The hashtag “Moved His Heart” lingered on the trending list all day, rising and falling like a tide.
Even Liang Yan herself ended up rewatching that fan-edited video over and over. At first, she was consumed with secondhand embarrassment—but after mentally slipping into the characters and storyline, her perspective started to shift. And before she knew it… she actually began to think it was kind of sweet.
The pairing of a brick-carrying girl × a domineering CEO was a fresh concept on its own, and with the fan community’s expert editing skills, plus all those scenes of Yan Zhun and Liang Yan standing together on the show, something unexpected emerged among the legions of fangirls: a brand-new species known as CP fans.
To her horror, Liang Yan found a compilation of photos of her and Yan Zhun on the CP discussion board—complete with a very deliberate couple name: “Heartfelt Collision.”
The Heartfelt Collision SuperTopic began gaining followers at a shocking speed. By the end of the day, it had over ten thousand active, verified fans. The community was lively. Beyond the now-viral “Moved His Heart” video, users had turned nearly every interaction between Liang Yan and Yan Zhun on the show into meme-style GIFs, nine-image story grids, and even posted in-depth analyses of their subtle moments and ambiguous looks. The comment section was filled with rows of identical declarations: “LOCKED IN FOR LIFE.”
Expression twitching, Liang Yan scrolled through the blazing Heartfelt Collision fan hub. Then she navigated to the very bottom of the CP index to find the much quieter, dust-covered forum for a CP called “MountainFire Couple”—hers and Lu Lincheng’s.
It had a mere 500 fans, and the forum looked abandoned. The last activity had been a week ago, when it was raided by Lu Lincheng’s fans in protest.
Jiang Mu once told her: “The fan circle is full of surprises. If you can think it, someone out there is already shipping it.” So yes, even she and Lu Lincheng had their own niche CP fanbase.
It’s just… their fans had it kind of rough.
Not only were they unwelcome across most fandoms and practically hunted down, but now they had to watch helplessly as their supposedly officially married pairing got completely overshadowed by a sweet, romantic fan edit of one half with someone else.
Liang Yan just couldn’t wrap her head around it—how could anyone be so determined to ship her and Lu Lincheng against all odds, against everyone?
In her confusion, she quietly logged into her alt account @QueenofMagicCastle and stealthily infiltrated the MountainFire CP fans’ private group chat.
The vetting process was strict. After submitting her application, she had to wait a long while before getting approved. Once in, she found the chat ablaze with outrage.
There were maybe a hundred members, most of them usually pretty chill, but the explosion of the Heartfelt Collision CP had clearly struck a nerve. Today, their wounded pride had sparked a rare and fiery discussion.
[Liang Yan’s married to Lincheng for god’s sake! What’s wrong with these people shipping her with Yan Zhun?]
[Exactly! Are they insane or what?!]
[We’re the ones supporting the real, legal pairing!]
[I swear I’m this close to fighting someone.]
[But they have so many people… we’d lose…]
[Ughhh, when will Lincheng and Yanyan finally appear on screen together again? I just know they’d look stunning side by side.]
[Same. I’ve been waiting since I started stanning both of them two years ago.]
[Me too… not sure I’ll ever see it in this lifetime though.]
[Sigh… I’ll just keep waiting.]
At that moment, the nationwide fan group chat for “MountainFire Couple” suddenly lit up—the usually silent group admin, ILoveMountainFire, had appeared and sent a slumped, dejected emoji. Everyone knew that when the admin showed up, something big had happened. Instantly, the members flooded in to ask:
[Fire-jie, what’s wrong?]
ILoveMountainFire: I just spoke with the mod of “Heartfelt Collision” about today’s trending topic. Who they choose to ship is their business—I just asked if they could tone down the sugar-coating of Yan Zhun and Yanyan’s interactions on the show. After all, Yanyan is married to Lincheng. This kind of hype doesn’t look good on either side. But in the end… sigh.
[What happened? What did they say?]
ILoveMountainFire: I’m sorry, everyone. Sometimes I really feel like I just can’t keep going.
ILoveMountainFire: All of you in this group are true fans of Liang Yan and Lu Lincheng. No matter how many times we were wiped out, harassed, or pushed aside in the fandom world, we stuck it out together for two whole years—just to one day see them shine side by side. But now… Lincheng has never even mentioned Yanyan, and Yanyan’s been CP’d with someone else on the show. “Heartfelt Collision” is blowing up with fans. I really can’t see what all our effort over the past two years was for anymore.
ILoveMountainFire: Maybe… it’s time for us to disband. Close the SuperTopic and let it go.
[No, Fire-jie, don’t say that!]
[Fire-jie, don’t you remember? We all promised—so long as Yanyan and Lincheng don’t divorce, there’s still hope! We have to hang in there!]
[Exactly! We’ve come this far together for two years—how can we just give up now? There’s still hope!]
More and more members came online—twenty or so in total—pleading not to disband. One after another, they recalled all they’d been through: the scorn and side-eyes from other fandoms, being repeatedly torn apart by Lu Lincheng’s solo stans, then regrouping again and again. Their messages read like a tragic but noble epic of fandom perseverance.
ILoveMountainFire: I’m touched… I’m so sorry, everyone. I was just being too negative. Yanyan and Lincheng are still together—how can we even think of disbanding?
[Exactly!]
[As long as Yanyan and Lincheng are still together, we can’t disband.]
ILoveMountainFire: Don’t lose hope. I truly believe that if we just keep supporting them quietly, we’ll eventually get our moment—the day Lincheng and Yanyan finally give us sugar!
[Yes, yes! As long as we stay loyal, they’ll give us sugar someday!]
[Waiting for Lincheng and Yanyan to give us sugar!]
[Waiting for Lincheng and Yanyan to give us sugar!]
[Waiting for Lincheng and Yanyan to give us sugar!]
…
Liang Yan, still lurking quietly in the group chat, bit down on her knuckle—trying hard not to admit she was this close to tearing up.
Despite all the rejection, mockery, and harassment from the rest of the fandom world… this small group of fans had stayed united, holding onto their belief with unshaken loyalty—waiting, with unwavering hope, for their CP to finally give them something sweet.
Liang Yan felt a sharp tug in her chest, genuinely moved. If she had Lu Lincheng’s phone number, she might’ve actually caved and given those fans the “sugar” they were so desperate for.
She glanced at the blank contact entry under his name in her phone and let out a self-mocking laugh.
So much for the “abandoned wife” label—she wasn’t playing that role for anyone.
The first episode of Brave Challenger was a massive hit. Liang Yan and Yan Zhun’s accidental “collision” went viral, and their ship—dubbed “Heartfelt Collision”—quickly climbed the CP supertopic rankings. There were already fanfics and fan comics pairing the hard-working girl with the domineering CEO.
But viral moments rarely lasted, and the afterglow of popularity hadn’t changed the fact that Liang Yan’s schedule, in Jiang Mu’s hands, was still glaringly empty.
Jiang Mu laid out the two post-show offers they’d received like precious gems: “It’s not completely dead. Look—this one’s from Yayaya Live. They’re inviting you to stream for their anniversary celebration.”
Slumped on the couch, Liang Yan wrinkled her nose in confusion. “Stream?”
Had her status in the industry sunk so low that people now saw her as just another wannabe livestreamer?
The word streaming instantly triggered a vivid (and horrifying) image: herself in a low-cut mini skirt, giggling awkwardly in front of a webcam, desperately catering to shut-in fanboys with sweet, high-pitched “thank you for the gift, oppa!”s. Just imagining it made her scalp go numb and every hair on her body stand up.
“No way. Absolutely not.” Liang Yan bolted upright, shuddering as goosebumps erupted down her arms.
“It’s not what you’re thinking!” Jiang Mu immediately realized what direction her thoughts had taken and rushed to clarify. “It’s a gaming livestream platform—they want you to stream while playing games. Not… that kind of livestream.”
“Gaming livestream?” Liang Yan, still adjusting to a world that had moved on without her during her three years of memory loss, looked puzzled. She pouted and asked in a discouraged tone, “Aren’t there any acting jobs?”
Jiang Mu hesitated, then reluctantly opened a second document. “…There is one.”
At the mention of a potential role, Liang Yan’s eyes lit up and she craned her neck eagerly. “What is it?”
“It’s a new historical drama being developed by Tiansheng Entertainment,” Jiang Mu said. “The female lead is already cast, but they’re still auditioning for the second female lead.”
Liang Yan’s excitement was immediate. “Why didn’t you say so earlier?” She squeezed in beside him, eyes scanning the document—which even included the audition address and contact info.
But Jiang Mu didn’t share her enthusiasm. After a moment of hesitation, he coughed softly into his hand, clearly uneasy. “The production team is actually solid, it’s just…”
He glanced at the excited Liang Yan, his fingers unconsciously curling into a fist. Suddenly, he regretted even bringing it up. “Let’s forget about this one, okay? Don’t rush. I’ll pull some strings—we’ll find something better.”
Liang Yan, who had finally gotten a sniff of a real acting opportunity, was now utterly confused by his half-hearted backpedaling. “What do you mean ‘forget it’? Why?”
She snatched the materials from his hand and scanned them. Everything about the production team checked out—they were all established names in the industry. The male and female leads were rising stars, and from the looks of it, this was a primetime network drama. Landing the second female lead would be the best offer she’d had in ages.
Liang Yan frowned. “This looks great to me. Why are you acting like it’s a problem?”
Jiang Mu looked into Liang Yan’s eyes—those clear, untainted eyes that had returned to how they were three years ago, still brimming with that quiet defiance and eagerness to fight her way forward. He fell silent for a moment.
His fists slowly clenched. He closed his eyes, and in an instant, he was back in that night years ago—when he had gone back to his hometown and suddenly received a call. On the other end, there was a chaotic noise of people, and she was crying, saying she was drunk and couldn’t drink anymore, saying she wanted to go home.
That helpless feeling of being far away, completely powerless to help.
It took Jiang Mu a long moment to find the right words. “In the past… you had some unpleasant history with people involved in this production.”
Liang Yan was startled. In this industry, burning bridges was one of the worst things you could do. She quickly pressed, “What kind of history? Did I offend them? Just tell me clearly.”
But no matter how she pressed, Jiang Mu refused to say anything more. He closed the document and simply said, “I’ll find you another project. I promise.”
***