Wen Zhi took Wen Yin’s steady stare for nothing more than concealed envy. She lifted her chin without a flicker, pleased with the expression of someone seeing the world for the first time.
She nodded and cooed, “Yes.”
She hadn’t expected Wen Yin’s look to harden instead of soften.
“This outfit on Teacher Wen can hardly be called a Tang-style qixiong ruqun,” Wen Yin said, her gaze sweeping over the ornate set. “One of the most distinctive features of Tang clothing is the use of cloth buttons—or none at all—and two simple ties.” Her eyes landed on a modern button glimpsed beneath Wen Zhi’s collar. “This can’t even be called proper hanfu. There are modern-style buttons, and there are extra ties. It doesn’t fit the Tang aesthetic.”
Wen Zhi hadn’t imagined Wen Yin would pick apart the dress Xiao Mo had carefully chosen for her. Her lips dipped into a pout; her deer-like eyes shimmered with injured innocence.
Xiao Mo’s expression tightened. He answered coldly, “If Zhi looks good and feels comfortable, that’s what matters.”
“It was my idea,” Wen Zhi offered quickly. “The original buttonless design was too cumbersome; Xiao Mo had it altered.”
Everyone knew how blind Xiao Mo’s affection for Wen Zhi had become, but Wen Yin’s professional sensibilities wouldn’t let it slide. She forced a polite smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Still, you should respect traditional clothing.”
The live chat erupted. Some fans scolded those who claimed to love hanfu but couldn’t tell a basic style from a fake. Others called for treating these garments as cultural treasures—if they’re beautiful, they deserve to be worn correctly. A few viewers criticized Xiao Mo for defending Wen Zhi at Wen Yin’s expense: “This is what people mean by brown-nosing their way to the top, isn’t it?”
Wen Zhi, seeing the tide turning, shrugged the blame onto the production team. “It was the props department’s fault,” she declared, hoping to salvage the moment. Her excuse bought her some breathing room at her own expense—enough to earn a few more displeased murmurs.
The director felt his temples throb. He’d been meticulous with props; now Xiao Mo’s meddling had muddied the waters and Wen Zhi had turned it into the crew’s problem. He swallowed a sigh and stepped in.
“All right. Next we’ll announce the male and female guests who will be paired together.” He rattled off the four groups. Reactions rippled through the contestants—some raised brows, some frowned, some cheered.
No one had expected Xiao Mo to be left out.
Wen Zhi happened to be paired with Jiang Shihuai. Xiang Zhou and Li Xiangwei ended up together by a fluke. Lu Ziqiu and Qian Shuzhi inexplicably became a pair. Wen Yin, for her part, found herself opposite Shao Yinan.
“What a coincidence, Ah Yin.” Shao Yinan had drifted up beside her without her noticing. He wore black, the cuffs embroidered with delicate silver trim; his hair was styled back in that classical, drama-ready pompadour. Even a look that demanded a striking face suited him perfectly.
His sharp brows gave him an austere, cold-cut edge—unsmiling, he radiated a refined, almost forbidding elegance. Together they stood like ink and paper—stark, complementary—and the sight sent a flutter through the online audience.
Fans lost their minds in the comments. Someone coined a ship name—Only Heartbeat—playing on the character “Wei” sounding like “only.” The chat exploded with fangirl squeals and threats to start shipping them officially.
Wen Yin, oblivious to the fan frenzy, looked at him with genuine admiration. “Teacher Shao, your styling today is very handsome.”
Shao’s ears warmed. He remembered her yesterday, how she’d waved her trophy across the crowd with a coquettish smile. He forced his gaze away before the exchange could become too intimate. “Ah Yin looks good too.”
Qian Shuzhi, watching the moment, scowled at Wen Yin. She’d already stolen so much attention earlier—now she was flirting with Shao Yinan? The look was flat-out rude.
“Someone looks a little possessive,” a viewer wrote, and the chat filled with reactions. Some found Qian’s behavior startlingly bold; others laughed at the obvious chemistry on stage. “Even if we shouldn’t say it aloud, Wen Yin and Shao Yinan together are a visual feast,” a comment read. “Pure eye candy.”
Lu Ziqiu had been looking toward Wen Yin too. She stood tall and composed in her light hanfu; the pleats of her skirt swayed with every subtle movement, each sway like a brushstroke across his chest. He lingered on her longer than he should have, nearly lost in the moment.
Wen Zhi saw it. Her bottom lip went white where she bit it. She couldn’t understand why Lu Ziqiu was looking at Wen Yin like that. A sting of something sharp and hot settled in her throat.
Jiang Shihuai noticed the change in her and asked, concerned, “Are you all right?” He’d taken off his gold-rimmed glasses because of the makeup, but his face was still composed and handsome.
Wen Zhi mustered a weak smile and mumbled something about not feeling well, ducking her head. In that split second, she missed the look Jiang Shihuai shot toward Wen Yin—an almost casual glance that lingered for a few beats before he turned away.
They had to ride half an hour to the outdoor shoot. On the bus, Wen Zhi clenched her phone out of sight and checked the screen. A secretive little smile tugged at her mouth.
None of the others, still live-streaming, noticed the tiny headline climbing the trending list.
#InsiderBreaks: The Heiress of the Wen Family—Is Her Identity More Complicated Than We Know?#