Part 4
“What’s the big deal?” Miu Shuhuai said with a dazzling smile. “It just means I can find someone new.” He then asked, “The way you’re looking at me, Tang Yue, did you miss me that much?”
Tang Yue shook his head. “Mr. Miu, you’ve gotten greasy.”
Miu Shuhuai was speechless.
Jiang Shulu managed to hold back a laugh. The livestream audience was howling.
“Have I?” Miu Shuhuai gasped, cupping his face dramatically.
Tang Yue shook his head, then nodded. “Just a little.” With that, he took Tang Mian’s hand and went to set up their tent. The camera caught the faint smile on his lips as he turned away.
[Tang Yue, you’ve changed.]
[But Miu Shuhuai does seem easier to talk to, at least compared to Jiang Shulu.]
[I want to see Tang Yue bully Jiang Shulu more. When will my wish be granted, sob.]
Tang Yue led Tang Mian to the side. Liu Xichao had already set up half a tent. “How about sleeping with me?” he asked Tang Yue. “I don’t want to sleep with Yao Lixin.”
Tang Yue glanced back at Jiang Shulu, who was still talking to Miu Shuhuai.
“You two have been sleeping together for days. Aren’t you tired of it yet?” Liu Xichao said, his tone full of teasing. He added, “A change of pace would be nice.” He slung an arm over Tang Yue’s shoulder. “Here, take your pick. Miu Shuhuai isn’t bad either. You really liked that one solo he did, the one with lyrics written by his dad. Who knows…”
The implication was strong. For some reason, the audience thought of Miu Shuhuai’s earlier challenge: “Can Jiang Shulu do that?”
[What’s going on? Why is his own member siding with an outsider?]
[Jiang Shulu needs to reflect on why he’s always getting the cold shoulder.]
[I thought everyone longed for a rich family. Why is it different now?]
[Times have changed. The trend now is to become your own rich family. Look at Jiang Shulu’s terrifying family situation, who could stand it? Even female celebrities stay far away from him.]
[Didn’t an artist from the same company comment on him? ‘He’s nice to look at, but I wouldn’t dare anything more.’ LMAO.]
Before Tang Yue could answer, Tang Mian was the first to object. “No!”
“Why not?” Liu Xichao asked, looking at the little boy with a teasing glint in his eyes that was practically overflowing.
“Because Uncle Jiang is the best to Daddy,” Tang Mian stated firmly.
“How so?”
Tang Mian fidgeted with the hem of his shirt and glanced at Tang Yue, who was pretending to be nonchalantly setting up the tent. “What Daddy likes is the best.”
Tang Yue couldn’t listen anymore and called Tang Mian over to help.
Liu Xichao’s eyes crinkled into slits as he smiled. He looked at Jiang Shulu, still talking with Miu Shuhuai, and thought, When did he win over the kid?
But then he remembered the unconfirmed rumor Yao Lixin had told him, and a wave of worry washed over him. He was afraid that if they really went public, the pressure on Tang Yue would be immense, and Tang Mian might even face discrimination at school.
A second later, Liu Xichao brushed it off. Jiang Shulu will handle it. In some ways, his methods were already more formidable than Jiang He’s. Even Jiang He sometimes found his nephew difficult to read. Liu Xichao had once jokingly called Jiang Shulu the ultimate version of a cunning rabbit with three burrows, and Jiang He hadn’t even refuted it.
Setting up the tents didn’t take long. As soon as one was ready, Tang Mian dove inside and rolled around twice.
“Are you sleeping with me today?” Tang Yue asked. There was a hint of meekness in his voice, highlighting the role reversal in their father-son relationship. The audience found it incredibly amusing.
Liu Xichao had just stepped out, leaving only Tang Yue and Tang Mian in the tent.
Tang Mian zipped up the entrance, enclosing them in a private space. The crew hadn’t had time to install a camera in the tent yet, so the screen abruptly lost its subjects.
Tang Mian called out “Daddy” several times. Tang Yue, pulling out Tang Mian’s small pillow and blanket from his backpack, hummed in response. Tang Mian crawled over and hugged Tang Yue’s arm.
“What’s wrong? If you’re hungry, I have…”
“Yue Yue!” Tang Mian interrupted.
Tang Yue looked at his son. They both sat cross-legged, facing each other. If anyone saw them, they would find the scene comically serious.
“Please speak,” Tang Yue said.
They did this at home sometimes, sitting like this until their heads drooped and they bumped foreheads, like little animals.
“Daddy… will you get married?” Tang Mian asked.
It wasn’t really the right time or place for such a question. Outside, the bonfire crackled, and crew members were still bustling about, setting up the scene. For most viewers, this show didn’t treat them like outsiders at all; watching it felt like watching something being built from the ground up. The guests, who were supposed to be dazzling stars on stage, seemed no different from ordinary people. Yao Lixin, known for his cool and powerful dancing, would lead the kids in morning exercises. Jiang Shulu, the token rich young master, was terrible at telling ghost stories. Tang Yue was hopelessly bad at crafts; many viewers had posted photos of their own woven bamboo toys while Tang Yue still seemed to be struggling to figure it out. They all had things they weren’t good at, but it didn’t make them any less likable.
Their camaraderie didn’t seem like something that could be scripted either. At least, the Jiang Shulu here was completely different from the one in financial news interviews—he was relaxed, natural, and would suddenly scoop Tang Yue up and run forward with him on his back. It easily reminded fans of the laughing teenager from grainy, low-pixel videos of the past.
But time moved too fast. Teenagers grow up, start families, and have children. Marriage becomes an unavoidable topic. Even if you don’t get married, it will be brought up.
Tang Yue had never been associated with the topic before. He just didn’t seem like the type to enter a serious relationship. As fans would say, he practically lived on morning dew. He’d never dated, never been married, yet he had a child. He never thought the first person to ask him about marriage would be his own son.
Tang Yue pressed his forehead against Tang Mian’s. The question left him at a loss. After a long moment, he finally said, “Does Mian Mian really want me to get married?”
Their microphones were still on, the small indicator lights blinking faintly. The post-production team fixed the camera on the exterior of their tent, making the screen look like a Chinese listening comprehension test. But the quiet environment made it easy to imagine that this was what their secluded life together was like.
“I hope you marry someone you love,” Tang Mian said.
He crawled forward a bit. Tang Yue sat up straighter, picked Tang Mian up, and then fell back again. Tang Mian landed perfectly on the little pillow Tang Yue had just taken out. Tang Yue didn’t use a pillow, just lay on his side, looking at his son’s face. His finger traced the little boy’s eyebrows, nose, and lips, before he finally smiled. “Who do you want me to marry?”
“Daddy Shulv. He’s very good to you.”
Children are perceptive. Besides, he had noticed Jiang Shulu long ago—in photos, on posters, and from Tang Yue’s reactions. After actually spending time with him, Tang Mian found that he fit the fantasies from his picture books. The three of them together felt like a family.
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