Ironclad Straightness
Unlike Lu Ziqiu, who was soaked in sweat and panting, Shao Yinan moved with the effortless control of someone completely at home on the court. There was even a hint of total domination about him.
Lu frowned. This wasn’t what he’d expected.
He'd assumed someone from the entertainment world wouldn’t train much. He hadn’t expected Shao’s stamina to be almost superhuman—accurate shots, full-court for half an hour and still fresh.
A prick of humiliation rose in Lu’s chest.
Shao wouldn’t even give him a chance to touch the ball. He was getting thrashed.
Shao dribbled once, then tucked the ball under one arm and glanced at the out-of-breath Lu with a faint, provocative lift of his brow.
“Well then, Teacher Lu—call it a day?”
Viewers in the livestream couldn’t help but sympathize with Lu.
[Poor Zi Qiu! But god, Shao Yinan looks so good playing basketball!]
[Standing next to Lu, you wouldn’t guess Shao is older. And his skills are totally on another level.]
[I kind of feel bad for Lu—he asked for the match and now he’s getting wrecked...]
[Not gonna lie, Shao looks amazing on the court.]
[Zi Qiu’s face looks terrible…]
Shao’s casual question landed like a bright, mocking arrow in Lu’s ears. He rubbed his hair, irritation and wounded pride twisting his features.
“Fine—Shao’ll find time to spar again,” he shot back, trying to save face. He wasn’t about to let this crafty fox strut away triumphant.
Shao ignored him, didn’t even spare the rookie a glance.
When Shao stopped playing, Qian Shuzhi’s hand tightened around her water bottle. She hesitated; she didn’t want to be rejected again.
Wen Zhi noticed and patted her on the back, offering a reassuring, encouraging look to send her forward with the water.
Qian finally stood and walked toward Shao. Wen Zhi smiled sweetly as she watched her go—inside, she couldn’t help but be a little contemptuous. If she couldn’t even get a guy to notice her, no wonder Wen Yin had managed to trick her.
Wen Yin, staring into space in a corner, didn’t notice Qian’s little act at all. Li Xiangwei sitting next to her did, though; she subtly frowned, glanced at Wen Yin, and realized her friend was miles away in thought.
Li couldn’t help smiling wryly but kept quiet—she didn’t want to sound nosy.
[Wen Yin is such a blockhead! She’s spacing out at a time like this!]
[What is she thinking? If she doesn’t make a move her man’s going to get stolen!]
[The ‘Only Crush’ ship can’t be sunk!!!]
[Wen Yin’s got some serious straight-girl energy going on.]
[Advice to Wen Yin fans: don’t read into things!]
[No one’s taking Shao Yinan away!]
Whenever fans shipped ‘Only Crush,’ Shao’s solo fans would jump in—at first, the shippers ignored the jibes. But watching them fangirl happily, Shao’s own fans felt like their punches landed on cotton.
Can’t anyone push back?
After the final rankings were announced, the show sent everyone back to the “heart hut” and handed out ingredients to each pair. Because of their strong performance, Wen Yin and Shao got the better share: some prized produce and a dozen lively shrimp that were still hopping.
Li Xiangwei and her teammate scored decently too—enough for a satisfying meal—but both Xiang Zhou and the others worried about their cooking skills. The rules were clear: no outside help. No calling in Wen Yin as an expert.
As the ingredients were handed out, Xiao Mo’s expression predictably darkened. He glowered at the pile of cabbage and noodles in front of him.
Qian felt stung—her clever plan had backfired, and now she’d lost out on a fancy lunch.
The show’s kitchen was large. Jiang Shihuai, only cooking for himself, finished first.
“Zhi Zhi, need any help?” he asked Wen Zhi—his tone polished and considerate. His refined looks and gentle manner had won him many fans, including a few shipper supporters.
“You’re so sweet, senior. Always looking out for me,” the fans gushed.
Wen Zhi smiled softly. “I’m fine—this is a challenge, right? I can do it.” She waved a spatula and stuck her tongue out playfully.
Jiang nodded, gentler still, and carried his meal away.
As soon as Wen Zhi turned away, a shadow crossed her eyes. What kind of stupid rule was this? Why couldn’t the producers just give everyone usable ingredients? She hated cooking already—now she had all these ridiculous items to work with and couldn’t get help. It was infuriating.
She chopped stiffly, lips pressed, and glanced toward Lu. His eyes, however, kept drifting to Wen Yin a little way off.
Lu’s behavior today had laid his thoughts bare. For the first time, a prick of resentment and jealousy took root inside Wen Zhi—she couldn’t suppress it.
Lu looked at Wen Yin and Shao with a complicated expression.
“Yin, can you help me with something?” Shao called, one hand busy rinsing spinach.
Wen Yin blinked, puzzled. What did he want?
Shao smiled, mild. “Could you tie my apron? I don’t want my clothes getting splashed.”
At those words, a soft glare settled on him. He turned his gaze slightly and found the source—Lu Ziqiu, looking at him with a wounded, accusing stare.
Hah. Old fox.
Shao didn’t flinch; he merely moved his gaze aside. Wen Yin nodded.
“Okay.”
She brought the apron over, and Shao obediently bent his head, letting her tie it for him.
When Shao looked down, he caught the sight of Wen Yin’s delicate, earnest features, her dark eyes shining as they focused on him. As he turned, he shot a quick sidelong glance at the sulking Lu.
His brow ticked up. Hmph—kid.
Wen Yin had somehow come up behind him and was leaning over to fasten the ties. Her hands brushed the strong line of his waist as she worked carefully to avoid being too forward.
A faint, intimate pink seemed to float between them, and Lu’s jaw tightened.
“Ziqiu.”
Wen Zhi’s voice came softly behind him—underneath the words was a tremor of emotion, wet with feeling and grievance.