The Protagonist in This Bad Ending (BE) Story Is Reborn [Quick Transmigration] - Chapter 1: Arc 1: The True and False Stand-in

[Have you ever watched someone for a very long time?

All he ever left me was the view of his back, much like my ambiguous status by his side.

I used to care deeply about being a “stand-in,” but later, once he was gone, I realized that the title didn’t matter. What mattered was simply being near him.

I resent the bright moon for hanging so high, yet never once shining its light on me.

I hate that I am a substitute, but my hatred stems only from the fact that you never loved me as much as you loved him.

Hatred festers wildly in the dark of night, while love quietly takes root.]

“Us”

[Greetings, esteemed Host. I am System No. 99 of the System Management Bureau. My function is Time Reversal, and I can take you back to any moment you desire.]

“Go to the Gezi Auditorium tonight. A boss personally requested you by name.” The manager dropped this single sentence before abruptly going offline.

Walking down the street, a young man wearing a face mask paused when he saw the message.

Not far away, a massive screen in the heart of Hai City began playing a clip of a man with deep, striking features and a bold, flamboyant aura. That was the current sensation of the music world, Shang Linyi.

If one looked closely, the eyes of the man on the screen bore a striking resemblance to those of the youth staring at his phone on the street.

Pulling his mask down slightly, Shang Linyi stared at the text. His hand tightened around his phone until, after a long silence, he finally replied: “Okay.”

As evening deepened, Hai City was swallowed by the dark, and the brilliant neon lights flickered to life. From a distance, they looked like a cluster of stars rising in the night. The light emanating from the central building was particularly dazzling; a masterpiece of Baroque architecture with its exaggerated designs, towering spires, and opulent decorations.

Solemn yet imposing, this was the Gezi Auditorium.

It was a gala organized by various power players, and everyone wanted a piece of the pie. People moved restlessly through the halls. Calling it a “gala” was perhaps too generous for what was about to happen. To put it politely, it was a social gathering for the elite; to put it bluntly, it was a game designed by those seeking a thrill.

At the end of a long corridor, a young man dressed entirely in black leaned against the wall. With his arms crossed, he looked like a masterpiece just by standing there. The black suit accentuated his tall, lean frame, and the color lent him an air of heavy pressure, making him seem unapproachable.

From afar, he was a fine painting; up close, he was even more remarkable, the type of handsome that people couldn’t help but like. His expression was languid, his gaze drifting boredly toward the distant hall.

“Host, why did you agree to come to a place like this?”

99 had transformed into a small cat the color of swirling mist. It perched on Shang Linyi’s shoulder, its translucent blue eyes filled with confusion. It wasn’t a mindless system; on the contrary, when Shang Linyi received the manager’s text, it had curiously looked into the nature of this gathering. That one look was enough.

It was nothing short of a humiliation!

They were treating Shang Linyi like an animal, bringing him here to perform and it wasn’t even a proper performance.

How was he supposed to play? How could he sing? Performing for a group of people engaged in unspeakable, naked acts? There were ways to insult a person, but this was crossing a line.

Even worse, Shang Linyi had actually accepted. He took the job!

99 was so angry it wanted to punch someone.

Hearing the system’s voice, Shang Linyi shifted. His handsome features relaxed slightly as he glanced at the white cat. He pulled his hand back lazily and said nonchalantly, “I’m looking for Yan Chen.”

Thinking of the events involving Yan Chen in his past life, a trace of coldness returned to his eyes. The worst had already happened back then; what was there left to fear?

His meeting with 99 had been strange. After his death, he had encountered a white cat. Back then, 99 wasn’t this mist-like entity that felt like it would dissipate at any moment; it had been made of solid flesh and bone.

99 told him that he and Yan Chen, who’s one driven to madness and the other to death, had both met a miserable end. It was Yan Chen who died, and he who had lost his mind. They truly lived up to the label of “hateful lovers.”

Was he mad?

He didn’t feel like it. He felt his life had been proceeding quite normally, but 99 was adamant that he was insane, even citing various cases of how mentally ill people never believe they are ill. Eventually, the system promised to bring him back to a point in time before Yan Chen’s death.

99 had brought him back to this morning, which led to the current situation.

In his previous life, this was where it all began—their first meeting at the Gezi Auditorium. It featured a humiliated Shang Linyi and a cold Yan Chen, who stood at the peak, looking down on everyone with indifference.

A long, long time ago, Shang Linyi had been obsessed with this event, even wishing he could erase the memory from Yan Chen’s mind. He remembered clearly the day he finally let it go; it was the day Yan Chen…

“What is the great star Shang Linyi doing here?”

His thoughts snapped back to the present, and his gaze cleared instantly.

Pink suit. Pink from head to toe and wearing a pair of sunglasses with an air of pure arrogance. Once Shang Linyi saw the man’s face, a hint of surprise colored his eyes.

Wei Cheng?

Why was he here too?

He was no stranger to Wei Cheng. Although the man was sharp-tongued and petty, 99 had shown Shang Linyi his entire life. After Shang Linyi died in his previous life, it was Wei Cheng who had arranged the funeral and notified his younger brother.

The moment Wei Cheng saw Shang Linyi, his face crumpled in distaste. Disdain flashed in his eyes as he thought to himself, “What bad luck.”

In life, there are always people who will compare you to your peers. In school, you are compared to your seatmate; if they are better, you live in their shadow. Within a family, it’s the “successful neighbor’s son”; he’s the golden child, while you’re the one people mention with a pitying sigh: “Well, at least he tries hard…” At work, it’s the gap between the mundane you and the brilliant colleague.

Wei Cheng and Shang Linyi had debuted at the same time. Shang Linyi surpassed him in every aspect, eventually pulling further and further ahead. Even now, netizens constantly compared the two. He was the green leaf meant only to highlight the red flower, and Wei Cheng loathed it.

Wei Cheng’s dark eyes darted around, and he understood the situation in an instant. He looked at Shang Linyi provocatively, his tone thick with suspicion. “Shang Linyi, are you here to perform?”

He had investigated Shang Linyi’s background thoroughly. Two years ago, the Shang family had been relying on government poverty subsidies just to survive.

Thinking of this, the frustration that had been stuck in Wei Cheng’s chest finally began to ease. Who does he think he is? How dare he be compared to me?

Shang Linyi had no right to be in a high-end venue like this.

Shang Linyi didn’t know what was going through Wei Cheng’s head, but the prospect of seeing Yan Chen again made him happier than anyone else. Since he was in a good mood, his expression remained relatively gentle.

Hearing Wei Cheng’s question, he turned his gaze toward him. He arched an eyebrow with interest. “Why? Do you want to go up and play for me?”

Wei Cheng choked. He knew it. Shang Linyi was the most annoying person alive. But as much as he hated him, he still felt the need to offer a warning.

“Is your family so desperate for money that you’ll take any job?”

If word of this performance got out, Shang Linyi’s reputation would be ruined. Wei Cheng wanted to defeat him fair and square, not watch him commit career suicide and bury himself.

Shang Linyi let out a thoughtful hum, unusually agreeing with him. “A little bit. Are you planning to offer me some financial aid?”

“You…” Wei Cheng was fuming. Shang Linyi was truly insufferable. Fine, let him ruin himself. I’ll just take all his resources once he’s gone.

Wei Cheng turned to leave.

After a couple of steps, he marched back and hissed, “I don’t care about you anymore, Shang Linyi! I’m going to record your performance and post it online. Just you wait.”

In reality, recording was strictly forbidden here without the organizer’s permission. Everyone’s phone was confiscated at the entrance.

Shang Linyi raised an eyebrow and shrugged. “Go ahead and record it then,” he said dismissively.

Wei Cheng turned to leave again.

Two steps later, he came back once more and left a quiet remark: “Remember to keep your mask on tight.”

Shang Linyi actually laughed at that. He reached out to smooth a wrinkle on his sleeve.

“Young Master Wei, someone specifically asked for me. Do you really think I’m allowed to wear a mask? Hmm?”

The way he dragged out that final “hmm” sounded incredibly suggestive.

Wei Cheng took a half-step back, his inner disdain resurfacing. Could this dead gay Shang Linyi stop trying to flirt with everyone he sees?

He also understood the reality. Shang Linyi was poor and lacked any backing. In the entertainment industry, if the “capital” wanted you to do something, you had no power to refuse. Otherwise, you’d be blacklisted, forced out of the circle, and eventually become a person who never existed.

Wei Cheng suddenly felt a pang of discomfort. He took a deep breath, feeling as though his tie was too tight today, making him restless.

Seeing his conflicted look, Shang Linyi stopped teasing him. “I’m also here to find someone,” he added vaguely.

Wei Cheng paused. “?”

“You have a friend on the performance list?”

The Gezi Auditorium only had one musician perform from start to finish, only one person sat at the piano. If Shang Linyi was the musician, that meant his “friend” was one of the other performers.

Wei Cheng’s expression shifted through a kaleidoscope of emotions, looking as though he had swallowed a fly. Thinking of the scheduled “acts,” he felt a wave of nausea, and the way he looked at Shang Linyi became increasingly strange.

Before Shang Linyi could say anything else, he caught a glimpse of a figure out of the corner of his eye. The person was passing through the lobby and quickly heading up the stairs.

His heart tightened involuntarily. Shang Linyi’s breath hitched as a sharp, tingling ache spread from his chest to every nerve in his body. He closed his eyes, trying to force the feeling down.

Wei Cheng found the sudden shift in mood baffling. Now what’s wrong with him?

Shang Linyi hastily threw out a sentence: “I have to go.”

Since it was almost time for the opening, Wei Cheng assumed he was going to get ready for the stage. He subconsciously offered a dull, “Oh.”

******

“President Yan, what brings you here today?” A waiter bowed low, greeting the young man in front of him while not daring to let his eyes linger on him.

“Just coming to take a look,” came the reply—a clean, cold male voice.

The Gezi Auditorium had been set up to resemble a concert hall, with high chairs specifically arranged on the second floor so those above could look down on those below. Since Yan Chen said he was coming, the organizers had no choice but to add a seat for him.

More importantly, Yan Chen hadn’t attended an event of this nature in three years. For some reason, his stance had softened, and he had proactively asked to come, catching everyone off guard.

Yan Chen’s face was familiar to everyone. A wealthy heir who was brilliant in his own right, he was the quintessential “Overbearing CEO” among entrepreneurs. Almost everyone present had seen him before and greeted him politely.

Yin She, one of the main organizers of the gala, saw him and raised an eyebrow before politely lifting his wine glass in a silent toast from across the room.

Yan Chen nodded slightly in acknowledgment.

He walked over to his seat and sat down.

The stage below was already prepared. In the very center stood a piano, a masterpiece by a world-renowned designer. Its tone and craftsmanship were unparalleled; in an auction house, the bidding would start at no less than eight figures.

Under the spotlight, the piano looked both noble and desolate.

The venue was vast. Around the piano, four rectangular areas had been marked out, surrounding the instrument in a way that felt intensely restrictive.

Slowly, the five sections began to descend, and the once-level floor was suddenly replaced by five deep pits.

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