Learning that Qin Wuyan wasn’t secretly married, Ban Yunfang’s expression finally relaxed. She pulled out her phone, laptop, and tablet, then sat at the island counter in the open kitchen, fully focused on monitoring the situation.
She only managed to ask them two questions before her phone erupted again—taking calls, watching reactions, and coordinating with the office team. Being a manager is really not easy.
Her world was a war without smoke, while in the living room, Qin Wuyan and Song Cheng sat across from each other in silence, neither making a move.
Qin Wuyan stared at Song Cheng as if trying to drill a hole through him. Song Cheng, impressed with his own composure, managed to stay seated without bolting for the door.
Based on his recent days in the hospital, Song Cheng had concluded that his traits could be summed up as: timid, poor, a bit anxious, and slightly socially awkward—all flaws. As for strengths, he didn’t want to brag, but…
He considered himself well-behaved, never causing trouble.
Oh right, Qin Wuyan doesn’t count as a normal person—he’s an ex. Rounding it off, they’re practically family, so a little trouble isn’t a big deal.
Song Cheng sat there with complete peace of mind. He didn’t think that their “marriage” being exposed would hurt Qin Wuyan. From what he’d seen in the past few days, no one’s influence comes close to Qin Wuyan’s own.
He’s arrogant, unconstrained by contracts, flaunts his wealth, disregards his idol image, debates online personally, snaps at hosts, producers, managers—there’s basically no one he wouldn’t confront. Early in his career, he was more restrained; now, he’s escalating. Fans went from threatening to unfollow him to now adopting a chill attitude. Sometimes, if he’s too “normal,” they leave collective comments:
“Teacher Qin, snap at someone else—this month’s KPI isn’t done yet.”
He’s come a long way. In the past few years, criticism outweighed praise. Wherever he went, people mocked him, but his fans learned to fight back, building up their resilience. Later, he won several major awards, and any work with him as the lead sold out completely. His skills were undeniable, critics gradually dwindled, casual fans increased, and he even earned the title of Best Actor. Then came Zhou Qingge’s incident.
Compared to domestic violence, a secret marriage really isn’t much.
Moreover, Qin Wuyan has already denied it. The so-called marriage was just a “joke.”
Song Cheng felt a faint sadness. He began wondering if this was one reason for their breakup.
Ban Yunfang switched off her phone and shoved all the devices into her oversized bag. As she walked out, she said: “I need to go back to the office for a meeting. There’s all kinds of chatter online. If we don’t control it, Zhou Qingge’s side will move. You—”
Mid-sentence, she realized Song Cheng was still there. She looked at him, then at Qin Wuyan: “You stay. I’m leaving. No need to see me off, haha.”
Qin Wuyan: “….”
He seemed to have heard ‘good luck’ in her last three words.
Bang. The door shut again. This time, it was really just the two of them.
Qin Wuyan glanced at the door, ears perked, listening for the engine to fade. Once he confirmed Ban Yunfang was truly gone, he suddenly turned: “Why are you here?”
Song Cheng froze for a moment: “I… have nowhere to go…”
Qin Wuyan sounded like he’d heard a joke: “Song Cheng, have you been taking comedy classes all these years? Always joking around? Sorry, I’m not stupid. I want the truth.”
Song Cheng opened his mouth, but before he could speak, he realized something.
From Qin Wuyan’s tone, it seemed he did have somewhere to go—he just didn’t believe him.
Makes sense—checking his ID, he’s a local. He should have a place, and when they divorced, he surely received some property.
Song Cheng hadn’t thought of that. He assumed he was poor, with only a few hundred-yuan bills as his total assets. But arriving at his ex’s place, the truth came out immediately.
Qin Wuyan stared at Song Cheng, speechless. After a long moment, he sneered.
He knew.
Song Cheng was a repeat offender, a liar—appearing only when he needed Qin Wuyan. If not needed, he left. He didn’t know what trouble Song Cheng was in now, but it was obvious: he needed him again. That’s why he boldly came to his door, without considering that four years had passed, and Qin Wuyan was no longer the naive fool who’d always do whatever he asked.
Qin Wuyan started to walk past him, but as he went by, Song Cheng suddenly grabbed his hand. Warm and dry, it had a faint sweat from nervousness, slightly cool to the touch.
It was like a freeze spell. Even though Song Cheng barely used any force, a hamster could’ve pushed him away.
Song Cheng looked up, still without a clear excuse. He softened his voice, sounding a little pitiful: “I… got hurt.”
Qin Wuyan immediately turned to stare at him—but didn’t move.
Song Cheng seemed to understand the meaning in his gaze and pointed to his head: “I hit it… here.”
Then he lifted his shirt, revealing a large patch of dark purple bruises. “These happened when I scraped myself on the road.”
The injury on his head was hidden by hair, not very noticeable, lacking visual impact. But the ones on his body were different. Aside from filming, Qin Wuyan had never seen anyone get hurt so badly.
He froze for a moment. His fingers twitched, as if he wanted to crouch down or carefully touch the bruises. Yet after a few seconds, he did nothing, his expression returning to its usual cold hardness. “Scraped yourself? How did it happen?”
Song Cheng said proudly, “I saved a little girl on the road. If I hadn’t been there, she would have been the one hurt.”
Qin Wuyan gave a cool smile. “Well, aren’t you just amazing? Pain diversion, a life for a life. Do you feel like a hero now?”
Song Cheng blinked at him, “I… can’t I?”
Qin Wuyan’s breath caught. He spoke faster than he thought: “…You can.”
Then he added, “…Everyone has their own thoughts. But in my thoughts, you’re just a big fool.”
Song Cheng was silent for a moment, then asked, “So… since I’m such a fool, can I stay with you for a few days?”
Qin Wuyan’s fingers twitched twice, but his expression remained indifferent. “Since you asked, I’ll consider it charity.”
He said to Song Cheng, “Come over.”
Song Cheng immediately stood. Seeing Qin Wuyan move so fast, his eyelids twitched as his gaze swept over Song Cheng’s torso.
After graduating from university, Qin Wuyan had been living in this house alone. There were five bedrooms in total, but he lived alone; of the remaining four, three had been converted into a “men’s paradise,” leaving only one intact on the first floor, reserved for his parents when they occasionally visited.
Walking inside, Song Cheng saw the luxurious yet warm “chairman’s style” décor and couldn’t help but praise, though insincerely: “Looks really nice.”
Qin Wuyan, unimpressed by his half-hearted acting, didn’t say anything. He reached out lazily, telling Song Cheng, “Give me your phone. I’m rarely home. Before you leave, remember to call me.”
He glanced at him: “You won’t be using your old number anymore, right? A new one’s necessary, at least.”
Song Cheng didn’t catch the implied meaning. He froze for a moment, then pulled a phone from his pocket. There was no SIM card inside. Hesitating briefly, he placed it in Qin Wuyan’s hand. “My old phone got crushed in a car accident. This is just my backup…”
Seeing the “antique” in his hand, Qin Wuyan suddenly fell silent.
He remembered this phone—when they first met, Song Cheng had used exactly this model. A year later he got a new one, but Qin Wuyan never expected that after all these years, he still kept it.
Two seconds later, Qin Wuyan handed it back. “You’re old enough—let it retire. Upstairs are promotional phones from brands. I’ve only used them once or twice; consider it yours.”
Author’s note:
Song Cheng: Hahaha, saving money!
Me: Hahaha, you’re about to be in trouble.