Guess What? The Entire Entertainment Industry Thinks I’m Dead - Chapter 4

After posting this Weibo update, Lin Chenghuan refreshed the page a few seconds later and was met with thousands of comments already flooding in.

For the sake of her mental and physical well-being, she knew she shouldn’t personally dive into the comment section. Yet, ten minutes later, she couldn’t resist opening Weibo again. The comments had surged to nearly ten thousand, and the top remarks made her vision darken with frustration:

[Finally, this girl has stopped randomly latching onto trends, but now she’s using something like this for hype? I’m thoroughly impressed [smirk].]

[Knew it was something like this. Everyone, just move along.]

[What a well-rehearsed act! Weren’t you supposed to quit the entertainment industry? Still have enough money to buy marketing and trend on searches? Your flip-flopping game is strong.]

[Orange Sis is actually fine? The florist prepared a bunch of chrysanthemums for nothing.]

[Oh, so you carefully put on a ‘no-makeup’ makeup look? Planning to rebrand as the pure and innocent white rose now? [doge][doge]]

…And so it went. Among these were even more vicious, personal attacks that could make anyone with low tolerance feel suffocated.

Of course, many fans also spoke up in her defense, some saying they were glad she was okay, others advising her to drink less, and a few expressing concern, asking how she could have slept for two whole days and wondering if she might actually be suffering from depression.

After scrolling through the visible comments for a while, Lin Chenghuan tapped into the nested replies, where heated arguments had already erupted. Many fans countered with, “She hasn’t posted on Weibo in two years; this time, she was forced to explain because of the gossip accounts,” or “She’s already a victim of rumors,” while detractors continued to attack her from every angle.

Lin Chenghuan had developed a thick skin by now. She mentally distanced herself, treating the insults as if they were directed at someone else. Still, she felt deeply moved by the fans who stood up for her.

In the past, her agency had advised her not to engage too frequently with fan comments unless she was building a comedic persona, in order to maintain a certain distance. Now, free from the agency’s control, she couldn’t be bothered to follow that rule anymore.

So, Lin Chenghuan replied freely to whichever comments she felt like addressing. After expressing gratitude for her fans’ concern and earnestly assuring them of her physical and mental well-being, she suddenly felt that even the negative comments deserved a response.

She quickly returned to the main comment section, scrolled down, and picked a few at random to reply to:

[Haven’t bought any marketing, only spent money in games recently.]

[Wow, getting virtual white flowers in games is one thing, but now people want to send them in real life too? [tears].]

[Thanks, I’m pretty happy with my ‘no-makeup’ look today too.]

…

Just as she was enjoying her reply spree, a familiar profile picture and username caught her attention. Lu Zhiwei had commented a few minutes earlier, and her remark had been upvoted to prominence. Unlike others, her focus was different.

Lu Zhiwei: [What do you mean by “such a good thing”? Do you actually need to work on your mental state? I minored in psychological counseling and can offer in-home services.]

Reading her comment, Lin Chenghuan couldn’t help but laugh inwardly, thinking, Aren’t you already at my place? Though she mentally teased, she still earnestly clarified the misunderstanding.

[Wei-jie, you’ve got it wrong. It’s just an internet meme. There’s a saying going around lately: “Don’t keep fantasizing about your own death, there’s no such good thing.”]

Soon, Lu Zhiwei replied, [Oh, I see. Well, regardless, if you ever need psychological support, just let me know.]

Lin Chenghuan stared at the reply, then scanned the storm brewing in the comment section, when a sudden impulse struck her. Since things had come to this, she might as well throw caution to the wind and say exactly what she wanted.

[Alright, I’ll come downstairs to find you right now.]

After sending this message, Lin Chenghuan paid no further attention to the uproar she had stirred in the comments and actually headed downstairs to find Lu Zhiwei.

In the living room on the first floor, Lu Zhiwei had already turned on the TV, clearly entertaining herself after a satisfying meal. When Lin Chenghuan descended the stairs, Lu Zhiwei was sitting on the sofa, staring blankly at her phone. Hearing footsteps, she quickly looked up.

“Hey, psychological consultant,” Lin Chenghuan greeted with a warm, spring-like smile, though Lu Zhiwei seemed untouched by its warmth.

“This… wasn’t my intention. I didn’t mean to tell the public I’m at your place,” Lu Zhiwei forced a smile, looking somewhat guilty.

“I know, I was the one who brought it up,” Lin Chenghuan replied cheerfully, then added curiously, “Why are you explaining this to me? It’s not like I’d blame you.”

“Aren’t you the one who hates being paired with your boss or investors? Now… a lot of people are focusing on the two of us.”

“I’m not acting anymore, so why should I care? Whether they say I’m clinging to your coattails or being kept, let them talk,” Lin Chenghuan replied indifferently.

“Besides, I’m not entirely against publicity pairings. It’s just that back then… things were a bit chaotic.” With that, Lin Chenghuan walked over and sat down beside Lu Zhiwei on the sofa.

As Lin Chenghuan’s former boss, Lu Zhiwei had once showered the highly popular actress with attention, sparing no effort to promote her and provide resources. Of course, in the process, she had also exercised a fair amount of control over her.

For instance, she had accepted roles on Lin Chenghuan’s behalf that the actress had explicitly declined, forced her to engage in publicity pairings with an award-winning actress known for arbitrarily altering scripts, someone Lin Chenghuan couldn’t stand, and bombarded her with calls even during vacations.

Lin Chenghuan was a person of intense emotions, clear in her likes and dislikes, a temperament ill-suited for the entertainment industry. Over the years, however, she had managed to suppress her inner feelings, skillfully navigating her way among all sorts of people.

Still, when it came to the award-winning actress who recklessly changed scripts and threw her weight around, even defying the director, or the TV drama emperor who enjoyed verbally and physically abusing assistants, Lin Chenghuan maintained a cordial facade but inwardly preferred to keep her distance.

That said, as an employee of Xia Yao Entertainment, Lin Chenghuan owed her current status to Lu Zhiwei’s discerning eye, and for that, she remained grateful. It was only natural for Lu Zhiwei to treat her as a money-making tool, their relationship was mutually beneficial, and overall, their collaboration had been pleasant.

Ultimately, their conflicts had stemmed from Lin Chenghuan’s efforts to make her work more agreeable. As a top star, she had the leverage to negotiate with her boss, so why not make life a little easier?

In the end, her decision to resign and step back from the spotlight was due to her own weariness with the entertainment industry, not any major issue with Lu Zhiwei. After all, she was already wealthy, why endure being publicly vilified as a celebrity?

“Alright, as long as you don’t make frequent public appearances, these rumors will fade soon enough,” Lu Zhiwei smiled, seeming somewhat relieved.

Seeing her like this, Lin Chenghuan couldn’t help but feel that Lu Zhiwei was more cautious about her feelings now than before. Why had she become so careful all of a sudden?

“President Lu, what I said when I left that day wasn’t just politeness. I’ve always been grateful for your care over the years. Getting to experience the cutthroat entertainment industry has been quite interesting,” Lin Chenghuan said softly.

Back then, they had parted on good terms… or so she thought. Did Lu Zhiwei not see it that way? If that was the case, she needed to ease her concerns.

“Alright… I understand. Then from now on, we’re friends. You really don’t have to keep calling me President Lu, just use my name,” Lu Zhiwei said with a serious nod.

“This… I’m not used to it yet. Let’s talk about it another time,” Lin Chenghuan replied with an awkward smile.

“…”

Lu Zhiwei remained expressionless, and the two stared at each other in silence for a moment before Lin Chenghuan asked suspiciously, “Why are your eyes a little red?”

“Oh, I might just be a bit tired.”

“Then you should get some rest.”

“I’m too tired to sleep now. We’ll talk later. Besides, I want to see how far the online rumors about us will go,” Lu Zhiwei chuckled, giving Lin Chenghuan the same look she used to when she was her boss, the one that said, “Looks like I have to clean up your mess again.”

“Alright, thank you for your trouble, Sister Wei.” Lin Chenghuan responded with a bright smile, which caught Lu Zhiwei off guard. But she quickly averted her gaze and continued scrolling through her phone.

Lin Chenghuan leaned back on the sofa and opened WeChat to reply to the latest messages. Fang Yuan praised her for handling the situation well and reassured her not to worry about the negative comments, saying there were ways to turn the criticism around.

Lin Chenghuan knew Fang Yuan couldn’t resist involving the PR department in her affairs, so she didn’t try to dissuade her and simply replied, “Thank you, Sister Fang.” Shortly after, Fang Yuan sent another message: “Is Lu Zhiwei really at your place?”

Lin Chenghuan confirmed it, and Fang Yuan quickly replied: “It seems she cares about you a lot. But now, people online are starting to suspect you two are living together.”

Lin Chenghuan’s expression stiffened. Netizens really did take things too far. Although Lu Zhiwei had been indifferent to their rumors back when they were at Xia Yao, she wasn’t sure if the other woman still felt the same way now.

“The online rumors are getting out of hand. Sorry for dragging you into this,” Lin Chenghuan said to the person beside her.

“…It’s fine. I don’t care about these things,” Lu Zhiwei replied, turning to look at her with a complicated expression.

Lin Chenghuan smiled and lowered her head to reopen Weibo, scrolling through the comments under her post.

Under Lu Zhiwei’s comment, replies like “Fishing for the top star of Xia Yao” and “Why is President Lu so quiet?” were gradually being pushed down, replaced by discussions about the nature of their relationship.

[What’s going on? Are they rekindling their old flame?]

[What’s with this drama? The ‘Lin-Wei’ shippers were poisoned to death with arsenic two years ago, weren’t they?]

[I thought Sister Cheng and Xia Yao had a falling out? Hold on, let me ask my only connection in the entertainment industry [dog emoji].]

[Damn, are they living together?]

Lin Chenghuan couldn’t help but find these comments amusing. Netizens were quite adorable when they weren’t hurling insults.

“What have you been up to these past two years?” Lu Zhiwei, who was sitting beside her scrolling through her phone, suddenly asked.

“Playing games, traveling, eating, drinking, and having fun. Not having to endure the ‘prison sentence’ of filming in Hengdian has been quite enjoyable, my skin has even improved,” Lin Chenghuan replied while browsing Weibo.

“Mm, filming is indeed exhausting.”

“I actually really enjoy acting, but most production crews are always rushing to meet deadlines, often filming until eleven or twelve at night. Then we have to gather for makeup at seven the next morning. Getting only a few hours of sleep a day is just too much to handle.”

“The domestic film and television industry really needs some restructuring. If you decide to come back, you could join the productions invested by Xia Yao. Even if there are night scenes, they’ll wrap up by nine at the latest.”

“Really? Since when did Xia Yao become so considerate?” Lin Chenghuan turned in surprise, meeting Lu Zhiwei’s gentle, smiling eyes.

“Just doing what little I can to make a change.”

“That’s fantastic! taking the first step to curb the industry’s rat race.” Deeply moved, Lin Chenghuan patted Lu Zhiwei’s shoulder.