Gu Ran suddenly froze.
Her eyes darted around first to check if anyone was nearby before settling on the man in front of her.
"Why are you apologizing to me?" Gu Ran forced a smile. "I already said it—you didn’t do anything wrong."
Ji Shiyu closed his eyes briefly, recalling the day Gu Ran had run out of his office in tears.
He knew very well that he had been wrong.
If he didn’t love Gu Ran, then he’d never made a mistake to begin with.
But if he did love her, then he’d been wrong from the very start.
Gu Ran moved to close the door.
Ji Shiyu reached out and caught her wrist.
She paused, glancing down at his grip.
Taking a sharp breath, she said, "Ji Shiyu."
He opened his mouth to speak, but a voice from behind interrupted him.
"Um… is this the takeout for Room 802?"
A delivery guy stood there, holding a bag of spicy crayfish, looking awkwardly between the striking pair at the door. But with the delivery deadline looming, he had no choice but to interrupt.
Gu Ran turned to him. "Yes, that’s mine."
She brushed past Ji Shiyu, took the food, and thanked the delivery guy. "Thanks, appreciate it."
With the takeout in hand, she glanced back at Ji Shiyu and finally asked, "Do you regret it now?"
She remembered the first time Ji Shiyu had stood there—demanding she return to that gilded cage, forbidding her from ever streaming again.
When she refused, he’d coldly warned her, You’d better not regret this.
She never did.
Ji Shiyu met her question with a slight twitch of his fingers before answering, "Yes."
He regretted it.
Gu Ran frowned. "I didn’t regret it, so why would you?"
She laughed lightly. "Is it because you… like me?"
Ji Shiyu: "Yes."
His reply came without hesitation, his gaze steady on her.
Gu Ran hadn’t expected that answer. The smile on her face faltered for a second before fading entirely.
"I…"
"Thanks," she cut him off. "My fans like me too, you know."
"And don’t call me Nannan. That’s what my dad calls me. You’re not my dad."
With that, she shut the door, leaving Ji Shiyu staring at the wood.
---
Gu Ran’s candid admission about being married hadn’t cost her any fans—in fact, it won her even more public favor. After Meng Miaomiao’s account was banned, Gu Ran solidified her position as Cat’s Paw’s top female streamer, the undisputed "First Beauty" and the platform’s most alluring live-streaming siren.
In the "Ranran’s Fish Pond" fan group, members not only raged against rival streamers who leaked photos to smear Gu Ran but also scorned that ungrateful man.
[If I had a wife as amazing as Ranran, I’d beg her to come home even if she cheated on me!]
[Being dumped by her would be an honor. How dare someone else dump HER?!]
[That bastard doesn’t know what’s good for him. May he stay single forever!]
[@Cat’sPawFirstBeauty, hey, wanna do a giveaway? Randomly pick one of us to marry?]
Gu Ran: "…"
Randomly marrying someone was out of the question, but a regular giveaway? Sure.
She posted a streamer update—a real giveaway, though not for marriage. This time, it was for a year’s worth of unlimited premium ride-hailing vouchers.
As someone who exclusively booked luxury rides, Gu Ran had recently partnered with a ride-hailing app for a promotion. Fans happily shared the post to enter the draw.
After checking the winner list and confirming wdlpml wasn’t on it this time, she finally relaxed.
Then Ding Ze sent her a message.
Gu Ran opened the file and saw the bold words: Idol Sports Day.
Gu Ran: [?]
Her rising fame had led to more offers—promotions, even a couple of variety show invitations—but she’d turned them all down since they’d interfere with her streaming schedule.
This one, though, was clearly another event invite.
She’d seen Idol Sports Day on a streaming site last year but hadn’t watched it. Skeptical, she asked: [They invited me?]
[I’m not an idol. Why would I go? Confused.jpg]
Ding Ze: [Not an invite. You’re being sent.]
[The VP personally picked you.]
Idol Sports Day was a biannual sports event hosted by a major streaming platform. Despite the name, participants included not just idols but also actors, comedians, and even internet celebrities—though A-listers rarely joined.
The event was livestreamed on both the platform and Cat’s Paw, their close partner. Every year, Cat’s Paw sent two or three of its top streamers—usually one male, one female.
Last year’s female rep had been Meng Miaomiao, who competed in rhythmic gymnastics and swimming. Though she didn’t place, she made waves with her figure. Now, with Meng Miaomiao canceled, the "First Beauty" was the obvious choice.
Gu Ran’s athletic skills were only marginally better than her abysmal gaming skills. Eyeing the "VP’s personal pick" note, she groaned: [Can I skip it? Or can you talk the VP into sending someone else?]
[My sports skills are on par with my gaming. You know this.]
Ding Ze: [We’ve got a good relationship with the streaming site. Sending a no-name would be disrespectful.]
[You’re the undisputed top female streamer now. If you don’t go, who will? Rankings don’t matter—just show up and vibe! Go for it!]
Gu Ran: […]
[Fine. Who’s the other Cat’s Paw rep going with me?]
Ding Ze: [King Prawn.]
Gu Ran’s mind filled with question marks. King Prawn was the epitome of a sedentary gamer. [You’re sure it’s… King Prawn?]
Ding Ze: [Yep. Also the VP’s pick.]
[Winning’s not the point. Comedy gold is.]
[The ‘Cringe Duo’ returns! Full send!]
Gu Ran collapsed onto her couch. [Give me a minute.]
After half a day, she finally accepted her fate: the Cat’s Paw VP had personally assigned her to a sports event.
The same VP who’d rushed her during the acquisition ceremony, nearly making her trip.
Was this guy her nemesis?
Rubbing her temples, she skimmed the event list Ding Ze sent. Since there was no escaping it, she might as well choose her events.
Idol Sports Day had everything—track and field, gymnastics, shooting, swimming. Past female favorites were archery and gymnastics, though after actress Liang Yan’s standout performance a few seasons back, javelin and discus had gained traction.
Ding Ze: [Pick something. You must’ve done sports day in school—any strengths?]
【No, you attended Yingde International in high school. Do they even have sports meets at that kind of school?】
Gu Ran stared at Ding Ze’s message for a moment before replying: 【They do.】
Yingde International, like any ordinary high school, held an annual sports meet. The only difference was that its facilities were of professional, international competition standards.
Gu Ran had participated once. She hadn’t signed up for any event, yet somehow her name had been entered for the women’s 3,000-meter race—a distance almost no one ran except for the athletic scholarship students.
The class sports committee insisted that once registered, she couldn’t withdraw. So she took her number tag and silently stepped onto the track, enduring the stares from all sides.
From the moment the starting gun fired, she lagged at the back of the pack. Gritting her teeth, she pushed through until the final two laps, when she heard laughter and jeers from the sidelines telling her to either win or stop embarrassing the class by coming in last.
Her throat burned with the metallic tang of blood, every breath a struggle. She tried to speed up, but her legs had no strength left. Then her foot caught, and she stumbled, crashing onto the rough rubber track, her knees and palms scraping raw.
No one came forward. Instead, voices shouted at her to get up, to keep running, to uphold the spirit of sportsmanship and not let the class down.
The referee hesitated, watching to see if she would rise.
The noise around her blurred, as if the world had been sealed away. Only the pain in her knees remained sharp, cutting through the haze.
Clenching her jaw, her vision blurred—whether from sweat or tears, she couldn’t tell. She tried to push herself up, but before she could, she was suddenly weightless.
The world spun.
Gu Ran looked up to see Ji Shiyu holding her in his arms, his icy glare sweeping over the crowd.
The shouts died instantly.
Backlit by the sun, she traced the sharp line of his jaw and heard his voice above her, low and firm: “Stop running.”
For the first time, she was this close to him—close enough to hear his heartbeat, steady and clear.
