Chapter 87: That Which Is Most Earnestly Sought

Sang Yijia fell silent for a moment, her brows knitting slightly. “I don’t really care for Japanese food.”

“In that case, how about French cuisine?” Lu Wenchuan was not at all bothered by Sang Yijia’s direct refusal; on the contrary, he felt quite pleased. He appreciated her honesty.

Sang Yijia still shook her head. “Let’s have Chinese food. I prefer Chinese cuisine.”

Sang Yijia was a rather traditional person. Three meals a day, with staple food required for both lunch and dinner—a habit she’d picked up at the welfare home.

The director-mother used to say that one must eat well, drink well, and sleep well to have the energy to face the daily tedium.

She pondered for a moment, then looked up at Lu Wenchuan, let out a quiet hum, and asked, “Can you eat spicy food?”

“I can,” Lu Wenchuan replied. “Sichuan cuisine?”

“Sure.”

The two quickly reached a happy consensus.

Yet, the audience in the livestream room watched their interaction and lapsed into silence.

[This doesn’t really look like a romance, does it?]

[Xiao Sisi and Bian He are making some progress, but Sang Yijia and Lu Wenchuan… it’s just not happening.]

[Sang Yijia hasn’t really gotten over Shen Jin, has she?]

[If she truly loved him before, it’s not so easy to let go.]

[I feel so conflicted now. If Sang Yijia ends up liking Lu Wenchuan like this, it feels unworthy, unfair to Lu Wenchuan. But if she doesn’t like him, it’s hard for me to watch.]

Such comments were common, appearing frequently in the live chat.

Director Chen observed these bullet screens thoughtfully.

Meanwhile, Lan Qing and Shen Jin happened to pass by and overheard Sang Yijia and Lu Wenchuan’s conversation. Lan Qing glanced at Shen Jin and saw him watching Sang Yijia again. Her brows furrowed swiftly, then relaxed.

“Shen Jin, what do you want for dinner tonight?” Lan Qing spoke gently, drawing his attention back. “How about Cantonese cuisine?”

Lan Qing had already researched Shen Jin’s background. He was the most favored young master of the Shen family, and before the age of fifteen, he had lived in City G, particularly fond of the region’s cuisine.

“Sure,” Shen Jin thought it was Lan Qing’s preference and agreed readily.

Seeing his faint smile, Lan Qing knew she had made the right choice. Her lips couldn’t help but curve upward. “I’m glad you like it.”

“Of course I like it.” Shen Jin wanted to say, ‘I like anything you choose,’ but realized he’d said similar things too often, fearing Lan Qing might get tired of hearing it or misunderstand him as being perfunctory, so he kept it brief.

Coincidentally, Lan Qing was even happier after hearing that, and Shen Jin felt content as well.

On camera, Shen Jin and Lan Qing’s relationship progressed the fastest. Holding hands was routine now, their fingers naturally intertwined, the two sticking close as they walked past Sang Yijia.

Lan Qing made a point of glancing over, but unfortunately didn’t catch any disappointment in Sang Yijia. It didn’t matter, though. Lan Qing squinted slightly—Sang Yijia could never beat her.

“Shen Jin, I need to use the restroom. Can you wait for me?” After hours in the EM room, Lan Qing worried her makeup might have faded and needed to touch up before heading to the restaurant, lest she embarrass herself.

“Go ahead, I’ll wait here.” Shen Jin caught a glimpse of Sang Yijia approaching from the corner of his eye, intentionally lowering and softening his voice, wanting to see if Sang Yijia would react dramatically.

Yet, Sang Yijia didn’t even spare them a glance, turning with Lu Wenchuan and heading directly toward the elevators.

Watching their receding backs, Shen Jin clenched his fists tightly, gritting his teeth.

Lan Qing pressed her lips together, her expression sour as she walked off in another direction.

—

Inside the elevator, with the cameraman beside them, Lu Wenchuan lowered his gaze to Sang Yijia’s hair. Under the harsh white light, her black hair shone bright and smooth, with a tiny whorl at the crown, the strands soft. He wondered what it would feel like to touch it.

He stole another glance before looking away.

The elevator was utterly quiet, not a sound to be heard. After several long seconds, the bell chimed—the elevator had arrived.

Lu Wenchuan stepped aside to let Sang Yijia exit first, then followed, walking shoulder to shoulder, though there remained about sixty centimeters between them. There was no sign of progress.

The cameraman had grown accustomed to this, but couldn’t help murmuring to his colleague, “Are these two actually dating?”

“If it goes on like this, can our show even continue?”

Such existential questions drifted into the livestream, where the audience heard them.

[Hahahahaha.]

[This isn’t a romance show anymore.]

[I’ve never seen a dating program like this.]

[I can’t stop laughing—only when the production intervenes does it get interesting.]

Nearby staff began to think aloud, “We’ll need a meeting tonight. Otherwise, there’s not much to edit.”

The two in front, naturally, heard the staff’s muttering. Sang Yijia glanced down at her own hand, then at Lu Wenchuan’s hand by his side, her lips pressed together.

If she remembered correctly, Lan Qing and Shen Jin had held hands on the very first day of the show.

Yan Ningsi and Bian He occasionally cooperated with the crew, holding hands when they went out.

But she and Lu Wenchuan had never once held hands. Sang Yijia was highly professional; having signed a contract, she felt she ought to do her job well.

She frowned slightly, then snuck a sideways glance at Lu Wenchuan, unsure if he would mind.

Lu Wenchuan had already noticed her gaze, his whole body unconsciously tensing as he mentally reviewed his outfit, hairstyle, and posture, worrying if there was anything amiss. He wanted desperately to see himself in a mirror to confirm his perfection.

“Lu Wenchuan,” Sang Yijia asked softly, “would you mind if I held your hand?”

She hesitated, then explained, “Did you hear what was said just now?”

“This show is a dating reality series.” Sang Yijia grew increasingly uncertain, at a loss for words, anxious not to be misunderstood. Suddenly, her palm was enveloped.

Her heart froze for a moment, then began to race wildly.

“I would be delighted,” Lu Wenchuan replied, lips curving as he glanced down at their joined hands.

“Thank you,” Sang Yijia exhaled slowly, thinking Lu Wenchuan truly a gentleman—however softly she’d spoken, the microphones would have caught it, but he gave her dignity.

The cameraman behind them caught sight of their tightly clasped hands and frowned. “What just happened?”

The audience in the livestream snapped back to attention, stopping their banter.

[Wait, what did I miss?]

[Did a second pass like a century? They’re holding hands now?]

[Didn’t you see it just now?]

[Sang Yijia said she was holding hands to cooperate with the show.]

[Lu Wenchuan said he would be delighted! ()]

Sang Yijia: Wants to hold hands.

Lu Wenchuan: Hold! Must hold!

(End of chapter)