Lu Ziqiu hid it well—almost the instant after, a smile crept back across his face.
Sharp-eyed viewers caught that split-second expression and let speculation fly in the chat.
“That look on Lu Ziqiu’s face—so loaded. What’s going on? Is he upset?”
“Hm... he didn’t look thrilled when Wen Zhi handed him that letter. Has he lost feelings for her?”
“With so many male contestants around Wen Zhi, maybe Lu thinks he has no chance and is giving up?”
“Could he actually like Wen Yin?”
“My childhood crush is switching sides—this is going to be a breakup, sob!”
As the audience’s debate swelled, the live stream wound down and finally cut out. Wen Zhi let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.
Rage surged up again, hot and helpless. She gripped her phone so tightly her knuckles blanched; veins stood out on her wrist. She forced herself to calm down—there were things more important than Wen Yin right now.
Jiang Shihuai opened his door and found her framed there, eyes rimmed red.
“Jiang…” she said, voice trembling. “Can you—will you walk with me for a bit?”
He glanced at his watch and nodded. “Alright. Wait for me.”
He threw on a jacket and came downstairs with her.
It was nearly midnight. The guests were exhausted after a long day and had retreated to their rooms. The area around the Love House was quiet. They walked side by side along the empty street.
Wen Zhi kept her head bowed, every step stiffer than the last. Late spring nights had a bite to them; a gust made her shiver and she rubbed her arms, trying to warm herself. Jiang draped his black blazer over her shoulders and she finally looked up.
“Jiang—” The sound of the single word was soaked through with tears.
He couldn’t help it; whatever irritation the night’s games had left him with melted at the sight of her. The little ache inside him softened.
“What’s wrong, Zhi-Zhi?”
Tears slid silently down her cheeks, the delicate corners of her eyes reddened. He reached out and brushed them away, but they kept coming.
She didn’t answer him directly—only hiccupped and sniffed, then said in a small, steadying voice that he could just make out, “I never thought my sister would go that far...”
“What happened?” He shouldn’t ask, he told himself—this was neither the time nor place for conflict—but her words hinted at something deeper.
“She... targeted me because of a trash gossip account.” Wen Zhi’s bangs hid her eyes from him. All he could see were the falling tears.
A punch seemed to land behind his ribs. Seeing her like this, helpless and hurt, made him ache with a fierce, instinctive need to protect her.
For a moment the high, accusing squeal of the lie detector from earlier flashed through his head. His hand froze in midair. Then he settled it on the top of her head, fingers worrying through her hair. “I’ll talk to Wen Yin. I’ll get to the bottom of this.”
“I won’t let you bear it alone.” His voice was soft, steady.
Wen Zhi lifted her face; her eyes shimmered with moisture and something like hope. “It’s okay, Jiang. I’ll handle things with my sister.” She tried to sound brave. The fragile, stubborn gentleness in her—this resilient little white flower—stung him with tenderness.
“Jiang... are you mad at me?”
He cleared his throat awkwardly. Earlier, yes—he had been annoyed at her answer during the game. But all annoyance evaporated now in the face of her tears. “No,” he said. “How could I be mad at you? I trust you.”
They found themselves beneath a streetlamp. The light washed her face in white, making her look even more vulnerable. Her smile, small and grateful, tilted her mouth.
“Thanks, Jiang. I feel a lot better.”
They walked back to the Love House and just then Wen Yin was coming down the stairs.
A flicker of shadow crossed Jiang’s eyes. He gestured for Wen Zhi to go up first, then fell in step behind Wen Yin toward the kitchen.
Wen Zhi kept glancing back until she reached her room; once the door closed, a secret little smile lifted the corner of her lips.
Wen Yin hadn't expected him to follow. She blinked in surprise when she saw Jiang in the kitchen sink light.
He backed her into a corner without meaning to, eyes narrowing until there was something dangerous there. She kept her composure and drank from a glass of water, the crimson of her lips glossy with liquid. “What—Jiang, you don’t need water? Why are you blocking my way?”
“You did something to Zhi.” His question was a hard edge.
Wen Yin met him with a chill calm that made it feel like she was looking at a stranger. Her black eyes were cool as a clear pool. It brought him a flash of memory from another life—the way all of his tenderness had gone to Wen Zhi in the past, leaving nothing but frost for him.
“It’s late,” she said, voice light as a ripple. “You should head to bed, Jiang. You sound like you’re making trouble.”
Her coy, practiced smile left him for a heartbeat. He forced himself to steady his voice. “About tonight’s trending topic—what’s going on?”
Wen Yin only gave a soft, almost amused laugh, pressing her lips together. “Sister really has been lucky.”
Jiang frowned. “Lucky?”
She tilted her head, as if the answer were obvious. “Not only did you come to her defense, but even Teacher Xiao came to defend her. You two... had a go at me.”
The way she said it—so casual, so sure—undid everything Wen Zhi had managed to gain by playing the victim. Jiang felt the air around him chill. He stared at Wen Yin, heart tightening.
The kitchen door creaked open and Lu Ziqiu appeared, brow furrowed as he looked from one to the other. “What are you two doing?”