Chapter 14: “As You Can See, I Have a Terminal Illness…”

The sky was dark and heavy. Under the thick veil of night, if one didn’t look closely, they wouldn’t have noticed a massive fish soaring through the sky with its wings spread wide.

After about ten minutes, he stopped in front of an old window. Shrinking down to the size of a human palm, he used his tail fin to tap against the glass.

The small courtyard was tucked away in a remote alley on the outskirts of the capital, the ground muddy and mixed with the scent of wild grass.

A man’s slender fingers rested on the latch. His hands were thin and pale, and with a slight flick of his fingertips, the window opened.

The kunpeng leaped into his palm as if claiming credit, wildly flicking its tail in excitement.

Cold moonlight spilled through the window into the bedroom. The man was icy and expressionless, his brow line sharp, and his eyes strikingly beautiful beneath it. His nose was straight, and his thin, pale lips were pressed into a firm line.

His gaze lowered slightly, face devoid of emotion, his voice quieter than the still night. “Did you find her?”

The kunpeng poked his thumb with its tail fin, then flicked its tail in another direction.

The man gave a soft hum. “Good job.”

He closed the window again, pulled the curtains tight, and shut out the thin silver moonlight.

The bedroom was pitch-black, an abyss where nothing could be seen.

A few minutes later, the man reached out and turned on the light. Bright illumination poured over him.

He seemed to have adapted well to modern life. He wore a thin, light-colored sweater on top and a pair of casual lounge pants below. His expression remained cool and distant, his features flawless. But what drew the most attention wasn’t his exquisite face—it was the cascade of snow-white hair flowing down his back, his once-black strands turned inch by inch into frost, each lock stark and chilling.

He murmured to himself, “Then in two days, shall we go find her?”

The kunpeng looked up at its master, lifting its head and letting out two long cries, as if agreeing.

—

On the other side, Lu Hui stared at the night sky outside her window with a deadpan expression. The window was wide open, the sheer curtains swaying with the night breeze. She was thoroughly disillusioned with the damn system.

But now, at least she didn’t have to complete tasks anymore, nor did she have to be a groveling, spineless pushover catering to the whims of those scumbag men.

Even if the emperor himself showed up, she wouldn’t let herself be anyone’s doormat!

She had thought it through—if Yan Zhao really found her again, she would finally say the words she never got the chance to back in the cultivation world.

That was—Get lost.

And if she had to add a deadline to that, she hoped it would be forever.

Lu Hui never liked recalling the things she went through in that wretched world—it was pure torment, breaking her down piece by piece. She had imagined a “heart-digging” betrayal would be something quick and brutal, like someone ripping it out barehanded—swift, cruel, but at least it would be over in one agonizing moment.

But even an MVP survivor like her had underestimated just how ruthless a male lead walking the path of “emotionless cultivation” could be.

He didn’t just take her heart.

He dissected it.

Shit, she couldn’t think about this anymore—just the memory gave her a headache.

That night, Lu Hui successfully lost sleep. At three in the morning, she was still tossing and turning in bed. Frustrated, she pulled the blanket over her head.

Let the Earth explode. Let the world end.

She didn’t care anymore. They could all do whatever the hell they wanted.

—

The next morning, Lu Hui was still in a daze while eating breakfast, her head feeling stuffed with cotton, sluggish and heavy.

Recently, Sheng Zhaoming had been having breakfast at home every day. Seeing that Lu Hui couldn’t even be bothered to glance at him, he was annoyed but used to it by now.

He wouldn’t lower himself to make small talk with her anyway. Most of the time, they existed under the same roof like strangers, their lives entirely separate.

Sheng Zhaoming dragged his knife across his plate, making a deliberately jarring noise. But the woman across from him remained unmoved, yawning lazily with her head down, mindlessly spooning porridge into her mouth like she was still half-asleep.

Losing his appetite, Sheng Zhaoming set down his utensils and sneered, “What, were you out stealing last night?”

Lu Hui, still half-asleep, only had three thoughts in her head: I’m so tired, I don’t want to go to work, I just want to be a salted fish.

She automatically filtered out all external noise.

Annoyed by her complete disregard, Sheng Zhaoming childishly kicked the leg of her chair. “I’m talking to you.”

Lu Hui finally looked up. “What?”

Sheng Zhaoming repeated, “I asked if you were out stealing last night. Why are you so tired?”

Lu Hui frowned. “What does that have to do with you?”

Sheng Zhaoming gritted his teeth. “Nothing.”

Lu Hui nodded. “Then don’t ask.”

Probably feeling that the conversation had ruined his mood, Sheng Zhaoming shut his mouth and didn’t say another word.

Lu Hui had no intention of talking to him either. After finishing breakfast, she wiped the milk from her lips with a napkin and got ready to leave.

—

Today, Lin Tong didn’t come to pick her up for the recording. Partly because he was busy, but mostly because the studio wasn’t far—just a half-hour taxi ride.

Today wasn’t the actual recording but rather an early audition for contestants.

Lu Hui had already looked through the list Lin Tong sent her. Most of the participants were idols or actors of similar popularity. She ranked at the very bottom—a forgotten has-been with no fans.

The bitter cold of deep winter was harsh, with freezing rain and snow. Outside the venue, cameras and reporters were everywhere, and fans had already staked out their spots.

As soon as Lu Hui got out of the car, the fan-site photographers snapped pictures of her. Since this show was similar to an idol survival program, fans hoped that their favorites might rise to fame overnight.

Lu Hui had a reputation, after all. The photographers didn’t dare shove their cameras in her face, keeping a cautious one-meter distance and quietly taking photos.

She shivered in the cold. In her rush to leave, she had forgotten her mask. The sharp wind pricked at her skin, leaving a slight sting. Around her, the constant click of camera shutters echoed.

Five minutes later, she made it inside.

Photos spread online in real-time, and within thirty minutes, marketing accounts had already picked them up.

@EntertainmentInsider: “Reality show Star 1V1 is officially starting auditions today, and actress Lu Hui has been spotted! (ΩДΩ) Though she looks great in the photos, what exactly will she bring to the show? Are you excited?”

“Not interested. Next.”
“She’s just a pretty face. She’ll be eliminated in one round.”
“The show should’ve invited me instead. I look just as good as her and have two extra talents.”
“Y’all are so mean, lol.”
“Savage people, savage souls. The meanest ones are the real elites.”

—

As soon as she arrived, Lin Tong pushed her toward the director’s team, exchanging only brief pleasantries.

After the interview, Lin Tong suddenly looked troubled. “I pulled every string I could to get you into this show, but now I realize… you don’t seem to have any standout talents.”

Lu Hui: “Actually…”

Lin Tong cut her off. “No worries, we’ll just coast along—stay in as long as we can.”

Lu Hui insisted, “Lin-ge, I do have skills.”

Lin Tong looked at her doubtfully. “Oh really?”

Lu Hui pressed her lips together. “Yeah, I used to be terrible at everything… but now? I can even do acrobatics.”

Lin Tong: “……Like smashing bricks on your chest?”

Lu Hui, dead serious: “If the show needs it, I wouldn’t say no.”

Lin Tong: “Babe, you really suck at jokes.”