When Shao Yinan looked into those ink-dark eyes, his heart missed a beat.
Wen Yin met his gaze without expression. He felt, with painful clarity, that although she hadn't jerked away from his touch, there had been a flicker of resistance in her face. She clearly disliked being touched.
She shifted a little and put distance between them, lips pressed together, avoiding his eyes.
Half of Xiang Zhou's face melted into shadow, his features unreadable, but his dark eyes stayed fixed on Li Xiangwei. He opened his mouth; the words died on his lips.
"Enough." Li Xiangwei cut him off with a hard voice, not giving him the chance to speak. "There's nothing left to say between us."
"I'll transfer the money for the necklace to your account. Do not come bothering me again." Her gaze went cold as she dropped the sentence and turned away.
Wen Yin watched Li Xiangwei's retreating back and caught the raw hurt and bewilderment in her expression. Xiang Zhou stood in the courtyard a long time after Li left, tasting the silence with a half-bitter smile.
"I only wanted to say the necklace suits you. It was beautiful," he murmured too late.
By then Wen Yin had returned to the common area and found Wen Zhi chatting animatedly with Xiao Mo and the others. The smile on Wen Zhi's face was that of someone who just won—easy, triumphant, utterly confident. She had a way of drawing people to her; even now, she seemed adorably adored by everyone in the room.
Lu Ziqiu blushed the moment he saw Wen Yin walk in, the redness spreading from his ears to his neck. She glanced at him, puzzled by the sudden heat on his face, and he looked suddenly silly—like someone who had eaten a bit too much and lost his wits. His eyes kept drifting back to her. The stupid little half-smile he could not quite hide betrayed him; his gaze landed on Wen Yin as if the world had narrowed.
There was nothing else scheduled, so Wen Yin decided to nap. Shao Yinan walked in a while later, his face cold as if he'd been standing outside for a long time. He looked tired, almost sullen, but when he saw the camera he composed himself a fraction.
"Where were you?" Qian Shuzhi went bright-eyed as soon as he appeared, hurrying over with a flurry of frantic cheer.
"A walk," Shao said quietly, then his eyes unconsciously flicked to Wen Yin's closed door.
No need to rush, he seemed to tell himself with a small, distant patience—there would be time enough.
At nine the show closed the live feed. The producers, aware it was the first day and everyone was still adjusting, let the guests rest early.
Wen Yin slept like she had been weighted down by the day. Her dreams were a wild, merciless collage: memories of another life crashing back—Xiao Mo's icy remark, Jiang Shihuai's disdain, Lu Ziqiu's panicked, careless words—each cut through her like a blade. She woke in the dream to the taste of blood and the feeling of her blood turning to ice.
And then, as if from nowhere, a warm light brushed her cheek. It felt familiar. Instinctively, she leaned into it.
Sunlight slanted through the window and pooled on the beige duvet. It was quiet and warm. Wen Yin's hair lay like dark seaweed across the pillow; one leg dangled off the edge of the bed, the posture of someone who hadn't bothered to care. When she opened her eyes she checked the time out of habit: the live broadcast of Heartbeat, Lovers had already started.
She sat up slowly, a softness in her face that didn't fit the sharpness of the broadcast lights. In her dream the warmth had felt oddly familiar, and for a moment she couldn't tell whether it had been real or only a trick of sleep.
Down in the kitchen Li Xiangwei stood with an empty bowl in her hands, looking baffled. "Wen—did you have a late-night snack?" she asked. "And my note—my paper disappeared. Did anyone see it?"
Wen Yin had watched the whole exchange before: Xiang Zhou had been foolish enough to doodle a little heart on Li Xiangwei's scrap of paper. Wen Yin shrugged lightly. "Might've been eaten by a wild dog," she said.
It was a deserted island, after all. Anything was possible.
The absurd suggestion made Li Xiangwei laugh, but she flushed as if embarrassed to admit she cared. Wen Zhi and Lu Ziqiu came up behind them, casual and unruffled. Lu clutched something in his pocket—his own scrap of paper with a clumsy little heart drawn on it—and the sight made him look suddenly protective, like a boy guarding a secret.
The island's comforts were limited. The other three female guests wore a kind of shaved-down "no-makeup" look, but Wen Yin was still fully made up: a white skirt, hair neat, everything about her put together with painstaking care. She looked like an elegant heiress out of place among thatched roofs and sand—too polished, too deliberate. Wen Zhi's eyes narrowed as if that deliberate elegance irritated her on principle.
Wen Yin stepped outside and found Shao Yinan yawning, the sound low and husky. He seemed to have just woken up. For a second the warmth from her dream returned, paired with a faint, indistinct voice she couldn't quite place.
"Morning," she said, tilting her head and smiling. The little motion was enough to loosen the tension between them; Shao's lips curved in a genuine smile. The awkwardness of last night evaporated as though it had never been.
After a simple breakfast, the producers assembled the group for the day's shoot. "Today we won't be providing lunch ingredients," the director announced. "You're on a coastal island—you'll need to catch your own food. Don't worry, professionals will be on hand to teach you."
Wen Zhi's glance slid to Wen Yin, cool and sharp. She had been hungry since yesterday and had expected, in some small self-entitled way, that Wen Yin would cook. Instead Wen Yin had eaten the dry bread she brought with her and let everyone else fend for themselves. Wen Zhi felt a pinch of resentment—and hunger—grow under her skin.
She watched Wen Yin with the kind of attention that quietly keeps score, certain that the day's work would be a ledger of favors and slights she intended to settle. But the sea waited, the crew readied the nets, and whatever private grievances the islanders harbored would have to wait until the catch was hauled in. They had time—this was only the beginning.