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

【Let’s chat for two hours first】
【Honeymoon stories? I love those!】
At 4 a.m. in China, night owls squirmed under their blankets, listening to Yu Wanqiu recount an old love story—one from twenty years ago. Nowadays, honeymoon trips abroad are common, but back then, it was something most people couldn’t afford.
Going abroad for a honeymoon? That was downright romantic.
Yu Wanqiu said, "I never publicly announced my marriage. First, I didn’t see the need—I don’t flaunt affection, nor did I rely on my husband’s connections for career opportunities. Second, my job is unique, and going public would’ve meant endless paparazzi attention."
The second reason was somewhat similar to Lu Xingran’s situation. The Lu family was wealthy, and back then, countless actresses married into rich families—people would assume she had ulterior motives for marrying Lu Shuangchen.
"Lu Shuangchen and I were matched by our families. He’s six years older than me," Yu Wanqiu said matter-of-factly. "He was busy with work, I was busy filming—neither of us had ever been in a relationship. I agreed to marry him because he was good-looking in his youth and had no bad habits."
Lu Shuangchen was strikingly handsome back then, more so than many celebrities today. He was also highly educated, having earned a Ph.D. abroad. At the time, a doctoral degree was exceptionally rare.
He wore a light brown checkered suit and glasses.
Because of their arranged marriage, Lu Shuangchen never dated while studying overseas.
"After we got married, we went on our honeymoon. Our first stop was Milan—a very romantic city," Yu Wanqiu said, shaking her head. "But Lu Shuangchen wasn’t a romantic person at all."
"It was his first time in Milan too. Back then, there were no smartphones or GPS. You couldn’t bring an assistant on your honeymoon, could you? He couldn’t even tell north from south and had to knock on doors to ask for directions."
Lu Shuangchen didn’t speak Italian, so he mixed English and Chinese to communicate.
Viewers asked how Yu Wanqiu felt at the time—shouldn’t she have been angry? Going on a honeymoon only for her husband to get them lost?
But Yu Wanqiu shook her head. "I didn’t feel anything. We had no emotional foundation. To me, he was just a slightly familiar stranger. He was the one asking for directions, and he kept apologizing."
To maintain her image, she couldn’t afford to lose her temper.
"After finally getting directions, we walked for almost an hour to reach the hotel. I was used to filming long hours, so it wasn’t tiring for me. That was the first time Lu Shuangchen ever complimented me," Yu Wanqiu said, her voice cool. "He said, 'You’re really fit.'"
Jiang Lan covered her face.
"You’re really fit"—it might as well have been, "Your legs are amazing, walking so far without getting tired." Jiang Lan had been sleepy earlier, but now she was wide awake.
At 4 a.m., the live stream had only a few thousand viewers, with around 500,000 in total engagement.
[You can tell that compliment was genuine.]
[Was that even a compliment? How did you not get mad?]
[An hour of walking? He didn’t carry you?]
Yu Wanqiu sighed. "Carry me? Back then, we didn’t even hold hands—we kept a meter’s distance. He was rigid, had no idea where to go for fun."
"We spent a week in Milan, surrounded by attractions, and Lu Shuangchen invited me to go boating and hiking. I hate hiking the most," Yu Wanqiu said, leaning back in her chair.
[Gotta hand it to Lu Shuangchen—he’s something else.]
Yu Wanqiu: "If he wanted to hike, he could go alone. I wasn’t joining him. But in the end, he didn’t go either."
[Even though Lu Shuangchen is clueless, I can tell he dotes on his wife. Yu Wanqiu packs a ton of stuff, and he carries it all. She decides the itinerary, and he follows without question. He has no idea why she gets mad but somehow steps on every landmine—ending up full of holes without realizing his mistakes.]
[The "full of holes" analogy is spot-on.]
"Since we didn’t know our way around and couldn’t look up attractions, we barely did any sightseeing. We mostly stayed in the hotel," Yu Wanqiu said with a laugh. "Marriage back then wasn’t like it is now. Most couples were introduced by others."
Matches were made based on family background, education, looks, and character. If everything checked out, they’d get married.
Some ended up as estranged couples, living separate lives. Others divorced and moved on to find happiness elsewhere.
Yu Wanqiu had acted in romance dramas—it was her job. Sometimes, she’d get too immersed in a role, which was normal for actors.
Getting into character, then stepping out of it. Luckily, she had Lu Shuangchen.
"Even after twenty years of marriage, Lu Shuangchen hasn’t changed much. But this year, he seems a little different. Next time I see him, I hope he stops wearing trench coats—he should try something more youthful," Yu Wanqiu mused. She considered reflecting on herself—she was stubborn, bottling up her feelings.
She had never once praised Lu Shuangchen. Jiang Lan was different.
Jiang Lan said whatever was on her mind, unlike the Lu family. And her infectious energy made even mindless laughter feel joyful.
But then Yu Wanqiu reconsidered—why should she reflect? Lu Shuangchen was the one who needed to change.
Yu Wanqiu tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, smirking. "Mine and Lu Shuangchen’s story is actually pretty boring."
[I think I just saw a car speed by.]
[You stayed in the hotel the whole time? Playing jump rope?]
[Don’t ask—they’re legally married.]
[So… Lu Shuangchen must be decent.]
If she kept going, the stream would get banned. Yu Wanqiu glanced at the comments. "What time is it? You all should get some sleep."
[We’re just getting started! I’m immune to sleep—keep talking!]
...
By 6 a.m., the sky had brightened. The night owls finally put down their phones, though their minds were still wide awake.
They spent a week in that hotel.
Lu Shuangchen must be something else.
No wonder they never divorced.
Around 8 a.m. on Sunday, Yu Wanqiu’s fan club received news that their original plan to greet her at the airport was canceled—she and Lu Shuangchen were taking an evening flight.
The small gifts prepared for them were sent to the production team instead. Fans of "Lanzhou Pulled Noodles" (the ship name for Yu Wanqiu and Jiang Lan) also prepared gifts, mailing them to the production team.
Among them were clay dolls modeled after the two—three sets in total.
The first set featured their outfits from the premiere: a green fairy dress and a wine-red gown. The second set was their beach photoshoot looks—a yellow princess dress and a purple fairy dress. The third set was their Qixi Festival attire: a deep red floral fairy dress and a silver mermaid gown.
These were the most stunning dresses they’d worn on the show.
Photos from the fireworks display were turned into resin keychains, and candid shots were printed on phone cases.
Screenshots from the show were compiled into photo books, including memorable quotes from Jiang Lan and Yu Wanqiu, turned into scrapbooks and memory albums.
The gifts weren’t expensive, but they carried the fans’ heartfelt affection.
Lu Yicheng and Lu Shuangchen weren’t included—this was a duo ship, after all. No matter how doting the Lu men were, "Lanzhou Pulled Noodles" remained the sweetest.
Multiple copies were made—some for Yu Wanqiu and Jiang Lan as keepsakes, while the rest would be given away in a fan club raffle on Weibo, a thank-you to their loyal supporters.
With an evening flight and a Sunday live stream still to come, the day couldn’t get any better.
Fans flocked to Yu Wanqiu's Weibo comments, asking, 【When will you be back for a livestream? More, more—I can't wait any longer!】
【Hehe, we already streamed this week! It was at 4 a.m. today, just a Q&A session where we answered whatever was asked. You can check out the replay［proud emoji］】
【Aaaaaah how did I miss it?!】
【I hate myself for being such a sleepyhead and going to bed!】
Fans immediately caught up on the livestream replay. At 4 a.m. Beijing time, it was 10 p.m. in Milan, the world outside pitch-black, the hotel bathed in warm, dim lighting.
Yu Wanqiu was in a robe, Jiang Lan in pajamas. Instead of gaming, they chose a simpler, more down-to-earth format—chatting and answering questions.
With so few viewers, they responded to almost every comment.
Questions ranged from how to play cat’s cradle in a hotel to what gifts Lu Shuangchen usually gives, how often they meet, and more.
Of course, fans didn’t let Jiang Lan off the hook either. This was a duo stream, not a monologue—one couple bound by a childhood betrothal two decades ago, the other by a campus romance.
Someone remarked how, back in the day, love letters traveled slowly by horse, and a lifetime was only enough to love one person.
That kind of devotion—beginning to end, only ever each other—was the sweetest to ship.
Questions for Jiang Lan included who confessed first, how they met, their dating frequency, Qinghua University’s most secretive makeout spots, whether Lu Yicheng was the jealous type, and listing all the ways Yu Wanqiu and Lu Yicheng were alike…
It took them two full hours to wrap up the stream.
After watching the replay, fans gained a deeper understanding of what Lu Yicheng and Lu Shuangchen were really like.
Maybe the heavens really do look at a person’s face and send down a fairy to save them.
10 p.m.
The plane touched down on the tarmac. Jiang Lan had finally returned to the embrace of her motherland.
The night in City B wasn’t as sweltering, the sky dark with a sprinkle of stars.
“Finally back.” Jiang Lan still had a stop at the duty-free shop—a non-negotiable part of any trip abroad.
Yu Wanqiu also felt more at ease back home, though the flight had left her drowsy. She’d need two days to adjust to the time difference. “Let’s go shopping first. Come on.”
Little Xu and the others were also hitting the duty-free store. They’d never dared mention it to Yu Wanqiu before, but duty-free goodies were irresistible!
Now that Jiang Lan was going, they could tag along too.
Their shopping lists were ready—skincare and makeup galore.
By 10:30 p.m., the group had left the airport.
Xia Jing drove Yu Wanqiu and Jiang Lan straight back to the production team, arriving close to midnight.
The dresses and qipaos from Milan were taken by Little Xu for steaming, along with other worn outfits headed for the dry cleaner.
Jiang Lan was dead tired. She slept until 9 a.m., waking to the familiar ceiling above her.
Yu Wanqiu was already up, the villa quiet. Spotting Jiang Lan, she waved her over. “Fan club sent gifts. Come open them.”
Jiang Lan: “There’s stuff for me too?!”
Yu Wanqiu: “Some are from our CP fans. Xia Jing already checked them—go ahead.”
Early in her career, Yu Wanqiu had received malicious gifts from anti-fans, so she’d stopped accepting fan mail altogether.
This batch, sent to the production team, had been vetted by Xia Jing.
Plus, some were joint merchandise, so Yu Wanqiu waited for Jiang Lan to wake up before opening them.
The boxes were lovely. Jiang Lan unwrapped a mini doll of Yu Wanqiu—silver mermaid dress, voluminous curls. She held it up. The likeness was uncanny. “Yu-laoshi, it’s you!”
Yu Wanqiu opened one too: Jiang Lan in a yellow tulle dress, complete with a stand for desks or dashboards.
“Adorable.”
The fan club’s haul also included bookmarks, photo albums, and more—all thoughtfully made.
Jiang Lan finally understood why Shen Xingyao had been so thrilled with her birthday gifts. These were tangible pieces of memories, each tied to a moment in time.
Priceless keepsakes.
Yu Wanqiu examined each item. “How should we split these? Take one of each other’s dolls plus two of our own?”
Jiang Lan: “Sounds good. Our phone models don’t match, so let’s just divide the cases directly.”
“One photo album each,” Yu Wanqiu said, picking one up.
“Keychains are identical—one per person.” Jiang Lan swapped her phone case and keychain on the spot, placing the doll duo (one in green tulle, one in yellow) on her desk.
The gifts from the "Lanzhou Lamian" fan club gave Zhang Tian an idea. The production team could design similar merch—keychains, photo books—as fan giveaways, splitting profits 50-50 with the cast. More sales, more earnings.
Nothing ​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​​​‍too pricey, though. This was for the fans, after all.
Zhang Tian figured Li Jia wouldn’t need merch. Hers probably wouldn’t sell.
That weekend, Shen Xingyao took Du Wanzhou for another checkup. Aside from a two-pound weight loss, the numbers hadn’t budged.
Shen Xingyao was frustrated. Two weeks in, and no progress?
Du Wanzhou was on the verge of giving up. Dieting was the hardest thing in the world. She couldn’t fathom how people stuck with yoga daily.
And exercise wasn’t even the worst part—resisting cravings was.
Du Wanzhou’s current menu:
- Breakfast: a glass of milk, two slices of whole wheat toast, one boiled egg.
- Lunch: a small bowl of brown rice, pan-seared steak, steamed broccoli, purple cabbage, a few shrimp.
- Dinner: one apple.
Before this, her favorites were foie gras, lobster, caviar, wagyu beef, seafood… Now? Nothing. Pure torture.
“Sweetheart, maybe let’s call it quits. I never felt bad before. So what if the tests say my blood sugar’s high? Everyone only lives a few decades anyway.”
Shen Xingyao was livid. She’d even turned down a fashion show invite for this checkup, and Du Wanzhou was still like this.
“Fine. Then when your health fails, don’t expect to meet your grandkids. You probably won’t live to see them.”
Du Wanzhou: “…Must you say that? I’m just venting. I’ve never eaten this little in my life. A bite-sized meal—who can survive on that?”
Shen Xingyao: “I’ve been eating the same as you. On our Qixi date, Chen Hao had hotpot while I had a salad.”
Du Wanzhou grimaced. “I know you mean well, dear. But when will this weight actually come off?”
Shen Xingyao wasn’t even overweight, yet she’d stuck to this regimen out of concern. Chen Hao hadn’t shown half this dedication.
Du Wanzhou wasn’t ungrateful. She wanted to be healthy enough to hold her future grandbabies.
“I’ll do yoga tonight—no complaints. But sweetheart, you should eat normally. Look how thin you’ve gotten.”
Shen Xingyao was already slim, and now her weight had dropped to just ninety pounds.
Being too thin isn’t good for one’s health, and Du Wanzhou still held old-fashioned views, believing a little extra weight was preferable.
Shen Xingyao said, “It’s perfect for preparing for my new role. Being thinner looks better on camera, and I’m not just skin and bones—I eat plenty these days. Mom, just stick with it. Once you slim down, you can wear all those pretty clothes. It’s a win-win—saving money and getting fit. Don’t you think?”
Du Wanzhou sighed. “…I suppose.”
She had initially thought Shen Xingyao was better off sticking to variety shows. But truthfully, Shen Xingyao had put in tremendous effort for this acting role—her script was covered in pages of notes, and she spent every day on the first floor rehearsing lines with Zhang Lin.
Du Wanzhou hoped that one day, Shen Xingyao could break into the big screen like Yu Wanqiu had.
“Sweetheart, about what you mentioned last time—me being your assistant—I’ll do it,” Du Wanzhou said. “I’m afraid if you go off to film and I’m left like before, just eating and drinking, all this effort will go to waste.”
Shen Xingyao replied, “Sure! The pay is twelve thousand a month, with one day off a week. You’ll have to fetch tea, help with costumes, cook, order takeout…”
Du Wanzhou waved her off. “I know, I know. No special treatment—I’ll do the same work as anyone else.”
It wasn’t about the money—she just wanted something to keep herself busy.
Lately, aside from rehearsing with Shen Xingyao, Zhang Lin spent her time taking walks and calling her son in the evenings. Strangely enough, Xu Chaoyang had been delivering meals to her for several days straight—breakfast, lunch, and dinner, without fail.
Whether Zhang Lin ate or not, Xu Chaoyang showed up every day without exception. And he didn’t come alone—he always brought Xu Yi along.
Xu Yi was only six, and Zhang Lin didn’t want her son to grow up with emotional scars. Xu Chaoyang, of course, knew exactly how to use that to his advantage.