“Zhao Biezhi, I don’t even know what to say about you anymore!”
A thunderclap exploded right by her ear.
Following that came a barrage of “Great Vajra Finger” jabs as dense as machine-gun fire, viciously poking and prodding at her shoulder, as if trying to bore a hole right through it.
Zhao Biezhi struggled to open her eyes, and a gleaming bald forehead seized her field of vision.
In her daze, she thought, hey, where did this Shaolin monk come from?
Before she could snap back to her senses, the other person’s volume rose another few notches.
“Just look at yourself—did you get your head caught in a door? Not being able to sing, dance, or act is one thing, but who told you to go on a diet?”
“I only went off to the mountains with Xin Yun to shoot a film, and when I come back, you’ve turned into this god-awful mess!”
“Take a look at yourself—people who don’t know you would think you’re on drugs!”
The “monk’s” features gradually came into focus—turns out he was a middle-aged man with a shaved head.
“I—” Zhao Biezhi opened her mouth to speak, but he didn’t give her the chance, shooting her a cutting glare.
“Xin Yun’s new movie is about to drop. You stay put at home, keep a low profile, and don’t cause her any trouble, got it?!”
Zhao Biezhi had no idea what he was talking about, but she still deployed her masterful skill of going along with things and quickly nodded. “Mm-hm, you’re absolutely right.”
“Have it your way then!”
The man snorted coldly, and before leaving, he made sure to slam the door hard enough to shake the walls.
Finally, silence.
“What the hell…” Zhao Biezhi muttered as she fumbled over to a nearby chair and sat down.
She looked up—and froze on the spot.
“Huh… huh?!”
Not far ahead, a full-length mirror reflected the image of a woman: sunken cheeks, deathly pale complexion, hair a tangled mess hanging loose behind her, and eyes as lifeless as still water.
Not quite human—more like a little zombie.
It took a long moment before Zhao Biezhi finally processed the situation… the person in the mirror… was apparently her?
“Hiss—”
A violent wave of dizziness struck her brain like lightning, and unfamiliar memories flooded in.
Countless fragments swirled through her mind like a revolving lantern.
Half an hour later, she finally digested the memories that had materialized out of thin air, along with certain special information she now possessed.
Good news! Although she’d been sent flying by a truck before, she wasn’t dead yet.
Bad news! It wasn’t a medical miracle—she’d transmigrated into a book, and as a cannon fodder character in an entertainment industry novel, no less.
…
To the End of the Starlight was an entertainment industry power-fantasy novel Zhao Biezhi had read.
She—the female lead—was a nobody ranked thirty-sixth tier and beyond in the entertainment circle, yet possessed a heart that strove ever upward.
Leveling up and fighting monsters all the way, outwitting every demon and ghost in her path, she finally became a Grand Slam Best Actress commanding worldwide attention.
He—the male lead—was an aristocrat born with a silver spoon at the very pinnacle of the pyramid, yet he couldn’t help but be drawn to her.
She, and he—yes, our beloved protagonists, Xin Yun and Qin Yan.
A power fantasy, a match made in heaven, a metropolitan romance—everyone who read it sang its praises.
But right now, Zhao Biezhi really couldn’t muster a smile.
As the saying goes, the gap between people is made clear through comparison.
Every female lead needs a foil by her side—someone to set her off, elevate her, and give readers a stronger rush of satisfaction.
If the female lead Xin Yun was “a light skiff sailing past ten thousand mountains,” then the cannon fodder Zhao Biezhi had transmigrated into—sharing her exact name—was more like “the Titanic smashing into an iceberg.”
She was a teammate in the female lead’s girl group—a nobody, dull, boring, a dead weight. These were the labels she could never shake off.
Because she was pretty, she was scouted by a talent agent, then tricked into signing a ten-year slave contract with a shady, fly-by-night company.
The stardom she imagined: dazzling, spotlight, flowers, applause.
The stardom in reality: boxed lunches, practice rooms, rented apartments, and her manager’s scolding.
The company she signed with, Morningstar Entertainment, was notorious throughout the industry for being ruthless.
High commission cuts, no resources given, signing dozens or even hundreds of people at once, and paying only a base salary of two thousand yuan a month.
Either you gamble on becoming a breakout star and blow up on your own, or they just wait you out until you terminate the contract and pay millions in penalties—which, in a twisted sense, was also a way for them to rake in money hand over fist.
Anyone who could afford to terminate the contract gritted their teeth and left. By now, only the original owner and Xin Yun remained in their girl group, which existed in name only.
Why didn’t the original owner terminate the contract? Was it because she didn’t want to?
Of course it was because she had no money!
Those who left either had some family assets to fight the company in court, or they had found a new backer.
The original owner had grown up in an orphanage, with no parents. She couldn’t even scrape together ten thousand yuan, let alone afford expensive lawyer fees and millions in penalties.
As for finding a new backer? She had never even considered it.
In the original story, the original owner couldn’t afford to terminate the contract, and the company wasn’t about to keep feeding her for free. So they pressured and lured her into sleeping with a potbellied middle-aged wealthy businessman in exchange for resources.
Unfortunately, the resources never actually landed in the original owner’s hands. Instead, they were distributed to the few young actors and actresses the company was actively promoting.
She got no benefit whatsoever, but the door had been pried open. From then on, the original owner sank completely into the mire of the entertainment industry, gradually spiraling downward, while the resources she traded her body for became the fuel that elevated others.
In the end, unable to bear it any longer, the original owner took her own life in grief and fury.
When the news reached the female lead, Xin Yun, she happened to be at a standstill in her own contract termination battle with the company. She simply used the incident to stir up public opinion, making Morningstar Entertainment the target of widespread condemnation, and ultimately terminated her contract smoothly.
Poor original owner—alive, she was the female lead’s foil; dead, she was still used as a weapon to attack the company.
…
So, what had the original owner actually done in the years since signing with the company?
Zhao Biezhi searched her mind and quickly got the answer.
Attending classes, substituting for others, picking up packages, writing papers, competing for scholarships.
Well, well, well—four fulfilling years at a prestigious university! Beating 99% of the illiterate idols in the entertainment industry.
She had graduated smoothly this June, but it was already December now.
Graduate school entrance exam was a no-go, the autumn recruitment season had passed, and there was probably less than half a year before the sleeping-with-the-businessman plot point in the original story.
Zhao Biezhi rubbed her throbbing temples, forcing herself to calm down and think of a countermeasure.
Sitting around waiting for death was definitely not an option. Even if she could forcefully resist and dodge the sleeping-with-the-businessman plot, the unequal contract was still a mountain pressing down on her.
In a flash, something darted through her mind.
“University graduate…”
Zhao Biezhi murmured softly, but her eyes suddenly lit up.
She abruptly stood up and, relying on her memory, quickly dug out the original owner’s degree certificate and diploma from the cabinet.
Looking at the two heavy certificates in her hands, Zhao Biezhi seemed to see a glimmer of hope, and even wanted to throw her head back and laugh out loud.
She thought she had finally found a way to escape this damn company.
With that in mind, Zhao Biezhi quickly searched online for the schedule and procedures of the “civil service exam” in this world.
Fortunately, the civil service exam process in this world wasn’t much different from her original world, and it had the same policy as her previous world—once you passed the civil service exam, you no longer had to fulfill the unreasonable penalty clauses for breach of contract that had been signed for leaving the company.
It was now early December. She had already missed the national exam. The closest option was the provincial exams, which would have the written test around the end of February, results released in early April, and interviews at the end of April.
After that came the physical examination, political review, and public announcement. By around September, she could pack her bags and start her new job.
And once she passed the civil service exam, she could terminate her contract with zero penalty and leave this damn company!
There were still over two months until the provincial exam, and Zhao Biezhi wasn’t worried about whether she could pass.
You see, before Zhao Biezhi transmigrated into this book, she had already been a civil servant herself. She had a solid foundation in the aptitude tests, and as for the essay portion, that went without saying—she wrote official documents in her office every day. She could easily be hired as an instructor at a civil service exam prep institution.
With two months of intensive training on top of that, as long as she didn’t apply for a position like the Municipal Retired Cadres Bureau—a position that people fought over every year—passing would be more than manageable.
You heartless capitalist, think you’re so tough?
I’ll get the official government to back me up, and you’ll still have to lower your head.
“What a shame. If I hadn’t died, with that act of saving a child in front of a truck, I’d at least be rated as an Advanced Individual and get to hold annual commendation meetings about my heroic deeds.”
Thinking of this, Zhao Biezhi smacked her lips and couldn’t help but sigh.
But if you asked her whether she regretted it, of course she didn’t. If she were given another chance, she would still save that child.
Don’t ask—the answer is that she always kept the people in her heart.
After sorting through her tangled thoughts, Zhao Biezhi finally snapped back to the present.
“Ding-dong—” Her phone chimed with a notification.
【Your account has received a deposit of RMB 2000.00 at 14:28 on December 10th】
Looking at the numbers on her phone screen, Zhao Biezhi couldn’t help but curl her lips into a smile.
The company wanted to sell her off?
Hilarious. She’d teach this damn company a lesson and show them what it meant to shear one sheep until it’s bald!
Guaranteed base salary? She’d just use the money to study in peace for the civil service exam.
Lying flat and collecting the minimum wage—she’d skip twenty years of detours just like that!