Chapter 51: Paris – Part 2 Part 1

Su Tang’s tone-deaf entrance was genuinely irritating, but since it was a public setting, everyone held back and simply took a few not-so-subtle jabs at him.

Unexpectedly, Su Tang broke from his earlier pattern of dodging blame. He bent down, his tone sincere as he apologized to the group, his eyes rimmed red. He admitted he wasn’t feeling well that day and had caused trouble for everyone.

No one knew what game he was playing at, but at least the atmosphere returned to normal. The group said nothing more, gathering around the table for a dinner that was all surface harmony, steeling themselves for the evening’s paired dates.

To amp up the drama and avoid guests sticking to the same partner all day—which would kill the fun—the Heartthrob Game producers had a strict rule: no repeating daytime date partners at night.

The only exception was if a guest had earned a Solo Date Voucher from the production team, granting them the right to pick the same person again.

On top of that, in the early hours of the morning, each guest had to send a “heartthrob message” to one of their two dates from the day, turning the whole thing into drama central squared—a perfect recipe for headlines and conflict.

Evening partners were chosen by mutual vote first, with the leftovers paired randomly by draw. Dinner time was thus a textbook case of minds not on the meal: guests barely had time to bond with their daytime match before they were flirting with eyes and subtle gestures, probing for intel over drinks, hints flying thick.

Originally, Fu Yanzong and Song Linyu had snagged two Solo Date Vouchers in that day’s challenge. Given how they’d been glued at the hip all afternoon, everyone assumed they’d pick each other again that night and had already tuned out of the networking.

But for some reason, Fu Yanzong spent a long, intrigued moment eyeing Su Tang, who was curled in the corner, silently shedding tears. It dragged on so long that others noticed something off, their gazes darting between the two.

First off, no one knew why Su Tang was moping and crying. Second, Song Linyu—seated right beside Fu Yanzong—calmly sliced into his steak, showing zero reaction to his partner’s blatant staring.

It was downright weird.

Su Tang naturally sensed Fu Yanzong’s gaze. Outwardly unmoved, he let out a quiet breath of relief inside, a flicker of strange anticipation stirring.

“No way…!! I thought my Leopard Cat ship was gonna sail during the day, but now it’s fire-and-forget at night?!”

“Sigh, we all know shows like this are pure hype—no real feelings, all scripted. But Fu Yanzong and Song Linyu at least look good together, and their dynamic’s fun. Pairing with Su Tang? That’s hunk meets goblin…”

“No way they skip Su Tang—they’re actors, and this variety gig’s probably promo for Hidden Face. All work, no play.”

“So annoying… Stop leeching off my bro, okay? Unsub, unsub, unsub!”

“I wanna see Yanfish tension!! Su Tang, just bow out gracefully!”

As the backlash poured in, Su Tang’s long-suppressed fans finally spotted an opening. They jumped in to reclaim ground, naturally sparking fresh outrage. The live chat, which had thinned out due to the late hour, exploded back to life.

The production team loved the buzz and quickly cut the main feed to Fu Yanzong.

After dinner, everyone returned to their rooms to grab the production phones and message their preferred date partners, negotiating spots. Mutual matches could head out immediately; rejects had to wait in-room for random assignments via text.

Room cameras stayed on during the wait. Song Linyu and Fu Yanzong yanked the towels off their lenses the moment they got back, then retreated to their private suites, casually tapping out messages.

Guests with Solo Date Cards had to notify production separately, but on camera, Fu Yanzong clearly fired off one quick message before locking his screen… and firing up Match-3 on his phone.

“Nooo, Brother Fu really didn’t pick Little Fish? I wanted some midnight spice QAQ”

“So heartbreaking… Fine, Su Tang’s work, Little Fish is life. That’s my cope lol”

“Hm… Wait, Teacher Fu’s bed… doesn’t look right?”

“!! I see it too… This double bed—was it really two people tonight??”

“Both pillows messed up—not like one-sided sleeping. Sheets wrinkled on both sides. No way Yanfish actually napped together midday???”

“Serious, sisters? This shipping’s getting intense… Nah, better not. I trust Fu Yanzong just thrashes around in his sleep and wrecked both pillows.”

“But wouldn’t one person on a double pull a pillow to the middle? Otherwise you slide into that uncomfortable dip.”

“Any Fuyan sis know how Film Emperor Fu sleeps normally? Urgent!”

“…We’re fans, not stalkers. Chill, okay!”

“Oh right, sorry. So Teacher Fu’s orientation—gay, straight? He’s flirted with guys and girls in movies, total pan killer across ages.”

“Re: movies, he’s even seduced non-humans.”

“Skill issue”

“Dead from laughter aaa why’s this so hilarious, straight to sexuality polls? Solo fans okay??”

“.”

“Bi maybe… Dunno… Yeah.”

“I just see a bunch of Fuyan sisters with complicated, despairing faces behind screens. Cracking me up… Okay, truth: not Yanfish napping off-camera. Brother Fu’s just a wild sleeper!”

“Yeah yeah”

“Exactly, that’s it!”

Fu Yanzong, lounging in his room, had no clue what fans had spotted. Even if he did, he’d probably not care—might even encourage it.

The main feed slowly panned into Song Linyu’s room.

In stark contrast to Fu Yanzong’s ease, Song Linyu sat ramrod straight at the desk, as if pinned there by the stark white desk lamp.

He cradled his phone lightly in one palm, head bowed, the screen’s glow casting faint shadows on his lashes.

The camera swept the room languidly, gliding past the pristine bed behind him.

Sheets smooth, pillows aligned, covers draped neatly—the lens lingered there with heavy implication before swinging back to Song Linyu, just as his fingers lifted from the screen.

Song Linyu wasn’t typing a message; he was simply rubbing the screen absently.

The wait dragged on, typically dull, but Song Linyu stared intently at the blank glow, utterly patient.

Until a sudden gust whipped in from the window.

With it came a noise from the suite next door.

Song Linyu glanced up instinctively—not at the door, but out the window.

His curtains were open; the lit night hid nothing.

There stood Fu Yanzong at the stairwell’s edge, shoulders relaxed, long fingers wrapped around his phone. He descended unhurriedly, his figure sharp against the dark.

Streetlights carved a crisp line along his profile, brows lowered, expression carrying an indescribable weight.

Fu Yanzong didn’t glance toward Song Linyu’s window… even knowing someone might be there.

So Song Linyu stayed silent, motionless, simply watching him descend without a word of interruption.

His lashes merely quivered once. Then his fingertips curled slowly, uncontrollably, as he fought down that sharp, sudden pang of sourness.

It was just an ordinary game segment. Song Linyu knew Fu Yanzong had his own business.

Yet in that instant, he felt yanked back years.

—Back when Fu Yanzong had left a room wordlessly, his back too quiet, and all Song Linyu could do was watch.

…But not this time. Song Linyu refused to repeat the mistake.

He wouldn’t watch Fu Yanzong’s back turn—not for Fu Yanzong’s sake, nor his own.

The night breeze carried a salty tang, stirring faint ripples across the pool. Warm-toned stone pavers lined the edge, with low-embedded ground lights tracing the border, stretching shadows long.

Fu Yanzong sat at the farthest end.

When Su Tang finally shuffled out from his room, Fu Yanzong was the first thing he saw.

He was impossible to miss.

The rattan lounger hugged the pool’s rim. Fu Yanzong faced away from the wind, hair pulled back to bare his clean neckline. His shirt sleeves were rolled casually, exposing slender wrist bones. His fingers drummed lightly on a beer can plucked from the room fridge, condensation beading and trickling down his elegant digits.

“Brother Fu.”

Su Tang couldn’t help calling out.

Fu Yanzong flicked his eyes up but didn’t turn, casually setting the beer on the nearby side table.

Su Tang hesitated, then stepped closer, halting at his side. The outdoor lights backlit him, casting his shadow over Fu Yanzong’s feet—clawing oddly across his legs.

“You picked me tonight… Is there something you want to say?”

Su Tang let out a sigh, his gaze sweeping discreetly over the camera lens. A flicker of resolve flashed in his eyes as he murmured, “Actually, I’ve been wanting to talk to you for a long time too. What happened at the hotel… I can’t just pretend it never occurred. After all, that was my first time. I thought about it for ages after I got back that day. Linyu-ge and I grew up together like childhood sweethearts, and Little Yan is my best friend. If I’d told them about it, they would’ve been so anxious and heartbroken, so I kept quiet. I never imagined my silence would end up… hurting all three of you instead.”

As he spoke, his Adam’s apple bobbed, his words coming faster and faster, his eyes reddening at the rims. “I apologize for everything I’ve done. Spending these days with you, I’ve realized that you actually… care about me, so…”

His voice grew hoarse, carrying a note of grievance and reluctant compromise. “So I’m willing… to say yes to you.”

With those words, he slowly sank into a squat, reaching out tentatively to brush the back of Fu Yanzong’s hand.

Fu Yanzong paused for a beat but didn’t pull away right away. He merely tilted his face slightly, his thin lips curving into an ambiguous half-smile. His voice was soft, laced with a lazy chill. “…Say yes to what?”

“Anything,” Su Tang said through gritted teeth, his voice dropping to a near-plea. “Including being with you.”

Fu Yanzong’s eyes flicked toward the fixed-position camera off to the side. His lips curved even deeper, as if he’d just heard the punchline to an especially amusing joke. “So… this is the only thing you could come up with when you’re backed into a corner?”

He let out a low chuckle and slowly withdrew the hand that had been moments from contact, his gaze turning icy and detached.

How utterly… useless.

Fu Yanzong rose to his feet, resting one hand on Su Tang’s shoulder as he leaned in slightly. His voice drifted down lightly, tinged with amusement too faint to pinpoint. “Let’s play a game, Teacher Su. Just like… the one I played with Song Linyu.”

For reasons Su Tang couldn’t explain, a wave of intense dread washed over him the moment those words left Fu Yanzong’s mouth.

Though Fu Yanzong’s hand rested lightly on his shoulder, it felt like a vise clamping down on his spine, rooting him in place. An oppressive chill seeped into him, and he even shivered faintly in fear.