Chu Yanze was probably already asleep or occupied with something, as he didn’t reply to her immediately.
However, Gu Zhaoping understood the situation at a glance—it was about the reactions following the show’s broadcast, and it seemed to involve Ruan Nian.
She didn’t care much about it. This was just a preview episode, after all. Completing the entire show would take a long time, and judging by the title of the variety program, it was clear that it aimed to film across all four seasons.
If they couldn’t capture everything in one country, they would even fly to nations in the Southern Hemisphere to film content for the opposite season.
A major project like this required patience and a big-picture mindset—one shouldn’t be bogged down by temporary controversies.
She replied: [Got it, thanks. No need to worry about it.]
Gu Zhaoping went to bed on time, unaware that Chu Yanze, who had just finished recording, saw her message and froze for a moment before turning off his phone.
Zhaoping-jie really doesn’t care. She truly has an unshakable mindset.
From now on, he should consult her more often and avoid making assumptions. After all, he felt that Zhaoping-jie was different from ordinary people.
She had her own convictions and could treat outside noise as nothing more than passing clouds.
This was the very ability he admired and envied the most—one he had always longed for.
That night, as they both slept, another explosive piece of news quietly surfaced.
[Insider info: The later groupings will pair Chu Yanze and Gu Zhaoping together, along with Liang Zhiwei. They’ll film all episodes as a team, and there are rumors they’ve already gone shopping for supplies together.]
[??? Oh my god, this group is literally Ruan Nian’s worst nightmare. How did Chu Yanze end up with them? Is the production team doing this on purpose?]
[Wait, what??]
Fans from all sides felt as if the sky had fallen.
The Chu-Ruan shippers were furious. They had previously mocked the Gu-Ruan pairing as nothing but an empty promise since "CEO Gu" hadn’t even shown up.
But who knew there would be team assignments later?
Such a perfect opportunity for interaction, yet Chu Yanze and Ruan Nian had no shared scenes at all. Worse still, Chu Yanze was unlucky enough to be grouped with the two people Ruan Nian’s fans despised the most.
Chu Yanze’s own fans were devastated too. After finally landing a spot on this show for exposure, why did he have to end up with people they hated?
[I’m going to lose it. Is Chu Yanze going to end up playing servant to some spoiled rich girl? If I see him carrying bags for her, I’ll actually break down!]
[Chu Yanze is too rebellious to be controlled by Gu Zhaoping, right? Besides, this grouping might not be so bad. Think about it—Chu Yanze adores Ruan Nian, so if he’s stuck with these two, he won’t give his best for the team. That means Ruan Nian’s group has a higher chance of winning! Sacrificing him to drag down two rivals? Sounds like a good deal.]
[Toxic solo stans, get lost! So Ruan Nian benefits, but what about Chu Yanze? He deserves to be tied to these two?]
...
The leaked information set the entire internet ablaze with arguments.
Unacceptable.
So many people refused to accept it!
Amid the chaos of that night’s heated debates, one person was left stunned.
She was Chu Yanze’s sasaeng fan.
After returning home, she had tucked her camera deep into a drawer, never to take it out again. That camera had been bought solely to photograph Chu Yanze, but now that she no longer dared to stalk him, it would only gather dust.
She stared blankly at the leaked news, the screen’s glow reflecting on her face.
They… went shopping for supplies together?
Not a secret date?
She had misunderstood?
The sasaeng fan was dazed.
Because she shipped Chu Yanze and Ruan Nian, she couldn’t stand the idea of him being overly close to another woman—it felt like betrayal.
But… was that not the case?
Vaguely, Chu Yanze’s final words to her before leaving echoed in her ears again.
"I have no relationship with Ruan Nian. Stop deluding yourself."
His tone was firm and resolute, his voice still that uniquely low, elegant timbre she had always adored.
For months, that mesmerizing voice had never spoken to her—until now, when it was only to shatter her fantasies.
In her imagination, Chu Yanze had been captivated by Ruan Nian’s gentle, refined demeanor at first sight. She had been his white moonlight, someone he could never forget.
When it came to Ruan Nian, Chu Yanze should have lost all rationality, been unable to control himself—she should have been the exception to everything.
But the real Chu Yanze wasn’t like that.
Was this ship even real?
Did Ruan Nian truly have that much charm?
The flawless, beloved Ruan Nian—after so many private interactions with Chu Yanze, he still felt nothing for her? Even worse, when the sasaeng brought her up, he seemed almost repulsed?
The on-screen personas were carefully crafted.
So much of it was misinterpretation, most of it just their own projections.
For the first time, she began to doubt.
The sasaeng pulled out her camera and rewatched the last remaining video. She hit play, and the shaky footage showed a distant table where a few people sat.
Gu Zhaoping—the much-despised Gu Zhaoping—merely lounged in her chair, posture relaxed and effortless, yet exuding undeniable authority over the entire situation.
"I don’t care," she said. "This is just proof of my efforts. If more people can recognize my work because of it, then I’m happy to let them see."
Her tone was casual, as if stating an everyday belief.
The sasaeng hesitated.
Gu Zhaoping wasn’t what others imagined either.
And at the end, after warning her, Gu Zhaoping had even said before leaving:
"That’s a nice camera. Use it to capture better things."
...
Amid the uproar, a long-respected fan account suddenly posted.
She didn’t say much—just plainly recounted what had happened, confessing for the first time that she had secretly followed Chu Yanze’s private schedules.
[Here’s what happened: Last time I tailed Chu Yanze, I ran into him and Gu Zhaoping shopping for supplies. He caught me, and Gu Zhaoping helped him deal with it—they made me delete all the photos and videos I took.]
[But there was one clip they missed because it started with a selfie. I’m not holding onto any illusions now, so I’m just posting it here.]
[Interpret it however you want. I’m leaving this fandom, quitting the Chu-Ruan ship. Maybe we’ll meet again someday.]
This fan's post once again left many people stunned—no one had expected this.
Holy crap, what does this mean?
How could a sasaeng fan secretly stalking Chu Yanze just expose herself like this?! Does she not realize how much backlash this will bring?
She does know, but after posting all this, she suddenly felt a weight lift from her heart.
Someone who had the time and money to follow Chu Yanze around in secret clearly came from a well-off background—chasing celebrities was just a hobby for her.
Before, it was like she had been inexplicably blinded, as if her judgment had been clouded, obsessively convinced that this CP was real, that Chu Yanze was desperately in love with Ruan Nian.
To find evidence of their private interactions, she had tailed Chu Yanze for a long time.
But now, she had suddenly snapped out of it.
Ruan Nian and Chu Yanze didn’t seem to have any substantial interactions at all, let alone solid proof that they were close behind the scenes.
So she was done with it.
For some reason, after coming to this realization, the fan’s mind suddenly felt crystal clear, as if something had been washed away.
And from then on, when she looked at Ruan Nian again, she found it all… strange.
Huh? What’s going on? Before, it was like she had been seeing Ruan Nian through a filter, convinced that everything about her was perfect.
But now, she just seemed… ordinary. Nothing special.
The sasaeng fan rubbed her eyes, attributing it to a shift in her mindset.
Meanwhile, the internet fell silent late at night.
After the initial shock over the content of her post, many people began watching the video.
In it, Gu Zhaoping appeared on camera—and she was undeniably captivating. The restaurant was crowded, yet the moment she entered, all eyes instinctively gravitated toward her.
She sat there calmly, looking even more at ease and commanding than she did in the show’s footage.
The video wasn’t long, and it ended quickly.
But its content was unexpected.
It was just a simple conversation—a woman accidentally bumped into Gu Zhaoping and noticed she was injured.
Gu Zhaoping’s voice was faint, saying it was nothing, that it was normal, a mark of her efforts. She didn’t find it unsightly; in fact, she wore it with confidence.
Because it was proof of her hard work.
…
Someone, at some point, suddenly recalled another clip from the show.
…
Ruan Nian carefully covered the wound on her foot, avoiding the camera as she said, Don’t film this, it’s not pretty. The fans will worry.
Don’t let it delay the recording. I’m fine.
…
Both were secretly filmed.
The first video was meticulously framed, with bright lighting and clear audio, as if staged.
This one was shaky and blurred, the voices barely audible over the background noise, only catching a phrase here and there.
Yet for some reason, it made hearts skip a beat—an inexplicable connection forming between the two clips, stirring a strange, unprecedented feeling.
That injury on Gu Zhaoping’s leg… didn’t seem any less severe than Ruan Nian’s.
But in the leaked livestream footage and the first episode’s preview, no one had noticed Gu Zhaoping’s wound at all.
She walked effortlessly, steady and composed, never faltering.
The one who wanted to hide her injury, to keep others from worrying—everyone knew about it.
The one who didn’t mind showing her scars, who embraced them as proof of her efforts—no one had even noticed.
…
Weird.
This was suddenly so weird.
Why did it feel like this?
For a moment, the heated discussions about whether the show would split into teams came to an abrupt halt.
They thought Chu Yanze had been unlucky, assigned to cater to the spoiled heiress?
…That didn’t seem to be the case.
Off-camera, Gu Zhaoping didn’t act like a brat at all. Instead, she was just as calm, steady, and unflappable as she had appeared in the first episode’s preview.
She had even helped Chu Yanze catch the sasaeng fan, logically explaining the legal consequences to her.
This…
This wasn’t what they had imagined at all.
Why was everything turning out differently?
When Ruan Nian woke up, her head was pounding. Exhausted, she propped herself up and stumbled to the bathroom to wash her face.
But the moment she looked in the mirror, she let out a shriek. The cup and electric toothbrush in her hands clattered into the sink.
Panicked, she cried, "System! System! What’s happening?! Why do I look like this?!"
The system, jolted awake, scanned her urgently, thinking something was seriously wrong.
But it wasn’t that bad—just slightly rougher skin than usual, with normal human pores and fine lines. Dark circles from stress, dry and pale lips.
She was still pretty, just… less radiant.
For Ruan Nian, whose flawless complexion had always been impeccable even bare-faced, this was catastrophic.
Ever since she started using the system’s "sympathy points" to enhance her appearance, no matter how much she partied, ate poorly, or neglected skincare, her skin had remained smooth as porcelain.
In interviews about her routine, she’d just smile and say, I just wash my face with water and use a mineral water compress. Simple is best!
She even claimed she never did cosmetic treatments, earning admiration for her "natural beauty." Countless fans tried copying her routine, but of course, it never worked—because her secret was the system.
Suddenly, Ruan Nian remembered. If her skin had changed, other things must have too.
She ran her hands over her body—and froze. There was now a slight softness around her waist.
Ruan Nian nearly lost it.
Trembling, she pulled up her stats panel—and gasped.
Overnight, her charm points had plummeted! All the progress she’d painstakingly built up had regressed!
"What happened last night?!" she shrieked, scrambling for her phone, frantically checking for updates.
Damn it!
The episode preview had gotten decent feedback yesterday! Aside from Gu Zhaoye’s absence causing a minor dip, her injury had even earned her extra sympathy points!
Ruan Nian's pupils constricted. In what seemed like just one night, the fervent discussions about Gu Zhaoping had quieted down.
She scrutinized the situation and realized that a fan of her and Chu Yanze's supposed "couple" had posted a statement renouncing their fandom, along with a video exposing Gu Zhaoping.
After seeing all this, Ruan Nian clutched her phone in despair.
How could this happen?
Had Gu Zhaoping effortlessly swayed public opinion again with just one video? Even worse, her sympathy points had dropped because of it?
Why was Gu Zhaoping so lucky? Last time, it was an unexpected live broadcast by the show crew that exposed her fake injury.
This time, some random obsessive fan had recorded her misdeeds?
How did Gu Zhaoping always manage to stumble upon these unforeseen recordings?
Ruan Nian urgently asked her system, "Can we fix this? I can’t handle losing so many charm points. If this keeps up, I’ll be so miserable I could die!"
"Quick, contact that supporting female character! Tell her to stop acting! What is she even doing?"
Ruan Nian was on the verge of tears. The system fell silent, hesitating to respond.
As an artificial intelligence, it didn’t fully grasp Ruan Nian’s obsession with superficial attributes. From its perspective, these were reversible changes.
If her skin lost its glow, she could restore it through skincare, exercise, dietary adjustments, or even cosmetic treatments. The system could devise dozens of skincare routines for her.
As for her figure, the fluctuations were minor—barely noticeable unless someone knew her intimately.
If Ruan Nian was worried, the system could provide a tailored fitness plan to help her return to her ideal state in no time.
Charm points were a double-edged sword. Just as they could be gained to enhance oneself, they could also be lost, bringing consequences.
After all, external beauty was fleeting—how could it last forever?
Though the system adored Ruan Nian, indulging her every whim, it often struggled to comprehend her irrational demands.
To a machine, extreme emotional volatility was both a fascinating anomaly and a disaster.
[Don’t panic, Nian. These points can be regained. The current loss isn’t significant.]
The system tried to console her, but Ruan Nian wasn’t listening.
"Oh my god, I can’t even imagine how I’ll look on camera today. What if people ask why my ‘naturally flawless’ skin looks so dull? How do I explain that? Do I have to ruin my own persona?"
She couldn’t bear the thought and begged desperately, "Please, just contact that supporting character! Stop punishing me!"
The system stayed quiet.
It wanted to explain that this wasn’t punishment—just the game’s natural mechanics. Points added could also be deducted. Fair and square.
Besides, what she’d lost wasn’t even inherently hers to begin with.
Punishment only existed if one perceived it as such.
Like that supporting character had said—she didn’t see her scars as flaws to hide. To her, they were badges of honor, something to wear with pride.
Confidence or suffering often came down to personal perspective.
That woman, whom the system barely understood, seemed to have reclaimed her own narrative from societal expectations.
But in the end, the system yielded. [Alright, Nian. Once I’ve stored enough power, I’ll reach out to her.]
---
Curator Gao finally saw Tan Li off, sighing as he rubbed his temples and slumped into a chair by the registration desk.
Taking over this jiu-jitsu dojo had cost him half his life’s savings. He’d watched it rise from the ground up—he couldn’t let it collapse now.
When the business had faltered, he’d taken it over from his former employer, vowing to bear all losses himself.
Yet Tan Li, his own disciple, had betrayed him like this.
Time didn’t always reveal true character. After twenty years, their bond had shattered over irreconcilable differences. Maybe all that past harmony had just been a facade, hiding unresolved tensions.
"Son, don’t worry about this. Just focus on your classes tomorrow," Curator Gao said wearily. "You’re our family’s best hope now. If this dojo fails, we’ll all have to start over. You’ve got a stable job—cherish it. Don’t slack off. Never let your clients down, understand?"
His son had given up a competition abroad to return home and help, even taking a private coaching job for some wealthy heiress. The pay was good, and the client seemed decent, but guilt still gnawed at him.
What kind of father couldn’t protect his son’s dreams, forcing him to abandon his hard-earned achievements?
Coach Gao snapped out of his daze and suddenly shook his head. "No, Dad! Holy shit—I think we might be saved!"
Curator Gao blinked, wondering if the stress had made his son delirious.
"Son… are you feeling alright?"
Coach Gao shook his head vigorously, suddenly bursting with energy. He dashed around, swiftly gathering scattered mats, picking up registration forms strewn across the floor, and stacking them neatly.
He even scooped up training uniforms, equipment, and the coaches’ water bottles, sprinting back and forth like a marathon runner.
Curator Gao was baffled.
He scratched his head. "Are we packing up to flee already?"
"Damn it, son, show some backbone! He hasn’t even kicked us out yet! We’ve still got a whole day—what if I win the lottery tonight…?"
"Dad, what are you spacing out for? What lottery? Is that more important than my client?" Coach Gao, arms laden with training mats, could only twist his neck to yell back, "My client is none other than Ms. Gu!"
"Hurry up and clean! Ms. Gu is coming tomorrow to check out our dojo. She wants to see if it’s suitable for her investment!"
His booming voice left Curator Gao and the other coaches momentarily stunned.
"What?"
…
It took barely a moment.
A blink of an eye, really.
The entire dojo erupted into a frenzy. Coaches dashed across the floor like plows tilling soil, their muscular frames burning with enthusiasm as they scrubbed and polished every inch of the previously battered space. Everything Tan Li and his crew had smashed during their rampage was meticulously restored, even the floors were wiped down until they gleamed.
By the time they finished, Coach Gao checked the clock—barely half an hour had passed. Normally, a cleanup like this would’ve taken half a day. He was pleased with their efficiency.
This was the kind of work ethic a VIP client deserved. The others could learn a thing or two from his dedication.
Wiping sweat from his brow and rubbing his sore back, Coach Gao surveyed the dojo with satisfaction. Then it hit him—he barked orders, herding the senior instructors into a corner before squeezing himself against the wall, camera in hand. He stretched his arms high, angling for the perfect wide shot of the dojo. Click. Click.
Every detail was captured and promptly sent to Ms. Gu for review.
Whether she’d take an interest in the dojo or not, the effort had to be flawless. That was how you treated a client.
The entire dojo tossed and turned that night, too wired to sleep.
By 5 a.m., Coach Gao was already awake.
He and his father hadn’t even gone home, opting to crash on the dojo’s mats instead. The sight of his dad’s wrinkled face inches from his own made him jolt.
"Dad! Wake up, Dad!" Coach Gao shook him. Curator Gao, who’d been propped on one elbow, startled awake mid-snore, mumbling, "13… 22… 3!"
The moment he registered his son’s face, he scowled.
"I was this close to reciting the winning lottery numbers!"
Coach Gao rolled his eyes. "Ms. Gu is coming soon!"
That got Curator Gao scrambling to his feet.
It wasn’t the weekend, and the early hour meant their usual clientele—office workers from nearby—wouldn’t be around for classes yet.
Most coaches would’ve been lounging at home, but today, they’d all shown up early.
Strangely, each one carried breakfast—hauled from their own kitchens, figuring they’d all eat together.
… Except no one had coordinated. Seven coaches, seven breakfasts each.
Now they stood around a table, arms crossed, staring at 49 identical meals in silence.
Finally, one brawny coach asked gravely, "Do you think… Ms. Gu can eat all this?"
Coach Gao: "…"
She was a queen, not a competitive eater.
Just then, the roar of a luxury engine cut through the air.
Coach Gao’s head snapped toward the window. The moment he spotted Ms. Gu’s car, he bolted downstairs.
The others stampeded after him. Curator Gao, ever quick-witted, snagged two coaches on the way, dragging their hastily prepared welcome props along.
Gu Zhaoping had barely stepped out of her car when Coach Gao came barreling down the stairs.
"Coach Gao—"
Before she could finish, a squad of coaches surged past him, lining up in two neat rows. Red welcome sashes strained against their bulging chests.
Then Curator Gao clattered down, legs splayed, clutching a red tube. He yanked the cord—POP!
A shower of glitter and confetti rained down. Gu Zhaoping’s eye twitched as she forced her lids shut.
"WELCOME! WELCOME, MS. GU! WELCOME!" the group bellowed.
A beat of silence.
"Skip the fanfare," she said. "Let’s go upstairs."
Coach Gao nodded eagerly, gesturing for her to follow—only for Curator Gao to hip-check him aside, oozing even more enthusiasm.
"Right this way, Ms. Gu! This is our dojo!"
The cameraman trailing Gu Zhaoping stifled a smirk.
He’d tagged along to document her day, and the moment he heard she was scouting a jujitsu dojo, he knew it’d be gold.
Coach Gao eyed the camera. Given Ms. Gu’s status, it made sense she’d want footage to review later.
"Careful on the steps," he fawned.
Upstairs, the space was sizable—nearly 300 square meters. Beyond the training area, there were locker rooms, equipment storage, all freshly renovated with thoughtful touches that lent an upscale vibe.
Clean, well-designed, with solid service—perfect for targeting young professional women. No wonder they’d managed to attract new clientele.
Gu Zhaoping scanned the coaching staff. Mostly women. Good. Female clients would feel safer.
She wandered the lounge, studying the wall of accolades and course descriptions. The pricing was transparent, no hidden fees.
They’d even carved out a private zone for socially anxious beginners—no awkwardness from fumbling in front of others.
When she settled into a lounge chair, the front desk staff promptly delivered water in a disposable cup with a lid, straw, and lemon slices, plus a snack tray. Straight out of a high-end salon.
Turning back to the beaming father-son duo, Gu Zhaoping’s expression softened with approval.
Not bad at all.
Understanding the client's needs is everything—no need to obsess over tradition or rack one's brains just to keep them engaged.
Gu Zhaoping walked while scanning the room, arms crossed, before finally making her way to the very back. She casually took a seat by a row of tables and asked, "Has the former curator arrived yet?"
Coach Gao froze for a second before hurriedly replying, "Not yet, not yet. Should be here soon."
Gu Zhaoping nodded.
"When he gets here, tell him to come see me. We're signing the contract."
Coach Gao blinked.
Curator Gao blinked.
The coaches trailing behind them, waiting nervously, also blinked.
For a moment, no one could believe it.
What?
She’s already decided to buy it?
Just like that?
And she wants Tan Li… to come find her?!
Curator Gao’s legs went weak. He plopped onto a chair, dazed, and asked, "Miss Gu… does this mean you think our dojo is… acceptable?"
Gu Zhaoping nodded. "It has potential. Room for growth."
The dojo fell silent.
Then—
A firm, resounding voice erupted from behind Curator Gao.
"Curator Gu!" Coach Gao abruptly changed his address, his expression solemn and unshakable.
"Starting today, you’re our dojo’s curator! Whatever you say goes—we’ll sign the contract however you want, arrange the coaches however you see fit!"
Curator Gao was still processing this when his own title was snatched away by his own damn son.
He was furious.
How could this happen so fast?
So suddenly?
Without even a second thought?!
Determined not to be outdone, he spun around, clasped his hands in salute, and declared, "Curator Gu!"
"From now on, your word is law! We won’t question a single thing!"
How dare his son beat him to the punch?!
"And if anyone dares to question you—we’ll gang up on them!"
Gu Zhaoping’s eyebrow twitched. "Relax. No need for rearrangements. Just keep running the dojo as usual."
She leaned back against the table, then suddenly glanced down and froze. The surface was crammed with an absurd spread—steamed buns, congee, soy milk, fried dough sticks, noodles, tofu pudding, coffee, croissants…
Gu Zhaoping turned back. "You provide breakfast for the students?"
Coach Gao: "…"
Gu Zhaoping: "Impressive. Shows dedication."
Coach Gao: "…Thank you, thank you, Curator."
How was he supposed to explain that some idiot had originally planned to offer this spread to her?
Coach Gao had just cheerfully stepped out to fetch the contract when loud banging and crashing echoed from outside the dojo.
Tan Li, well-rested and in high spirits, strutted in after pounding on the door downstairs.
"So, made up your minds yet? Buying the place today? If not, you packing your bags?"
He laughed triumphantly, spinning on his heel as he entered—only to slam face-first into a wall of jiu-jitsu coaches standing shoulder-to-shoulder at the entrance.
Tan Li’s laughter died in his throat, nearly choking him.
What the hell? These guys were lined up like some kind of ninja squad.
At the center stood Coach Gao, staring Tan Li down. In the past, he’d only felt helpless rage toward him—what could decent people do against a bully?
But now?
Pure satisfaction. Like watching a toad croak its last before getting squashed.
Coach Gao smirked.
Then, in one swift move, he grabbed Tan Li’s arm.
"Tan Li, you were my father’s disciple. This is betrayal!"
Tan Li’s face twisted. "Betrayal? My family’s always run a jiu-jitsu dojo. I’m carrying on my legacy—what’s your dad got to do with it? I could’ve learned from anyone!"
"Meanwhile, you got booted from competitions and came crawling back to coach. Tsk tsk. Regrets? Even coaching won’t save this place—your salary’s a joke. Should’ve stuck with competing. Now you’ve got nothing!"
Tan Li cackled—until Coach Gao cut in:
"Coaching’s great. Love it. Best job ever. You think outsiders know how good I’ve got it?"
With a cold laugh, he gestured inside. "Now, let’s discuss that property contract."
Tan Li’s voice hitched.
What?
Buying it?
They’re actually buying?!
"You out of your minds?! Did you sell kidneys or start trafficking people to Myanmar overnight? Where’d you get 6 million?!"
"Who said we’re buying?" Coach Gao shoved him forward. "It’s a VIP client. The one I’ve been coaching privately."
Tan Li’s face paled. "What kind of ‘VIP’? I want full payment, no installments! Let’s see who’s rich enough to swallow this place whole—"
"And I’ll tell you this—our dojo has history. Not just any stray cat or dog can waltz in and call themselves curator. If they want the title, they’ll have to go through me first. Win, then we’ll talk—"
As he ranted, Tan Li turned and spotted a woman’s back near the table, seemingly reviewing documents.
Why did that silhouette look familiar?
Then his gaze flicked to the person beside her holding a camera—who also froze.
Wait, who’s that? Why does he look familiar too?
No way. No freaking way.
Was that the blogger from Tan's Dojo who’d been trash-talking online yesterday?!
This couldn’t be real. What were the odds?!
The cameraman was stunned.
Hearing the commotion, the woman turned.
Tan Li finally saw her face.
His pupils shrank. Shock flooded his expression.
Gu Zhaoping?!
Wait—the Gu Zhaoping? From the show?! The one he’d challenged online just yesterday?!
First thought: Did she actually come to fight? How should he handle this? Were they recording? Was he about to go viral?
Second thought: What Coach Gao had just said.
…VIP client?
He’d been… coaching her privately?
Tan Li stiffened.
A chill ran down his spine.
No. No way.
Was Gu Zhaoping buying the dojo?!
She actually fell for this Gao guy’s pitch?!
This couldn’t be happening.
And then it hit him—
Who could casually have that kind of financial power?
Gu Zhaoping could.
She really could!
Just as Tan Li was breaking out in a cold sweat, Gu Zhaoping seemed to have heard his earlier remark.
She raised an eyebrow and looked at the man who had been relentlessly provoking her.
"To become the curator here, do I have to go through you first?" Gu Zhaoping asked.
Tan Li was still dazed, unable to process what was happening.
Gu Zhaoping shrugged off her white blazer, letting it fall onto the table behind her. Coach Gao instinctively reached out to catch it—quick on the uptake.
"From now on, I'm the curator here."
In the dead silence that followed,
"You want to test me?" Gu Zhaoping lifted her hands, settling into a ready stance, her tone eerily calm.
"Come on."
