Chapter 2

Fourteen years later, Lu Xiang still lacked the ability to read between the lines and discern what Qi Linyuan truly thought; needless to say, fourteen years earlier, when Lu Xiang was just entering the entertainment industry, he was even more oblivious.

He walked up to Qi Linyuan, slinging his arm around his shoulder in a possessive manner and called out again, “Xiao Yuan?”

Qi Linyuan suppressed the instinctive urge to shrug him off, simply taking a step forward to put some space between them, struggling to recall exactly what point in time this was.

Back then, just after they broke up, Qi Linyuan once believed the reason was that his ruined appearance was something the other could not bear. Only after meeting more people did he realize that Lu Xiang’s true nature had already been laid bare during their debut variety show, “Ultimate Actor.”

On the surface, this was a highly fair competition program, but in truth, forty percent of the contestants were “royalty”—destined to be promoted—while the other sixty percent were fodder.

The true purpose of the show was to prop up that forty percent, to highlight their so-called excellence, with the remaining fodder there to set them off. Back then, both Qi Yuan and Lu Xiang were among the cannon fodder. They realized this early and, after some analysis, concluded that not all was lost for them.

Even though forty percent were “royalty,” there were hierarchies among them. To maximize interests, the producers might “keep” one or two outstanding cannon fodder contestants around until the middle or later stages.

Their goal was to become those lucky survivors.

But luck was not easily seized. In the first round, the show paired forty percent of the royalty against forty percent of the fodder, while the remaining twenty percent of the fodder fought among themselves.

They were fortunate not to be matched against the royalty, but fate was less kind in that they ended up in the same group.

This meant only one of them could advance.

Qi Yuan wanted a fair competition. Given their relationship, he felt it didn’t matter who won, and a little contest wouldn’t hurt. Lu Xiang, however, saw it differently.

He began by recounting his tragic background and how much he needed this break, then described how dark the show’s backstage dealings were, and how whoever stayed would likely be bullied by the royalty. He just couldn’t bear for himself to face such things.

Qi Yuan was moved to tears by the first part, and then, hearing the second, thought, “Wow, he loves me so much!” Since it didn’t matter who won, letting Lu Xiang advance was fine. So, he deliberately botched his performance in the first round, allowing Lu Xiang to move on.

Lu Xiang didn’t disappoint. He beat another fodder contestant in the second round, won the third, and was only eliminated in the fourth.

The show was quite popular at the time, and Lu Xiang managed to build his first fan base thanks to his fourth-round performance. He landed a supporting role in a teen drama, and with a bit of luck, the show exploded in popularity, setting him on a promising path in the industry.

Recalling his own “Wow, he loves me so much!” thought from back then, Qi Linyuan’s temples throbbed with pain.

How could anyone be so foolish, taking such obvious lies as love? That’s what the current Qi Linyuan thought. He didn’t even hate the one who had ruined his looks. He was simply too naive, too blinded by love back then.

A fool like that deserves hardship.

Since “Ultimate Actor,” their paths had diverged completely. Aside from private meetings, they’d hardly seen each other in public, so this must be before his elimination from the show—probably right at the start of filming?

As this thought crossed Qi Linyuan’s mind, a staff member approached. “What are you all doing here? Go register for your rooms. Remember, you’re all in double rooms—don’t pick the wrong one.”

The staff member paused, then added, “Once you reach registration, the filming officially begins. This show uses a quick-edit, quick-broadcast format: filmed and aired in the same week, with real-time audience feedback. Don’t say anything you shouldn’t, or if the editors miss it and it goes out, you’d better prepare to pack up and leave the industry.”

The three newcomers all nodded in understanding.

Qi Linyuan, the “fake” newcomer, responded more perfectly than the others, a little nervous and a little shy, “Okay.”

The four didn’t dawdle any longer and hurried to registration.

The one who had earlier called Qi Linyuan a “green tea” type led the way, quickly signing his name with a flourish, then standing aside, trying to look mature and experienced.

But—

“Aren’t you all together? Not sharing a room?” Qi Linyuan asked in surprise.

The guy froze, hurried over, and saw that he had followed the person above him, signing his name right beneath theirs. That person seemed to have come alone, so signing there meant he’d chosen the same room as a stranger.

He was stunned, wanting to change it, but Qi Linyuan, not about to let him, swiftly signed his own name on the next line. Then, turning to the baby-faced young man who’d just asked about his well-being, he said, “Since Zhou Siqi made a mistake, why don’t we room together? We’re not that familiar, but at least we’ve said hello—it’s good to look out for each other.”

The invitation was genuine, without the slightest hint of pretense.

Having to pretend to be Lu Xiang’s boyfriend was awkward enough; sharing a room with him, even on camera, was unbearable.

Qi Linyuan had already been pondering how to subtly avoid sharing a room with Lu Xiang, and now, as luck would have it, the opportunity presented itself.

Le Xi looked confused, not understanding what was happening, but Lu Xiang reacted quickly. “What’s wrong? Didn’t we agree to room together?”

Qi Linyuan glanced at Lu Xiang, then at Le Xi.

Unlike his post-accident face, which screamed “villain” no matter how much he honed his acting—at best, a villain who, on closer inspection, might seem decent—his current face was beautiful, harmless, even so exquisite it seemed almost unreal.

Earlier, when he smiled at Zhou Siqi, Zhou’s previous hostility faded, and now, with a slightly shy expression aimed at Le Xi, who already had a good impression of him, Le Xi’s confusion vanished on the spot. He patted his chest and promised, “Let’s do it! We’ll room together!”

Qi Linyuan laughed, bright and delighted.

Seeing his laughter, Le Xi no longer hesitated, grabbed the pen, and swiftly signed his name beneath Qi Linyuan’s.

Qi Linyuan was always clear about gratitude and grudges. Since Le Xi had helped him, he wouldn’t let Le Xi become a target of Lu Xiang’s petty vengeance. So he explained, a little apologetically, “Here’s the thing. This is my first entertainment program—my debut, really. I’m not that confident in my abilities and feel I might get eliminated quickly. I wanted to meet more people, make some friends in the industry…”

He finished, glancing at Lu Xiang again. “We’re not in the same company, and though we knew each other before, I feel there’s no need to waste this rare opportunity to meet new people…”

If possible, Qi Linyuan would have liked to slap Lu Xiang right then, tell him they’d broken up, that this scumbag should get as far away as possible. But that wasn’t possible.

He had no intention of changing careers, nor did he want his first headline to be, “Shocking! Brawl Breaks Out on Show—What's Wrong with Today's Newcomers?”

Not only would it be humiliating, but he’d be tied to someone like that forever. Disgusting.

So, for now, he could endure—and then strike when the time was right, finishing off this scumbag.

Lu Xiang, unaware that the present Qi Yuan was no longer the naive boy he could easily fool, actually found the explanation reasonable and signed his name without further fuss.

It was at this moment that he noticed the name Qi Linyuan had signed.

“Xiao Yuan, you didn’t use your real name?”

Hearing this, Zhou Siqi and Le Xi both leaned over for a look. Sure enough, the name wasn’t the “Qi Yuan” that Qi Linyuan had introduced himself as before fainting, but “Qi Linyuan.”

They looked at him in confusion, but he smiled, embarrassed. “That’s my stage name. I heard everyone in the industry uses one…” Not really.

Qi Yuan was actually his stage name, changed just before he signed with the company; even his ID card had been updated. But now, he didn’t want that name.

Qi Yuan—meaning “wish”—reeked of fatalism.

He’d learned, after struggling in the mire for so long in his past life, that fate could not be changed by heaven. Only by oneself.

So he changed it to Qi Linyuan: “as cautious as if treading on thin ice, as if standing by a deep abyss,” and also alluding to “rather than envy the fish in the abyss, better to weave your own net.”

He liked this new name and planned to use it from his very first public appearance, even if only as a stage name.

Zhou Siqi actually liked the name. “You already look like this—still being called Qi Yuan feels too delicate. This new one sounds much more impressive!”

Qi Linyuan gave him an approving glance. “Exactly, I think it’s powerful, too.”

Listening to their conversation and staring at that name on the registration, Lu Xiang felt a vague sense of dread, as though something beyond his control was happening.

But when he looked at Qi Linyuan’s beautiful, harmless face, he convinced himself he was overthinking it.

Just like that face, Qi Yuan had always seemed harmless and naive.

A person like that would be easy to handle—what surprises could possibly happen?