Finally, Song Cheng and Qin Wunian tossed out the expired food and waited, hungry, for the delivery.
Ordering takeout had been Qin Wunian’s idea. He knew Song Cheng was still irritable; if he cooked himself, he might get angry again. But if Qin Wunian cooked, that was unthinkable. The Second Young Master and the kitchen were never compatible—he’d rather send him to a mine to handle explosives than let him cook.
When the delivery arrived, the courier handed over his ID before running inside with a large bag of food. The moment the doorbell rang, the front door flew open, the courier didn’t even see who took the food, and it was snatched from his hands in a blur, leaving only a lightning-fast “thank you.”
Courier: “……”
By three o’clock, they hadn’t gone to a restaurant. They sat at the kitchen island, Qin Wunian silently watching Song Cheng devour his meal.
He pushed the freshly poured water toward Song Cheng. “Slow down, no one’s stealing it from you.”
Song Cheng drank half of it in one gulp, feeling a little less hungry. Then he looked up. “Aren’t you eating?”
Qin Wunian didn’t feel like it. His appetite was always small—he’d eat a few bites if hungry, skip meals if not. He probably ate less regularly than he drank protein shakes.
But seeing Song Cheng’s expectant eyes, he reached for his chopsticks and picked up his own meal.
As he ate, he asked, curious: “Why is your appetite so big now?”
Song Cheng paused, not even realizing he used to eat so little.
“I’m still growing,” he mumbled.
Qin Wunian glanced at him in mild awe. “Not bad… a medical miracle.”
“At twenty-three, you’re hitting a third growth spurt. Whoever compiles the next human history must put your name in it.”
Song Cheng blushed, realizing he’d exaggerated, but unwilling to admit it. He frowned at Qin Wunian. “Can’t you just talk normally?”
Qin Wunian paused, about to reply, but Song Cheng looked down, a little wistful. “You weren’t like this before.”
By “before,” Song Cheng meant the past in his diary—back when Qin Wunian cared for him, taught him how to live, gentle and mature, always making him feel loved.
Qin Wunian, thinking of “before,” remembered the years when Song Cheng was still in school. Back then, he spoke without much sting; even when sharp, Song Cheng liked it and laughed instead of getting annoyed.
Since kindergarten, Qin Wunian hadn’t been easy to like. Before fourteen, he had almost no friends. After his growth spurt at fourteen, people gathered around him, but very few could truly get along with him.
Only Song Cheng could see through his facade—distinguish truth from lie. His annoying habits softened in Song Cheng’s presence; thorns became gentle, irritability became rose-scented, arrogance became clumsy care.
Four years later, these traits seemed both changed and unchanged.
The contract signed that morning was followed by a call from the director: they were to shoot promotional photos tomorrow. The official account had started releasing teasers, one pair per day. They were scheduled last.
The photo shoot took place at the main filming site for the variety show: an 800-square-meter activity area at a suburban resort. The assistant director was preparing the scene when they arrived.
The variety show was called “The Summer After the Breakup”. The name reflected that it aired in August, the height of summer. What Song Cheng didn’t know was that he and Qin Wunian had also broken up during the summer. Qin Wunian lingered a few seconds longer at the wall displaying the show’s title.
Unlike dating shows, breakup shows still required promotional photos but emphasized solo shots rather than CP interactions. Even group shots were distant and aloof. Song Cheng, being new to this, was posed and adjusted by the photographer for quite a while.
Outside, several unfamiliar chauffeured cars were parked. Two female celebrities, Yang Qing and former supermodel Zhao Feifei, were arriving. Unlike Qin Wunian, who had just one assistant, they had entourages. Yang Qing, especially, had at least seven or eight assistants behind her, a dense swarm.
Zhao Feifei had fewer people but exuded presence; one person alone commanded the stance of ten. When they met midway, Zhao Feifei glanced at Yang Qing with a cool, indifferent gaze, then continued forward. Yang Qing’s expression didn’t change; she looked at Zhao Feifei’s legs, and her assistants immediately moved in front, clearing the path. Song Cheng noticed Yang Qing gave Zhao Feifei a smug, provocative glance before entering.
Song Cheng: “Wow.”
Even before filming, the tension was palpable.
Qin Wunian: “Stay away from them once filming starts.”
Song Cheng looked up, puzzled. “Why?”
Qin Wunian glanced at him. “If they start fighting, you’ll be the one who gets hurt.”
Song Cheng: “……”
He laughed. “Impossible! There’s a script. Once we’re on set, they won’t act like that.”
He hesitated after speaking, even to himself: “I’m right, aren’t I?”
Qin Wunian looked at him and offered a faint smile.
Song Cheng: “……”
Once the production team confirmed that Qin Wunian and Song Cheng would participate in the variety show, the director set the filming schedule: starting next Tuesday, ending the Thursday after. Everyone was to meet at the main site, and each night the assistant director would send the next day’s schedule and “script” to the participants. Though called a script, it was really just guidance on how to perform; beyond that, they were free to improvise, as anything too fake wouldn’t convince the audience.
Song Cheng didn’t know what the other guests were doing. He only knew he had spent the night scrolling through online comments with Qin Wunian.
The recent buzz over domestic abuse cases had quieted, but when fans learned Qin Wunian would be on a variety show, the heat rose again. Since his assistant posted a statement on Qin Wunian’s Weibo, Zhou Qingge had gone silent, never uttering a word, while her fans stubbornly continued to criticize Qin Wunian every day.
When fans discovered that Qin Wunian would appear with Song Cheng, they swarmed the official account, accusing it of being shameless for seemingly trying to “whitewash” Qin Wunian’s reputation.
Qin Wunian’s fans, however, were no pushovers. They jumped onto their keyboards and fought back fiercely. Soon, the comment section had become a war zone.
Qin Wunian, experienced in these matters, scrolled through comments, super topics, and real-time updates, keeping a full picture of public opinion.
Song Cheng, meanwhile, was still scrolling innocently. Seeing the two fan groups bickering endlessly, with random bystanders stirring trouble, he finally looked up. “This affects you so much… can’t you just sue her?”
Qin Wunian had long passed the stage of being furious. Frankly, he’d been insulted too many times over the years to care. Song Cheng only saw the sudden flurry and thought it excessive. In Qin Wunian’s eyes, things had already improved: more people spoke up in his defense than those who attacked him—thanks largely to Song Cheng’s presence.
He stretched out his long legs like a lord, neck resting on the headrest, holding his phone while replying: “Suing her wouldn’t help much.”
Song Cheng disagreed. “No way, you’d definitely win!”
Qin Wunian paused his scrolling, lowered his phone, and turned toward Song Cheng. Seeing him look so earnest, Song Cheng hurriedly added: “A defamation suit is a civil case. Your evidence is already solid—you don’t even need the old surveillance footage. Videos count as audiovisual evidence, her posts as written proof, fan insults as digital evidence, plus your testimony, and me—I can provide witness testimony. Put all that together, and she can’t possibly win.”
Qin Wunian gave a small nod.
Song Cheng blinked, unsure if he had actually convinced him.
Qin Wunian slowly sat up, gazing at Song Cheng. After a moment, he spoke: “If this were just a private matter between me and Zhou Qingge, I’d follow your advice and sue without hesitation. But this has escalated. Even winning a guaranteed lawsuit isn’t enough for me or my fans. I’m just grateful that the law remains my final resort, not my only one.”
Song Cheng, intending to persuade Qin Wunian, found himself persuaded instead—especially by that last line, which made perfect sense. His eyes shone. “You’re so steady.”
Qin Wunian didn’t react to the compliment, only giving him a strange look.