Chapter 1

Chapter 1

In that xianxia drama, I played the dead white moonlight of a Demon Lord-the woman who existed only in his memories. The series had forty episodes in total, and all my scenes added up to less than thirty minutes.

One of those scenes, though, was played over and over again. I was suspended above a mountain cliff, with a vast starry sky behind me and a cold moon hanging high overhead. Everything was silent except for the howling wind. I turned back from the edge of the cliff, looked at the Demon Lord with tears in my eyes and a faint smile on my lips, then leaned backward and fell into the abyss.

That shot was clipped and reposted all over every kind of feed online. Everyone was trying to find out who the actress in that scene was, because it was just too stunning.

And just like that, I blew up.

Even my agent marveled at my luck. I was already very fair-skinned to begin with, and dressed in flowing, ethereal period costume. The wind lifted the hem of my robes, and the moonlight spilled over me from behind, making it seem as if my whole body were about to melt away. Timing, setting, and sheer luck had all come together to create that one breathtaking moment.

Truthfully, I wasn’t even sure whether I was really famous or not. I only knew that for a while, that clip of mine was everywhere on social media. I went from being a complete nobody to a hot new traffic star with business offers coming in from all directions. Faced with the windfall of overnight fame, I was inevitably a little overwhelmed.

Then one day, my agent walked over with a complicated look on her face and handed me an invitation.

My agent was actually pretty reliable. Following my wishes, she’d already helped me turn down or deflect a lot of dinners and social gatherings I didn’t need to attend. Anything that made it to me was something that couldn’t be refused.

It was a very exquisite invitation card-matte black, with a rose embossed at the bottom. I opened it. It was an invitation to dinner. In the center was a handwritten abbreviated signature: T·C. Back then, casting couch deals still felt very, very far away from me. So when I got that invitation, it felt like a hot potato in my hands. I looked up at my agent in panic and asked, “Can I not go?”

She looked like she wanted to say something, but in the end she only looked at me with sympathy.

And so I went after all.

It was a very quiet private room. On the way there, I’d already run through countless mental rehearsals-how I would sternly reject whatever casting couch proposition this T·C person tried to make, how I would tell him, So what if you’re powerful and influential?

My family wasn’t fabulously wealthy, but we were comfortably well-off. I was raised strictly, and my parents only had one daughter: me. They never expected me to earn some huge fortune. They only wanted me safe and sound. So I didn’t have much psychological burden.

At worst, I could just go home, take the civil service exam, and quit trying to make it in entertainment. That was the worst outcome I could imagine.

But when I arrived, it was nothing like what I’d pictured.

Because it wasn’t some decadent, pleasure-soaked place meant for men to take liberties. It was an elegant private room, refined and classical, complete with little bridges and flowing water. I walked slowly and lightly, terrified that the click of my high heels on the bluestone path would disturb the stillness.

Under the waiter’s guidance, I wound my way through flowers and trailing branches until I finally pushed open the door.

On the screen inside, they were playing the clip that had made me famous. There I was, standing on the cliff and smiling softly at the Demon Lord… then falling into the abyss, eyes glistening with tears and a smile as I looked toward the camera… playing on an endless loop. Watching my own acting always filled me with an inexplicable sense of embarrassment. I couldn’t help feeling both mortified and annoyed, thinking, Where the hell did this freak come from? I stood in the doorway, too afraid to go in, until the man with his back to me turned around.

That was the first time I saw Tang Chen.

He looked nothing like the creep I’d imagined. Tang Chen was strikingly handsome, and unexpectedly young. There was an ease and composure about him that came from long standing in a position of power. Even his every movement was understated; it was obvious that he came from an extraordinarily distinguished family. He smiled at me, and when he did, he had the air of a refined gentleman-cultured, elegant, and soft-spoken. It was an incredibly attractive sort of presence, a kind of grace none of those pretty-boy idols in the industry had. He said, “Miss Liang, sorry for disturbing you so abruptly. I hope I didn’t frighten you. I just liked you very much, so I wanted to get to know you.”

He paused, then added by way of explanation, “My identity isn’t suited to appearing in public places. I know this was abrupt, but I hope you can forgive me for inviting you here this way.”

There was a trace of amusement in his eyes, and he kept exactly the right distance between us. He looked every inch the graceful gentleman.

I lifted my head and met his eyes directly.

And froze.

Even so, that first meal with Tang Chen left me feeling like I was sitting on pins and needles.

He was graceful and handsome, yes, but there was no shortage of well-dressed beasts in this world. I had no idea why he’d invited me. He seemed to notice my unease, so he explained, “I just really liked that scene you acted in, so I wanted to see what you were like in person.”

I only smiled at him without saying anything.

The meal didn’t last very long. He took great care to put me at ease. Afterward, he politely offered to have his driver take me back to the set. When I refused, he didn’t insist. We said our goodbyes with equal courtesy.