In just a short while, over two thousand new followers popped up in Liang Yan’s fan list—instantly making up for the hundreds she’d lost after posting that selfie.
She stared at the sudden influx of followers, feeling like she was dreaming. So… could tonight actually count as her first accidental success in launching the “abandoned wife” persona she’d just come up with?
Other celebs posted lovey-dovey content to give their fans sweet moments. When she did it, it was just to get yelled at. Other stars dished out heartbreak and angst—knives and shattered glass—and their fans sobbed in distress. But when she offered her own relationship drama, her fans treated it like candy, licked it clean, and even ended up softening their attitude toward her. Some even dropped her a follow right after.
Riding the wave of her unexpected gains, Liang Yan was fired up. She printed out her completely empty schedule for the next three months, taped it to her wall above her bed, and threw a fist in the air with determination.
She didn’t know what kind of nonsense she’d been up to these past three years, but the Liang Yan of today wasn’t the same as before. From now on, she was going to work hard every single day—win the public over, land roles, and climb her way to the top tier of the industry.
But just as she was pumped up and ready to “go pro,” a horrifying memory came rushing back: that afternoon, she had eaten three full plates of marbled beef all by herself. And later that night, she downed two cans of soda.
Desperately, Liang Yan forced herself to close her eyes and try to sleep—trying to forget the horrors of her caloric intake. But every time sleep was about to come, her mind betrayed her. She started picturing all that beef, lamb, and pork belly from earlier… the fizzy drinks from dinner… and imagined them morphing into free-floating fat while she slept—grinning evilly as they latched onto her arms, her belly, her thighs…
“No!”
She shot upright in bed, clutching her blanket, gasping for breath, drenched in cold sweat.
In the dead of night, tears in her eyes, Liang Yan got up and, for the first time in years, jumped into an old high-intensity fat-burning workout routine.
….
The next morning, Liang Yan stepped onto the scale with trembling anticipation. When she looked down and saw 45.1 kg, she finally let out a sigh of relief.
Jiang Mu had shown up early and was sitting on the sofa, munching on an apple while watching her weigh herself.
“How much?” he asked, leaning over to peek at the number.
Liang Yan stepped off the scale with her chest proudly puffed out and let him get a clear look at the digits.
Jiang Mu nodded approvingly, then settled back on the sofa. With a little flourish, he pulled out a small notebook from his bag, flipped it open, cleared his throat, and launched into the real reason he’d come over.
“Tomorrow’s the first official recording of Brave Challenger. I’ve already talked to the production team. The theme for episode one is ‘Workplace Showdown.’ The guests will play a game to select which profession they’ll be experiencing, and during the tasks, everyone’s allowed to sabotage each other. As long as you finish your assigned job within the time limit, the challenge counts as a success.”
Three years ago, outdoor reality shows hadn’t yet become a mainstream hit, and Liang Yan wasn’t very familiar with the genre. Since Brave Challenger was the only job she had lined up for the next three months, she was feeling seriously on edge. Grabbing Jiang Mu’s thigh, she asked nervously, “That’s all the show told you? No specifics? What games? What kind of jobs we’ll be doing? They didn’t say anything?”
Jiang Mu closed his little notebook and gave the out-of-touch Liang Yan—who’d been disconnected from the variety show scene for three years—a solemn look. “Of course not. Do you know what matters most in today’s reality shows? Authenticity. If they tell the guests everything in advance, people come prepared, and then there’s no point. It loses the fun.”
“I see…” Liang Yan frowned, her anxiety spiking. She remembered seeing several popular female celebrities using reality shows to build their public personas—like the lovable foodie, the scatterbrained type, the tough girl. Those tropes were always a hit with audiences. Her carefully plotted “abandoned wife” persona might work for talk shows, but on a reality show like this… she wasn’t sure how to even sell it.
After thinking in silence for a bit, Liang Yan finally said, “Maybe I should drop the abandoned wife angle for now… and try the foodie persona instead?”
Most actresses seemed to favor that one, anyway. If nothing else, she could just follow the crowd.
At the mention of “abandoned wife persona,” Jiang Mu’s temple visibly twitched. And when she brought up the foodie thing, he instantly objected. “No, no, no—definitely not.”
Liang Yan blinked. “Why not?”
Every time Jiang Mu thought about all the celebrities aggressively pushing the foodie image, he felt his eyes roll on reflex. As a straight guy, he couldn’t help it—whenever he saw actresses who were all skin and bones claiming they loved to eat, he wanted to flip a table. These were the same women who, during filming, would rinse off steamed vegetables just to avoid oil. And yet on variety shows, they’d declare themselves hardcore foodies, saying they never diet and love eating the most. That kind of narrative misleads countless young girls into thinking they too can eat whatever they want and still stay thin, not realizing these actresses are secretly on air and ice cubes the rest of the week.
He slammed open the weight-tracking notebook he’d been keeping for Liang Yan and shoved it in front of her, his face deadpan.
“At this weight, and you still wanna call yourself a foodie? You don’t feel even a little ashamed?”
Liang Yan flushed bright red and let out a dry laugh. “Hehe… Yeah, okay. Fair point.”
Jiang Mu softened a little. “Don’t stress too much. From what I’ve heard, the regular MCs on the show are pretty friendly. Just focus on being yourself tomorrow—you’ll be fine.”
“Okay…” Liang Yan nodded, not entirely reassured, but at least not spiraling anymore.
The filming for Brave Challenger was scheduled to start at 9 a.m., with the first segment taking place in the lobby of a five-star hotel. Since Liang Yan was based in City B, she didn’t need to check in early like the others. She got up at the crack of dawn and even applied a face mask before doing her makeup.
For male celebs, styling was usually handled by the show’s in-house artists. But most female stars, being more particular about their appearance, brought their own makeup artists—sometimes even full-time glam squads to follow them throughout the shoot, ready to fix their makeup the second it smudged. Confident in her natural looks and her own skills, Liang Yan tied her hair into a neat bun and went with light makeup. Then she drove to the set with Jiang Mu.
When she arrived, the production crew—who were used to seeing all kinds of big names—couldn’t help but sneak glances her way.
After all, the main reason Liang Yan had landed this spot on the show was because she was Lu Lincheng’s wife. And since she’d rarely appeared on variety shows before, everyone was curious: what was so special about the woman who married him? Even with all the rumors about their marriage being just for show, the fact remained—they had legally registered as husband and wife.
Liang Yan greeted the production staff before heading to the makeup room. All the guests and MCs were already there. Brave Challenger had five regular male hosts. The oldest—and the team leader—was veteran actor Liu Hongliang, while the youngest was Yan Zhun, a rising idol who had recently gone viral thanks to a hit school drama.
The female guest for this episode, aside from Liang Yan, was Qin Yueshi—a recently popular young actress with great momentum and enviable resources. Rumor had it she had powerful backing and several high-profile lead roles awaiting broadcast.
Since they were the only female guests today, the staff ushered Liang Yan to sit next to Qin Yueshi. The other woman was busy texting someone on her phone while a makeup artist fussed with the already flawless details of her look.
One of the show’s makeup artists came over and, seeing that Liang Yan had done her own makeup, politely asked, “Would you like us to touch it up anyway?”
“No need, thank you,” Liang Yan said with a smile, fluffing her bun a little in the mirror to give it more volume. She felt her look was pretty good today and politely declined the offer.
The recording started not long after. The five regular MCs took the stage first, bantering playfully under Liu Hongliang’s lead. After a round of witty back-and-forth, they announced the arrival of today’s female guests.
Qin Yueshi was the first to enter. She smiled brightly and waved at the camera as the MCs showered her with exaggerated compliments.
“Wow, Yueshi looks stunning today!”
“I told you—she’s even prettier in person!”
“Hey hey hey, Lao Li, calm down! Can you tone it down a bit in front of her? You’re gonna scare the poor girl.”
Though this was their first time working together, all the MCs were variety show veterans who knew exactly what kind of energy the production team wanted. Their chemistry quickly warmed up the atmosphere, making Qin Yueshi giggle behind her hand.
Liang Yan was up next. Before stepping in, she glanced back and saw Jiang Mu standing behind the show director, silently cheering her on. She took a deep breath, then jogged onto the stage.
“Wow! Welcome, Liang Yan!”
“Thank you, thank you.” Liang Yan smiled and shook hands with the MCs.
Unlike with Qin Yueshi, the MCs didn’t try to joke around much during her entrance. First, they didn’t know her well enough to banter casually. Second, Qin Yueshi had already gotten the “you’re so pretty” treatment, and repeating it would feel redundant. Most importantly, they all knew that no matter what jokes they made, the show’s post-editing focus would inevitably center on one thing—Liang Yan being Lu Lincheng’s wife.
The first game began quickly. The director announced that the guests would be trying out various professions today: urban office worker, elementary school teacher, construction foreman, construction worker, janitor, fitness trainer, and… overbearing CEO. Whoever completed their assigned profession’s challenge first would win a mysterious grand prize.
The moment “overbearing CEO” was mentioned, the male MCs all lit up dramatically.
“No one fight me for it!”
“Come on, this role was made for me!”
“Get out of here—what kind of CEO looks like you?”
Yan Zhun, the youngest among them, looked completely lost surrounded by these seasoned variety show pros.
The method of choosing professions was a “Guess the Song” game. Whoever guessed the song title first would get priority in picking their role. But there was a catch—wrong guesses would be punished.
There were two types of punishments: either be launched into the swimming pool via a spring chair, or call the closest contact of the opposite sex in their phone and get them to say a line scripted by the production team.
The first song was guessed correctly right away by an MC known for being hilariously bad at games and having zero stamina. After a theatrical pause, his hand moved from the “Overbearing CEO” card to “Fitness Trainer” instead. “I have total confidence in my physique,” he said.
A fitness trainer with no stamina—Liang Yan understood this was all for comedic effect.
On the second round, Qin Yueshi guessed wrong and chose to be launched into the pool. With a scream, she was catapulted through the air, dove into the water like a mermaid, and swam back up looking like a blooming lotus. But what Liang Yan noticed most was that Qin Yueshi’s makeup didn’t smudge at all.
Unlike Liang Yan—who had only realized there was a pool on set today—Qin Yueshi had clearly come prepared with waterproof makeup.
Liang Yan shot a sharp look toward Jiang Mu, who had told her just yesterday, “To keep it authentic, the production team isn’t revealing the game details in advance.”
Jiang Mu was grinning behind the monitor when he suddenly locked eyes with Liang Yan’s glare and awkwardly scratched his nose.
Then, the next song started. The melody was unfamiliar—Liang Yan had never heard it before. But oddly, though the MCs clearly recognized it, none of them rushed to guess. It was as if they’d all silently agreed to stand aside. They even formed two lines leading to the mic, one end facing Liang Yan.
“After you!” They gestured theatrically, egging her on.
Liang Yan was completely confused—until the lyrics kicked in. Then she understood.
That voice—no doubt about it—it was Lu Lincheng!
It had to be one of the songs he released during the three years she couldn’t remember.
“Liang Yan! Liang Yan!” The MCs began chanting her name, clapping and cheering her toward the mic.
With no choice, she forced herself forward, eyes darting around nervously.
How was someone with amnesia supposed to know the title of a song they’d never heard before?
The music kept playing. Liang Yan gripped the mic in one hand and clenched the other into a fist inside her sleeve. Taking a gamble, she blurted out a random line from the lyrics as the song title.
The moment she spoke, all the MCs froze. Their faces were a mix of shock and disbelief.
Even the always-composed Qin Yueshi looked as if she didn’t know how to react.
Liang Yan… had just gotten her own husband’s massively popular, chart-topping hit of the year—one of the top ten songs nationwide—wrong.
After a long, awkward silence, head MC Liu Hongliang forced a laugh and tried to smooth things over. “Alright, Liang Yan, which punishment do you choose?”
Liang Yan glanced at the sparkling blue pool and shuddered.
Never mind that her makeup wasn’t waterproof—one dive and she’d come out looking like a panda. More importantly, she couldn’t swim.
So she had no choice but to pick the phone call punishment.
“Ooh~” The MCs grinned mischievously. They all knew who she’d be calling—Lu Lincheng, of course.
During recording, guest phones were held by the staff. The crew unlocked Liang Yan’s phone and searched for “husband” in her contacts—no results. Eventually, they found “Lu Lincheng” all the way at the bottom of her contact list and dialed.
Back on stage, Liang Yan was silently praying: Don’t pick up. Please, please don’t pick up.
The phone rang. A “beep”—then the line connected.
Liang Yan shut her eyes and cursed under her breath.
Then, in complete silence, Liang Yan turned on the speakerphone. With the program’s mic held up to the phone, and everyone on set craning their necks in anticipation, a sweet female voice came through:
“We’re sorry, the number you have dialed is not in service. Sorry, the number…”
The five MCs: “………………”
The segment director: “………………”
The onlooking crew: “………………”
Only Liang Yan let out a long sigh of relief.
Yeah!!!
That same afternoon, on a well-known anonymous gossip forum focused on the entertainment industry, a new post appeared:
“Here’s a scoop: a certain two-character actress has her husband’s number saved in her phone—but it’s out of service.”
***