Fans were absolutely losing it over Qin Yancheng’s ears turning red—this was a groundbreaking discovery!  

[This man, who should have eyes filled with 30% indifference, 30% mockery, and 40% aloofness in a pie chart, actually BLUSHED?!]  

[HAHAHAHAHA, this is gold! The old-school vibes are strong with this one!]  

[President Qin, since when did you get so shy?! The contrast is killing me! Zhouzhou, kiss him again and make his ears even redder!]  

[So even domineering CEOs have their bashful moments?! This morning he was driving the wildest car, and now he’s this innocent?!]  

[ChengZhou forever! I can’t take it—I need a blood transfusion! My heart can’t handle this!]  

The usually cold and intimidating Mr. Qin was now sporting bright red ears, his head adorned with the heart-shaped clips Shi Zhou had playfully pinned on him earlier. Every slight movement made the little hearts wobble on their springs, sending fans into a screenshot frenzy.  

Xin Jing, standing behind the camera, was laughing his ass off. How could screenshots be enough—he had to personally take the most perfect pictures with his phone for the highest-quality and angle.  

Unfortunately, Shi Zhou didn’t have his phone on him, so he remained blissfully unaware of Qin Yancheng’s rare “adorable” moment. All he knew was that Qin Yancheng was still inexplicably giving him the cold shoulder.  

And Qin Yancheng himself had no idea these little details had been exposed.  

—His original purpose for coming was just to accompany Shi Zhou and play along. He didn’t pay much attention to the cameras or filming, so he often forgot his every move was being recorded. As a result, he remained completely oblivious to how thoroughly he’d been betrayed by the footage every time.  

Shi Zhou, clueless, patted Qin Yancheng’s shoulder and whispered quiet enough that the mics wouldn’t pick it up, “Damn, Mr. Qin, you’re amazing! Who knew you had moves like that?”  

Qin Yancheng stiffened slightly before replying with a faint “Mnn.”  

The burning heat in his ears, cheeks, and neck finally began to fade. He had no idea what had come over him earlier—Shi Zhou’s voice, his warm breath against his skin, his scent, the feel of his heartbeat against his back…  

Thankfully, Shi Zhou was too dense to notice.  

After a short break, the second round of the game began.  

The three teams formed a large circle, facing a narrow wooden bridge and rolling obstacles. In the center stood a microphone and it also didn’t seem to be an easy thing to reach. Looks like this was some kind of quick-response challenge this time.  

Shi Zhou sighed in relief. Answering questions wouldn’t be a problem for Qin Yancheng.  

As the so-called “pinnacle of adult male excellence,” Qin Yancheng had skipped grades in school and graduated from one of the world’s top universities. 

Though he never boasted about it, Shi Zhou knew his knowledge was vast—a true academic prodigy in his youth.  

Just as Shi Zhou was ready to ride the coattails of this genius, Xin Jing announced:  

“Round two—Name That Tune! Get ready to buzz in—”  

Shi Zhou froze. Before he could even process it, the first song started playing:  

“Ah~ ah~ ah ah ah~ ah~ ah~…”  

The scene fell silent for three seconds before Tan Zhi suddenly gasped in realization and dashed forward like lightning. He nimbly leaped across the bridge, ducked under the rolling obstacles, and lunged for the microphone!  

Shi Zhou turned to Qin Yancheng in utter confusion. Qin Yancheng also looked back at him. Both had entered a realm of complete ignorance, left with no choice but to stand there in silence.  

“Uh, I… don’t really listen to pop music,” Shi Zhou admitted, shaking his long hair helplessly.  

Truthfully, he did listen to pop music—but in his original world, where he’d lived for 23 years. He had zero familiarity with this world’s pop songs.  

“I don’t listen to music,” Qin Yancheng stated simply.  

Thus, this round was an absolute disaster. Ten songs played, and they couldn’t answer a single one. The match ended swiftly and anticlimactically.  

The two stood rooted in place like silent monoliths from Stonehenge, perfectly aligned in their shared silence.  

[OMG save me, you two are so adorable! Even though you lost, it’s just too cute!]  

[I knew President Qin was too ethereal to listen to pop, but I didn’t expect the trendy Zhouzhou to be just as clueless. A perfect match!]  

[Ahem, is no one gonna mention President Qin still has those heart clips in his hair? His whole image has become cold and cutesy, a cutesy coldness!]  

[LMAO, Zhouzhou didn’t even remind him! I saw the director sneaking a laugh earlier!]  

[I saw him taking pictures too!]  

[HAHAHAHAHA, dying from laughter here!]  

The comments section erupted in laughter. Qin Yancheng, finally sensing something amiss, slowly raised a hand to touch his hair—  

Then, expressionless, he turned to Shi Zhou, who immediately feigned innocence, shaking his head vigorously. “Don’t blame me! How was I supposed to know you forgot to take them off? I thought you were just being cute… HAHAHAHA, this is hilarious HAHAHAHA!” He couldn’t even finish before bursting into laughter.  

Qin Yancheng: “………”  

He had no idea what was wrong with him today. His mind was a chaotic mess, emotions surging uncontrollably and he couldn’t even make any sense of it at all.

This was extremely rare for someone as emotionally detached as him. Qin Yancheng even wondered if his mental state was deteriorating again, losing grip on his rationality like before.  

But this was different. In his darkest days, his emotions had been simple—just the struggle between wanting to die and the stubborn will to survive. Any other feelings were just basic negativity.  

Now, though, he felt that his mind was a chaotic whirlwind with vivid, happy emotions mixed in—  

Every time he got closer to Shi Zhou, he became abnormal. His heart raced uncomfortably, flooded with joy, warmth, bitterness, jealousy, fear… even a desperate urge to possess and claim.  

Thankfully, over these years he had become really good at using rigid self-control to suppress these emotions and appear like a normal person. So now he could at least maintain a facade of normalcy.

After tallying the scores, the two were forced to take second place just because of a simple music round.

Shi Zhou was a little bummed. Though second wasn’t terrible and they’d still get meat, it looks like he had to bid farewell to his beloved corn ribs.  

He hid his disappointment, consoling himself: It’s just ribs. I can ask Qin Yancheng to make them another time…  

No! I want them NOW!

It may not matter normally, but humans were contrary creatures with a rebellious mentality. The more you can’t eat something, the more you crave it.  

Just how in the past, Shi Zhou would walk by a fragrant fried chicken shop without much interest. But when one day his brother forbade him from eating unhygienic street food and he lost the right to eat fried chicken, he suddenly developed an insatiable craving.  

After three days of agony, he finally sneaked out to buy a huge bag of fried chicken while Shi Li was working late. Just as he took his first glorious bite, Shi Li—whose meeting had been canceled—walked in and caught him red-handed. A lecture ensued, but Shi Zhou, while pretending to repent, kept sneakily taking bites, infuriating Shi Li to no end.  

What’s more, Qin Yancheng’s corn ribs were leagues above any street food. Normally, Shi Zhou would hover around the kitchen, salivating over the simmering pot, even when Qin Yancheng told him to be patient.  

Especially now when Tan Zhi and Li You had started discussing, “Do you think the ribs should be stewed or stir-fried? Can you make braised ones?”

—It was over. He broke instantly. He wanted nothing more than to sit on the ground and wail.

But then he remembered that at least there would be meat. Unlike Yang Yuxin’s team, who would be eating full vegetarian. After frantically comforting himself for a while, he perked up again, grinning as he asked, “Qin sir, what are we eating first for lunch?”

Qin Yancheng paused, recalling Shi Zhou’s earlier mutterings about ribs while being carried on his back. Calmly, he replied, “Corn ribs.”  

“We can’t. We’re in second place—no ribs, no corn.”  

Qin Yancheng thought for a moment, then glanced at Tan Zhi and stated coolly, “We can have them. Tan Zhi does.”  

[Tan Zhi: The ribs are in danger.]  

[That’s my President Qin—so domineering, so ruthless. HAHAHAHA!]  

[Hey! Don’t bully my husband! Are you two planning a couple heist?! Hubby, run!]  

[A billionaire CEO resorting to meat theft to feed his wife?! Is this a bandit x glutton love story?! I NEED MORE!]  

Shi Zhou assumed he was joking. Qin Yancheng’s really something—still cracking deadpan jokes even during a cold war. What’s going on in that head of his?

After collecting their ingredients, everyone dispersed. Yang Yuxin was still throwing a tantrum, begging the crew to swap his greens for something else—claiming he wouldn’t touch a single leaf.  

Shi Zhou sighed. Poor Guo Chenming—stuck with such a teammate. 

And poor Xin Jing, resisting the urge to strangle Yang Yuxin while enduring his nonsense and having his sanity tested.

Qin Yancheng stored their groceries in their new lodging, then turned and said, “Let’s go get some ribs from Tan Zhi.”  

Curious about Qin Yancheng’s heist plan, Shi Zhou followed him to knock on Tan Zhi and Li You’s door.  

Li You, who opened the door, was surprised to see the two of them suddenly show up. Then, as if realizing something, she wore a sorrowful, helpless expression and asked, “Don’t tell me… you guys can’t cook either?”

“Either? Neither of you? Not even a little?” Shi Zhou asked in astonishment as Li You welcomed them inside.

“Tan Zhi said he can cook a tiny bit, but it seems like—”

Before she could finish, a desperate shout came from the kitchen. “Ah! Why is it burnt again?! It’s smoking!”

Shi Zhou burst into laughter at the smoky disaster scene—as expected, kitchen disasters were a universal curse, and misery truly loved company.

Thankful that he at least wouldn’t go hungry—and judging by the look of things, Qin Yancheng wouldn’t let the other two starve either—Shi Zhou puffed out his chest proudly. “We’ve got a top chef right here! The type that it’d be a crime if he didn’t work at a Michelin restaurant!”

Hearing that, Tan Zhi peeked his head out and asked excitedly, “Shi Zhou, you can cook? That’s amazing, Chef Shi, please save us! We’re just wasting food at this point!”

Qin Yancheng said calmly, “We can help you, but we’ll take half of your food in exchange.”

“No problem!” Tan Zhi and Li You responded almost in unison. That deal sounded perfect. After all, they were just burning through ingredients anyway. They immediately looked at Shi Zhou with hopeful eyes.

Seeing they all assumed he was the chef—probably never imagining that Qin Yancheng, the man who signed nine-figure contracts, could also cook—Shi Zhou flashed a mysterious smile, took the little brown bear apron Tan Zhi handed over, and slowly walked toward Qin Yancheng.

The room fell silent.

After a long pause, Tan Zhi finally let out a stunned, “Ahhh…” and asked in shock, “Wait—President Qin is the one cooking?!”

Shi Zhou tilted his head slightly. “Who else? You didn’t know? If I were cooking, we’d be eating either boiled eggs or instant noodles.”

[WTF, Qin Yancheng can cook?!]

[He sure can! He made dinner the night they arrived—I was already shocked back then. You must have terrible internet to still not know.]

[That apron looks kinda short on someone who’s 190 cm tall, LOL]

[To let baby Shi Zhou eat ribs, President Qin is actually offering up his precious labor to cook?!]

[Too sweet I’m gonna die ahhhh! I’ll be the first to feast on this dog food—time to kick my cow out and plow the field myself again!]

[Quick, screenshot this! President Qin in a little bear apron is unexpectedly adorable! Total gap moe!]

Shi Zhou rolled up his sleeves, ready to help in the kitchen, but Qin Yancheng didn’t even look up as he chopped vegetables and said flatly, “Go wait outside.”

That instantly triggered another chorus of groundhog-style shrieks from the sugar-hunting crowd: “President Qin is so doting!”

Qin Yancheng cooked quickly, pulling out ingredients that Shi Zhou liked but ingredients that they themselves didn’t have. He whipped up five dishes in a row, unapologetically claiming more than half of each one. The corn and pork rib stew in particular was basically gone; he left Tan Zhi and Li You three or four pieces each—just enough to taste.

To eat food personally cooked by the mercurial Mr. Qin was like suddenly being served a state banquet. Tan Zhi and Li You were in a dreamlike daze as they nervously took the plates from Qin Yancheng and placed them on the table, not even slightly bothered by the small portions.

Tan Zhi, already a little hungry and drooling at the aroma, joked, “President Qin, do you want to take some ingredients back to cook at your leisure?”

Li You gave Tan Zhi a look that clearly said, No way! If Qin Yancheng took ingredients home, he might not come back tonight to cook—and then what? Would they gnaw on raw rice?

Qin Yancheng seemed to catch her meaning. “Tomato and egg stir-fry—look it up online. It’s simple. Anyone not completely hopeless can manage it.”

Just as Shi Zhou was reaching to sneak a bite of ribs, he heard that and immediately felt personally attacked. “Hey! Who are you calling hopeless?”

Truth was, he had racked his brains but still couldn’t master that supposedly simple dish. It always ended up burnt or drowning in oil. Once, in a flash of inspiration, he’d tried stir-frying garlic for aroma, only to coat it in raw egg. Qin Yancheng had taken one bite and nearly spit it out, face green like he’d just been poisoned.

Clutching their hard-won treasure, Shi Zhou finally got to eat the corn and rib stew he’d been craving, and after eating to his heart’s content, his mood instantly brightened.

Filming wouldn’t start until 3 p.m., so with time to spare, Shi Zhou lounged on the couch, his injured fingers in the air, and got ready to scroll on his phone.

But before he could even open Weibo, a large, cool hand suddenly grabbed his wrist.

Shi Zhou startled and looked up to see Qin Yancheng squatting in front of him, expressionlessly holding his wrist and examining the burn wound on his fingertips.

“Didn’t I tell Bian Shuai to remind you to apply your medicine? Why didn’t you today?”

Shi Zhou froze, then quickly yanked his hand back and mumbled in a voice too soft for the cameras to catch, “What, your precious mouth can’t be used to talk to me directly? Had to pass a message through someone else? And besides, what’s it got to do with you anyway?”

Qin Yancheng handed him the ointment. “Put it on. Now.”

Shi Zhou turned away, ignoring him.

Although he was annoyed by Qin Yancheng’s strange, hot-and-cold behavior lately, he wasn’t refusing the medicine to be spiteful. It was just that this stuff really stung. Every time he applied it, it felt like fire, and he barely held back from howling in pain to save the bit of dignity he had left.

The original owner’s body had seriously sensitive tear ducts, and Shi Zhou was terrified that if he teared up even a little, he’d end up in tomorrow’s tabloids: “Shocking! Male celebrity cries over minor finger wound! When will sissified idols stop?!”

Qin Yancheng saw him resisting and, voice steely and unyielding, commanded coldly, “Hand. Hold still.”

Then he squatted down and firmly grabbed Shi Zhou’s hand to apply the medicine himself.

As they say, the fingers are connected to the heart—it hurt so bad Shi Zhou sucked in a breath, biting his lip and trying not to make a sound. Sure enough, his eyes were starting to sting.

Shit, don’t cry now, I swear I don’t wanna cry!

Frantically, he tried to think of a joke to distract himself and see if he could make himself laugh.

But when Qin Yancheng looked up, he saw Shi Zhou’s trembling lips, the red rims of his eyes, and that glossy shimmer threatening to spill from his lashes. Their eyes met, and Qin Yancheng paused, visibly startled, a string seemingly connected to his heart suddenly thrumming inside him.

He had been incredibly gentle, but now—seeing Shi Zhou on the verge of tears—he actually couldn’t bring himself to continue.

After a beat of silence, he forced himself to finish the task, and Shi Zhou finally let out a tiny, pained “ah!”

Qin Yancheng slowly stood up, silently packed up the supplies, and distanced himself again.

Shi Zhou huffed. The pain made his young master temper flare, and all the old grudges came flooding back. He didn’t want to speak to this erratic, moody, maybe-taken-the-wrong-medicine Qin Yancheng.

Because on one hand, Shi Zhou knew Qin Yancheng was doing it for his own good—everything he did was kind and attentive.

But on the other hand, Qin Yancheng had been acting so mentally impaired lately—barely speaking, deliberately distancing himself from Shi Zhou… it was infuriating!

Due to changing to a new place, as usual, Qin Yancheng was the one organizing everything. Shi Zhou flopped on the couch and used his alt account, “Runaway Airship at the Flower Market,” to post a few blurry sneak shots of Qin Yancheng.

He hadn’t posted in days, so his sudden reappearance sparked a flood of excited comments asking him about updates:

[Author-sama!! Did you see what happened this morning?! I got screenshots, hehe slurp slurp]

[I got some too! Come on, inspire yourself with these spicy pics!]

[Just from that shot I could write 50k words of smut—if I can, you definitely can!!]

Shi Zhou’s face burned. He thought back to the weird feeling of Qin Yancheng brushing against the inside of his thigh this morning and suddenly felt hot and weak-kneed. Before he could even shout “Don’t send it! I’m not looking!”, his inbox was flooded with photos from those smut-loving pervs.

He groaned helplessly—he really didn’t want to “enjoy” them!

Just as he quit Weibo to clear his head, he saw a stream of nine unread messages from his cheap manager, Li Cheng, all basically begging for Qin Yancheng’s mercy.

They were sent four hours ago but when Shi Zhou typed a simple question mark, within seconds, Li Cheng was “typing…”

Li Cheng: Shi Zhou, for the sake of our years of working together… if you’re gonna jump ship, can you take me with you?

Shi Zhou: Why? Did you sleep with Zheng Qi’s wife, so now he wants to kill you?

Scrolling up through the messages, Shi Zhou pieced it together: Qixing was finished. A major project had suddenly collapsed, their Series E funding failed, the cash flow dried up, the banks sued, and now the authorities were investigating…

Basically, the board was scrambling to cut losses and dump shares, while employees below were all looking for escape routes.

Shi Zhou glanced away from his phone to the figure in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up and washing dishes. Since they were still in a cold war, Shi Zhou decided to match Qin Yancheng’s silent treatment with some of his own—no one talks to anyone. So he didn’t ask about it.

He had never heard Qin Yancheng mention anything about this. Shi Zhou had thought Qin Yancheng, being the bigger person, had already let Zheng Qi off the hook. He had been feeling it was too cheap a price for a scumbag like that. But now it seemed otherwise—clearly, Qin Yancheng hadn’t let it go. And what a beautiful move.

The downfall of Qixing Entertainment had to be Qin Yancheng’s doing. No one else could destroy a company worth over a billion so easily.

Just then, a message from Zheng Qi came in too. Also filled with vague, twisted pleas and declarations of innocence—swearing he had never had improper thoughts about Mr. Qin.

Shi Zhou found it absurd. Something happened, and you’re begging me? Go beg Qin Yancheng! You’re barking up the wrong tree, both of you.

He quickly typed out three words: “Fend for yourself.”

After a moment’s thought, he added: “Deepest sympathies.”

Still felt too insincere. So he tacked on: “Condolences. I hereby express my deep regret. May you soon find a bridge with cool shade in summer and warmth in winter under which to sleep!”

He could practically picture Zheng Qi’s furious face on the other end of the screen.

Sure enough, Zheng Qi paused for a moment, then sent four consecutive voice messages. But since the cameras were still rolling, and Shi Zhou also didn’t want to hear a dog barking, he didn’t open them. He just converted them to text:

—Shi Zhou! Don’t get cocky, you bitch!
—Look at your smug face! You think Qin Yancheng will like you for long? He only thinks you’re interesting because you kinda resemble him!
—You think anyone who stays close to him ends well? He’s a lunatic! You don’t even know what kind of person he really is! Do you even know what kind of person he was like before?
—Just wait. I won’t let you have it easy!

Clearly, Zheng Qi had realized begging Shi Zhou was useless and just tore off the mask.

Shi Zhou found his rage amusing. If you play with fire, you should expect to get burned eventually.

If Qin Yancheng hadn’t died so early in the original novel, would scum like Zheng Qi really have gotten a happy ending? Shi Zhou was dying to see just how brutal an ending Qin Yancheng had in store for Zheng Qi.

In the kitchen, Qin Yancheng was calmly washing dishes. Shi Zhou secretly gave him a sideways glare, struggling not to talk to him.

He had planned to match Qin Yancheng’s hot-and-cold attitude with silence, but clearly, it only gave this quiet man more peace and cost him nothing. Meanwhile, someone like Shi Zhou, who loved to talk, was on the verge of imploding. He had to admit this was a battle where he’d harmed himself more than the enemy.

Frustrated, Shi Zhou sulked and went back to browsing Weibo. He hadn’t looked properly in days. He especially wanted to see what had happened after he fell into the water—and whether he’d embarrassed himself too much.

The video clip started from the moment Qin Yancheng brought him back to the boat. Only now Shi Zhou realized that his hands had been clinging tightly to Qin Yancheng the whole time, refusing to let go.

The more he watched, the more his eyes widened. He hadn’t realized just how mortifying the whole scene had been—not only did he cling to Qin Yancheng like a koala, nuzzling into his arms, but he even… cried on his shoulder. Full-on weeping, tear-streaked, pitiful sobbing.

He looked at the number of shares, likes, and comments beneath the video—and immediately jolted up from the couch in a panicked sit-up, face burning red with embarrassment!

And yet, the more ashamed he was, the more he had to watch—to see what else he had done, and whether that was why Qin Yancheng had been acting so weird lately.

The video continued. The people around them were busy and panicked, rushing to help—complete chaos.

Shi Zhou had resigned himself to the reality that he had been bawling into Qin Yancheng’s arms for an absurdly long time. Now, despairing, he just wanted to see how long it had lasted—

Then, in the video, Qin Yancheng gently lifted Shi Zhou’s head and kissed his forehead.

Shi Zhou: !!!!!!!!!!

He was so shocked he nearly dropped his phone. In disbelief, he rewound the video and watched it again.

This time, he saw it even more clearly: not only had Qin Yancheng sneakily kissed his forehead during the chaos, he’d even guiltily glanced around to see if anyone had noticed!

Shi Zhou was stunned. He touched his innocent, now-defiled forehead in horror, unsure what emotion to even process first. In a shaky voice, he called out:

“Qin Yancheng…”

Qin Yancheng had just finished scrubbing the last dish and was about to put it into the cupboard when he heard Shi Zhou call him. Out of instinct he responded coldly and distantly, “Mnn?”

“You—You kissed me secretly?!” Shi Zhou shouted in shocked outrage.

The drawn-out words cracked like thunder—and Qin Yancheng froze on the spot!

His brain went blank like he’d been struck by lightning!

The dish in his hand slipped and shattered on the floor. He stood stiffly for a long moment, then slowly turned to look at Shi Zhou—

If you would like to show some ♡  then please consider supporting this translator! ლ(⌒εー)ლ

Looking at the so-called “double” tent—which was ridiculously narrow—Shi Zhou wanted to scream, “Help me, oh my god!” They had just been in a cold war, not speaking or touching each other.

Earlier, Shi Zhou had been trying to figure out how to light the barbecue grill. No matter what angle or method he tried, the damn charcoal just wouldn’t catch fire. He felt like an idiot holding a lighter to a rock, attempting the impossible.

You c an fi nd t he la te st cha pte rs at ( th e bl mu se . c o m )

After multiple failed attempts, Li You, who was skewering meat nearby, suggested, “It’s not easy to light barbecue charcoal directly with a lighter. Maybe try adding something flammable first?”

Shi Zhou smacked his forehead—that made sense. He grabbed some scrap newspaper, planning to light it first and then add the charcoal.

Having never played with fire much in his life—aside from smoking—he didn’t realize how quickly newspaper burned. In just two seconds, before he could even toss the lit paper into the grill, flames shot up wildly!

Shi Zhou yelped and let go, but not fast enough—the flames licked at his right fingertips.

“Ah—!” He sucked in a sharp breath. Luckily, it was just a small burn on his thumb and index finger.

He had always been sensitive to pain. A few years ago, he would’ve made a big deal out of it, showing off even the tiniest scratch to his doting older brother.

Shi Li would sigh helplessly, applying a band-aid while teasing, “Good thing I got off work early today, or this would’ve healed before I even saw it.”

Their mother had passed away early, leaving only their cold, distant father. To Shi Zhou, Shi Li—seven years his senior—had been both father and mother, his only family and support.

Now, though, Shi Zhou was used to being alone. He didn’t make a fuss, just quietly blew on his stinging fingertips, muttering to himself, blow on it and it won’t hurt, won’t hurt…

As he did, his wrist was suddenly grabbed—

Qin Yancheng, who had been moving things nearby, was now standing right in front of him, frowning at his burned fingers with an unreadable expression.

Still in the middle of their cold war, Shi Zhou, irritated by the silent treatment, yanked his hand back and snapped, “What are you staring at?!”

Qin Yancheng’s frown deepened. “I’ll light the charcoal. Go do something else.”

Shi Zhou, now wary of fire after getting burned, didn’t argue and went to help Tan Zhi hang up star-shaped string lights instead. Qin Yancheng shook his head, speechless.

While arranging the lights, Shi Zhou was interrupted by Assistant Bian. “Brother Shi, here’s some burn ointment.”

Shi Zhou blinked. Are the cameras catching everything? How does even my assistant know I got burned?

“Put it aside. I’ll deal with it after hanging these.” He stretched to reach the highest spot.

“President Qin said you need to apply it now. If you can’t, I’ll help.”

Shi Zhou was baffled. “He told you to buy this?”

What the hell? Wasn’t he just glaring at me like I owed him eight million?

And why couldn’t he just come over and say it himself? Too good to open his precious mouth?

Thus, the awkward tension between them persisted.

Back to the present—

Shi Zhou stared at the tiny tent, struggling to imagine sharing such a cramped space with Qin Yancheng, forced into zero-distance contact.

The cameras were still rolling. Shi Zhou had already spent over an hour playing in the sand to stall, building a miniature castle. If he kept this up, he’d recreate Disneyland.

Despite their silent standoff, Shi Zhou noticed Qin Yancheng had barely eaten at dinner—just a couple of skewers—likely because his delicate stomach couldn’t handle greasy food.

The area was remote, with no delivery options. Shi Zhou considered asking Assistant Bian to fetch something light for Qin Yancheng, but Qin Yancheng had already wordlessly retreated into the cursed tent, seemingly done for the night.

As everyone else retired to their tents, only Tan Zhi remained on the beach, chatting with fans and watching the sea and starry night sky with them via livestream.

Shi Zhou couldn’t pretend to admire the view any longer. Steeling himself, he thought, if I’m gonna die, I’ll die boldly. As long as I’m not embarrassed, Qin Yancheng will be!

Once inside, Shi Zhou was still shocked. “Damn, this tent is tiny! If this is a double, it must be for ‘double stick figures’! What was Director Xin thinking?!”

Qin Yancheng lowered his eyes, silently scooting aside, but it barely made a difference. Shi Zhou had no choice but to lie down stiffly.

They were practically pressed up against each other, sharing a single blanket. The moment Shi Zhou stretched his legs, his ankle brushed Qin Yancheng’s. When he tried to shift, his hand accidentally landed on Qin Yancheng’s waist.

Shi Zhou: …..

I swear I’m not trying to cop a feel!

After much adjusting, they settled back-to-back, squeezed together.

The night was chilly. Despite the thick tent and blanket, the cold seeped in.

Shi Zhou longed to inch closer to the warmth beside him, but their cold war made it awkward. So he subtly scooted backward… little by little…

Unbeknownst to him, Qin Yancheng had turned around. His stealthy movements were fully observed as he unknowingly nestled into Qin Yancheng’s arms.

Qin Yancheng stared at Shi Zhou’s head of long, thick black hair, conflicted. After a long silence, he finally asked coldly, “Who was that ex-boyfriend you mentioned? Zheng Qi?”

Shi Zhou, who could fall asleep the moment his head hit the pillow, mumbled drowsily, “Him? As if he deserves me. I don’t even know him… trash.”

Someone intimate enough to call “brother” so affectionately—their relationship must’ve been deep.

So why were they exes? Had they broken up, yet Shi Zhou still held onto him, even calling for him in moments of danger? Had Shi Zhou been dumped—

In Qin Yancheng’s eyes, Shi Zhou had always possessed a kind of magical charm—just thinking about him could clear away stormy moods and even spark an involuntary sense of joy.

Qin Yancheng took a sharp breath. An inexplicable irritation surged. Who would ever break up with Shi Zhou?

—No. This is Shi Zhou’s personal life. None of my business. Why does it bother me? It shouldn’t.

But despite his thoughts, Qin Yancheng—usually composed and detached—found himself unable to resist asking in a low voice, “Why did you break up?”

Shi Zhou, half-asleep, was startled by the question. His sluggish brain struggled: Break up? What break up? I’d need a boyfriend first to break up! Can the government issue me one?

After a full minute, he remembered his earlier lie about his “ex” to cover his slip-up. Why is Qin Yancheng obsessing over this in the middle of the night?

A good lie mixes truth with fiction. Though half-asleep, Shi Zhou managed to remember this fact, so he said honestly, “He’s dead.”

The minute-long delay seemed like deliberate, grief-laden silence to Qin Yancheng—uncharacteristic of Shi Zhou’s usual cheerfulness.

Qin Yancheng’s heart sank.

Shi Zhou rolled onto his back, murmuring, eyes still closed, “He was only twenty-seven. So young. His annual physical never showed any heart problems…”

The air grew heavy, filled only by the sound of crashing waves and the wind.

Qin Yancheng’s heart plummeted. A bitter, unreasonable anger swelled inside him.

Now he understood why Shi Zhou had cried while making milk that drunken night—Who had Qin Yancheng reminded him of?

Shi Zhou drifted off after that. Qin Yancheng lay rigid, letting Shi Zhou cling to him in sleep.

Why am I angry? Why does this bother me? It’s Shi Zhou’s private matter, his feelings. I—

Qin Yancheng closed his eyes. A vague, unwelcome realization hovered at the edge of his consciousness, one his subconscious refused to acknowledge.

The next morning, for once, Shi Zhou woke first—finally witnessing his own sleeping habits firsthand.

He knew he was a restless sleeper, hence the giant pillow he usually hugged to avoid rolling off the bed.

But this was his first time sharing a bed. To his horror, he realized he hugged his bed partner too!

Blame the cold or the cramped space—he’d latched onto Qin Yancheng like an octopus, legs tangled with his. His first sight upon waking? Qin Yancheng’s blue pajamas.

Because his face was buried in Qin Yancheng’s chest!

Shi Zhou tried to extricate himself carefully, but as he shifted his legs—which had been wrapped around Qin Yancheng’s waist—he felt something very inappropriate pressing against his inner thigh.

The memory of that sight—the one that had made his nose bleed—flashed before his eyes.

Shi Zhou froze as if struck by lightning, terrified of triggering another nosebleed in front of Qin Yancheng. If that happened again he might as well bury himself in front of Qin Yancheng.

Blushing, he attempted to adjust his legs slowly, inch by inch—

Just then, the tent flap was yanked open!

Xin Jing’s energetic and infectious voice called out, “Hey! Why aren’t you two up ye—uh… sorry, my bad! So sorry!”

Not only did he walk in to find the two of them clinging to each other like magnets—in a rather suggestive position, no less—but the real kicker was that the camera crew had followed right behind him!

First thing in the morning and fans were hit with a visual shockwave, instantly overwhelmed as they erupted into frenzied screams:

[AHHHHH! Is this really free content?! Wait, is this really paid content?!]

[SOS! The early bird gets the worm! Mama, I’m eating real food today! So delicious!!]

[The sight has me kicking my cow out and plowing 50 acres myself!]

[I SCREENSHOTTED! I SCREENSHOTTED! QIN YANCHENG’S HAND WAS ON SHI ZHOU’S WAIST!]

[I MISSED IT! SIS, DM ME!]

Qin Yancheng, who’d barely slept last night, was still groggy when he opened his eyes—only to meet Shi Zhou’s flushed face.

Shi Zhou hastily untangled himself, scooting to the side. “Uh… y-you groped my butt too, so we’re even.”

Qin Yancheng immediately withdrew his hand, his ears faintly red. He said expressionlessly, “Be reasonable. That was your waist.”

After Shi Zhou’s near-drowning, rumors spread that “President Qin banned dangerous outdoor activities in a rage over his beloved.”

Xin Jing could only choke down a mouthful of metaphorical blood—this was his idea, after all! He, the director who’d given his all for this show! And sure enough, these fans were all sugar factories in disguise, completely ignoring the objective fact that the two had only been snuggled up because it was still raining outside.

Seeing that everyone had gathered, Xin Jing cleared his throat and announced, “Alright viewers in front of the screen, today on Real: Zero Distance, we’re interrupting the usual schedule for a special foodie episode!”

“Today’s lunch ingredients will be distributed based on your performance in a game. You’ll be cooking as a team, and whether or not you get to eat lunch—it’s all up to you!”

Yang Yuxin was the first to chime in, “Wait, we have to cook? But I can’t cook! Brother Guo, can you cook?”

Over the past couple of days, Guo Chenming had gained a deep and painful understanding of just how clueless, dramatic, and capable Yang Yuxin was of driving his teammates insane. Yet, because the cameras were always rolling, he had to maintain his gentlemanly image and keep from exploding.

Today the rooms had changed—each pair would be sharing a space. Though only Qin Yancheng and Shi Zhou were assigned to the same room, the other two groups were at least housed in the same unit. Still, sharing meals and living space brought its own kind of dread. Guo Chenming was now forced to dwell in the horror of coexisting with Yang Yuxin.

Of course, Guo Chenming wasn’t the only one suffering—Xin Jing, the show’s main director, was hanging on by a thread too.

He seriously started wondering if Yang Yuxin had been planted there to sabotage the show. Every time he opened his mouth, it was a social disaster. If it weren’t for the fact that his greasy, overweight, bald sugar daddy of a sponsor had business ties with Xin Jing’s dad, making it impossible to object… Xin Jing wouldn’t have let Yang Yuxin within a hundred miles of the show.

Shi Zhou twirled his ponytail thoughtfully. “Can we gift or trade ingredients? Like, help someone cook in exchange for a fee?”

“Of course,” Xin Jing replied. “How you handle your ingredients is entirely up to you.”

Three large baskets were displayed nearby. The first basket was overflowing with everything—meat, fish, vegetables, carbs—you name it.

The second basket had noticeably less, maybe about two-thirds full. No big meats or premium items.

The third? One step away from eating bark and dirt. It was filled with nothing but leafy greens—all of which Shi Zhou hated. Not a single substantial dish in sight.

Once the food was shown, it was packed away into the fridge, and Xin Jing moved on to the first challenge:

“Here’s the rule for round one: each team of two will have one person blindfolded, carrying the other on their back. The one on top will guide them through an obstacle course to collect as many peach-heart clips as possible and return safely.”

Shi Zhou grinned and teased, “Qin sir, how about I carry you?”

Qin Yancheng replied expressionlessly, “You’re welcome to try.”

As expected, it ended in total failure. Shi Zhou barely made it two steps before wobbling all over the place. Unsurprisingly, the “who gets blindfolded and who gives commands” decision was obvious across all teams—given their height and build disparities, the results were inevitable.

As the game was about to begin, Shi Zhou rested his chin on Qin Yancheng’s shoulder and turned his head—

Yang Yuxin, with a look of grievous resentment on his face, was struggling pitifully to lift Guo Chenming, a broad-shouldered man, onto his back.

Shi Zhou: ???

The comment section exploded with a unified barrage of

[Hahahahahahahaha].

[No way! What happens if the panda starves to death!]

[Help! My mom asked why I’m laughing like a 300-pound child]

[What were they thinking? Who came up with this terrible idea?]

Behind the scenes, Xin Jing was doing his best not to burst out laughing. Guo Chenming was just too upright—he’d do anything to avoid scandalous rumors or odd pairings. He flat-out refused to carry Yang Yuxin.

Being a senior with a higher status, Guo had the upper hand. Yang Yuxin didn’t have solid backing; even his ties with his sugar daddy were shaky. Left without support, he could only clench his teeth and accept Guo Chenming’s extreme dedication to image management.

Shi Zhou tilted his head, cheek brushing against Qin Yancheng’s shoulder. His thick ponytail swiped gently across Qin’s neck. After a good night’s sleep, his grudges were gone—the cold war already forgotten.

He sounded cheerful. “Qin Yancheng, you smell really good. I’ve been meaning to say that.”

He even took a deep sniff, then rubbed his face against him.

Qin Yancheng instantly felt heat rise to his cheeks and up his neck. His tone was stiff and unnatural when he said, “Move your hair, it tickles.”

He couldn’t smell himself, but the moment Shi Zhou leaned in, there was a faint sweet fruity scent that lingered in the air. It made his arms tense up suddenly, not knowing where to put his hands while carrying Shi Zhou.

Xin Jing cleared his throat. “Ready—go!”

“There’s nothing in front, go straight,” Shi Zhou said in in Qin Yancheng’s ear.

Warm breath tickled his skin. Blindfolded, Qin Yancheng’s other senses felt especially sharp—his scalp tingled and every touch, scent, and sound became magnified several times.

His steps wobbled. He had barely entered the course before he knocked over two bottle-shaped obstacles.

Nearby, Tan Zhi moved swiftly, his dance background showing in his light, agile steps. Paired with the petite and slender Li You, barely over 160 cm tall, he had a clear physical advantage. Shi Zhou, slim as he was, was still a 180 cm tall adult man. His frame alone outweighed any dainty girl.

“Ah! Tan Zhi’s team is ahead—come on, Qin sir, let’s aim for first place!”

First place meant spare ribs—and Qin Yancheng’s corn ribs were especially delicious.

Qin Yancheng took a deep breath to clear his head.

He lifted his feet and stepped smoothly through the tight, unevenly shaped path between obstacles. Even before Shi Zhou could give directions, he nimbly navigated the jumbled course, moving quickly and cleanly. It was as if he’d memorized every obstacle’s position the moment he entered.

“Qin Yancheng, can you see through the blindfold?” Shi Zhou asked, puzzled.

As soon as he spoke, another breath of warm air hit Qin Yancheng’s ear. A wave of tingling sensation washed over him. His steps faltered again, and he knocked into another obstacle.

Shi Zhou wasn’t sure what was going on exactly, but it was obvious: every time he opened his mouth, Qin Yancheng messed up. So he shut up quickly.

Once they entered the clip-collecting phase, though, Shi Zhou had to give directions. He craned his neck, planting his chin atop Qin Yancheng’s head. “A little left… yes…”

“Lower. Crouch down a bit.”

To be fair, Qin Yancheng had some serious strength—he managed to bend into a squat while carrying Shi Zhou. Definitely not the frail, delicate, easily pushed down “sickly beauty” type that Shi Zhou had imagined.

Shi Zhou didn’t have a free hand to hold the clips, so he clipped them directly onto Qin Yancheng’s hair. By the fifth one, just as he was about to turn Qin Yancheng’s head into a sea of red, the director’s voice cut in briskly. “Time’s up!”

Qin Yancheng set Shi Zhou down and took off his blindfold. He rubbed the back of his neck—the spot Shi Zhou had breathed on constantly—still tingling in a weirdly pleasant way.

Shi Zhou had collected one more clip than Li You. Tan Zhi, while fast, had knocked down more obstacles than Qin Yancheng.

As for Yang Yuxin and Guo Chenming… they were in an entirely different genre from everyone else. While the others raced seriously, these two looked like full-time comedy actors.

Yang Yuxin was too thin to carry Guo Chenming to begin with. Blindfolded, he stumbled around, bowling over obstacles like a human pinball. The sounds of bottles and jars crashing echoed nonstop. Eventually, he stepped on something slippery, lost his footing, and the two of them collapsed dramatically.

You c an fi nd t he la te st cha pte rs at ( th e bl mu se . c o m )

“First place: Qin Yancheng & Shi Zhou — 5 points. Second place: Tan Zhi & Li You — 3 points. Third place: Yang Yuxin & Guo Chenming — 1 point.”

Shi Zhou jumped up happily—one step closer to corn ribs and braised pork. If they could win the next round too, it’d be a guaranteed feast.

While he was thinking of food, the comment section had already turned into a rooster coop of shrieks. The moment Shi Zhou looked into the camera and said “you smell really good,” fans lost their minds. Because Qin Yancheng had actually blushed—his ears were completely red, the flush spreading all the way down his pale neck.

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The moment Shi Zhou was swallowed by the icy seawater, his mind was flooded not only with the bone-deep terror ingrained in him but also with the instinctive unwillingness and pain of an unexpected death—something his usually carefree nature had always overlooked.

Countless emotions erupted violently, weaving into a cocoon of despair that trapped Shi Zhou, rendering him unable to break free. Even as the saltwater burned his eyes, he forced them open, uncaring of the pain.

—I don’t want to die.

You c an fi nd t he la te st cha pte rs at ( th e bl mu se . c o m )

A flash of white flickered before his eyes, and then Shi Zhou crashed into someone’s embrace. Instinctively, he clung to them like a lifeline, refusing to let go.

Shi Zhou remained rigid, holding onto Qin Yancheng for dear life, not thrashing like most drowning people would.

Seeing Shi Zhou’s abnormal state, Qin Yancheng’s heart sank. He lifted him to the surface.

The sunlight stung Shi Zhou’s seawater-soaked eyes, forcing them shut. In the darkness of his panic, he only tightened his grip on the only warmth and solid presence he could find.

His mind was in chaos, as if his soul had been shattered, leaving only the memory of his death:

The icy river water flooding the car, filling his nose and mouth, the seatbelt jammed, the door crushed shut by the pressure—dying in suffocating agony—

Rescuers brought them back to the boat. Seeing Shi Zhou trembling violently, his breathing ragged, his face twisted in fear, Qin Yancheng acted decisively. One arm wrapped around Shi Zhou’s shoulders while the other patted his back firmly.

Shi Zhou coughed violently, expelling seawater, then finally gasped out, his voice trembling and incoherent. “I don’t wanna die… Brother, it’s so cold… I don’t wanna die… I can’t see… Brother…”

Qin Yancheng’s heart clenched. He held Shi Zhou close, one hand rubbing his back soothingly, the other gently wiping his seawater-stung eyes, murmuring low in his ear. “Shi Zhou, it’s okay now. It’s okay.”

Xin Jing hurriedly handed over a bottle of water. Qin Yancheng silently took it, dampened a tissue, and carefully wiped Shi Zhou’s red, swollen eyes.

But the dampness seemed endless. Qin Yancheng realized—those weren’t seawater, those were Shi Zhou’s silent tears.

His eyes were tightly shut, not a sound escaping him, yet tears soaked his lashes, dripping down with the seawater from his hair. The only sign was the occasional shuddering breath.

Qin Yancheng was momentarily stunned. He had never seen Shi Zhou like this. Even the discomfort of being mistaken for someone else and called “brother” earlier was forgotten. His heart twisted with an inexplicable panic.

The speedboat quickly docked. Medical staff onshore rushed forward, but Shi Zhou refused to let go of his lifeline, his body stiff and trembling, eyes still unopened.

The more they tried to pry him loose, the tighter he clung, wrapping himself around Qin Yancheng like a koala.

Seeing this, Qin Yancheng simply patted his head and said firmly, “Wait a little longer.”

Qin Yancheng’s mood was clearly foul from worry, and no one dared approach further. But with Shi Zhou, he remained patient, murmuring soothingly, “Don’t be afraid. I’m here. You won’t die.”

Shi Zhou buried his face in Qin Yancheng’s shoulder, unmoving.

In that moment, Qin Yancheng didn’t know what came over him. Without thinking, he lowered his head—

And pressed a light kiss to Shi Zhou’s forehead.

It was meant as comfort, but something deeper, something he hadn’t even considered before, lingered in the gesture.

The action startled even himself. Fortunately, Shi Zhou was still out of it and didn’t notice. Neither did anyone else.

Except—he’d completely forgotten the cameras were still rolling, broadcasting everything live.

The netizens, faced with such a shocking development, were dazed:

[Oh my god, this is a thalassophobia nightmare. I nearly drowned as a kid—this is terrifying.]

[This challenge is way too dangerous!]

[Why were the safety measures so lax? If something happened to Zhouzhou, could you even take responsibility?!]

[President Qin is so gentle… I thought they were fighting today, but they’re clearly still sweet.]

[The way he jumped into the water was so damn handsome. Even the lifeguards weren’t that fast.]

Of course, there were always haters:

[So fake. Even if he can’t swim, wouldn’t he struggle at all? Clearly acting!]

Fans immediately clapped back:

[First you say he can’t act, now you say he’s acting too well? Pick a struggle.]

[You think he’d risk his life for a show? Or that President Qin would play along with something this dangerous?]

[Ever heard of PTSD? Looks like Zhouzhou might’ve had a bad experience with water before.]

[Agreed.]

It took a long time before Shi Zhou’s consciousness fully returned. He forced his stinging eyes open, his vision blurry. The first thing he saw was the sharp line of Qin Yancheng’s jaw, tense and strained.

Qin Yancheng’s hair and clothes were soaked, but his body was warm, his arms around Shi Zhou firm and secure.

“Qin Yancheng?” Shi Zhou’s mind was still a mess, only one thought clear. He murmured, “Qin Yancheng, I don’t wanna die.”

His throat was raw from the seawater, his voice hoarse. Qin Yancheng hummed in response. “Don’t talk. Not wanting to die is good. You won’t die… Don’t be afraid.”

Then he carried Shi Zhou to the show’s RV.

Apart from the primal fear and the words “I don’t wanna die,” Shi Zhou had no idea how he’d gone from flying in the sky to being drenched in Qin Yancheng’s arms.

Most baffling of all—why was Qin Yancheng holding him so tightly? So tight he could barely breathe. Almost as if… Qin Yancheng was nervous?

Assistant Bian rushed over with towels and dry clothes. “President Qin, Brother Shi, I brought clothes and towels. I also bought some ginger. Should I make ginger tea? You both just got soaked—it’ll help warm you up.”

Shi Zhou, placed on the bed, was still disoriented, his eyes burning. He’d been listless until the words “ginger tea” sent him bolting upright in protest. “No! I won’t drink it!”

Qin Yancheng ignored him. “Go make it.”

“Qin Yancheng, I absolutely refuse!”

Shi Zhou’s voice was still hoarse. No matter how hard he tried to sound firm, it came out pitifully weak, almost whiny. Compared to Qin Yancheng’s dominance, he stood no chance.

Qin Yancheng remained unmoved. Soon, the pungent smell of ginger filled the RV.

Shi Zhou, eyes still shut, despaired—My assistant doesn’t even listen to me. This life is unbearable.

Qin Yancheng didn’t bother changing out of his wet clothes first, instead helping the half-blind Shi Zhou undress and get cleaned up.

In the warmth of the RV, Shi Zhou’s fear quickly dissipated, just like when he’d first transmigrated—leaving only faint traces, as if nothing had happened.

It was one of his greatest strengths—his resilience, his ability to bounce back.

As Qin Yancheng unbuttoned Shi Zhou’s shirt, he said, “The doctor will check your eyes later. Anywhere else uncomfortable?”

Shi Zhou, eyes closed, felt a sudden chill—he’d been stripped bare.

He huffed. “Qin Yancheng, weren’t you ignoring me? Weren’t you still mad? Why so chatty now?”

Qin Yancheng’s hands paused briefly before he replied flatly, “Different matters.”

Shi Zhou pouted, eyes still shut as he teased, “You just saw me naked!”

Qin Yancheng sighed. “I’ve seen it all before.”

Once Shi Zhou was cleaned up and the doctor confirmed his eyes and body were fine—just needing eye drops—Qin Yancheng finally relaxed. He turned away to change out of his own soaked clothes.

Hearing the rustle of fabric, Shi Zhou couldn’t resist peeking through his sore eyes—

Qin Yancheng’s smooth back and toned waistline came into view, his broad shoulders and narrow waist a perfect ratio. Not looking would’ve been a waste.

Qin Yancheng sensed the gaze. “Eyes don’t hurt anymore? Close them!”

“Ah,” Shi Zhou opened and closed his mouth, obediently shutting his eyes again. “You’re… pretty open and magnanimous, huh.”

Given how easily Qin Yancheng had held him last night, Shi Zhou wondered if he’d misjudged him. Maybe Qin Yancheng wasn’t homophobic at all.

—Shi Zhou had met some ridiculous people before: guys who wouldn’t change in front of him, acting like a single glance in the restroom was some violation.

Every time, he’d wanted to roll his eyes. Look in the mirror, dude. I have standards.

“You’ve seen me before,” Qin Yancheng stated coolly. “More than once.”

Shi Zhou flushed. “Th-that was doctor’s orders! If I hadn’t watched you, you might’ve—”

Never mind. That’d just lead to those memories.

Qin Yancheng finished changing and poured a cup of ginger tea. “Drink.”

Shi Zhou, leaning against the headboard, shook his head like a rattle, as if testing whether seawater had seeped into his brain. “This stuff’s disgusting. You drink first. Set an example.”

Qin Yancheng steadied Shi Zhou’s head with one hand—lest he shake it right off—then downed the cup in one go. He poured another and handed it to Shi Zhou.

The ginger tea was strong and even held a trace of something that smelled inexplicable. Assistant Bian must’ve added some dubious herbal concoction. One sip nearly sent Shi Zhou to the afterlife.

He barely managed to choke it down before collapsing onto the bed. “I never want to hear the word ‘ginger’ again this year. Seriously.”

Just then, Xin Jing poked his head in. “My assistant bought some brown sugar ginger tea, fried ginger slices, and fresh ginger juice. Want some to warm up?”

Shi Zhou: “…………”

“Feeling better, Shi Zhou?” Xin Jing opened the door wider. “Ah, my bad. Didn’t check the safety measures properly. Thank goodness you’re okay—otherwise, I’d never forgive myself. Well, Qin Yancheng would kill me first.”

Shi Zhou gave a thumbs-up from the bed, signaling he was fine.

This incident wasn’t entirely Xin Jing’s fault. Without the accidental fall, Shi Zhou wouldn’t have realized how deep his fear of water ran. He’d never thought someone as thick-skinned as him could have trauma.

He was worried Qin Yancheng would ask about his reaction. Lying on the spot about death and transmigration wouldn’t be easy—he usually needed to draft his fibs in advance. And right now his head was still foggy and he very likely would mess it up.

Qin Yancheng cleared his throat, about to speak. Shi Zhou braced himself—this is it—

But instead, Qin Yancheng asked, “You don’t have an older brother. Who were you calling ‘brother’ earlier?” Shi Zhou’s file was sparse—no older brothers of any kind. So who had Shi Zhou been clinging to so intimately?

Qin Yancheng hadn’t originally intended to pry into Shi Zhou’s private matters, but now that he’d snapped out of it, he couldn’t understand why he cared so much about something that seemed like such a minor detail. Still, those two words stuck in his throat—neither coming out nor going down—leaving behind a strange, awkward, and sour feeling. In the end, he decided to speak up.

Shi Zhou was taken aback. Had he really called him “brother”? Maybe it was just instinct—every time he ran into trouble, he subconsciously reached out to Shi Li for help, deeply relying on him without realizing it.

Oh god! Wouldn’t that give him away? The original Shi Zhou didn’t have a biological, adoptive, or any kind of older brother in any sense!

Shi Zhou couldn’t understand why someone like Qin Yancheng would care about what kind of relatives he had or not. The only possible explanation was—had Qin Yancheng figured out he wasn’t from this world? Was he trying to use this slip-up to expose him?!

Shi Zhou instantly tensed, his mind racing for an answer. “It’s just… my, my ex-boyfriend! Yeah! Calling your boyfriend ‘brother’ is totally normal, isn’t it?”

Qin Yancheng’s heart sank, like being struck by muffled thunder. A wave of unexplainable frustration and jealousy surged up inside him. He didn’t know what he was angry about, or why he felt so restless, but he simply responded with a calm and expressionless, “Mnn.”

With his eyes closed, Shi Zhou couldn’t see Qin Yancheng’s face and assumed he’d successfully brushed the matter off. He let out a long sigh of relief.

Qin Yancheng stayed with Shi Zhou as he rested for half the day. With cooling eye masks on, Shi Zhou couldn’t see a thing.

For someone as fidgety as him, being unable to see was torture. He was dying of boredom. And to make things worse, Qin Yancheng had inexplicably gone cold again.

Since Shi Zhou couldn’t see and Qin Yancheng responded to everything with a flat “Mnn,” he finally kicked his legs and complained dramatically. “Ugh! It’s just a kiss—your lips didn’t fall off, did they? You’ve been mad long enough! I really said I was sorry, Qin sir!”

Qin Yancheng closed the book in his hand and looked at Shi Zhou, who was half-blind but still flailing like an angry kitten. He frowned helplessly.

He hadn’t been particularly angry, but keeping his distance that morning was intentional.

—Because he couldn’t quite make sense of what had come over him. The moment Shi Zhou had unexpectedly kissed him the night before, a rush of heat had surged straight to his head, blowing away all his reason.

He’d had an absurd, uncontrollable urge to respond even more passionately—to grab Shi Zhou’s head, force his mouth open…

Qin Yancheng took a deep breath. It was clearly irrational and entirely inappropriate.

Last night, he’d stared at the ceiling in the dark while Shi Zhou nestled into his chest, thinking: If I keep my distance, maybe all these strange, chaotic feelings will settle down.

After resting most of the day, Shi Zhou was finally back to his lively self. By the time the sun began to set, he was thrilled to hear they’d be having a beach barbecue and eagerly joined the others in prepping the ingredients.

Tan Zhi came over. “Shi Zhou, feeling better? You scared the hell out of me today.”

Shi Zhou flipped his high ponytail. “Totally fine.”

After a moment, he also gave a quick shout-out to the fans on camera, reassuring them he was safe so they wouldn’t keep worrying.

He had no idea why, but lately he seemed magnetically drawn to trending searches—once again, that thrilling video of his near-drowning had gone viral.

He hadn’t had time to watch it yet, but fans were already screaming excitedly, gushing that Qin Yancheng was just too handsome, too sweet—practically sugar incarnate. Shi Zhou thought: I don’t even remember what happened, but with how cold and disengaged Qin Yancheng’s been today, people still think it was sweet? That’s gotta be one hell of a rose-colored, heart-bubble filter.

He made a mental note to watch the clip later and see just how “sweet” it supposedly was.

Meanwhile, Qin Yancheng, fiddling with the grill nearby, had zero interest in “shipping his own OTP” and watch a video of himself. So he remained completely unaware: that impulsive kiss he’d thought had gone unnoticed had, in fact, been caught crystal-clear on camera—every movement recorded in high definition, setting fans everywhere into a frenzy of screaming.

Xin Jing had watched the two of them cold-shoulder each other all day, and though he didn’t know exactly what had happened during their time alone in the RV—what was said, what went down—he could clearly feel that the atmosphere between them had only gotten worse.

While Qin Yancheng might’ve looked the same on the surface, if you looked closely, he didn’t seem like he was avoiding things anymore—he genuinely looked pissed off.

Xin Jing thought, No way, the ship I’m rooting for can’t fall apart like this! What’s going on in Qin Yancheng’s head? Fine, guess I’ll have to give him a little push.

The reality show schedule had to go on as usual. Speaking into the mic, Xin Jing said, “Tonight, everyone’s responsible for setting up their own sleeping spot! Come on over and pick up your tents!”

Shi Zhou had never slept in a tent before, so the idea delighted him—like a kid building a fort and playing house inside. Who doesn’t have a bit of childlike wonder in their heart?

He eagerly trotted over, waiting for the props team to hand him his tent so he could build it himself.

Just as he waited with excitement, he suddenly saw Xin Jing standing behind the equipment with a strange smile on his baby face… it was that dreaded “fujoshi smile” again.

Shi Zhou’s internal alarm bells rang at full volume—he instantly realized his childlike joy was about to be crushed, and things were probably going to veer straight back into NSFW territory.

They were still in the middle of a cold war, after all, and right now Shi Zhou really didn’t want to deal with Qin Yancheng—much less sleep next to that jerk.

Still clinging to a shred of hope, he asked, “Director Xin, where’s my tent?”

Qin Yancheng had also sensed something was off and looked up. Xin Jing, under the searing gaze of Qin Yancheng (who looked ready to chew him alive), could only steel himself and clap his hands. “Hello, everyone watching at home! Tonight we’ll be showing off a couple’s tent! That’s right—double occupancy!”

You c an fi nd t he la te st cha pte rs at ( th e bl mu se . c o m )

Shi Zhou unfolded the tent as the corner of his lips twitched, practically ready to shake Xin Jing by the shoulders: Director Xin, what are you doing?! Get a grip! You know we’re a fake couple!

—Even a couple’s tent was way too small. Two fully grown men with broad builds? Was he supposed to sleep in Qin Yancheng’s arms or something?!

AN: Qin sir, are you completely blind to the cameras? You thought sneak-kissing wouldn’t be noticed, but the entire internet—

Qin Yancheng: Shut up!

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Shi Zhou was too eager to stop Qin Yancheng from using the computer. The way he leaned forward and grabbed his collar threw him off balance, and he ended up tumbling straight into Qin Yancheng’s arms, who instinctively caught him by the waist.

Shi Zhou’s lips were soft and warm, pressing against Qin Yancheng’s without warning. For a moment, Qin Yancheng was stunned.

The atmosphere was eerily silent.

You c an fi nd t he la te st cha pte rs at ( th e bl mu se . c o m )

Though it only lasted a few seconds, to Shi Zhou, it felt like an eternity.

The moment his lips touched Qin Yancheng’s, his brain seemed to explode with a loud “boom!” All his rationality returned in that steady embrace, tinged with the faint scent of minty shower gel.

Shi Zhou jolted, suddenly realizing the sheer stupidity of what he’d just done. His entire body stiffened, unsure whether to stop this dangerous act immediately or wait for Qin Yancheng to push him away.

The camera, positioned not far from them, silently captured the shocking scene. Fans watching were stunned, almost unable to believe their eyes.

The barrage of comments paused for a brief, eerie moment before erupting like a volcano:

[!!!!]

[Is this content I can watch for free?!]

[Forced kiss! Next up, fade to black!]

[Ohhh, Shi Zhou knows what he’s doing! So bold!]

[President Qin, forget the computer! Go for it—how can you hold back? If you don’t, are you even a man?!]

[This isn’t a ride to kindergarten! Someone, weld the doors shut!]

One second, two seconds…

Qin Yancheng didn’t move at all, not pushing Shi Zhou away immediately.

Perhaps he thought Shi Zhou was just putting on a show of affection for the cameras as part of their fake relationship act. But after a long pause, he finally pulled Shi Zhou out of his arms and steadied him.

—Yet Qin Yancheng’s face showed no expression. Instead of the anger Shi Zhou had expected, he just pursed his lips slightly, looking more… dazed?

Qin Yancheng, of all people, was actually caught off guard?

After a long moment, Qin Yancheng finally snapped out of it, frowning as he said in a low voice, “What are you doing?”

The air in the room seemed to grow heavier, Qin Yancheng’s expression darkening. Fortunately, the camera angle didn’t clearly capture his face.

Shi Zhou knew Qin Yancheng wasn’t truly a calm and indifferent person. His temper was unpredictable, and it was easy to accidentally set him off.

If not for the thousands of fans eagerly waiting for more sweet moments—or even something steamier—Shi Zhou suspected Qin Yancheng might have outright exploded had the cameras been off.

But the deed was done. Standing in front of the camera, facing countless fans and haters waiting to expose him, while also keeping an eye on that ticking time bomb of a laptop, Shi Zhou had no choice but to feign composure.

With forced nonchalance, he laughed naturally, “Why are you still working? Qin Yancheng, aren’t you coming to bed with me?”

Qin Yancheng narrowed his eyes slightly, his lips pressing together again unconsciously.

His cold, silent demeanor was genuinely terrifying. The little courage Shi Zhou had mustered vanished instantly. He just wanted to slap himself for acting before thinking—what the hell had he been thinking, kissing him like that?!

The silence between them didn’t go unnoticed by fans. Though Qin Yancheng’s expression wasn’t fully visible on camera, something felt off:

[What’s going on? Is President Qin angry?]

[No way, he’s just stunned. Probably hasn’t ever seen such a forward wifey, haha!]

[Tsk, the fake couple act is falling apart? Can’t keep up the pretense?]

[Waiting for the crash and burn. I always said ChengZhou was fake!]

[You’re hilarious. Even real couples argue sometimes. If you and your husband had a little spat, would you just divorce?]

Shi Zhou knew he was walking a tightrope now but consoled himself. Fine, let them think our relationship isn’t perfect, that we argue. It’s still better than my secret smut-writing career being exposed and suffering social death.

But to Shi Zhou’s surprise, instead of outright exposing him or even losing his temper—Qin Yancheng gradually reined in the oppressive aura around him and even gave a faint smile. “Mnn, let’s sleep.”

With that, he silently closed the laptop and stood up.

Shi Zhou was stunned. Qin Yancheng wasn’t following the script at all. Left with no choice, he could only follow along, stiffly climbing into bed, nearly tripping over his own feet.

He watched as Qin Yancheng removed the thick robe he’d been wearing, leaving only a thin layer underneath. The top two buttons were undone, revealing his collarbone and a hint of his chest. Normally, Shi Zhou would have found this incredibly alluring, but now, all he felt was unease.

Qin Yancheng was going to sleep so close to him, wearing so little?

And worst of all—they had to share the same blanket?!

Qin Yancheng sat on the edge of the bed, looking down at Shi Zhou lying there. Under his gaze, Shi Zhou tensed up, lying stiffly as if at attention.

Guilty over what he’d just done, he mustered the courage to whisper sheepishly, “You… coming to bed?”

Qin Yancheng nodded calmly, lifting the blanket. He didn’t comment on Shi Zhou’s rigid posture, simply turning off the light and lying down naturally.

From the audience’s perspective, the subtle tension and guilt weren’t visible. All they saw was seamless domesticity:

[Aww! Zhouzhou says no more work, and President Qin obeys. Is this what being whipped looks like?!]

[Love it! Now show us some rated-R content—weld those doors shut!]

[Didn’t get enough of the kiss. At least let us see some cuddling!]

Shi Zhou didn’t dare move, acutely aware of Qin Yancheng lying beside him. He knew the show’s cameras had night vision—even with the lights off, their every move was crystal clear.

“Qin Yancheng…” Shi Zhou whispered, barely audible, “They can still see us…”

Qin Yancheng, clearly still upset about the kiss, responded coldly with a low “Mnn—”

Then, to Shi Zhou’s shock, he turned and pulled him into his arms!

Shi Zhou: !!!

That wasn’t what he’d meant at all!

He hadn’t been asking Qin Yancheng to keep up the fake couple act in bed too!

He’d just been worried Qin Yancheng didn’t know about the night vision and might accidentally reveal something.

Now, with his face pressed against Qin Yancheng’s chest, enveloped in his intoxicating scent, Shi Zhou’s mind went completely blank.

Qin Yancheng murmured, “Half an hour left.”

Time crawled by, each second agonizing. Shi Zhou, the usually shameless pervert, found himself blushing and flustered in this awkward situation, his heart pounding wildly. But after a while, exhaustion took over, and he grew drowsy.

Just as he was about to drool on Qin Yancheng’s pajamas, Qin Yancheng suddenly let go.

—The cameras had finally turned off.

Shi Zhou rubbed his eyes, sitting up groggily. Qin Yancheng’s voice, now off-camera, carried clear irritation. “No next time.”

This wasn’t the first time Shi Zhou had kissed him. Qin Yancheng couldn’t fathom what went through his head. Last time, it was on the cheek. This time, he’d gone further—straight to the lips?

Shi Zhou’s sleepiness vanished instantly. Clearing his throat, he bluffed, his guilt making him even more defiant. “W-well, you can kiss me back! That was my first kiss, you know…”

Qin Yancheng took a deep breath. Seeing he was genuinely angry, Shi Zhou didn’t dare push further. Knowing he was in the wrong, he scooted as far to the edge of the bed as possible, putting distance between them.

Just as he thought Qin Yancheng wouldn’t respond, he heard him ask coldly, “You think only yours was a first kiss?”

Shi Zhou froze, nearly rolling right off the bed!

Oh no. Not only had he impulsively kissed Qin Yancheng, but he’d also accidentally taken what might have been this straight man’s first kiss!

Horrified, Shi Zhou immediately backtracked, apologizing earnestly. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I was wrong!”

Qin Yancheng remained silent. Shi Zhou had never been good at comforting people. Between his drowsiness and his frantic thoughts, he actually ended up falling asleep.

—Absolutely no remorse, sleeping soundly and even rolling over in his sleep to snuggle up to Qin Yancheng.

Qin Yancheng, experiencing sharing a bed for the first time, had trouble sleeping. Just as he was drifting off, he felt a weight on him—Shi Zhou had thrown a leg over him, wrapped an arm around his neck, and even shamelessly nuzzled his shoulder.

Qin Yancheng didn’t wake him or push him away. He just frowned silently, enduring it, telling himself: It’s fine. We’re both men…

The next morning, Shi Zhou was woken by his alarm. Qin Yancheng was already up, the bed empty. With the cameras still off, Shi Zhou relaxed.

Qin Yancheng sat by the window, gazing at the sea bathed in dawn light, a half-finished cup of warm black tea in hand. The scene looked like a painting.

“Morning, Qin sir,” Shi Zhou yawned.

Qin Yancheng didn’t turn, only offering a curt “Mnn” and “Morning.”

Shi Zhou could tell Qin Yancheng was still upset, probably hung up on the first kiss thing.

Remembering he’d fallen asleep before making amends the night before, he groaned inwardly. This is bad. I really messed up. If I couldn’t fix it then, how am I supposed to now?

The awkwardness between them lingered, even as they changed in the dressing room.

Xin Jing, noticing the tension, couldn’t help but blurt out, “Did you two fight? Weird, last night seemed great—”

So great it had shocked the internet, landing them on trending yet again.

The clip of Shi Zhou lunging to kiss Qin Yancheng had even stunned Xin Jing. He’d thought, this guy’s got guts. After this, Qin Yancheng’s gonna murder him.

But bizarrely, Qin Yancheng’s reaction had been utterly unexpected—his first response was pure bewilderment.

Others might not have noticed, but Xin Jing, having known Qin Yancheng for over twenty years, saw right through it. Qin Yancheng had been completely caught off guard, even a little flustered.

Tsk. The iron tree really is blooming. But it seems the iron tree hasn’t even realized it yet—or maybe subconsciously refuses to admit it.

Qin Yancheng said coldly, “You talk too much.”

Xin Jing, realizing he’d touched a nerve, quickly shut up under Qin Yancheng’s glare.

Today’s challenge was an outdoor, sea-based activity that was not something one got the chance to do normally.

Shi Zhou spotted the speedboat and the massive parachute tethered to it, instantly excited. A strong gust filled the parachute, making it billow like a giant kite in the sky.

But Qin Yancheng seemed to be deliberately keeping his distance. Shi Zhou was baffled—this wasn’t like him. Was he still angry?

Not wanting to bother him, Shi Zhou turned to chat with Tan Zhi instead. “Brother Tan, are we gonna fly kites from the speedboat?”

Tan Zhi, a variety show veteran, took one look at the setup and paled. “No. We’re the kites. I think I just developed a fear of heights.”

The thought of being strapped to a parachute and dragged through the air—possibly even dumped into the sea—was enough to make anyone nervous.

Shi Zhou, though, found it thrilling.

He loved roller coasters, but those were all the same. This was something entirely new.

Xin Jing cleared his throat, announcing the start of filming. “Good morning, everyone! As you can see, today’s challenge involves teamwork between the person in the air and their partner on the boat. The one in the air must answer questions read by their teammate below. The team with the most correct answers wins!”

The first team drawn was Tan Zhi and Li You. Li You was genuinely terrified of heights, and as a woman, the task of “flying” fell to Tan Zhi.

They boarded the speedboat, and Shi Zhou watched as Tan Zhi was lifted into the sky. Li You took the question board and read into the walkie-talkie. “Tan Zhi? Can you hear me?”

Static crackled before Tan Zhi’s voice came through. “Aahhh! What? Oh god, it’s so high! Li You… just read the question! I can do this!”

Shi Zhou burst out laughing, feeling a little bad for Tan Zhi. Sending someone afraid of heights up there was cruel.

Li You read the question twice before Tan Zhi finally heard it and started struggling to answer.

Shi Zhou noticed Qin Yancheng was still acting distant, clearly avoiding him.

—Qin Yancheng wasn’t the petty type. Why was this cold war dragging on?

Even when Shi Zhou laughed so hard he stumbled back into Qin Yancheng earlier, Qin Yancheng had just silently stepped aside.

Finally fed up, Shi Zhou couldn’t keep his temper in check anymore, even on camera. “Hey! Later, I’ll go up, and you read the questions for me. Got it?”

Qin Yancheng didn’t react to Shi Zhou’s attitude, just nodded slightly. “Be careful.”

Shi Zhou would handle the parachute—partly because he wanted to, partly because he worried about Qin Yancheng’s heart.

Though the doctor had said the acute angina episode was a fluke and his heart was fine, Shi Zhou couldn’t help but worry.

Professionals strapped harnesses around Shi Zhou’s waist and thighs, ensuring he’d stay seated even in the air.

Once secured, Shi Zhou waited, buzzing with excitement. Grinning at the camera, he flashed a peace sign.

A strong gust of wind hit as the speedboat accelerated, the parachute billowing behind him.

The harness tightened, yanking him upward—Shi Zhou was airborne!

He laughed wildly, exhilarated as the world shrank below him. The sea sparkled, waves crashing against the distant shore…

But Shi Zhou could barely see any of it, the wind forcing him to squint.

“Holy…” Tan Zhi, still wobbly after his own flight, muttered, “It’s… kinda breezy up there.”

[Hahahahaha I need to see Shi Zhou’s expression!]

[Just checked the private cam—that fixed angle turns everything into a meme. Shi Zhou’s face is being blown away!]

[Brother Tan is adorable too, open-mouth shock.jpg]

[I’m dying, the parachute cam is brutal! My Shi Zhou’s delicate face is stretched into a pancake!]

Amid the laughter, Qin Yancheng’s voice came through Shi Zhou’s earpiece, steady and reassuring. “Shi Zhou, can you hear me?”

Shi Zhou pressed the walkie-talkie and shouted, “Yeah! Speak up, the wind’s too loud!”

“Okay. First question—”

Qin Yancheng had barely started when Shi Zhou noticed the wind dying down.

Before he even had time to hear the question clearly, the wind suddenly shifted direction—now blowing in from his right!

Shi Zhou was stunned, not yet realizing what consequences this would bring—when suddenly, the force pulling him upward from behind vanished!

Without the wind to keep it inflated, the parachute deflated in an instant.

Shi Zhou’s eyes widened. He faintly heard Qin Yancheng shout his name urgently.

A short gasp caught in Shi Zhou’s throat—then, in a split second, the sensation of freefall gripped his organs, as if his soul were being ripped out—

Saltwater flooded his nose and mouth the next moment, the icy ocean swallowing him whole.

Logically, he knew how to swim.

But the terror of drowning, etched deep in his subconscious from his death, paralyzed him. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t move his limbs.

On the boat, the others didn’t realize the severity of the situation.

“Damn, that’s unlucky!” someone remarked.

This game had been done countless times in other shows, and people falling into the water wasn’t uncommon. A shift in wind direction could easily cause a crash, so it wasn’t even considered an “accident”—just bad luck.

Qin Yancheng’s expression darkened the moment the parachute deflated. When Shi Zhou hit the water, his composure cracked—he stood abruptly, tossing aside the walkie-talkie and question board, eyes locked on where Shi Zhou had fallen.

Xin Jing, amused by the formerly bickering “couple” now showing such concern, teased, “Look at you, all worried. I asked Shi Zhou—he can swim. You’re such a tsundere—”

But before he could finish, Tan Zhi interrupted urgently “Director Xin! Shi Zhou hasn’t surfaced!”

You c an fi nd t he la te st cha pte rs at ( th e bl mu se . c o m )

Everyone froze. Xin Jing whipped around to look—the sea was eerily calm, only the red-and-white parachute floating on the surface. There was no sign of Shi Zhou.

Realizing something was wrong, Xin Jing opened his mouth to speak—

But Qin Yancheng had already thrown off his jacket, stepped onto the railing, and leaped off the speedboat into the water.

If you would like to show some ♡  then please consider supporting this translator! ლ(⌒εー)ლ

This was truly unexpected.

Countless netizens had speculated wildly, guessing everyone from A-list celebrities to obscure unknowns, but no one had imagined that the “mysterious guest” would be Qin Yancheng!

[Is that really Qin Yancheng? How is this possible…]

[Oh my god, we finally get a close-up of Qin Yancheng’s god-tier face! I can’t believe it!]

[Who convinced Qin Yancheng to join a reality show? They’re a saint! Let me bow to them!]

Screams erupted one after another, flooding the comments section with a chaotic sea of “AHHHHHH!”

You c an fi nd t he la te st cha pte rs at ( th e bl mu se . c o m )

Qin Yancheng was notoriously low-key, and there were very few clear photos of him online. Many people didn’t even recognize him at first glance.

After all, more famous than his face were his staggering wealth, his business sector legends, and his reputation as the “pinnacle of high-quality men” in the eyes of countless admirers.

So when he appeared, everyone was stunned—though for different reasons.

Those who didn’t recognize him were baffled by the sudden frenzy in the comments:

[Damn, with looks and presence like that, how is he not famous yet? Is he a newbie?]

[Who is this nobody? Never seen him before. Another sugar baby riding on their sugar daddy’s coattails?]

Meanwhile, those who did recognize Qin Yancheng were equally shocked:

[To the person above: That is the sugar daddy himself! The real Qin Yancheng!]

[How much did they pay to get Qin Yancheng here? He could fund a dozen shows like this with a flick of his wrist!]

[Wait, maybe it’s not about money. Have you considered… he might be here for someone?]

[You mean… for Shi Zhou?!]

[Holy shit, is this really just a “sugar daddy” relationship? Even as a boyfriend, this is next-level devotion!]

Shi Zhou couldn’t see the live comments, but he didn’t need to—he was just as stunned as everyone else.

Thanks to strict upbringing and excellent acting skills, he managed to keep his composure despite the internal screaming. He pretended to be completely unfazed, as if he’d known all along.

Though he had no idea why Qin Yancheng, who should be resting and recovering, would come here to exhaust himself, the show must go on. Shi Zhou naturally stepped forward, positioning himself beside Qin Yancheng as if this had all been prearranged.

Qin Yancheng calmly greeted the camera. “Hello everyone, I’m Qin Yancheng.”

He rarely dressed so casually, and the show’s styling softened his usual intimidating aura, making him seem more approachable. Shi Zhou caught a whiff of Qin Yancheng’s faint cologne and glanced at him, suddenly struck by how much he resembled a proud, aloof white cat lazily narrowing its eyes.

The microphone returned to the head director, Xin Jing, who asked seriously: “President Qin, what made you accept our invitation to join Real: Zero Distance as a surprise guest?”

Qin Yancheng replied, “I think everyone has already guessed.”

His expression remained neutral, and he wasn’t one to feign affection. But to everyone’s surprise—especially Shi Zhou’s—he suddenly reached out and wrapped an arm around Shi Zhou’s waist!

The audience dropped their metaphorical melons in shock. The anti-fans dropped their keyboards.

Was Qin Yancheng openly acknowledging his relationship with Shi Zhou?!

As if perfectly timed, the trending topics instantly shifted. Entertainment media and gossip accounts exploded like loaded weapons finally unleashed:

#QinYanchengAirportAnnouncement
#QinYancheng:DoINeedtoPayYoutoDateSomeone?
#ChengZhouShipIsReal
#RomanceLikeADrama—GiveTheScriptToTheBoss
#QinYanchengProtectingHisWifeIsSoHot

The combined effect was staggering. Qin Yancheng’s actions—joining the show “for Shi Zhou”—paired with the earlier airport footage of him shielding Shi Zhou while coldly asking the media, “Do I need to submit a relationship report for your approval—or should I start cutting you paychecks?”—was earth-shattering.

Shippers were in a frenzy. The ship they’d quietly supported, constantly dismissed as “the least likely to be real,” was now undeniable.

Of course, while the flood of explosive videos shocked everyone, behind the scenes, Qin Yancheng’s hand on Shi Zhou’s waist was actually clenched in a fist, not truly resting there, and he seemed slightly uncomfortable.

Shi Zhou’s face was a little red. He’d always been bold with words, but when it came to Qin Yancheng, things were different.

Any physical contact made him involuntarily recall that bizarre moment in the bathroom when Qin Yancheng had pinned him to the floor, naked. The more he thought about it, the hotter his face grew, his mind conjuring up an entire erotic novel.

Just being near Qin Yancheng made his brain auto-write smut, so now he couldn’t even crack dirty jokes or get too close without embarrassment.

The two of them stood there with an odd tension until Shi Zhou broke the silence, turning off his waist mic and whispering reproachfully, “Qin Yancheng, didn’t the doctor tell you to rest?”

He’d just narrowly escaped death a few days ago. Joining an outdoor reality show now was undeniably worrying.

—But honestly, Qin Yancheng’s appearance was too satisfying.

Shi Zhou could practically see the anti-fans’ faces after being slapped with the hardest, loudest rebuttal possible.

The public opinion tide had turned instantly. All the “sugar baby” accusations became laughable, with others now retorting, “Dirty minds see filth everywhere!”

“When you cyberbullied Shi Zhou, did you have any real evidence?”

“You slandered him first, then escalated to insulting his parents. Sounds like you’re the ones who grew up without parents.”

Most anti-fans fell silent, while a few, unwilling to admit defeat, grumbled:

“It’s all fake! Just marketing. They’re obviously pretending!”

“Even if it’s real now, they’ll break up soon. Zero chemistry!”

Comments like these weren’t rare. Whether they’d noticed something or were just lashing out in frustration was unclear.

Xin Jing, the only outsider who knew their relationship was fake, felt a twinge of guilt watching the comments. He thought: Fine, if you doubt my ship, I’ll just add more romantic segments and drown you in dog food!

Sure, forcing Qin Yancheng to play along might get him punched, but it was all to shut the haters up.

In fact, the more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea. Maybe he could even turn this fake relationship real?

But the show had to go on. Xin Jing cleared his throat and announced, “Let’s start with a warm-up game. You’ll need to retrieve ten glass marbles from a ‘terror box’ as quickly as possible. Those who draw the same item will team up. Your completion time determines the difficulty of your next challenge.”

“Oh, and if you can guess what’s inside your box, you’ll get a 15-second time reduction!”

The guests drew lots to choose their boxes. When it was Shi Zhou’s turn, he reached for a stick—only to see Xin Jing behind the camera, frantically wiggling his eyebrows like a dancing seaweed-covered bun.

Shi Zhou was confused, trying to decipher this abstract, avant-garde hint.

But it was too cryptic. Giving up, he tentatively picked a stick labeled “No. 3.” Xin Jing’s devastated expression told him he’d chosen wrong.

As the countdown began, everyone nervously reached into their boxes.

Shi Zhou’s first impression was damp.

Whatever was inside felt like it had been fished out of water—slimy, thicker than a finger, and covered in rough, scaly texture. The cold, creeping sensation made his skin crawl.

Worse, it was alive, slowly squirming and even trying to climb onto his fingers.

Shi Zhou bit his tongue. His imagination ran wild, conjuring up some long, unknown creature—maybe with rows of tiny, needle-like teeth.

The thought alone made him shudder. Outwardly calm, internally he was screaming. What the hell is this?! Trying to gross me to death?!

Nearby, Yang Yuxin suddenly let out an exaggerated shriek. “Ew! What is this? It’s so disgusting! Slimy and alive! It’s all mucus, ahhh!”

Already on edge, Shi Zhou nearly jumped out of his skin. He gritted his teeth, trying to focus on finding the marbles, but Yang Yuxin’s dramatics made it even harder. He wished he could muzzle him.

Desperate for distraction, Shi Zhou glanced at Qin Yancheng.

Qin Yancheng had one hand steadying the box, the other calmly retrieving marbles. His movements were effortless, as if his box were empty except for the glass beads—no hesitation, no fear.

Shi Zhou relaxed slightly. Even if I didn’t understand Xin Jing’s hint, he and Qin Yancheng have been friends for over twenty years. They must have some understanding.

If Xin Jing wanted them to pair up in teams of two, then his and Qin Yancheng’s tasks should have been the same. Since Qin Yancheng wasn’t afraid, perhaps whatever was inside, though alive, wasn’t actually scary.

Shi Zhou tried to console himself this way, suppressing the creeping dread as he forced himself to keep searching for the glass beads. He had no choice but to push aside that cold, scaly living creature, all while enduring Yang Yuxin’s exaggerated horror sound effects in the background.

“Congratulations to President Qin for completing the task first, with a time of forty seconds. Did you guess what was inside the box?” Xin Jing announced.

Qin Yancheng took the wet wipes handed to him by the staff, meticulously wiping each finger five or six times, as if thoroughly disgusted.

His lips moved slightly, but no sound came out as he answered Xin Jing’s question—

“Correct answer! Reward time of fifteen seconds, reducing the total time to twenty-five seconds!”

Shi Zhou turned to Qin Yancheng in confusion, eager to know what he had said. Why had he answered so quietly, like some secret code?

The live chat exploded the moment the cloth covering the box was lifted and Qin Yancheng reached inside:

[This is too terrifying, I can’t watch]

[The production team went too far, this is really scary. Even I turned into a meme just watching through the screen]

[Will Qin Yancheng feel scared afterward if he finds out?]

[Damn, he knew what was inside! What a beast]

[Just watching through the screen gives me goosebumps. Our President Qin is truly ruthless]

[Ahhhh, my ship is sailing! Qin Yancheng deliberately didn’t say it out loud just now!]

[What do you mean? I was wondering why he didn’t say it aloud]

[It’s for Shi Zhou! If he didn’t say it, Shi Zhou might not be as scared. Oh my god, so thoughtful! The ChengZhou ship is real!]

[Pfft! It’s obviously fake, just acting for the show. You shippers will latch onto anything! How could Qin Yancheng possibly know for sure that he and Shi Zhou would be paired up? Was he watching the live stream too?]

Yang Yuxin’s exaggerated screams suddenly stopped.

After a brief silence, he let out an ear-piercing, blood-curdling shriek!

He yanked his hand out and jumped around frantically, shaking his arm and wailing, his voice cracking with fear: “Mine’s a snake too! Mine’s a live snake! No way! I’m out!”

—He was standing close to Qin Yancheng and had caught the silent word “snake” on Qin Yancheng’s lips.

Shi Zhou froze. So Qin Yancheng’s box had a snake inside?

Wait… why does the thing against my hand also feel like a snake?

But he was only puzzled, unable to tell if it was just psychological suggestion messing with him.

Yang Yuxin’s reaction was so intense and certain—it seemed more likely that his box actually had a snake. Could it be that the rigged draw had failed?

If so, then heaven wasn’t on their side—Yang Yuxin would end up paired with Qin Yancheng!

He had seen the behind-the-scenes arrangements. Tan Zhi and Li You’s agencies had already agreed to team up and push a ship for marketing purposes. The ideal groupings were Shi Zhou with Qin Yancheng, Tan Zhi with Li Xiao, leaving Yang Yuxin to pair with Guo Chenming.

Qin Yancheng walked to the front of the box, passing Yang Yuxin with a slight frown. The crying and wailing clearly annoyed him, and he didn’t bother hiding his impatience, even on camera.

The scene was beyond ridiculous:

Yang Yuxin was sobbing while touching a few motionless sea cucumbers, screaming about snakes.

[This is ridiculous. Either his hands don’t work, or his brain doesn’t.]

[Our Yu Xin is still young, just turned eighteen. It’s normal for him to be scared.]

[More like his brain is underdeveloped. If you’re going to hog the spotlight, at least do it right. This crying act is just cringe.]

[I thought Shi Zhou might just be a pretty but useless face, but he didn’t even flinch while touching a snake. My impression of him just improved.]

[The calm duo! Both of them look so unbothered!]

Qin Yancheng approached Shi Zhou’s box, where snakes of black, white, green, and yellow colors coiled and slithered, flicking their tongues and wrapping around Shi Zhou’s fingers.

Shi Zhou only appeared calm. After the little snakes repeatedly coiled around his fingers, the eerie sensation grew unbearable. He couldn’t help but whisper, “Hey, what’s actually in here? I think mine might be a snake too?”

Qin Yancheng asked, “Are you afraid of snakes?”

Shi Zhou stiffened, then gravely replied, “Don’t tell me… it really is a snake?”

There wasn’t much he feared—not darkness, ghosts, or even rats. But snakes? Absolutely terrifying.

Qin Yancheng noticed Shi Zhou’s pupils dilate slightly in fear. Despite his bravado—”Of course I’m not afraid, it won’t bite anyway”—the last three words lacked conviction. The more he spoke, the more his scalp prickled as he imagined the thing coiling around his wrist was a snake…

Shi Zhou’s entire body broke out in goosebumps, his scalp tingling. He bit his tongue discreetly, desperate to find the remaining beads and pull his hand out.

But the more panicked he was, the harder it became.

Qin Yancheng watched for a moment before turning to Xin Jing. Xin Jing, under Qin Yancheng’s accusatory gaze, quickly gestured innocently—”I really tried to hint that he shouldn’t pick this one!”

“Can I take his place?” Qin Yancheng asked.

Shi Zhou looked up, thinking that blatantly breaking the rules wouldn’t fly. He steeled himself—just five more beads. Come on, you can do this!

Xin Jing saw a chance to redeem himself and cheerfully addressed the audience. “Normally, no. But since I’m a director who listens to the audience, let’s put it to a vote! Show me the comments—”

The shippers, realizing their moment had come, flooded the chat:

[Yes yes yes!!!]

[Quick! Let Qin sir protect his wife! Ahhh!]

[President Qin is so doting, my heart is melting!]

[Let President Qin step in! My crush may be taken, but at least I get to feast on sugar!]

[Xin Jing, you sly dog! Bet you’re a ChengZhou shipper too!]

Xin Jing happily obliged. “Looks like everyone’s eager for President Qin to take over!”

Qin Yancheng rolled up his sleeves and said softly to Shi Zhou, “I’ll do it.”

Shi Zhou, seeing the plan actually work, didn’t stubbornly insist. Relieved, he immediately withdrew his hand, cheering on his “savior”. “Go for it, Qin sir! You got this!”

[Oh my god, those three words—”I’ll do it”—have me swooning!]

[Mama asked why I’m suddenly rolling around laughing! Hehehe]

[I’m in love! ChengZhou is REAL!!]

[You guys are seeing things. Qin Yancheng sounded totally indifferent.]

[Private jet rides, personally accompanying him to the show—if this is indifference, I’ll take a dozen of these “indifferent” boyfriends.]

[I love how Shi Zhou is a real man. Even when scared, he toughed it out without being dramatic. New fan here!]

[Especially with that crybaby next to him bawling over sea cucumbers. Thanks for the contrast, I guess.]

Qin Yancheng reached into the box, and Shi Zhou circled around to look—inside were snakes of various vibrant colors and patterns, their tongues flicking as they swayed their heads.

Shi Zhou shuddered, quickly averting his gaze, too afraid to look any longer.

Nearby, Tan Zhi raised his hand. “I found all ten beads!”

Xin Jing announced, “Congratulations, Tan Zhi! Time: one minute forty seconds. Any guesses on what’s inside?”

“I think… hair? Or maybe fabric strips?”

The actual contents were tangled seaweed of different varieties, making it a reasonable miss.

Yang Yuxin outright refused to put his hand back in. Shi Zhou walked over and saw him weeping over a few sea cucumbers, sniffling and even blowing a snot bubble in his exaggerated distress.

The sight was so absurd that Shi Zhou, never one to resist laughter, burst out giggling.

He quickly realized that laughing at someone like that wasn’t very polite, so he coughed twice to cover it up. But the situation was just too ridiculous, and he had a habit where the harder he tried to hold back, the more he wanted to burst out laughing. The fact that he didn’t actually cackle out loud was already a courtesy to Yang Yuxin.

Yang Yuxin, perhaps due to his youth, seemed determined to play the delicate flower act.

He seemed utterly unaware of how problematic his attention-grabbing antics were. Though he’d successfully become the center of attention as desired, the path of “notoriety over reputation” was truly inadvisable—this kind of behavior could only earn him a place in the biodiversity catalog of mythical creatures from the Classic of Mountains and Seas.

When Shi Zhou laughed at him, he started wailing even louder with exaggerated distress. Qin Yancheng, evidently irritated by Yang Yuxin’s noisy performance, coolly commanded, “Quiet.”

Yang Yuxin’s fans, long accustomed to this persona, saw nothing unusual about his behavior. Instead, they rushed to his defense:

[How mean! Ganging up on our Yuxin—one laughs at him, the other yells at him.]

[What’s so funny, Shi Zhou? You needed Qin Yancheng to bail you out too!]

[Not funny? Sea cucumbers and snakes are totally different. And Shi Zhou didn’t cry even when terrified.]

Qin Yancheng retrieved the last bead, once again meticulously wiping his hands. He frowned at Xin Jing. “Did you wash these?”

Xin Jing nodded emphatically. “Yes! Many times, I swear!”

If he’d scrubbed them eighty-one times just for Qin Yancheng’s germaphobic standards, this show would’ve been over before it started.

Guo Chenming and Li You finished their tasks shortly after. Xin Jing, clearly unwilling to indulge Yang Yuxin’s theatrics, announced the results:

“Congratulations on your successful pairings! Team One: Qin Yancheng and Shi Zhou. Team Two: Tan Zhi and Li You. Team Three: Guo Chenming and Yang Yuxin.”

By the time they arrived, it was already afternoon. With the season’s early sunsets, the sky was a fiery red, casting golden ripples over the sea. Shi Zhou couldn’t resist snapping a few photos.

Today was just the “prelude” filming—a small game to divide the teams. The real challenge began tomorrow. As a live variety show, they needed ample buildup.

But Qin Yancheng and Shi Zhou’s presence had already set the show ablaze.

Shi Zhou had assumed pretending to be boyfriends wouldn’t be too challenging. Even with haters scrutinizing their every move, the afternoon had passed smoothly.

Because as long as they shared the frame and interacted naturally, the audience’s rose-tinted lenses would supply the sugar.

—But when faced with the single bed in their room, Shi Zhou retracted that thought instantly, petrified.

He had to share a bed with Qin Yancheng?!

Worse, the cameras were still rolling. He couldn’t even react without breaking character.

Qin Yancheng, ever unreadable, showed no outward reaction. But given his habit of locking his bedroom door at home—and Shi Zhou’s suspicion that he might be homophobic—his internal turmoil was likely just as intense.

No need to ask—this was probably just as shocking for him.

But the two shared a rare moment of understanding, neither addressing the elephant in the room as they busied themselves unpacking. Surprisingly, the atmosphere wasn’t awkward.

Most of the work fell to Qin Yancheng. If left to Shi Zhou’s domestic skills, chaos would’ve ensued.

While Qin Yancheng organized, Shi Zhou chatted with viewers. “You can still see me because you’ve switched to my personal cam, right?”

Private cams required extra payment. Usually, only devoted fans paid, but Shi Zhou also had haters—determined to expose his fake relationship or just hurl abuse.

Instead of ignoring them like most celebrities, Shi Zhou grinned. “How polite of you to pay before insulting me! Did you know I get a cut? Thanks for sponsoring me! Hahaha!”

Haters: “……”

Shi Zhou added, “I will use that money to treat myself and live a long life—at least several more decades.”

The fans, who had originally been locked in a fierce argument with the haters, instantly burst into laughter. Seeing the haters unwittingly line the pockets of the very person they despised the most—and even being mocked as “delivering gifts to his door”—everyone immediately felt there was no point in getting worked up over these rabid haters anymore.

With that, everyone’s attention shifted away from the haters and turned to what they cared about most: the relationship between Shi Zhou and Qin Yancheng.

[Show us some ChengZhou moments! Feed us dog food!]

[Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!]

Qin Yancheng, nearly done, asked casually like he normally did, “What do you want to eat for dinner?”

Distracted by the chat, Shi Zhou answered without thinking, “Tomato beef brisket, and fried pork tenderloin!”

Qin Yancheng gave a faint “Mnn” and called for ingredients.

Shi Zhou was used to this. When Aunt Zhang wasn’t around, Qin Yancheng would cook and ask for his preferences.

Truthfully, Qin Yancheng could make anything delicious—even Shi Zhou’s detested celery became palatable in his hands. It was almost a waste he wasn’t a chef. It was too bad he rarely cooked though.

Snapping back to reality, Shi Zhou asked, “What were we talking about?”

But the chat had already erupted:

[Oh. My. God. Qin Yancheng cooks at home?! So sweet! So doting!]

[Where’s the domineering CEO and sweet wifey? Though Shi Zhou doesn’t seem very “wifey”… But President Qin COOKS?!]

[Did President Qin become a househusband for love? Then we gladly hand over our Zhouzhou to you!]

Shi Zhou admitted, “Actually, he doesn’t cook much at home—”

[Oho! Cohabitation! Already like an old married couple!]

[Back to the main point—we want a kiss!! Don’t play hard to get, or I’ll kneel and beg! Zhouzhou, please~]

The chat exploded with demands for a kiss. Shi Zhou teased, “That’s not for kids! Use your imaginations… Oh, you’re adults? Still no!”

[Is Zhouzhou afraid of teasing President Qin and getting ravished? Heehee~]

[This reminds me of that fanfic author who writes the smuttiest stuff. Where’s she been? I miss her.]

[Same! Secret code… Airship?]

Shi Zhou froze, realizing he hadn’t fed his “little perverts” in days.

The past few days had been nerve-wracking because of Qin Yancheng’s sudden illness, and he hadn’t been in the mood to produce content. But now, inspiration was flowing like a spring—especially after Shi Zhou had accidentally been pinned to the bathroom floor by Qin Yancheng. At this point, Qin Yancheng was like a walking inspiration power bank—Shi Zhou only had to touch him and his mind would instantly overflow with spicy smut ideas.

But unfortunately he was without his laptop, and typing on his phone was torture. Not only did his inspiration dry up in front of the phone, typing for too long on it caused his thumbs to hurt.

At most, he could snap some photos of Qin Yancheng and pretend they were passerby shots for the fans.

As he skimmed the chat, one comment stood out:

[Can you bring President Qin to more shows? We can’t get enough!]

Even Qin Yancheng’s fans, who’d once accused Shi Zhou of clinging to fame, now viewed him more favorably. Without Shi Zhou, Qin Yancheng would never have joined such a show.

He rarely attended even financial magazine shoots or press conferences, deeming them pointless.

This was a rare treat—a whole week of Real: Zero Distance, with private cams offering nonstop Qin Yancheng.

Pair it with Shi Zhou’s cam, and it was double the joy—360 degree access to their idol.

Shi Zhou flicked his high ponytail, wondering—indeed, why had Qin Yancheng agreed to this?

Just then, Qin Yancheng coughed—likely from steam irritation. Remembering he’d just been discharged, Shi Zhou hurried to the kitchen. Qin Yancheng, without turning, said mildly, “Fried pork’s on the table. Eat if you’re hungry.”

“Not hungry. I heard you coughing—you okay?” Shi Zhou whispered near Qin Yancheng’s ear. “Also, why did you join this show? To support Xin Jing’s director work?”

The audience assumed it was “love,” but Shi Zhou wasn’t that delusional. Qin Yancheng wouldn’t drop everything to fly cross-country for him. But realizing Xin Jing was the director had cleared things up.

Qin Yancheng paused mid-stir, turning and repeating expressionlessly, “Support Xin Jing’s work?”

Shi Zhou patted his shoulder, still whispering lest the cam caught it. “Didn’t take you for the loyal type. Sign me up as your bro too.”

Qin Yancheng’s ear tingled from Shi Zhou’s breath. Frowning, he was about to say sonething only to be cut off by another cough. Shi Zhou patted his back soothingly. Qin Yancheng covered his mouth. “Dinner’s soon. Wait outside.”

The fans couldn’t hear their whispers, but the angle made it look like Shi Zhou had kissed Qin Yancheng. The chat went wild yelling things like ear kisses are too tame! Go for the lips!

Qin Yancheng cooked a feast but barely ate, likely due to poor appetite post-illness and lingering discomfort. He only sat politely as Shi Zhou ate, keeping him company.

Shi Zhou, on the other hand, wished he could eat more slowly—because once dinner was over, he’d have to face a headache-inducing dilemma: there was only one bed, and not even an extra blanket. How were they supposed to sleep like this?

But no matter how slow he ate, the inevitable still came. After showering and changing into his pajamas, Shi Zhou decided to climb under the covers first. After all, in another hour the cameras would be turned off, and once they’d wrapped up the day’s “performance,” he could talk with Qin Yancheng about how to deal with the sleeping arrangement.

Lying on the bed and scrolling through his phone to kill time, Shi Zhou turned his head and happened to catch sight of Qin Yancheng putting on his gold-rimmed glasses. He couldn’t help but sneak a few more glances—he looked so good. The limited-edition version of Qin Yancheng had made another appearance.

Even after seeing it so many times, he still found the temptation hard to resist. Sure enough, the chat agreed:

[God! So handsome! The ultimate “elegant villain” archetype!]

[Screenshot! Why is the camera fixed? Move closer!]

[I wanna possess Shi Zhou and see Qin Yancheng up close!]

Shi Zhou grinned. “Want HD photos? I’ll snap some later and post them for everyone to appreciate.”

Qin Yancheng, setting up his laptop at the desk, asked, “What HD photos?”

Shi Zhou teased, “HD shots of whoever’s handsom—” He cut off abruptly, eyes widening in horror.

Qin Yancheng only wore glasses when using his laptop!

The night Shi Zhou had discovered Qin Yancheng’s collapse, he’d meant to delete his Weibo login and browsing history.

But Qin Yancheng’s near-death experience had made him forget entirely.

Now, watching Qin Yancheng power up the laptop, Shi Zhou panicked.

Why did he bring this laptop?!

—No, no, no! He couldn’t let Qin Yancheng use it now! The records were still there!

The sheer embarrassment if Qin Yancheng discovered his… creative writing was unimaginable.

Worse, they were live. Thousands would witness it. Even if Qin Yancheng just read his Weibo handle aloud, his secret identity would be exposed in front of the entire internet, leading to social suicide.

Shi Zhou bolted upright like he’d been electrocuted. Qin Yancheng startled, turning to ask what was wrong.

“…It’s so late. Are you working?”
Shi Zhou was so nervous his cheeks burned. His brain, overwhelmed by shock and embarrassment, completely shut down—he couldn’t think of a single way to stop Qin Yancheng from using the laptop.

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The screen had already lit up, casting a glow on Qin Yancheng’s face, with the bridge of his tall nose casting a sharp shadow. Qin Yancheng looked over, puzzled, through his glasses. He watched as a suspicious flush spread over Shi Zhou’s fair face. The next moment, Shi Zhou jumped barefoot off the bed with a thump, rushed to the desk, and slammed his hand down over Qin Yancheng’s—still holding the mouse!

Shi Zhou’s panicked brain could only recall the fans’ barrage of comments just now—“Kiss him kiss him kisskisskiss!” In a burst of desperate inspiration, he reached up and pulled the glasses off Qin Yancheng’s nose, then grabbed his collar with his other hand—

And kissed him hard on those sharp, thin lips.

AN: Onlookers: As expected, a little perv with a history of stealing kisses will always relapse!

Qin Yancheng: [completely baffled].jpg

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The entertainment reporters were instantly silenced by Qin Yancheng’s presence. After a brief moment of stunned silence, they suddenly realized their own shortsightedness—they had overlooked the real heavyweight, Shi Zhou, who was now officially confirmed by Qin Yancheng himself as his legitimate boyfriend!

The long-speculated “Mrs. Qin” had finally made an appearance. What a sensational headline this would be!

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In an instant, the microphones swiveled, and the reporters frantically turned their attention to Shi Zhou.

Shi Zhou had been happily waving to his fans while casually accepting photos and markers thrust toward him, swiftly signing autographs with flourish.

Unexpectedly, he was suddenly swept into the whirlwind. Fortunately, Qin Yancheng shielded him by wrapping an arm around his shoulders, blocking the media frenzy as he ushered Shi Zhou into the car before sliding in beside him.

Once seated, Shi Zhou let out a long breath and cheerfully patted Qin Yancheng’s shoulder. “Wow, you’re really an Oscar-worthy—”

Wait. His cheap manager was sitting in the passenger seat. Their fake relationship absolutely couldn’t be exposed.

Cutting off his praise for Qin Yancheng’s acting skills as a fake boyfriend, Shi Zhou forced a sweet, lovesick smile and cooed in a syrupy voice, “Yan Cheng, you were so cool just now!”

The saccharine tone gave even himself goosebumps. Li Cheng, however, couldn’t tell it was an act and felt like an awkward third wheel. Trembling slightly, he turned around to greet Qin Yancheng. “Hello, Mr. Qin.”

Qin Yancheng responded with a faint “Mn,” prompting Li Cheng to quickly flatter, “As expected of Mr. Qin! You can effortlessly delay such a major show just like that.”

Shi Zhou blinked in surprise. “The delay was because of you? But you said money couldn’t fix this.”

—Oh. He had only said money couldn’t solve it, not that other methods wouldn’t work.

Qin Yancheng shot a displeased glance at Li Cheng through the rearview mirror. Realizing he had misspoken, Li Cheng immediately clammed up and sat quietly like a frightened chicken.

Shi Zhou flicked his ponytail, amused. He had already been labeled a “nepo baby” for relying on connections, but now he had single-handedly delayed the entire production schedule.

Thankfully, the show’s team had tactfully provided an excuse. If the others found out who was responsible for the one-day delay, they’d probably curse his entire family tree.

Shi Zhou was whisked away to the makeup room for quick preparations and an outfit change.

The personal assistant Qin Yancheng had assigned him was sharp-eyed and efficient, bustling around to fetch tea, adjust his clothes, and check his microphone.

The assistant, Bian Shuai—whose name sounded like “Become Handsome”—lived up to his name in spirit, if not entirely in appearance. A chubby, cheerful young man who looked like a college student, he was warm and endlessly talkative. Paired with Shi Zhou’s own chatterbox tendencies, the two hit it off immediately.

Once everything was ready, Shi Zhou stepped into the main room. The other four guests had already arrived, making a total of five. However, there was still one mysterious special guest yet to appear.

Shi Zhou was curious. On a show where tastes varied widely, who could the producers confidently claim would be “loved by everyone”?

Then again, it might just be empty hype—after all, even a minor celebrity with hordes of anti-fans could be introduced as a “popular idol.”

In public, especially among strangers, Shi Zhou dialed back his usual playful flippancy and politely greeted everyone with decorum.

Guo Chenming was a veteran actor who had once been a major star. Though his popularity had waned with age, his reputation and status in the industry were firmly established.

The most striking and handsome guy in the room was Tan Zhi, whom Shi Zhou recognized as the show’s biggest draw—a bona fide top-tier idol whose presence would undoubtedly boost the show’s ratings.

Tan Zhi fit the current trend perfectly, with a diamond stud glinting in his left ear and an overall sunny, charming demeanor.

“Shi Zhou, you look even better in person than in photos,” Tan Zhi said warmly, his friendly attitude belying his superstar status.

Shi Zhou, always appreciative of attractive people, replied sincerely, “Brother Tan is the truly handsome one.”

A pretty young woman sitting beside Tan Zhi nodded politely at Shi Zhou—this was Li Xiao, a rising starlet.

Shi Zhou’s gaze then landed on a less familiar male guest with heavy eye makeup and thick foundation, giving off a somewhat androgynous and youthful vibe. He looked barely eighteen, if that.

Shi Zhou couldn’t help but stare for a moment because this guy seemed… incredibly arrogant and disdainful?

After barely glancing at Shi Zhou, the boy looked away, nose practically in the air, as if he’d already won international awards.

Even Guo Chenming, who might naturally look down on newcomers, at least maintained basic politeness.

Since Shi Zhou had originally planned to accompany his “lonely and pitiful” sugar daddy, he hadn’t bothered researching the other guests beforehand. But by process of elimination, this must be Yang Yuxin.

Yang Yuxin and Shi Zhou were in similar positions—both minor celebrities likely shoehorned into the show through connections.

“Hello, everyone!” the director announced. “Now that we’re all here, the live broadcast of Real: Zero Distance is about to begin! Please get ready!”

The live stream started, with their destination being a stunning sunlit beach.

Shi Zhou checked his phone. The number of viewers was skyrocketing, and the comment section was buzzing—though most of the chatter about him was far from friendly.

The news of Qin Yancheng’s announcement hadn’t fully spread yet, so in the public eye, Shi Zhou was still the disgraced artist caught in a sugar daddy scandal.

Faced with creatively vicious comments that even Shi Zhou found impressively inventive, he was gradually growing immune. He was almost curious to see how much further they could go.

If people knew the show had been delayed by a day just to accommodate him, they’d probably grab their keyboards and hunt him down through the screen.

Fortunately, the production team hadn’t been idle the previous day. They had rearranged the shooting schedule, pre-recording interviews and special segments to avoid disrupting the other celebrities’ plans.

Shi Zhou rested his chin on his hand, lazily watching the scenery pass by. Qin Yancheng had dropped him off and left for some unknown business.

He opened WeChat:

—Qin sir, let’s chat for a bit.

—I’m so bored ahhhh

Unbeknownst to him, a high-definition live camera mounted on the roof of the van was clearly capturing his screen for all to see.

A moment later, Qin Yancheng replied with a curt, “Busy.”

Shi Zhou silently pouted and decided to kill time with a mobile game.

Just as he put on his headphones and tapped the screen, Tan Zhi suddenly turned and gestured for him to look behind him.

Shi Zhou turned—and found himself face-to-face with the live camera.

Oh ho. He was toast. A quick glance at the comments confirmed the worst:

[Thanks to the ultra-HD camera—did you see that? The contact name is “Qin Yancheng”! So he just confirmed Qin Yancheng is his sugar daddy?!]

[Why is Shi Zhou so shameless? Is he deliberately taunting everyone on camera? Like a dead pig unafraid of hot water?]

[Since he’s already exposed as a kept man, he’s just leaning into the controversial role, right?]

[Ugh, their conversation is so cringe. Look how Qin Yancheng barely responds. And “Qin sir”? So fake and flirty.]

[You haters are so dumb. Can’t they just be in a real relationship? Couples talk like this all the time.]

[The “Cheng-Zhou” ship is absolutely real! If it’s not now, it will be! I believe!]

Shi Zhou read the comments while hurriedly shifting to block the camera with his back.

The top trending hashtag had shifted from #Real:ZeroDistancePremiere to various Shi Zhou-related scandals. Or rather, ever since the explosive news of him appearing at Qin Yancheng’s manor late at night, negative trends about him hadn’t stopped.

The delayed announcement made it seem like he was either ignoring the controversy or had given up and accepted the criticism.

—Shi Zhou couldn’t help but wonder: When the anti-fans saw Qin Yancheng’s official announcement, would they solidify into stone from shock?

“Hey, let me see what Shi Zhou sent you. I want some fresh dog food.”

Xin Jing leaned over to peek, but Qin Yancheng, sitting impatiently in the makeup chair, swiftly locked his phone. His looks were beyond reproach—he didn’t even need foundation, just a quick hair touch-up.

Xin Jing stepped back to admire him. “Damn, you’re ridiculously photogenic! It’s a shame you never entered the entertainment industry—you’d raise the average attractiveness level by a mile.”

Qin Yancheng glanced indifferently at his reflection. After seeing the same face for so long, he didn’t find it as extraordinary as Xin Jing claimed.

“I owe Shi Zhou big time. Do you know how long I’ve been trying to get you on my show? Who knew even you would fall for a pretty face—Hey, Xiao Zhang, add more lipstick and blush.”

Qin Yancheng frowned. “No makeup. I don’t want to look effeminate.”

“Just a little. It’ll still look natural. Your complexion is… Anyway, I’ll tell the crew to go easy on you.”

Xin Jing had known Qin Yancheng for nearly sixteen or seventeen years and understood him well. He carefully avoided words like “poor health” or “sick,” but even dancing around the topic risked setting him off.

Sure enough, Qin Yancheng’s expression darkened slightly. “Treat me like everyone else.”

Xin Jing quickly conceded. “Fine, fine.”

He remembered Qin Yancheng as a child—radiant like a noble young prince, drawing people in effortlessly.

Back in elementary school, after Qin Yancheng won a long-distance race, Xin Jing had eagerly handed him water and struck up a conversation. “You’re amazing! You left the others in the dust! Weren’t you also first in the 100m and 200m sprints? I’m Xin Jing from Class 2.”

Qin Yancheng had accepted the water, wiping sweat from his forehead. Xin Jing still remembered his smile under the bright sun as he unscrewed the cap and replied modestly, “Thanks. I’m Qin Yancheng.”

Now, Qin Yancheng was a completely different person, both physically and mentally. Xin Jing had witnessed his drastic transformation—and glimpsed fragments of the reasons behind it.

Qin Yancheng patted his pockets, then turned to Xin Jing. “Got a cigarette?”

“Shi Zhou told you not to smoke. I’m not helping you break that rule. We’ll see him in half an hour anyway.”

The car ride was unbearably dull. Shi Zhou dozed against the window until the ocean came into view.

The sea was a brilliant blue, waves crashing against the rocks in bursts of white foam. Soon, the rocky shore gave way to vast stretches of golden sand, glittering under the sunlight.

Shi Zhou perked up immediately, pressing his face to the window.

He overheard Tan Zhi chatting with fans via the live comments. “Who’s the mysterious guest? I really don’t know… Seriously, the production team’s secrecy is insane… I don’t even know if it’s a man or woman.”

Yang Yuxin suddenly interjected, “Big stars don’t just magically free up their schedules. Whoever it is, don’t get your hopes up.”

Tan Zhi shot Yang Yuxin a baffled look. Did he not realize they were live? How could he say something so… tactless?

Before he could dwell on it, the van stopped. The one-day delay had left fans eagerly waiting, and the comments were now flooded with calls for Tan Zhi.

Next in line was Shi Zhou, the controversial figure with a scandal hanging over him.

With no explanation for the sugar daddy rumors and now appearing on a high-profile variety show, his controversial debut was in full swing. Everyone was waiting to see what drama he’d stir up next.

The group stepped out onto the beach. The director announced, “Welcome to the beautiful coastal city of Yanjin! Our first challenge will take place right here on this beach.”

Li You sighed appreciatively. “It’s so pretty. I rarely get to see the ocean.”

Shi Zhou couldn’t resist digging his toes into the soft sand.

The mood was lighthearted, and even the anti-fans momentarily forgot to bash Shi Zhou as they admired the scenery—until Yang Yuxin once again opened his mouth.

“The sun’s so strong. We’re all going to get tanned. And I can already smell the ocean—it reeks like dead fish.”

[??? Is he trying to play the ‘blunt honesty’ card? It’s not working.]

[This Yang Yuxin is so whiny. Who even is he?]

[What’s wrong with the production team? Out of five guests, two are clearly nepo babies?]

[Don’t drag us into this. Yang Yuxin is just an idiot. Direct your hate at him, thanks.]

Shi Zhou nearly laughed. He’d initially wondered why Yang Yuxin, another connection-based nobody, would mock him. Now it was clear: Yang Yuxin was simply lacking in both EQ and basic decency.

Maybe he was just young and inexperienced, but why should anyone excuse his behavior for that?

—No wonder even pre-recorded, edited shows had stars whose personas collapsed. Live broadcasts were even less forgiving.

Tan Zhi didn’t bother hiding his smirk, openly ridiculing Yang Yuxin.

The production team pretended not to hear and continued, “But before we begin, let’s introduce today’s mysterious special guest—”

The audience’s excitement surged. Speculation had shifted from guessing the guest’s gender to outright naming possibilities. Shi Zhou also watched intently, wondering if this would live up to the hype or just be empty marketing.

Then the guest appeared—dressed in a white casual top and black pants that accentuated his long, lean legs. His exquisitely formed ankles peeked out, and his tall, upright posture exuded an aura of cool, commanding elegance.

Shi Zhou’s eyes widened. That impossibly gorgeous face was all too familiar.

The mysterious guest was Qin Yancheng!

After endless speculation, the internet exploded. Qin Yancheng was on a variety show?!

You c an fi nd t he la te st cha pte rs at ( th e bl mu se . c o m )

He was famously low-key, with very few clear photos of him available. How much had the show paid to get someone of his status to appear?

Only one explanation seemed both impossible and inevitable: Had Qin Yancheng come… for Shi Zhou?

The comments section went silent for a beat—then erupted.

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