Flirted Then Forgot Everything - Chapter 19

Wan Tao hadn’t expected Jian Li to be so decisive, going so far as to cut ties with him entirely.

“Li-zi, you.” Wan Tao’s tone softened again, trying to regain his footing.

Jian Li pushed the two folders toward him. “I have a few questions for you.”

Seeing a potential opening, Wan Tao immediately sat back down across from Jian Li. “Ask away.”

Jian Li looked him straight in the eye. He had clear, piercing eyes that seemed to see right through people, exposing every ugly truth. Under such a gaze, Wan Tao couldn’t help but look away.

Jian Li asked, “Was ‘What Your Voice Tells Me’ truly pushed back by you because of my memory loss that year? You said you had no choice.”

Wan Tao hadn’t expected this. He stammered, “Yes, didn’t I tell you? You were in a coma after the car accident and couldn’t make the recording. I did what I could.”

“Is that so?” Jian Li asked coldly.

“It—it’s the truth.”

“I’m asking you one last time.” Jian Li’s eyes half-lidded, his gaze suddenly carries an unintended air of disdain. “Is every single word you’ve said the truth?”

Wan Tao fell silent. Jian Li didn’t rush him.

After a long pause, Wan Tao finally spoke. “You know that variety show had an original songwriting segment, right? Going on that show would have been like shooting yourself in the foot. I’ve told you how professional musicians rated your songs. Why can’t you just be happy being a top star?”

Jian Li closed his eyes. He had filmed all night and finished late today; the lack of sleep combined with Wan Tao’s persistence caused a needle-like pain to stab at his temples. He was losing his patience.

“Second question: during the time I was hospitalized after the accident, did you touch my phone?” Jian Li didn’t give him a chance to breathe, firing the second question immediately after the first.

“What do you mean? I’m your manager. I handle your calls all the time, and I used to manage your Xunsheng account. What’s the problem?” Wan Tao tried to obfuscate.

Jian Li’s lips curled into a mocking smile. That smile stung Wan Tao; it reminded him of over a year ago, when Jian Li had come to him saying he wanted to go public with his relationship with Yu Cheng. When Wan Tao refused, Jian Li had worn that exact same smile.

Back then, Jian Li had looked at him and said something that chilled Wan Tao to the bone: “Brother Tao, I’m grateful to you, and I’ve been paying you back, but I can’t be your cash cow forever. I have my own plans. I know what path I want to take.”

That was the first time Jian Li had hinted at going solo. Wan Tao had panicked, but then the accident happened, and Jian Li woke up with amnesia. It felt like a gift from the heavens. But now, a year later, Jian Li was pulling away again.

“I’ll be blunt. You went into my Feixin, didn’t you?” Jian Li asked. “Back then, you explained that you hid the accident from the media to prevent false reporting. You said the crash site was remote enough that no one noticed.”

“Were you really afraid of the media, or were you hiding it from a specific person? You didn’t want him to know I had lost my memory, did you?”

Faced with Jian Li’s increasingly sharp questions, Wan Tao was speechless. His panicked expression, pale face, and the cold sweat on his brow told the whole story.

Jian Li’s shoulders slumped slightly, his expression filled with disappointment. “I’m exhausted. Leave. I’ll handle my own schedule from now on. I’ll go to StarMaker to terminate the contract when it’s time. Don’t contact me unless it’s necessary.”

Wan Tao panicked completely. He grabbed the two neglected folders and stood up hurriedly. “Li-zi, get some rest. We’ll talk when you’re feeling better. Don’t make a hasty decision.”

He bolted out the door, forgetting even to close it.

Jian Li got up to shut the door, took a quick shower, and collapsed onto the bed. Wan Tao’s reaction confirmed everything: hiding the accident was to prevent Yu Cheng from knowing about the amnesia. Wan Tao was the one who deleted Yu Cheng from his Feixin—and likely did much more, leading to Yu Cheng’s coldness and disdain over the past year.

Jian Li didn’t dwell on it. He was too tired and fell asleep instantly.

His sleep was restless, filled with disjointed, chaotic dreams. One moment he was in bed, the next he was inside a rolling car, tumbling down a steep embankment. The pain was so vivid and real, lasting for several seconds before vanishing.

Then he saw Wan Tao—a frowning, agitated Wan Tao. He heard his own voice saying: “I’m going to announce my relationship with Yu Cheng.”

Wan Tao screamed hysterically: “Jian Li, are you freaking insane? If you want to be stupid, don’t drag me down with you! Do you know how hard we worked to get here? You do this, and we’re finished! Do you think Yu Cheng actually cares about you? You think you’re special? You want to go public—did he even agree to it?”

The scene shifted. He saw Yu Cheng—a Yu Cheng with a gentle smile. Jian Li heard his own voice teasing: “You’re so tall, how can you be afraid of heights?”

Yu Cheng reached out and patted Jian Li’s head, his voice sounding distant. His lips moved, saying something, but Jian Li’s brain seemed to stall, unable to record the words. Suddenly, a thick mist descended. When it cleared, the tenderness on Yu Cheng’s face was gone. He was the cold man who ignored him again.

Standing before him, Yu Cheng sneered: “Move. Don’t block the way.”

At those words, Jian Li’s heart gave a sharp prick, and his eyes snapped open.

The room was dim; evening was approaching. He had slept nearly the entire day. Jian Li sat up slowly, rubbing his aching head. He knew he had dreamed of Yu Cheng and Wan Tao, but the details were slipping away, leaving only a lingering ache in his chest. Probably wasn’t a good dream, he thought.

The system suddenly spoke: “Had that kind of dream again?”

Jian Li’s face flushed as he scolded the system, “What do you mean ‘that kind of dream’! For an AI, your mind is remarkably filthy!”

System: “I didn’t even specify what kind, and yet you knew exactly what I meant?”

Jian Li: “…”

He didn’t want to argue with an AI and got up to find Yu Manman. If he was going to sever ties with StarMaker and Wan Tao, he needed a new plan.

Yu Manman was shocked by his decision. She knew they had issues, but she hadn’t expected him to be so decisive.

“You’ll have more responsibility now. When I’m busy, you’ll need to handle all professional communication.” Jian Li spoke to her calmly, which helped the nervous assistant relax. “Tell me, have you ever thought about being a manager?”

Yu Manman was stunned. “What? Why the sudden question? I’ve only just started in this industry, I.”

Jian Li interrupted. “Do you want to?”

She didn’t hesitate. “Of course I do!”

Jian Li smiled, and Yu Manman felt the full force of his beauty, clutching her heart and marveling at his “god-given” face.

“From now on, you’re my manager,” Jian Li said. It was a bit abrupt, but since he was leaving the agency and didn’t want a new stranger in his life yet, she was the best choice. He didn’t need her to hunt for work; he just wanted to focus on the current film.

Tonight was another night shoot. The veteran actors in the cast couldn’t handle late hours, so Director Yang tried to finish their scenes during the day. Tonight’s shoot was a high-conflict scene, very demanding. Jian Li had been pouring over the script since he woke up.

In this scene, Li Xiaoli threatens to jump off a building to manipulate Gao Mochen. By this point, Gao Mochen has begun to exert control over Li Xiaoli’s life, and Li Xiaoli, acting as if he can no longer take it, climbs to the roof at midnight.

On the surface, he’s demanding freedom. In reality, it’s a trap. Li Xiaoli set up a fake romantic encounter with a friend just to provoke Gao Mochen into tightening his grip, all so he could use this suicide threat to lower Gao Mochen’s guard and eventually secure his ultimate goal: moving to a private island.

In this scene, Li Xiaoli believes he is the hunter and Gao Mochen is the prey. But Gao Mochen has known all along; he’s just playing his part. In their relationship, the true hunter has always been Gao Mochen; he just lets himself look like the catch.

There were so many layers of emotion to peel back. Before filming, Director Yang asked Jian Li a specific question:

“Are you afraid of heights?”

Jian Li, naturally, was not afraid. The “skyscraper” wasn’t a real one—it was just a two-story structure—though looking down from the edge was still a bit unnerving.

Before the cameras rolled, Jian Li and Yu Cheng ran through their lines one last time. He noticed that Yu Cheng seemed slightly off; while his delivery was flawless, his gaze kept drifting toward the platform they were meant to stand on.

Jian Li frowned slightly but chose not to pry.

Once wardrobe and props were set, Jian Li stood at the edge of the platform in a white dress shirt. The industrial fans roared, catching the hem of his oversized shirt and making it snap sharply in the wind. Jian Li closed his eyes. The moment the clapperboard snapped, he fully immersed himself in the persona of Li Xiaoli.

He turned back, his expression a picture of desolate misery as he looked down at Gao Mochen.

“If I die, will I finally be free?”

Yu Cheng, as Gao Mochen, took a sharp step forward, his voice ice-cold. “Don’t you dare!”

Li Xiaoli let out a bleak, hollow laugh. “What wouldn’t I dare? It’s just a single leap. I dare everything!”

With that, Li Xiaoli turned, positioning himself as if to jump. According to the script, Gao Mochen was supposed to rush up at this moment, pull him down, and crush him into a tight embrace. Jian Li turned slightly, waiting for Yu Cheng’s advance.

Unexpectedly, the platform hadn’t been cleared properly. Jian Li’s foot caught on a stray stone, and his balance wavered. Yu Cheng’s eyes widened. He lunged forward, crossing the distance in two strides, and hauled Jian Li into his arms.

However, the platform was too narrow for both of them to regain their footing; the momentum carried them over the edge.

Amidst a chorus of gasps and shouts, the two tumbled together onto the safety air cushions prepared by the crew.

Jian Li wasn’t actually scared. Although the building was two stories high, the safety cushions were nearly half that height; a fall like that was harmless. Yu Cheng, however, had a violent reaction. Even now, he held Jian Li in a death grip, refusing to let go.

Jian Li patted Yu Cheng’s shoulder gently. Suddenly, fragments of last night’s dream resurfaced. In the dream, Yu Cheng had told him slowly:

“When I was a child, our live-in nanny developed depression after her son died in an accident. She hid it to keep her job. I was about the same age as her son back then. One day, her illness flared up; consumed by grief, she grabbed me and jumped from the upper floor.”

“The villa wasn’t that high. She hit the ground head-first and died instantly. There was blood everywhere—a mess of red and white. I was lucky; I escaped with a few fractures and a stint in the hospital.”

So, Yu Cheng’s fear of heights was a shadow cast by his childhood.

Feeling the strength in the arms wrapped around him, Jian Li hugged him back even tighter. He leaned close to Yu Cheng’s ear and whispered, “Yu Cheng, it’s okay. We’re safe. I’m fine, and you’re fine.”

Yu Cheng looked up, his eyes so dark they couldn’t hold a single spark of light. Even though his face remained expressionless, Jian Li felt in that moment that he was the one Yu Cheng was leaning on.

Around them, the set was a chaos of screams and the thundering footsteps of staff rushing over, but Yu Cheng seemed to see only Jian Li. He pushed himself up slightly, gazing down at Jian Li as he slowly leaned in.

Then, their lips brushed.

“Congratulations, Host. Target Yu Cheng’s favorability +3.”