Wu Shiyun had never thought that she would see a live chicken in her lifeti.
Chickens, in her world, belonged on platters—braised, fried or roasted. They were ant to arrive golden and silent, not flapping through the air and clucking like they were mocking her existence.
Still, she had thought she could count on Zhao Guangyao. After all, during their first introduction, he’d ntioned—rather proudly—that he’d grown up in a rural village before earning his way into a top university.
Zhao Guangyao had also assured her that all she had to do was to watch at the side and cheer for him.
It was a very convincing speech—right up until the mont the first chicken flapped its wings and charged at him. And then Wu Shiyun found herself being used as a human shield.
"Zhao Guangyao!" she shrieked, ducking behind him instinctively, only to realise—too late—that he’d already done the sa.
The cara caught the perfect shot: two supposed adults, running in circles from one very determined chicken.
"Why is it coming this way?" Wu Shiyun cried.
"It could sense fear!" Zhao Guangyao yelled back, nearly tripping over a bucket.
"Then stop radiating it!"
The chicken flapped again, victorious.
Zhao Guangyao thought he could play the hero—recusing the damsel in distress—only to discover the chicken was far more vicious than it looked.
[Peak romance right here 😭]
[Enemies to lovers? More like enemies to poultry 💀]
[They’re running for their lives and I’m living for it.]
The cara panned out, capturing feathers, shrieks, and one topped bucket in cinematic slow motion.
Behind the monitor, the director leaned forward, eyes gleaming with manic satisfaction. "Now that’s chemistry!"
His assistant gave him a long, suffering look. He had to give it to the director for being so brave—after all, not everyone could make the Wu Princess chase chicken on livestream and live to tell the tale.
"Director," his assistant said dryly, "you do realise she’s going to file a complaint after this, right?"
The director waved it off with the serenity of a man who had long accepted his fate. "Let her. Complaints an passion. Passion ans engagent. Engagent ans ratings!"
The assistant stared at him. "So where is the romance aspect of this pair?"
The director didn’t even blink. "Fear-based bonding. It’s primal."
The assistant gave him a flat look. "That’s not romance. That’s survival."
"Survival is intense," the director argued. "Shared adrenaline! Eye contact! Flailing hands touching by accident—it’s practically a love story in motion!"
"Or we could all lose our jobs," the assistant muttered.
But the director was already scribbling furiously in his notebook.
Pair One – Excellent chaos energy. Possible romance if they survive the chickens.
He capped his pen with a satisfied click. "Perfect start to the day."
"Perfect?" The assistant raised an eyebrow. "One of them almost cried and the other used her as a shield."
The director waved a hand dismissively. "Conflict! Growth! Emotional journey!"
The assistant sighed. "You keep saying those words, but I don’t think they an what you think they an."
Unbothered, the director turned his gaze toward another part of the field. "Alright," he said, straightening in his chair. "Let’s see if the next pair can give us sothing...more romantic."
*****
Sowhere across the field, feathers still drifted like confetti as the director turned his cara to the next pair—his eyes gleaming with renewed hope for ’romance.’
Jiang Shuyue had thought the dating show would be a walk in the park—a pleasant getaway from her relentlessly busy work life.
She had agreed to join partly to return a favour, and partly because she’d convinced herself it would be a relaxing countryside retreat—fresh air, picturesque sunsets, and perhaps a few flattering close-ups of her looking "naturally elegant."
Instead, she found herself standing before a chicken coop, net in hand, doing her best to look unbothered.
She even adjusted her hair for the cara, just in case the chaos made a surprise close-up.
"Alright," she said, tone composed and cara-ready. "We just need to stay calm. Chickens can sense panic. Move slowly, be confident, and we’ll have this done in no ti."
It was an excellent speech—clear, authoritative, and entirely useless, given that she made no move to actually do anything.
Next to her, Shen Xiyu glanced sideways, polite amusent flickering in his eyes. "So... who’s moving slowly and confidently? You or ?"
"You, of course," she replied, smiling sweetly. "You’re taller. Better reach."
He looked like he wanted to laugh but rembered there were caras. Years of wearing the gentleman’s mask had trained him well; he only smiled—smooth as ever. "Right. Of course."
He rolled up his sleeves—gracefully, as if preparing to sign docunts rather than chase poultry—and stepped toward the coop.
Jiang Shuyue folded her arms, observing him like a supervisor assessing a subordinate’s performance. "You’re scaring them. Try a softer approach."
He paused. "A softer approach?"
"Yes. Don’t look so... predatory."
The chicken, anwhile, looked entirely unimpressed.
He gave her a look that could only be described as politely suffering. "Miss Jiang, they’re chickens, not investors."
[The man’s PR smile is holding on by a thread 😭]
[She’s giving corporate manager energy and I respect it 💅]
[He’s one polite comnt away from a breakdown 💀]
Shen Xiyu lunged forward, net in hand—but the chicken dodged expertly, leaving him with a face full of dust.
Jiang Shuyue sighed delicately. "See? Too sudden."
He exhaled, brushing off his sleeve. "Then, by all ans, demonstrate."
"Oh, I would," she said smoothly, "but soone has to maintain composure for the cara."
[Translation: she’s not doing it 😭]
[Queen behaviour. Outsourcing the entire task 💅]
[She said: ’My job is to look supportive, not sweaty.’]
Finally, Shen Xiyu managed to corner a chicken, catching it in one clean, decisive motion. The cara zood in on his triumphant smile—half effort, half exasperation.
Jiang Shuyue clapped once, daintily. "Very good. I knew you could do it."
He glanced at her, still holding the struggling chicken. "Always happy to be of service."
The cara lingered on his practiced smile, flawless enough to fool anyone—except perhaps the audience.
After all, no mask lasts forever, and his was starting to slip under the sumr sun.
Behind the monitor, the director jotted another note.
Pair Two – professional composure, zero chemistry. Possible slow burn?"
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