Chapter 9: Goodbye

When Ruan Yu showed up at the clinic again, Ye Mengmeng rushed over. “Xiao Yu-jie, are you really okay?”

“Mengmeng, quick—help me up.” Ruan Yu’s outstretched hand trembled slightly.

Ye Mengmeng helped her into the car like a servant attending to royalty. Ruan Yu looked pale, her eyes red-rimmed. Then she pulled out her phone, planted a loud kiss on the lockscreen photo of Ji Linhao’s radiant smile, and finally felt a little better.

She truly hadn’t expected the glamorous Miss Ruan to have lived such a tragic life.

During her conversation with Gao Yihan, she learned that she had once suffered from severe bipolar disorder.

In simple terms: symptoms of both depression and mania.

“You once mentioned being kidnapped as a child, but you never shared the details. You only said someone had been threatening you for years, making you feel trapped and in constant pain. Based on what you described, it was likely a woman,” Dr. Gao helped her piece it together. “Your mental state was very poor. Not long ago, you even stopped taking your medication without approval, refusing treatment altogether. Do you not remember any of this?”

Ruan Yu could only bluff, “I went through something recently… and I can’t remember a lot of things.”

“I saw all the criticism you received online earlier. I know the pressure you’re under. Your current condition might be a case of bipolar disorder leading to temporary memory loss. I suggest you seek treatment promptly.”

Before she left, Gao Yihan handed several sheets of paper to Ruan Yu.
“These are something you wrote before. I hope they’ll help you recover your memory.”

The pages were filled with the original Miss Ruan’s handwriting. After returning to the apartment, Ruan Yu pulled out a notebook she’d seen before and compared the handwriting—it was indeed torn from a diary.

The contents were minimal, just the same sentence repeated page after page, written with pressing intensity.

“I don’t want to keep going anymore.”

“I don’t want to keep going anymore.”

“I don’t want to keep going anymore.”

Ruan Yu didn’t find any medication for heart disease or depression in the apartment—most likely discarded by the original Miss Ruan. She scrolled through WeChat but didn’t find any suspicious contacts, especially not any women.

In her previous life, Ruan Yu had always considered herself a sunny, optimistic fangirl who was as enthusiastic about life as she was about flaming people in online games.

Clutching the diary pages, she tried to comfort herself with dry humor:
“Alright then. If I’m really going to die tomorrow, I’ll go live worldwide and confess my love to Ji Linhao.”

…

After staying in Beijing for a day, Ruan Yu flew back to Hengdian the next day to resume filming.

Lin Qing noticed something odd. Ever since Ruan Yu took leave to go to Beijing—whether she visited a temple or found enlightenment somewhere—she had returned with a serene, otherworldly aura.

Her role in the production was relatively light, and during downtime she became the group’s unofficial morale booster. She chatted warmly with everyone—directors, producers, costume, props, even logistics staff. She brought coffee for early shoots, paid out of pocket to upgrade lunch, and delivered late-night snacks during overnight filming. Her attentiveness bordered on absurd.

In just a few days, Ruan Yu had blended seamlessly into the crew. She even swallowed her pride to ask Duan Lin for an autograph on behalf of a background actor’s daughter.

Now, even the guy hauling props would grin when he saw her on set:
“Hey Xiao Yu, you’re here!”
“Only one scene today, right? Come play Werewolf with us after.”

Nearby, a minor actress named Chen Ge chimed in:
“Count me in! I’m a logic genius—totally OP as the Seer.”

Ruan Yu responded cheerfully, “Sure thing, babe. Rain or shine, I’ll be waiting for you after we wrap.”

The next day, Chen Ge wrapped her scenes. She posted a “wrap-up” message on Weibo, praising everything from the director to the cast, with a group photo attached:

“Such an honor to work on Director Guan’s project. Our male lead @DuanLin was incredibly dedicated and skilled. Seeing him up close, I can’t believe how flawless his skin is… The crew’s atmosphere was the best I’ve ever experienced—I’m really going to miss everyone, especially Xiao Yu. She’s truly such a kind person!!”

Fans of Duan Lin rushed to the comments:

[Thank you for praising our gege, Duan Lin is amazing 💖]
[Crying—finally some fresh Duan Lin content! Cool guy, are you really okay with only existing in other people’s Weibo posts? It’s been over a month! Please post something! @DuanLin]
[Thanks for the love, sis! Recognized our Lin-ge in the group photo right away 😭😭😭]

But when they got to the last line and realized who “Xiao Yu” was, many of them rolled their eyes behind their screens.

That Ruan Yu again. Always trying to leech off others. Ugh. Annoying.

…

In the assistant group chat, Lin Qing piped up:

[Why does Xiao Yu feel like a totally different person lately?]
Ye Mengmeng: [Huh? What do you mean?]
Lin Qing: [Like… like she descended from the heavens with compassion for all.]
Even An Zhuoqian, who never talked, suddenly replied:
[Excellent. Let her continue on this path.]

Meanwhile, Ruan Yu closed her script and transferred some money to Lin Qing:
“Help me buy some fruit platters later. Two hundred sets should be enough. If it’s more, just adjust accordingly.”

Lin Qing: “Xiao Yu-jie, people might think you came to visit the crew, not film with them.”
He’d never worked with an actor who not only spent their entire paycheck during filming but even ended up subsidizing the production.

Ruan Yu replied faintly:
“You don’t understand. If the world ends tomorrow, of course I need to spend all my money before today ends.”

With that, she was inspired again—and immediately bought 2,000 more digital albums to support Ji Linhao.

Lin Qing: “…”

…

Director Zhang called for the next scene. Ruan Yu put down the script and walked over for blocking.

This was her final scene for The Hopeless Pursuit of Fame, the same emotional breakdown she’d performed during her audition.

After rehearsing, the camera rolled. Director Guan Baonian watched the monitor closely, occasionally whispering to the producer beside him. He didn’t call for a cut—first take was a pass.

In just half a month, Ruan Yu had made impressive progress.

Now, she rarely needed extra coaching. Once Duan Lin drew her into the scene, her energy merged naturally with Su Wan’s sorrowful, fragile temperament. Guan Baonian was pleased and shouted, “Cut!”

Lin Qing rolled in a cart loaded with fruit platters and greeted the crew warmly:
“Thank you all for looking after Xiao Yu during these two weeks. She’s treating everyone to fruit today—hope to cross paths again in the future! Big thanks to Director Guan, Director Zhang…”

People gathered cheerfully to grab some fruit.

“Congrats, happy wrap!”
“Let’s grab dinner when you’re back in Beijing.”

Ruan Yu hadn’t fully emerged from the crying scene. She wiped her tears and thanked everyone, then glanced at Duan Lin beside her and asked, in an uncharacteristic show of generosity:
“Um… want some fruit?”

Duan Lin was about to leave but paused at her words.

He glanced at her and replied coldly, “No need.”

“Oh.” Tch.

Thank God. Thank heaven. Thank the wrap party. Goodbye and good riddance.

“Wait,” Ruan Yu asked tentatively, “What’s your next project after this?”

“…”

She humbled herself further:
“If you can’t say exactly, could you at least give a hint? Like—is it a TV show, a movie, a variety program, or maybe a reality show?”

So pitiful. Ruan Yu loathed herself even as she fought back tears.

Wasn’t she just trying to get a better grasp on things, so she could avoid him when accepting jobs in the future?

God knows how she got through the past half month. The only thing that got her by was imagining the man she loved deeply was actually her dearest Haohao while she was acting.

Ruan Yu’s eyes were still red, brimming with unshed tears as she waited for Duan Lin’s response. Her gaze shimmered with emotion, like ink dots on silk—gentle, affectionate.

No one around seemed to notice them. Duan Lin was silent for a moment. Then he slightly narrowed his dark eyes and smiled.

Looking at his smile, Ruan Yu suddenly remembered a line she saw on a rival fan’s homepage during an online spat. It was a praise-laden description of Duan Lin’s smile: “Nothing compares to that smile; youth well-lived, beauty unforgotten.”

She had to admit—Duan Lin really was a bit good-looking.

And again, the same question popped into her mind: Which hospital did he get his plastic surgery at? Honestly, he looked quite decent.

But Duan Lin’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. It carried a cold edge as he said flatly, “Ruan Yu, don’t waste your time on me.”

Ruan Yu: “…”
Damn it.

Fine. Just another pretty face hiding a beast inside.

—

The set was busy, people coming and going. After wrapping her scene, Ruan Yu was called over by the photographer to film a wrap-up VCR. While chatting, the production assistant suddenly yelled:

“Everyone, check the group chat! Xie Ziyu is wrapping her final scene tonight. We’ve got a dinner budget—let’s go eat something good!”

Xie Ziyu was the lead actress in The Hopeless Pursuit of Fame. In her early thirties, she was a skilled stage actress and an award-winning film queen. However, since Guan Baonian’s film focused on male characters in the Republic of China era, there wasn’t much emphasis on romance. Even as the female lead, Xie Ziyu didn’t have many scenes. After two months, she was already wrapping up her role.

Coincidentally, that day was the wrap.

Ruan Yu was just a minor supporting character and wasn’t in the lead actors’ group chat. She’d only spoken to Xie Ziyu twice. Now that her part was done, she was about to have Lin Qing book her flight, when someone stopped her.

“Ruan Yu, don’t rush off this afternoon. Come join us tonight.”

Ruan Yu pointed to herself. “Me too?”

In the past few days, she had spent her own money to help the production save on budget. Everyone knew exactly where those savings had gone. The production assistant, happy to benefit, gave her a bit of face: “Of course. Why? Don’t want to come?”

“No, I’ll come! Definitely!” Lin Qing quickly answered for her with a smile.

In the distance, Shen Ruowei watched everything with a lowered head, flipping through her pitifully thin script. Jealousy flickered in her eyes.

They were from the same agency. How was it that Ruan Yu, her junior, was already rising so quickly?

Well, she was willing to spend money and shamelessly curry favor.

With that face… who knows how many times she’d been slept with?

That evening, Xie Ziyu wrapped her final scene. The director and producers brought several lead actors along with Ruan Yu, driving twenty kilometers to a private club for dinner.

Guan Baonian was famously proud when it came to casting. Aside from Duan Lin, the lead roles were filled by respected, veteran film emperors. They stuck to their own circle. Ruan Yu had just been squeezed in with no real place in the conversation.

Only Xie Ziyu and Ruan Yu were women at the table. Ruan Yu noticed Xie Ziyu looking uncomfortable. Glancing around at the men smoking away, she leaned over and asked quietly, “Are you allergic to secondhand smoke?”

“My lungs have been acting up lately. The smell’s a bit much. But it’s fine,” Xie Ziyu waved it off.

A mental health alarm went ding! in Ruan Yu’s head.

She immediately called for the server. “Can we add a pear soup, a plate of stir-fried black fungus, and some mung bean soup? Please rush it. Thank you.”

All dishes to soothe the lungs.

Xie Ziyu looked over in surprise, meeting Ruan Yu’s clear and sincere gaze. She was suddenly reminded of her own early days in the industry, and her heart softened.

“Thank you.”

Ruan Yu nodded earnestly. “Health is everything. Gotta take care of yourself!”

“…She’s kind of adorable,” Xie Ziyu thought.

Of course, Ruan Yu wasn’t in any position to stop the men at the table from smoking. She glanced around and noticed Duan Lin was the only one not holding a cigarette.

A few of the male actors had offered him smokes, but he had declined politely. Despite their egos, none of them seemed offended. They even chatted and laughed with him as usual.

Ruan Yu recalled the rumors about Duan Lin being a diva on set—like burning people with cigarette butts. It all felt surreal.

He didn’t smoke? Had she been fed false gossip?

Producer: “Mr. Duan, I noticed you haven’t eaten much. Don’t like the food? Waiter, let’s order a few more dishes.”

The server hurried over, waiting for Duan Lin to speak.

He declined. “No need.”

“Oh come on, of course we need more! Waiter, bring the menu over!” the producer said cheerfully.

Was this a dinner or a blind date?

Ruan Yu, sitting near the private room door and getting chilly from the hallway draft, couldn’t stand Duan Lin’s dithering anymore. Without thinking, she pointed at the menu and told the server, “He likes stuffed tofu, water chestnuts with shrimp, this one, and this one—but no peas. That’s it.”

…

The table went silent for three seconds.

One male actor laughed. “Didn’t expect you to know Duan Lin’s taste so well, Ruan Yu.”

Duan Lin stared at her, his gaze deep and unreadable.

Crap. Her mouth moved faster than her brain.

Ruan Yu wanted to crawl under the table. She laughed awkwardly, “I just guessed based on everyone’s usual lunch box preferences.”

No one pushed further. There were too many actresses on set who liked Duan Lin—Ruan Yu was just another one.

With a calm smile on her face, Ruan Yu pinched her thigh hard under the table.

It was her fault. All her fault!

She remembered everything—down to her rival’s rumors and Duan Lin’s favorite foods.

All just to get the upper hand when fan wars broke out between their camps!

Halfway through the meal, Ruan Yu’s phone buzzed. A WeChat message popped up from “Director Chen, Cardiothoracic Department.”

The other party sent over a PDF file containing a treatment plan.

Dr. Chen: [Miss Ruan, please come to the hospital when you have time. Also, find a time to discuss this with your family.]

Just what she feared—it came true.

Clutching her phone, Ruan Yu stepped out to make a call.

—

Half an hour later, Lin Qing, who had been waiting in a nearby business van, got Ruan Yu’s call. When he rushed to the entrance of the clubhouse, he was shocked to see her squatting by the door, crying uncontrollably.

“What happened?! Who did this to you?!” Lin Qing panicked, gasping sharply. “Don’t tell me one of the producers inside—”

Still crying, Ruan Yu had no strength to answer him.

Lin Qing was terrified.

In the crew, aside from Assistant Director Zhang Zhong, no one knew Ruan Yu was actually the heiress of Shangying Media. Could it be that someone really thought she was just a small-time actress and did something unspeakable to her in that private room?

“Hold on! I’m calling An-jie right now! Yu-jie, please calm down!”

“No need, I’m fine… sob sob” Ruan Yu stopped him, still crying.

All she could hear in her head was Dr. Chen’s words: “Given your current condition, even in the best-case scenario, you’ve got two years at most.”

So the famed Miss Ruan wasn’t long for this world to begin with. And after foolishly stopping her medication earlier, the doctors had expected her not to make it through the year. But by some miracle, her latest test results showed she still had a sliver of time left.

Just a sliver. Two years—so short.

Ruan Yu had thought her rebirth was a blessing from fate, only to realize it was nothing more than a cruel joke.

She had been holding onto a shred of hope all along.

Thinking she might one day wake up back in her original life, she never tried to change Miss Ruan’s habits—didn’t break off the engagement, didn’t take down the posters of Duan Lin in her apartment, didn’t quit the entertainment industry. She even named her cat according to Miss Ruan’s preferences.

But return to her old life? What a joke. This borrowed life was on a countdown now.

This time, she couldn’t afford to leave any regrets.

After crying for what felt like forever, Ruan Yu finally came to terms with it. Eyes still red, she stood up and sent a message to An Zhuoqian:

[I’ve wrapped filming. What’s next on the schedule?]

Since this is how it is, she’d be her own cheat code. She wanted freedom. She wanted to live on her own terms.

An Zhuoqian: [Got it. We’ll talk in detail once you’re back.]

Ruan Yu sat in the car, pale-faced. As she exited the chat with An Zhuoqian, her gaze landed on the name “Duan Lin.”

In a bad mood, the more she looked at her “rival,” the more annoyed she felt. That engagement between them—it made her chest ache just thinking about it.

Tsk.

Step one of taking control of her life: say goodbye to the past and look ahead. That starts with blocking the rival.

Everyone deserves their own brilliant life. So long—farewell.

—

Back in the private room at the clubhouse, the dinner table was a mess of leftovers. Guan Baonian finally noticed Ruan Yu’s long absence. “Where’s Ruan Yu?”

Xie Ziyu replied, “She got a phone call and never came back. Her coat’s still here. Anyone have her contact info? See what’s going on.”

Duan Lin finally set down his wine glass, lowered his gaze, picked up his phone, and typed out a message.

Duan Lin: [Where are you.]

As soon as the message was sent, a red exclamation mark popped up next to it, along with a line of gray text:

“Message sent but rejected by the recipient.”

Ruan Yu had blocked him.

Author’s Note:
Duan Lin: She likes me.
Ruan Yu: Huh? You like dreaming, huh? ^ ^