Chapter 6

As the two brushed past each other and went their separate ways, the performance between Qi Linyuan and Lu Xiang came to an end. Returning to the center of the stage, Lu Xiang’s expression was extremely sour. He wanted to question Qi Linyuan about what he was doing, why things had turned out differently from what they’d agreed upon, but he had already lost the competition. If he caused a scene on stage now, everything he had worked for would be over.

Yes, he had lost… Lu Xiang knew it from the moment the host called “action,” from the instant he laid eyes on Qi Linyuan on stage. That person was so beautiful—more stunning than the moment that had made Lu Xiang fall for him in the first place. With that beauty, unless his acting far surpassed Qi Linyuan’s, there was no way he could win.

But the lines in this scene were too few, and Qi Linyuan made not a single mistake. The outcome was obvious.

Lu Xiang’s assessment was only half correct.

Qi Linyuan was indeed beautiful, a beauty he could not match. Yet more than that, what set them apart was the stark difference in temperament as soon as they stood on stage and “action” was called.

Lu Xiang was just a clueless youth making threats. Though he wore splendid clothes and wasn’t bad-looking, his acting and looks were no better than those who had performed before, lacking any charm or sympathy.

Qi Linyuan was different. He possessed a beauty unseen in previous performances: pale, fragile, yet striving to maintain his pride—exactly like the “white moonlight” the script tried to portray in the heroine’s heart.

His acting wasn’t obviously remarkable, but rather, it was so natural that the judges wondered if the script had struck a chord from Qi Linyuan’s past, allowing him to play the role as himself.

The judges saw nothing amiss in Qi Linyuan’s performance, let alone anyone else.

The man made up by Lu Xiang’s makeup artist looked as if his face would drip with water. He glared at Lu Xiang, then, remembering that Lu Xiang was now useless to him, didn’t even bother to glare again, shifting his gloomy gaze to Qi Linyuan.

Qi Linyuan seemed unaware of anything. He still wore a pale face, and when the judges announced the result, he managed only a weak smile. He then glanced at Lu Xiang with an expression similar to his performance—a sorrowful look, his eyes filled with unspoken guilt.

Lu Xiang had no intention of accepting that guilt. He stared fiercely at Qi Linyuan, unable to comprehend how he had been overturned by this person.

Qi Linyuan paid no mind to Lu Xiang’s negativity, maintaining his sorrowful and guilty demeanor before others, and returned the hug that Lu Xiang had failed to achieve on the first day—using a borrowed position, barely touching him.

“Lu Xiang, let’s break up,” Qi Linyuan whispered into Lu Xiang’s ear during the embrace, his voice low enough for only Lu Xiang to hear. “After today… you’ll never be worthy of me again, right? Just as you planned, you tricked me into being your stepping stone, climbing up over me. Now, I return it all to you.”

If Lu Xiang had only hated him before, Qi Linyuan’s words now made him shove him away abruptly, staring at him as if he’d seen a ghost.

Qi Linyuan seemed possessed by Xu Yunfei; as Lu Xiang pushed, he stumbled backward, failing to steady himself and fell hard onto the stage. The entire studio erupted in chaos.

“No photos! I said no photos!”

“Put your phones away! Right now!”

“Delete any you took, absolutely no sharing!”

…

With flashes lighting up the room, the show’s director finally reacted, shouting repeatedly.

He was experienced, and his first instinct was to suspect Qi Linyuan was acting. However, Qi Linyuan’s fall was so solid that the sound of his body hitting the floor echoed clearly through the stage microphones.

And… the director glanced at Qi Linyuan’s red-bruised elbow, unable to fathom why he would make such a show of hurting himself.

Lu Xiang had already lost, been eliminated. As the victor, what purpose did Qi Linyuan’s stunt serve? On the other hand, Lu Xiang, jealous of a fellow company artist’s win and his own elimination, was the one likely to do something like this. The director had seen plenty of such incidents in his years in entertainment.

With this in mind, the director looked at Qi Linyuan with a hint of pity, and at Lu Xiang with contempt. “It’s just a variety show. Losing is losing—why make such a scene?”

Since Qi Linyuan had whispered in his ear, Lu Xiang’s mind had been blank. When Qi Linyuan fell to the floor and the gaze and murmurs of the audience washed over him, his brain ceased to function entirely.

He wanted to say it was not his fault, that Qi Linyuan was scheming; he wanted to say that though he pushed him, Qi Linyuan’s dramatic fall was surely an act; he wanted to say his sudden breakdown was caused by Qi Linyuan’s provocation…

But none of these words escaped him. Qi Linyuan had angled himself perfectly so that neither the cameras nor the spectators could see his silent lips mouthing six words: your original plan.

Lu Xiang felt as if a bucket of ice water had been poured over his head. He watched the pale, fragile figure struggle to his feet, feeling that this person was no longer the naïve, romantic boyfriend he had courted a month ago, but a soul possessing this body, carrying something incomprehensible, seeking revenge.

Qi Linyuan repeated those six words out loud, then no longer looked at Lu Xiang.

He knew Lu Xiang felt angry, wronged, and unwilling to accept defeat; he knew the breakup hadn’t yet overshadowed the disfigurement incident. But so what?

This person’s stories were false, his feelings were false, only his intent to trick Qi Linyuan into sacrificing his future for him, to use him as a stepping stone, was true. Since that was the case, Qi Linyuan would give him tit for tat.

Supported by staff, Qi Linyuan stood unsteadily.

He thanked them in a soft voice, his trembling lashes—shaken by fear and disbelief—making him appear even more fragile and innocent than during his performance.

Qi Linyuan steadied himself, bowed to the judges, and with a hoarse voice said, “Thank you for your guidance.” He was about to lift his head and leave the stage when he abruptly paused.

In the back rows of the studio, which he had glanced at while taking his seat but not since, a vaguely familiar figure sat, watching him intently with a gaze full of inquiry and scrutiny.

Meeting those eyes, Qi Linyuan felt as if he had returned to the moment he was reborn and first saw Lu Xiang, the sensation of being split in two.

One half cheered and applauded, rejoicing at his luck—three days after rebirth, he had met his benefactor; the other half hung its head in despair, feeling life was bleak—his first meeting with his benefactor involved a grand show, and now, could he still present himself as an innocent, pure little flower? Wouldn’t that be a bit much?

Ah, the pain… wanting to die…

Qi Linyuan sighed, and sighed again.

The first round of the competition had ended, eliminating half the contestants. Many rooms were now empty, some with no one left, but their room still seated three: the two room owners and one unofficial member.

With such a group, it ought to be lively, but the room was rather quiet.

Qi Linyuan silently faced the wall, while Le Xi and Zhou Siqi exchanged glances, unsure what to say.

“Lin Yuan, don’t be sad,” Le Xi, hearing him sigh again, couldn’t help stepping forward and wrapping her arms around his shoulders in comfort. “Though we’ve only known you for three days, we can be your friends—your new friends.”

Qi Linyuan, absorbed in his thoughts, finally came back to himself, question marks popping in his mind: What were they talking about?

Zhou Siqi stiffly added, “Out with the old, in with the new…”

This time Qi Linyuan understood. He looked back at Le Xi, then at Zhou Siqi, and said sincerely, “If you two ever do interviews together, leave the speaking to Le Xi!”

Zhou Siqi slapped the bed and stood up, but when he met Qi Linyuan’s gaze, he recalled the sorrowful and fragile figure on stage, and all his bravado vanished. He turned away with a “hmph.”

Le Xi didn’t defend Zhou Siqi, instead echoing, “He’s needed this for a while—otherwise he’ll pay for his lack of words someday.”

Le Xi then shifted back to Qi Linyuan. “What’s done is done—stop thinking about it and focus on the next round!”

Qi Linyuan didn’t bother explaining that his sighs were due to his poor performance before his benefactor, not because a “friend” had pushed him. He simply responded vaguely.

Yet Le Xi was right: the past had happened, it was time to think about how to approach Ji Yuchen in the future.

Sigh…

Ji Yuchen sat in his car, also reflecting on everything he had seen today.

The advertising director in the passenger seat watched him carefully, confirming his mood was stable before asking, “Mr. Ji, about the naming rights for the advertisement… what do you think?”

Ji Yuchen didn’t reply immediately, but after a moment, he said slowly, “Let’s not take the naming rights. A variety show built to promote all kinds of insiders—naming it would affect our reputation.”

The passenger agreed, about to add, “Then let’s drop it,” when Ji Yuchen spoke again: “Run an ad. This show is still interesting.”

As Ji Yuchen spoke, his mind conjured the image of Qi Linyuan on stage: pale, fragile, yet with an obstinate vitality.

With such an outsider present… this show, meticulously crafted to promote certain people, might unexpectedly become a hit. From an advertising perspective, it’s certainly worthwhile.

“When you coordinate with the production team, mention that I know they have their plans for promoting people, but they should restrain themselves. If someone truly has the talent to stay, let them remain until later rounds—it benefits the show and us both,” Ji Yuchen continued, leaning back in his seat and closing his eyes for a nap. “A show full of insiders won’t last long. I hope they understand this.”