“President Lu…”

Xu Chi forced himself to speak.

The man before him wore a finely tailored single-breasted suit. He had removed his glasses and was now watching him in silence.

—

After dinner, Cheng Youran practiced in front of the mirror. From smiling to crying, she meticulously refined each microexpression, gradually realizing that the smallest details carried the most emotional impact.

Once she completed a full round of practice, she collapsed onto the sofa for a break—only for a Weibo notification to pop up on her phone.

[@Xu Chi] Please support the movie Shared Life! I’ll be playing the 18th male lead. Getting to perform alongside Senior Cheng Youran is the luck of a lifetime! 🎉

Had Xu Chi lost his mind?

That was Cheng Youran’s first reaction.

And she wasn’t the only one—his own fans were tactfully questioning his mental state.

[@XuChi’sLittleAngel] Manager, come out and take your beating! How did you let our perfectly fine Xu Chi end up like this?!]

[@SoManyFish] Bro, are you exhausted from recording your album? Take a break… and maybe stay off Weibo for a bit.]

[@XuChiForeverBlacklisted] Maybe we should ease up on the criticism. Looks like we’ve roasted him into stupidity. Kinda pitiful, honestly.]

From the moment he debuted, Xu Chi had relied on his good looks to “get away with murder.” He spoke without thinking and had probably offended half the industry.

Yet, with his massive fan base and investors constantly begging him to appear at events and take on acting roles, he had never once bowed his head.

And now, somehow, he was suddenly eating humble pie?

Cheng Youran was genuinely shocked.

She set down her phone and stopped Fang Liuyun, who was passing by the sofa, her tone unusually serious.

“Did you see Xu Chi’s latest Weibo post?”

“I did.”

Fang Liuyun nodded and shifted the documents to her other hand.

Cheng Youran’s expression grew solemn. “I shouldn’t have called him this afternoon. I think… I might’ve actually pissed him off to the point of insanity.”

Fang Liuyun: “……”

“That’s because Xu Chi’s agency is a subsidiary of Deepsea Media… and Lu Group just so happened to acquire Deepsea Media.”

At some point, the door had opened.

Lu Zixiao walked in wearing only a blue dress shirt, his suit jacket casually draped over one arm. He cast Cheng Youran a glance filled with something almost like pity.

“Do you get it now?”

Cheng Youran: … Was that sarcasm? (ノ｀⊿)ノ

[Your wife’s mood level has dropped to 70!]

Lu Zixiao hung his jacket on the coat rack and strode toward her with his long legs.

Cheng Youran remained lounging on the sofa, her head propped up on one hand.

Leaning down, Lu Zixiao lowered his voice and whispered by her ear, “It wasn’t ‘just so happened.’”

“Then what was it?”

Cheng Youran tilted her head up, meeting his gaze at close range. His narrow eyes were dark and unreadable.

He pressed his lips together, silent for a long moment, before finally speaking in an indifferent tone—

“What do you think?”

Those words struck Cheng Youran’s heart like the sudden chime of a bronze bell, catching her completely off guard. For a brief moment, her heartbeat faltered—skipping a beat before resuming.

Just then, Lu Zixiao’s phone rang. He frowned slightly, straightened up, and walked toward his study.

…Was this his way of being protective?

Even as she got ready for bed, Cheng Youran was still mulling over the thought while washing up in front of the mirror.

That was when she suddenly noticed something new on the bathroom counter—an Armani bottle.

She didn’t recall ever buying anything from this brand. Picking it up, she examined the label, and her expression turned… indescribable.

—Armani Men’s Eye Cream.

From the bedroom TV, an advertisement played:

“…Smooth fine lines, reduce dark circles, fade wrinkles around the eyes, and reveal a youthful appearance. All for just 998—take home luxury eye cream today!”

Lu Zixiao really cared about this, huh?

Cheng Youran couldn’t help but sigh at the thought.

After finishing her nighttime routine, she climbed into bed. The moment she touched the blankets, drowsiness washed over her. With a yawn, she hugged her pillow and quickly drifted off to sleep.

By the time Lu Zixiao finished handling matters in the Congo and returned to the bedroom, Cheng Youran was already fast asleep.

He headed to the bathroom, and when he returned, he found that Cheng Youran had changed sleeping positions—now sprawled out in a starfish-like “大” shape, completely occupying the center of the bed. Her blanket had been kicked all the way to the edge.

Lu Zixiao raised an eyebrow but was already used to this. With practiced ease, he pulled the covers back over her.

As he gazed at her sleeping face, her long lashes fluttered slightly with each breath. He reached out and gave her cheek a light poke, his voice husky as he murmured, “Even in sleep, you can’t stay still.”

Before he could withdraw his hand, Cheng Youran suddenly latched onto him like an octopus. Wrapping her arms tightly around his waist, she nestled against his chest, rubbing against him in a sleepy daze.

The instant he felt her soft warmth press against him, Lu Zixiao’s body tensed. His lips pressed into a thin line, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard.

Exhaling slowly, he pried her off with difficulty, got out of bed, and walked toward the bathroom.

Before long, the sound of running water filled the air, accompanied by faint, restrained breaths.

—

The next morning, when Cheng Youran woke up, the space beside her was empty.

She got dressed and went downstairs for breakfast, only to find Lu Zixiao already seated at the dining table.

Dark circles shadowed his eyes—clearly, he hadn’t slept well.

…Looks like the eye cream didn’t do much.

Cheng Youran took her seat as the maid served her pine nut bread and a glass of milk. She let out a sigh.

“Did you stay up late working again? Not to nag, but at your age, you should really start thinking about taking care of yourself.”

The moment the words left her mouth, she realized her mistake. Why did she have to bring up his age? Now Lu Zixiao was definitely going to get annoyed.

But to her surprise, he didn’t say a word.

Instead, he just stared at her, completely still, his eyes holding a glimmer like scattered stars. After a long pause, he said in a low voice, “Alright.”

Cheng Youran met his intense gaze. After a while, she couldn’t help but blurt out, “Are you really Lu Zixiao?”

His expression was relaxed, his voice deep and slightly hoarse—there was something undeniably alluring about it.

“You can come over and touch me if you want, sweetheart.”

Cheng Youran muttered under her breath, “You mean… touch your crow’s feet?”

Lu Zixiao’s face instantly darkened.

“Cheng Youran, just eat your breakfast. No one’s stopping you from staying silent.”

Cheng Youran let out a relieved sigh. “Now I’m certain—you are the real Lu Zixiao.”

Lu Zixiao: …………

—

Over the next few days, Cheng Youran was busy memorizing her script. After several days of preparation by Fang Liuyun and Zhang Ping, Shared Life officially began filming in Lincheng at record speed.

Cheng Youran sat under the shade of a tree, flipping through her script.

Shared Life had already gained some online recognition, and as soon as Lu Group announced its remake, countless fans of the original work reacted as if the sky was falling.

[@MrRabbit] Calling it now—3.1 stars on Douban.

[@LittleGear] I don’t have high hopes for this movie, but if it turns out good, I’ll still buy a ticket to support it.

[@Hamlet] You must be new to Chinese remakes. These adaptations keep the title and throw out everything else. The plot’s gonna be unrecognizable. No energy left to complain.

Plot changes? Not happening.

Cheng Youran flipped through the script, marking it up with a highlighter. Honestly, it felt more like a novel in dialogue format than a proper screenplay.

To save time, the only major change had been swapping the romance for friendship—everything else remained almost identical.

“It’s about to start,” Fang Liuyun reminded her.

Cheng Youran nodded, handing the script to her assistant, Xiao Su, for safekeeping. As she stood up, her gaze unintentionally landed on a female actress sitting on a bench nearby.

The woman had a laptop resting on her lap and was speaking directly to the screen.

“Who’s that?” Cheng Youran asked.

The set was crowded and chaotic, and aside from mobile phones, most people avoided bringing valuables to shoots.

But Cheng Youran recognized the brand of the laptop—Dell Alienware. The cheapest model cost at least ten thousand yuan.

Her curiosity piqued.

“That’s Tang Yuan,” came the reply.

Fang Liuyun had been the one to cast everyone, so she responded without much thought. “She acts, but she’s also a game streamer.”

Originally, the role of the fourth female lead in Shared Life wouldn’t have gone to Tang Yuan. But thanks to her livestreams, she had amassed an impressive fanbase—so much so that on a well-known forum popular among straight men, half the users were her fans. She had managed to stand out among actresses of her tier.

“That’s not easy,” Cheng Youran remarked, leaving it at that.

Actors like Tang Yuan, who hovered between popularity and obscurity, often picked up side gigs between projects—some opened online stores, some ran restaurants, and quite a few became streamers.

Cheng Youran shifted her gaze away and walked toward Director Zhang.

“Action!”

As soon as she reached her mark, Zhang Ping called for the scene to start.

He hadn’t set his expectations too high—this first take was just to test the waters. He was fully prepared for a long, grueling process.

Because, well… there was no way this wouldn’t take a while.

Since Cheng Youran’s scene partner was Yan Junze, the stark contrast in their acting abilities created a bizarre sense of dissonance throughout the film.

It wasn’t just Zhang Ping—everyone on set turned their attention to Cheng Youran, eager to witness what a so-called 3.1-star Douban performance looked like.

“How many takes do you think they’ll need?”

“At least five. This scene isn’t easy to shoot.”

“Honestly, they should’ve just made Xu Chi the male lead. At least then they could hype it up as a crushing performance.”

Standing nearby, Xu Chi’s face instantly darkened.

Why does everyone just assume Cheng Youran is a better actor than me?

Just because her Douban score was 0.1 higher than his—was that really such a big deal?

Cheng Youran felt a slight tremor in her fingertips. Strictly speaking, this was her first time acting in a film.

However, a week of emotional training had conditioned her well—she quickly regained her composure. Silently recalling the script, she strode toward the classroom door.

It was tightly shut.

Without hesitation, she kicked the door open, stepping onto the first desk to the right of the entrance. Her voice rang out loud and clear:

“Protection money—pay up!”

…

“Cut! That’s a wrap for this take!”

Zhang Ping’s voice echoed with excitement. Watching Cheng Youran through the camera, he was surprised by her precise control over her expressions and movements. Unlike many actors who came from TV dramas—often lacking nuance and relying on surface-level performances—she delivered with striking detail and authenticity.

The future looks promising.

That was the conclusion Zhang Ping reached in his mind.

Xu Chi, however, was oblivious to all this. All he knew was that people kept sneaking glances at him—first at Cheng Youran, then back at him. The unspoken comparison was obvious.

Great. I’m officially the weakest actor on set.

Unwilling to accept this, he shot a glare back at them. So what? He never relied on acting skills to make a living—his looks were more than enough.

“Thank you.”

During the break, Cheng Youran approached Yan Junze and expressed her gratitude. She could tell he had been consciously toning down his presence, intentionally suppressing his natural charisma. If he hadn’t, her first scene wouldn’t have gone nearly as smoothly.

This was her first time seeing Yan Junze up close. His features were strikingly deep-set, hinting at a possible trace of foreign ancestry. Under the sunlight, his irises shimmered with a faint gray hue.

Yan Junze glanced at her and shook his head slightly.

Cheng Youran’s performance had exceeded his expectations. At this rate, the film could wrap up in less than a month.

Taking his phone from his manager, his usually sharp features softened with a rare trace of warmth. Xiao Youzi will get to see me sooner than expected.

“The struggling streamer trying to make ends meet is currently on set. My scenes are scheduled for the evening, so I’ve got time for a quick game…”

Game?

Just then, Yan Junze’s gaze landed on a young actress hugging a laptop. She had straight-cut bangs, was petite in stature, and had an overall soft, endearing look.

Her voice sounded oddly familiar…

=^_^=