The Ex's Tears Are So Hot - Chapter 36

Emotions are strange things. When no one cares, you get used to swallowing your feelings. But the moment someone finally sees you—really sees you—all the pain you’ve kept buried rushes out like a dam breaking.

That’s what happened to Guan Jinnian.

In Xie Zhixin’s arms, all his suppressed sorrow, exhaustion, and helplessness erupted—wordless, but raw and real. It spilled out through the kisses Zhixin left so gently on his skin.

Guan Jinnian couldn’t stop the tears. He trembled in Zhixin’s embrace like a small, wounded creature, his guard stripped away.

“Thank you, Zhixin…” he whispered, voice barely audible.

“I’m here,” Zhixin murmured, holding him tighter. Then he pressed his lips to Jinnian’s ear, his voice low and steady:
“I love you… Jinnian, let me stay by your side. Always. Please?”

Jinnian nodded through his tears. Afraid Zhixin didn’t catch it, he pulled back slightly, cradled his face, and kissed him—fiercely, desperately.

Tears streaked across their cheeks and mingled in the kiss, leaving a bittersweet taste on their lips—pain and love intertwined.

It lasted a long time. Neither wanted to pull away until the sting of their chapped lips finally forced them to stop.

Foreheads pressed together, they breathed in sync, wrapped in the quiet peace between them.

“I…” Jinnian began to speak, but Zhixin gently touched his lips to silence him.

“Jinnian,” he said softly, “I know what you want to say.”

He reached out to wipe away the tears still clinging to Jinnian’s lashes.
“There’s no rush. Take your time. Let yourself feel what it’s like to be loved. Really loved.”

Jinnian looked at him, eyes locked in a gaze so full of emotion it nearly knocked the breath out of Zhixin.

“Seriously,” Zhixin teased, voice laced with affection, “you forgive me this easily? Just a few sweet words and you’re back in my arms?”

He gently pinched Jinnian’s ear, laughing. “Good thing you ran into a decent guy like me, huh? Imagine if I were some jerk without morals—what would you do?”

Jinnian rolled his eyes, smacked his hand away, and the warm light in his eyes vanished in mock annoyance.

He flipped over, yanked up the blanket, and pretended to ignore him.

But Zhixin, undeterred, wrapped his arms around him from behind.
“Still mad?” he asked with a grin. “How can you get annoyed so fast?”

Jinnian finally snapped. He turned to face him with a gentle, almost pitying smile—and then kicked him right off the bed.

Thud. Zhixin yelped as he hit the floor.

Only then did Jinnian let himself relax. He closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep, content at last.

Zhixin, still sprawled on the floor, grumbled softly to himself but climbed back into bed. He inched his way closer to Jinnian, bit by bit. When he wasn’t pushed away, he snuggled up with satisfaction.

Half-asleep, Jinnian felt him drawing near and smiled slightly in his dreams. He shifted closer and wrapped his arm around Zhixin’s waist, finally letting his heart rest.

—

By morning, Jinnian felt unusually refreshed.

He got up quietly while everyone else was still asleep. On the table, his mom had left a full breakfast spread. He brought the side dishes to the kitchen to warm them up, moving calmly.

Suddenly—thud, thud, thud—rushed footsteps came from behind.

Before he could turn, he was swept up into a tight embrace.

Startled, he tilted his head back—only to see Zhixin’s panicked face, eyes wide with worry and even a sheen of cold sweat on his brow.

“What’s wrong?” Jinnian asked, alarmed.

“When I woke up and didn’t see you,” Zhixin confessed breathlessly, “I thought you left me again…”

It was such a vulnerable, almost childlike admission that Jinnian froze.

“This is my home,” he said, trying not to laugh. “Where would I go?”

“Who knows?” Zhixin mumbled, voice half-complaining, half-pleading. “You’ve run before…”

Realizing it was separation anxiety—likely rooted in how their breakup happened—Jinnian felt a pang of guilt and sympathy.

“I won’t leave again,” he said softly, stroking Zhixin’s back. “I promise. If it makes you feel better, I’ll even let you put a tracker on my phone.”

“What? I’m not a stalker!” Zhixin said, feigning outrage.

“It’s just to make you feel better.”

“You’re really not worried I’ll actually use it?”

“Go ahead. I’ll allow it.”

Zhixin finally started to smile again—but just as things were getting cozy…

Ahem.

A very pointed cough came from the kitchen doorway.

They turned their heads and saw Xiao He and the cameraman standing there—looking horrified but also very much recording.

“…Oh no.”

Jinnian’s soul nearly left his body. The livestream was running—and they’d just broadcasted all that ridiculous, overly sweet nonsense.

Zhixin, ever the shameless one, acted like nothing happened. He let go of Jinnian and casually helped reheat breakfast.

“No need to cook—just warm it.”

He gave Xiao He a meaningful look.

Xiao He, bless him, caught on instantly. “Yes, yes! Teacher Guan, don’t trouble yourself, we’re fine with leftovers!”

【LMAO what did I just walk into at 8AM?!】
【Why did Xiao He interrupt?! I needed to hear the rest!!】
【Honestly, if this keeps going, the livestream might get flagged for too much PDA 😂】

Jinnian eventually recovered from the embarrassment. Pretending nothing had happened, he sat down and ate with everyone.

Later that morning, a message came through: Director Xiao Hu had approved his friend’s casting request.

Not long after, a message from Xiao Hu popped up:

[Hu Zhicheng]: Hey, Teacher Guan—did Sister Yue explain everything?

[Guan Jinnian]: She did, but I’d still like to hear it from you directly, since it’s your project.

They hopped on a WeChat call. Hu’s voice was upbeat and youthful.

“Finally got through!” he said. “To be honest, all that formal talk isn’t really my thing. Let’s just be real with each other.”

“Sounds good,” Jinnian said with a chuckle.

“Here’s the deal: the show’s casting rules are strict. All actors have to be fresh faces, minimal experience—pure hell for directors, honestly.”

“Sounds intense.”

“Right?! I’ve been tearing my hair out trying to find someone who fits and can actually act. You showing up felt like a godsend.”

“Don’t give me too much credit,” Jinnian replied modestly.

“No, seriously,” Hu insisted. “You’re the only one who meets both the requirements and my standards. Help me out. If I screw this up, my dad will clown me for years.”

Jinnian laughed. “You sound more like a college student than a director.”

Hu groaned. “Pretty much. So? Will you do it?”

After a moment’s thought, Jinnian smiled. “Alright. I’ll try not to let you down.”

“YES!” Hu cheered. “I’ll send over the script. Let’s set a time soon to sign the contract!”

As Jinnian hung up, he exhaled slowly, leaning against the courtyard wall. He couldn’t help but laugh to himself. That director really was something else.

“Everything okay?” Zhixin had followed him out, watching with concern.

“Yeah. Just… that director’s got a lot of energy.”

Zhixin gently tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. “So you’re going?”

“…Yeah.” Jinnian nodded. But something in Zhixin’s gaze made his heart skip.

Ever since the night before, something had shifted. The air between them felt… warmer. More electric.

There was heat in Zhixin’s eyes now—an intensity that made Jinnian feel like he was being devoured.

“…Why are you staring at me?” he asked, flustered.

“Nothing.” Zhixin smiled—but his eyes lingered on Jinnian’s lips.

Jinnian couldn’t take it. “Go back inside.”

He brushed past him quickly, trying to escape.

Zhixin watched him go with a trace of regret, then followed.

As they reentered the house, the camera turned to them again—and fans were quick to pick up on the vibes.

【Anyone else feel like the air between them is sizzling today?】
【The kind of subtle, sweet tension you get right before two people finally admit they’re in love.】
【Whatever happened last night—I WANT TO SEE THE FOOTAGE.】

Just as Jinnian was about to head to the persimmon workshop, Xiao He suddenly yelled out:

“Teacher Guan! Check Weibo—now! It’s blowing up!”

A chill ran through Jinnian’s chest.

He unlocked his phone—and right there on the trending list was a tag that made his heart sink:

#Li Muye Guan Jinnian#

He tapped in, and Xie Zhixin leaned over to look as well.

There it was: Li Muye’s scathing post.

@LiMuyev: “Enough is enough. Can we stop dragging our show into this circus of CP marketing? When did we lower the bar so much? Might as well rename it ‘Drama Idol Factory’. Industrial-grade sweetness might sell, but it’s all fake anyway—LOL.”

Someone had asked who he was talking about. Li Muye had replied:

@LiMuyev: “No need to hide. I don’t rely on gimmicks or shady tactics. So let me ask our celebrated Teacher Guan directly:
@GuanJinnianv — if you spent even one-tenth the effort on your acting as you do on your couple hype, would you still be stuck in the short drama circuit?”

Jinnian stared at the screen in disbelief.

“…Great,” he muttered. “Just what I needed.”