After Liu Yanchu and Lü Ruosi returned, the moment they entered the observation room, they stopped in place.
Liu Yanchu raised an eyebrow, while Lü Ruosi, having glanced at everyone’s complicated expressions, smiled at them. “You all seem to have a lot to say.”
Behind the subjects themselves, they could freely vent, but with this ex-couple present, they couldn’t say a word.
Mostly, they felt that anything they said would be wrong, and they had no position to speak anyway.
Love is a path people walk on their own. When these two smiled at each other, all grudges dissolved. What right did outsiders have to comment?
Next up was the “Unforgettable” pair. Su Yu stood, and Yue Yuran opened the door. He didn’t step out immediately, waiting for Su Yu to go first.
After a pause, Su Yu walked calmly toward the door, stepping out first, followed by Yue Yuran.
The videos they shot back then were the most dramatic of the pairs—tears, laughter, even flipping tables. Everyone knew they were acting.
Watching the footage again, Yue Yuran felt some embarrassment. He was a singer, not a professional actor. At the time, he thought he performed well, but seeing himself now, his expressions were so exaggerated that he wished he had asked the director to cut some of the shots.
Su Yu was also watching, his gaze following Yue Yuran in the video. When the clip ended, he remained staring at the screen, reluctant to turn away.
Yue Yuran then said to him: “Sometimes my temper isn’t good. I’m sorry. I’m trying to control it. Slowly, I should be able to change.”
He was using the video as a way to apologize for what happened at the theme park. At the time, all he thought about was not leaving a mark on Su Yu. Seeing him so anxious and worried, Su Yu could only keep reassuring him. Now, with things past, Yue Yuran could feel a thorn still left in Su Yu’s heart. He had originally intended to talk about it at home, but now seemed like a better opportunity.
Su Yu listened to the apology, blinked, then suddenly asked: “Have you noticed we’re always like this? You get angry, I get angry, then we argue. After arguing, comes the cold war. You want to reconcile, I refuse; I want to reconcile, you stay cold. So we argue until it can’t be contained, then break up. After a while of cooling off, we realize the fight was meaningless… and then we get back together.”
He traced a finger above the table in a looping motion. “Round and round… round and round…”
Yue Yuran’s expression shifted. He felt Su Yu’s tone was off, making him uneasy, but outwardly he stayed relaxed. “I think it’s because our personalities are too similar. Neither of us yields, so it turns out like this. But our feelings haven’t changed. From the first day I saw you until today, my liking for you hasn’t wavered.”
Su Yu smiled. “Exactly. There are many things in this world I’m uncertain about, but one thing I know for sure: you really like me, just like I like you.”
Upon hearing this, Yue Yuran smiled too. In the observation room, Gan Yawen, still emotionally battered from the previous couples, suddenly felt a bad premonition: Yue Yuran’s too relaxed… Su Yu’s expression clearly means there’s more to come.
Liu Yanchu murmured, “I know that expression all too well. Right, ex-wife?”
Lü Ruosi: “The show’s almost over. If you want a dignified exit, don’t call me ex-wife anymore.”
Liu Yanchu: “……”
Meanwhile, in the truth-telling room, Su Yu spoke again: “It’s because we still like each other that we turn tormenting each other into a routine. Arguing is always better than silent indifference. Impulsive anger is easier to accept than calm, conscious reality.”
After he spoke, the seven heads in the observation room turned toward Yue Yuran’s slowly lowering lips, involuntarily drawing a hiss in their hearts.
Yue Yuran asked: “What reality?”
Su Yu looked at him and answered slowly: “The reality that we’re fundamentally incompatible. You and I are completely different and irreconcilable.”
Yue Yuran’s expression froze. At that moment, he resembled his early, overly cautious self on the show, though back then he was acting. Now, this was genuine.
He said, “That’s your view, not mine. Sometimes you overthink. You know, whether a relationship works depends on both people’s efforts. I always try hard. I nearly turn myself into a spinning top to keep the relationship from deteriorating. And you? You constantly deny everything! Do you realize how I feel every time I hear you say these things? If you like thinking so much, then think carefully!”
Su Yu, who had been relaxing, straightened up.
“Am I overthinking, or are you unwilling to face reality? What effort are you talking about? Sneaking in a few minutes together? Yeah, every time we meet for ten minutes, I rush over to see you. Before we even sit, you leave in a hurry, apologizing each time. Do you know how I feel hearing these apologies?”
He looked at Yue Yuran. “Liu Yanchu and Lü Ruosi know the best solution when things can’t continue is to part ways. But what do we do? We drag each other along until the passion dies for good. But have you thought that I’m already twenty-five this year? I’m not an eighteen- or nineteen-year-old college student. Even with clashing personalities, you can rely on love to push through. Work is exhausting, socializing is exhausting—and you make me even more exhausted!”
Privately, Su Yu had said far harsher things, but in front of others—especially with cameras rolling—this was the first time he had truly stripped Yue Yuran of his composure. Yue Yuran, furious yet laughing, said: “Am I only making you tired these past few days? If not, then why didn’t you say anything before joining the show!”
Su Yu fixed him with a steady gaze, then lowered his eyes. “Before joining the show, I didn’t even know what a normal couple’s life looked like. Aside from work, my life consisted only of you.”
Yue Yuran froze for a moment. Su Yu then looked up. “Do you remember the last time we went out just for fun, not rushing somewhere for work, or visiting friends along the way? When was that?”
Yue Yuran’s lips moved slightly, but he didn’t answer. Seeing this, Su Yu smiled. “See? I can’t answer either. The memories I have are all from years ago.”
Yue Yuran: “So, you think I work too much and neglect you? Then I can—”
Su Yu shook his head, cutting him off. “I never mind that you work a lot. I work a lot too. When I’m busy, you might not notice me—that’s normal. What I mind is always being secondary. That’s the difference between us. You give me your fragmented time, but I prefer a whole, complete day, even if it’s spaced apart.”
But that was something Yue Yuran could not give.
He looked at Su Yu in silence for a long while. Finally, he said: “But I still like you.”
Su Yu: “I do too. But I think this liking won’t last much longer. Once we truly spend some time apart, letting go of the stubborn hope we’re holding onto, who knows? Soon, you might realize life flows much more smoothly without constantly dragging me along.”
Song Cheng watched Su Yu silently, feeling his words were merciless.
Every sentence came straight from the heart, and each felt like a blade stabbing at Yue Yuran’s heart. The casual tone with which he spoke of a future without each other was painful even for Song Cheng as an outsider—but Yue Yuran didn’t feel as hurt as Song Cheng expected.
Amid the shock and sadness, he even felt a faint sense of relief and gratitude.
Yet he didn’t want to dwell on it or acknowledge it, because doing so would make him realize just how ungrateful he had been.
He truly liked Su Yu. He truly cared for him. And he truly felt that Su Yu had obstructed part of his career.
People are complex, not easily defined by a single word. In the years of their on-again, off-again relationship, he had indeed given a lot. As for today’s conclusion, what kind of new beginning it might become in the future would only time tell.
With this pair finished, the guests fell silent, holding their tongues. Some things are better kept in your own heart—speaking them risks hurting someone else’s pride.
Finally, it was Song Cheng and Qin Wunian’s turn. To be honest, Song Cheng was getting a little impatient.
Ever since Yang Qing and the others returned, Song Cheng had already decided what he wanted to say. But he hadn’t expected the previous three pairs to all end badly. His prepared words now felt inappropriate.
Qin Wunian didn’t overthink like he did. Entering the truth-telling room, he sat in one of the chairs and turned toward the big screen.
Song Cheng still disliked the mirror there, but with the screen as a distraction, he could tolerate it a bit more.
The video started playing. Once again, he saw himself narrate that overly literary and strange “love at first sight” story. Qin Wunian wasn’t angry—just felt an indescribable awkwardness.
Where did Song Cheng even learn to tell stories like that? Did he make it up? It didn’t seem like it.
The video continued, soon reaching the part where Qin Wunian accused Song Cheng of being a liar. Seeing it again, Song Cheng pursed his lips.
He knew Qin Wunian had a point, but hearing it spoken aloud still made him frustrated.
Just as the thought surfaced, he saw himself on the screen raise his head and say firmly to Qin Wunian: “I hate you.”
Song Cheng: “……”
His gaze wavered. Not daring to look at Qin Wunian beside him, he watched the video from an outsider’s perspective. Suddenly, he noticed Qin Wunian’s emotions after hearing that sentence were far more complex than he had imagined.
He stared at him for a long time before slowly lowering his eyes. When the host asked questions afterward, he responded a beat slower, finishing in one or two sentences, avoiding looking at himself on the screen.
When the video ended, Qin Wunian’s breathing slowed. He turned toward Song Cheng, ready to speak, but saw Song Cheng clenching his hands and speaking rapidly: “I take back what I said. That was in anger, not sincere. I apologize to the host, the director, the production team, and especially the truth-telling room!”
Qin Wunian: “……”
Instinctively, he glanced at the mirror again before refocusing on Song Cheng. “You only needed to explain that to me. No need to explain it to so many people, or in another room.”
Song Cheng mumbled: “I already explained it to you… now I’m explaining to those who misunderstood. I don’t want anyone to think I could really hate you.”
Qin Wunian: “That’s your problem—you care too much about what others think. You should learn from me. I don’t care what anyone thinks; their opinions don’t matter to me.”
Song Cheng: “Normally, I wouldn’t care either. But you’re a public figure. Everything about you is magnified, so of course I have to be extra careful.”
Qin Wunian smiled, a little like he was teasing Song Cheng, but anyone who knew him well would understand there was no real meaning behind it.
He rested his elbow on the table, tilting his head slightly. “So can I take that to mean… you’re caring about me?”
Song Cheng suddenly fell silent. He glanced at Qin Wunian, lowering his voice slightly: “If you can’t even be certain about this, then I think your problem isn’t just understanding things.”
Qin Wunian: “…………”
He took a deep breath and decided, for the sake of the show wrapping up soon, not to argue with Song Cheng. Drawing on the little willpower he had left, he suppressed the urge to snap back, closed his eyes, then lifted his eyelids calmly: “Everyone else has said so many heartfelt things. We can’t be the odd ones out, can we? We should say a few words too. Who goes first?”
Song Cheng: “Either is fine. You first, like on the first day.”
Qin Wunian’s eyes flickered, but before he could speak, Song Cheng quickly added: “Please, say something nice. It’s the last day, after all.”
In Song Cheng’s eyes, it was as if Qin Wunian had just flashed a “redeem some points” sign.
Qin Wunian: “……”
“I wasn’t planning to say anything unpleasant anyway.”
After a brief pause to collect himself, he spoke again: “Everyone else has so many reflections, but I’m lazy to think. I only want to say one thing: Song Cheng, I wasn’t forced onto this show by Zhou Qingge.”
A spit-take escaped Yang Qing, who had been drinking water. Everyone knew the “rehabilitation group” was there to clear their names…but did Qin Wunian really need to drop someone else’s name so blatantly?
Yang Qing, on the opposing side of Zhou Qingge, wanted to laugh but couldn’t. She could only awkwardly wipe her clothes while mentally roasting Zhou Qingge again.
Meanwhile, Song Cheng understood the unspoken nuance in Qin Wunian’s words. He smiled: “Does it matter? It’s all unimportant now. I’m just happy we came. When I first went to find you after returning, I was so nervous I almost forgot which leg to step with. Without this show, I might have stayed anxious forever.”
Qin Wunian listened. After a moment, he said: “Maybe you didn’t notice, but I was really nervous too. When the door opened, I thought I saw a hallucination.”
Song Cheng nodded. “I understand. It’s like when the past suddenly knocks on your door—you never know if it’s good or bad.”
Qin Wunian let out a faint laugh.
Nothing worse could happen now.
Compared to being abandoned and spending four years in doubt and pain, this was the worst possible outcome for him. So when Song Cheng knocked on his door, he hadn’t worried that his arrival might bring disaster. He was only briefly dragged back into a nightmare—afraid the figure before him was an illusion, and afraid that if it wasn’t, it might offer a moment of hope only to be cruelly snatched away.
Shifting his posture, Qin Wunian looked at Song Cheng. “The show ends today, but our life goes on. What will this ending be?”
He smiled casually, as if the question were offhand, but his eyes stayed fixed on Song Cheng with no trace of amusement.
He needed a promise from Song Cheng, however small.
Song Cheng met his gaze, blinking. “There’s no ending.”
Qin Wunian’s expression froze. Before he could ask what he meant, Song Cheng smiled faintly. “To be continued.”
Qin Wunian paused. “Every day?”
Song Cheng nodded firmly: “Every day.”
This time, Qin Wunian finally showed a genuine smile. He looked at Song Cheng, and Song Cheng looked back. Both wanted to hug, but the cameras were still rolling.
Realizing this, they both stood up.
Their final video was the shortest, yet they were the only couple to leave a visibly optimistic future behind.
Back in the truth-telling room, everyone stood and applauded. No matter what their feelings had been, in that moment, they sincerely wished Qin Wunian and Song Cheng could walk forward together—at least without ending up like the others, struggling and trying, only to drift apart.
The show officially ended. Everyone hugged, and the director came out with the crew to give thanks. Ten days of nonstop filming had taken its toll, and everyone wanted rest. Before leaving, the director invited them all to meet the next night, and everyone agreed.
Outside the villa, a line of chauffeured artist cars was waiting. Ban Yunfang stood by one, wearing sunglasses, opening the door wide, enjoying the air conditioning, and scanning the road.
Seeing her artist and his civilian boyfriend emerge together, she clapped the car door: “Drive!”
Xiao Zhao, nearly asleep, immediately started the car. Qin Wunian and Song Cheng walked over.
Qin Wunian looked lazy, while Song Cheng obediently said: “Ban Jie, thank you for picking us up.”
Ban Yunfang, puzzled again by Song Cheng’s sweetness, wondered how Qin Wunian could be with such a reliable young man—twice.
Smiling, she let them into the car and took the passenger seat herself.
Once the doors were closed, Xiao Zhao drove out of the resort. Ban Yunfang, excited, turned to them, mainly Qin Wunian: “The show has only aired two episodes, but the response has been excellent. Those who were skeptical can see that your reputation is no longer affected by domestic abuse rumors. Lots of people want to work with you, but I turned them all down. At your current level, we don’t need those opportunistic gigs.”
Qin Wunian nodded: “Well done.”
Song Cheng, a little happy and a little anxious, asked: “The show’s reception really is good? Do the viewers like us?”
Ban Yunfang’s face still lit with excitement: “Oh, not exactly. Many people are criticizing you.”
Song Cheng: “……”
His face fell. Ban Yunfang was too excited to notice. “They say all sorts of things. Mainly, the second episode was controversial. Some criticized, some understood. But either way, people now believe you really were in a relationship. Zhou Qingge’s rumors have been debunked. Now we just wait for General Meng to collect the evidence.”
Hearing this, even Song Cheng was a little surprised. Evidence already? he thought. Ban Yunfang smiled at Qin Wunian, expecting him to ask where she had found the proof. But Qin Wunian’s steady gaze met hers, and what he spoke about had nothing to do with that.
“Exactly how many times do I have to say it—”
“We already dated!!!!”
Ban Yunfang: “……”
She quietly looked at Qin Wunian. People often claim they don’t care, yet it’s exactly that which they care about most. Qin Wunian’s strange attitude was impossible for her to ignore…
Putting that aside, she calmly brought up another matter: “Do you remember that costume idol drama script I showed you the month before last? The one where you’d play the final villain? Big production, all experienced actors. Playing the villain wouldn’t take many scenes, but it would showcase your acting. I remembered you were interested, so I accepted it on your behalf. The shoot starts this weekend—want to come for the opening ceremony?”
Qin Wunian frowned, sifting through his memory. He did recall the role being interesting, but the villain only appears mid-story and has very few lines—under two hundred in total, appearing only at key moments.
For such a role, attending the opening ceremony made no difference.
His answer was naturally: “Not going.”
Ban Yunfang: “……”
Knew it.
Glancing at him and then at Song Cheng quietly staring out the window, her heart—long aligned with the practical, capital-minded side—softened slightly. “Alright, then rest well when you get home. Take these couple of days off. Any work can wait until you’ve recharged.”
Qin Wunian’s fingers twitched slightly—a nearly imperceptible movement—but Ban Yunfang knew: this was a little acknowledgment from the Second Young Master.
She rolled her eyes from the passenger seat and stayed silent, while Xiao Zhao drove along precisely at the speed limit.
Arriving at the house, Qin Wunian went straight to the door without a glance back. Song Cheng looked a little lost, then turned and waved warmly at Ban Yunfang and Xiao Zhao still in the driveway.
Inside the enclosed car, Ban Yunfang clicked her tongue. “I’d imagined Qin Wunian falling in love one day—but I imagined a family-arranged marriage. Maybe with a professor or a researcher, from a wealthy family. Neither would care for the other under the same roof until one filed for divorce.”
Xiao Zhao frowned. “Why a professor?”
Ban Yunfang: “Anyone with a hotter temper couldn’t handle him. You need someone extremely calm just to cohabit without disaster. But—”
She sighed. “I was wrong. Seeing Song Cheng, I realize someone with a warm, passionate personality suits Qin Wunian better. Only someone like that could thaw him.”
Xiao Zhao casually added while backing the car up, “That’s not certain. Love changes people. Maybe among them, our Teacher Qin is the warmer one.”
…
Once they closed the front door, Qin Wunian immediately made for the sofa. Sitting in the soft leather, he sighed: “Home really is best…”
Song Cheng nudged his suitcase further into the entryway and smiled faintly as he approached.
The sofa was large enough for seven or eight people. Qin Wunian sat in the center; Song Cheng positioned himself at the far end, almost two meters away.
Qin Wunian raised his eyelids and frowned. “Why sit so far away? There’s no camera now.”
Song Cheng nodded. “I know, but I feel it’s better for me here.”
Qin Wunian tilted his head, puzzled. “Why?”
Song Cheng hesitated. He had held this in for a long time. He really should have let Qin Wunian rest first, recover, and then said this. But the moment he stepped in, he felt he couldn’t hold it in.
Head in or head out, either way, he had to say it today.
Taking a deep breath, Song Cheng asked: “Remember I told you I’d share a secret once we got back?”
Qin Wunian paused, then nodded. “I remember.”
Song Cheng forced a dry smile. “My secret is… sorry, I lied to you again. When I said the accident left me without lasting effects, that wasn’t true.”
With a sudden start, Qin Wunian sat upright, his face paling. “And you still went on the show?!”
Song Cheng froze, realizing he’d misunderstood. Quickly, he waved his hands. “No, no, no! Not the kind of lasting damage you’re imagining. It’s just—my brain’s limbic system was affected in the accident. Concussion was severe, leading to memory loss. But the doctors said it would recover naturally—maybe in a month? Maybe a year. Slowly, everything would come back.”
For a moment, Qin Wunian thought Song Cheng was joking.
Seeing Song Cheng’s serious expression, it took him a long while to process. “…Memory loss?”
Song Cheng nodded.
Qin Wunian felt his reflexes failing him. “Lost how much?”
Song Cheng touched his own face. “All of it.”
Qin Wunian: “…………”
Too many questions swirled with no answers. Finally, he grasped the most crucial: “Then… how do you remember me?”
Song Cheng: “Actually, I don’t. I only realized we knew each other and had been married when I saw your photos and diary.”
Qin Wunian slowly nodded. Halfway through, his neck stiffened.
After a few seconds, he turned his head bit by bit, looking as if he’d just stepped out of a horror movie. He stared at Song Cheng, slowly enunciating: “Mar…ried…before?”