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

Jiang Lan felt her thoughts were justified—otherwise, why would she have given Lu Yicheng that particular nickname?
[Otherwise, send me a copy of the chat history. Maybe I’ll remember.]
[Pig Raised by a Fairy: You deleted it just like that, and now you’re asking me for it?]
[Pig Raised by a Fairy: When you’re especially clingy, you call me “Piggy Baby.”]
[Pig Raised by a Fairy: I don’t really like it… it feels a bit cringy.]
[…………]
[Pig Raised by a Fairy: You’re the one who insisted on asking. I’m going back to work.]
Piggy… Piggy Baby?!
Jiang Lan’s scalp tingled with embarrassment. She didn’t even want the chat records anymore, terrified of seeing those two words plastered all over the screen.
Still, she was quite happy to see Lu Yicheng leave. That afternoon, she took a nap, practiced piano for two hours, did an hour of yoga, and Yu Wanqiu got ready early for the evening gaming livestream.
At a little past three in the afternoon, Yu Wanqiu posted on Weibo. Fans were surprised by how productive they were—they had just streamed yesterday, and here they were again today, this time playing games. Fans speculated that Lu Yicheng would also make an appearance.
A couple duo-queueing together? That meant an endless supply of sweet moments to dig into. Their in-game lover level was already at 22—this was a pair of first-love sweethearts who’d been together for three years, determined to claim every single rose from each other.
Fans camped out in the livestream. Yesterday had been like New Year’s Eve, and today was the first day of the festivities. They even showered the stream with gifts, treating it like a wedding banquet.
[Are they here yet? Are they here yet?]
[Two more minutes!]
[Zhou Ziwei here, and I absolutely adore watching this couple in love.]
[What a coincidence, Zhang Mingyang here, and I love it too!]
[LOL, my mom asked why I’m watching a mother-in-law variety show.]
[My mom thought *Mother-in-Law Is Coming* was similar to *Golden Mediation*.]
[After watching dating shows and then this, I still think this pair is the sweetest.]
[This time, I’m really witnessing true love.]
[Yesterday was way too sweet! Too bad they turned off the stream later. Hope the full episode has more clips.]
[One minute left!]
[It’s 8 o’clock! Lu Yicheng, Jiang Lan, hurry up and show yourselves!!!]
The livestream flickered to life, and Jiang Lan waved at the camera. “Hello, everyone! Today, we’ll be playing with pro players—Zheng Rong, Sa Sa, and Qing Ying.”
Yu Wanqiu also greeted the audience. “No need to send gifts. Just enjoy the stream.”
She was already at Platinum III with two stars—just a step away from Diamond rank.
After Diamond, the draft mode would unlock, where each team could ban three heroes, preventing mirror matches. Of course, that also meant sometimes your favorite hero would get banned.
Yu Wanqiu had gotten the hang of playing mages like Xiao Qiao and Daji, ambushing enemies from bushes with deadly precision.
She could win games on her own, but it wasn’t as fun as playing with Jiang Lan. When duo-queueing, Yu Wanqiu still preferred playing as Yao.
Once Zheng Rong and the others joined the party, Jiang Lan immediately hit “Ready.” A five-stack team—and not a single spot was taken by Lu Yicheng.
What’s more, he wasn’t even visible in the stream’s camera frame.
From the moment the fans heard the three names, they knew something was off.
[Meow?]
[Where’s Jiang Lan’s huge boyfriend?!]
[Can you point the camera under the table? I bet Lu Yicheng’s hiding there.]
Jiang Lan skimmed the comments and, not wanting them to keep mentioning Lu Yicheng, said, “He went to work. Left at noon. Everyone, just enjoy the stream.”
[Fine, making money to support the family is more important.]
[Understandable. He’s gotta earn enough to marry her.]
[Work is work, but remember to drop by often.]
[Jiang Lan misses you a lot when you’re gone.]
Suddenly, a dazzling golden effect lit up the stream—[lyc sent 20 Rockets to the streamer].
[...]
[lyc: Still at work. Back to the grind.]
After all this time, fans were certain—this was Lu Yicheng.
Jiang Lan froze for a second before comments reminded her: [Streamer, thank the donor!]
Was money really that easy to throw away? Half of it would just go to the platform. And wasn’t he off the blacklist already? Why did he have to announce it here?
Jiang Lan sighed. “Everyone, stop sending gifts. I’ve said it before—no gifts, no gifts…”
[Streamer, hurry up and thank the donor! That’s 10,000 yuan—hard-earned money!]
[Fans worked their butts off for this, and he gave it all to you.]
[Reporting this streamer for being ungrateful.]
Jiang Lan: “...Thank you, lyc, for the 20 Rockets. Now stop sending them.”
The moment she finished, more gift effects flooded the screen.
[“Lu Yicheng, I love you so much” sent 10 Rockets to the streamer.]
[“Lu Yicheng, kiss me quick” sent 10 Planes to the streamer.]
[“Lu Yicheng, I want to have your babies” sent 10 Planes to the streamer.]
What kind of nonsense was this?! Jiang Lan lowered her head and focused on picking her hero for the game.
[She didn’t even thank them. Hmph.]
[Why are you still talking in chat, Lu Yicheng? Are you still in the penalty box?]
[Make him a mod already!]
[lyc: Stop teasing her. Just wanted to make sure she saw it. Everyone, focus on the stream.]
Lu Yicheng was the one who started it, and now he was playing the peacemaker? Jiang Lan was fuming. “Yu-laoshi, what role do you want to play?”
Yu Wanqiu wanted to try marksman. She’d already played mage and support, and compared to the beefy fighters in the solo lane, marksmen felt easier to pick up.
Seeing her pick a marksman, Jiang Lan locked in Lan Ling Wang, the jungle assassin.
This hero had a passive ability that let him turn invisible, striking from the shadows with lethal precision.
Yu Wanqiu chose Lu Ban the Machinist, while Zheng Rong reluctantly filled as support. Since joining the pro scene, Zheng Rong had never played any role other than jungle. Today, for the first time, he picked Zhang Fei, the tanky support, exuding an aura of reliability.
A skilled jungler could play any role well, but female marksmen tended to play too cautiously, failing to check the minimap and getting caught out easily. Zheng Rong swore he wouldn’t let Yu Wanqiu die even once.
“Yu-laoshi, just play freely. I’ve got your back.”
But in the end, he didn’t even need to lift a finger.
Jiang Lan’s Lan Ling Wang was… diabolical.
A jungler’s job was to farm, gank, and secure objectives to create an economic lead. But when the top and mid lanes didn’t need help, Jiang Lan practically moved into the bottom lane.
The enemy marksman was Hou Yi, a hero with no mobility who hadn’t been meta for several seasons. Before he even hit level four, Jiang Lan had already killed him once.
The second time, he died under his own tower. The third time, he got picked off on his way back to lane. Six minutes into the game, Hou Yi had only managed to clear one wave of minions.
When the enemy jungler came to help, Jiang Lan ambushed and deleted him. When the mid-laner arrived, he died in the river.
But as long as they stayed away, nothing would happen.
Lan Ling Wang made it clear—this territory was off-limits.
Leave, or die.
Yu Wanqiu had a landslide victory, out-earning even the richest enemy by 2,000 gold. Even if her positioning wasn’t perfect, as long as a marksman stayed alive, they could deal damage.
By the end of the match, Yu Wanqiu had dealt 30% of the team’s damage and earned MVP.
Yu Wanqiu smiled. “Marksman is pretty fun.”
Gaming really got the blood pumping—it felt a bit like filming action scenes.
Another star added to her rank.
Jiang Lan grinned. “There’s also the solo lane and jungle—they’re all fun. Yu-laoshi, what do you want to play next?”
The three pro players had essentially become glorified NPCs, but it wasn’t a complete waste. For pro players, skill wasn’t the only thing that mattered—marketability was key to attracting sponsors.
Yu Wanqiu was the biggest traffic magnet—her superb acting skills and high national popularity made playing games with her more valuable than landing a hundred endorsements.
That’s why Zheng Rong was willing to play any role in the game.
Besides, Jiang Lan was quite skilled, especially among female players. Many guys found girls who were good at gaming particularly attractive.
Zheng Rong didn’t have any personal thoughts about it, but he had to admit Jiang Lan was the type many people liked.
Girls probably liked her too.
Today, Jiang Lan played aggressive, high-damage heroes like Lancelot, Dian Wei, and the Monkey King, slicing through enemies like chopping vegetables. By a little past ten, Yu Wanqiu finally reached Diamond rank.
She also got her first taste of Draft Mode, where her go-to hero, Yao, was banned. Fortunately, Yu Wanqiu wasn’t just a one-trick anymore.
Zheng Rong and the other two had training to do, so they said goodbye and logged off. Yu Wanqiu said, “Let’s chat a bit longer.”
The fans absolutely loved this. Yu Wanqiu had always seemed untouchable before—someone they adored but could never reach. Now, thanks to this variety show, they realized she wasn’t cold or distant at all. In fact, she had a lot of endearing quirks.
She suddenly felt much more real to them.
【Wifey, I love you!】
【Hope you and Jiang Lan keep feeding us sweet moments!】
【Yes, we love watching you two interact!】
【You really like Jiang Lan, don’t you? Is this a mother-son bond in the making?】
【*The Deep Sea* was amazing—can’t wait for your next project!】
Yu Wanqiu and Jiang Lan had a small but dedicated CP fanbase, though it paled in comparison to the massive "Irreplaceable" ship. Their fans called themselves "Lanzhou Noodle Pullers"—these days, any two people could be shipped, especially if they were good-looking. Still, their fanbase only had about 20,000 members, who diligently checked in every day.
Meanwhile, the "Irreplaceable" supertopic had over six million followers.
Yu Wanqiu replied, “It’s alright. I’ll take a break before picking my next script. I’ll keep acting as long as I’m able, and I’ll challenge myself with different roles. But I’m not as energetic as I used to be—after finishing a project, I need a long rest. Age catches up with you.”
She acknowledged aging but refused to surrender to it. Time had given her experience and depth, so she wouldn’t deny its effects.
Everyone grows old, and every stage of life has roles that fit.
Jiang Lan listened quietly. She wanted to binge all of Yu Wanqiu’s movies—she wasn’t sure if she’d seen them before, but now she felt compelled to.
Meanwhile, Jiang Lan’s own stream chat was flooded with questions about her and Lu Yicheng.
【Are you getting married after graduation?】
【When’s the next meetup? Poor things, this show turned you into a long-distance couple.】
【Let me dedicate *Kiss Goodbye* to you two first.】
【Pretty sure Lu’s been lurking in the stream this whole time—let’s go easy on him. No overly spicy questions! (But did you use tongue when you kissed yesterday?)】
【Did you today?】
【What pet names do you call each other?】
【Did he punish you for blocking him?】
【Details, please—what’s too scandalous for us VIP fans to hear?】
【How many kisses a day? It’s been two weeks apart—what’s your usual frequency? Did Lu Yicheng keep a ledger? How are you making up for lost time? Is there interest?】
Jiang Lan’s face burned. *What kind of people are these?!*
“This is a mother-in-law and daughter-in-law variety show. Focus on what’s relevant—like Yu Wanqiu’s new movie. If you’re really bored, rewatch the show a few more times.”
The moment she finished speaking, a shower of special effects exploded on screen:
[*lyc sent 10 rockets to the streamer!*]
A golden message floated past:
【lyc: It’s almost 11. Time for our call.】
Now there was no way Jiang Lan could leave. The fans demanded she take the call right there, spamming rockets and planes—*as if Lu Yicheng’s the only one who can throw money around?!* They could too.
Yu Wanqiu finally stepped in. “We’re not professional streamers. Free gifts are more than enough—no need to spend money.”
“It’s getting late. We’ll end the stream here. See you next time.” She shut off the live feed and turned to Jiang Lan. “Go on, then.”
Jiang Lan seriously wanted to strangle Lu Yicheng. She checked her phone—he *had* messaged her, but he *knew* she was live. He just *had* to do that.
She video-called him. Lu Yicheng’s background showed streetlights as he walked, Bluetooth earbuds in, the camera bobbing with each step.
“Hey, baby. Just got off work,” he said, smiling at her.
Jiang Lan: “Then focus on walking. We can talk later.”
Lu Yicheng: “No. I’ll walk and talk. I’m watching where I’m going. This way, it feels like we’re clocking out together.”
*Who wants to “clock out together” at 11 p.m.?*
Jiang Lan wasn’t sure what to say. After a pause, she asked, “Did you finish that project?”
Lu Yicheng nodded. “Yeah. Should get a bonus.”
Jiang Lan scoffed. “Like you need a bonus. Throwing rockets around like money grows on trees—too hot to handle, huh? Had to let the platform take half?”
Lu Yicheng grinned. “You weren’t checking your phone. If you think the platform’s cut is unfair, does that mean you’re already managing my wallet? Next, you’ll be giving me an allowance—*‘Here’s your daily subway money.’*”
Jiang Lan’s brain short-circuited. “Who said anything about managing your wallet?!”
“Someone’s protesting too much.” He didn’t dare push further and changed the subject. “Saw the chat earlier? Some of those questions were pretty fun.”
Jiang Lan braced herself. “What questions?”
Lu Yicheng: “The one about us being apart for two weeks—how do we make up for lost time? What’s the interest rate?”
When Jiang Lan stayed silent, he continued, “Holding hands, hugs, kisses… Two weeks’ worth. Ten per day per category. How far in debt are you? How are you planning to repay?”
Jiang Lan sighed. “How is it *my* debt? If anything, you—”
She caught herself. Lu Yicheng was *too* good at twisting her words. If she said *he* owed *her*, he’d probably jump at the chance to “repay” her.
Jiang Lan: “I don’t owe you anything.”
Lu Yicheng chuckled. “You’re such a brat.”