Chapter 12: “Could he have come through too?”

The broadcast soon switched topics.

Lu Hui zoned out on the couch for ages. By the time she snapped out of it, the news had already looped around and restarted.

“System, get out here.”

The system took a full two minutes to respond: “Hello, dear Host No. 666, after-sales service at your command.”

Lu Hui took a deep breath. “Do you think Yan Zhao might have come through too?”

System: “Dear host, that’s absolutely impossible.”

Lu Hui: “Then what’s up with Xie Ran?”

The system lagged for a moment. “Dear host, that was just a tiny accident.” He emphasized each word carefully, swearing, “There absolutely won’t be a second time.”

“Then what’s with the kunpeng photo? Everyone’s seen it!”

Though the resolution wasn’t great, that giant flying fish in the sky was definitely Yan Zhao’s mount.

The system explained, “Dear host, it was probably just a Photoshopped image some netizen made for clout.” He promised solemnly, “Headquarters has strict safeguards. If a male lead ever crosses over, it would be a one-time thing, not something repeatable. You have to trust us, dear host.”

Lu Hui tried to believe him.

She frowned. After a pause, she asked, “Can you drop the ‘dear host’ part? It sounds insufferable.”

“Of course, dear host.”

“…”

That night before bed, Lu Hui pulled up the photo again and stared at it several more times, eyes wide. She didn’t miss a single detail.

Her eyes were sore from staring so long, but she still couldn’t find any proof either way. Maybe it was Photoshopped. That was the only way she could comfort herself.

—

The next day, Lu Hui went back to the set as usual. There were significantly fewer sasaengs camped outside the hotel now, and the few that remained stood far from the main entrance, watching from a distance.

They’d seen with their own eyes how fierce and cold she could be last night, and they were terrified.

Lu Hui casually glanced in their direction. A young girl, feeling the weight of that gaze, was overcome with fear. She cautiously stepped a little closer and looked like she was about to cry. She stammered softly, “Big sis… our flight’s not till tomorrow. We just wanted to see Yu Li from afar one last time. We’ll leave tomorrow, and from now on, we’ll be calm, rational fans. Promise.”

Lu Hui didn’t know why they were explaining all this to her. She nodded blankly. “Oh.”

Before getting into the car, she said, “Stay safe and know your limits.”

“Okay, sis!”

As Lu Hui’s car drove off, the invisible pressure surrounding them vanished with it.

“Minmin, you’re so bold. You actually dared to talk to Lu Hui.”

“I was so close to her just now. She’s so beautiful. How can someone have such a stunning face? Nuwa really wasn’t fair when she was shaping faces.” The girl named Minmin slowly came back to her senses. “And when she’s not angry, she’s actually kind of cute.”

“I don’t like her either, but I’ve gotta admit—up close, her face is unreal. Made me dizzy.”

Dizzy from beauty.

As they chatted idly, they waited for Yu Li, who was coming in the next car. When he arrived, they were so well-behaved—lined up neatly a few meters away, staring at him with eager eyes, not daring to scream or shout like they used to.

Yu Li’s driver saw the odd scene and clicked his tongue. “If only they’d been like this earlier. They used to crowd around every day, totally nuts. If it weren’t for the bad optics, I’d have shoved them off myself.”

Yu Li said nothing.

The driver chuckled. “Lu-laoshi’s got something to her, huh.”

He used to just call her Lu Hui. After today, it was Lu-laoshi—Teacher Lu.

Life-saver. Genius at dealing with sasaeng fans.

Yu Li frowned. “I wonder if she got hurt last night.”

He’d watched the video, of course, and heard what those obsessed fans blocking the entrance had said. While feeling ashamed, he was also worried Lu Hui might have gotten injured.

The driver waved it off casually. “Nah, didn’t look like it. From the way she moved—fast, precise, ruthless—she’s probably trained in something.”

Yu Li still felt uneasy. “I’ll ask her when we get to the set.”

At the filming site that day, Lu Hui noticed everyone on the crew seemed much friendlier than before—especially the director, who pulled her over and gave her a thumbs-up.

Lu Hui looked puzzled. “Director, we haven’t even started filming yet.”

What was he complimenting her for?

The director, lounging with his legs crossed, patted her on the shoulder. “Last night…”

Just from those two words, Lu Hui more or less knew what he meant.

“Director, I’m not usually like that.”

“Don’t worry! I’m not here to scold you. I’m trying to praise you. If I’d known you had that in you, we wouldn’t have had to suffer through the last month and a half. You have no idea how rampant the paparazzi are these days. They try to follow you even into the bathroom. The constant leaks are driving me nuts.”

“…Yeah, it is pretty annoying,” Lu Hui agreed after a moment.

The director moved on to polite small talk. “So, how’s the prep going for today’s action scene? If you’re nervous, we’ve got stunt doubles.”

“I can do it myself.”

“It’s a dive from over ten meters up, with a combat sequence. You’re really not scared? You’ve never worked on wires before, right? Maybe talk it over with your agent again. Using a double isn’t shameful if it’s safer.”

Lu Hui insisted, “I really don’t need one.”

People around her also chimed in, trying to persuade her. “Lu-laoshi, this scene is both hard and dangerous. Maybe reconsider? We’re not joking.”

Even Yu Li said, “It’s pretty scary. For your own safety, let the pros handle it.”

Lu Hui looked at them silently, more stubborn than any of them had anticipated. “I’m not as weak as you all think.”

She wasn’t showing off. Did they really think ten meters was high?

She’d flown through skies thousands—tens of thousands—of meters high. A mere cliff drop was nothing to her.

That cultivation world had been brutal, nearly breaking her spirit, but in the process, she’d gained serious skills.

Exorcising demons, taming beasts, cultivating energy, transcending realms—she had mastered just about everything.

The director couldn’t win the argument. Internally, he muttered: Why is Lu Hui being so unreasonable again?

Lu Hui was rigged up and slowly hoisted to the edge of the ten-meter cliff.

The director, one hand on his megaphone and the other on his hip, called up, “Look down one more time. You really sure about this?”

Lu Hui gave him an “OK” hand sign.

The director felt inexplicably irritated. “Alright then. Let’s go.”

Why are young actresses so obsessed with being tough? Picking the wrong moments to act stubborn—if something happens, they’ll regret it when it’s too late.

Everyone below stared up, eyes fixed on her.

“Action!”

A sharp wind whipped her flowing dress. The woman staggered back in despair, the loose gravel underfoot tumbling into the abyss below.

Her expression was cool and detached, yet her black eyes brimmed with hopeless sorrow.

The male lead gave chase, sword in hand. Half his face was shrouded in darkness, his voice cold and unforgiving: “You hurt her. I won’t let you go.”

She let out a soft, bitter laugh.

He struck with his palm, the force crashing into her chest and sending her light frame over the edge.

Even in freefall, she didn’t give up—if she was going to die, she’d take the man she loved with her.

In midair, blades and swords clashed.

The girl’s figure spun and weaved, her movements sharp yet graceful, full of flair—like a startled swan, like a dragon dancing through clouds.

“Cut!”

The director kept his eyes glued to the monitor, astonished by her performance. The whole scene flowed smoothly, a perfect blend of strength and grace. Her movements had rhythm and beauty, without the slightest stiffness. Her form was fluid and elegant.

Once Lu Hui landed, the director rushed over. “You really haven’t done wirework before?”

Lu Hui shook her head. “Never.”

He looked at her calm and composed face and didn’t even know what to say. “Fight choreography?”

She shook her head again. “Nope.”

Unstrapping herself, her eyes were bright and guileless. “Director, were those moves hard?”

She’s showing off. She’s definitely showing off.

So smug—but he liked it.

The director felt complicated emotions. “Honestly, now I don’t even know if they’re hard or not anymore.”

The female lead would cry and whine over even simpler fight scenes, complain about every little thing—“Can’t do this,” “won’t do that”—to the point where just hearing the word “no” made his ears ring.

Everyone else struggled, so why did Lu Hui look so relaxed?

Lu Hui only had this one scene to shoot today, and she could leave early once it was done. The director called over a few other key actresses and told them to ask Lu Hui for tips on how to perform fight scenes if they had time.

Lu Hui did teach them, but their results were still the same—stiff limbs, no grace.

The director simply gave up, admitting it all came down to talent and skill.

“Director, can I head back to the hotel now?”

“Wait a little longer.”

“But I’ve finished all my scenes for the day.”

“Someone important from the investors is visiting the set today. You didn’t meet them last time, but you really should make an appearance this time.”

The director liked her and wanted to give this hard-working young actress more opportunities.

Lu Hui wasn’t interested, but she asked out of courtesy, “Who is it?”

The director was loose-lipped and told her openly, “The heir of the Sheng family.”

Lu Hui became even less interested. She yawned. “Thank you for thinking of me, but I’m a bit tired today.”

“Tired? Are you stupid? Connections matter more than anything.”

“……”

The director figured she was still young and didn’t understand how the world worked. How could sleep possibly be more important than meeting a big shot? Was her brain full of water? Besides, people from the Sheng family were usually low-profile. For one of them to visit a set like this was rare. Missing the chance would be a real shame.

Lu Hui said, “I know you mean well, but I really am sleepy today.”

The director was fuming.

Sheng Zhaoming’s car had already arrived at the entrance to the set. He would be there any moment.

The director told her to wait just two more minutes, gritting his teeth and muttering, “You’ll have plenty of time to sleep later.”

Meanwhile, several young actresses had already touched up their makeup and double-checked their outfits. Watching Lu Hui act so indifferent left them feeling bitter. What was she trying to prove with that holier-than-thou attitude?

Lu Hui quietly pulled up the hood of her sweatshirt and put on a mask, leaving only her eyes visible. She said, “Director, I’m clocking out. See you tomorrow.”

And she really just walked off—cool and unbothered. The director was left staring blankly at her carefree figure.

The nanny van dropped Lu Hui off at the hotel entrance. As she waited for the elevator, a girl with short hair suddenly ran over from the corner, her face flushed with shyness. She shoved a bouquet of pink roses into Lu Hui’s hands. “Big sis, filming must be tough. I really like you. Keep it up!”

Lu Hui couldn’t believe it—she actually had a fan.

A real one. A live one.

She accepted the flowers. “Thank you.” Then seriously added, “But please don’t come to the hotel again, okay?”

The girl hardly dared breathe. “O-okay.”

Lu Hui took the flowers upstairs. As the door beeped open, she looked inside—her room card slipped from her fingers and fell onto the carpet.

Kunpeng was sprawled in the center of her bed, utterly shameless. When he saw her, he smugly flicked his tail.

One girl, one fish—their eyes met. The world went silent. Even the air held its breath.

Lu Hui: ?

Lu Hui: Fck.

Help! Why the hell is this damn fish here!?

She wanted to start a trending topic on herself:

#LuHuiInDanger