Chapter 9: The Fifth Day (Part II)

The outcome of the “Painting” competition wouldn’t be revealed immediately. The producers of “Three Lifetimes’ Promise” had previously explained that the rankings would be decided by the audience after this episode aired.

In the evening, four couples gathered to eat barbecue.

They sat around the grills, each couple with their own barbecue stove. In the center of the four stoves flickered a cluster of campfires. The metal walls of the fire pit were intricately cut with patterns of moons and stars. Through these celestial shapes, the orange-red flames blazed fiercely.

The couples grilled whatever they wanted themselves, chatting and eating as they cooked.

Soon, the aroma of barbecue filled the air. Steam rose and drifted, resembling a white mist in the night. The sizzling fat on the meat crackled, occasionally dropping into the fire and sending up a flash of flame.

“Mr. Shang, Teacher Su,” the actress smiled, “you two are so loving! You know exactly what the other likes, passing each other only their favorite foods—I can tell.”

To show their affection, Su Shengxin and Shang Yin each grilled and handed the other their preferred dishes.

Su Shengxin smiled softly but thought to himself: all those preferences were already listed in their personal profiles; Shang Yin naturally knew exactly what he liked and disliked.

At one point, Su Shengxin hesitated, holding a skewer of lamb.

He didn’t eat the fatty parts.

He knew others considered the fat the essence of barbecue, but he simply couldn’t stomach it. Some things, once you can’t swallow them, you really can’t, and those who like them might find that hard to understand.

Fatty meat was number one on Su Shengxin’s “intolerable” list. Shang Yin probably hadn’t anticipated that even this well-cooked piece was unacceptable.

Su Shengxin wondered: what to do?

If he threw it away, he feared being ridiculed. The online environment wasn’t exactly kind; words like “wasteful” or “fussy” might be thrown at him.

He only thought for two or three seconds before out of the corner of his eye, he saw a large, strong hand take the skewer from him.

The simple-minded NBA player asked, “Mr. Shang? What are you doing?”

Shang Yin smiled faintly: “He doesn’t like fat, I do. We often swap.” Then he bit into the meat.

Su Shengxin glanced at Shang Yin, who handed him back the rest.

The fat was removed; Su Shengxin thought for a moment and resumed eating the lean lamb.

The flavor was tender and fragrant.

They also drank several cans of beer.

Gradually, the couples talked more and ate less.

The international director and the actress asked Su Shengxin some questions, which he answered one by one.

The photographer was shooting Su Shengxin and suddenly pointed at his lips, reminding him, “Teacher Su, there’s a little cumin on your lip.”

The camera was filming a close-up, so it didn’t look good.

“???” Su Shengxin wiped his lower lip with his finger. The photographer said, “Still there.”

Su Shengxin wiped again; the photographer laughed, “Still there.”

Shang Yin looked over, pulled out a tissue, folded and rolled it up. Then he gently pressed it against Su Shengxin’s chin, turning his face so he could look at him.

Su Shengxin was speechless.

Shang Yin used the rolled tissue to brush at the stubborn cumin.

According to the show’s rules, the two could touch through objects, otherwise the games wouldn’t work, but the production discouraged it. The producer had privately warned them after their morning hug to avoid such contact if possible.

Therefore, Shang Yin didn’t wrap the tissue around his finger and wipe directly but folded the tissue stiffly and used it like a small brush.

Normally, it would have worked fine, but the cumin was particularly stubborn this time, still sticking to the lip.

Shang Yin brushed again with no effect, then pressed the tissue against Su Shengxin’s chin, suddenly bent forward, and blew gently on his lips. He checked again and blew once more.

Su Shengxin was speechless.

Blowing twice did nothing; he suspected Shang Yin was deliberately showing off a love that wasn’t really there.

Finally, the cumin was scraped off with the rolled tissue.

…

The couples chatted a little longer. The producer then announced they wouldn’t disband immediately; there was a short segment coming up—calling their parents to check in.

Shang Yin noticed that although Su Shengxin was still smiling faintly, the smile visibly stiffened for a few seconds at the corners of his mouth.

No one else noticed except Shang Yin.

He thought: Should I have Su Shengxin make the call?

He was aware of the delicate relationship between Su Shengxin and his parents.

The only son of a master of traditional Chinese music, who had abandoned his career to enter the entertainment industry, married a businessman, and now openly exposed their life on a show for everyone to comment on and enjoy—such a thing was utterly unthinkable to his parents.

They surely disapproved of this same-sex marriage.

The sudden announcement of their marriage was probably something they learned about from television. They had likely never met this husband in person, nor heard about him from their son.

Now the two appeared on a variety show and were expected to kiss on camera—in order to support his husband’s business, their son Su Shengxin had to publicly kiss on the show.

What would those parents say?

Would such conservative parents ever accept this?

Su Shengxin kept smiling, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes; his gaze was somewhat vacant. He looked down, absently turning a skewer over the flames.

In Shang Yin’s impression, Su Shengxin was always sharp, confident in his intelligence, emotional intelligence, experience, and judgment, yet now—

Seeing his unusual demeanor, Shang Yin softened for a rare moment.

This feeling of “softness” was quite new to him. His reputation was one of ruthlessness and disregard for others; he would readily cut ties with long-time contributors whose abilities waned; withdraw investments from failing ventures and shift to rivals immediately; crush competitors even if he once knew their founders.

Shang Yin casually took out his phone and sent a brief message to his assistant Fang Jingyan: “Look up company records and give me Su Lixue’s phone number.”

Shang Zhou Group’s products were everywhere, nationwide and even worldwide, so finding a phone number was easy.

Sure enough, ten minutes later, a string of numbers appeared on Shang Yin’s phone.

…

Shang Yin looked at Su Shengxin, squeezed his phone, and sent another instruction to Fang: “Contact the couple. Soon Su Shengxin will make a call to them. This call will be aired, so please ask them to cooperate.”

The assistant asked: “How exactly?”

Shang Yin replied: “They’ve long wanted to organize some events but haven’t succeeded—like collecting all 56 ethnic traditional instruments and holding concerts worldwide to introduce Chinese ethnic music. But there are big difficulties in both collecting and organizing. Also, a ‘Fenghua National Music’ series at various universities, and more. Look it up online—I’ve seen it. Shang Zhou Group could sponsor these activities. For the collection, we can also utilize our resources.”

A few days ago, after learning about Su Shengxin’s relationship with his parents, Shang Yin had looked up some information online and watched a few interviews.

Fang responded: “Got it.”

Shang Yin waited an hour. As the barbecue was ending, Fang hadn’t sent any updates. It seemed Su Shengxin’s parents were still hesitant.

Shang Yin took out his phone again and sent a private message to Su Shengxin’s parents: “Mom, Dad, this is Shang Yin. Please cooperate with Su Shengxin later so he won’t be embarrassed in public. He’s a good man, and you should know that. Thanks.”

Shang Yin thought: It’s a bit absurd. These parents have spent 28 years with Su Shengxin yet still don’t understand him or realize “he’s a good man.” Yet I’ve known him for only five days and already understand.

His tone was that of Su Shengxin’s legal husband. Knowing Su Shengxin, he would never tell his parents the marriage was fake—that would only make matters worse.

So Shang Yin didn’t hesitate; the words “Mom and Dad” felt natural, as did “the one I love.”

No reply came, but the message showed as “read.”

…

After finishing the barbecue, the four couples sat down as the production began filming the “call the parents” segment.

Shang Yin could tell Su Shengxin was still uneasy.

The first call was from the international director and the actress. Their parents were obviously elderly and frail; the director’s mother had already passed away. Yet the parents’ conversation was warm and familiar, treating their daughter-in-law or son-in-law as their own children. They asked if they were eating well and sleeping well on set and mentioned their little daughter was very well-behaved at home.

The actress’s mother reported: “Youyou is doing well now, no crying or fussing, but every day she plays a strange game with the nanny called ‘Flying to Shanghai to find Mommy’! She sits on a bench and makes the nanny sit too, pretending to fasten a seatbelt as she goes to Shanghai to see her mother.”

Hearing this, the actress’s expression softened completely.

From earlier conversations, Su Shengxin already knew their daughter was only a little over two years old—she had waited until she was 40 to have a child for her career.

Su Shengxin thought: She loves her daughter so much, and her daughter loves her mother deeply.

And himself? Since he could remember, his parents had been strict. As a child, he was afraid of his mother. He was always well-behaved; the phrase his mother often used was “Su Shengxin, you’re very bad, I don’t like you anymore.” After suppressing himself each time, his two- or three-year-old self would ask: “I’m good now, can you like me this time?”

Su Shengxin thought ruefully that no one would guess how deeply he craved love. It was laughable; he envied the director and actress’s barely three-year-old daughter.

Next were the NBA player and the Hong Kong singer couple. The NBA player’s parents spoke with a strong northeastern accent, shouting, “When will you come back? Is there anywhere to train there?”

The NBA player switched to the same dialect, simple and sincere: “Yes, yes, there’s a basketball court here!”

The Hong Kong singer spoke in Hong Kong Mandarin, and their back-and-forth had a comedic effect.

The Hong Kong singer’s parents had a heavy Cantonese accent, and everyone understood little; they didn’t say much either.