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

【No breakup! I told you they didn’t break up!】

【Starting over? What kind of nonsense is this?】

【I’m absolutely thrilled—may you two stay together forever and get married on the spot!】

【Three hours ago, my heart was shattered, and I could barely breathe, drowning my sorrows in other couples’ sweet moments. Now you’re telling me they’re starting over? Lu Yicheng, you really know how to toy with fans’ emotions.】

【But… neither of them ever mentioned breaking up, right…】

【Some people indulge in fake sweetness, others search for fake angst.】

【Even angst can be fake these days.】

【I’m just curious how they’re going to restart their romance.】

【The equation is finally being solved.】

【Starting from the beginning means going back to high school. As we all know, high school students aren’t allowed to date, hold hands, or kiss. But since they’re both adults now… hehehe.】

【Is this the kind of high school roleplay I’m allowed to see?】

【The material is already here—fanfic writers, get to work!】

【No wonder they say men fear choosing the wrong career, and women fear marrying the wrong man. Turns out video editing isn’t our forte—we can carve out a much broader world in literature.】

【Exactly, they’re both adults now—give us something spicy for adults!】

【The teddy bear roleplay was romantic, but it lacked something.】

【What roleplay? What roleplay?】

Lu Yicheng isn’t a celebrity, so the hashtag gradually dropped off the trending list after peaking in the 30s. But for CP fans, this was a celebration. While the "Lanzhou Noodles" CP had their expert video editors, this fandom had their literature majors.

Soon, a short fic was posted under the deceptively serious title, *Make-Up Lessons*.

【The two traveled back three years and had to retake the college entrance exams. For Lu Yicheng, scoring over 700 points now would be a breeze, but for Jiang Lan, it was a different story.

In desperation, Jiang Lan turned to her boyfriend for help. Lu Yicheng said, “Your foundation is weak, so I’ll probably have to explain things multiple times. To improve efficiency, here’s the deal: if you get a question wrong after I’ve taught it, you owe me a kiss. If you get it wrong twice, the kisses double. Three times, and it quadruples.”】

【I hope Jiang Lan gets every single one wrong.】

Jiang Lan genuinely couldn’t solve any of them. After staring at the problems for over half an hour, she asked an unrelated question:

“Lu Yicheng, when did I start liking you? It couldn’t have been during high school, right?”

Lu Yicheng fell silent. He had confessed many days after the exams ended, but he’d wanted to do it much earlier.

High school forbade dating, but his grades were impeccable—even if they’d dated, it wouldn’t have affected his scores. But Jiang Lan hadn’t been willing.

She never outright rejected him, but an upperclassman had lost his patience and intervened.

Later, that person went to university in the south.

Most of what he’d told Jiang Lan that day had been lies.

It was Jiang Lan who hadn’t wanted to date in high school, but *he* was the one who forbade her from talking to others or asking them for help.

When *had* Jiang Lan started liking him? Lu Yicheng didn’t know. Some things, buried in your heart for a day, ten days, a month, a year—the longer they stayed hidden, the harder they were to say.

After the exams, Jiang Lan got into Qinghua University and spent over ten days partying without a single thought for him. She never asked how he’d scored or which school he’d chosen.

Jiang Lan continued, “You’re my tutor now. ‘Once a teacher, always a father.’ If I see you as a father figure, how could I possibly like you?”

Her mother was a teacher, and Jiang Lan had never been good at academics. Teachers terrified her—liking one would be absurd.

Lu Yicheng: “…So when you brought me food before, was it for the same reason?”

Jiang Lan: “…………”

Lu Yicheng pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sweetheart, this is like laying the foundation. Without it, how could we build the house?”

“But have you considered that if you *hadn’t* tutored me, we might’ve gotten together much sooner?” Jiang Lan closed the calculus textbook. “You might’ve taken the long way around.”

The thought lodged in Lu Yicheng’s throat like a fishbone.

---

With two days left until the Friday episode aired, fans had no idea if Lu Yicheng would appear. Livestreams were never included in the main cut, but after the stream, he *had* stayed overnight at the villa.

They knew the show wouldn’t let them share a room, but they couldn’t help hoping—just a glimpse of them together would be enough.

Yet no one expected the show’s ruthless editing. In the third episode, all they showed of Lu Yicheng was a single shot of his back as he walked into the middle room—then nothing else. At least it confirmed he’d slept alone.

This episode focused on Jiang Lan’s period, as handled by Yu Wanqiu.

In modern society, menstruation is no longer a taboo topic. Some companies even offer menstrual leave.

But many still endure cramps while working or attending class.

Whether you’re a boyfriend, friend, or roommate, take notes from Teacher Yu—actions speak louder than words.

【If someone treated me like this during my period, I wouldn’t be so irritable.】

The sweet couple’s dynamic had shifted. Shen Xingyao spent more time on work, no longer shopping or dining out with Du Wanzhou, who wasn’t pleased.

The Chen family wasn’t hurting for money, and they’d never demanded Shen Xingyao quit showbiz. She could do variety shows, earn income, but Du Wanzhou wanted her to prioritize family—have a baby, maybe join one of those parenting shows.

But on Shen Xingyao’s birthday, she stayed up until 3 a.m. reading fan letters.

Later, she talked with Du Wanzhou. “I know you mean well, but acting is my passion. If I drown in variety shows now, all my past effort feels meaningless. And if anything ever happens with Chen Hao, I don’t want to forget my roots.”

She wasn’t naive about marriage. The newlywed glow wouldn’t last forever.

Du Wanzhou still wanted a grandchild.

Shen Xingyao said, “If I have a kid, I’ll keep acting. You’ve always wanted to babysit—perfect, right?”

Du Wanzhou: “…………”

Shen Xingyao: “Tell me where I’m wrong. Kids and career, neither gets neglected.”

After a long pause, Du Wanzhou muttered, “…No kissing scenes.”

She still wasn’t happy. She’d never worked, living off wealth and leisure.

Shen Xingyao grinned. “How about being my assistant? We’ll stay together.”

Du Wanzhou needed time to think.

---

The civilian couple also got more screen time. Chen Shuyun had quit her job, spending her days watching livestreams and cooking, leaving Aunt Zhao feeling redundant.

Whenever Aunt Zhao tentatively asked, “If you ever want to work again…” Chen Shuyun dodged the question.

“Mom, I’m helping at home now. Isn’t this what you wanted—me raising the kids?”

Aunt Zhao’s expression nearly cracked. She didn’t need to lighten her workload—she could finish these chores in two hours and still have time to watch videos. What had she been thinking before, insisting her daughter-in-law quit her job?

...

As for the wealthy family group, Zhang Lin spent her time either at prenatal checkups or watching movies, taking notes as she did. Li Jia couldn’t cook—back home, they had a housekeeper, but the show provided none, so Zhang Lin had to step in.

She managed for two weeks, something she’d once taken for granted, but now she refused. The baby in her womb was her get-out-of-jail-free card. Li Jia might not care if Zhang Lin went hungry, but she wouldn’t dare risk starving her grandson.

So Li Jia had to learn—not just to cook, but to make meals tasty and balanced. If the food turned out bad, she’d call a restaurant to deliver instead.

Li Jia was the most miserable participant in the show. She’d hoped to promote the Xu family’s brand, but…

After reading the comments on Weibo, where countless people were tearing into her, she had no choice but to hire someone to suppress the backlash.

【She’s not as rich as Yu Wanqiu, treats her daughter-in-law worse than Aunt Zhao treats hers, and isn’t as influential as Du Wanzhou. What’s she pretending for?】

The episode ended with a comparison: solo interviews from the participants’ first day on the show versus dual interviews now.

The biggest change was in Yu Wanqiu, though her answers remained consistent.

【Stubborn but soft-hearted, a lifelong fighter—I get her.】

【Yu Wanqiu fulfills every fantasy I’ve ever had about the perfect mother-in-law. She’s amazing.】

【Jiang Lan checks all my boxes for an ideal daughter-in-law—no drama, no pettiness, no snitching. She doesn’t even mention Lu Yicheng around Yu Wanqiu.】

【Since we’re on the topic, let me hype up ‘Lanzhou Ramen’ (Yu & Jiang’s ship name)!】

【Try being a lazy, useless daughter-in-law and see if Yu Wanqiu would still be this nice. If Jiang Lan were a troublemaker, you think she’d get this treatment?】

【LMAO I’ve actually imagined that scenario.】

Compared to the first two episodes, this one was more subdued, showing the gradual settling-in of the mother-in-law and daughter-in-law dynamics. Discussions shifted from Yu Wanqiu and Shen Xingyao to Zhang Lin and Chen Shuyun.

Though their family backgrounds differed, many households saw their own struggles reflected in these pairings.

The episode spawned two trending topics:

1. Should women become homemakers after marriage?

2. *Mother-in-Law Has Arrived* is scripted.

The first debate split opinions, while the second was a common accusation for hit reality shows—viewers always claim it’s staged once producers insist it’s unscripted.

【No way this isn’t scripted. Yu Wanqiu’s way too accommodating—pure idealism. I don’t even see what’s so special about Jiang Lan. Gotta hand it to Teacher Yu, her acting skills are still top-tier.】

【Ever consider genetics? If a son likes someone, his mother might naturally lean toward liking them too.】

【Violin, cello, piano, selflessness… How many of these can you do?】

Zhang Tian ignored the backlash. No show could please everyone.

There was no script, but editing played a role—many of Li Jia’s harsh remarks were cut, as were Chen Shuyun’s workplace conversations with her boss.

Chen Shuyun’s boss, a woman in her forties who’d climbed the corporate ladder, saw great potential in her. When Chen Shuyun mentioned resigning, the boss wasn’t shocked.

“You’ve worked hard all these years. If you’re set on quitting, I’ll approve it. But take two months’ leave first. After that, decide whether to stay or go.”

Chen Shuyun’s sales performance matched an entire team’s. Beyond that, her boss didn’t want her to become a homemaker. Even if it was a personal choice, years of experience and connections could fade in just a year away from the industry.

Aunt Zhao knew nothing of this.

She hadn’t slept properly in two weeks.

Beyond those two topics, Yu Wanqiu dominated the trends:

1. \[The Movie Star’s Gentleness\]

2. \[Lanzhou Ramen (10th trending)\]

3. \[Yu Wanqiu Endorses Her Own Film (13th trending)\]

The tenth trend looked like a recipe at first glance—until viewers realized it was a fan-made video by the “Lanzhou Ramen” shippers.

*“If I could break free from society’s chains, it would be because of you.”*

In this AU (alternate universe), Yu Wanqiu played a gilded canary trapped by a tyrannical CEO (implied to be Lu Yicheng). By day, she was a glamorous movie star; by night, she endured abuse, battling severe depression.

Then, one fateful day, she met a fan who said,

*“I love your films. At the premiere, your eyes looked so dim… Are you okay? I just want you to be happy.”*

The video was clearly a redemption arc—the young woman pulling the star from darkness, while the CEO-villain faced justice in prison.

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