LOI Chapter 67 — Extra 1: Daily Life of a Married Couple

1. Ten Dishes of Yan’s Flavor¹

Rong Ke slept until noon on his first day off after wrapping up the new film.

Outside the bedroom, the clinking of pots and pans made it sound like a professional chef was at work, but Rong Ke knew it was Yan Zhi cooking.

He shuffled to the kitchen in his slippers and noticed the ingredients neatly arranged on the counter. “Did you have a change of heart?”

Yan Zhi blinked. “Hmm?”

Rong Ke leaned against the counter. “You actually know how to organize things now.”

Usually, the more refined Yan Zhi’s final dishes looked, the more chaotic the kitchen became.

“The cooking process should be pleasing to the eye too.” Yan Zhi adjusted the small seasoning plates until they formed a straight line, then moved his face closer to Rong Ke.

As usual, Rong Ke gave him a good morning kiss. “Need any help?”

“No need.” Yan Zhi gently pushed Rong Ke’s lower back. “Just go rest.”

When Rong Ke returned after freshening up, several exquisite dishes were already laid out on the dining table.

Braised pork garnished with mint, beef ribs surrounded by rosemary, pink milk pudding for dessert… Compared to when he first learned to cook, Yan Zhi’s plating skills had improved significantly.

Rong Ke sat down at the table and, after mentally preparing himself, picked up his knife and fork. He cut off a small piece of beef and put it in his mouth. To his surprise, it tasted unexpectedly good.

“You could open a restaurant,” he praised.

“You think so too?” Yan Zhi brought out a plate of foie gras. “Baby, we’re really in sync.”

Rong Ke’s hand paused mid-motion. “Too?”

“I’m planning to open a specialty restaurant. Once you’re free, you can help me choose a location.” Yan Zhi walked back to the kitchen in high spirits to continue plating the next dish.

Rong Ke quietly put down his utensils.

How should he tell Yan Zhi that he was just making a casual comment?

It wasn’t that Yan Zhi’s cooking wasn’t delicious, but opening a restaurant was something… that needed further discussion.

“Darling,” Rong Ke called out to Yan Zhi’s enthusiastic back.

“Yes?” Yan Zhi continued arranging the chicken without turning around.

“Maybe,” Rong Ke said in a negotiating tone, “opening a restaurant isn’t suitable for us.”

This made Yan Zhi stop what he was doing and look at Rong Ke. “Why?”

“I’ve worked in restaurants before. The food service industry is exhausting. It’s not that simple,” Rong Ke said. “You need to consider many things beyond just developing dishes.”

“We could hire a professional team to manage it,” Yan Zhi replied. “I can focus on what I’m good at, like R&D or promotion.”

“It’s… not impossible,” Rong Ke conceded, then changed his tone. “But running a restaurant is very risky. You’ll encounter all kinds of customers. We’re public figures. It’s easy to get caught up in controversy.”

In other words, things could go wrong easily.

It wasn’t that Rong Ke didn’t trust Yan Zhi. He knew Yan Zhi had enough ability to run a successful restaurant, but using celebrity status in the food industry always invited criticism.

Or they could avoid promoting their identity, but in the current economic climate, how long could a restaurant survive without publicity? That was questionable.

Which meant: promote it, and people would accuse them of exploiting fans; don’t promote it, and they’d likely lose money.

Either way, in Rong Ke’s view, opening a restaurant wasn’t a good choice.

After listening carefully to Rong Ke’s explanation, Yan Zhi thought for a moment and said, “You make sense.”

Rong Ke sighed in relief, but remembering Yan Zhi’s past shenanigans, he added cautiously, “So let’s not open a restaurant.”

Yan Zhi nodded obediently. “Okay, whatever you say.”

Still worried, Rong Ke clarified further, “You’re sure about not opening a restaurant—and by ‘restaurant’ I mean diners, hotels, restaurants… any place where people pay for food.”

“I understand,” Yan Zhi blinked. “When I say I won’t open one, I won’t.”

One week later.

Several of Yan Zhi’s guests visited their home. Rong Ke recognized one as the head of variety shows from a streaming platform.

“Hello, Mr. Yan, Mr. Rong.” The person had their assistant hand over two thick proposal documents to Yan Zhi and Rong Ke.

Rong Ke looked at Yan Zhi, puzzled. “What’s this?”

“My new show, ‘Ten Dishes of Yan’s Flavor,'” Yan Zhi said, flipping through the proposal.

The director explained, “This show will operate like running a restaurant, with real customers dining in. The planned guest lineup includes…”

Rong Ke: “…”

Well, it really wasn’t opening a restaurant—it was making a show.

No accusations of exploiting fans, satisfying the desire to run a restaurant, and no worry about losses.

As Rong Ke looked at his husband, he wondered—how had he never noticed what a genius Yan Zhi was?

2. What Kind of Sorcery Is This?

During Qingming Festival, Rong Ke and Yan Zhi visited the cemetery to pay respects to his father and grandmother.

Near the cemetery entrance was a funeral supplies store. Rong Ke bought a stack of joss papers, but when he turned around, he saw Yan Zhi on the phone, directing a van to the cemetery entrance.

“Where should we deliver these items, sir?” the van driver asked Yan Zhi.

Yan Zhi gave the location of Rong Ke’s father and grandmother’s tombstones, and the driver used a cart to transport several cardboard boxes into the cemetery.

“What’s all that?” Rong Ke asked curiously.

“Things I bought for Dad and Grandma,” Yan Zhi replied.

Rong Ke soon saw what came out from the boxes.

Paper-cut replicas of fashion pieces—at least a hundred outfits, including haute couture from major brands, various luxury cars, and mansions with swimming pools—all made of paper, and even some strange talisman-like items.

“I had craftsmen specially make these.” Yan Zhi held up a palm-sized Koenigsegg² to show Rong Ke. “How is it? Looks real, right?”

Indeed, without looking closely, Rong Ke couldn’t tell it was made of paper.

He set aside the “sports car” worth fifty million in real life and said, “I’m burning ten billion here, your half billion shows no sincerity.”

“You don’t understand, the Underworld Bank has collapsed,” Yan Zhi lit a fire in the metal bucket and started throwing in the “haute couture” pieces. “Due to their reckless money printing, there’s inflation down there. Your billion,” Yan Zhi waved the joss paper Rong Ke bought, “is worth just one yuan down there.”

“Which means last time you burned paper money, it was only worth a few hundred yuan.”

Rong Ke was skeptical. “…How do you know?”

“I do my research,” Yan Zhi said.

“But last time you said you weren’t interested in superstitious things.”

“No,” Yan Zhi replied, “Even I can win awards, we can’t dismiss metaphysics.”

For some reason, hearing the word “metaphysics” from this foreigner was absurdly funny.

He started throwing the flashy “sports cars” into the fire, saying, “Dad probably won’t drive supercars.”

At first, Rong Ke couldn’t drive Yan Zhi’s Ferrari either. He struggled with many of its unfamiliar controls.

“Good point.” Yan Zhi seemed to realize the oversight, took some of Rong Ke’s joss paper, folded it, and announced to the tombstone, “These are the user manuals for all the sports cars. I’m sending them to you.”

Rong Ke looked at Yan Zhi’s actions in confusion. “How did that become a user manual?”

“Because I say so,” Yan Zhi stated.

Rong Ke: “…”

After burning the mansion, Rong Ke picked up the strange “talisman” and asked Yan Zhi, “What’s this?”

“A secret skincare prescription I got from a traditional Chinese medicine doctor,” Yan Zhi said. “They need to look good down there too. Can’t waste Dad’s good looks.”

Rong Ke was momentarily speechless.

According to Jin Qiulan, his father died in a gas explosion, so his appearance probably wasn’t very pleasant…

Yet Yan Zhi had considered even this detail.

Rong Ke couldn’t help but think that if Rong Chao were still alive, he would surely approve of his choice in partner.

But in reality, Rong Chao could never know these things. Whether burning paper offerings or sending messages, these were just comforts for the living. No one knew if the dead could actually receive them.

Still, Rong Ke exhaled and threw the prescription into the fire, speaking to the familiar yet strange face on the tombstone, “Hope you’re living your best life down there.”

That night, Rong Ke had a dream.

He found himself at an intersection, stopped by an incredibly cool sports car.

The window rolled down, and a handsome young man greeted Rong Ke, “Hey kid, thanks for the nice stuff you sent.”

Rong Ke froze. “…Dad?”

“So you do know to call me Dad. Who’s your ‘old man’?” Rong Chao said.

Rong Ke awkwardly rubbed the back of his head. “Well, we weren’t that close…”

“No wonder you’re so stingy, burning just a few hundred yuan for me. Turns out we weren’t close,” Rong Chao patted the steering wheel. “Your husband is much more generous. He knows how to spoil us.”

“…I just didn’t know the Underworld Bank went bankrupt,” Rong Ke explained, then asked, “Did his prescription work?”

“Yes,” Rong Chao stroked his smooth chin. “Can’t you see I’m back to my peak handsomeness?”

That’s good. Looking at the sports car, Rong Ke asked, “Are you comfortable driving this car?”

“Very comfortable, the manual was helpful.” Rong Chao clearly loved the sports car Yan Zhi sent him, fondly gripping the steering wheel. “Well, can’t chat too long. I need to pick up your grandma.”

With that, Rong Chao pulled out sunglasses from his pocket, put them on, and waved to Rong Ke. “You two take care up there. Don’t worry too much about us.”

As the engine’s roar faded away, Rong Ke suddenly woke up.

The bedroom was pitch black, with only Yan Zhi’s steady breathing beside him. It took several seconds to realize he had been dreaming.

So, Rong Ke thought hazily, Yan Zhi wasn’t wrong. The joss papers really were worthless, and a single Chinese medicine prescription could restore Rong Chao’s appearance.

And most amazingly, his casual words had actually turned joss paper into a user manual.

How did that work? Could belief alone make things real?

Rong Ke wasn’t sure. He turned his head to look at Yan Zhi’s peaceful sleeping face, wondering what kind of divine being his husband really was.