The air seemed to freeze in that very instant.
Even the morning mist drifting through the mountains carried a thick sense of awkwardness, clinging heavily to everyone’s face.
Meng Yao remained half-kneeling and half-sprawled on the ground, completely frozen, her mind blank.
The carefully crafted script she had rehearsed countless times, the romantic opening she had planned so perfectly, the ambush she had been certain would succeed…
Had all been utterly destroyed by the crisp *crack* of someone biting into a cucumber.
At that moment, she no longer felt like the pure white moonlight about to capture a hero’s heart. She felt more like a thief caught red-handed by a patrol officer while trying to steal something.
And that “patrol officer” was currently munching on a cucumber with great relish, producing a series of loud, crunchy sounds.
Qi Weiguo’s body was even stiffer than Meng Yao’s.
Like a stone statue struck by lightning, he stood rooted to the spot, unable to move.
On one side was his lawful wife, whose current behavior could only be described as bizarre.
Her cheeks puffed out as she chewed, like a squirrel hoarding food, and the undisguised amusement in her eyes made his face burn with embarrassment.
On the other side was a pitiful-looking female comrade in distress, tears glimmering in her eyes, supposedly needing “help.”
But under Li Zhihuan’s eager, gossip-loving gaze, all of Meng Yao’s fragility and helplessness suddenly looked painfully deliberate and fake.
A sense of humiliation unlike anything he had ever experienced shot from the soles of Qi Weiguo’s feet straight to the top of his head.
He and Meng Yao suddenly felt like two terrible actors performing a ridiculous, plot-hole-filled comedy on a cheap stage.
And the only audience member, Li Zhihuan, not only refused to get emotionally invested, she had even brought snacks and was enjoying the show immensely.
It felt like a public execution.
*Crunch… crunch…*
Li Zhihuan took another bite of cucumber and found it delightfully refreshing—crisp and sweet, even more satisfying than yesterday’s braised pork.
She had simply woken up early and come outside for a stroll to enjoy some fresh air.
Who would have thought she’d stumble upon a live broadcast of such a classic “period drama” cliché first thing in the morning?
Falling flat on the ground, twisting an ankle, weakly collapsing toward the male lead…
All the elements were there, and the acting was excellent.
If her cucumber crunching hadn’t interrupted the timing so perfectly, wouldn’t this have turned into a full-blown “hero catches beauty in his arms” scene by now?
Looking at Meng Yao, whose eyes were red and brimming with tears, Li Zhihuan clicked her tongue inwardly in admiration.
An expert indeed.
That figure, that face, that pitiful and lovable aura—her level was far beyond that of Li Zhihuan’s mother-in-law, who only knew how to throw tantrums.
Seeing that the atmosphere had remained frozen for several seconds and the two “main characters” were still stuck in place, Li Zhihuan, the only enthusiastic audience member present, felt it was her duty to push the plot forward.
She quickly swallowed the cucumber in her mouth, stood up from the ground, and walked over warmly.
First, she lowered her head and looked at Meng Yao with concern, her words still slightly muffled from chewing.
“Oh my, Comrade Meng Yao, what happened to you? Low blood sugar making you dizzy? Or did your leg cramp up so you couldn’t stand properly?”
All the weak and pitiful lines Meng Yao had prepared—things like “My foot hurts so much,” or “I think I twisted my ankle”—were instantly blocked in her throat by Li Zhihuan’s overly down-to-earth questioning.
She couldn’t say a single word.
Seeing her silent, Li Zhihuan’s expression grew even more concerned.
“The ground’s cold, and your white clothes stain easily. Hurry and get up! Look, your knees are already covered in dirt.”
As she spoke, she even reached out as if to help Meng Yao up.
She looked like an overly enthusiastic neighborhood committee auntie possessed by the spirit of public service.
Meng Yao stiffened all over from the sudden “enthusiasm” and instinctively shrank backward.
Li Zhihuan missed her grip, but she wasn’t embarrassed at all.
She turned around and shot Qi Weiguo an exasperated look, as if scolding him for being hopelessly clueless.
“Qi Weiguo, what are you standing there for?!”
Her voice wasn’t loud, but it carried the righteous tone of a stern reprimand.
“Can’t you see Comrade Meng Yao can’t get up? Give her a hand! She’s a woman—it’s embarrassing for her to fall down like this. You’re a grown man, and you’re just standing there watching? Honestly, where are your manners?”
Qi Weiguo seemed to snap out of his daze after being shouted at.
His cold, handsome face had already shifted from stiff shock to alternating shades of green and pale white.
Manners?
In this absurd situation, what manners could he possibly have left?
Every sentence Li Zhihuan spoke felt like a loud slap—not on his face, but directly onto the already awkward atmosphere, making the ridiculous scene even more absurd.
Meng Yao’s face instantly flushed the color of pig liver.
The scene she had planned was supposed to involve Qi Weiguo voluntarily stepping forward to heroically “save” her.
Not this—being ordered around by his wife like some wooden post, commanded to help her up!
The entire nature of the situation had changed.
Whatever ambiguity and romantic tension there might have been had been completely shattered by Li Zhihuan’s words, leaving behind only overwhelming humiliation.
Under Li Zhihuan’s disappointed stare, as though she were frustrated by his lack of initiative, Qi Weiguo finally moved.
Under Li Zhihuan’s “failing to live up to expectations” stare, Qi Weiguo finally moved.
With heavy steps, he walked over to Meng Yao and extended one hand.
His movements were stiff, like a new recruit carrying out his first mission.
His expression was so serious it looked as if he were about to blow up a bunker.
Looking at Meng Yao, he forced a few words out through clenched teeth.
“Comrade Meng Yao, get up.”
The tone sounded less like he was helping a delicate woman and more like he was interrogating a captured spy.
Meng Yao stared at the large, well-defined hand suspended in midair, unsure whether to take it or not.
She felt like all her dignity had already been thrown to the military compound at the foot of the back hill.
And the mastermind behind all this, Li Zhihuan, was standing nearby with her arms crossed, happily crunching on her giant cucumber.
It was as if she were saying: Look, isn’t the scene I directed so harmonious?
Meng Yao finally could not take it anymore.
Grinding her teeth, she ignored Qi Weiguo’s hand and pushed herself up from the ground on her own. Her movements were so quick that she looked nothing like someone who had twisted her ankle.
“I… I’m fine. I just lost my balance earlier.”
She forced out a smile uglier than crying.
“Oh, good, good. As long as you’re fine.”
Li Zhihuan nodded, then held out the remaining half of the cucumber in her hand toward her.
“You looked pale just now. You probably skipped breakfast and got low blood sugar. Here, replenish your energy. I just picked this from the vegetable patch—it’s really crisp!”
Meng Yao stared at the half-eaten cucumber with bite marks on it, and her stomach churned violently.
She felt like she was about to be driven insane by this woman who never played by the rules.