Where there is human contact, conflict is bound to follow especially when six people are cooped up together in a small villa.
In previous seasons, however, such frictions tended to surface much later in the run. After all, everyone was still mindful of the cameras upon first arriving, and the initial wave of novelty hadn’t yet been worn down by outside pressure, keeping the atmosphere largely cordial and polite.
Yet Zhang Qing clearly didn’t give a damn about maintaining appearances this season. As evident from his dynamic with Zhang Congsheng, the two of them were fully prepared to bicker or even throw punches right in front of the camera lens.
At present, seeing Zhang Qing’s deeply resentful expression, Chu Minghe knew instantly that he was here to vent even if the specific trigger remained unknown.
【Look at those dark circles under Zhang Qing’s eyes. I bet he and his husband stayed up all night arguing because of Chu Minghe.】 【Time to tear into each other? I’ve been waiting ages for Chu Minghe to drop the mask.】 【Prepare for disappointment. From the start of the recording until now, haven’t you noticed he’s practically undergone a complete metamorphosis?】
The atmosphere in the kitchen turned tense.
“Stirring up a fuss this early just makes the rest of us look lazy,” Zhang Qing remarked, stepping over to peer into the pot beside Chu Minghe. “From the noises earlier, I thought you guys were slaughtering chickens to boil soup, but you just collected a couple of eggs.”
Just as Chu Minghe opened his mouth to reply, Lin Dingshi leaned forward on his tiptoes to chime in, “If Big Brother Zhang Qing hadn’t stayed in bed, I would’ve thought we were supposed to carry breakfast straight into your rooms on a silver platter.”
Normally adorable, Lin Dingshi possessed a razor-sharp tongue when provoked. Zhang Qing shot him a blistering glare.
Reaching out, Chu Minghe gently tapped Lin Dingshi under the chin to nudge him back into place, before turning to Zhang Qing. “We’re butchering them this afternoon, don’t worry. One chicken per couple; you’ll get your soup by tonight.”
“One per couple?” Zhang Qing’s eyes widened in horror. “If we eat one each, are we supposed to drink ourselves to death on chicken soup?”
Primarily, he simply wanted no part in killing a chicken dealing with gore and shedding feathers was filthy work.
Lin Dingshi bounced back into the fray, offering an awkward, dry chuckle. “You can slaughter them, clean them, and freeze the meat; those chicken broths will carry the flavor for our dishes over the next few days. If you’d rather eat plain noodles without any meat, we can use two separate pots so you don’t have to touch a single drop of animal fat.”
Naturally, they couldn’t spend every morning slaughtering chickens, picking vegetables, feeding livestock, or weeding the garden. The days ahead required structured pacing; if the production crew allowed things to run this smoothly without effort, the show wouldn’t pull in these ratings. Once they knocked out these preliminary chores upfront, everything else would fall neatly into place.
Glancing down at Zhang Qing’s loungewear, Lin Dingshi added, “Planning to slaughter chickens in your pajamas? You’ll probably have nightmares when you sleep tonight. Big Brother Zhang Qing, shouldn’t you go change first?”
Though Chu Minghe’s primary goal on the show was rehabilitating the image the original owner had dragged through the mud and winning back public goodwill, he had no intention of letting Lin Dingshi serve as his proxy fighter. If a full-blown shouting match erupted with Zhang Qing, nobody in the house would emerge unscathed.
Just as he prepared to step in and defuse the tension with a distraction, Zhang Qing snapped back before he could utter a word.
“None of your business! Are you clinging to him just because he’s an actor? Have you ever watched a drama he starred in, let alone read the black propaganda online? Everyone else treats him like stinky tofu except you, swallowing it whole!”
The moment those words dropped, the entire kitchen fell dead silent. Evidently, Zhang Qing hadn’t anticipated things escalating to this degree either; he had simply spoken out of unfiltered frustration and a surge of bad temper. Yet, pride prevented him from taking it back. Having managed to offend virtually everyone in the room at once, he could only glare defensively and bluff his way through it.
Zheng Yuan looked thoroughly displeased, though he stopped short of extreme reactions, merely throwing Zhang Qing a dark look and warning him to watch his boundaries.
Meanwhile, Zhao Xingjian set aside the noodle-pressing machine he had been inspecting, transforming into a completely expressionless spectator in the front row.
He was well aware of Chu Minghe’s smear campaign. Rumor had it that the only reason Chu Minghe’s scandals hadn’t spiraled past three core controversies into completely uncontrollable territory was because he had voluntarily withdrawn from the industry within half a year.
Upon closer inspection, those three major scandals consisted of: first, branding himself with a “vase” (brainless pretty boy) persona; second, injecting capital into a production to force his way into a starring role despite subpar acting skills; and third, making that high-profile marriage announcement on Weibo.
The first was self-proclaimed—Chu Minghe had publicly declared upon entering the industry that he was here strictly to serve as a visual ornament to raise the average aesthetic standard.
The second occurred when Chu Minghe experienced a sudden whim to star in a TV drama but loathed auditioning, leading him to finance the project directly. Naturally, the final product fell short, inviting relentless, across-the-board internet lynching.
The third culminated in his indefinite hiatus though he never formally announced retirement, his disappearance from the public eye following that “marriage” declaration served the exact same purpose.
Zhao Xingjian knew full well that Chu Minghe was aiming for a comeback. Watching Zhang Qing brazenly flaunt those old scandals right in front of the cameras and to Chu Minghe’s face, he secretly doubted whether Chu Minghe could weather the blow.
Regardless of whether Chu Minghe chose to confront the allegations head-on or run from them, it would instantly awaken the curiosity of any indifferent passersby, prompting them to search the web and inevitably unearth those old “achievements.”
He even calculated the fallout in advance: if this promotional route into the entertainment market collapsed, there was an 80-percent probability they would be forced to resort to that twenty-year corporate roadmap he so thoroughly despised.
Chu Minghe could not afford to run. Any hint of evasion would permanently cement his fate neither he nor Sister Hong would ever resurrect their careers. Moreover, without checking, he knew the live-stream bullet comments were likely exploding with malicious abuse right this second.
Pressing his lips into a thin line, Chu Minghe bridged the gap between his current self and the original owner who had committed those acts.
“The issues from ten years ago were entirely my fault. I know those words can’t be taken back, which is why I’ve spent the past decade trying to change myself. It might still fall short of expectations, but I’ve done my absolute best to reach where I am now.”
“As for the drama you mentioned, it was indeed a reflection of my failure to properly hone my acting skills at the time. I admit my mistakes. Regarding the rumors of injecting capital for roles, I will provide a formal explanation. Once I finish compiling certain evidence, I’ll release an official statement.”
“As for the marriage… marriage and divorce concern private emotional matters. They may sour or remain unchanged, so I prefer not to disclose further details to the outside world.”
During their two-hour phone call the night before he arrived, he and Sister Hong had already mapped out a strategy: these specific issues would be addressed via formal statements during the later stages of the show.
Furthermore, an ambitious career woman like Sister Hong wouldn’t make a rash, emotional gamble by picking up a dead weight whose private life was clean on paper but whose reputation was crippled by unprovable black propaganda. They were fully prepared, having uncovered the underlying truths of the past. Their plan for this show was multi-pronged: acknowledge past missteps, prove their innocence with facts, and showcase the transformed Chu Minghe live on camera to successfully achieve his comeback.
Yet Zhang Qing had inadvertently forced their hand early. Since the topic was dragged into the open on camera, Chu Minghe chose to plant his flag right here and state his position.
Realizing the recklessness of his outburst, Zhang Qing offered nothing more than a cold, dismissive huff in response to the explanation, electing to keep further hostile remarks to himself.
Lin Dingshi, however, wasn’t about to let him off so easily. “Can’t you judge what kind of person Brother Minghe is with your own eyes? Everything circulated online belongs to a decade ago—those old black stains would need an eternity just to crawl across a network cable! Instead of focusing on recording the show, you sit around waiting for the rest of us to cook and hand you a finished meal! If you’re not going to lift a finger, the least you could do is keep quiet. You digested those rumors fast enough; if you have that much spare energy, why don’t you go pull a couple of baby bok choy from the backyard? If you really didn’t want to lift a finger, you could’ve walked away last night instead of staying here to stir up trouble.”
Though Zhang Qing knew he was in the wrong, the accusations stung. Those online claims were documented and traceable, and Chu Minghe had never actively cleared his name; he had simply repeated what was already public knowledge. Yet, being berated by Lin Dingshi—and accused of freeloading alongside Zhang Congsheng made his face burn with humiliation. Ready to erupt into another fury, he opened his mouth to snap back.
Before he could speak, a sharp knock echoed against the front door, abruptly cutting off both parties and sweeping away the lingering foul mood with a timely interruption.
“Go check it out,” Zhao Xingjian instructed, brushing the flour off his hands. Having observed as a silent spectator for half an hour, he finally spoke up.
His words were directed at Chu Minghe, whose calm defense moments earlier had successfully defused their crisis, keeping the production on track. He even waited for an affirmative nod from Chu Minghe (“Alright”) before stepping forward alongside him toward the entrance.
Meanwhile, back in the city, Sister Hong let out a collective sigh of relief while monitoring the live stream from her office. A minute prior, she had been on the verge of calling the production crew to demand an emergency broadcast suspension citing equipment failure.
Fortunately, Chu Minghe had maintained his composure. When Zhang Qing launched his verbal attack, the comment section had instantly flooded with demands for him to get out of the entertainment industry alongside wave after wave of sarcastic mocking—enough to break the mental fortitude of most people in his shoes.
Yet, reflecting on Chu Minghe’s steady demeanor, she realized he truly carried himself with far greater maturity than a decade prior. Back then, a fraction of that pressure would have sent him spiraling onto the internet to curse back in frustration; her intuition told her he wouldn’t crack this time.
While the comment section still harbored hostile voices, the tone had shifted noticeably. Public curiosity had successfully pivoted toward Chu Minghe’s mention of forthcoming “evidence.” She needed to accelerate her own timeline and coordinate the precise moment for public disclosure. Once that hurdle was cleared, the rest of the journey would be smooth sailing.
Back inside the folk-style villa, the group confronted the visitor who had knocked on the door: an elderly village elder pushing a delivery cart.
The matter proved remarkably straightforward. The elder was delivering fresh cow’s milk—straight from the farm, priced at three yuan per pound, with a single pound yielding roughly two and a half cups.
The immediate problem wasn’t figuring out how many pounds they needed to sustain themselves, but rather the fact that none of them possessed cash.
The elder accepted physical currency exclusively; digital mobile payments were out of the question.
The elder straddled his electric scooter, pointing toward a foam cooler strapped securely to the back seat, packed tightly to the brim with sealed pouches of freshly squeezed, unpasteurized milk.
“We’ll pass on the milk, then,” Lin Dingshi offered tentatively.
The elder’s face darkened instantly, and he slapped his thigh in agitation. “Passing on it won’t do! Your household placed a custom reservation seven full days of supply! We measured and milked according to the exact volume ordered. If you back out now, it’ll spoil and go straight to waste, and we’ll take a massive loss! Young people need to honor their commitments!”
Everyone exchanged bewildered, sideways glances as the reality dawned on them: this batch of milk was indeed pre-ordered, complete with household identification numbers printed directly onto the plastic packaging.
【Lmao, Little Er is fully leaning into the forced-sale tactics this season.】 【Ha! Ha! Are they about to be forced into manual labor to pay off milk debts?】 【Blind guess: a choice between milking cows and shoveling cow manure.】
Still racking his brain for a solution, Chu Minghe ventured, “Can we trade chickens for it?”
After pondering the proposal for a moment, the elder compromised with a grunt: “One chicken per pound of milk.”
【Rip-off.】 【Massive rip-off.】 【A bottomless pit of a trap.】
“What?!” Zhang Qing, who had reluctantly trailed behind the group, stared in sheer disbelief. “You’re charging three yuan for a pound of milk, but if we trade a live chicken, it has to be worth at least ten yuan on the open market! That should get us at least three pounds!”
Clearly displeased, the elder waved a dismissive hand. “Fine, then pay cash.”
Yet cash was an absolute luxury they lacked. Their sole capital asset consisted of the ten chickens currently clucking away in the backyard. Earlier that morning, they had budgeted one chicken per couple for evening soup, but the arrival of the milkman instantly restructured their entire livestock economy—seven out of their ten chickens had just been requisitioned to settle dairy debts.
Worse still, they still needed to preserve a few breeding hens to guarantee a steady supply of eggs. Following this disastrous transaction, their poultry reserves were decimated, meaning they would never have to worry about weasels sneaking into the coop at night again—because any nocturnal intruder would now find nothing left to steal except dry straw.