The market was lively, selling all sorts of things: live chickens raised for years, newborn calves, and puppies too numerous to give away.
Song Cheng’s eyes lit up brighter than before when he saw the puppies. He ran over to the elderly man selling them and learned that each one cost only ten yuan.
Song Cheng was stunned by the unbelievably low price, staring at the puppies with longing, wanting to take one home.
Qin Wuyan parked the tricycle at the roadside. Seeing Song Cheng frozen in indecision, he said, “If you really want one, just buy it.”
Song Cheng immediately turned to him. “Can I?”
Qin Wuyan didn’t answer directly. “It’s just a puppy, not like you’re bringing a person home.”
The cameraman wandered nearby, filming. The chubby little puppy was captured on camera, followed by a close-up of Song Cheng, recording the conflict and hesitation in his expression.
Finally, Song Cheng shook his head with difficulty. “Better not.”
Qin Wuyan asked, “Changed your mind?”
Song Cheng: “Mm… It’s inconvenient to take care of a puppy, and my current situation isn’t suitable for one.”
Qin Wuyan looked puzzled. “Why not suitable?”
Song Cheng had countless reasons he could give—no permanent home yet, his mind still recovering, and although he had reconciled with Qin Wuyan, reconciliation didn’t mean marriage. He was still living as a guest. Taking care of himself was enough, let alone a puppy…
Yet looking at Qin Wuyan, Song Cheng couldn’t bring himself to say any of this. He could see clearly that Qin Wuyan’s expression said it didn’t matter at all—one more puppy in the house was fine.
But still, Song Cheng felt it wasn’t right to raise a dog. And this time, he really couldn’t explain why.
It felt like taking a little puppy home might lead to some kind of trouble.
…
Apart from the struggling “friends” group, everyone else had bought quite a lot at the market. The couples picked up souvenirs they could take home, little trinkets; the “indelible memories” group chose things unseen from outside—local delicacies like rice cakes and sugar treats known only to the villagers. Qin Wuyan wandered around for a while and found an elderly lady selling handwoven baskets. He bought a stack of small ones, planning to bring them back as gifts for family and friends.
Song Cheng, on the other hand, bought an enormous amount of food.
He didn’t want to spend on the production team—he hated feeling like he was paying too much—but seeing the simple, humble village vendors, he handed over money with surprising ease. On the way back, the tricycle, which had plenty of space at first, was soon filled with all the bags of food he had bought. Lü Ruosi and Liu Yanchu had to squeeze their legs into corners, careful not to crush anything.
Song Cheng smiled apologetically at them. Once back in the village, he distributed most of the food, leaving only a small portion for himself and Qin Wuyan’s dinner.
After eating, they didn’t just stay in the wooden cabin; they went out for a walk. The mountain was full of mosquitoes, and originally they wanted to make more conversation to help fill the post-production edits. But soon they realized there were more bugs than people. Each group quickly dispersed, returning to their own cabins to bathe.
The production team had it rough too—there were no water heaters on the mountain, and all the bathwater had to be heated by them. Song Cheng dried his hair and returned to the bedroom, where Qin Wuyan had turned on the light and was standing on the bed, setting up the mosquito net.
“Where did this mosquito net come from?” Song Cheng asked.
“It was just delivered by the staff—they went down to town to buy it,” Qin Wuyan replied.
Song Cheng recalled what he had seen that morning and couldn’t help but smile. “Now Sister Yang doesn’t have to be scared anymore.”
The mosquito net was a high-quality one, with several iron rods for support and a fine mesh that even tiny insects couldn’t get through. If a mouse appeared, it would likely avoid it too—unless it was so reckless that it tried to gnaw through the net. In that case… there was nothing anyone could do.
Qin Wuyan wasn’t skilled at cooking, but in other tasks, he was quite handy. In a few swift movements, he set up the net. Then he washed his hands, pulled out a small sewing kit, a lighter, and a tube of ointment from his pocket. Sitting down, he patted the chair beside him. “Come over.”
Song Cheng didn’t understand what the first two items were for yet, but when he saw the third, he got it. He obediently walked over and held out his hand. “Do you have to pop it? It’s going to hurt, isn’t it?”
Qin Wuyan held his hand and glanced at the blister. It wasn’t very large, located at the base of his thumb, but the skin was shiny and the surrounding area red, looking rather pitiful.
“If you don’t pop it, will it hurt less? Popping it will help it heal faster,” Qin Wuyan explained.
Song Cheng blinked, his voice soft: “Then be gentle, please.”
Qin Wuyan lifted his eyes, half in amusement, half in mock disdain, but lowered them again and agreed. “Mm.”
He sterilized the needle with the lighter, then carefully pricked the blister. In truth, the prick didn’t hurt at all—the skin was already dead—but fluid started to escape, making Song Cheng frown.
He tried to pull his hand away, but Qin Wuyan stopped him and gently dabbed the area with clean paper. He was careful, treating Song Cheng’s hand as if it were a delicate porcelain doll requiring complete attention.
Watching him work, Song Cheng gradually relaxed. When Qin Wuyan thought it was dry enough, he applied a small amount of the ointment on his own hand first, then onto Song Cheng’s blister. It was an antiseptic—blisters themselves wouldn’t usually cause issues, but the ointment prevented infection. With the human body’s natural healing, the small blister would recover in two or three days.
Feeling Qin Wuyan’s fingertips on his skin, Song Cheng suddenly recalled the question he had been pondering earlier and asked abruptly, “You said before that you never forgot my family. Who exactly were you referring to?”
Qin Wuyan paused.
He wasn’t sure why Song Cheng had suddenly brought it up, but he had long prepared himself. Ever since he accidentally let it slip, he knew Song Cheng would eventually bring it up. He had assumed it would be later, maybe after returning or past ten in the evening—but here it was, now, with the camera still rolling.
Though a bit unprepared, he had already thought of how to respond. After a brief pause, he continued applying the ointment, expression flawless: “I never specified anyone. It was just words said in passing that day.”
When the ointment was done, he let go of Song Cheng’s hand. Song Cheng didn’t pull it back, leaving it on the table. Qin Wuyan slowly capped the tube with a click, then looked into Song Cheng’s eyes and lowered his voice.
“Song Cheng… are you missing your mom again?”
Song Cheng froze, staring at him. After a moment, he suddenly smiled. “Who thinks about their mom at this age?”
Qin Wuyan said softly, “People of any age can miss their mother. One year old can, one hundred years old can too.”
Song Cheng hesitated, lowering his eyes and quietly thinking of his mother, but… nothing came.
It wasn’t like the feeling he got when he was with Qin Wuyan. Even if he didn’t remember, hearing Qin Wuyan speak still stirred something inside him. Yes, he had experienced those things, those memories were buried deep in his mind—he just couldn’t recall them now.
But when it came to his mother… he truly felt nothing at all.
After a quiet moment, Song Cheng lifted his eyes again and smiled at Qin Wuyan. This time, the smile was more genuine. “I really don’t feel it, but you’re right—missing your mother isn’t shameful. Anyone can miss their mother.”
Qin Wuyan looked at him and opened his mouth, about to say something, but Song Cheng stood up. “It’s late. Let’s sleep—tomorrow we’re supposed to watch the sunrise, and we’ll have to get up really early.”
The unspoken words went unsaid, swallowed back by Qin Wuyan. He looked at the camera tracking Song Cheng’s movements and simply nodded.
Watching the sunrise wasn’t part of the production plan—it was Liu Yanchu’s sudden idea. He had invited everyone to climb to the mountaintop. After chatting with the villagers, he found there was a path that could take them up in about twenty minutes. The view at sunrise would be especially beautiful.
At the mention of twenty minutes, everyone agreed immediately. Only Su Yu hesitated for a moment, but didn’t say anything, not wanting to seem out of place.
So at three a.m. the next day, the staff woke them, still groggy as they tried to make sense of the black night outside.
Summer mornings arrived early; by four a.m. the sky was already bright. To see the sun, they had to start at three, climbing the mountain without pause.
It was grueling for them—and for the camera crew, carrying equipment along the way—but their playful antics along the climb made it feel less exhausting. When the sunrise finally appeared, everyone felt it had been worth it.
Competitions in the theme park were mostly games; here in the mountain village, it was hard labor. The past two days had them bustling around fields and stoves, but they could go wherever they wanted without masks or disguises. People still watched them, but at least they weren’t mobbed.
After helping the villagers with so much work, the last dinner was hosted by the villagers themselves: fresh, hearty food. Yang Qing spoke sincerely, “I’ll really miss this village.”
Zhao Feifei asked, “Would you come back if you had the chance?”
Yang Qing laughed, “Not a chance—I’d never come back.”
Song Cheng quietly enjoyed his meal. Meanwhile, Gan Yawen approached, drawing everyone’s attention.
Liu Yanchu asked, “Tomorrow we leave. Shouldn’t we know how we’re getting out of here?”
Su Yu nodded. “I hope it’s the answer I like.”
Yang Qing teased, “If you expect me to walk down the mountain, you can forget it. I’d rather stay here forever.”
Gan Yawen chuckled. “The climb is just to give everyone an unforgettable experience. Coming down—don’t worry. Tomorrow, the cars will be waiting at the village entrance. After breakfast, we depart.”
Qin Wuyan asked, “And after we get down?”
Gan Yawen smiled. “We’ll head straight to the airport. Return flights are provided by our sponsors, and everyone can board for free.”
At this, whether eating or not, everyone looked at Gan Yawen cautiously.
Gan Yawen paused.
Yue Yuran asked, “You’re really that generous?”
Lü Ruosi said, “Free gifts often hide some scheme.”
Song Cheng frowned. “You don’t mean that once we’re all on the plane, when we can’t call for help, you’ll spring some trap on us, do you? We’d be stuck, forced to comply no matter what.”
Gan Yawen said nothing.
“Come on, don’t think the production team is that devious,” he finally said. “It’s a good idea, even funny, but the director didn’t anticipate it….” He cleared his throat, defending the team a little. “Everyone, you’re overthinking. After we return, the show is nearly over. This is a gift from the sponsors and the production team. But one thing—you’ll need to hand in your phones before leaving in the morning to get the free ride. If you refuse, you’ll have to pay.”
A trap, after all. But why hand in their phones?
Everyone wondered this. Only Qin Wuyan asked, “Oh, and if I don’t hand mine in, how much do I pay?”
Gan Yawen looked at him. Not surprisingly, the most rebellious one got singled out. “Two thousand six hundred.”
This price was targeted for their group, since the director knew they only had two thousand four hundred left.
Zhao Feifei couldn’t help asking, “Why so expensive?”
Gan Yawen calmly explained, “The return flight is a luxurious VIP service, so naturally it’s pricey.”
The guests were speechless.
No one could pay, so naturally everyone handed in their phones. They weren’t resisting—just puzzled why the phones issued to them had to be returned.
After Gan Yawen left, they chatted for a while. Liu Yanchu suddenly said, “Maybe it’s just to keep us from watching the show.”
The room quieted. Yang Qing murmured, “The production team is giving themselves away—they must be worried we’ll see something strange in the edits.”
Lü Ruosi leaned his head on his hand. “It’s only a few days left. Once filming ends, we’ll see everything anyway. There must be some special reason for this.”
Song Cheng nodded. “Yeah… but knowing it’s almost over makes me feel a little reluctant.”
Su Yu turned his head. “Once we leave, we can still meet up, right?”
Liu Yanchu laughed. “Exactly—how can one taste of my barbecue be enough? You’re all welcome to come to my place later. I’ll use the custom grill to cook for you again.”
Zhao Feifei chimed in, “Great! Let’s all add each other as friends?”
No one objected. Everyone lowered their heads and added the remaining friends on their phones. Once done, they put their devices away. For a moment, there was silence—Yang Qing, not wanting the quiet to linger, smiled and asked, “Isn’t this a competition show? By the end, there should be a final ranking. Who do you think will win?”
Everyone exchanged looks, thinking Yang Qing had asked a silly question.
Lü Ruosi said, “It has to be Xiao Song and Qin Wuyan. No question—they’ve won first place several times already.”
Yue Yuran countered, “Not necessarily. If you just count first-place wins, Yang Jie and Zhao Jie have also won many times.”
Su Yu added, “If you average the scores, then you and Teacher Liu should come out on top.”
Qin Wuyan spoke bluntly. “So everyone could potentially be first—except you two.”
He always spoke so frankly that others could never tell if he was merely stating the truth or deliberately teasing them. Su Yu couldn’t figure it out and simply laughed in response. “It’s fine. The important thing is having fun. In that sense, coming here was worth it. Plus, the show really taught me some lessons, showed me different perspectives—I’m still glad I participated.”
Hearing Su Yu’s words, everyone nodded in agreement. What they were really thinking, though, remained their own secret.
The next morning, as agreed, everyone handed in their phones and boarded the vehicles arranged by the production team.
Compared to the issue of handing in their phones, what intrigued them more was why they were returning at all.
Other variety shows changed locations, but they had never seen one where, after touring around, the participants had to return to the starting point. The group speculated silently but said nothing—if it wasn’t about the phones, they really had no idea, and asking outright could risk spoilers.
A week later, they returned to the quiet resort, to that same courtyard. Song Cheng felt a strange sense of déjà vu.
Their accommodations had originally been assigned based on competition results. This time, it was determined by savings ranking: the “Wash White” group first, the “Couple” group second, the “Hard to Forget” group third, and the “Friend” group fourth.
Coming back again, their moods were different. The four groups exchanged glances. Qin Wuyan asked Liu Yanchu, “Do you want to switch?”
Without even looking at Lü Ruosi, Liu Yanchu nodded with a smile. “Let’s switch back.”
Yang Qing’s face reflected her aversion to sleeping on the floor, but she said nothing. Su Yu and Yue Yuran discussed it briefly, then approached Yang Qing to suggest the room swap. Embarrassed, she hesitated, but Zhao Feifei subtly reminded her from behind. Yang Qing glanced back, then finally agreed.
Now, the four groups were back in the same rooms they had stayed in before. The director returned to the familiar monitoring room, looking at the screens. With his experience in marriage-themed shows, he suddenly sensed something interesting.
Hmm, it seemed the ratings might be saved.
They arrived at the resort around noon. After lunch, Gan Yawen appeared and announced the afternoon schedule.
Each group would have a commemorative group photo taken. But it wasn’t just any photo—they needed to provide a past photo of themselves, which the staff would then help to recreate.
Although many props were available, it was impossible to perfectly replicate the original scene. The production team wanted that sense of change—the feeling that things seemed the same, but in reality, everything had changed.
Everyone laughed at the idea but secretly cursed the production team—what ridiculous schemes they could come up with.
Still, anyone daring enough to join a breakup variety show could handle finding an old group photo. The other groups discussed which photo to bring. The louder they debated, the more awkward it became for Qin Wuyan and Song Cheng—because they had no photos together.
Qin Wuyan pressed his lips tightly, expression unusually solemn.
This clearly bothered him. When he first met Song Cheng, he was eighteen. Though their meeting hadn’t gone smoothly, they saw each other every Thursday without fail, sometimes even on weekends. From eighteen to twenty-two, four full years, they never once had a photo together. Qin Wuyan almost found it laughable.
Gan Yawen noticed their discomfort and asked about it. Song Cheng stammered, unable to answer. Qin Wuyan regained composure and explained to Gan Yawen, “We didn’t publicize our relationship at the time. We didn’t want to leave any evidence, so we never took photos together.”
Gan Yawen’s eyes widened. He hadn’t expected this final step to encounter problems. Could it be that, as some online speculated, they weren’t really exes? Maybe Song Cheng had been hired by Qin Wuyan all along?
But… if that were true, their acting would be flawless. Even a world-class award couldn’t match their performance.
Gan Yawen asked, “Then… what do we do now? No photo…?”
Desperate, he had no choice. The staff couldn’t just have the “Wash White” group stand there while everyone else took pictures. He pondered a solution. The director was consulting urgently. At that moment, Song Cheng timidly raised his hand. “I have a photo.”
Gan Yawen’s face lit up. “A group photo?”
Song Cheng thought carefully, nodding cautiously. “Sort of.”
…Sort of?
Ten minutes later, the staff brought the luggage Song Cheng had brought. He pulled out two phones—one new, which he returned, and an older one. He turned the older one on, but the battery was too degraded to power it.
…
After another long five minutes, the old phone finally powered on. Almost everyone gathered around in curiosity, eager to see what the photo could be. Even Qin Wuyan was drawn in, perhaps even more incredulous than the others.
When had they ever had a photo together? He didn’t even have a solo shot of Song Cheng.
With practiced fingers, Song Cheng opened the album, then navigated to the private space, and tapped on the third photo. There, the eighteen-year-old Qin Wuyan appeared on the screen.
The group exclaimed in unison, “Wow—”
What a fresh, vibrant Qin Laoshi.
Gan Yawen stared at the photo for a long while. “This is the photo you said was a group photo?”
Song Cheng nodded.
Gan Yawen asked, “…Then where are you?”
Song Cheng pointed to Qin Wuyan’s eyes in the photo. “Right here. The person he’s looking at is me.”