Extreme Escape is a survival reasoning reality show blending elements of scripted mystery and escape rooms. Guests must use their teammates’ dialogue and on-site evidence to deduce the culprit and escape successfully.
Each episode features five guests and one host. Based on their roles in the script, they are placed in a fixed, room-like space, facing unknown allies and adversaries. They can cooperate or act solo to survive.
The interactive nature of the show led the producers to choose live streaming, allowing viewers to participate in solving the case and managing crises, while boosting ratings.
This episode’s theme, String Games, features Qin Sizheng as a retired soldier disguised as a troubled youth investigating the death of his childhood sweetheart.
He had almost shaved his hair down to the scalp, with an “S” shaved into the left side.
The makeup was heavier than usual. Since Qin Sizheng’s skin was fairly fair, they first applied a dark base to simulate tanned skin. A healed scar was drawn near the brow, while fresh abrasions were added to the corners of the mouth, eyes, and the bridge of the nose.
He was the last to finish makeup, and when he stepped out, Shi Jianshu’s eyes lit up. “Fourth Brother! You look amazing!”
Xi Ling let out a small, impressed “Wow… cool.”
Su Yiyan cupped her face with both hands, dramatic yet bold. “Oh my god, I’m not going home tonight! I want to fight Fourth Brother for a man—this life is worthless anyway!”
Qin Sizheng, slightly embarrassed by the praise, felt his usually cold, rigid expression soften just a fraction and replied politely, “You all look great too.”
Xi Ling was in a school uniform, his usually spiky hair let down, softening his features. The proud, domineering aura of the “little school prince” blended with a hint of gentleness.
The dark green V-neck sweater over a white shirt and peacock-green bow tie, book in hand, leaning casually on the table—he looked like the unattainable school heartthrob.
Shi Jianshu had his hair tied up with a hairpin, a camera hanging around his neck. The patterns on his clothing were wild and chaotic, exuding an artist’s free spirit.
Su Yiyan wore a nurse’s cap, hair neatly tied back, lipstick replaced with a pale pink gloss, giving her a neighbor-girl charm.
Qin Sizheng’s gaze fell on Lu Xianqing, who wore a white medical coat and gold-rimmed glasses. The look was less imposing, more refined but subtly roguish.
His heart skipped a beat; Qin Sizheng quickly averted his gaze, silently thinking: Lu Xianqing is so handsome.
The others had finished their makeup earlier; only Qin Sizheng had yet to do his solo shots.
The director stepped over. “Everyone, take a short break. After Sizheng’s solo shots, we’ll do the group photo. The pre-show live stream starts in an hour. All good?”
No one objected.
Qin Sizheng was nervous at first, but once on the backdrop, he realized he was surprisingly sensitive to the camera. Besides being occasionally distracted by Lu Xianqing’s gaze, the shoot went smoothly.
“Sizheng, don’t keep looking at Fourth Brother. Look at me, look at the camera.”
Caught peeking, Qin Sizheng’s ears turned slightly red. “Sorry.”
“Expression, more flamboyant. A social youth should be arrogant enough… like when you go out to eat and don’t pay,” the photographer instructed seriously.
Qin Sizheng muttered, “I never skip paying.”
The photographer blinked in surprise. “You have to! Not paying is essential. Also… hide a little anger. Let the emotion be intense!”
Qin Sizheng tried several times but wasn’t quite there. The photographer, clearly unaccustomed to this expression, scratched his head. Just then, he heard the scrape of a chair and caught a glimpse of a white figure stepping onto the backdrop.
Lu Xianqing stood before him. “Need some help?”
Qin Sizheng, reluctant to keep moving back and forth in front of everyone, nodded repeatedly. Lu Xianqing leaned down close, whispering, “I’ll touch your chin, might tease you a bit… can you handle that?”
Qin Sizheng hesitated, then nodded.
“Don’t hold a grudge afterward, or I won’t help next time.”
“I won’t, don’t worry.”
“Good.” Lu Xianqing then turned to the photographer. “Be ready on my signal.”
“Got it.”
Qin Sizheng’s nerves heightened as he felt the slightly cool fingers on his chin. Lu Xianqing leaned closer.
“Call me Fourth Brother.”
Qin Sizheng’s heart thundered. Instinctively, he obeyed: “Fourth Brother.” The hand, though cool, felt scorching; even swallowing his saliva felt almost corrosive.
Through the glasses, Lu Xianqing’s gaze was intense, radiating an unparalleled magnetic allure. Qin Sizheng guessed this must be what the photographer meant by “emotional expression.”
Ming Fei crossed his arms and watched silently. The “re-chasing” Lu Xianqing had mentioned—it really was starting from zero. He could guess most of it.
Before Lu Xianqing acted, he asked Qin Sizheng for consent. Once assured, he held his chin.
Su Yiyan leaned over. “Ming Zong, what did Fourth Brother say to my precious? I feel like my precious is too shy to look at him—did he take advantage again? Public-funded romance is outrageous!”
Ming Fei: “Your precious?”
Xi Ling, staying in character, coldly explained like an NPC: “Qingshan’s CPF, also a little musician, constantly proclaiming to pursue Qin Sizheng, restrained by the agency to maintain the fairy image. Such a junior sister—so embarrassing.”
Su Yiyan pouted. “You’re no different! At the Mid-Autumn Gala, you pestered him to attend your concert! I overheard your calls!”
Xi Ling: “…I wasn’t trying to pursue him, it’s purely brotherly affection, you know?”
“If you were gay, I wouldn’t like it either! No one can be my rival except Fourth Brother, same goes for you!” Su Yiyan sulked, then brightened, tugging Xi Ling’s arm toward the backdrop.
Qin Sizheng, unaware of what was said, pushed Lu Xianqing away just as the shutter clicked, freezing his expression. “Amazing! That emotion—Fourth Brother, you’re incredible!”
After the shot, Qin Sizheng realized and quickly looked at Lu Xianqing, slightly apologetic. “Sorry… are you okay?”
“No grudge, then I’m fine.”
“I was just explaining—how could I hold a grudge at all?”
Lu Xianqing hid his hand behind his back. “Good.”
The director approved the shots and called everyone for the promotional group photo. On this variety show, Lu Xianqing was undoubtedly the center; everyone else instinctively stepped aside.
After finishing their touch-ups, the director gave one final character rundown for everyone:
“Lu Xianqing, the youngest surgeon at Lecheng Second Hospital. He never utters unnecessary words and keeps no social ties. Two points, one line—straight home after work. He carries secrets no one knows.”
“Xi Ling, cold and indifferent. Many pursue him, but he neither accepts nor rejects. No one knows if he has feelings for anyone.”
“Qin Sizheng, a marginal youth running with society, seemingly skilled at nothing but fighting.”
“Shi Jianshu, a decadent artist, usually disheveled and eccentric. Can shoot photos on a garbage heap, speaks incoherently at times, sometimes endearing, sometimes maddening. Hair is sacred—no one may touch it. Perhaps hiding something.”
“Su Yiyan, works at the same hospital as Dr. Lu. Scatterbrained and vain, often scolded for work negligence. Once nearly caused a death, saved by Dr. Lu, greatly admires him.”
With makeup done, the director led everyone through the studio to a meticulously decorated guesthouse at the back.
“Where did this place come from?” Xi Ling asked. He had been here before but never saw anything like it.
The director explained, “Ming Fei had it set up. Renting elsewhere would be messy and attract onlookers, so he just built one here.”
Ming Fei looked proud, waiting for praise. Qin Sizheng, surprised by such audacity, gave a thumbs-up.
“A waste of money,” Lu Xianqing muttered lightly, reaching over to grab Qin Sizheng’s arm, then softening: “Do you like it?”
Qin Sizheng blinked. “Huh?”
Lu Xianqing shook his head. “Nothing.”
The venue was equipped with cameras. Because the show was fully live, even the director couldn’t control the flow—a daring move.
Ming Fei was fearless. Despite repeated warnings, he insisted, “What’s a variety show without edge? Let’s go live.”
“…Fine. Be ready to cut the stream immediately if anything goes wrong!” the director instructed, confirming with the guests before starting.
At first, the screen was dark. Faint light and rapid breathing revealed a girl running, pressed against the rooftop edge, shaking her head, shouting, “No!”
The next moment, the rooftop was empty, and a girl lay on the ground, seemingly lifeless.
“Who puts this in a hospital?” a man muttered, turning off the TV and checking his watch. “Should be time… why not yet?”
Knock knock.
A student appeared, books in the left hand, pushing the door slightly with the right. “Excuse me, is this the Huawan Guesthouse? I didn’t see a sign outside.”
This was Xi Ling’s first variety show. Fans went wild at his first appearance, the chat flooded with screams. The director nervously monitored the stream, a trace of worry crossing his face.
Xi Ling alone caused such a stir; the director could only imagine the chaos once Lu Xianqing and Qin Sizheng appeared. He silently prayed the live feed wouldn’t crash.
By the time Su Yiyan and Shi Jianshu appeared, the chat was so dense that the screen itself was obscured with colorful fan messages. Excitement radiated even through the screen.
The director turned to Ming Fei, giving a thumbs-up. “So this is top-tier popularity?”
Ming Fei smiled, nudging the screen. “The daddy of top-tier streams has arrived.”
Even though it was sunny, Lu Xianqing appeared holding a black umbrella, wearing his hospital white coat. His hand gripping the handle was pale, and as the umbrella shifted, it revealed his equally pale face.
The live signal wavered instantly. The director’s heart sank, fearing the stream would drop.
Unlike pre-recorded shows, live streams don’t allow retakes. Any interruption would be a true accident, not something you could simply reconnect.
[Normally, I’d roll my eyes at someone holding an umbrella in broad daylight or lecture him for wearing a white coat outside a hospital—but Fourth Brother does it like this… my brain can only say: full frontal up.]
[That’s four words, you lost it.]
[Oh damn, he’s so captivating. Fourth Brother in love is on another level. He used to shoot one drama a year; now, just days after wrapping, he’s starting a variety show. Love makes workaholics.]
Qin Sizheng’s entrance was slightly rebellious. He kicked the door open, arrogantly tapped the gleaming table, and raised his chin. “Hey, get me a room.”
“P-please show your ID.”
Biting a toothpick, Qin Sizheng spat it onto the receptionist’s face, smirking. “I don’t need an ID to book a room. Just this face—no card, no room?”
The receptionist wiped her face, hesitating at the bruises and scratches, then reluctantly handed over the card. “Room 208, please.”
Qin Sizheng took the card and immediately heard a commotion—a high-pitched female scream nearly rupturing eardrums. He ran upstairs, finding a crowd gathered at the staircase.
Hearing the noise, they all turned sharply, staring at Qin Sizheng. He instinctively stepped back, but then remembered his persona and raised an eyebrow.
“Looking? Keep staring and I’ll gouge your eyes out.”
Su Yiyan pointed at the wall, panicked. “It’s her! She’s back!”
Xi Ling’s book fell to the floor, Qin Sizheng accidentally stepped on it, leaving a black smudge. Frowning, he dusted it off.
Shi Jianshu raised his camera, snapping frantically. “Is this a forest? Blood handprints? Silver blood? Or just melodrama? Strange blood?”
Qin Sizheng brushed past the crowd toward his room, as if oblivious to the four bloody handprints, yawning slowly. “Someone’s about to die. Be careful, you all.”
Su Yiyan burst into tears at once and bolted downstairs, letting out another scream that could have shredded the night sky.
Everyone froze for a moment, then turned and ran after her.
A short while later came the sound of the front door shaking, the chains rattling all the way upstairs, along with Su Yiyan’s panicked cries: “Is anyone there? Boss? Boss!”
Qin Sizheng paused at the doorway and casually glanced back at the staircase, only to be stunned. Lu Xianqing hadn’t left—he was standing before the four blood handprints, slowly reaching out to wipe one.
Qin Sizheng frowned slightly. What was he doing?
Lu Xianqing’s right index finger brushed against the wall; his pale fingertip picked up a trace of blood, which he calmly brought to his mouth. After a moment, he retrieved a piece of white gauze from his coat pocket, wiped the fingertip free of saliva, and tucked it back.
He lifted his head, and Qin Sizheng’s eyes met his. His heart skipped a beat, his Adam’s apple moving almost involuntarily.
The act of tasting blood—Lu Xianqing licking it off—was ridiculously, irresistibly alluring, Qin Sizheng thought.
“People,” Lu Xianqing said.
Qin Sizheng was momentarily stunned, then came back to him, grasping his hand and gently peeling away the gauze. He noticed a subtle twitch at Lu Xianqing’s brow, and the surgeon’s hand froze instinctively.
The camera, positioned behind Lu Xianqing, caught his silent mouth movement: “Don’t stop, it won’t hurt.”
Gritting his teeth, Qin Sizheng tugged the gauze, ripping open the already healing wound on Lu Xianqing’s palm.
Lu Xianqing shivered slightly; the cut burst open, blood flowing freely. His face drained of color in an instant, and a short, quiet gasp was swallowed almost instinctively.
Qin Sizheng felt a strange pain in his chest, a pang of guilt lodged on his tongue—but he forced it down for the sake of the live broadcast.
“Cut!”
The director rushed upstairs, breathless and incoherent with excitement: “Amazing, absolutely amazing! This teaser will hook viewers completely. When the full episode airs, it’s guaranteed to dominate this year’s variety show ratings!”
Qin Sizheng ignored the praise, immediately holding Lu Xianqing’s hand, eyes reddening from anxiety at the blood streaming down his palm. “You’re really hurt? I’m so sorry—I didn’t know!”
Lu Xianqing reached out and touched his face. “It doesn’t hurt. Don’t worry.”
Qin Sizheng froze. He was holding Lu Xianqing’s hand while the other hand rested on his face—a posture undeniably intimate. Reflexively, he pulled back a step.
For some reason, seeing Lu Xianqing injured made his chest ache, a sharp, stabbing pain.
An Ning, hearing about the reopened wound, ran up with a first-aid kit. Lu Xianqing extended his hand for her to bandage and asked Qin Sizheng, “After the show, any plans today?”
Qin Sizheng shook his head lightly. “I was supposed to go to my acting teacher’s class, but he had to cancel today.”
“Acting class,” Lu Xianqing mused for a moment, then asked, “Do you think I’m qualified to stand in as your teacher for one lesson?”
Qin Sizheng blinked in realization. He meant to teach the class himself? Surprise and disbelief washed over him, and he nodded vigorously, afraid the offer might be withdrawn. “Yes, yes!”
“Your place or mine?”
Qin Sizheng, not wanting to trouble him with back-and-forth travel, asked cautiously: “Yours is fine?”
“Fine. Let’s go downstairs and remove the makeup first.”
Following him, Qin Sizheng’s gaze lingered on his injured hand with slight concern. “Fourth Brother, how did you hurt your hand…?”
Lu Xianqing suddenly stopped, and Qin Sizheng, caught off guard, bumped into his back. Rubbing his nose, he observed his expression. Hmm, did he dislike that nickname?
A subtle ache stirred in Lu Xianqing’s chest. Though he remembered nothing, he still cared for Qin Sizheng—was it instinctive kindness, or residual affection?
He unconsciously clenched his hand, the pain causing a slight frown. Qin Sizheng instinctively held his hand, “Don’t clench—it might reopen if it just stopped bleeding.”
Lu Xianqing looked at him, then grasped his hand before he could withdraw, blinking and showing a rare fragility. “It hurts a little. Help me.”