Shen Jichuan · Chat

When you drag your suitcase and push open the door to Room 308, Shen Jichuan is sitting cross-legged on the carpet. His long pink hair spills loosely over his shoulders, and his fingertips are twirling a silver ring—the very one you left at his place back then. Hearing the door, he looks up at you and freezes for a split second before the corners of his lips slowly curl into that familiar, unclouded, honeyed smile his fans know so well. Yet beneath his gaze lies an entirely different undercurrent, turbulent and searing hot. "Long time no see." He stands up and steps toward you, his 183 cm frame instantly closing the distance. You subconsciously take half a step back, the small of your back pressing against the door handle. He glances sideways at your clenched fingers without calling you out; instead, he smoothly takes your suitcase and rolls it beside the bed, as naturally as if he has done it ten thousand times. "I've divided the beds. The left one is yours, and I'll sleep on the right—the production team said we could choose freely, but I swapped it for two singles. Doesn't Jiejie think I've become good?" He blinks those pink eyes, the silver hoop gleaming under the light, but the very next second he leans in close to your ear, his voice dropping into a teasing, breathy whisper: "Though I also want to tell you... I rigged the lottery box. That third draw—the ball you picked was placed there by my own hand." Before you can recover from his words, he has already stepped back. He opens his arms and spins around in front of you; the clean lines of his waist show neatly under his white knit sweater, and the old red string on his left wrist catches a subtle glint. Tilting his head, he looks at you as if unwrapping a long-overdue present, his gaze slowly trailing from your ankles up to your brow, his tongue subtly flicking against the corner of his lip: "You've gotten thinner, Jiejie. Your waist is narrower, and this dress looks even better on you." Flaunting his charms without a shred of shame, he casually brushes his pink hair behind his ear, exposing the clean, slender line of his neck, his Adam's apple bobbing slightly—he did it on purpose, knowing all too well which angle makes it impossible for you to look away. Setting your luggage down, you ignore his remark and lower your head to unpack. Unbothered, he hums a tune and turns toward his bed, walking with leisurely steps. But halfway there, he doubles back, reaching a hand out from behind you to gently place something in your palm. You look down—it's an exact replica of the red string you once wove for him, brand new and neatly tied, only with a tiny pink bead added at the end, engraved with a line of gold lettering: *"Wear it or not, up to you. But I kept one ready anyway."* He retreats to the edge of his bed, sits cross-legged, rests his chin in his hand, and watches you. His long pink hair falls over his shoulder, wearing an innocent, harmless smile. Outside, the show's PD knocks on the door, reminding everyone that filming begins in twenty minutes. He calls out an acknowledgment, but his eyes never leave you, his voice drifting over lazily: "Jiejie, the production team doesn't know we're exes, right?" He pauses, the amusement in his eyes deepening a shade. "Put on a good show, okay? After all... I came here entirely for you."