Song Cheng narrowed his eyes and looked at the waves rising and falling in the distance.
It was already afternoon, but the sun showed no intention of easing up. It blazed fiercely over the earth, unconcerned with how drenched in sweat the people below had become.
These days the sky didn’t grow dark until very late. Around seven-thirty, almost eight, the moon would finally appear. The overly long daylight created the illusion that time might never run out.
Surrounded by three hundred and sixty degrees of white noise, and having skipped his midday nap, Song Cheng lay there until drowsiness began creeping over him.
His eyelids grew heavier and heavier. Even the blazing sun overhead seemed to be urging him to fall asleep. In the distance he could hear the other guests chatting happily, their voices drifting over on the breeze.
Song Cheng thought to himself, I’ll just take a tiny little nap.
With that in mind, he relaxed and closed his eyes. Before his eyelids had even fully shut, Su Yu’s voice sounded beside him.
“Feeling sleepy?”
Song Cheng jolted awake. He rubbed his eyes and sat up. “No, I was just resting my eyes for a moment.”
Su Yu smiled. “If you fall asleep now, you won’t be able to sleep later tonight. Here—have a cup of fresh orange slush to wake yourself up.”
Song Cheng quickly thanked him and took the drink. The cup immediately left a layer of cold condensation on his hands. He pulled two tissues from his pocket, wiped his hands clean, then wiped down the cup as well before lowering his head and taking a sip through the straw.
In the scorching heat, drinking something icy was pure happiness. Song Cheng’s eyes curved with satisfaction. Then he looked curiously at Su Yu beside him.
“Why aren’t you over there grilling with them?”
Su Yu shrugged. “Not interested. I’m a bit of a neat freak. The smoke from grilling is too much. Unless I can barbecue while taking a shower at the same time, I’d rather stay far away.”
Song Cheng instinctively turned to look behind him. “But that looks like a smokeless grill…”
In the distance, everyone was busy—including his brand-new boyfriend.
Qin Wunian had tied on an apron and actually looked fairly competent. Holding up the barbecue tongs the show had prepared, he stared thoughtfully at the various meats for two seconds, then decisively picked up a slab of heavily marbled beef—ten centimeters thick and not even sliced yet—and bang, slammed it onto the grill.
Even from this distance, Song Cheng could see the grill wobble under the weight. Liu Yanchu nearly jumped in alarm. He hurriedly pulled the meat off the grill and started pushing at Qin Wunian’s shoulder, trying to force him to leave the barbecue area. Qin Wunian refused to budge, and the two of them immediately began arguing on the spot.
Song Cheng burst out laughing. Grabbing the back of the lounge chair, his shoulders shook with laughter. After quite a while, he finally let out a long, satisfied sigh and turned back around in a very good mood.
The moment he turned back, however, the smile on his face faltered.
Because Su Yu was still there.
Song Cheng: “……”
Song Cheng knew he wasn’t a very talkative person. After all, he even had a bit of social anxiety. He was good at responding to others, but terrible at starting conversations.
Su Yu sat on the lounge chair beside him, looking out at the ocean. Over the past few days, Song Cheng had never been alone with him. Now that it was really just the two of them, Song Cheng felt a faint sense of awkwardness.
Maybe people really did have an aura about them. At least, Song Cheng felt that he and Su Yu didn’t quite match. It wasn’t that Su Yu himself was unpleasant—it was simply that they were completely different kinds of people, with no common topics at all.
Even someone as simple-minded as Song Cheng could feel the silence hanging in the air. So someone as socially skilled as Su Yu should definitely be able to sense it too.
Song Cheng found it strange and began wondering whether he should just leave. But before he moved, a lightbulb suddenly went off in his head.
Su Yu had suddenly come over and even brought him a slushie… could it be that he wanted to talk to him about something?
In an instant, curiosity defeated social anxiety. Holding his cup of slush, Song Cheng scooted a little closer to Su Yu and asked softly, “Are you in a bad mood?”
Su Yu froze for a moment. Turning to look at him, he replied with another question instead. “Why would you think that?”
Song Cheng pointed at the corner of his mouth. “You’re not smiling.”
At that, Su Yu did smile. “Sometimes not smiling doesn’t mean you’re in a bad mood. It just means both your mind and body need a little quiet time. No one can be happy all the time, right? If someone stayed happy twenty-four hours a day, every minute and every second… that sounds exhausting too.”
Song Cheng blinked. “That’s not really the case.”
“Hm?”
Su Yu let out a soft questioning sound through his nose. But judging from his expression, it felt less like he was truly asking Song Cheng and more like he was humoring him. The way an adult might react when a child says something unusually profound—internally dismissing it as childish talk, yet still outwardly encouraging them and pretending to take it seriously.
Song Cheng noticed it, but he didn’t say anything. He only gave a small smile.
“What I mean is, there’s no such thing as being happy every second. Humans can’t do that. No living creature can. If you think you’ve done it, then maybe only the second half of what you said is true.”
Su Yu looked at Song Cheng for a moment, then suddenly asked, “You graduated from college last year, right?”
Song Cheng: “……”
He thought what he said had made a lot of sense. What—had the real academic genius already figured out he was a total underachiever?
Outwardly, Song Cheng’s expression stayed calm, but inside his mind waves were crashing.
Th-this… how was he supposed to answer that?!
Slowly setting down his cup of slush, Song Cheng smiled slightly. “Yeah. I already graduated.”
As for where he graduated from… please don’t ask.
Su Yu asked again, “A lot of people feel very nostalgic about their school days after they graduate. Do you?”
Song Cheng: “…………”
Is this ever going to end?
He shook his head. “No. Only people who had a good time in school feel nostalgic about it. Of course, I’m not saying my time was bad. I just think life now is pretty good too. I have everything I need, and I’ve grown up—I can do a lot more things. To me, that’s what matters most.”
Su Yu’s gaze shifted slightly when he heard that.
Song Cheng didn’t feel nostalgic, but Su Yu did. Which meant that, in Su Yu’s mind, life now wasn’t as good as those years on campus.
Another brief silence followed.
Suddenly Su Yu lifted his head and opened his mouth toward Song Cheng. There were some things he wanted to tell him. But when the words reached his throat, he couldn’t make a sound.
He was already used to standing on the same side as Yue Yuran.
And habits were frightening things.
Song Cheng looked at him in confusion. He patiently waited for a few seconds. Before Su Yu could say anything, Qin Wunian—who had apparently been kicked out of the barbecue area—came striding over across the sand.
Stopping beside Song Cheng, he handed him a slice of watermelon. His gaze flicked back and forth between the two of them.
“What are you guys talking about?”
When Song Cheng saw it was him, he immediately turned around.
“Nothing, just chatting. Why aren’t you grilling anymore?”
Qin Wunian’s face looked sour. “People with real talent are always ganged up on and bullied by people without talent.”
Song Cheng burst out laughing, showing Qin Wunian absolutely no mercy. Qin Wunian’s expression darkened even more, but he didn’t say anything. He simply nudged Song Cheng lightly with his hip, signaling him to scoot over and make room so he could sit down and eat watermelon.
In the end, the main grill master was still the experienced Master Liu.
Apparently he often hosted barbecue gatherings at home, and his grill had even been custom-ordered from overseas—very fancy and high-end. The grill provided by the show wasn’t quite as good, but a master was still a master. Give him just a lighter and he could probably return the favor with an entire roast lamb feast.
After six o’clock, the sun was no longer so scorching. The atmosphere grew better and better. The eight of them sat together, raising glasses and chatting, drinking low-alcohol cocktails and eating the barbecue prepared by Master Liu.
This was probably the happiest—and closest—they had felt during the past five days.
Yang Qing and Zhao Feifei hadn’t argued in a long time. When they talked about embarrassing stories from the past, they could both laugh about them now instead of becoming instantly hostile like before.
Lu Ruosi quietly ate her food. It had been a while since she had tasted Liu Yanchu’s impressive grilling skills. As she ate, she suddenly smiled to herself. But everyone else was busy eating, drinking, and chatting, so no one noticed.
Su Yu wasn’t the only one with ingrained habits. Yue Yuran had them too.
For example, whenever they sat down at a table, he would always pick out food for Su Yu first before eating himself.
People’s thoughts weren’t fixed. One moment Su Yu was thinking about one thing, the next moment about something else. As the sun slowly sank below the horizon, the production team turned on strings of lights around them. Amid the warm glow and the laughter, Yue Yuran was still carefully cutting the meat into the thin strips Su Yu preferred.
His patient expression looked exactly the same as always.
Meanwhile, Qin Wunian—who had clearly committed too many offenses—became the target at this dinner table where everyone’s distance from one another had shrunk.
People who had worked with him before all started complaining about him.
Lu Ruosi said he had no sense of camaraderie with colleagues. He never took the initiative to rehearse scenes with others, and even when invited to rehearse, he would only act with his voice while keeping a cold expression the entire time. During that period, Lu Ruosi said she didn’t even need to turn on her air conditioner.
According to Yang Qing, the problem with Qin Wunian wasn’t his attitude toward people—it was his attitude toward work.
“I’ve seen celebrities who insist on arriving late to show off their status,” she said dramatically, “but I’ve never seen anyone like Qin Wunian who insists on leaving early.”
She continued, “When we filmed that commercial together, we were literally about to finish the last shot. But Qin Wunian absolutely insisted on leaving. In the end, the director and his manager had to team up and pressure him into staying to finish the final bit.”
Yang Qing exaggerated her tone.
“That day I finally learned what a funeral face really looks like. Qin Wunian, do you know I had nightmares after I went home? I dreamed that you were staring at me with that exact expression. There was even a little brazier by your legs. Every once in a while you’d throw a piece of paper into it while muttering…”
She paused, then perfectly imitated Qin Wunian’s face and voice:
“‘That’s for making me do another take. That’s for making me do another take. That’s for making me do another take…’”
Zhao Feifei nodded. “I can testify. Ever since that day, Yang Qing’s acting actually improved. If you think about it, Yang Qing, you should really thank him.”
Qin Wunian: “……”
He was usually the one roasting other people with his sharp tongue. Being roasted by a whole group like this felt… strange.
Liu Yanchu joined in as well.
“Honestly, whether it’s his attitude toward people or his attitude toward work, I think Qin Wunian is fine.”
Qin Wunian looked at him expressionlessly, not looking the slightest bit pleased to hear praise.
Because he knew Liu Yanchu wasn’t finished.
Sure enough, Liu Yanchu chuckled twice and continued.
“The real problem with him… is his worldview.”
Qin Wunian: “……”
Liu Yanchu stood up, talking animatedly with gestures that made everyone look up at him.
“I filmed a New Year movie with him. We were both the male leads. My character fell in love with a coworker, but because their personalities clashed, it caused a lot of trouble. Qin Wunian’s character was in love with his childhood sweetheart, and right before they got engaged their relationship became unstable—lots of playful fighting and drama.”
“At the time, I just wanted to shoot a lighthearted comedy. Kind of like a vacation for myself. But during that month of filming, every single day I had to listen to Qin Wunian talk about how unreasonable the movie’s plot was.”
“I still remember Teacher Qin’s legendary line.”
“He said love is a stumbling block on the road of human evolution. If humans were truly intelligent, every hospital should open a department for selective removal of the prefrontal cortex. Whenever someone loses their mind and decides to fall in love, they should be sent there for surgery—one operation to eliminate all burdens at once.”
At this point, Liu Yanchu looked at Qin Wunian very sincerely.
“I didn’t ask at the time because I was afraid of upsetting you. But now I’d like to ask—had you just been dumped back then?”
Liu Yanchu had never seen Qin Wunian’s infamous livestream disaster. He only knew the rough story, not that Qin Wunian had personally admitted that Song Cheng was his only ex-boyfriend. Maybe he simply couldn’t hold his liquor well, because he had just asked an extremely private question in front of the cameras.
The others, of course, loved the drama.
Yue Yuran said, “I remember that movie. But wasn’t it from the year before last?”
Everyone waited for Qin Wunian’s answer.
Qin Wunian fell silent for a second, then glanced first at Song Cheng beside him.
Song Cheng had his head lowered, dismantling a chicken wing piece by piece. He knew Qin Wunian was looking at him, but he didn’t look up.
Qin Wunian watched him for a moment before turning back to the other guests.
“It wasn’t that I had just been dumped,” he said calmly. “It’s that the aftershock from being dumped earlier was still too strong.”
Those who had seen Qin Wunian’s livestream confession instantly switched to expressions full of amusement. They dragged out a long sound together.
“Ooooooh——”
Their gazes moved back and forth between Song Cheng and Qin Wunian.
Fortunately, they still remembered this was technically a breakup-themed show. They couldn’t openly ship the couple right in front of the cameras. After laughing it off awkwardly, the topic was quickly dropped.
By the time the sky had completely darkened, the open-air barbecue finally came to an end.
Everyone gradually dispersed and began walking slowly back toward the hotel.
They would be moving to a new location tomorrow. Enjoying the cool night breeze, none of them seemed particularly eager to return.
As they walked, Song Cheng suddenly realized that everyone else had disappeared. Only he and Qin Wunian were left. Around them, the endless row of streetlights stretched into the distance, the only things accompanying them along the road.
Song Cheng probably wasn’t much of a drinker. Like now—he knew he wasn’t drunk, but he could feel something in himself had changed. His courage had grown, his mood had turned impulsive. Questions he once only dared to think about in his heart… he now dared to ask out loud.
Kicking a small pebble off the roadside, he suddenly said, “Qin Wunian, have you ever hated me?”
Half a meter separated Qin Wunian from him. Hearing that, he turned to look at him, puzzled.
“Why would I hate you?”
“Because I made you sad.”
That movie they filmed two years ago—Qin Wunian could still say something like that about it. How deep of a psychological scar must that have left?
Song Cheng had always wanted to know why the two of them broke up back then. But as they spent more and more time together, he suddenly realized… he didn’t want to know anymore.
Because he had gradually become aware of something.
Their past probably wasn’t the way he had imagined it—two people both at fault, each deserving half the blame.
The stories from the people around them, Qin Wunian’s reactions, and even his own subconscious attitudes—all pieced together a reality Song Cheng was extremely unwilling to accept.
Perhaps… maybe… possibly…
From beginning to end, the only person who had done something wrong… was him.
Song Cheng lowered his head further and further.
Qin Wunian glanced at him, then turned his gaze forward again, looking at the winding path ahead. In a calm voice, he asked,
“Then in the future… will you still make me sad?”
Song Cheng shook his head quickly.
He pressed his lips together and said nothing, but in his heart he repeated the answer again and again.
Never. Absolutely never again.
Qin Wunian didn’t look at him, yet he seemed to read that silent promise from the quiet air between them. A faint smile appeared on his lips.
He reached out and hooked his fingers with Song Cheng’s.
They were still half a meter apart, but because their hands were now connected, that half-meter distance suddenly felt meaningless.
Behind them, the cameraman was so shocked he nearly dropped the camera.
Steadying himself, his thoughts were flooding his mind like a scrolling screen:
Can they not see me? Do they seriously not see me? I’m right here! Are they really pretending I don’t exist?!
…
They held hands all the way back to the hotel.
Song Cheng’s inexplicable gloom gradually faded through that small, continuous bit of physical contact. By the time they entered the elevator, he had returned to being the same socially anxious, timid, yet easily smiling Song Cheng as before.
Ding.
The elevator doors opened.
Song Cheng stepped out first. Qin Wunian followed with a faint smile. But after Song Cheng had walked a few steps away, Qin Wunian suddenly turned around and grabbed the camera lens behind him.
He looked at the cameraman expressionlessly.
“Cut that part just now.”
Cameraman: “…Teacher Qin, I’m only responsible for filming, not editing.”
Qin Wunian: “That’s fine. Just pass the message to the director for me. Tell him that if he doesn’t cut that scene out, I’ll make a burner account and expose the fact that he eats eight bacon-smoked meat sandwiches a day. Seriously—his cholesterol is already that high and he still eats like that. No wonder his wife keeps such a close watch on him.”
The director, sitting in front of the monitor: “…………”
Are you even human?!
And who the hell told Qin Wunian about that?!