After Being Marked by the Top Celebrity Childhood Friend [Entertainment Industry] - Chapter 4

Bruises

That night, Lu Ling absent-mindedly dealt with Ms. Lu Ye—

She couldn’t escape those few recurring topics: finally having a proper job, not allowed to throw petty tantrums, the outside world being nothing like home…

She let out a sigh. Before she could even finish typing the word “Okay,” another message popped up in the chat box: “If you’re truly exhausted, just come home.”

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

It stung.

The call she placed was picked up in a second. The moment Lu Ye’s voice, mixed with the sound of the weather forecast, reached Lu Ling’s ears, tears struck her hand.

“Hello?”

Lu Ling took a deep breath and said in a cavalier tone, “If I really came home, you’d definitely be unhappy again.”

Lu Ye scolded her with a laugh, “You brat.”

“How is it that you don’t even have basic trust in your own mother anymore?”

Just as she finished speaking, Ms. Lu Ye seemed to suddenly remember something and asked, “Is that broken guitar of yours still ‘sealed away’ lately?”

Lu Ling lowered her eyes and gave a vague hum of affirmation.

In the corner, the guitar that had accompanied her through her entire youth was encased in a black gig bag.

Upright, yet desolate.

After that incident, Lu Ling had deleted her composed melodies and every song she had ever released. From the age of fifteen to twenty-two, she deleted everything she once regarded as the very meaning of her existence.

When she moved out of Blue Port Alley at twelve, Lu Ling once thought it was the beginning of escaping the shadow of Lin Que, the “perfect child from next door.” At fifteen, when ROSE & GUN released their first track and received a live invitation, she felt she had succeeded.

At nineteen, performing on a music festival stage with her second band, FEVER—when the video of the stage was uploaded to platforms and surpassed a million likes—the world was still the world as she perceived it.

Flowers, cheers, sound waves, fireworks, ideals.

These beautiful, illusory dreams shattered on the day of her twenty-two-year-old birthday.

The music variety scout show Wild Berry Growth had extended an olive branch to them. After accepting the production team’s invitation with high ambitions, on the very day she entered the training base, she witnessed the show’s script with her own eyes—the champion had actually been predetermined long ago. Furthermore, various platform investors each had their own people they wanted to promote.

They were merely one of the pawns used to stir up hype.

The final result was predictable. When Lu Ling left the base with her guitar on her back, the time was 8:37 PM.

The night sky was a deep ink blue; stars like grains of white sugar twinkled, as if a god who had successfully pulled off a prank was winking playfully at her.

FEVER disbanded.

She thought it was just a withdrawal from the competition, but the consequences were clearly otherwise—she became the “hypocrite.” Circle friends she once had good relations with blacklisted her, and music festival organizers gave perfunctory excuses regarding her next activities.

She missed the graduation season, and her path to postgraduate exams was cut short by the muddle-headed cycle of sleeping late and waking up late every day.

Everything was saying: Welcome to the flip side of the world, you conceited, pathetic creature.

Lu Ling hung up the phone and found that she had walked over to the guitar. Subconsciously, she took a step back.

The high-hanging neon lights of the city and the moon hidden behind the budding trees peeked through the low, old window of the basement together.

The shadow on the wall lengthened. At the moment her slender fingers touched the zipper of the gig bag—Buzz, buzz, buzz…

Lu Ling withdrew her hand as if she had received an electric shock, turning back to the bed to scoop up her phone.

It was Jia Jia.

[File 1: “Schedule for Brora Brand Event Day”] [File 2: “Confirmed Version of Media Interview Questions”] [File 3: “Artist Habit Summary (Supplementary Version)”]

JIA [Referencing File 1]: The processes for brand events, advertisements, and magazine shoots don’t differ much. Tomorrow I will take you through it once; you must remember it.

JIA [Referencing File 2]: Generally, the media will send over a preliminary version. Your future task is to communicate these questions with them, centered on Lin Que’s public image, with the goal of maintaining it and reducing unfavorable public opinion to the greatest extent. This rule applies to all media interview questions.

Lin Que’s public image?

Various reports about Lin Que appeared in Lu Ling’s mind.

“Does it really have to be centered on the public image?” Lu Ling grumbled in a small voice. “Then we’re doomed.”

JIA [Referencing File 3]: It is suggested that you go over this.

“Suggested” meant it was optional.

Lu Ling clicked on the third file.

It was likely written by previous assistants; there wasn’t actually much content, with only a few important points.

1. Do not be late. Lin Que has a very good temper, unless you are late.”
2. No matter how tight the schedule is, try to communicate with the event organizers/crew to leave one hour for a nap.
3. Essential Medications: BLUEBLOOD Multivitamins (twice a day, two tablets at a time); NATURE series supplements (once in the middle of every month under normal circumstances, immediately when sick, and throughout the entire cycle during weight management periods).

“Ha,” Lu Ling chuckled, the faint light of the phone screen illuminating her face. “Why does this feel like some kind of ‘Rule Horror’ story?”

—If she didn’t do these things, what would happen?

Would Lin Que lose control?

Like how she looked that night.

Lu Ling bit her lower lip. She slid her phone screen in a show of avoidance, and the page reached the very bottom:

“Sister loves eating oranges, about 5-6 per day. When she starts biting her lip, you must start peeling oranges (a female star’s beautiful fingertips cannot be stained yellow by orange peels).”

…

Lu Ling rolled her eyes and tossed the phone aside, sinking into the quilt. “A female star’s fingertips can’t be stained yellow, but mine can?”

“These ten slender fingers of mine have studied geometry and algebra, and have rolled boulders with Sisyphus… Hey!”

A thin mist rose in Lu Ling’s eyes.

The sound of cars passing by the rental house faded through the small, yet singular window. The bright white light of the headlights was piercing; Lu Ling instinctively buried her face in the quilt.

She pressed harder and harder until breathing became difficult.

“Ah…”

She rolled over, her chest heaving, staring straight at the damp ceiling.

“Whatever.”

Lu Ling reached for her phone and set an alarm for five in the morning—Lin Que would wake up at seven to prepare for hair and makeup.

From her rental house to the Bvlgari Hotel in the city center, she needed to transfer between two subway lines, taking a total of two hours.

Lu Ling paused.

She moved the time up from five o’clock to 4:20, hesitated, and added another alarm for 4:30.

On second thought, realizing she’d be working hard all day tomorrow, she simply set a 4:00 AM alarm as well.

Rounding it off, it was equivalent to sleeping an extra half hour.

Wonderful!

Perhaps the first rule of File 3 had worked; to avoid being late, Lu Ling spent the night having bizarre, kaleidoscopic dreams.

She finally woke up at 3:59 AM.

She was groggy, her footsteps floating as if she were walking on clouds.

Upon arriving at the hotel, she was forced to “land on solid ground.”

A colleague she had never met before grabbed her wrist like a hawk catching prey, confirmed her identity in a self-questioning-and-answering manner, and then, as if a zombie horde were besieging them from behind, dragged her in a mad dash into the elevator.

“Sister, I’ve got her. Didn’t get the wrong person, right?”

Lu Ling stood there dazed.

Lin Que was wearing a bathrobe. The water droplets hanging from her hair fell onto her exposed collarbone with calculated grace. The interior was as bright as if the sun had already risen, yet Lu Ling still felt everything was hazy.

“Mm.”

Lin Que looked at her, nodded slightly, and then withdrew her gaze. She seemed to want to say something more to her, but ultimately said nothing.

Lu Ling silently closed the door and walked into the busy crowd.

It was the first time she would use the phrase “people coming and going” to describe an interior—the styling team was split into two groups. After the hair was blown dry, the makeup artist was also ready.

Simultaneously, Jia Jia handed Lu Ling a camera bag.

“Your first task is to film the event vlog behind-the-scenes footage to serve as material for subsequent releases on various platforms. Once you’re familiar with it, you’ll be in charge of the studio’s accounts.”

Lu Ling froze, feeling as if she had been hit by a jackpot, yet remaining utterly bewildered.

Jia Jia didn’t care about her inner thoughts; she merely issued tasks and verified results.

After hanging the camera bag around Lu Ling’s neck, she answered another phone call from an unknown caller.

Lu Ling opened the camera bag; inside was a Canon G7x2—there really wasn’t much of a learning curve.

However, although Lu Ling had never been a celebrity assistant, she understood that the artist in the behind-the-scenes vlog must also look beautiful.

Taking pictures of people wasn’t hard, but capturing them in a way that was natural, relaxed, vivid, and beautiful was a real test of the photographer’s skill— “What’s wrong?”

Lu Ling looked toward the source of the voice, meeting Lin Que’s beautiful eyes that looked like the Peach Blossom Spring.

Lin Que glanced at the camera bag in her hand and tilted her head slightly: “Jia—”

Before she could finish, realizing what she was about to do, Lu Ling interrupted her, her voice unconsciously rising as if giving herself a psychological hint: “I know how to use it!”

Her voice wasn’t overly loud, but in the quiet, efficiently running room, it inevitably drew most of the attention to her for a brief moment.

Lu Ling forced herself to ignore those gazes, took out the camera, scanned it, successfully turned it on, and pressed the “Record” button.

Lin Que looked away and lowered her head with a light laugh. The makeup artist didn’t have time to react, and a corner of the powder puff left a tiny speck of white above her lip.

When she looked up, Lu Ling was staring at her through the screen. She clearly saw a flash of stunned silence in Lin Que’s eyes be replaced by a rippling tenderness. Her lips moved, as if she were saying “Great job.”

Lu Ling’s hand holding the camera tightened involuntarily, a thin layer of sweat breaking out on her palm.

She quickly threw herself into the work. Although it was her first time, she benefited from her fast reactions; while filming, she could also manage other odd jobs.

Everything here still revolved around Lin Que, yet that initial stifling sense of resentment had strangely vanished.

She had fantasized about whether an “egregious” artist like Lin Que would be attacked by antis during an event—infrared lasers aimed at her eyes, or being insulted on-site.

However, everything went smoothly.

That’s good, everything went smoothly.

But why did her heart feel empty?

If those situations had occurred, what could she have done?

Lu Ling thought about it; her first reaction would probably be to rush forward and stand in front of Lin Que.

The infrared rays would hit both their eyes at the same time.

Would there be a physical confrontation?

If there were, then they might end up with identical bruises on their bodies.

Security personnel would separate them from the restless crowd, leaving only the sound of shutters being pressed frantically in their ears.

Would Lin Que’s hand grip hers tightly?

Would she still maintain that initial composed appearance?

— Splatter!

In the banquet hall, rich red wine flowed into the tip of her tongue along the gap of her lips. Astringent.

Lin Que was in the red.

“You all really are,”

Lin Que was beside her, yet her voice felt mysteriously distant.

“Looking for death.”