Yan Chuan knew he couldn’t let down the identity chosen for him by the survival variety show. The script stated that he took on the role of a philandering wife; that meant he had to live with the “husband.”
Now, he found himself alone in the apartment; where had the other person gone? Was the “husband” also a contestant or just a ghostly NPC in the show? Moreover, how far along was the show, and had any unexpected events occurred?
He had no idea, and the script provided by the escape survival variety show only included a brief introduction to his role and identity, leaving much for the contestants to explore. Yan Chuan pulled aside the curtain, allowing sunlight to flood into the room. At this hour, the midday light was blinding.
Dust floated in the air, and he glanced outside. His view was of a vacant road, with no buildings on either side, just an expanse of barren land. The thirteenth apartment building stood out oddly against the backdrop. Yan Chuan understood; they were likely restricted to this building as part of the show’s limitations.
There was no place in the living room to hide anything, so he retracted his gaze and walked into the bedroom separated by a wall. The space wasn’t large; on the double bed lay paired pillows and a comforter, clearly indicating that two people lived there.
In the corner stood a wardrobe, and recalling the white dress he wore, he decided it was time to find some clothes to change into. He held the identity of a “wife,” feeling that stepping outside would draw attention, almost like announcing to everyone that he was a contestant thrust into this setting.
Opening the wardrobe, he found a row of dark formal wear and shirts on the left, complete with matching bowties. They were at least a size larger than his, clearly belonging to the other occupant of the apartment, his current “husband.”
Flipping through the sizes, he could almost imagine the man’s shape and characteristics. He must be very tall, at least over six feet, with a preference for dark colors, likely possessing a stable and serious demeanor. His build was impressive, broad shoulders, long legs—essentially, he was much taller and sturdier than Yan Chuan.
He was the kind of man who was tall and strong, capable of overpowering multiple weaklings with a single punch. Quietly comparing, Yan Chuan felt he surely couldn’t defeat this “husband,” provided he was just an ordinary human. What a troubling thought.
Yan Chuan straightened the mess he had made in the wardrobe and opened the other side, revealing his own clothes. Summer clothing lay at the top, predictably consisting of various styles of dresses and several sheer, lacy garments stacked within…
Yan Chuan: …
The latter was stored a bit further back but was still within reach, evidently items he wore frequently. They sharply contrasted with the staid, almost old-fashioned formal wear on the left, hidden away as if harboring some unspoken secret.
With just a slight reach inward, he could touch those excessively delicate fabrics. The white dress he currently wore was surprisingly the most normal of them all. Yan Chuan pressed his lips together, and the phrase “a seemingly gentle wife who secretly betrays” resurfaced in his mind.
He silently closed the wardrobe door, pretending he hadn’t discovered anything. The escape variety show had created an overly realistic setting.
Thinking this, Yan Chuan felt a thin flush on his cheeks, unsure if it was exhaustion or embarrassment. His health had deteriorated to the point where even walking a few steps made him pant. But since entering the escape variety show, he felt a bit better, and after a stroll, he didn’t find himself overly exhausted; perhaps his illnesses made it challenging to play a role.
Yan Chuan touched his slightly warm face and concluded that the decision to enter the escape variety show for survival seemed good.
“Ding-ling.”
He turned towards the sound of the notification and spotted an old-style phone on the bedside table. It was a model from over a decade ago, still with buttons, undoubtedly matching the age of this apartment.
Curiously, he pressed a key and found he had received a message.
“I’ll be working late tonight and won’t be home. Make something to eat by yourself. Remember to go to bed early. Love you.”
The interface displayed that the message was from “Hubby.”
After a moment of hesitation, Yan Chuan replied with a simple “Okay.”
That was fine; he hadn’t fully figured out how to deal with this “hubby,” and now he received news that he wouldn’t be home tonight. He checked the phone, focusing on the inbox and call history. Yet, there was nothing suspicious there—the most frequent contact was simply labelled as “hubby.”
From this, he couldn’t discern much about the relationship between him and “hubby,” nor find any evidence of infidelity. Perhaps the lovers were living nearby?
There would be no need to communicate through texts; they could meet while the husband was out working, keeping it secret.
But wait, he also had to be cautious of the “lovers” meeting each other. Yan Chuan quickly halted these thoughts.
With so many floors in the thirteenth apartment building and numerous residents, he had to find a chance to meet them. He needed to see what other contestants looked like in this multi-person variety show and identify who the “lovers” were.
Yan Chuan placed the phone back in the wardrobe and decided to step outside.
As he opened the door, he paused for a moment, rummaged in the wardrobe for a light jacket, and draped it over his shoulders to slightly conceal the white dress he wore. The hem of the skirt felt empty beneath him, making it a bit uncomfortable to walk. If it weren’t for the sizing issue, he would have liked to borrow a set of clothes from his “husband.”
Stepping outside, he was greeted by a corridor where each apartment had a door number; Yan Chuan was in apartment three.
It was around lunchtime, and as he passed the open doors, the aroma of food wafted by along with the faint sounds of opera from an old radio.
The singing was mournful and prolonged, the broadcast not very clear. The trembling echoes reverberated in the corridor, creating an unsettling atmosphere.
Yan Chuan frowned.
He peeked inside and spotted an elderly man with graying hair and a face lined with wrinkles sitting on the sofa, absorbed in the opera.