130.
Something was off with the lead actors that day. They went through several takes but didn’t get a single usable one. I had already finished my own scenes in another studio and come back. It was only just then that Gu Yiliang began to shoot.
I didn’t remove my makeup and simply stood to the side, watching him.

 

131.
Whenever Gu Yiliang acted, I was probably the most nervous person on set.

 

132.
The executive agent watched him with satisfaction.
The director and assistant director looked on with approval.
The younger actors watched him—some with admiration, some with envy.
The art director and the martial arts coach looked at him with respect.
And me? I watched him with anxiety, worry, nerves, and a little panic.

 

133.
Whenever he did a stunt, I felt like jumping in to catch him.
Whenever he handled knives or weapons, I nearly flung myself in as a human shield.
When he stood by the river, I feared he’d fall in. When he climbed rooftops, I feared he’d fall off. When he stood on a branch, I feared it would snap. When he ran, I feared he’d twist an ankle.

Even when the female lead was just cutting decorative patterns into a window screen near him, I feared she’d poke him with the scissors if she moved too fast.

 

134.
Why, you ask?

 

135.
That, my friends, is what we call danger awareness!
Gu Yiliang’s only rival on the whole team… was me.
The only one he seemed to have tension with in the crew… was me.
If anything (heaven forbid) ever happened to him, the fans’ first thought would be: I was the one who did it.

 

136.
Don’t think I’m exaggerating.
Just six months after our debuts, there was a time when Gu Yiliang was doing a live show thousands of kilometers away from me.
Due to poor planning by the crew, he—an unknown rookie at the time—was put in the centre seat, which led to some criticism.
And me? I happened to be visiting the Nanpu temple with friends. Someone recognized me.
Next thing you know, they said I was performing remote curses to sabotage him.
Even my own fans started to believe it and secretly praised me for “playing the game” and “being competitive.”

 

137.
Can someone tell me which temple even handles that kind of service?!
Would the gods approve?!
I was there praying for love, for crying out loud!

 

138.
How do I know all this?
Xiao Chen once showed me—my name had collected as many negative rumours as it had “sweet moments.”

 

139.
Naturally, that story became part of Niangzi’s “brainwashing kit.”
According to them, I had gone to pray for Gu Yiliang’s debut live stream.
Look at those candid photos—how devout I looked, how gentle with fans, how graceful my posture was as I prayed!
Unfortunately, the show’s team messed up, ruining all my efforts.
Of course, it was fate. Obviously, it was the show team’s incompetence.
That’s what the fans insisted. No questions allowed. No objections tolerated.

 

140.
You don’t feel pain until you compare.
To the eyes of Niangzi, I was just a sweet little fool, walking a tightrope for love.
I had no way to thank them for their kindness, so I would do my best to give them more “spiritual nourishment” to enjoy.

 

141.
Gu Yiliang finally finished all his scenes under my watchful eye, and I let out a huge sigh of relief.
He was immediately surrounded by a crowd, and there was no room for me to squeeze in, so I turned to leave.
I had stood too long—my legs were numb, and I was limping slightly.
Xiao Chen arrived just in time, half-supporting and half-dragging me to go get changed.

 

142.
As soon as I returned to the break room and was about to tell Xiao Chen to pack up so we could head back to the hotel, Gu Yiliang showed up at the door.
Didn’t he have his own break room? Why was he always coming to mine?

 

143.
I asked, “What is it? Weren’t we meeting tonight anyway?”
Xiao Chen dropped a box of face powder.
Gu Yiliang said, “It’s still early. Want to grab dinner together?”
Xiao Chen dropped an eyeshadow palette.
I asked, “Aren’t you worried about being photographed?”
Xiao Chen dropped an eyeliner.
Gu Yiliang said, “I know a place with great food and solid privacy. It’s not far from the set.”
Xiao Chen...
I said, “Xiao Chen, are you done? Planning to wreck my entire makeup kit? Why not just tear it all up and let the wind carry it into the ocean?”
Xiao Chen looked determined: “Go. Go now. I’ll cover for you!!”
Gu Yiliang asked, “Were you two rehearsing a comedy skit?”
Me: “…”
Under Xiao Chen’s melodramatic gaze, I grabbed my phone and wallet, stood up, and pulled Gu Yiliang out with me.
He stumbled and tugged back, pausing in the doorway: “Just the two of us? Your assistant’s not coming?”
I said, “Let him starve.”

 

144.
I was so angry—and a bit thirsty—that I went back into the room, pulled out a bottle of honey tea from the green bag my fans had gifted me, and opened it to drink without giving it a second thought.
Gu Yiliang saw what I was doing and stopped me with a frown: “Don’t drink that. Give it to me.”
I handed him the bottle, confused.
He lowered his head and examined it more closely. His frown deepened, and he spoke in a more serious tone: “Is this your first day in the industry? How can you drink something a fan gave you without even checking it?”
I looked at the bottle in his hand—sure enough, there were signs it had been opened.
I stammered, “It was probably a fan who drank from it and accidentally left it in the bag. I’ll be more careful next time.”
He insisted sternly, “You really have to be cautious. Some fans…”
I knew he was right. I should’ve been more vigilant. But gifts from fans were usually screened by the senior fans who knew me well, and nothing like this had ever happened before—so I had let my guard down.
He calmly explained some examples of obsessive or malicious fans and repeated several times that I needed to be careful.
I couldn’t help but think… This Gu Yiliang really had the air of an overprotective boyfriend.

 

Translator : DarNan