After the photos were taken, the staff selected the best ones, printed them on the spot, framed them, and gave them to the guests. Each photo was printed twice. Song Cheng and Qin Wuyan each took a transparent frame back to their rooms.
The next morning, after breakfast, they would take the final group trip, marking the end of the ten-day shoot. Before bed, everyone packed. Song Cheng organized the souvenirs while Qin Wuyan watched. Picking up the two frames stacked on the bed, he separated them and quietly examined each.
Setting them down, he said to Song Cheng, “One goes at home, the other in my old apartment. It hasn’t been lived in for a while, but I might want to stay there for a few days someday.”
Song Cheng, folding clothes, blinked lightly, expression unchanged.
Qin Wuyan: “…Don’t tell me you even forgot where I used to live. This photo was taken there—your things are still there!”
Song Cheng pressed his lips together, gradually feeling guilty.
Qin Wuyan felt a hint of frustration. “Are you sure that car accident didn’t leave any aftereffects? Your memory is worse than my grandfather’s before he got Alzheimer’s.”
Song Cheng coughed softly, whispering to himself: “You guessed it right…”
Qin Wuyan frowned and leaned in. “What did you say? Louder.”
Song Cheng waved him off. “Nothing.”
Tomorrow he’d find out for himself, and Qin Wuyan would have plenty of time to vent without worrying about affecting work.
The final breakfast was the director’s favorite: a feast of bacon, smoked meat, sausages, and other prepared meats. Gan Yawen ate with everyone, chatting at length. Once the director confirmed everything was set via earpiece, he led the eight guests back into the villa.
After a few steps, they realized the place looked familiar. Gan Yawen had returned them to the Truth-or-Dare room—or more precisely, to the observation room beside it.
From there, they could see small changes in the Truth-or-Dare room: previously mirrored on all four walls, now only three walls had mirrors. Opposite the observation room, a very large TV screen had been installed, currently black.
Also, where there had been three chairs in the center before, now there were only two.
The eight guests’ expressions shifted slightly. Gan Yawen gave them time to react, then said:
“From the Truth-or-Dare room we began, and in it, we end. Ten days ago, you all came to this program, still somewhat strangers to each other. Thoughts change constantly, and the truths you spoke then may not hold now.”
“When we first arrived, everyone hadn’t spent much time together in a long while, so the director asked me to ask the questions—of course, also so the audience could get to know all of you better. But now that we’ve shared ten fulfilling days together, I guess I won’t be needed this time, haha.”
“Same as before, we’ll draw lots to decide who goes in first. Once inside, please speak freely—say whatever is on your mind, and give this ten-day journey a proper ending.”
After Gan Yawen finished, the guests immediately applauded. No matter what, the atmosphere was still pleasant. He brought out the draw box and invited everyone to reach in.
Song Cheng stood apart; he was the last to draw. Only one number remained in the box: four.
Holding the numbered ball, Song Cheng felt it was fine—being last, he had time to think about what he wanted to say.
The first number drawn belonged to the friend duo. With experience, Yang Qing looked at Zhao Feifei, and after a brief glance, the two calmly stood and walked into the Truth-or-Dare room.
Gan Yawen stayed in the observation room. Song Cheng noticed him pick up a microphone from under the coffee table. Curious, he watched as Yang Qing and Zhao Feifei took their seats.
Yang Qing smiled. “Then I’ll start—I—”
Before she could finish, the black screen suddenly lit up. Gan Yawen switched on his microphone, his voice echoing simultaneously in both rooms: “Sorry to interrupt, haha, before anyone starts, we need to review the content from ten days ago. Everyone, please watch the screen.”
Liu Yanchu snorted lightly, understanding why they had been kept from watching the show or going online—it was to prevent mishaps in this moment.
Most people can barely remember what was said three days ago, let alone ten days. For some, reliving these scenes was helpful; for others, it was shocking. The production team clearly enjoyed watching them caught off guard.
The conversation between Yang Qing and Zhao Feifei from the Truth-or-Dare room replayed on the screen. Previously, Yang Qing only saw her own expression through the mirror; now, she saw it directly on the screen, with close-ups showing exactly what her face looked like when she teased Zhao Feifei.
Yang Qing was startled for just two seconds before her expression slowly calmed. Frame by frame, the images changed, syncing with her thoughts. When the playback ended, the Truth-or-Dare room fell silent. For over ten seconds, neither Yang Qing nor Zhao Feifei spoke.
Zhao Feifei’s silence was natural—she was quiet by nature—but Yang Qing’s quietness was puzzling.
Gan Yawen, seeing no one speak, was about to prompt them when the observing director interjected: “Don’t speak. Let them figure it out themselves.”
Yang Qing placed her hands on her lap and looked at Zhao Feifei again, smiling lightly. “I didn’t expect this to happen.”
Zhao Feifei: “Neither did I.”
The room fell quiet again. Yang Qing nervously clasped her hands before speaking: “Actually… it’s kind of good to watch it again. It made me realize that before joining this show, I had said so many similar things to you—always getting angry at you.”
Zhao Feifei looked at her. “It’s nothing serious. Honestly, I’d gotten used to it. You get angry at me, I get angry at you—back and forth endlessly.”
Yang Qing: “But I’m not used to it. Every time I say something bad, whether that night or the next second, I regret it. I feel I shouldn’t have done it. Yet, the next time, I still do it. I can control my temper in front of anyone else, but not in front of you.”
Zhao Feifei’s calm expression rippled slightly; she smiled faintly. “I know.”
Yang Qing: “You know?”
Zhao Feifei nodded. “Of course I know. You’ve always been like that—love passionately, hate intensely. For a long time, I was your best friend, and I hurt you. After that, you began to resent me. But hatred isn’t so simple, and I became the most complicated person in your world.”
Yang Qing paused, then spoke faster: “I’m not hating you! I was angry! I met you when I first started my career. Since then, through highs and lows, you were always by my side. You know how much I love telling others you’re my good friend? I thought we could build our careers together, get married, have kids, then retire together. Our children would grow up playing together, and when they left home, our families would live together, planting flowers, fishing, traveling to favorite places. I imagined it so perfectly, so completely! And I really believed we could do it. But then one day, you were no longer my friend. I couldn’t accept it.”
Zhao Feifei: “Everyone has beautiful visions. I also thought I’d marry only once in this life, but things happen that interrupt the plans that exist only in our minds. And it wasn’t sudden—there were signs all along.”
Yang Qing remembered some past events but stayed silent. Zhao Feifei leaned forward slightly, hands on the table, looking at her: “I was the first to make mistakes. I didn’t balance marriage and friendship. After getting married, we saw each other less, and you were in a rough mood. I didn’t accompany you enough. Our relationship gradually cooled—that was probably the fuse.”
Yang Qing: “Later, you and Yu Shuo had problems. You didn’t tell me then—is that why?”
Yu Shuo, Zhao Feifei’s ex-husband. Hearing the name, Zhao Feifei lowered her gaze: “Yes. I felt it wasn’t appropriate to tell you, and besides, I thought if you wanted to know, you’d ask me.”
Yang Qing pressed her lips together, feeling a frustrating tension in her chest that wouldn’t release. After a pause, she let out an ambiguous laugh: “I didn’t ask you because I was waiting for you to tell me.”
For a moment, everyone’s hearts were a jumble of emotions. Sometimes, the things that drive two people apart aren’t the big matters, but the small ones—or certain stubbornnesses that others can’t understand. No one in the observation room spoke; they just quietly watched.
Taking a deep breath, Yang Qing lifted her head and looked at Zhao Feifei. “It was from that moment I felt you were no longer my friend. Something so big happened, and you never even thought to tell me. Honestly, I felt abandoned. I was upset, thinking it was your fault. I wanted to reclaim my pride and my stance, so I made mistakes too.”
She offered a somewhat fractured smile. “I almost forgot how good our relationship used to be. Being with you was always so joyful. I don’t like others bossing me around, but if it was you, I would listen. These past few days feel like going back to those old times. Zhao Feifei—”
Her eyes stayed locked on Zhao Feifei’s, hands clenched tightly. Her thin body seemed drawn taut like a bow, though she wasn’t aware of it. She simply looked at her.
“I know I did wrong. Can you forgive me… and give me another chance? We could start over, just as simple friends. This time I’ll be mature. I won’t make the same mistakes again.”
The people in the observation room watched silently. Song Cheng felt a tension similar to Yang Qing’s; he focused intently on the two women, even holding his breath.
Zhao Feifei stared at Yang Qing, and after two seconds, she finally smiled.
It was faint, tinged with sentiment and relief. She shook her head toward Yang Qing. “No.”
Yang Qing’s expression stiffened instantly. The atmosphere seemed to freeze in that moment.
After a while, Zhao Feifei continued, “I can forgive you, and I can stop being angry at you, but I don’t think I can become friends again.”
She looked at Yang Qing, sincere. “I know you weren’t serious with Yu Shuo—you just wanted to make me angry. He did too. Maybe nothing happened between you two, or maybe it was brief. But for me, it’s not about what you actually did—it’s about what you were thinking while you did it.”
Yang Qing opened her mouth but didn’t say a word, staring at Zhao Feifei with a hint of panic on her face.
Zhao Feifei spoke slowly, “I guess your thoughts were about revenge, about making me upset, making me feel pain. You thought the best way was to develop a relationship with my ex-husband. Yu Shuo’s actions are understandable—I don’t blame him. When his relationship was broken, he could do what he wanted. But I can’t accept that you did the same. When things went in another direction, your reaction was to hurt me. I don’t know if you’ll ever think like that again, but I really can’t take that risk anymore.”
Yang Qing listened, her beautiful eyes gradually reddening.
In fact, when she saw the replay video, she had anticipated this moment. Zhao Feifei knew her well, and she knew Zhao Feifei. That act was her final revenge, deliberately cutting off her way back.
Very well—there really was no turning back now.
Rejected, Yang Qing lowered her head and took a moment to compose herself. When she lifted it again, she seemed restored. Her smile remained, though a faint pink lingered in her eyes.
“I understand. It’s fine. I should bear the consequences of what I did. Even if we can’t be friends anymore, we don’t have to treat each other coldly in the future, right? When we meet, I can still greet you?”
Zhao Feifei: “Yes.”
Yang Qing’s smile widened. She asked further, “Then during holidays, can you send me a blessing message? If it’s too much trouble, just on New Year’s. Add me to the group; don’t block me again.”
Zhao Feifei looked at her for a long moment before nodding. “Okay.”
…
In the observation room, everyone exchanged glances, unsure what to say.
They had expected the friendship to improve, but this was the outcome. Unexpected, yet somehow inevitable.
After the friend duo, the couple duo was next. Liu Yanchu and Lü Ruosi exchanged a glance, seeing a shared sense of helplessness.
Walking into the Truth-or-Dare room under such an atmosphere, the mood naturally felt heavy.
When the friend duo returned, everyone stood to let them sit. Their emotions had already returned to normal, but everyone still treated them gently, wary of reopening old wounds.
On the other side, the couple duo entered the room, and the screen began playing their conversation from that time.
Unlike the friend duo, the couple duo didn’t show strong emotional reactions. When the video ended, they looked at each other and smiled simultaneously.
Liu Yanchu: “Ex-wife, any thoughts?”
Lü Ruosi: “No thoughts, just that my ex-husband talks too much. See? I only got half the speaking time.”
Liu Yanchu laughed. “Can’t help it. Born a chatterbox. If I weren’t too good-looking and wasting this face, maybe I should’ve been a talk show host.”
Lü Ruosi: “It’s not too late. You could still be a host. Then I wouldn’t have to tell my agent to reject roles you might also get.”
Liu Yanchu: “It’s just a divorce, no need to be so heartless. I don’t mind acting with you at all.”
Lü Ruosi: “Oh? Then who refused Director Xue’s invitation two years ago to film a romantic New Year movie with Qin Wunian?”
Song Cheng, hearing this, looked at Qin Wunian in confusion. “Director Xue?”
Qin Wunian explained: “A director specializing in art films, winner of multiple international awards.”
Song Cheng nodded, understanding.
In the Truth-or-Dare room, Liu Yanchu rubbed his nose. “How did you know about this? Did Director Xue tell you?”
Lü Ruosi: “You don’t need to worry about that. Anyway, I already know.”
Liu Yanchu stared at her for a moment, then banged the table. “I know! Your agent told you. I knew he was scheming behind the scenes.”
Lü Ruosi: “He just wanted me to remember your kindness. He knew that if you had taken the role, I would have backed out. I’ve always appreciated that gesture.”
Liu Yanchu laughed. “That’s not a favor—that’s just a little goodwill from me to my ex-wife.”
Lü Ruosi smiled too, adjusting her seat. Her eyes casually glanced toward the observation room; she knew there was a group watching her, and soon there would be even more viewers.
Her smile slowly faded as she looked at the vase on the table. Then she said, “It’s not that I didn’t want to see you, that’s why I refused to act with you. I just didn’t want things to get awkward again.”
Liu Yanchu could tell if she was serious or joking. Hearing this, his own smile paused.
He asked, “So coming on this show won’t make things awkward?”
Lü Ruosi: “It will. From the moment I agreed to come, it was already awkward.”
Liu Yanchu: “Then why did you agree?”
Lü Ruosi lifted her eyes and looked at him. “Because I missed you.”
Observation room: “Ohhh!”
Liu Yanchu was momentarily stunned by her answer, then replied, “Me too.”
Observation room: “OHHHH—”
Their surprised voices were a little loud. Lü Ruosi glanced toward them, then quickly returned her gaze to Liu Yanchu. “Love and marriage—our time in each other’s lives was too long. Our bodies and minds carry indelible marks, so from time to time, I think of you.”
She smiled faintly. “But we won’t get back together, right?”
Liu Yanchu looked at her and nodded. “Right. Getting back together is impossible, for the same reason. We spent too much time together before. You’ll think of me, but you won’t love me again.”
Observation room: “…………”
Yang Qing had been a little sad before, but seeing these two, her emotions swung up and down. Now they were even more complicated.
“This sounds so bittersweet…”
Song Cheng nodded with feeling. “And so desolate.”
Lü Ruosi felt similar emotions. Every word Liu Yanchu spoke, now without joking, tugged at her heart. Not because she still loved him, but because he occupied so much space in her life.
She lowered her eyes. “A lot of people want to know why we divorced.”
She paused, then lifted her eyes. “Should we say it here?”
Liu Yanchu laughed. “Say it now? I thought we could keep it a secret forever and let people wonder forever.”
Lü Ruosi: “That’s fine too. But every day I get tons of messages asking, and it’s a bit annoying after a while.”
Liu Yanchu: “Then let’s say it. Ladies first.”
Song Cheng, seeing a divorce with multiple reasons, felt he had learned something new.
Lü Ruosi: “We divorced because getting married was a mistake. Even before marriage, we could feel our love fading. But I didn’t want it to end. I thought you didn’t either. So I actively planned the wedding, invited all our friends. I even remember the media covering it for almost a month. I thought it would strengthen the marriage, make it perfect. But in reality… it was too little, too late.”
Liu Yanchu studied her expression. This time he didn’t smile. After a while, he gave his reason. “We divorced because I wanted to return to the time when life felt lighter.”
Lü Ruosi’s expression shifted slightly.
Liu Yanchu continued: “The longer we were married, the unhappier you became. Seeing you unhappy made me unhappy. I like laughing. I feel nothing in this world is more important than happiness. When all attempts to fix things failed, I felt we should divorce.”
Lü Ruosi twitched the corner of her mouth. “After the divorce, did you feel lighter?”
Liu Yanchu: “Not in the first year.”
Lü Ruosi: “So the second year got better?”
Liu Yanchu laughed twice. “Nope.”
Lü Ruosi stayed silent. When she didn’t ask, he went on. “I was still hung up on other things, so I couldn’t feel free. But ten days ago, when we came on the show together, I felt lighter.”
Someone in the observation room stirred, thinking maybe this couple’s story would have a twist. But Lü Ruosi’s eyelids twitched slightly—she knew Liu Yanchu didn’t mean anything else.
Next, Liu Yanchu added: “Before, you always avoided me. Even when we met, it was just a fleeting glance. I never knew if you were truly doing well. You hide things so well, even your family and friends think you’re fine, but I wouldn’t believe it unless I saw it with my own eyes. Now I have. I believe it, and I feel free.”
Lü Ruosi looked at him, a faint smile on her lips. She didn’t speak, but her eyes said a lot—and only Liu Yanchu could read them.
In the observation room, Qin Wunian watched this scene and suddenly said, “Why do I feel so angry?”
Yang Qing: “Me too.”
Zhao Feifei: “Same.”
Yue Yuran: “It’s clearly nothing to do with me, but I still feel frustrated, like something inside wants to explode but can’t…”
Song Cheng: “Yeah… same here. Not angry, but definitely suffocated inside.”
Su Yu: “So what is this strange kind of psychology, really?”
At that moment, someone voiced what everyone had been thinking but couldn’t say for various reasons.
Gan Yawen: “Two people so perfect for each other—why can’t they just get back together!!!”
The six of them in their hearts: Thank you~