Chapter 3 – They’re All My Simps

[The day after tomorrow, there’s an opening for a supporting female role in a historical web drama. Be ready—I’ll take you to audition.]

Lu Hui had just reached out to turn on the lights in her living room when she got the WeChat message from her agent, Lin Tong.

Two seconds later, she lowered her head and earnestly tapped out a few words:
[What time?]

Right after she hit send, Lin Tong called. As soon as the call connected, his voice was already full of frustration, like his spit could fly through the screen. “Oh wow, you finally decided to reply? Said you were disappearing and actually vanished for a whole month. Do you have any idea how many audition opportunities you missed?!”

Lu Hui gave a sheepish laugh. “Brother Lin, I had some things to take care of.”

Lin Tong sounded like an enraged dragon. “When don’t you have things to do? Honestly, the pay for this role is just a few thousand yuan—I wasn’t even going to have you audition.”

Lu Hui quickly cut off that dangerous train of thought. “Brother Lin, I’m not picky.”

Lin Tong had been managing her for almost six months, so he knew her personality well: if there’s money, she’ll take it; if there’s a role, she’ll go for it.

He’d originally signed Lu Hui because she was gorgeous—her bone structure was flawless, and her eyes carried a kind of shocking, soul-snaring allure. With that kind of face, not becoming famous would be a crime.

But Lin Tong had been proven wrong. Completely and utterly wrong.

Her acting was mediocre at best, and she seemed cursed with flop energy. After just two minor roles in web dramas, she was already being roasted to hell and back in online fan circles. The two dramas that barely made it to air flopped so hard they didn’t even make a ripple.

Even a pebble makes a splash when it hits water—but Lu Hui’s dramas were so quiet it was like nothing ever happened. Investors and platforms both lost money big-time. Some faked illnesses to back out, others publicly cursed the actors.

After enough failures, Lin Tong finally accepted that Lu Hui was hopeless—a burden he’d misjudged. She had no acting skills before, and he doubted she ever would. There was no way she’d ever make it big. The best plan was to just keep auditioning, get bit parts, and scrape by.

Lu Hui was, after all, the first artist he had signed. He couldn’t just let her rot at home doing nothing.

Because of all her negative press, Lin Tong had been laughed at plenty by execs and colleagues. Every time they had to do a weekly or monthly report, he could barely lift his head from the sarcasm.

He didn’t have high hopes for this audition either. But with the entertainment industry in a slump, even a fourth female lead in a web drama was a hot commodity—people were fighting tooth and nail for it. Whether it was those with looks and talent, good acting and public appeal, or connections and charm—they all had better odds than Lu Hui.

Lin Tong, who was jaded and chubby, figured he’d just take her out to gain some experience.

He had no idea that after getting roasted by the “transmigration system,” Lu Hui’s acting had become god-tier. She could pull a random monologue out of a hat and win a Fire Dragon Award.

Lin Tong sighed, “Huihui, you’ve been hiding out for two months. The online hate’s died down a bit. Do your brother a favor and try not to stir up drama again, okay?”

Lu Hui fell into a contemplative silence. She felt so wronged—she’d never intentionally caused drama or stirred up fake gossip!

“Okay, Brother Lin.”

Lin Tong was touched. “Good. Do your best the day after tomorrow, stay calm. If you don’t get the part, that’s normal. If you do, then it’s a pleasant surprise.”

Lu Hui slipped on her slippers and poured herself a glass of water from the kitchen. “Got it, Brother Lin.”

“I’ll hang up now. Don’t want to disturb your rest.”

Now that his artist had finally learned to behave, Lin Tong was practically in tears, like a long-suffering dad who’d finally seen the light at the end of the tunnel.

After her shower, Lu Hui still couldn’t fall asleep. She idly scrolled through WeChat. During the month she’d vanished, hardly anyone had messaged her—aside from a few fake friends who used her to split bills or tag along to dinners, there was no one.

Her birth mother had only messaged her once, just last night:
[Come home once you’re done throwing your tantrum.]

No one had asked what happened to her.

No one cared if she was alive or dead.

Lu Hui deleted the chat, turned off her phone, and leaned back, collapsing into her blankets. Her long hair fanned out like silk, and her porcelain-like face was tinged with a faint pink.

She spread out her limbs and lay on the bed, remembering how she used to chase after those people like a beggar asking for scraps. It was laughable.

A simp, a bootlicker—give it your all, and in the end, you’re left with nothing.

She had played the supporting role long enough! Now, it was time to be the one and only leading lady in her own story!

Snap!

Lu Hui switched off the bedside lamp and closed her eyes to sleep.

———

Lin Tong didn’t even get to enjoy a couple days of peace before another piece of news about Lu Hui exploded online.

She and Sheng Zhaoming were photographed together downstairs in her apartment complex by paparazzi. The tense and hostile atmosphere at the time looked completely different in the pictures. Thanks to the angle of the shot, the two of them appeared to be standing very close, almost like they were about to kiss.

Someone like Lu Hui—who was so obscure that the public couldn’t even recognize her face or remember her name—wasn’t the kind of person the paparazzi would usually bother stalking. They’d actually been following Sheng Zhaoming, the Sheng family’s heir. They got lucky—tailing him for days without being noticed.

Their persistence finally paid off. After half a month of tailing him, the paparazzi managed to capture a photo of the rumored “other woman.”

The photo went viral the day it was released and triggered a heated online debate.

People launched into morality-fueled arguments, and the overwhelming evidence tipped public opinion completely against her.

Scroll down on Weibo and out of ten comments, not a single one had anything nice to say about Lu Hui.

“Excuse me, who even is this nobody?”

“Told you! That shady actress who tried to steal Xue’er’s boyfriend last time? It was Lu Hui. Now there’s proof. I wonder if she’ll keep playing dumb and stick to her story that Sheng Zhaoming is her brother.”

“What’s with everyone trying to get their hands on the Sheng family heir? It’s like a warzone out here.”

“A little gossip 101 for the onlookers: the Sheng family is insanely rich—on par with the richest tycoons, just way more low-key. Forget marrying in; even being a mistress would be considered striking gold.”

“I don’t even know who the people involved are. Just here to say, mistresses deserve what’s coming to them.”

“May she get publicly slapped by the main wife—that’s the best blessing I can give Lu Hui.”

The entertainment world was bored, and this mid-level scandal caused just enough of a stir. Netizens were always eager for celebrity gossip, and once the news began trending, even some minor celebs jumped in to spectate.

When Lin Tong saw the story, he wanted to gouge his own eyes out. Why is this still happening?! Was the ghost of Sheng Zhaoming never going to leave them alone?

Serious media outlets tried to confirm the story with Sheng Zhaoming, and the bad-tempered heir gave them just three words: “Don’t bother me.”

But the reporters were persistent.

“Last time Miss Lu claimed you were siblings. Is that true or not?”

Sheng Zhaoming didn’t even hesitate.

“No. She made that up.”

The gossip sites caught wind immediately and turned their attention back to Lu Hui.

Lin Tong told her to play dead—lay low, keep her head down, grow a thick skin, and wait for the storm to pass.

But Lu Hui remembered how she got slapped in the face for claiming Sheng Zhaoming was her “brother” last time. She decided to get smart this time. During a media interview, she said:

“Here’s the thing—Mr. Sheng is my simp.”

Even the most seasoned reporters were stunned. “???”

Lu Hui wasn’t afraid of the camera. She looked innocent and pure as she smiled and added,

“But don’t worry, I didn’t say yes.”

The reporter: “……”

The livestream comment section exploded with question marks and ellipses. The online gossip lovers were genuinely, utterly shook.

Where was the tearful apology? The victim-playing? The stubborn denial? None of it showed up—what the hell was going on?

To be this shameless—it was honestly impressive.

And yet… some people actually liked it. Her deadpan humor had people laughing. It was more entertaining than the usual woe-is-me PR stunts.

The very next day after the interview, Lu Hui went to audition for a role. It was the first snow of the season in Beijing.

The snow was heavy—bone-chilling cold.

The casting team’s studio was in the northern business district. She left at 8 a.m. by taxi, but traffic was a nightmare—red lines all over the map.

Midway, she switched to the subway and made it just in time.

There were already at least twenty people waiting for auditions—some familiar faces, some complete strangers.

Lin Tong wasn’t feeling optimistic. “Once we’re done, I’ll treat you to Mexican food.”

“You rich all of a sudden, Lin-ge?”

“Am I really that stingy? We haven’t seen each other in a month. I missed you, okay?”

“Alright, then I’ll try to wrap this up fast.”

Lin Tong wasn’t rich—he was just in a good mood. The scandal turned out to be a blessing in disguise. Three variety show producers saw her interview and thought she had potential for TV. They were planning to invite her as a background guest for an upcoming episode.

Among the auditionees was a newbie from the same agency as Lu Hui. Her manager noticed Lu Hui and Lin Tong but didn’t bother to say hello, afraid that any association with them would bring bad luck.

Lu Hui was down on her luck—and everyone else was quietly gloating about it.

No one in the entertainment industry lends a hand in a snowstorm. They only throw stones when you fall. Whether they liked you or not, whether you were popular or irrelevant, everyone was just waiting to see you crash and burn.

“Yue-jie, the company’s still letting Lu Hui audition?”

“Don’t bother with her. She’s not going anywhere.”

Yue-jie had seen Lu Hui act before. All looks, no soul. Eyes dead like a blind person. Her performance was stiff and lifeless. No threat whatsoever.

Everyone recognized Lu Hui, but no one approached her.

The audition room was dead silent. The atmosphere was heavy.

The director and producer had already interviewed over a dozen people and still hadn’t found anyone that impressed them.

This web drama was a major project for next year—casting couldn’t be done carelessly.

The director’s eyes were sore from all the reviewing. He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples. “Alright, next. Call in Lu Hui.”

A few seconds later, Lu Hui entered, gave a polite bow, and said,

“Hello, Director. I’m Lu Hui.”

“You may begin.”
The director glanced at her resume and saw that she played the third female lead in Spring River Flower Moon Night. Instantly, he was reminded of the trauma from watching that cringeworthy drama. His brows furrowed—any hope he had was gone.

Lu Hui drew upon the superb acting skills she had honed back when she faced the male lead, and the moment the director shouted “action,” she fully immersed herself in the role. Her doe-like, glistening eyes shimmered with a hint of affectionate redness, tears welling up but not yet falling. Only after finishing her lines did the tears silently slip down her cheeks.

The crystal-clear tears rolled down her face, beautiful and full of sorrow.

Her performance—from her appearance, to her lines, to her expressions—was outstanding in every aspect. When the girl’s tears fell, it felt like everyone watching felt a pang in their hearts.

The director snapped out of it and asked, “Not bad at all. Have you taken acting classes?”

Lu Hui replied, a little sheepishly, “Director, I graduated from a performing arts school.”

“…”

Forgive his lack of perception—he honestly hadn’t seen that before.

The director was fairly satisfied with her. “Have your agent contact the assistant director in a bit. The rest can be handled between the two of them.”

After Lu Hui walked out, the auditions continued.

Lin Tong said, “Done already? Not even five minutes—you died off too damn fast.”

Lu Hui said, “Brother Lin, I think I passed and made it onto the shortlist.”

Lin Tong snorted. “You think I don’t know your limits?”

“I’m serious.”

“And you’re still saying Sheng Zhaoming’s your lapdog?”

“…,” she pursed her lips. “Alright, just wait. Once the crew contacts you, you’ll see whether I’m bluffing.”

Their little back-and-forth wasn’t exactly quiet. The people nearby could hear them clearly. Sister Yue, from the same company, even laughed out loud in front of them.

Lin Tong’s old face flushed with embarrassment, and he quickly dragged the embarrassing Lu Hui away.

Lu Hui asked, “I think they were mocking me just now.”

Lin Tong: “You can be more confident about that—take out the ‘I think.’ That was definitely mockery.”

Lu Hui raised her hand and said, “No worries. Reality will slap them in the face soon enough.”

Lin Tong really didn’t want to talk to this girl anymore.

Downstairs, there was a chain Mexican restaurant. While waiting for food, Lin Tong and Lu Hui absentmindedly watched TV. Seeing the scrolling news on screen, he sighed, “The new boss of Xingchen Entertainment is pretty good-looking. Too bad he’s already engaged—and to someone with the same name as you.”

Lu Hui stared silently at that familiar face on the screen.

She took back what she said earlier. This President Xie didn’t just look similar to the kidney-thief male lead—he looked exactly the same.

Lin Tong asked, “What’s up? Don’t you think he’s handsome?”

Lu Hui calmly took a sip of warm water. “Yeah, he’s handsome. You said… same name as me?”

Lin Tong crossed his legs. “Yep. The day he took over the Xie family business, he told the media he already had a fiancée—surname Lu, given name Hui.”

Lu Hui: “…”

This bizarre coincidence seriously felt like an offense against her.

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