Yan Muyu hadn’t had a moment’s peace all day. After they finished repairing the fence, Qiu Siyuan came over to announce the new rules.
Once the guests arrived the day after tomorrow, everyone would have to prepare a dish.
Yan Muyu’s face turned green.
Boss Hong, the villager sitting beside her, didn’t seem to fear the cameras at all.
Like Wu Xiaoqing, she found the whole thing fresh and exciting.
Yan Muyu had been chatting amiably with her about her hometown, her schooling, her little sister, and how she’d gone out to work right after junior high to put her sister through college.
But all the sparks of inspiration from that conversation had been ruined by Qiu Siyuan.
【Why is Young Boss Yan so pissed off?】
【Because she has to cook, right? Does she look like someone who cooks?】
【I feel like the local specialties here are all super hard to make…】
【If I were deep in a good chat and suddenly got told to go pound rice cakes, I’d lose it too…】
【Help, rice cakes—do we pound them tomorrow?】
【I swear the director’s just toying with these guests in the palm of her hand.】
Everyone seemed to love watching Yan Muyu’s despair, though.
At least Hong Long glanced around and saw even the crew smiling.
She’d only just learned that Yan Muyu was the boss of this show. By Hong Long’s limited experience, that made Yan Muyu a resounding success.
And surprisingly approachable, too.
The replay versions of Pastoral Idyll’s livestreams were all meticulously edited, perfect for viewers catching up. The post-production was leagues better than the live version.
But because they were so polished, a lot of the raw, everyday highlights got cut.
Take the hot search trends like #Xi Xi Picking Cow Dung and Getting Chased by a Cow#, #Yan Muyu’s Meat Stolen by a Dog#, #Pei Wan: The Pig Hit Me!#, #Liu Song: My Ass Is Perkier Than a Duck’s#—those gems were only visible live. The edits trimmed them for time.
That’s why livestream viewership kept climbing. Plenty of fans said it was great background noise even while doing other things.
The production team had even released white noise versions with ambient effects. True to form, Qiu Siyuan showcased genuine human-nature interactions.
Over two days, they’d highlighted the village’s customs, economy, culture, and scenery.
It had even been reposted by a travel channel, and Whale Entertainment capitalized on it for a second round of investments.
Yan Muyu knew all this, of course. She was just miserable.
A day under the livestream camera felt endless, especially for someone as indolent as her. She hated being told what to do.
But for the sake of the show, she had to play along. Her face twisted in agony, making her look utterly ferocious.
【She looks like a dog trapped in a cage, baring its teeth.】
【How does her face stay so pretty even when it’s all twisted up?】
【I love this Boss Hong so much. She’s got such a comfy vibe, even if she’s a bit tanned from the sun.】
【She’s so capable…】
【Alive…】
Everyone was out in the courtyard. Liu Song had leveled up her wood-chopping skills but stayed put.
The freshly made plum pork ribs and green tea dumplings were plated beautifully on the stone table in the yard, looking utterly tempting.
Xi Xi had just lavished praise on them and was still urging Liu Song to come eat.
Qiu Siyuan asked, “Any objections?”
Ding Yingxue raised her hand. “Director, who’s coming? Can you give us a hint?”
Qiu Siyuan replied, “What do you want me to spill?”
Night fell, bringing a cool mountain breeze. Wu Xiaoqing emerged from inside, supported by Qiu Chao, and happily dashed toward Hong Long.
Qiu Chao instinctively glanced at Yan Muyu, who looked thoroughly deflated.
Ding Yingxue pressed, “Guy or girl?”
Qiu Siyuan said, “All girls.”
Ding Yingxue blinked. “All of them? More than one?”
Qiu Siyuan shook her head. “Twenty-two days down, twenty to go. How about an old friend every five days? Schedule permitting, of course.”
The show felt haphazard at times—almost too much so—or meticulously planned, if you were being generous. Yet everything felt vividly real, drawing viewers right in.
Pei Wan asked, “People we all know?”
Qiu Siyuan hedged, “Most of us do… probably.”
She smiled, putting on an air of mystery. “Some will be especially close to you all.”
For some reason, Qiu Chao felt a twinge of unease. Then she heard Xi Xi mutter, “Just don’t send anyone who annoys me.”
Xi Xi was used to calling the shots, and even on the show, she acted like a diva.
Hong Long turned to Yan Muyu. “Is she a celebrity too?”
Yan Muyu replied, “She’s a talent agent. Pretty bossy, huh?”
That’s when Qiu Chao sat down next to Yan Muyu and asked, “How come you’re not eating, Yan Yan?”
Yan Muyu said, “Didn’t you hear Director Qiu? She wants me pounding rice cakes tomorrow. Just thinking about it makes me…”
She took a deep breath, eyed the dishes on the table, and suddenly asked, “You made these?”
Qiu Chao nodded. “I did.”
She’d made the plum pork ribs several times over, and the green tea dumpling filling too. That’s why there were multiple plates of each.
Qiu Chao teased, “Guess which one I made?”
Qiu Chao leaned in very close to Yan Muyu.
The stone table wasn’t large to begin with, and with so many people crowded around, it was a tight squeeze. There weren’t even enough stools.
Hong Long next to them didn’t care a whit that cameras were rolling. She just let Wu Xiaoqing sit on her lap.
Yet their vibe together was so warm and cozy that viewers felt only wholesome envy—no funny business.
Yan Muyu glanced once and pointed to the plate on the right. “That one.”
Qiu Chao was about to playfully drawl out a mangled “Little Yan” when Yan Muyu cut her off, as if reading her mind. “Hey.”
“Don’t call me that. You think blending it in with the others hides it?”
Her voice was light and airy, but with microphones positioned all around, every word carried clearly to the audience.
“You always pinch the edges of your dumplings so flat.”
Yan Muyu’s voice had that clear, fluid quality—like shaved ice on a summer day—compared to Qiu Chao’s lingering, honeyed drawl.
The repetition made it sound a touch childish, but the familiarity underneath was impossible to ignore.
【Just how close are these two?】
【They’re leaning in so close.】
【This shot is gorgeous (said with love).】
【Yan Muyu can be kinda childish sometimes. She doesn’t feel like a thirty-something at all. Qiu Chao looks ageless but super mature. Yan Muyu’s different.】
【Don’t sleep on Qiu Chao—even this Boss Hong we just met looks younger than Yan Muyu but way more mature.】
【Weirdly, though, out of everyone, Yan Muyu stands out the most to me.】
【The others have that strong story vibe, but Yan Muyu’s like the observer on the outside.】
【But she knows Qiu Chao’s dumpling habit! Damn it, I’m a ten-year fan and I’ve never seen Qiu Chao wrap dumplings!】
The courtyard buzzed with chatter. Ding Yingxue was still grilling Qiu Siyuan, and Wu Xiaoqing was reminding Pei Wan about dough ratios.
The dough today had all been kneaded by Qiu Chao. She didn’t match her delicate looks at all—her work was brisk and efficient, earning her plenty of praise.
A breeze tousled Qiu Chao’s hair, and Yan Muyu’s braid was coming loose too. The wavy hair ribbon fluttered precariously.
Qiu Chao’s nose stung for no reason she could name. She lowered her gaze, any teasing intent evaporating. “You still remember?”
As an actress, Qiu Chao could nail any emotion on cue. But right now, she couldn’t.
Her throat tightened suddenly. Her lips pressed together on instinct.
Yan Muyu noticed, of course.
They were sitting so close they shared the same stone bench.
It wasn’t even smoothed down—sitting on it was uncomfortable.
Everything here felt raw and primal: crisp wind, bright moon, chirping insects, overlapping voices.
It was easy to let guards down. Like Xi Xi removing her talon-like long nails. Or Liu Song turning chatty.
Or Qiu Chao’s desires bubbling up unbidden. Or what Yan Muyu was thinking—
Best not to dwell.
The show came first.
She tried framing it as business, a fair trade with Qiu Chao.
But even she felt lost now. These habits slipped out effortlessly, like they’d been seared into her soul.
No need to dig through memories; the moment she saw them, she just knew.
Qiu Chao versus others.
Qiu Chao wasn’t “others.”
Deep down, that’s how she still sorted it.
She’d been the almost-sister-in-law back then. And now?
The hair ribbon whipped up by the wind and smacked Yan Muyu’s cheek. She tugged it off.
Glancing down, she saw Qiu Chao with her back to the camera, propping her face in her hands. From that angle, hidden from viewers, Yan Muyu spotted her reddened eyes and the dampness on the back of her hand.
As if she’d just wiped them.
Yan Muyu said softly, “I didn’t say they looked bad.”
【What was that? Coming out of nowhere like that—too gentle!】
【So she can speak human after all?】
【Can’t breathe. Group mic and it’s this moving—I don’t dare imagine up close.】
【It’s just a normal sentence…】
【The point is Yan Muyu’s comforting her!! Pretty sure she only has beef with Qiu Chao.】
【Has beef and spends all day ferrying her around? Are you blind?】
【Casual viewer here: have these two dated?】
Qiu Chao shot back instinctively, “Then why aren’t you eating?”
Her voice hitched with a stifled sob, swallowing all of Yan Muyu’s words.
Helpless, Yan Muyu said, “Fine, I’ll eat now.”
She picked up her chopsticks and clamped a green dumpling, peering at the filling in the light. “Three-fresh filling?”
“Not at all,” Qiu Chao replied.
Yan Muyu let out an “Oh.” “Then it must be the water chestnut one.”
“You’re really just phoning it in,” Qiu Chao said.
Her back was to the camera, but the fixed side-angle shot captured the guests at the table.
Yan Muyu and Qiu Chao sat close together, closer than Xi Xi and the newly arrived Liu Song on one side. They had more of the intimate, oblivious vibe of Wu Xiaoqing and Hong Long chatting away on the other end.
Those two were life partners, even if they hadn’t made it official—everyone knew what was up.
This group of guests was different. Shipping them for the show was one thing, but actually getting together? Not so much.
Besides, this wasn’t a dating show. What was there to ship between talent and manager?
Sure, plenty of men and women ended up married, but none of these three pairs gave off that vibe.
Not even close.
The live stream’s synced post-production sound effects had a classical touch, lending the scene an extra layer of cozy warmth.
Yan Muyu and Qiu Chao’s relaxed chatter stood in stark contrast to their stiff arrivals, perfectly matching the top comment in the stream: “Not even pretending anymore.”
“What do you mean, phoning it in?” Yan Muyu protested. “I figured it out by tasting it, didn’t I?”
She seemed genuinely put out. From the side, Wu Xiaoqing huffed indignantly and corrected her. “The water chestnut ones are Little Pei’s. Yours was pork and scallion.”
Yan Muyu let out another “Oh.”
She turned to Qiu Chao. “Sorry.”
Qiu Chao huffed.
Yan Muyu blurted out on instinct, “That’s not my fault, though. Back when you made me guess fillings, I never got them right either. You know…”
She trailed off, freezing mid-sentence.
Over there, Ding Yingxue had finished her questions and passed the mic to Liu Song, who raised her hand like a student eager to query the teacher.
“Director Pei, all the guests are women. Where do they stay for two days?”
Qiu Siyuan replied, “We’ve got a loft. It’s a bit rough, though.”
Everyone glanced inside at the same time. Yeah, there was a loft, but it was a wreck—no one had wanted to go up there on the first day.
Liu Song pressed, “Do the guests clean it themselves?”
