Chapter 4: He Missed Her So Much It Was Killing Him

Lu Hui looked away from the TV screen. One coincidence after another was fueling her unease. After a few seconds of hesitation, she asked, “Is there a chance… the fiancée he mentioned is actually me?”

Lin Tong looked like he’d just heard the most absurd thing ever. After a moment of stunned silence, he let out two dry chuckles. “Get a grip.”

Lu Hui nodded, admitting he had a point. “Yeah, I don’t think I’m all there either.”

Impossible.

Absolutely impossible.

The male lead in the novel should be living sweetly with his beloved white moonlight female lead right now. Why would he randomly pop into her world?

Lin Tong shook his head, thinking she was just trying out a bad joke. “If I were a woman, I’d wanna marry someone like President Xie too—rich, good-looking, gentle but strict.”

Lu Hui said, “So Brother Lin, you’ve been hiding these lofty dreams all along. I wish you the best in fulfilling them.”

Lin Tong shuddered. “Get outta here. I was just joking.”

The waiter brought the dishes one after another. They’d ordered nearly ten dishes. The plates were large, but the portions were tiny.

Lu Hui cut into a piece of foie gras and tasted it, giving a fair review: “Delicious.”

Lin Tong rolled his eyes. “At five hundred yuan a plate, it better be.”

The ten dishes weren’t enough, so they added two more mains: one crab sauce noodle dish for 288 yuan, and one beef fried rice for 188.

Lin Tong paid with his card, wincing as he signed the receipt.

Nearly 3,000 yuan for one meal—he should’ve found someone to split the bill!

Lu Hui tried to comfort him. “Don’t worry, Brother Lin. When I make it big, I’ll treat you to something even fancier.”

Lin Tong couldn’t help but scoff. “Yeah right. I’ll be dead before that meal happens.”

Then he asked, “You still haven’t told me what you were doing during that month you disappeared.”

Lu Hui dodged, mumbling vaguely, “I went to get treatment.”

“You were sick? Was it serious? Are you okay now?”

“I’m fine now.”

“Alright then. There’s not much work this week. Next week I’ll bring you to a variety show just as background. Come sign the contract at the office tomorrow.”

“What variety show?”

“Celebrity Match-Up.”

“Oh.”

Celebrity Match-Up was a newer indoor variety show from Channel Five that had become popular in the past couple of years. The regular hosts and rotating guest stars were all big names. Someone like Lu Hui, who was practically invisible, could only cling to the edges. She might not even get a single line in the entire show.

Lin Tong drove her back to her building. Before she got out, he had a lot more to say: “Be careful from now on. Don’t get involved with Sheng Zhaoming again. I’ve almost been chewed out to death by the company execs. And don’t stress about today’s audition—even if we don’t make it, it doesn’t necessarily mean you lack skill. I think the company wants to push that Shuangshuang girl. Honestly, she’s not even as good-looking as you.”

Lin Tong rambled on endlessly.

He’d been annoyed with Sister Yue and her artist for a long time.

When Lu Hui first joined the company, the agents who had popular stars were salty that he’d signed such a beautiful girl with strong potential. They’d even tried tripping him up at work—quietly snatching projects out from under him.

Later on, maybe because it was clear Lu Hui wasn’t destined to become popular, people didn’t even bother to put on a façade anymore.

When she hit a rough patch, popular Weibo accounts jumped in to mock and ridicule her, as if afraid the public outrage wasn’t strong enough—determined to crush her completely while she was still down.

The more Lin Tong thought about it, the angrier he got. Gritting his teeth, he said, “Those snakes only dared to trample on you because they saw you couldn’t make it in this industry.”

The things they said on social media were as nasty as they could get.

“Our company is a victim too—we signed someone like her.”
“She has zero respect for her seniors at the company.”
“It’s no surprise she flopped.”
“Next time she comes in, I’ll ask her for tips on how to stir up a scandal like that.”

Lin Tong was so furious he could explode, but there was nothing he could do. Without fame, he had no clout—and even less status.

—

Except for the artist department, the rest of the company ran on a regular 9-to-5 schedule. The next morning at 9 a.m., Lu Hui showed up at the company headquarters.

It was Friday—weekly meeting day. Colleagues you wouldn’t usually see were all around, and the artists who didn’t have any scheduled events had also come in.

Lu Hui went over to Lin Tong’s desk. Just as she pulled out the contract and before she could sign it, Lin Tong got called into the meeting. Before leaving, he said, “Don’t go yet, wait for me to finish.”

“Okay, Brother Lin.”

Lin Tong hunched his neck and found an empty corner seat to sit quietly. These weekly meetings were usually just a summary of the week’s work.

The popular artists and their managers would get flattered for hours. People like Lin Tong—well, if their names weren’t called out and mocked for being incompetent, they’d count themselves lucky.

The department head sat across from them with a stern face. The meeting had just begun when Lin Tong’s phone rang, breaking the silence. His expression changed, and after hastily hanging up, he bowed and apologized, “Sorry, I forgot to put it on silent.”

The calls kept coming, and Lin Tong had no choice but to pick up. He lowered his voice and said angrily, “Who are you!? Are you done or what?”

“I’m the assistant director of Fengmo Qiuxian. You’re Lu Hui’s manager, right? The director was really impressed with her audition yesterday. Come in sometime soon to sign the contract for the third female lead.”

Lin Tong’s first instinct was that this was a scam. He really thought so. “Bullshit. Lu Hui auditioned for the fourth female lead.”

The assistant director replied, “The director thinks she’s more suitable for the third. What, you’re not happy with that?”

Lin Tong still couldn’t believe it. “Holy crap, this is actually real?”

The assistant director snapped, “You think I’m lying for fun?”

Lin Tong lowered his voice. “I’ll hang up for now. I’ll call you back after the meeting.”

He didn’t escape criticism at this morning’s meeting. Lu Hui got used as another example of failure by the company exec.

But before the meeting ended, Lin Tong couldn’t hold back his excitement. His tail was practically wagging as he said, “Boss, our Huihui has really matured. She just landed the third female lead in Fengmo Qiuxian. Please rest assured—she’s going to act her heart out and prove the haters wrong with her skills.”

The entire conference room turned their heads to stare at him.

Lin Tong held his ground, beaming like a fool.

The boss actually looked a little pleased and gave him a rare compliment, “Not bad. Keep it up.”

“Absolutely!”

Lin Tong had never felt so proud in his life. It felt so damn good.

So it turns out Lu Hui hadn’t been bluffing yesterday—she really passed the audition, and not only that, she got bumped up to a bigger role.

After the meeting ended, Sister Yue couldn’t help but glance at him a couple more times. “That’s… quite the surprise.”

Lin Tong acted casual, but his tone was smug. “Sister Yue, don’t tell me you thought your girl had that role in the bag?”

Sister Yue gave a cold laugh. “I must have been blind. Didn’t realize Lu Hui could go that far.”

A clear jab—implying Lu Hui got the role through shady means.

Lin Tong, riding high, grinned. “Come on now. You’re giving your Shuangshuang way too much credit. With her lack of talent, we don’t even need to stoop to dirty tricks.”

“What did you just say?!”

“Busy now, see you later, sis.”

It wasn’t just Sister Yue who was angry and shocked. A bunch of colleagues who had jumped on the bandwagon when Lu Hui was being dragged online were stunned too.

Was Lu Hui about to make a comeback? With that level of acting?

They each tried to comfort themselves: it’s just a web drama, probably won’t make waves. Lu Hui has no fanbase, no previous work to her name.

They even gloated a little—no need to guard against someone like her. With her lifeless, eye-burning acting, once the show airs, she’ll get torn apart again. And popularity depends on fate. Someone like Lu Hui, who attracts so much hate, is just not destined to shine.

Back at his desk, Lin Tong was still floating on cloud nine.

Lu Hui couldn’t help asking, “Weren’t you getting scolded? Why do you look so happy?”

“Hui, I really underestimated you. Guess what the director told me today?”

“What?”

“He wants to sign you for the drama. I finally see a glimmer of hope in you.”

“I told you that yesterday.”

“I didn’t believe you, okay?”

“Heh.”

Lin Tong gradually sobered up from his overwhelming excitement. Once he calmed down, he said, “Huihui, you’ve really gotta do your best in this drama. No more acting with those dead-fish eyes, okay? Otherwise, you’ll be washed up back to civilian level.”

“Am I even any different from a civilian now?”

“Hmm, not really,” Lin Tong admitted, then corrected himself, “Actually, no civilian gets flamed as badly as you.”

“…”

Lu Hui wasn’t bragging, but to others, she totally sounded like she was. “You don’t need to worry about my acting,” she said.

Lin Tong shook his head in disbelief. “I honestly admire your confidence—no idea where it comes from.”

Lu Hui replied seriously, “The director picked me for my acting, not my looks.”

　Lin Tong hummed and ahed perfunctorily: “Okay, okay, our Huihui is the best actress.”

Lu Hui knew that talk was cheap—action spoke louder. She needed time and solid work to prove her acting skills, which she had acquired from the transmigration system.

The casting for Seeking Immortality Amidst Demons was finalized. It was an A+ level web drama, already drawing a decent amount of online buzz. From the leads to the supporting roles, gossip bloggers had exposed the entire cast.

Lu Hui’s name didn’t come up often. When she was occasionally singled out by gossipers, it was usually to mock her terrible acting or criticize her chaotic career choices.

Some even ridiculed her: “It’s practically metaphysical—any show with Lu Hui in it is bound to flop. I wonder if the three networks can survive Miss Lu Hui’s triple curse this time.”

Lu Hui watched all this with a cold expression and simply scrolled past.

Right now, she was sharpening her skills and waiting to join the crew. Her cure for worry? Filming and making money.

Some people were probably born to live in a whirlwind of gossip. After Lu Hui and Lin Tong finished an audition, a passerby recorded a video of them at a Mexican restaurant.

The passerby casually uploaded it to Douyin with the hashtag #BeautifulStranger, captioned:
“Ran into a stunning beauty while out for dinner. Was too shy to ask for her WeChat—hoping folks on Douyin can help me find her.”

Over a million likes.

Seventy to eighty thousand comments.

The video was reposted to Weibo, and though it seemed unremarkable, the conversation between Lu Hui and Lin Tong was crystal clear.

A small-time actress and her manager pointing at a CEO on TV, gossiping intently about his love life—it looked like a pair of desperate gold diggers dreaming of marrying into money.

How could something be this funny?
“Funniest video of the year just dropped. I’m literally dying laughing—what gave Lu Hui the guts to say: ‘Could his fiancée be me?’”

An absolute joke.

People were dying of laughter.

And maybe it was hilarious—once it got tagged with #JokeOfTheYear, the video shot up to the trending list.

But Starshine Entertainment’s PR department wasn’t dead yet—and the person being gossiped about was their CEO. The PR team worked overtime, and the secretary immediately informed President Xie.

At first, Xie Ran thought it was just some fame-hungry wannabe actress pulling a stunt. He looked up coldly and said, “Do I really need to teach you how to handle this kind of thing?”

With a single glance from him, the secretary caught on and told PR: “Just follow protocol. No need to save face.”

But just after the order was sent, Xie Ran frowned and added, “Send me the video.”

“Yes, sir.”

Xie Ran looked terrible—head aching, sleep-deprived, and utterly miserable.

He missed her. Missed her so much he could barely breathe.

His longing had become an illness. Slumped in his chair, Xie Ran opened the video, fingers swiping twice to bring it up.

His eyes locked onto a familiar profile on the screen. His pupils shrank sharply, and his expression changed dramatically.

There was no way he could mistake her—not in this life or the next. He’d never forget her face or voice.

It was her. His Huìhuì, the woman he longed for day and night.