Back home, Xin Ruan didn’t give the lighter to Li Ran. Instead, he placed it in the drawer of Li Ran’s bedside table Li Ran would find it in a second, as long as he ever looked.
At the end of the day, he couldn’t bear to just throw it away.
Or rather, he still clung to a sliver of hope—that Li Ran cared about the things he gave him.
Only, Li Ran seemed to have completely forgotten the lighter existed.
Xin Ruan never saw him ask about it, let alone search for it.
That lighter with its chipped paint lay alone in the drawer, visited only by Xin Ruan from time to time, ignored by everyone else.
One day, Xin Ruan received a call from his manager and froze on the spot.
He had just seen Li Ran out the door and was tidying up the room he shared with Li Ran.
The moment the manager’s call came through, he felt dazed, the last time he’d spoken with his manager felt like a lifetime ago.
Hearing what the call was about, Xin Ruan doubted the reality of this world even more.
“Why me for the endorsement?”
Xin Ruan was deeply skeptical of what he was hearing.
But his manager sounded not the least bit surprised. “The entire Li Corporation belongs to your husband. Isn’t it perfectly natural for one of its brands, Lipobo, to want you, the boss’s wife as its spokesperson?”
The Li family’s businesses were everywhere, spanning many industries. Lipobo was one of its fashion brands, specializing in haute couture, ready-to-wear clothing, footwear, and accessories.
Unlike other fashion brands that announced a new “ambassador” one day and a new “best friend” the next, treating celebrity fans like leeks to be harvested, Lipobo had never once had an entertainment-industry spokesperson in all the years since its founding.
So why would they seek an industry insider as spokesperson now?
Xin Ruan voiced his confusion.
“Brands exist to make money, and Lipobo is no exception. The official announcement about seeking an industry spokesperson came out a month ago. Since you’ve retired from the industry, naturally you wouldn’t know.”
Xin Ruan frowned slightly. “If they’re looking for someone in the industry, why come to me, someone who’s retired?”
“They’ve already come to you, why agonize over it?”
His manager urged him, “Besides, you’re good at this kind of shoot. When has one of your promotional videos ever failed to stun audiences?”
It was true. Compared with acting, Xin Ruan really was better at this kind of short-form filming.
In a video just a few minutes long, no one would mock his clumsy acting; what people cared about was his presence on camera.
And Xin Ruan’s face was never lacking in presence.
Back then, he had first stood out on a variety show thanks to his looks, then exploded in popularity with a thirty-second facial cleanser commercial. The official video was reposted millions of times, he was all over every short-video platform, and a bare-faced photo of him became wallpaper on countless phones.
Riding that wave, Xin Ruan climbed to the very peak of Traffic Star status, drawing in countless fans who loved him for his face.
While everyone was drooling over their screens, they all sighed in regret, what a waste that a face like his wasn’t being used for acting.
So the major producers, heeding popular demand, came knocking with scripts in hand, and Xin Ruan began his acting career which turned out to be one long slide into flop territory.
People cursed his acting, which consisted of nothing but wide eyes and furrowed brows, while nostalgically remembering the man in the commercials who killed with beauty alone.
But his agency only wanted money, and kept letting Xin Ruan run rampant through the film industry with his eyesore acting. His public favorability plummeted, acting offers dwindled, and eventually he ended up in his current state utterly ignored.