She wasn’t surprised by the small size of the room or the simplicity of the furniture. What shocked her was that every wall was covered in mirrors—even the back of the door.
Sitting in a room like this, Zhao Feifei was fine, but Yang Qing felt a shiver run down her spine. In the mirrors, she saw multiple reflections of herself. She looked into one, and the reflection looked back. In the height of summer, she rubbed her arms nervously. “Why so many mirrors? If I didn’t know better, I’d think I’d done something wrong and was under interrogation.”
Gan Yawen smiled. “These are meant to let everyone see their expressions and gestures more clearly during the process of speaking freely. It helps you face your own feelings directly.”
Yang Qing: “……”
She didn’t like the room and urged Gan Yawen, “Hurry up with the questions. I have mirror-phobia—if I stay here too long, I’ll be scared to death.”
Zhao Feifei gave an ambiguous laugh. “Is there any phobia in this world you don’t have?”
Yang Qing’s eyes instantly turned sharp. Gan Yawen glanced left and right, sensing a quarrel brewing. He quickly intervened; the “friend group” had already been loud enough today. Another argument could make the director worry they might really fight.
“All right, enough chatter. There are other guests waiting. Here’s the deal: both of you must answer my questions. When answering, look at each other, not me. I know I’m handsome, but in this room, I’m just a question tool—pretend I don’t exist.”
Yang Qing turned her head away, while Zhao Feifei gave a polite smile. “Fine, go ahead.”
“First question: how long have you been friends?”
Both paused briefly and answered in unison: “Six years.”
Gan Yawen was taken aback by their simultaneous answer and couldn’t help laughing. “So quick! I thought you’d need time to think.”
After all, they were friends, not lovers. Lovers remember how long they’ve been together; friends usually don’t.
Zhao Feifei added with a wry tone, “A nightmare of six years—hard to forget even if I wanted to.”
Yang Qing immediately countered: “Your nightmare lasted six years? Mine has lasted until today. This shadow will haunt me my whole life.”
Gan Yawen chuckled. “You really love joking. Okay, second question: in all the years you’ve been friends, which day was the happiest?”
Yang Qing answered immediately as if she was racing to respond: “Of course the last day—sunshine after rain, happiness finally returned to me.”
Gan Yawen: “……”
He glanced at Zhao Feifei, who didn’t look at him at all; her gaze was sharp, like a knife aimed at Yang Qing.
Taking a breath, Zhao Feifei told herself not to lose her temper. Whatever Yang Qing wanted to do was her business; she was here to work and be professional.
After a few seconds of silence, she looked down and spoke slowly, “The 46th White Peony Awards ceremony—that was the happiest day for me.”
Yang Qing paused, glancing at Zhao Feifei. Finally, a normal answer. Gan Yawen was intrigued: “But you’re a model, and the White Peony is a TV drama award ceremony. I guess you didn’t win anything that day?”
Zhao Feifei: “Of course not. That day, she was nominated.”
Gan Yawen quickly turned to Yang Qing. “Did you win that day, Yang Jie?”
Gan Yawen’s signature persona as the younger brother—polite and sweet—was effective on many celebrities, not just the audience. Yang Qing looked at him and replied, “No.”
Gan Yawen: “……”
No one had won—how could that be the happiest day? No wonder he shouldn’t have trusted Zhao Feifei; he thought she would answer properly. Gan Yawen felt frustrated, but Yang Qing wasn’t angry. In fact, she kept her gaze on Zhao Feifei. The usually irritable Yang Qing now remained calm. She looked past Zhao Feifei to the mirror opposite, saw her own reflection, and after a while, lowered her head.
In the observation room, Liu Yanchu nodded confidently: “Something happened that day.”
Su Yu nodded along: “Yeah, you can tell something happened.”
Yue Yuran agreed: “Definitely.”
Song Cheng, curious, asked: “What exactly happened???”
The others: “……”
They had no idea.
After the second question, Gan Yawen moved on to the third, the opposite of the previous one: the saddest day.
Because Zhao Feifei hadn’t followed the expected pattern before, she gave a very sensitive date. Yang Qing didn’t immediately know if she was sincerely answering or trying to establish herself as serious and professional.
After a moment of thought, Yang Qing stopped sulking and answered: “The Spring Festival of the sixth year. Zhao, the supermodel, sent out group greeting messages but deliberately excluded me. That day was the saddest day for me.”
Gan Yawen: “How did you know she sent it to everyone else but not you?”
Yang Qing paused, frowning again: “I peeked at my agent’s phone. Can’t do that?”
Gan Yawen: “……”
Fine, fine.
Wiping the sweat from his forehead, he looked to Zhao Feifei. When their eyes met, she said: “April 29th.”
Gan Yawen paused. “Could you be more specific?”
“I finalized my divorce on January 20th. On April 29th, I discovered Yang Qing had gone out for dinner alone with my ex-husband, laughing and talking. At that time, I’d only been divorced three months; the court proceedings weren’t even finished. Imagine how I felt.”
Gan Yawen first unconsciously opened his mouth, then slammed it shut again.
No words could be spoken—anything said now would shatter the mood. “Let these loaded silences simmer,” he thought. “Director, I can only help you this far.”
The director’s reaction remained unknown, but the few people in the observation room were completely stunned.
Do they really have to go this far?
It’s just a variety show—was it really necessary to drag out these old skeletons right away? Kicking things off this dramatically, what about the rest of us who are left?
Everyone present had their own thoughts. Among the six of them, only Song Cheng wasn’t wealthy. Money wasn’t a pressing concern anymore; popularity and heat were what really mattered. Looking at their friend group reflected in the glass, nearly everyone shared the same sentiment:
You guys have no sense of fairness!
…
I said nearly because Qin Wunian didn’t think that way.
Or rather, ever since leaving the room, Qin Wunian’s mind had been playing nothing but the words “Song Cheng” on repeat. Every action, every sentence exchanged since their reunion, he had replayed over and over, oscillating between certainty and doubt.
Distracted, Qin Wunian reached toward the draw-lots bucket. Luck was on his side—he drew the next round for himself and Song Cheng.
The “Unforgettable” and “Married” teams let out sighs of relief. Dead comrades don’t die alone; whitewashing groups, go ahead boldly.
…
Song Cheng began to feel uneasy. The more he thought about it, the more he feared that once the show aired, his pairing with Qin Wunian might be the dullest one: no quarrels, no scandals. Everyone else would draw the viewers’ attention, which would severely weaken the whitewashing effect.
Glancing at Qin Wunian, he realized to his dismay that the other was daydreaming at such a crucial moment!
Song Cheng’s irritation flared. Who exactly needs to be whitewashed, and why does he treat such a serious matter with total indifference?
Temptation and mischief flared—he considered spilling the secret of their secret marriage and divorce on the show. That way, even if they didn’t dominate the friend group, at least they could share the spotlight.
This thought was abruptly interrupted once Song Cheng entered the truth-telling room. Sitting in the observation room, he hadn’t noticed anything unusual, but inside, he immediately felt the mirrors were strange.
The more he stared, the harder it was to look away, and his heart pounded with growing unease.
Frozen, Song Cheng lowered his head, trying not to look at the mirrors. Sitting down, he couldn’t shake the thought that Yang Qing might have been right—mirror phobia was a real thing.
Gan Yawen, having seen the friend group off, returned. Truthfully, after witnessing such a spectacle, even he was a bit distracted and didn’t treat Qin Wunian and Song Cheng as seriously as before. Skipping the usual pleasantries, he got straight to the point.
“The first question: I heard you’ve known each other for a long time. How long have you actually been a couple?”
Song Cheng steadied himself to answer, then suddenly froze.
Wait… he didn’t know the answer.
Unlike the unruly friend group, Qin Wunian entered the room and immediately fixed his gaze solely on Song Cheng, completely ignoring the host. Watching Song Cheng reflexively open his mouth to speak, then pause, finally revealing a helpless expression as he looked to Qin Wunian for guidance, Qin Wunian didn’t know how to describe his feelings.
They had never formally been together. It was natural that Song Cheng wouldn’t know the answer.
Over the years, Qin Wunian had deceived and numbed himself with the phrase “we’ve dated,” convincing himself repeatedly. No one could refute him while Song Cheng was away, and a thousand repetitions made the lie feel true. Even now, with Song Cheng back, he wondered what this lie looked like from Song Cheng’s eyes.
“I’m looking at you—why don’t you answer? The host asked you,” he said.
Gan Yawen interjected: “No, I’m asking both of you.”
He, too, was puzzled. This should be the simplest question, yet Song Cheng’s expression seemed as if he faced the world’s most impossible problem. Under the simultaneous gaze of the two, his pressure multiplied.
He truly didn’t know! The diary only mentioned that they got together soon after meeting—how could he know exactly how long “soon” was?
With no other choice, he answered dryly, “O-One year?”
He only counted from marriage to divorce, not the dating period.
Gan Yawen listened to Song Cheng’s uncertain answer, bewildered. How strange! Two close friends remembered precisely how long they’d been friends, yet two people who had dated couldn’t recall their dating duration.
After a pause, he turned to Qin Wunian: “Do you have a different answer?”
Seeing Song Cheng’s anxious expression, Qin Wunian blinked twice lightly, smiling: “No, it’s one year.”