Flirted Then Forgot Everything - Chapter 1

“Yu Cheng is here. I bet the Best Actor award is going to him again.”

“They haven’t even announced it yet. Are you psychic or something?”

“He’s won three years in a row. With the reception for Echo being this good, who else could it be?”

“I heard Yu Cheng is planning to transition into directing. Lately, he’s been looking into a script with a niche theme, aiming specifically for the awards circuit.”

“No way, right? How is that possible?”

Jian Li overheard the quiet discussion behind him and glanced back. He saw Yu Cheng, the three-time Best Actor winner, pushing open the doors. Dressed in a jet-black haute couture suit and wearing a practiced, graceful smile, he walked in slowly.

Every person Yu Cheng passed stood up to greet him. His demeanor was humble and polite, never making anyone feel uncomfortable—not even the minor actors whose names he couldn’t recall.

Jian Li was nervous. He tried his best to appear composed, but the faint pink flush creeping up his fair cheeks betrayed him completely.

The ceremony hadn’t started yet, and the venue was brightly lit. Yu Cheng seemed to carry his own spotlight; wherever he went, eyes followed. As Yu Cheng drew closer, Jian Li’s mind raced: How should I greet him when he gets here?

A casual “hello”? Or should I stand up and shake his hand?

Based on seniority, Jian Li should stand up. But no matter how he greeted him, it only mattered if Yu Cheng chose to acknowledge it.

Everyone in the industry knew that the prestigious Film King, Yu Cheng, had no time for the “idol” star, Jian Li.

At the thought, Jian Li felt a spark of annoyance. Unfortunately, his irritation didn’t calm his nerves; instead, it made his heart skip a beat.

With the ceremony still a while away, several veteran artists hadn’t arrived yet. Given Yu Cheng’s status, he was early. Despite the noisy surroundings and staff scurrying about, Jian Li’s vision was locked solely on the approaching figure.

He gripped his armrest, finally deciding to just ignore him. It was better than being snubbed and left embarrassed, as had happened several times before.

Jian Li sat with his back straight, ears sharp, tracking Yu Cheng’s progress. Eventually, Yu Cheng stopped right behind him to greet the people in the row back.

Jian Li pulled his neck in slightly. He felt as though Yu Cheng carried a literal aura of coldness—standing behind him, the chill was piercing. His eyes drifted down to see Yu Cheng’s long legs stepping into his periphery, the crease of his trousers looking sharp enough to cut.

It was a sharp edge that stood in total contrast to his refined, elegant public persona.

Jian Li’s brain short-circuited. He stood up abruptly and thrust his hand out.

“Hello!” His voice wasn’t deep, but it wasn’t high either—it was a crisp, recognizable, and pleasant sound.

Under the lights, Jian Li’s wrist looked thin and pale. On the inner side of his wrist, a tiny, vivid red mole sat like a drop of ink on porcelain; anyone who saw it couldn’t help but look twice.

Yet Yu Cheng didn’t spare it a single glance. With a polite smile, he bypassed Jian Li and extended his hand to the person sitting in front of him.

That person, startled, quickly stood up to shake hands and exchange pleasantries. After the greeting, Yu Cheng continued walking forward, never acknowledging Jian Li’s existence for a single second.

Jian Li’s fingers curled. A wave of heat started from his outstretched right hand and surged through his entire body. He sat down slowly and shoved his hand into his pocket. His palm was damp with sweat; he wished the floor would just open up and swallow him whole.

God! What was I thinking? I stood up to shake his hand and got ignored?

Jian Li, you idiot! You promised to ignore him! Why did you lose your nerve and stand up?

People sitting nearby stole glances at him, whispering amongst themselves. Jian Li kept his head down, his chestnut-brown hair failing to hide his glowing red ears. While others assumed he was drowning in embarrassment, they exchanged meaningful looks with one another.

Yu Cheng’s manager rushed into the hall. As he passed Jian Li, he happened to catch a muttered, teeth-gritting curse:

“That bastard Yu Cheng!”

Renowned for being smooth and tactful, the manager kept a poker face and glided past Jian Li as if he had heard nothing at all.

Jian Li had no idea he’d been overheard. He had already pulled himself together and was looking toward the stage, his expression calm, showing no trace of his previous awkwardness.

In the entire industry, the person he hated most was Yu Cheng.

This was Jian Li’s fourth year since debut. For the first half of his first year, he had toured with a mediocre boy band. After they disbanded, he went solo. Relying on his striking looks and sharp, high-energy performances, he gradually rose to “Top-Tier” status.

He had always stayed in the music scene and never had any crossover with Film King Yu Cheng. He didn’t know why, but over the past year, every time they crossed paths at an event, Yu Cheng never gave him a kind look. The tension between them had slowly become common industry knowledge.

Jian Li didn’t know the reason. In his memory, he had never had a conflict with Yu Cheng.

At least, not in the memories he still possessed.

A year ago, Jian Li was in a car accident. The vehicle was totaled after falling off a mountain road, but Jian Li had miraculously emerged unscathed—mostly. Aside from some superficial wounds, he had lost his memory. He wasn’t missing much—just exactly one year’s worth of time starting from the second year after his debut.

Luckily, his manager was his cousin, Wan Tao. With his help, the media was kept in the dark about the accident and the amnesia. Jian Li continued to hold his position as a top star without a hitch.

The house lights dimmed, leaving only the spotlights on stage. The ceremony was beginning.

An elegant hostess in a long gown took the stage. Jian Li wasn’t listening; he pulled out his phone to text Wan Tao.

Jian Li: “Brother Tao, did I really not know Yu Cheng before? Are you sure we didn’t have a falling out?”

Wan Tao replied instantly:

“Of course not. Don’t overthink it. Yu Cheng is a big-shot Film King; his temperament is hard to read. If he doesn’t like us, we’ll just stay away. This is your first time at this ceremony—don’t mess up, okay?”

“Got it,” Jian Li thought, putting his phone away.

The “Thousand Faces” Awards were held every two years and were the most prestigious film honors in the country. Yu Cheng had been active for seven years and had won Best Actor three times in a row. Like everyone else, even though Jian Li hated the man, he assumed Yu Cheng would take his fourth.

Jian Li knew how brilliant the film Echo was; he had watched it several times himself. Thinking of this, he felt a bit of self-loathing. He constantly reminded himself: I just like the movie. It has nothing to do with Yu Cheng.

The awards were handed out one by one. There were tears and laughter. Bored, Jian Li leaned back and lowered his head, his hair falling over his eyes as he drifted off.

In his haze, he suddenly felt a prickling sensation. He looked up. The rows in front of him were dark, filled only with the backs of heads; no one was looking back.

Yet Jian Li felt an unmistakable gaze on him—direct and sharp, like a needle that jolted him from his drowsiness to full alertness.

A staff member walked over and tapped him on the shoulder, reminding him it was almost time for his performance. At ceremonies like this, song and dance numbers were interspersed to keep the atmosphere lively. Not just anyone was qualified to perform here; Jian Li hadn’t made the cut in previous years. This was his first time.

He sharpened his focus and followed the staff backstage. One moment he was sleepy; the next, he was a different person the moment he stepped on stage.

Under the shifting neon lights, every one of Jian Li’s large-scale dance moves was precise and powerful. Despite the intense choreography, his voice remained steady and piercing. This was his natural gift.

The performance was fiery, but the applause from the audience—all industry insiders—was restrained.

As his breathing grew heavy and sweat beaded on his forehead and neck, he spun around and suddenly locked eyes with Yu Cheng, who was sitting in the front row.

The cameras caught Yu Cheng at that exact moment. Every artist usually smiled and clapped when the lens panned to them, but not Yu Cheng. He sat there, hands folded, posture elegant, looking at the stage with a cold, indifferent expression.

Jian Li tossed his head to clear the damp hair from his eyes, a flicker of nerves appearing in his gaze. He had performed this song countless times on all sorts of stages, but none had ever made him this nervous.

Yu Cheng is watching me.

That thought made his heart skip, nearly causing him to miss a beat.

Yu Cheng watched the stage calmly. He had what the media called “Peach Blossom Eyes”—eyes that felt like a spring breeze when they smiled, but carried heavy pressure when expressionless. He sat unmoved by the high-tempo music; he didn’t look like he was watching a performance—he looked like he was conducting an inspection.

He was scrutinizing Jian Li.

The music stopped. Jian Li hit the final pose, bowed hurriedly, and bolted for the backstage. He didn’t want to stay on that stage for another second, didn’t want to be watched by Yu Cheng like that. That gaze had made it almost impossible to breathe.

Behind the stage, Jian Li leaned against a wall, his breath ragged. For a moment, he was dazed, unsure if his labored breathing was from the dancing or from Yu Cheng.

By the time he returned to his seat, his breathing had steadied. He kept his “cold” idol face on, his heart becoming even more set on hating Yu Cheng.

Finally, it was time for the Best Actor award. The nominations were filled with veteran household names, with Yu Cheng’s name tucked among them—strange yet harmonious. Even though he hated the man, Jian Li acknowledged his skill.

The hostess drew out the announcement, her eyes meaningful as she hyped up the room. The big screen panned over the nominees. Everyone looked solemn, including Yu Cheng. Even with three wins under his belt, he still showed immense respect for the award and his fellow veterans.

The hostess let out a long breath and softly dropped two words:

“Yu Cheng.”

Yu Cheng stood up and walked calmly toward the stage to receive his fourth Best Actor trophy. The room erupted in applause. Jian Li was forced to join in, though his clapping was half-hearted at best.

On stage, Yu Cheng began his acceptance speech. Jian Li couldn’t help but think: How does this guy manage not to repeat his speech after four years?

“Beep—Beep—Beep—”

A sound like a mechanical malfunction suddenly rang in Jian Li’s ears. It was loud and persistent, making his head throb. He looked around but couldn’t find the source. He covered his ears, only to realize the sound was coming from inside his own head.

On stage, Yu Cheng’s eyes narrowed as he spotted Jian Li covering his ears in the audience.

Jian Li was oblivious. The “beeping” in his head finally stopped, replaced by a flat, mechanical electronic voice:

“The Capture System is back online. Long time no see, Host Jian Li.”