Chapter 40: “So, I Guess I’m Pretty Lucky When It Comes to Ex-Boyfriends.”

After the premiere of The Scroll of Rivers and Mountains last summer, Yu Chi finally had his first major work under his belt. His role as Yang Lingfeng was fourth in billing—typically, promotions only included the lead actors and perhaps the second or third supporting roles. However, after Rose began production, Yu Chi’s popularity skyrocketed, and midway through the series, the “Wind Rises CP” between Yun Lansheng (played by Sheng Li) and Yang Lingfeng became a major talking point.

The production team reached out to Huang Baiyan, suggesting that Yu Chi join the promotional tour for the drama. But Huang declined, explaining, “Yu Chi needs to be on set during school breaks, and his schedule is packed. We can’t afford to take time off.”

For the past two years, Yu Chi had been working nonstop, juggling two projects per year—one during winter break and one during summer. He spent nearly every holiday on set while simultaneously managing his studies and fulfilling various public appearances. It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that Yu Chi worked 365 days a year without rest.

But the real reason Huang Baiyan didn’t want Yu Chi participating in the promotions stemmed from his knowledge of Yu Chi and Sheng Li’s complicated relationship. In this industry, people who were genuinely involved often hid their connections, while fake couples dominated the headlines and reaped all the benefits. If Yu Chi were to promote alongside Sheng Li, it would only be a matter of time before their history came to light, causing a scandal.

What Huang wanted was for Yu Chi to maintain distance from Sheng Li. Coincidentally, Rong Hua shared the same goal, ensuring that Sheng Li avoided any encounters with Yu Chi. The two agents, rivals for years, had somehow reached an unspoken agreement.

After all, if Sheng Li and Yu Chi were officially paired together, what chance would Lux Xingyu have?

Moreover, Yu Chi was already thriving. With solid performances in his portfolio and his young age, there was no need for him to rely on hype relationships with female celebrities, which could do more harm than good. As for the “Wind Rises CP,” if fans wanted to indulge in their fantasies and ship the pairing, so be it.

Thanks to Huang Baiyan and Rong Hua’s careful planning, Yu Chi and Sheng Li hadn’t crossed paths directly for over a year. But in such a small industry, even when both parties tried their best to avoid each other, they still occasionally ran into one another at events.

In mid-April, the film festival took place, and Yu Chi attended as part of the Rose cast. The movie swept multiple awards: Wei Cheng won Best Actor for the third time, and Yu Chi took home the Best Newcomer award. At that moment, Sheng Li sat in the audience, far away but staring up at the stage where Yu Chi stood in a sharp suit, radiant and triumphant. She almost shed tears. It felt like she had offered up her precious treasure to the world—he no longer belonged solely to her. The feeling was bittersweet, a mix of pride, melancholy, and helplessness.

The Rose team was seated front and center. Sheng Li was three rows behind Yu Chi, diagonally across from him, just a few meters away. As Yu Chi descended the stage holding his trophy, their eyes met briefly. His lips curved into a faint smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes—it was distant and cold.

It was almost as if he were mocking her: Sister, you got your wish—I’m famous now. Are you happy?

In that instant, Sheng Li’s heart raced, and she quickly lowered her head.

After breaking up with Yu Chi, she always avoided dwelling on the past, fearing she’d get stuck in memories and regret her decision. Every time those emotions surfaced, she forced herself to suppress them through self-hypnosis.

Going back to old flames wasn’t wise—especially not someone as unpredictable and untamed as Yu Chi, who might’ve turned darker after being dumped. She had dared to flirt once, but she lacked the courage to try again.

…

And yet, here they were, meeting so unexpectedly.

Sheng Li froze for a few seconds until headlights from an approaching car illuminated the space, snapping her out of her daze. She smiled brightly at the figure across from her. “Actually, it hasn’t been that long. You’re everywhere these days. I see you trending on Weibo, your billboards are all over the city, and even Yuan Yuan has become one of your sister fans, sneaking peeks at your photos behind my back.”

“No, it hasn’t been ‘forever.’ More like, you can’t escape me.”

As the car passed, the light dimmed. Yu Chi stared at her for two or three seconds before letting out a derisive chuckle. “Same goes for you.” After a pause, his tone turned mocking. “You should know better than anyone how visible you are. After all, you have more works than I do—and let’s not forget about all those scandals swirling around you.”

Sheng Li: “….”

Yu Chi: “….”

Both fell silent. Sheng Li studied the person in front of her. The entertainment industry had a way of transforming people. Many young actors and actresses underwent noticeable changes in appearance and demeanor after spending time in the limelight, especially those who achieved fame. This transformation excluded cosmetic surgeries, of course.

Yu Chi had always possessed striking features, but two years later, his face had grown sharper, his jawline more defined. He seemed thinner, yet his shoulders broader, making him a walking clothes hanger. His aura now hovered somewhere between youthful innocence and mature masculinity—a blend that added layers to his appeal.

No wonder Yuan Yuan couldn’t resist secretly drooling over him.

Another cool breeze swept through, rustling leaves and sending them swirling. A single leaf drifted down in front of Sheng Li. She blinked and smiled at Yu Chi. “During the film festival, reporters surrounded you so much that I didn’t get the chance to congratulate you.”

She had watched Rose several times. In her opinion, Yu Chi’s performance rivaled Wei Cheng’s. However, in a dual-lead film, the narrative often leaned toward one protagonist. Wei Cheng had more screentime and a more complex character arc.

In terms of seniority and screen presence, Yu Chi couldn’t compete with Wei Cheng—not yet, anyway. And since he was still a newcomer without prior works, competing for Best Actor wasn’t realistic.

Sheng Li had always found it a bit disappointing.

Just then, Yu Chi’s phone rang. He glanced at it—Huang Baiyan calling, likely urging him to hurry. Instead of answering immediately, he continued to stare at Sheng Li as if seeing straight through her. With a cold snort, he said, “Even if I did win something significant, you wouldn’t step forward to congratulate me, Sister.”

With that, he answered the call and walked away, saying into the phone, “I’m downstairs.”

His assistant hurried to catch up.

Sheng Li stood rooted in place, pressing her lips together. She glanced at Yuan Yuan, who had been standing there dumbfounded. “Let’s go.”

“Oh… okay.” Yuan Yuan followed, whispering, “Lili, why did you tell him I sneak looks at his photos? Do I have no dignity?”

“Isn’t he better than whoever you were obsessed with before? Who cares about dignity?”

Sheng Li looked ahead, finally noticing Yu Chi’s assistant—a sturdy young man in his twenties. As they approached the entrance, her gaze lingered on Yu Chi once more.

Suddenly, Yu Chi stopped right in front of her, and she nearly bumped into his back.

Stopping abruptly, Sheng Li looked up at him. “What?”

“Well, if we’re talking gratitude…” Yu Chi stood silhouetted against the restaurant’s lights, looking down at her with a self-deprecating smirk. “If you hadn’t tricked me into coming here two years ago and literally stepped on my foot to keep me from leaving, I wouldn’t have met Director He. And most importantly, if you hadn’t bought me out of my contract or introduced me to such a great agent, I’d still be nothing.”

Sheng Li realized they were standing exactly where she had pinned him down by stepping on his foot years ago.

Seeing her expression, Yu Chi assumed she didn’t remember and turned away without another word.

Sheng Li sighed innocently.

Was this how people expressed gratitude? Was he really this arrogant while thanking someone?

Her phone buzzed. She picked it up.

Empress Zhou: [Sheng Baixue, are you here yet? I’m starving! If you don’t show up soon, I’m starting without you!]

Sheng Li: [I’m downstairs.]

Sheng Li: [Ran into my ex-boyfriend.]

Empress Zhou: [Holy crap, holy crap, AND THEN WHAT?!]

Yu Chi was a few meters ahead, waiting outside a private dining room. He pushed the door open, and lively chatter spilled out. Someone called out, “Xiao Chi’s here! Come sit over here.”

The voice sounded familiar. If Sheng Li remembered correctly, it belonged to Liu Shu, director of Yu Chi’s recently wrapped film, Malicious Intent.

Yu Chi entered, apologizing, “Sorry, class ended late today, so I’m a bit late.”

BANG! The door shut behind him.

Sheng Li passed by the door, turned a corner, and pushed open the door to her own private room.

Inside, Zhou Sinuan sat alone. She had mentioned craving this restaurant’s food earlier and ordered an entire table full of dishes, which were already laid out. Sheng Li walked in, placed her bag on the coat rack, and looked at Zhou Sinuan. “Why are you alone?”

“Zhou Nian ditched us. Her agent called her to some dinner meeting with investors.” Zhou Sinuan clicked her tongue. “Always getting dragged to entertain clients. Doesn’t she worry about being taken advantage of?”

Sheng Li sat beside Zhou Sinuan and poured herself a glass of hot water.

“Hey—”

Zhou Sinuan raised an eyebrow at her. “We haven’t finished talking. You and Yu Chi hadn’t spoken face-to-face in over two years, right? What did you guys talk about just now?”

“The first thing he said was, ‘Sister, long time no see.’ Then he thanked me for buying him out and finding him a good agent, claiming he owes everything to me.” Sheng Li sipped her water, frowning slightly. “Then, that little brat mocked me for having endless scandals.”

“That comment was dripping with jealousy,” Zhou Sinuan remarked, wrapping duck pancakes. “Huang Baiyan really knows what he’s doing. In just two years, he turned Yu Chi into a superstar. Of course, Yu Chi’s natural talent and charisma played a huge role. Not everyone could rise this fast. Didn’t he just finish filming Malicious Intent ? Liu Shu’s films usually perform well at the box office. If they manage to release it during Spring Festival, and the reviews explode, Yu Chi will officially cement his status as a top-tier actor.”

Sheng Li thought for a moment, then chuckled softly. “So, I guess I’m pretty lucky when it comes to ex-boyfriends.”

Zhou Sinuan burst out laughing. “That’s true. Movies and TV dramas are different beasts. Actors who shine in TV dramas don’t necessarily land good movie scripts. For actors primarily focused on films, taking on TV roles is considered slumming it. After The Scroll of Rivers and Mountains, Yu Chi’s inbox has been flooded with film offers. He’s aiming high—smart, handsome, talented, and academically gifted. His image is flawless, and his popularity is undeniable.” She sighed. “Lux Xingyu truly got the short end of the stick. Their fanbases clash constantly. Though, Lux Xingyu’s fandom seems to have lost its edge lately.”

Lux Xingyu exploded whenever Yu Chi’s name came up, obsessively plotting ways to sabotage him. They were sworn enemies.

Sheng Li primarily worked in television dramas, enjoying widespread recognition. However, she hadn’t done many films—mostly minor roles in the past. Earlier this year, she landed her first leading role in a romantic film scheduled for Valentine’s Day release, potentially overlapping with the Spring Festival season.

If Yu Chi’s movie also hit theaters during Spring Festival, it would create a direct showdown.

Sheng Li picked up a slice of lotus root, biting into it thoughtfully. “Actually, when we ran into each other earlier, I half-expected him to mention repaying me.” This confusion wasn’t new—it had been brewing for months. While Yu Chi didn’t have many works yet, his endorsements and advertisements were abundant, all for high-end brands. He must’ve made quite a fortune.

Back then, during their breakup, he had lashed out at her, calling the money she paid for his contract termination a “breakup fee.” His tone had been filled with resentment, as though he wanted to throw the cash back in her face.

Zhou Sinuan propped her chin on her hand, smirking. “You know, maybe he doesn’t want to repay you. Maybe he likes owing you.”

Sheng Li’s heart fluttered slightly, and she lowered her head, smiling faintly. “Are you implying he still has feelings for me?”

“Hatred is a form of emotion too. He probably can’t forget the woman who manipulated him.”

“…”

They stayed in the private room chatting until after nine o’clock before finally emerging.

As they rounded the corner, they saw Yu Chi exiting another private room with the main creative team of Malicious Intent. He glanced toward their direction, his eyes brightening slightly—he’d clearly had a drink or two, though it didn’t show on his face. His gaze remained clean-cut and sharp.

That hazy, intense look was incredibly captivating.

Sheng Li locked eyes with him, her steps faltering momentarily.

In that fleeting moment, it felt as though everyone else faded into the background, leaving only the two of them, staring at each other amidst the crowd.

Huang Baiyan emerged from behind Yu Chi, spotting Sheng Li and Zhou Sinuan. He stepped in front of Yu Chi, smiling warmly. “What a coincidence! You’re dining here too?”

Sheng Li approached, forcing a polite smile. “Yes.”

The main creative team noticed them as well. Sheng Li and Zhou Sinuan exchanged greetings.

Yu Chi withdrew his gaze, regaining his composure, and resumed his conversation with Director Liu Shu as if Sheng Li weren’t there.

The group headed downstairs together.

Sheng Li and Zhou Sinuan trailed behind. Zhou Sinuan stared at Yu Chi’s tall, slim figure. Even his silhouette exuded charm, distinct from many other young actors in the industry. How to describe it? Perhaps it was his academic aura—an intangible quality that set him apart. She leaned closer to Sheng Li, whispering, “I have a burning question for you.”

“What?” Sheng Li replied absentmindedly.

Zhou Sinuan moved closer, ensuring no one else could hear. “After dumping Yu Chi—a top-tier younger man—you’ll probably never find another one like him. Do you regret it?”

Sheng Li had once feared regretting her decision most of all. She dreaded comparing others to Yu Chi and finding them lacking.

Now, two years later, reality slapped her in the face.

Indeed, she hadn’t found anyone who compared to Yu Chi.

But…

Sheng Li watched as Yu Chi effortlessly bid farewell to the director and producers. Pulling her gaze away, she calmly stated, “No regrets.”