At a time when the shop was usually quiet, it was now bustling with customers. The young female cashier was so busy she barely had time to look up as she confirmed an order, following the customer’s request:

“One mango pomelo sago? Standard sugar?”

A male voice replied, “Full sugar, the sweeter, the better.”

Because this shop was located at the intersection of two prestigious film and television academies in C City, most of its young customers were students aspiring to be future stars—individuals who had to adhere to strict weight and body fat standards.

Hearing requests for low-sugar or sugar-free drinks was routine, so the sudden order for full sugar caught the cashier off guard. She instinctively looked up, only to be momentarily stunned. Not for any particular reason—just that the person in front of her was simply too good-looking.

Working in a store frequented by handsome men and beautiful women, she was already used to seeing faces that outshone the average crowd. Yet even among these future rising stars, the young man before her stood out as the best of the best.

What was even more striking was the beauty mark just above his upper lip, resting at the edge of his lips—not too deep, not too faint, but distinct enough to be unforgettable. Such a feature was rare.

After finishing her tasks, the cashier voluntarily switched shifts with her coworker, personally taking on the duty of delivering the young man’s order.

As she approached, she felt an even greater sense of excitement. He seemed to be under twenty, his youthful features still carrying a trace of innocence. Yet that beauty mark, like the final stroke of a masterful painting, added a touch of allure to his already exquisite face. The combination of youthful innocence and subtle sensuality made it impossible to look away—though, at the same time, one almost didn’t dare to look directly at him.

Beyond his unforgettable face, his physique was equally exceptional. His body was sculpted with near-perfect proportions, exuding an innate grace, as if elegance itself was etched into his very bones.

Even to an untrained eye, it was clear that his aura was different—he must have been a dedicated dancer, someone who had likely trained for over a decade.

With looks like his, how could he not debut someday?

The cashier couldn’t help but think to herself as she smiled and said, “Hello, here’s your mango pomelo sago.”

Just as she was about to say more, the young man in front of her suddenly hushed her, signaling for silence.

At the table behind him, two people were deep in conversation. Their discussion had grown heated as they debated a controversial topic, completely unaware that someone so close was listening in.

“Kang Yao? Kang Yao? You still have the energy to feel bad for Kang Yao? Do you know how long we’ve been preparing for this stage? He got injured, and now we’ve lost several days of rehearsals because of him—we even missed a full dress rehearsal. Instead of worrying about others, maybe you should be fighting for yourself.”

The other person was also irritated. “I just said it was a shame about Kang Yao. Do you really need to get this worked up? What, are you mad that he got kicked from the lead dancer spot, or that you didn’t get chosen for it?”

“Isn’t that obvious? No matter who it went to, it was never going to be you or me. Kang Yao had barely made it to the hospital before the position was handed to Tong Shao. Isn’t it obvious what the teachers meant? They must’ve been waiting for this moment. You know what kind of family Tong Shao comes from—we’re just background dancers for him. Kang Yao was the only idiot who didn’t get it. No matter how many times people hinted at him, he still clung to that lead dancer role like his life depended on it.”

There was a brief pause before the other person lowered their voice. “Do you think Kang Yao’s injury had something to do with Tong Shao? We were all there when it happened a few days ago. When he fell, only Tong Shao was up front with him—and both of them had cold expressions the whole time. That platform is over two meters high… if something really went wrong…”

“If something really happened, Tong Shao could afford to take responsibility. He’s rich—he could probably pay for Kang Yao’s medical bills for the rest of his life.”

The boy speaking sounded both mocking and indifferent, making it unclear exactly whom he was ridiculing. “But hey, let’s not falsely accuse a rich kid. Maybe it was Kang Yao’s own fault. If his leg injury isn’t even that serious—like the doctor said—why didn’t he keep pushing through as lead dancer? Maybe he took the money and backed down, or maybe… he just chickened out.”

“If you put it that way… looking at Kang Yao’s usual timid, head-down, silent demeanor, it’s not entirely impossible.”

The female cashier, though unaware of the specifics they were discussing, couldn’t help but feel a bit skeptical.

She knew that C Film Academy was holding a graduation gala tonight—an annual event of grand scale. Many well-known actors, directors, and alumni were invited to attend, along with prominent figures from the business world.

It was said that the performances at the gala were top-tier. Even outsiders struggled to get a ticket, and students within the school fought tooth and nail for the chance to showcase themselves on stage. Some had even spent half a year preparing, hoping to seize this opportunity as a stepping stone for their careers.

In a setting where everyone was desperate for a moment in the spotlight, the idea of someone chickening out already seemed absurd. The claim that a lead dancer—someone meant to command attention—would deliberately injure himself out of fear sounded even more ridiculous.

Wasn’t this just petty gossip laced with jealousy?

Her gaze shifted to the young man in front of her. She wondered if he was also from the same dance program as those two, given how intently he was listening to the drama unfold.

But before she could dwell on it, he suddenly looked up at her, his expression carrying a hint of amusement.

Then, without warning, he deliberately cleared his throat with a cough.

The sharp sound cut through the increasingly spiteful conversation behind him. The two speakers turned their heads instinctively, only for their faces to shift through a spectacular array of emotions.

In just a few seconds, their expressions played out like a silent comedy—shock, realization, embarrassment—before one of them tugged at the other, and they both awkwardly bolted from the café, abandoning their barely-touched drinks.

The young man, unbothered and at ease, still wore a teasing smile. With a playful glint in his eye, he turned back to the cashier and asked, “Hmm, what were you about to say just now?”

The cashier was momentarily stunned by the two people’s reaction, taking several seconds to snap back to reality. Then she quickly asked, “Ah—would you like anything else?”

The young man replied, “No, that’s all.”

His expression made her blush slightly. Until now, his face had remained composed, like a refined portrait of a noble beauty. She hadn’t expected that once he showed any emotion, his peach blossom eyes would curve ever so slightly—neither a full smile nor a smirk—carrying an inexplicably alluring charm that didn’t quite match his elegant demeanor.

The cashier hesitated before asking, “Are you a student at C Film Academy? Can I—”

She had originally wanted to ask for an autograph in advance, but before she could finish, he interjected smoothly: “You want my DongXun?”

DongXun was the most popular social networking app at the moment.

Caught off guard, the cashier quickly waved her hands. “No, no! I didn’t mean to bother you—”

The young man simply said, “It’s fine. Add me.”

She froze for a second before a wave of excitement hit her. “Really??”

He nodded. Their phones beeped as they scanned each other’s QR codes, adding one another as friends.

Unexpectedly getting the contact of such a good-looking guy—someone whose looks were so striking that he might even appear on the big screen one day—made the cashier beyond thrilled. “Thank you! You’re seriously so handsome. If you ever have any projects in the future, I’ll definitely support them.”

As she spoke, she glanced at his profile, only to pause in shock.

The name displayed on his contact card read: Kang Yao. Location: C City, Hua Country.

Wait a minute.

Why did that name sound so familiar?

Kang Yao?!

Wasn’t that the person they had just been talking about?!

No wonder those two guys looked so horrified before they left.

As realization dawned, the cashier walked away, her face filled with utter disbelief.

Kang Yao didn’t care how shocked the store clerk was at his leisurely and unnervingly calm attitude toward overhearing gossip about himself. After the clerk left, he glanced down at his phone. His contact list showed that he currently had over three hundred friends.

Three hundred—yet only a dozen or so were originally there. The rest were all people he had just added in the past two days. The interesting thing was that, regardless of their proximity or relationship, every single one of them was a stranger to him.

His name was Kang Yao, and he had been born with this face. But he was not the Kang Yao those two had been talking about. He was an outsider who just happened to share the same name.

Right now, he was inside a book.

It had been two days since he collapsed at the Zizai Game press conference and woke up in this new world. Kang Yao still hadn’t remembered the title of the novel, but the plot had already replayed in his mind several times.

This was a pseudo-stand-in and pseudo-stepmother trope novel—a danmei story, a romance between two men.

Simply put, the shou was the gong’s white moonlight—the one he truly loved. The gong was in love with the shou, but the shou was in love with the gong’s father. The two went through rounds of love, entanglements, and breakups before finally achieving a happy ending.

Kang Yao’s role in the story was a bit delicate—he seemed like a background character, yet not entirely.

During the time when the gong was rejected by the shou and couldn’t have what he wanted, Kang Yao was the substitute he took in to ease his craving. But their relationship lasted only a few months. The moment the white moonlight returned, Kang Yao was dismissed without hesitation. His sole purpose in the story seemed to be enriching the gong’s character arc—the years of unwavering devotion to his true love.

And as it happened, the only thing he and that white moonlight had in common—the only resemblance between them—was the beauty mark that rested precisely on the edge of their upper lip.

Kang Yao took a slow sip of his drink. Despite being full-sugar, it didn’t taste sweet at all. That might sound unsettling, but he remained unbothered. The lack of flavor didn’t make him anxious in the slightest.

In front of his eyes, a large line of text floated: Do you accept completing the stand-in storyline?

Beneath the “Yes” option, there was a note stating that his body and soul would merge seamlessly. The “No” option, however, was blank. Even without further explanation, it wasn’t hard to guess—choosing “No” would likely mean an instant game over.

Kang Yao wasn’t in a hurry. He made sure to finish his entire cup of Yangzhi Ganlu, which felt as insubstantial as cotton fluff, before casually downloading dozens of popular games and playing them in rotation for the rest of the afternoon.

Having been here for two days, he had already played through most of the well-known games. It was starting to get a little dull, so he dragged things out until evening before finally making his way to the school’s broadcasting building.

The performance hall was bustling with people. The show was still some time away, but the tension had already seeped into every corner of the venue.

Backstage, a large sign warned Unauthorized Personnel Keep Out, but Kang Yao’s aura as a dance student was too distinct. The security guard didn’t stop him—in fact, he even gave him a friendly reminder: “The audience is starting to take their seats. A lot of big names showed up.”

The atmosphere backstage was even more stifling, the busyness pressing in from all sides. Kang Yao paid it no mind and walked straight toward a small door that provided the best view of the audience. According to his memories, this spot offered the clearest line of sight to the first three rows.

When he arrived, a few people were already gathered at the doorway, dressed in their respective performance costumes, whispering among themselves.

“That guy with the ash-gray hair—is that really Mr. Lai? He actually came?!”

“The official guest list mentioned it, didn’t it? He’s an alumnus from a few years ago—of course he’d show up!”

“But Lai Xingwei’s status is on a whole different level now. His works are all top-tier IPs, and the major studios are fighting over his copyrights.”

Kang Yao listened absentmindedly, letting his gaze drift past the whispering performers to the person sitting beside the so-called “Mr. Lai.”

That man, dressed sharply in a tailored suit, was turned slightly to the side, attentively listening to Lai Xingwei. Because of the angle, his face wasn’t entirely visible.

The conversation didn’t mention him at all, but Kang Yao knew exactly who he was.

Xu Yao—this novel’s main protagonist gong.

His mother was the president of Hai Weila, an internationally renowned luxury womenswear brand. His father was the head of a domestic entertainment empire, practically a factory for manufacturing celebrities. Born wrapped in golden light, even among the elite second-generation heirs, he was the crown prince among crown princes.

However, he had only recently returned from abroad, and the local media hadn’t picked up much on him yet. No one here had realized that a real heavyweight had silently taken his seat in the audience.

Just then, the group of onlookers noticed Kang Yao standing behind them. One of them was startled.

“Kang Yao? What are you doing here?”

Unexpectedly, someone in this crowd actually recognized him. Kang Yao ignored them, his focus still locked onto Xu Yao.

The person continued questioning him. “When did you come back to school? Does Tong Shao know? …You should probably leave soon. The performance is about to start—it’s really not the best time to be here.”

Just then, in the audience, Xu Yao suddenly turned his head.

The stage lighting flickered briefly as the technicians adjusted the settings, casting a quick flash across his face—just enough for Kang Yao to see his features clearly.

His features were deep and striking, with single eyelids and a nose bridge so high it felt almost unapproachable.

Perhaps it was the stark white lighting, but in that brief glance, Xu Yao appeared utterly devoid of color—his skin was an icy pale, his expression distant, and his eyes carried an aloofness that made him seem completely out of place in his surroundings.

He wasn’t necessarily a classic first-glance beauty. His nose was too high, giving him a detached, almost ruthless look, with a hint of sharpness that bordered on intimidating. And yet, there was no denying his attractiveness—the kind that, if you were in the same room with him, would make the air feel thin and hard to breathe.

This one… will do.

Kang Yao narrowed his eyes slightly. At the same time, he mentally pressed the “accept” button in his mind. A wave of tremors surged through his entire body as his senses reignited, along with the familiar aches of old dance injuries accumulated over years of training.

Surprisingly, this body felt even worse than the one he had after years of sitting in front of a computer.

Seeing that Kang Yao hadn’t responded for a while, the person beside him couldn’t help but follow his gaze. “What are you looking at?”

Kang Yao withdrew his eyes and replied with a casual smirk, “Just checking out my soon-to-be big spender.”

“What?” The person didn’t quite understand, but it didn’t seem important. Just as they were about to urge Kang Yao to leave the backstage area, their gaze flickered past him, and they suddenly froze for a moment.

Tong Shao.

Kang Yao turned around. Behind him stood a tall, slender figure.

Tong Shao had already changed into the ballet costume for the lead male dancer—pure white, making him look like an aristocratic ballet prince.

However, the moment he spoke, his tone was anything but refined. Irritation laced his voice as he asked, “What are you doing here?”