Chapter 1

Qi Linyuan sat in the car, gazing at the trophy before him.

It was a highly prestigious Best Actor trophy—fourteen years ago, something his youthful ambition had assured him he would one day possess; thirteen years ago, it became something he believed would forever remain out of reach. That was the year he was disfigured saving his boyfriend, and in that same year, after a curt phone call—"Let's break up"—the other man vanished from the hospital without a trace.

He underwent treatment alone, was discharged alone, and alone in a cramped newly rented apartment, stared into the mirror at the scar that bisected half his face. The despair in his heart was like a river bursting its banks, surging toward him as he stood, solitary, on the low shore.

He had once thought that was the absolute nadir of his life. Yet when he finally grew accustomed to the scar and mustered the courage to look for work, he realized his true despair was only just beginning.

He was mocked, discriminated against, treated unfairly in every possible way. He once thought he’d die suddenly on the way to some walk-on role. Who could have imagined, after so many years, he would come this far?

“Well, you’re still here? Waiting for me?”

Qi Linyuan, lost in thought, was suddenly interrupted as someone flung open the car door and slipped inside, settling into the seat beside him.

The agent in the passenger seat had something to say but was silenced by Qi Linyuan’s hand on his shoulder. “Let me handle this.”

“Heh, exactly! You handle it. After all, look at our relationship!”

“Yes, what kind of relationship do we have indeed.” Qi Linyuan let out a cold laugh.

At last, he turned his gaze to the face that fans called “unparalleled in beauty,” his eyes gleaming with biting sarcasm.

Cosmetic surgery, thick foundation, heavy editing, beauty filters… This man’s fans had been drawn in by these tricks year after year, each new wave replacing the last. He’d survived off his fans and the advantage of early popularity for years.

Now, though times had changed, he’d managed to wrangle a position as an award presenter, using this golden occasion to disgust Qi Linyuan to his core.

But who was Lu Xiang? He was the type who, in front of countless cameras, could embrace Qi Linyuan on stage after presenting the award, smiling with apparent delight as if they were lifelong friends. Naturally, he could feign ignorance of Qi Linyuan’s veiled barbs.

His acting on screen was mediocre, but when it came to posturing, he was truly talented—or at least, he thought so.

“I know you blame me for ignoring you all these years, but it was for your own good. My fame came from my fans, and you know how aggressive they can be. If they found out about our past, what if it hurt you? And the company—if they knew about us, they’d worry your presence would affect their new cash cow. If they decided to go after you, you’d lose your last bit of security.”

Qi Linyuan almost laughed aloud.

Last bit of security? Years of being ignored, denied any roles unless they were non-contractual extras, and even then, as a supporting actor, having commissions deducted for work he never received? He’d fought hard for a role with more lines, only to have Lu Xiang demand sky-high fees and sabotage it, then dismissively say, “You need to consider your market value,” leaving him unable to land a part for half a year, until his contract finally ended and he met someone willing to give him another chance. Was that what Lu Xiang called “security”?

He’d gladly return that blessing.

After so many years in the entertainment industry, Qi Linyuan had learned to conceal his true emotions perfectly.

He listened impassively, neither agreeing nor refuting, and simply asked, “So, are you here to rekindle our old romance?”

“No, no, you’ve just won Best Actor—your resources are amazing, I couldn’t possibly reach that high,” Lu Xiang laughed awkwardly. “It’s just, I heard your next film is with Director Guo too…”

Qi Linyuan’s sharp ear caught the key word. “Too?”

Lu Xiang nodded eagerly. “Yeah! I’m almost set for that project as well!”

Qi Linyuan doubted his own hearing. If he remembered right, his role was the male lead. Was Lu Xiang angling for the second lead? Willing to play second to him?

Sure enough, Lu Xiang went on, “Actually, both roles are about equal. Whoever’s the lead, it doesn’t matter, right?”

Lu Xiang caught Qi Linyuan’s look and hurried to clarify, “No, no, I’m not asking for more screen time. See, you’re a serious actor, you don’t need fans, right? But I do! So, could you let me have the leading credit? In return, when the news breaks, we’ll promote a CP storyline—you’ll gain more fans, which will help you negotiate fees later…”

Qi Linyuan’s agent was stunned, unable to help turning around to stare at the man.

Did he think everyone was a fool? Linyuan had just won Best Actor—why would he hand the top billing to a washed-up idol? How deep in delusion would one have to be to agree?

Surely he didn’t imagine that after what he’d done to Linyuan all those years ago, Linyuan would still harbor feelings for him?

Clearly, Lu Xiang did think so. Qi Linyuan was well aware.

Fourteen years ago, this man had played the same emotional games, coaxing him into giving up his spot on a variety show for him. And now, nothing had changed.

Should he say that life had been too easy for Lu Xiang these past fourteen years, and he’d learned nothing?

Qi Linyuan’s eyes lowered. Unlike Lu Xiang’s self-satisfied yet amateurish acting, his own performance was flawless: “So, thirteen years ago, you didn’t deliberately abandon me after I was disfigured saving you. You did it for my own good, afraid your fans or the company would hurt me—right?”

Ever since Qi Linyuan was disfigured, Lu Xiang had felt he was beneath him and never considered rekindling their relationship. But when Qi Linyuan lowered his head, the scar hidden in the dim light, he seemed pitiful, almost endearing, stirring a strange feeling in Lu Xiang.

He let his guard down and replied, “Of course not, how could I abandon you on purpose? I was just a nobody then, powerless to help.”

Qi Linyuan sighed softly. “Alright, I get it… I’ll think it over and get back to you.”

Lu Xiang wanted to say, “No need, just agree now,” but wisely decided to stop while ahead. He nodded, urging, “Well, think it over! With our relationship, how could I ever harm you?”

He finally got out, lingering by the window to wave goodbye.

Once he’d gone, the agent couldn’t help himself. “Seriously? You’re actually considering giving him the lead? Working with him is bad enough—if you concede the top spot right after winning Best Actor, you’ll never get ahead again.”

The look of vulnerability vanished from Qi Linyuan’s face, replaced by icy disdain. “Do I look like I have rocks in my head? Give him the top billing? Dream on. I don’t even want to work with him, let alone hand him anything.”

The agent relaxed. “Good… I was worried you’d let him manipulate you…”

Qi Linyuan reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, pressed stop, then play. The conversation they’d just had replayed in the car.

The agent grinned with delight. “Nice—when did you start recording?”

Qi Linyuan, watching his reflection in the window, replied, “The moment I saw him outside. Why else would I sit here—just to let him disgust me? I didn’t expect such a windfall, though. Originally, I just wanted to make trouble for him. Now, if the producers have any sense, they won’t let him stay in the film. Two birds, one stone.”

He turned to the driver. “Let’s go. Take me home. I can’t wait to upload this recording…”

.

This was Qi Linyuan’s second-to-last memory before the accident. The last was when he got home, exported the recording, composed the caption, and just as he was about to post it, a sharp pain shot through his body and the world went black.

When he regained consciousness, he heard someone shouting, “Qi Yuan, are you okay, Qi Yuan?” and everything went black once more—he couldn’t have wished harder to lose consciousness again.

Qi Yuan—his former stage name, used from debut until the end of his first company contract.

What did that mean? It meant he was at least back before the age of twenty-seven, at the time when he was running from crew to crew for bit parts, overjoyed to land a single line of dialogue.

With so many sinners in the world, why did the God of Misfortune always pick on the innocent like him?

Qi Linyuan closed his eyes, feeling his death had been almost peaceful.

From extra to supporting role, from supporting to major supporting, then to leading man and finally Best Actor—hadn’t he struggled enough for it?

And after all that effort, when he was only one second away—just one second from exposing that scumbag and ruining him—he died.

Well, if he had to die, at least reincarnation wasn’t too bad. If only it could have happened sooner, before he’d debuted. Why did it have to be after he was disfigured and betrayed by his ex, forcing him to endure all the injustices of the world again?

“Don’t bother with him, it’s all an act. Look at that face, all innocent and sly—he’s obviously not as harmless as he looks…”

Hearing this, Qi Linyuan suddenly felt something was off.

Ever since his disfigurement, people had only ever described his face as “sinister and frightening” or “a good foundation ruined by a scar.” “Innocent and sly”… how could that possibly describe his face after the accident?

A terrifying possibility struck him—one he hardly dared imagine. Ignoring the accusations that he was faking, ignoring the risk of playing into the other’s hands, he suddenly opened his eyes, quickly fumbled for a phone, switched on the front camera, and looked at his reflection.

Just as he’d hoped, it was a smooth, unblemished face.

It was a beautiful face, every feature exquisitely carved, especially the eyes, bright as the stars.

Qi Linyuan felt dazed.

How many years had it been since he’d seen this face? So long that looking at it now, he felt like he was wearing someone else’s skin.

He wasn’t one to wallow in the past—except at the very beginning, he rarely looked at old photos or reminisced. But deep down, he had always wished he could return to his pre-disfigurement self—not only because he hadn’t yet made such sacrifices for someone unworthy, but also because he knew, if not for the accident, his career wouldn’t have been so arduous.

“How wonderful…” Qi Linyuan murmured.

He looked up, first at the young man beside him who watched with concern, then at another not far off, who eyed him warily, as if afraid Qi Linyuan would try to scam them. On impulse, he hugged the first, then darted over and hugged the second.

The latter bristled, wanting to push him away but afraid Qi Linyuan would faint again, so he mustered a fierce tone: “Hey, I’m warning you! There are cameras here! Don’t think you can frame us…”

Qi Linyuan broke into laughter. “How could I? Do I look like that kind of person?”

His smile was so dazzling, paired with that beautiful face, that the young man blushed and stammered, “Good, as long as you don’t.”

Just then, Qi Linyuan heard a voice that was all too familiar, one he’d last heard not long before his rebirth.

“Xiao Yuan? What’s wrong? Do you know these people?”

To be fair, the voice wasn’t unpleasant, but to Qi Linyuan, it sounded no different from a crow’s caw.

He turned to see the youthful Lu Xiang, a trace of jealousy and hostility on his face as he looked at the two young men beside Qi Linyuan.

“Xiao Yuan, aren’t you going to introduce me to your friends?”

Qi Linyuan almost lost his composure.

The good news: he’d been reborn at age twenty-two, before he’d been disfigured saving that scumbag Lu Xiang.

The bad news: this year, Lu Xiang was still his boyfriend.

Disgusting. He wanted to vomit. What now? Could he throw up right in the man’s face?