For a show like On Screen, strict confidentiality was the rule—during filming, fans in the audience were absolutely forbidden from recording or taking photos. Still, that didn’t stop a few from sneaking out their phones and snapping a shot or two before security could intervene.
That night, a blurry, long-distance audience photo leaked online.
Because it was taken from so far away, the details were hazy. All one could make out were two figures in simple period costumes—one tall and upright, the other petite and delicate. The one with the coronet cradled the long-haired woman in their arms, robes fanning out dramatically as they spun.
Sometimes, the best compositions were unintentional. In this shot, the figures and the stage’s empty space formed the golden ratio, 0.618. A cool-toned spotlight streamed down from above, no filters needed, lending the scene a subtle air of mystery and intimacy.
Zooming in a little further, the woman’s small face was buried against the other’s chest. The one wearing the coronet showed only a sliver of profile, their features too blurred to make out. The faint, indistinct impression could only be described—somewhat pretentiously—as jade-like.
The photo was posted by an anonymous user in On Screen’s Weibo topic, without a single caption. By now, the show’s ratings had climbed steadily with each episode, its reputation solid, and it had built a loyal fanbase. Those fans had been waiting all evening for behind-the-scenes spoilers. The moment they saw this picture, they went wild.
[Wow, this shot is gorgeous!]
[I could imagine an entire movie just from this one photo.]
[Exactly! Idol dramas need to take notes—enough with those ugly oversaturated filters. This is what atmosphere looks like!]
[Wait, is this round’s theme historical romance? If so, that’s kind of cliché. The last few themes were so much better.]
[Omg, this princess carry… so swoon-worthy.]
[Who are these two? Their vibes match so well.]
[The girl’s build and hair look a lot like Zhou Yuqi. Didn’t she advance last round?]
[Yeah, I think so. But who’s the guy?]
[Xu Jiafan? Doesn’t really look like him. Both are skinny, but Xu Jiafan isn’t this pale.]
[Then who is it? We’re already in round two—don’t tell me they added new contestants? No way.]
[Even from the back, the aura is amazing. Where is the show finding all these gods and goddesses?]
[So dreamy, I’m in love.]
[Crying, does the OP have any shots of Liang Yan? What’s her role this round? Need to see her!]
[Same, waiting for Liang Yan pics.]
…
The recording wrapped up.
Backstage in the dressing room, Liang Yan tugged at the corner of her mouth as she scrolled through the photo and the flood of comments beneath it. She turned toward the mirror, studying her reflection this way and that.
Was she really that hard to recognize?
Even Zhou Yuqi had been recognized, so why not her?
She also noticed that after posting the photo, the original uploader hadn’t said another word. Fans kept asking follow-up questions about the show, but the poster never replied. Liang Yan muttered in confusion, “If they weren’t going to spill anything else, why bother posting the photo at all?”
Jiang Mu gave her a look that practically said rookie mistake: “That’s just the production team’s trick. They put on a disguise, leak a teaser photo to stir up hype, and leave everyone hanging. That way, when Monday rolls around, the audience will be glued to their TVs waiting for the reveal.”
“Oh, I see.” Liang Yan nodded, enlightened.
These media folks really were scheming to the bone.
A week later, the new episode of On Screen aired simultaneously on TV and online.
As usual, Liang Yan dragged a little stool over and opened the livestream on her iPad, wanting to watch the barrage of comments and gauge fan reactions in real time.
The moment the episode started, the chat was flooded with anticipation—most viewers had already seen the leaked photo, and the comments were full of:
[Sitting here waiting for the Spinny Pair.]
Because in the photo, Liang Yan had picked Zhou Yuqi up and spun her around, fans had promptly dubbed them “the Spinny Pair.”
An hour into the show, the host announced: “Please welcome our fourth performance group—Liang Yan and Zhou Yuqi—bringing us a spectacular act!”
Hearing that Liang Yan was partnered with Zhou Yuqi, the audience was clearly puzzled.
[Liang Yan? No way. Wasn’t the one spinning Zhou Yuqi around that handsome guy?]
[Right?? I’ve been thinking about that ‘handsome guy’ from the photo all week.]
[That back view was total white moonlight vibes.]
[Wait, so was that just a guest performer then?]
[Whoa, so it’s not a period romance—it’s actually a wuxia theme? Can’t wait to see Yan Yan’s fight scenes.]
[Looking forward to Liang Yan!]
The first shot was a close-up, slowly zooming out to reveal Zhou Yuqi.
Her sweet features and petite frame gave even her gender-neutral martial outfit a charming, girlish flair—like a spoiled heiress who’d stormed out after an argument with her family and decided to run off to the jianghu.
The screen instantly filled with:
[Yuqi is so cute!]
Then came the second shot.
This time, the camera moved from far to near.
At first, the audience saw only a figure in white, tall and graceful, a touch too slender—but that very thinness lent the figure an air of solitary coldness, like a lone pine shrouded in mountain mist.
The camera zoomed in.
Liang Yan’s face filled the frame—delicate without being fragile, her beauty sharpened by a rare trace of heroic spirit seldom found among actresses.
The bullet screen, which had been scrolling nonstop, suddenly froze, as if everyone was collectively struck silent. A few seconds later, the chat exploded in unison:
[Holy shit!]
[Wait, wait—so the one doing the princess carry in that photo wasn’t some handsome guy—it was Liang Yan?!]
[What’s going on?? Weren’t they both supposed to be playing female characters?]
[I swear, I’m about to stan her looks alone. Damn, she’s gorgeous. I’m jealous.]
[Liang Yan’s beauty is on a whole other level. Lu Lincheng actually had good taste back then.]
[So the person holding Zhou Yuqi in that photo was Liang Yan all along! I didn’t recognize her at all!]
[What on earth is this storyline even supposed to be?!]
[Liang Yan’s look is seriously so A.]
After both close-ups were done, the real scene began.
Only then did the audience realize that Liang Yan and Zhou Yuqi were playing rivals, not lovers. The two quarreled over a man, arguing on a rooftop until things escalated into a fight. Mid-argument, Liang Yan was forced to the edge—dressed all in white, she seemed to float as she leapt from the two-meter-high set rooftop, landing light as a feather thanks to the wire assist.
The comments flew:
[Her moves are so graceful.]
[How does someone who trained in weightlifting look this effortless? I’m jealous.]
Then the camera cut to Zhou Yuqi.
Her cue was to chase after Liang Yan and keep fighting. But at that exact moment, an accident happened—her costume hem snagged on the roof corner. She lost balance, body tilting sideways, and the wire lowered her head-first toward the ground.
The show’s editors slowed the footage down and added the classic “disaster incoming” BGM.
Viewers’ hearts all leapt into their throats.
The next second, the shot widened.
Center stage, in a pool of white spotlight, Liang Yan landed softly from the rooftop. Just as she straightened and turned back, she saw Zhou Yuqi slipping. Her reaction was instant—two quick steps back, arms reaching out just in time to catch Zhou Yuqi securely in her embrace.
So a moment earlier, the audience had been bracing for Zhou Yuqi’s face-first crash. In the blink of an eye, they instead saw Liang Yan—princess-carrying Zhou Yuqi and spinning her twice in place.
The scene played out like slow motion, the whole world falling silent.
Only when Liang Yan gently set Zhou Yuqi down and the two carried on acting, calm and professional as if nothing had happened, did the audience snap out of it at the sound of their dialogue.
So that spoiler photo… really had been Liang Yan!
The barrage exploded, the screen nearly buried in text:
[Oh my god—it WAS Liang Yan in that photo! I thought it was a guy!]
[AAAAH Liang Yan is too handsome! Peak boyfriend vibes!]
[She really deserves that sports school background—fast reflexes, insane strength (:3∠)]
[Yuqi dropped hard just now. Liang Yan must be ridiculously strong to catch her so steady.]
[Duh, our Yan Yan used to train in weightlifting.]
[I’m sold. I’m officially a fan now.]
[Sobs, why do we even need the male lead? Why must there be a male lead? cries in anguish.jpg]
[Someone please Photoshop the male lead out—I only want to watch Yan Yan and Yuqi.]
[Cold beauty × sweet sunshine—perfect match, I can’t handle it.]
[Not gonna lie, I wanna be held like that by Liang Yan too. lemon.jpg]
The video hit the hot search almost instantly.
#LiangYanBoyfriendVibes
#LiangYanPrincessCarry
#LiangYanZhouYuqi
Three whole hashtags dominated the charts. Even people who had never watched the show couldn’t escape the clip of Liang Yan catching Zhou Yuqi and spinning her around.
Meanwhile, over in the Wolf Fangs’ fan group, the diehards were wailing.
Crying, while spamming: “Yan Yan, marry me!”
“How can Yan Yan be this perfect?”
“Stanning Yan Yan is the best decision I’ve ever made in my life.”
……
Seeing the trending page and the Wolf Fangs’ chat, Liang Yan let out a tiny breath of relief.
The focus might have been a little off, but at least she hadn’t disappointed the fans. Still, she couldn’t help worrying—because no matter how flawless her recovery looked, the accident counted as a slip. The judges’ scores for her and Zhou Yuqi weren’t high, so whether they advanced to the next round would hinge heavily on online views and fan ratings.
Liang Yan glanced at the Wolf Fang group chat, which had only just grown to 500 members.
Her general popularity with casual viewers had improved, but casuals were still just passersby. The number of hardcore fans who actually joined her group was still small.
If only she had more fans—then they could push her ranking.
She thought about it, but didn’t dwell, and went to sleep. The next morning, she woke up to a WeChat from Jiang Mu.
He’d sent her a video link titled “Liang Yan × Zhou Yuqi — Our Citywide Love Story.”
The title and thumbnail style looked awfully familiar.
Last time, with Yan Zhun: “Liang Yan × Yan Zhun — Moving His Heart.”
Then with Xu Jiafan: “Liang Yan × Xu Jiafan — Secret Crush Hours.”
Liang Yan’s fingers trembled as she clicked.
Sure enough—the male lead that last night’s barrage had unanimously called “an eyesore” had been neatly edited out by the fan editors.
What was left was only her and Zhou Yuqi: from the rooftop fight filmed like a star-crossed tragedy, to the princess-carry scene cut into pure sweetness.
When she finished the video, Liang Yan swallowed hard, hesitated a moment, then opened the CP supertopic’s relationship section.
Following “Fateful Collision” and “LiangXu CP Forever,” there it was, quietly sitting there: “YanYu Sweet Rain.”
Meanwhile, the once-hyped “Mountain Fire Couple” was practically gathering dust, forgotten in the corner.
***