No sooner had Shao Yinan handed over his gift than the trending feed exploded, plastered with his and Wen Yin’s faces.
#ShaoYinan_JadePin
#ShaoYinan_WenYinDate
#ShaoYinan_SweetTalk
#WenYinBlush
The comment stream filled with congratulations. Any dissenting voices were quickly smothered by the sheer force of fandom—Shao Yinan’s fans were famous for their ferocity, and Wen Yin had picked up a healthy following of her own since the show aired. The couple-worship was nearly unanimous.
Only a stubborn few kept trying to drag Wen Yin through the mud.
“This woman’s the real player, right? First she snatched her senior, then his brother, now she’s cozying up to Shao Yinan.”
“Give me a break. Why’s Wen Yin getting away with this?”
“Poor ZhiZhi, she doesn’t deserve this. Wen Yin’s pretty, but she’s not even close to ZhiZhi.”
“Just looking at Wen Yin makes my skin crawl.”
“How do people even stan Shao Yinan and Wen Yin as a ship? I don’t get it.”
Wen Zhi’s fans tried to stir the pot, but by now everyone had learned the hard way: arguing with these fandoms was like poking a hornet’s nest. The rest of the audience simply rolled their eyes—these online clowns weren’t worth the breath.
Meanwhile, the daytime dates on the show proceeded smoothly. Except for Wen Zhi and Xiao Mo, whose pairing was strained, the other couples were hitting a sweet groove—especially Xiang Zhou and Li Xiangwei.
Their chemistry had been building all episode. Xiang Zhou had picked the racetrack they’d visited before, and at the exact moment the car crossed the finish line, both of them cheered as if the years between them had slipped away. They fell into each other just like old times; the embrace was tight, familiar. And then, amid the roar of the engines and the scent of burning rubber, Xiang Zhou took a breath and told her everything.
Their shattered mirror crack by crack mended.
“Didn’t expect the quietest pair to be the first to get back together!” someone wrote.
“I told you these two were the ones to watch,” another agreed.
“Look at Shao Yinan, I’m dying here—what’s wrong with him, why isn’t he confessing in a scene like that?” fans cried.
“Come on, Shao Yinan—give your fans something to be proud of!”
Night fell. The outdoor dates wound down and the guests filed back to the Love House. As was the show’s custom, everyone still had to write a little “heart-note” to whoever had moved them the most that day.
Wen Yin surprised everyone—she didn’t reach for the pale stationery she always did. Tonight she picked a sheet of pink paper, an unusual choice that lit the chat into a frenzy.
“She’s feeling something, right? It’s happening!”
“This producer knows how to make sparks fly.”
“Hurry up and confess! I want to see a wedding someday.”
Wen Yin’s neat, calligraphic handwriting fell across the page. For suspense, the show didn’t film her writing; when the camera finally cut back, the pink letter was already tucked into an envelope and waiting.
As always, staff collected the notes and shuffled them. The crew distributed the sealed envelopes to each guest.
“Can’t believe they won’t show us what’s written!”
“What is the one thing my VIP membership can’t see?!”
“Damn this director, I love being strung along.”
“Alright, time for everyone’s favorite guessing game.”
The first door to be knocked on was Li Xiangwei’s. Viewers in the live chat barely hesitated: it had to be from Xiang Zhou. They’d shared a confession on the track that afternoon, after all.
They were right. Li slid the letter open and found it full of the kind of words Xiang Zhou reserved for her—careful, earnest lines packed with the longing of a boy who’d never quite stopped being a boy. Reading, Li could feel her chest flutter, transported back to that student-day afternoon when a spirited young man had stood before her and made the summer air feel hot and dangerous. He lifted his chin in his old, daring way.
“Li Xiangwei—will you be my girlfriend?”
For the first time in a long while Li’s face, normally so controlled, softened into a sweet, shy smile. No matter how old the years made them, her heart still fluttered for him. After all, he was Xiang Zhou.
The second door opened to Wen Yin.
By now she’d accepted letters from the crew often enough to do it without thinking. Still, the weight of the envelope felt different tonight. She knew, even before she glanced at the names on the front, whose handwriting and sentiments were inside.
—Whether you forgive me or not, I will keep apologizing.—Lu Ziqiu.
—There’s nothing much I can say. I only wish you sweet dreams.—Jiang Shihuai.
The smile Wen Yin had worn vanished the instant she saw those envelopes. She had no patience or sympathy left for these two men. After two lifetimes of tangled histories, she could no longer tell if what she felt was hate or something more tangled—a tired resentment that had long ago been filed away.
Her eyes went flat, the angles of her face smoothing into calm indifference. The old grudges seemed to drain out with the paper.
“Wow, Lu Ziqiu and Jiang Shihuai are really persistent,” the chat cooed.
“Not gonna lie—I love a good love triangle, but I still want Wen Yin and Shao Yinan together.”
“Seems like Lu and Jiang flipped 180—started off hating, now acting all soft. Contradictory much?”
The viewers didn’t know the complicated history behind Wen Yin, Lu, and Jiang. From their perspective, the two men were simply lovesick and confusing. Wen Yin barely had time to dwell when she noticed something odd—the envelope she held felt thicker than it should have been.
When had an extra letter slipped into the stack?
Her brows knit. The look on her face was part awkward, part “did I just see a ghost.” She already guessed who it must be.
Xiao Mo.
Was he out of his mind? He’d warned her that morning, and now he’d sent her a letter? This missive should have been for Wen Zhi.
In the narrative around the show, Xiao Mo was one of Wen Zhi’s most devoted admirers—something close to a courtier who would do anything for her. Wen Yin couldn’t make sense of why he would address her.
She slit the envelope. The paper inside was plain white. The handwriting—masculine, steady—contained only two words.
“Good night.” —Xiao Mo.
Two letters, two tiny syllables, and Wen Yin’s face twisted with a feeling that bordered on horror. She wanted to toss it aside on the spot. Had Xiao Mo been possessed by some other person? Maybe he needed an exorcist.
But with cameras on her, she kept her hands steady and swallowed the urge to throw the note away. Instead she wore a strange, unreadable expression—one that made the viewers blink.
“What’s going on? Wasn’t Xiao Mo supposed to be on a date with Wen Zhi tonight? Why did he send his letter to Wen Yin?”
“Did their date go terribly wrong? Did Xiao Mo suddenly see something in Wen Yin?”
“This feels so familiar… didn’t Jiang and Lu both suddenly start being nice to Wen Yin before, too?”
“You mean all the fish from Wen Zhi’s pond are hopping over to Wen Yin’s?” someone typed in disbelief.
“This dating show is getting wilder by the minute!” another declared.
Under the glare of the studio lights and the endless questions in the chat, Wen Yin held the small white slip and breathed. Outside, the night deepened, and the game of hearts inside the Love House grew more complicated by the beat.