Ban Yunfang corrected him: “It’s not a divorce reality show. It’s a breakup show. There’s a difference.”
Qin Wunian: “What’s the difference??? Isn’t it all just fighting and gossip?”
A few months ago, a divorce show had exploded in popularity because the guests openly mocked and exposed each other’s secrets. One couple even flipped a table on live TV. Needless to say, this new show was clearly trying to imitate the success of the former and ride the wave of trending traffic.
Ban Yunfang: “Maybe Song Cheng won’t mind?”
“That’s still not acceptable.”
Qin Wunian refused outright. “He’s not in this industry. Going on this kind of show would mean exposing his private life to the audience. How could he live normally after it airs?”
Ban Yunfang: “There’s a script! I’ve already contacted the director. It’s completely scripted—you and Xiao Song just need to act a little.”
Meng Shiyue added, “Do you think not appearing on the show would prevent changes to his life? Have you seen the online reactions? People are already digging into his private life.”
Qin Wunian froze, immediately pulling out his phone to check Weibo. The first few trending topics were all about him: “Qin Wunian live broadcast fail,” “Qin Wunian admits ex-boyfriend,” “Qin Wunian says ask Zhou Qingge about the video,” “Qin Wunian ex-boyfriend.”
He ignored the first three and tapped the fourth. He saw a marketing account posting a nine-frame screenshot from the live stream—every frame featured Song Cheng. Comments had already surpassed ten thousand and were still rising.
The top comment was from a fan he recognized, who often competed for hot comments under his own posts:
“Wow, Teacher Qin has completely overturned my perception. Someone like him can have such a handsome ex-boyfriend? I thought he’d die a virgin!”
Qin Wunian’s face darkened. Clicking on the comment, he saw the replies were even more outrageous:
“Be careful when Teacher Qin goes online and battles you with his gold-plated keyboard.”
“Hahaha, I’m not alone! I always felt he would end up lonely forever.”
“Take care, sisters. If Teacher Qin scolds you, I won’t like the comment!”
“I’m neutral on Qin Wunian. There have been too many reversals these years; I wouldn’t pick a side even in two months. But you fans are so adorable! I don’t want to follow Qin Wunian; I just want to follow the cute fans!”
Qin Wunian scrolled quickly, all comments overflowing with happiness. He exited the thread in a black mood.
Beyond meaningless posts like “Qin Wunian is gay?” “Does Zhou Qingge’s face hurt? The real person is out,” and “Who cares who Qin Wunian’s ex-boyfriend is? Just get that legal nerd out of entertainment!” he finally found one related to Song Cheng.
The account claimed to know Song Cheng—they were supposedly high school classmates. Shockingly, they claimed Song Cheng had secretly dated Qin Wunian. The post attracted a flood of questions: What kind of person was Song Cheng? What was his family background? What was he doing now? Any scandals?
Qin Wunian frowned and clicked into the account, only to see a bunch of giveaway posts and game screenshots. He finally relaxed—this person couldn’t possibly be Song Cheng’s high school classmate. He was just making things up for attention.
Since someone was seeking attention, it meant there were plenty of people watching. The old saying “fame frightens people, size frightens pigs” wasn’t without reason.
Qin Wunian kept his head down, staring at his phone. After a moment, Ban Yunfang said, “Rather than letting them guess and gossip, it’s better to have Song Cheng speak for himself. Thanks to your years of deliberately smearing yourself, your fans are the most tolerant I’ve ever seen when it comes to their idol’s love life. Of course, you should also thank Zhou Qingge—because she accused you of domestic abuse, your fans now think that as long as it’s not Zhou Qingge, it’s fine for you to have dated anyone, even kittens and puppies.”
Qin Wunian suddenly looked up, eyes sharp. “Who are you talking about?”
Ban Yunfang realized her slip and quickly tapped her mouth. “A slip of the tongue, Second Young Master, don’t be angry.”
Qin Wunian frowned at the contracts. After two seconds, he shook his head. “No, I don’t want to trouble him like that.”
Meng Shiyue, leaning back, suddenly said, “Why don’t you just ask him? Maybe he’ll agree.”
After cleaning the kitchen, Song Cheng had nothing else to do. Qin Wunian’s house was huge—three floors above ground and one below—but because the cleaning lady came regularly, every room was spotless, like a show home. Apart from the kitchen he had just tidied, there wasn’t a single place for Song Cheng to exert himself.
Song Cheng felt his “poor man syndrome” kicking in. He was born to be busy—without work in his hands, he felt restless.
He circled the living room a few times, torn between following his impulse to put all the small, scattered ornaments into the cabinets, or finding some outlet for his energy. Logic told him the latter, but impulse screamed for the former.
Song Cheng stared at the objects carefully placed by the interior designer, fingers twitching.
Personal hygiene didn’t have to look good—just be clean! Put everything away! Put it all away!
He heard his inner voice shouting like this.
…
At the hospital, he hadn’t been like this. The hospital had felt too unfamiliar, and he could never relax. There was always a string tense in his heart. He had mostly just lain in bed, staring at his phone. At that time, he had simply felt out of place and bored. He never felt the urge to do anything like now.
Song Cheng suspected that when he had lived here during the year they got married, he had also been the master of this house.
That was why he naturally wanted to tidy it up as if it were his own home.
Unfortunately, after three years of blank memory, this place was no longer his home. The person living here now was no longer his gentle husband.
As soon as this thought surfaced, Song Cheng, who had been buzzing with excitement, suddenly wilted. He walked over to the sofa, sat down despondently, and carefully folded the throw that had been draped over the back, smoothing it neatly.
…
It was at this moment that Qin Wunian returned. Under the warm yellow light, Song Cheng lowered his gaze to fold the blanket, exposing a slender neck. His expression was soft, almost lonely—like countless wives who had just realized their husband would be home late again.
Qin Wunian’s heartstrings twitched. Standing at the entrance, he paused. Song Cheng heard the door, looked up, and smiled with delight. “You’re back!”
Wow.
Wasn’t this the very scene he had dreamed of before? Among all the adult-rated fantasies, this was the only warm one—and yet, also the most false.
So false that he would wake up immediately upon seeing it in a dream. Even in the dream, he knew Song Cheng wouldn’t wait for him at home—he had long moved on.
Qin Wunian had originally planned not to give Song Cheng that contract, thinking it unnecessary. He could handle his own affairs. The internet’s memory only lasted a few days. Song Cheng had no scandals or hot topics—curiosity about him would fade in three days. By a month later, people would ask: Who is Song Cheng?
That had been Qin Wunian’s plan. But now he changed his mind.
He had always thought of Song Cheng. He said he wouldn’t bring up certain matters. He said he’d give him time by avoiding meetings. He said the person he liked wasn’t him, never even questioned him, quietly went back to work, and even pushed away a clingy actress to calm down before finding him again. And then… Song Cheng disappeared.
Four years.
Now he was back. Yet Qin Wunian’s own foolish instincts hadn’t faded. He still reflexively considered things from Song Cheng’s perspective. There had to be limits—even a “bootlicker” had boundaries. He was Qin Wunian, invincible against the world. He had to think for himself once.
He pulled out the contract, gripping it tightly, but didn’t immediately hand it over.
Song Cheng sensed he had something to say and waited. After a while, not hearing anything, he asked, “What’s the matter?”
Qin Wunian: “My manager wants to know if you’d be willing to join me on a conflict-reality show. They want to use you to help restore my image.”
Song Cheng: “……”
Bro, people online said you were blunt, but they weren’t exaggerating.
He stayed silent for two seconds, then nodded. “Okay. Do I need to practice in advance?”
Learn how to argue properly, so people won’t say I’m unskilled.
Qin Wunian frowned. “Didn’t you understand what I said? On a conflict show, you’re just a tool. I have a lot of fans, and you’re an ordinary person—they could eat you alive!”
Song Cheng looked at him in confusion. “Really? I just went online, and all the fans seemed shocked that you’ve actually been in a relationship before.”
Qin Wunian: “……”
He knew it. Sooner or later, he would be ruined by this group of fans.
Seeing him silent, Song Cheng put down the half-folded blanket and smiled. “It’s okay. I don’t care about them. It’s all online; no one will appear in front of me anyway. I really just want to help you, Qin Wunian.”
Song Cheng spoke clearly, and when he said Qin Wunian’s name, he deliberately softened his voice, making it sound like a whisper—like a lover’s call.
Just a light utterance of his name, and Qin Wunian realized how completely hopeless he was.
His usually cold, hard face flushed slightly. Fortunately, the light was dim, so Song Cheng couldn’t see. Qin Wunian casually crossed his legs and said, “Don’t act cute with me. That doesn’t work on me.”
After a pause, he added, “Tomorrow, go with me to sign the contract. Sleep early tonight. If you don’t get up, I’m not coming for you.”