Chapter 7 Out of the Penalty Box
Back at the farmhouse that night, dinner became the next problem.
I asked Song Nanzhou, “What do you want to eat?”
He paused. “If I say it, will it magically appear?”
“Nope. Want it? Make it yourself.”
I spread my arms toward the garden and chicken coop. “Behold the empire I conquered for you.”
He laughed low. “Impressive.”
God, how could anyone sound that good saying anything?
At sixteen his voice made me dizzy. At twenty-four it still stopped me in my tracks.
“So you’ll cook to reward me?”
“Yeah,” he said. “I’ll cook.”
…
After dinner I went to my room, suddenly remembering I hadn’t opened Weibo in two days.
I flopped on the bed and scrolled.
Clips from today’s Live Stream were everywhere.
【Doesn’t anyone think Cheng Zhi is super fake? Acting reluctant while staking her claim on Su Xiner.】
【+1, total green tea.】
【Why does Cheng Zhi sis need our brother for everything? Does she not have hands?】
【Making him cook—like who does she think she is compared to Song Nanzhou?】
【He called her princess once and she actually believes it?】
A Direct Message from Song Nanzhou popped up: Stop reading. Just hate comments.
Song Nanzhou: I like your push-and-pull game.
I suddenly remembered we weren’t even friends on WeChat yet.
I typed: Oh.
Song Nanzhou: Can you take me off the blocklist?
Me: Got roasted today. Not feeling generous.
Notification: Song Nanzhou followed you and posted a new Weibo.
I clicked.
Song Nanzhou V: Can everyone stop the hate? I want to get out of the Penalty Box.
I laughed out loud, switched to WeChat, and removed him from the blocklist.
Perfect timing—his friend request came through instantly.
I accepted.
Then I saw Su Xiner had tagged me.
Su Xiner V: Orange Sis, Orange Sis, I swear I didn’t buy any dirt on you. @Cheng Zhi
I commented: With your level of scheming? You couldn’t pull it off.
Last day of filming.
The director told us to spend whatever money we had left however we wanted.
I raised a brow. “Have you checked current prices lately?”
He waved it off. “Relax, we made arrangements. Everything’s affordable.”
“You can also earn more this morning and play this afternoon.”
I almost laughed. Earn how? With empty pockets?
I wasn’t about to sell Song Nanzhou autographs on the street.
Then it hit me—the garden vegetables.
“They won’t charge me for selling my own crops, right?”
The director hesitated, glanced at Song Nanzhou, then said, “Nope. Go ahead.”
“Wait for me,” I told Song Nanzhou. “I’ll sell veggies and take you out.”
A sharp voice cut in.
“Why does she get everything good?”
It was Wen Rou—one of the sibling guests who’d been background the whole show. She sounded genuinely upset.
“Is the favoritism this obvious?”
I blinked. Wen Rou had been soft-spoken the entire time—literally living up to her name.
Su Xiner tried, “Wen Rou sis, what’s wrong?”
“The whole show we’ve been props,” Wen Rou said. “I didn’t complain about the big stars. But Cheng Zhi? Her fans aren’t even half of ours. Why does she get all the screen time?”
“Why do you all treat her so special?”
She was angry.
I stayed quiet.
Because she was right.
I had no standout roles, no real traction.
I was only here because of the “scandal” and CP hype with Song Nanzhou.
I sank deeper into that thought.