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Psst! We're moving!
On the way back, Yuan Yuan cautiously asked, “Cici, do you two really have a secret code?”
Sheng Li leaned against the seatback, scrolling through her phone without looking up. “Yes, but I can’t tell you. It’s a secret between me and Yu Chi.”
Yuan Yuan mumbled, “I didn’t even ask what it was.”
Who knew if it was something inappropriate or unspeakable?
Yuan Yuan turned to look at her and whispered again, “Even so... maybe the secret code isn’t that safe. If you two want to meet, it’d be safer if I covered for you...”
“That’s part of the fun; you wouldn’t understand.”
“...Alright, I’m single, so I don’t get it.”
After a full day of filming, Sheng Li finally had time to catch up on entertainment news. She browsed Weibo to check out the latest about Feng Xu, who would likely be sidelined for a while.
She came across a highly upvoted comment:
“If Feng Xu gets put on ice, the happiest person must be Lu Xingyu. Remember how Lu Xingyu lost that endorsement deal to Feng Xu last time? Now that Feng Xu’s in trouble, maybe Lu Xingyu can take it back.”
The replies were equally entertaining—
“Lu Xingyu sleeps around with fans and has been exposed several times for his chaotic private life. He’s no saint either. The only reason he hasn’t been canceled is because Rong Hua’s PR team is good at whitewashing him. But honestly, only his die-hard fans believe it—his reputation among the general public is trash.”
“One scandal after another. When will we finally get a clean-cut young star to dote on?”
“There are none in this industry.”
Who said there weren’t any? Yu Chi was as clean-cut as they came.
Aside from his looks, Yu Chi had so many marketable qualities. If he became famous, it would only be a matter of timing. The prerequisites were simple: he had to be willing to enter the industry, act, and have a competent agent.
As for Jiang Nan, forget it. Aside from spotting Yu Chi’s potential, he had nothing else going for him.
When the elevator reached the tenth floor and Sheng Li returned to her room, Yu Chi sent over the address of his rental apartment.
He actually sent it.
Sheng Li chuckled for a while before replying.
Sheng Li: [Alright, wait for your sister to grace you with her presence.]
Yu Chi ignored her.
While showering, Sheng Li kept thinking about how to convince Yu Chi to audition for the role of Yang Lingfeng if Director Liu decided to hold auditions. She still couldn’t believe that Yu Chi truly didn’t want to act anymore. If he were absolutely certain about his future, he wouldn’t have casually said, “Computer science—it’s popular,” when she asked him which major he wanted to pursue.
He was clearly interested in film editing. Sometimes even she found the monotony of set life unbearable, but Yu Chi could spend an entire day on set without showing any signs of irritation.
Most importantly…
Her phone suddenly rang, interrupting her train of thought.
It was Rong Hua calling.
She turned on speakerphone and placed the phone on the sink counter while applying skincare products in front of the mirror.
Rong Hua always got straight to the point. “I’m planning to send Lu Xingyu to the set to audition for the role of Yang Lingfeng. If he gets it, you’ll be there to keep an eye on him. His recent reputation has taken a hit, but once the drama airs, we can tie him to you…”
“Sister Rong, please spare me! I don’t want to be used as his whitewash tool again!” Sheng Li quickly cut her off.
Ever since Rong Hua signed both Sheng Li and Lu Xingyu, the company had bundled them together for marketing purposes. Deep sibling bonds, growing up together, mutual support—their narrative was filled with clichés like “the caring older sister” and “the devoted younger brother.”
They even had multiple fan communities, where fans enthusiastically shipped them. The largest group consisted of their CP fans. Out of curiosity, Sheng Li once peeked into their super-topic forum. To her horror, someone had posted a nine-panel explicit story featuring her and Lu Xingyu.
After skimming through it, she felt utterly disgusted.
She immediately reported, reported, and reported some more.
She couldn’t understand why so many people thought she’d be interested in someone like Lu Xingyu.
That promiscuous jerk.
Was she blind?!
Last year, they ended up in the same production. One night, Lu Xingyu brought a hookup partner to the hotel—he happened to stay next door to her. Because the paparazzi photos were grainy and blurry, and the hookup partner’s silhouette vaguely resembled hers, Rong Hua’s PR team spun a story claiming it wasn’t a hookup but a late-night snack shared between the “sibling duo.”
What midnight snack? Sheng Li was furious and immediately posted a tweet that night.
The tweet consisted solely of sarcastic [smiling face] emojis. Her fans initially rallied behind her with comments like, “Back off, don’t you dare taint our pure snow-white sister with your filthy presence,” but soon, professional whitewashers and CP shippers hijacked the narrative, turning it into, “Stop stalking them! They’ve grown up together, supported each other for years, and sharing a midnight snack shouldn’t be blown out of proportion.”
This was why Rong Hua was considered formidable. With abundant resources and a skilled PR team, she could spin any situation in her favor.
Sheng Li had served as Lu Xingyu’s whitewashing tool for far too long. If she weren’t under Rong Hua’s wing, she would’ve flipped out ages ago.
“I don’t want to share a set with him. Didn’t you think this role was too minor back then? Why are you pushing him to take it now?”
Rong Hua positioned both Sheng Li and Lu Xingyu at high levels within the industry. Over the past three years, Sheng Li had almost exclusively played lead roles, occasionally taking on standout supporting characters. Though Lu Xingyu was a jerk, his acting skills weren’t bad. In the past two years, Rong Hua hadn’t let him take on roles below fourth billing.
If Rong Hua intervened, there was an 80% chance the role would go to Lu Xingyu.
And here she was, hoping Yu Chi would audition.
Sheng Li’s contract was nearing its end. Currently at the peak of her popularity with no scandals, Rong Hua had begun discussing renewal terms with her earlier this year. As a result, Sheng Li’s attitude toward Rong Hua had softened compared to before.
“This role is decent—it can attract fans.” Rong Hua sighed, her tone softening slightly. “Fine, let’s leave it at that. Director Liu wants to hold auditions. I won’t interfere. Let Lu Xingyu audition—if Director Liu likes him, he can have the role.”
Sheng Li frowned. “But will Lu Xingyu agree?”
That arrogant jerk loved playing the diva card.
Rong Hua sneered. “After all the trouble he’s caused, does he still have any rights?”
Sheng Li felt exhausted and didn’t bother arguing further.
________________________________________
The next day, Director Liu excitedly told Sheng Li, “I’ve called a few young actors to audition tomorrow. Since you have the most scenes with this character, you’re welcome to come watch if you’re interested.”
Wei Cheng was nearby at the time. After glancing at him, Sheng Li smiled at Director Liu. “Sure, but director, can I recommend someone?”
“Lu Xingyu? He’s coming too,” Director Liu replied casually, not treating Wei Cheng or Sheng Li as outsiders. “His looks and acting are solid. Initially, I wanted to cast him, but the role’s billing is too low for him—Rong Hua rejected it outright. His recent reputation is shaky, and he’s unstable. He’s like a ticking time bomb. I’m worried… To be honest, I fear he might stir up trouble one day. If he gets boycotted or banned, what do we do with all those scenes? Use AI to edit him out?”
Director Liu looked conflicted. “But I do like him. If no one impresses me more during the auditions, then… it’ll probably still be him.”
Sheng Li chuckled softly. “I’m not talking about him.”
Director Liu was curious. “Then who?”
“My assistant, Yu Chi,” Sheng Li said brightly.
“Who?”
Director Liu thought he had misheard.
Sheng Li repeated, “Yu Chi.”
She glanced at Wei Cheng, silently pleading for help.
Wei Cheng hesitated for a moment before smiling. “Director Liu, do you remember the little boy who played my younger self in Flower Kill ?”
“Yes, the kid had decent acting skills. What does he look like now? Is he still acting?” Director Liu was puzzled. “I haven’t heard much about him lately. What’s his name again?”
“It’s Yu Chi,” Wei Cheng said, glancing toward the rest area. “He hasn’t had many projects in recent years, but he showed great talent as a child. And now, his appearance is excellent. If he’s interested in auditioning, why not give him a chance?”
Director Liu paused, turning to look at Yu Chi. “This kid does have good looks. Now that you mention it, his appearance and demeanor fit the role perfectly…”
Sheng Li quickly chimed in, “So, Director Liu, does that mean you agree? I’ll go ask Yu Chi.”
It was just a fourth-tier role audition—Director Liu naturally had no objections.
After dinner that evening, there was a twenty-minute break. Sheng Li took the opportunity to bring up the audition to Yu Chi. Without hesitation, he flatly refused. “No, I told you—I don’t want to act.”
“You’re not refusing because you don’t want to act. You’re refusing because you don’t want your step-parents and Jiang Nan to have their way. You don’t want to be controlled by them or used as their money-making tool,” Sheng Li said, her gaze fixed on him. “When you were a child, you’d rather break your hand than act—you were thinking the same way back then, weren’t you?”
Yu Chi was replying to a message from his homeroom teacher when he heard her words. His hand froze mid-tap, and he looked up at her. “No.”
Sheng Li leaned closer, speaking softly. “You are… I know you are. If you follow me, I promise no one will force you to do anything you don’t want to do. No one will push crappy scripts on you.”
Yu Chi shot her a sidelong glance, scoffing. “And what exactly are you doing right now?”
Sheng Li: “...”
This wasn’t forcing him—she was helping him.
“I’m different from others,” Sheng Li said, glancing at Yuan Yuan keeping watch by the door before leaning closer. “Sister is pursuing you. If you give in, you’ll become my boyfriend.”
Yu Chi leaned back, avoiding her proximity, and turned off his phone.
Sheng Li turned to look at him. Seeing his unmoved expression, she felt at a loss.
After a moment of thought, she pulled out her phone.
Opening Weibo, she found the super-topic dedicated to her and Lu Xingyu’s ship.
Despite feeling nauseous, she scrolled through and saved several explicit posts featuring her and Lu Xingyu.
Switching to WeChat, she dumped all the images onto Yu Chi’s chat.
Sheng Li sent you an image.
Sheng Li sent you an image.
Sheng Li sent you an image.
...
Yu Chi glanced at the screen flooded with messages from Sheng Li and raised an eyebrow. “What did you send?”
Sheng Li sighed. “Look for yourself.”
Yu Chi: “...”
The images were filled with dense text. The Wi-Fi was slow, and the files were large. Yu Chi randomly opened one, waiting a full minute for it to load to 80%.
Impatient, he muttered, “What the hell is this?”
Finally, the image loaded. Yu Chi opened and zoomed in, scanning it with his photographic memory…
Three seconds later, he gritted his teeth and kicked Sheng Li’s chair. “Sheng Li, are you sick? You’re making me read explicit content about you and someone else?”
Sheng Li calmly steadied the table and smiled. “If Lu Xingyu joins the production, it’ll probably be a celebration for the CP fans. The fanfiction writers will probably churn out 30,000 words of smut daily about him and me.”
“There are over 100,000 fans in the CP super-topic. All of them will see it.”
“Are you willing to let your sister endure this humiliation?” Sheng Li leaned closer to his ear, her voice low and teasing. “Aren’t I yours?”
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