Cheng Zhirang had been holding the same letter for more than three minutes when Mu Qiu, who had just escaped from Inspiration Kingdom and was zoning out, noticed that something was off about him.
His Adam’s apple bobbed twice in a row, his lips pressed tight, his head tilted to one side but his eyes shut.
His emotions seemed a bit repressed, like he was reading some particularly touching letter.
She didn’t say anything. After watching him for a while and confirming he didn’t need comforting, she lowered her head and went back to typing.
What she hit out, though, was a string of gibberish.
She suddenly wondered, in a story, what is it that really leaves a mark on people? Smooth sailing, safety, sweetness and happiness?
No, it’s regret, it’s unwillingness, it’s those gut-wrenching scenes. Only when "peace and smooth sailing" becomes a luxury will people stay hung up on that kind of imperfection...
She had already decided what new genre she wanted to write.
The sound of keys clacking rang through the living room. Mu Qiu’s expression was serious, her fingers flying over the keyboard, completely oblivious to the look Cheng Zhirang sent her way.
Silence and warmth flowed together.
The whole morning passed quickly. Cheng Zhirang set a glass of water beside Mu Qiu, then went back to being in charge of lunch.
"Qiuqiu, take a break and wait for lunch."
Mu Qiu made a little "mm" sound. This time she actually listened, stretching lazily, then sitting cross‑legged and cradling her phone after taking a drink.
The strong light outside the floor‑to‑ceiling windows shot straight across half the living room, spilling brightness into the kitchen. Bending over, Cheng Zhirang chopped up the ingredients they had on hand, then tilted his head and asked her:
"We’re low on ingredients. Is corn with shrimp and tomato sole okay for lunch?"
"Sure. People who don’t cook don’t dare say no."
He shook his head with a smile.
"Hey!" Mu Qiu suddenly called out. Even though she knew he couldn’t see from that far away, she still lifted her phone to show him. "The show already sent us a hint for the next episode!"
"What kind of hint?"
"They told us to watch more TV, dramas, or read novels."
She thought for a moment. Could the next episode be related to "storylines" again? Or would they play drama clips and have them guess the names of the shows?
She felt like the latter was more likely; it was easier to pull off.
She shared this guess with Cheng Zhirang and asked what he thought.
"I don’t think they’ll make it that easy for us to guess."
"You don’t know either?" Her gaze turned odd. "For the past few episodes, you’ve always known the format days in advance."
Cheng Zhirang paused. "When the production team is planning each episode, they always do a feasibility assessment. If you pay attention, it’s impossible to completely hide what games they’re playing. Plus, they’ll prioritize communicating with me."
"Because your status is high?" Which made sense. That’s how it worked with A‑list stars too—production teams always had to check in with them early to avoid schedule conflicts or needing to tweak game formats.
But Cheng Zhirang shook his head, turning to look at the woman bathed in light, smiling as he said, "Because I’m the show’s investor."
"?!"
Even all through lunch, Mu Qiu was still questioning reality.
Wasn’t the investor daddy Changtong? With Changtong already in, did they still need him to invest? Or did he see that Changtong was sponsoring and think the show had potential, so he leaned on a bit of his relationship with the director to throw some money in and get a share of the profits?
A million different scenarios flashed through her head before she decided to just ask him outright: "How come you’re an investor?"
"Changtong is currently under the Cheng Family’s control."
Mu Qiu’s jaw slowly dropped. "...Holy crap."
Cheng Zhirang thought her reaction was hilarious and picked up a shrimp to pop into her slightly open mouth.
"It’s really not a big deal. No need to be that shocked. Is it good?"
"Tastes like money."
"...Alright, just eat properly."
How was she supposed to eat properly like this?
Half dazed, she finished lunch, clutching the little turtle‑pig plush she’d brought back from the show. She paced around the sofa, squeezing it as she walked.
The weird "turtle, turtle" sound went on and on.
She walked around so much that Cheng Zhirang’s eyes started going blurry. He pulled her to sit in his lap.
"You’re not going to keep working?"
"Nope. Let me process for a bit."
"Then keep me company and watch a movie?" he said softly. "Didn’t the show tell us to watch more movies and TV? What do you want to watch?"
Mu Qiu: "Maybe... Daddy, Where Are We Going?"
Cheng Zhirang stared at her for a long moment, then ended up putting on Tenet.
In the late afternoon, Mu Qiu sent a message in her readers’ group.
[Sorry, everyone. Everything I said this morning was bullshit. I absolutely have to write a dog‑blood novel about me sprouting wings and fleeing while a domineering CEO chases me down with his life on the line.]
A string of readers’ replies followed.
[What melodramatic nonsense have you been watching now? Recommend it to us.]
[Are you and Brother Cheng literally playing a "you run, I chase" game right now?]
[What made you so determined to write it? Tell us the story behind it.]
[Baby! Your dance yesterday was so mesmerizing! I used your photo to draw you a cover!]
[She runs, he chases, neither of them can escape even with wings... Is this what happens after you get a boyfriend?]
[As long as Brother Cheng doesn’t feel awkward reading it, we can all keep reading it too.]
[Spill a little—how exactly do you play this "you run, I chase" game?]
How do they play it?
She lifted her eyes to look at Cheng Zhirang’s jawline and couldn’t help reaching out to touch it.
Cheng Zhirang lowered his head to look at her. "What’s wrong?"
"Do you know the ’I run, you chase’ game?"
His eyes widened slightly. "What?"
"You know, she runs, he chases, and even with wings they can’t escape."
Cheng Zhirang’s brows slowly drew together in a doubtful, completely baffled arc. "What kind of... game is that?"
Mu Qiu couldn’t hold it in anymore and collapsed against his chest, laughing out loud.
He couldn’t quite follow the roller coaster of her emotions, but when she leaned into his arms, he still reached out and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
He didn’t know if it was a job difference or an age gap, but sometimes he really couldn’t get her sense of humor.
Better to just keep watching the movie.
The movie was a bit of a brain‑twister. Mu Qiu gradually got into it, and by the end she was still full of energy, excitedly discussing with him whether the plot points made sense.
Watching her eyes shine as she looked up at him, Cheng Zhirang simply scooped her up from the sofa like a child, his hands braced under her hips.
Mu Qiu was caught off guard and quickly wrapped her arms around his neck with a little yelp.
"Why’d you suddenly pick me up?"
He answered with a question of his own instead: "What do you want for dinner?"
She didn’t really have any special requests. After thinking for a second, she said, "Whatever you make, I’ll eat."
Basically just saying "anything’s fine," but making it sound a bit cuter.
Cheng Zhirang nodded and carried her upstairs. "I don’t feel like cooking dinner today, so let’s eat a bit later."
"...You’re addicted now, huh."
Addicted to what?
Addicted to that emotional "communication" behind closed doors, obviously.
Cheng Zhirang didn’t deny it, carrying her out to the small balcony on the second floor.
He hadn’t thought much of this balcony before, only that it really was suitable for her to write or relax on. Now he felt like it was actually a pretty great spot.
The leather sofa sank under their weight. Mu Qiu leaned back against the sofa, and before she could adjust into a more comfortable position, Cheng Zhirang was already kneeling on one knee by her legs, one hand cupping the back of her head as he bent down to kiss her.
"Qiuqiu, have you ever thought about taking our relationship to the next stage?"