Before Li Qiang could even respond, his hand was already moving—he pressed the back of it against Zhang Jin’an’s forehead, then used his other hand to check his own temperature.
Zhang Jin’an: “...”
After a few seconds, Li Qiang withdrew his hand.
Just as Li Qiang opened his mouth to speak, Zhang Jin’an crossed his arms in an ‘X’ gesture. “Stop right there.” He didn’t need to hear it to know what Li Qiang was thinking.
“Let me clear the air first: I haven’t gone crazy because I lost a game,” Zhang Jin’an said.
Having his thoughts exposed, Li Qiang choked slightly and muttered, “How did you know I was going to say that... fine, forget it.” His voice didn’t stay low for long before rising again as he looked at Zhang Jin’an skeptically. “Why the sudden urge to do variety shows? Didn’t you just say a few days ago you didn’t want to? Talk about a complete turnaround.”
Zhang Jin’an replied, “Because I’ve decided to embrace a more proactive and positive outlook on life.”
Li Qiang: “Tch, give me the truth.”
Zhang Jin’an thought for a few seconds and came up with a new excuse. “I want to make more money.”
“Now that sounds right,” Li Qiang said, his face glowing with the pride of having guessed correctly. “‘Proactive outlook on life’ sounded fake the moment it left your mouth. I know you too well.”
Jokes aside, this was still a significant career move. Taking advantage of the remaining time, Li Qiang turned serious. “Regardless of the reason, the company will definitely support you appearing on more shows and getting more exposure. Besides, given your current status, you’ve got plenty of variety invitations—every genre imaginable. As long as you name it, we can get you on it.”
Though Li Qiang didn’t understand how looking at a phone could suddenly make Zhang Jin’an want to do variety, he would always take Zhang Jin’an’s suggestions if the pros outweighed the cons. Especially since this time, Zhang Jin’an was the one taking the initiative.
Anyone at the company who tried to block this could pack their bags tomorrow.
“Any show at all?” Zhang Jin’an hadn’t paid much attention to his variety show offers before, so he was somewhat surprised. “It sounds like there are a lot?”
Li Qiang nodded. “Do you realize that even your lowest-rated dramas break a seven percent viewership share? Add to that your tendency to trend on social media just for giving an interview, and you’ve got the highest public recognition among actors. Which production team would pass you up? When we screened the offers, we already filtered out the ones you mentioned before... the ones with malicious editing, the ones that use people for clout or manufactured drama, or those with political issues. We still have five or six offers for this season alone.”
Zhang Jin’an let out a low whistle. “Wow, I really am quite something, aren’t I?”
“And they’re all popular ones. For example, *Play Games Together* has been waiting for you to join. If you go on that, your popularity will definitely skyrocket again.” Li Qiang spread his hands with a look of regret. “But I assume you’d prefer an original program for your variety debut?”
“Yeah,” Zhang Jin’an rubbed the bridge of his nose, sharing his perspective. “It’s not that licensed formats are bad, but I can do those later. I’d rather support a domestic production. Even if they aren’t as popular, at least they’re original.”
“I knew you’d think that. It’s a shame, though.” Li Qiang narrowed his eyes at Zhang Jin’an. “But seeing as you’re being so specific, you must already have a target in mind?”
“Yeah,” Zhang Jin’an admitted. “I do.”
Li Qiang immediately pulled out his phone and opened his chat with Xiao Zhou, his fingers hovering over the keyboard, ready for action. “Go on then, which one? *Great Han Treasures*, *Eighteen*, or *Reasonable Cohabitation*? All these domestic originals have invited us. Their buzz isn’t as high as the imported formats, but they aren’t bad. Tell me now, and I’ll have Xiao Zhou find the production team’s contact info.”
“*Friday Morning*,” Zhang Jin’an said.
Li Qiang froze, his hands stalling as he looked at Zhang Jin’an with doubt. “*Friday Morning*?”
Zhang Jin’an nodded. “That’s the one.”
Li Qiang whispered the name a few times before it clicked. “Ah! That web variety show?”
Zhang Jin’an nodded again. “Yes.”
Li Qiang hummed in realization and began typing, relaying the information he knew as he worked. “That show doesn’t have much traffic, but it has a good reputation. I heard from a friend that they’re approaching their hundredth episode and are scrambling to find guests. Since it’s the hundredth, they want someone special, but they want big names...”
Li Qiang paused and gave Zhang Jin’an a look.
Zhang Jin’an understood immediately. “But they don’t have the budget or pull, so their guest list is likely limited to people who are currently trending but aren’t exactly A-list superstars.”
“Exactly. So for someone like you, they probably ruled you out entirely and didn’t even bother sending an invitation...” Li Qiang grinned at Zhang Jin’an. “If you want to go, they’ll be over the moon.”
After sending the message, Li Qiang tucked his phone into his pocket. Just then, there was a knock at the door.
“Come in,” Zhang Jin’an called out.
The door opened halfway, and a staff member poked her head in.
“Teacher Zhang, we’re ready for you to head out,” she reminded them.
Zhang Jin’an smiled at her, stood up, and buttoned his jacket. “Alright, we’re coming.”
“Great.” The staff member opened the door fully and stood to the side.
Li Qiang stood up as well, and the two of them stepped out.
The host’s voice was even clearer outside, comparable to the backstage area at the plaza that day, though it was much brighter here. The volume was just as loud, almost vibrating in their ears.
The staff members in the hallway were mostly college-aged—all young people, men and women alike, wearing white shirts and black trousers with ID badges around their necks. They handled their tasks with impressive order.
Zhang Jin’an looked around; the other actors hadn’t come out yet. They were the first.
The staff member led them behind the large screen and said to Zhang Jin’an, “Teacher Zhang, you can wait here. Someone will direct you onto the stage in a moment.”
Zhang Jin’an nodded. “Alright, thank you. You can get back to work.”
“Okay, okay,” the staff member said before hurrying off.
Zhang Jin’an leaned against the wall. Li Qiang stood beside him, suddenly letting out an “Ah!” as something occurred to him. He turned to Zhang Jin’an. “I just remembered—didn’t Gu Yirou go on that variety show too?”
Zhang Jin’an’s gaze was still fixed on the corridor as he gave a perfunctory nod. “Mhm...”
Li Qiang immediately clapped his hands, looking at Zhang Jin’an with a ‘just as I thought’ expression. “I knew it! The reason you’re joining this show is definitely because of Gu Yirou.”
Zhang Jin’an: “...?”
He finally turned his head.
Seeing that Zhang Jin’an didn’t deny it, Li Qiang assumed he had guessed correctly. His confidence surged as he continued his deduction with a smug hum. “Is it because you lost the game, so you want to go on a show she’s been on just to make her jealous that your traffic is higher than hers?”
Zhang Jin’an: “...”
Zhang Jin’an stared at Li Qiang as if trying to see right through his skull.
After a few seconds, Zhang Jin’an began to clap rhythmically, using a tone of extreme admiration. “Qiang-ge, your deductive reasoning is truly unparalleled. As expected of Great Detective Li Qiang. You didn’t get a single thing—”
Li Qiang’s eyes lit up. “A single thing wrong?”
Zhang Jin’an dropped his hands, his face instantly becoming expressionless. “—right.”
Li Qiang: “?”
Li Qiang shook his head. “I don’t believe it. You definitely have another reason. It can’t just be for the money...”
Li Qiang was the type who, perhaps out of professional habit, had to know the ‘why’ behind everything. Zhang Jin’an knew this well, so before Li Qiang could finish, he turned his head and interrupted the impending lecture. “Hey, isn’t that Teacher Gu?”
As Zhang Jin’an spoke, Li Qiang indeed stopped talking, his attention diverted.
Gu Yirou was the second guest called out. She was wearing a white mini-dress with transparent lace at the neckline and hem, paired with apricot-yellow leather shoes. She looked like a porcelain doll with an extraordinary aura.
Gu Yirou and her manager followed behind a staff member, chatting idly as she tucked her long hair behind her shoulders.
“You really can’t help but envy good looks; they’re a gift from heaven. Look at that—just a few steps, a few simple movements, and people like you and Gu Yirou look like you’re shooting a pictorial,” Li Qiang whispered in admiration at the scene. “You people were born to be stars.”
Zhang Jin’an smiled but said nothing.
Li Qiang added, “Looking at her like this, Gu Yirou really is quite elegant.”
Zhang Jin’an couldn’t hold it in anymore and let out a snort of laughter. “Elegant?”
Li Qiang, of course, knew what Gu Yirou was usually like, so Zhang Jin’an’s reaction wasn’t surprising. It was just that if it were him, he would never dare to make such a face.
“...If she saw that reaction, you’d probably get a beating,” Li Qiang reminded him kindly.
Zhang Jin’an looked at Gu Yirou in the distance. She was currently shaking hands and smiling at someone who had greeted her. In this moment, she did indeed look serene and lovely—elegant, one might say.
“Yeah, she’s quite elegant,” Zhang Jin’an admitted, then asked, “Qiang-ge, do you know about Teacher Gu’s Supertopic?”
Li Qiang: “Supertopic? Isn’t it just ‘Gu Yirou’?”
Zhang Jin’an shook his head. “No, that’s one. Do you know what the other one is called?”
“What?” Li Qiang asked.
“Iron Man’s Tenderness,” Zhang Jin’an replied.
“Iron Man’s Tenderness? Why that name?” Just as Li Qiang finished speaking, Gu Yirou and her manager reached them. Gu Yirou gave them a sweet smile and asked in a thick Northeastern accent, “Teacher Zhang, Qiang-ge, what are y’all just standin’ around here for?”
Li Qiang: “...”
Li Qiang turned to Zhang Jin’an and nodded. “I get it now.”
Zhang Jin’an patted Li Qiang’s shoulder appreciatively. “As expected of Qiang-ge. Quick on the uptake.”
In fandom culture, if fans wanted to boost the popularity of their ‘idols’ by posting on Weibo, they would include a unique, fixed hashtag alongside the standard Supertopic name. This helped the general public remember the idol’s traits or tied them to a trending topic.
For example, with Zhang Jin’an, fans wouldn’t just use the standard #ZhangJin’an#; they would often follow it with #MuJinAnRanZhangJin’an#.
As for why they called it *Mu Jin An Ran*, Zhang Jin’an didn’t quite understand either. It probably just sounded nice.
For an actress like Gu Yirou, who appeared on screen frequently and had a massive fan base, there were naturally several such tags. Zhang Jin’an had seen quite a few himself.
And this #IronMan’sTenderness# wasn’t exactly a prefix; it was a meme that originated from one of Gu Yirou’s interviews.
The interview itself was ordinary and standard, but Gu Yirou’s answers were what made it interesting.
When acting, Gu Yirou spoke in standard Mandarin, even being praised by netizens as the “dialogue template for young actresses.” But in her daily life, she didn’t care about articulation. Being from Shenyang—the source of China’s most infectious dialect—her accent was incredibly strong.
That entire interview had essentially overturned the public’s perception of Gu Yirou as “cute and sweet.” It was a whirlwind of hilarity and golden quotes. Zhang Jin’an remembered that the interview had over two hundred thousand reposts to date, putting it on par with his own recent interview.
The top comment had left a deep impression on Zhang Jin’an. it read: *“Gu-ge’s tiny body hides the soul of a tough Shenyang sister.”* Thus, the #IronMan’sTendernessGuYirou# Supertopic was born.
That interview was simply too funny. When it first came out, Zhang Jin’an had asked Gu Yirou if she had any plans to become a variety comedienne. Her response then was exactly the same as it was now, even down to the bewildered expression: “What the heck are you blabberin’ about?”
“Nothing. Just an academic discussion,” Zhang Jin’an said with a laugh. “Did you change your outfit, Teacher Gu?”
Gu Yirou perked up at this. Flashing a professional smile, she grabbed her skirt and did a little spin. “Hurry up then, start your praises.”
Gu Yirou’s manager: “Beautiful.”
Li Qiang: “Lovely.”
Zhang Jin’an gave a thumbs up: “You’re doing great.”
“...?” Gu Yirou dropped her hands. “My mistake. I overestimated the vocabulary of straight men.”
Zhang Jin’an joked, “Breaking news: Famous actress caught in act of gender discrimination.”
Gu Yirou immediately laughed. “You’re crazy.” After laughing for a bit, she nudged Zhang Jin’an’s arm with her elbow. “Hey, Teacher Zhang, have you taken on any new roles lately?”
“Yeah, there’s a project that’s almost finished casting,” Zhang Jin’an said.
“Oh? Which one?” Gu Yirou asked.
“*Hidden Shadows*. Heard of it?” Zhang Jin’an replied.
Gu Yirou thought for a moment. “Heard the name, not familiar with it. No need to guess, you’re definitely the male lead.”
“Mhm,” Zhang Jin’an said.
“Then who’s the female lead?”
“This project is a bit special; it’s mostly rookie actors,” Zhang Jin’an didn’t reveal too much, only giving a general idea.
Gu Yirou was smart enough to catch on. She nodded. “So you’re basically acting and giving free lessons to rookies at the same time. Tsk.”
*More than just free lessons; the salary is practically volunteer work too.*
Zhang Jin’an didn’t say that out loud. Instead, he smiled and asked, “Guess who was cast as the second male lead?”
“Who?” Gu Yirou asked. “Do I know him?”
“Yeah,” Zhang Jin’an nodded. “Why would I ask you to guess if you didn’t?”
“Oh right, true.” Gu Yirou narrowed her eyes, thinking seriously. “Old Qin?”
“Old Qin isn’t a rookie. Think of the newcomers,” Zhang Jin’an said.
Gu Yirou looked at Li Qiang, trying to fish for information, but Li Qiang just shrugged. “It’s a pretty easy guess.”
Gu Yirou could only keep thinking. “Newcomers... I don’t know many newcomers. Is it someone you know?”
“You could say that,” Zhang Jin’an said.
“If you know him too, that narrows it down a lot...” Gu Yirou snapped her fingers. “Ah, Jiang Siyang?”
Zhang Jin’an nodded. “Yes.”
Gu Yirou looked thoughtful. “Xiao Yang, huh? That works. He’s quite good. I’ve wanted to act with him for a while; I didn’t expect you to beat me to it.”
Hearing this, Zhang Jin’an couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow.
*Nice. I won this time.*
Zhang Jin’an’s mood brightened considerably. A slight smile played on his lips, and everything suddenly looked more pleasant—even Teacher Gu didn’t seem quite so short anymore.
Naturally unaware of Zhang Jin’an’s thoughts, Gu Yirou continued, “I acted with him a little bit on a variety show once. His acting is good, though there’s definitely room for improvement...”
Zhang Jin’an couldn’t help but interrupt her. “Wait, what do you mean you ‘acted with him a little bit’?”
“It was on a variety show. There was a segment where the two of us did a short scene together.” Gu Yirou paused and slapped her forehead. “Oh, I forgot you don’t follow variety shows. There’s no point being so specific. Anyway, it was just a game segment, like a little skit.”
Zhang Jin’an: “...*Friday Morning*?”
Gu Yirou was surprised. “Yeah, that’s the one. How did you know?”
“That show has skits?”
“How should I put it... even though it’s a web variety, it’s actually quite interesting...” Gu Yirou didn’t finish her sentence before shifting her tone, narrowing her eyes at Zhang Jin’an. “Wait, why are you suddenly interested in variety shows?”
As expected of a friend of several years, her reactions were much sharper.
However, Zhang Jin’an didn’t plan on telling anyone about his desire to go on a variety show until it was finalized. So, he simply said, “Didn’t you bring it up first?”
Because they had known each other for years, they understood each other’s personalities. Gu Yirou was bold, but she was also extremely easy to convince.
Sure enough, Gu Yirou thought about it. “I guess I did.”
Zhang Jin’an and Gu Yirou chatted a bit more about games. Before long, the other actors began to emerge one by one. After a round of greetings and pleasantries, it was almost time to go on stage.
The movie *Equal Difference* focused on the relationships between students, teachers, and parents, unfolding from multiple perspectives. As such, there weren’t strictly defined ‘first’ or ‘second’ male leads. If one counted the main cast, there were eight people, but due to scheduling conflicts, only five of the leads, including Zhang Jin’an, were able to attend the premiere.
They lined up in a row, with the younger actors in front and Zhang Jin’an and Gu Yirou at the very back.
Zhang Jin’an genuinely liked this movie. During filming, the atmosphere had been very lively because he knew several people on set. The students in the story were played by actual students, and being around those kids made him feel much younger. Zhang Jin’an’s strongest memory of the shoot was the scenes of the students studying.
The audience might think the kids were just acting like they were buried in work, but in reality, those high schoolers were actually catching up on their homework. When the director yelled ‘cut,’ a few who hadn’t finished would just keep writing. It felt exactly like a self-study period. Even though five or six months had passed, the memory was still fresh.
Zhang Jin’an crossed his arms and leaned back slightly to speak to the person behind him. “Remember the test papers they were writing?”
Gu Yirou nodded. “I remember. But I couldn’t understand eighty percent of it anymore. I’ve forgotten basically everything.”
“Well, it’s been years since we were in school. It’s normal to forget,” Zhang Jin’an said.
“Sigh... look at all that collagen in their faces. I really am getting old.” Gu Yirou touched her own face, looking enviously at the young actors in front wearing their school uniforms from the movie.
“It’s fine, Teacher Gu. You look young. As long as you don’t say anything, no one will know you’re almost thirty,” Zhang Jin’an said.
“I’m twenty-nine,” Gu Yirou corrected him. “I won’t be thirty until next year. Besides, that’s not comforting at all. Shouldn’t you be saying that if you round down, I’m basically only eighteen?”
Zhang Jin’an turned around and solemnly patted Gu Yirou’s shoulder. “When you get a pentakill in a game, can I round it down and say the kills were mine?”
“...” Gu Yirou stared at Zhang Jin’an and sighed. “You know what? I really want to hit you right now, but I also feel like what you said makes a lot of sense.”
Zhang Jin’an grinned. “Go ahead, hit me now. This movie will definitely hit the trending searches. Maybe we can even land a headline about a scandal. Sacrificing Teacher Gu to get everyone on the trending list—it’s worth it.”
“Speaking of scandals, our relationship as gaming comrades is so obvious. How can people still say we’re together?” Gu Yirou asked with a frown.
Zhang Jin’an laughed. “Because Teacher Gu is popular! You have strong chemistry with everyone.”
“Keep talking trash and I’ll end you within three days.” Gu Yirou made a throat-slitting gesture.
“Nowadays, people will ship anything. As long as there’s an interaction, the audience will pair you up. Haven’t you seen those fan-made edits before?” Zhang Jin’an said.
Gu Yirou replied, “I’ve seen the fan edits, and I understand netizens shipping people—I ship couples myself. I’m talking about the media and reporters. I feel like as long as an actress and an actor get along, they assume it’s a romantic relationship. Why can’t it be a father-son relationship?”
“Sure, I’ll be the father, you be the son,” Zhang Jin’an said.
“Hah, Teacher Zhang, be a decent person. You really like taking advantage, don’t you?” Gu Yirou’s Northeastern accent had mostly faded as she transitioned into her professional Mandarin mode, even adding a bit of a Beijing lilt. It had to be said that her linguistic skills were excellent; she could switch at a moment’s notice.
It was no wonder many fan videos used her lines as standalone monologues.
Even if some of them were a bit silly.
Gu Yirou arched an eyebrow at Zhang Jin’an. “Teacher Zhang, give me some inside info. Have you been in any secret underground relationships with any ladies lately? I need to know so I can sell you out when I get caught in a scandal in the future.”
“No,” Zhang Jin’an replied decisively.
Gu Yirou looked at him suspiciously. “I don’t believe it. In all these years, you haven’t felt a spark with a single actress?”
“Why does there have to be a feeling? Can’t it just be a father-son bond like the one I have with you?” Zhang Jin’an said.
Gu Yirou didn’t even care about him taking advantage of her anymore; she wanted to keep digging. It seemed she was determined to get to the bottom of this topic today. But just then, a staff member came over to remind them it was time to go on stage. “Teachers, you can head up now.”
As she spoke, the actors began to walk onto the stage in order.
The support from the fans outside was fervent. The cheers for each actor were deafening, each one seemingly louder than the last.
Zhang Jin’an said one last thing. Even though his voice was somewhat drowned out, Gu Yirou still heard him clearly: “If I like someone, I’ll say it directly. I don’t do underground relationships.”
Leaving her with those words, Zhang Jin’an stepped onto the stage. The noise intensified instantly; Gu Yirou could even hear people screaming his name.
It was all Zhang Jin’an’s fault for being so silly in private; she had almost forgotten that he was the most popular actor of the moment. His popularity was truly undeniable.
If the Zhang Jin’an on screen was a star commanding the attention of thousands, the contrast with his private self was truly massive.
Gu Yirou stepped onto the stage, flashing the smile she had practiced thousands of times in the mirror. At the same time, she recalled a phrase people often said to her: “Some people are born to stand on a stage.”
Actually, that phrase probably applied to Zhang Jin’an even more.
Gu Yirou thought it over. To handle someone like Zhang Jin’an, it would probably take a female version of himself.
***
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