No One Knows [Rebirth] - Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Stop Messing Around, Qin Yu…

The starlight was dim, and the moon seemed draped in a layer of light gauze.

Inside a high-end villa, two figures were tightly entwined on the bed.

Moonlight pierced through the glass, casting a layer of clear radiance. The wind blew in from a corner of the window; even though it was the cold wind of an autumn night, it felt hot inside the room.

Her breath seemed to tighten. Qin Yu looked at the person before her; the corners of the woman’s eyes were flushed red, and even the tear mole beneath her right eyelid appeared enchantingly sinister.

It made one want to press her into the bed and never let her go for the rest of this life.

Qin Yu slowed her movements, gently kissing that tear mole. She swallowed the tears along with it. Tears should be salty, they should be warm, but Qin Yu couldn’t taste them, so her actions became even more urgent.

She wanted to make those beautiful eyes weep. She wanted to turn that low, husky voice into something shattered and broken. She wanted to leave her own exclusive marks all over that fair skin.

The temperature in the room continued to rise, but suddenly, the scene shifted.

The window swung open, a cold wind surged in, and a corner of the bedsheet fluttered in the breeze.

The woman who had just been retreating under her assault was now lying quietly in the bathtub, appearing as if she were fast asleep.

Qin Yu walked toward her and stayed by her side in silence, kissing her forehead, the bridge of her nose, her thin lips, and her ears.

But when she raised her eyes again, the water in the bathtub suddenly turned red.

The water gradually overflowed from the tub. Qin Yu began to feel afraid; she patted the woman’s face, but she couldn’t wake her no matter what.

The water became redder and more abundant, beginning to stain her own eyes red. Qin Yu reached out, wanting to pick the woman up, but when her hand extended, it passed straight through the woman’s body.

She felt nothing but a void.

Qin Yu wanted to cry out: “Tang Ruibai…”

But she couldn’t open her mouth. She couldn’t make a sound, even though her heart was screaming desperately—Tang Ruibai, A-Rui, Xiao Bai, Tangtang…

So many nicknames, so many names that belonged exclusively to her. Yet, she couldn’t utter a single word.

The water rose above the top of her head, submerging her entirely. That fear suddenly vanished; in the water, she drew infinitely close to Tang Ruibai.

Like this, dying together would also be a kind of fulfillment.

However, a sudden jolting caused the entire world to collapse, gradually turning into a dissipating white mist.

“Wake up.” A crisp voice came from beside her ear. “Yu-jie, don’t scare me. Wake up.”

Qin Yu felt dizzy and lightheaded. When she opened her eyes, all she saw was a field of snowy white.

“You’re finally awake.” Chen Shuang, her assistant, let out a sigh of relief and lightly poked Qin Yu’s shoulder. “Yu-jie, do you want some water?”

Qin Yu slowly turned her head and saw the faces of Chen Shuang and her manager, Tang Yunxi; their eyes held worry they couldn’t hide.

Qin Yu felt her heart being squeezed tight. Only then did she realize that it had just been a dream.

It was a dream. Then it’s okay.

Qin Yu let out a soft breath and nodded toward Chen Shuang, who immediately turned to pour some water.

“I…” Qin Yu met Tang Yunxi’s gaze and forced a small smile, wanting to say she was fine. But when she opened her mouth slightly, she found she couldn’t speak.

Tang Yunxi frowned, pulled out a few tissues, and handed them over. “Wipe your tears.”

Qin Yu touched her face; it felt as if she had just washed it. She took the tissues and wiped her face haphazardly. She wanted to say, I had a nightmare.

But her vocal cords felt as if they were glued shut; after several attempts, she still couldn’t make a sound.

Qin Yu furrowed her brows deeply, took her phone, and typed a few words for Tang Yunxi to see: “I can’t talk.”

Chen Shuang brought over a glass of warm water. Even after drinking it, Qin Yu remained unable to speak.

“Just take it slow.” Tang Yunxi’s heart was heavy, but seeing Qin Yu’s current state, she didn’t dare speak harshly. She suppressed the sadness in her heart and comforted her warmly, “Your throat might just be hoarse from crying. It’ll be better in a couple of days.”

Assistant Chen Shuang added from the side, “Yu-jie, don’t be too sad.”

Qin Yu typed again: “I just had a nightmare.”

Chen Shuang had only joined Qin Yu’s team last year. A psychology major who couldn’t find a relevant job, she entered the entertainment industry as an assistant because she loved following celebrities. Tang Yunxi had taken a liking to her and assigned her to Qin Yu.

However, Chen Shuang was actually a fan of Tang Ruibai—a fact she never dared to mention, as rumors in the industry claimed Qin Yu and Tang Ruibai were arch-rivals. Especially since several of Qin Yu’s lead roles had been “snatched” by Tang Ruibai.

After spending a year by Qin Yu’s side, Chen Shuang felt their relationship wasn’t as bad as the rumors suggested. At the very least, she remembered a time they met at a late-night gala. When Qin Yu sneezed, Tang Ruibai had sent over a cup of brown sugar ginger water. She had handed it to Chen Shuang in a thermos, telling her to make sure Qin Yu drank it.

But Chen Shuang hadn’t seen any more contact beyond that.

She never expected that after the news of Tang Ruibai’s death broke, Qin Yu would act as if she had gone mad.

This was the fifty-second hour since the news was released. Qin Yu had only slept for a brief moment just now, and even in her sleep, her tears wouldn’t stop. The state of her being trapped in a nightmare was terrifying to behold.

Chen Shuang’s eyes were also swollen from crying, but she was far from being in as serious a state as Qin Yu.

Chen Shuang asked in a low voice, “Yu-jie, what kind of nightmare?”

Qin Yu didn’t speak. Her slender white finger tapped on the screen, pulling up the name pinned to the top of her contact list: “R”. Her finger trembled slightly as she dialed.

The song Yu Bai (The Remaining White), the theme song Tang Ruibai sang for the movie The Wind Flies South, played. The familiar voice sounded like a lover whispering in one’s ear, softly telling of her longing for the other person.

But, no one answered.

Qin Yu let out a soft breath and continued to dial.

Five times in a row. Tang Yunxi, standing nearby, couldn’t bear it any longer. She snatched the phone from Qin Yu’s hand. “Stop messing around, Qin Yu.”

Qin Yu looked up. Her eyes were red enough to drip blood, and even the tip of her nose was crimson. Looking closely, the light in her eyes was frighteningly bright.

Chen Shuang had never seen Qin Yu like this. In the year they had worked together, Qin Yu was always gentle in her dealings, speaking slowly and calmly like a warm spring breeze. But at this moment, Qin Yu was cold and detached, her gaze carrying a hint of desperation.

It was heart-wrenching and terrifying; Chen Shuang even took a half-step back in fear.

But Tang Yunxi had known Qin Yu for eight years. She had personally turned Qin Yu from an unknown nobody into a top-tier “Best Actress” at the height of her fame. Facing such a gaze, Tang Yunxi felt disappointment alongside her sadness.

“You won’t get through,” Tang Yunxi said coldly. “She’s dead.”

The light in Qin Yu’s eyes vanished instantly. She stood up and snatched her phone back from Tang Yunxi. She continued to dial that number.

“Dead is dead,” Tang Yunxi continued. “Her funeral is set for five days from now. I’ve cleared all your work for that day so you can attend. But for these next few days, please pull yourself together. You don’t just represent yourself, Qin Yu!”

Tang Yunxi spoke her name with a hint of gritted teeth. She had thought that when Qin Yu and Tang Ruibai divorced, it was the end, and their feelings would have faded. She never expected that less than half a year later, news of Tang Ruibai’s death would arrive.

What surprised Tang Yunxi even more was that Qin Yu—who was usually calm, self-controlled, and professional—would become like a walking corpse after Tang Ruibai’s passing. Not eating, not drinking, and not sleeping, with only one sentence on her lips: She didn’t commit suicide.

Qin Yu had ignored her attempts to stop her and went to Tang Ruibai’s home in person. She was caught by paparazzi, and the news was still trending at the top. The company had no idea how much they had spent on PR.

The higher-ups had sent word: if Qin Yu didn’t want to stay in this industry, they wouldn’t mind blacklisting her directly. The company could make one Qin Yu, and they could make a second. She shouldn’t be so arrogant as to think the company couldn’t live without her.

Qin Yu didn’t care about any of this. On the first day of Tang Ruibai’s death, Qin Yu would still argue with her. But after returning from Tang Ruibai’s house, she rarely spoke. Now, she was showing her directly—I have lost my voice.

Qin Yu looked at Tang Yunxi with a cold gaze that made Tang Yunxi’s heart skip a beat. It was as if Qin Yu’s soul was being pulled away piece by piece.

“You have a new endorsement to announce soon, a new movie to promote, and a new variety show to attend,” Tang Yunxi pushed on. “Don’t act like a child.”

Qin Yu opened her mouth to say something but still couldn’t speak. Finally, clutching her heart, she fell straight back onto the sofa.

Qin Yu’s fainting spell gave Tang Yunxi and Chen Shuang a fright, and they rushed her to a high-end private hospital.

Qin Yu seemed to have another long dream. In the dream, Tang Ruibai was always quiet, but she would smile whenever she saw Qin Yu—like the moment ice and snow melt.

They rented a small room together. The bed was tiny and cold, and the two of them huddled close together to drive away the chill. Back then they were young, with endless energy. They ran between different sets as extras, and as soon as they touched each other’s bodies back in the rental, it was like dry wood meeting a flame. Sometimes most of their rest time was spent in bed, but they spent very little time sleeping, yet they never felt tired.

But dreams always have a moment of awakening. At the end of the dream was Tang Ruibai’s thin back and a vast, misty white.

Qin Yu snapped her eyes open. Chen Shuang, who was dozing by the bed, immediately pressed the call button, and the doctor arrived quickly.

Qin Yu’s thoughts slowly returned to her. She instinctively reached for her phone from the bedside. Chen Shuang spoke tremblingly from the side, “Xi-jie took your phone. She said she’d keep it for you for now.”

Was she afraid Qin Yu would post something inappropriate online?

Qin Yu’s lips curled into a cold sneer. She asked Chen Shuang for a phone again. Chen Shuang said cautiously, “Yu-jie…”

Even after the doctor finished the check-up, Qin Yu still couldn’t speak, but she didn’t care.

The hospital room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Qin Yu didn’t make things difficult for Chen Shuang; she simply closed her eyes. Her face was frighteningly pale, and lying on the bed, she looked like a fragile porcelain doll. Chen Shuang also endured a day without checking her phone, but whenever she thought of the trending searches from the past two days, her eyes couldn’t help but turn red.

The idol she had been a fan of for five years had finally won a major award, held high-end endorsements, and was about to become legendary. Everyone could see a brilliant path to the top laid out before her, but at the start of that path sat her corpse. It was enough to break even a non-fan’s heart, let alone an old fan like Chen Shuang.

But Chen Shuang didn’t dare show it. She just stayed quietly in the room, occasionally glancing at Qin Yu.

The sun began to set, the evening glow like molten gold.

Qin Yu’s rumored girlfriend, Shen Jiangchun, stepped into the room in high heels, breaking the deathly silence.