Forced to Play the Scumbag on a Dating Reality Show - Chapter 1

3:00 PM.

Qi Xiao sat in the company meeting room, scrolling through Weibo.

With his heavy course load this semester, he hadn’t been active on social media for a while. Now that summer break had officially started, he posted a photo of himself at the school gates with his suitcase. The caption: “Finally on vacation!”

The comment section was immediately flooded with the usual fan adoration:

“Waaaah, our baby is so cute again today! [Tears]”

“Ahhh, precious baby! Mommy loves you!”

“Finally, a post! It’s like Lunar New Year has come early! [Heart eyes]”

Of course, the “antis” were there too, dripping with sarcasm:

“I guess fans can only praise his face, huh? [Hehe]”

“This is it? This is what’s trending? [Confused] I don’t get why this is news.”

“Does this guy actually have any works? [Question mark x2]”

Qi Xiao skimmed the IDs of those mocking him. Many were familiar—they had been on the front lines of the ridicule since his debut last year. They’re surprisingly loyal, Qi Xiao thought.

Soon, the meeting room door clicked open. Two people walked out.

Qi Xiao looked up. The man in front was Yan Liangpeng, a fellow artist at the same company. He looked miserable. When he saw Qi Xiao, his face darkened even further, and he shot him a venomous glare.

Qi Xiao blinked, confused, but politely greeted him anyway: “Hello, Brother Yan.”

The man let out a cold snort and brushed past him without a word.

The middle-aged man following behind was much more pleasant. “Hello, Xiao-Xiao,” he said with a forced smile. “President Qin wants you both inside.”

Qi Xiao’s manager, Su Mei, patted his shoulder. “Let’s go.”

Inside the meeting room, President Qin sat at the head of the table, looking frustrated—likely from a tense conversation with Yan Liangpeng.

When he saw Qi Xiao, he managed a grandfatherly smile. “Xiao-Xiao, come in, sit. I’ve called you here because the company has booked you for a dating reality show. The script is on the table; take a look.”

Qi Xiao looked down. The title on the cover read: “Sweet Trap.”

Before he could process it, Su Mei gasped. “A dating show?”

“President Qin, I don’t think Xiao-Xiao is suited for this yet. He’s only just debuted—”

President Qin frowned and cut her off. “It’s not up to you. Can he act? No. He might as well go on a variety show and sell a ‘persona.’ Many people would kill for this spot. He’s lucky it fell into his lap.”

Su Mei finally understood. She had wondered why Qi Xiao and Yan Liangpeng were called in together. Last week, news broke that Yan Liangpeng was living with his girlfriend. He was likely the original guest, but with the show about to film, the company faced a massive breach-of-contract fee. Qi Xiao was the only other “trending” artist available to fill the slot.

Given Qi Xiao’s “infamous” reputation, he might actually generate more buzz than Yan Liangpeng ever could. That was likely why the production team agreed to the swap.

While Sweet Trap was a hit, every season was a battlefield of online drama. Especially given the specific twist of the show.

“But what about the fans?” Su Mei asked, worried.

“That’s your problem,” President Qin snapped. He then turned to the silent Qi Xiao, softening his tone. “Xiao-Xiao, what do you think?”

He didn’t want a resentful artist—obedient cash cows were hard to find these days.

Qi Xiao, suddenly put on the spot, thought seriously for a moment. “My brother doesn’t let me date.”

President Qin almost laughed. What a child. What kind of reason is that?

“This is the entertainment industry,” Qin explained patiently. “Who actually dates on these shows? Sweet Trap has had four seasons and not a single real-life couple has come out of it. Do you understand?”

Qi Xiao nodded pensively.

Seeing his hesitation, President Qin played his trump card. He pulled a contract from his drawer and pushed it toward Qi Xiao. “Xiao-Xiao, aren’t you always short on cash? This appearance fee is quite high. I thought of you first because I wanted to look out for you.”

At the mention of money, Qi Xiao’s eyes lit up. He looked at the figure and was immediately disappointed.

It was less than he expected. Life is hard, Xiao-Xiao sighed internally.

Still, something was better than nothing. Compared to his previous tiny paychecks, this was a “fortune.” Wealth is built one brick at a time, he told himself.

He balled his fist with renewed determination. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

Once they were in the car, Su Mei started lecturing him. “You agreed so quickly! Do you even know what kind of show this is?”

Qi Xiao flipped through the script, his voice cheerful. “A dating show!”

“A guest last season was bullied into quitting the internet for a month,” Su Mei warned. “With your ‘hate-magnet’ constitution, the netizens will tear you apart.”

Qi Xiao’s voice went up an octave in excitement. “That’s great!”

To be honest, he struggled with his internet addiction. He was at an age where he should be studying, not getting distracted by the flashy online world. If he got “canceled” like Su Mei said, he could finally focus on his schoolwork!

Su Mei was speechless. Was he stupid or just incredibly naive?

“Sister Su,” Qi Xiao comforted her, “President Qin didn’t really give us a choice. Why fight him?”

“True, but you have to stand your ground, or he’ll treat you like a doormat and dump all the trash jobs on you.”

Qi Xiao shook his head. “It’s fine. If he bullies me, I’ll just—”

He stopped mid-sentence, catching a strange line in the script. He read it aloud: “Please ensure you hide your identity as the ‘Liar’ at all times.”

“Sister Su, what does ‘Liar’ mean here? Like a con artist?”

Su Mei froze. She snatched the script, read it, and felt her vision go dark. She immediately started googling: “How to manage a PR crisis after an artist is hated by the entire internet.”

Meanwhile, Qi Xiao finished reading the rules.

Unlike typical dating shows, Sweet Trap involved social deduction. There were eight guests—four men and four women. At least one person of each gender was a “Liar”—a “scumbag” who had no intention of actually dating.

This added tension: you never knew if your crush was playing you. For the audience, it was half-romance, half-detective work.

Qi Xiao’s assigned role: The Liar.

He rested his chin on his hand, lost in thought. Success meant:

1. Hiding his identity.

2. Not being voted out by the audience.

3. Receiving at least one confession.

He didn’t care about being eliminated, but if he was kicked out halfway, his appearance fee would be halved.

I have to play the ‘scumbag’ perfectly, he realized.

He opened Weibo and searched: “Qi Xiao Acting.”

The results:

• #WhyIsQiXiaosActingSoTrash#

• #IsQiXiaoSeriousWithThisActing#

• #AfterWatchingQiXiaoMyDogGoogledHowToBecomeAnActor#

• #QiXiao:ThePioneerOfBlindActing#

Qi Xiao felt a wave of sorrow. He posted a “Crying Cat” meme to his private friend circle: “Is there a way to make a company go bankrupt quickly?”

Suddenly, his phone vibrated. He thought someone had replied, but it was a text message:

His final bank card had been frozen.

The Next Morning.

Qi Xiao sat at his desk. To his left: a thick notebook. To his right: a row of colored pens. On the corner: a glass of walnut milk.

Ready, he opened his tablet and typed into the search bar: “How to be a scumbag.”

A moment later, he stared at the screen in frustration. The results were useless—just messy ads and people trying to sell “Pick-Up Artist” courses.

He scrolled a bit more and had an epiphany. He didn’t need to be a scumbag; he just needed to play one. He cleared the search bar and typed: “Classic scumbag characters in film to learn from.”

He hit search. A clickbait headline caught his eye:

“Top Classic On-Screen Scumbags: How many do you know? The last one is a textbook masterpiece!”

The word “textbook” immediately snapped Qi Xiao to attention.

After clicking into the article, he scrolled past the fluff until he reached the very last entry on the list:

Ke Wentang (Played by Lu Xingliang).

“Despite being a complete and utter scumbag, he left countless women pining for him for the rest of their lives.” Reading this, Qi Xiao’s eyes widened slightly. “Is he really that good?”

He scrolled further and found a GIF from the show.

It was a drama set in the Republican Era. The scene took place at a high-society banquet amidst a sea of luxury and glamour. A man leaned back lazily in his seat. Noticing someone watching him, he lifted his gaze and gave a careless, nonchalant smirk. He had an aggressive handsomeness—high brow bones, narrow eyes, and a sharp curve to his lips. Yet, when he looked up, there was an inherent, soulful charm in his eyes, a romantic decadence that could make anyone drown in his gaze without a second thought.

Whoa. Now that is a world-class scumbag face.

Qi Xiao nodded in satisfaction. He’s the one!

Meanwhile, on an anonymous forum, a new thread appeared:

[LEAK] A certain idol is about to join a variety show with a certain Film Emperor. The Film Emperor has always despised that “pretty-boy” idol for having zero acting skills. This is going to be a total train wreck. I can’t wait.