The production crew did not provide a wake-up service; guests who wanted to sleep in could easily snooze until the sun was high in the sky, though doing so might result in being summoned halfway through just to eat a meal and head straight back to bed.
Naturally, since such behavior would be captured on camera and broadcast to the public, nobody actually did that.
When Chu Minghe opened his eyes again, it wasn’t particularly late. Mindful that there was another person sharing the room, he glanced over toward the sofa first.
Zhao Xingjian was already out of bed.
With the live stream set to resume in twenty minutes, he finished washing up and headed downstairs, where he spotted Lin Dingshi carrying a bamboo basket out of the kitchen.
“Morning, Brother Minghe!” Lin Dingshi greeted him.
“Morning,” Chu Minghe said, noticing the other kept the basket at arm’s length. With a smile, he asked, “What’s this for?”
“They’re gathering eggs. I’m afraid the chickens might fly out, so I grabbed a basket to cover them.”
Even as they spoke, a series of frantic flapping sounds echoed from the backyard, mingled with sharp, distressed chicken squawks.
Walking over to inspect, the two found a chicken wedged halfway between the iron sheet and the wooden fence. Standing right beside it, Zhao Xingjian was trying to figure out how to toss the bird back inside without getting too close, only to get pecked twice for his trouble.
Poultry of this sort was practically impossible to domesticate.
Locked in a staring contest with the chicken, Zhao Xingjian waited until it twisted and thrashed wildly before lunging forward with lightning reflexes to grab a lengthy stretch of its neck, lifting the iron plate just enough to toss it back inside.
Originally, he and Zheng Yuan had planned to simply lift the sheet and grab the eggs directly, but after this chaotic ordeal, that plan was completely dead in the water; their only option now was to wait for a moment of inattention and strike swiftly.
Watching them circle the coop without knowing where to begin, Chu Minghe rolled up his sleeves and stepped forward.
“You just need to herd them to the other side first.”
Zhao Xingjian turned his head. Seeing Chu Minghe brimming with energy and looking thoroughly well-rested, a faint trace of resentment welled up inside him.
“They won’t herd over.”
They had tried moments ago; whether striking the fence to generate noise or poking sticks inside, nothing worked. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have had to reach their bare hands straight into the enclosure.
Recalling a stroll around the perimeter yesterday, Chu Minghe remembered two bags of chicken feed and two bags of pig feed stacked near the back.
“Pour some feed in, and they’ll all come running.”
Walking over to the bags leaning against the wall, he scooped up a portion of the chicken feed and scattered it along a trough running flush against the fence. Sure enough, a flurry of pattering steps erupted from inside the coop, followed by a cluster of chicken heads squeezing past the slats to peck greedily at the grain until every opening was jammed with feathers and beaks.
Zhao Xingjian threw him a sideways glance once again bearing that familiar expression of “How on earth do you know so much?” prompting Chu Minghe to consciously avert his gaze.
With all the chickens gathered at the edge stuffing themselves with feed, Zheng Yuan called out to Zhao Xingjian to collect the eggs.
Lifting a section of the mat, Zheng Yuan gasped, “Whoa, look at all these.”
Zhao Xingjian lifted the flap closest to him. The dry straw was indeed littered with eggs, spaced at regular intervals with upwards of a dozen in sight. They wouldn’t have to worry about running out of eggs for the next couple of days.
Chu Minghe cast a glance at Lin Dingshi, noticing the latter simply stood by watching Zheng Yuan gather them with wide-eyed curiosity, offering no assistance except to take the collection once Zheng Yuan finished. Abandoning any impulse to jump in himself, Chu Minghe stepped back two paces and hung back at Zhao Xingjian’s flank to observe.
“…”
That felt a bit deliberate. He hadn’t seemed all that intimidated earlier; why was he suddenly backing away now?
Sensing Zhao Xingjian’s eyes on him, Chu Minghe instinctively covered his collar mic and whispered, “Go ahead and pick them up. We’re on camera.”
In fact, the broadcast had been rolling from the very start of the chicken coop escapade.
Withdrawing his gaze, Zhao Xingjian reached out, scooped up several eggs, and casually passed them over to Chu Minghe.
The basket Lin Dingshi brought proved useful after all; both men carefully deposited their gathered eggs inside.
As they worked, Lin Dingshi babbled excitedly about having plenty of eggs to eat over the coming days.
Midway through, two hens squeezed their way out of the cluster, failing to reach the feed. Squawking frantically and craning their necks, they whirled around only to spot human hands pillaging their precious stash.
Before Zhao Xingjian registered the danger, his mind fixed entirely on how strange Chu Minghe’s behavior was hyper-active one second, retreating into a shell the next, as if easily spooked, yet capable of single-handedly managing all the chores if left alone.
Then again, perhaps he only acted that way in front of the cameras. Zhao Xingjian wondered what he was truly like behind closed doors.
Before he could puzzle out an answer, a familiar, furious flapping sound erupted beside him. Barely managing to duck his head in time, a massive hen hurled itself straight through the air, landing squarely on the top of the fence and launching a vicious pecking attack at his neck.
The pain was entirely real; chicken beaks were razor-sharp, and those few strikes were enough to break skin and draw blood.
Both Lin Dingshi and Zheng Yuan froze in shock, managing only a startled “Ah!”
Yet Zhao Xingjian refused to abandon the remaining egg resting on the straw.
A joke—he had already taken the hits; was he supposed to walk away empty-handed?
Reaching back in, he groped blindly for a few seconds before retrieving the egg, just as the hen hovering right in front of his face launched itself vertically into the air.
Good grief, he never knew chickens could fly. Squinting his eyes in anticipation of another peck to the face, he suddenly realized the bird was soaring higher, clearing the top of his head entirely.
Standing right beside him, Chu Minghe grabbed the chicken by its massive wings, while simultaneously swatting down another bird attempting to launch itself upward. The force of his blow nearly knocked the second chicken dizzy, but at least it stopped trying to leap out.
The bird clutched in his hands thrashed violently, rattling his arms with its struggle.
Watching this seamless display of poultry wrestling, Zhao Xingjian thought: Why bother with chicken feed? If we had just let Chu Minghe handle this from the start, every single bird in this coop would have bowed down and crowned him king.
Seeing that Zhao Xingjian had secured the final egg, Chu Minghe hurled the struggling chicken far back into the depths of the enclosure, slamming the wooden barrier down just in time to block another incoming charge.
Balancing the eggs in one hand, he instinctively reached out to brush a stray chicken feather off Zhao Xingjian’s collar, taking the opportunity to soothe him gently, fearing the pecking might have left him fuming.
“They’re just soft, unformed white down feathers anyway actually looks kind of fluffy.”
Glancing up stealthily after finishing the sweep, he breathed a sigh of relief: thankfully, Zhao Xingjian didn’t look overly displeased despite getting pecked.
Behind them, Lin Dingshi let out a cheerful giggle. “Brother Minghe, you two are so sweet together.”
Both men froze in tandem, though Chu Minghe’s reflexes proved superior.
Zhao Xingjian watched in stunned silence as Chu Minghe turned around and accepted the label with complete, unblushing composure, offering a smooth, deadpan acknowledgement: “Thank you.”
“…”
Saying “thank you” was one thing, but from his vantage point, why was the man’s face blushing bright red right down to his ears?
Staring at him for a beat, Zhao Xingjian watched as the eggs remaining in his hands were lifted away and placed neatly into the basket.
Bending over to pick up the basket, Chu Minghe announced, “We’re having stir-fried tomatoes with eggs and white congee for breakfast.”
“Awesome!” Lin Dingshi cheered enthusiastically.
【Why does this feel like a mother managing five dim-witted sons?】 【Lmao, abandoning the vase persona completely to evolve into a full-fledged “male mom.”】
While Chu Minghe and Zheng Yuan both possessed basic cooking skills, Lin Dingshi could only manage simple tasks with terrible results. As for Zhao Xingjian, he was entirely hopeless—knowing that cooking oil belonged in the pan first was already a minor miracle, meaning nobody could realistically expect him to remember to burn off residual moisture in the wok beforehand to prevent hot oil splatters.
Yet leaving him entirely idle wouldn’t play well with the audience, nor would it serve his company’s promotional goals.
So, while Lin Dingshi busied himself chopping tomatoes, Chu Minghe fished out a small plastic bucket of white flour, scooped a portion into a basin, and handed it over to Zhao Xingjian and Zheng Yuan.
“Knead some dough. We’re running out of noodles for lunch.”
The production crew had originally allotted only five packets of noodles. With the six of them consuming two packets last night, the remaining three couldn’t possibly stretch across the next six days.
Furthermore, there was no rice available, though a small manual noodle-pressing machine sat tucked away inside the kitchen cabinet. Though hand-cranked, producing enough noodles for all six occupants wouldn’t prove overly difficult.
They were still getting off easy; the previous season hadn’t been nearly this fortunate. When their noodle supply ran out, those guests had survived on wild vegetable buns—and not even fresh greens, since winter conditions meant the production crew only provided dried wild vegetables harvested and stored away from the summer months.
If only he could show this reality to Zhao Xingjian so he’d realize their current living conditions were a hundred times better than the prior season’s cast, sparing them all from constant low-grade irritation that kept him on edge.
Still, Zhao Xingjian displayed no visible aversion to the basin of flour, despite his complete lack of prior experience.
Recalling Zhao Xingjian’s earlier performance harvesting eggs and wrestling chickens without overt complaints, Chu Minghe noted that while occasional flashes of temper surfaced, they invariably traced back to his own actions.
……
He found himself tempted to have a quiet heart-to-heart with Zhao Xingjian: since a divorce was looming anyway, there was no reason to harbor deep grudges. If he could just bear with him through the duration of the show, he would carve out a viable, hopeful path toward rehabilitation and career growth.
Taking advantage of him during a moment of vulnerability ten years ago to force a marriage alliance was undeniably wrong, but he intended to make amends where possible, creating a win-win partnership for both of them.
Of course, now wasn’t the appropriate time for such confessions. For the moment, his primary objective was reshaping public perception through the broadcast while smoothing over old friction with Zhao Xingjian. Playing it safe and obedient was always the correct default strategy.
“Brother Minghe,” Lin Dingshi called out hesitantly, “the oil is smoking.”
“…”
They really are a married couple even their bad habits are exactly the same.】【Aaaah, forget about whether it’s a habit or not! Chu Minghe, do something about your husband’s neck!】【What about his neck? I just got here. Did they get into a fight?】【LMAO, no wonder everyone was guessing about that suggestive spot. Is this Chu Minghe’s charm?】【What? Don’t tell me they kissed!】It wasn’t until Zhao Xingjian walked over to fetch a kitchen knife that Chu Minghe finally noticed the wound on his neck.
“Does it hurt?” Chu Minghe asked.
Zhao Xingjian: “What?”
“Your neck.”
Only then did the memory of the chicken’s attack resurface. Unable to see the spot himself, Zhao Xingjian raised his chin slightly. “Did it break skin?”
“Yeah, just a tiny bit. You’re not disfigured.”
“…”
Chu Minghe possessed a supernatural talent for instantly triggering his annoyance.
Did he look like the sort of person who cared about superficial scratches? Still, considering Chu Minghe’s career relied heavily on visual appeal, maybe he was simply hypersensitive to such matters—which made a certain amount of sense.
“It doesn’t hurt.” Dropping the remark, he picked up the knife and walked away.
Having successfully delivered his quota of concern and feeling quietly accomplished for avoiding a flare-up, Chu Minghe deduced a pattern: Zhao Xingjian only ever reacted with aversion when forced into uncomfortable social interactions, but responded well to direct expressions of care.
Just as he was pondering this, a figure loomed in the kitchen doorway.
Dressed in loungewear, Zhang Qing stepped inside and cast an immediate, frigid glance toward Chu Minghe, making no effort whatsoever to mask the open hostility radiating from his eyes.