Chapter 3: The First Day

The next day, the two of them joined the program and were assigned to stay separately in the same hotel for a week. When they met again, it would be the official segment of the show.

Among the other three couples participating were an internationally renowned director with an award-winning actress, an NBA player paired with a singer, and a grand pianist alongside a principal dancer.

A week later came the “reunion” segment, meticulously arranged by the production team.

Upon arrival at the cabins, the “wives” were each asked to choose a small wooden plaque and insert it into a slot outside the door. Later, the “husbands” would have to guess which cabin was theirs based solely on the color of the plaque, knocking on the door to test their guess. If the door opened to their own wife, their choice was correct; if not, it was an awkward mistake.

The plaques were blank but came in red, green, yellow, and blue—this was a test of how well the husbands knew their wives, specifically recognizing their favorite colors.

During the selection, while others hesitated, Su Shengxin quickly took the red plaque.

He trusted Shang Yin. His personal information card clearly stated: Shang Yin liked red.

At six in the evening sharp, the knocking began.

The knocks came in a steady, rhythmic pattern—deliberate and clear, neither rushed nor slow.

As the door slid open, Su Shengxin lifted his eyes and immediately met a pair of strikingly handsome black eyes.

Before the public, Shang Yin was known for his outstanding looks and commanding presence, yet here he appeared notably courteous and refined.

Red—Shang Yin had, of course, chosen correctly.

They gazed at each other for a moment. Su Shengxin, mindful of the rule forbidding any physical contact on the first day, pretended to act and stepped forward, breathing a light, cool puff onto Shang Yin’s lips.

Shang Yin’s eyes flickered.

No communication or touching was allowed on day one. After pushing the suitcase inside, Su Shengxin examined it, then pointed with his index finger at the metal handle and, lifting his hand to indicate “let go,” grasped the spot where Shang Yin had just held, pulling the suitcase over to the sofa.

Shang Yin took off his shoes, stepped into the cabin, and placed the watch on his left wrist onto the living room table. His manner of removing the watch was elegant: his right hand gently tugged the strap, his left wrist twisted slightly, revealing defined wrist bones.

Then Shang Yin went to wash his hands. As he rolled up his sleeves, a cuff slipped down and was lightly splashed with water. His hand still wet, he glanced at Su Shengxin and extended the wrist with the damp cuff for him to see.

Su Shengxin lowered his gaze.

The program’s rule forbade talking or touching on the first day, including any contact with skin. Carefully, Su Shengxin used two fingers to pinch the cuff, cautious not to touch Shang Yin’s skin, and gently folded it back up.

One fold, then another.

As he folded, Shang Yin could distinctly feel the shirt brushing lightly against his skin, each touch sending a slight tickle.

Concerned about breaking the rules, Su Shengxin folded meticulously. His long, dense eyelashes resembled raven feathers, eyes unblinking.

Because of their posture, drops of water from Shang Yin’s fingertips fell onto the floor between Su Shengxin’s feet.

Having finished folding, Su Shengxin stepped back. Shang Yin glanced at him, withdrew his hand, and held it back under the faucet.

Before the husbands arrived on day one, the wives had already prepared the first dinner, waiting to eat together.

Su Shengxin had also set the dishes and poured the wine.

It was Western cuisine but simple: a serving of pan-seared scallops with brown rice and chicken salad.

Before dining, Shang Yin gently tapped his wine glass to Su Shengxin as a signal.

Su Shengxin looked up; their four eyes locked for a few seconds. He then raised the base of his glass. The two glasses clinked softly with a clear, crisp sound.

Then Su Shengxin tilted his neck back and took a sip.

Shang Yin watched him.

Because his neck was extended, the elegant line was smooth and long, adorned with the collarbone necklace from that day. A leather cord encircled just below his Adam’s apple, another segment hung down, with a pendant nestled between his collarbones.

As the red wine slid down Su Shengxin’s throat, Shang Yin’s gaze followed the movement of his Adam’s apple.

After finishing the wine, Shang Yin elegantly cut into the scallop. Though he played the part of a refined gentleman on the show, Su Shengxin still recalled his previously casual demeanor.

Occasionally, they would clink glasses again.

Each time this happened, their eyes would feign deep affection for a moment before reaching out to touch glasses.

Every time Su Shengxin raised his neck to drink wine, his eyes instinctively narrowed, dimming their sparkle, then reopened to reveal those peach-blossom-shaped eyes.

Shang Yin observed quietly.

Towards the end, perhaps because the seafood was slightly salty or for some other reason, Su Shengxin felt a little thirsty. His sips became less slow and gentle, allowing the wine to wash down his throat in fuller gulps.

Shang Yin noticed but said nothing.

…

After the meal, the two of them tidied up, putting dishes and glasses into the dishwasher.

Shang Yin carried the dishes to the kitchen, and Su Shengxin loaded them.

Bending over, Su Shengxin placed the plates, bowls, glasses, knives, and forks one by one into the dishwasher.

He was tall with long legs. As he bent, his dress pants snugly clung to his hips, outlining their shape—soft and well-rounded.

Indeed, the posture emphasized the bulge between his legs as well.

Out of respect, Shang Yin quickly averted his gaze.

Shang Yin wiped the table, glanced at the time, and knowing he had a meeting, showed Su Shengxin his phone screen and then made a “call” gesture. Su Shengxin immediately smiled understandingly, nodded, and gestured for him to go ahead.

The meetings ran late into the night. During this time, Su Shengxin remained in the living room, studying the script.

The cabin’s soundproofing was poor; he faintly heard some of Shang Yin’s words, sharp and ruthless, decisive and cutting—exactly the man he remembered.

After all, he himself was also a pawn in Shang Yin’s schemes.

Of course, Shang Yin was equally a pawn in others’ games.

For example, discussing a new product, Su Shengxin overheard Shang Yin say: “Make it as big as possible, capture the market first. Don’t worry about losses; there’s no upper limit on how much we can lose.”

Or when Shang Yin took over a decaying subsidiary of his father’s group, immediately firing a large number of people, adding: “Pleading? We’ve invested in suppliers for over a decade. Let that old man say how much he’s made. Why do we allow all these riffraff to stay in the Shangzhou Group?”

And so on…

At around ten o’clock, sensing no more movement from the study, Su Shengxin gently pushed the door open.

Shang Yin had removed the metal glasses he wore only during work, placing them on the desk. Su Shengxin guessed the glasses were just for relieving eye strain.

Shang Yin was tall and broad-shouldered, leaning back into his chair, his eyes inscrutable as they fixed on Su Shengxin.

Su Shengxin wasn’t afraid. Circling the desk, he leaned lightly against its edge, looked at Shang Yin, then at the now-closed laptop, reaching out with his right hand to lightly trace the laptop’s lower edge with his fingertips, seeming both deliberate and casual.

The laptop had just been closed by Shang Yin, marked with his fingerprints in places. Su Shengxin stared at him, sliding his fingers over the black surface, then flipping his hand, using the backs of several fingers to stroke along the lower edge again.

If he couldn’t touch him, he could at least touch something Shang Yin had just touched.

The room was dimly lit. One stood, one sat; in the muted light, they silently watched each other. Su Shengxin’s fingertips slid over the computer’s black shell while Shang Yin raised a hand to loosen the tie knot he had neatly tied for the meeting.

The tie loosened considerably, hanging slack around his neck.

Su Shengxin smiled slightly, nodded toward the bathroom, signaling, and Shang Yin gave a gentle nod in return.

On the first day of the festival, bathing together was forbidden.

The cabin’s layout was unusual. There were two master bedrooms and two glass shower rooms. For the first few days of the show, each spouse used their own bedroom and shower.

The two glass shower rooms were adjacent, each equipped with light blue shower curtains for privacy.

Su Shengxin and Shang Yin each drew their curtains and turned on their showers.

However, the curtains didn’t fully cover the space; a gap remained along the wall.

Water sounds came intermittently from the other side. Shang Yin glanced lightly through the gap and saw Su Shengxin’s slender, pale fingers turning the faucet.

The water flow was irregular. Shang Yin occasionally peered through the curtain slit, always catching sight of wet hands turning the water on or off, grabbing and replacing the shower gel.

Water streamed down their arms.

At the same time, Shang Yin could see at the floor drain nearby a mixture of white shower gel swirling in different patterns as it flowed down the drain.

Drops of water frequently pelted the shower curtains with a steady patter, as though trying to break free.

After a long while, they finished. Su Shengxin quickly grabbed the white bathrobe hanging above the showerhead, slipped it on, and tied the belt.

Through the two layers of blue curtains, Su Shengxin could faintly sense that Shang Yin had also finished tidying up. After a moment’s thought, he walked to the floor-to-ceiling glass beside Shang Yin’s shower, reached out, and pulled back the blue curtain.

The bathroom light shone from behind Su Shengxin, allowing Shang Yin to see his blurred silhouette behind the curtain. Shang Yin also drew back his curtain, and their eyes met immediately.

He looked at him; he looked back.

Su Shengxin lifted his chin slightly and stepped forward, pressing both hands against the glass, tilting his face upward to gaze at Shang Yin.

Truly worthy of being a Best Actor nominee, his eyes held admiration. His usually carefully styled black hair was now tousled, lending a carefree aura. Water droplets dampened the bathrobe at his shoulders, and a flush colored his cheeks. The bathrobe failed to fully conceal the expanse of his chest, revealing the faint contours of his pectoral muscles.

Shang Yin knew exactly what Su Shengxin was thinking, what plans he was hatching.

With the curtains drawn aside, the cameras could film inside. Since touching was forbidden, Su Shengxin wanted to press their palms together through the glass.

As he always emphasized, “Make it look sweet.”

Shang Yin inwardly chuckled coldly, thinking how hard Su Shengxin was working to maintain his endorsements and public image. On the surface, however, he played along perfectly, stepping up to the glass and raising a hand to gently press his palm against Su Shengxin’s on the other side, his eyes revealing a trace of infatuation.

His black hair was casually swept back, exuding a rebellious charm, unlike his usual neat appearance. His bathrobe hung loosely, chest muscles pronounced and dotted with droplets of water. Yet even here, his gaze remained composed and controlled.

Acting—who didn’t do it?

They pressed their palms against the glass, eyes locked and intertwined. After a moment, Su Shengxin stepped closer, closer still to the glass, tilting his face upward toward Shang Yin as if about to whisper words of love.

His fingertips pressed hard, desperately clawing at the glass several times, as if trying to pierce the barrier to feel the other side, to hold onto Shang Yin’s hand tightly—but, of course, it was impossible.