Red Rose
Jiang Shihuai felt like a taut wire about to snap. Everything inside his head went blank.
He couldn't even remember what he'd said. The only thing remaining in his vision was the image of Wen Yin walking away.
A tightness crawled into his throat. Before he knew it, a bitter, aching feeling crept up from somewhere deep and spread through him. Minutes ago her bright, dazzling smile had still been vivid in his mind — and only now did it hit him, like a cold splash:
His A-Yin was slipping away.
Wen Yin climbed into the production car and placed the invitation that had been meant for Jiang Shihuai at the very back of the pile. She gave a small lift of her chin toward the front — a tiny gesture, but it carried a streak of cool defiance.
Comments scrolled across the screen like a tide.
"That rejection was ruthless—she's kinda badass."
"Anyone else getting vicarious joy from this?"
"This is the best 'chasing-the-wife-but-failing' show EVER."
"I didn't know my happiness depended on Jiang Shihuai's misery, but here we are."
"Can't wait to see her shut down the other guys. Especially not him, though—no Shao Yinan in the blacklist."
"'The only one who moved me'—that's juicy."
The driver, a show crew member, sat behind the wheel, stunned. "Teacher Wen… is that it? That's the whole thing?"
A cameraman sprinted over, sweat beading on his forehead. Wen Yin glanced at him with a hint of sympathy and handed him a tissue. He hadn't expected the director's carefully staged confession night to be dispensed with in such brisk fashion. Seeing her stride off so casually, he felt a little deflated.
"What's the alternative?" Wen Yin asked, her voice level. Calm and unflappable on camera most of the time, today she had a streak of insubordination about her.
"Do you expect us to play a farewell fanfare? To congratulate Jiang Shihuai for failing to confess?"
Her words were cool, but each syllable landed like a pin in Jiang's chest. If he had still been there, his expression would've broken.
Both the driver and the cameraman's mouths twitched. Wen Yin had no patience for softening blows.
The chat exploded.
"She's got some backbone, I'll give her that."
"Weight: ninety-eight jin; backbone: ninety-seven jin. [joking emoji]"
"Is Wen Yin trying to bankrupt me with laughter?"
"This girl is hilarious. Who needs TV drama when you have her?"
"Dear god, who plays a triumphant tune when someone gets rejected?"
They moved on to the next location; the production had chosen spots close together for convenience.
"Ready for a fast-forward montage?" someone joked in the chat.
"Make it triple speed," another replied.
Wen Yin stepped out with a brisk, impatient gait, and a cameraman opened his mouth to shout a reminder. Before he could, she seemed to appear right in front of the next contestant as if she'd teleported. He swallowed the words back down.
Lu Ziqiu stood there, a little nervous. He'd taken care over his hair that morning; he had thought his look flawless. But facing Wen Yin, all his assurance dissolved.
She hurried toward him with a slightly uneven pace. For a moment his chest leapt. Then she said, with something like amusement curling at the edges of her voice, "Mr. Lu, do keep an eye on the time. There are a few others waiting."
She looked at him with that half-smile — unmistakably uninterested. Lu's ready grin froze. He seemed to understand that she was sulking on purpose; he merely murmured, "Okay."
The rest of his confession passed in a daze. His eyes clung to her as if wanting to memorize her retreating figure. When she left, he stood there, long after the laughter and cameras had moved on, hands finally dropping to his sides with a bitter smile.
The chat split into camps.
"OMG Lu's rejection was sloppy too."
"If every dating show treated confessions like this, why even watch?"
"To me, Wen Yin's doing what makes sense. She doesn't like these guys — why should she put on a show?"
"Can we stop policing other people's choices? Mind your own villa, folks."
"The keyboard warriors are a whole other species."
By the time Wen Yin reached the last date spot, her expression held a mix of puzzlement and something colder. She didn't understand why Xiao Mo had sent an invitation to her. Shouldn't he have invited Wen Zhi?
She pushed the question like a pebble under her shoe and stepped into the meeting place.
Xiao Mo stood there, immaculate in a suit, the same way he'd looked the first time they'd met. He held a bouquet of red roses, fingers tightening around the stems as Wen Yin approached.
"Wen Yin." His voice was soft but intense, threaded with a possessive heat that made the air between them feel thick.
His gestures, instead of comforting her, triggered a hard, unpleasant recoil. Memories she had tried to bury rose like ants, nibbling at her bones. A wave of disgust rolled up her spine until she felt sick.