My Mother-in-Law and I Became the Internet’s Hottest Power Couple

【I thought someone like Lu Yicheng would be low-key in relationships—luxury cars, polished manners, always keeping a distance. But he didn’t even show up in a sports car.】

【Not what I expected from a rich second-gen.】

【Hope Lu Yicheng sees this video.】

【…Or maybe not.】

【No way, absolutely not! The first fanvid of my OTP was made by an anti?!】

【Hey, isn’t it great to ship both? Double the fun!】

【Exactly! The "Lanzhou Noodles" pairing has tons of content. That editor’s "Past Lives of the Princess and Her Maid" was super sweet!】

【"Double-ship" my ass! I’d rather starve, jump off a cliff—anything!—than watch a Jiang Lan and Yu Wanqiu fanvid. Loyalty matters. Unless they actually get married, I’m not switching ships.】

【Right, that’s our line.】

【What’s the big deal? It’s just Lu Yicheng’s mom.】

【Oh, so you *do* know it’s his mom? From how hard you were shipping them, I thought you had no clue.】

This video was the first proper fanvid for the pairing, racking up likes and comments.

But because of that last line, many fans didn’t want Lu Yicheng to see it. Logically, they assumed he wouldn’t browse Bilibili. But emotionally? The man wore a mascot suit, sulked all night—who knew what else he was capable of?

In the age of algorithms, your preferences dictate your recommendations. Search "hot guys dancing" once, and your feed floods with it.

Lu Yicheng had merely watched a couple of livestream clips before this video popped up on his homepage:

*[I Want to Be Jiang Lan’s Boyfriend]*

He stared at the title for a moment, then immediately hit "report."

He clicked in anyway. By the time the narrator mentioned "a hundred years ago," his frown was permanent—until the line *"Jiang Lan could stare at his face for a century and still not get enough."* Then he smirked.

Not bad. Maybe he’d figure out how to undo that report later.

*"And a huge shoutout to Yu Wanqiu—your chemistry with Jiang Lan is off the charts!"*

Lu Yicheng: "…………"

Why did Jiang Lan and his *mother* have a shipping tag? And who in their right mind would ship something this bizarre?

Following the comments, he searched "Lanzhou Noodles."

Top results:

1. *I Fell for My Son’s Girlfriend*

2. *A Thousand Years of Love*

3. *Waiting for You in the Future*

After watching the first, he clicked the second. The video opened with a voice eerily like Jiang Lan’s—though Lu Yicheng could tell it wasn’t her, probably a voiceover.

*—"I keep having this dream. There’s a beautiful woman in it, always smiling at me."*

*"I thought it was just a dream. Then I saw her on the street."*

*"She’s happy—loving husband, perfect family. She doesn’t know me. Doesn’t know the dream."*

*"So what am I? That’s why I got close to her son."*

Lu Yicheng: "…………"

Another report filed.

He didn’t bother with the rest. What *were* these? Did Yu Wanqiu even know?

He screenshotted two clips and sent them to her.

Yu Wanqiu replied with a single question mark.

[*Mom: ?*]

[*Mom: Seriously? It’s [current year]. Stop being so uptight or you’ll get left behind.*]

[*…Does Dad know?*]

[*Mom: Who cares? Go ahead and report them if you want. I think they’re fun.*]

Head throbbing, Lu Yicheng mass-reported several more before finally exiting Bilibili.

Meanwhile, Yu Wanqiu set her phone down. Five more minutes until they reached the villa.

Jiang Lan yawned twice, the sunlight outside making her drowsiness worse.

Yu Wanqiu said, "Get some proper sleep later. Turn the AC up."

Jiang Lan nodded and napped until past 3 PM.

After washing her face, she stepped out to find Shen Xingyao and Zhang Lin in the living room, eagerly quizzing Yu Wanqiu.

In the acting world, Yu Wanqiu was practically a walking textbook. A few pointers from her could change a career. Opportunities like this were rare—Shen Xingyao had been nervous at first, but Yu Wanqiu turned out to be approachable and generous with advice.

Zhang Lin hadn’t acted in seven years. The industry had evolved; her skills hadn’t. If anything, they’d regressed.

She wanted to learn, to prepare—even if her comeback role was minor, she’d give it her all.

The two had been there for over half an hour.

Yu Wanqiu glanced up. "Awake? There’s ginger tea in the pot. Have some more."

Jiang Lan nodded. "Thanks, Yu Wanqiu."

She eyed the thick script on the table. "Is that a screenplay?"

Shen Xingyao: "Yeah, just asking Yu Wanqiu for some tips."

Their rustiness showed. Yu Wanqiu pointed out flaws. "Reading isn’t enough. You need to act it out."

But opportunities were scarce. Shen Xingyao’s agent had sent scripts requiring auditions. Zhang Lin had nothing—no agent, no offers, not even a minor role in sight.

Yu Wanqiu clapped her hands. "Let’s do this: you two perform a scene. I’ll watch."

Shen Xingyao’s script was copyrighted—no filming or streaming allowed. Same for other existing works.

Shen Xingyao bit her lip. "I’ll ask my agent if there’s a public-domain script… Oh! Yu Wanqiu, want to join?"

Having a veteran demonstrate would be invaluable.

Yu Wanqiu had free time. "Sure. Find a script, see how many roles it has. Shen Xingyao, ask your mom and the others if they’re interested. Jiang Lan, you in?"

This was like a pre-production table read, just informal.

Jiang Lan hesitated. "Maybe just for fun?"

Yu Wanqiu moved fast.

Li Jia, however, preferred sticking to her strengths and declined. Du Wanzhou found acting exercises awkward and bowed out. Aunt Zhao waved her off. "Not my thing."

Chen Shuyun shrugged. "I’ll try. Nothing else to do."

Only five people.

Yu Wanqiu sent a few texts. "Liang Yun, Chu Lingnan, and Xie Zheng are coming. Eight’s enough, right?"

All three were in Beijing.

Shen Xingyao’s eyes lit up. *Enough?* Liang Yun was the queen of ratings—critics mocked her for still doing idol dramas, but her name guaranteed viewership.

Chu Lingnan? Multiple award-winning actor.

Xie Zheng was a top-tier idol, millions of fans, yet humble and hardworking. Shen Xingyao had worked with him twice—talented, quick learner.

All three together? *And* two heartthrobs?

Director Zhang Tian was already mentally drafting the episode summary. This lineup would blow up the show. He frantically called his crew. "We need—"

"Hasn’t Shen Xingyao gone live in weeks? Ask her to start a stream. Also, get a few more scripts—make sure there are no copyright issues, and pick good ones."

"When are Liang Yun and the others arriving? Clean up the living room on the first floor. This’ll probably take a while. Ask Aunt Zhao and the other two if they can help prepare dinner. If not, just follow Jiang Lan’s example and order takeout."

Zhang Tian brought three scripts: a Republican-era spy thriller, a palace intrigue drama, and a Shanghai gangster shootout—rough drafts written by a screenwriter he knew.

About half an hour later, the three guests arrived one after another. Liang Yun was the first to show up, dressed in a dark red gown, her voluminous waves cascading over her shoulders, her face stunningly beautiful, radiating charm.

Though some mocked her for still acting in idol dramas at her age, her face seemed immune to time. People might criticize her acting or her projects, but no one ever said she wasn’t gorgeous.

Liang Yun shot Yu Wanqiu a sidelong glance. "Wow, you actually remembered me. What a miracle."

Though the internet loved to pit them against each other—both debuted around the same time, yet one stayed in film while the other remained in TV—they got along well in private.

Liang Yun had won Best Actress at a major TV awards show and mostly acted in serious dramas now, though idol series remained her guilty pleasure.

Yu Wanqiu said, "Let me introduce you—this is Jiang Lan."

Jiang Lan greeted her. "Hello, Teacher Liang."

"I know, your son’s girlfriend," Liang Yun remarked with a sigh. "It’s only been a few years, and you already have a daughter-in-law."

Liang Yun had never married—she was a staunch non-believer in the institution—and while she’d had plenty of relationships, she had no interest in settling down or having children.

"Jiang Lan is also my friend," Yu Wanqiu added. "Chu Lingnan and Xie Zheng will be here soon too."

Liang Yun didn’t mind. "What scripts do we have? Picked one yet?"

Yu Wanqiu handed them over. "Take a look and see which one’s best."

Liang Yun flipped through them. She was leaning toward the palace drama—playing an emperor sounded fun.

Another ten minutes passed before Chu Lingnan and Xie Zheng arrived together.

Chu Lingnan: "Wow, quite the crowd. Even Liang Yun’s here? Heard there were some good scripts."

Xie Zheng stood behind Chu Lingnan. Teacher Yu had asked if he wanted to act—they were short two roles—and since he happened to be in City B, he’d come along.

An award-winning film actress, a TV queen, a movie star, a rising young actress, and Zhang Lin, once hailed as the most beautiful in period costumes.

He was by far the weakest actor here.

Xie Zheng couldn’t help but inch closer to Jiang Lan.

Yu Wanqiu nodded. "Since we’re all free, might as well have some fun. Let’s keep it casual—vote on which script to use first."

Shen Xingyao had already started streaming. To make it easier to watch, Zhang Tian set up two more cameras to capture everyone.

Hiring Yu Wanqiu had been the best decision ever.

The absolute best.

Xie Zheng, Chu Lingnan, Liang Yun—any one of them would’ve cost a fortune to book for a variety show. Yet here they were, and he hadn’t spent a single cent. He was practically a budgeting genius.

Viewers tuning into the live stream were confused at first.

[Wife, why are you streaming on a Tuesday? So sudden!]

[Good thing I’m always keeping an eye on my wife.]

[Film queen and movie king giving a masterclass—worth millions.]

[Oh my god, two husbands and five wives in one room.]

[Ding! Emperor experience card activated!]

[Xie Zheng! Holy—what’s happening?! Xie Zheng, wake up! You’re still single! You’re an idol! Why are you in a mother-in-law and daughter-in-law reality show?!]

[Did NOT expect to see Chu Lingnan and Liang Yun here too.]

[Xie Zheng, run! I’m scared you’ll end up playing Lu Yicheng again.]

Zhang Tian took on the role of narrator. Though he was a variety show director, his foundational skills were still sharp. "Alright, five votes for *Deep Palace*, two for *Nobility*, one for *The Gangster’s Woman*."

Chu Lingnan scratched his head. "How come no one picked the Shanghai one? That’d be so much fun."

Zhang Tian coughed. "Ahem, rules are rules. The script is settled—*Deep Palace* it is. Now, everyone draw your roles."

Directly assigning parts would’ve been unfair, so drawing lots was the way to go. There were no bad roles, only bad actors—and these were all professionals.

Xie Zheng held his slip up to the camera, looking utterly defeated.

Eunuch.

Chu Lingnan frowned at his slip. "Can I trade? This really doesn’t suit me."

At least Xie Zheng had gotten a male role. But him?

Deposed imperial consort.

A 6-foot-tall, muscular, dark-skinned man—how was he supposed to play a deposed concubine?!

Chen Shuyun drew "palace maid." Jiang Lan unfolded her slip—Emperor!

"Teacher Yu, I’m the emperor!" Jiang Lan had drawn a male role, but she had zero intention of swapping.

Yu Wanqiu nodded. Emperor wasn’t bad.

Liang Yun smirked. "Chu Lingnan, you’re a professional. What role *can’t* you play? What’s wrong with being a deposed consort?"

Chu Lingnan *could* act the part—he just worried he’d make everyone else break character.

Yu Wanqiu drew "Empress Dowager," Shen Xingyao got "favored concubine," Zhang Lin pulled "empress," and Liang Yun landed the role of a talkative, scheming consort.

Zhang Tian: "No swapping after drawing. Everyone, familiarize yourselves with the script, grab some snacks, and we’ll start in half an hour."

[Trust in Chu Lingnan.]

[Trust in Chu Lingnan.]

[Ding! Emperor experience card activated!]

[Jiang Lan, hurry up and call her ‘Imperial Mother’—I hereby declare you the Lu Family’s official daughter-in-law!]

[Did she say ‘Mom’ yet? Is it official? The ceremonial gift money’s ready!]