Five in the morning, at the recording site of “Work Hard! Entertainers.”
Lin Wanwan was awakened by a clamor.
Not just ordinary noise, but the kind of hushed whispers deliberately lowered yet unable to contain excitement, accompanied by footsteps, the dragging of equipment, and instructions from the director through the microphone.
“Hurry, hurry! Camera one, focus on Su Chen! He just finished a hundred push-ups!”
“Camera two, capture Xia Mo’s side profile during her morning workout! Remember, aim for that ‘perseverance amidst effort’ angle!”
“Cameras three and four, don’t just stand there! Film everyone’s ‘early morning moments’ for me! This is a live broadcast! The whole nation is watching!”
Lin Wanwan opened her eyes.
Before her was an unfamiliar bunk bed frame, rusted and marked with a faded number: 07.
She blinked once, then again, as if an old-fashioned film projector in her mind was frantically rewinding—the blinding stage lights, the sudden loss of control over her heartbeat, the blurred gasps of the audience below, the dull thud as the back of her head hit the floor when she collapsed… followed by a long, dark void.
She had died. She remembered it clearly.
Twelve years in a girl group, three thousand six hundred and fifty days and nights of relentless work, only to be summed up in the company’s obituary with the flippant phrase “died after ineffective medical treatment.”
The obituary even got her name wrong. How pathetic!
Lin Wanwan slowly sat up and looked down at her hands. They were fair, slender, with neatly trimmed nails—not the hands deformed by years of dance practice.
“Lin Wanwan!!”
A furious shout nearly jolted her soul out of her body.
She looked up and saw a middle-aged man standing at the dormitory door, clutching a walkie-talkie, his face flushed crimson. Behind him was a VJ carrying a camera, its lens pointed at her like a dark, gaping hole.
“Do you know what time it is?!” The man rushed in, shoving his phone screen in her face. The screen displayed 11:07 a.m.
“Seven o’clock! The other entertainers started recording at seven! Do you know what kind of show this is? A live broadcast! Streaming simultaneously across all platforms! Eight hundred thousand viewers are watching you sleep!”
Lin Wanwan stared at him.
This face overlapped with a fragment of her memory—Wang Hai, the chief director of “Work Hard! Entertainers,” known for being “strict” and “skilled at crafting personas.” The original host had been invited by him as the “slacker control group,” meant to highlight the “hard work” of the other entertainers.
And the body she had transmigrated into was also named Lin Wanwan. Twenty-four years old, a former girl group member, blacklisted for three years due to contract disputes, and burdened with millions in debt. This appearance on the show was her original company’s final attempt to squeeze out her remaining value.
“Say something!” Wang Hai was nearly frantic. “Do you know what the live comments are saying right now? ‘Why is there still someone in that bed?’ ‘A washed-up star sleeping in?’ ‘How can someone like this even be on a variety show?’… How am I supposed to explain this?!”
Lin Wanwan leisurely pushed aside the blanket.
She was wearing the cotton pajamas distributed by the production team, her long hair a tangled mess, with red marks from the pillow still on her face. As she stepped barefoot onto the floor, she glanced out the window—the sunlight was just right, perfect weather for sleeping in.
“Director Wang,” she spoke, her voice slightly hoarse, “let me ask you something.”
“What?”
“What time does the production team require us to wake up?”
Wang Hai was taken aback. “Well… there’s no strict rule, but…”
“But everyone else gets up early, so I have to get up early too.” Lin Wanwan finished the sentence for him. “That’s called ‘industry consensus,’ right?”
Wang Hai was left speechless.
Lin Wanwan smiled.
The smile was light and faint, yet it inexplicably sent a chill down Wang Hai’s spine—because there was no grogginess from just waking up in her eyes, nor any panic at being caught. Instead, there was only… how should he put it? A weariness that seemed to see through everything.
“Director Wang,” she said slowly, “can I see the comments?”
Wang Hai instinctively handed her his phone.
On the screen, the comments were scrolling wildly:
“This girl really knows how to sleep, hahaha”
“Why did the show invite someone like her?”
“Su Chen has already practiced two dances, and she’s still in bed”
“There’s a reason she’s not popular”
“Wait, she’s awake now!”
“Quick, zoom in on her face!”
Lin Wanwan looked at these comments, one by one, very seriously.
After reading them, she returned the phone to Wang Hai.
“Thank you,” she said.
Then she looked up, faced the dark, looming camera, and spoke. Her voice wasn’t loud, but it clearly reached every microphone: “If hard work was useful…”
She paused.
In that moment, flashes of her past life crossed her mind: the image of her breathing oxygen backstage, the sound of her manager urging her to “hurry and touch up your makeup for the next performance,” the screams she heard as she collapsed, and the surveillance footage that was later deleted.
“…I wouldn’t have died in my last life.”
The entire internet fell silent. For a full three seconds, no one spoke.
Wang Hai’s expression looked as if someone had choked him, his mouth open but no sound coming out.
The VJ’s hand trembled slightly, but the camera remained steadily focused on her.
And the live stream comments exploded!
“???????????”
“What did she say??”
“Last life??”
“What kind of opening is this?”
“Is this scripted? Is it scripted?”
“It can’t be scripted! The director’s face is green, hahaha!”
“So she died in her last life??”
“This girl is crazy, I love it”
“Wait, her eyes look so real… it doesn’t seem like acting…”
“I’ve got goosebumps”
Live stream viewer count: 800,000 → 1.27 million.
Wang Hai finally snapped back to reality, grabbing the VJ’s microphone: “Stop! Turn off the mic first!”
But it was too late.
Lin Wanwan’s words had already been broadcast through the live stream signal, reaching millions of ears.
At that very moment.
Ding!
A crisp notification sound exploded in Lin Wanwan’s mind.
Her pupils contracted slightly as a translucent blue interface appeared before her eyes, displaying unfamiliar yet familiar text:
[Host’s first ‘reverse operation’ detected. The “Slacker Artist System” is officially activated.]
[Core Rule: When the host performs actions contrary to the conventional ‘hardworking persona’ in the entertainment industry and triggers emotional fluctuations in the audience (positive or negative), corresponding rewards will be granted.]
[First Slacker Achievement: Publicly promoting the ‘hard work is useless’ theory during a motivational variety show live stream.]
[Emotional Fluctuation Value Detected: Shock (89%), Anger (52%), Curiosity (71%), Resonance (34%).]
[Total Fluctuation Value: 2.46 million, and rising.]
[Reward Issued: “Heavenly Voice Restoration Agent” (single-use item).]
[Item Description: After consumption, permanently repairs all vocal cord damage, expands vocal range to three octaves, and activates the special attribute “Emotional Penetration.”]
Lin Wanwan’s fingers tightened slightly.
A voice like a heavenly melody… In her past life, what she hated most was her own voice.
To maintain her “sweet and lovely persona,” the company forced her to sing in a falsetto. She underwent three surgeries for vocal nodules, and in the end, even speaking was painful. And those so-called “masterpieces” were all meticulously edited frame by frame by sound engineers.
“Lin Wanwan!” Wang Hai’s voice snapped her back to reality. “Listen to me! Right now, immediately, right away… apologize! Just say you were talking nonsense because you just woke up!”
He lowered his voice and leaned in closer. “Do you know how much this show is invested in? Eight hundred million! How am I supposed to explain to the investors after what you just said?!”
Lin Wanwan looked at him.
The Eye of Truth hadn’t been activated yet, but she could already see what was in this man’s eyes—not anger, but fear. Fear that the show would fail, fear that the investors would pull out, fear that his reputation in the industry would be ruined.
“Director Wang,” she said, “do you know how many hours an ordinary girl group member works in a year?”
Wang Hai was taken aback.
“Three thousand six hundred hours,” Lin Wanwan said. “That’s an average of ten hours a day, with no days off all year. And that doesn’t even include the time spent traveling for schedules, the sleepless nights, or the hours spent starving to look good on camera.”
She stood up, walked to the dormitory door, and looked back at the camera.
“You just said that eight hundred thousand viewers were watching me sleep.”
“Then let me tell those eight hundred thousand viewers—”
“I sleep in because I slept too little in my past life.”
“When I died, they didn’t even say ‘sorry.'”
“This life…”
She opened the door, and sunlight poured in.
“I’ll live however I want.”
Live stream viewer count: 1.27 million → 2.03 million.
The comments section went completely out of control!
“I’m crying… I’m really crying.”
“What she said makes so much sense.”
“If hard work paid off, I wouldn’t be working overtime until midnight every day and still not be able to afford a house.”
“Is this sister here to overcome tribulations?”
“Help, I’m turning into a fan.”
“Wait, where is she going?”
“The cafeteria! She’s heading to the cafeteria!”
By the time Wang Hai reacted, Lin Wanwan had already reached the end of the hallway.
“Stop right there!” he chased after her. “The recording isn’t over yet!”
Lin Wanwan didn’t look back, just raised her hand and waved:
“I’m hungry, I’m going to eat first.”
“We’ll talk after I finish eating.”
Her figure disappeared around the corner.
Sunlight streamed in through the window, falling on the spot where she had just stood.
Wang Hai stood in place, the walkie-talkie in his hand emitting a harsh static noise. He looked down and saw a notification pop up on his phone:
“Real-time trending on the hot search list”
47th: #Lin Wanwan: If hard work paid off, I wouldn’t have died in my past life#
32nd: #Hardworking Artists live stream incident#
19th: #Who is Lin Wanwan#
Three trending topics were climbing up the list at a visible speed.
The VJ cautiously asked, “Director Wang… are we still filming?”
Wang Hai looked at the empty hallway, then at the comments still flooding the live stream, and finally at the three trending topics.
He took a deep breath.
“Film,” he said. “Follow her, keep filming.”
“But what’s there to film about her eating…”
“What do you know?!” Wang Hai gritted his teeth. “Just film her eating! Right now, the audience wants to see her eat!”
The VJ suddenly understood, grabbed the camera, and rushed out.
Wang Hai stood in place, took out his phone, and made a call.
“Hello? Public Relations Department? Yes, it’s me. Have you seen the trending topics? … Don’t take them down! Yes, don’t take them down! … Listen to me, from now on, allocate all promotional resources to Lin Wanwan! … Yes, that’s the one who sleeps in! … I don’t care! Do as I say!”
After hanging up the phone, he stared at the figure on the screen, currently picking up food at the cafeteria window.
“This girl…” he murmured to himself, “either she’ll live miserably, or—”
“She’ll soar to the skies.”
The show’s cafeteria.
Lin Wanwan carried her tray and found a seat by the window. On her tray were braised pork, sweet and sour ribs, scrambled eggs with tomatoes, and a large bowl of rice.
She picked up a piece of braised pork with her chopsticks and put it in her mouth—fatty but not greasy, melting on her tongue.
Delicious!
She squinted her eyes, chewing slowly.
The sunlight outside was just right, warming the cafeteria.
The VJ caught up with her, the camera aimed at her.
She glanced at it but didn’t hide or pose, continuing to eat.
The comments started rolling again:
“That looks so good, I’m getting hungry watching.”
“She’s really eating seriously.”
“The other artists are still practicing dance! And she’s here feasting! Hahahaha.”
“Is this what slacking off looks like? I love it.”
“The way she eats feels so real, no pretense.”
“Wait… is she crying?”
Lin Wanwan was indeed crying. Tears slid down without warning, dripping into her rice. But there was no sadness on her face—instead, she was smiling.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve eaten this much,” she said softly, as if talking to herself or to the camera. “Before, my manager only let me take three bites. They say you’re an artist, but you live worse than a bird.”
She picked up a rib and held it up to the sunlight.
“In this life, I want to be human.”
She put the rib in her mouth.
In the livestream, the comments suddenly went quiet for a few seconds, then…
“What does she mean by ‘be human’?”
“She wasn’t allowed to eat before? That’s so sad.”
“So her previous life really…”
“I’m breaking down, guys.”
Livestream viewer count: 2.03 million → 2.78 million.
Trending topics updated in real-time:
9th: #Lin Wanwan: I Want to Be Human#
7th: #Work Hard, Artists! Lin Wanwan#
3rd: #Who Is Lin Wanwan?#
Lin Wanwan put down her chopsticks, wiped her mouth, and looked out the window, her gaze distant.
The system interface still floated before her eyes, the bottle of [Heavenly Voice Restoration Agent] lying quietly in the inventory, waiting to be used.
Her phone vibrated.
She pulled it out and saw that her Weibo private messages had already reached 999+!
She randomly opened one:
“Hello, sis, I’m your new fan. I don’t know what you’ve been through, but when you said, ‘If hard work was useful, I wouldn’t have died in my previous life,’ I cried. Because I’m so tired too. Working overtime every day, being gaslit every day, questioning every day what I’m living for. Thank you for saying those words for me. Thank you.”
Lin Wanwan stared at this private message for a long time in silence.
Then she opened the camera, took a bare-faced selfie—just after eating, with a bit of oil still on the corner of her mouth. She added the caption: “Full. Going back to sleep this afternoon. Come fight me in my dreams if you dare.” and posted it directly.
Three seconds later, comments surpassed a thousand.
Five seconds later, reposts surpassed ten thousand.
Ten seconds later…
Trending topics, 1st place: #Lin Wanwan: Come Fight Me in My Dreams#
Lin Wanwan put away her phone, stood up, and carried her tray toward the recycling area.
The VJ quickly followed. “Miss Lin, where to next?”
Lin Wanwan turned back, her eyes curving into crescents as she smiled.
“I already said, going back to sleep.”
“But… what about this afternoon’s recording?”
“Didn’t Director Wang say there’s no strict rule about what time to get up?” She put her tray away and clapped her hands. “I’m just—strictly following the show’s rules.”
She headed toward the dormitory.
The VJ stood frozen, unsure whether to follow or not.
Just then, Wang Hai’s voice came through his earpiece: “Follow her! Even if she’s sleeping, keep filming!”
“But… what’s there to film about sleeping?”
“What the hell do you know!” Wang Hai’s voice carried a strange excitement. “Right now, the audience wants to see her!”
The VJ: “…”
He hoisted his camera and followed.
Before the dormitory door closed, Lin Wanwan’s voice drifted through the crack:
“Oh, by the way, help me pass a message to Director Wang…”
“See you tomorrow.”
The door shut.
The VJ stared at the door, at a loss for words.
In the livestream, the comments went wild again:
“See you tomorrow! Hahahahaha”
“She really went back to sleep”
“Is this a variety show or a sleep stream”
“Whatever, I’m sticking with it”
“Girls, I declare this my digital comfort food for the year”
Livestream viewer count: 2.78 million → 3.12 million
【Hot Search List】exploded:
#Lin Wanwan: If You Dare, Come Beat Me in My Dreams#
#Lin Wanwan: I Want to Be Human#
#Work Hard, Artists Lin Wanwan#
Wang Hai stood in the control room, looking at these three trending topics and then at the still-rising viewer count in the livestream. His hands were trembling.
In his twenty years as a director, he had never seen anything like this.
A lazy, cannon-fodder artist had revived a variety show on the brink of failure.
No, not just revived—it had exploded.
He picked up the walkie-talkie: “Attention all departments, everyone attends the planning meeting tonight. There’s only one topic…”
He paused, looking at the tightly shut dormitory door on the screen.
“How to keep Lin Wanwan on the show.”
Inside the show’s dormitory.
Lin Wanwan lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling.
The system interface was still there, its blue glow soft and gentle.
With a thought, the 【Heavenly Voice Restoration Agent】appeared in her hand. It was a small transparent vial containing a glowing liquid.
“Drink this, and I can sing again…” she murmured to herself.
But she didn’t drink it immediately. Instead, she put the vial away and closed her eyes.
Faint noises drifted in from outside the window—the other artists had finished their morning practice and were discussing the trending topics.
“How did she get popular? What’s so special about her?”
“Just by sleeping? Then what was all our hard work for?”
“Stop talking, she’s number one on the hot search right now…”
“Pfft, it’s just black fame. She’ll be forgotten in a couple of days.”
The corner of Lin Wanwan’s mouth lifted slightly.
Black fame? Whatever.
She turned over, finding a comfortable position.
【System Notification】
【Current Emotional Fluctuation Total: 3.52 million, continuously rising】
【Achievement Unlocked: 「Overnight Sensation」(Reverse Version)】
【Reward: Passive Skill 「Eye of Truth」(Can see through others’ true emotions toward the host)】
Lin Wanwan opened her eyes.
“Eye of Truth…” she whispered. “That’s actually useful.”
She closed her eyes again. Sunlight filtered through the gaps in the curtains, falling on her face.
She slept peacefully, as if she had truly let go of something.
【Livestream】
On the screen was Lin Wanwan’s serene sleeping face.
Comments:
“She’s really asleep.”
“Sleeping so soundly.”
“I don’t know why, but watching her sleep makes me sleepy too.”
“Is this the legendary healing type?”
“Three million people online watching her sleep! Hahaha.”
“The world is quiet now, goodnight sisters.”
“Goodnight, Lin Wanwan.”
At this moment, Wang Hai watched the live stream’s online viewership stabilize above three million and let out a long sigh of relief.
He took out his phone and sent a WeChat message to his boss: “This season’s show is secured.”
The reply came instantly: “That Lin Wanwan—no matter what, keep her.”
Wang Hai looked up, his gaze fixed on the sleeping figure on the monitor screen.
“Keep her…” he murmured. “The question is, is she willing to be kept?”