Chapter 49: Winter Sea

The lottery draw continued smoothly, with the guests taking turns using the keywords on their slips to form sentences. Some laughed, others sighed, teasing one another as the recording atmosphere stayed light and lively.

Finally, the box containing the slips was casually placed in front of Song Linyu.

Yet Song Linyu seemed utterly oblivious. Even though the action right before his eyes was plain as day, he offered no response whatsoever.

From the moment Fu Yanzong had spoken, Song Linyu had fallen into a near-self-imposed silence, as if he’d detached himself entirely from the scene, leaving only an empty shell in his seat.

His expression showed nothing overtly unusual, yet at times it carried an unspoken dullness that was impossible to ignore.

A nearby guest noticed and, to break the awkwardness out of politeness, picked up the hot water kettle on the table. In a low voice, he said, “President Song, are you tired? Let me pour everyone a cup of water.” With that, he lifted a glass and placed cups of water in front of each person one by one.

Most people instinctively took theirs before setting them back down on the table. Only Song Linyu, the instant the cup landed in his palm, curled his fingers slightly as if he hadn’t registered it. He gripped the still-steaming hot water tightly without thinking.

The water had just been poured, so it was scalding hot, the glass nearly burning to the touch. The room’s air conditioning was set low, and wisps of white steam rose from the surface, curling gently near his fingertips. But he showed no awareness, refusing to let go—instead, he clutched it harder. His knuckles tensed, and his skin flushed an unnatural red from the heat.

The host noticed his state and hesitated, nudging the lottery box to draw his attention. But he misjudged the force, and the box tumbled over the edge of the coffee table, crashing onto the carpet with a sharp crack.

White slips scattered across the floor like a sudden flurry of snow, shattering the quiet.

In that instant, Song Linyu snapped back from some intense, spiraling mental state.

He shot to his feet, the movement swift and abrupt—almost a pure instinctual reaction. The icy coldness in his eyes looked profoundly gloomy, a stark contrast to the warmth and graciousness he’d shown before.

A few seconds of tense silence passed before the mood broke.

“Song Linyu.”

Fu Yanzong’s voice came from the side, low and clear. His tone was even, neither deliberately softened nor laced with extra emotion—as if he were merely stating something utterly ordinary.

He raised a hand, his index finger pointing naturally at the scattered slips on the floor. “Stop spacing out. Help pick them up.”

His words were neither too soft nor too sharp, carrying no hidden implications.

Song Linyu blinked slowly, as if gradually pulling himself back from his daze. He nodded, his movements stiff and hesitant. The chill in his eyes faded bit by bit, and at last, he gently set the nearly slipping cup of hot water back on the table.

The skin on his palm was reddened from the prolonged heat, faintly marked with a blurred burn, but Song Linyu paid it no mind. He bent down directly and began quietly gathering the slips from the floor.

Fu Yanzong watched him without helping or urging him on.

Song Linyu’s motions were meticulous but slow. He refolded each slip before placing it back in the box, as if this mechanical, quiet task was helping him reclaim some sense of order.

A moment later, he lifted his gaze, flashing a normal smile at everyone. “Sorry about that. I zoned out just now… didn’t react.”

The atmosphere flowed again. The host wouldn’t dream of blaming the big sponsor, waving it off repeatedly with assurances that it was fine.

At that point, Su Tang finally emerged from the kitchen carrying a serving dish, letting the awkward segment wrap up in a muddled fashion.

While the judges tasted the dishes, Fu Yanzong sat on the sofa and began assigning rooms.

The villa had six guest rooms in total, and Fu Yanzong was deciding who would room with whom. Naturally, he could also choose who got the master suite on the top floor with its stunning infinity pool.

But Fu Yanzong had no intention of playing matchmaker arbitrarily. He twirled the pen in his hand, his eyes crinkling in an easygoing smile. “Everyone, pair up yourselves and let me know. Voluntary principle first—no pressure.”

Same-sex or opposite-sex roommates were theoretically fine. After a moment’s hesitation, Shen Yuan found her own roommate and went to fill out the form. But she saw that the very first line was already filled, quite matter-of-factly, with Fu Yanzong and Song Linyu.

As if they were inherently paired, no question about it.

Shen Yuan couldn’t help but take another look at her boss, who had seemed off earlier. He’d reverted to that cold, icy demeanor she remembered, and he cast an extremely chilly glance at Su Tang, who stood alone nearby seeking a roommate.

/

After rooms were assigned, the production team had no mandatory activities that first afternoon. They simply provided various venues for the guests to enjoy freely or go on dates.

But everyone was clearly drawn to the infinity pool at the cliff’s edge. For one thing, the weather was a bit warm, discouraging other exertions; for another, swimsuits always drew more camera time.

Since it was a trump card, no one wanted to reveal their hand too soon or look too obvious about it. So things stayed quiet. After dinner, they headed to their rooms to unpack. Shen Yuan dragged her suitcase back to the room with her roommate, Jiang Jinyue.

Unpacking clothes was a hassle. Shen Yuan sighed as she stuffed them into dust bags and sorted them by category. Halfway through, a knock sounded at the door.

It was Mu Yunjin, inviting her to stroll along the glass skywalk.

Truth be told, Shen Yuan thought he was out of his mind.

Heading out for a walk in the hottest part of the afternoon, one or two o’clock, was asking for heatstroke. But the determined glint in Mu Yunjin’s eyes plainly revealed his ambition for the spotlight—it nearly swayed her. After a moment’s thought, she gritted her teeth. She couldn’t lose to this overachiever. For the sake of pushing their pairing and raking in more exposure, she’d endure!

So, facing the camera, she pretended to be startled, lifting her head with a perfectly timed shy smile. She smoothly hooked her arm through Mu Yunjin’s, and the two chatted as they headed downstairs.

The open staircase had no barrier on the sea-facing side. Wind poured in from the cliff, carrying a mix of damp saltiness and scorching sunlight. The follow-cam swept a discreet full panorama of their steps, but it happened to capture the scene on the top-floor balcony, slowly zooming in.

Fu Yanzong was leaning against the glass railing, talking to someone.

His profile was tilted upward, posture languid, a faint smile on his lips as he basked idly in the sunlight filtering through the shade canopy. Strands of his long hair lifted occasionally in the sea breeze, like a deliberate lingering shot for the protagonist in a holiday film.

“…I think I mentioned before that this coastline is even prettier in winter…”

Shen Yuan vaguely caught Fu Yanzong’s voice.

His tone was low and casual, unhurried—like a monologue gently unfurled by the wind, just chatting idly about the scenery and weather.

“Mm. You said Winterley Bay’s sea turns gray-blue in winter, like polished silver, and my birthday coincided with the first snowfall… That’s when you brought me to see it.”

Song Linyu murmured in response.

Fu Yanzong chuckled slowly. “I barely remember. You recall it so clearly.”

He said it especially softly, probably too quiet for the mics to pick up. It was just carried by the wind to the ears of onlookers, letting the already-attentive Shen Yuan catch a few fuzzy words.

She couldn’t help looking up.

Song Linyu stood beside Fu Yanzong, his shoulders and back ramrod straight. Wind shadows and dark hair obscured half his face, while the sunlight traced soft yet weary lines along his features.

If the camera got closer, it would catch how his wrist rested lightly on the railing’s edge, knuckles white and slightly curled—as if desperately holding back some emotion on the verge of spilling out.

There was actually some distance between the two, but from afar, they somehow looked intimately close.

Mu Yunjin hissed softly. He’d been chattering away but suddenly halted at the corner, pulling Shen Yuan to a stop with him.

Shen Yuan shifted her gaze from the distant pair, subtly pinching his hand. She glanced at the camera, then leaned in to whisper, “Mu Yunjin, what are you doing?”

“I’m taking notes.” Mu Yunjin pressed her shoulder, murmuring conspiratorially. “Didn’t you know Teacher Fu is my idol? The two of them have such great chemistry—it must be down to the Movie Emperor’s poise. Look at that atmosphere; it proves how perfectly he positions his moves—”

Halfway through, Mu Yunjin clamped his mouth shut, like a recorder hitting pause. His lips parted and closed, and he stared awkwardly at the pair’s actions in the distance.

They weren’t really doing anything.

After Fu Yanzong finished speaking, neither had said another word.

Just then, the wind happened to gust across the balcony, tousling a few strands of hair on Song Linyu’s forehead and sticking them to his brow bone.

Fu Yanzong looked at him, his expression still for a few seconds. Then he reached out.

With his fingertip, he slowly brushed away the stray lock from Song Linyu’s forehead, then gently swept it back with his palm, tucking it behind his ear along the hairline. His touch was warm and soft, unhurried—like a clear breeze kissing a sun-heated isle.

Song Linyu’s lashes fluttered lightly. His fingers unconsciously gripped Fu Yanzong’s sleeve, wrinkling the soft fabric in fine ripples.

This tiny intimacy made Song Linyu feel both blissfully happy and painfully tormented. That was always how it was with Fu Yanzong.

The happiness came from reclaiming this gentleness; the pain, from knowing he’d made Fu Yanzong wait far too long.

During the draw, had that joking confession from Fu Yanzong really been a joke?

Song Linyu knew full well it wasn’t.

That moment, he hated Su Tang enough to want to kill him—but he hated his own powerless self even more.

Every word Fu Yanzong spoke with a smile felt like strong liquor, sharp and bitter, shattering Song Linyu’s thoughts into chaos and leaving his heart aching with sour pain.

His body’s instinctive reaction left Song Linyu unable to think straight. If Fu Yanzong hadn’t been right there watching him, Song Linyu wasn’t sure he could have kept his emotions in check.

After dinner, Fu Yanzong suggested they head to the balcony to watch the sea.

The deep blue surface looked perfectly calm, but to Song Linyu, it was an endless whirlpool that refused to close. The moss on the rocks felt slimy like rotting flesh, and just looking at the salty seawater made it seem as if it had flooded into his nostrils, the suffocating sensation clamping down on his throat.

Song Linyu fought hard to suppress his discomfort, but then Fu Yanzong brought up the past.

Suddenly, those old memories flooded back, banishing the eerie seascape from his mind. The sea smoothed out like a mirror, gleaming like a piece of deep blue zircon.

Just like the winter sea Fu Yanzong had once described to him.

Back then, Song Linyu had stayed up all night with Fu Yanzong rehearsing a night scene. As they wrapped up, Fu Yanzong glanced at the sky and said out of nowhere, “Let’s walk back to the hotel.”

Without a second thought, Song Linyu agreed.

Fu Yanzong always had these quirky ideas, and Song Linyu accepted them without question.

Even Fu Yanzong’s fans sometimes assumed he thrived effortlessly in the cutthroat world of fame and loved every minute of it—and truthfully, he did have that side to him, but not all the time.

Only Song Linyu knew the real Fu Yanzong: the one who would study the first fallen autumn leaf he spotted, just to feel the true arrival of the season; the one who collected used film reels and VHS tapes, stacking them like building blocks into a beautiful Christmas tree.

The media obsessed over which hotel Fu Yanzong might show up at next, but in reality, he could spend an entire day sitting on a park bench chatting with Song Linyu, watching the endless variety of people pass by as they talked.

On those occasions, Song Linyu would buy two soft-serve cones—one for Fu Yanzong, and one for himself. He’d quietly take a couple of licks from his own, then hand it over without hesitation when Fu Yanzong said, “Let me try yours,” sealing the exchange with a kiss.

So that night, they really did stroll along the riverbank in the darkness. The streetlights bathed Fu Yanzong in a soft halo of milky white light. When Song Linyu glanced over, he looked like moonlight misplaced at his side.

Then that “moonlight” paused to step on Song Linyu’s shadow, shaking his head with a squinting smile. “You lose.”

Song Linyu had never played such a childish game with anyone else. He blinked in surprise, looked up, scanned the empty bridge for any paparazzi or stalkers, then relaxed and lowered his gaze. Leaning in, he planted a soft kiss on Fu Yanzong.

In a small, wheedling voice, Song Linyu said, “One more round, big brother.”

Fu Yanzong let out a helpless laugh.

The night wind off the river was fierce, whipping up his long hair and coat into a delicate net. He leaned down, kissing Song Linyu’s eyes, and murmured, “Alright.”

One more round it was.

They wandered on like that, chatting idly about random things and indulging in the kind of silly games only kids played. Walking beside Fu Yanzong, Song Linyu listened as he talked about chance encounters and farewells from movies, fireworks, night skies, ocean waves, and first snowfalls.

Fu Yanzong’s birthday fell on December 24th—Christmas Eve. People around the world made wishes for peace and joy that night, and it was as if Fu Yanzong had been born from one such wish.

Every winter, his parents took him to Winterley Bay to celebrate his birthday and Christmas Eve. As a child, Fu Yanzong thought the December sea was as beautiful as polished silver, even more so when the first snow dusted it.

But after his parents passed away, he never went back. With no family left to celebrate peace with, all the rituals lost their meaning.

He fell silent at that point.

Song Linyu gazed quietly into Fu Yanzong’s eyes. In that moment, they seemed like the world’s smallest cumulonimbus cloud, holding the rain they had yet to fully shed for each other.

“Can you take me there?”

Song Linyu tilted his head up, pleading earnestly. “Let me celebrate your birthday with you. I’ll prepare everything seriously.”

It took Fu Yanzong a long while to reply. “Alright. But only if you get me a gift I really love.”

Song Linyu committed those words to memory with utmost seriousness.

It wasn’t until they got back to the hotel that Song Linyu finally won the shadow-stepping game. Fu Yanzong held his hand, letting him claim this one-of-a-kind first victory of his life.

On that December 24th birthday, Fu Yanzong spent the day in Berlin. He sat by a Christmas tree, unwrapping gifts sent from all over the world. When Song Linyu’s birthday message finally arrived, he didn’t even think about the promise he’d made regarding Winterley Bay’s sea.

But Song Linyu had bought the entire resort.

…

His thoughts looped endlessly through those fragmented memories. Song Linyu’s eyes stung a little as he blinked, feeling Fu Yanzong’s hand settle on the back of his neck.

Fu Yanzong brushed aside Song Linyu’s messy black hair, staring silently at the too-thin, too-pale nape exposed beneath. He pressed down on that fragile bone, forcing Song Linyu to meet his gaze.

“Are you sad?”

Fu Yanzong asked, then added softly, “You should be, Song Linyu.”

“I said all that right in front of you on purpose. I knew it would make you blame yourself, regret it, feel the pain.”

Fu Yanzong knew he was a deeply malicious person. Since Song Linyu had chosen to leave him, no matter the reason, he deserved to be punished.

He paused, then whispered, “But every time, you hurt even more than I expected…”

So in truth, I could never bear it.