Never Forget - Chapter 1

June weather could change in an instant. The stifling heat of the day gave way to a fierce evening wind as heavy, dark clouds threatened to collapse from the sky.

Ye Zhuyi moved a few steps, taking cover under a carport near the nanny van. As she brought the lighter to her lips, her hand froze mid-air.

A feminine voice, laced with a coquettish drawl, drifted through the wind.

“So, is it true? Back when Qin Shen cross-dressed for Cold Night and played your love interest, the media said you two actually got together in real life. Is that true?”

“Oh, keep your voice down!”

The voices were familiar; Ye Zhuyi had heard them constantly throughout filming. Based on the conversation, she could easily identify the speakers.

One was Sui Xuan, the top-tier starlet and lead actress of the drama Ye Zhuyi had just wrapped. She was the only one in the cast to have worked with Qin Zhizhen. The other sounded like the minor internet celebrity cast as the third female lead. Ye Zhuyi couldn’t recall her name, only that the girl had secured her role with financial backing and had far more screen time than Ye Zhuyi, despite being the second female lead.

Ye Zhuyi frowned, stuffing the lighter into her jeans pocket with one hand and crushing the cigarette she’d been holding in the other.

The spot was secluded. The two women hadn’t noticed her and, assuming they were alone, resumed their conversation.

“Is it true?” the young influencer pressed. “Did you two really date?”

“Not exactly,” Sui Xuan replied, her tone smug but her voice dropping to a near whisper. “You know I’m at a critical point in my career right now. I have to consider a lot of things.”

Ye Zhuyi lowered her head, staring at the white surface of her shoes. Her long hair fell naturally over her shoulders as she crushed the cigarette in her palm until it went limp.

“But it’s Qin Zhizhen! The one and only Qin Shen!” the young influencer exclaimed, incredulous. “Even without mentioning how beautiful, fierce, and wealthy she is, do you know how many people are desperate to get into the Qin Family?”

“Heh, you have no idea. Qin Zhizhen’s—”

The sound of heavy, hurried footsteps on the pavement cut her off. Summer rain always arrived with a vengeance, turning from a drizzle to a downpour in an instant. The only sound left was the roar of the rain.

After a long moment, Ye Zhuyi exhaled softly and opened her hand. Her nails, grown long for a role, were shaped into elegant almonds. Her fingers were slender and fair, and in her white palm lay the crumpled cigarette.

A hand reached out and took the cigarette from her.

“Smoking again? How many times have I told you to quit?”

A slightly sharp female voice exploded by her ear. Ye Zhuyi stared at the hand suspended in mid-air, then raised her own to rub her ear. “I didn’t smoke it,” she said flatly.

She glanced at her manager, Ke Shu, who had rushed back from out of town specifically for her wrap party. Despite her exquisite makeup, Ke Shu couldn’t hide the exhaustion on her face.

After her girl group disbanded, Ye Zhuyi had transitioned into the film and television industry. Xingyao Entertainment had assigned her to Ke Shu, who managed three artists. Ye Zhuyi wasn’t the most popular of the three, but Ke Shu treated her no less favorably than the star of the group.

“I was about to smoke it, but then I remembered your reminder, Sister Ke, so I didn’t,” Ye Zhuyi added, her gaze dropping.

The cigarette was crumpled beyond recognition, but it was clear it had never been lit. Ke Shu sighed and tossed the mangled cigarette into a nearby trash can. Her voice softened. “I’m only doing this for your own good.”

“I know,” Ye Zhuyi replied with a gentle smile. “Thank you, Sister Ke.”

Ke Shu turned back to look at Ye Zhuyi, who stood tall and graceful beneath the studio lights.

Her chestnut-brown hair cascaded to her chest, curling slightly at the ends. Even without makeup, her skin was as pale as cold jade. Her eyes, shaped like willow leaves, swept upward at the corners. Her nose was high and straight, and her lips, naturally red and full, were perfectly defined. Her features were as if sculpted from stone—sharp, vivid, and three-dimensional.

With such a stunning appearance, she was a living, breathing enchantress. Yet Ye Zhuyi’s aura leaned toward the cool and detached. When she was silent, she exuded an air of aloofness; but when she smiled, shallow dimples appeared in her cheeks, softening her cold demeanor and making her seem pure and gentle. Just two years ago, when she was still in the girl group, her stage performances were brimming with power and dominance.

It was as if all these contradictory traits merged within her with seamless harmony.

Ye Zhuyi had debuted through a talent show. This unique contrast had earned her a massive following during the competition, mostly female fans who spent lavishly to propel the then-unsigned and unbacked Ye Zhuyi into the top three.

At the end of the show, the top three spots were filled by four contestants, who formed the girl group Astar. The show was a massive hit at the time, and Astar rode its popularity to immediate fame. However, as more domestic idol shows emerged and boy and girl groups proliferated, the hype gradually faded. Last year, when the group’s contract expired, all four members chose not to renew it, disbanding to pursue individual careers.

Ye Zhuyi had amassed significant popularity in Astar. After leaving the group to enter the film and television industry, she climbed to the third tier of stardom within just one year. While she wasn’t the most popular or the most obedient of Ke Shu’s clients, she was the youngest, the most hardworking, and, most importantly, the most naturally gifted actress.

Most idols who transition to acting share a common flaw: their performances are awkward due to a lack of experience. Ye Zhuyi, however, was an exception. Despite being a newcomer with no prior acting experience, her first role earned her a Best Supporting Actress nomination, a remarkable feat.

Talent is an elusive gift, not something everyone possesses. If not for this, Ke Shu might have given up on her long ago.

In her nearly seven years in the industry, Ke Shu had managed many artists, but she had never encountered anyone as enigmatic as Ye Zhuyi.

If you said she lacked ambition, how could you explain her relentless hard work? She never complained, no matter how exhausting the demands.

Once, Ke Shu had asked Ye Zhuyi about her dreams.

Without a moment’s hesitation, the young woman replied, “I want to be a Film Empress.” At the time, Ke Shu was thrilled, envisioning that Ye Zhuyi could be her ticket to becoming a Gold Medal Manager. With Ye Zhuyi’s looks and talent, all she needed was dedication and a bit of luck to achieve that goal.

Yet, if you said she was ambitious, her behavior contradicted it. She seemed utterly detached, even stubborn. She refused to stir up scandals for publicity, never flattered anyone to get ahead, and remained unbothered when other actors stole her scenes.

In this day and age, without the backing of powerful capitalists or the boost of viral fame, trying to carve out a place in the industry through sheer talent alone… Who knew how long it would take to finally see a breakthrough?

At the thought of this, Ke Shu’s heart grew heavy with frustration, and her tone immediately dropped several degrees. “Get in the car.”

Ye Zhuyi’s eyebrows arched slightly as she nodded.

Taking advantage of the moment Xiao Qiao, the assistant, was pulling open the car door and they were standing close, Ye Zhuyi whispered, “Why is Sister Ke in a bad mood?”

Xiao Qiao, who had gone to pick up Ke Shu, likely knew the reason.

“The argument over the scenes was fruitless,” Xiao Qiao said, as concise and direct as ever.

Xiao Qiao was two years older than Ye Zhuyi, a tall, thin girl with a somewhat androgynous look. But when she spoke, her voice was a high-pitched, child-like tone. In the past, she had been repeatedly attacked by other female celebrities for her voice, which had made her less inclined to speak.

Almost all the scenes originally meant for the second female lead, Ye Zhuyi, had been snatched by an internet celebrity who had brought her own funding to the production. Ke Shu, unable to accept this, had argued with the screenwriter and director, but in this industry, capital outweighed talent. Arguments were useless.

It was simply because she didn’t know how to flatter or fawn over people. No wonder Ke Shu’s attitude had changed after just a few glances at her.

A shallow dimple appeared on Ye Zhuyi’s fair cheek. “Thank you.”

Standing so close, the faint scent of green bamboo from Ye Zhuyi lingered in Xiao Qiao’s nose. Xiao Qiao glanced at her, pursed her lips, and said softly, “It’s only right.” Then she turned and slipped into the driver’s seat.

Once in the car, Ye Zhuyi poured a cup of water from the thermos for Ke Shu. Ke Shu stared at the thermos for a moment before taking the cup and taking a sip. It wasn’t too hot—just the right temperature.

The water soothed her throat, and Ke Shu’s mood improved slightly. She handed the cup back to Ye Zhuyi, holding her tablet in one hand while swiping through the screen to check the schedule. “Nothing is planned for the next few days. Filming was exhausting, so take this time to get some good rest.”

Ye Zhuyi’s eyes curved into a docile smile as she readily complied. “Okay, thank you, Sister Ke.”

Ke Shu smiled, clearly pleased.

By the time the car pulled up to the apartment building where Ye Zhuyi lived, the rain had stopped. Ye Zhuyi got out and waved goodbye to the two people inside.

As the van drove out of sight, the smile faded from Ye Zhuyi’s face, and her eyes became as still and dead as stagnant water.

Back in her apartment, Ye Zhuyi took a shower and threw herself onto her soft bed. She felt exhausted, yet she tossed and turned, unable to sleep. The conversation between Sui Xuan and the minor internet celebrity replayed in her mind like a grating song on a loop.

“No, not quite.”

Ye Zhuyi shot up from the bed, grabbed her pillow, and hurled it across the room.

It landed on the carpet with a dull thud.

Her chest heaved twice as she swung her legs off the bed, walked to the desk, sat down, and flipped open her laptop.

She stared at the screen without blinking for a long time, her hand resting on the mouse.

In the dead of night, the clicks of the mouse and the tapping of the keyboard echoed with startling clarity.

It was nearly dawn when Ye Zhuyi finally shut the computer. Her eyelids were so heavy she could barely keep them open. She collapsed onto the bed, clutching the duvet and rolling over until she was wrapped up like a cocoon. A wave of drowsiness crashed over her, instantly pulling her under.

She didn’t know how long she slept before her phone’s cheerful ringtone jolted her awake.

A slender, pale hand emerged from the duvet, fumbling for the phone. Ye Zhuyi’s brow furrowed, her eyes narrowing to slits as she glanced at the screen: a group voice call from Astar.

They had trained and competed together on the survival show, and for the two years following Astar’s formation, the four of them had been practically inseparable, running press events, recording albums, and filming variety shows. Their bond had only grown stronger with each passing day.

After the girl group disbanded, Ye Zhuyi transitioned into acting. The group’s leader, Song Muran, the most popular member, became a regular guest on the hottest variety show. The main vocalist, Yu Wei, remained in the music scene, while the rapper, Hua Jin, went home to take over the family business. Their career paths diverged completely, eliminating any conflict of interest. They kept in touch frequently, and their bond remained strong and stable.

After the call connected, Ye Zhuyi put her phone on speaker, set it aside, and closed her eyes again. Still groggy with sleep, she mumbled, “What’s up, girls?”

“Yaoyao! Have you seen Weibo? We’re trending!” Yu Wei’s voice was bright and clear. “Oh my god, the last time we trended was when Group A disbanded, right?”

The shout chased away much of Ye Zhuyi’s drowsiness. She yawned and retorted, “The last time was when the leader showed up at your concert.”

Song Muran coughed awkwardly. “This time is different. Our group is trending.”

That’s strange, Ye Zhuyi thought. She rolled over and asked lazily, “How did we end up trending out of the blue?”

Nothing major had happened lately.

Song Muran explained, “It started with the official Weibo account for Jing Que announcing that Film Empress Qin Zhizhen would play the female lead. That took the top spot on the trending list. Then, somehow, a ‘Scissors Hand’ editor suddenly appeared on the hot search list.”

Ye Zhuyi’s drowsiness vanished as she snapped her eyes open.

Hua Jin, who had been silent until now, chimed in, “What ‘Scissors Hand’?”

“A video editor,” Song Muran replied, her gentle voice laced with amusement. “Their handle is ‘Zhenzhen, Did You Counterattack Today?’ Their profile is full of fan-made edits of Yaoyao and Qin Shen—complete with a storyline, too.”

Yu Wei added in a sing-songy tone, “A total ship~ So much chemistry~”

Wrapped tightly in her duvet, Ye Zhuyi struggled for a moment before finally breaking free, a thin layer of sweat glistening on her forehead.

Song Muran chuckled and continued, “Right. Because Yaoyao was in the video, netizens started thinking about Group A. Soon after, ‘Current Status of Astar Girl Group Members’ climbed to the second spot on the trending list.”

“Interesting,” Hua Jin said curiously. “I really want to know who this editing genius is.”

Ye Zhuyi found her tablet and opened Weibo. Her gaze fell on the red number over the small envelope icon, and her thick, long eyelashes fluttered.

She raised both hands to cover her face, a soft, exasperated sigh escaping through the gaps between her fingers.

Of course, her former teammates on the other end of the call couldn’t see her expression or hear her sigh.

Song Muran teased, “Maybe it’s Yaoyao’s fans.”

Back then, during their group variety show, Ye Zhuyi had openly admitted her admiration for Qin Shen, even describing her ideal type based on him.

To make their idol happy, the “Bamboo Shoots” had even created a photo album by splicing pictures of the two together. But after the “True Knowledge Sticks” mocked Ye Zhuyi for clout-chasing, they never did it again.

Hua Jin tutted, “Those ‘True Knowledge Sticks’ are really something. They used to shout about refusing to be tied together, but now they’re saying ‘true fragrance’ when they’re finally paired up.”

The other two laughed along.

Ye Zhuyi’s temple throbbed with pain at the sound of their laughter.

The laughter was interrupted by her phone ringing. She glanced at the caller ID and her head hurt even more.

As soon as she answered, Ke Shu got straight to the point: “I submitted your resume to the Jing Que crew earlier. They got back to me today. Your audition is the day after tomorrow. Come to the office this afternoon; Xiao Qiao will pick you up at one.”

Ye Zhuyi’s heart pounded. She pressed her lips together, forcing herself to stay calm. “Sister Ke, do you know which role I’m auditioning for?”

“The second female lead, Shen Manqing.”

Her breath hitched. She was going to act in a movie with Qin Zhizhen?!

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