At this point, Liang Yan couldn’t exactly crush Lu Lincheng like she once fantasized—not when he now towered a whole head taller than her. On the contrary, she’d barely arrived back in B City and already been taken advantage of. She didn’t even have a place to cry about it.
Just thinking about how she’d been used like a real-life inflatable doll made her blood boil. Judging by Lu Lincheng’s attitude the next day, it seemed like—to him—she existed purely to satisfy his physical needs.
Having finished her brick-moving task early, and with no new assignments from the production team, Liang Yan sat idly on a small step at the construction site. Bored, she let her mind wander to chopping off the criminal organ that had wronged her.
She pictured using one of those banana slicers—lining it up with his pathetic little thing and going snip—
Pfft… HAHAHAHAHA!
Back on set, Lu Lincheng was in the makeup room taking off his wig after filming when he suddenly sneezed out of nowhere.
His manager, Zhuo Yang, pushed open the door with her usual sense of urgency. The sharp click of her high heels echoed across the floor. Even the makeup artist flinched slightly—Zhuo Yang, known industry-wide as the “Iron Lady,” wasn’t someone you relaxed around. She greeted her nervously and continued carefully removing Lu Lincheng’s wig.
Lu Lincheng caught a glimpse of Zhuo Yang’s sour expression in the mirror and asked, “What’s wrong?”
Zhuo Yang dragged over a nearby chair, sat down gracefully, crossed her legs, and folded her arms—clearly fuming. “What the hell is Liang Yan up to again?”
It wasn’t often that Lu Lincheng heard Liang Yan’s name come out of his manager’s mouth. “What happened now?”
Zhuo Yang handed him her phone. “See for yourself.”
The screen was filled with recent “scandals” starring Liang Yan: She’d been photographed eating hotpot alone. Then she used her main account to dramatically declare in her fan group that she’d never go eat hotpot with Lu Lincheng again. And just this morning, a gossip forum had exploded over a certain variety show clip—where a two-character actress who seemed suspiciously like Liang Yan couldn’t even recall her husband’s phone number.
As soon as Zhuo Yang saw the trending post, she immediately called the Brave Challenger production team—only to have them confirm, yep, that really was Liang Yan.
Lu Lincheng looked at the phone screen, brows furrowing into a deep crease.
His WeChat account was strictly private, so he had never added Liang Yan. For convenience, he’d given her his phone number—but although they’d never once actually called each other, the number he gave her was absolutely real.
There was no way it was out of service.
Zhuo Yang: “Is she trying to stir up hype by clinging to you? Did you see her when you were back in B City?”
Lu Lincheng handed her phone back and rubbed the inner corners of his eyes.
“Yeah, I saw her.” And got hit with a completely unprovoked verbal attack while he was at it.
Zhuo Yang: “I’ve already had that post taken down. The show’s team said it was probably some new intern who leaked the info.”
She pulled out her phone again. “I’m calling Liang Yan to ask what the hell she’s playing at.”
At the mention of calling Liang Yan, Lu Lincheng suddenly pictured how she used to shrink away from Zhuo Yang like a mouse facing a cat. “Don’t bother. Just leave her alone.”
Tired from a full day of filming, Lu Lincheng closed his eyes and leaned back in the chair.
“She doesn’t have anything else scheduled after this variety show anyway. Let’s just drop it.”
Zhuo Yang slowly lowered her phone and glanced sideways at Lu Lincheng’s face. The green, inexperienced boy from years ago had fully become a man. The lines of his profile were sharp, his expression cool and distant.
She swallowed the question that had risen to her lips: “It’s been two years… when are you going to divorce Liang Yan?”
When Lu Lincheng had announced his marriage two years ago, the entire public was stunned—but so was his own agency. Even Zhuo Yang only found out from a nearly-crashed Weibo server, scrolling through the news in disbelief that her artist had suddenly gone and gotten married. She was livid.
There are two types of relationships between artists and their managers.
One was hierarchical: the manager was assigned by the agency, holds all the power, and can decide to shelve the artist if they step out of line. Artists in this kind of setup tend to bend over backward to please their managers, hoping for more gigs. This dynamic was common among Korean celebrities and sometimes in Hong Kong and Taiwan. It exists in the mainland too—but rarely.
The second kind was employment-based: especially for stars like Lu Lincheng, who’ve already secured their place in the industry. They hire managers to handle their affairs. In that sense, the artist was the boss, and the manager works for them. The level of control was completely different.
So Zhuo Yang couldn’t really order Lu Lincheng around—but that didn’t stop her from resenting Liang Yan. For a long time, she’d taken it out on the girl, scaring her stiff every time they met. But to her credit, Liang Yan had been quiet these past two years, never once using Lu Lincheng’s name to stir up drama. That’s why Zhuo Yang had started tolerating her—just a little.
But now, these recent incidents had pushed her buttons again, and she’d come storming in to report it all to Lu Lincheng.
The makeup artist had just finished removing Lu Lincheng’s wig. The man in ancient costume vanished, replaced by a modern-day heartthrob. He ran a hand through his hair, and for some reason, suddenly remembered Liang Yan lying on his pillow, long hair spread out around her face…
Then he recalled what she’d said the next morning—how she’d challenged his masculinity with a casually cruel “Didn’t feel a thing.”
Lu Lincheng’s face darkened.
“From now on, don’t get involved in anything related to Liang Yan. Not a single thing.”
Let’s see—Liang Yan, a total nobody, barely visible in the public eye. Once she was out of his orbit, what kind of waves could she possibly make?
The Next Day.
Brave Challenger resumed filming.
Yesterday’s shoot had the guests split up for individual career experiences. Today, they were brought together for a team game segment. Each guest, representing a different profession, had certain advantages in the game. Whoever made it to the end would be the winner.
The game was set outdoors, and a large crowd had gathered outside the fenced area—some just passing by and stopping to watch, others clearly fans who had come on purpose.
The biggest crowd was for Yan Zhun. Fans waved banners and held glowing signboards; a few of the more hardcore “station sisters” had cameras with massive zoom lenses, snapping nonstop in his direction.
Liang Yan looked over and couldn’t help feeling a deep pang of envy.
Yan Zhun was already used to this kind of fanfare. When he noticed Liang Yan casting an envious little glance at the crowd, he chuckled softly.
During the variety show filming, everyone’s positions on set were carefully arranged. Liu Hongliang, as the main MC and team leader, stood in the center. Liang Yan and Qin Yueshi, the two female guests, were placed on either side of him. As the most popular guest, Yan Zhun was positioned next to one of the female guests.
Originally, the production team had planned for Yan Zhun to stand beside Qin Yueshi. She was guaranteed more screen time than Liang Yan, and a handsome single man next to a beautiful woman made for good visuals. With a bit of editing magic, they could easily spark some “romantic chemistry” between them and create a buzz online.
But Yan Zhun and his management team refused.
They knew exactly what the producers were trying to do—manufacture a CP storyline with a female guest. For someone like Yan Zhun, who made his living off loyal fans, that was basically poking a hornet’s nest. So they insisted he be placed next to Liang Yan instead.
Liang Yan didn’t have many fans, and she was already married. Standing next to her meant he wouldn’t get dragged into any couple shipping mess. It felt extremely safe.
During the final one-on-one challenge segment, Yan Zhun didn’t hesitate for a second before choosing Liang Yan over Qin Yueshi as his opponent.
The game was simple: both players stood on individual exercise balls. Feet had to remain planted—they could only use their hands. Whoever managed to push the other off their ball first would win.
The moment fans saw Yan Zhun and Liang Yan get up on the balls together, they screamed with excitement, whipping out their phones to snap pictures and record videos.
At the sound of the starting whistle, Liang Yan launched the first attack. Yan Zhun dodged swiftly, and both their balls wobbled violently beneath them. Since the game wasn’t about brute strength and had no gender advantage, Liang Yan’s agility and Yan Zhun’s balance made them evenly matched. They went back and forth, neither willing to give in.
The fans outside the ropes screamed louder and louder, waves of cheers rising with the intensity of the battle.
Both players started to get competitive, and the match soon reached a fever pitch. Suddenly, Yan Zhun lunged with a powerful move. Liang Yan bent at the waist, almost to a 90-degree angle, teetering on the edge—but thanks to her flexibility, she miraculously recovered and straightened back up.
The crowd exploded as she pulled off the impossible.
As soon as she regained her balance, Liang Yan went on the offensive. Leaning forward, she pushed her palm firmly against Yan Zhun’s hand.
He lost control and stumbled backward.
Liang Yan, realizing she was about to win, straightened up proudly—only for a loud pop to sound beneath her feet.
The exercise ball was leaking.
The moment the air started escaping, the firm, springy surface beneath Liang Yan’s feet instantly gave way. Her balance was thrown off, and she flailed her arms wildly in the air before pitching forward uncontrollably.
With a loud thud, she landed face-first on the foam mat. Thankfully, she wasn’t hurt—just a little dazed. Though, as she hit the ground, it felt like her head had smacked into something… warm. And… oddly bouncy.
Then, suddenly, all the screaming from the audience outside stopped. The filming site fell into a dead silence—it was eerily quiet.
Liang Yan rubbed her forehead and cautiously lifted her head.
What she saw first were a pair of long legs sprawled wide apart—and then Yan Zhun’s face, contorted in a mix of panic, shock, and pure agony.
Liang Yan quickly did the math. Based on their current positions and the angle at which she had fallen… the thing she had headbutted was probably—
Her eyes scanned over Yan Zhun, eventually landing on the bulge in his pants.
“………………”
Liang Yan’s face instantly flushed red.
Now what?
Should she go check if he was okay?
Or pretend absolutely nothing happened?
In the end, it was the production team who broke the awkward silence. Liu Hongliang immediately rushed over with the other MCs to check on Yan Zhun.
The fans outside the set exploded. Their screams hit a pitch Liang Yan had never heard before.
And she could clearly make out two howls of, “Liang Yan, f**k your mother!”
Stunned, Liang Yan got up stiffly from the mat, turned around slowly, and didn’t dare look in the direction of the fan crowd.
The shoot was temporarily halted. Liang Yan had initially wanted to walk over and apologize, but the moment Yan Zhun saw her approaching, he clutched his crotch and bolted—clearly traumatized by the headbutt incident.
And just like that, Liang Yan made it onto the trending list for the first time since she lost her memory—and the first time since she and Lu Lincheng publicly announced their marriage.
The hashtag?
#LiangYan YanZhun EndOfTheLineForHisKids.
***