Xie Jinghe seemed to have been there for a while.

Shi Linchuan cast his gaze further, spotting another vehicle of the same model belonging to the production team parked across from the small plaza. Its length obscured most of the van behind it, but he could still clearly see Le Yan’s face poking out from the car window, her delicate brows knitted together, her expression tense and worried.

The person she was watching kept his head down, his shoe poking at a small stone, rolling it back and forth on the ground.

Shi Linchuan calmly withdrew his gaze and got out of the car.

He closed the door behind him with a soft bang.

The follow-shot cinematographer, who had been sitting in the backseat with the man and hadn’t yet managed to get out, was left in a daze.

It was very cold.

The wind licked at him without restraint, its onslaught so fierce it felt as if it wanted to strip the clothes right off his body. It swirled and pulled, whistling in a low pitch, like a declaration of war.

Shi Linchuan happened to be standing in the path of the wind, his glasses chain swaying incessantly against his cheek. He pushed up his glasses, which had slid down slightly, and lifted his feet to walk toward the person standing under the pillar of the plaza.

According to the production team’s established process, it was time for the two to meet.

The distance was neither long nor short—about fifteen meters.

But just as Shi Linchuan reached the midway point, the swirling, persistent gale gathered its strength and hit with a sudden gust. He was fine, his stride smooth and unbroken, but a transparent hand of wind playfully snatched the hat off someone’s head, tossed it twice in mid-air, and thwack—dropped it right in front of him.

The denim-blue bucket hat lay on the ground, resembling a jellyfish stranded on concrete, shivering weakly at the edges before falling perfectly still.

The person standing sideways finally reacted. He first raised his hand in a daze to touch his own head, then followed the direction of the wind with a slow, delayed look…

At that sight, his movements froze.

Shi Linchuan bent down composedly, picked up the bucket hat, and gave it a couple of pats to dust it off. He didn’t stop walking; by the time he finished, he had stopped right in front of the hat’s owner and naturally placed it back on his head, covering those startled eyes.

Xie Jinghe stood there like a wooden statue, stunned.

At this moment.

The two stood face to face, less than a meter apart.

Although the contract with Fu-Guang Entertainment had been successfully concluded, there were still some “historical lingering issues” between both sides and third parties. Due to force majeure, Xie Jinghe had taken the time to shoot an advertisement recently. At the brand’s request, he had dyed his hair a deep chestnut color and had it permed.

The curl wasn’t exaggerated—it was a natural, soft wave, with the tips of his hair curling up slightly.

His casual outfit was relaxed, dominated by white and blue with black accents. He looked warm and student-like, appearing especially young—hardly like someone who would be twenty-eight after the new year.

He looked more like a college student.

Shi Linchuan was a few centimeters taller than Xie Jinghe. In his suit and leather shoes, he looked like a social elite—his temperament cold, sharp, and mature, appearing completely discordant with the style Xie Jinghe wore today.

The wind continued to howl across the plaza, but no one spoke.

In truth, the surroundings weren’t quiet. There were several cameras set up in the distance, but unless necessary, the production team wouldn’t rashly speak up to disturb the guests; they actually hoped the guests would be more comfortable in front of the lens and maintain their most authentic state.

Xie Jinghe was used to the camera, so that was no problem.

And Shi Linchuan was accustomed to ignoring unimportant noises around him, so that was even less of a problem.

Strictly speaking, this could be considered a “long-awaited reunion.”

Since that unpleasant parting in the office, Shi Linchuan had not contacted him, and the two had not met. Yet, Xie Jinghe was a popular artist; his name and photos constantly popped up in every corner, his presence so strong it was annoying.

But Xie Jinghe himself had never appeared.

This was the first time in three years.

Xie Jinghe was very clingy. In the past, when he went out to film or attend long-term activities, he would call and text him every day, and even make video calls before bed, refusing to hang up even when his phone became hot to the touch.

Shi Linchuan was forced to wait until he fell asleep on the other end of the video call before hanging up.

Sometimes, he would call during his meal breaks, pretending he was doing a “mukbang,” talking for pounds of words to the camera alone, then gulping down water with a dry throat.

And now.

The two had been standing in the cold wind for several minutes, and Xie Jinghe hadn’t said a single word.

He lowered his head slightly; the bucket hat covered the upper half of his face, and his nose and mouth were hidden by a mask—his entire face was thoroughly concealed.

Shi Linchuan stared at the washed-out texture of the hat and took the initiative to greet him.

“Long time no see.”

His tone was light and breezy, exceptionally composed.

As soon as he finished speaking, Xie Jinghe finally reacted.

He remained silent, snatched the hat the man had picked up for him, and shoved it into the side pocket of the backpack behind him with a backhanded motion. Without the pressure of the hat, his curly hair was messed up by the wind, the tips standing up like the armor of a hedgehog.

But Shi Linchuan knew:

It must feel soft to the touch.

Likely even softer than those fluffy fur balls on his own collar.

Shi Linchuan’s gaze followed the movement of his hands, dropping quickly, then shifted back to the other person’s face without a trace. He continued: “You’ve been standing here for so long, and you even took off your hat—aren’t you afraid of being recognized by passersby? It’s not yet time to reveal our identities.”

The words sounded like he was looking for an argument.

Except for that initial look, Xie Jinghe had kept his head down. Hearing this, he turned his face away and suddenly strode toward the entrance of the Civil Affairs Bureau, his voice scattering in the wind.

“Then let’s go. Isn’t that what you want—to divorce?”

He sounded a bit hoarse.

Shi Linchuan, tall and long-legged, followed without any effort. He was empty-handed, one hand tucked in his coat pocket, the other hanging by his side, his knuckles reddened by the frost.

He walked side-by-side with Xie Jinghe, retorting sharply: “Don’t you want to? To be honest, when Pei Yue brought the signed contract to me, I was stunned for a second.”

He paused, adding in a leisurely tone:

“I thought you’d torn the contract up again.”

Xie Jinghe didn’t say a word, quickening his pace.

Shi Linchuan’s steps grew larger.

He first let out a heavy tsk—which was faithfully recorded by the audio equipment (of course, he didn’t care about such trivial matters)—and then asked in a cold, indifferent tone:

“Is this the attitude you have toward your current boss?”

Xie Jinghe kept his head down, silently accelerating: “…”

The follow-shot cinematographer, carrying his camera, silently watched these two walk against the wind like a race, getting faster and faster, until they were almost running.

The camera followed them the entire way, etching the images into the storage card.

Cinematographer: “…”

Are… are you two in that much of a hurry?

It wasn’t Shi Linchuan’s first time at the Civil Affairs Bureau; in fact, the last person to come with him was this very person beside him. It was mid-summer then, the heat unbearable, and Xie Jinghe had been a weirdo, wrapped up tight from head to toe, with only eyes squinted into crescents visible.

He would stop every two steps, hug Shi Linchuan’s arm, and whisper: “I’m so nervous. Honey, feel my hand—is it sweaty?”

Ever since Shi Linchuan proposed to him, the frequency with which he called him “Honey” (Hubby) skyrocketed; even when nothing was happening, he would call it out aimlessly.

Perhaps it was because Xie Jinghe’s outfit that day was so bizarre that Shi Linchuan remembered it clearly: he had held him, unable to suppress his smile, leaned into his ear, and whispered:

“You’re just overheated.”

After saying that, he even used the back of his hand to wipe the fine sweat from his temples.

Xie Jinghe had tilted his face up slightly, letting him do as he pleased, his eyes wide and round, unconsciously holding his breath. Only after the man withdrew his hand did he exhale, skillfully chanting that line of nonsense he didn’t know how many times he had said already:

“Linchuan, you’re so good to me.”

The two had stopped and started like that, taking a long time to walk a short distance.

But today was different.

The two rushed to the entrance of the Civil Affairs Bureau like the wind.

The glass doors reacted, sliding open to both sides as if enthusiastically opening their arms to the two, shouting “Welcome.” Yet, Xie Jinghe subconsciously slowed his pace, both hands unconsciously clutching the straps of his backpack.

The next second.

He stared straight ahead, a flash of indescribable bitterness in his eyes.

Shi Linchuan naturally noticed.

He didn’t care at all what kind of image he would present under the lens. Just as he was about to open his mouth to mock him, his gaze, which had followed Xie Jinghe’s line of sight, touched something…

The words he was about to say got stuck.

Walking out of the lobby were clearly a pair of newlyweds who had just registered their marriage.

Both wore white shirts layered under thick coats, the little red booklets in their hands especially eye-catching. As they walked out, their heads were pressed closely together, and they shared the same sweet smile.

The four met on a narrow path at the entrance.

Even though the road was wide enough for everyone, Xie Jinghe stepped aside anyway. Perhaps because of Shi Linchuan’s reminder to “be careful not to be recognized by passersby,” he lowered his head and raised a hand to push back his forehead hair, which had been messed up by the wind, his expression veiled.

Shi Linchuan felt inexplicably displeased.

After the newlyweds left, the two walked in at a normal speed.

Fortunately, they didn’t run into anyone else.

Neither was particularly surprised by this.

The Civil Affairs Bureau opened at 8:00 AM sharp, and it was now nearly 9:30 AM. There weren’t many people in the hall, probably because in recent years, government agencies had advocated for smart offices, launching online application procedures or appointment queuing functions, reducing time costs for the public.

Of course, that wasn’t the only reason.

It was also because in modern society, the marriage rate was declining year by year, while the divorce rate was climbing.

Young people were less and less interested in getting married, and combined with a lower sense of ritual regarding marriage and divorce, many had switched to online registration.

Since they were filming a variety show, the production team couldn’t let the guests simply apply for a divorce online for the sake of the show’s effect. However, to reduce the time cost of filming, the production team had instructed the guests to book their queue number for today in advance.

They had to preserve as much editing time as possible!

Therefore, with an appointment, the two entered the divorce window smoothly.

Rather than a window, it was more like an independent office to ensure privacy. But given the current situation in the room, it didn’t look particularly “private.”

Fortunately, the production team had negotiated with the manager in advance, so the filming continued as normal.

Inside the office.

The two divorcing guests sat in front of the counter, one seat apart.

Shi Linchuan was empty-handed, with only a phone in his coat pocket. Xie Jinghe was different—he was fully armed and carrying a bag.

After entering the room, he took off his mask first, folded it, and shoved it into the side pocket of his backpack.

Shi Linchuan scanned him lazily, discovering that his vision had indeed improved.

Xie Jinghe had truly lost weight; his chin was sharper. Perhaps because the down jacket was overly puffy, it made his neck look exceptionally slender, making him look even thinner, as if he could be held in one hand.

Then, he shifted his backpack onto his lap, zipped it open with a shhh sound, and took out the things he had prepared in advance one by one, placing them on the counter.

A household register (Hukou), two brand-new marriage certificates, and the necessary documents, including his and Shi Linchuan’s identity cards…

Everything was well-preserved.

Back when they first received the marriage certificate, Xie Jinghe had specifically bought a safe worth tens of thousands of yuan to store the documents, terrified of accidentally losing them or having them stolen.

The safe’s password was the date of their marriage.

Finally, Xie Jinghe dug a file folder out of his bag.

Three copies of A4 paper, the title striking.

《Divorce Agreement》

This was the centerpiece of the prologue, recording the process of the guests signing the divorce agreement.

According to the confidentiality agreement, the production team would avoid the specific content involving privacy in the files and only film the page where the guests signed their names. And before signing, the two guests had to face each other and deliver a “divorce statement” to their partner.

The person who came up with this plan was truly a genius.

They knew what the audience wanted to see.

Shi Linchuan turned around, locking eyes with Xie Jinghe after a long time.

Even though there was a seat between the two rotating chairs, both were tall men of 1.8 meters or more with impressive waist-to-leg proportions, and their knees inevitably bumped into each other.

As soon as they touched, Xie Jinghe moved his knee away.

Shi Linchuan, having no manners, saw that the person opposite was behaving properly and directly adopted a wide, arrogant sitting posture. One leg stretched forward, forcibly occupying the little remaining space between them, and he deliberately delivered a provocative smile.

Xie Jinghe’s expression, however, was extremely calm; he didn’t look angry at all, and his eyes weren’t red, as if the dazed loss he had shown when meeting at the plaza was just Shi Linchuan’s illusion.

At this moment.

He held his bag, fingers hidden in his sleeves.

A long silence.

No one spoke first.

Xie Jinghe was like someone who had swallowed a mute pill today. The production team had clearly stated that both sides should look at each other and speak, but he secretly moved his gaze downward, staring at his own chin.

So, Shi Linchuan raised his dissatisfaction with good reason: “Did my chin bloom a flower or is there writing on it? The production team said to make eye contact. As an artist, can you be a bit more professional?”

A dozen seconds passed.

Xie Jinghe looked up quickly, then lowered his eyes, and replied in a calm, flat tone, like a robot: “It’s already recording now; please be a little more mindful in front of the camera.”

Shi Linchuan followed up: “Mindful of what?”

Xie Jinghe answered straightforwardly: “Mindful of your character.”

Heh.

Shi Linchuan sneered.

That was Xie Jinghe—looking obedient and honest, but actually possessing a series of little temperaments and knowing how to snap back. He just never showed this side to Shi Linchuan before; he mostly unleashed it on unreasonable partners to prevent himself or his staff from suffering in secret.

He didn’t act like a “big star,” he just sometimes played little “star” games.

Shi Linchuan had discovered this himself.

After all, before the two tore each other apart, Xie Jinghe loved to act spoiled with him; even when the two were fighting and playing, the cruel words he spat out carried an inexplicable coyness.

Like a small pet in the house trying to get attention, making deliberate noises.

It sounded loud, but caused little damage.

Unlike now.

Flat and plain, yet it was lighting a fire under someone.

Shi Linchuan’s face was like frost, his tone cold: “You aren’t following the rules, so how is it that I have no character? Or are you afraid that if you look at me two more times, you’ll regret it and not want to divorce?”

Xie Jinghe: “…”

Shi Linchuan waited and waited, but didn’t receive a response. Just as the corner of his mouth curved into a hint of a smile, he heard the person opposite him suddenly speak: “Because if I look any more…”

He remained expressionless, saying every word clearly:

“I’m afraid I’ll throw up.”

Shi Linchuan: “…”

It had only been a month.

Which temple had Xie Jinghe visited to get his mouth blessed?

It was like it had been opened by divine light.

Shi Linchuan’s self-awareness was very clear; he knew his looks were among the “handsome” category in public aesthetics, but he couldn’t help but grit his teeth and ask aggressively: “It’s the same face; you watched it for three years and never threw up. Could it be that your eyes were faulty before?”

Faulty? He didn’t just not throw up; he often licked it back and forth.

Never had he expected Xie Jinghe to nod, agreeing: “Yes, I only recovered my sight recently.”

After speaking, he brought up the old matter again: “Mind your character.”

Shi Linchuan retorted with a sneer: “Where is my character lacking?”

Xie Jinghe: “Your feet are lacking in character.”

Shi Linchuan: “Is this brick written with your name on it?”

Xie Jinghe turned his face away and instructed the follow-shot director behind the camera: “Excuse me, can this part be cut out? Someone has quite a lack of character, and I’m afraid my fans won’t be able to hold back.”

He didn’t say what they wouldn’t be able to hold back from.

However, everyone present understood in a second.

Inside the room.

The air was deathly silent.

Chen Xi: “…”

Cinematographer: “…”

Staff at the counter: “…”

Holy shit!

No, are you two really this full of gunpowder??

The camera is still on!

Before filming began, Chen Xi had received instructions from the head director to not worry too much about the expressions of a certain guest and to film normally without feeling constrained—but now it looked like a certain guest was letting go even more than he had imagined!

He was straight-up bickering with the Best Actor.

Although this divorce variety show prioritized “authenticity,” everyone knew that no one could be completely authentic in front of the lens; there would always be some elements of performance.

During the planning stage, the production team had discussed it, predicting how the guests might react in this segment.

Perhaps deep affection and tears, perhaps silence, perhaps nostalgia…

Personal attacks?

That really hadn’t crossed their minds.

Were they crazy? For a Best Actor to do this in front of a lens—was he truly not afraid of the fans and netizens exploding?

Did he not want his image anymore?

But then again, to the production team, this was a good thing.

When filming a variety show, the thing you fear most is a lack of highlights.

Although these two guests didn’t play by the rules, turning what should have been a sentimental divorce segment into a “trash-talking” session, the process was at least completed successfully.

After a moment of silence.

The civilian guest didn’t snap back, merely sneered twice, then leaned over and snatched the black ink pen from the counter to sign his name at the bottom of the divorce agreement. After finishing, he looked back at his partner with a show of defiance.

Chen Xi’s pupils dilated in shock: “…”

Holy shit.

Isn’t this even more irritating than personal attacks?

Sure enough.

The Best Actor was so angry that his eyes turned red. He glared at the person for a long time without speaking; his hand was shaking while he signed, and the moment he finished, he dug his mask and hat out of his backpack, put them on, and walked out with his head down, clearly not wanting to see the person behind him for even a second.

Chen Xi secretly thought:

Their relationship really is terrible. No wonder they want to divorce…

After signing the divorce agreement, the prologue was not yet finished.

Because the three couples belonged to different cities, after finishing the recording at the Civil Affairs Bureau, the guests needed to bring their luggage to the airport and arrive at the first gathering point before the official broadcast tomorrow.

Based on the distances between the three cities, the production team had selected a small coastal city, keeping the travel time for the guests within four hours so as not to be too exhausting and affect their state the next day.

Tongcheng T2 Airport.

Shi Linchuan traveled light, bringing only a small business suitcase that wasn’t even full and could be taken directly onto the plane. But Xie Jinghe brought more stuff; both his large and small suitcases were full, and he was carrying that bulging backpack on his back.

The two headed straight to the airport after coming out of the Civil Affairs Bureau.

Shi Linchuan’s luggage had been sent by his assistant in advance. Xie Jinghe’s was even simpler; Le Yan followed the production team’s car the whole time, and the luggage was brought by her.

Under the arrangement of the production team, the two successfully boarded the plane.

Their seats were near the front in a first-class cabin with high privacy, specifically designed for couples or partners; there were no partitions between the seats, and they were even tightly connected—when the backrests were lowered, they looked remarkably like a double bed.

It was very convenient for lovers to communicate.

But placed on Shi Linchuan and Xie Jinghe, it was likely a waste.

After signing the divorce agreement, Xie Jinghe left first, staying in the men’s restroom for quite a while before coming out. Once he emerged, he didn’t say another word to Shi Linchuan.

The same went for Shi Linchuan.

The production team installed the fixed cameras and left, and the cabin was instantly left with two people who treated each other like air.

The flight was delayed; they hadn’t departed yet.

It was already past twelve-thirty in the afternoon.

Twenty minutes ago.

The stewardess had prepared a very rich in-flight meal, but neither wanted it, as if they didn’t feel hungry at all.

Xie Jinghe sat in the window seat, his head turned toward the small window the whole time; he didn’t know what was so interesting about the vast space outside. He sat there for a long time, suddenly digging a printed script out of his bag, and began to flip through it with a rustle.

Shi Linchuan faced forward the entire time, closing his eyes to rest.

1:00 PM.

The plane finally set sail, flying toward the horizon with a huge hum, breaking through the clouds.

Less than half of the two-hour flight had passed when Shi Linchuan suddenly felt a weight on his shoulder. He opened his eyes silently and glanced over, finding that Xie Jinghe had fallen asleep, his head resting on his shoulder, his hand still gripping the printed script he had only flipped through a few pages of.

Shi Linchuan looked closely:

This fool—it was upside down.

Just then, the plane jolted.

Seeing the script about to slide out of his hand, Shi Linchuan very kindly helped him pick it up, set it aside, and then took a casual, inconspicuous look at the back of Xie Jinghe’s hand.

The injury had healed.

No scar left.

Shi Linchuan was bored, so he copied what Xie Jinghe had done before and opened the printed script.

He didn’t know who had written such a boring script; he felt sleepy after looking at it for only two seconds. His eyelids were so heavy he couldn’t lift them, and he couldn’t help but think: No wonder Xie Jinghe fell asleep; it’s too hypnotic.

A few seconds later.

Shi Linchuan thought again:

Is Xie Jinghe’s head made of stone?

It’s so heavy.

A few minutes later.

Shi Linchuan closed his eyes, his breathing already long and steady.

The plane jolted again.

The two in their dreams still didn’t speak to each other, leaving only their body instincts. One curled into the other’s embrace, and the other opened his arms to pull him tight. Their heads pressed together, their breathing intertwined, inseparable.

Outside the small window, it was thousands of meters high.

The clouds had shed their leaden grey, becoming white and flawless. The sun hung in the air, radiating ten thousand rays of light—so bright it was piercing, revealing a bit of annoyance that disturbed their dreams.

Someone who wasn’t sleeping soundly frowned and murmured:

“Linchuan, it’s bright…”

The person being called didn’t wake up; he dizzily rubbed against his forehead, then subconsciously raised his hand to cover the other’s eyes. The eyelashes under his palm trembled a few times, like a butterfly trapped in a small cage, flapping constantly and bringing a faint, itchy sensation.

But soon…

The butterfly fell asleep.