Guess What? The Entire Entertainment Industry Thinks I’m Dead - Chapter 6

Lin Chenghuan thought of all the past criticisms and then looked at her ethereal self on television, unable to hold back a sigh. Appearing in the public eye meant paying the price of being scrutinized and judged.

Perhaps one day, when her longing for acting surpassed the torment of rumors, she would return… But after such a long hiatus, if no suitable opportunity arose, it wouldn’t be so bad to remain idle.

Over the next five days, Lu Zhiwei indeed stayed at Lin Chenghuan’s home to rest. Lin Chenghuan drove her out for two meals, but the rest of the time, the two of them stayed indoors.

During this period, Lin Chenghuan received countless phone calls, making her seem even busier than Lu Zhiwei. After lying low for two years, her sudden appearance on the trending charts had rekindled frequent contact with friends in the industry, leaving her utterly exhausted from the conversations.

Online, although the talk of Lin Chenghuan deliberately seeking attention had died down, many still believed she would seize this opportunity to make a comeback. After all, back then, Lin Chenghuan had never explicitly promised to leave the industry for good. She had merely said, “Fine, I won’t be in your way anymore,” and then truly disappeared for two years.

However, some insisted it wasn’t that she didn’t want to return, but that she had offended someone and was blacklisted. That was why, for the past two years, she hadn’t landed any roles, appeared on variety shows, or secured any endorsements.

As a result, both sympathizers and those gloating over her situation emerged, reigniting the feud between her fans and detractors. Watching the escalating conflict, Lin Chenghuan couldn’t help but sigh in resignation, how could any topic spark such arguments?

Nevertheless, this situation made Lin Chenghuan feel even more apologetic toward her loyal fans. Perhaps it was time to step up and put the naysayers in their place, to stand up for her supporters.

While scrolling through Weibo, Lin Chenghuan’s changing expressions did not escape Lu Zhiwei’s notice. Smiling, Lu Zhiwei spoke up.

“Is there a part of you that wants to go back and star in a hit drama to shut the critics up?”

“Yes, Sister Wei, you understand me.”

“Recently, Spark Media has been preparing to film ‘Joy Before the Monarch.’ The cast hasn’t been finalized yet. If you’re thinking of returning, this could be a great opportunity,” Lu Zhiwei said earnestly.

“I’ve heard of it. The original work is a popular novel about life in the imperial harem. But Spark Media will surely prioritize their own artists first. I doubt any good roles would come my way,” Lin Chenghuan mused thoughtfully.

“However, the director is Qin Xiao. She has significant say in casting and takes her work very seriously. She’ll definitely seek out the right actors for the roles and won’t be swayed by Spark Media’s influence.”

“So, it’s Director Qin… Thank you for the information, President Lu.” After expressing her surprise, Lin Chenghuan thanked Lu Zhiwei. With so much speculation online, concrete news had yet to surface.

“Can you speak to me as a friend instead of constantly thanking me?” Lu Zhiwei sighed helplessly.

“But even if I treat you as a friend, I still need to express my gratitude for things like this,” Lin Chenghuan replied with an innocent expression.

“…”

Lu Zhiwei was left speechless, nearly choking on her frustration. Seeing her flustered expression, Lin Chenghuan finally couldn’t hold back her laughter.

“Since I’m no longer your employee, it’s different now. President Lu, you’ve been left speechless by me more and more often.”

“Yes, I really don’t know what to do with you,” Lu Zhiwei replied with a resigned smile, her gaze softening indescribably.

Lin Chenghuan was nearly dazzled by that smile, and she couldn’t shake the feeling, whether it was her imagination or not, that the other’s expression and tone carried an implication beyond mere friendship. The thought startled her. How could she entertain such a bizarre speculation about her former boss?

“Well… if there’s a suitable role, I might go for an audition,” Lin Chenghuan said, trying to sound as natural as possible.

“Mm. It just so happens that Xia Yao is planning to invest in or co-produce this drama. The filming process should be more relaxed, not as rushed.”

“That’s really great to hear.”

Hearing that the “Joy Before the Monarch” crew wouldn’t be overly busy instantly deepened Lin Chenghuan’s interest, and her face lit up with eagerness. Lu Zhiwei watched her with a smile but then sighed softly.

“You… if you make a comeback, you’ll probably sign with Fang Yuan’s agency, right?” Lu Zhiwei murmured.

“I haven’t thought that far yet. I don’t want to stay in Beijing long-term for now, the social scene in the capital is too demanding. So, I might just go solo for a while.”

“Xia Yao actually opened a branch in Nanjing,” Lu Zhiwei mentioned, then chuckled self-deprecatingly. “Part of me hopes you’ll come back, but another part is afraid that if you do, we’ll just remain in this superior-subordinate relationship, unable to change.”

“…” Lin Chenghuan was left speechless, frozen in place. His words were far too suggestive, almost crossing into ambiguous territory.

So, it wasn’t just her overthinking things earlier. No wonder he had looked so devastated when he discovered her suicide note… How had he changed so much in just two years apart?

“Since when did President Lu develop such strange thoughts?” Lin Chenghuan forced a smile, though her heartbeat quickened.

Lu Zhiwei was silent for a moment before replying, “It happened without me realizing.”

Lin Chenghuan’s mind was in turmoil, feeling as flustered as she had during her first time facing the camera. But she quickly forced herself to calm down. He hadn’t explicitly said anything, why should she let her imagination run wild over a single remark? If anyone should be troubled, it ought to be him!

So, Lin Chenghuan said lightly, “Let’s not worry about that for now. I don’t even know when I’ll make a comeback.”

Lu Zhiwei gave a noncommittal “oh,” and the two fell into silence again. Fortunately, there were snacks within reach and the TV was on, making it easy to distract themselves.

As she munched on potato chips, Lin Chenghuan suddenly felt she was being unusually considerate. Back home, she usually holed up in her room playing games. Now, to keep her guest company, she was spending all day in the living room, even enduring the melodramatic shows starring acquaintances.

Still, having someone around was rather fulfilling. She wondered when Lu Zhiwei, such a busy person, would wrap up this visit. His company wasn’t just about managing actors, it handled film production, music distribution, investments, and more.

With such a vast enterprise, all built through his own efforts, Lin Chenghuan’s family, though well-off, made her feel she should measure her acting career against Lu Zhiwei’s Xia Yao Entertainment. That’s why, when Lu Zhiwei once learned about her substantial family background, she had replied, “My little fortune is nothing compared to yours, Sister Wei.”

Nevertheless, Lin Chenghuan’s family circumstances meant she didn’t need to rely on the entertainment industry for a living. Her foray into acting was purely out of passion.

While her thoughts drifted, Lu Zhiwei suddenly spoke up again, making casual conversation. “Tao Chuyan actually has depression? And you accompanied her in writing suicide notes?”

“Yes, creative types tend to be sensitive and prone to depression… She’s gone abroad recently to clear her mind,” Lin Chenghuan replied.

“Her songs are quite good, she’s genuinely talented. But the ancient-style genre is quite niche, making it hard to gain widespread popularity.”

“Yeah.” Lin Chenghuan sighed with emotion, wondering how long it would take for her to break through the bottleneck.

“So, you two are actually this close.” Lu Zhiwei remarked casually.

“We’re alright. We only grew closer recently; we didn’t interact much before. These days, it’s rare to find fellow ‘patients’ who can drink together on the streets of London, sing wildly under the streetlights, and earn cheers from passersby.”

Lin Chenghuan felt a surge of joy, recalling the carefree moments from a year ago, and couldn’t help but smile. She didn’t notice the sharpness in Lu Zhiwei’s tone.

“So, you two ‘patients’ got together and wrote this kind of farewell letter?” Lu Zhiwei chuckled dryly, pulling a letter from her pocket and slapping it in front of Lin Chenghuan.

“…”

Lin Chenghuan picked up the letter and looked down at it. Her own handwritten suicide note had a literary flair brief, yet she was quite satisfied with it.

Farewell Letter

Sleep is a sample of death, and now I finally get to try on the full suit.

All arrangements for my assets are recorded in the official will. I’m off to that mysterious realm from which no one returns. Exploring another world sounds quite fascinating, so dear friends and family, please don’t grieve.

“What on earth were you thinking?!” Lu Zhiwei took a deep breath, a mix of helplessness and lingering fear in her voice.

“Well… there was a trending topic a while ago ‘What would you carve on your tombstone?’ not sure if you remember it. Yanyan and I saw it and thought it was interesting, so we ended up writing suicide notes.” Lin Chenghuan explained weakly.

“…” Lu Zhiwei was speechless, her countless thoughts dissolving into a prolonged silence.

“Isn’t it… quite philosophical?” Lin Chenghuan ventured cautiously.

Lu Zhiwei remained silent for a moment longer before replying lightly, “You, art students are truly something else. I admit defeat.”

“Ahaha, yes, yes. The whole reason I applied to art school back then was to go a little crazy.” Lin Chenghuan flashed an innocent, harmless smile.

“You have absolutely no thoughts of suicide, right?” Lu Zhiwei pressed further.

“Absolutely not. How could I?”

Lin Chenghuan wanted to swear to the heavens but couldn’t come up with an oath on the spot. Worried that a poorly chosen vow might upset Lu Zhiwei even more, she decided to stop there.

“Good.” Lu Zhiwei nodded, her expression softening as she took the farewell letter from Lin Chenghuan’s hand.

“Can I keep this as a memento?” Lu Zhiwei asked with a warm smile that felt like a gentle spring breeze.

“Why would you want to keep it? You should just throw it away.” Lin Chenghuan was taken aback. Was she planning to use it as leverage, reminding her whenever necessary, that she had once scared Sister Wei out of her wits?

Still, Lin Chenghuan did feel deeply guilty about it. If Lu Zhiwei wanted to hold it over her, fine, but wouldn’t keeping such a thing around just remind her of the shadow of today?

“This is a work of art. It’d be a shame to throw it away.” Lu Zhiwei smiled gently.

“…Alright, you can keep it then.”

Lin Chenghuan watched as Lu Zhiwei carefully tucked away the “suicide note” with satisfaction, then turned back to the TV. But her mind was in chaos, as if a hundred penguins were dancing wildly inside. Lu Zhiwei… was acting very differently from usual. So when would she give a clear answer?

After spending a harmonious yet peculiar evening with her former boss, the two went their separate ways to rest. In the following days, the same atmosphere lingered between them, and Lin Chenghuan, having grown accustomed to it, found herself enjoying it.

A week later, Lu Zhiwei, the top star of Xia Yao, was finally set to leave. Her assistant arrived on the last day, ready to drive her away, so Lin Chenghuan only needed to see her off at the doorstep.

“Keep in touch. I don’t want to suddenly hear outrageous rumors about you again and not be able to reach you,” Lu Zhiwei said as they parted.

“Sure, let’s keep in touch,” Lin Chenghuan replied with a bright smile, watching alongside Li Xiaoyi as Lu Zhiwei got into the car and drove away.