Flirted Then Forgot Everything - Chapter 8

“You—you’re talking nonsense!”

Jian Li wiped his tears away with the back of his hand, rubbing so hard his skin turned an even deeper shade of red, though he didn’t care.

Yu Cheng’s hand rose slightly as if to reach out, but he dropped it just as quickly. His brow furrowed, and the emotion in his phoenix-like eyes began to cool back into ice. He turned away, clearly finished with the confrontation.

“Jian Li, leave now that the audition is over. I don’t want to see you right now.”

Jian Li wiped the last of the tear tracks from his face. Watching Yu Cheng’s back as the man regained his usual cold indifference, he turned to walk away. This was the Yu Cheng he was familiar with—the one who had treated him with nothing but frigid disdain for the past year.

But after only two steps, Jian Li doubled back. He reached out and cautiously pinched a corner of Yu Cheng’s sleeve, looking up and whispering, “Wait, back on Xunsheng, what did you retract?”

Because his voice was so small, Yu Cheng acted as if he hadn’t heard. He tilted his head slightly but remained silent.

Jian Li raised his voice and asked again, “On Xunsheng! What was the message you deleted?”

Yu Cheng still didn’t speak. He simply reached down, pried Jian Li’s fingers off his sleeve, gave him one final look, and walked away with long, steady strides.

Left standing there alone, Jian Li watched Yu Cheng’s figure vanish around the corner. Furious, he threw a flurry of shadow-punches and kicks at the empty air, cursing under his breath.

“You absolute bastard! Ice-face! Who do you think you are, some kind of ‘noble-goth’ royalty?”

Now that Yu Cheng was gone, Jian Li’s tears had dried up and his eloquence had returned. He smacked his own forehead, frustrated that his intimidation factor had crumbled the moment the actual argument started.

Jian Li headed downstairs to leave the studio. Just as he reached the exit, a middle-aged man walked toward him. The man seemed to recognize him and paused in surprise.

“You’re here? What a coincidence.”

Jian Li blinked, looking around to make sure the man was actually talking to him. The man smiled warmly and added, “Jian Li, it’s been a long time.”

Since the man clearly knew him, Jian Li had no choice but to stop. The man seemed aware of the rumors regarding Yu Cheng’s dislike for Jian Li, as he looked genuinely surprised to see him there.

“Jian Li, what brings you to the studio?”

“I was here for an audition,” Jian Li replied.

“An audition?” The man’s eyes widened, but realization dawned quickly. “Right, right! I heard the news—you two are starring in a movie together.” His tone turned slightly meaningful. “You’ve certainly caused quite a stir this time.”

Jian Li gave an awkward smile, looking for an excuse to leave, but the man shifted the topic. “It’s been over a year since we last met. We should grab dinner sometime.”

Now it was Jian Li’s turn to be shocked. “The year before last?”

The man chuckled. “You’re a busy man; it’s no wonder you don’t remember me. I’m Zheng Hongling, the director of What Your Voice Tells Me. Two years ago, we discussed you joining the show. But right before the contract was signed, your manager called to say you had a scheduling conflict and couldn’t make it.”

After a few more polite exchanges, they parted ways. Jian Li walked out of the studio and saw Wan Tao waiting in the van nearby. As he walked toward the vehicle, his mind was spinning with questions.

What Your Voice Tells Me was a prestigious competitive singing show. The contestants included both professional singers and actors crossing over into music. Usually, the final few contestants saw a massive surge in popularity and commercial value. However, it was also a “reality” show—full of drama and public feuds. More importantly, the singing was live with no lip-syncing, which ruthlessly exposed an artist’s true ability.

Unless you had genuine talent, you didn’t dare set foot on that stage. One mistake could ruin a career.

Jian Li didn’t remember anything from two years ago, but he knew one thing: with Wan Tao’s cautious personality, he would never have let Jian Li participate in a high-stakes competition like that. So why was he scheduled to go back then?

According to Director Zheng, it sounded like Jian Li had negotiated the deal himself, only for Wan Tao to step in at the last second and pull the plug.

Jian Li paused at the door, then climbed in and looked directly at Wan Tao. Noticing Jian Li’s grim expression, Wan Tao asked, “What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

Jian Li locked eyes with Wan Tao in the rearview mirror. Wan Tao was his cousin; in this industry, he was the only one who knew how hard Jian Li had struggled to survive as a child. He was the only person who had ever truly helped him, and because of that, Jian Li trusted him implicitly.

But lately, that trust was fraying.

“Tao-ge, I just ran into Zheng Hongling.”

Wan Tao’s expression didn’t flicker. “Is that so? What was he doing at Yu Cheng’s studio? I doubt Yu Cheng would ever join a singing variety show.”

“You clearly know who he is,” Jian Li said, his gaze fixed on the mirror.

Wan Tao’s fingers drummed against the steering wheel—a sign of irritability—though his voice remained calm. “His show has been a hit for years; of course I know him.”

Seeing Wan Tao being evasive and deliberately ignoring the part about the canceled contract, Jian Li felt a pang of disappointment. “He said I was supposed to be on his show two years ago. He said you canceled it right before we signed.”

“Jian Li, are you suggesting I’m lying to you?” Wan Tao’s tone finally turned cold.

“Aren’t you?” Jian Li looked him in the eye through the mirror. “Tao-ge, we’ve worked together for years. I don’t want you keeping things from me.”

Wan Tao went silent, his breathing heavy. The air in the van turned thick and stifling. It wasn’t until they reached Jian Li’s home and the car stopped that Wan Tao finally spoke.

“Jian Li, you had a car accident. I had to pull you out of that show. Besides, on a program like that, a single mistake is magnified a thousand times. Your fans don’t want to see your ‘image’ crumble. They would be disappointed.”

Jian Li gripped the door handle. He had already pushed the door open, but now he slammed it shut again. He turned, his voice rising in anger for the first time.

“My ‘image’ crumbling? I didn’t even know I had an image! And disappointing my fans? Am I not disappointing them enough right now? A ‘pretty vase’ with no substance? I’m in my fourth year since debut and I’m still singing mindless pop songs!”

Wan Tao’s voice rose to match his, his anger finally boiling over. “What do you mean ‘no substance’? You have traffic! Do you have any idea how many artists would kill for your numbers? What more do you want? Do you have a death wish? Do you have to take these risks? Jian Li, have you ever considered that one wrong step could cost you everything you have now? Do you really want to go back to the life you had as a kid?”

Jian Li lowered his head, his heart sinking. “Tao-ge, we agreed once. You were going to be the best manager, and I was going to be the best singer. When did we lose our way?”

Wan Tao took a deep breath, forcing himself to soften his tone. “We haven’t lost our way. You are the best singer, and I am the best manager. We’ve already achieved it, haven’t we?”

Jian Li’s lips twisted into a bitter, joyless smile. “The best? You mean the best money-making tool, right?”

“Jian Li—”

Wan Tao tried to continue, but Jian Li was done listening. He threw open the door and walked away without looking back. Watching him go, Wan Tao slammed his fist against the steering wheel.

“Yu Cheng.”

He knew it. The moment Jian Li got involved with Yu Cheng, everything fell apart. It was true a year ago, and it was true now.

After the falling out with Wan Tao, the two stopped communicating. Since Jian Li’s activities were all on hiatus, Wan Tao had no professional reason to call him.

Following the audition, Jian Li received the script from Yang Xu. With nothing but time on his hands, he threw himself into studying it.

The movie was titled Imprison Your Love. Initially, Jian Li thought it was a typical “cat-and-mouse” romance, especially since his audition piece focused on themes of control and escape. But after reading the full script, he realized he was wrong.

The story was actually a battle of wits between two deeply manipulative individuals. Jian Li’s character, Li Xiaoli, was someone who grew up in a fractured environment—calculating, profound, and starved for affection. At eighteen, he meets the twenty-eight-year-old Gao Mochen, a man whose desire for control and possession is borderline pathological.

Neither of them is “normal.” While Li Xiaoli appears to be terrified of Gao Mochen’s suffocating possessiveness and is constantly “fleeing,” he is actually testing Gao Mochen at every turn. He pushes Gao Mochen’s boundaries step by step, watching him go mad with jealousy and lose control, until finally, Gao Mochen locks him away on a private island where he can see no one else.

This was Li Xiaoli’s goal all along. He did it on purpose.

The ending of Imprison Your Love is a happy one, in its own twisted way. Both characters get exactly what they want. The insecure, affection-starved Li Xiaoli is “trapped” on the island, seemingly losing his freedom, but in reality, he lives a life of leisure. He doesn’t have to face reality or work; he only has to immerse himself day and night in Gao Mochen’s obsessive love. And when Gao Mochen is away? With modern technology, he has enough video games to ensure he’s never bored.

As for Gao Mochen, he achieves a partner who belongs to him 100%. His pathological need for possession is satisfied.

It was a morbid, dark romance—a story steeped in the absurd—but after Jian Li finished reading, he found himself thinking it was actually quite sweet.

The psychological tug-of-war between these two characters was laced with sweetness at every turn, which naturally meant the film featured a significant number of kissing scenes.

But it wasn’t just kisses; the script was packed with moments of ambiguous tension and frequent intimate interactions in the bedroom.

Jian Li spent an entire day finishing the script. He was still deeply immersed in the plot when Zhou Qingbai called. It was as if the manager had timed it perfectly—reaching out just as Jian Li would have finished the final page—to schedule the time and location for the first table read.

This time, they weren’t meeting at Yu Cheng’s studio, but at Yang Xu’s office.

Jian Li went to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. Tracing the faint, lingering mark on his neck, he sighed and rummaged through his wardrobe for a turtleneck. Even though it was the height of summer and wearing a high collar was near-torture, he felt he had no other choice.

Upon arriving at the venue, Jian Li met the other cast members, including the two veteran actors from the audition. They greeted him with warm smiles, and Jian Li immediately went over to pay his respects.

He scanned the room and noticed Yu Cheng hadn’t arrived yet, so he sat down and opened his script. The pages were a riot of color, covered in his handwritten notes and highlighted sections. One of the veteran actors glanced at Jian Li’s script and nodded in approval, but then his expression shifted as he let out a long, meaningful, “Oh.”

Confused, Jian Li looked up to see Yu Cheng walking into the room.

Beyond his powerhouse acting, Yu Cheng’s looks were a massive part of his appeal. While Jian Li’s appearance was “pretty” and soft—despite his best efforts to look like a cool, domineering rebel—Yu Cheng possessed a classic, masculine handsomeness. His phoenix-like eyes seemed simultaneously affectionate and heartless, and he radiated the aura of a refined nobleman. Combined with his usually meticulous style of dress, he carried a heavy sense of stoic asceticism.

It was exactly this restrained, “forbidden” vibe that drove his fans wild.

However, the typically buttoned-up Film King was wearing a loose-fitting shirt today. The wide neckline left his elegant collarbones fully exposed—and along with them, the bite mark Jian Li had left, displayed for all the world to see.

Compared to the mark Yu Cheng had left on him, Jian Li’s bite had been much more vicious; he had actually drawn blood at the time, and the mark remained stark and clear even today.

With the bite mark still prominent on his neck, Yu Cheng sat down right next to Jian Li amidst a sea of astonished stares. He spread his script open and said coolly, “We can begin.”

Jian Li stared at Yu Cheng’s profile, then stole a glance at the bite mark on the man’s neck before abruptly turning away and burying his face in his hands.

The moment he saw Yu Cheng, the words “dog-waist” flashed unbidden across his mind. Good God, what exactly did I do with this man during that missing year?

Save me! Someone get this man and his overwhelming pheromones away from me!

Who is supposed to be conquering whom here?