Thick curtains blocked out the artificial light outside.
Inside, only a small bedside lamp glowed, three watts of warm yellow. Enough to see the room’s details, yet casting a gentle, comforting filter over everything.
Song Cheng’s breath was ragged, almost uncontrollable. He pressed his lips together, unwilling to make a sound, yet it seemed this was beyond his control. Between embarrassment and tension, he gripped the sheets tightly.
The once-smooth fabric suddenly twisted into a whirl of wrinkles. Qin Wunian paused as he watched, then bent down and pried apart Song Cheng’s lips, still pale from biting them.
A little slipped out the instant they opened, but most of it—along with Song Cheng’s very essence—was swallowed up by Qin Wunian’s possessive hunger.
Though humans call themselves humans, at their core, they are still animals. That instinct to consume, to take it all, and never let go—that urge to possess—always leaks out involuntarily.
It had rained last night, though there was no thunder, so most people didn’t notice. Only in the morning, when stepping outside, did they see the ground was damp.
At seven o’clock, Qin Wunian opened his eyes as scheduled, taking in the yellowed ceiling light that the hotel had used for almost ten years. At first, he maintained his usual icy demeanor.
But only for three seconds. Then, a ludicrous, almost split-personality grin spread across his face. Truly silly—mouth wide, eyes empty of their usual coldness or disdain, instead brimming with sheer happiness. Thankfully, the room was empty; otherwise, the hotel would be in for a disaster.
Someone might actually die of shock here. How could the hotel ever attract guests again?
…
Having had his fill of giddiness, Qin Wunian was about to turn and pull Song Cheng into his arms for more warmth when he noticed the bed beside him was empty. Bewildered, he sat up and searched the room. Not finding him, he grabbed his phone, ready to call.
Just as he dialed, the door beeped open. The morning was chilly; Song Cheng, wearing short sleeves, had goosebumps on his arms. Seeing Qin Wunian standing in the center of the room, he smiled. “Just in time—I brought breakfast back. Eat it while it’s hot.”
Qin Wunian froze, watching Song Cheng set down the takeout. After a moment, he walked over. “When did you get up?”
Song Cheng glanced at his phone. “About half an hour ago.”
Qin Wunian: …
His mood was complicated.
Yes, he was inexperienced, but his life experience was considerable. In his youth, curiosity had led him to watch certain films—at first thrilling, then a little overwhelming. After meeting Song Cheng, his vague fantasies suddenly had a face. So Qin Wunian abandoned the real world for the virtual, immersing himself in the deepest corners of his computer with three G-rated novels he’d never confess to Song Cheng. If Song Cheng ever found out, it would be over his dead body.
…
Anyway, having been through so much, Qin Wunian felt a bit daunted. He had three G-rated resources, yet none of them depicted the next-morning energy of someone like Song Cheng.
Reality differs from fiction. Song Cheng, a retired soldier, had a body far stronger than most. And this being their first time, perfection was impossible. Next time, he’d surely rise to the occasion.
Song Cheng, unaware of Qin Wunian’s thoughts, found his shifting expressions amusing. Sitting across the table, he didn’t reach for the breakfast yet; he waited for Qin Wunian to finish his fussing. Then he unwrapped the hot meal. Qin Wunian first lingered affectionately, then finally sat down.
Looking at the food, Qin Wunian frowned. “What is this?”
“Lamb stuffed pancake,” Song Cheng replied.
Qin Wunian blinked. “Isn’t that too greasy for breakfast?”
“An occasional treat is fine,” Song Cheng said. “Besides, I think you need the nutrients.”
Qin Wunian: …
Gazing at Song Cheng, he had the sudden impulse to skip work altogether. This was practically the same as telling him he was inadequate! And who had been the one wanting to stop halfway through last night?
Song Cheng, eyes lowered, ate his pancake, seemingly oblivious, but he kept an eye on Qin Wunian out of the corner of his vision. He noticed Qin Wunian’s face was quickly turning the color of pig liver and couldn’t help laughing inwardly—though his face remained calm, like he had attained some meditative state.
Not only Qin Wunian could hold grudges; Song Cheng did too. Hmph—so he wouldn’t listen to him at all!
Apparently, the morning hadn’t been a great one for intellect: Song Cheng’s own mental sharpness had taken a hit. Otherwise, he would have realized by now that his so-called revenge had backfired. Even if he reclaimed the situation now, Qin Wunian’s agitation would still bring misfortune back to him.
…
Qin Wunian carried all this resentment to the set.
Today, he played the male lead, discovering his family’s secret. His disbelief, inability to accept, and existential questioning were portrayed perfectly. The director, Xue, called “Cut!” after one take, clearly satisfied, and Qin Wunian felt a sense of pride.
Compared to before, Qin Wunian’s acting had improved. Perhaps it was because of prior guidance from the director, helping him unlock his potential again.
Song Cheng watched intently from beside Xiao Zhao—his first time seeing Qin Wunian perform on set. Xiao Zhao, having been lonely these days, immediately started chatting now that he had company.
“How was it? Qin Ge did well, right?”
Song Cheng nodded. “Excellent.”
Xiao Zhao: “He’s the fastest actor I’ve seen to get into character and exit it. Some actors take ages. It’s all talent—unmatchable.”
Song Cheng nodded again, then sighed. “Heaven is fair.”
Xiao Zhao looked at him blankly, puzzled by the comment.
Song Cheng said, “He gave Qin Wunian an infuriatingly sharp tongue. To make up for the fact that he’ll never have friends in this life, he also gave Qin Wunian the talent for acting—so he wouldn’t get beaten to death.”
Xiao Zhao: …
His expression grew complicated as he looked at Song Cheng. “Song Ge… you and Qin Ge… got back together, right?”
Song Cheng tilted his head, puzzled. “Yeah… why do you ask?”
Xiao Zhao opened his mouth, then realized he had no good answer. He quickly changed the subject. “Did you watch the variety show last night? I caught the premiere. You and Qin Ge fighting and teasing each other was hilarious. I’m thinking of visiting that theme park during this year’s vacation. I heard Dora La Castle has reopened… though the tickets are ridiculously expensive—over two thousand! Total rip-off.”
That accident had happened to Song Cheng in Dora La Castle. It felt like ages ago, but in reality, it had been less than a month. Thinking about the follow-up filming at the castle made Song Cheng a bit nervous. “Did you notice anything off about the competition in the castle?”
Xiao Zhao blinked. “Anything wrong?”
Seeing Xiao Zhao’s reaction, Song Cheng relaxed. He didn’t want anyone realizing that the ending was reshot, nor did he want his own oddness exposed. Being trapped in a dark room and ending up like that… at the time, he hadn’t thought much of it, but now he realized it was pretty embarrassing.
In truth, Xiao Zhao hadn’t noticed anything unusual. Most viewers didn’t, either. Editors follow their own logic, and viewers are led along that path. Only those who analyze frame by frame, scrutinizing every detail, would notice something off.
These people are what fans call CP (couple) fans.
…
CP fans noticed subtle changes in Song Cheng’s behavior. It wasn’t visible on the face—makeup hides much—but a keen eye could catch the difference. Previously, Song Cheng had been excited, clearly enjoying himself. After a certain point, he became calm. Looking at other guests, while they remained comfortable, minute details revealed the presence of acting.
Especially for those with weaker acting, like Zhao Feifei or Yue Yuran.
As the variety show aired, Qin and Song’s CP fans faced constant trials. Initially, people claimed their CP wasn’t real, that even their interactions were staged. As the episodes continued, such claims lessened, but the antagonism between Qin Wunian and Song Cheng persisted. Qin Wunian’s fans disliked Song Cheng, and Song Cheng’s fans disliked Qin Wunian. Since Qin Wunian’s fanbase was huge, Song Cheng’s fans would lament that Qin Wunian was just using his popularity to bully Song Cheng.
It was ironic: no matter how much these two groups disliked each other, when it came to CP fans, they united as if wearing the same pair of pants.
Finally, as the back-and-forth ended and the two began sweet interactions on the show, the CP fans finally relaxed—until another incident occurred.
The discrepancy was noticed by CP fans, but they weren’t Sherlock Holmes; they couldn’t figure out exactly what happened. They assumed Song Cheng might have been sick, just like Qin Wunian. Only when a seemingly official account, likely run by a variety show staff member, posted a few cryptic messages did people realize the situation was more complicated.
This account, looking like a quiet girl, had been sharing behind-the-scenes photos since the show’s early days. Neutral in tone, it didn’t favor or attack anyone. Fans were friendly, asking daily for more private shots.
Today, the account didn’t post photos but reposted a CP fan’s question: why did Song Cheng seem off—was he sick? She reposted with a comment: it’s not that simple, accompanied by a crying emoji.
By now, the account had tens of thousands of dedicated fans, all eager for details. Naturally, they swarmed to ask what had happened.
The account replied twice, each short and evasive:
“Under contract, I can’t say. Sorry, I’m afraid he’d sue me.”
“This is the helplessness of adults. Someone else’s mistake, in the end, is paid for by good-hearted people and honest folks. That’s all I can say—don’t ask further.”
Netizens: …
Though it seemed Song Cheng’s fans were most concerned, the account referred to “him”! Among the eight guests, discounting Song Cheng, there were four men. Their fans were furious, wanting to kill the account owner.
But, as the account owner said, she wouldn’t reveal more. No matter how many mentions or tags, she stayed silent. Fans were nearly boiling with rage. Meanwhile, the quiet girl—Qin Wunian—smiled slightly, logged out of this newly created small account, and began checking his notes for a low-profile account suitable for leaking information.