The man nodded once, expression cooling slightly. His lips pressed together. “Return to the Wens.”
In the live stream, the chatroom was exploding. After Shao Yinan handed his letter to Wen Yin, the message feed began to roll faster and faster.
Wen Yin’s usually aloof brow lifted a fraction; the corner of her mouth hinted at a smile as she folded the paper neatly and slipped it away.
That small, careful gesture set her apart from the other two.
“Oh my God, the way she folded it—literally chef’s kiss!!” typed someone.
“I can’t—will they ever just get married already?!” another screamed.
“If she can write a letter today, she can get a marriage certificate tomorrow and throw a wedding the day after!!!” someone else hyped.
“Shao Yinan just scored big points with this move!!”
Jiang Shihuai’s eyes darkened as he watched Wen Yin. A flicker of hostility crept into the way he examined Shao Yinan. He’d underestimated this actress.
The comments kept shipping Wen Yin and Shao without noticing Wen Zhi’s face darkening.
Wen Zhi looked like she wanted to sprint forward and tear the smile from Wen Yin’s face, to expose the smugness Wen Yin wore like a badge. The thought that Wen Yin had stolen everything from her—the roles, the attention, the man—made her blood boil. She cursed Wen Yin silently, over and over.
Across the room, the crew brought the next letter to Xiao Mo.
He stiffened, surprised, but outwardly calm. He opened the paper. As expected, the neat, familiar handwriting greeted him. His dark eyes dropped to the signature—Wen Zhi.
Wen Zhi saw the faint lift at the corner of his mouth and let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. So he was still on her side. As for the others, let them be.
She told herself that, but her gaze couldn’t help sliding, sharp with envy, toward Wen Yin at the center of attention, being fawned over like a star.
Wen Yin—a thief.
She’d taken everything from her. What a brazen woman.
Wen Zhi mentally tallied the offense again. She’d already called her a thousand names.
By the time the final envelope remained, the whole stream leaned in as if in one collective breath.
“Who did Wen Yin write to?!” the chat demanded.
“Please stop cutting to slow-mo, I need to know NOW!!”
“I’ll bet five bucks she picked Shao Yinan!!”
“Today’s the day to stan Only Heart!!”
“Shao looks kinda nervous, huh?”
“Haha, our forever-icy boy still so pure.”
“No kidding—how else did he earn that nickname?” came a wagging emoji.
Jiang Shihuai and Lu Ziqiu stared at the last envelope, both guessing who it would belong to. But their gazes were different. Lu Ziqiu looked expectant but calm, as if he’d already guessed the outcome. Jiang’s eyes burned with a stubborn refusal to lose—like this letter could belong to anyone but him.
Under the expectant spotlight, the final envelope landed in Shao Yinan’s hands.
Pale pink. Warm, as if it still held the shape of Wen Yin’s fingers.
He couldn’t help the faint lift at his mouth. The front was bare save for a tiny smiling face and Wen Yin’s name beneath it.
That little smile made something in him melt.
“My god—Only Heart is real, right?!”
“Marry already, please!!”
“Wen Yin really knows how to flirt.”
“She’s adorable. Though—is she being coy?”
“Sis, don’t be scared—just confess!”
“Direct is best.”
A few dissenting comments slipped through the flurry—mean things about Wen Yin’s motives and career—but diehard shippers drowned them out with squeals. Nobody wanted to be a buzzkill.
When the stream ended and the cameras cut, Wen Yin immediately felt two angry stares on her back.
Wen Zhi’s, and Qian Shuzhi’s.
Both of them glared at Wen Yin like scorned women who’d just had the man snatched from under them. Wen Zhi looked as if she might rip Wen Yin’s skin off on the spot. Qian Shuzhi restrained himself only because Shao Yinan was present; he limited himself to a pointed look.
Wen Yin had no patience for a playground scene. Besides, she still hadn’t figured out what had happened between Jiang Shihuai and Wen Zhi to make their friendship explode like it had. She left the living room without lingering, retreated to her room, took off her makeup, washed up, and asked the studio for the night off.
Director Wu sent back an OK emoji. Approved.
Wen Yin collapsed onto her bed, the letter from Shao Yinan turning over in her mind. Eventually she even heard, in her memory, the way he’d said her name. He always spoke low and steady, his voice clear and compelling; when he called her name the last syllable lifted slightly—subtle, but somehow tantalizing.
A flush spread across her face. Realizing how ridiculous she sounded, she buried herself under the covers.
Oh no—why did she keep thinking of Shao Yinan?
The thought made her breathe deeper and slower until sleep claimed her.
Not far away, Shao Yinan leaned against the balcony door of his room. Night wind threaded through his hair. He still held the pale pink envelope in one of his long, sculpted fingers, and he couldn’t stop glancing at the tiny smile on its front.
He smiled, finally, softly.
“Good night, Yin,” he murmured.
Night fell. The sky was without mercy but full of stars.
Early the next morning, the guests were rousted awake by production and shuffled, bleary-eyed, into the living room. Even Li Xiangwei—the poster child for self-discipline—couldn’t hide a yawn. Qian Shuzhi looked like he might sleep standing up. “Director, what is it this early?” he grumbled.
The director, however, was bubbling with energy. He brightened at the assembled guests and announced today’s task.
“Today’s theme is still dates,” he said, smiling. “But we’ll change the format a bit.”
He paused for effect, eyes twinkling.
“This time, the female guests will name keywords corresponding to date locations. Then the five male guests will choose. Important—multiple male guests can choose the same date spot.”