When Shao Yinan came home, the kitchen was alive with sounds of cooking.
He hardly needed to guess who it would be—Wen Yin, of course. She poked her head out as soon as she heard the door, and the sight that met him stopped him for a moment.
She was in her loungewear, the long hair she usually let fall over her shoulders swept into a neat little bun. Slung around her waist was his pink strawberry-bear apron, the one he'd always teased her about. She looked soft and unguarded; the moment her eyes found his they brightened like a bloom opening.
"You're back!" she said, her voice syrupy and warm—none of the hard-edged decisiveness she wore at work. That gentleness was reserved for him alone, a blossom that only ever unfurled in his presence.
His lips twitched, an effortless smile, tender and oddly indulgent. Even his cool, limpid eyes warmed. For an instant they both shed the armor they wore in the world and stood only as themselves.
"You went to see Li Xiangwei again today?" he asked, the upward lift at the end of the sentence more statement than question. Lately Wen Yin had been popping over to Li Xiangwei's more often, cozying up to the hotel's head chef. He had asked about it before; she had only blinked her big eyes and offered a sly explanation.
"You wouldn't understand. I'm picking up tricks," she said, pleased with herself. He let her have it. "Dinner's almost ready. Wash up and come eat."
Her mood was buoyant—she hummed as she moved—and his smile deepened. Her happiness mattered more to him than anything. Any flies that buzzed around he would swat away without complaint.
After dinner he took the dishes without being asked, then set a plate of cut fruit in front of her. She curled into the comfortable hollow of his arm as natural as breathing, pointing at a tablet propped nearby. "So many people said the food looks delicious," she said.
He plucked at her earlobe, a small, affectionate pinch. "Yeah, and so do you."
She nodded, reflexive. A beat later she realized what he'd meant and the pale earlobe in his fingers went rosy. "What…what are you talking about?" she stammered, a little taut, as if she might subtly pull away. He tightened his arms, and her fuzzy head tucked against his neck. His breath warmed the nape of her neck.
"A-yin knows what I mean," he murmured.
You make the food look good. You, too. The double meaning painted her cheeks scarlet. Was he being serious? Playful? Slightly improper? The thought flustered her.
"Lots of people said my teaching method is so easy," she went on, looking up. Her eyes—bright, dark, deer-like—shone with a new light. He couldn't help smoothing the soft crown of her hair between his fingers.
"A-yin's great," he said. "To make so many people like it."
Receiving the praise she'd been craving, she kissed her lips together, shy. Then she lifted her head and, unblinking, looked straight at him. "And you?"
He arched a brow at the question, smiling as if he had something up his sleeve. "What?"
For the first time her voice took on a kittenish warmth. "Do you like me?"
He tapped her forehead with his finger, a tiny, indulgent gesture. "No," he said.
She froze for a second, ready to protest, but before she could he spoke again—low, magnetic, impossible to ignore. "I don't like you. I love you."
The simple, blunt confession slipped into her ears and heated her face. Despite the blush she answered with absolute certainty. "I love you too, Shao Yinan."
His smile widened. His A-yin—direct, open to feeling—was exactly what he wanted: no lingering doubts, no self-recrimination. Bright, lively, wholehearted. She would be his wife someday, he thought, and the thought broadened his grin. Perhaps she was a light that would brighten every corner of his life.
Wen Yin didn't know that at that same moment the live chat on a short-video platform was in chaos.
Two veteran food bloggers had gone on a joint stream. Both had been around the short-video scene for years; both could steer a conversation and a crowd with two well-placed sentences. One of them started off.
"I heard some cooking and restaurant videos have been blowing up recently. You know about that?"
"Of course," the other replied. "Who doesn't?"
But then the first host leaned into ambiguity. "She hasn't been on the platform long, but—there's been...a lot of blood in the water."
The exchange hooked curious viewers like bait. Comments exploded.
What's he talking about?
Spill it! What's the tea?
Isn't the food blogger they're talking about Wen Yin?
Isn't she that actress? I thought her scandal was cleared up already—
Don't throw accusations you don't know about! Wen Yin was cleared before. Someone else framed her!
A viewer who knew the backstory tried to quiet the tide of gossip, but the host only shrugged in the chat and said, "That's not what I'm talking about. She's gotten huge lately. This...this isn’t something I can say."
That single sentence—laden with grievance and restraint—made the chat go wild with speculation. What could be so sensitive that he wouldn't say it outright? Did someone powerful stand behind her?
"Say it, we're behind you!" begged one. "We got your back!" begged another. "Come on, spill it—we're dying to know!"
Amid the frenzy, no one noticed the two hosts trade a quick, knowing look.