Forced to tilt his head back, Song Cheng first froze, then panicked for a few moments, his mind full of thoughts—and yet empty. Qin Wunian had seized all his senses. Song Cheng struggled to regain himself, pushing back the pressure on his neck, trying to distance the deliberate closeness.
Qin Wunian, eyes still fixed on him, didn’t immediately recover his expression. When he finally raised his eyelids, Song Cheng’s heart skipped a beat.
So tempting… how could his ex be this skilled?
Tugging at his metaphorical handkerchief in his heart, Song Cheng refused to surrender entirely—they still had unresolved issues.
He snapped, feigning annoyance: “Why are you so… practiced?!”
“……”
Song Cheng paused, realizing the question didn’t quite make sense. He should have asked why Qin Wunian accused him of lying, or why he had kissed him. Failing that, he could have seriously discussed whether a kiss meant reconciliation. Yet his first instinct was this…
Qin Wunian, not a virgin, naturally knew what he was doing.
He stiffened internally, but Qin Wunian’s reaction was not one of surprise. To him, Song Cheng’s question was perfectly reasonable.
Slowly blinking, Qin Wunian’s expression returned to normal—not the earlier predatory gaze that looked at Song Cheng as if he were a meal to be devoured slowly and carefully.
He replied, “Years of practice.”
Song Cheng’s embarrassment vanished in an instant. “Practice?”
“Years?”
His fragile heart felt crushed, yet before falling into despair, Qin Wunian’s words scooped him back up.
“Yes. I’ve dreamed a lot, so my technique improved.”
“……”
Song Cheng didn’t think about whether Qin Wunian’s statement was true, nor about the imagined partners in those dreams. There could be no one else—it had to be him.
He hadn’t even blushed at the kiss just now. Hearing this, a faint shyness finally touched him. He adjusted his sitting position slightly and muttered, “I thought… you practiced with other actors…”
Refining kissing skills, improving professional ability…
Qin Wunian frowned. “Impossible. I never do those kinds of roles.”
He suddenly realized something. “Song Cheng… you haven’t been paying attention to me all these years, have you?”
Song Cheng thought: I have, but I don’t remember clearly.
Seeing Qin Wunian’s subtle cuteness emerging again, Song Cheng straightened up immediately. He understood that with Qin Wunian, softness wouldn’t work—he only noticed discomfort. Speak nicely, he ignores; show even the slightest displeasure, and Qin Wunian observes, evaluates, flutters secretly inside.
So Song Cheng became confident: “All that doesn’t matter now. You… why did you kiss me? Don’t think that by doing this, I’ll forgive you—you called me a liar in front of the entire country!”
Qin Wunian countered, “Didn’t you say you hated me too?”
Song Cheng quickly replied, “That was because you angered me! And there was some acting involved. After all, we’ve never actually argued. If we hadn’t caused some kind of scene, your camera time would have been even less.”
He glanced at Qin Wunian, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You handed me a ladder—how could I not climb up?”
Qin Wunian looked at him while Song Cheng kept sneaking glances, trying to maintain a high posture. Yet to an outsider, that posture looked more like a small cat stretching out its tiny, sharp claws—threatening in theory but ultimately adorable.
Song Cheng had really changed a lot.
Qin Wunian thought this as he slowly spoke, “I didn’t expect you to say that.”
“What do you mean?” Song Cheng asked.
Qin Wunian’s mind replayed Song Cheng’s expression in the truth room: nostalgic, flushed, genuine.
He didn’t care about the flowery words or overly literary expressions from before—what mattered were the four words: love at first sight. Even knowing the truth, Qin Wunian didn’t want to hear them from Song Cheng. The fact that Song Cheng had acted so well and so sincerely made it all the more absurd for him.
Song Cheng hadn’t expected this. He had been a little anxious, fearing that Qin Wunian had learned of the lies he told to get close to him. He had been ready to confess everything, only to realize it wasn’t about that at all.
“But I was telling the truth…” Song Cheng insisted.
Qin Wunian stared at him, a hint of a smile forming. He seemed to understand that Song Cheng had a poor memory or simply didn’t internalize things related to him. Otherwise, Song Cheng would know not to pretend he had been devoted all along, nor would he hope that Qin Wunian would believe a lie.
His heart felt both cold and bitter—Song Cheng had truly never paid that much attention to him. Qin Wunian had always known Song Cheng didn’t like him, but he thought at least he mattered: when Song Cheng had a problem, felt down, or was bored, Qin Wunian was his first choice. That had to mean something, right?
Then Song Cheng came along and shattered those assumptions.
After a long silence, Qin Wunian just kept watching him. Song Cheng, unsure of what to make of this, asked, “You don’t believe me?”
Qin Wunian’s expression shifted subtly. Under Song Cheng’s gaze, he nodded, “I believe you.”
“…” Song Cheng blinked. Really? That reaction didn’t look much like belief.
Qin Wunian didn’t want to continue talking and returned to his side of the bed, leaving most of the space to Song Cheng. “Sleep. You usually go to bed early anyway.”
That’s if nothing’s weighing on your mind—who could sleep then?
But with Qin Wunian lying down, Song Cheng couldn’t force him to get up. Qin Wunian was shy and socially anxious; he lacked the courage for such confrontation.
Song Cheng’s mind told him that, but his heart wanted to shake Qin Wunian awake, insisting that unfinished business be settled tonight.
After nearly half a minute of silence, Song Cheng reluctantly lay down on his side—but didn’t close his eyes.
The room was silent; crickets chirped outside. Unable to let it go, Song Cheng whispered, “You only explained one thing… what about the other?”
Qin Wunian kept his eyes closed. After two seconds, his deep voice answered, “Which one?”
Song Cheng’s face flushed. “When you kissed me just now, you said I lied to you… what did that mean?”
Qin Wunian replied even more slowly, almost half a minute later: “…You said you hated me.”
Song Cheng softly affirmed, “And then?”
Qin Wunian: “Nothing else. Just that.”
Song Cheng paused, finally understanding. He had said he hated Qin Wunian, and Qin Wunian, after kissing him, knew it was a lie.
His cheeks went from slightly red to blazing crimson. Luckily, it was nighttime and no one could see—otherwise, he might have dug a hole into the ground and lived there forever with a mole.
Relying on the fact that no one could see him, Song Cheng’s excitement grew. After some mental preparation, he confessed again, soft, sweet, and slightly stammering:
“I… I lied to you because the cameras were watching. I couldn’t tell the truth. Actually… after we reunited, the thing I really wanted to say was another sentence. Not ‘Qin Wunian, I hate you,’ but ‘Qin Wunian… I really missed you.’”
Song Cheng felt like he might explode right then and there. He opened his eyes wide, as if doing so would heighten his hearing. He waited a long time—but no response came.
Finally, he turned to see Qin Wunian already asleep, breathing evenly, seemingly deep in rest.
Song Cheng: “….”
Disappointed, yes—but not discouraged. There would be another chance, and next time, he would be bolder.
He sighed softly and closed his eyes. Within a minute, he instinctively rolled over and fell asleep as well.
At that moment, Qin Wunian beside him opened his eyes and turned his head, gazing at the back of Song Cheng’s head with eyes that were both cold and unreadable.
After a long, long silence, the room finally carried a voice, extremely low:
“I feel the same.”