Lin Qian glanced at the incoming call. It was Hou Xiaoguang, the original Lin Qian’s manager, a man who always knew which way the wind was blowing.
The original Lin Qian had been a minor actress, once bullying her way through the company by leaning on her powerful connections. Hou Xiaoguang had been her accomplice, consistently reserving the best roles for her.
Despite her atrocious acting, he had kept her ego inflated with constant flattery.
But when Lu Shihan finally cast her aside, the company executives dropped a subtle hint to Hou Xiaoguang that he no longer needed to cater to her. He changed his tune instantly.
Lin Qian didn’t believe any of her remaining work was important enough to keep an entire production crew waiting.
“Understood. I’ll be there soon,” she replied flatly.
Hou Xiaoguang gave the address with a sharp, unfriendly tone before hanging up.
When Lin Qian went to wash up, she noticed Lin Yajun was gone, likely at her shop. A plate of food covered with a dish stood on the table, with several hundred yuan tucked beneath the bowl.
In her previous life, money had been nothing more than a string of numbers in a bank account she barely bothered to check. She had been so wealthy she wouldn’t even bend down to pick up a stray bill on the sidewalk.
Now, she was completely broke. These few thin banknotes felt heavy in her hand.
Lin Yajun’s health was poor and earning money was a struggle, yet she had still left this for Lin Qian. Lin Qian’s mother in her previous life had lacked for nothing, yet she never even found time to visit.
Lin Qian pursed her lips and carefully stored the money away. She couldn’t keep letting Lin Yajun support her. She had to start earning.
***
The address Hou Xiaoguang had given her was for Beicheng’s Film and Television City, a massive complex built a few years ago with investment led by the Lu Family. Its vast grounds could accommodate almost any set design, making it a popular hub for production crews.
The surrounding area had even transformed into a thriving commercial district, boosting the local economy.
When Lin Qian arrived, Hou Xiaoguang was nowhere to be seen. She called him, only to be met with his impatient drawl.
“I’ve got other things to handle. I have a whole roster of actors; I can’t just revolve my day around you. Go find the production manager. He’ll tell you what you’re filming.”
“Fine,” Lin Qian replied, her voice gentle while her expression turned ice-cold.
It was obvious now. The claim that the entire crew was waiting for her had been nothing but Hou Xiaoguang’s own exaggeration.
After hanging up, Lin Qian found the production manager, a man in his forties with a scruffy beard and a black puffer jacket. He looked completely overwhelmed, juggling two phones and constantly sending and receiving messages.
He spared her a glance and urged, “Hurry up, come with me to change. You’ll be filming with a major star today, so don’t mess this up.”
As they approached the dressing room, Lin Qian asked tentatively, “Don’t I get a script?”
The man paused, then burst out laughing. “You’re a corpse extra. What script do you need? Just lie down and stay still.”
Lin Qian’s mind went blank. The original owner of this body had always claimed to play supporting roles—third or fourth lead. How had she fallen this far, all the way down to a corpse?
Perhaps finding Lin Qian amusing, the man added, “Do a good job. Come see me for your payment after the shoot. By the way, I’m Yang Qi. I manage all the extras for this section, so you can just call me Brother Yang.”
Lin Qian composed herself and offered a polite smile. “Understood, Brother Yang.”
As she walked into the dressing room, Yang Qi scratched his head. She isn’t as arrogant as the rumors said, he thought.
Lin Qian changed into a coarse, period-style robe. A thin layer of powder was hastily applied to her face, and her hair was swept up into a simple bun. She then followed the other extras to the set.
Though she’d heard stories about film sets from her teachers, this was her first time on one in either lifetime. Everything felt new and exciting, and her heart raced with anticipation.
From what she observed, they were filming a xianxia drama that was already airing. They had been called in as last-minute extras for some reshoots.
As people chatted about the drama’s plot, Lin Qian felt as if she were forgetting something important. Before she could figure it out, a crew member handed each of them a sword and explained the scene they were about to film.
The extras’ role was simple: they were to swing their swords a couple of times and then be killed by the main character.
Lin Qian listened intently. When the crew member finished, she stood straight and flicked her wrist, executing a graceful sword flourish. This was her “on-screen debut,” and she wanted to make a good impression. Unfortunately, the role was too simple to allow for any real acting.
She stared at the sword, focusing all her attention on the movements she would need to perform. She only looked up when the director shouted, “Get ready! We’re about to start!”
Immediately after the director’s call, a chorus of greetings echoed through the studio.
“Hello, Teacher Chi.”
“Teacher Chi is here!”
A young man with an ethereal, scholarly air and an exceptionally handsome face approached, surrounded by a crowd. He looked to be in his early twenties, yet his demeanor was anything but youthful. His black eyes were deep and piercing.
He acknowledged the greetings with a graceful nod and a smile, his composure impeccable.
In a flash of realization, Lin Qian finally remembered what she had forgotten.
The male lead of this drama was Chi Juanbei.
Born with a silver spoon in his mouth, his father was a renowned director and his mother a Double Golden Film Queen. Chi Juanbei had started his career as a child star, so even though he was only twenty years old, he was a seasoned veteran whom many older actors had to address as Senior.
He was naturally gifted at acting, but his parents’ connections also provided him with the best resources. Coupled with his own hard work, he had amassed countless awards, including a Best Actor trophy.
But that wasn’t the important part. The real issue was that he, like others, was a suitor of the female lead, Chu Qingqing. He had even once used the original host’s body as a substitute for her.
Between this and Lu Shihan’s determination to divorce, it was clear what kind of attitude these bastards had toward Lin Qian. And now, of all the people to cross paths with, it had to be him.
Desperate to keep this acting opportunity, Lin Qian dreaded any chance of Chi Juanbei ruining it. She quietly stepped back and lowered her head, hiding herself behind the other extras.
Fortunately, Chi Juanbei didn’t spare the extras a second glance. Once everything was ready, the shoot began.
Inside the studio, draped in vast green screens, Chi Juanbei slipped into character instantly. He strode from the distance, sword in hand. His costume was infinitely more exquisite than the extras’, flowing with an ethereal grace as he moved.
The director watched the monitor, his gaze shifting from Chi Juanbei’s flawless performance to the extras.
The first few extras were unremarkable. They held their swords stiffly, their expressions blank. With two swift stabs from Chi Juanbei, they collapsed to the ground.
The camera followed Chi Juanbei as he confronted the final extra. When the shot landed on her face, the director’s eyes lit up.
This extra is stunning, he thought. Her eyes were lively and expressive, and she held her sword with a heroic poise. Facing her “enemy,” her expression was resolute and fierce, instantly heightening the tension of the conflict.
Yang Qi, a seasoned veteran in the industry, had actually found a good extra this time.
Off-camera, Chi Juanbei and Lin Qian locked eyes, their movements freezing for a split second. His expression remained unchanged, but his mind raced. What is she doing here? I heard she’s in a bad spot. Is she trying to cling to me?
In Lin Qian’s eyes, Chi Juanbei was the enemy. Her clear pupils burned with rage, her aura terrifying as the sword’s blade flashed.
Chi Juanbei had never seen her like this. His distraction caused his movements to lag by a fraction of a second, and he nearly lost his grip on his sword.
Only Lin Qian noticed his stumble. She met his gaze, her eyes simmering with silent judgment, as if to say: You’re messing up such a simple scene?
Chi Juanbei read her expression perfectly. If he weren’t still in character, he would have scoffed. Who did she think she was? A bottom-tier actress known for nothing but noisy outbursts and wide-eyed glares? Yet here she was, looking down on him.
Lin Qian didn’t forget her place as an extra. She feigned a powerful impact from Chi Juanbei’s sword, letting out a sharp gasp. Staggering back two steps, she stared at Chi Juanbei with a mixture of agony and resentment before collapsing to the ground. She gripped her sword tightly and closed her eyes.
Chi Juanbei stared at her, speechless at her unnecessary flair.
After a moment, the director shouted, “Cut! Thank you, Teacher Chi!”
Out of the corner of his eye, Chi Juanbei watched Lin Qian rise and attempt to slip away. He narrowed his eyes and addressed the director, “Thank you, everyone. Just to be sure, that last shot won’t all make it into the final cut, will it?”
“No, we’ll only use about five seconds of it,” the director replied.
Chi Juanbei noticed Lin Qian slowing down. A faint, mocking smile touched his lips. “In that case, I think we should just cut the first part.”
Lin Qian’s shot was at the very end. By saying this, Chi Juanbei was effectively denying her any screen time at all.
Normally, a matter this trivial wouldn’t concern the male lead, but the director was more than happy to defer to him. “I’ll mention it to the editor,” the director promised.
He had actually been impressed by Lin Qian’s performance and had considered giving her four of the five seconds. Shame her status isn’t as high as Chi Juanbei’s, he thought.
Lin Qian turned her back to Chi Juanbei, her jaw clenched in silent fury.
But it wasn’t over. Just as she finished changing and prepared to leave the set, Chi Juanbei approached her. “Follow me.”
Unable to guess his intentions, Lin Qian lowered her head and followed him to a secluded spot, waiting for him to speak first.
Chi Juanbei hadn’t changed out of his costume yet, but he had removed his wig. His short black hair made his pale skin look almost cold. He stared at Lin Qian, his voice flat. “I heard you’ve been bothering Sister Qingqing lately.”
“Bothering” was a carefully chosen word. Lin Qian knew he was here to put her in her place. She clenched her fists and remained silent.
Chi Juanbei took a step forward, closing the distance between them instantly. Before Lin Qian could even think to retreat, he leaned in close, a faint smile pulling at the corner of his lips. His canine tooth peeked out as he whispered against her ear, “So arrogant for a mere stand-in, aren’t you?”
Lin Qian considered her options. First, these men would cut ties with her regardless, not because the original owner of this body had gone to Chu Qingqing to cause a scene. Second, the original owner had already apologized, but they had refused to accept it.
Explanations and pleas won’t do anything, she realized.
With that thought, she sidestepped, creating some distance between them. She looked up at him, her delicate features veiled in a mist of sorrow.
“I’ve already paid the price for it,” she said softly.