Flirted Then Forgot Everything - Chapter 18

Jian Li sat on the sofa as obediently as a primary school student, hands resting on his knees, listening to Yu Cheng explain the scene with flushed cheeks. He was actually quite distracted; Yu Cheng’s voice was low and resonant, making him constantly recall his dream from the night before.

Jian Li even suspected the system had meddled with his subconscious. Otherwise, why would he dream about it right after mentioning it?

“In this part, Li Xiaoli’s emotion appears to be fear, but his eyes can’t lie. He actually expects Gao Mochen to be angry.”

Yu Cheng pointed to a section of the script and explained slowly. Jian Li looked at the words on the page and gradually began to focus. Imprison Your Love wasn’t a particularly complex script. Rather than telling a convoluted story, the film aimed to express the deep, intense love between two people. Stripping away their complicated personalities, Li Xiaoli and Gao Mochen were just like any other couple—ordinary people yearning for love.

Jian Li nodded along with Yu Cheng’s words, and the scenes from the script began to materialize in his mind. He felt ready for the next take.

“Thank you.” Jian Li thanked Yu Cheng, though his eyes remained averted.

Yu Cheng closed the script and leaned in slightly, his dark eyes scrutinizing Jian Li’s face. After a long pause, he asked, “When you were distracted earlier, what were you thinking about?”

The dream he had finally managed to push aside surged back into his mind. Jian Li bolted upright and ran out.

“Nothing! I just didn’t sleep well!”

Yu Cheng stood up behind him and followed slowly. He narrowed his eyes, watching Jian Li flee with frantic, stumbling steps.

Yang Xu moved several scenes for the supporting characters forward, not filming Jian Li and Yu Cheng until nearly dawn. He had been quite blunt in criticizing Jian Li’s earlier lack of focus, but once filming resumed, he didn’t dwell on the past.

Jian Li didn’t disappoint. He stopped flubbing his lines and finished the scene in a single, perfect take. Yang Xu stroked his chin, thinking that Jian Li might actually have a future in the film industry. He had heard rumors that Jian Li’s status as a top star was supported mainly by his looks and that his songs over the years were of poor quality. However, with his good friend Yu Cheng present, Yang Xu would never say such a thing aloud; he simply kept the thought to himself.

After the night shoot wrapped, a weary Jian Li returned to his van. Yu Manman sat in the driver’s seat, turning back nervously to speak.

“Jian-ge, Wan Tao said he’s waiting for you at the hotel. He called from a different number, so I didn’t realize it was him when I answered.”

Jian Li leaned back against the seat and closed his eyes. He gave a slow nod. With a scandal that big, it was only a matter of time before Wan Tao showed his face. Besides, it was time to release new songs for the next quarter.

It was past eight in the morning. The sunlight was pleasantly warm—neither hot nor dry. Yu Manman stole a glance at Jian Li through the rearview mirror. His head was tilted back slightly; even at this angle, he was still incredibly handsome—a true “360-degree” beauty.

Actually, Yu Manman wasn’t a fan of celebrities. Internal staff generally didn’t follow stars; it was an unwritten rule of the industry. She had heard some of Jian Li’s songs. Despite his unique timbre and mature technique, the songs themselves weren’t great—simple, catchy, and popular, but fundamentally weak as compositions. It was only after spending time with Jian Li these past few days that she had lowered her guard and decided to work hard for him.

The van pulled smoothly up to the hotel. Jian Li opened his eyes, which were bloodshot from exhaustion.

Wan Tao didn’t have a key to Jian Li’s room, so he was waiting in the lobby. He approached the moment Jian Li entered. His face showed suppressed anger, though his voice remained steady.

“Finished for the night?”

“Mm. Manman, go get some rest.” Jian Li glanced at Wan Tao. “Let’s talk in the room.”

Wan Tao didn’t object. He carried a thick briefcase filled with potential new songs for the upcoming season. Once inside, Wan Tao handed over a folder.

“New songs for next quarter. These are all decent. Pick five to eight for your next EP. Take a look while we talk.”

Jian Li set the folder aside without opening it. Wan Tao frowned, wanting to snap, but he held back. He handed over a second, thinner folder without saying what it was. “Take a look at this first. If you’re satisfied, we’ll sign. I fought for this on your behalf.”

Jian Li opened it to find a stock transfer contract; StarMaker was transferring 2% of its shares to him.

“I’ve already invested in StarMaker, Li-zi. Setting aside my role as your manager, I’m your brother first. I won’t forget you when something good comes along. If you invest too, there will be plenty of benefits. StarMaker has a great future; if we stay here and do our jobs, we can’t go wrong.” Wan Tao spoke sincerely, though his brow betrayed a hint of impatience.

Jian Li placed the two files together and spoke plainly: “And what else? You didn’t come here just for these two things.”

Wan Tao took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. The Jian Li before him felt like a stranger. He had been right; as soon as Jian Li got involved with Yu Cheng, everything became complicated. He put his glasses back on and said patiently:

“I saw Yu Cheng’s trending news. Since he has a girlfriend, his dislike for you must be real. Once this movie wraps and the hype dies down, I’ll handle the PR. We’ll frame the awards ceremony kiss as nothing more than a marketing stunt for the film.”

Jian Li’s lips twitched into a satirical smile. Wan Tao continued, oblivious:

“The company just signed a newcomer—a female singer with real talent, two years younger than you. I want you to help her out, give her some exposure.”

“You want me to fake a romance?” Jian Li interrupted, his voice turning cold.

Wan Tao took a deep breath, clearly displeased with Jian Li’s tone, but he didn’t explode yet. “It’s not ‘faking a romance,’ it’s just helping her along.”

“Wan Tao.”

Jian Li used his full name. Since the start of this meeting, he hadn’t called him ‘Brother’ once.

“When I first debuted and had no name, I had to choose StarMaker. Back then, we agreed that once we saved enough money, we’d go solo and make the music I actually like.”

Jian Li brought up the past, but his tone wasn’t nostalgic; he was simply stating a fact. StarMaker was currently a leader in the entertainment industry, but its history was shady. They liked to sign a broad net of young hopefuls. If someone became popular, the company would squeeze them for quick cash for a year or two; once their fame faded, they were left to rot. If they didn’t become popular, they were simply benched until they couldn’t take it anymore, at which point the company would profit from their massive contract termination fees.

In recent years, as StarMaker grew more famous, they had started to care about their reputation and stopped being so blatant. However, they still preferred low-end tactics to manage their artists: chasing clout, tearing others down, forced marketing tie-ins, and manufacturing personas—whatever made money fastest. They viewed artists purely as cash cows. Because of this, Jian Li preferred to endure a harsh revenue split just to sign one-year contracts with StarMaker, renewing only when they expired. Despite being a top star, he actually had very little money; most of it went into the company’s pockets.

“Aren’t you making the music you like? Haven’t you been singing this whole time? What are you dissatisfied with? Jian Li, be content. Not everyone who wants to be a singer gets to be one. You have a great voice and a face gifted by the gods. Why can’t you just make good use of them?” By the end, Wan Tao sounded like he was interrogating him—or perhaps he was just jealous.

Once upon a time, Wan Tao also had a dream of making music. Unfortunately, he lacked the innate qualities—his voice was poor, his looks were average, and he had no talent. That was why he became a manager.

“I want to sing my own songs. Songs I wrote myself, not this trash.” Jian Li emphasized, tossing the folder back into Wan Tao’s lap.

Wan Tao swiped the folder aside and stood up, finally unable to stop himself from shouting:

“What do you mean ‘trash’? What’s wrong with these songs? The company hired specialists to write them! Young girls love this stuff! Your looks are your advantage! All you need to do is dress up, look handsome, and jump around a bit on stage—people will naturally love you.”

“Jump around a bit?” Jian Li closed his eyes, done with the conversation. “My contract with StarMaker expires at the end of the year. I won’t be renewing it.”

“What do you mean? You want to go solo? You want to leave StarMaker?” Wan Tao demanded loudly.

“You’ve known this for years, haven’t you? I’ve always wanted to go solo. I never intended to stay at StarMaker long-term,” Jian Li said.

Wan Tao laughed angrily, his face full of sarcasm. He looked Jian Li up and down with a disgusting, scrutinizing gaze.

“Jian Li, do you know why I never let you release your own songs?”

Jian Li looked up at Wan Tao, waiting for him to continue.

“When you first started out, I took your songs to a well-known producer. I practically begged him for a meeting, pulling every string I had just to get in front of him and show him what you’d written. Do you know what he said?”

Jian Li’s expression remained unchanged, his gaze cold as he watched Wan Tao.

A smirk crawled across Wan Tao’s face, sharp and mocking. “He said what you wrote was garbage—that even a child couldn’t produce such trash. They threw those songs into the bin right in front of me! You’ve been so obedient these past few years, sticking to the songs the company bought for you; I thought it was because you finally had some self-awareness. I guess I was wrong.”

Wan Tao finished with a look of pure malice, waiting for a flash of embarrassment or humiliation to cross Jian Li’s face.

To his disappointment, Jian Li remained calm. He only asked, “Back then, when you took those manuscripts out and I asked where you’d been, you told me you wanted to show them to a producer but they weren’t in. When I asked where the papers were, you said they got wet and fell apart, so you told me to rewrite them. So, you were lying to me all along?”

“Jian Li, I’ve been protecting your ego this whole time, only asking that you be obedient. Why are you being so difficult now? I never should have helped you back then!” The more Wan Tao spoke, the more gratified he seemed, as if he’d finally found a vent for his long-held frustrations.

Looking at Wan Tao in his designer clothes, Jian Li felt a sense of disorientation. The gentle cousin from his memories seemed to have vanished entirely.

When Jian Li’s family fell on hard times, Wan Tao was the only one who reached out. He had endured his own parents’ scolding to take Jian Li in for a while. During that time, although Jian Li was often berated by his aunt and uncle, he at least had food to eat, and Wan Tao would secretly slip him snacks.

Wan Tao had shared Jian Li’s love for singing since they were kids. Jian Li understood that passion better than anyone.

That was why, when he ran into Wan Tao again as an adult, Jian Li had retrieved the manuscripts Wan Tao intended to throw away. He had neatly organized them in a brand-new folder, fearing that Wan Tao would regret discarding them later.

The truth was, Wan Tao had never actually taken Jian Li’s manuscripts. The songs he had shown that producer were the ones Wan Tao had written himself. Jian Li had merely assumed Wan Tao had a change of heart and had secretly taken the work back.

Pushing the memories aside, Jian Li looked at Wan Tao and spoke.

“You’ve never actually heard the songs I’ve written. I listened to you only because you are my cousin, and because you helped me.”

“Of the money I kept after the revenue splits, I’ve sent half of it to my aunt and uncle over the years. You knew that, and you never stopped me.”

“I’ve long since paid back what I owe you. From now on, we go our separate ways.”