803.

He confessed his love without the slightest reservation, right in the middle of that crowd.
I was completely stunned by Gu Yiliang’s rustic, straightforward “LOVE.” At the same time, I felt a dizzying rush: if at that exact moment the show had decided to hold a live wedding in front of thousands of viewers, I would have said yes without a shred of hesitation.

His eyes were truly beautiful. Were they an ocean? How could they hold such boundless tenderness?
The shape of his lips was truly perfect. Were they a small boat? How could they carry such profound warmth?
His voice was truly mesmerizing. Was it a siren’s song? How could it unsettle the mind even when speaking such a cliché line?

I felt like a rickety little boat, about to capsize in a storm.
What turmoil!

 

804.
My head was overflowing with a storm of metaphors. I froze for so long that the host, laughing, pulled me aside: “ People actually said Yanyan didn’t have good acting skills, but just now, I almost believed it!”

Me: “?!”
Who was it earlier demanding cheesy romance lines, huh?!

Host: “So, Yanyan, this must be your first time acting out a fanfiction about yourself, right? Any impressions? Feeling a little flutter in your heart?”

Who in their right mind would act out their own fanfiction just for fun?!
—But thinking about it, even if this was our first time doing a scene like this, sometimes our reality was more romantic than any fanfiction…

The cameras were still locked onto us. I forced a smile, trying to brush it off: “Haha, Gu ge has always been such an amazing actor. Performing with him is really a—”

The host cut me off mid-sentence: “—What? A flutter in your heart so strong you want a kiss?!”

Me: “?! No, I was saying—”
Host 1: “Why do you want a kiss?! Why do you want a kiss?!”
Host 2: “Oh? Yanyan wants a kiss? Perfect! We just happen to have a little setup here for a ‘safe kiss’!”

Me: “???”

 

805.
Wait a second—aren’t they supposed to be from Hunan?! Why are they suddenly performing like they came straight out of a Tieling comedy skit?!
(NT: meaning their behaviour was completely out of line with how one would expect professional TV hosts to act.)

Since when did this ancient gimmick of the “safe kiss” come back into fashion?! Is this some kind of retro variety show revival?!
Are they trying to kill me or what?!

 

806.
Host: “Ahem, well, actually, this is a punishment. Your performance was perfect, but your pickup lines weren’t exaggerated enough—they were cliché without transcending cliché, and honestly, pretty clumsy. So…”

Me: “?!”
Who came up with these standards?! This wasn’t in the script at all! Are you seriously willing to sacrifice my life just for ratings?!

Gu Yiliang curved his lips into a crescent-moon smile, feigning a casual air: “Ah… alright then…”

Me: “?!”
Who gave you the right to accept that?! And why are you sighing and smiling like you’re secretly pleased about it?!

I smacked him dramatically: “Hey, this is my first on-screen kiss! My agency?! Where’s my agency?!”

I desperately tried to remind everyone that we were bound by contract obligations.

But the host, unbothered, handed the heart-shaped plastic board to Gu Yiliang with a teasing grin:
“Oh, Yanyan’s cheeks are all red! Xiao Gu, are you really that irresistible?”

Gu Yiliang only shrugged, caught the board with one hand, and with the other—without even looking—grabbed my flailing wrist: “What can I say? He’s like this, he always blushes.”

Me: “?!”

I didn’t even have time to react before he lifted the board in front of my face, held my wrist firmly, and… pressed his lips against mine with disarming confidence.

 

807.
The layer of plastic was so thin it was practically non existent. It felt as if it weren’t there at all. His soft, familiar lips brushed against mine, and suddenly the world lost its colour.

The laughing and cheering audience, the hosts joking while skimming their cue cards, the two other couples relieved that they had escaped the punishment, the fans probably screaming in front of their screens, the haters whose hearts were probably exploding… All of it dissolved into a distant haze.

All I could see were Gu Yiliang’s fearless, smiling eyes.

 

808.
I understood then that Gu Yiliang had never been afraid.
Whether it was when we got spotted leaving the movie theatre, or through our various interactions on social media, and now in accepting this punishment designed purely to stir up buzz… Unlike me, who hid my unease behind a calm façade, he remained utterly at ease, as if it was all the most natural thing in the world.

Was he just an incredible actor, or…

Or was it simply that, in his mind, even if something truly existed between us, there was nothing to hide, nothing to conceal—no reason at all to be afraid?

I didn’t understand. His eyes held so many mysteries I had never been able to decipher.
Except for one: that feeling people call love. That one, I could not possibly doubt.

 

809.

As the saying goes, every extreme leads to its opposite. When an emotion reaches its peak, it eventually settles.
Just like me, in this very moment.

This world so far from “straight,” this existence steeped in the purple hues of a BL novel—I had uncovered all its mysteries.
Life is short. If that’s the case, then why not embrace it, why not reveal it, why not “perform” it all the way through? I understood everything now. I was enlightened. I had reached awakening.

I no longer wanted to hide. I was seated cross-legged on my throne of wisdom, savouring the moment to its fullest.

 

810.
“Ten seconds are up!” I wiped my mouth and pushed Gu Yiliang away.
“Nan ge, Lang ge, (NT: lit. Brother Man and Brother Wolf) stop laughing! Keep that board—we’re not planning to lose the next round!”

Gu Yiliang ruffled my hair with a laugh: “Oh? Fired up, aren’t you.”

Of course. We were the real thing, 100% genuine, guaranteed ten times over, while the others were nothing more than a temporary alliance under the spotlight. If we lost to that, we might as well break up on the spot.

So this was basically a contest of public displays of affection? Fine! Then we’d scatter sugar everywhere! As much as we wanted! Without holding back!
The Niangzi Army in front of your screens—rejoice!
I lifted my sacred pitcher, ready to pour out a shower of blessings upon everyone!

 

811.
And so, during the following rounds…

Every time the host spoke, Gu Yiliang and I would exchange smiles, our eyes crinkling, our lashes trembling, our gazes entwining.
During the truth game, we knew exactly what to say, matching each other with perfect chemistry.
In the waiting moments, we were overflowing with small gestures: he’d drape an arm over my shoulders, I’d sneak a playful pinch at his waist.

During the challenges, our bodies brushed constantly, we helped each other freely, supported each other with such ease that the other two teams were left with no room to shine.
After the event, he naturally wiped the fine sheen of sweat from my forehead, and I mischievously tapped the back of his hand in thanks.

During the truth-or-dare game, every line seemed to carry hidden meaning, every innuendo dangled in the air. During the dares, we were willing to do anything, without the slightest hesitation.

When I was supposed to carry him, I couldn’t manage it at all. Instead, I scooped him up in a “princess carry” to save face. He took the chance to tell everyone about our earlier bet and, right there in front of everyone, called me without hesitation “Gu Yanzhi.”

And like a spark fanning a bonfire, the little wolfdog burst into a snippet of ‘Your Name, My Surname’ to tease the crowd, while the big wolfdog harmonized—completely off-key.

Every second was maximized. Every frame, every sound pulsed with the same message: Niangzi

.

 

812.
Another dare. This time, Gu Yiliang had to show his WeChat contact list.

In full view of everyone, my name appeared at the very top, saved as: your little baby Wei Yanzhi.

Among a whole list of formal names, that title stood out like a neon sign.

The host instantly shouted, flailing dramatically: “Incredible, incredible! Live scandal!”

Honestly, I was just as shocked. What do you mean, your little baby Wei Yanzhi?! Since when did he set my nickname to that?!

Before the show, I had even gone through the trouble of cleaning up my own contacts… And he wasn’t the type to make such careless mistakes.

What was this supposed to mean? Was this some kind of spontaneous coming out?!

Gu Yiliang just waved it off with a laugh, saying he was cosplaying as a Korean fanclub.
Then, in full confidence, he turned toward the camera and smoothly plugged the group in question.

I was floored.
How to put it… He looked way too prepared in that exact moment.

So that day… he had noticed that I’d followed him on that platform?
And he had even found a way to turn it into a running joke?!

His strategies were endless…

 

813.
The big wolfdog bowed respectfully: “You two really go to great lengths.”

The little wolfdog nodded: “Truly.”

The big wolfdog swept his arm dramatically: “We forfeit. Impossible to compete.”

The little wolfdog pressed his palms together: “We concede.”

Me: ? Wait a sec—you two have quite the chemistry yourselves, don’t you? You volley off each other like you’re made to be a pair.

The big wolfdog clapped a hand on Gu Yiliang’s shoulder: “Gu ge, I’ve got a proposal. How about we swap partners for this round? Let me take Yanyan, and you deal with this idiot. Honestly, I can’t handle him anymore.”

The little wolfdog raised a brow, widened his eyes, clutched his chest with one hand, and pointed a trembling finger at the other: “You… you, you, you—!”

Gu Yiliang laughed, pulled me behind him, and declared: “No way. Yanyan’s mine.”

Inside, a little cheer went off in my heart.
Outwardly, I shot him a sidelong glance and rolled my eyes. Then I grabbed the guitar the host handed me and shoved it at him: “Alright, alright, stop wasting time. Hurry up and learn!”

 

814.
The time limit was fifteen minutes: the great heroine had to teach the great hero—clumsy with his body—to dance a folk dance; the little wolfdog had to teach the big wolfdog, who was tone-deaf, how to sing; and I had to teach Gu Yiliang, who had no idea about music theory, how to play the guitar.

— Honestly, it was really hard to say which group had drawn the shortest straw.

The other two teams got into it quickly: the BG CP, under the host’s prompting, started touching each other’s waists and hugging; the BL CP, under the same prompting, turned into a romantic singing duo, releasing a shower of pink bubbles.

815.
I exclaimed: “That’s how you’re holding the guitar? You look like you’re holding a pipa! ”
Gu Yiliang shifted position.

I corrected him: “Now that’s an upside-down pipa… Seriously, what are you trying to do, fly away?”
He shifted position again.

I frowned: “You’ve got it backwards—your left hand goes on the chords!”
He didn’t move.

I leaned in and fiddled with the guitar in his arms, helping him position it correctly. Then I took his hand and placed it on the strings: “You’ve never played guitar, but you’ve at least seen someone play, right—”

I froze mid-sentence and stared at him: “…You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?”
He chuckled softly by my ear, sliding his fingers down along my arm.

 

816.
The host, who had been watching everything, snickered: “Xiao Gu, you’re supposed to be learning guitar from Yanyan, not learning how to play him. What are you two doing?”

Gu Yiliang smiled: “We’re talking about love.”

I immediately corrected him: “We’re playing guitar!”

 

817.
I asked: “Do you know how to place your fingers on the chords?”
He shook his head: “I don’t.”

“Do you know how to strum or sweep the strings?”
“I don’t.”

I held out my hand: “Alright, give me the guitar, I’ll show you.”

I played a few notes, then looked up at him: “Now you get it?”
He replied with complete innocence: “Not at all.”

I just stared at him.
Then sighed: “Fine, hold the guitar properly… there, put your index here, move your middle finger down one fret…”

He blinked: “I don’t understand a thing.”

“…”

“Okay. Get into position, keep your hands like that—” I ended up kneeling in front of him, placing his fingers one by one on the frets, then guiding his hand to strum the strings. “See, that’s an F minor—”

He pinched the tip of my finger and laughed: “Fm7, right? Fingering T132? Are you trying to teach me how to play Embrace?”

I froze.

 

818.
Well damn… what a sly little bastard!

 

819.
I whispered threateningly: “You do know how to play guitar, don’t you? You tricked production! That’s cheating! I’m gonna tattle! I’ll tell teacher on you!”

He put on an innocent look: “No, no, I swear… I only watched a tutorial online once, I just kind of remember a little.”

I pressed: “Oh yeah? Then why did you watch a guitar tutorial in the first place?”
He stayed silent.

I narrowed my eyes: “…Oh. You wanted to…”

He turned his gaze away: “…It’s just that it’s a really basic song.”

My grin spread wider and wider until I couldn’t hold it back: “Alright, alright, I won’t say anything. C’mon, hurry and learn!”

We still had porridge to eat after the show, after all.

 

820.
The song was really simple: four chords, two tempos, just a single strumming pattern, and that was it. I scribbled down some tabs on a scrap of paper and demonstrated for him. He managed to follow along—barely—messing up with muted chords and wrong notes, but still, he pulled it off.

It didn’t matter what he played—the only thing that mattered was the focused look on his face as he lowered his eyes to the guitar. There were no words to describe how nice it was to watch.

Good thing I taught him this song here, during filming. If he’d secretly learned it just to surprise me, I’d have had a heart attack from the charm overload.

He glanced at the other groups, who were progressing well, then lazily strummed the strings with a sigh: “Playing guitar is hard…”

I encouraged him: “You’re learning super fast! There’s still time, practice two more times, and if we lose, well… so be it. The punishment’s just—”

His eyes lit up.

I cut him off instantly: “Don’t you dare think about losing on purpose! Not happening!”

 

821.
I had to admit, watching the great hero—stiff as a board—trying to dance a close-contact folk dance with the graceful, supple heroine was absolutely hilarious. She slipped around him, elusive, while he flailed his arms in the air, unable to catch her. It looked exactly like an episode of Tom and Jerry.

As for the two wolfdogs, their duet was just as spectacular. It was supposed to be a love song, but they turned it into a rendition of Sha Jia Bang! (NT: A revolutionary opera about Chinese partisans resisting Japanese invaders.)

Big wolfdog clearly had… a very personal idea of singing, paired with some highly unique vocal techniques. Little wolfdog threw himself into dragging him back to the right key, but it was useless. By the time they hit the final note, he launched himself at him, pounding him with tiny fists of rage, setting off shrieks of excitement among the female audience.

With competition like that, Gu Yiliang couldn’t just cop out. I looked at him, full of fiery hope that he’d shine, and patted him on the shoulder.

 

822.
The host exclaimed: “Oh? Yanyan’s going to join the performance too?”

I looked at him, confused: “?”
(Insert here: confused Jackie Chan meme.jpg)

He pressed: “Of course you have to sing too! You’re a team, a duo! Ever heard of team spirit?”

I hesitated: “Then… should I, um, do backup dancing? Do you have a fan or some prop for me? If not, I can do the peacock dance? Or maybe a folk dance?”

The host just stared at me, dumbfounded.
Then burst out laughing: “Yanyan, you really don’t have a single shred of star pretension, do you!”

He continued: “Of course you have to sing! Look, even big wolfdog jumped in, so come on, face the audience—”

But… I’d promised Gu Yiliang that I’d only ever sing for him…

I lifted my eyes. He was looking at me, clearly unhappy.
I sighed inwardly. Breaking a promise to your lover—how unworthy of a hero was that…

So I gave in: “Fine, alright.”

 

823.
I shoved a little stool over to Gu Yiliang and perched on it, half-turned to the side. I tilted my head toward him: “Go on, start.”

He froze for a moment, then broke into a smile and began the prelude.

As the facts proved, it was impossible to properly learn a song on the guitar in fifteen minutes. Gu Yiliang didn’t even glance at the chords; his right hand strummed randomly, while his left seemed to be inventing entirely new fingerings. The only thing remotely accurate was the tempo.

It was pure torture… Like being forced to sing The Drunken Concubine while someone accompanied you with the national anthem.

I mentally severed all ties to his “accompaniment,” convincing myself I was just singing for him, a cappella.

Pretending to guide him, I made a few completely useless gestures, as if I were correcting him. I furrowed my brows ever so slightly and kept my gaze locked on him with a feigned air of confidence.

His smile grew gradually wider. His improvised chords softened into something tender, and he fixed his eyes on mine as well.

 

824.
“The one who loves me holds my hand tightly, pulls me into his arms, kisses me—oh, love, don’t go.”

 

825.
I thought I heard little wolfdog praising my singing. I thought I heard big wolfdog complimenting our harmony. Maybe the host was marvelling at Gu Yiliang’s fast progress? Or maybe the lead actors were chatting about their next drama collaboration?

But all of it reached me only as a dull buzz.

In my field of vision, there was only Gu Yiliang—who, after plucking the last note, turned his head slightly to avoid the camera. With a smile on his lips, he silently mouthed the words: “I won’t go.”

 

Translator : DarNan