The old man insisted on cash. Since they had no cash, and were deeply reluctant to part with the hens that provided eggs and soup stock, they ultimately fell straight into the production crew’s trap.
“Can we work off the debt instead?”
“Sure.” The old man agreed with surprising alacrity likely because he was simply tired of talking and figured out how remarkably difficult this group of people was to negotiate with.
“Milking cows. You need to be up by six every morning. It won’t take much out of you half an hour’s work pays for one pound of milk.”
Judging by the elder’s grand, sweeping tone, one might think they were being handed the deal of a century. In reality, it was no different from trading a live chicken for a pound of milk, but lacking any alternative, they had no choice but to agree to his terms.
Zhao Xingjian: “What about today’s milk?”
“Today’s milk is on the house as a complimentary gift. I’m a reasonable man, aren’t I?”
While true in theory, upon closer inspection, they weren’t actually saving a single penny.
Sure enough, before the old man even finished speaking, he added the kicker: “Tomorrow morning, tack on an extra half hour—work from six to seven. Once that’s done, I’ll head out to make my rounds delivering to the other households.”
The group twitched the corners of their mouths in unison. “That old man sure knows how to squeeze every last drop out of us.”
Before riding off on his electric scooter, the elder offered a parting reminder: “Remember not to be late! Wake up early, or set an alarm. Just head straight east tomorrow morning, and you’ll run right into me.”
Chu Minghe blinked. “Keep going straight east?”
The elder: “Yup, keep heading straight east. The moment you see the cows, you’ve found the right spot.”
Everyone watched as the old man drove away, his retreating back exuding an aura of pure satisfaction and triumph.
Standing outside the small villa, the group lingered for a long stretch, still struggling to digest the reality that they had just inadvertently sold themselves into labor.
Just then, Zhang Congsheng finally emerged, yawning heavily as he blinked sleepily at them. “What’s going on here? Is someone getting married?”
Zhang Qing strode up and smacked him squarely on the arm. “Married, married! Are you hoping to get married a second time?! We’re getting a divorce the moment this show wraps enjoy your singlehood!”
Dodging the blows, Zhang Congsheng argued back, “When did I ever say I wanted a divorce!”
While the two of them bickered and brawled nearby, Chu Minghe and Zhao Xingjian exchanged a quiet, sideways glance before calmly retreating back inside the villa.
Over breakfast, the topic inevitably swung back to the chicken slaughter. In the end, they decided against killing one per couple, fearing what bizarre curveballs the production crew might throw at them in the coming days.
Instead, they settled on butchering just two birds for now. To be frank, not a single one of the six individuals present had ever performed such a task before.
Though Zheng Yuan had gradually worked his way up from a small-town kitchen hand, his previous restaurants always purchased pre-processed, cleaned poultry he had never slaughtered a live animal himself.
Neither had Chu Minghe. He had only ever watched others do it, assuming it was a simple matter of wielding a kitchen knife. Lacking absolute confidence, however, he decided to pull out two birds to start.
For reasons unknown, the chickens belonging to this particular household harbored an obsessive vendetta against Zhao Xingjian. Perhaps it was because he had clamped his hand around their leader’s neck earlier that morning, arousing collective public fury.
Once again, Chu Minghe had to step in, grabbing four massive wings across two separate birds to hoist them up effortlessly.
“Care to give it a try?”
“…”
Nobody in their right mind wanted to volunteer for this assignment. Watching the birds thrash helplessly in his grip, Chu Minghe felt a sudden pang of hesitation; finding it difficult to steel his heart, he retrieved an old kitchen knife and a small bucket.
Just as he prepared to bring the blade down, realizing nobody else was stepping forward to assist, Zhao Xingjian finally took action.
He stepped in to take over the grip on those four thrashing wings from Chu Minghe’s hands, managing to suppress any visible expression of disgust, though a faint hint of deep resentment crept into the look he shot Chu Minghe.
Seeing him pause mid-motion with the knife raised, Chu Minghe withdrew the blade and hesitated. “Or… how about I hold them, and you do the deed?”
Zhao Xingjian gritted his teeth. “Is that something you can broadcast on camera?!”
The implication hung heavily in the air. Naturally, Chu Minghe couldn’t pretend he hadn’t heard. Lowering the knife, he unclipped the microphone from his collar, looked at Zhao Xingjian struggling to immobilize the two squawking hens, and offered, “Let me help you take that off.”
Staring at him, Zhao Xingjian watched as Chu Minghe unhooked his own collar mic as well, placing both devices side by side to hand temporarily into Lin Dingshi’s safekeeping.
“Let’s go outside and take care of it, then wash up before bringing them back.”
Feeling somewhat apologetic, Lin Dingshi offered, “Zheng Yuan and I can go crank out some more noodles with the machine so we’ll have a reserve stocked up for later.”
Leaving the others behind, Chu Minghe carried the bucket and brandished the kitchen knife, ducking out of sight alongside Zhao Xingjian toward a blind spot completely clear of camera coverage.
Knowing Zhao Xingjian had zero experience with this kind of dirty work, and wanting to spare him the trouble while utilizing the unmonitored zone, Chu Minghe planned to finish the job entirely on his own and simply attribute the deed to Zhao Xingjian when they returned inside.
“Hold them steady, I’ll take care of it in a second.”
Speaking in a soothing tone reminiscent of coaxing a child, Chu Minghe barely finished his sentence before the two chickens in his hands suddenly went completely limp.
Impressed by his swift, clean execution, Zhao Xingjian froze for a fraction of a second, only to watch Chu Minghe seamlessly transition into pulling out the feathers.
Swallowing down some lingering psychological discomfort, Zhao Xingjian picked up one of the lifeless birds discarded by Chu Minghe along the rim of the bucket, and clumsily copied his movements, yanking out fistfuls of feathers.
As his hands became smeared with blood and feathers, Chu Minghe paused. “Why don’t you just stand guard over there for a minute? I can finish pulling the rest; it won’t take long.”
Refusing to reply, Zhao Xingjian channeled his latent irritation entirely into his feather-plucking, leaving Chu Minghe to fall silent and resume his work beside him.
The morning air remained crisp and refreshing. A few elderly local residents strolled past along the dirt roadside, casting curious, amused glances their way. “Slaughtering chickens?”
With a smile, Chu Minghe nodded. “Yes, slaughtering chickens.”
An elderly woman offered advice: “Scald them with boiling water first makes plucking much easier!”
Since they hadn’t bothered to boil water, hiking all the way back now would mean the dry plucking was practically finished anyway. Shaking his head, he let it go.
Plucking feathers wasn’t intellectually demanding; it required zero finesse. Before long, Zhao Xingjian managed to clean an entire bird entirely on his own.
Gradually, the quiet stretch of road fell back into a tranquil hush. Because the two men weren’t particularly close, a heavy silence settled between them one lowered his head to pluck feathers in steady rhythm, while the other alternated between yanking feathers and casting sideways glances at his companion.
Finally, Zhao Xingjian broke the quiet. “If the show’s recording goes smoothly, that villa you’ve been living in these past few years will officially become yours. On top of that, I’ll hand you a bank card.”
“However, if you pull any dishonest stunts during this period, you can kiss both of those things goodbye—and you can completely forget about having a smooth career in the industry ever again.”
Chu Minghe’s hands paused mid-motion. He recognized the underlying warning: causing trouble would lead straight to the catastrophic finale depicted in the original novel.
Yet, as things stood, the current outcome was already remarkably favorable. Zhao Xingjian’s attitude had visibly softened compared to their initial interactions. As long as he refrained from stirring up wild complications for the remainder of the show, not only would past grievances be completely wiped clean, but he would also walk away with a substantial cash payout and a luxurious property.
First turning to look at Zhao Xingjian, a genuine glimmer of moisture welled up in his eyes before he nodded obediently. “I understand.”
Instantly, Zhao Xingjian began to second-guess himself, wondering if his tone had sounded overly harsh. But recalling how the entire marriage arrangement had been engineered by Chu Minghe in the first place, he forcefully suppressed that fleeting twitch of sympathy.
Finishing the bird in his hands, Chu Minghe reached out toward Zhao Xingjian. “Let me take that off your hands.”
Reluctantly declining, Zhao Xingjian glanced down at Chu Minghe’s blood-stained fingers, then back at the gutted carcass draped over the bucket rim, before abruptly giving in.
Watching Chu Minghe methodically clean out the remaining internal cavities without a flicker of squeamishness, Zhao Xingjian realized that despite lacking prior experience, the man was an unyielding pragmatist—whenever physical action was required, he rolled up his sleeves and plunged right in without complaint.
Wishing to avoid looking like a useless taskmaster standing idly by, Zhao Xingjian cast about for a topic of conversation.
“When exactly was the front door lock code changed?”
Caught entirely off guard by the abrupt pivot, Chu Minghe blinked. The code change had taken place on the very night of their wedding banquet, ages ago. Fearing that exposing the true timeline might trigger unpleasant memories for Zhao Xingjian and jeopardize his impending house and bank card, he offered a vague evasion: “I don’t remember.”
A flicker of distrust crossed Zhao Xingjian’s expression. “You forgot?”
“The old code was far too simple,” Chu Minghe explained defensively, weaving a plausible excuse. “I lived there alone, and it made me nervous.”
Primarily, he had been terrified of Zhao Xingjian having a psychotic break and storming over to beat him to a pulp.
Yet, filtered through Zhao Xingjian’s perspective, that explanation carried an entirely different subtext—it sounded like a subtle reprimand, blaming him for failing to visit or check in on him once during those entire ten years. Drifting into silence, Zhao Xingjian dropped the subject.
Sensing that he had successfully dodged a bullet and diverted suspicion, Chu Minghe pressed on with a counter-question: “Did you actually try to visit? When was that? I completely missed it.”
“I never went,” Zhao Xingjian replied with practiced nonchalance. “Assistant Fang simply went over on the day we started filming to pick you up, and the code didn’t work.”
“…” A sudden wave of enlightenment hit Chu Minghe.
No wonder Zhao Xingjian had looked so deeply displeased upon arriving at the villa on day one he hadn’t just failed to find him at home; he had discovered his own front door code locked him out.
Guiltily, Chu Minghe shot him a sidelong glance of pure, unadulterated sheepishness.
They remained busy through the morning until mid-afternoon, operating on empty stomachs. Upon returning to the villa, they caught sight of Zhang Qing storming out of the kitchen with his hands caked in white flour, looking utterly bedraggled.
Peeking out from the kitchen doorway, Lin Dingshi suddenly found his vision blocked as Chu Minghe strode right in front of him, holding two immaculately cleaned, pristine chickens.
“Brother Minghe, you’re amazing! They’re so clean!” Lin Dingshi beamed instantly, anticipating a rich meat dish for dinner.
Chuckling, Chu Minghe teased, “Washed them thoroughly outside so we wouldn’t scare you inside.”
Zhao Xingjian trailed closely behind him carrying the kitchen knife and bucket, both items polished to a spotless sheen.
Lin Dingshi offered a sweet smile. “Brother Minghe is the best.”
Completely unaffected by the earlier smear campaign brought up by Zhang Qing, Lin Dingshi maintained his warm, affectionate attitude, causing a wave of genuine warmth to wash over Chu Minghe.
The flour output generated by Lin Dingshi and Zheng Yuan’s efforts was substantial enough to sustain them for two full days, provided it was stored properly. Zheng Yuan expertly took charge of organizing and hanging the freshly pressed noodles to dry.
Chopping up half a chicken into bite-sized chunks, they tossed it into the pot to simmer until tender, reserving a portion of the rich broth to boil alongside a fresh batch of noodles, creating a hearty, aromatic chicken noodle soup.
By the time the meal was finally ready to serve, night had already fallen, turning this late meal into a combined breakfast, lunch, and dinner marathon. Each person consumed a massive bowl, and they even went back for a second round of broth to boil another pot.
Amidst the meal, Lin Dingshi darted a pair of sharp, calculating eyes back and forth between Chu Minghe and Zhao Xingjian.
“Brother Minghe gives off the vibe of someone who really knows how to manage a household, whereas Brother Zhao looks like someone who’s used to being pampered and cared for.”
Just as Chu Minghe reached over to ladle an extra spoonful of broth into Zhao Xingjian’s bowl, his heart skipped a beat at the remark. Stealing a sideways glance at Zhao Xingjian, he prayed the comment wouldn’t be misinterpreted.
He had zero desire to court unnecessary attention or court sympathy through artificial posturing doing so would cross the line straight back into the obnoxious behavior of the original owner.
Anxious to prevent Zhao Xingjian from overthinking, he instinctively nudged his knee beneath the table against Zhao Xingjian’s leg, silently signaling: “It’s an act, entirely an act, please don’t take it to heart.”
Instead of reacting, Zhao Xingjian kept his gaze fixed straight ahead, delivering a deadpan reply to Lin Dingshi: “The scenes where I take care of him aren’t broadcastable.”
【?】 【??】 【???】 【If it’s unbroadcastable, is that something you can just say out loud?!】
…
The dining room plunged into an instantaneous, suffocating silence. Somewhere down the table, someone choked violently on a mouthful of noodles—it sounded suspiciously like Zhang Congsheng, though frankly, every single person present looked equally ready to choke. Nobody uttered another sound.
Quietly, Chu Minghe retracted his leg, sliding his chair a fraction of an inch further away from Zhao Xingjian.