Chapter 2: He’s Crying So Loud

It must be an illusion!

It had to be her imagination!

Lu Hui remembered that scumbag male lead all too well. He was from her very first mission as a supporting female character in a transmigration novel.

She and the male lead, Xie Ran, had been classmates in high school. In those youthful, rainy days, she secretly harbored a crush on him.

Xie Ran came from a prestigious, wealthy family. Whether in terms of status or appearance, he was the cream of the crop. Their first meeting was straight out of a teenage romance drama—on a scorching summer afternoon, she passed by the basketball court behind the school field. The boy, dressed in a short-sleeved shirt, was drenched in sweat. Under the sun, his handsome face seemed cold and aloof.

Lu Hui fell for him at first sight, but she didn’t dare say anything.

She worked hard to transform herself into someone worthy of him—the ugly duckling hoping to become a swan. She even got into the same university as him. In sophomore year, she got drunk and confessed her feelings, and to her surprise, he agreed to date her.

From high school to college, Xie Ran had gone through at least five girlfriends, none of whom lasted long. Most broke up with him because of his hot-and-cold attitude. Whenever things got tense, he’d just say, “Then let’s break up,” like it meant nothing.

He didn’t seem to genuinely care for anyone.

Lu Hui thought that, since he’d agreed to date her, maybe—just maybe—he had some feelings for her. But in truth, she was no different from the girls before her—just a temporary distraction to kill time.

She gave everything to the relationship, always there when he called. At 1 a.m., he called her out to a KTV. She arrived nervously, only to be met with his friends’ lewd stares.

“Hey, since when did you have a girlfriend, Xie?”

“How long do you think this one’s gonna last?”

“How old are you, sweetheart? Can you drink? Know how to dance?”

Their tone held no respect—only mockery, as if she were just another plaything to liven up the night.

Xie Ran didn’t stop them. He lazily smoked a cigarette and said casually, “Come sit over here, have a drink with them.”

She obediently sat beside him and hesitated. “I’m allergic to alcohol.”

The room erupted in laughter. One of the playboys with flirtatious eyes chuckled, “Sweetheart, no one uses that tired excuse anymore.”

“I’m not lying, I—” she tried to explain, but was cut off by Xie Ran, who looked at her with a faint sneer, his voice cold, “Don’t kill the vibe.”

Tears welled up in her eyes. She shut her mouth and, with trembling hands, picked up the glass and took a sip.

That night, she was forced to drink a lot. She was no different from the hired hostesses in the room. No one truly saw her as Xie Ran’s girlfriend. When the party was over, her back and thighs were covered in red rashes.

Lu Hui and Xie Ran’s relationship lasted for nearly six months. He never remembered her birthday or cared about her daily life, but she thought that was okay. She naively believed she could warm his heart with time.

And it did seem like Xie Ran was beginning to treat her a little differently.

But that illusion didn’t last long. The moment his beloved white moonlight returned from abroad, Lu Hui was cast aside like trash.

The white moonlight was a femme fatale—sweet on the outside, deadly within. With just a flick of her finger, she framed Lu Hui and Xie Ran’s best friend into sharing a bed.

That day, Xie Ran grabbed Lu Hui by the hair, looking at her with utter disgust. “Of all people, you had to sleep with my brother?”

Xie Ran never cared whether she loved him or not—his rage was nothing more than wounded pride.

Lu Hui’s tears streamed down her face like a scene from a Qiong Yao drama, sobbing as she tried to explain, “I didn’t know. I really didn’t.”

But Xie Ran wasn’t listening at all. “Don’t cry in front of me. It’s annoying. Get lost.”

Later on, Xie Ran’s beloved “white moonlight” was diagnosed with kidney cancer. The cancer had spread to both kidneys, and she needed a donor to undergo surgery.

No melodrama is complete without dog blood.

As the dutiful supporting female character, Lu Hui did her part to the bitter end. Her kidney turned out to be a 90% match for the heroine.

Xie Ran personally showed up with bodyguards in tow and said coldly, “She needs your kidney.”

“What about me? What am I supposed to do?” Tears slid down her chin into her collar as she trembled, her entire body shaking uncontrollably.

The man avoided her gaze. “You won’t die.”

She couldn’t hold back her sobs. Choking through her tears, she said, “But it’ll still hurt. That’s an important organ in my body. If something happens to me later, have you ever thought about how I’m supposed to survive?”

A long, long silence.

Then the man uttered heartlessly, “You can get on the operating table yourself, or I’ll have you tied to it.”

Those cold words made her head spin. Pearl-like tears rolled down her cheeks one by one, her eyes bloodshot. Even the best leading actresses couldn’t cry better than she did.

Lu Hui nodded blankly. “I understand.”

She could never bear to see Xie Ran upset.

He was the boy she had loved deeply—free-spirited and reckless like the wind.

Whatever he wanted, he got.

She couldn’t fight his power, so she gave up one of her kidneys.

After the surgery, Xie Ran never once came to see Lu Hui. All he cared about was whether his white moonlight would survive. When the doctors finally said the woman was out of danger, Xie Ran remembered Lu Hui—only to find she had already left the hospital.

Two months later, Lu Hui was diagnosed with kidney cancer too. This time, no one could save her.

Lu Hui couldn’t even be bothered to recall the details of the plot she’d gone through in that novel.

The brainless author had written such a crappy story, just thinking about it made her want to vomit. Who knew where the system had dug it up from—complete garbage, with no logic to the plot at all.

“Girl, snap out of it. The car’s exhaust is long gone, and you’re still staring like he’s coming back,” the chatty crew member said.

Lu Hui irritably scratched her head. “I thought I recognized someone.”

The crew member looked suspicious. “You’re not getting any funny ideas, are you?”

Lu Hui: “?”

He went on, “I’ve seen too many girls in this industry trying to shortcut their way up—hoping to find a rich backer and skyrocket to the top. Let me give you some advice: men are all scum.”

Lu Hui nodded in strong agreement.

The crew guy bounced his leg and kept going, “Depending on a man is worse than relying on yourself. And that CEO guy? Not someone easy to fool. Mess with him, and you’ll end up ruined with nothing left.”

“……” Lu Hui seriously repeated, “I really just mistook him for someone else.”

The crew member gave her a knowing “I get it” look.

Everyone in the entertainment industry was well aware of the unspoken rules.

Lu Hui didn’t even bother explaining anymore—the more she said, the messier it got.

On her way home, Lu Hui couldn’t get that half-glimpse of a face out of her mind.

She consoled herself: probably just two people who looked a bit alike. No way someone from another world could actually cross over. That’d be ridiculous.

—

Xie Ran arrived at the filming site, his face deathly pale. The director, assistant director, and two lead actors were all extra polite to him. Just looking at his refined, icy face made everyone gasp.

“President Xie, thank you for taking the time out of your busy schedule to visit the set.”

“Mm.” Xie Ran lifted his eyes, casting a disinterested glance around before lowering them again. His complexion was whiter than paper, sickly and frail. He clutched his chest, coughing a few times, his breath growing weaker by the second.

His chest still hurt. Day after day, it felt like he was dying from the pain.

He couldn’t find her. Still couldn’t find her.

The last time he saw Lu Hui was in the ICU. She was lying motionless on the stark white bed, oxygen mask strapped to her face, frail and silent, eyes closed as if she would never wake again.

Xie Ran had lost control back then, eyes red as he lashed out at the doctors. “Save her. You have to save her. If anything happens to her, none of you will walk out of here alive.”

The doctors replied, “Mr. Xie, Miss Lu only has one kidney left, and we haven’t been able to find a matching donor. There’s nothing more we can do. We’re truly sorry—you should prepare yourself.”

Xie Ran stumbled and fell to the ground, unable to get up from the pain.

In one day, he signed three critical condition notices on Lu Hui’s behalf. His hands trembled so badly he could barely hold the pen, like he had Parkinson’s.

He didn’t believe she would die. Even when he heard the flatline of the heart monitor, he refused to accept it. He knelt by her bed, clutching her hand like a lifeline. “Huihui, open your eyes and look at me. Just say something. Please?”

The EKG line had already gone flat. The doctors pulled him away to try emergency resuscitation. Half an hour later, they announced the efforts had failed.

Lu Hui never said another word to him again.

Xie Ran couldn’t stop replaying the moment he forced her to give up her kidney. She’d cried and said it would hurt, and he had felt nothing. Now it felt like knives slicing his chest, like he’d die from the regret.

“President Xie, what brings you here today…?” someone asked.

Xie Ran steadied his emotions. “Just looking around.”

The director fawned over him, “Thanks to your investment, our production was able to start filming smoothly. If there’s anything you’re not satisfied with, please don’t hesitate to tell us. We’ll fix it right away.”

Xie Ran had no interest, barely responded with a few casual words, and left in under ten minutes, leaving the crew bewildered.

Lu Hui still didn’t know that the male lead from the book had already come looking for her.

She returned to the ground floor of her apartment building and saw a luxury car parked outside. Her heart sank. This was bad—Sheng Zhaoming had come.

Lu Hui took two steps forward and spotted Sheng Zhaoming standing there with his hands in his pockets, a king aura radiating off him.

He looked noble and aloof, standing there like a textbook example of someone who gave off an untouchable vibe.

Lu Hui used to envy families with close sibling relationships—she’d practically drooled over it. She’d always wished for a protective older brother. All along, she’d been nothing more than a shadow trailing behind Sheng Zhaoming, constantly trying to please him and the rest of the Sheng family.

Not anymore.

If anyone still wanted to keep debasing themselves, be her guest.

With a snap, the lighter in his hand clicked shut, the mechanical clash sharp and crisp.

Sheng Zhaoming lifted his eyes to look at her. “You’ve been missing for a whole month, Lu Hui. Who exactly were you trying to impress with this stunt?”

Of course Sheng Zhaoming could see that Lu Hui used to go out of her way to be kind to him. He looked down on her for it. His genuine disgust had only deepened his dislike for her.

In his eyes, Lu Hui was just a pathetic person addicted to her own self-righteous sentimentality. He figured she was only playing hard to get for a month—once they gave her the slightest bit of attention, she’d come crawling back, grateful for the crumbs.

This time, he’d only come because their father had told him to.

Lu Hui looked him straight in the eye. “I’ve figured things out. My last name is Lu, not Sheng. We live in different worlds, there’s no need to force anything. From now on, I won’t bother you guys again. I also won’t tell anyone about our relationship—I won’t embarrass the Sheng family.”

Sheng Zhaoming responded icily, “Can’t even accept an out when it’s handed to you, huh?”

It was important for people to know their place. Who did he think he was now, anyway?! Lu Hui didn’t want to waste another second on him. “I’m going upstairs to rest. Goodbye.”

Sheng Zhaoming sneered, lips curling into a cold smile. He returned to the car, face dark as thunder. “Go. Step on it.”

So Lu Hui had gotten a taste of playing hard to get and was hooked on the drama now? He never tolerated her habit of pushing boundaries.

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