I have a persona specifically for acting.

The bright phone screen hurt Xu Zhu’s eyes.

But she couldn’t ignore her father’s message, so she hesitantly replied: [It was okay.]

After a while, Tong Zhenming replied with a voice message.

“What do you mean by ‘okay’? You are now the rightful young lady of the Tong family, my daughter, and you need to be confident. I don’t like the way you speak; you need to change that. Don’t embarrass me and make me regret choosing you.”

Judging by the slightly tipsy tone, it seemed he had remembered to ask after leaving a drinking session.

In the dimly lit room, Xu Zhu clutched her phone tightly, her face showing a look of defeat.

She wanted her father to comfort her…

Clearly, she had hinted at her unhappiness and was nearly choking up, but what her father cared about was something else—

He didn’t like her tone and was concerned about her causing him embarrassment.

If we’re talking about confidence, Tong Zhao certainly had plenty of it.

Whether at school or at home, even if her father abandoned her, Tong Zhao always appeared as if she were the chosen one, calm and graceful, exuding an air of elegance.

Xu Zhu, infuriated, threw her phone onto the bed and took out a Polaroid photo from her wallet.

It was a photo of her and Tong Zhao together.

Xu Zhu traced over Tong Zhao’s face with her glittering nails in the photo, leaving scratches on that impeccably beautiful face. This action somewhat cooled her anger—envy is truly the most burning emotion, and she resented Tong Zhao so much. Tong Zhenming was also a despicable man—didn’t she want to have that kind of long-term, ingrained confidence? Why didn’t she? Just because she grew up alongside the Tong family’s daughter!?

If only Tong Zhenming had married her mother back then.

Why didn’t her mother act sooner?

Xu Zhu clenched and flattened the photo, feeling heartbroken and on the verge of tears.

Tong Zhao was her obsession.

Only by defeating her and proving she was better could Xu Zhu hope to resolve this knot.

—

After filming *Countdown 72 Hours*, Xu Zhu had to return to shoot the second half of *Star Selection Girls*.

The girls in the group all knew that Xu Zhu had connections. Except for a few contestants with backgrounds who had some conflicts with her, the other contestants were all polite. The director even arranged a short-haired roommate for Xu Zhu, who was kind and willing to play a supporting role.

Before Xu Zhu left, she was full of confidence.

Everyone knew she had film resources even before officially debuting.

However, upon returning, Xu Zhu was very low-key. Only when her roommate came back from dance practice and found an extra person in the room did she excitedly ask, “Xu Zhu, you finished filming the movie? When can we see it? I will definitely buy a ticket to support you.”

“Yes, it’s done,” Xu Zhu replied.

Mentioning the movie made Xu Zhu’s eyes redden a bit. “Don’t watch it. It feels strange for people I know to see me in a movie.”

She really wished the film would never be released.

It would be best if it failed to pass review and stayed forever in the vault.

The short-haired roommate thought Xu Zhu was just being shy and laughed, “I’ll buy twenty tickets and invite the whole group to watch. By the way, the team-building event hasn’t been decided yet. How about we go to watch your movie together? It sounds like a great idea and would show our team spirit.”

Xu Zhu: “…”

She knew her roommate was just flattering her.

After all, this roommate didn’t have any connections, had average popularity, and her only persona was “Xu Zhu’s little princess’s maid and close friend.” She had attracted some fans who liked Yuri through the cute “sisterly” angle, barely surviving each voting period, and was definitely trying to curry favor with Xu Zhu.

It was awful.

Xu Zhu couldn’t imagine how the top contestants, who usually didn’t get along with her, would react when they discovered she had messed up the movie. They would likely make a big deal out of it and criticize her.

According to Murphy’s Law, “the more you fear something, the more likely it is to happen,” as soon as Xu Zhu dropped her luggage in the dorm, Gu Yanzhi, who had been in second place in the last voting, pushed open their slightly ajar door. Even before showing her face, her voice was already heard, “Xu Zhu, your sacrifice for this movie is too great!”

“What sacrifice?”

Her roommate looked confused.

Gu Yanzhi grinned and waved her phone, which was playing a scene of Xu Zhu bowing repeatedly, her forehead reddened and eyes full of tears.

【”I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”】

This short video even had sound, and Gu Yanzhi was laughing so hard she almost cracked.

It was so satisfying, a really good movie, even better than some indie films.

Xu Zhu, relying on her wealthy father and connections with the production team, had been flaunting her little princess act. Gu Yanzhi had long been annoyed by her. With both having similar backgrounds and fan popularity, when it was revealed that Xu Zhu landed this movie opportunity, everyone thought Xu Zhu would definitely overshadow her upon returning.

Who would have thought?

The little princess was now bowing down.

Xu Zhu glared at the phone Gu Yanzhi was waving, her face dark with anger, almost wanting to leap forward and tear her face apart.

But realizing that a physical altercation would not benefit anyone, Xu Zhu chose to hold back, ending this small dispute with her suppressed anger.

In the instinctive movie, she would explode and turn things around.

In reality, after weighing the pros and cons, she decided to remember this incident and settle scores with Gu Yanzhi and Tong Zhao later.

Because of this, Xu Zhu’s performance in the filming of the program significantly declined.

She couldn’t focus at all.

Moreover, *Countdown 72 Hours* was broadcast live. Although most viewers chose to wait for reviews and the final cut before watching, evaluations of the film had already leaked, along with some edited short videos:

The top three most popular clips were:

1. Feng Sisi drags Anna in to be a scapegoat, then apologizes while being forced to bow her head.
2. Tong Zhao using tweezers to remove a bullet from her eyebrow.
3. In the final scene, Song Kaiyu, having obtained the crucial antidote, feeds it to his girlfriend and then they fall asleep shoulder to shoulder.

Except for the third clip, which was marketed by Sister and Tang Jingjie’s companies, the first two clips spread virally on their own, hitting all the high points for netizens—beautiful, powerful, and tragic. The ugly scars left by the bullets on her white thighs were visually striking. Traditionally, such “cutting the bones to remove poison” scenes were privileges reserved for male actors, showcasing their tough-guy image.

But Tong Zhao was determined to make her mark in the male-dominated field.

When *Countdown 72 Hours* aired, the character that drew the most attention was the female lead.

Tong Zhao had such a strong presence that even fans of the male lead had to bow down.

#FengSisiDoesNotDeserveIt#

#TouchingChineseSisterFengYanqi#

#BowDownToTheSister#

The male lead was originally quite unworthy.

However, in the end, overcoming his fears fighting alongside the female lead, and saying lines like, “Then let’s die together,” which female viewers love, turned around the audience’s favor in the final ten minutes. Fans of the mom were comforted and commented: [Jie’s grown up / heart/heart]

A passerby commented: [Why not call him Jiebao?]

And this comment received likes well into the next year.

Tong Zhao’s new fans were eager for her work. Unlike the first batch of fans who got into the fandom, they could also explore *The Legend of Emperor Ming*…

However, they were stunned to see that the role of the ultra-cool “Yanqi” in the first episode of her new work was actually set in a palace intrigue theme.

How can she do palace intrigue?

A physics major excelling in palace intrigue?

It’s truly unfathomable.

But the numbers are objective. The episodes of *The Legend of Emperor Ming* featuring Tong Zhao saw a small spike in sales, and the Empress’s dance received renewed attention, especially when combined with Duan Ge’s action scenes…

You don’t even need to watch the movie; just seeing those three clips and GIFs is enough to understand that the meme has truly gone viral.

Moreover, these memes have attracted a large number of people to purchase viewing rights. Zombie action movies haven’t been a popular genre in recent years, but due to the crowd mentality, many people watched *Countdown 72 Hours* to avoid missing out, to have something to discuss with friends, and to show off their knowledge on Weibo and Moments, creating a positive cycle of admiration among peers.

Since the film is available online, with strict copyright control, it effectively curtails the possibility of piracy and avoids the “screening tyranny” of cinemas, which forces viewers to watch poorly reviewed movies due to overbooked schedules. With just a helmet on or lying in a cabin, you can watch any movie you want without interference, even if the cinema’s big shots come.

In this environment, the quality of the film and the effectiveness of its promotion are greatly enhanced.

Good wine isn’t afraid of deep alleys, but if the aroma is strong enough, even a film that’s just passable can make a decent profit.

*Countdown 72 Hours* has both of these qualities.

It’s genuinely exciting and visually appealing, and it has become a hit because of various interesting memes.

It emerged suddenly, and no film could compete with it.

Tong Zhao’s Weibo follower count skyrocketed, and the number of invitations sent to her agent, Chu Jie, multiplied several times. If the industry had merely extended olive branches to her after she finished *The Legend of Ming Emperor*, after *72 Hours*, she would have been in high demand for variety shows, interviews, and endorsements—everyone was eager for her.

It can be said that now, as long as she agrees, there are no resources Tong Zhao can’t get, except for the top-tier celebrities!

“Interviews are a given, and now you can finally choose some high-end ads. It was right to turn down that spicy noodle ad before. Now there are offers for watches and perfumes,” Chu Jie said happily. “There’s also a supplement cover for *YQ*. Although it’s just a supplement, it’s still *YQ*. I’ve marked it in your schedule; you need to keep those times open.”

“Got it.”

Tong Zhao responded.

Chu Jie looked up at her: “Are you doing yoga?”

Tong Zhao answered seriously, “I’m doing yoga while absorbing the essence of the sun and moon.”

With her foundational training solidified, she no longer needed to sit cross-legged; she could now practice advanced poses, effectively multitasking and achieving more with less effort. However, Chu Jie clearly didn’t quite understand and looked at her with a puzzled expression before continuing, “Then there are variety shows… two guest appearances, one long-term.”

The variety show invitations were all aimed at her, with both guest appearances related to survival themes.

One is about surviving on a desert island, and the other is about farming in the countryside.

The long-term one is interesting—it’s a romance variety show.

As soon as Empress Chen saw this topic, she couldn’t sit still: “Let me have a go; I want to raise fish!”

Tong Zhao immediately crossed out the farming option. She had never done farming during her quick transmigrations and saw no need to challenge herself in an area she wasn’t skilled in. However, the desert island survival show was worth considering.

As for the romance variety show?

She glanced at the title: *Beware of the Sea King: Attack with Heart*.

This peculiar title sounded somewhat familiar; it seemed to have been popular in her previous life.

Tong Zhao nodded, “Interesting, let’s go with that one.”