The day after the accident, Shi Linchuan spent the entire morning in his hospital bed, yet he never once had a moment of leisure. He first communicated with the chief director, and immediately afterward, launched an online video conference centered on two topics: the “subsequent process of the variety show” and the “response to the cable car accident.”

The attendance was high, and Xie Jinghe was among them.

As a guest, a producer/investor of the show, and the boss of Xie Jinghe’s entertainment company, Shi Linchuan held significant authority. Without any surprises, everything was set to proceed in the direction he desired—until a surprise occurred.

Before the meeting could reach a formal consensus, Xie Jinghe remained silent for a long while before voluntarily calling for a halt, requesting a private conversation with his partner. The meeting was quickly paused, and the director and planners waiting by the bedside retreated, leaving the couple to their own space.

Shi Linchuan turned his face slightly, his expression unsurprised. “What do you want to talk about?” he asked, though he already knew the answer.

As one of the victims, Xie Jinghe could have easily used the force majeure clause in their contract to quit the show. The situation had moved so fast, however, that he hadn’t had a chance to discuss it before Shi Linchuan decided they would “continue filming.”

He hadn’t consulted Xie Jinghe’s opinion at all.

Sure enough, Xie Jinghe sat in his wheelchair, stared at him for a long time, and pressed his lips together. “Linchuan, you didn’t consult me. What you did just now was simply informing me unilaterally.”

Shi Linchuan was frank. “Hmm.” He said it decisively, with a nonchalant air.

Xie Jinghe’s expression was one of speechlessness, like a deflated balloon. He was a little angry—not much, just enough to hiss—especially when his eyes scanned the man’s bruised brow and skin. He leaned in close to the man and muttered a complaint: “This is a dictatorship!”

Shi Linchuan couldn’t help but laugh. “That’s right. I’m a fascist. You’re just realizing this now?”

In Shi Linchuan’s view, Xie Jinghe was a contradiction. He possessed a level of integrity and character far beyond most people Shi Linchuan had met in his thirty-plus years, yet in terms of intimate relationships, he had a pathological lack of bottom line. Faced with repeated verbal insults and deliberate mistreatment, Xie Jinghe would naturally feel anger, even rage, and make threats. But in the end, he would always be the one to apologize and compromise.

Whenever Shi Linchuan felt his actions must have finally broken the man, Xie Jinghe would provide an unexpected reaction. It looked like a terminal case of “lovesickness” with no cure. The symptoms were even more severe than described in the original novel, and Shi Linchuan was the pathogen.

This time was no exception. The air leaked out of Xie Jinghe quickly. He rested his head against the man’s pillow, subconsciously holding his breath as if a battle between heaven and man were raging in his mind. After a while, he exhaled slowly and asked: “Why are you so insistent on finishing this variety show?”

Silence filled the room. Shi Linchuan drifted off for a moment.

On the night the pilot was filmed, Xie Jinghe had also approached him privately to ask if he truly wanted a divorce, but they had ended up entangled in a mess until they were both exhausted, leaving the question unanswered. Afterward, Xie Jinghe seemed to sense his true thoughts and didn’t dare to ask again. Seeing the man repeatedly press the “red button” (signifying divorce) over the past few days, he had stayed silent, or vented his anxiety and confusion by hitting the other man with a pillow.

It didn’t hurt. Shi Linchuan let him hit him, even feeling a sense of satisfaction. Xie Jinghe had become a coward—because of him.

When Shi Linchuan heard the question now, he felt a flicker of surprise, but it was quickly buried by peace and relief, as if he had become accustomed to the loss of control this man brought him.

“You already have the answer in your heart, don’t you?” Shi Linchuan whispered, his lips resting against the man’s brow, his voice like a continuous trail of kisses.

“Breathe,” he added.

Xie Jinghe realized he had been holding his breath for a long time. He took a deep breath, repeating it several times to regain his equilibrium. He subconsciously buried his face into the man’s neck like a small animal seeking refuge, and whispered: “Then, when the show is over, what will happen to us?”

What could happen? Shi Linchuan thought indifferently. Once the show was over, his final task in this book world would be nearing completion. He could tidy up loose ends, claim his reward, and return to his own world—the world without Xie Jinghe.

Shi Linchuan didn’t bother to beautify his actions. He truly was a scumbag. Initially, he had genuinely wanted to destroy Xie Jinghe, turning this roleplay task into a battle of attrition, just to leave an indelible mark on the other man’s soul. To make him hurt. To make him suffer.

And now?

The man’s lips, dry and rough, grazed Xie Jinghe’s temple, bringing a tickling sensation. His slightly hoarse voice was seductive, drilling into his ears: “What else do you want? I’ve let you go. Hurry up, pack your things, and run.”

The last two words were a mere breath of air.

A numbness spread behind Xie Jinghe’s ears, his scalp tightening. Those two words were like a hook, pulling out the trance that had been hovering in his heart. Xie Jinghe was silent for a moment, then replied with something totally unrelated: “My leg is broken. The doctor said I need to rest.”

Shi Linchuan: “…”

What was this?

Shi Linchuan suddenly burst into laughter, laughing until his torn muscle fibers throbbed with pain, laughing until tears leaked out. He broke down and cursed, “Xie Jinghe, the hell is wrong with your brain?!”

Xie Jinghe laughed too, laughing until he cried. “That’s right.” He mimicked the man’s smug tone and declared, “You’re the one who provoked me first. You can’t run away now, can you?” He sniffed. “Shi Linchuan. I’m the one who won’t let you go, understand?”

Shi Linchuan stared at the ceiling, silent.

In the end, it was decided that the show would continue with the original cast. The planning team worked overtime, and on New Year’s Day, they released the revised plan. The show announced that the live broadcast would change to a pre-recorded format, updating every Friday and Saturday, while expressing deep apologies for the accident. NO1 released the full details of the cable car incident and the settlement plans with the scenic spot, maintaining a gentle and reassuring tone.

Finally, Xie Jinghe posted on his own account with an attached video.

The moment it was posted, the official accounts for the show and NO1 retweeted it, and it quickly surged to the top of the trending topics. The impact of the accident video had been too great for people to ignore.

In the video, which lasted nearly five minutes, the black dome of the night sky appeared first, with white snowflakes swirling down like feathers. After a few seconds, a voice spoke: “It’s snowing. Is it pretty?”

It’s Jinghe’s voice.

It’s pretty!

Let us see you too.

The camera flipped, revealing the speaker’s face from a “death angle.”

“Sorry, I’m getting an IV, so I can only meet everyone like this.” Xie Jinghe spoke as if he were chatting with an old friend, explaining the events of the past two days. When he mentioned his intention to continue filming, the comments section soared.

Most were dissuasive and confused:

Why are you still filming when it’s like this?!

This is literally risking your lives to film a show. Crazy.

Stop filming, and don’t get divorced either. After seeing that video, I don’t think anyone wants to see you two split up.

After updating everyone, the man in the video fell silent. He glanced at the camera and changed the subject: “I originally intended for both of us to be on camera, but he won’t let me…”

“He said it would scare the kids.”

Oh, the way he said ‘He’, his expression changed.

Is ‘He’ okay?

The man in the video struggled to pick up the phone, zoomed in, adjusted the angle, and tilted his head to reveal the scene behind him. It was late at night. The lights in the double ward were dim. One bed was empty; on the other, the man lay flat, his face slightly turned, his long, narrow eyes gazing toward the camera. Upon realizing he was being filmed, he silently withdrew his gaze.

The man didn’t look good. The blood spots under his skin had spread, and his skin color looked strange; combined with those eyes where the whites were nearly invisible, there was a strong, inhuman quality to him.

Xie Jinghe watched the man’s silhouette through the screen, then looked back at the audience: “In any case, there is no need to worry about our health. In the subsequent recordings, we will give this marriage, and each other, an answer.”

The video ended, but the discussion in the comments continued.

That last look…

I have a bad feeling.

Damn it, don’t get divorced!! It’s not easy to find a partner who will risk their life for you in this lifetime.

Amid the heated discussion, a blank account reposted the statement and commented: Told you not to film.

No one paid it any attention.

In Dodan, the snow continued to fall. Time spent recovering was covered by the snow, dissolving in every white night.

The final choice for the show was only three days away.