753.
I didn’t know how other people’s relationships worked, but mine was sweet and peaceful, drenched in honey.
Every morning when I opened my eyes, I saw Gu Yiliang doing his morning “training” on me. And every night before bed, I got his goodnight kiss, full of fatherly love as steady as a mountain.
Sure, on set there were too many people, too many watchful eyes—everyone sly as foxes—so sleeping together was impossible. But just being able to see him when I woke up and right before I closed my eyes gave me the illusion that I was desperately lacking something, and he was right there, devoted body and soul, to fill the void.
In short, it was perfect.
At the same time, I seriously wanted to call Huang Dachui, the set designer, to have our rooms directly merged into one.

 

754.
I only had two regrets.

 

755.
The first was that despite all the two-player close-combat films we’d watched—studied, learned, and practised to the point of chaining together record-worthy combos—we had never reached the final step.
Nothing mysterious: it was simply an issue of interface compatibility.
How many times had I stared at his weapon, wondering if I should just take it and offer it to the Dragon King of the Eastern Seas?
(NT: One of the Four Dragon Kings ruling over the Four Seas in Chinese mythology.)
Luckily, he never forced me. He always said we had time. So I kept bargaining with my mouth, shielding my backline and keeping the temporary peace.

 

756.
The second problem was that, even though we were perfectly in sync and always understanding of each other, we couldn’t agree on resource distribution.
Not that we fought over them—on the contrary… we gave them up too eagerly.
I offered him opportunities, he refused. No matter what I said, he didn’t want them.
He offered me opportunities, I refused as well. No matter what he said, I wouldn’t take them either.
We were even more skilled than Kong Rong at giving away pears.
(NT: Historical tale—Kong Rong, at age four, gave the best pears to his elder brothers, symbolizing humility and courtesy.) (1)
But by being too self-effacing, things almost turned bloody, a fight to the death. We ended up having to watch educational films to cool off, and then finish with a sparring session to blow off steam. Honestly, it was exhausting.
And what I really couldn’t understand was: why, when all I wanted was to hand him an opportunity, did I always end up completely drained instead?!
In the end, I learned my lesson. I secretly sent Qi Shu’s people to contact his agency to land him important roles, while I scooped up a few fashion endorsements from his side. And for things we could share, we discussed and went for them together.

 

757.
And it wasn’t just me sneaking him into events.
He also insisted on having me as his guest—even for something as simple as recording a radio show. The result: our joint appearances skyrocketed.
Lately, wherever Gu Yiliang was on camera, I was there too. And online, we were calling out to each other like it was second nature.
On the Super Fanclub app, our profiles lit up together like we were streaming live. On Instagram, we’d post up to eight hundred behind-the-scenes stories a day.
When his shoes finally arrived, he posted them on Instagram with the caption: “In a landscape where everything has turned into something else.”

 

758.
In short, it was the perfect example of the saying: “Some die of drought while others drown in floods.”
(Note: Chinese proverb - ‘the dry lands die of drought, the flooded lands die of flooding’, describing situations of extremes.)
Just compare the super topics of our CP with those of others and you’d see.
At first, my fans dug with boundless energy, searching for every little clue, excavating sugar by the shovelful. But eventually, overfed, they collapsed like old grandpas on rocking chairs, waiting for the sugar to be spoon-fed straight into their mouths.
They had reached enlightenment.
When the promo for Lan Jue came out, their reaction was barely a wave of the hand, looking bored. Even when hunting for hints, they got lazy, only noting a difference in our clothes.
And in the end, it was me who broke first, slipping into the group chat the origin of a certain ring.

Result?
A couple of hardcore fans pieced the info together in two seconds flat, stamped it as verified proof, and moved right along like nothing happened—just waiting for their next daily dose of sugar.

Fan 1: “Why isn’t there any sugar today yet? Not happy.”
Fan 2: “New sugar laughing, old sugar crying… In the meantime, let’s just snack on some leftovers.”
Fan 3: “There’s too much, I don’t even know where to start… ‘Eating sugar’ has become a real job.”
Fan 4: 【Message censored for being too explicit】
Me: “…”

 

759.
My state of mind was… complicated.
The first time they booted me out, fine, whatever.
But why couldn’t I even outdo myself anymore when it came to handing out sugar?!
My worst enemy… was myself?!
I was furious.
So I posted a few more Insta stories, even cracked a joke about the show we were recording tomorrow night.
A photo of Gu Yiliang and me, smiling for the camera—radiant, brighter than flowers in full bloom.

 

760.
Why did I dare show off with such arrogance and shamelessness?

 

761.
I put my phone down and turned to Xiao Chen: “How’s the trend today?”
Xiao Chen munched on a corn stick, glanced at the three phones spread out in front of him, and flashed me an “OK” sign.
I nodded, reassured.

 

762.
I had no idea how Xiao Chen had managed, in just a few days, to infiltrate the upper ranks of the fandom and orchestrate three groups in perfect unison.
But the fact was, now:

• Fans of historical dramas saw me as a promising junior, wholeheartedly supported by their idol, and deeply grateful in return.

• Fans of modern dramas saw Gu Yiliang as a reliable, faithful, and kind older brother.

• Fans of both types were crying tears of joy over such a heartwarming mentor-disciple bond.

Three factions, in perfect harmony.

As for the CP fans? Hah, they just didn’t understand what real brotherhood was.
Casual passersby? That’s only because you haven’t realized how extraordinary our little treasure is. Come on, open your mouth and taste this Michelin-star-level sweetness.
And the haters? The second one of them jumped up to scream, the three camps came crashing down on them.

I looked at Xiao Chen, awestruck.
This guy… he was a fandom genius.
If only he’d appeared sooner, we wouldn’t have even needed to fight those rivals…
Xiao Chen wasn’t just some King.
He was The King of Kings.

 

765.
I asked Xiao Chen how he pulled it off.
He told me he’d put together an entire dossier of dirt on that eighth-rate actor—everything from his debut until now. Then he tapped his friends in the assistant circle and cross-checked the dates when the actor scored resources against his public appearances.
Result: a whole skyscraper of compromising exposés.

Armed with evidence, he approached the head admins of Guifei’s and Meiyan’s support groups to flip the situation. He even roped in fans of other artists who’d been dissed by that guy before. Once the momentum built, everyone piled on, and the scandal exploded all the way to Lan Jue’s official platform.

Thousands signed a petition demanding the production dump that unworthy actor, who slandered his colleagues. And as luck would have it, they were already scrambling to find a missing extra in Pudong. Since his role wasn’t crucial, they just approved the replacement with a flick of the wrist.

Swift, precise, ruthless—done in a flash.
At last, I understood why Xiao Chen loved showing me other people’s black dossiers.
Know your enemy, win a hundred battles.
It’s all about stockpiling ammunitions!

 

766.
Xiao Chen: a genius, a master of timing, the king of kings, a wolf among men. Best not to piss him off.

 

767.
After his report, Xiao Chen asked me: “When did you start pulling in support from the inner circle?”
Me: “?”
Xiao Chen: “There’s this guy, ‘@Applause for Society.’ Checked out his Weibo—he’s an old bro dripping gold chains. Talks fast, blah blah blah, stomps on everything in his path. He almost scolded the haters who were badmouthing your name back into their mother’s womb.”
Me: “… ?”
Xiao Chen: “Well, to be honest, I was curious, so I DMed him.”
Me: “……… ?”
Xiao Chen: “He said you’re so hopeless you even managed to choke on popcorn, that you tried to compensate him with a bank transfer but added two extra zeros by mistake, and that when you dragged your partner off, you stepped on his foot. He swears there’s no way you could be as scheming as the haters say. He was furious in the name of justice.”
Me: “…”
Xiao Chen: “He said those haters were insulting his intelligence.”
Me: “…”
Xiao Chen: “Oh, and he also asked me to pass on a message to you.”
Me:“… Go on.”
Xiao Chen: “He said every movie theater has infrared night-vision surveillance—”
Me: “OK, OK, enough! Stop! Cut it, I get it!”

 

768.
That night, I kept half a meter’s distance from Gu Yiliang. Even when I spoke, I yelled.

 

769.
My shooting schedule wasn’t as heavy as Gu Yiliang’s. Even though I had to stay on set all the time, I had more free hours than him.
When he wrapped his scene, he came into my dressing room in casual clothes. Completely ignoring Xiao Chen, who was off orchestrating fandom warfare nearby, he leaned onto my back, rested his chin on top of my head, and started watching my screen while I played Honor of Kings, whispering pointers on how to use my skills.
When the match ended, I stretched and asked: “Want to duo with me?”
He seemed hesitant, but finally nodded.
In my head, I chuckled. Times have changed, my dear. No way you’ll scare me off this time.
I’m going to take good care of you!

 

770.
Me: “Hey, come here, I’ll give you this buff.”
Him: “… I’m a support.”
Me: “Doesn’t matter, our baby can’t go without. Isn’t a shiny little red badge on your ankle stylish? Take it.”
Him: “… Thanks.”
Me: “Here, this kill’s yours, quick, don’t argue.”
Him: “… I’m a support.”
Me: “Doesn’t matter, baby can’t go broke. The more gold you get, the more gear you buy, and you’ll stay nice and warm.”
Him: “… My equipment is already at God Tier Level 6.”
Me: “Then sell everything and buy boots. With six pairs on your feet, you can run wherever you want. Don’t worry, your big bro ADC’s here to cover you!”
Him: “… ”
Him: “… Weren’t you supposed to be a buddha-like player?”
I smiled at him tenderly: “Of course. Once I put down the knife, I will instantly become a Buddha.”

 

771.
Suddenly, a teammate opened mic chat and yelled: “Damn it, you two down in bot lane—what the hell are you doing wandering the jungle? Holding hands on a date or something?! Get moving, we need to push base!”
Gu Yiliang shot me a look, pure ‘Confess, monster, show your true self!’ I just smiled and lowered my head to type a message.
Yantastic: “Sorryyy, didn’t see where you guys were QAQ~”
Teammate 1: “No worries, this game’s already in the bag. Add me after?”
Teammate 2: “Don’t listen to him, he’s just impatient. I’m nicer. Add me after, okay?”
Teammate 3: …

 

772.
Gu Yiliang snatched my phone.

 

773.
I complained: “Why’d you do that? We were about to win! Now I’m gonna get reported!”
He locked my phone and tossed me a booklet: “Did you even read the script for tomorrow night’s show? You’ve been playing all day. From now on, no games.”
Oh, this little candy… sweet and sour, just delicious.
The corner of my lips curled up as I flipped through the script, skimming the contents.

 

774.
The whole program was clearly designed for fanservice: compatibility tests, physical interaction challenges, talent contests, Truth or Dare…
Luckily, the production team knew their limits. Everything was still explainable as simple brotherhood.
But…
Honestly, I was starting to regret helping him land this gig.
Sure, joining the show would give his popularity a boost in the short term. But with the trajectory of his career right now, he shouldn’t be boxed into the bromance-fanservice image. That might actually hold him back from rising into the top tier…
And what if he eventually left me behind because of it?

 

775.
Gu Yiliang must have read something on my face, because he patted my head: “What’s wrong?”
Feeling down, I clung to his waist: “What if… I don’t go on the show? They could get that up-and-coming actress instead?”
He looked startled, then lifted my face: “Why?”
I stammered through my worries.
He laughed and pinched my cheek: “They say, ‘If one of us makes it big, don’t forget the other.’ But here you are, already planning to ditch me before I’ve even made it?”
“But I’m thinking of your future!” I shoved his hand away and rubbed my cheek grumpily. “Fame is everything! Without it…”
Him: “What, is your name Wei Fugui (NT: Rich & Prosperous) now?”
Me: “And yours is Gu Tiezhu (NT: Iron Pillar), huh?”
Him: “… ”
Me: “… Oh. You’re trying to comfort me, aren’t you? Sorry, that was me… I’m Wei Fugui, I’m important, you can’t do without me. You’re not allowed to abandon me.”
Him: “Mhm. I won’t abandon you.”
Me: “… ”
Xiao Chen exploded: “Enough already! You’re both Fugui! And me, I’m the damn dog here, just barking away! If you two have any decency, there’s a hotel 400 meters to the left, hourly rate, king-size bed, only 180! Go there!”

 

--

Translator’s Note
(1) “Kong Rong letting others have the bigger pear” – a well-known story from the Three Kingdoms era. As a child, Kong Rong would always take the smallest pear and offer the larger ones to his elder brothers. In modern Chinese, this idiom describes an overly courteous act of self-effacement, giving up something valuable out of humility or politeness, even when one could rightfully claim it.

 

Translator : DarNan