Chapter 17: The Ninth Day (Part Two)

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Unlike previous occasions when they casually chatted over lunch, today was different. Since they still had to “raid the love nests,” the couples quickly tidied up and hurried to the airport.

Of course, the eight of them couldn’t all have their “love nests” in the same city. However, Su Shengxin and Shang Yin, the director and the actress, and the NBA player with the singer were all based in the capital. The group hurried onto the plane bound for the capital, planning to visit three homes in one afternoon before catching the last red-eye flight back to the resort that same night.

Despite the tight schedule, Shang Yin showed no signs of fatigue, moving with ease. Even on the flight, he kept himself busy reading materials and sending emails.

Although the “love nests” were staged, Su Shengxin was never nervous—they had prepared for this.

Upon arriving in the capital, their first stop was the director’s home. The director’s residence was very traditional Chinese and cozy, furnished with carved beds, a round table, and Eight Immortals chairs. But the real highlights were the “library” and the “cinema” rooms. The library was filled with rare books and DVDs. Su Shengxin pulled out two DVDs of his favorite films, but upon opening them, he was shocked to find the packaging crude—it turned out to be pirated copies. He quickly put them back on the shelf, fearing that after the show aired, the director would be harshly criticized.

Shang Yin noticed his small gesture and couldn’t help but smile.

Next, they visited the basketball player’s home. It was a large, single-floor apartment on the ground level, modestly decorated with white marble floor tiles, patterned rugs, white sofas, and a white TV cabinet—very ordinary for a regular family. Although the place was spacious, most of the usable space was converted into a gym and a recording studio, leaving only the master and guest bedrooms as regular living areas. The gym was fully equipped with various machines, some of which were so unusual that Su Shengxin didn’t even recognize them. The recording studio was luxurious—the money was clearly spent here. The aging singer admitted shamefully, “I’ve been out of the spotlight for a long time, haven’t released much recently, but I’ve actually been writing new songs and want to make an album.”

Finally, they arrived at Shang Yin’s home.

The production team followed the map to Shang Yin’s place and parked the van outside. As people prepared to get out with their equipment, Su Shengxin said, “Drive in.”

The producer was puzzled.

Su Shengxin smiled lightly and explained, “It’s far. We only have half an hour in total. The camera crew is carrying equipment, so if we walk in from here, then walk back, that half hour will be gone.”

The producer was exasperated—he found them very annoying.

The small van rolled along the driveway. Several people asked, “Wait, there’s a place like this in the capital? Isn’t it all villas? One family per small courtyard, dozens of buildings per community.”

“It is a villa district,” the director Jin Ranqiu, who knew a bit, explained. “The ones tightly packed are across the street. The ones with large plots are all on the lakeside here.”

“Oh…”

The singer from Hong Kong and Taiwan asked, “Do you usually live here? Is it convenient for Mr. Shang to get to work?”

Su Shengxin paused briefly, then calmly lied, “We have another place in the city, but today we’re here.”

The producer clicked his tongue.

The house, inside and out, was clearly designed by a master architect and was ultra-modern.

Instead of traditional brick and stone, the structure was steel-framed with glass, featuring panels of skylights that made the entire house incredibly bright and lifted the residents’ moods. The first floor had a central courtyard; the living room, gym, and library all had floor-to-ceiling windows opening out to greenery and artificial rock formations.

Upon entering, Su Shengxin was momentarily stunned. Shang Yin seemed to have further decorated this “love nest.” On the living room’s long-pile carpet, in the center on a low table, there was a half-finished large LEGO set.

It was an incredibly intricate pirate ship, estimated to be made of thousands of pieces. At this moment, the first layer of the hull had just been assembled.

The producer said, “Mr. Shang has time for this? Piecing together a pirate ship? You’re so busy every day.”

Shang Yin walked over to the low table, bent down, picked out a few sail pieces from the scattered parts, and pressed them onto the stern, saying, “I’m keeping Su Shengxin company. He likes it. There’s always some free time, right? Not every day is packed. When I have more time today, I spend more with him. If I have less tomorrow, then less.”

The producer laughed heartily, “Professor Su still has childlike charm.”

Su Shengxin wanted to say something—

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“Deny it?” Shang Yin asked. “When you’re stuck together with someone, just playing around, can you honestly say you don’t like it?”

Su Shengxin fell silent.

He did like it.

There was no shame in not always being productive. Being encouraged and accompanied—he genuinely enjoyed it.

What he lost from his parents, he gained from someone else.

They had only spent a few days together, but Shang Yin truly understood him.

He thought: once filming ended, they should really finish assembling it.

On the first floor was a music room, which housed a guqin (a traditional Chinese zither). The room had been acoustically treated. There was also a cinema, a meditation room, a wine cellar, a club room... The group wandered through.

“I’ve noticed,” the producer sighed, “Wealthy people often spend money in unexpected places. That sofa, that recliner, that wall lamp, even the faucets—they look ordinary at first glance, but on closer inspection, you feel they must be extremely expensive.”

Su Shengxin instinctively wanted to join them to take a closer look at the faucet, but Shang Yin grabbed his wrist and pulled him back, saying, “Don’t crowd around.”

Su Shengxin knew he was too curious and prone to giving away their secret, so he kept quiet but peeked around. Shang Yin, afraid he would slip away, interlaced their fingers tightly, anchoring Su Shengxin by his side until the others returned.

When the producer finished examining the faucet and returned to the corridor, Su Shengxin naturally put away his curious expression. His face was calm and quiet, but the producer caught sight of their intertwined fingers waiting there and was surprised. Their bond was too close—only a minute had passed, and they were already like this. Hastily, the producer called the cameraman to turn around and capture a moment of the quietly standing couple by the door.

Then the group went upstairs.

They first visited Shang Yin’s office, where they immediately saw a photo of Su Shengxin on Shang Yin’s large desk.

“...Wow,” the actress Qing Lan exclaimed, “You even put little Su here?”

Shang Yin smirked slightly and explained a detail Su Shengxin had mentioned earlier: “When I’m tired or stressed at work, looking at him makes me feel much better.”

The producer glanced at Shang Yin, then at Su Shengxin, eyes wide in disbelief.

That much love?

At Su Shengxin’s office, everyone found a photo of Shang Yin on his desk, laughing and teasing him. In the picture, Shang Yin was different from usual, wearing a floral shirt, relaxing on vacation.

The producer noticed the original works of film and television on Su Shengxin’s bookshelf and guided the cameraman there to build Su Shengxin’s character for the show.

She also filmed books on history, society, and more. At the end, the producer pointed to several books and asked, “Why are there so many books on quantum computing?”

“...?” Su Shengxin thought: Those weren’t here before.

Following her gaze, he paused and understood Shang Yin’s intention. He said, “Quantum computing is his specialty. I just want to understand a bit too. These are the theoretical basics, not difficult. Understanding what he once understood is interesting. I want to know why he likes it, why he’s fascinated, to understand him more deeply.”

The producer looked at the two of them again and thought: You love each other this much too?

As they neared the bedroom, Su Shengxin went ahead and opened the door.

But the moment he opened it, he was stunned.

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The bedroom was not exactly the same.

The most unusual feature was the bed’s headboard, which had been remodeled.

The recessed wall above the bed once held an abstract painting by a famous master, purchased for tens of millions of pounds, depicting the coldness and loneliness of modern society. But now, with a remote control, the painting could slide into the left wall, revealing a large mirror behind it.

Su Shengxin was speechless.

He was shocked.

Such extravagance.

But if you’re going to do it, do it thoroughly.

Before anyone else came in, Su Shengxin didn’t overthink it. For the sake of the show’s topic, he involved himself and, to avoid seeming foolish, pressed one hand high and the other low against the mirror, then slid them down, leaving a trail of fingerprints.

Afterward, before anyone stepped in, he used the mechanism to slide the painting back.

A minute later, a large group from the production team bustled in.

“Whoa,” the producer joked, “I heard about million-dollar mattresses in wealthy homes. The first time I learned such mattresses existed, all I could think was: poverty limits imagination!”

Shang Yin, ever courteous, smiled lightly and asked, “Want to lie down and feel it?”

“Sure! Not trying it would be a waste. Thanks, Mr. Shang,” the producer eagerly agreed. Without hesitation, she slipped off her shoes and lay straight on half the bed, fingers interlaced, blinking, then sighed deeply, “Wow... this is so comfortable.”

Everyone’s curiosity was piqued.

The producer sat up and got off the bed, nodding toward the adjacent mattress. “It really is different. Once you lie on it, you’ll see—it’s incredibly comfortable.”

Her trial sparked envy among the others, even the international director and NBA player, who were already financially well-off. Shang Yin was generous. The director, assistant director, cameramen, and others all marveled at the difference. Only the NBA player said it made no difference for him: “Forget it, I’m getting up. I honestly don’t feel any difference.”

The Hong Kong-Taiwan singer teased him, “For you, a budget hotel and a five-star hotel, first class and economy class are all the same.”

“Not the last one,” said the nearly two-meter-tall NBA player. “Economy class doesn’t have enough legroom. As for hotels, if the bed is long enough, it’s comfortable; if not, it’s uncomfortable. I always pick based on bed length first.”

The others joked and posted on social media:

“I’ve made it, I’ve made it! Today I even lay on a mattress worth millions!”

“Feeling the power of the domineering CEO—I experienced it today too.”

“Slept on xxx’s mattress, opened my eyes and gained insight. I’m imprinting this feeling on my brain to help with scriptwriting in the future! [fighting][fighting][fighting]”

Comments quickly appeared:

“Oh my, even when workers glimpse the lavish lives of capitalists, their thoughts turn to how this experience can help them work better. I’m touched.”

“The word ‘worker’ is etched in my mind!”

An assistant director searched on his phone aloud: “Uh, friends, I looked it up. This brand only does custom orders, no off-the-shelf sales, because non-custom products affect the experience. Each custom mattress costs millions, with the top models nearing eight figures... takes 20 people two months to make... oh my. This brand is known for being very soft but with strong support. It’s soft and comfortable, yet your back, waist, and hips never sink into the bed—they’re fully supported—how is that possible? Also, it’s all ergonomically customized for the user. There’s a specialist who visits monthly to adjust the mattress at the user’s home, and—”