Shao Yinan skidded around the bend and spotted a splash of red on the track ahead. A figure lay prone on the snow.
He squinted without meaning to; the ski suit was unmistakably red.
Before he could get closer, staff members hurried over and helped the woman to the side. Then another red shape appeared—sleek, practiced, hair flying in a dark arc as she carved toward the finish.
Shao Yinan followed her with his eyes.
When Wen Yin pulled off her goggles, Shao Yinan let out a breath so slight it was almost a soundless relief.
“Yin, who fell back there?” he asked. The fallen skier had looked like one of the female guests.
Wen Yin’s voice was cool, almost indifferent. “Wen Zhi.”
Shao’s face tightened. He felt no sympathy; he knew exactly what sort of woman Wen Zhi was.
The director, watching the scene unfold, felt his temples pulse. He had warned them a dozen times—how did something still go wrong?
In the livestream comments the guesses began to spread like wildfire.
“Is that Wen Zhi who got hurt? How did she get injured?”
“Wen Zhi was right next to Wen Yin—didn’t Wen Yin knock her down on purpose?”
“Wen Yin would do anything for attention, wouldn’t she?”
Wen Yin’s fans weren’t about to let Wen Zhi’s supporters smear her name. They counterattacked instantly.
“You okay? Didn’t the psych ward cure your victim complex?”
“How would you even know Wen Yin pushed her? Did she confess?”
“Rumors fly from the mouth so fast—truth has to run after them and it’s exhausted by the time it arrives.”
“Of course everything bad is Wen Yin’s fault.”
“You’re so smug, throwing every accusation you want at Wen Yin.”
One by one the guests trickled in at the finish. Contrary to everyone’s expectations, Lu Ziqiu didn’t even spare Wen Zhi a glance. Around the seated Wen Zhi, only Xiao Mo and Jiang Shihuai looked genuinely worried.
Wen Yin noticed first, though she said nothing. When her eyes met Lu Ziqiu’s for an instant, she quickly looked away.
Lu’s lips moved for a moment—an unfinished sentence, then an awkward retreat.
Wen Yin looked composed to the point of unreadability. It was as though she’d seen his hesitation and yet hadn't.
But it was already too late for that to matter.
Wen Zhi drew in a shaky breath on the chair and whimpered, “It hurts—Doctor, slower, please.”
Xiao Mo’s heart twisted at the sight of her red-rimmed eyes; he snapped, “Be gentler.”
Jiang Shihuai’s voice was soft. “If you’re scared, don’t watch.”
Wen Zhi bowed her head and sobbed quietly. Tears rolled in fat drops down her cheeks, making her look pitiful in a way that pulled at people’s instincts to protect.
The chat exploded with renewed curiosity: what really caused Wen Zhi to fall?
Meanwhile, the director declared the winner. When the host announced Wen Yin, Wen Zhi’s downcast eyes hardened with a flash of malice. She had been over-eager—she’d intended to overtake Wen Yin by taking a tight angle, maybe even clip her out of the way—but Wen Yin had ducked out of it. Wen Zhi had overexerted herself and gone down instead.
She stared at her mangled knee and ground her teeth until her jaw hurt. Wen Yin had planned this—she must have wanted to see her fail.
As the victor, Wen Yin drew the next date location: the capital city.
Watching the barrage of ever-wilder rumors about Wen Zhi’s injury on the livestream’s comment stream, the director finally had to step in.
“Wen Zhi’s injuries are only superficial,” he said. “I asked the coach—she didn’t control her force in time and fell because of that. Nothing to worry about.”
That brief explanation was enough to close the third episode. When the feed cut, the director let out a long breath and had the injured guests sent back to the Love Cabin once their wounds had been tended.
Inside the cabin—
Wen Yin paused while packing, struck by something she’d forgotten. Throughout the drive back she’d felt a cold, hostile stare on her, sharp and lingering, but whenever she turned the gaze had vanished.
She had a quiet suspicion now. She pulled up Weibo on her phone.
Heartbeat Lovers was trending—the old hot search for Li Xiangwei’s injury still sat at the top, and beneath it Wen Zhi’s fans had pushed a new tag up the list.
#HeartbeatLovers WenZhiInjured
Wen Yin tapped it. The top post was a clip of the ski race. She saved it and played it frame by frame—and sure enough, she caught the anomaly.
From a distance near the blind corner, Wen Zhi suddenly surged forward as if aiming straight at the person ahead—straight at her.
Wen Yin closed the phone and let out a short, dry laugh. You can’t have your cake and eat it too, she thought. I wonder if her “good little sister” will ever learn.
When she finished packing, she found most of the other cast had already left for other commitments. Only Wen Zhi remained on the couch, tending to her knee, with Xiao Mo and Jiang Shihuai helping her gather her things.
Wen Yin had no patience to indulge Wen Zhi. She didn’t offer a glance as she opened the door.
But Wen Zhi called out, voice sharp with hatred despite the pain. “Wen Yin—you did that on purpose!”
Wen Yin didn’t even turn. She spoke lazily, almost bored, “Who did what on purpose? You really think hiding behind the blind spot of a single camera would keep your little tricks from being seen?”
“Wen Zhi,” she added, “your tricks would be easier to believe if your intelligence matched your lows.”
Wen Zhi fumed, immobile and furious as the pain in her leg kept her from standing. She watched Wen Yin swagger out and tossed a throw pillow aside as if to vent.
On the second floor outside Wen Zhi’s door, Jiang Shihuai pushed his gold-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose. He must have been standing there a while. Behind the lenses, his narrow eyes were complicated, unreadable.
A few moments later he turned and went back inside, but Wen Zhi’s words kept ringing in his head.
“Senior, did I do something wrong? Why does Sister treat me like this?”
On the car ride away, Wen Yin pulled on her mask and glanced at her private phone. She hadn’t checked it all day; the work chat had a few new notices. She skimmed them, about to close the phone.
It buzzed.
She looked at the chat window:
You have a new friend request.