Internet Celebrity
With Gu Yilan’s help, Su Zesui opened a social media account.
Since this was no small matter, Gu Yilan informed Su Mingyu, as well as No. 1 High School in City A—the producers of the physics competition documentary—about the boy’s upcoming live stream where he would chat with fans.
Although the results of the school’s internal physics competition had not yet been publicly announced, the competition committee at No. 1 High had already released the scores internally. As expected, Su Zesui had achieved an outstanding result and secured his place in the next round without suspense.
News that the dark horse, Su Zesui, had become a rising star online—and was even planning to live stream—was welcomed enthusiastically by the school leaders.
After all, the purpose of producing the documentary had been to boost the reputation of City A No. 1 High’s physics competition program and attract more talented applicants.
Su Zesui’s popularity was, without a doubt, the most cost-effective way to maximize the school’s benefits.
As the boy’s online following grew, naturally improving the school’s reputation as well, the principal personally called him to express the school’s care and gratitude. He even asked, on behalf of the school, if Su Zesui might give his alma mater a casual mention during the stream.
Hearing the repeated thanks and praise from the other end of the line, Su Zesui—who had only intended to use streaming as a way to desensitize himself—felt a little embarrassed. “N-no need to thank me.”
The principal, noticing his lack of arrogance compared to most competition students, was pleased and wanted to give him more confidence. He specially brought over Mr. Jiang, the head of the competition program, to congratulate Su Zesui on qualifying for the preliminaries.
Team Leader Jiang, who usually cared about nothing but academics, had also reviewed Su Zesui’s test results. For the first time, he sincerely apologized for his earlier prejudice against the boy and encouraged him to do well in the upcoming CPhO.
He even offered to personally tutor Su Zesui for free if he ever struggled with difficult problems.
Meanwhile, after being informed by Gu Yilan, Su Mingyu also called Su Zesui and chatted with him for over half an hour. He rambled on, saying how proud the whole family was of him, reminding him not to get nervous when chatting with fans, not to feel pressured, and that simply being able to talk naturally would already be a huge victory.
Breaking through the clouds to see the moon, things finally seemed to be moving in a good direction.
In the living room, everything was ready. Sitting in front of the setup, Su Zesui, who was about to start his first livestream, couldn’t stop his palms from sweating. “Sc—scared.”
Gu Yilan adjusted the equipment for him, angling the camera to capture only from the base of his pale, slender neck downward. “I’ll be right here beside you. If at any point it’s too much, just dive into my arms. Don’t worry about anything else.”
There were still ten minutes before the broadcast went live, and the closer the time drew, the more violently Su Zesui trembled. His stomach even started to ache from sheer nerves.
“You’re now the face of our school’s physics competition team,” Gu Yilan said. “Even the local TV station has reached out to me, hoping to set up a formal interview. I didn’t give them an answer—after this livestream, you can decide for yourself, alright?”
Successfully distracted, Su Zesui whispered, “I—I’m not a genius. I just relied on what I studied before to get through the school competition. Isn’t that… kind of unfair?”
“How’s that unfair? You studied and earned that knowledge yourself, didn’t you?” Gu Yilan raised a brow. “And if you’re talking about interview rights—they’re only interviewing you because you passed the competition. But the truth is, you’re far more remarkable than they think. You’re a time traveler. Honestly, they’re the ones getting a bargain.”
Su Zesui laughed at that. And when he thought about it more carefully, he realized Mr. Gu’s words weren’t just hollow comfort—they actually made a lot of sense. The reassurance went straight to his heart.
Thus, the most nerve-racking ten minutes passed in laughter.
Sitting just outside the frame, Gu Yilan prepared to hit the button and start the stream. Right before going live, he reminded gently, “Pick out the comments you like, read and respond to them. There’s no time limit. The moment you feel uncomfortable, we shut it off.”
Su Zesui clenched his fists and gave a solemn nod.
Once he was sure the boy was ready, Gu Yilan pressed “Start.”
In addition to hiring three professional moderators, he also gave himself admin privileges in the livestream room—ready to delete, report, and ban any trolls in one clean sweep.
But to his surprise, the first wave of comments had a very… peculiar tone—
[Finally live! Been waiting for this 🌹🌹🌹]
[Fair-skinned and clean-cut, you can tell at a glance that he’s a well-behaved child with a good upbringing ❤️❤️]
[Congrats on making the competition shortlist—you’re the pride of City A!]
It has the vibe of an old person using a computer.
Staring at the last comment that floated across the screen, Gu Yilan’s eyes darkened.
The fact that Su Zesui had passed the school-level competition had never been made public. Only a handful of insiders knew…
After a few minutes, seeing that the boy was still shy but handling it well, Gu Yilan stood, waved his phone to signal he needed to make a call, and headed toward the dining room. His expression had gone serious as he dialed Su Mingyu.
“Hello? Make it quick, I want to watch Suisui’s livestream,” Su Mingyu said impatiently right off the bat.
“Was it you who told people he passed the competition?” Gu Yilan asked.
“Huh? That’s supposed to be a secret?” Su Mingyu was genuinely puzzled.
“…Not exactly.” Gu Yilan sighed.
But before he could finish, the other side hurriedly cut him off: “Then it’s fine, then it’s fine. I just told my parents. They’re ridiculously proud—haven’t been this excited in years. Not only do they go on about it every day in the family group chat, but at work and among friends too, they keep saying, ‘Did you know my son made it into the national physics competition?’ It’s so embarrassing.”
Gu Yilan frowned. “Still, that doesn’t mean you should buy bot traffic. What he needs right now is genuine encouragement. If he finds out the praise is fake, it’ll only crush him further.”
“…What bots?”
There was a pause on the line, as if Su Mingyu had just pulled up the livestream chat. A few seconds later, his voice came back, low and furious: “Those are my aunts and uncles! Gu. Yi. Lan!!”
Gu Yilan: …
Expressionless, he hung up.
A few seconds later, his phone buzzed with a WeChat message from Su Mingyu. He glanced at it—
[Su Mingyu: Oh, right, forgot to say—my mom asked me to apologize on her behalf. She watched the livestream and realized she’d misunderstood you before. She says you raised Suisui really well. You’re a good man 👍👍]
The corner of Gu Yilan’s lips curved as he typed a reply one-handed while walking back.
[11th Dimension: Mm. In time, we’ll hold a proper wedding.]
Back in the living room, the boy sat cross-legged on the fluffy rug, eyes curved with a bright smile, his face glowing with color. Compared with the withdrawn, silent figure from yesterday, it was like night and day.
Gu Yilan glanced at the rolling comments.
In this fragmented internet age—an age that loves creating idols—public opinion is powerful, like a rushing current sweeping most people along with it.
And for a boy whose mental state had been so fragile, this overwhelmingly positive tide was exactly what he needed.
In the livestream chat, comments flooded in—some praised Su Zesui as a “pillar of the nation’s future,” others marveled at his looks, saying he had both intelligence and beauty, while a few dug up the fact that he was the Su family’s young master and gushed endlessly about his gentle, well-mannered personality.
All of it worked as positive psychological reinforcement for the boy. It had to be said—the psychologist’s advice was truly precise and effective.
Compliments poured in like waves, most of them repetitive. Su Zesui could read several in a single second, like wading through an ocean of practice problems. Very quickly, he grew desensitized.
Since he wasn’t showing his face, his psychological defenses were lowered even further, and gradually he was able to read the comments out loud and chat with strangers across the screen—
“So amazing! I want to become someone like you one day… Thank you, I’m really not that amazing.”
“Please share tips on how to prepare for the physics competition… For improving grades, you just need to study hard, um, and also have a good teacher.”
“Really like the streamer, already sent you a private message. He’s very nice, but his family isn’t that well-off. He said even his house doesn’t have a door…”
Su Zesui rarely went online and didn’t understand internet slang. He read that last comment word for word, then frowned, earnestly trying to figure out what it meant.
But just then, a large hand holding a glass cup suddenly entered the frame, interrupting his thoughts.
Gu Yilan, face cold, blocked and banned the commenter while asking, “You’ve been talking this long—thirsty? Want some water?”
The moment he spoke, the chat exploded:
[WHO IS HE WHO IS HE WHO IS HE?!]
[Is someone else hiding in the streamer’s house??]
[Hand fetish heaven!!]
[Voice fetish heaven!!]
Gu Yilan glanced at the screen, satisfied, and sat down beside Su Zesui, waiting for him to introduce him.
After a sip of warm water to soothe his throat, Su Zesui had already forgotten the confusing comment. With the screen full of messages he couldn’t ignore, he stole a glance at the man off-camera and said softly, “He’s… my brother.”
Gu Yilan’s voice carried a hint of laughter as he replied, “Mm. Good boy.”
The people squatting in the live stream room—A University’s Physics PhD lab members, Gong Chuang, Ji Yuxing and Su Zesui’s classmates Feng Chengwen, Tong Jing, Yuan Mingcheng: …
——Thank you. We’ve all fallen into this trap before.
And Su Mingyu, who had pushed aside his work just to watch his younger brother’s livestream: ……
——Gu Yilan, you bastard. Enjoying yourself, aren’t you?
With the man’s sudden appearance, the entire vibe of the comments shifted—CP shippers and fangirls swarmed in, squeezing out half of the bots and still expanding.
“Want to see the brother… uhh.” Su Zesui glanced at the matching couple outfit he and Gu Yilan were wearing, suddenly conflicted.
Seeing him struggle to answer, Gu Yilan helped out: “That’s paid content.”
Even if he didn’t fully understand, Su Zesui instinctively nodded quickly and echoed, “Pa-paid content.”
The chat instantly descended into chaos.
Amused, Gu Yilan pulled up his phone and showed Su Zesui the messages with the local TV producer. “Interview in two days. I’ll appear with you as family. Do you want to go?”
Seeing the chat explode with “Yes,” “Of course!” and “I ship it!!”, Gu Yilan reminded him, “It’ll be on camera.”
The screen froze for a second, then erupted again with comments like, “Thomas does a 360-degree turn1.”
Not wanting to disappoint anyone—especially the people who liked him—and because he himself had long wanted to go public with Mr. Gu, Su Zesui nodded. “O-okay!”
. . . . .
Human emotions are the most changeable thing in the world. After days of gloom, just a few words of praise could turn everything bright again.
Su Zesui streamed for much longer than expected. After answering nearly all of the friendly questions, he finally waved to the viewers and ended the broadcast.
The online world turned out to be far kinder than he’d imagined. There really were people willing to offer unconditional warmth and affection to a stranger.
Gu Yilan pulled him into a hug. “You did great, little internet celebrity.”
The new nickname made Su Zesui’s cheeks flush. Resting his chin on the man’s shoulder, he murmured childishly, “I’m really happy now… much happier than before.”
Gu Yilan rubbed the back of his head. “Forget the past if it makes you unhappy.”
“Mm-hmm.” Su Zesui nodded slightly, then suddenly remembered something. He wriggled free of Gu Yilan’s arms, puffing his cheeks. “To get stronger faster, you’re not allowed to hug me anymore.”
“…Why?”
“I don’t want to mess up the interview again and be accused of… acting high-and-mighty. Yeah, that. And also… other reasons. Anyway, I need to get stronger quickly.”
One day, he might suddenly remember everything from before. When that day came, he needed to be mentally strong enough to withstand it.
And now, he truly believed he could. He felt certain he’d be able to face it with strength.
Gu Yilan knew the boy had already emerged from his low period. His words reflected a positive, proactive mindset and a desire to solve problems.
He curved his lips into a smile. “Alright, you go out and explore without worry. I’ll have your back—handling logistics, managing your account, contacting journalists, even picking out the clothes for your interview day…”
“Interview day…” Su Zesui hesitated, but the joy in his eyes couldn’t be hidden. “Do we… have to wear matching outfits?”
Gu Yilan raised an eyebrow. “Why not? So many people are after my Suisui, I’m about to lose my mind.”
His voice was cool and detached, yet he spoke with an extreme, almost dramatic tone. Su Zesui, easily amused, couldn’t help but let out a small laugh.
In much better spirits, Su Zesui was no longer haunted by PTSD and could now anticipate events a few days in advance. He reminded Su Zesui, “You still haven’t given me the reward from playing games that day yet.”
Gu Yilan said, “The interview in a couple of days will also have a reward. But for now, it’s all on hold—you’re not feeling well right now and need a few days to recover. Don’t worry, your brother is in great health. If you save up a little more, your brother can make up all the pending rewards in just one night.”
Understanding this, Su Zesui blushed so hard he could barely speak, stammering, “Y-you… you’re amazing.”
. . . . .
Over the next two days, Su Zesui would take out his phone to livestream whenever he had time, as part of his desensitization.
The internet flood came fast and fierce, capable of gathering massive attention on a single person in a short time.
Su Zesui happened to hit that peak period. No matter when he went live, the chat would fill with people affectionately calling him “baby,” praising his talents, and cheering him on.
Occasional negative comments were swiftly removed by high-paid moderators and 24-hour review systems, never reaching Su Zesui’s eyes.
These days, cryptic “insider” messages rarely appeared, and Gu Yilan no longer suddenly appeared on camera, avoiding unnecessary chaos.
When someone typed, “Why isn’t big brother talking?” other viewers kindly reminded them, “Check the local A City channel on August 25th at 10:30 AM, and you’ll see the streamer and big brother in person.”
In just a few days, it felt like they had already become a family.
“Mm-hm.” Su Zesui looked at the chat, now accustomed to speaking to the screen, though still not smoothly. “Big brother and I picked out some nice clothes. You all can come see.”
Lately, besides livestreaming for desensitization, he had been diligently memorizing the interview script Gu Yilan had prepared for him.
Their interview was scheduled for 9:00 AM on August 25th. Accounting for breakfast, travel, and prep time, they needed to wake up at 7:30 AM.
The night before the interview, Gu Yilan leaned against the headboard and said, “After tomorrow’s interview, you won’t be a little internet celebrity anymore—you’ll be a little star.”
Su Zesui, adjusting a string of long alarms on his phone without lifting his head, mumbled, “I’m my brother’s wife.”
Gu Yilan smiled silently.
On the bedside table nearest him lay two exquisite rings, custom-made and sparkling. He planned to give them to Su Zesui during the interview, setting the wedding date in front of all of A City—
No matter the past, he would love him unwaveringly.
Perhaps from nerves, the boy tossed and turned that night, sweat forming as he worried.
Gu Yilan pulled him into his arms, kissed his forehead, and only then did Su Zesui relax and drift into a drowsy sleep.
The next morning, Su Zesui’s 6:30 alarm went off first. Gu Yilan reached over his body and turned it off.
At 6:35, another alarm sounded.
With a hint of exasperation, Gu Yilan looked at the flushed, sleeping boy, got out of bed, and turned off the ten or so alarms set between 6:00 and 7:20.
Su Zesui hadn’t slept well the night before, and Gu Yilan wanted him to rest a little longer. So it wasn’t until 7:30 that he gently woke him.
The boy let out a lazy “Mm,” flipped onto his back facing the ceiling, and promptly fell asleep again.
Gu Yilan leaned over and whispered, “Time to wake up, brother’s wife.”
But hearing the words so close, Su Zesui showed no sign of waking, not even a murmured response. His little face, perhaps from the heat or being covered by the quilt, had become even more flushed.
Gu Yilan felt something was wrong. Placing his hand on Su Zesui’s forehead, he immediately found it burning hot.
- Original text: 弹幕空白一秒，又刷上了“托马斯回旋三百六十度翻转想”。I don’t know who Thomas is or why he was suddenly mentioned here, help 😵💫 ↩︎
It might be Thomas the train engine?