*Can I Sleep Here Tonight?*
Yuan Lai’s eyes sparkled like a sky full of stars, brimming with anticipation.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, her voice carrying a subtle note of expectation.
Song Qingxu turned her head. “I’ll return it to you as soon as I’m done.”
With that, she stepped into the shelter. Moments later, the steady hum of a hair dryer could be heard from inside.
Yuan Lai yanked a clump of weeds from the ground with unnecessary force, venting her frustration. The patch of land—already looking a bit bare—now resembled a locust-stricken wasteland.
[What, starting on the weeds again? Didn’t you just pull some up earlier?]
[The Weeding Queen is at it again.]
[What’s up with her? I don’t get this behavior at all.]
[Probably blowing off steam after arguing with Xia Shaoshao.]
[Wait… there are hair dryers this season? Is this still “wilderness survival”?]
[Forget the hair dryer, look at the luxury of the shelters this season—they’re living in cabins! In previous seasons, the shelters were all program-issued tents.]
[I heard from staff that starting this season, their meals have been upgraded from nutrient paste to fresh organic food.]
[That’s amazing! Is it too late to apply for a behind-the-scenes job on Wilderness Diary?]
[Anyone else notice the vibe between Song Qingxu and her assistant is getting… weird?]
[Not weird at all—Song Qingxu treats her assistant well, and the assistant seems competent. Looks like normal teamwork to me.]
[Normal? Go watch the other three teams—apart from outings, the guests and assistants prefer to be on their own in the shelter.]
[I personally love seeing them glued together. The clingier, the better.]
[Why’d they close the door? I want to see the lovey-dovey stuff inside!]
[How dare they shut the door on us VIP viewers!]
Yuan Lai stomped back to her own shelter, the faint scent of Song Qingxu’s post-shower fragrance lingering in her mind. She peeled off her dirty clothes, squeezed a dollop of the same lotion Song Qingxu used into her palm, and let the cool water wash over her.
It felt—at least in scent—like sharing something intimate with her.
________________________________________
Xia Shaoshao hobbled back to her shelter, dragging her injured leg. The doctor, who had been resting for most of the day and had recovered some energy, spotted her from afar and hurried out to meet her.
“You’re back!” The doctor took the bag from her shoulder and the fish from her hand, about to celebrate that their food problem was solved—when she noticed the gauze on Xia Shaoshao’s leg had been stained deep red.
“Your leg!” the doctor said.
Xia Shaoshao’s lips were pale as she slumped weakly into a chair. “Sorry to trouble you, but could you rewrap it for me?”
The doctor immediately fetched the first-aid kit and began removing the blood- and mud-soaked gauze. The fabric, clinging to the wound, came away reluctantly, revealing a sight almost too pitiful to look at.
The skin around the wound, soaked too long in water, was already inflamed.
“Hsss—!”
As the alcohol hit the raw skin, Xia Shaoshao couldn’t help but cry out.
“It hurts!”
The doctor murmured reassurance but didn’t slow her hands. “I’ll be gentle. Just disinfecting—you’ll be fine in a moment.”
[Looks painful just watching it.]
[I think I’m becoming a fan of this newcomer.]
[The doctor’s technique is so professional.]
[My calf hurts just watching. I’m going to switch to Xiao Bei’s food stream.]
[I’m off to the survival expert’s stream for some tips.]
[And I’ll head to Song Qingxu’s stream for the CP moments.]
Viewers had plenty of choices—whether they wanted gourmet content, survival knowledge, first-aid demonstrations, or romance-worthy interactions, every flavor was on the menu.
________________________________________
Song Qingxu’s hair was nearly dry. She switched off the low-powered hair dryer and rubbed her sore arms. With hair as long, black, and thick as hers, drying it was time-consuming—especially with equipment designed to conserve the generator’s limited electricity for everyone.
Stretching her arms to relieve the ache, she picked up the hair dryer and headed next door.
Yuan Lai, fresh from her own quick shower, smelled faintly of the same bath-and-body products as Song Qingxu. The similarity in fragrance lightened her mood considerably.
Her hair was short and mostly towel-dried; the summer night breeze would finish the job by bedtime.
She was still racking her brain for a reason to drop by when familiar footsteps approached.
It was Song Qingxu.
Yuan Lai hurried to the door before Song Qingxu could knock. The door, already ajar, swung open easily.
Their scents mingled in the air—similar yet distinct. Song Qingxu’s carried a whisper of honeysuckle, cool and subtle, detectable only up close. Yuan Lai’s, by contrast, was a vivid citrus—bright, warm, and full of unreserved affection.
Both women found themselves instinctively leaning into the other’s scent.
“I came to return your hair dryer,” Song Qingxu said first.
Yuan Lai took it, eyes still on her, noticing the way Song Qingxu flexed her arm.
“What happened to your arm? Did you overdo it today?”
Song Qingxu hadn’t expected her to notice. “Not really—just tired from holding my arms up too long while drying my hair.”
“I see.”
Yuan Lai kept her face calm but silently jotted down a mental note: from now on, she’d dry Song Qingxu’s hair for her. No letting her wife’s arms get sore.
After handing it back, Song Qingxu turned to leave.
Yuan Lai’s eyes lit up, and she quickly followed.
When Song Qingxu turned to close her own door, she finally noticed her shadow.
“What is it?” she asked.
Yuan Lai mouthed, “I’ll tell you inside.”
________________________________________
Song Qingxu shut the door halfway. “So? What is it?”
“I think my camping lantern’s broken,” Yuan Lai said, her excuse ready. “It flickered at first, then went completely dark.”
She was grateful she’d caught Song Qingxu before turning it on—otherwise she’d have had no excuse at all.
Song Qingxu remembered that Yuan Lai’s shelter had indeed been pitch black earlier.
“Want to bring it over so we can take a look?”
“No, no.” Yuan Lai waved her hands quickly. “It’s hanging way up high, and it’s too dark to reach right now. Better to check tomorrow when there’s light.”
“True,” Song Qingxu agreed. “Wouldn’t want you to trip.”
The program’s lanterns lasted a long time, but their dim glow barely lit more than a small area.
Hidden in the faint light, Yuan Lai’s eyes gleamed like a fox’s, pleased that her plan had worked.
Then she asked what she’d truly come for: “Can I crash here tonight?”
Her eyes, bright and damp with anticipation, shimmered in the warm yellow light.
“Can I?” she asked again, gaze open and guileless, like the first warmth of spring coaxing ice to melt.
They’d once shared far more intimacy than this, but still…
Song Qingxu hesitated.
Yet the moment she met Yuan Lai’s radiant eyes, the word no dissolved on her tongue.
They had shared a bed before. Compared to that, this seemed harmless enough.
“…Mm.”
The soft response burst in Yuan Lai’s ears like fireworks. Her smile spread wide, bright enough to draw one from Song Qingxu in return.
Yuan Lai made herself comfortable on the same cot she’d sat on earlier that day.
Song Qingxu took out the wild fruit she’d traded with Xiao Bei and handed her two. “Let’s have these for dinner.”
“Sure,” Yuan Lai said, taking them with a smile.
The fruit was tart, and a bad bite could be tooth-achingly sour. Still, Yuan Lai ate as though savoring a rare delicacy—because this was dinner personally prepared by her wife.
Song Qingxu had only finished half of hers when she noticed Yuan Lai’s plate was already empty. Thinking she must really like it, she handed her another.
Yuan Lai’s heart warmed even more.
Instead of biting into it, she cradled it in her palms like something precious.
After a pause, she murmured, “About earlier this evening—sorry. I almost caused you trouble.”
Song Qingxu blinked, unsure what she meant.
“The argument with… the other guest,” Yuan Lai said, refusing to utter Xia Shaoshao’s name.
“It’s fine,” Song Qingxu replied easily. “You already apologized.”
“That was to the crew off-camera. I haven’t apologized to you yet.”
Under the lamp’s glow, Song Qingxu’s gaze softened.
“Alright. I’ll accept it now.”
But Xia Shaoshao was still a thorn in Yuan Lai’s heart. “Do you… feel anything for her?” she asked carefully.
“Just a junior from my agency,” Song Qingxu replied, taking another bite of fruit. “Before the show, my manager mentioned I should look out for her.”
“That’s all?”
Song Qingxu paused mid-bite, narrowing her eyes. “You’ve been acting strange since she showed up. Do you two have some history?”
“No,” Yuan Lai said quickly, stubborn to the end.
It was only because she cared too much that she became prone to jealousy, suspicion, and impulsive words she’d regret.
She couldn’t treat Xia Shaoshao with calm detachment—she wanted Song Qingxu all to herself. And with that thought clouding her judgment, the words slipped out before she could stop them.
“I just want to remind you… you’re married.”
The instant they left her lips, she knew she’d made a mistake.
Song Qingxu’s expression chilled. She set down her fruit with a sharp motion.
“I don’t need you to remind me,” she said coldly.