“Why didn’t you answer my call?”
Jian Shi lifted a brow, a teasing smile dancing in his eyes as he looked at her.
“…”
Because when I saw it this morning, I couldn’t even remember who you were, so I didn’t dare call back.
But even with her toes, she knew that was the last thing she could say to the man himself.
Recalling the Jian Shi from the original owner’s memories, Chi Chuchu silently took a deep breath and steadied herself.
Blinking her bright almond-shaped eyes, she shot him a look that was half reproach, half coquettish complaint before replying leisurely,
“I was busy preparing for today’s midterm exam. I went to bed early.”
Then she paused and casually tossed the question back at him.
“But you’re such a busy man. What made you come to A University as a teaching assistant?”
Jian Shi had a pair of naturally flirtatious peach-blossom eyes. Whenever he spoke to Chi Chuchu, there was always a trace of teasing amusement in his voice.
“Because I missed you.”
The straight shot hit her without warning.
Chuchu felt her temples throb. Even her scalp tingled.
Good lord.
Even rabbits know not to eat the grass around their own burrow.
The original owner had really been playing a dangerous game.
Just moments ago, she had finally unlocked all the memories related to Jian Shi. Most of them were scattered, trivial details, but there was one particularly important fact—
This one was a football player too.
A professional-level football player.
The kind who’d already secured a guaranteed spot in the World Cup.
After carefully weighing the young master’s temperament as recorded in those memories, Chi Chuchu decided there was no point maintaining the sweet, innocent green-tea persona.
She chose honesty instead.
“There’s something I need to tell you.”
Lifting her eyes, she got straight to the point without the slightest hesitation.
“Yan An and Ling Yiyan found out about each other.”
Simple.
Direct.
Brutal.
“…Huh?”
Jian Shi frowned, staring at her as if he’d heard wrong.
“How did you let them find out?”
“The timing of the breakups was bad.”
Chuchu pursed her lips.
“They happened to run into each other.”
There was even a hint of grievance in her voice.
“Pfft.”
Jian Shi turned his head away as though hiding it, but the smile spreading across his handsome face was impossible to conceal.
“You really are something.”
His tone was affectionate and indulgent, like a boyfriend soothing a girlfriend after she’d caused trouble.
Not once did his attention drift to the two enormous green hats currently sitting on his own head.
Chuchu secretly pouted.
She genuinely could not understand the bizarre dynamic between these two friends.
If it was true love, it certainly didn’t look like it. The original owner had enough boyfriends to form an entire football team, yet Jian Shi had never shown the slightest trace of jealousy or displeasure.
But if their relationship was fake, that wasn’t quite right either.
Young Master Jian knew every single one of Chi Chuchu’s boyfriends inside and out, yet never interfered or questioned her choices. He carried himself with the arrogant confidence of an empress in the imperial harem.
As long as I remain the rightful wife, the rest of you are merely concubines.
If she had to describe their relationship—
It was probably two carefree players getting together and treating dating like a child’s game.
“Need any help?”
Jian Shi’s lips still curved with the smile of someone enjoying a good show, though there was a faint note of indulgence hidden beneath it.
“Oh, please.”
Chuchu rolled her eyes at him.
“I’d be grateful enough if you didn’t make things worse.”
Thinking about all the ridiculous stunts this troublesome friend had pulled in the past, she felt that response was more than justified.
Jian Shi shrugged.
“Fair enough.”
“Come on. The exam’s about to start. We should head to the testing hall.”
Tilting her head slightly, Chuchu smiled at him.
Knowing better than anyone how seriously she took her grades, Jian Shi nodded. Then, in a casual gesture, he reached out and ruffled her hair.
“Good luck.”
Whether Jian Shi’s blessing had somehow worked like a lucky charm, or whether Chi Chuchu’s body still retained its muscle memory for acting, everything went unbelievably smoothly.
The examination topic she drew after entering the testing hall was improvisational performance.
Her assigned role was a blind female assassin who had spent years wandering the martial world before abandoning the path of darkness and turning over a new leaf.
The character wasn’t especially difficult on the surface.
But portraying her perfectly required both talent and skill.
She had to capture the vacant, unfocused gaze of someone deprived of sight, while simultaneously revealing the remorse and determination of a woman seeking redemption. On top of that, as an assassin, physical flexibility and martial arts fundamentals would earn additional points.
Chi Chuchu found it difficult to explain.
But the moment the examiner announced the start, she slipped into character almost instantly.
Every nuance of the role came naturally.
She embodied the essence of improvisational acting so completely that the student performing opposite her nearly failed to keep up.
By the time he left the examination room, his face was pale and defeated.
The students waiting outside caught sight of him and immediately exchanged relieved looks.
Thank goodness we weren’t paired with her.
As expected.
The Acting Department’s legendary exam goddess, Chi Chuchu, lived up to her reputation.
The results would be announced that afternoon.
Yet while everyone else was discussing the exam, Chuchu’s mind was occupied by an entirely different matter.
System, you said I was chosen because my soul compatibility with “Chi Chuchu” was almost identical, right?
“That’s correct,” the system replied. “Do you have any objections, Host?”
A slight frown creased her delicate features.
Slowly rubbing her pale fingers together, she remained silent for a moment before asking,
Then why were my past memories erased?
Why was I suddenly so proficient at acting during the exam?
And was that talent truly mine… or was it something left behind by the original owner of this body?
“…”
The system abruptly fell silent.
Not a single word.
A heaviness settled in Chuchu’s chest.
She already knew she probably wouldn’t get an answer.
Still, whatever reason the system had for choosing her—
One day, she would uncover the truth herself.
That much she was certain of.
Meanwhile, at the judges’ table, Jian Shi was lazily flipping through the students’ files.
When he reached the page labeled Chi Chuchu, his gaze lingered.
Noticing his unusual reaction, the man sitting beside him—a figure hidden beneath sunglasses and a baseball cap—leaned over for a look.
“Oh. Her.”
The man still remembered Chi Chuchu’s performance.
“She’s very photogenic, and her acting is solid. A little inexperienced in the finer details, but overall she’s definitely promising.”
The corner of Jian Shi’s mouth lifted.
A hint of roguish charm appeared on his handsome face.
“Of course she is.”
He tapped the file.
“She’s my girlfriend. Pretty impressive, right?”
“…What?!”
Chen Zi’ang’s eyes nearly popped out of his head.
Realizing several people had turned to look at him, he hurriedly lowered his voice.
“Young Master Jian, you’re kidding, right?”
With Jian Shi’s obsessive dedication to filmmaking, where in the world had he found the time to get a girlfriend?
Jian Shi simply tapped the wooden tabletop with a finger, producing a crisp sound.
Instead of answering, he asked another question.
“Setting that aside, do you think she’d suit Deep Palace Fate?”
Chen Zi’ang laughed awkwardly.
“You mean… you want her in my production?”
A playful smile spread across Jian Shi’s face.
After a brief pause, Chen Zi’ang began seriously considering the idea.
This midterm examination had invited several graduates back as temporary teaching assistants. Officially, they were there to help evaluate students.
Unofficially, however, it was a private audition.
Both Chen Zi’ang and Jian Shi had graduated from A University’s directing department in the same year, though their career paths had diverged.
Chen specialized in popular romantic dramas. Nearly every series he directed became a hit, and in just two years he had firmly established himself within the television industry.
Jian Shi, meanwhile, pursued international cinema.
The barrier to entry was higher. The costs were greater.
But after unexpectedly winning a Golden Award at the Venice Film Festival, the gap between their industry status had become impossible to ignore.
Faced with his friend’s suggestion, Chen Zi’ang’s expression turned somewhat complicated.
“Not to brag, but ever since I got the script for Deep Palace Fate, I’ve known it would be a hit. Chi Chuchu definitely has potential. If she joined my cast, I’d have no objections.”
He paused.
“But…”
His gaze shifted toward Jian Shi with obvious confusion.
“Aren’t you preparing your next art film? The one you’re taking to awards season?”
“If you want to help her career, why not cast her yourself?”
Breaking into the film industry was far more difficult than becoming a television actress.
If Jian Shi genuinely wanted to pave the way for Chi Chuchu, why go through someone else?
At that, the young director blinked his charming peach-blossom eyes and flashed a lazy grin.
“Well…”
“How should I put this?”
“I remember the male lead for your drama has already been decided, hasn’t he?”
His smile carried a trace of idle amusement.
“And if I remember correctly, he’s the winner of that ‘Most Promising Newcomer Award’ they announced a couple of days ago.”
“The guy’s name is…”
“Yan An.”
Before he could finish, Chen Zi’ang supplied the answer automatically.
A second later, realization dawned.
He slowly processed the implication.
Then he turned to Jian Shi with an increasingly strange expression.
What the hell?
Was his friend seriously helping his girlfriend chase her celebrity crush in real life?
Author’s Note:
No.
Your friend is simply competing for the privilege of wearing the biggest green hat himself.¹
¹ “Wearing a green hat” is a Chinese idiom meaning being cheated on by one’s partner.
