When Chengfeng heard Han Congzhou speak, it immediately lifted its head.
Lying in its nest, the dog looked around to the left and right. Seeing that the person Han Congzhou mentioned had not appeared at all, it puffed out a weary sigh through its nose and rested its head back on its paws.
Han Congzhou silently watched it, feeling as though even the fur on the dog’s back was saying: Stop bothering me. There’s no result.
…
Han Congzhou almost never paid attention to entertainment news. Frowning, he watched the television for a while before realizing that this was a variety show—specifically, a breakup-themed variety show.
The television continued playing. He lowered his head, opened the browser on his phone, and searched the name Song Cheng.
Immediately, a pile of entertainment-related search results popped up.
It took Han Congzhou ten minutes to read through the complicated love-hate relationship between Song Cheng, Qin Wunian, and Zhou Qingge, as summarized by internet users. Zhou Qingge accusing Qin Wunian of domestic violence had been such a huge topic that even Han Congzhou—who never watched entertainment programs—had heard about it. Whether it was true or not remained uncertain.
But right now, he was more concerned about something else.
Holding his phone, he slowly raised his head. His expression was even more incredulous than when he had first seen Song Cheng appear on television.
“Qin Wunian?”
“So after all this time… it’s actually Qin Wunian?”
This had been an exhausting day for all the guests. When ten o’clock arrived, the cameras slowly shut off. It made little difference to the guests anyway, because they had already washed up and gone to bed.
The wooden house where Song Cheng and Qin Wunian were staying had only one bed, but the bed was enormous—far larger than any standard size sold on the market. It was probably custom-built by the owner.
Lying on it, Song Cheng could smell a faint scent of dried grass, along with a subtle fragrance that only elderly people who loved cleanliness seemed to carry.
Smell was also a form of memory. Breathing in that scent made Song Cheng feel strangely at ease, though he did not remember where he had smelled it before, nor did he know exactly what it was.
The bedsheets, duvet cover, and pillowcases had all been purchased by the production team in a nearby town. They were brand new—clean enough to keep the guests’ germaphobia from flaring up, yet not so modern that they looked out of place to the audience. Beneath Song Cheng was a pink-and-white striped sheet that, much like the chubby baby New Year print on the wall, carried a strong sense of an earlier era.
Normally, Song Cheng could fall asleep the moment his head touched the pillow. But tonight he could not. Perhaps it was because, over the past few days, he had never truly gone to bed at ten. Each night he would chat with Qin Wunian for a while—or do something else—before finally falling asleep.
Forming a habit was difficult, but breaking one was easy. Song Cheng had not yet realized that his once-healthy sleep schedule was slowly sliding toward an irreversible abyss.
Turning over in bed, he asked the man beside him, “Are you asleep yet?”
Qin Wunian replied with his eyes closed, “Yes. I’m already dreaming.”
Song Cheng: “……”
After two seconds of silence, he said confidently, “So that means I’m in your dream too.”
Qin Wunian opened his eyes and turned his head to look at him. Under the moonlight, he frowned slightly.
“That doesn’t make sense. When have I ever had a dream without you in it?”
Song Cheng was instantly delighted. He pressed his lips together as his face began to turn red again.
Then he heard Qin Wunian continue:
“If I dream that I’m a farmer, you’re the landlord exploiting me. If I dream that I’m an emperor, you’re the little eunuch poisoning my food. If I dream that I’m a ship captain, you’re the one-eyed pirate waving a huge cutlass and shouting—”
Song Cheng: “…………”
Irritated, he said, “Isn’t there even one dream where my image is a little better?!”
Qin Wunian said, “Let me think.”
Then he remained silent for a full five minutes.
Song Cheng turned his body away angrily, presenting his back to him.
“I’m mad!” he declared.
…
Qin Wunian might have a sharp tongue, but his emotional intelligence was not that low. At the very least, he knew that when translated into plain language, those four words meant: Hurry up and coax me.
The window of the wooden house did not have the kind of curtains that stretched from ceiling to floor. Instead, two pieces of cloth hung over it, serving as makeshift curtains. The problem with them, however, was that they could only cover half the window. The upper half still allowed light to spill in from outside.
It was not streetlights, nor the colorful glow of city lights—just the faint light of the moon and stars.
With that bit of illumination, Qin Wunian could clearly see Song Cheng’s outline, along with the faint shine of the hair at the back of his head.
Resting one arm beneath his head, Qin Wunian said leisurely, “There really isn’t any dream where your image is good.”
Song Cheng: “……”
He had waited so long only to hear that?!
Fortunately, Qin Wunian had not finished.
“Because the ones where your image is good are incomplete—and they never last long. I think my brain is smarter than I am. It knows to interrupt those impossible sweet dreams and wake me up in time, so I won’t be affected by them.”
The little spikes of irritation bristling all over Song Cheng immediately softened.
After a while, he slowly turned back again. Curling his legs, he lifted his eyes and looked at Qin Wunian, who seemed to be lost in his memories.
He spoke softly, “Then you help me… tell your brain something for me.”
Qin Wuyan raised an eyebrow slightly and turned his head toward him.
Song Cheng continued, “Tell it that I’m back, and this time, I don’t plan to leave. Even if an intercontinental missile hits me, I won’t move. My brain and I—we’re fully stationed here at Shajiabang. So… dream a little better from now on, okay?”
He paused for a moment, a little embarrassed. “I want my boyfriend, whether awake or asleep, to always be happy when he sees me.”
Qin Wuyan stared at him, silent for a long moment.
Song Cheng felt his gaze burn into him, his face growing hotter by the second. Meanwhile, Qin Wuyan shifted his body slightly closer, and the previously empty space between them suddenly shrank to a tense dozen centimeters.
Still resting his head on his arm, Qin Wuyan’s eyes were bold and fiery. “Song Cheng… are you sure you want to seduce me here?”
Song Cheng froze. “……?! Who, who’s seducing you! Qin Wuyan, don’t falsely accuse me!”
Qin Wuyan nodded calmly. “Then how about… seduce me with a kiss?”
Song Cheng’s expression was indescribable.
On one hand, he felt Qin Wuyan was hopelessly insensitive. He had poured out his love and feelings so tenderly, yet all Qin Wuyan could think about was… well, that thing in his pants. On the other hand… cough… he found himself influenced, thinking a little about that very thing too.
This was the first time Qin Wuyan had asked for his opinion first. Song Cheng hesitated only for a few seconds before boldly leaning in. Qin Wuyan didn’t move, but his eyes sparkled brighter than the stars outside as he watched Song Cheng approach.
Under Qin Wuyan’s unwavering gaze, Song Cheng felt deeply embarrassed—but then thought, they were both men; there was no reason to be shy. It was his turn to kiss Qin Wuyan until he was breathless.
With that thought, Song Cheng’s courage surged. He lifted his head, lips just about to touch Qin Wuyan’s, when suddenly a piercing scream came from outside.
“Ah!!!!!!”
Song Cheng froze. He and Qin Wuyan exchanged a glance, and without a word, they quickly got out of bed.
Qin Wuyan was slower than Song Cheng. By the time Song Cheng ran out of the wooden house, Qin Wuyan was only just finding his slippers.
The village was small, the wooden houses poorly soundproofed, and the scream had also roused Liu Yanchu and Lü Ruosi, who hadn’t yet slept. One looked grave, the other in pajamas; seeing Song Cheng and Qin Wuyan come out, they asked, “Was that Yang Qing’s voice?”
Song Cheng nodded. “Sounds like it.”
On the other side, Yue Yuran and Su Yu came out too. Su Yu looked sleepy, clearly woken up by the noise.
They all ran to the wooden house where Yang Qing stayed. Inside, the light was on. Bursting through the door, Liu Yanchu was the first in. He saw Yang Qing standing in a corner of the outer room, terrified, when suddenly a loud thump came from the inner room.
Three seconds later, Zhao Feifei calmly emerged, holding a metal shovel. There was a little blood on it.
The six of them stared, dumbfounded. Zhao Feifei explained, “There was a rat on the bed just now.”
Six of them: “……”
Su Yu’s groggy mind instantly cleared. He pointed at the shovel. “You… you killed the rat with that?”
Hearing this, Zhao Feifei laughed—a rare smile, full of charm.
“Impossible. I don’t have that much strength. I just chopped off its head.”
Six of them: “…………”
Zhao Feifei carried the shovel to the doorway, noticing their stunned expressions, and politely said, “Step aside. I’ll go outside and cover it with some soil. The rat was fat, lost quite a bit of blood. Covering it will make it easier to clean up.”
No one dared speak. The six of them stepped back in perfect unison, silently watching the Valkyrie-like Zhao Feifei leave.
Lü Ruosi recovered fastest. She went to Yang Qing and asked, “Are you okay?”
Yang Qing, still shaken, patted her chest. “I’m fine physically, but my mind… it’s been irreversibly traumatized.”
Lü Ruosi: “……”
She even had energy to make a joke, so the trauma couldn’t have been too severe.
With the rat dead, Yang Qing was less afraid. She scowled. “How could the production crew let us stay in a house with rats! I nearly died of fright. I’d just lain down when I felt something biting my foot, and I jumped straight out of bed!”
Hearing this, Song Cheng immediately asked, “Were you bitten? If so, you should go to the hospital for a check and a vaccine.”
Yang Qing’s face paled. “It wasn’t that bad, right?”
Lü Ruosi: “It really could be. Xiao Song’s right—rats are filthy. Better safe than sorry.”
She turned on the light in the outer room. Yang Qing quickly checked for wounds. Fortunately, there were none. Likely, the rat had just brushed against her, and she dodged in time.
Living in such a place, encountering snakes, insects, and rodents was inevitable. The staff had sprayed insecticide and lit mosquito coils, but nothing was foolproof. Yang Qing understood this, though angry, she didn’t blame the crew—just accepted her bad luck.
She also firmly declared she wouldn’t sleep there again. Tonight, she would make do with the chair.
Others tried to reassure her that it was just a lone rat, unlikely to appear again, or offered their own beds. The beds here were large, everyone was an adult, so sharing a bed for one night wouldn’t be an issue.
Zhao Feifei had finished handling the rat corpse. Returning, she saw a group gathered around Yang Qing. Regardless of what they said, Yang Qing remained stubborn. Zhao Feifei put the shovel back, walked over, and said to her, “Sleeping on the chair is uncomfortable. Might as well use the table. I see it can pull out; just behave, and you won’t fall off.”
Yang Qing listened, turned her head to take a look, and nodded. “That works. Then give me your jacket—I’ll use two jackets as padding, like a bedsheet.”
Zhao Feifei said nothing more and simply went inside to find her coat.
Everyone else: “……”
Among all of them, the person who understood Yang Qing best was Zhao Feifei. Since even she had given up persuading her, the others didn’t bother wasting more words. It was only one night anyway. By tomorrow, the production team would surely come up with a solution.
After all the fuss, it was already eleven when everyone returned. Even though the other cabins didn’t have rats, everyone felt a little uneasy. When they went to sleep, they wrapped their blankets tightly, just in case some other little creature decided to crawl in.
As for what the others’ cabins looked like afterward, Song Cheng didn’t know. He only knew that when he and Qin Wuyan got back, the two of them stood by the bed and exchanged a silent look.
Qin Wuyan said, “Let’s sleep.”
Song Cheng replied, “Good night.”
That night, a rat killed the romance.
…
At the beginning of August, it was the most unbearable part of the dog days of summer—the middle period of Sanfu. Down in the mountains, the heat index could reach fifty degrees Celsius, but up in the hills it was only a little over thirty.
Still hot, but not so hot that it made people dizzy. In the early morning, there was even a hint of coolness.
When Song Cheng got up, he found several people already gathered in the courtyard where Gan Yawen and the director were staying. They were talking about the rat Yang Qing had encountered the night before. The director said a few words to one of them, who nodded and hurried off.
Gan Yawen had been listening. When he noticed Song Cheng approaching, he smiled. “Here to buy breakfast?”
Song Cheng shook his head, choosing his words carefully. “I’m buying ingredients to make breakfast.”
He still remembered how the production crew had priced breakfast before. As someone constantly worried about running out of money and not being able to get home, he had to spend every bill wisely.
Gan Yawen laughed. Actually, after arriving here, breakfast wasn’t that expensive anymore, and the variety was limited since everything was provided by villagers. Roasted corn cost five yuan each, plain potato cakes for dipping in sauce were ten yuan for three, and tea soup was five yuan for a big bowl—with free refills.
Quite a bargain.
That’s what Gan Yawen thought, and he even tried to promote it to Song Cheng. He knew the pair of Song Cheng and Qin Wuyan had the most savings. The director had told him to encourage them to spend more whenever possible, to even out the financial gap between the groups. Gan Yawen worked hard at selling the idea—but Song Cheng didn’t bite.
The roasted corn was small, slightly burnt at the edges, and considering the appetites of Song Cheng and Qin Wuyan—even just Qin Wuyan alone would need at least three ears to feel full. The potato cakes were the same: tiny. Maybe it was the local variety, but to Song Cheng, the potatoes here looked like the great-grandchildren of potatoes elsewhere.
As for the tea soup—sure, the bowl was huge, but there was nothing in it. Just water with some seasoning. The refill policy was purely a gimmick. Anyone who bought it was getting tricked.
Five minutes later, Song Cheng bought a bowl of tea soup.
…
He couldn’t help it. All the cooked food was made by an elderly grandmother. She had lost several teeth, yet her face was full of kindness as she smiled warmly at him. Song Cheng simply couldn’t resist the gentle affection of an old person. In a moment of weakness, he took out his money.
Carrying a big bowl of tea soup along with some vegetables sold by villagers, Song Cheng returned to the cabin. Qin Wuyan had already followed Song Cheng’s instructions and started a fire in the stone stove outside the wooden house.
Next to him, several people were squatting nearby.
Seeing Song Cheng return, Liu Yanchu greeted him. “Out so early? We just woke up.”
Song Cheng asked curiously, “What are you all doing here?”
Liu Yanchu replied, “We’re joining your kitchen.”
Lü Ruosi nodded. “Whatever you’re cooking, just share a little with us. If it’s not enough, I can go buy more.”
Yang Qing added, “We’ll pay for the ingredients and the labor—every cent.”
Zhao Feifei delivered the final appeal. “Please help us poor souls who don’t know how to cook.”
Song Cheng: “……”