The entire room was dumbstruck.
Even the director, who had prayed last night that the gods would bless him with a huge ratings explosion today, found himself suddenly panicked. Who knew the universe would actually cooperate? If he had only prayed for sudden wealth, he could’ve retired in style today.
…
Song Cheng sensed something was off about Qin Wuyan’s reaction.
His eyes were wide as if he wasn’t hearing Song Cheng begging to stay, but some alien language instead. A bad premonition flashed through Song Cheng’s mind, and he instinctively glanced into the room.
Tripod, cameras, giant screen, lighting panels.
Seven crew members lined up, eating popcorn like a live audience.
Song Cheng: “…………”
In that instant, he wanted to die.
At that moment, everyone’s emotions were like the sunset and solitary birds soaring together—tranquil, yet chaotic.
Thump thump thump thump—
Ban Yunfang sprinted down from the second floor. She twisted her ankle but didn’t stop, running straight to the door. She shouted to Qin Wuyan and Song Cheng: “Surprise!——”
Qin Wuyan slowly turned, his face blank.
Sweat ran down Ban Yunfang’s forehead, but she forced her cheeriest tone: “Didn’t expect this, did you? This is a little surprise I arranged for you. This handsome gentleman is your special guest for today’s episode. Others don’t get this—VIP treatment just for you, right, director?”
She glanced at the director as if to say, Dare say no and you’re dead.
Director: “…Ah, yes, yes, yes.”
Song Cheng had no idea what was going on. He stood there stunned, speechless. Qin Wuyan’s rusted brain finally started turning again—slowly, painstakingly slowly.
He looked at Ban Yunfang, disbelief written all over his face: “You actually, behind my back, invited my ex-boyfriend, put him on the show with me, and let him play this kind of joke?”
Ban Yunfang: “….”
What the heck?
The director clutched his microphone. If this weren’t live, he would have traded it for a bag of sunflower seeds.
Song Cheng still stood frozen outside. Qin Wuyan paused a few seconds, then looked at him again—only to realize those few seconds were far too short.
He had changed a lot since four years ago—more mature, thinner, taller. The only thing unchanged were his eyes: pure and bright, as if they could see straight into Song Cheng’s soul.
Qin Wuyan had never experienced such chaos. He had imagined their reunion—but never with so many people around, and certainly not live on camera!
The comments reflected the viewers’ shock: every person spamming at least three lines each. First: “WTF, Qin Wuyan is gay?!” Second: “What’s happening, this storm is coming!” Third: “Damn it, production team, look over here and turn the camera, WTF!”
…
Qin Wuyan glanced at the scrolling comments. His eyes darkened. He stopped staring at Song Cheng outside the door and strode toward the live camera.
Even the director panicked. Sensing disaster, he threw down his microphone and tried to stop him. But Qin Wuyan moved too fast. The cameraman, stunned, watched him grab the camera off the tripod and say to it:
“Sorry, I need to handle this myself. Today’s live broadcast is over. I’ll find a way to make it up to everyone later.”
A famous hater typed in all caps: “NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!”
The desperation practically screamed through the words.
Ban Yunfang: “…You really are a hater.”
The director rushed over: “No, no, no… we can’t just end it like this. We agreed, the fans disagree. Look at the comments—they’re all asking you. You have to explain, right?”
Qin Wuyan was silent for a moment, then turned his gaze toward Song Cheng outside.
Song Cheng shivered under that look.
His internal mantra of I’m dead, I’m dead, I’m dead was forcibly interrupted. He stared blankly at Qin Wuyan, unsure of what he wanted to do.
Qin Wuyan gave the director a half-smile: “Alright.”
Then he placed the camera back on the tripod:
“The person who just came in is my ex-boyfriend. My only ex-boyfriend. We broke up on June 19th, four years ago. Since then, I have not dated anyone.”
Live comments:
“June 19? Isn’t that the day of the video? Wait… what’s this about domestic violence?”
“Wow, a new ex-boyfriend out of nowhere, now there’s a new way to clear his name.”
“Random tangent: I love it when Teacher Qin emphasizes words. So handsome, I just want to—ahhhhhhh!”
Qin Wuyan glanced at the comments while responding: “As for the video, ask Zhou Qingge. I admit I pushed her, and I’m willing to apologize. But I absolutely do not acknowledge any ‘domestic violence.’ I have plenty of family, only one ex, and she isn’t her.”
Comments:
“Whoa, what a huge plot twist!”
“Honestly, Qin Wuyan has never really talked about his love life. Any host who asks gets a hilarious response like, ‘Only my mom would ask me this,’ hahahahaha.”
“Teacher Qin! Look at the handsome guy! Just one glance!”
Qin Wuyan: “Don’t even think about it. If you see him, will he still have a good life afterward?”
Song Cheng froze for a moment, then looked up at the screen. The comments were flooding in fast.
“Why not even show his face? Did the actor get paid too little, or did he just not want to show up?”
“Exactly. Next time he doesn’t want to admit a relationship, just say you’re gay, no girlfriend, and hired a non-celebrity boyfriend. Saves on performance fees too.”
“I’m starting to suspect it’s just too convenient that an ex-boyfriend pops up. The manager’s voice just now was so fake, obvious scam.”
“Now I know why he didn’t show his face—because Ban Yunfang said ‘handsome guy,’ and the actor hadn’t rehearsed. Amateur. What if the actor they hired isn’t handsome enough? Hahaha.”
Qin Wuyan focused on the comments; he couldn’t see anything else. But all he saw were the words show face. The more he read, the hotter his temper flared.
Ban Yunfang looked at his expression and immediately knew it was over. Qin Wuyan was genuinely angry—and when he was angry, anything could come out of his mouth.
Having been in the entertainment industry for years, Qin Wuyan still couldn’t understand why some people had such an obsessive curiosity about private matters.
Did they really care what Song Cheng looked like? No. They just wanted to see. Just wanted a thrill. If he didn’t let them, they’d think he was hiding something, not professional, not capable of playing the game.
Even now, his fans were trying to manage the comments, but with little effect. The live stream had exploded to over seventy million viewers online—up from twenty million at the start.
Qin Wuyan stepped forward, about to speak, when someone else entered the frame.
Only half their body was visible—face not shown yet.
Song Cheng glanced at the camera, then at the screen behind him. Adjusting his stance, he slowly eased into the frame like a small, cautious animal. Looking at the square, red-glowing camera, he stiffly raised one hand and awkwardly said: “Hi~”
Instantly, the comments were flooded with WTF again.
Qin Wuyan froze for a second, then reacted, yanking him out of the frame: “What are you doing?”
Song Cheng had a soft, sunny look that naturally made people associate him with warmth and innocence. Without speaking, he might be labeled a “sweet type.” But Qin Wuyan knew he wasn’t. Not at all. He was tough, and Qin Wuyan had never beaten him at anything.
At this moment, Song Cheng looked nervous, seemingly intimidated by Qin Wuyan’s tone. Softly, he said: “Helping… helping you…”
Then he pointed at the screen: “They don’t believe you.”
Recalling what he had seen in the comments, he lowered his head: “It’s too harsh. I don’t want them to keep misunderstanding you.”
Qin Wuyan’s breathing hitched. One word burst out: “Song—”
Suddenly remembering the live stream was still on, Qin Wuyan strode to the camera, clicked it off with a snap. This time, no prior notice, no consultation with the director. The director, staring at the now-black feed, let out a wail: “Ahhh!!! My data!!!”
Qin Wuyan: “I’ll pay the penalty.”
The director quickly snapped out of it: “No, no, no, I don’t need a penalty. Teacher Qin, take care of your home first, then we’ll broadcast it for you.”
Qin Wuyan: “….”
Ban Yunfang stepped in to clean up the mess. She apologized to the director and urged the crew to pack up quickly.
The cameraman was moving equipment out when he noticed a large rolling suitcase on the stairs outside—it was a Rimowa. He asked: “Whose luggage is this?”
Song Cheng immediately raised his hand: “Mine, mine! I forgot to bring it in.”
All seven crew members turned to look at him.
Bringing luggage too? Looks like he really was staying for a few days. By the way… what had he said at the start?
They had kind of forgotten, since so much had happened afterward. Everyone was stuffed from all the drama.
On the way out, the crew reminisced about this question, smiling as they waved goodbye to the last makeup artist. Ban Yunfang’s expression darkened instantly when the door closed.
Her face changed so fast, even the best actor would be jealous.
She left Qin Wuyan behind, planning to settle accounts with him later. She turned to Song Cheng: “Earlier you said you and Qin Wuyan were divorced—what does that mean? You were married?”
Song Cheng opened his mouth to speak, but Qin Wuyan beat him to it: “Wasn’t this his little joke? Didn’t you bring him in to manage PR for me?”
Ban Yunfang, furious: “I was saving your ass! Who else could come up with such a brilliant idea? Don’t treat me like I’m one of them!”
Qin Wuyan paused, then looked at Song Cheng. Song Cheng, feeling guilty, met his gaze: “I thought you were home alone…”
Qin Wuyan fell silent. After a moment, he turned to Ban Yunfang and said, “No, we never married. Everything I said on the live stream is true—we only dated.”
Song Cheng clearly hadn’t expected him to say that in front of his manager. He was about to speak, but Qin Wuyan shot him a look—eyes full of a warning to shut up.
Song Cheng’s thoughts: He’s changed. He really has. He doesn’t call me ‘baby’ anymore… and now he’s glaring at me, sob sob sob sob.
Qin Wuyan’s thoughts: I said we dated, we dated. No one can deny it—not even Song Cheng!