276.
One second earlier, we were still on Mount Hua (TN: a sacred mountain and important Taoist site), wielding our invisible swords, our fighting spirit at its peak. If someone had placed a small table in front of us, we could’ve sworn brotherhood on the spot and become blood brothers.
The next second, we were lying side by side, smiling at each other full of affection—if someone had hung a banner above our heads, we could’ve gotten married on the spot and bound our lives together for the next three lifetimes.

 

277.
Where had it gone wrong?
How had the timeline gone so wildly off track?
And more importantly, if I’d fallen while trying to lift someone—what would the fans think of me?! How many little girls would be disappointed?! Where was I supposed to hide my old face?! What could I do to salvage this situation?!
Even though it was slightly off-topic, focusing on those questions felt a lot easier than trying to process how we ended up at “Gu Yiliang pinned me against the wall in a kabedon in front of hundreds of thousands viewers.”

 

278.
I gently pushed Gu Yiliang and murmured, “Please, please get off me…!”
He smiled and sat up. I cast a fearful glance at the livestream chat.
Despite some fans sarcastically accusing me of harbouring “ulterior motives” and purposely tripping their son, while others insisted it was the opposite and that their son was brilliant and just exposing the truth... the majority of comments were... Hmm...
Some clearly from Gu Yiliang’s fans, the Imperial Consorts Army, wrote: “Hahaha, I knew this would happen! He didn’t hurt our god, right?!”
Some, obviously Meiyan fans, said: “Hahaha, I knew Yanyan wouldn’t be able to lift him. It’s too hard for him, hehe!”
And others, clearly from the Niangzi Army, simply typed: “Ahhhhhh.”

 

279.
No surprise, no comfort.
And me?
Hello? You really didn’t expect anything from me, huh?!
I could understand being mocked by the Imperial Consorts Army, but why were the Meiyan fans joining in too?! Aren’t you supposed to be on my side?!
What kind of person am I in your eyes?
Come on, girls—a little encouragement, please?!

 

280.
Gu Yiliang, seeing the comments, smiled pleasantly and patted my shoulder: “Keep up the good work, young man. Try lifting me again next time.”
Me: “Alright, I’ll try.”
Me: “Wait, why should I lift you? I’ve got nothing to prove!”
Him: “Oh? You don’t want to try again? It’d be a good chance to redeem yourself.”
Me: “Why lift you? What’s the point? No, I’m not doing it!”
Me: “…”
Him: “…”

 

281.
I don’t want to look at the comments anymore.

 

282.
From visible embarrassment shared between just the two of us to this full-blown awkwardness in front of thousands of viewers—I've been through a lot.
Ugh, my mouth is always getting me into trouble…
Gu Yiliang covered his eyes, laughing wholeheartedly. I just stayed slumped on the couch, staring blankly ahead, slowly turning into a perfect stone statue.

 

283.
In the end, it was Xiao Chen who saved me.
He quietly opened the door and called, “Yanyan, Yanyan!”
It felt like I had just been pardoned. I sprang up, beaming, and dashed toward Xiao Chen like a spring breeze melting the snow: “What is it?”
He looked at me, a little surprised, waved a box of pills and a bottle of water, and said quietly, “It’s time to take your meds.”

 

284.
They were actually just vitamins, supplements, and skin-whitening pills.
I slowly took the box, slowly counted the pills, then slowly unscrewed the cap—listening carefully to the noise behind me, hoping Gu Yiliang would change the topic to something else and I could slip back into frame unnoticed.
“Let me do it, let me do it.” Xiao Chen, seeing how slow I was, rushed forward, counted out the pills and poured them into my palm, then handed me the water bottle.
Why wasn’t Gu Yiliang changing the subject?! No teamwork at all!
I swallowed the pills and the water in one go—when I heard Gu Yiliang’s calm, slightly deep voice:
“That’s not my manager, that’s Yanyan’s personal assistant.”
It seems my throat was destined to suffer today. The way he so casually said “Yanyan” (TN: an especially intimate form of address) almost made me choke on the water.
Xiao Chen, alarmed, patted my back.

 

286.
I turned to Gu Yiliang, incredulous.
What’s with this sudden change? Did he take three laps around the Earth before landing? Have a flash of inspiration? Or did some divine being pass by to save him?
I couldn’t understand why he had changed his mind so abruptly, but well—it was basically the mission the company had given him, so I swallowed the bitter pill and headed to the couch.
Xiao Chen stopped me by the arm and handed me two peaches.
I shook my head: “I already ate, I’m not hungry.”
Xiao Chen leaned in and whispered into my ear: “I was watching your live broadcast from just next door.”
I looked at him, puzzled, and lowered my voice too: “And?”
He smiled sincerely and whispered: “You two were playing the brotherly camaraderie act so well, I even asked the production team to give me two peaches.”
I still didn’t get it: “Peaches?”
He grinned mischievously: “I thought you’d end up swearing loyalty and becoming sworn brothers in the heat of emotion, so I brought the peaches as props for you.”
(TN: In Chinese culture, peaches symbolize immortality. The novel Romance of the Three Kingdoms popularized the “Peach Garden Oath,” where the three main heroes become sworn brothers.)

 

287.
For a split second—maybe a thousandth of a second—I really wanted to leave this world.
It was too much. Gu Yiliang on one side, Xiao Chen on the other. I was stuck between two fires!

288.
Like an automaton, I walked away from Xiao Chen with the two juicy peaches and sat down on the couch.
When I returned, Gu Yiliang looked at me with a furrowed brow and asked, “Are you sick?”
There’s nothing wrong with taking vitamins and supplements in front of fans, so I shook my head: “No, they’re just dietary supplements. I have to take them at regular times.”
He replied simply with an “Oh,” his face relaxing. Then his arm naturally landed on my shoulder, pulling me slightly closer. He pointed at the peaches in my hand and smiled: “Are you inviting me to dinner?”
I shook my head again: “These peaches aren’t for eating.”
He hesitated for a moment, clearly displeased with the peaches, then turned to the livestream chat, pouting: “Yanyan won’t give me any peaches.”
Who is this “Yanyan” you're calling so intimately? What happened to the little brother you were just patting on the back?!
It felt deliberate—his voice had suddenly softened, and the chat exploded with noise. Fans were saying they’d send him peaches from afar.
I didn’t react and heavily shook my head: “No, really, these peaches are for Guan Er-ge (TN: Second Brother Guan). I need to offer them to him.”
Gu Yiliang: “…”

 

289.
We answered a few more questions without much passion, tossed a few jokes back and forth. He still wouldn’t let me go, his gaze returning again and again to the peaches. I could tell he was dreaming about them.
So, I shoved the peaches into his arms: “Here. If Guan Er-ge doesn’t get his peaches, he’ll come haunt us in the night.”
He pretended he didn’t want them and placed them on the table with a smile: “I’ll go open the door. I won’t bother you.”
Me: “? What do you mean ‘bother’? We don’t even live—”
Him: “Hey, a fan is asking what time we usually go to bed and if we’re tired after filming.”
Me: “Oh, we’re a little tired sometimes, but if we finish early and there’s no night shoot, we usually sleep around one or two in the morning.”
Me: “Wait, there’s something off about what I just said…”
Him: “Hey, a fan of the original novel is asking what we think of our costumes.”
Me: “Well, I’m supposed to be a scholar, so the stylist did a good job sticking to the book. The blue-gray color they chose suits me.”
Him: “Yeah, it’s perfect. And it pairs nicely with my brick-red outfit.”

 

290.
Me: “…”
Gu Yiliang, what are you doing?! Has the great master finally woken up after a long slumber? Mind your boundaries! Joking too openly about romance can really backfire!
He seemed unfamiliar with the idea of moderation. His dictionary only had two entries: “silence” or “shock value when speaking.”

 

291.
It’s already too late. There’s no turning back.
Goodbye, peaceful life. Hello, a billion intimate GIFs cut by fans.
Welcome, Our Love Story.avi, a fan-made documentary courtesy of the Niangzi Army.

 

292.
Watching the situation spiral far beyond my control, I glanced at the program rundown lying off to the side.
Fan interaction? Done. Both sides are having a great time. Even the fanbases are starting to mingle.
Product placement? Done. We’re already trending on camera.
Q&A? Done. We’ve answered all “100 Questions About Our Chemistry.”
Character development? Done. He nailed it. I’m officially out.
Romance? Definitely done. We’re just missing a blood oath or a wedding.
Talent showcase?...

 

293.
A beam of hope appeared—I figured we should sing something to wrap this up!
I lightly tugged on Gu Yiliang’s sleeve and smiled slightly: “Hey, it’s getting late. Why don’t we ask the fans to choose a song?”
It seemed the company had included this segment in the schedule. Even before I finished my sentence, the comments were already flooding with song titles.
Some were still stuck on earlier questions and insisted we sing something like “Xiao Baiyang” (TN: “Little White Poplar,” a popular folk song) or “Gan Wen Lu Zai Hefang” (TN: “Where Is the Road,” the theme song from Romance of the Three Kingdoms TV series).

Even though the earnings from the stream wouldn’t necessarily go to the two of us, many fans kept sending gifts throughout the broadcast.
I wanted to thank them, but I didn’t dare, afraid it would encourage them to spend even more.
Gu Yiliang, on the other hand, didn’t seem to think twice about it. He skimmed through the comments looking for songs he could sing and thanked the fans on behalf of both of us.

 

294.
Suddenly, the screen lit up with fireworks—rockets launching one after another, fleets of gifts pouring in at a staggering pace.
It was all coming from the same person, and it didn’t look like they were going to stop anytime soon.
Gu Yiliang realized what was happening and waved his hand in distress: “Ah no, that’s not what I meant, stop, stop, I’m not encouraging gift-sending…”
On the streaming platform, users who send lots of gifts get special privileges, and this fan’s message scrolled across the screen in a blindingly flashy, multicolored font:
“I’m late! Niangzi, Niangzi, Niangzi, Niangzi!!!”

 

295.
The font was so loud and conspicuous that it was impossible not to notice—it was even scrolling right across our faces on the screen.
Gu Yiliang: “Niangzi?”
I felt a jolt in my heart and did my best to keep a blank, innocent expression, blinking at the camera with feigned confusion.
He smiled at the camera: “Is that the Jay Chou song? Let’s sing Niangzi.”
Me: “??”
He looked at me: “Want to sing it with me?”

 

Translator : DarNan