Chapter 42: Darling, You Are a Fluffy and Sweet Snow Maiden
Shen Jixing had intended to comfort Zhou Yili.
He was not a novice without experience; he wouldn’t recklessly leave unsightly marks on this willful and proud young master.
Once was enough.
However, Zhou Yili's attention was clearly elsewhere.
“Welcome back, dear guests, to the game. The first scenario we are about to load is—‘The Legend of the Siren’.”
As the director introduced the grand backdrop of the first episode in a deep, sonorous voice, Zhou Yili stared intently at his waist.
Shen Jixing: “…”
“Siren, the sea demon?” Cen Susu, playing with her twin green ponytails, struggled to dredge up some knowledge from her empty mind.
Hearing this, Qi Yan turned to explain, “Yes, a female demon from ancient Greek mythology with a human head and a bird’s body. She possesses a heavenly singing voice and lures passing sailors with her song, causing them to run aground and sink on the coast.”
Cen Susu nodded with an “Oh,” thinking her just-finished-exam brain was still sharp.
Qi Yan smiled faintly.
The next moment, Sheng Que commented curiously, “This is the first time I’ve heard you say so much, Sis. Last time you spoke to me, you barely managed a word at a time.”
Qi Yan glanced at him, “No.”
“…”
As the guests engaged in lively discussion and friendly chat, Zhou Yili was still staring at his waist.
Shen Jixing: “…”
“Kid, are your eyes glued to my wife?”
“Star’s waist is so slender, so delicate—who can resist this abstinent look with the shirt tucked in? I’m dead, hyperventilating!”
“Baby, you’re as soft and sweet as a snow mochi.”
“Wearing a white shirt by the sea, just asking for trouble.”
“Alright, alright, your man looks handsome; with those stripes, he looks just like a zebra.”
“…”
Fang Siqian had returned to the show.
He didn’t want a repeat of last time—being isolated with no teammates to save him—so he planned to rope in a guest as an ally.
Who should he recruit?
“This world is just one big Shen Jixing fan club.”
That sentence flashed through his mind. Last time, every teammate had been a Shen Jixing fan, including himself when he first debuted.
Impossible.
Fang Siqian finally set his sights on Zhou Yili.
This young master, with his illustrious family background, always went solo and did as he pleased.
He hadn’t claimed to be a Shen Jixing fan last time; if memory served, when Shen Jixing didn’t pick him, Zhou Yili had looked rather displeased.
That settled it.
“Mr. Zhou, I really enjoy your music.” Once he had his target, Fang Siqian took the initiative.
Zhou Yili was still searching for the six-pointed star when he was abruptly interrupted. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw only black and white stripes—a zebra.
“Which song?” Zhou Yili replied with a question.
“…”
Fang Siqian froze in embarrassment.
Did this young master not know how to exchange pleasantries?
“‘Loop’, right?”
Zhou Yili, for once, exercised some emotional intelligence.
“Yes.” Fang Siqian quickly picked up the cue, “That’s my favorite song, it’s really good.”
Shen Jixing glanced at him with a subtle expression.
Fang Siqian’s smile was warm and gentle: “?”
He had a vague sense of foreboding. The next second, Zhou Yili’s languid, unhurried tone drifted over:
“Glad you like it. That song hasn’t been released yet.”
Fang Siqian: “………”
“Mister, you…”
“My secondhand embarrassment is acting up again.”
“That was bold, hahaha, Zhou Yili, nice one!”
“Is this young master for real? Knowing it was just small talk and still messing with him—how petty…”
…
Fang Siqian’s face darkened and he had to let it go.
Shen Jixing’s lips curved in a slow, indifferent smile. The next moment, Zhou Yili’s gaze inadvertently landed on him.
With cool, impassive eyes, he signaled: “Still staring?”
Zhou Yili seemed not to understand, lazily arching an eyebrow, “Hmm?”
Shen Jixing actually had a tattoo.
He was as delicate as fine porcelain, his skin flawless and ivory-white, yet he had marked himself.
Zhou Yili suddenly felt that he had never truly understood him; now, as he peeled back each layer, he found himself more and more—
Entranced.
Their gazes tangled, tension flickering between them—mostly from the latter.
Until the first round of the game began.
Shen Jixing: “?”
What game? It’s starting already?
Zhou Yili stepped forward confidently to draw a card: “Right here?”
As if he knew exactly what to do.
“Yes, all guests please remain seated.”
Cen Susu grumbled, “We booked out this whole sea area just to have us sit on a sand pile?”
She then heaped up the sand and sat down to seem a bit taller.
Shen Jixing calmly stepped forward to receive his card.
The director paused, “Mr. Shen, you’re the host in the first round.”
Shen Jixing felt all eyes settle on him.
Zhou Yili held his card between long fingers, stifling a low laugh, his voice lazy and sultry, the diamond stud in his ear glinting in the sunlight.
Shen Jixing: “…”
This bastard.
He replied evenly, “I want to play.”
The director hesitated, “Then… shall I host?”
“Mm.”
Shen Jixing, face composed, drew a card and, without looking back, walked away with the tips of his ears flushed red.
He headed toward Zhou Yili, who had just sat down, and with an idle raise of his long leg, flicked a spray of sand at him.
Zhou Yili: “…”
The fine, warm sand rolled down his cheek and slipped inside his shirt to his chest. He didn’t mind, simply shook his head to scatter the grains.
His black-blue hair was tousled, sunglasses pushed up, a lazy smile curling his lips.
“Little bird kicking?”
Shen Jixing shot back coolly, “Are you looking for trouble?”
Zhou Yili arched a brow nonchalantly, “Little bird’s angry?”
Shen Jixing strode toward him, but as the camera panned over, he simply sat down, calm and collected.
Zhou Yili leaned back on his hands, wearing sunglasses, grinning widely.
Suddenly, he turned his head, the long wind tossing at his open collar, carrying a crisp, cold scent. He drawled lazily, four words:
Shen Jixing thought coldly, If he starts another sentence with ‘little bird’, he’ll get a taste of my fist.
“Who’s the spy?”
The languid voice dropped.
Shen Jixing paused. He was naming the game.
He glanced sideways, unconcerned. Zhou Yili had leaned back, one leg bent, letting the wind tousle his hair, his features sharp and untamed.
There was a wild, exuberant vitality about him.
It was the freedom Shen Jixing had always yearned for.
He flipped over the card in his hand; all the courage of his youth to reach for the stars seemed to vanish.
[Coffin]
“…”
“Once everyone has checked their keyword, the game begins,” the director announced.
The guests all nodded.
No one seemed to understand why, under such a grand scenario theme, they were about to play a simple party game like “Who’s the Spy?”
Perhaps that explained the show’s low ratings.
“Let’s start with Best Actor Shen.”
Shen Jixing: “…”
He rarely had time to rest and hadn’t played these games much, so he gave a vague clue.
“It’s a container.”
Everyone nodded in agreement.
He relaxed imperceptibly, but within seconds, the following responses made his expression grow subtly strained.
Zhou Yili: “You lie in it.”
Cen Susu: “It’s a container that can hold a person. I lie in it for an hour every day.”
Qi Yan: “It can also hold water.”
Fang Siqian nodded and gently followed up, seizing a chance to show a different side of himself. “When I lie in it, I like to put a few little rubber ducks in with me.”
Sheng Que, next to him, couldn’t stand this softie act; he tousled his curly hair. “I like to play music and open two bottles of red wine while lying in mine.”
Shen Jixing: “…”
The first to be voted out was the one with the rubber ducks; perhaps the two female guests didn’t like the contrast.
Sheng Que was confident: “You’re lying in a duck pool, totally different from ours!”
Fang Siqian: “?”
As the guests began to argue, the director couldn’t allow things to spiral.
He picked up the megaphone: “Player Five is exiled—no last words.”
The scene quieted.
The assistant director glanced over, “You’re in the wrong game.”
The director froze, but it didn’t matter; Fang Siqian was still muted.
“Poor guy…”
“I feel bad for him too.”
“Wait, aren’t you a Star fan?”
“Knew I’d see those words—makes my chest ache.”
The game continued.
Shen Jixing already knew the outcome; this game was no challenge for him.
“If you lie in it, you can cleanse your body…”
You can’t lie in the middle of the game, so Shen Jixing calmly amended, “Your heart—purifies the soul.”
After all, anyone who wakes from a coffin, body and soul, is transformed.
The director didn’t call him out for cheating, and Shen Jixing’s lips curled in a faint, relaxed smile.
The game was already under his control.
Until the man beside him drawled lazily, “Shen Jixing loves lying there the most.”
Shen Jixing turned calmly, “I do not.”
Zhou Yili looked at him, puzzled, “But you love it.”
Shen Jixing: “…”
The live chat slowly typed a question mark: “?”
“Never mind whether he does or not—how do you know, Young Master Zhou, that Best Actor Shen loves lying in the bathtub?”