Flirted Then Forgot Everything - Chapter 3

Stunned, Jian Li took the tablet and stared at Yu Cheng’s Xunsheng homepage.

Yu Cheng’s following list was incredibly short, containing barely a dozen people; one quick swipe was all it took to see everyone. Now, the very last name on that list was Jian Li.

Yu Cheng’s behavior was an enigma. If the cold shoulder he’d received over the past year was because Yu Cheng loathed him, then what was that kiss on stage? Was it really just as Yu Cheng said—that he simply refused to take a loss?

Distracted by his thoughts, Jian Li hit the “Follow” button. His finger slipped, and the follow turned into a “Special Follow.”

“Yu Cheng favorability +1.”

The mechanical voice of the system, which had been playing dead, suddenly piped up, nearly making Jian Li jump out of his skin. He frantically tapped the screen to cancel the special follow, but in his haste, he accidentally unfollowed the man entirely.

“Yu Cheng favorability -1.”

The system chimed in again, offering a grim reminder:

“A warning to host Jian Li: If the conquest fails, you will die. If his favorability drops below passing, you will also die.”

Jian Li’s heart skipped a beat at the threat. He hurriedly re-followed Yu Cheng and tossed the tablet aside, tentatively asking in his mind:

“If I’m going to die either way, what’s the difference?”

The system’s voice remained devoid of emotion, but its words made the hair on Jian Li’s neck stand up:

“If the conquest fails, you die later. If favorability drops below passing, you die instantly.”

Jian Li: “…”

Thinking back to how Yu Cheng’s favorability had just flickered up and down, he realized with a shudder that he had just walked right along the edge of his own grave.

Wan Tao was busy fielding calls from the company. Jian Li stole a glance at him before pressing the system for more:

“What counts as a successful conquest?”

“Raising Yu Cheng’s favorability to 100. In other words, making Yu Cheng fall in love with you.”

Jian Li’s heart hammered. He caught a thread of something significant. “You said you were ‘re-launching’, does that mean you were around during that missing year of my life?”

“Obviously. If I hadn’t exhausted my energy to save you back then, I wouldn’t have stayed offline until today,” the system replied.

Jian Li bypassed the technicalities. His ears turned a bright shade of pink as a possibility occurred to him—one that felt insane and illogical, yet seemed to be the only explanation that fit.

“Did I try to conquer Yu Cheng before?”

“Why else would I be here?”

“Did I succeed?” Jian Li frowned, picturing Yu Cheng’s emotionless eyes. “Did I fall in love with him?”

The system went silent. Jian Li sat there in suspense for nearly a full minute before it finally spoke.

“The conquest was not successful.”

Jian Li’s breath hitched.

“As for whether or not you loved him, I don’t know. I am a Conquest System; I cannot peer into a host’s heart. However, I must remind you: as long as the conquest remains incomplete, the threat of death looms over you. If it’s not the last car accident that takes you, it will be the next one.”

Jian Li’s heart soared into his throat and crashed back down again. He tried to remember, but the missing year was a total blank; he couldn’t recall a single interaction between them. All he could remember were the sneers, the cold laughter, and the pointed indifference Yu Cheng had shown him over the past twelve months.

“Can you at least tell me what his favorability was back then?” Jian Li asked.

The system gave a cold refusal: “No. I can only reveal that once Yu Cheng’s current favorability exceeds his previous peak.”

Jian Li slumped in frustration. What was the point of knowing then? He subconsciously pressed his lips together, the sharp sting a constant reminder of where Yu Cheng had bitten him.

Wan Tao finally hung up and turned to face Jian Li. “Jian Li, I’m going to push back your next few events. You need to take a break for a while.”

Jian Li blinked, coming back to reality. “Wait, what?”

Wan Tao took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “We can’t solve this on our own. Since Yu Cheng followed you, his team likely has a PR strategy in mind. All we can do now is wait. As for the company, I’ll deal with them for you.”

“Wait?” Jian Li knew this mess was his fault. He was a top star, but he was signed to StarMaker, an agency overflowing with idols. He was the “it” boy today, but he could be a “nobody” tomorrow.

“This started with me, Tao-ge. We should face this together.” Jian Li didn’t want to hide. He stood up, looking a bit frail, but his voice was firm.

Wan Tao put his glasses back on but didn’t agree. “Jian Li, if you really consider me an older brother, then listen to me this time. Just wait.”

That man won’t just leave you to hang.

Wan Tao kept the last thought to himself as he walked out. He felt a headache coming on and a nagging doubt: Had he made a mistake a year ago?

Left alone in the spacious office—a symbol of his status that he and Wan Tao had fought so hard to earn—Jian Li collapsed back onto the sofa. A realization suddenly struck him.

If he had been trying to conquer Yu Cheng during that lost year, Wan Tao, as his manager, couldn’t have been completely in the dark. Yet since he woke up in the hospital, Wan Tao had never mentioned Yu Cheng. In fact, he had explicitly denied that they ever had a history.

Had he hidden everything from Wan Tao back then? Or had Wan Tao been lying to him all this time? And how did he and Yu Cheng lose touch? Yu Cheng didn’t seem to know anything about the accident or the memory loss.

“System, can’t I just tell Yu Cheng about the car crash and the amnesia?”

The system’s voice remained chilly: “No. You may only inform the target once your favorability score surpasses the previous record.”

“Why?”

“This is a second attempt. The difficulty has increased, and the rules are set. After all, reviving a host is no easy feat for the system.”

Jian Li sighed. This system was bizarre, but since his life depended on it, he had no choice but to follow the rules. He donned a hat and sunglasses, sneaking out through the company’s back exit to avoid the swarm of reporters waiting out front.

Wan Tao made good on his word. Jian Li, who usually didn’t have a spare moment to breathe, suddenly found himself with a massive gap in his schedule. It was disorienting.

He spent his time at home lounging on his bed, scrolling through Yu Cheng’s Xunsheng page. It was quiet. There was no response to the scandal; the most recent post was still a promotional ad from days ago. However, the fact that Yu Cheng followed Jian Li had not escaped the fans. The comments were a battlefield.

Jian Li flipped through them, nearly throwing his phone in a rage.

“Yu-da, if you’re being kidnapped, blink twice! Why on earth would you follow that ‘vase’ idol?”

“Is this some kind of forced marketing tie-in?”

“Are you blind? Our Yu-da has won Best Actor four years in a row. Does he need to ‘tie in’ with a washed-up idol for marketing?”

“Who are you calling washed-up? Our Li-zi is a top-tier star, okay?”

“Top-tier? Does he have a single decent work? Just those bubblegum pop songs? Don’t make me laugh.”

The further he read, the more his anger faded into a dull ache. They weren’t entirely wrong. He didn’t have a masterpiece. In his desk drawer, there was a thick stack of lyrics he had written—songs he had never published. Wan Tao preferred to play it safe, refusing to let Jian Li deviate from his established image. Countless idols tried to transition into “serious” artists every year, and most became laughingstocks, losing their fanbase in the process.

Jian Li exited the comments and refreshed the feed. While he was a mess of nerves, Yu Cheng seemed completely unaffected.

Thinking of his uncertain future and his precarious life, Jian Li opened Yu Cheng’s DMs. Maybe he should apologize? Try to save face?

But the moment the message screen opened, Jian Li froze. His face turned a deep, burning crimson, right down to his toes.

The chat window was already filled with messages from him.

Wan Tao had always managed his social media before, so Jian Li wasn’t familiar with the features. He hadn’t realized that every time he followed or unfollowed someone, it sent an automated notification to the other person.

The list of messages was impossible to ignore:

“I followed you.”

“I added you to my Special Follows.”

“I removed you from my Special Follows.”

“I unfollowed you.”

“I followed you.”

Each of these messages was marked with a checkmark and the word: Read.

Jian Li’s fingers trembled. Despite the air conditioning humming in the room, he felt as if he were trapped in the blistering heat of midsummer. He racked his brain, typing and deleting line after line, before finally settling on a single, simple sentence:

“Hello, Yu Cheng. This is Jian Li.”

The moment it sent, the “Read” status appeared instantly. Jian Li held his breath, waiting and waiting, but no reply came from Yu Cheng’s end. He buried his face in the duvet, his voice muffled and groaning.

“‘Hello’? Seriously? Of course, he knows you’re Jian Li!”

He gripped the blanket in sheer embarrassment, only looking up after a long while when a notification flickered on the screen.

“Yu Cheng has retracted a message.”

Jian L: ???

Yu Cheng replied? Why did he take it back? What did he say?

Jian Li hovered over his phone, typing a few characters and deleting them in a loop. He spent ages hesitating, unable to send another word. He didn’t know what to say—should he say he was sorry about today? “I’m sorry I kissed you”?

Or “I’m sorry I kissed you in front of so many people”?

Just as he typed out a line and was about to hit delete, his phone vibrated.

Startled, he dropped the phone onto the bed. He scrambled to pick it up and answer. It was Wan Tao, calling to remind him to stay inside and not wander out. He went on at length, fussing over every little detail.

By the time he hung up, Jian Li let out a long sigh before reopening Xunsheng. The app was still on the DM screen, showing the last message he had just sent:

“I’m sorry for kissing you in front of so many people.”

The “Read” icon next to it was agonizingly bright. Jian Li’s breath hitched. He fumbled to hit “Retract,” only to be met with a notification stating that the two-minute limit had passed.

He dropped the phone, his limbs feeling like jelly. He tried to comfort himself—it was already read anyway, so retracting it wouldn’t have made a difference.

The system suddenly let out a short, sharp “Haha.” Because the tone was so flat and mechanical, it sounded exceptionally mocking.

Jian Li wiped his face and asked coldly, “Are you laughing at me?”

The system replied immediately, “No. You misheard.”

Expressionless, Jian Li got up and walked into the bathroom. A moment later, a loud wail echoed from behind the door.

“Agh!”

Wan Tao had told Jian Li to wait, and he had been right to do so. He didn’t have to wait long.

At noon the following day, Yu Cheng’s official studio suddenly posted a message on Xunsheng:

“Yu Cheng Studio is currently preparing a dual-lead film and cordially invites Jian Li to star as one of the leads. @JianLi.”