77.

Endless chatter had the magical ability to amplify joy, and enthusiastically munching on melon seeds (TN: Chinese expression meaning "gossiping") brought a rejuvenating glow to one’s face. Shipping a couple combined the best of both worlds, adding the sweet, heart-fluttering illusion of being in love.

I didn’t know how other fans experienced it, but for me, it felt like I was an old sage—pure and youthful at once—radiating the tranquil energy of a wise spirit, stepping out into each new day with disarmingly bright vitality.

78.
I still had some time left to be "in love" before filming resumed. After changing into costume, I wandered around the studio like a cheerful little butterfly, my clothes fluttering as I flitted from one spot to another, greeting everyone with a radiant smile. I chatted about the weather, my movements on set, even evening plans—rambling on with my sleeves fluttering and leaving people amazed by my overflowing energy.
Ah, this was pure bliss.

79.
Xiao Chen, holding a thermal lunchbox, caught up to me and said, “Yanyan, hurry up and eat your breakfast. Stop fluttering around like a butterfly.”
Me: “.…”

80.
Fine. I was in a good mood and had no intention of arguing.

81.
Nibbling on a still-warm steamed bun, I scrolled through Weibo on my phone. I kept refreshing my feed and found myself rewatching a post I had retweeted the night before.

“Everyone, remember to eat on time and don’t harm your stomach! [hmph] [hmph]! I’m looking forward to it too [little heart] //@GuYiliangLiam: @WeiYanziWilliam saved me from low blood sugar. Really looking forward to our collaboration!”

The image attached showed a milk tea topped with so many ingredients that it looked like a mini Mount Fuji, enhanced with a filter that made it look even more delicious. I had no idea when he had taken that photo—
Maybe it was when Xiao Chen had upset me and I was deep in thought.

82.
I hadn’t even glanced at the comments on my own posts, and I definitely didn’t dare to look at the ones on Gu Yiliang’s.

Luckily, my acting skills worked like a fan filter: most of the comments came from fans who were just here for the visuals.

“My baby is so dazzling and adorable I can’t breathe!”
“Stop fiddling with your phone! Go spend time with your neglected wife in the boudoir and take care of your well-behaved, adorable son!”

It really did feel like one big, loving family.

83.
Of course, there were dissenting voices too, accusing me of clinging to celebrities for fame. But in the end, it always circled back to one thing: my poor acting skills. I was used to it by now—it didn’t bother me anymore.

84.
But the “super topic” was a different story. It was a place filled with real warmth and genuine love. It felt like a festival—drums pounding, firecrackers crackling, red flags waving, bright smiling faces, and sparkling eyes.

It was noted that today marked Niangzi’s legal marriage anniversary. People were exchanging heartfelt wishes, and every post included a lock emoji.

I didn’t get it at first, but after looking it up, I learned that the lock meant they had "locked" the couple in place.

You really had to admire the richness of fandom culture.

As I kept scrolling, I saw they had unearthed even more “sugar” from just the two Weibo posts we had shared.

85.
The obvious signs of affection and performativity hardly needed to be pointed out anymore.

First, Gu Yiliang had logged in and out of Weibo four times the night before. He did nothing the first three times, but on the fourth, he followed me and made a post. This clearly showed hesitation—he was weighing whether he should do it. Ultimately, he must’ve reasoned that since we were co-starring in a drama, it wouldn’t be strange for us to follow each other. Plus, it allowed him to interact with me openly.

Next, the filter he used for that photo came from an app called “Pudding,” and the name of the filter was “Always with You.”

Then there were the two emojis I had used. They weren’t back-to-back angry pouts—they were facing each other, as if we were kissing.

Finally, he posted at 01:25. When you reverse the numbers, it becomes 521/0—a coded way of saying “I love you.” And I reposted it at 01:26, showing I had responded almost immediately.
(TN: 521, pronounced "wǔ èr yī" in Chinese, sounds like "wǒ ài nǐ" (我爱你), which means “I love you.”)

It was even possible that we had stayed up late together.

Conclusion: If this wasn’t love, what was it?

86.
I am like Buddha. I am broken like Buddha.
(TN: A metaphor expressing complete exhaustion or emotional overwhelm, conveying a kind of peaceful surrender to it all.)

Even if I died, nailed into my coffin, I would still scream with my rotten voice: “Niangzi is Rio!”

87.
It was true—I had instantly shared and commented on the post. But as for the emojis, I had just picked them randomly, hadn’t I? They were simply next to each other in the list, right?

While I was hesitating about whether to change those emojis, there was a knock on the break room door.

Three knocks spaced one second apart—that was Gu Yiliang’s signature knock!

I snapped to attention, immediately switched my Weibo account, locked my phone, wiped all traces in the blink of an eye, and then said calmly, “Come in.”

88.
Wei Yanzi, don’t fall into the same trap twice!

89.
Gu Yiliang opened the door and asked, “The studio’s arranged a half-hour meet-and-greet with fans. Want to join in?”

I stood up and replied, “Ah, sure.”

I grabbed a few little snacks Xiao Chen had brought me to curb my cravings, tucked them into my wide sleeves, and headed out with Gu Yiliang.

 

Translator : DarNan