CHAPTER 2: It Hurts

[01: Stomach Cramps. Pain Level: 8. Relief Duration: 10 seconds.]
[Touch your “cure” for 10 seconds to relieve the pain! (Target locked.)]

Wen Heng thought he was hallucinating.

But the robotic voice was painfully clear, even beneath the screams of the crowd—and the wrenching pain in his gut was way too real to ignore.

The cameras were temporarily cut. The production team scrambled into crisis mode, rushing to calm the fans on-site. With Wen Heng involved, the online attention had skyrocketed. The director was drenched in sweat—if Wen Heng’s health really tanked, the entire show would be doomed.

Wen Heng clenched his jaw, wiping the blood from his mouth himself and refusing help. His manager handed him some painkillers.

But after taking them, nothing changed.

“Let’s keep filming,” Wen Heng finally said after half a minute, his voice slow and strained. “I’m fine.”

Ding-dong! There’s no need to suffer—your cure is right next to you!

That annoying voice came back again. Wen Heng instinctively looked up—and saw Gu Sheng approaching, ready to film.

For a split second, he thought his eyes were broken.

Because somehow, that obnoxious, clingy wife of his was… glowing?

She’d ditched the over-the-top designer dress. Her makeup was barely there. She stood quietly among the others, calm and composed. And somehow, in that moment, she had a kind of… unexplainable aura.

Something had changed. And for the first time, he couldn’t look away.

…Wait. She’s the cure?

Gu Sheng?

Wen Heng let out a short, mocking laugh.

His throat still tasted like blood. One hand pressed against his throbbing stomach, his expression cold as ice.

Over my dead body will I let Gu Sheng be the one to control me—

Smack!

Gu Sheng missed a step coming down the stairs and accidentally bumped into him.

And in that exact instant, all the pain vanished. Gone. Like a storm suddenly clearing into blue skies. A breeze rolled in, gentle and soothing, every nerve in his body relaxing like a cat stretching in the sun.

In her head, the CP system cheered excitedly:
“Yes! That’s it! Host, let him feel how important you are!”

But the very next second, Gu Sheng stepped back, apologetic.
“Oh, sorry, didn’t mean to bump into you.”

System: “?”
Wen Heng: “…”

The moment Gu Sheng moved away, the pain came roaring back, slamming into Wen Heng’s gut like a vice. He barely kept from coughing up blood again.

Gu Sheng, still looking innocent, added sincerely, “I remember the third rule. No physical contact. I won’t touch you.”

Wen Heng clenched his jaw through the pain. “…Good. As long as you remember.”

Gu Sheng beamed at him. “Mhm.”

Wen Heng stared at her for a long moment, trying to read her expression. Nothing. No guilt, no smugness, nothing suspicious at all.

If this weird, curse-like situation was really something Gu Sheng had orchestrated, she should’ve taken advantage of the moment to get close. But she didn’t.

No answers came. With a dark look, Wen Heng turned and walked toward the villa without another word.

—

The livestream resumed. Viewers across the country finally unclenched. The comments section was flooded with worried messages for their beloved “Gege.”

Wen Heng and Gu Sheng walked down a corridor choked with wild grass and into the dusty, long-abandoned villa. As they stepped inside, the main camera panned to the living room—everyone else had already arrived.

“The Four Rules of Happiness” featured, as the name suggested, four couples exploring the idea of happiness. Two married pairs and two dating. Aside from this awkwardly fake married couple (Wen Heng and Gu Sheng), the others were fan-favorite “model couples”: industry sweethearts Wang He and Lu Yuzhuo, the overly saccharine “Sunny Pair” Qin Tian and Song Qingzhi, and a commercial idol couple, Yu Shanbei and Lu Yiyi.

Before Wen Heng and Gu Sheng arrived, the other couples had already flexed their relationship sweetness, casually throwing handfuls of “dog food” (PDA). No one could out-sugar the “Sunny Pair,” but it didn’t matter—Wen Heng and Gu Sheng were here to take last place. No way would they be serving sweetness.

Sure enough, Wen Heng walked in with a face like a thundercloud. His usual cool aura was dialed up to icy white. And right behind him was that infamous Gu Sheng—arrogant, over-the-top, the socialite with a temper.

Qin Tian instinctively reached for Song Qingzhi’s hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.
“Don’t worry,” he murmured. Their fans went into a frenzy, squealing over his protective gesture—and, naturally, sending another wave of hate Gu Sheng’s way.

The other guests had only ever heard rumors about Gu Sheng—mostly negative. But now, seeing her in person…

She was in a plain white button-up shirt, her silhouette sharp and clean. Her looks were fierce, like wild roses in full bloom—so striking they almost hurt to look at. And yet, with her calm, relaxed expression, there was something quietly magnetic about her.

Wait… she’s Wen Heng’s wife?

Yu Shanbei stared a beat too long. His face flushed red, and he quickly turned to glance at his girlfriend.

Only to find her blushing too.
He hissed, “Why are you blushing?!”
She stammered, “I—I don’t know!”

—She’s hot AND cool?! I can’t take it!!

Song Qingzhi’s eyes widened slightly, cursing her manager internally—This was not the version of Gu Sheng she’d been briefed on.

Still, the frosty tension between Wen Heng and Gu Sheng seemed real. As soon as they sat down, Wen Heng left a chasm of space between them. Song Qingzhi, snuggled up under Qin Tian’s arm, felt a small swell of smug satisfaction.

[LOL look at Wen Heng’s face, clearly doesn’t wanna sit next to her.]
[Gotta admit, Gu Jie’s surprisingly restrained. No clinging or faking it.]
[Yeah, for now. Bet she’s secretly obsessed behind the scenes.]

Veteran actor Wang He broke the tension with a laugh, directing the conversation to Wen Heng.
“We were all doing intros before you came. But Wen Heng, you probably don’t need one. Who doesn’t know you?”

Wen Heng, who was silently dying of stomach pain and sitting half a meter away from his source of relief, had zero interest in chatting.

But the “Best Actor” title was too famous. Yu Shanbei tried to lighten the mood.
“I grew up watching Wen Heng’s movies!”
…Only to have the room burst into laughter when it turned out he was just five years younger than Wen Heng.

[Shanbei has peak variety sense!]
[LMAO we all grew up watching Wen Heng, let’s be real 😂]

The guests were all from the entertainment industry, and naturally drifted into conversations about their work. As a “nobody,” Gu Sheng didn’t really fit. The other couples would at least look after their partners, but Wen Heng? He straight-up ignored her, arms crossed, sitting coldly on the side.

Then, with a gentle, almost nervous tone, Song Qingzhi spoke up.
“Um… Miss Gu, you probably aren’t too familiar with this stuff, right? Since we don’t know much about you yet, maybe this is a good chance to tell us—do you have any special skills or hobbies?”

Instant brownie points. Fans swooned. Casual viewers found her kind and considerate.

[Ugh Qingzhi please stop being so nice! That woman tried to blacklist you!!]
[Wait WHAT?! Okay I’m officially a Song Qingzhi stan now.]

But the director was an old fox. He immediately signaled the lead cameraman, who gleefully zoomed in on Gu Sheng’s face.

She lifted an eyebrow, amused.

Classic white lotus move from Song Qingzhi. On the surface, it sounded polite, like she was giving Gu Sheng a chance. But if Gu Sheng did mention a skill, there’d be no way to demonstrate it live—making her look like a show-off. And if she said she had none, well, cue the internet roast.

In the original story, the OG Gu Sheng proudly declared her talents: flower arranging, piano, jewelry appraisal—her tone full of superiority and disdain. The backlash was so bad, she got shredded online and handed the production team a trending scandal on a silver platter.

But this Gu Sheng? She wasn’t that dumb.

She glanced at Wen Heng, who still looked like he was about to pass out, and bit back a smirk.

Then she turned back to the group and casually shrugged.

“Me?” Her voice was light. “I don’t know how to do anything.”

The livestream chat exploded in a chorus of knowing groans, clearly expecting this. Song Qingzhi couldn’t help the small smirk tugging at her lips—until Gu Sheng followed up in an utterly deadpan tone:

“I only feel bad for giegie.”

The words were sweet and clear, her voice melodic—yet somehow absurdly serious in its delivery.

Song Qingzhi: “…?”

Yu Shanbei & Lu Yiyi: “Pfft—!”

The barrage of comments paused for a second. And then, total chaos.

[Wait what—did Gu Sheng just… make a joke?!]

[Total passerby here but that line killed me. First laugh of the stream. Gu Sheng might actually have a personality??]

[Don’t fall for it! That smug little witch is just fishing for attention!]

The tension on set instantly loosened. Yu Shanbei grinned and ran with it, “Can’t relate. I only feel bad for Yiyi—”

Lu Yiyi giggled and gave him a playful slap.

The other cast members, who’d started out wary and distant toward Gu Sheng, seemed to let their guard down a little.

But Wen Heng’s brows furrowed.

Even through the dull ache in his stomach, he glanced sideways—right at the faint smile curving Gu Sheng’s lips.

The system popped up waving metaphorical pom-poms:
“He’s looking at you! He’s staring straight at you! Show him you care, be his warm little harbor!”

Gu Sheng ignored it completely.
Wen Heng was still stubbornly enduring the pain—she wasn’t about to expose herself just yet.

…

The production team, meanwhile, hadn’t expected this at all. Who would’ve thought Gu Sheng—a total newbie—would have such a natural flair for variety shows? She handled the tension like a pro, swerving right past the drama they were counting on.

But that was fine. The next segment had way more potential for conflict. The director and producer exchanged a quick glance, then smiled and kept things moving.

“As you can all see, this old mansion has definitely seen better days. The living conditions are less than ideal. So, if our four couples want to enjoy their stay here, they’ll need to work for it… A friendly reminder: tonight’s room selection will be based on performance~”

Gu Sheng had seen this coming. In the original plan, she was basically set up to be the main conflict magnet. Spoiled, pampered, helpless—“domestic skills” was the perfect segment to show all that in full color.

The livestream platform opened several windows—some fixed cams inside the villa, others following each cast member individually. Viewers could pick who they wanted to watch. Everyone was performing their best “I’m such a hard worker” act on camera.

Especially with the room selection looming, the couples went all in—cleaning with flirty banter, scrubbing while flirting. Online comments were flooded with: Too sweet! This is what love looks like!

—Well, except for Gu Sheng and Wen Heng.

They weren’t even trying to steal the spotlight. And yet, their streams had the highest viewership. Wen Heng’s window was filled with adoring fans drooling over his looks. Gu Sheng’s… was more of a waiting room for trainwrecks.

[Now that they’re split up, let the public shaming begin!]

[Compared to the Sunny Couple next door, this is just tragic. I mean, isn’t Gu Sheng embarrassed being all alone?]

[She doesn’t have time to feel awkward. She’s too busy pretending she knows how to clean LOL][She’s really committed to the bit huh]

But just as the comments were getting good, a shadow fell across Gu Sheng.

She was crouched down, fiddling with a beat-up old vacuum cleaner. When she looked up, she was met with Wen Heng’s dark, stormy eyes—eyes filled with something dangerously close to suppressed agony.

[Wait WHAT is Wen Heng doing over there?!][He came to HER?!]

[He’s too kind, honestly. He must’ve felt bad for her.]

Thanks to Wen Heng’s sudden appearance, Gu Sheng’s stream viewership skyrocketed. Nearly 80% of the audience flocked to her window.

“You…” Wen Heng’s voice was low, his eyes locked on hers.

That throwaway line earlier—“I only feel bad for giegie”—had struck a chord with him. Even through the pain, he’d sensed something.

Gu Sheng met his gaze calmly, unbothered. Then she turned inward to the system and asked, “You think his pupils are dilating from the pain?”

The system, on the verge of a breakdown:
“…Could you just be human for once??”
“Randomized pain will stack, you know. That means your husband might start feeling multiple levels of agony at the same time!”

Gu Sheng gave Wen Heng a slightly more sympathetic look.

She did feel bad. A little.
But she was faking it.

Before either of them could say anything, a floral-print figure swooped into frame. Song Qingzhi had worked her way over during her cleaning duties—just in time to appear in their livestream window.

“Hi, Gu-jiejie,” she greeted with a polite nod, then turned to give Wen Heng her best profile angle, her smile radiant. “Wen-laoshi, it’s been a while.”

That overly formal title triggered a wave of nostalgia in the comments. Everyone suddenly remembered—they’d been in a movie together years ago. Senior-junior, innocent and professional. So sweet.

But Gu Sheng knew better.

Back then, Song Qingzhi had already tasted the perks of fake dating rumors with Wen Heng. And with his upcoming massive drama adaptation, she was clearly trying to cozy up again.

Wen Heng’s expression didn’t budge. Pale, cold, and detached.
“Long time no see,” he said, voice flat.

Classic Wen Heng. Though if his stomach weren’t killing him, he might’ve managed a more polite tone.

Song Qingzhi looked a little thrown off, but quickly regrouped and reached for the vacuum in Gu Sheng’s hands.
“Let me handle this floor for you, Gu-jiejie~”

Gu Sheng raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

That was exactly the reaction Song Qingzhi had been fishing for. She smiled gently and pointed to a box on the floor.
“No worries, just take that box away instead. I’ll do the rest!”

The box was open, with plastic toys piled on top. It looked light.

But underneath, it was packed with heavy books. If Gu Sheng picked it up and so much as winced, the internet would roast her alive: Can’t even lift a box? Meanwhile Zhi-Zhi cleaned an entire floor!

So Gu Sheng took the vacuum back.
“How about you move the box.”

Song Qingzhi’s face fell slightly, the picture of hurt innocence.
“I just wanted to make things easier for you…”

The viewers went feral.

[I swear, I’m this close to throwing hands.]

[How heavy can a box of toys even BE?! Can’t even accept kindness now?]

[I’m so over it. Kick Gu Sheng off the show already. Just give us Wen Heng!]

Even Wen Heng frowned slightly and glanced at Gu Sheng again.

Before the shoot, she’d threatened to blacklist Song Qingzhi. Called her a snake.
But now? Song Qingzhi had been nothing but gracious on camera—offering help, being friendly. And Gu Sheng? She just kept shutting her down.

Just because of jealousy?

Wen Heng’s head throbbed with pain and frustration, his dislike for Gu Sheng deepening by the second. He bent down, voice curt. “I’ll move it.”

His long fingers slipped under the box, ready to lift—only to pause. The weight felt… off.

And then—

Gu Sheng heard: “Love Level 02—”

Wen Heng heard: “Beep—”

“Wrist strain. Pain Level 6. Stack applied.”

In that instant, his arm gave out. The box yanked him forward, dragging him down with it.

Thud!
He dropped to one knee on the ground.

The audience watching the stream was stunned.

So was Song Qingzhi.

Only Gu Sheng remained calm. She casually stepped in, peeled away the stuffed toys on top, and said like it was no big deal, “It’s just full of books underneath. No shame in not being able to lift it.”

Wen Heng: “……”