Xiao Mo’s face, which a moment before had been full of thinly veiled anger, went blank as if a flame had been snuffed out. He simply couldn’t believe what he’d just seen.
Jiang Shihuai and Lu Ziqiu stood frozen too, stunned that something so base could have come from their beloved “white moonlight.”
“It’s best that everyone’s unharmed,” Wen Yin said with a fragile little smile, transforming the phrase into the ultimate bit of tea-room politeness. After all, to beat one kind of showmanship, you sometimes have to use another.
She didn’t bother to look at the four of them again. Her presence—and the camera—would only affect how they performed. Now she wanted to watch and see how this little black lotus planned to salvage her image in the eyes of Xiao Mo and the others.
A flash of color in the corner of her eye caught Wen Zhiru’s paper-white face. Coldness crossed Wen Yin’s gaze like frost. Whatever Wen Zhiru had put her through, Wen Yin intended to return it manifold. She would not stand aside and be satisfied.
Wen Yin’s figure drifted away. Lu Ziqiu pressed down the urge to follow. When he’d just been about to step forward, he’d been torn—between defending Wen Yin, whom he had misunderstood, and siding with Wen Zhiru, his childhood friend of many years. In the end, he chose Wen Zhiru.
Back in the live chat, Wen Zhiru’s schoolgirl fans—those who’d been jumping up and down calling for a fight—went eerily quiet.
Someone typed: “Where did all Wen Zhiru’s little fans go? Why aren’t they yelling now?”
Another: “Those who were trashing Wen Yin in the chat earlier were Wen Zhiru’s fans. How’s that for being slapped in the face?”
“I don’t even know whether to call them stupid or just—stupid. People who live in showbiz and call themselves ‘pure’ are delusional.”
“It’s all fan-filtering. Wen Zhiru’s fans can’t actually be living in some fantasy world 24/7, can they?”
On the sand, Wen Zhiru sat dumbly, then suddenly slumped to the ground, at a loss for how to explain any of it. The girl who’d seemed innocent before now looked like someone else entirely, eyes cold and fixed on Wen Yin as she walked away.
Wen Yin found a quiet stretch of the shore. There weren’t many edible shells to be found here, but she didn’t need much—lunch would do. As she rounded a bend, a familiar silhouette caught her eye.
Before she could make it out, the chat erupted in screams.
“Hubby! Hubby! It’s the husband who just came out of the water!”
“Fresh out of the sea and Nannan looks sexier than ever! I can totally see the faint outline of eight-pack abs under that wetsuit!”
“Broad shoulders, narrow waist—my heart can’t take it!” someone drooled.
Shao Yinan was half-submerged, just taking his diving mask off when he saw her. Water beads clung to the hair at his temple and slid down to trace the planes of his chest. Even the tilt of his dark, almond-shaped eyes—slightly upturned—made him look as if he could look at a stray dog and make it feel adored. But now there was a coolness to them; his face gave away nothing—clearly not in the best of moods.
Wen Yin nodded a greeting and readjusted her gear. The dive apparatus still worked. She planned to go in once more.
Shao Yinan picked up on her intention immediately and frowned, disapproving. “Diving’s tough on the female guests. Why don’t you tell me what you want—I’ll help you gather it.”
She paused as she lifted the mask to her face, cocking her head in puzzled silence. That look of uncomplicated innocence made Shao Yinan feel odd under her stare; he turned his head away and gave a couple of exaggerated coughs, his voice dropping a notch.
“I saw you under the water just now,” he said simply.
The sentence was enough. Wen Yin’s heart fluttered—he’d been there too? Watching?
Understanding his implication, she smiled back. “I’m fine.”
Under the surface, Shao Yinan had noticed all of Wen Zhiru’s little gestures. When Lu Ziqiu hauled Wen Yin back to shore, Shao had been tempted to rip Lu’s pig-hoofed hands off. He’d loitered in the shadows, pretending not to be paying attention, sneaking glances at the cluster of five. When Wen Zhiru started spitting accusations, he’d almost bolted forward to vouch for Wen Yin—until he noticed something else.
Wen Yin’s soft, languid words had managed to flip the scene. That calm, seemingly fragile manner made the whole group tilt to her favor. Shao Yinan’s hand tightened reflexively on his towel. The woman across from them was almost unreal in her beauty, an instant magnet for every eye—but he alone could see the telltale tail at her back.
“I’ll go with you,” he said, slipping the mask back on. He was ready to dive down at her side.
Surprise flashed through Wen Yin’s eyes. Since her rebirth, everything had been unfolding along the same tracks as the life she’d lived before; the only wildcard was Shao Yinan. Once a man with no ties to her life, he now seemed to be folding in toward her, step by deliberate step. Her chest tightened; after a long pause she looked up and accepted his offer.
The little news that Wen Yin and Shao Yinan would dive together sent a ripple through his fans.
“No way! I actually defended Wen Yin earlier, but Wen Yin—you can’t just bite the hand that helped you!”
“Not gonna lie, seeing Shao Yinan and Wen Yin side by side is a visual feast. Heaven for pretty-face fans!”
“I can’t stop staring!”
“Stupid pretty-face fans, get outta here. Why would Shao Yinan ever go for Wen Yin? She’s a useless pretty face—dream on!”
Despite the chat’s mixed opinions, Wen Yin had to admit that he was pleasant company. They came back from the water with small victories: a few sea snails, a crab, satisfied smiles. Maybe it was her imagination, but Shao Yinan seemed to shield her subtly, like a hand at her back when a wave threatened to unbalance her.
Once they were ashore, Shao offered her his towel and they sat shoulder to shoulder.
“Didn’t expect your eye for goodies to be this sharp,” he teased, the corners of his mouth lifting as if the sour mood at the start of the day had never existed. “You’ve swept this whole patch clean.”
The seawater clinging to his neck and the brisk salt wind made him fidget. A tiny bit of his neatness-consciousness peeked through. On this deserted island, there were no proper showers—not even a decent bathroom. The guests would have to make do with a little hot water to wipe themselves down. Two days would pass quickly enough.
“You uncomfortable?” Wen Yin asked, watching him touch his neck like he had earlier.
He nodded. “A little. I could use a shower.”
“The production team really doesn’t think about people,” Wen Yin said with a smile. “They didn’t even provide a place to wash.”
Shao complained like a child, which made Wen Yin chuckle. She scanned the small island; it was coastal but not entirely barren—there was scrap wood lying about. She tapped her chin, and an audacious idea popped into her head.
“You have a minute, Shao?” she asked. “Could you…help me with something?”
She rose, picked up her little bucket. From where Shao Yinan sat, silhouetted by the sun, she looked absurdly lovely—honestly, almost unreal.