The light in Lu Ziqiu’s eyes went out the moment he overheard Shao Yinan and Wen Yin’s conversation. He dropped his gaze, hiding the grayness that had seeped into his expression.
He gave a short, rueful laugh. Of course—he had wronged Ah Yin. Why would she ever choose him?
Lu Ziqiu had always been proud. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined he would stoop so low for the woman he had once looked down on.
In the live chat, viewers erupted into screams when Shao Yinan and Wen Yin were successfully paired.
“AHHHHHHHHHHH!”
“‘The One Who Stole My Heart’ is going on a date!! Go Shao Yinan!”
“When are they getting their marriage certificate??”
“Hurry up and register! I’m waiting for the wedding feast!”
“Polite question: when are they getting married? I need a new OTP to ship!”
“It’s been a month—others are already having babies. Shao Yinan, do you have what it takes?”
“If they get married I’ll pay five hundred yuan—charge it to Li Xiangwei.”
“I’ll pay a thousand—put it on Xiang Zhou’s tab.”
“LOL the people above me are ridiculous!”
Qian Shuzhi hesitated before making her re-selection. She glanced at Lu Ziqiu, then at Xiao Mo. Xiao Mo’s face was stone-cold; he radiated a keep-away aura that made people uncomfortable. Qian Shuzhi paused—she didn’t like either of them.
Before she could decide, Lu Ziqiu spoke first.
“Director, may I forfeit?” His voice was low, and the resolve in his eyes made it clear he wasn’t joking.
The director hesitated, then, respecting the guest’s wishes, asked again. “Are you sure? You really want to give up the date?”
“Yes.” Lu Ziqiu nodded once, heavily.
Seeing how determined he looked, the director accepted it, and Qian Shuzhi and Xiao Mo were left no choice but to partner up.
Wen Zhi felt a prickle of worry and instinctively stole a look at Xiao Mo. He was expressionless—no hint of pleasure or irritation. He kept his gaze down, unreadable.
[Why would the brother forfeit?]
[Bold theory: maybe because Wen Yin didn’t pick him?]
[Whoa, that’s a wild guess!]
[I think so too—since Wen Yin picked Shao Yinan, not Lu Ziqiu.]
[Aww, the brother’s so devoted!]
[Come here, sister will hug you—so pitiful!]
With the pairings settled, the guests set off for their chosen date locations.
On the car ride, Wen Zhi plugged in one earbud and held out the other toward Jiang Shihuai with a playful shake. Her smile was deliberately sweet; she tilted her voice into something soft and syrupy.
“Senior, want to share?”
Jiang Shihuai hesitated, then gave a small nod. They each took an earbud and, without saying anything, listened. But their minds were miles apart.
Wen Zhi closed her eyes, pretending to nap while her thoughts spun behind her lids. Jiang Shihuai’s gaze kept slipping to her face—sometimes intentional, sometimes not. He found himself questioning everything: was the girl beside him really Wen Wen?
He cursed himself for not asking his mother more last night.
Wen Zhi’s breathing deepened; she seemed to be asleep. Her small face, delicately made up, looked soft and vulnerable—like a sleepy, gentle rabbit. She mumbled something indistinct in her sleep. The car hit a bump and her head lolloped toward Jiang Shihuai. He felt his chest drop as hers came closer, and, before he could think, he caught her on his shoulder.
Warmth flushed across his own skin. Wen Zhi opened one eye and—satisfied—smiled inwardly. Now came the next step.
The car rounded sharply and her head knocked hard against his shoulder. She let out a muffled little cry and blinked, tears brimming in her eyes.
“Senior, your shoulder is so stiff!” she pouted, rubbing her nose.
Her voice was huskier than usual, and the clear, limpid light in her eyes had turned glossy—tears wobbling on the brink. The sight tightened something in Jiang Shihuai’s chest. If this were any other moment, he would have melted and fussed over her until she felt better.
Instead he only stared at her, complexity passing over his face. He couldn’t hide the concern in his voice as he asked about the bump.
The camera behind them captured the exchange. Wen Zhi used the moment to shield the lens, angling herself just so, and quietly clipped off both their chest mics. Jiang Shihuai blinked, puzzled.
“What’s wrong, Zhi Zhi?”
His voice was the same as always, and that steadiness drove a sharp, aching sorrow through Wen Zhi. Her eyes flushed red in an instant; tears spilled down like beads.
Jiang Shihuai had never seen her cry like this. He panicked, fumbling for tissues to wipe her face.
“Did I do something to upset you?” he blurted.
Wen Zhi gently stopped his hand. “Senior, the fans can see us,” she whispered.
She didn’t need to explain further; they were still on camera behind them. Small gestures could be misread in the chat.
She was sitting at an angle that obscured the lens, shielding them both. Jiang Shihuai slowly withdrew his hand, his glasses catching a soft light as pity and tenderness warred in his expression.
“What is it, Zhi Zhi?” he asked again, more urgent this time.
Wen Zhi drew a breath, and her voice trembled as she spoke. “I used to think it was my bad luck that Ziqiu left me,” she said. “But… now you’re going to leave me too?”
Her plain words stopped him. He had been drawn to Wen Yin—that pull was undeniable. It was a fact he hadn’t meant to admit.
Noticing the shift on his face, Wen Zhi let the tears fall harder.
“I know you’ve taken care of me a lot,” she choked. “I know you deserve to chase your own happiness. I’m willing to watch you be happy—as long as you don’t leave my side.”
Her words came out small but fierce. Then, in that fragile, brave voice, she added, “Even if that girl is my sister, it’s okay.”