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

【I Had No Intention to Fall, Yet You Made Me See the Shape of the Wind】
【I never meant to be moved, but she showed me how the wind takes form】
【Lanzhou hand-pulled noodles are forever—how many times have I said this?】
【It’s the first time I’ve been this excited for a travel promo—the maple leaves are just too gorgeous】
【Now I get why Yu Wanqiu likes Jiang Lan—she has an eye for beauty. Who wouldn’t fall for that? [dog emoji]】
【The narcissism level in this line is off the charts】
【Some see mountains as mountains and rivers as rivers; others see mountains as more than mountains, rivers as more than rivers】
【I’m just jealous—wonder if LYC is too】
【Not worried about anything else, just curious how much Yunnan Province raked in this National Day—did they recoup the endorsement fees?】
Just two days into National Day, Yunnan’s tourism revenue had already surpassed last year’s annual earnings by forty percent—a surge of several hundred million, enough to significantly uplift the living standards of small-town residents.
This was the first time Yunnan—or any province in the country—had experimented with tourism ambassadors to promote scenic spots. Many regions would likely follow suit, though none would match Yunnan’s success. For one, no other ambassador could be Yu Wanqiu. Affordability aside, industry norms barred celebrities from endorsing competing products in the same category.
And purely in terms of impact, Jiang Lan and Yu Wanqiu’s collaboration had already set the gold standard.
Their relationship could be described as friends, confidantes, or even mother and daughter. Wherever the two of them enjoyed themselves was bound to be a hit.
Yunnan’s government officials were overjoyed, planning a celebration for the final day of the holiday. The two million spent on endorsements had paid off in a single National Day, with the five-year contract promising even greater growth for the province.
The real tourism peak hit on the second day of the holiday. Hotels and homestays were fully booked—even in remote towns that usually saw little traffic.
Another unexpected twist? Bubble machines sold out overnight on e-commerce platforms, clearing tens of thousands of units. Scenic spots quickly caught on, stocking their own.
Bubble machines were a goldmine—larger ones sold for twenty yuan, smaller ones for five. Daily sales alone could rake in a fortune.
Without the red maple leaves of Western Hills, autumn still painted the landscape with ginkgo and plane trees, turning lesser-known spots into breathtaking vistas.
Sure, copying the trend was shameless, but no one would turn down easy money.
On the third day of the holiday, Jiang Lan and Yu Wanqiu headed to Dragon Gate Snow Mountain.
Originally, they’d planned a rest day at Firefly Forest, but since they were already here, why not climb a snow peak?
Part of the Hengduan Range, Dragon Gate’s highest summit neared six thousand meters. Few tourists ventured here—unlike regular hikes, scaling a snow mountain meant battling altitude sickness and exhaustion. Most opted for gentler attractions.
Even the local crew, lifelong Yunnan natives, had never attempted the climb. “Go as far as you can,” they said. “If it’s too much, we’ll film at the base.”
But the summit’s view was worth it.
Yu Wanqiu had no reservations, and neither did Jiang Lan. They were here on the clock, after all—when you take the job, you do it right. The chosen peak stood at just over four thousand meters, manageable with preparation.
Bundled in heavy mountaineering gear and anti-slip boots, the two looked almost comically bulky. This wasn’t Yu Wanqiu’s first time at a snow mountain—she’d filmed here once before, though only at the base.
Back then, movie shoots demanded authenticity: real snow for snow scenes, real rain for rain. If the script called for a snow-capped peak, the crew had to find one.
Now, she wanted to test her limits.
For Jiang Lan, this was entirely new. The cold was biting—green still clung to the lower slopes, but up here, the ground was buried under thick snow. The wind howled, stinging her cheeks.
Luckily, the day was clear. Sunlight glittered across the snowfield, turning it into a sea of diamonds.
Jiang Lan scooped up a handful and tossed it into the air, watching it scatter like crushed gems.
“Yu Wanqiu, doesn’t this snow look like diamonds?” she called, flopping onto the ground. “A whole mountain of them!”
Once she said it, Yu Wanqiu saw it too—the way the light caught every flake, just like a diamond’s sparkle. Why had she never noticed how beautiful they could be?
Maybe there just hadn’t been enough of them before.
An entire mountain of shattered diamonds, piled into a snow-capped peak.
Yu Wanqiu snapped a photo for her social media—first times were always worth remembering.
They were still at the base, prepping for the climb. Their packs held rations, oxygen canisters, and Jiang Lan’s “secret weapon”—something to commemorate the summit.
The staff were also joining the mountain climb, accompanied by a photographer and a mountaineering instructor. The instructor, an avid climber, had scaled snowy peaks over thirty times, including eight ascents of the highest summits, ensuring the group's safety to the greatest extent possible.
Xiao Chen and Xiao Xu stayed behind at the hotel—their presence wouldn’t have been of much help and might even have caused complications, so they didn’t tag along. Yu Wanqiu told them they could either relax at the hotel or explore the area if they wished, with all expenses covered by the studio.
Yet another work-sponsored trip.
The mountain chosen by the staff wasn’t particularly steep. The group trudged upward step by step, experiencing the bitter cold of winter in early autumn—a unique sensation. The instructor led the way, with Yu Wanqiu walking ahead of Jiang Lan.
Every now and then, the instructor glanced back and remarked, "Not many people come here to climb. Most snow mountain enthusiasts prefer higher, more challenging peaks. Yunnan’s mountains aren’t a frequent choice."
But in reality, Longmen Snow Mountain was better suited for casual climbers—gentler slopes, moderate altitude, and minimal risk of avalanches. From the summit, one could take in most of Yunnan’s breathtaking scenery, offering an excellent panoramic view.
Yu Wanqiu kept up with the instructor effortlessly. "The air here is wonderful," she said, breathing in the crisp, snowy atmosphere.
The instructor chuckled, only to swallow a mouthful of snowflakes. "Yeah, climbing clears the mind. I’ve always loved it."
He was impressed by Yu Wanqiu’s steady breathing and lack of complaints—her stamina was remarkable.
The staff, too, felt they’d struck gold. Among Yunnan’s scenic spots, snow mountains were the hardest to film. Aerial shots captured the grandeur of the entire range, but while visually stunning, they often intimidated viewers rather than inspiring them to climb.
To create promotional footage that resonated, they needed to focus on people—showing real climbers making the ascent, making others believe they could do it too.
Initially, they’d worried the two women might refuse. And if they had, there wouldn’t have been much to do—what if they couldn’t make it up?
Fortunately, both were professionals.
Jiang Lan, despite her youth, was just as dedicated.
She panted heavily, the mountain wind slicing at her face like knives. Every time she opened her mouth, snowflakes flew in—deceptively sugar-like but utterly flavorless. She sealed her lips shut to avoid swallowing more.
Her backpack weighed her down, growing heavier with each step. After about twenty minutes, Jiang Lan was struggling. Just as she was about to ask for a break, Yu Wanqiu spoke up first: "Let’s rest for a bit. I’m getting tired."
The instructor checked his watch. "Alright, take a breather. We’ve still got a ways to go before the summit."
Gasping, Jiang Lan glanced at Yu Wanqiu, who had already shrugged off her backpack and was rubbing her shoulders. "What are you waiting for? Isn’t your bag heavy?"
Jiang Lan pressed her lips together and dropped her backpack to the ground. Without caring about the cold, she plopped down onto the snow. Yu Wanqiu sat beside her, reaching out to touch Jiang Lan’s face. "How are you holding up?"
Jiang Lan took a sip of hot water. "I’m okay for now. Not sure about later, but I’ll make it up. I won’t push myself recklessly."
Yu Wanqiu sighed. "Good. We don’t need heroics—otherwise, we’d have to carry you down. Look how few of us there are."
Only seven in total.
Jiang Lan assured her she’d be fine, her voice soft, as if afraid the wind would scatter her words. "Yu Wanqiu, when we reach the top, I’ll give you something fun."
Yu Wanqiu was curious, but Jiang Lan insisted it had to wait until they summited.
The ​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‍photographer wasn’t faring much better. Along with their heavy backpacks, they lugged bulky cameras through the snow, stumbling with each step. But the mountain’s beauty was undeniable—every shot was postcard-worthy, and both Yu Wanqiu and Jiang Lan were stunning subjects.
Yu Wanqiu had a naturally photogenic face. Most people lost the sparkle in their eyes with age, but hers remained vivid, like polished glass, capturing the snow’s reflection in a way that made it seem even more enchanting.
Jiang Lan, in the prime of her youth, wore minimal makeup—her forehead framed by wispy strands, a hint of pink at the corners of her eyes, her nose and cheeks flushed red from the cold. Each exhale formed a misty cloud, making her look like a snow-dusted rabbit.
Whether it was the scenery or their inherent charm, the photographer felt every frame could be a poster.
The snow was pristine white, their skin glowing red—the contrast was striking.
After a five-minute break, the instructor announced, "Time to move. We can stop again if needed."
Yu Wanqiu stood first, offering Jiang Lan a hand up. "Let me carry some of your things."
Jiang Lan quickly slung her backpack on. "No need. I can manage."
She stepped into Yu Wanqiu’s footprints, finding the path much easier. If she had to lead, they’d never reach the summit.
Yu Wanqiu kept looking back, lending a hand whenever the going got tough. From then on, she practically pulled Jiang Lan along the rest of the way.
The higher they climbed, the thinner the air became. Jiang Lan strapped on an oxygen tank, pausing to rest every twenty minutes. They had started their ascent at eight in the morning, and by half past two in the afternoon, the group finally reached the summit.
There’s a poem that says, "When you stand atop the highest peak, all other mountains seem small."
Apart from the few times she’d flown on a plane, this was the closest Jiang Lan had ever been to the sky—the heavens above her, the clouds beneath her feet. Looking down, she saw miniature mountain ranges and golden farmlands dotted with a speck of red—the Western Hills—while behind them stretched an endless expanse of snow-capped peaks.
This was a natural viewing platform. Jiang Lan pulled Yu Wanqiu close for a quick selfie with her phone. It was her first time climbing a snowy mountain, and even though the altitude wasn’t extreme, it was still worthy of a social media post.
After snapping the photo, Jiang Lan sat down, catching her breath. She unzipped her backpack, which held snacks, her oxygen tank, and a green dinosaur-shaped snow mold.
Kids loved playing with these. During heavy snowfall in winter, she’d press the mold into the snow, creating row after row of little dinosaurs, as if they were a group of children listening to her lecture.
But come spring, no one bought these molds anymore. Jiang Lan’s purchase was the shop’s first sale in months.
"Yu Wanqiu! Come here!" Jiang Lan clapped her hands together. The snow here was permanent, so with just a quick press, a tiny dinosaur emerged. For a sturdier one, she packed more snow inside—the more snow, the firmer the dinosaur.
Who could resist playing in the snow on a mountain?
This time of year, even the northeastern provinces had little to no snowfall, with temperatures above freezing. If you wanted snow, you had to come to the highlands.
Jiang Lan couldn’t guarantee these were the only snow dinosaurs this season, but she was certain they were among the rarest in the world.
"The first one’s for you." She placed the little dinosaur in Yu Wanqiu’s hand. The ice-cold snow numbed her fingers, but the creature was undeniably adorable—goofy-looking, with big eyes, a wide grin, and a row of bright white teeth.
Yu Wanqiu asked, "Did you buy the mold on Taobao?"
Jiang Lan nodded. "139 yuan. Want to try it, Yu Wanqiu?"
Yu Wanqiu sat down in the snow and soon got the hang of it. Before long, rows upon rows of tiny dinosaurs lined the ground, all facing east—toward the rising sun.
Yu Wanqiu counted over sixty of them, but none could be taken down the mountain. They’d melt in no time. "When winter comes, let’s make a whole army of these at home—on the windowsill, by the door, everywhere."
Jiang Lan grinned. "Then let these little guys stand guard over the Dragon Gate Snow Mountain and our country!"
Perfect—tiny dinosaurs protecting the mountain.
Even the cameraman couldn’t help but smile. The joy between the two women dispelled his exhaustion.
The crew urged him to capture more footage of the snow dinosaurs—it was adorable content that would surely resonate with viewers.
If you wanted to play in the snow during summer, Dragon Gate Snow Mountain was the place to be. Plenty of snow to go around.
After a while, their guide spoke up. "We should head down soon. It’ll be dark before we know it."
Descending was trickier than climbing. One misstep, and you’d slide right down. Thankfully, the slope wasn’t too steep. Jiang Lan amused herself by imagining she was a potato—then she could just roll all the way to the bottom.
By the time they reached the base, it was past seven, and darkness had settled in. The crew took them to a local restaurant for a specialty mushroom hotpot—a massive, steaming pot of seasonal fungi that would’ve cost a fortune if they’d paid out of pocket.
Full and satisfied, Jiang Lan went straight to bed after a shower. The day’s exertion left her limbs sore, and she drifted off within minutes. Meanwhile, Yu Wanqiu stepped outside to call Lu Shuangchen.
He answered almost immediately, voice tense. "What’s wrong? Did something happen?"
Yu Wanqiu sighed. "Nothing’s wrong… Can’t I just call you?"
Lu Shuangchen stammered, "Of course you can. I didn’t mean it like that. I just—"
It wasn’t surprising he’d assume the worst. Normally, the couple rarely called each other. Lu Shuangchen was swamped with work, and Yu Wanqiu’s filming schedule kept her awake at odd hours. He never wanted to disturb her.
Yu Wanqiu wasn’t even sure why she’d called. By the time she realized what she was doing, the call had already connected.
She’d had a wonderful day—being with Jiang Lan always made her happy. But this call wasn’t to share that joy. Instead, it dawned on her how seldom she and Lu Shuangchen traveled together.
Both of them had been to countless places—Yu Wanqiu for filming, Lu Shuangchen for business—but rarely side by side.
Apart from their honeymoon, they’d hardly gone anywhere together.
She didn’t know how to put it into words. If it were Jiang Lan, she’d probably cheerfully say, "Let’s go here tomorrow!" But Yu Wanqiu couldn’t bring herself to say things like that.
Instead, she said, "It’s still early, but Jiang Lan’s already asleep. I couldn’t, so I called. Aren’t you taking any time off during the holiday?"
Lu Shuangchen replied, "Didn’t go to the office today. Visited Mom and Dad instead. Wife… today’s Mid-Autumn Festival."
Lu Shuangchen visited the Jiang family to check on his in-laws, who were in good health. They kept asking when he would bring Jiang Lan back for a visit.
Yu Wanqiu responded with a quiet "Oh." The two fell into silence over the phone for nearly half a minute before Yu Wanqiu called out, "Lu Shuangchen."
Lu Shuangchen replied, "I'm here."
"I went to Longmen Snow Mountain today. The scenery was beautiful, and the mountain wasn’t too high. I wonder if you’d still be able to climb it," Yu Wanqiu said with a light laugh. "I think I could manage another trip."
If Lu Shuangchen hadn’t grasped her meaning after all these years, he would’ve wasted his life. "Once you finish filming, let’s go to the snow mountain together. I can still hike," he said.
Yu Wanqiu chuckled again. She might not be as straightforward as Jiang Lan, but as long as Lu Shuangchen understood her, that was enough.
They stayed on the phone for over an hour without saying much of substance. Eventually, Yu Wanqiu, overcome by drowsiness, ended the call. That night, she slept soundly.
The next day, Jiang Lan couldn’t get out of bed.
"Teacher Yu, my legs and back hurt so much!" she groaned. In truth, her entire body ached—not just her legs and back. The pain was more intense than the sour punch of an aged-pickled-vegetable beef noodle soup.
Yu Wanqiu laughed. "At your age, what back pain could you possibly have?"
Jiang Lan: "!"
Yu Wanqiu added, "I’ll give you a massage later. You’re just sore from lactic acid buildup after not exercising for so long. A good rubdown, and you’ll be fine by tomorrow."
But today, the pain was unavoidable. Despite it, they still had to film a promotional video. When Jiang Lan asked if Yu Wanqiu was in pain too, she shook her head. Back when she filmed action scenes, she’d often be covered in bruises, but she’d still have to work the next day. She was used to it.
"We should’ve massaged you yesterday," Yu Wanqiu remarked.
Jiang Lan was on the verge of tears. Only two more days of filming remained before she could go home and rest for a couple of days.
The last two stops were Xishuangbanna and Erhai Lake. "Firefly Forest" had been shot at night, and Longmen Snow Mountain was added as the sixth location. The final two shoots went smoothly—Jiang Lan and Yu Wanqiu had already taken promotional photos there before.
Filming wrapped up on October 5th. The two didn’t linger in Yunnan and headed straight to the airport. At 10:30 PM, at the airport exit, Jiang Lan spotted Xie Yunzhen and Jiang Baoguo waiting for her.
Lu Shuangchen and Lu Yicheng were there too.
Lu Yicheng reached out and gave Jiang Lan a brief hug—just a light embrace. With Xie Yunzhen and Jiang Baoguo present, he practically kept two meters away from her otherwise.
The hug was only because he’d missed her terribly. Jiang Lan had been exhausted from filming the promotional videos, so they hadn’t even called each other for days.
A single "Goodnight" text, and that was it.
After so many days apart, Lu Yicheng could only see updates about Jiang Lan through her social media.
Xie Yunzhen didn’t comment, while Jiang Baoguo turned his head away, as if he couldn’t bear to look at Lu Yicheng.
Jiang Lan grinned and handed him a large bag. "Flower cakes for you! And some other local specialties."
Lu Yicheng blinked in surprise. "I get some too?"
Was that even a question? Of course he did.
Jiang Lan had bought gifts for everyone, including her roommates. Yu Wanqiu had also stocked up on snacks—who knew when they’d return to Yunnan next?
It was already past 10 PM, and they wouldn’t get home until midnight. Yu Wanqiu patted Jiang Lan’s shoulder. "Let me know when you’re back."
Jiang Lan waved. "Teacher Yu, I’m off then!"
Yu Wanqiu glanced at Lu Yicheng, who was staring longingly, and added, "By the way, when are you heading back to school?"
Classes officially resumed on the 8th, but Jiang Lan just needed to return in time. Still…
Jiang Lan said, "The afternoon of the 7th. Lu Yicheng, let’s go back together."
Lu Yicheng loaded Jiang Lan’s things into Teacher Xie’s little red car. "I’ll pick you up then. Teacher Xie, is that alright?"
Xie Yunzhen nodded.
This was the first time the two families had met, so a few polite exchanges were inevitable. Xie Yunzhen and Yu Wanqiu chatted while the others stood silently nearby.
Xie Yunzhen had a very favorable impression of Yu Wanqiu. "Get some rest when you’re back. Sorry for Jiang Lan causing you trouble."
"Mom, I didn’t cause any trouble!" Jiang Lan protested. Why did parents always say things like that?
Yu Wanqiu smiled. "I really enjoyed spending time with Jiang Lan."
Yu Wanqiu was set to join the "Tribute" film crew on October 8th. After a couple of days at home, she’d be back to work. She hadn’t even touched her books during this break and would need to review high school materials thoroughly upon returning.
Next time they met, filming would already be over.
On October 8th, Yu Wanqiu entered the "Tribute" set in the Gobi Desert of the northwest, where the environment was recreated as authentically as possible.
Earthen houses, dirt roads—every step kicked up clouds of dust.
This was the epitome of "facing the yellow earth with the sky at one’s back."
The living conditions were harsh, with actors staying in makeshift shelters. The area where Wu Qing had once planted trees was now lush and green, but here, the land remained barren.
Liu Qingyun gave Yu Wanqiu a tour. "First, familiarize yourself with the shooting locations."
Preparing the set had taken nearly three months, followed by two months of auditions and casting. Everything was ready—all that was left was to bring the story to life. Liu Qingyun was determined to give this film her absolute best.
Playing the role of Wu Qing's husband was a seasoned actor from the industry—tall, lean, and scholarly in appearance, wearing a pair of black-framed glasses. His smile gave off an honest, good-natured vibe.
Yu Wanqiu also spotted someone else—Ming Yao, dressed in a gray tunic with two braids, her face darkened with makeup. At a glance, she was almost unrecognizable.
Ming Yao felt like cursing.
Yu Wanqiu mused: "Too early to sleep, too late to sleep."