I have a persona specifically for acting.

Acting in the ‘Instinct’ movie was a very strange experience.

When most people first watch the rough cuts after stepping out of the holographic pod, they usually think it’s like an AI face-swapping program: ‘I definitely didn’t do that’ or ‘Haha, no way I could have done that.’ But when they wake up in the middle of the night, with everything silent around them, and memories begin to resurface, that’s when the reality of it sinks in.

So, actors with some experience don’t speak so definitively.

Wei Zekai didn’t know this.

Not only did he speak too definitively, but he also acted overly confident.

That night, Wei Zekai was tossing and turning on his king-size bed.

One of the benefits of being wealthy is that when you can’t sleep and you’re rolling around in bed, you don’t have to worry about falling off the edge. His memories started to return in stages: first, he remembered being dragged over, and then he remembered the first time he secretly kissed his close friend…

‘Ah…’

Classmate Wei knelt on his bed, hugging his head with both hands, banging his head against the mattress.

He was trying to knock out the embarrassing memories by banging his head.

But it didn’t work—it just made the memories clearer.

‘Stop thinking about it, Wei Zekai. If you’re a man, you’re not allowed to think about it!’

Wei Zekai tried to command his brain.

After three minutes of scolding, his brain and mouth still hadn’t reached an agreement.

That ‘relationship’ with Tong Zhao had completely consumed him. With each bang of his head, the memories slowly resurfaced. Back then, he had responded to a girl’s affection for the first time, wanting to be good to her, feeling foolish yet overjoyed. The more he banged his head, the more pink bubbles seemed to pop up. Wei Zekai honestly just wanted to die.

At six in the morning, he recalled enthusiastically making breakfast, only to find she had left. The official statement informed him he had been tricked.

Tong Zhao had never chosen him as her romantic interest.

“The girl he had loved was fake.”

And then he wanted to die even more.

Having grown up in a warm, loving, sheltered family, Wei Zekai had developed a low tolerance for emotional pain. Coupled with his first experience of ‘heartbreak,’ he couldn’t handle the overwhelming sense of betrayal and immediately broke down, crying out loud. At that moment, he remembered Tong Zhao once mentioned that she had a strange habit of waking up at 6 a.m. for meditation. So, he reached for his phone from the nightstand and called her.

‘Hello?’

The call was quickly answered.

The female voice on the other end was slightly raspy, carrying a hint of drowsy laziness: ‘You’re up so early? Didn’t sleep, did you… What’s going on? Calling me and banging your head, are you giving me such a grand salute, young master?’ She chuckled lightly, having heard the rhythmic thumping from his end.

‘I couldn’t sleep. I have insomnia. I wasn’t bowing to you; I was trying to knock you out of my head.’

Wei Zekai’s tone was full of resentment.

It was so amusing that Tong Zhao, despite being a bit grumpy from waking up, couldn’t help but laugh: ‘If you’re sick, go get treatment.’

Wei Zekai sniffled and asked, ‘No, seriously, I just want to know… on the variety show, did you ever like me? I’m really stuck on this. I’m so miserable.’

Before, when staff and friends said he was miserable, he didn’t feel it.

What misery? He had money, looks, a smooth life, and good health.

He never expected to be blindsided by the pain of love.

‘It was just a variety show,’ Tong Zhao tried to snap him out of it.

‘I just want to know.’

Like everyone inexperienced in love, after a breakup, he was obsessed with whether the other person had ever truly loved him.

Seeing how pitiful he sounded, still crying, Tong Zhao called over the ‘silent’ Concubine Chen to help get him an answer.

Concubine Chen was merciless: [That little puppy? Pretty cute. Keep him around for a few years, and maybe I’d grow to like him.]”

Tong Zhao: [Ah, well…]

After thinking for a while, Tong Zhao said to Wei Zekai, “I did like you that night, but because the script required me to leave right after completing the task, if the show hadn’t ended, I had planned to come back and continue things with you.”

The personalities in her mind, who had witnessed everything and knew the truth, all laughed at her gentleness.

Duan Ge pointed and commented: [He needed to experience the dangers of love, so he won’t be deceived by another woman in the future.]

Lu Xianzhang agreed: [The emotional lessons he has to learn won’t be few; it’s just a matter of when they happen.]

[Hahaha,] Concubine Chen, who had been woken up by Tong Zhao, was even more cutting than usual: [One who’s never been in love and another whose husband took her Golden Core, slashing her from shoulder to thigh, are giving love advice—this is hilarious.]

Tong Zhao pressed her temples, trying to quiet the noisy voices in her head.

After hearing what she said, Wei Zekai was clearly much happier: “I know the *Instinct* variety show shouldn’t be mixed up with reality, and I didn’t have any improper thoughts about my friend, but… it was still my first love, right? If you had no feelings for me at all, I’d feel a bit sad. Now that I’ve heard what you said, I feel relieved and sleepy. I’m going to sleep now, and if I pass out, the next time we meet will probably be tonight. You can tell them they can leave without saying goodbye to me…”

‘Wait a second,’ Wei Zekai remembered something: ‘You might as well stay here. That place you rented is so rundown anyway.’

‘I just moved,’ Tong Zhao reminded him.

“From completely unlivable to barely acceptable—I really worry about you living in such a place!”

“You’re ridiculous.”

Tong Zhao felt she had spoiled him too much. She smiled and scolded him before hanging up the phone.

※

After leaving Wei’s house, Tong Zhao immediately jumped into a whirlwind of nonstop work commitments.

Compared to her current schedule, filming the variety show now seemed like a vacation.

The perfume endorsement deal they had previously agreed on entered the shooting phase. Half of it involved her appearing in real life, and the other half reused the model of ‘Han Zhi.’ Once again, she acted out a self-directed, self-acted scenario in the commercial. The plot was simple—Han Zhi is a bartender at a bar, and every time he leans over the counter to pour drinks for customers, they catch the faint scent of [Midnight Lover] on him. The oceanic incense mixed with his strikingly handsome and devilish appearance draws the attention of a crazed admirer, A.

The admirer begins following Han Zhi after his shifts. At first, she only wanted to watch him go home and learn where he lived. But after Han Zhi entered his apartment, A remained outside, torn between conflicting emotions. Through post-production effects, the ingredients of the perfume are revealed beside A as she gazes at the apartment door.

A wants to confess her love to Han Zhi.

Unable to control herself any longer, A goes upstairs and knocks on the door.

But the person who opens the door is a stunningly beautiful woman, wearing a red camisole nightdress, her eyes half-open as she looks at the masked and hooded figure. A steps back in shock. The masculine scent that had filled her mind is replaced by the woman’s rich rose fragrance. It’s clearly an inappropriate perfume for bedtime, but it feels perfectly suited to this woman, who seems to radiate vibrant, bold charm 24 hours a day.

A mistakenly believes Tong Zhao is Han Zhi’s girlfriend, and in a fit of jealousy and rage, kills her.

After breaking into Han Zhi’s apartment, A discovers a room full of disguise tools.

By day, Han Zhi was the beautiful female violinist in the café, and by night, the handsome bartender at the bar.”

“The commercial ends with a bouquet of roses that A had sent to Han Zhi at work, placed carefully in a glass vase, blooming vibrantly next to a wig. As the emotionally distraught A punches the dining table, the camera freezes on a particularly large rose falling onto the table.

…

After the commercial shoot, they moved on to the corresponding print ads. For Tong Zhao, makeup and styling were easy since she had a good foundation and took great care of herself. The makeup artist praised her skin: ‘Some people your age need to apply an intense hydrating mask before makeup just to prevent it from caking.’

Once her makeup was done, Tong Zhao stepped in front of the camera and handed the hard work over to Han Zhi.

The most satisfying part of the cheat left behind by the system was the ability to share tasks.

Wei Zekai, back in middle school, once fantasized with her about how great it would be if there were two of him—one to do homework, while the other played video games. Tong Zhao pointed out that if there were two of him, they’d both just end up playing games.

Thankfully, through the various worlds she traveled, Tong Zhao had developed the habit of not shying away from trouble.

Han Zhi was speechless: [I’ve only ever shot men’s fashion editorials. I’ve never done a photo shoot as a female star.]

In the fast-travel worlds where Han Zhi had become a top-tier influencer, he dominated luxury brand endorsements with his handsome Chinese features. Whether the style was mature and warm or cold and edgy, he could easily pull it off. Just standing in front of the camera, even the smallest expression could ‘murder’ storage space with the number of photos taken. Shooting him was an effortless joy.

Tong Zhao flattered him: [You have the experience! You can do it!]

Well, Han Zhi couldn’t resist a woman’s request.

As Tong Zhao had said, he quickly adapted to shooting in a woman’s body, and the results were incredible—sultry, striking, yet with a razor-sharp edge. The photographer hired by the brand was also top-notch and clicked with him immediately. After the shoot, the photographer praised her to Tong Zhao’s agent: ‘If these two perfumes sell exceptionally well, your girl deserves the top credit.’

‘You’re that confident even before post-production?'”

Sister Chu smiled, feeling more joy when her artist was praised than when receiving compliments herself.

‘Post-production doesn’t really affect Tong Zhao’s face. She can shine even with the raw footage.’

The person being praised like a goddess was currently removing her heavy makeup from the shoot and switching to a subtle, carefully thought-out look that could handle being captured by passersby. Afterward, Sister Chu sat down beside her to talk about work: ‘I have one good news and one bad news. The good news is that after “Sea King’s Kill’, almost every variety show with an open slot has extended an olive branch to you. Even those with no open spots would immediately bump off someone with less star power if you showed interest.’

‘And the bad news?’

‘The bad news is, I don’t think it’s good for you to take on too many variety shows. Doing a few here and there is fine, but you have a lot of potential left in film. There’s no need to let the audience pigeonhole you as a variety show star. Aside from the survival show on the deserted island you’ve already committed to, I plan to turn down the rest. What do you think?’

After speaking, Sister Chu looked at Tong Zhao for her opinion.

Since Tong Zhao had a certain amount of leverage when she signed with the company after the success of “The Ming Emperor Chronicles”, she had bargaining power. She didn’t want to become a puppet for the company, so even though Sister Chu spoke firmly, in the end, she still needed Tong Zhao’s agreement.

Sister Chu had prepared herself for Tong Zhao to be unhappy.

Tong Zhao: ‘Hmm, understood.’

‘…’

Sister Chu, who had prepared countless explanations, was stunned: ‘You… don’t want to at least see which variety shows invited you?’

Even though the company had held a meeting to discuss Tong Zhao’s future direction, and Sister Chu was sure that she shouldn’t waste too much time on variety shows, Tong Zhao’s quick acceptance still caught her off guard.

‘First, I trust your professional judgment and skills. Second, my schedule is only going to get busier. If I didn’t trust you, it would mean I’d have to review all the offers you’ve already gone through, wasting both time and energy. In that case, why would I have signed with the company? I could have just gone solo. I don’t care about what offers you’ve turned down; I’m only interested in knowing what resources you think are suitable for me.’

“The principle of trust: If you hire someone, trust them. If you have doubts, don’t hire them.”

After listening to Tong Zhao’s explanation, the smile on Sister Chu’s face became noticeably more genuine.

‘There is a good project,’ Sister Chu said, handing her a script. ‘Take a look. If you’re interested after reading it, we can arrange a meal with the screenwriter.’

The title on the cover read “Heartless Tribulation” in black text on a white background.

Tong Zhao accepted the script and glanced at her.

Sister Chu quickly explained, ‘It’s not a shady dinner, I promise. If you’re worried, we can meet in a public place…’

‘A private room is fine,’ Tong Zhao replied. Given her current level of fame, meeting in a public place would just invite attention. ‘But usually, don’t people meet the director or the investors?’

‘The screenwriter is the investor.’

Tong Zhao opened the script, and the screenwriter’s name was written on the first page: Shi Qianqiu.

‘That name seems familiar…’

Tong Zhao searched the name on Weibo, and sure enough, she found a post she had once come across and remembered.

At the time, “72 Hours Countdown” had just aired, and Shi Qianqiu had praised the film highly. Xu Zhu, on the show “Star Girl”, had voiced that Shi Qianqiu was the director she admired the most and hoped for a dream collaboration with him.

However, Shi Qianqiu’s response turned the situation into something surreal: ‘Xu Zhu? I’m quite puzzled as to why she is so fixated on playing noble and sweet characters. Her true nature, from what I’ve seen in her subconscious, is the most selfish and base I’ve encountered. She’d certainly excel in that area. Besides Tong Zhao, she was the person I admired most in “72 Hours Countdown”. Most people can’t be so shamelessly selfish, but she pulls it off. She’s truly unique.’

“She’s truly unique.”

“I admire her the most.”

Taken individually, these two statements were the praises Xu Zhu dreamed of.

But when put together…

In any case, this meant that Xu Zhu would no longer be able to ride on the fame of this major director on the show.

It was only now that Tong Zhao searched and realized that Shi Qianqiu had publicly praised her many times.

When she checked his Weibo, she found he still only followed her.