The Ex's Tears Are So Hot - Chapter 3

Guan Jinnian was puzzled by what he saw in the live chat. He mindlessly finished the last hour of the livestream, then immediately opened Weibo afterward.

On the trending page, Xie Zhixin’s name appeared repeatedly across multiple hot searches.

Among them, the one dominating the top spot read:

#XieZhixinCryingInTheShowerFootage

And next to the headline, there was a bold, bright red tag:

“Explosive”

Guan Jinnian was stunned for a few seconds. His first instinct was to hang up, but the person on the other end of the line quickly stopped him.

“Don’t hang up, please don’t hang up, don’t hang up!”

Almost automatically, he paused, falling back into old habits of listening to the other person.

“Jinnian, can you tell me why you want to break up? Haven’t we always been doing fine? If I did something wrong, give me a chance to fix it. You can’t just…”

The man’s voice trembled, and by the time he got to the painful part, he was already sobbing.

Guan Jinnian’s chest tightened suddenly, as if a heavy weight had been placed there, leaving him breathless.

“Xie Zhixin, you’re an adult. You have to take responsibility for the choices you’ve made. You can’t have it both ways.”

There was a pause on the other end before Xie Zhixin asked, surprised, “Choice? What do you mean? Is it because you don’t love me anymore? Is that why you found someone else so quickly…?”

Guan Jinnian closed his eyes, exhausted.

He cut him off: “Yes. I don’t love you anymore. So stop calling me. Just live your life.”

Xie Zhixin’s sobs stopped immediately.

Guan Jinnian didn’t want to deal with the emotional mess, so he hung up without hesitation.

Not even three seconds later, Xie Zhixin called back. Guan Jinnian hit “Decline,” and then directly blocked the number.

The screen switched back to WeChat, and those chaotic messages popped back up again.

Guan Jinnian sighed and deleted all contact details related to that past — out of sight, out of mind.

During breakfast, he shared the good news with his mother — the recent video had gotten great engagement. He opened the comment section to show her the feedback from viewers.

Mother Guan beamed with pride, complimenting him over and over. Then, when she saw a comment asking whether the blogger had a partner, she hesitated, as if something was on her mind.

“Nianzi, you’re… not seeing anyone right now, are you?”

“I don’t have plans to go anywhere right now,” he replied casually. “Why?”

“Are you in a relationship?” she asked tentatively.

Guan Jinnian paused. The image of Xie Zhixin flashed in his mind. He looked down and shook his head slightly.

“That’s good,” his mother said. She opened a WeChat chat and showed him a photo. “This is my friend’s son. He works in a public office here in the county. He’s about your age and hasn’t met anyone suitable yet. I think he seems like a nice guy. Want to give it a try?”

Jinnian glanced at the photo. The man looked his age, with a clean, proper appearance.

He remembered Xie Zhixin’s words from that morning: “You don’t love me anymore?”

For reasons he couldn’t explain, he didn’t immediately say no.

Seeing that he wasn’t rejecting the idea, his mother encouraged him gently, “Why not meet him? If it doesn’t work out, at least you made a new friend.”

“…Alright.”

He hesitated, but still nodded.

It was Saturday, and the blind date happened to be off work that day. They agreed to meet at a teahouse in the county at 2 p.m.

Guan Jinnian didn’t bother dressing up — he didn’t even change his clothes.

He wore a sweater and sneakers, and even arrived a bit early, thinking it might be rude to be exactly on time — but to his surprise, the other man was already there.

“You must be Mr. Guan?” the man stood and offered a handshake. “Hi, I’m Lin Shen.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Lin.” Guan Jinnian shook his hand politely.

Their handshake was formal — it didn’t feel like a blind date at all.

After sitting down, Lin Shen chuckled, “Sorry, I feel like I’m treating this more like a class reunion.”

“It’s okay. Don’t be so formal — just call me Jinnian.”

“Alright, let’s keep it casual then.”

They sat for a moment in silence, not sure what to talk about. The atmosphere was awkward.

Eventually, Lin Shen broke the ice. “Actually, I’ve been wondering this ever since I saw you…”

He pulled out his phone, opened a page about a short drama, and pointed to the actor in it. “This isn’t you, is it?”

Guan Jinnian leaned in. It was a grassroots drama he had filmed last year.

“…Yeah, that’s me.”

Lin Shen looked pleasantly surprised. “I knew you looked familiar! What a coincidence.” Then he added, “I heard from my aunt that you’re planning to stay here and build something locally. But with acting skills like yours, why not continue in that field?”

Jinnian’s smile faded. He didn’t know how to answer.

He truly loved acting. He wouldn’t have left home and fought so hard in a distant city otherwise.

But the entertainment industry had shown him that it wasn’t kind to people without connections.

He had acted in many short films over the years, but if someone asked him what he had achieved… he had nothing to say.

Forget being a D-list celebrity — he hadn’t even made it past the front door.

“…Sorry, I shouldn’t have brought that up,” Lin Shen apologized, realizing the subject had upset him.

“It’s fine,” Jinnian said with a faint smile. “There are a lot of reasons. It’s complicated.”

Unfair treatment by the company. Backstabbing coworkers. Xie Zhixin’s silent approval of marketing strategies that bundled them together.

Maybe he had his own flaws too.

He quit the industry and came back home — but part of him knew he was just running away.

As if closing his eyes could erase everything bad that had happened.

Guan Jinnian dissected himself harshly, lowering his gaze, locking his emotions away again.

Sensing the mood shift, Lin Shen quickly changed the subject.

They chatted about lighter topics. Aside from that one awkward moment, the conversation was pleasant.

Midway through, Lin Shen excused himself to use the restroom.

Guan Jinnian leaned back in his chair, watching people walk by the window, zoning out.

Then he overheard a conversation at the next table.

“Hey, did you see that new variety show?”

“Yeah! I couldn’t believe how amazing Xie Zhixin looked even in a live broadcast! He’s seriously stunning.”

“I know, right? People always said he was all filters — now they can’t say anything!”

The girls were indignant, defending him passionately.

Even though they had broken up and were now strangers, Xie Zhixin’s name still echoed all around Guan Jinnian, pulling his attention.

Somehow, he ended up opening Weibo. His finger moved almost on its own, tapping into Xie Zhixin’s fan forum.

It was flooded with clips from the variety show. His fans were treating it like a holiday celebration, editing even the tiniest glimpses of him into fan videos.

This was partly because Xie rarely did variety shows, especially slower-paced ones like Things on the Seaside.

Fans were eager to see his real personality and daily life. The show hit that sweet spot, and with their promotion, it gained massive popularity.

Both the show and Xie Zhixin’s fan base blew up.

Everyone in the forum was gushing over his looks. Some even commented that although his expressions were dynamic in dramas, he was like a blank slate in real life.

Only Guan Jinnian could read the truth behind that blankness.

He was heartbroken.

Especially in today’s live broadcast — close-up shots revealed the redness at the corners of Xie Zhixin’s eyes. Subtle, but clear as day to someone who knew him.

He had cried.

Guan Jinnian’s chest felt tight. He wasn’t sure how to feel.

Was I too cruel this morning?

If he was hurting this much, if he missed him so badly, why agree to all that cold, calculated marketing?

Was the entertainment industry really so ruthless that feelings were disposable?

Guan Jinnian didn’t want to believe it — didn’t want to see Xie Zhixin that way — but his silence about those strategies said it all.

Lin Shen returned, pulling him out of his spiral.

Jinnian tried to stay focused, but his mind kept drifting back to Xie Zhixin — and all their memories together.

“Guan Jinnian? Are you even listening?” Lin Shen waved a hand in front of him.

Jinnian snapped out of it.

“I’m sorry,” he said awkwardly. “I got distracted… could you say that again?”

Lin Shen sighed. “Forget it. Let’s just call it a day. I can tell you’re not into this — no point forcing it.”

“…Yeah. Sorry.”

He truly hadn’t been interested. He didn’t even know why he agreed to come.

He hated himself for thinking about someone else during a blind date.

“Don’t worry about it,” Lin Shen said casually. “Let’s just be friends. Honestly, that feels more natural.”

Guan Jinnian was relieved. Thank goodness Lin Shen didn’t have feelings for him — that would’ve made everything awkward.

“You look tired. I’ll drive you home.”

Jinnian started to decline, but Lin Shen tapped him lightly on the head. “Didn’t you say we’re friends?”

Jinnian gave a helpless smile. “Alright. Thanks.”

Lin Shen jingled his car keys. “Come on, don’t be so polite.”

＊

Later, Jinnian spent a few days filming new clips with the villagers, focusing on the persimmon business.

He uploaded more videos, combining storytelling with beautiful visuals and short highlights.

His follower count quickly rose to 300,000. In the comments, people kept asking about the persimmons, and he realized it was time to start livestreaming.

A while ago, his uncle and some friends had renovated the old warehouse into a charming shop. They even painted the doorposts red, hung a plaque, and engraved gold lettering.

Simple, rustic, yet striking.

Jinnian was surprised at how professional it looked — his relatives had real skill.

He used the shop as the background for his livestream. They helped him set up the scene and equipment at the entrance.

Bright orange persimmons filled bamboo baskets, with strings of dried persimmons hanging behind. One glance, and you knew what the livestream was about.

He posted a livestream announcement, and as soon as it started, over 100,000 viewers joined.

“Hi everyone, I’m the owner of ‘Shishi Ruyi’. Welcome to my livestream!”

His account name was Shishi Ruyi, meaning “Everything Goes As You Wish With Persimmons.”

[The streamer is so handsome, I didn’t even hear what he said! 😍]
[Wow! So many persimmons — they look amazing!]
[Is that your shop in the background? It looks incredible! I need the floor plan!]

“Yes, all these are from our village. If you’re curious, I can show you how we make them.”

He also promised to ask the family if they had blueprints for the renovated shop.

He chatted while showing off the persimmons, even eating some on stream.

Then he took viewers to the factory at the edge of the village. The facility had been updated recently to meet new hygiene standards, and now looked clean and efficient.

After the tour, a few viewers bought the persimmon gift boxes.

He quickly thanked them and promised fast delivery.

Sales steadily climbed. After three hours, they had sold hundreds of kilograms.

The whole family was overjoyed.

Jinnian’s voice was starting to go hoarse, but he powered through the last hour — until something in the chat caught his eye:

[Have you seen the tea? Go check Weibo!!]
[Are we talking about Xie Zhixin? 👀]
[Coded message: Xie Zhixin crying in the bathroom]
[LOL decoded. Nobody was hurt in this scandal — except Xie Zhixin. I’m living.]

Confused, Jinnian finished the stream and opened Weibo.

On the trending list, Xie Zhixin dominated several spots.

The #1 trending tag was:

#XieZhixinCryingInTheShowerFootage

Beside it, a bright red tag: EXPLOSIVE