Chapter 8: Delete the Statement, So It Slaps Harder.

Lu Hui thought of a line: He’s so average, yet so confident.

Though Sheng Zhaoming was, admittedly, a bit more attractive and capable than your average man, that arrogance of his was truly annoying.

Lu Hui’s round eyes swept over him deliberately.

He was a head taller than her, with a great build—long legs, slim waist, dressed in a shirt and tailored trousers that fit perfectly. He was a natural clothes hanger. Deep-set features, rosy lips, white teeth—he had decent presence too.

To be fair, Sheng Zhaoming was usually kind and considerate to others—a mature, stable man. He doted on Sheng Lian like no other. Even after going to college, he’d come home every weekend to see her and would take her and his roommates out for meals.

Lu Hui had never known a father’s love, let alone a mother’s. She was jealous of Sheng Lian, and had once been drawn to this stepbrother of hers, wanting to know what it felt like to be protected.

She had done a lot of dumb things back then—she admitted it.

She said, “Seriously, where do men like you get all this random confidence?”

Sheng Zhaoming let go of her wrist. “You’d better really have nothing going on with Xie Ran. He’s already engaged. Don’t let things blow up and expect us to clean up your mess.”

Lu Hui nearly laughed. As if Sheng Zhaoming had ever helped her clean up a mess.

When she fell ill and was strapped for cash, she’d cried her heart out and then called him, voice hoarse, asking to borrow a bit of money. He hadn’t given her a single cent.

Lu Hui didn’t have the energy to argue with him. She acted like she hadn’t heard a thing and stepped out onto the terrace for some evening air.

Sheng Zhaoming leaned lazily against the wall, cigarette between his fingers. Smoke curled up quickly, making the air hazy. Through the drifting light and shadow, he saw a figure like a dream.

After testing her multiple times, Sheng Zhaoming began to suspect that maybe Lu Hui wasn’t playing games with him. Maybe she really was tired of chasing after him, of lowering herself to please him.

He used to find Lu Hui annoying—truly annoying. Always doing thankless, embarrassing things that couldn’t see the light of day. Now that this source of irritation seemed to be disappearing, why did it feel like something was stuck in his chest?

He tapped the ash off his cigarette, looked away from the terrace, stubbed it out, and threw it in the trash before heading back to his bedroom.

Lu Hui’s foul mood lasted just one night. By the next day, she was back to normal—she had practically engraved the phrase “go with the flow” into her lungs.

The following day, filming officially began for the drama Seeking Immortality at Dusk. It was Lu Hui’s first time joining a large, professional production. The crew behind the scenes had been brought in from Hong Kong. The male and female leads were popular online stars, and the original IP novel had a massive fanbase. So on launch day, both online and offline attention was sky-high.

More than twenty fangirls who had bribed their way into the set with scalper connections were there, most of them coming just for the male lead who had become a breakout star this year thanks to a hit xianxia romance drama. Their cameras clicked away nonstop, capturing every angle without missing a single detail.

Lu Hui’s eyes hurt from the constant camera flashes. She was standing off to the right, and it was impossible to avoid being caught in the crossfire of flashing lights.

Lu Hui was beautiful too, but her beauty wasn’t aggressive. Quiet and poised, she was hard to ignore even just standing there. Her posture was flawless—back straight, waist slender—and the sunlight falling on her face lent her an easy, relaxed grace. Even next to the stunningly handsome male lead, her looks held their own without being overshadowed.

Both the male lead and Lu Hui were in ancient hair and makeup, but they wore modern clothes, creating a dissonant, time-bending image.

They were holding incense sticks, facing the sun with their eyes slightly squinted in nearly identical expressions. Their shoulders brushed, bodies close.

As the fangirls snapped photos, a few pictures inevitably included Lu Hui. The sunlight, softly diffused in the lens, gave the two a dreamlike CP (couple pairing) vibe.

One fangirl, rushing to post pictures, accidentally uploaded the unblurred originals to Weibo.

“Fresh pics of our man—good luck on the first day of filming!”

Luckily, the fanbase of that particular account wasn’t large. When someone politely reminded her, she quickly cropped Lu Hui out.

But once the photos were reposted by a gossip account, they started gaining traction. Still, only a few recognized Lu Hui.

The lighting in the shots was stunning, and at first glance, many assumed the two were a real couple.

“Holy crap! Did Yu Li just go public with his relationship?”

“Are you blind? This is clearly from the set. They haven’t even removed the makeup.”

“There aren’t more pics?? Who is this woman?! They look so good together, I seriously thought they were dating—I’m losing it.”

“Three minutes. I want a CP name for this pair. Is there a supertopic? Any fan content? I’m ready to ship—no one can stop me.”

“If their chemistry in the drama is anything like this, it’s definitely going to be a hit. If the CP takes off, 80% chance the whole show will too.”

“That said… she’s the third female lead, not the official CP.”

Lu Hui’s search volume skyrocketed, and thanks to the trending hashtag for the drama’s kickoff, she gained some buzz. Haters took the opportunity to spread her so-called “scandals” for free, but there were also people who didn’t care and clapped back with haughty indifference:

“Don’t care what she did before—shut up. I just want to ship hot people.”

Others questioned why a third female lead was standing next to the male lead. Accusations flew: Lu Hui was deliberately stealing the spotlight.

But the position hadn’t been something she fought for. Others had politely declined to stand beside the male lead, and in the end, she was pushed forward out of courtesy. She didn’t put on airs, just stood there with grace.

The female lead, who’d been upstaged on the first day of filming, was a little irritated when she saw the trending topic. Her manager was even angrier. “Lu Hui really has no sense, huh?”

The female lead had been in the industry for years and had a fairly good temper. “Let it go. It’s not a big deal.”

But her manager didn’t back down. “She dared to outshine you on day one—what’s going to happen when the show airs?”

The female lead pressed her lips together. “People will see for themselves who acts better once the show airs.”

Although she said that, her impression of Lu Hui had plummeted. She mentally put Lu Hui in the “not worth befriending” category.

Yu Li’s team wasn’t thrilled either. Male idols feared dating rumors most, and CP speculation wasn’t much better. They treated it like getting gum stuck to a shoe—just get rid of it and move on.

His manager warned him, “Be cautious around her. You don’t need any CP buzz with your current popularity. Once the CP takes off, it’s a never-ending mess.”

Yu Li glanced at the trending photo. “Are you really treating this like a war zone?”

“You’ve had a smooth ride so far. You have no idea how dirty this industry can be. There are plenty who’d do anything to get famous.” The manager turned to look at him. “Did Lu Hui come stand next to you on purpose today?”

Yu Li laughed. “How should I know?”

Maybe she did, maybe she didn’t. He couldn’t say. But she was undeniably pretty—even someone as jaded as him, who’d seen plenty of beautiful people in the industry, found her looks exceptional.

When Lu Hui heard about the trending topic, she ignored it and didn’t even check Weibo. After joining the crew, she just wanted to finish her scenes quickly and go back home to enjoy some lazy shut-in life.

Private fans were getting increasingly aggressive. To protect the set, the crew had to impose stricter controls. Green screens were layered high, and even extras were being vetted more thoroughly.

On set, the male and female leads didn’t have a particularly good relationship. They were polite but distant, only chatting during scenes.

Lu Hui had a lot of scenes with the male lead. Her acting was far more professional than Yu Li expected—she didn’t forget lines, didn’t laugh mid-take, and got into character fast. Her performance wasn’t just passable; she even helped him stay in rhythm. She had some skill.

Acting with her was more demanding but also more satisfying than with others. He was quite pleased—this girl was nothing like the gossip online.

Beautiful and talented.

And they hadn’t even gotten to the heavy drama scenes yet. Maybe she’d surprise him even more.

After one take, Lu Hui didn’t try to cozy up to him. She just sat quietly in her chair, zoning out like the world didn’t exist.

Yu Li came over and sat next to her. “Aren’t you going to run your lines?”

Lu Hui: “Already did.”

Yu Li chuckled. “You’re kind of interesting.”

Lu Hui: “Thanks.”

Yu Li stretched his legs. “Want to add me on WeChat?”

Lu Hui patted her pockets. “I didn’t bring my phone.”

She really hadn’t—wasn’t just brushing him off.

Yu Li gave her a half-smile. “Alright, next time then.”

Lu Hui nodded. “Sure.” She didn’t want to come off too aloof—it would seem pretentious. To be a little more friendly, she added, “You’re very handsome.”

Yu Li straightened up, laughing. “Thanks.”

Yu Li was too popular. He had a pack of obsessive sasaeng fans who brought long lenses and climbed hills to snap photos of his every move on set.

Would you like help coming up with a CP name for them too?

The videos posted by the sasaeng fans were all of Yu Li sitting alone in the rest tent memorizing his lines—no other actors ever appeared. But with enough behind-the-scenes footage, people could get a general idea of what the atmosphere on set was like.

The main cast behaved like strangers when off-camera; anyone could tell the relationships weren’t good.

Rumors of conflict spread like wildfire.

Yu Li didn’t know. Lu Hui didn’t know either.

The director turned a blind eye to the gossip. When he initially cast Lu Hui as the third female lead, the whole fiasco with President Xie hadn’t happened yet.

Had he known back then how much Lu Hui liked to stir up publicity, he never would’ve hired her.

He hated trouble more than anything—just wanted peace and quiet.

Lu Hui was actually getting trashed pretty badly online. Her weibo comments, which had been left to gather dust, had long since become a war zone:

“There’s karma for ruining other people’s relationships.” (2,000 likes)
“Hahaha, President Xie’s fiancée checking in.” (1,798 likes)
“Stay away from the official CP. Never forget you’re just the third female lead.” (1,200 likes)

The top three most-liked comments were all insulting her, and each for a different reason.

Lu Hui glanced quickly through her Weibo and logged off. She’d already finished filming for the day, changed back into her own down jacket, and was standing by the door debating seriously whether to have hot pot or barbecue for dinner.

Suddenly, Lin Tong called her, excited and rambling, “AS Group’s statement from before—it’s gone! They actually deleted it last night! It’s even trending!”

Lu Hui didn’t feel like it was anything to celebrate. In fact, she was more worried about her own safety.

Those male leads in those novels… none of them did anything remotely human. Each was more unhinged than the last—sweet one second, stabbing you the next.

You love me? Too bad, I don’t love you. But you still have to sacrifice yourself for my love. What? You’re unwilling? Doesn’t matter—you still have to give me what I want.

Something that weird has to be bad news!

The fact that Xie Ran deleted the statement that basically slapped her in the face instantly put Lu Hui on high alert. Now she was even more certain: Xie Ran was after her organs.

Ugh! Tui!