followed the rules: clasped her hand and together piped the final decorative flowers onto the cake. Then he released it with cool detachment.
Great. Now it was his and Yang Zhiqi’s turn.
Qian Xingzhi felt the man shift behind him, a whiff of greasy hair oil hitting him as Yang Zhiqi’s raspy voice chimed in:
“Haha, mind if I?”
Before the words fully landed, the guy reached to grab the back of Qian Xingzhi’s hand.
Qian Xingzhi’s instinct was to dodge. His long arm swung up, lifting the conical piping bag high.
Already tall, he nearly brushed the ceiling.
Yang Zhiqi missed his hand and retracted—only to unexpectedly graze Qian Xingzhi’s armpit.
?
Qian Xingzhi’s world-weary face turned icy, his thick brows furrowing as he yanked his arm back!
—Squish.
The yellow cream from the piping bag splattered across Yang Zhiqi’s face. Qian Xingzhi turned with a blank expression. “Oops. My bad.”
Yang Zhiqi: !?!?
“You did that on purpose!”
“Of course not.”
“How do you prove it?!”
“No way to.”
“…”
And so, reality TV history gained this slightly comical footnote. Years later, no one could definitively say whether Qian Xingzhi’s reflexive flinch had been deliberate or mere “emergency evasion.”
His acting was just too flawless—even longtime fans couldn’t be sure.
Shen Li, however, saw it clear as day: Qian Xingzhi had done it on purpose.
His first thought? Why is Qian Xingzhi pissed off again?
No surprise there.
Qian Xingzhi’s aggression scaled with his anger, and right now, it clocked at least 40% charged—though Shen Li couldn’t pinpoint the trigger.
Was it revulsion at Yang Zhiqi touching his hand?
Nah.
Qian Xingzhi was an actor; a mandated hand-hold was no big deal.
Then… was it lingering grudge over that slap?
Shen Li rarely tuned into Qian Xingzhi’s moods, nor did he particularly care if the man was happy or upset.
But he cared about Qian Xingzhi himself.
So, with a cold gaze and furrowed brows, he let out a faint, imperceptible sigh. Patiently, he began observing Qian Xingzhi’s every move… hoping to trace the emotion back to its source and grasp what the man was feeling.
Tedious work, but he’d learn it step by step.
Once cake-making wrapped, Shen Li carried his finished cake out the door and handed it straight to Qian Xingzhi.
Qian Xingzhi accepted it without a flicker of reaction—just a faint glance before jutting his chin arrogantly toward the monstrosity he and Yang Zhiqi had co-created, and drawled:
“Want it? If so, it’s yours.”
Shen Li’s brows pinched tight. He wanted to shake his head—the thing was repulsive—but wasting food felt wrong, so he nodded instead:
“Box it up.”
Qian Xingzhi: .
“Do it yourself. I just washed my hands.”
Shen Li: ?
A two-second silence.
Then, without protest, Shen Li resignedly fetched a packing box. He meticulously wrapped up Qian Xingzhi’s cream-smeared abomination of a cake, clearly intending to take it home.
The bullet comments nearly exploded in outrage:
【?】
【Qian Xingzhi, how could you?! Smug little mutt!!!】
【Haha, begging for another smackdown? [question]】
【Anyone else think Shen Li’s totally spoiling him?】
【What is this? Bottom spoiling top? Gimme a bite! Yum [drool]】
【I thought Shen Li slapped Qian Xingzhi’s head like that ’cause he had the upper hand. Now it looks like they’re still push-pull, trading dominance?】
【So weird! They’re really so weird! It’s like… you pop your ultimate, my cooldown’s up so I burst, then after my burst, your cooldown’s ready again… we just keep trading punches until one drops [sweat]】
【ROFL, is this the romance of two powerhouse icebergs? [clown]】
【I wanna know if they’ll actually eat those two cakes Qian Xingzhi and Yang Zhiqi made? They look straight-up poisonous.】
【Haha. Take ’em back and feed them to Zhen Tian—like rat poison.】
【Slick.】
Shen Li, of course, had no intention of giving the cake to Zhen Tian. He planned to save it for his breakfast tomorrow.
What he didn’t see was that right after he stashed the cake in the fridge, Qian Xingzhi swooped in behind him. Stealthily, without a soul the wiser, Qian Xingzhi grabbed it and carried it off to their room.
No telling what for.
What Shen Li did witness was Qian Xingzhi slicing the cake he’d given him—the one meant for him alone—into eight perfect pieces. He passed them out to everyone.
Shen Li’s brows furrowed slightly. He didn’t step forward to claim his share. He simply watched the scene unfold in silence.
That was when the Butler System’s voice chimed in, announcing the end of the nighttime interaction event. The eviction vote was now underway. Results for the Heartthrob Values and audience votes would be tallied and revealed tomorrow at noon sharp.
Today’s livestream was over. The cameras shut off.
By the end of that night of mingling, Zhen Tian was already hauling his things into Jiang Nan’s room.
Yang Zhiqi still hadn’t managed to muscle his way into Jiang Nan’s presidential suite. The other guests who wanted to switch rooms—everyone except Little Zhao—were packing up their belongings to get the shuffle underway.
Those without plans to swap, like Shen Li and Qian Xingzhi, could just wash up and hit the hay.
Shen Li glanced toward Qian Xingzhi and saw him tinkering away in the kitchen. On closer look, he was pouring drinks.
…This late at night.
Despite himself, Shen Li walked over at a leisurely pace and leaned against the bar counter.
He couldn’t remember how many years ago it had started—whether it was an ordinary weekend or a holiday gathering—but whenever Qian Xingzhi knocked back some drinks, he always grew especially clingy. He’d stick to Shen Li like glue or pounce on him outright.
So if Qian Xingzhi pulled out the booze right before bed, the night was bound to end in one of two ways: either with Qian Xingzhi getting whacked for his antics, or with Shen Li getting railed into submission.
Shen Li had always wanted to tell him that those pretty peach-blossom eyes of his turned into a limited-edition glow-up after a few drinks. Most of the time, their depths would shimmer with a glassy sheen, fixed on Shen Li with such intense focus that they were utterly captivating.
But the Qian Xingzhi of now wasn’t about to play cute and coquettish.
He poured just a shallow sip into the glass, his posture arrogantly poised, radiating a stark, cold handsomeness.
Shen Li kept his face impassive as he asked calmly, “What are you drinking for?”
“Celebrating,” Qian Xingzhi replied.
Shen Li’s frown deepened. “Celebrating what?”
Qian Xingzhi’s icy tone sharpened just a touch. His words came out crisp and deliberate, like lines from a script—low, resonant, and full of weight:
“Celebrating a whole night of doing the right thing. Good performance.”
But really, it was drowning his sorrows.
There they stood at the bar, their silhouettes neither too close nor too distant—about fifty centimeters apart.
Shen Li stood ramrod straight. After a moment to process, he realized Qian Xingzhi was probably toasting his own generosity in sharing the cake, his “noble sacrifice,” and knowing when to pull back from that kiss.
For a second, even Shen Li couldn’t tell if Qian Xingzhi was fishing for attention—hoping to be coaxed—or if he genuinely wanted to celebrate.
Shen Li arched one long brow. The crease between them deepened further.
No point guessing. Better to ask outright.
“…Good performance means you want a reward?”
“Yes.”
Qian Xingzhi’s answer was swift and straightforward, no beating around the bush—as if he’d been waiting right there for the question.
“What kind?” Shen Li pressed.
Qian Xingzhi narrowed his eyes and tossed back the contents of his glass in one go. Suddenly, he leaned in closer. His wine-scented breath ghosted over Shen Li’s ear. “Can I spread the cream… on your body?”
Shen Li lowered his gaze. His lashes fluttered slowly twice. Puzzled, he said, “…Didn’t we already?”
“Other places,” Qian Xingzhi clarified.
Shen Li: ?
Shen Li’s eyes narrowed in turn. His cool voice dipped even lower, husky now:
“…You wanna go again?”
