Even though their relationship was already confirmed, the room remained so quiet—quieter than ever.
Song Cheng silently bit into the apple. Qin Wuyan pursed his lips, lost in thought. The air felt almost thin. Song Cheng opened his eyes wide, as if he could hear his own heartbeat.
Thump thump. Thump thump.
A normal rhythm, but loud enough to feel overwhelming.
He wasn’t quite used to this sudden shift in identity.
Understandable—after all, they’d been apart for several years. Qin Wuyan’s career had soared in that time, leaving him constantly busy. If it weren’t for the Zhou Qingge incident, he wouldn’t have been able to take even a short break.
As for Song Cheng, he hadn’t been idle either. He wasn’t sure how he had over two hundred thousand yuan in his account, but it definitely wasn’t a gift from Qin Wuyan.
If it had been a divorce settlement from Qin Wuyan, it wouldn’t have been just that amount.
So it must have been his own earnings, maybe from a job out of town.
He even still had the train ticket, kept at Qin Wuyan’s house. If he had truly been earning elsewhere, what kind of work would require him to travel hundreds of miles? Song Cheng had checked online—the city had almost nothing notable, except for some small-scale shipbuilding, not large vessels, just tiny fishing boats for one or two people…
Song Cheng’s knowledge was intact enough to realize he knew very little about shipbuilding.
Qin Wuyan watched as Song Cheng chewed the apple, then absentmindedly picked at the seeds. If Qin Wuyan hadn’t intervened, he might have swallowed the core along with the seeds.
Qin Wuyan felt helpless and nervous. Standing there with Song Cheng, he shared the same feelings. In fact, he felt them even more acutely.
He remembered those past years vividly. No matter how many times he had dreamed of this moment, when it finally happened, he couldn’t contain his emotions.
Excitement, calm, and a touch of unreality all at once.
He had assumed he alone felt this way, but seeing Song Cheng lose composure even more, Qin Wuyan felt his heart settle.
He reached out, taking the apple core from Song Cheng’s hands just before he was about to bite it. Seeing Song Cheng look up, confused, Qin Wuyan shook the piece in his hand:
“I know I peeled it too perfectly, but you don’t need to swallow the core too. If the paparazzi catch that, I’d never be able to clear the suspicion of domestic violence, even if I jumped in the Yellow River.”
Song Cheng: “…”
He was already nervous, and hearing Qin Wuyan’s teasing made his face flush red. He lowered his head to hide it, hastily grabbed a tissue, and wiped his hands. “It’s… c-cough… it’s okay. If anyone really saw it, I’ll go out and clear things up for you.”
Seeing him distracted even while wiping his hands, Qin Wuyan suddenly tossed the apple core into the trash with a thud. Then he sat on the edge of Song Cheng’s bed and, without warning, covered Song Cheng’s hand with his own, making him freeze instantly.
Qin Wuyan called softly, “Song Cheng.”
Song Cheng looked up, opening his mouth in confusion. “Huh?”
Watching his dazed expression, Qin Wuyan couldn’t hold back any longer. A faint curve tugged at his lips as he called him again, “Song Chengcheng.”
Song Cheng: “…What are you doing? Just say it—stop calling me by my name.”
Hearing his own name from Qin Wuyan felt strange, making him uncomfortable all over.
Qin Wuyan didn’t smile or speak further. He straightened, leaned close, and pressed a gentle kiss to Song Cheng’s forehead. His voice, soft and low, whispered by his ear:
“Get used to me sooner.”
With that, he got off the bed and headed toward the door, picking up his temporary phone on the way out. Song Cheng stared blankly for a few seconds before asking, “Where are you going?”
Without looking back, Qin Wuyan replied, “Some work to handle. You get some rest.”
Song Cheng blinked, murmured an “oh,” and watched the door close. He lifted a hand to touch the spot Qin Wuyan had just kissed, feeling both a spark of joy and a hint of frustration. He left just like that—kissed him and walked away without a word.
It was already 10:30 at night. Qin Wuyan hadn’t gone far; the production team had blocked off the floor, so he didn’t need to worry about being seen.
Reaching the end of the hallway, looking at the colorful neon lights outside, Qin Wuyan calmed his racing heart and took out his phone. He sent a single “1” via WeChat.
Ban Yunfang had just finished tutoring her child and was in a fit of rage. Since taking on Qin Wuyan, she had no other artists under her management. Before, both she and Qin Wuyan were busy, but now they both had time. Just as she started tutoring, she regretted it.
As a mother, some things couldn’t be said—but thinking it over, it was fine.
This stupid kid… really mine?! Did the hospital switch babies or something?!
After sending the child to bed, Ban Yunfang tried to relax with a bath—but then Qin Wuyan’s message arrived.
Seeing that familiar, irritating “1,” Ban Yunfang went silent. Completely silent.
A minute passed with no reply. Qin Wuyan furrowed his brow, about to resend, when Ban Yunfang’s call came through.
He answered, only to be hit with a verbal explosion:
“Do you know what citizen rest hours are??? From 10 PM to 6 AM, any noise can be considered disturbing! Do you think I’ve been stripped of my citizenship, or is your voice so nice it doesn’t count as noise?!?”
Qin Wuyan: “….”
He looked utterly bewildered. “If a noise test must happen, it should be you being tested—I didn’t even speak.”
Ban Yunfang: “…”
She had to admit, yelling like that made her feel better. After all, as a professional manager, she spent her days creating opportunities for Qin Wuyan and cleaning up after his trolls. But even ten thousand trolls couldn’t frustrate her like her own child’s homework.
After a pause, she asked calmly, “Why are you contacting me so late? Did something happen?”
Qin Wuyan replied with a hum, “Today Yue Yuran caused an accident on set. Song Cheng was trapped in a closed room for nearly an hour.”
Ban Yunfang jumped up, alarmed. “Is he okay?!”
Qin Wuyan: “Relax, he’s fine—just a little shaken.”
Only then did Ban Yunfang breathe easier. She always felt responsible when her non-professional talents got into trouble on their first show, even if the program wasn’t hers.
Frowning seriously, she sat back down. “I understand. Yue Yuran probably tried to downplay the situation. I’ll contact his manager and see what their attitude is.”
Qin Wuyan asked, “Why his manager?”
Ban Yunfang blinked. “To vent your anger! You called me about this, didn’t you?”
Qin Wuyan: “Who said that? You’re giving him too much credit. I can handle him myself—I don’t need you for this.”
Ban Yunfang: “…Then why did you call me?”
Qin Wuyan: “Last time I asked you to help manage the marketing for me and Song Cheng’s CP.”
Ban Yunfang made an “oh” sound. “I already discussed it with Director Meng. She thinks it’s beneficial for you at this stage. We drafted three proposals. You can decide which one to use when you return.”
Qin Wuyan: “No need.”
“…Huh? Why not?”
He looked out the window, catching his own reflection slowly curling into a smug smile.
“Because Song Cheng and I are already back together.”
Two seconds of silence, then an explosive, almost deafening reaction from the other side:
“What did you just say????!!!!”
Frowning, Qin Wuyan held the phone at arm’s length. Once Ban Yunfang calmed, he continued:
“That’s it. For now, we’re not going public. Put marketing on hold, but don’t throw away the proposals—they’ll be useful later.”
Ban Yunfang stared in disbelief. How was that possible? Just a few days—three or four?—and they were already reconciled?
Ban Yunfang couldn’t help but ask, “Are you two sure? Really not reconsidering?”
It was a reasonable question—anyone would think the pace was too fast. But as soon as Qin Wuyan heard it, his expression turned icy. “What’s there to reconsider? This is between the two of us. Nobody else needs to question it.”
Ban Yunfang quickly clarified, “I’m not questioning you. I just wanted you to be calm—young people are prone to impulsiveness—”
Before she could finish, Qin Wuyan’s grip on his phone tightened. He cut her off, his voice low, stripped of its earlier arrogance and amusement. “I’m just notifying you, not asking for your opinion.”
Ban Yunfang paused, noticing the shift in his tone. She opened her mouth, but thought better of it. With Qin Wuyan reacting like this, she could tell it wasn’t a good idea to press. No need to argue further—after all, it wasn’t public yet, and both he and Song Cheng were in another city. She’d wait until they returned.
Switching topics, she mentioned the call from a couple of days ago. “I had our staff trace that number. I felt something was off—it could’ve been a competitor or a reporter digging for info. But after checking, it seems unrelated to our circle. You should tell Song Cheng, just so he has peace of mind. Usually, it’s nothing, but just in case, right?”
Qin Wuyan lowered his gaze. After a moment, he said, “Got it. Thanks, Ban Jie. If there’s a call like this again, let me know immediately.”
Ban Yunfang smiled. “Why tell you? When you get back, I’ll tell Song Cheng directly—”
Qin Wuyan interrupted, “No, don’t tell him. Only tell me.”
Ban Yunfang: “…Why?”
Qin Wuyan frowned. “Don’t ask so many questions. I’m not going to do anything bad to Song Cheng. Just follow my instructions.”
After a moment of hesitation, Ban Yunfang nodded. “Alright, fine.”
When Qin Wuyan returned to the room, the lights were still on, but Song Cheng was asleep—though not soundly. Hearing the door, he opened his half-lidded eyes, face pressed against the pillow. “Handled everything?”
Qin Wuyan nodded and walked to the bed. He took off his shirt. Song Cheng, lying behind him, stared at Qin Wuyan’s lean, toned body, feeling a strange clarity but also a lingering daze.
Qin Wuyan turned his back, removed his pants, leaving only boxer briefs, grabbed a bathrobe, and entered the bathroom.
Ten minutes later, the sound of running water stopped. Song Cheng was fully awake, eyes tracking the freshly bathed Qin Wuyan. Wondering which bed he would use, Qin Wuyan drank two sips of water, then sat on the other bed.
Song Cheng: “…”
A bit disappointed.
Seeing Song Cheng still wide awake, Qin Wuyan asked, “Can’t sleep?”
Song Cheng turned to lie flat, eyes fixed on the smoke detector on the ceiling. “It’s okay.”
After a pause, he added, “It just feels unreal.”
He looked at his hands, voice low. “Feels like a dream. From the accident until now, so many things have happened every day, everything went smoothly… as if some dreams feel so real, only upon waking do you realize it was just a dream. I—”
A cool body pressed against him, the chill abruptly breaking his thoughts. He looked up in surprise. “A cold water bath?”
Qin Wuyan didn’t answer, only silencing him with a hand over his mouth.
When his hand touched Qin Wuyan’s body, Song Cheng realized the coolness was only surface steam. After a moment, the warmth underneath radiated, making his heart flutter.
Qin Wuyan’s bathrobe had been tugged open, exposing hardened abs and a firm waistline. Song Cheng lay back, craning his neck. Last time Qin Wuyan kissed him, it had been gentle. This time felt different—angrier, more intense.
It was as if Qin Wuyan wanted to consume his very soul. Fascinated yet slightly panicked, Song Cheng’s hands moved randomly, accidentally brushing sensitive spots. Qin Wuyan froze.
Their eyes met. Song Cheng shrank back, “I didn’t mean to—”
But he couldn’t finish.
When it ended, Song Cheng was still dressed neatly. Qin Wuyan, though disheveled as if he’d been through a struggle, had composed himself, putting his clothes back on before taking the other side of the bed, leaving Song Cheng silent and staring.
“Still feels like a dream?”
Song Cheng shook his head repeatedly. “No… not at all.”
He was a decent person; he couldn’t imagine dreaming such things.
The next day, as everyone trickled out of the hotel, Song Cheng had almost forgotten being locked in the dressing room yesterday—until a ping on his phone reminded him.
It wasn’t a script from the director, but Yue Yuran had added him as a friend.
Song Cheng had rarely chatted with the other guests. Only Yang Qing had added him a couple of days ago, claiming it was for future contact. They hadn’t spoken since.
Unsure of Yue Yuran’s intentions, Song Cheng accepted the friend request. Yue Yuran, seeing it, immediately typed a message.
—“Sorry about yesterday. It was all my fault. I didn’t expect to lock you in there. Are you feeling better now?”
Song Cheng blinked, lowered his head, and typed back: I’m fine now.
Yue Yuran’s expression softened slightly at the reply, and he sent another message:
—“That’s good. It was my mistake this time. After the show wraps, when we get back, I’ll treat you and Qin Wuyan to a meal. You have to come.”
This time, Song Cheng didn’t reply immediately. Instead, he quietly poked Qin Wuyan’s side. Qin Wuyan stiffened, his face darkening instantly.
After acting in period dramas so many times, today was the first time Qin Wuyan truly understood what it meant to be spoiled by affection. With the cameramen right behind them, he had to restrain himself—no holding hands, no hugging. Yet Song Cheng could just poke and prod at him like this?
Before Qin Wuyan could warn him to tone it down, Song Cheng shoved his phone in front of him.
Taking a step back, reading the message, Qin Wuyan let out a cold laugh.
…
Yesterday, Yue Yuran hadn’t come by at all. Su Yu had only dropped off some food to check on Song Cheng. Knowing he was fine, he left. Since 10 p.m., Yue Yuran hadn’t appeared. Qin Wuyan knew exactly what they were trying to do.
Their plan was simple: pretend nothing happened. Yue Yuran didn’t come yesterday because he had to consult multiple parties—the director, the management, other staff. They had to delete the footage without letting anyone leak anything. It was a big operation that would take time.
As for the other guests, no reminders were needed. Everyone in the industry knew not to spread others’ business.
Once the director, production team, and remaining guests were handled, only one person remained unsettled: Song Cheng, the “victim.” But Song Cheng was simple—he never held grudges and always thought well of others. An apology from him would resolve everything.
Qin Wuyan wasn’t unreasonable either.
They were both stars, both in the public eye. He knew exactly how a rumor could spiral out of control. Objectively speaking, Yue Yuran hadn’t acted deliberately—he couldn’t have predicted this would happen. If anything, Yue Yuran and the production shared half the responsibility. Qin Wuyan’s anger yesterday was only because he worried about Song Cheng’s condition. Now that Song Cheng had recovered, Qin Wuyan could be rational—and now, he was genuinely angry.
An apology was just a sentence, but Yue Yuran hadn’t come. Su Yu hadn’t come either. They were waiting for the situation to stabilize. Only when everything was certain did Yue Yuran send a message, via WeChat rather than in person, leaving no trace.
It made Qin Wuyan think: if the director hadn’t agreed to delete the footage, if everyone pretended nothing happened, would Yue Yuran have apologized at all? Perhaps he’d have withdrawn from the show entirely, seized the public narrative, and muddied the truth, leaving Song Cheng powerless.
Song Cheng tended to see the good in people; Qin Wuyan leaned toward expecting the worst. Their perspectives were evenly matched—neither could dominate.
After a moment of silence, Qin Wuyan took Song Cheng’s phone and sent a reply to Yue Yuran:
—“Okay, we’ll definitely come.”
Handing the phone back, Qin Wuyan casually put his hands in his pockets. Song Cheng glanced at the phone, then at him: “Do you really want to go?”
It wasn’t bias—Qin Wuyan simply wasn’t the type to let things slide. He was meticulous, remembered grudges, and didn’t forgive easily. And yet, he’d agreed to Yue Yuran’s invitation. It seemed… strange.
Qin Wuyan: “It’s just a formality. Whether he actually wants to invite us is another matter.”
Song Cheng blinked. Qin Wuyan took two steps forward, then turned back with a slight smile: “But I’ll make sure he invites us willingly.”
Song Cheng: “….”
He had a bad feeling about this.