Chapter 8: The Fifth Day

By the fifth day, several loving couples were on the brink of losing their patience. They still weren’t allowed to touch each other. Even the pair who could have unlocked “holding hands” early—Shengxin Su and Yin Shang—remained under the same prohibition.

That morning’s activity required each couple to cook together.

Glancing over the ingredient list, Su and Yin briefly discussed and settled on four dishes: honey-glazed char siu pork, spicy stir-fried diced beef with chili, bamboo fungus and wild mushroom soup, and a sesame dressing vegetable salad.

Before joining the show, Su had hurriedly practiced a few recipes. Yin had lived alone in the United States before and was a decent cook after all those years of schooling.

Facing the stove with cameras rolling, Su began preparing the ingredients.

He started by making the soup.

The sink was filled with washed vegetables and plates. He picked up a small king oyster mushroom and carefully rubbed the cap with both hands.

Yin approached from behind, eyes lowered, gently tying a cute apron around Su’s waist.

Su was speechless.

Yin’s voice was low and velvety: “You forgot this.”

His hands rested lightly on Su’s lower back, tying the knot. Through the thin white shirt, sometimes their bodies barely touched, and other times they did.

Su felt a tingling, ticklish sensation at his waist, a subtle buzz.

He dropped the mushroom and gripped the edge of the stove with both hands.

Although Yin said nothing while tying the knot, he took his time. The kitchen was filled only with the quiet breathing of the two of them.

Yin was not skilled at making bows; his technique was rough and awkward.

Su noticed this, so when Yin finally said, “All done,” Su instinctively reached back to check if the knot was secure.

Unexpectedly, Yin, seeming a bit of a perfectionist, adjusted the loops to be evenly sized without letting go of the apron strings. Su’s hand landed right on the back of Yin’s hand.

Suddenly touching a warm hand—Yin’s hand—Su momentarily forgot they were on camera and reflexively pulled his hand away.

Two seconds later, he realized something was amiss.

They were legally married. His reaction looked suspicious.

But his hand was already withdrawn.

He sensed a faint inner turmoil.

He had thought he could perform naturally throughout the show, but this was only the fifth day.

Fingers tightly intertwined, lips slowly drawing near, noses lightly brushing, and yesterday’s “secret exchange” segment filled with questioning, revelations, understanding, and comfort—all these unexpected moments made him instinctively pull away when he accidentally grasped the back of Yin’s hand.

Su pondered how to make amends. Fortunately, the rule forbade any physical contact on the fifth day, so they could use that as an excuse. Otherwise, it would be hard to explain.

Behind him, Yin squeezed his wrist through his sleeve and chuckled softly, “Looks like you’re going to be punished again.”

Before Su could explain why he pulled away, Yin had already addressed it, covering for him.

Yet Su felt Yin had noticed—his quick withdrawal wasn’t because of the rules but a hint of guilty conscience.

After washing the vegetables, Su sliced the king oyster mushrooms thinly, blanched them, cooled them in cold water, then heated oil in a pan to stir-fry the side dishes. He brought the soup to a boil, then simmered it gently.

Yin wasn’t idle either.

After slicing the pork shoulder and marbled beef, Yin washed his hands and began mixing the marinade for the honey-glazed char siu.

Salt, cooking wine, char siu sauce, bay leaves, and—

When he reached for the honey, he realized it was stored in a lower cabinet drawer, rarely used and somewhat hidden.

Su was still busy by the stove.

Yin crouched and lightly tapped Su’s outer calf twice. Su stepped aside, allowing him to open the drawer.

He rummaged through it but found no honey.

He tapped Su’s leg again; Su stepped aside further, looking down at Yin.

Yin opened another drawer—still no honey.

Su made room once more.

Looking up at Su, Yin suddenly found him in the way. Rising to his full height, he scooped Su up like a child and placed him on the empty counter space.

Caught off guard by being lifted and set down on the counter, Su was stunned.

“Don’t move,” Yin said, then crouched down to continue the search.

Su was speechless.

He even lost his slipper in the process.

Not wanting to dangle his feet and get in the way of the CEO, Su withdrew his legs and stepped onto the smooth cabinet door beneath him.

Yin glanced at his slender ankle and rounded toes—quite beautiful.

Finally, Yin found it—the linden honey—at the very bottom of the drawer row Su had just blocked.

“Found it?” Su asked.

“Yeah,” Yin said, glancing at the label. “Linden honey, should work.”

Su nodded and, wanting to retaliate for being scooped up earlier, noticed Yin was half-crouched right in front of him, with his slipper a bit far away. Seizing the moment, Su pressed a foot onto Yin’s bent knee, then stepped off the counter, using Yin’s knee for leverage to land lightly on the floor.

Otherwise, he would have either been picked up again or had to jump down awkwardly.

Stepping down using Yin’s knee was just right.

The trousers were expensive, made from top-brand tailor fabric.

This small revenge felt satisfying.

Yin was momentarily surprised when Su stepped on his knee.

But he quickly realized it was just Su’s way of showing affection.

The foot resting on his knee revealed veins clearly, with a slender Achilles tendon—fleeting yet intimate.

Yin stood, brushed off the wrinkles Su’s foot had made on his pants, washed his hands again, and returned to the stove. Using a small brush, he coated several pork shoulder slices with the marinade and let them soak.

The entire morning passed with the two chatting and cooking.

Su spoke about his favorite restaurants around the world, and Yin shared his own experiences.

By the end, the mushroom soup was steaming and fragrant; the marinated pork came out of the oven with a delightful “beep”; the diced beef was colorful and aromatic; and the cherry tomatoes rolled in sesame dressing, perfectly round.

Their joint lunch turned out surprisingly well.

The successful collaboration lifted Su’s spirits. He didn’t cook often, and this was his most satisfying experience.

Just as Yin reached for his chopsticks, Su stopped him.

“Wait, I want to take a photo.”

Yin paused.

Su enthusiastically snapped several pictures.

Yin watched him, unlocked his phone, and asked, “Want me to take a group photo of you with the dishes?”

Such thoughtfulness.

It felt awkward for Su to hand over his own phone, so he nodded.

“Sure. Send it to me when you’re done.”

Yin nodded in agreement.

Su posed casually, resting one hand lightly under his chin, pointing at the dishes with the other, smiling.

As a top-tier celebrity, he knew exactly how to show his best angles.

After finishing, Yin sent the photos via WeChat as Su requested.

Then, out of habit, his finger hovered over the “delete” button, ready to erase them.

The cameras couldn’t capture the phone screen, so the details were safe.

But before deleting, his gaze unconsciously lingered on the photo’s center.

He scanned it.

A very good smile—beautiful, bright, and staring directly at the lens.

In the foreground was their jointly prepared lunch.

His finger paused, then skipped the “delete” and scrolled to close the photo app.

...

During the lunch break, Yin had a meeting with company executives to finalize new collaborations.

The afternoon brought another activity, and this time the production team had devised a new idea to stir emotions: painting on the wives’ bodies.

They were to paint flowers.

Each guest chose the flower that best suited their wife and painted it on any part of her body.

“What?!” an NBA player exclaimed. “What kind of nonsense is this?! Look at the previous activities: solving mysteries! Smelling fragrances! Now painting! You have to appreciate beauty! Appreciate scent! Be smart! Why no physical challenges?!”

Everyone laughed.

An international director said, “I’m almost fifty. Spare me the physical tests. I already know the order: you first, CEO Shang second, and I’m last. You two can beat me in a heartbeat—muscle-wise, that is.”

The NBA player laughed like a fool.

The first couple to go was the international director and the actress.

The director, a photographer by trade, was a professional-level painter.

He chose the peony, painting it on the actress’s palm.

A conventional choice.

He painted a large scarlet peony, surrounded by green leaves.

The actress held out her right palm, watching her husband carefully paint each petal vividly, his gaze soft and almost dewy.

Next was the pianist and the lead dancer.

They chose the back of the neck. The dancer had her hair in a bun, revealing her neck.

The flower was a lily, and the pianist used water-based chalk to sketch on her nape.

His skill was lacking, however. The production’s side shots were full of sensuality, but when the camera zoomed in, it became comical—the flower looked worse than a child’s drawing.

The third couple was the NBA player and his wife.

They chose the orchid, painting it on her arm.

The NBA player worked from wrist to elbow.

As expected, the result was less than satisfactory.

Because of their accidental touching in the morning, Su and Yin were assigned last again for the afternoon segment.

Unlike last time, when the order didn’t matter much, this time the rules forbade the guests who performed later from choosing the same flower species or body parts as the earlier couples.

In other words, their options were severely limited.

Yin looked up at Su and said to the production team, “Plum blossom.”

He thought his partner was very proud.

The producer asked, “And the body part?”

Knowing few parts remained available, the producer’s tone was tinged with excitement.

The other guests watched with curious expressions, eager for the spectacle.