Chapter 1: Su Shengxin

In July, after months of secrecy and speculation, the renowned romance reality show “The Promise of Three Lifetimes” finally announced its last headline couple: none other than Shang Yin and Su Shengxin!

The internet exploded instantly:

[Can’t Hit the Client]: Holy shit!!! Shang Yin and Su Shengxin? The domineering CEO and the superstar?
[Lazy Today, Lazy Tomorrow, Lazy Forever]: Heaven for the lovers of beauty!!!
[Chief of Jinjiang Anti-Porn Task Force]: Aren’t they both pretty low-key… After posting their marriage certificate, they’ve only been photographed together two or three times, but each time looked so sweet, qaq.
[This Account Suspected of Inciting Gender Conflict, Please Block]: They are low-key, but the platform airing this show is one of his company’s businesses, and Shang Yin is in charge. He’s finally willing to show his face for his business, huh?
[Cilantro Is Really Delicious]: Thank you, show!
[No Flirting Before Postgraduate Exams]: I think it’s Su Shengxin who wanted to join the show? He’s the brand ambassador for the show’s title sponsor. Maybe it’s the brand’s wish?
[Always Get Food Stuck When Eating Meat]: Ah, is the CEO accompanying him? So sweet and doting, qaq.
[Why Did the Ice Cream Ball Drop]: When does it air??? I really want to witness the love of the wealthy up close, aaah!

“The Promise of Three Lifetimes” was first launched last summer on a certain platform, inviting four couples to live together in a cabin for two weeks, with various activities arranged for intimate interaction. Two couples are same-sex, two are opposite-sex, and viewers watch their interactions from every angle.

The show’s theme is “sweetness”—no harsh reality, no quarrels, no manipulation. Only exceptionally loving couples are invited, only sugar, never discomfort.

Last year, ratings soared and the whole internet was abuzz. This year, it’s rumored the platform intends for the show to truly explode across the web!

Insiders reveal that this season’s show, besides “sweetness,” will be bursting with “desire,” maxing out sexual tension.

Three of the couples are extremely attractive. According to the show’s rules, before filming, each spouse must stay alone in their hotel room for a week—work is allowed, anything is fine, but no meeting, no video calls, no phone calls, no texts. Total cutoff.

Only when their longing peaks and their words accumulate to bursting do they proceed to the cabin.

But even then, on the first day in the cabin, couples aren’t allowed to speak—only gaze at each other.

On the second day, they may speak, but only for games, no idle chatter, and absolutely no physical contact, in any form.

Gradually, over the next days, they’re allowed to hold hands, touch lips, and so on.

Only in the final days do they get permission to kiss! At that point, each couple will film a short drama featuring a kissing scene, and the director will demand “the most passionate kiss.” Netizens will vote on which couple’s kiss feels the truest, most heartfelt, and most wild.

Soon after, gossip broke that the final couple this season would be Shang Yin and Su Shengxin—a CEO and a superstar, married for two years. Shang Yin is stepping out for the show, and Su Shengxin’s brand wants their ambassador to participate.

The smoke and mirrors of rumors pushed everyone’s curiosity and anticipation to the peak—and now, their wish has come true!

…

Su Shengxin double-checked the appointment time in his text, then messaged Shang Yin: [Mr. Shang, are we still meeting at seven tonight?]

[Yes.] Shang Yin replied half an hour later: [I’ll have the driver pick you up at your house at six thirty.]

Su Shengxin replied: [Thank you.]

Netizens would never guess that the marriage certificate between Su Shengxin and Shang Yin was simply a mutually beneficial agreement.

In the past two years, they’d seen each other only three times: once on the wedding day, and twice for public displays of affection—just a few minutes in places like parking garages, for the paparazzi to snap photos.

They faithfully fulfilled the terms of their contract.

But this time, for the sake of their own platform and the brands they endorse, they had to work together for two weeks.

At seven sharp, Shang Yin’s driver delivered Su Shengxin to Shang Yin’s home.

Though they were “married,” this was Su Shengxin’s first time here. The front yard was vast, with lawns divided into geometric shapes, two driveways winding around the grass toward the house. Beyond the central circle, a long rectangular fountain stretched all the way to the doorstep, dozens of gentle streams flowing constantly. At the end of the lawn and fountain stood a beautiful bonfire pit.

Su Shengxin stepped out of the car and rang the doorbell.

He was tall and fair-skinned, but his eyes were most striking—light brown irises with clear, shining black pupils. A certain famous director had praised those eyes.

“Come in.” Shang Yin opened the door himself, glancing at two pairs of slippers. “I have a meeting at twelve. Don’t dawdle.”

Shang Yin wore a white shirt, sleeves casually rolled twice, revealing a strong forearm, mature bones and smooth muscles.

Su Shengxin, long used to seeing top-tier beauties in the entertainment industry, still quietly appreciated Shang Yin for a few seconds every time they met.

Shang Yin’s appearance and aura were different from any celebrity—he was accustomed to power. Su Shengxin’s taste was proven right: when Shang Yin stood among the stars, the usual eye-catching celebrities immediately faded, not because of facial features, but something else entirely.

Su Shengxin glanced down at the disposable slippers at his feet, noting Shang Yin’s open disdain, and smiled, saying, “I’ll be quick. But how long it takes depends on how prepared you are, doesn’t it?”

Tomorrow they’d start filming. Yet just twenty-four hours earlier, Shang Yin had told Su Shengxin that the show would include a “surprise love nest” segment, with cameras touring the guests’ homes. They needed to prepare, to fabricate traces of cohabitation. They also needed to exchange information about preferences and experiences, so they wouldn’t be clueless about each other on the show.

In his position, Shang Yin was used to people being deferential, and the entertainment industry knew well how to flatter and snub. Suddenly met with Su Shengxin’s calm retort, Shang Yin stopped and looked back at him.

Su Shengxin seemed oblivious, asking, “Hm?”

Shang Yin sized him up. “Nothing.”

The house was enormous. As he led Su Shengxin to the study, Shang Yin said coolly, “Remember the exact locations of the study, bedroom, kitchen, and dining room. Don’t let it show you’re unfamiliar. Don’t go elsewhere.”

Still disdainful, but Su Shengxin only raised a brow, saying, “Alright.”

His study was already arranged—or rather, disguised. Computer, keyboard, mouse, bookshelf, all complete. Su Shengxin glanced at the bookshelf, satisfied.

It held all the original novels of his past, current, and upcoming films, plus books on acting and movies, as well as classic psychology, sociology, and history from around the world—demonstrating he studied original works and human behavior, interests of a top actor.

Looking at the desk, Su Shengxin mused, then said in a businesslike, cool tone, “Put a framed photo of you on the desk, Mr. Shang. It’ll look sweeter. When I’m tired from work or study, I’ll look at my beloved’s photo. The audience likes that.”

His voice was utterly flat, cold and distant, as if commenting on a research report.

Hearing this, Shang Yin looked at him again, his gaze lingering. “Fine.”

Su Shengxin’s profile was sharp and striking—a rare top beauty even in showbiz.

With Shang Yin’s status, countless people had tried to get close to him over the years, whether acquaintances or those feigning aloofness. Despite their “relationship,” Shang Yin could see Su Shengxin had no personal interest in him, speaking suggestive lines in a purely professional manner.

It was refreshingly novel.

Su Shengxin gave the room a final once-over, satisfied, then asked, “Shall we check the bedroom?”

The bedroom was upstairs, vast and luxurious. Over a hundred square meters, it included a sitting room, master bedroom, bathroom, restroom, washroom, and walk-in closet.

Shang Yin opened the closet door. “The assistant bought some clothes. Check if they fit—the sizes are the ones you provided.”

Su Shengxin nodded, sliding open the closet to look at the clothes.

There were shirts and trousers, but they didn’t suit him—not his style, more like Shang Yin’s business attire.

Unsuitable.

Su Shengxin closed the closet, saying matter-of-factly, “These clothes look too new, and aren’t my style. Tonight I’ll arrange a courier to send over my own worn clothes—please, Mr. Shang, put them in here.”

Shang Yin simply said, “Fine.”

He always replied “fine,” as if the other was always requesting and he was the final arbiter—yes or no, possible or impossible, all at his discretion.

But Su Shengxin didn’t mind; his goal was achieved.

Closing the closet, he turned, and their eyes met by chance, neither looking away—their gazes locked, as if in silent competition.

In the bedroom, the Alaskan king-size bed was already prepared with two sets of bedding—two pillows, one large quilt.

With permission to “look around,” Su Shengxin opened the top drawer of the nightstand, rummaged, and asked, “You didn’t prepare any contraceptives?”

“Contraceptives?” Shang Yin’s expression was half amused, half mocking. “Contraceptives?”

As if to say, are you even able to bear children?

Su Shengxin remained calm. “It’s a product category in the dictionary.”

“I didn’t think we’d need that.” Shang Yin’s tone was relaxed, almost rakish. “Seems a bit inappropriate for minors.”

“That’s exactly the point. If someone opens the drawer, viewers will look for them. If there aren’t any, it’s bad for both of us.” Su Shengxin directed this inventory of their “love nest,” checking his watch. “Let’s check the other rooms. We’ll need to go to the supermarket soon.”

Shang Yin shrugged. “Up to you.”

The bathroom was scented with tuberose, carrying a hint of ambiguity. Su Shengxin glanced around. “As an actor, there aren’t enough bottles and jars here. I still need my own at home, but I’ll order a few now. Please have your housekeepers discard some and put the rest here—what’s the exact address?”