You two get married — I’ll sit at the head table
At that moment, all the fandoms were still glued to the livestream; no one was paying attention to the trending hashtag. The casual onlookers outside, however, had keener noses — they smelled trouble and were the first to notice.
“Come on, the Wens are a top-tier family. Gossip about them? That’s gotta be fake.”
“Let’s wait a bit — don’t jump the gun. If we’re going to feast on tea, it should be piping hot.”
“I heard before that Wen Zhi had some connection to the Wens. Looks like it might not have been just hearsay.”
“Stop speculating. As Wen Zhi’s die-hard, I know the pattern — it’s probably Wen Yin buying another trending topic to get attention!”
“The entertainment world is scarier than real aristocracy sometimes. Nothing to see here, folks — move along.”
“Don’t get why Wen Yin keeps doing these chaotic stunts. My opinion of her just dropped watching the stream.”
Then a small, unassuming comment began to catch attention.
“Insider scoop: Wen Zhi really is a Wen daughter. But the Wen family is deep and dangerous — Wen Yin? She’s the true lost heiress of the Wens. She only returned to the family a few years ago.”
That single line detonated across the thread. People swarmed the post to gawk; the claim, absurd as it sounded, climbed to the top of the hot comments. As the hashtag rose in heat, the replies below fractured into a thousand wild theories.
None of this registered with Wen Yin. She was still in the car, eyes closed, trying to calm herself. To Wen Zhi, watching her from a distance, the calm only read as arrogance. A mocking smile flickered in Wen Zhi’s dark eyes — she rather wanted to see if the speculation would unsettle Wen Yin.
After all, the Wen family’s coldness had long been a blade at Wen Yin’s heart. This trending storm felt like salt ground into that wound.
They arrived at the filming location soon after. The production team had set everything up in advance; four groups were to shoot in rotation.
Xiao Mo sat alone on a chair. Thin strips of sunlight leaked across his black robes, but the light didn’t add dignity — it only made him look oddly forlorn. His gaze never left Wen Zhi.
Shipping fans caught it immediately and squealed.
“Who knew the domineering CEO would go full dedicated-route? Can’t help but love it.”
“Xiao Mo and Wen Zhi are so perfect together. He’s always chosen her — gentle, attentive, the dad-type boyfriend I live for.”
“Stop with the blind fan worship. Didn’t Xiao Mo allow Wen Zhi to smear others and jump between lovers?”
“I didn’t see him pick her so firmly. Wen Zhi’s been flirting with Jiang Shihuai and Lu Ziqiu — she’s the one not committing.”
Across the set, the shoots were humming along. Wen Zhi and Jiang Shihuai needed no prompting; their casual interactions already projected pink-hued chemistry, and the cameraman’s carefully crafted angles only heightened their compatibility.
The next duo was less cooperative. Li Xiangwei maintained a neutral face, but the slight curl at the corner of her mouth betrayed a stubborn pride. She clearly didn’t want to play up any affection with Xiang Zhou.
Xiang Zhou, however, felt the stiffness beneath her act. He slid a hand possessively around her waist, sensitive to how rigid she’d become. His gaze flicked to the little mole on her earlobe — a spot that flushed crimson whenever she was embarrassed.
The smolder in his dark eyes softened into something almost amused, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth that hinted at more than mere charm.
“Although Xiang Zhou doesn’t say much, they’re a perfect match,” one fan posted.
“Dude stares at Xiangwei like he’s melting,” another replied.
“Man up and chase her! If you confess today, marry tomorrow, I’ll be at the head table the day after!” someone shouted.
“I second that!!” echoed another.
Lu Ziqiu and Qian Shuzhi fared worse. Their movements were stiff, as if their limbs were still learning to work together.
“Looks like evolution skipped their limbs,” a commenter joked.
“‘Hi, it’s your first day on the job. Please familiarize yourself.’”
“‘Nope, not familiar. Don’t cue us.’”
The cameraman racked his brain for cheesy, suggestive bits to coax some chemistry out of them, but the mood remained dead. Their faces were flat, like strangers forced into a photo-op. He shot on with a helpless expression to the director, silently saying, I tried.
In contrast, Wen Yin and Shao Yinan’s pairing was plain but comfortable. They laughed, bantered, and moved with an easy rhythm. The crew loved lucky chances to frame two striking faces together, and they planned to make the most of this one.
Under the director’s guidance, Wen Yin’s hand was placed on Shao Yinan’s shoulder.
She blinked.
From a distance she looked like a delicate figure perched on a raised stone, small and fragile in a white dress. He sat beside her, his arm heavy around her waist, anchoring her to him. The move threw her off balance for an instant; flustered, she stumbled forward and landed against him, her slender hands instinctively bracing on his shoulder.
The camera caught the stumble in one breathless frame.
Shao Yinan and Wen Yin were a visual knockout. Dressed in black, he carried the air of a man who commanded great power: cold, sharp, a presence that was both sovereign and solitary. His dark eyes fixed on the lens with a dangerous, possessive intensity.
Fans lost their minds.
“Unbelievable. I have no vocabulary for this except to scream.”
“Shao Yinan’s stare is lethal. He’s got that psycho-king vibe.”
“Forced-love? Yes please. Wen Yin is the captive little wife; the makeup is perfect. Someone cast these two in that drama, I beg you.”
“That shot screams forced romance — the icy, restrained monarch and his fragile white-flower queen. I can’t—this is everything.”
“Real couples are the best to ship. Marry them, please!!!”
“Tears. Shao Yinan’s eyes give off that ‘mad-love-impossible-to-have’ energy. I die for it.”
Wen Yin was close enough to see the taut line of Shao Yinan’s jaw. He seemed to notice her gaze; he lowered his lashes and met her eyes.
His voice was low, lazy with a hint of something dangerous.
“What are you looking at, Yin?”