Chapter 4: Training

Ruan Yu had no idea she’d accidentally gone viral.

So much had happened that day, she thought for sure she’d be up all night. But somehow, she slept soundly until morning.

When she woke up, Ruan Yu lay flat on the bed like a dead fish, staring absentmindedly at the light dancing across her fingers. Under the sunlight, her hands looked porcelain-smooth and dainty—nothing like the calloused hands she’d earned from years of test papers and gaming.

Nothing had gone back to normal. She was still the pampered, aloof Miss Ruan—socially inept and born with a silver spoon.

After a quick breakfast, she fed the cat and, just before heading out, found a few car keys in her bag.

In the underground garage, her private parking space held several luxury cars—Maseratis and Ferraris in limited-edition red and sparkling diamond blue. The glare from the paint jobs made her eyes well up.

It was too extravagant. Damn these rich people.

If she sold just one of these cars to fund Ji Linhao’s fan support… how many albums could she buy!?

Driving a Ferrari worth the equivalent of tens of thousands of albums, Ruan Yu arrived at Shangying Media, where An Zhuoqian was already waiting outside. Hair in voluminous waves and dressed in a classic Chanel ensemble, she looked chic and sharp.

An Zhuoqian had worked at Shangying for over a decade. Even when greeting Ruan Zhengping, she never bothered to bow or flatter. To Ruan Yu, she simply offered a knowing smile. “Long time no see. Come on up with me.”

Shangying Media’s building stood tall in Beijing’s business district. As they rode the elevator up, Ruan Yu passed several familiar-looking celebrities.

In her previous life, when chasing Ji Linhao, she had seen a few stars at events, but never this close—never this many all at once.

“An-jie’s taking on a new rookie?” a chestnut-haired woman said with a bright smile inside the elevator.

Ruan Yu recognized her—Shen Ruowei, who’d gained some popularity recently through a sweet high-school drama series.

An Zhuoqian didn’t know every minor celeb in the company and responded blandly.

Though Miss Ruan had a flamboyant personality, she came from high society, which didn’t overlap much with the entertainment world. She had never appeared at Shangying publicly. People only knew the company’s CEO had a daughter—they didn’t know her name or face.

Shen Ruowei hadn’t recognized Ruan Yu and was visibly surprised that An Zhuoqian would personally manage a new talent. She gave Ruan Yu a few curious, envious glances.

Even in her past life, Ruan Yu had heard of An Zhuoqian—one of the entertainment industry’s legendary “Double Killers.”

The nickname referred to two powerhouse agents: Guo Bin of Dongying Entertainment and An Zhuoqian of Shangying Media. Both were notorious for their sharp instincts and unmatched talent-scouting skills. Every artist they managed rose to success.

But Ji Linhao’s agent wasn’t one of the Double Killers.

As one of the hottest stars of the moment, Ji Linhao’s old agency saw him as a cash cow. His manager never said no to a gig, stacking his schedule to the brim.

Ruan Yu had once seen how much weight Ji Linhao lost. She was so heartbroken she wanted to strangle that ruthless company and agent. Then came the infamous concert incident, where Ji Linhao collapsed on stage. That same night, his company and manager were dragged onto the top of the trending list by furious fans.

After that, Ji Linhao terminated his contract and signed with a better agency.

The top fan slogan at the time was:
“Gege, let’s break your contract, okay? Look at that company—finding the right agency and agent is everything!!”

Of course, “that” referred to Duan Lin.

Everyone knew Duan Lin’s agent was the famous Guo Bin. Watching that rival team thrive, Ruan Yu couldn’t deny her jealousy and had come up with several conspiracy theories about Duan Lin’s mysterious background.

Little did she know—Duan Lin wasn’t just a pretty face. He was actually the heir to Dongying Entertainment, half of Guo Bin’s boss.

Tsk. Stanning someone with insider advantages? That’s basically cheating. Like using hacks in a game. Her darling Haohao, at least, worked hard step by step—that was real.

Thinking of that bright-red marriage certificate in the apartment, Ruan Yu felt a pang in her chest.

What a blind fool—marrying the enemy.

What on earth had the old Miss Ruan fallen for in Duan Lin that made her insist on marrying him?

An Zhuoqian led Ruan Yu into her office and handed her two documents. “Take a look—this one’s the official contract, and this is the NDA. If everything looks fine, once you sign, I’ll start tailoring your career plan.”

“The contract’s already been reviewed and approved by your father,” she added with a knowing smile when she saw Ruan Yu hesitate. “There won’t be any issues.”

The head of Shangying Media was Ruan Zhengping—no one would dare cheat his own daughter. Ruan Yu wasn’t worried about the contract itself. It was just—

“What’s this?”

Clause 13 of the contract: [During the contract period and any extensions, Party A guarantees that at least 20% of Party B’s engagements will involve collaborations with Duan Lin.]

Seeing Ruan Yu’s stunned expression, An Zhuoqian assumed she was being ungrateful. “I know you originally asked for an 80% collaboration rate, but this is the highest we can promise. Xiao Yu, I’ve said before, even though Shangying has some pull in the industry, we’re not omnipotent.”

“And Duan Lin’s background… you know how it is. Not even your father can pressure him,” An Zhuoqian added, using a mix of firmness and tact with the spoiled heiress in front of her. “Besides, now that you’ve decided to enter the entertainment industry, being seen too close to him in public might not be good for your image.”

Ruan Yu struggled to speak. “I know…”

Of course she knew!

A 20% collaboration rate—what did that mean? It meant that for every five engagements she took, at least one would involve Duan Lin.

Did she have a masochistic streak?

“If you understand, then just sign the contract,” An Zhuoqian said.

At this point, suddenly requesting to remove the clause would raise too many suspicions. Ruan Yu forced herself to stay calm and signed her name.

Her handwriting wasn’t hard to replicate—she’d practiced the signature before coming. An Zhuoqian took a glance and was satisfied, putting the documents away. “In the next couple of days, I’ll finalize your artist development plan. You’ll also get a personal assistant and a company car. If you have any questions, feel free to ask me.”

Ruan Yu still felt dazed. “You’re not going to throw me straight into filming or variety shows, are you?”

“Of course not,” An Zhuoqian replied with a frank smile. “You’re not camera-ready yet. I’ll be arranging meetings with your performance and posture instructors soon. These next two months will be busy. Follow my lead—you’ll have to suffer a bit in the beginning, so be prepared.”

An Zhuoqian was efficient. At 7 a.m. two days later, the doorbell of Ruan Yu’s apartment rang on the dot.

The girl at the door had short hair, wore glasses, a round face still soft with baby fat, and was even thoughtful enough to bring breakfast. She beamed brightly: “Hello Miss Ruan, I’m your personal assistant, Ye Mengmeng. I’m here to take you to class.”

Yes, class.

Ruan Yu never imagined that in this life, she’d be dragged back to classrooms and exam rooms to be retrained from scratch.

An Zhuoqian had arranged both posture and acting teachers for her. The lessons were one-on-one and held in Shangying Media’s building—seven days a week, no breaks.

In terms of posture, Ruan Yu needed little instruction. Her body coordination was good, and her physical appearance was excellent—great proportions, elegant lines, and symmetrical features. Her palm-sized oval face was accentuated by bright almond-shaped eyes, with a tiny tear-shaped mole under one, a small sharp nose, and delicately shaped lips. She was born with a face made for the camera.

The real headache was for her acting instructor, Zhong Xuhai.

He had been specially invited by An Zhuoqian. They were old classmates, and he had taught at the film academy for over two decades, producing countless talented students.

The problem? Every student Zhong had trained before had started with the basics. But now he was being asked to get Ruan Yu ready in a matter of months. How was that possible?

His only option was to intensify the training.

An Zhuoqian would frequently check in on her progress, sometimes bringing in trained actors under her wing to do scene work with Ruan Yu.

Zhong Xuhai often threw her acting tasks and short skits, tirelessly explaining scenes to her with high expectations. “You may have heard that acting is generally divided into three schools: representational, experiential, and method acting. I don’t want my students to only do surface-level performances. Memorizing lines doesn’t make them your own—the camera is your real language.”

Luckily, Ruan Yu had once been in a drama club during university, so she had some foundation and could understand him. Occasionally, she even surprised him with natural, instinctive reactions.

Zhong Xuhai had started out with low expectations—he knew Ruan Yu was the spoiled daughter of Shangying’s CEO and assumed she couldn’t handle hardship. But to his surprise, the unpromising block of wood turned out to be a rough gem—worth carving.

Ruan Yu was in despair. Forget carving—this damn gem was about to shatter.

She got up earlier than a rooster and slept later than a dog. Every day she performed three to four short scripts, constantly getting scolded by her teacher.

All this, just because the original Ruan Yu had joined the entertainment industry “for love,” to get closer to Duan Lin—Duan Lin?!

What a joke. What self-respecting anti-fan would try to get closer to their own nemesis? Just to write a dirt-filled biography on him?

This was absurdist comedy at its finest. Ha. Ha.

Ruan Yu wasn’t laughing.

She was living worse than the trainee idols next door.

On the same floor were other company trainees, most of them boys barely fifteen or sixteen. The practice studio was right next to Ruan Yu’s.

“They’re company trainees,” Ye Mengmeng explained. “I heard five of them will debut as a group early next year. The rest might get sent to the company’s survival show. Out of over a hundred people, even keeping ten is tough. Anyone who makes it big is amazing.”

Ruan Yu looked at her phone’s lock screen and rested her face in her hands, eyes starry. “Of course it’s amazing. Ji Linhao came from a survival show too. He was the best.”

“Wow, so you like Ji Linhao, Xiaoyu-jie?” Ye Mengmeng noticed the edited photo of him on her lock screen.

Ruan Yu didn’t want to reveal too much. She coughed and replied vaguely, “He’s alright. I just thought the picture looked nice, so I made it my lock screen.”

“Ji Linhao is really handsome,” Ye Mengmeng gushed with her, then added, “But I think Duan Lin is even better. I’ve seen every one of his works two or three times. His look was just made for acting! Ugh, that face, that body… Xiaoyu-jie, don’t you think?”

Think your head.

Ye Mengmeng, consider your paycheck gone.

Ruan Yu paused for a second. Faced with her assistant’s eager eyes, she smiled naturally and nodded. “Duan Lin is… quite handsome.”

At that moment, her acting reached the peak of her life.

Mr. Zhong? Are you watching? She felt like she had graduated—no, she could even take a shot at this year’s Golden Rooster!

. . .

One month of hellish training passed quickly. Finally, An Zhuoqian showed mercy and granted Ruan Yu three days off.

Ruan Yu didn’t have many contacts in her WeChat. Over the past month, aside from a few perfunctory check-in calls from her biological father, Ruan Zhengping, not a single friend had taken the initiative to contact her.

Just how bad were her social skills in her past life… She felt a little sorry for herself.

Thankfully, Ruan Yu didn’t feel the slightest bit lonely. She happily holed up in her luxury apartment for three days, playing with her cat, binging dramas, gaming, and even registering a new alt account on Weibo to dive headfirst into her fangirl pursuits.

Ji Linhao’s national concert tour was still ongoing, and his Weibo updates were frequent. Ruan Yu screamed with joy as she reposted fan-taken photos from the frontlines. Overwhelmed by affection with nowhere to vent it, she impulsively bought 2,000 digital copies of his album.

Wuwuwu… so this is the thrill of throwing money at your idol?

Being a rich fangirl is the dream. T.T

Three days later, when Ye Mengmeng showed up again, she brought along a tall, skinny young man.

“Xiao Yu-jie, I’m Lin Qing, your new work assistant,” the young man said with a kind smile after a brief self-introduction. He handed her a script. “This is from An-jie. The company has lined up a film project for you. The director’s already been contacted, and you’ll be auditioning next week.”

It was finally starting.

Ruan Yu’s heart skipped a beat as she took the script. “Which role am I auditioning for?”

“The film’s already in production. Two supporting roles opened up last minute,” Lin Qing explained. “An-jie is eyeing the role of the blind girl for you. She wants you to give it a try.”

The script in Ruan Yu’s hands wasn’t complete—it only included the parts related to the two supporting roles. She flipped back to the cover and saw the title: Chasing Shadows.

Why did that name sound so familiar?

A creeping sense of dread rose in her. “You said filming has already started? Who’s the male lead?”

“Duan Lin.”

“…Seriously?”

So she wasn’t just being thrown into the fire—she was being grilled alive!

. . .

“Guess what?”

On the Hengdian film set, Duan Lin had just leaned back in his chair to rest when his agent, Guo Bin, called.

“I just found out that An Zhuoqian is managing a new artist.”

“Not interested,” Duan Lin replied flatly. “Is that really worth calling me over?”

“Just listen—guess who it is?”

“Who?”

Guo Bin sighed. “Ruan Yu.”

“…”

“She hasn’t been clinging to you on set lately, right? I was wondering why she suddenly went quiet—turns out she’s been plotting this the whole time! She definitely joined the entertainment industry for you. I’d keep an eye out if I were you.”

Leaning back in his chair, Duan Lin recalled Ruan Yu shouting “Ji Linhao, marry me!” at the concert a month ago. He didn’t say anything.

He thought she had changed.

But apparently, Ruan Yu was still the same Ruan Yu.

His obsidian eyes remained calm and emotionless, like an indifferent bystander. He sneered softly, “Let her do what she wants.”

Author’s Note:
You say that now, but when you start flirting later, it’ll be a whole different story.