Celebrities

Five years into my career, people called me pale, skinny, young-looking, and a fake-innocent schemer.

Meanwhile, my stunt double used me as a stepping stone to climb her way up, becoming wildly popular with an occult persona.

On shows, she told fortunes for celebrities, saying she had learned it from her boyfriend.

That boyfriend she kept talking about was the eldest son of a famous Occult Family.

But when she and I ended up on the same paranormal variety show, her talismans suddenly stopped working.

As for me, right in front of an audience of tens of millions, I took down a whole pack of ghosts with my bare hands.

“You want to be my nephew’s wife? Did you get my permission first?”

In my fifth year by the side of that charming, reckless young playboy, someone snapped a photo of me that made it look like I was pregnant.

For a while, rumors flew through our circle. Everyone thought I was going to use the baby to force my way up and marry into a wealthy family.

When his long-estranged first love heard the news, she came charging back from overseas.

I thought a bloody storm was about to break loose.

But by the time Lu Heran returned from his business trip, all he heard was that I had gotten rid of the baby and slipped back to my hometown.

Sigh. Good girls like us can fool around all we want on ordinary days.

But if we really got pregnant with a child and no proper status, our parents would beat us to death.

I’m a fanfic writer with nearly a million followers on Big-Eyed Guy.

My OTP? A wildly popular young actress and a famous up-and-coming director.

Soon, self-media accounts across the entire internet would be required to register under their real names, and verified influencers with over a million followers would be the first batch to go public.

The moment I got wind of it, I deleted my account and ran.

Because I was that wildly popular young actress.

But netizens loved drama far too much to let it go. They started posting gossip threads across every major social media platform: Girl, who the hell are you?

My brother once forced me to swear that I would never harbor any immoral thoughts about him in this life.

I did as he asked.

But he didn’t know that we were living inside a PO novel.

If I failed to win him over, I would be replaced by a new little sister.

One month after I died.

My childhood friend, the top celebrity I had long since cut ties with, did something completely out of character.

He canceled every job and shut himself away to write music.

In the end, he bid farewell to the music industry with a song called I Miss Her.

Everyone said he must have gone insane to give up such a dazzling future.

When I opened my eyes again, I was back on New Year’s Eve, at the height of my fame.

The host prompted me as part of the program, asking me to call someone and wish them a Happy New Year.

Without the slightest hesitation, I dialed his number.

His voice trembled on the other end.

“Happy New Year to you too.”

This time, I want to live toward hope.

The celebrity Zhu Yuan is dead. I still hate her. She always made me feel as wretched and hidden as a rat scurrying across the street.

And yet, I found her third gift. It was a plain music box sitting in the hospital corridor.

I casually handed it to the child in the neighboring bed.

She was dying, too.

A wave of metaphysics has swept through the entertainment industry, leading to the creation of an adventure variety show.

The production team invited two Feng Shui masters to oversee the proceedings: one is a Hong Kong Master, and the other is me.

Everyone mocks me for being so young.

What they don’t know is that I am the sole Earth Master successor.

Three months after our breakup, my ex-boyfriend suddenly called.

“The bar is empty, Xixi. Why haven’t you come to pick me up yet?”

My eyes welled up instantly. Fighting back a sob, I asked him in a low voice where he was. A burst of wild laughter suddenly erupted from the other end of the line. He gasped for air between fits of giggles.

“Are you stupid? I’m playing Truth or Dare, for fuck’s sake!” A sob escaped my throat. “You can call me whatever you want, Gu Ye, as long as you come home with me.”

The other end of the line went dead silent… “Dammit, who the hell is Gu Ye?”

Five years ago, I left Qi Tan in a fit of pique.

Later, after he won the Best Actor award, he stood at the Hundred Stars Awards Ceremony holding my photograph, pleading for help to find me. “My lover has been missing for a month,” he said. “Please, help me find her.”

But the news of my gruesome death had already broken countless times back in 2018. Qi Tan, however, had suffered a trauma-induced bout of amnesia, forgetting everything that happened after I died.

On the day his manager announced that Qi Tan was retiring from the industry indefinitely, the news of his suicide exploded across the headlines.

On the day of Zhou Huaian’s engagement, a reporter held up a microphone and asked for my thoughts.

He was a man of high standing, a true blue-blood from the Imperial Wall Base in Jingcheng.

During the eight years I spent with him, no one ever approved of us.

Every time his mother saw me, she referred to me as nothing more than an “actress.”

His circle of friends would advise him behind my back, “She’s just a minor star. It’s fine to keep her around for fun.”

And Zhou Huaian? He would toy with his lighter and joke, “What are you worried about? It’s not like I’d ever marry her.”

I looked into the camera and said slowly, “Though we aren’t close, this is good news. I wish him a happy engagement.”

The video went viral online. Zhou Huaian boarded his private jet and flew through the night from Jingcheng to Shanghai.