An Leyan stood up in confusion.

He had only transmigrated here a few days ago—when did he make friends with a foreigner?

But as he stood, the man came closer. That familiar sense of pressure from his height immediately reminded him of being lifted and spun around.

In the afternoon, Awu Lie had been dressed like a tribal warrior—skin painted bronze, half-armored, half-bare, with bulging muscles.

But now, the man before him wore a black suit. Broad shoulders supported a perfect inverted triangle build, his firm chest muscles outlined under the fitted clothing. He stood tall and striking.

It was as if the boundary between dimensions had shattered. An Leyan’s face flushed red.

“You’re… Awu Lie?”

“Yep! My name’s Anderson.” The foreign hunk grinned warmly, speaking fluent Mandarin. “I saw the sign-in sheet backstage today and wondered if it was you. Now that I’ve seen you—what a pleasant surprise!”

Anderson chatted enthusiastically, while the other guests looked completely puzzled.

“He was Leyan’s work partner today,” Mu Wei explained, pulling out his phone and showing a promo post from the game.

The top post featured a video from the day’s event, starting with the scene of Awu Lie lifting Yilansel and spinning him.

The post-production had added cherry blossom effects—wind lifted the elf’s soft golden hair, pink petals floated gently around them. The proud elf stood on the warrior’s shoulders as Awu Lie looked up at him with a yearning gaze.

The guests’ expressions turned… complicated.

Yinxin watched the video.

The footage was a bit rough and not exactly high art, but the atmosphere between them was nice. Still, why did that scene make him feel so uncomfortable?

Fu Shicang’s expression didn’t change, but under the table, his hand clenched into a fist… then slowly relaxed.

Zhang Mao really was a sly old fox. Adding a new person at this moment disrupted the delicate balance the guests had just begun to build—utterly ruthless.

Bai Jingchen glanced at Fu Shicang.

Fu-ge’s face didn’t change at all. Looks like he’s not affected—great. I was worried that since they’re living together, Fu-ge would care more. But maybe not. Seems like I still have a shot.

Nie Changxing glared silently at Mu Wei.

What the hell was that? An Leyan being all friendly with someone else, and you’re not even jealous—you’re showing it off?

Mu Wei glared right back.

We’re all on the same starting line here. I’m not about to fight this foreigner solo. You all better step it up—we have to get this guy out of here!

Meanwhile, the two chatting at the table were completely unaware of the storm brewing. Anderson sat right next to An Leyan and started chatting non-stop about anime and games.

Eventually, when the restaurant began serving food and waitstaff moved between the tables, Anderson finally paused to take a breath.

Mu Wei quickly raised his glass. “Come on, let’s toast our new guest!”

Everyone smiled and raised their glasses, gently clinking them in the center of the table.

In front of the monitors, the production crew stifled their laughter.

“Zhang-ge, you’re so evil,” the assistant director said while slurping instant noodles. “Where did you find that foreigner—tall, handsome, and most importantly, totally oblivious. Those sharp little foxes at the table are about to skin him alive, and he’s still grinning and chatting with An Leyan like nothing’s happening. The rest can’t even get a word in.”

“Heh heh heh,” Zhang Mao chuckled darkly. “They’re all still too green to mess with me. Because of Fu Shicang joining early, I did another round of candidate filtering. Just like before—wait for the moment things stabilize, then drop in a catfish to stir the waters.”

“But we didn’t even know An Leyan would be the center of attention this season,” the assistant director said. “How did you know Anderson’s arrival would shake things up?”

“Well, first of all, Anderson’s outstanding. And second—sure, the guests might not know the exact work connections between each other, but I do.” Zhang Mao narrowed his eyes and smiled. “I had a few backups lined up. Of course I’m going to pick the one most likely to cause a storm!”

The assistant director nodded fiercely in his heart.

He’d been in the domestic variety show scene for years, always hovering at the middle tier. He joined Zhang Mao’s team hoping to learn something—and he sure had.

He’d thought it was all about good camera work and editing, but Zhang Mao even carefully plotted out the guest selection. A true master didn’t need to beg people to join—he always had a lineup ready, and could insert new players exactly when the story needed it.

That kind of behind-the-scenes power in the entertainment world wasn’t built in a day.

This romance variety show, Delicious Relations, was definitely going to blow up!

And for the guests on this show? Their futures were limitless!

The dinner passed with everyone harboring their own thoughts—except for An Leyan, who couldn’t think at all because Anderson was just that talkative.

Thanks to their similar professions, they shared many interests. Anderson constantly brought up topics that resonated with An Leyan, and before long, they’d talked about all sorts of things.

Tap tap. The table next to An Leyan was suddenly knocked on, and someone pushed over a bowl of mushroom soup.

An Leyan turned his head.

At some point, Nie Changxing had moved across from him, and Fu Shicang had quietly taken the seat beside him.

Startled and flattered, An Leyan quickly accepted the bowl, thanking him twice in a row before sipping carefully.

“Ah—this is really good!” he exclaimed, delighted, taking another big sip. “And the flavor is so unique—I don’t think regular ingredients could create this.”

His long-honed sensitivity from feeding picky eaters kicked in: This must be something Fu-ge likes!

He set the bowl down and looked around. “I’ll go ask the chef. If I can get the recipe, I’ll make it for you all in a few days.”

With Anderson left without a conversation partner, he finally smiled at the rest of the table and began eating in silence.

The other guests all looked like they’d been saved by the bell, silently offering grateful looks to Fu Shicang.

As expected of Fu-ge—so efficient. If he hadn’t stepped in, An Leyan would’ve been monopolized all night!

Fu Shicang, however, just lowered his gaze and calmly poured himself a bowl of mushroom soup.

Not long after An Leyan returned, dinner ended and the guests got into the production team’s van to return to the villa.

After getting in, he instinctively found a seat near the back. Yin Xin sat down beside him. When Fu Shicang got in, he looked toward the back, then sat in the front.

The vehicle started moving in the dark, and for a while, no one could find anything to talk about.

“Anderson’s moved in now—where’s he going to stay?” Bai Jingchen suddenly asked.

The others finally remembered that this guy was also moving in. Director Zhang was known for being unpredictable—surely he wouldn’t make Anderson room with Leyan?

“It should be my room,” Mu Wei answered. “When I came back earlier, there was an extra bed in there.”

He glanced back at Anderson, who was finally quiet: “I’ll take you there in a bit.”

Back at the villa, Mu Wei did indeed take Anderson to the room, and everyone else sighed in relief—some got drinks, others chatted.

An Leyan took two bags of fruit from the fridge and began peeling and slicing them, preparing to make a fruit platter.

Fu Shicang was slouched on the sofa.

After leaving the villa early that morning, he’d gone to film an interview for Qincheng. He had finished everything by midday but stayed holed up in his agent’s office, unwilling to move.

“What’s wrong? Feeling down? Or not feeling well?” the agent joked, giving his bent leg a pat.

He was lying on the sofa with a book over his face and only grunted in response, too lazy to say more.

“There’s a sports variety show that wants to invite you as a guest. Wanna go? It’s pre-recorded, just a week from now—right before the second episode of your dating show airs.”

“No,” Fu Shicang sat up, putting the book aside. “It’s summer—sports shows always include swimming. I won’t show skin on the dating show, so why would I do it on another one?”

So, it wasn’t safe here either, he thought silently. Thank goodness for that compression band—without it, there’s no way he could’ve moved that easily. Sooner or later, his agent would’ve started to suspect something.

Because of that—and the lingering confusion he still hadn’t sorted out—he felt a rare pang of guilt and awkwardness.

Just then, An Leyan came out with the fruit platter and set it on the coffee table in front of him.

Fu Shicang quickly sat up straight and even shifted outward, ready to stand.

The boy’s hand withdrew hastily after placing the platter, and he whispered, “Don’t misunderstand—I just put it here for everyone to share.”

Then he lowered his head and backed away from the space between the sofa and table.

Fu Shicang awkwardly kept his upright posture, watching Leyan’s lonely figure slowly walk away. He opened his mouth, wanting to call out.

But when the words reached his lips, he suddenly frowned.

Isn’t this what you wanted?

He stared at the plate of fruit for a long time, then returned to his room with a dark face.

An Leyan returned to the small pavilion on the slope.

At night, golden string lights hung from the eaves, lighting up the soft, cozy interior.

He took off his shoes and lay down in the center again.

The flickering lights danced in front of his eyes. Even with them closed, he could still see specks of light—chaotic and impossible to ignore.

He felt lost.

Getting transmigrated into a novel was something he had no choice but to accept. As for the people in the book, if he told them the truth, they’d probably think he was crazy.

He only wanted to help Cang ge the best he could, but it seemed like he misunderstood.

Just now… was he avoiding me?

What if, like in his past life, he cuts me off completely like he did to that one admirer—blocks me everywhere, acts like I don’t exist?

That thought sent a chill down An Leyan’s spine.

No way. I still want to be Cang ge’s assistant for life!

He rolled anxiously on the cushion and punched his pillow a few times in frustration.

Whoosh—

The curtain was suddenly lifted. An Leyan looked up to see a head of curly red hair—it was Anderson.

“I was wandering around and didn’t expect you to be in here,” he grinned at the doorway. “Can I come in?”

“Of course, please do!” An Leyan sat up quickly, leaned against a pavilion column, and smoothed his hair. “Sorry, it’s your first day—I should’ve shown you around.”

“You’re too polite,” Anderson chuckled. “Oh right—is this what you all call ‘protagonist energy’?”

An Leyan burst into laughter. “That’s not quite how that word’s used.”

He perked up a bit. “By the way, you don’t look like you have Huaguo blood—how come your Chinese is so good?”

“Really? You think my Chinese is good?” Anderson’s eyes lit up. “I’m actually mixed—one-quarter Huaguo blood. I probably just look more foreign.”

“I came to Huaguo after high school and went to university in Haishi.” He casually sat down. “I also think my Chinese is great—but he always says I don’t know how to use words properly.”

An Leyan politely ignored the vague “he.” “It’s already really good. And your understanding of anime culture is super local too—it’s fun chatting with you.”

His hair was a little messy from rolling around earlier. Now that he was leaning on the pavilion column, a few strands of bangs had fallen and brushed the corner of his eye.

Anderson raised a hand, gently brushed them aside, then casually rubbed his slim cheek near the temple. “But you don’t seem happy. Want to tell me why?”

The boy’s fingers were warm, and the soft touch of brushing his hair away brought a faint heat to An Leyan’s eyes.

Maybe it was Anderson’s foreign background that made him feel like a harmless outsider—or maybe he’d just been holding it in too long—but An Leyan lowered his head and began to confide:

“It’s just… I think someone misunderstood me. I’m just his fan, that’s all.”

He spoke softly, choosing a few things that didn’t involve transmigration or revenge, slowly telling this stranger what he’d been feeling since entering the villa.

After a while, he looked up and asked Anderson, “What should I do?”

His eyes were a little red. He was worried about crossing the fan boundary, but looked completely like someone lovesick.

Anderson sighed inwardly.

He rarely met someone he clicked with at first sight—he’d thought maybe he could pursue something. But turns out, this person already had feelings for someone else.

Still…

He thought back to the cold-faced handsome guy who interrupted him at the dinner table earlier and a playful smile appeared on his lips.

This is a dating show, after all. And in a dating show, you play by dating show rules.

Everyone has the right to pursue who they love. No one can refuse a date. Wavering feelings are normal here. There’s no moral judgment for being fickle—and viewers love a little drama.

Besides, right now, An Leyan doesn’t even know what he really feels.

If you won’t cherish him properly… then let me teach you a lesson.

He raised an eyebrow and put on a shocked expression: “Wow, the way you’re talking, you kinda sound like one of those scary obsessive fans!”

An Leyan: “…Huh?”

“Knowing about his unreleased projects, his favorite food, what medicine he takes, what books he reads, who his friends are, his entire daily routine…” Anderson exaggerated on purpose. “Think about it. If someone showed that much knowledge about you, wouldn’t you think they were a stalker? Like, a total surveillance freak?”

An Leyan: ?

An Leyan: !!!!!!

Wait—it’s that serious!?