Chapter 26
Before the post disappeared, the very last reply was chilling.
[Your wife is an actor, right?]
How do you know my wife is an excellent actor?
Wait—had he been exposed?!
In an instant, Lu Xiao had already come up with a hundred different ways to kneel and explain to his wife that he’d been asking about private matters online. He’d clearly been very restrained, only asking things like “Does this count as bad technique?” and “I wasn’t like this at first,” never once mentioning his celebrity wife—but netizens were relentless when it came to doxxing.
How did they figure it out? Was it because of the ID [I Love My Wife]?
No… wait? An actor?
Did they mean that Meng Xueyuan was acting even in bed? Pretending to be very into it, pretending to feel amazing, making him think he was incredibly skilled?
Lu Xiao thought about it. Meng Xueyuan really did… agree to everything. No need for much foreplay, never getting hurt—this was fine, that was fine—he’d almost never said “no,” except when he truly couldn’t take it anymore.
That had fed Lu Xiao’s wilder impulses. He’d charged around recklessly on Meng Xueyuan, paying no attention to proper “driving rules,” changing lanes at will, braking and accelerating as he pleased—sometimes even pulling out halfway through just because he wanted to kiss, then giving his wife water mouth-to-mouth.
He could fix cars. He could fly helicopters. He could cook. He was good at every kind of skill—except… once upon a time, he’d been a self-taught top student too. Under Teacher Meng’s excessive indulgence, his grades had slipped, and he’d been lumped straight into the “scummy top” category.
Lu Xiao rubbed his face in frustration. Men who were bastards by nature really did need restraint.
He turned to look at Meng Xueyuan, tranquil and snow-white like a sleeping water lily. His wife really loved him too much.
Lu Xiao kissed Meng Xueyuan’s eyelids. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t good.”
Meng Xueyuan’s eyelids fluttered, but he didn’t wake up. Subconsciously, he pressed his forehead against Lu Xiao’s chest—his instinctive evasive reaction when he didn’t want Lu Xiao to intensely kiss his face.
Too cute. Lu Xiao’s entire being trembled from how adorable it was.
He was going to be an upright, virtuous top.
…
No one understood the honeymoon phase better than the staff of Little Mountain God.
Recently, it might have been a honeymoon period for Teacher Lu and Teacher Meng, or perhaps filming was simply going smoothly and Lu Xiao and the film had entered a honeymoon phase. In any case, Lu Xiao had been handing out generous perks on set every day—everyone benefited.
That morning, a production assistant had even accidentally seen Lu Xiao’s manager carry over a mysterious box. Judging by the corner of a red envelope peeking out, it was clearly the wrap bonuses Lu Xiao had prepared for the entire crew.
Based on the box’s size and the volume of RMB, the PA mentally calculated how much each envelope might contain.
Damn—when Lu Xiao gets married, he could just return this as a wedding gift.
This was the happiest film Meng Xueyuan had ever worked on. Lu Xiao was sometimes a fellow Best Actor, sometimes a contract lover, sometimes an all-purpose assistant. Being on this set was unbelievably comfortable!
But all good things must come to an end. Today they were shooting the final scene—the first-kiss scene. That night would be the wrap banquet, and also Lu Xiao’s last-ever participation in a film shoot.
[The CEO inspects his own mall and encounters the Little Mountain God lingering by a claw machine in a corner. The Little Mountain God has only one coin and can’t bear to spend it. With a grand wave of his hand, the CEO exchanges two hundred coins for him and helps him play.]
[Out of two hundred coins, one hundred and ninety-nine are wasted, and they win nothing. The CEO, annoyed, vents his anger at the claw machine operator and prepares for one last try. The Little Mountain God lifts his head encouragingly and, by chance, brushes into a kiss with the CEO.]
“Cut! Again!” the director’s furious voice rang out.
Meng Xueyuan and Lu Xiao stepped back, both a little stunned.
The director rolled his eyes. “We agreed it was an accidental first kiss—shock, then a flustered retreat. What you two are giving me is: after bumping into each other, you want to French-kiss!”
Lu Xiao: “…”
Meng Xueyuan: “…”
Had their acting really gotten that bad?
Lu Xiao said, “Sorry, wasn’t ready. Let’s do it again.”
The director was deeply skeptical. “Can you two even find the right state again?”
Lu Xiao leaned against the claw machine with one hand at his waist, indignant. “Whose fault is it for scheduling the first kiss as the very last scene?”
Why couldn’t it have been the first scene? Then it would’ve been perfectly authentic.
Director: “…”
Meng Xueyuan smoothed things over. “It’s my fault. Let’s try again.”
It was all Lu Xiao’s fault—lately the foreplay had been getting longer and longer, giving them plenty of time to kiss. And adult kissing was, of course, very suggestive!
The problem was that the director had actually noticed. Meng Xueyuan felt a lingering fear. In films, NGs could be redone, and the director would scrutinize every detail of facial acting—but variety shows were different. No one managed naturally revealed emotions there!
Before filming variety shows, he and Lu Xiao really had to rein it in.
The first-kiss scene finally passed, and the entire crew cheered for the wrap!
Embarrassed, Meng Xueyuan retreated to the side. The scene felt like everyone was cheering because he and Lu Xiao had finally managed to film a first kiss—way too mortifying.
Lu Xiao’s manager, Yao Lin, took out the red envelopes she’d prepared early and handed them out to the crew one by one. When Lu Xiao was still in the industry, he’d never cared about currying favor; now that he was about to leave, he suddenly became attentive to social niceties.
To put it plainly, he didn’t care about himself—but he cared about Meng Xueyuan’s life in the industry after he left. The circle was small; even the most inconspicuous underlings would have plenty of chances to collaborate again. He hoped that in the future, every shoot Meng Xueyuan did would be as smooth as today.
Lu Xiao took a red envelope, slipped it into his pocket, and walked over to the bashful Meng Xueyuan.
Meng Xueyuan was standing between two claw machines, facing the wall in mock self-reflection, when someone suddenly tapped his shoulder.
“Hm?”
Lu Xiao said, “Come over a bit. I’ll catch you a little bee.”
Just now in the scene, the claw machine’s drop rate had been adjusted—no matter how they tried, they couldn’t grab anything.
Meng Xueyuan shuffled a couple of steps closer. Seeing everyone focused on the red envelopes, he edged a little nearer to Lu Xiao and asked, “How did you know I wanted the little bee?”
Lu Xiao raised an eyebrow. “Of course I knew. I like little bees too.”
“Oh,” Meng Xueyuan said.
Lu Xiao aimed the claw at a bee plush. The machine dipped and lifted, wobbling as it delivered the toy to the prize chute.
Meng Xueyuan squatted down, took out the little bee, and the corners of his mouth curved up. “You’re really good at this!”
Lu Xiao smugly thought that right now, there wasn’t a single part of him that wasn’t good at technique.
Meng Xueyuan fiddled with the yellow bee plush, pressing its round belly with his thumb. It was so yellow. In a voice only he could hear, he said, “We can’t sleep together before the variety show.”
It hit Lu Xiao like a bolt from the blue. “Why?”
“The director already noticed,” Meng Xueyuan replied. “By then, the audience will be able to tell too.”
“Then what about during the show?” Lu Xiao asked.
Meng Xueyuan gave him a what-are-you-thinking look. “Of course not.”
Lu Xiao opened his mouth—so that meant his final meal before retiring from the industry had already been eaten.
A little worried, Meng Xueyuan asked, “Is it hard to accept? You won’t look for someone else, will you?”
A true queen bee monopolizes her drones completely; you never hear of any drone going off to find a second mate—because they’re all dead.
So Meng Xueyuan felt his possessiveness toward Lu Xiao was perfectly reasonable and had no intention of hiding it.
“Of course not! You’re the only one for me in this lifetime!” Lu Xiao pulled a red envelope from his pocket. “I saved this for you, Meng baby. You’ve worked hard this past month.”
“Don’t call me baby,” Meng Xueyuan emphasized.
“Okay, Teacher Meng,” Lu Xiao said.
After finishing handing out the red envelopes, their agent Yao Lin came back and held out her hand to Lu Xiao. “Give me your phone for a moment.”
Lu Xiao thought she was going to help post a wrap-up message, so he unlocked his phone and opened Weibo.
Yao Lin exited Weibo directly, opened the recorder instead, and held it up to Meng Xueyuan’s mouth. “Yuanyuan, say: ‘Lu Xiao, answer the phone right now.’ No need to sound affectionate—be a bit cold.”
Meng Xueyuan subconsciously repeated the line.
Yao Lin recorded that precious sentence, immediately set it as Lu Xiao’s ringtone, then used her own phone to call him.
The ringtone rang out—Meng Xueyuan’s slightly cool voice.
“Lu Xiao, answer the phone right now.”
Lu Xiao instinctively reached for his phone.
“All set,” Yao Lin said. “Now we don’t have to worry about you not answering.”
It was hard enough to get Lu Xiao to pick up calls usually, let alone after he retired.
Lu Xiao: “….”
Meng Xueyuan: “……” Was his voice really that magical?
Lu Xiao cleared his throat. “Let’s go eat.”
Yao Lin went with them to the wrap-up dinner, mainly to go over precautions for the variety show.
Lu Xiao ladled a bowl of snow-vegetable chicken soup for Meng Xueyuan. “Have a couple of sips first.”
Yao Lin sat beside them, eating dog food without changing expression. “The director felt you two were too free and too wild last time. No matter how the editor cut it, they still got flamed, and the reputation dropped by half. So this episode will be done as a live broadcast.”
“Mm,” Lu Xiao said indifferently. Those artists whose personas were miles apart from their real selves were the ones afraid of long livestreams exposing them—he wasn’t. He tasted a piece of abalone; it was tender enough, and he picked one up for Meng Xueyuan.
“Two new couples have joined,” Yao Lin continued. “Both from the industry. One is host Zhang Jinhe and his spouse; the other is Jiang Xunbai and Wang Changyi.”
Meng Xueyuan nodded. He knew Zhang Jinhe—a TV news anchor who only occasionally did variety shows after retiring, a man as serious as his voice. Meng Xueyuan remembered that when he was young and learning standard Mandarin, there was a period when he practiced every day by following Teacher Zhang.
As for Jiang Xunbai and Wang Changyi, they were a famous couple in the entertainment industry, considered one of the best at flaunting their affection. They’d basically risen to fame on CP dividends. Netizens joked that if these two ever divorced, it would mean they no longer loved money.
Meng Xueyuan knew a little about them—because Lu Xiao’s solo-fan forums often dragged this pair out for comparison, saying this was true love: daring to get married, daring to go public, daring to profess love openly at award ceremonies—their mouths, hearts, and eyes full of each other. Heh, comparisons were scary; by comparison, Lu Xiao and Meng Xueyuan barely even counted as friends.
The Jiang–Wang CP fandom was on par with the Snowy Night CP fandom—after all, most fans of Meng Xueyuan and Lu Xiao were still solo fans.
Yao Lin added, “With the esports couple and the Best Actress–Director pair, you’ll still have five couples this time—oh no, you’re intern couples.”
Please—sitting here eating dog food, it was impossible to remember the word “intern.”
Lu Xiao frowned. Things had been moving quickly lately; he’d even thought he could be promoted to official status before the show and have the director drop the ‘intern’ label so he could flaunt things openly. But today, the progress bar had slid backward.
Filming would start tomorrow. They were jumping straight into it without a break—no time at all for him to figure out the promotion issue, and this wasn’t something to rush.
“Same as before,” Yao Lin said. “The crew will come to your place to film tomorrow morning. It’s different this time—it’s live. You’d better go to bed early tonight.”
She deliberately emphasized early.
Meng Xueyuan blushed and said, “I go to bed at eight.”
“Don’t—at eight the wrap-up dinner won’t even be over,” Lu Xiao said.
“You can have a little alcohol to help you sleep,” Yao Lin suggested.
“No need,” Meng Xueyuan replied. “I sleep very well.”
And he meant it. On the ride back, he closed his eyes, and by the time they got home, he was genuinely asleep.
Lu Xiao looked at Meng Xueyuan helplessly. He remembered kindergarten, nap time—every single time, the teacher praised little Meng Xueyuan for falling asleep first.
“Grown up and still a baby. The agent tells you to sleep, and you sleep.”
Lu Xiao gently lifted Meng Xueyuan out of the car, took the elevator upstairs, and laid him on the bed.
He slept beside Meng Xueyuan, then at five in the morning woke up on the dot without an alarm, returned to his own place, and started preparing breakfast.
He’d make some red bean porridge—good for replenishing qi and blood, and he’d look better on the livestream.
At 7:30 a.m., the same one-fat-one-skinny pair of cameramen from last time arrived at the apartment on the dot and asked hypocritically, “Teacher Lu’s place or Teacher Meng’s place—which is more convenient? We’ll shoot in one location. It’s a livestream. Even though it’s only seven, your viewer count has already hit one million.”
Lu Xiao’s hair was a mess. He replied casually, “Oh, then why don’t you ask Teacher Meng if he’s willing to come over.”
The livestream barrage immediately filled with rows of “……”.
Come on—there are clearly two sets of bowls and chopsticks on your table. Who are you trying to fool?
The chubby cameraman went to knock on Meng Xueyuan’s door. Meng Xueyuan opened it and stepped into the frame, bathed in morning light, cool and pristine like a night-blooming cereus reflecting snowlight.
The comments instantly turned into a wall of screen-licking.
[Lu Xiao, please take good care of my wife, I’m begging you.]
[I also want a handsome guy cooking beauty porridge for me early in the morning.]
Once everyone was there and the two were drinking their porridge together, the cameraman relayed the director’s arrangements:
“This episode will be filmed on an island. You and the other four groups of guests will be neighbors. The production team will only provide basic accommodation and transportation. For five days’ worth of food and daily necessities, you’ll have to handle everything yourselves.”
The cameraman handed over a red envelope. “This is your living fund. After breakfast, we’ll go to the supermarket. You’ll use this fund to buy everything you need. You must not exceed it.”
Meng Xueyuan reached out and took the envelope. Inside were supermarket vouchers worth three hundred yuan.
“Three hundred yuan to cover two people’s food and daily necessities for five days?”
That averaged out to sixty yuan a day—enough if they cooked for themselves.
“Do you provide a place to cook?” Meng Xueyuan asked.
“Yes,” the cameraman replied.
Meng Xueyuan relaxed. At least they wouldn’t starve.
“Does that include oil, salt, soy sauce, and vinegar?” Lu Xiao asked.
“No.”
“……”
Lu Xiao’s face darkened. “What about knives?”
The cameraman panicked. “Buying some instant noodles would still make life livable!”
“I’m asking whether you provide cooking knives,” Lu Xiao said coldly. Instant noodles, my ass—was he supposed to let his wife eat instant noodles for five days? Of course the meals had to be nutritionally balanced.
“Oh… yes, there are knives. Electricity too. Refrigerators and other hardware are also provided.”
“Toothbrushes and toothpaste?” Lu Xiao continued.
“No. The director’s idea is for you to follow the standards of a young couple moving into a rental. What rentals have, we have; what rentals don’t have, we don’t. The only things you’re allowed to bring yourselves are clothes and skincare products.”
[Such precise questions—you can tell at a glance who usually cooks.]
[Daily necessities alone will cost at least 150 yuan. What’s left is poorer than my own living expenses.]
[Suggestion: buy just one toothbrush ?]
Lu Xiao decisively stuffed two pairs of slippers into the suitcase.
The five groups of guests arrived at the designated supermarket one after another. The director held a loudspeaker and announced, “The theme of the last episode was ‘sweet as honey.’ This episode’s theme is ‘careful budgeting.’”
“We’ve covered the prices of some items. You’ll have to judge for yourselves. If your total exceeds three hundred yuan, aside from the excess, one most expensive item will automatically be removed.”
“And the group whose total comes closest to three hundred without exceeding it will receive a luxury snack gift pack from the production team.”
With the entire internet watching live, how that three hundred yuan was spent would directly affect their quality of life for the next five days.
But their quality of life couldn’t be too good. Daily necessities had to be bought cheap, or there wouldn’t be enough money left for ingredients.
Lu Xiao did some quick calculations. At minimum, they needed ten jin of rice for two people, plus the occasional change with noodles… Buying flour was more cost-effective—five jin of flour. With the weather getting hot, he’d also get some red beans and mung beans to make soup for his wife.
The cheapest rice in the supermarket was 3.5 yuan per jin. Just staple foods alone cost seventy yuan.
For oil, salt, soy sauce, and vinegar, Lu Xiao went to the esports group hoping to split the cost. But when he saw their cart filled with instant food, he fell silent.
Instant noodles in every flavor, self-heating hot pots… plus a bit of eggs, vegetables, and ham. Li Fei and Ouyang Laixin swore this was the cheapest option—seasoning packets included, no need to buy oil or condiments.
Lu Xiao gave up trying to communicate with esports players. He found the other three groups instead and split the condiments cost, twenty yuan per group.
Next, Lu Xiao picked out eggs—twenty of them. Cheap, nutritious, and filling.
Finally, he grabbed two heads of napa cabbage, two cabbages, two carrots, and a head of broccoli… all items that wouldn’t spoil easily in the fridge. Fifty yuan.
Pork prices weren’t high this year, so Lu Xiao bought three jin of pork, planning to chop it up, portion it out, and freeze it when they got back.
After buying what he considered necessities, there was still one hundred yuan left for daily-use items. He’d keep the budget tight—if there was anything left over, they could come back for more meat.
Meng Xueyuan had no objections to whatever Lu Xiao bought, but when he saw the eggs, he pouted slightly.
One could already foresee it: every morning would come with a boiled egg.
[Our Yuanyuan really doesn’t lift a finger at home!]
[Baby, you play the delicate wife role way too naturally!]
[The Best Actress group is already arguing over whether to buy rice or noodles.]
[Yuanyuan really hates eggs—why can’t Lu Xiao let him off?! You devil!]
Lu Xiao and Meng Xueyuan moved into the daily necessities aisle. Lu Xiao grabbed plastic storage bags and disposable cups—good for drinking water and usable as rinsing cups for brushing teeth.
Body wash and shampoo were expensive. Meng Xueyuan took the initiative to pick up a bar of soap and put it in the cart. “Only four yuan.”
“Very good,” Lu Xiao praised.
[Got it—husband handles food, wife handles household supplies. Clear division of labor.]
Meng Xueyuan crouched down and searched the bottom shelf for a while before finding toothbrushes—two for seven yuan.
On the side of the shelf hung a string of bath sponges. Meng Xueyuan looked around but couldn’t find a price tag—clearly one of the items whose price had been covered, as the director mentioned.
Since they needed to hit three hundred yuan as precisely as possible, they couldn’t choose items with uncertain prices.
Meng Xueyuan pulled his hand back, deciding against it.
Lu Xiao’s long arm reached past him, grabbed one, and dropped it into the cart. “Count it as ten yuan. Buying soap is already making you suffer—how could you not have a bath sponge?”
One observation: Meng Xueyuan liked to work up lots of lather when he showered.
Meng Xueyuan took the bath sponge back out. “No need.”
Lu Xiao frowned. After a moment, he relaxed. “Fine. I can scrub you instead.”
His palms were rough with calluses, easy to work up lather. You couldn’t expect much from Meng Xueyuan’s delicate, fair hands.
[???]
[You’re already close enough to shower together and pick up soap now?]
[Alright, alright, now I’m not sleepy anymore—I’m staying up till midnight to see what you’re up to!]
[I knew you two would expose yourselves sooner or later!]
Seeing the cameraman’s look change, Meng Xueyuan finally realized what that sounded like and hurried to fix it. “I meant scrubbing clothes. Using soap to wash clothes is too extravagant—we’ll just rinse them with water for now.”
[LMAO, helping you scrub clothes is normal now? Including underwear?]
[Can you all think normally!! My Brother Lu just learned bathhouse scrubbing back in the Northeast!! Mutual scrubbing in bathhouses is totally normal, okay?!]
[Sure, sure, your Brother Lu can do everything.]
[Northeast scrubbing is the best—back, thighs, whole body, even flipping you over. Not scrubbing would be against nature!]
