Unlike Qin Wunian, Song Cheng didn’t harbor any ill will toward Su Yu.
It was just that due to lingering history, Song Cheng had never reached out first. Su Yu had done the same. Since leaving the show, he seemed to vanish from the world. Apart from appearances in his livestreams, no one knew what he was up to.
During the variety show, only Song Cheng, as a civilian guest, didn’t need to promote anything. The other guests posted updates on Weibo occasionally. Su Yu had only posted once on the first day—a simple “Stay tuned”—and then nothing.
Seeing Su Yu reach out now, Song Cheng was surprised.
At this hour, it was probably about Yue Yuran. Could it be that after being rejected by him, Yue Yuran tried Su Yu as a mediator?
But hadn’t they broken up already?
After landing and reconnecting to the internet, Song Cheng immediately searched the news. He didn’t see any reports of them reconciling, but Su Yu’s studio had issued a statement. Formal and clear: Su Yu and Yue Yuran were no longer in a romantic relationship, and fans were asked to speculate less and understand more.
They had broken up and gotten back together before, but never had the studio been involved, never lawyers issuing statements. When this declaration came out, the internet erupted. The shock was comparable to when Zhou Qingge had tied up Qin Wunian for publicity.
Everyone had expected the “Unforgettable Season Four” finale to air fully, yet they had quietly reached the true ending behind everyone’s backs.
According to regulations, Su Yu shouldn’t have revealed any show-related developments early, but the online fire was too intense. If he didn’t say something, fans would assume the worst.
After the statement, curiosity about the two of them only intensified. The finale’s ratings rose several percentage points. Standing at the exit, Song Cheng tilted his head, scrolling Weibo, then opened WeChat and found Su Yu’s profile.
He replied with just two words:
“Okay.”
During the variety show, Song Cheng and Su Yu hadn’t interacted much. Apart from Qin Wunian, the person closest to him on the show had been Yang Qing.
If ranking closeness, Su Yu was probably second to last.
Su Yu knew his place. Reaching out to Song Cheng wasn’t about catching up—it was an apology.
They met at a sushi restaurant. The waitstaff, dressed in traditional Japanese attire, served the dishes and quietly closed the wooden door when leaving. Song Cheng picked at the tempura on his plate, silent, observing the fried vegetables and fruit.
Across from him, Su Yu spoke softly:
“I should have come to you the day it happened, but I didn’t. Now, I’m saying sorry, and it may be too late—you might think I’m insincere.”
He laughed at himself. “Honestly, even I feel insincere. I don’t know what I was thinking. But since you came out today, does that mean you’re no longer mad at me?”
Song Cheng propped his head up, shifting his gaze from the tempura to Su Yu’s face. “I was never mad at you.”
“The one who caused the castle to lose power was Yue Yuran. The one who made me afraid of the dark was myself. It has nothing to do with you.”
Su Yu: “You know I’m not talking about those two things.”
Song Cheng nodded. “I understand. But really, I’m not mad. I get it—you were trying to protect Yue Yuran back then.”
Su Yu pursed his lips.
The more generous Song Cheng was, the more Su Yu felt guilty and despicable.
Song Cheng was very much like him—they weren’t celebrities. No matter how popular Su Yu became, he saw himself as just a livestream seller, no different from a regular salesperson. Like Song Cheng, he had a famous boyfriend and, like Song Cheng, had received a proper education.
Though Song Cheng never mentioned where he graduated from, his demeanor revealed it. Unbeknownst to Song Cheng, Su Yu had always felt a certain kinship with him. It was only during the show that he realized: he and Song Cheng were alike, yet their lives were completely different.
Song Cheng had a pure heart, a boyfriend who loved him, and a soul untouched by society or fame. Looking at himself, he realized he was no longer the ambitious young man intent on building a grand career.
In fact, it could be said that Song Cheng was the one who had indirectly pushed Su Yu and Yue Yuran to break up.
Thankfully, it wasn’t too late. He was still young, and now that he had awakened to clarity, he could adjust his course. Looking at the Song Cheng in front of him, Su Yu smiled with gratitude and pushed a plate of sashimi toward him. “Alright, let’s leave the past behind. Try this—it’s the specialty of this place.”
Though Su Yu appeared open and friendly, he was actually reserved. Song Cheng looked at him curiously, unsure where this gratitude came from. Taking the sashimi, he didn’t eat it but asked, “You said before you wanted to return to school to pursue your doctorate?”
Su Yu nodded. “Yes. I’ve spoken with my business partners, but this isn’t something that happens overnight. I probably won’t be able to take the exam this year. Maybe next year.”
Su Yu always spoke cautiously. When he said “maybe next year,” it essentially meant it would definitely happen. After all, he was a top student—giving himself a year to prepare was more than enough.
Holding his chopsticks, Song Cheng asked with curiosity, “Then what about your livestream channel?”
Su Yu smiled. “Same as always. I run the company myself, so I’m both the boss and the anchor. It’s tiring. We’ve been training new talent. Next year, once I go back to school, I won’t push myself so hard—only livestreaming twice a week. The rest of the time will go to mentoring the newcomers I want to support.”
Song Cheng’s eyes showed a hint of envy. “That’s really nice.”
Su Yu raised an eyebrow. “What’s nice about it?”
Song Cheng said sincerely, “You know what you want to do, and you throw yourself into it completely. That’s really admirable.”
Su Yu noticed a subtle difference in his tone and patiently asked, “Don’t you have something you want to do?”
With Qin Wunian, Song Cheng might have felt embarrassed answering, but with Su Yu, he had no reservations. He nodded firmly and admitted, “In all of the three hundred and sixty professions, there isn’t a single one that truly interests me. I might be the only person in this world without a dream.”
He put down his chopsticks and touched his face. “I remember you said you wanted to go back to school. I wanted to ask why, but you already have a plan. So efficient.”
Su Yu blinked. “Do you want to go back to school too?”
Song Cheng, at twenty-three, had probably only finished his undergraduate studies. It would be perfectly normal if he wanted to continue his education.
Su Yu was about to encourage him when Song Cheng continued, “I’m not sure. I don’t even know if my student status is still valid. Everyone else finished school, but I left halfway, without even a diploma. I feel it’s a bit of a waste.”
Su Yu paused for two seconds, genuinely shocked. “You didn’t finish college?”
Song Cheng nodded.
Su Yu couldn’t understand. “Why not?”
Given Song Cheng’s breadth of knowledge, Su Yu could easily believe he came from a gifted program—yet he didn’t finish college?
Song Cheng hesitated. Then slowly said, “School was… boring.”
Su Yu: “….”
He stared at Song Cheng, speechless. That reason was utterly willful.
In this day and age, someone unwilling to finish college? Did he get brainwashed by Bill Gates or Steve Jobs or something?
But no matter how Su Yu looked, he couldn’t see this rebellious side of Song Cheng. Confused, he observed him as Song Cheng’s gaze shifted down to the Japanese sake cup on the table. Memories flickered back.
High school graduation was held three days after the college entrance exams. Everyone was excited. Song Cheng folded his gown and placed it in his locker. Around him, classmates chattered about summer plans—some wanted to see the aurora in Finland, others ski in Switzerland. Everyone was chasing cold destinations; that summer was hotter than usual, and even the exam questions reflected global warming.
Song Cheng smiled faintly, leaning against his locker, scrolling on his phone. Someone clapped him on the shoulder: “Song Cheng, what’s your summer plan? Come with us! My dad said he’ll give me a yacht regardless of my exam results—we can sail together!”
Before Song Cheng could answer, another classmate interjected: “He’s not coming with us. He’s going to be with his partner~”
Song Cheng’s smile vanished. He nudged the classmate with his elbow. “Stop it. I don’t have a partner.”
“So, are you coming with us or not?”
Song Cheng hesitated. Going out to sea meant leaving the city, but he could just spend a few hours. He couldn’t stay overnight or for too long. He had to think of a suitable excuse.
Perhaps influenced by the lively atmosphere, his desire to go overcame his hesitation. He smiled faintly and said, “I’ll think about it.”
For the three-year friends, this was the first time Song Cheng had given a “I’ll think about it.” They whistled and teased him like all teenagers about to start a new journey, pressing close to him in playful camaraderie.
Meanwhile, Qin Wunian was also trying to celebrate his graduation. Normally, they could meet once a week, but during summer and winter breaks, they couldn’t. He coaxed Song Cheng to make an exception this summer, promising an unforgettable, fun experience.
With classmates, teachers, and Qin Wunian all emphasizing the significance of the day, Song Cheng truly felt that today would indeed be different.
“Is it your roommate or your girlfriend?” Cao Jie asked.
Lan Xingchen looked a little embarrassed. “Just a roommate, of course.”
Cao Jie nodded. “Then I’ll come visit your roommate sometime.”
Lan Xingchen: …
Xu Yang glanced between them, surprised. “Wait—are you actually dating someone?”
Lan Xingchen was about to deny it, but then he remembered that, as far as Xu Ya was concerned, Pei Qingjian was his boyfriend.
Before, he might have avoided telling Cao Jie and Xu Yang because of their current situation. But after tonight, if Cao Jie asked, Xu Ya wouldn’t lie to her.
So he swallowed his denial.
Since he said nothing, Cao Jie and Xu Yang took it as confirmation.
“When did this happen?” Cao Jie asked excitedly. “What kind of girl is she?”
“It’s a boy.”
Cao Jie and Xu Yang froze for a second, then quickly suppressed their surprise, worried their reaction might hurt him. After all, even though same-sex marriage was now legal, it was still a minority, and many parents still struggled to accept it.
They weren’t Lan Xingchen’s biological parents, but they had taken on part of the role of raising him. Naturally, he felt a kind of familial warmth toward them—and would want their understanding and support.
“I see,” Cao Jie said, quickly adjusting her tone. “A boy is fine too. Anyone you like must be outstanding.”
Lan Xingchen smiled faintly. “He really is.”
“Then bring him over for us to meet sometime,” Cao Jie said warmly.
“Let’s wait until things are more certain,” Lan Xingchen replied. Then he added, “And… don’t tell my uncle yet.”
“Got it,” Cao Jie said with a smile. “You two just focus on dating. Once things are settled, we’ll talk about it then.”
Lan Xingchen nodded. “Mm.”
Only then did Xu Yang fully process it, thinking to himself how good these guys were at hiding things.
Every time he asked, they all claimed they didn’t like anyone. And now? Not only was there someone—they’d gone straight to boyfriend level?!
If Wen Yuan found out, he’d probably be just as stunned as they were.
“You really didn’t let anything slip,” Xu Yang said.
Lan Xingchen: …Because I never planned on dating at all!
He sighed inwardly, thinking this situation was snowballing more and more out of control.
All Xu Ya’s fault.
Thinking of Xu Ya reminded him—it was already this late, and Xu Ya still hadn’t come back.
Where had he gone to avoid things? He didn’t actually go back to the office, did he?
After chatting a bit more with Cao Jie, Lan Xingchen left the Xu residence and drove back.
When he reached the fork in the road leading to the company, he hesitated for a long moment… then turned in.
He drove slowly all the way to the office building.
Sitting silently in his car for a while, he finally got out and went inside.
On the 27th floor, a single light glowed in the otherwise empty office.
Xu Ya sat at his desk, looking between his computer and the documents in his hand.
Sensing footsteps, he turned—and saw Lan Xingchen standing not far away, hands in his pockets, framed by the quiet emptiness of the office.
Xu Ya stared at him in disbelief, clearly not expecting him to show up.
So he really did come back to work overtime, Lan Xingchen thought.
For a moment, he couldn’t quite name what he was feeling. In the end, he didn’t force himself to figure it out, and simply said calmly, “I’m leaving. You can head back too.”
“Okay,” Xu Ya replied gently. “I’ll finish this and then go.”
Lan Xingchen gave a small nod, said nothing more, and turned to leave.
“Be careful on the way,” Xu Ya called after him.
Lan Xingchen didn’t respond. He walked to the elevator and pressed the down button.
The night was deep, the moon faint behind a haze, the stars invisible.
As he drove home, his thoughts drifted—too many to grasp, yet somehow none at all.
He got back just before 11:30.
When he opened the door, Pei Qingjian was sitting in the living room waiting for him.
The moment he saw him, he tossed aside his chips and ran over.
“How was it? Did you get along well with Xu Ya’s parents?”
Lan Xingchen nodded, lifting the bags in his hand. “They insisted I bring these back.”
“Wow.” Pei Qingjian played along enthusiastically, peeking inside. “Nice haul.”
Lan Xingchen set them down on the entry cabinet. “What about you? How was your rest?”
“Great, amazing, perfect—and I have good news!” Pei Qingjian said excitedly. “I’m going to audition! If I pass, I’ll be in a new drama!”
Lan Xingchen: ???
“You just wrapped filming, didn’t you?”
“Yeah, but Brother Zhou found a really good script. See? He’s so dedicated.”
Lan Xingchen: …
He really didn’t need to be this dedicated!
How was this good news?
This was practically a disaster!
Lan Xingchen looked at his little canary.
Wasn’t he supposed to be a housebird? Why was he flying around outside every day?
Was this even reasonable?!
He suddenly felt a headache coming on.
“…Do you have to take this role?” he asked.
Pei Qingjian nodded. “The script is really good.”
“Brother Zhou said if the original actor hadn’t gotten into trouble and the production didn’t need a last-minute replacement, it wouldn’t have come to me at all.”
“And I might not even get it,” he added honestly. “I still have to audition. The director might not like me.”
Lan Xingchen: …
He realized that while he didn’t really want Pei Qingjian to go film, he somehow wanted even less for him to fail the audition.
Fail? How could he fail?
His little canary’s acting was good—at least, from what he could see, there was no problem at all.
So why would he fail?
Ji Xingyuan paused, then set his pen down. “What happened?”
He had assumed something had gone wrong with Shen Hanshu, but the subordinate shook his head. “It’s not related to Mr. Shen. Someone has been deliberately approaching the servants at the Shen residence, asking about him. The servants got scared of causing trouble, so they reported it.”
The tension in Ji Xingyuan’s body eased slightly. This wasn’t the first time—people were always trying to reach into that place. Normally his subordinates wouldn’t bother reporting something like this, so if it was brought up today, there had to be more to it.
“What exactly were they asking about?”
The subordinate’s expression turned a little strange. “Everything. His preferences, his past, family relationships…”
Ji Xingyuan went still for a moment. After two seconds, he asked, “Which servant did they approach?”
“Madam Zhang.”
Madam Zhang was the most senior employee in the Shen household. She was already sixty-nine and should have retired long ago. But if she went home, she would have to fend for herself, whereas staying at the Shen residence meant someone would look after her. Given her close relationship with Shen Hanshu’s mother and her years of caring for the siblings, everyone treated her like an elder.
With her aging body, she didn’t really do any work anymore—just stayed in the servants’ quarters in the back, occasionally going out to the park or playing cards.
After a long silence, Ji Xingyuan spoke again. “Did it alert them?”
The subordinate quickly shook his head. “No. I told Madam Zhang not to say anything.”
Ji Xingyuan nodded. “Good. Tell her—whatever they ask, she answers.”
The subordinate: “No problem! I’ll go—”
He froze, eyes wide. “Wait… what did you just say?!”