The words left Shao Yinan’s lips and landed like a door slamming shut. Jiang Shihuai, Qian Shuzhi, and Lu Ziqiu all froze — the expression on each of their faces suddenly awkward, strained.
Shao Yinan had left them nowhere to go.
All three men, at the same time, silently prayed that Wen Yin would refuse. But to their horror, she only tilted her head and placed her small hand over his.
“It’s an honor,” she said.
Where there had always been a cool reserve, a faint smile now softened Wen Yin’s features. Her dark eyes shone as if a thousand stars hid under the surface. She looked unbearably beautiful, the kind of beauty that made it impossible to look away.
Lu Ziqiu and Jiang Shihuai clenched their fists until their knuckles went white. Still they said nothing. Wen Yin’s choice—her quiet acceptance—had spoken for her.
Under the production team’s direction, Wen Yin and Shao Yinan climbed into the show’s date car. Because the segment called for the male guest to pick the location, Wen Yin had no idea where he planned to take her. Throughout the ride, their fingers remained interlaced, ten to ten, and the faint heat of that touch made Wen Yin’s ears flush.
Unbidden, her mind slipped back to that other night — the memory of Shao Yinan inching closer, their breaths almost brushing. She tucked that memory into the curve of her chest.
Shao Yinan noticed the tiny, helpless movements — the way she curled inward, the way she pressed closer — and kept quiet. She was still his little Yin, still impossibly endearing.
“We might be a bit farther than usual,” he said softly. “You can sleep if you want.”
Half-asleep, Wen Yin nodded with a dazed little smile. Letting him decide felt safe.
In the livestream chat, viewers exploded into a flurry of comments — fragmented, ecstatic, almost as if the fans were having trouble breathing themselves.
“Oh my god, Shao is spoiling her rotten!!!”
“He’s such a gentleman!”
“I used to think Yin didn’t deserve Shao — and now I can’t handle it!!”
“When are they getting married? I need a wedding live stream!”
“Where are they even going? The male guest picked and no one knows!”
“The mystery is killing me!!!”
By the time she finally drifted off, the ride’s motion had rocked her into a shallow sleep. Her head bobbed, then settled against the window. Shao Yinan watched her with a softness he never bothered hiding. Yes, the destination was farther than he’d told anyone — but every extra mile had a reason: everything he did, he did for Yin.
When his hand shook her awake, Wen Yin blinked at him through sleep-misted lashes. The mist in her eyes made them look wet and luminous; the sleepy lift at the corners of her mouth made her voice almost syrupy.
“Are we there?”
He smiled at the small, tender tone in her voice. “We are.”
Stepping out of the car, Wen Yin felt a strangled, astonished recognition. The street, the shopfronts — this was Luo City. The same little district they’d visited a month ago when the production team had first organized costume changes for the guests.
Shao Yinan tapped her wrist and led her along. Wen Yin walked as if in a dream, letting him pull her forward.
They stopped outside a cosplay boutique. Shao Yinan’s mouth curved at the corner. “Come on.”
The familiar routine froze Wen Yin for a heartbeat. For a moment she was back where she’d been the first time she’d come to Luo City: a designer who usually watched models be dressed and styled, not the one being styled herself.
Inside, the staff greeted Shao Yinan with an easy deference, as if they expected him. They led Wen Yin toward a changing cubicle; Shao Yinan was guided in a different direction. Wen Yin watched his broad back recede and felt a warm, strange tenderness bloom in her chest. No one had ever treated her like this before — no one but him.
The attendant bowed politely and opened the curtain. “Mr. Shao sent these,” she said. “If you change here, we’ll take care of everything. Call me if you need anything.”
Wen Yin hadn’t expected him to plan this down to the last piece. She’d thought they’d choose together on the spot. Inside the cubicle a dress hung lit by the changing-room light: a black cheongsam, exquisite in its simplicity. Darker black roses were embroidered into the fabric, their edges catching the light like secret ink. The workmanship was flawless.
Her designer instincts kicked in despite herself. She reached out and ran her fingers over the fabric, tracing the stitching, the weight, the cut. She could almost tell the brand by the lines and the seams. A thrill ran through her at the perfection of it.
On the little stool nearby, a pair of heels waited — and the moment she slipped them on she realized Shao Yinan had measured every detail. They fit her as if they’d been made for her feet.
When she stepped out, the boutique went very still. All at once every pair of eyes inside and every camera in the studio turned toward her.
“Miss Wen, you were born for that dress,” one attendant exclaimed, utterly sincere.
The livestream chat erupted in shrieks.
“OMG who gave her that cheongsam?!”
“The black makes her skin glow — she’s a demon!!”
“Sister’s face is going to kill me!”
“Even the sky is safe because of Wen Yin’s face!”
The stylists ushered her to a chair. “We’ll do your hair and makeup,” the lead said, smiling as if this were the most natural thing in the world. Wen Yin felt an amused, almost shy smile tug at her mouth. Until now she’d stood on the other side of this ritual, critiquing contours and color palettes. Now she let them work.
They kept her base makeup soft and natural, then swept her lashes up and tipped the outer corners of her eyes with a sharp, elegant line. A single jade hairpin was tucked into a simple, loose updo, lending the whole look a quiet refinement. Her lips were stained a deep, lively red that made her whole face come alive.
When the makeover was finished, someone in the room let out a small, stunned gasp. The camera lingered, and the screen filled with Wen Yin’s face: alabaster skin, flawless and unblemished; eyes that curved like invitations; lips the color of ripe cherries. She smiled almost without thinking, and every movement was arresting.
“She looks like a star, not a civilian,” someone whispered.
“Her skin is flawless tonight,” another voice agreed in the chat, thousands of others echoing the sentiment until the feed turned into a chorus of admiration.