Making breakfast for six people—clearly the ingredients Song Cheng bought weren’t enough.
Lü Ruosi and Liu Yanchu went out to buy more. Yang Qing went to knock on the door of the “Unforgettable Love” group. After waking them up, she invited them over to join breakfast.
Although Song Cheng was the one cooking, everyone helped out. Song Cheng acted as the head chef, Liu Yanchu as the sous-chef, and Yue Yuran—who had insisted all along that he really could cook—helped mix two cold dishes.
Early in the morning, the atmosphere was cheerful and harmonious. It was as if being far away from the city’s noise had calmed everyone’s minds. The “Unforgettable Love” pair had stopped arguing, the married couple were no longer overly polite with each other, and everyone squatted around on the ground, curiously watching everything.
The “friends group” had already stabilized before coming here. Aside from the first two days when they had a conflict, after playing a round of script murder together, the tension between them gradually eased.
As for the last pair—the “image-washing group”—best not to mention them.
It was said that the director’s eyes had already turned red from pulling several all-nighters. These guests simply refused to follow the script. Before arriving, no matter how much resentment they had described, once they got here they acted like nothing was wrong.
As a result, this breakup reality show was slowly turning into a travel show, drifting completely off course.
The director nervously thought: could it be that on the final day, every pair would reconcile and make peace?
If that happened, the audience would explode. People tuned in to watch drama and fights—if it ended with everyone happily ever after, it would completely betray their expectations. They’d definitely flood the ratings with the lowest possible scores.
And then the second season he had been dreaming about would vanish. The investors might even kill him.
The director worried so much he felt like going bald. Not counting today, there were only three days of filming left. If he tried to force conflict into the show now, it wouldn’t feel right. First, the audience would easily see that it was staged. Second… this group of guests might not listen to him anyway.
First of all, Qin Wuyan wouldn’t listen—period. Song Cheng could be excused; he would sometimes forget there were cameras around, so showing a bit of genuine emotion was understandable. But Qin Wuyan was a professional actor. If he didn’t want to, nobody could ever tell what he was thinking. Yet over the past few days, his eyes seemed glued to Song Cheng like sticky taffy. Anyone with eyes could see that he couldn’t forget his past feelings for Song Cheng.
Without internet access, the director couldn’t check online feedback for the first episode. It was the production team down the mountain who called him to report that the response so far was quite positive.
All four pairs were roughly evenly matched, and viewers were very interested in each couple, eagerly wanting to see how they had ended up in this situation. But for Qin Wuyan and Song Cheng, there was a different buzz.
Many people still insisted that Song Cheng had been hired by Qin Wuyan. The first episode mainly showed the first morning. Song Cheng had been stiff at first, which some viewers attributed to his acting. Later, when Qin Wuyan was affectionate toward Song Cheng and even picked clothes that fit him perfectly, those viewers assumed it was all orchestrated by Qin Wuyan for the sake of his image.
People hadn’t realized that Song Cheng hadn’t said much, barely even looked into Qin Wuyan’s eyes—they were strangers. True eye contact could easily reveal too much. Once a first impression was set, it was hard to change. With all these dissenting voices, casual viewers were easily influenced. If viewers were asked to vote, Qin Wuyan and Song Cheng’s pair might end up the least popular of all.
But not everyone thought that way. Some firmly believed they had genuinely dated. The first episode ended during nap time, when each couple had some private moments in their rooms. Yang Qing and Zhao Feifei exchanged sharp words and cold stares, but at one point Zhao Feifei glanced at Yang Qing’s back—a shot that got captured, causing many fans to swoon.
Liu Yanchu and Lü Ruosi had almost no interaction, yet Liu Yanchu treated Lü Ruosi with extreme indulgence, letting her choose first in everything. Even if she scolded him a bit, he never retorted. In public, he wasn’t usually like this. Before Qin Wuyan’s fame skyrocketed, Liu Yanchu was one of the most outspoken celebrities, known for cleverly shutting down reporters in ways they couldn’t counter.
Su Yu and Yue Yuran were the odd couple among the four pairs. They seemed the most harmonious at first. Even sleeping on mats together looked oddly sweet. Viewers, having watched enough dramas, could tell when something didn’t follow the usual script. So many predicted that this pair had likely reconciled and joined the show to make some money.
Even the initially struggling “image-washing” pair salvaged their shaky reputation during the nap segment.
Song Cheng, who had been unnatural all morning, finally relaxed in the private space he shared with Qin Wuyan. Just after waking, his shy, gentle persona broke suddenly, revealing a sharp, playful side. And in this face-off of energies, Qin Wuyan—facing Song Cheng’s less-than-ideal mood—rarely showed weakness. This astonished even casual fans.
Online, the debates raged. One side argued, “You’re blind if you can’t see the sweetness here. No wonder you stick by your man even after a scandal. You’re all the same at heart.”
The other side fired back, “Dirty minds find everything dirty. Peonies, really? Do you even understand what an ex is? A bunch of people who never dated giving advice. The National Flower Center should hire you back—the entire peony garden is enough to apply for a Guinness World Record!”
Just hearing the reports, the director could imagine the online chaos.
The second episode had already been edited and would air in two days. The show was scheduled to run for two months, two episodes a week. The second episode was quite engaging—friends digging up past dirt, the “image-washing” pair making bold statements, and the “Unforgettable Love” pair flipping tables—but that was just the beginning.
From then on, the plot would run wild like a horse off a cliff, plunging into an unstoppable torrent with no way to bring it back.
The director wasn’t worried about online negativity. Even if there were misunderstandings about Qin Wuyan and Song Cheng, after two or three more episodes, those voices would naturally fade. His only concern was the ratings in the coming episodes.
Was it still possible to tweak the promotional material to make it warmer and friendlier?
…
Actually, there was an upside to not letting the cast see the show or go online. Song Cheng was particularly sensitive about negative feedback. If he had seen so many people questioning or attacking him, he would have been unable to sleep.
Now, he happily joined everyone on the way to that morning’s competition. Nature had a deadly attraction for all life, especially for people who had been cooped up in a concrete city. Breathing in the fresh mountain air, Song Cheng felt an impulse to move his home here.
No one around, a pristine environment, far from the city—the conditions were perfect. The only imperfection was that Qin Wuyan couldn’t stay; he had work.
Song Cheng paused, smiling.
He realized something about himself: his deep longing for a secluded life wasn’t just because life in the city had been disappointing. Perhaps it was also a fear of old “streetwise” friends from his past finding him.
With a soft sigh, Song Cheng felt he could understand his own mood. After all, everyone wanted to bury their embarrassing histories as deep as possible, so they’d never see the light of day again.
Before he could dwell on it further, they arrived at a pond just outside the village, as Gan Yawen began introducing it.
“This pond was leased by an old grandfather from the village twenty years ago. In his youth, he worked diligently and energetically. With this pond, he supported his whole family. Now, his children have left to work elsewhere, and his wife has passed away. The grandfather raises his little grandson alone, with no energy to manage the pond anymore. Though neglected, the fish inside continue to grow generation after generation.”
“Today there’s only this one competition. What we’re judging is who can catch the most fish for the old grandfather, but remember, when it comes to final rankings, we’re looking at weight, not quantity. Leave the tiny fry alone and let them grow a bit longer.”
Looking at the expressions of the eight guests, Gan Yawen smiled: “The first-place winner can go to the grandfather’s house for lunch and eat his most famous dish, braised fish head. As for the others, you’ll have to fend for yourselves. Oh, and the tricks you used this morning? Don’t use them at lunch. Here in the village, each of you counts as an independent household—no matter how good your neighbors are, you can’t eat together at every meal. Agreed?”
Su Yu blinked. “No other prizes for the rest of us?”
Gan Yawen shook his head. “Nope. Supplies are limited in the mountain village. Even if the director wanted to, he simply couldn’t. You’ll have to rely on your own luck.”
Su Yu: “…”
They really did manage to invent a new way to mess with people every day.
Still, once they stepped down to the pond, everyone found it surprisingly fun.
In past competitions, there were always experts and amateurs. But fishing was something none of them excelled at. Even professional anglers often came up empty-handed. These eight had never tried wading into a river to catch fish, and the production team didn’t provide tools. Regardless of gender, everyone rolled up their pants and waded in with temporary black rubber boots.
The pond had been preselected by the production team: shallow enough and stocked with fish. Song Cheng and the others put in a lot of effort, but sadly, the touching little story from earlier was fabricated. The skilled fisherman grandfather and the pond-owning grandfather were not the same person, and even the little grandson, like a left-behind child, had been borrowed from another family.
After a whole morning in the pond, Song Cheng never imagined the fish that would later end up as neatly sliced fillets on a cutting board were so wild in life. One fish weighing over two kilograms could smack him with its tail hard enough to make stars dance before his eyes.
Although they were wearing rubber boots, by the end, everyone’s shoes were filled with water. They were all soaked and muddy, from hair to toes, looking utterly disheveled.
Even so, the eight of them together only caught less than fifty kilograms all morning. Yang Qing, however, had given it her all, swimming across the pond twice to catch a seven-kilogram fish, immediately putting her team far ahead.
The friends’ team claimed first place. Yang Qing beamed, enjoying everyone’s applause, then politely refused the men’s help. She and Zhao Feifei each carried one side, delivering the fish to the grandfather’s house.
The rest looked at each other. “Shall we go too?”
On the way back, Qin Wuyan suddenly said, “How about I cook lunch today?”
Song Cheng froze for a moment, instinctively replying, “But there’s no hospital up here.”
Qin Wuyan cast him a sidelong glance. “…” Then, defensively: “I won’t poison anyone anymore. Besides, you can teach me.”
Song Cheng had been momentarily puzzled by the phrase “poison anyone,” realizing only afterward that he meant himself. He hesitated, a mix of wanting to refuse and feeling embarrassed.
…
Heroes have trouble resisting beauties. Qin Wuyan didn’t insist; he just watched Song Cheng silently. Song Cheng surrendered. Teaching Qin Wuyan to cook couldn’t be that hard!
Ten minutes later, Song Cheng got slapped in the face by reality.
Qin Wuyan had exceptionally beautiful hands—long, artistic, capable of playing piano, moving chess pieces, or caressing a lover’s face—but definitely not for wielding a kitchen knife.
The cucumbers he cut were grotesque, each slice uglier than the last, none resembling the small, even cubes Song Cheng had described.
Qin Wuyan’s sudden interest in learning to cook had been whimsical, but now both of them regretted it. One wanted to quit, the other to take over, yet pride forced them to continue. When it came time to stir-fry, chaos reigned.
Song Cheng barked: “Pour too much oil! …The chicken cubes need fast tossing—quick! Don’t toss too much! There are only a few pieces, and you’ve already scattered them… Ah, add water, the heat is too high, it’s burning!”
The flames leapt up; Qin Wuyan was shocked, leaping back over a meter as if pulled by magic. Both abandoned the now-unrecognizable Kung Pao Chicken to save themselves, returning only when the fire subsided.
In the end, the chicken was still burnt. They poured it onto a plate and hung their heads over the blackened mess.
Qin Wuyan: “What now?”
Song Cheng: “…Pick out the burnt pieces, make a couple of cold dishes, and rely on the rice. Eat more rice; it’ll be fine.”
Qin Wuyan: “…Sounds disheartening.”
The Kung Pao Chicken, once the burnt pieces were removed, amounted to half a plate. Watching Song Cheng take a bite, Qin Wuyan thought about giving up, but Song Cheng chewed and smiled: “We’ll just practice more next time.”
Qin Wuyan: “…You still want to eat it next time?”
Song Cheng nodded. “Of course. It’s yours, after all.”
Qin Wuyan’s lips curved in a faint smile. He liked hearing Song Cheng speak of the future, even if it meant more forced cooking lessons.
Morning spent catching fish, afternoon spent snapping corn—by evening, everyone was exhausted and questioning life choices. Yang Qing’s vigorous back-slapping made her thirty-something years feel more like sixty. No one else fared much better; Song Cheng’s hands were blistered.
That evening there was also a trip to the market. Luckily, the production team saw that the guests were utterly exhausted, so they borrowed two electric tricycles from the villagers—four people per vehicle, perfectly enough to fit everyone.
Su Yu had never ridden one before and eagerly volunteered to drive one. Seeing how excited he looked in the front seat, Lü Ruosi laughed and asked Song Cheng, “Little Song, don’t you want to drive one too?”
Song Cheng shook his head repeatedly. “No, no.”
Lü Ruosi teased, “Are you afraid of driving in the woods?”
Song Cheng replied, “No, it’s just that I don’t know how to drive at all.”
Men in their twenties who couldn’t drive were rare. Everyone looked at him in surprise. Qin Wuyan, noticing their reactions, explained, “He’s scared of it. He can’t even ride a bicycle, let alone drive a car.”
Now everyone was even more astonished. Liu Yanchu asked, “You never learned as a kid?”
Song Cheng’s response was vague: “No…”
Yue Yuran shared his own experience: “I didn’t want to learn either. My parents forced me.”
Hearing this, Yang Qing immediately nodded: “Same here. I tried for several days but just couldn’t get it. I cried and said I didn’t want to learn anymore, but my mom wouldn’t let me stop. Back then, riding a bicycle was a skill everyone had to have. Little Song is young; it’s no big deal that he can’t ride.”
After listening for a while, Qin Wuyan swung his leg over to the driver’s seat. “Alright, everyone get on. I’ll let you experience my steady driving skills.”
Everyone laughed, skeptical of his promise. In the end, Liu Yanchu and Lü Ruosi climbed onto the tricycle with him, sitting side by side, while Song Cheng sat on the other side. Once everyone was settled, Qin Wuyan studied the controls for a moment, twisted the handlebars, and the tricycle moved forward.
He really hadn’t exaggerated—his driving was very smooth. Liu Yanchu barely felt any bumps. Turning to speak to Lü Ruosi, Qin Wuyan noticed Song Cheng staring off into the distance.
“Little Song,” Liu Yanchu called, “thinking about some grand plan again?”
Song Cheng returned to the moment, glanced at him, and smiled faintly. “Nothing. I was just thinking that maybe I should learn to get a driver’s license when we get back.”
Hearing this, Qin Wuyan looked into the right rearview mirror. The mirror was small, and he couldn’t see Song Cheng’s face. After saying those words, Song Cheng didn’t speak again. Qin Wuyan’s mood rippled slightly, like calm water touched by a dragonfly, then settled just as quickly.
Back in school, Qin Wuyan had read a line somewhere: “The greatest desire of an unsettled heart is to always possess the one it loves, or, when separated, to let them fall into dreamless sleep until the day of reunion.” He didn’t remember who said it or in what context, only that he had once scoffed at it.
He had never understood why some people’s possessiveness could be so extreme—wanting a lover to sleep endlessly, dreamlessly, when apart, as if pressing a pause button on their body. It seemed so unfair. But now, in a similar situation, he realized… he was one of those people too.
Four years had passed, and Song Cheng had changed in countless ways. Aside from some traits returning to how they were when they first met, the rest made him feel like Song Cheng was practically a new person.
Cooking skills, getting up on time, sleeping early, exercising—Qin Wuyan had gradually accepted these changes. And now, Song Cheng was ready to conquer his fear of driving and get a license?
Qin Wuyan exhaled slowly. This was good; Song Cheng was improving, living a richer, more colorful life.
Yet, in all these changes, he was neither the instigator nor the witness. That realization made him feel… jealous. And simultaneously… petty.