Flirted Then Forgot Everything - Chapter 5

The order of the auditions was determined by drawing lots, and Jian Li’s turn was relatively late. Since he didn’t have many lines and had already memorized them, he took the opportunity to observe how the others performed.

While standing on stage waiting for the next actor, Yu Cheng suddenly glanced toward the corner where Jian Li was waiting.

Even in a corner, Jian Li was hard to ignore. His skin was incredibly pale—not in a sickly way, but with a lustrous quality like fine porcelain that made one want to reach out and touch it. His chestnut hair was slightly messy, and his light-colored eyes were clear and bright, softening a face that would otherwise be considered aggressively handsome.

It was rare for someone with such striking features to possess such a clean, innocent gaze, especially after three or four years in the entertainment industry. He still gave off the impression of being an outsider looking in. He looked too pure—the kind of purity that made people want to stain it with a drop of black ink.

His appearance was both a blessing and a curse for an actor. Used correctly, it was a powerful asset; however, if his skills didn’t match his looks, his face would become the primary target for critics and audiences alike. Much like his current status in the music industry, where he was labeled a “pretty face” with zero substance.

In an era of endless new idols, 22-year-old Jian Li was technically young, but in reality, he was at an age where one begins to feel the pressure of being replaced.

Jian Li leaned against the wall in a posture that looked relaxed but was actually tense. The moment Yu Cheng looked his way, he straightened up instantly—a purely instinctive reaction.

Yu Cheng is looking at me again.

Jian Li bit his lip. The bite wound had scabbed over, but it still made its presence felt. Yu Cheng’s gaze was the same as it had been at the awards ceremony: scrutinizing, as if evaluating him. Jian Li turned his head slightly to avoid the gaze, but halfway through the motion, he turned back and tilted his chin up to meet Yu Cheng’s eyes. He felt a surge of stubbornness; why should he be the one to look away first?

Yu Cheng remained calm, holding the eye contact until the first actor stepped onto the stage.

Jian Li couldn’t help but ask internally: “System, does Yu Cheng really have a 60-point favorability toward me? Sixty points shouldn’t make us enemies, right? The way he looks at me, it seems like he truly loathes me.”

The system didn’t respond. Jian Li asked again. “System?”

“It is 60 points. The system is incapable of assessment errors.”

Jian Li hadn’t expected a different answer, so he turned his attention to the auditions.

The first actor was a young man with little experience. He was green on stage, though he delivered his lines smoothly enough. Yu Cheng didn’t seem particularly engaged; he stood to the side with his arms crossed, delivering his lines only when necessary. Rather than acting with the candidates, he was merely acting as a human teleprompter.

Before the young man could finish more than a few lines, Yu Cheng called a halt. “Next.”

The actor stopped abruptly and trudged off stage, looking defeated.

The following auditions went much the same way. Not a single person was allowed to finish the scene. Even when a veteran actor took the stage, the situation didn’t change. Jian Li had hoped Yu Cheng would get serious with a seasoned professional, but Yu Cheng remained detached, and even the veteran actor didn’t seem to be trying.

Finally, it was Jian Li’s turn. He set down his script, took a deep breath, and walked onto the stage.

Director Yang Xu sat at the front of the stage, propping his chin on his hand. He gave Jian Li a small smile. “Don’t be nervous.”

Jian Li nodded and turned to face Yu Cheng. To his surprise, Yu Cheng—who had been standing casually for everyone else—straightened his posture, his expression turning serious.

Jian Li felt a flicker of confusion but didn’t dwell on it. He closed his eyes, took a moment to center himself, and began.

This was a scene of intense emotional conflict between two people, requiring high energy and a fair amount of physical pulling and shoving. Jian Li had assumed Yu Cheng would just read the lines, so he didn’t expect much movement.

He opened his eyes, trying to tap into the character’s anger.

“Don’t contact me anymore.”

Jian Li looked at Yu Cheng, his eyes gradually reddening as his emotions surged. He actually had a peculiar trait: whenever he argued with someone, his nose would tingle and he’d feel the urge to cry. This quirk happened to fit the scene perfectly.

Seeing Jian Li’s eyes go red, Yu Cheng’s brow furrowed. “Why?” he asked, stepping forward and grabbing Jian Li’s arm.

Jian Li was momentarily stunned. He realized Yu Cheng was actually acting with him, not just reciting lines. He didn’t have time to analyze why; he immediately followed the lead.

“Let go!” Jian Li swiped Yu Cheng’s hand away, following the script’s directions. “Because you’re terrifying!”

He shook his head slightly, backing away. “Your desire for control is overwhelming! You won’t even let me talk to my friends!”

As Jian Li retreated, Yu Cheng advanced. His pupils were dark and his gaze deep—looking into them felt like sinking into a marsh, making it hard to breathe.

“I’m terrifying? Just because I don’t want you talking to Jiang Han? Do you have any idea how much he’s using you?”

Jian Li ran out of stage space after a few steps. Yu Cheng kept closing the distance until they were nearly chest-to-chest. The proximity was so intense Jian Li almost forgot his next line. He looked up into Yu Cheng’s eyes, his composure wavering.

“What gives you the right to decide who is ‘using’ me? In your mind, is everyone who comes near me—except you—just taking advantage of me?”

Yu Cheng leaned in slightly, his forehead nearly touching Jian Li’s. He reached up and gently brushed Jian Li’s cheek.

Jian Li’s body trembled involuntarily. The contact was so focused that his attention strayed; the sensation on his cheek was magnified until he felt like every pore on his body was on high alert. Yu Cheng’s finger grazed his cheek before sliding down to his lip, his thumb grazing the scab of the bite wound.

Yu Cheng lowered his head slowly, his breath ghosting over Jian Li’s lips. The distance was so small that Jian Li momentarily forgot where he was or that there were people watching. He saw only Yu Cheng.

“I—I.” Jian Li’s lines faltered. He thought he’d blown it and expected Yu Cheng to kick him off stage like the others.

But Yu Cheng didn’t. He stayed in character. His voice became gentler, softer, as if they really were a pair of quarreling lovers and he was trying to coax his partner out of their anger.

“You, what? Speak slowly. There’s no rush.”

Jian Li knew that line wasn’t in the script. Yu Cheng retracted his hand from Jian Li’s lips and instead gently pinched Jian Li’s earlobe. The cool skin quickly warmed under Yu Cheng’s touch, turning a soft, beautiful pink.

Soothed by the gesture, Jian Li relaxed back into the role. He looked deep into Yu Cheng’s eyes and finally delivered the line.

“I’m afraid. Every moment we’ve been together, you’ve become more terrifying as if I’m just a doll in your hands, forced to follow your every whim.”

Yu Cheng didn’t reply. His fingers slid from Jian Li’s ear down to his neck. His thumb rested directly over Jian Li’s artery. The skin there was warm, the pulse steady—a constant reminder of a vibrant life. It felt as though, should he wish it, that life could end right there in his hands.

Jian Li stared into Yu Cheng’s eyes, feeling as though he truly had become the character. He shivered with fear, looking down and gripping Yu Cheng’s wrists to pull them away, even as his words remained sharp to provoke him.

“I don’t love you anymore. Your ‘care’ disgusts me, and your possessiveness suffocates me. Every second I spend with you makes me feel utterly sick!”

As the scene reached its climax, Jian Li looked up sharply to deliver the final line. But in that crucial moment, he froze again.

“I don’t—”

Yu Cheng had already released Jian Li and was standing before him, arms hanging at his sides. He kept his head slightly bowed, watching the younger man in silence.

Yet, a trace of madness flickered in his eyes—a look that suggested if Jian Li provoked him just once more, he would do something irreversible.

According to the script, Jian Li was supposed to deliver one final, crushing blow. But he found himself paralyzed; looking into Yu Cheng’s eyes, he couldn’t force the words out. Beneath that veneer of madness lay a profound fragility—the raw fear of being hurt and abandoned by the person he loved.

“I don’t—” Jian Li repeated the words several times, but the rest of the sentence remained trapped in his throat, despite having delivered the earlier lines so fluently.

Anxiety spiked within him. He began to slip out of character, and the faint sound of whispers from the audience reached his ears. Yu Cheng remained standing there, motionless. Had anyone else made such a glaring mistake, he would have called a halt long ago, yet now he seemed to have forgotten the world existed outside of the scene.

Jian Li lowered his head, breaking eye contact. Steeling his resolve, he grit his teeth and shouted the final line:

“I don’t love you anymore!”

Having delivered the blow, he kept his head down, not daring to look at Yu Cheng. He was terrified of seeing eyes filled with grief and agony. As the whispers below the stage faded once more, he felt himself drifting back into the emotional gravity of the role.

Then Yu Cheng spoke. The tenderness was gone, replaced by a chilling detachment.

“Cut.”

Jian Li finally looked up. Yu Cheng had returned to his usual self; the madness and pain had vanished without a trace. Letting out a long breath of relief, Jian Li turned and bowed to the audience.

“I’m sorry. I choked on my lines.”

“Choked? I thought you designed it that way on purpose,” Yang Xu said, his expression warm and full of praise. “Even though it deviated from the script, it was an excellent performance.”

Jian Li bowed again before stepping down from the stage. The moment his feet hit the floor, the system spoke:

“Congratulations, Host. Target Yu Cheng’s favorability +1.”

Surprised, Jian Li whipped his head back to look at Yu Cheng. The older man was already focusing on the next actor, paying Jian Li no mind.

“Why the sudden point?”

Jian Li replayed every second of the audition in his head, unable to fathom why Yu Cheng would suddenly feel more favorably toward him. He had no mental energy left to watch the remaining auditions. His ears remained a stubborn, burning red, and a soft pink flush lingered on his cheeks.

Fearing someone might notice his state, he turned to face the corner. He thought about his struggle to say “I don’t love you anymore” and the haunting look in Yu Cheng’s eyes. His heart began to sink.

“System, during that year I was trying to conquer Yu Cheng, I fell in love with him, didn’t I?”

The system gave its usual refrain: “I don’t know.”

Jian Li lowered his gaze and sighed.

His memories were gone, but the emotions remained.

He finally understood why he cared so much about Yu Cheng’s indifference, his cold smiles, and his sneers over the past year. The entertainment industry was a shark tank, and Jian Li was perfectly capable of handling malice from anyone else. But he couldn’t handle it from Yu Cheng.

Simply because he cared.

He cared so much it hurt.