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.

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

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

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

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!

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

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.

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

A tingling sensation rose from the base of Shi Zhou’s neck, quickly transforming into an intense wave of heat that made his legs weak. Flustered and irritated at it, he shoved at Qin Yancheng. “Qin Yancheng, get up already!”

After the chaos, the two of them finally stood up. Qin Yancheng calmly got dressed while Shi Zhou went to change out of his wet clothes. The hospital room was thick with the kind of awkwardness that made the air feel heavy—but maybe Shi Zhou was the only one feeling it. Qin Yancheng remained his usual composed self.

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

Because of Qin Yancheng’s intense aversion to IV drips and medication, the doctors couldn’t even do routine rounds. Shi Zhou cleared his throat and said, “Hey, you need to dry your hair, or you’ll catch a cold.”

Qin Yancheng, busy typing on his phone, sent a final “Got it” to Xin Jing on WeChat before glancing up. “Your reality show’s been postponed. It’ll start tomorrow afternoon. If you still want to go, go.”

Shi Zhou blinked. “What? How could it be postponed?”

Artists’ schedules were always tight. It wasn’t like they could just move things around on a whim.

Yet within an hour, when Shi Zhou checked Weibo’s trending list, the tag #Real:ZeroDistancePostponedOneDay had actually made it to the top.

The official reason was a reshuffling of the shooting schedule due to new internal arrangements. The production team asked viewers to wait patiently and promised a surprise guest as compensation.

Seeing that it was real, Shi Zhou perked up instantly. He genuinely liked this reality show, especially its unique format and picturesque locations—mountains, oceans, and all.

As the name suggested, Real: Zero Distance was a live-streamed reality show where a central camera broadcasted everything in real-time, supplemented by individual cameramen following each participant. Viewers could pay to focus on whoever they liked.

Shi Zhou disliked the overly-scripted variety shows that required multiple takes and heavy editing. They felt fake and lifeless.

Livestreaming could backfire easily, but since Shi Zhou had no intention of faking a public persona from the start, it didn’t bother him to show his real self.

After a pause, he gave Qin Yancheng a suspicious glance. “You didn’t… pay to delay the show, did you?”

Qin Yancheng replied flatly, “Money wouldn’t help.”

Shi Zhou was finally reassured. Having an entire crew wait for him would’ve been mortifying.

Then again… maybe it was fate?

His good mood didn’t last long. While organizing some daily necessities Aunt Zhang had dropped off, Shi Zhou’s phone began vibrating wildly.

His heart sank—so many notifications like that at once were rarely good news.

Sure enough, when he opened Weibo, he found his name suddenly plastered all over the trending page. Unlike past gossip and baseless rumors, this time he was the main headline—complete with a set of malicious hot tags:

#SugarDaddyExposedForSurnamedSStarlet#
#NoTalentJustTradingFavorsAndSleepingUpward#
#ShiZhouAccompaniesQinYanchengToHospitalAtNight#
#ConfirmedSugarBaby:ShiZhouAndQinYanchengLivingTogether#
#SellingYourLooksToClimbTheLadder#

Shi Zhou’s heart fell like a rock. Flirty interactions and harmless rumors were one thing, but being caught sneaking into Qin Yancheng’s luxurious private estate at night? That was something else entirely.

—A disreputable, D-list celebrity, long rumored to have shady ties with Zheng Qi and accused of sleeping his way to the top, was actually spotted entering an ultra-luxury mansion district in the dead of night?

The first thought that crossed the minds of countless onlookers was: Shi Zhou is a kept man. And with the added fuel of hired trolls and sensationalist media, the situation quickly spiraled into chaos.

Shi Zhou watched as the crowd erupted into a frenzy, waves of mockery crashing over him—it was all so absurd, so sudden.

He knew the paparazzi had probably been tailing him for a while, but he’d always been careful: wearing masks and sunglasses, leaving through the underground garage. Even if there were stalkerazzi lurking, they shouldn’t have been able to identify him inside the car.

But when he zoomed in on the leaked photo, he realized the fatal slip-up had happened on that harrowing night when Qin Yancheng had his asthma attack. In that moment, he hadn’t been thinking about anything else.

The photo showed Shi Zhou in thin sleepwear, standing in front of a lavish villa under the cover of night, his face pale with panic as he followed paramedics into an ambulance.

Maybe the original cannon fodder had offended too many people. Or maybe this was simply his doomed fate—career destroyed, reputation shredded by slander, crushed under the weight of public condemnation.

Now, an army of trolls and gossip accounts swarmed in, turning it into another feast of scandal, steering the narrative toward filthy speculation about under-the-table deals and unspeakable relationships.

Shi Zhou’s fans were too few and too scattered to fight back. Even with the support of his shipper fans, their voices were drowned out by the flood of ridicule and doubt.

[Oh ho, no wonder he clings to Qin Yancheng for clout—turns out he’s just a spoiled sugar baby riding on his patron’s favor!]

[I’m disgusted. And he still dares to play the “self-made” card? More like “self-made” in bed, huh? Wasn’t he already cozy with the CEO of Qixing before this? How hardworking of him.]

[No parents to teach him basic decency, no wonder his character is trash.]

[No surprise he snubbed my idol on that show last time—acting like such a diva. My idol worked his way up step by step, unlike this whore who just climbs from one sugar daddy to another.]

[Zheng Qi’s looking real cuckolded right now, @ZhengQi, how can you take this? Wasn’t Shi Zhou your little pet before?]

[How does he even get these opportunities? He’s about to join Real: Zero Distance—with his level of fame? Who’s he sleeping with for that?]

[The only “masterpiece” he’s known for is his collection of scandals. What’s his best work? 108 Ways to Climb Into a Rich Man’s Bed?]

Qin Yancheng noticed Shi Zhou’s expression darken and asked, “What is it? Show me.”

Shi Zhou handed over his phone. Qin Yancheng skimmed through the storm of comments, his brow furrowing slightly—just as Li Cheng’s call came through, frantic, “Shi Zhou! Have you seen Weibo?!”

Shi Zhou took the phone back. “Yeah, just finished scrolling.”

“Jesus, this wave is too big—Qixing’s PR team can’t suppress it!”

Shi Zhou sighed. They couldn’t just brute-force away the trending topics either—that would only make them look guiltier, and trying to silence the backlash would only make it worse.

—Either he had a plausible explanation to dismantle the attacks, or he had to lie low and take the hits, letting it become a permanent stain on his career.

But what plausible explanation was there? Staying overnight at Qin Yancheng’s place, rushing to the hospital with him at midnight… Their social statuses were worlds apart—no one would buy them being “just friends.” And if they told the actual truth? “Oh, we just live together platonically, totally respectful and chaste”? Yeah, right.

Shi Zhou exhaled, shrugging. “Guess I’ll just lie low and wait for it to blow over.”

Li Cheng let out an exaggerated gasp. “What are you talking about? Aren’t you and Qin Yancheng dating? I called to discuss when to go public with the relationship! Dating and being a sugar baby are completely different things!”

If Qin Yancheng stepped forward and openly acknowledged them as equals in a real relationship, the narrative would flip instantly—from a sordid tale of exploitation to a fairytale romance between a young billionaire and a rising star.

Shi Zhou glanced at Qin Yancheng. “We’re not—”

The hospital room was quiet enough for Qin Yancheng to hear Li Cheng’s voice through the phone. He plucked the device from Shi Zhou’s hand and said coolly, “Tomorrow, at Yanjin Airport. I’ll address the media in person. Tell the press to be there.”

Then he hung up.

Shi Zhou stared at the ended call, stunned. “Wait—hold on, what are you clarifying? Did you not hear him? He wants you to admit we’re together!”

Qin Yancheng’s gaze was steady. “Do you want your career ruined? To be followed by those vile rumors forever?”

Shi Zhou was floored. Holy shit, is he really about to lie for me?

Before, when they’d accidentally been shipped as a couple or when Qin Yancheng had casually defended him on Weibo, it hadn’t been a big deal. But now? A billionaire at the top of the wealth rankings—a man with zero romantic scandals, who could overturn the industry with a flick of his wrist—was going to fake a relationship to save his crumbling reputation?

“You were caught by the paparazzi because of me,” Qin Yancheng said flatly. “I don’t care about gossip. Consider it repayment for saving my life.”

—Was it really just repayment?

There were a thousand ways to repay a debt. Qin Yancheng couldn’t tell if there was something else tangled in his motives—something he couldn’t yet name.

By the next day, Qin Yancheng’s complexion had improved, though he was still slightly pale.

When they boarded the plane, Shi Zhou had been struggling with his oversized luggage—until Qin Yancheng effortlessly lifted the massive suitcase one-handed, startling him into yelping, “Put that down!”

Only then did the bodyguards, belatedly realizing their oversight, rush forward to take everything.

Qin Yancheng recovered quickly. The sight of medical equipment made him nauseous anyway, and he’d refused further treatment, insisting on an early discharge.

“Tsk tsk tsk, this private jet of yours is something else—understated luxury with real class,” Shi Zhou finally embarked on his reality show journey in high spirits, glancing around appreciatively. “But you could barely walk straight yesterday, Qin sir. I’m not joking—even the doctor said flying right now isn’t advisable.”

“Yesterday, I—”

Qin Yancheng’s sentence trailed off.

Shi Zhou mentally filled in the blank: Yeah, yesterday was probably just you being disgusted by the hospital. He’d never seen someone vomit themselves into near-fainting just from getting a blood draw, an injection, or even a basic temperature check.

“Just how much do you hate hospitals? Did they owe you money or something? This is the first time I’ve heard of someone using sheer spite as motivation to recover faster—just to get discharged.”

Qin Yancheng shot him a cool glance. Shi Zhou grinned, sticking out his tongue before diving back into Weibo, curious to see what fresh creative insults the internet trolls had cooked up.

Back in the day, Shi Zhou hadn’t fully grasped the destructive power of cyberbullying. He’d naively thought, just turn off your phone, unplug the internet—who cares what strangers say?

But now that the fire had burned him repeatedly, he realized:

Damn, even for someone as thick-skinned as me—the type to “walk my own path in someone else’s shoes and let them go barefoot”—I’d still love to crawl through the screen and strangle these foul-mouthed, unreasonable keyboard warriors.

A hand flashed into his view—Qin Yancheng’s slender fingers plucked the phone from his grip. “Stop looking.”

“Tch, I’m genuinely amazed. These people probably look perfectly normal in real life, but online? Full metamorphosis into demons.”

“That’s why they’re nobodies.” Qin Yancheng slipped on his headphones and an eye mask.

A moment later, assuming Qin Yancheng was asleep, Shi Zhou slowly—painfully slowly—reached to retrieve his phone from the man’s lap.

Qin Yancheng’s icy voice cut through: “Xiao Ni, cut the WiFi.”

Shi Zhou thumped his knee. “Fine, fine! Go to sleep already. If you feel unwell, tell me—don’t just tough it out silently.”

An hour later, Qin Yancheng’s private jet touched down at Yanjin Airport. The leaked tip-off had worked—the terminal was swarmed.

For the first time, Shi Zhou experienced the chaos of a fan welcome. Stepping out flanked by bodyguards, he whistled under his breath at the spectacle. Damn, this is next-level.

Front and center: a sea of media, cameras flashing like strobe lights. Behind them, a roaring crowd—Shi Zhou’s fans, Qin Yancheng’s fans, and hordes of “ChengZhou” shipper devotees waving signs. The moment the pair appeared together, deafening screams erupted as fans strained on tiptoe to capture their first official candid shot together.

Bystanders gaped, asking which A-lister had arrived. They had never seen such a grand airport welcome by fans—if one didn’t know better one would’ve thought a concert was taking place right there in the airport.

But the media’s focus wasn’t on Shi Zhou. The real headline? “Reclusive Billionaire Qin Yancheng—The Man Who Never Dates—Is Finally In Love!”

“President Qin! How do you respond to allegations of financially supporting Shi Zhou?”

“What’s the nature of your relationship?”

“Why the late-night hospital visit?”

“Are you accompanying Shi Zhou for his show filming?”

“President Qin…”

Bodyguards muscled through the scrum. Shi Zhou rolled his eyes. Wow, bold of you to ask these pointed questions right in front of the subject—y’know, me?!

Shi Zhou was almost enjoying the chaos—it was the kind of scene where everyone was shouting, yet no single voice could be clearly heard, only fragments of questions breaking through the noise.

But then a flicker of concern cut through his amusement. Qin Yancheng just got discharged, and now he’s being jostled around in this madness? Even a temple fair during peak season wouldn’t be this packed. If his notoriously delicate constitution gives out from all this—

He turned to check on Qin Yancheng, only to find the man as aloof as ever. Their eyes met briefly—then, without warning, Qin Yancheng laced their fingers together, pulling Shi Zhou into a firm, very convincing “couple’s grip.” Without a word, he strode through the crowd, the picture of protective intimacy, leaving the media scrambling in their wake.

Qin Yancheng’s palm was cool, his grip firm. Shi Zhou, seizing the chance to finally touch those coveted pianist fingers, dared to trace a teasing circle on his palm.

The shippers lost it. Screams hit glass-shattering decibels as signs waved frantically—their ship was sailing in real time.

Shi Zhou marveled inwardly. Qin Yancheng’s acting skills are unreal. This fake romance performance? Oscar-worthy. And the crowd control? Masterful.

The two were already standing close, but with the bodyguards and crowd jostling around them, Shi Zhou found himself nearly pressed flush against Qin Yancheng.

The crisp scent of snow pine and mint shampoo—Qin Yancheng’s signature fragrance—wrapped around Shi Zhou’s senses. He couldn’t help taking a deeper breath. Damn, this man is lethal. Even his scent is an outright seduction.

The reporters, unsatisfied with the lack of answers, doggedly pursued them, firing off questions nonstop.

It wasn’t until they reached the car that Qin Yancheng finally turned. In one fluid motion, he pulled Shi Zhou against his side, arm secure around his waist, and faced the clamoring crowd with icy detachment:

“Do I need to submit a relationship report for your approval—or should I start cutting you paychecks?”

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

The crowd fell dead silent for two full seconds. Even the camera flashes froze mid-burst—no one had seen this razor-edged retort coming.

After expecting nothing but his usual icy indifference, the media was wholly unprepared for Qin Yancheng’s directness.

Pressed against Qin Yancheng’s side, Shi Zhou bit down hard on his tongue to stifle explosive laughter. Since when did Qin Yancheng develop such killer comebacks? That was equal parts savage and deadpan—absolute gold.

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

Shi Zhou quickly patted his back to help him catch his breath. Qin Yancheng hadn’t eaten anything, so there was nothing to throw up, yet he couldn’t stop coughing and retching, wheezing like bellows as his breathing grew more labored.

The doctor immediately asked, “What’s going on? When did this symptom start—”

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

“Get out!” Qin Yancheng suddenly snapped. Having long held a position of power, his presence was already formidable. Now that he had dropped his usual restraint, the pressure in the room dropped instantly, suffocatingly so. Even in his weakened state, his dominance didn’t waver.

Shi Zhou was just about to hand him his inhaler and froze at the command. The doctor looked at him, clearly baffled.

—Most VIP patients were difficult to deal with, and everyone knew who Qin Yancheng was. But no one expected this financial legend, worth billions, to have such a terrible temper.

Afraid Qin Yancheng would work himself into another fit, Shi Zhou looked apologetically at the doctor. “Would you mind stepping out for now? I’m really sorry.”

Now alone in the room, Shi Zhou helped him take a dose from the inhaler. Worried he’d throw it again, he kept a firm grip on it this time. “What just happened? Is your stomach acting up again?”

Qin Yancheng pressed his lips together and said nothing. Shi Zhou noticed his symptoms seemed to ease up the moment the doctor left, which made it all the more puzzling.

He wanted to check if his upper abdomen was cold to see if it was another stomach spasm. But at the moment, Qin Yancheng looked off—mentally unstable. Shi Zhou didn’t dare make a wrong move and set him off again.

After observing him all day, Shi Zhou realized something: whenever Qin Yancheng saw a doctor—especially one holding a syringe or about to draw blood—he’d have a strong physical reaction: vomiting, dizziness, and more.

Because of his intense response, most tests couldn’t proceed. Shi Zhou was getting anxious and feared he’d vomit up blood. Ever since they entered the hospital, Qin Yancheng had become a completely different person, barely speaking, utterly cold.

Several young nurses who had timidly approached to ask for his autograph were all too scared to come near. Shi Zhou tried to coax a smile out of him, grinning: “Beauty, you scared the girls stiff. You should be called Granny Qin from now on.”

“I want to go for a walk,” Qin Yancheng said in a rare moment of opening his mouth.

Of course, the doctor didn’t approve. He was also confused—while Qin Yancheng’s condition wasn’t too serious, most people would glue themselves to the bed after hearing the words “heart disease.”

Didn’t they say the wealthy fear death the most? Apparently, not always.

Shi Zhou sweet-talked for ages and finally got permission to push Qin Yancheng around in a wheelchair for a bit.

Qin Yancheng didn’t like that either, but compared to lying in bed, he reluctantly chose the lesser of two evils.

Under the starry night sky, the autumn wind was cool and refreshing.

Qin Yancheng took a deep breath. The smell of disinfectant was gone, and the suffocating pain that had been gnawing at his heart eased slightly. For the first time in a while, he seemed more like his usual self. “Weren’t you supposed to catch a flight today?”

“I backed out of that reality show. Dear Qin sir, would you mind reimbursing my breach-of-contract fee?” Shi Zhou paused, then suddenly remembered, “Oh, right—one serious warning: don’t lock the door when you sleep! What kind of dumbass habit is that? Do you know how worried I was?!”

Of course Qin Yancheng knew.

Back then, his chest had been in unbearable pain, his airway clogged as if he couldn’t breathe no matter how hard he gasped or coughed. And yet, he remained perfectly conscious:

Perfect.

This would count as accidental death, not suicide.

A subtle sense of relief and triumph crept in. Qin Yancheng let go, letting his awareness fade. But then—he heard Shi Zhou calling his name outside, barefoot, frantically running up and down the stairs. He even tried to kick the door open…

Busybody. Why did he care so much?

Yet something warm and alive seemed to stir in his hollow heart, gently knocking against him, pulling back some of his sunken sanity—

He shouldn’t want to die. He had always fought so hard to live.

The night breeze was chilly. Shi Zhou wrapped Qin Yancheng’s coat more tightly around him. Qin Yancheng said, “When does the show start filming? I’ll get air clearance. You can be airborne in thirty minutes.”

Good lord. Most private flight routes needed nearly two days’ notice. Qin Yancheng said thirty minutes like it was nothing—talk about flaunting your power and money.

Shi Zhou tilted his head. “I already turned it down. I can’t keep ghosting them like this—the production team wouldn’t agree.”

Expressionless, Qin Yancheng asked, “Forget them. Do you want to go?”

Shi Zhou hesitated, then said, “Forget it. There’ll be plenty of shows like that. Next time.”

Qin Yancheng fell silent, pulled out his phone, and opened WeChat. Shi Zhou saw the contact name “Xin Jing.” Right—he had totally forgotten about Qin Yancheng’s childhood friend in all the panic last night.

The doctor had only approved a thirty-minute walk. Shi Zhou didn’t care whether Qin Yancheng wanted to go back or not—he was pushing the wheelchair, so he made the rules.

Qin Yancheng clearly didn’t want to return, his mood visibly souring again, but he stayed silent and endured it.

Still, after some fresh air, he did seem in better spirits than when he first woke up. At least now he wasn’t demanding to be discharged like an unstoppable force.

The VIP suite was fully equipped, even with a kitchen and bathroom—more comfortable than most luxury hotels. Shi Zhou turned on the wall-mounted TV to add some life to the room. The channel just happened to be airing a children’s show—his childhood favorite, a certain yellow sponge.

—Yes, Shi Zhou still secretly watched cartoons as an adult, but with Qin Yancheng next to him, he felt too embarrassed and reluctantly changed the channel. Still, nothing else was interesting.

Qin Yancheng, ever sharp, noticed Shi Zhou’s fixated gaze and finally let a subtle, nearly imperceptible smile touch his pale lips. “I’m going to shower. You can watch the kids’ channel if you want.”

Shi Zhou blushed and stubbornly denied it. “Who said I want to watch it?! I’m not that childish!”

Qin Yancheng had low blood pressure. The moment he stood up, his vision went black, and he toppled straight back down. Shi Zhou quickly caught him. “Oh my god, are you even in any shape to shower? Maybe don’t.”

“I’m fine. Just stood up too fast.” Qin Yancheng shook his head, waiting for the darkness to pass.

“You saying you’re fine doesn’t count. I’m asking the doctor.”

Shi Zhou left the room and came back soon after, looking like he was trying to hold in laughter. Finally, he asked, “Qin sir, how about… you don’t shower today?”

“I have to. I’m fine. What did the doctor say?”

Qin Yancheng was a bit of a clean freak. Shi Zhou knew he’d never win this argument, so he gave in with a mischievous smile. “Hehehe, beauty, the doctor told me to watch you shower.”

Qin Yancheng: ……
“What?! Don’t think I want to watch! I’m doing this because you might faint again, okay?” Shi Zhou huffed.

Sure, Shi Zhou loved ogling beauties—especially an undressed one—but this time, he really didn’t want to look.

The view was just too dangerous. One look, and he’d probably have another springtime dream and have to secretly wash his underwear the next day out of shame.

Sharing the room only made it more awkward.

Qin Yancheng weighed the shame of being seen naked against the misery of not bathing.

Finally, he raised his hand and began unbuttoning his hospital gown. Better to be ogled than to stay dirty.

The bathroom wasn’t very spacious. Shi Zhou stood next to the tub, and his eyes—by sheer instinct—drifted over.

One glance. Averted. Then another glance…

Qin Yancheng had stunning collarbones, broad shoulders, a narrow waist, proportions that rivaled any top male model. Shi Zhou couldn’t look away. He wanted to reach out and touch—and as for what was between those long legs…

Qin Yancheng noticed his gaze. In a dry tone, he said, “Careful you don’t get a nosebleed.”

Shi Zhou blushed furiously, turned around, and snapped, “Screw off! I told you last time it was just because of the heat! It’s dry in autumn! Nosebleeds are normal, okay?! And you—you heartless jerk! You think you’re better-looking than SpongeBob?! I’m here keeping you company, you know!”

Qin Yancheng felt helpless. But all the discomfort he’d felt in the hospital eased a little from Shi Zhou’s antics. This VIP suite looked more like a hotel than a hospital room. Slowly, the turmoil in his stomach calmed.

Though he didn’t exactly mind being stared at, he didn’t want to be ogled by this little pervert forever. He rinsed off quickly and reached for the bathrobe.

Shi Zhou had his back turned. Hearing the splash of water, he figured Qin Yancheng was stepping out and turned around—

Suddenly, Qin Yancheng gasped softly and collapsed on top of him with no warning!

Shi Zhou was totally unprepared. The moment he turned, he was knocked flat!

The scent of minty body wash and damp steam enveloped him. Qin Yancheng landed fully on top of him, still wet and undressed.

Shi Zhou, in thin loungewear, was soaked through too, his body outline clearly visible. Their position—absolutely indecent.

“You! What the hell are you doing?!” Shi Zhou stammered.

“Sorry… got dizzy,” Qin Yancheng said hoarsely. He braced himself with both hands on either side of Shi Zhou, trying to push up. But the floor was slippery, and he collapsed again—

This time, the position was even worse.

Shi Zhou’s mind exploded: BOOM!

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

“Q-Qin Yancheng…” He hadn’t expected the cannon fodder’s body to be so sensitive to touch. His voice trembled and cracked, “You bastard—you’re such a freaking scoundrel!”

Qin Yancheng closed his eyes, a faint suspicious flush rising to his pale cheeks. Whether from embarrassment or something else, he whispered, “Give me… a moment.”

His warm breath brushed against Shi Zhou’s neck, sending a strange, shivery tingle down his spine.

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

Everything happened too suddenly. Shi Zhou stood frozen on the spot, stunned, maintaining his original posture without moving a muscle.

Staring at the spilled medicine on the floor, he realized he’d been wrong all along. The reason Qin Yancheng died so suddenly, the reason he succumbed to an acute illness that wasn’t even highly fatal—wasn’t fate. It was simply because he didn’t want to live anymore.

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

That cryptic line Qin Yancheng had once said—“Good advice can’t save the damned, and great compassion can’t redeem the self-destructive”—was, in hindsight, about himself.

Even sitting outside the emergency room, Shi Zhou remained dazed, his mind blank, while a terrifying memory from the depths of his mind resurfaced. It felt as though an invisible hand had gripped his heart, squeezing it so tight he could barely breathe from fear.

He could still feel the coldness of Qin Yancheng’s fingers on his wrist, the weak, futile struggle as he tried to hold on but had no strength left.

After falling unconscious, Qin Yancheng had collapsed in Shi Zhou’s arms, cold all over—so much so that Shi Zhou had to keep tremblingly checking again and again whether he was still breathing.

When the ambulance arrived, Shi Zhou’s hand was still pressed to his chest, feeling for a heartbeat.

No matter how he tried to rationalize it, he couldn’t understand why Qin Yancheng had thrown away the medicine.

That action had clearly been suicidal. But Shi Zhou didn’t believe he would suddenly choose to end his life. At least in day-to-day life, Qin Yancheng had never shown suicidal tendencies. Aside from being evasive about his health and irresponsible with his body, everything else about him was… passably normal. He even lived somewhat earnestly.

Shi Zhou had always jokingly called him a “psycho,” but it had just been teasing. Deep down, he believed Qin Yancheng was just temperamental and aloof—never did it occur to him that his mental state might involve actual medical concerns.

Which meant: in the original script, Qin Yancheng didn’t die by accident due to an asthma attack. Or rather, he did die of asthma—but it wasn’t an accident.

In the original world, the one without Shi Zhou as a variable, Qin Yancheng, upon realizing he was having an attack, silently gave up on saving himself. He calmly walked into death amidst suffocating pain.

A female doctor rushed out. “Family member? Are you the patient’s family?”

Shi Zhou shook his head, then nodded.

“Which is it? Can you sign?”

“I’m family. I’m his… brother. I can sign.”

Shi Zhou signed the critical condition notice. The doctor said beside him, “Prepare yourself mentally. The patient has acute angina with malignant arrhythmia. There’s a risk of cardiac arrest.”

Shi Zhou’s brain was still a fog. She said many things, but all he processed were the words cardiac arrest. In short: he might die. Qin Yancheng might really die like this.

Shi Zhou collapsed back into his chair, rubbed his face hard with both hands. The body he now inhabited had sensitive tear ducts—his palms were soon damp and hot, tears dripping uncontrollably.

He had known this would happen. He’d prepared himself, hadn’t he?

He was terrified of death. Terrified of sudden illness. And most of all, terrified of this very feeling—sitting helpless outside an ambulance or ER.

He still remembered the last time he’d sat in a chair like this. He had no idea how long he waited, only that fear and anxiety consumed every second like a lifetime.

Then the doctor had come out, lifted their glasses slowly—and those two words, “I’m sorry,” exploded like thunder. It shattered his world. He’d completely lost it—roared in hysteria, a wild storm of rage.

If not for his best buddies restraining him, he might’ve rushed the doctor and body-slammed him on the spot.

He wasn’t a total brat. Once he calmed down, he realized how insane and unfair that outburst was.

But in that moment, logic had meant nothing. The doctor who announced his brother’s death had felt like Death himself. Shi Zhou couldn’t accept it. Would not accept it.

Shi Li had been twenty-seven that year—the same age as Qin Yancheng. So young. So sudden.

Now, he had just signed two critical condition notices in one night.

Shi Zhou glanced out the window. The sky had begun to lighten—rosy gold dawn igniting the clouds.

Suddenly, his phone rang. It was his temp agent Li Cheng calling. “Shi Zhou, you live in Four Seasons Spring City, right? I can arrange a ride to the airport for you.”

Shi Zhou didn’t even have time to respond before the emergency room door opened. His heart clenched. His palm grew sweaty. His pulse thundered. He dreaded hearing those two words again.

“Are you the patient’s family?”

Shi Zhou leapt up. “How is he?!”

Li Cheng was still listening intently on the other end of the line with confusion.

Realizing the call was still live, Shi Zhou muttered hastily, “Qin Yancheng is sick. I’m not going. Replace me if you want—I’ll pay the damages,” and hung up.

Only when the doctor said, “He’s out of immediate danger. After a few more hours of observation, we’ll transfer him to a general ward,” did Shi Zhou exhale, as though a thousand-pound boulder had dropped from his chest.

He slumped back into the chair, overcome with trembling relief.

Three years ago, Shi Zhou had been dazed and numb, not understanding anything as others handled the procedures. Now, he could calmly manage his emotions while paying fees and calling Bai Ran to get a contact for Qin Yancheng’s family.

He summarized the situation. Bai Ran gasped, “What?! That serious? But… but we can’t reach President Qin’s family—”

“His parents are gone?”

“His mother might still be alive. But I’ve never met her… not sure. It’s just—”

Shi Zhou sensed Bai Ran was hiding something. “No one else will know. Not even Qin Yancheng.”

“…Alright. The thing is, President Qin and his mother don’t get along. She might have some… mental issues…”

“What?”

Could Qin Yancheng’s madness be inherited from his mother?

But maybe not. From another perspective, Shi Zhou remembered a quote: Some people spend their lives being healed by childhood; others spend their lives healing from it.

Just what happened in the past to make Qin Yancheng like this?

After staying tense for so long, Shi Zhou finally relaxed when Qin Yancheng was transferred out of ICU. He reached out to smooth the furrow between his brows—still creased even in sleep. After confirming that his breathing and heartbeat were steady, Shi Zhou yawned and fell asleep on the couch beside the hospital bed.

He hadn’t been asleep long when Li Cheng called again. “Shi Zhou, filming doesn’t start until tomorrow afternoon. Today was just for promo footage—it’s fine if you can’t make it.”

Groggy and cranky, Shi Zhou’s young master temper snapped, “I said I’m not going! Unless you can get plastic surgery and go in my place tomorrow!”

Of course he wanted to be on the show—money, exposure, popularity. But Qin Yancheng had nearly died. With not a single relative around, how could he bear to leave while he was still unconscious?

Li Cheng didn’t know what was going on. He just thought: Shi Zhou is getting too full of himself. To turn down such a golden opportunity? He really must be riding high on Qin Yancheng’s support.

With Jinshui Film Studio now up and running, and Qin Yancheng dipping into the entertainment industry, no one would dare rival him from now on.

Now fully awake, Shi Zhou went downstairs for a quick meal, picked up medicine, and finished the remaining paperwork.

When he returned, Qin Yancheng was awake. He had already yanked off the oxygen mask and was trying to pull out the IV needle.

“Hey hey hey!” Shi Zhou rushed over, pushed him back down, stuffed his unruly hand under the blanket. “What are you doing? The IV isn’t done! How do you feel? Anything uncomfortable?”

Qin Yancheng’s voice was hoarse, barely more than a rasp, but firm: “…I want to be discharged.”

Shi Zhou froze. “What?”

He wondered if his ears were broken.

“I. Want. To. Leave.” Qin Yancheng enunciated every word. His sharp, beautiful features were clouded with darkness, and his pale face was full of hostility.

Great—Shi Zhou’s ears were fine. It was Qin Yancheng’s brain that was broken.

“Qin Yancheng, I signed two critical condition notices for you last night! You almost fucking died!” Shi Zhou couldn’t hide his anger, but he kept his voice low, afraid of stressing his heart.

Qin Yancheng didn’t budge. He acted like staying another second in the hospital would get him abducted by aliens. He struggled to get up again, but Shi Zhou held him down with gentle threats and coaxing.

What the hell—why did he seem like a totally different person?

Too weak to fight, Qin Yancheng eventually lay stiff and silent, staring blankly at the ceiling.

Shi Zhou looked at his sickly pale face, those thick, feather-like lashes lowered. Even with that cold look of gloom, Shi Zhou’s heart softened. He couldn’t keep scolding such a beautiful man.

“Qin sir? Hungry? Want me to get you some congee?”

But the moment he said it, he regretted it. What if Qin Yancheng ran the moment he stepped out?

“Actually—forget it, I’m too lazy to go downstairs. I’ll order delivery.”

Qin Yancheng still didn’t respond. His foul mood was visible to the naked eye. In fact, Shi Zhou had rarely seen him wear his emotions so clearly.

Out of the corner of his eye, Shi Zhou suddenly noticed his fingers trembling uncontrollably.

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

Just as he wondered what was going on, the doctor knocked and entered. “The patient’s awake? How do you feel? It’s time to draw some blood—”

Before the doctor could finish, Qin Yancheng suddenly started shaking all over—then clutched the bedrail and began retching violently.

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