After the final group photo, it was time for the wrap party. By the time everything wrapped up, it was already 10 p.m. Liang Yan sat in the back of her nanny van, heading back to the hotel, and asked Jiang Mu to go over her upcoming schedule.
Jiang Mu opened the artist schedule on his iPad. “You’ve got a variety show next week—Brave Challenger. It’ll be filmed in City B and takes two days in total.”
“Oh,” Liang Yan nodded. The show didn’t ring any bells. She figured it must have started sometime during the three years she’d forgotten.
Still, she was in a pretty good mood. Back in her D-list days, she wasn’t even invited to variety shows. Now she could finally appear on one—progress! But acting was her real job, so she asked, “And after that? When do I join the next drama crew?”
Jiang Mu hesitated, looking a little awkward as he closed the schedule. “Uh… after that… there is no ‘after that.’”
Liang Yan blinked, confused. “No ‘after that’? What do you mean?”
Jiang Mu looked at her with gentle sincerity. She’d been walking on air these past few days, thrilled to have apparently climbed from D-list to third-tier actress. He really didn’t want to crush her, but… there was no way around the truth.
“What I mean is…” he took a breath, “That Brave Challenger variety show… is your one and only gig for the next three months.”
Liang Yan burst out laughing and leaned over to peek at his iPad. “Oh, come on, don’t joke with me. When’s the next shoot? Show me.”
Jiang Mu had no choice but to hand over the iPad.
She scrolled through the schedule, and sure enough—the calendar for the next three months was painfully empty, except for that one variety show.
“…What the hell?” Liang Yan frowned, staring at the blank schedule in disbelief. “You’re not messing with me, are you?”
Jiang Mu looked at her, heart aching. “I’m not.”
“This is worse than three years ago!” she shoved the iPad back at him. “At least back then I was doing background roles—I had work. Now what, I don’t even get crumbs?!”
She grabbed Jiang Mu by the collar in a panic. “Tell me the truth—did someone blacklist me?!”
“No, no, definitely not!” Jiang Mu gently pried her hands off his clothes and said quietly, “It’s just that… well… no one really wants to hire you anymore.”
“…Why? Why doesn’t anyone want me? I’m a third-tier actress now, aren’t I?”
Her burst of emotion faded, and she shrank back into her seat. A heavy cloud of disappointment and helplessness settled over her.
Jiang Mu glanced at the dazed, memory-wiped Liang Yan and pressed his lips together for a moment.
“I’ll tell you… but promise me you won’t get too upset.”
“…Okay.” Liang Yan lowered her head.
Liang Yan’s so-called “promotion” from a D-list to a third-tier actress wasn’t thanks to some breakout role or career-defining performance. It all started two years ago, when Lu Lincheng—who rarely posted on Weibo—suddenly made a bombshell announcement.
He posted a single message revealing that he was married, and even tagged his wife directly: an unknown D-list actress named Liang Yan.
The news dropped like a nuclear bomb on the entertainment industry.
At the time, Lu Lincheng was just breaking into acting and was widely seen as a rising star with huge potential. He was in the prime of his career, so no one expected him to suddenly get married—especially not to someone no one had ever heard of. The shock was so intense that Weibo actually crashed from the traffic. Developers had to pull an all-nighter just to get the site back online.
And just like that, Liang Yan, previously a complete nobody, was thrust into the public eye. Her name recognition soared, and she barely crossed the threshold into third-tier status.
With the “Mrs. Lu Lincheng” title boosting her profile, it stood to reason that if she played her cards right, she could easily work her way up to second-tier—or even first-tier. But what actually happened was… nothing. She plateaued at third-tier and never moved again.
Because after that single Weibo post, Lu Lincheng never mentioned her again.
No interactions online.
No public couple appearances.
No interviews where he even acknowledged her existence.
His PR team even made it standard practice to request that reporters not mention Liang Yan at all during interviews.
Some fans even discovered that Lu Lincheng didn’t follow Liang Yan on Weibo.
It was a marriage that, for all intents and purposes, didn’t exist.
So the entire entertainment industry started waiting for the inevitable divorce. It was as if everyone had collectively decided to pretend Lu Lincheng had never gotten married. That Weibo post? Just a slip of the thumb, an accident that should be erased from memory. And in order to maintain the illusion that Lu Lincheng was still single, the best thing his wife could do was disappear from the spotlight entirely.
After the marriage announcement, Liang Yan managed to land two leading roles. The producers had banked on the publicity from her “Lu Lincheng’s wife” label to stir up hype. But once the dramas aired, they were met with overwhelming fan backlash. Organized boycotts. Waves of hateful comments. The projects flopped, barely making a ripple.
Soon enough, people in the industry caught on. With Lu Lincheng being as wildly popular as he was, who wanted to see his wife show up on their screens? Who wanted her there to ruin the fantasy?
Her job offers started to dry up.
Even the costume fantasy web drama she just wrapped had only cast her as a last-minute replacement after the original female lead suddenly quit. The production couldn’t afford a full cast of unknowns, so they pulled in Liang Yan just to fill the gap.
As for the variety show she was scheduled to appear on next week—it was a brand-new show on a struggling TV station. They invited her not for her talent, but for the buzz. They wanted clicks, conversation, controversy. The plan was simple: bring her on for one episode, let people tear her apart, and then quietly phase her out after the attention peaked.
Liang Yan sat in silence as Jiang Mu finished explaining everything.
A single, fat tear rolled down her cheek and hit the seat with a quiet plop.
Jiang Mu panicked and rushed to pull out tissues. “H-Hey, don’t cry! Come on, don’t cry…”
Liang Yan took the tissue from him, trying her best to hold it in. But the more she thought about it, the more it hurt—until she couldn’t hold it back anymore.
And then she started crying harder. And harder.
When Liang Yan found out the entire internet was waiting for her and Lu Lincheng to get divorced, she felt embarrassed—but not exactly heartbroken. After all, she’d only ever been a casual fan of his at most, and marrying him had never once crossed her mind.
What really made her tear up was learning that although her marriage to Lu Lincheng had technically boosted her to third-tier status, it also left her with no roles, no gigs, and far fewer opportunities than when she was an unknown D-lister doing background work.
“This damn marriage—might as well have not gotten married at all,” she sobbed, crying and sniffling all at once.
Jiang Mu didn’t know how to comfort her. Honestly, from Liang Yan’s perspective, the marriage did seem worse than not being married at all.
After thinking for a moment, Jiang Mu offered weakly, “Hey, don’t forget you’ve got that variety show next week. Just do your best on it, alright? As for acting gigs… maybe I can poke around and see if another lead actor’s dropped out somewhere?”
Liang Yan wasn’t signed to a management agency, so ever since her debut, it had been Jiang Mu—her assistant—handling all her work and bookings.
After she’d cried herself out, Liang Yan sulked in silence all the way until their nanny van stopped in front of the hotel.
Back in the room, most of their luggage had already been packed by Jiang Mu. The shoot was officially wrapped, and they were scheduled to return to City B the next day.
After showering, Liang Yan put on a sheet mask and lay on the bed, scrolling through her phone.
She wasn’t the type to post on social media often, so trying to piece together the last three years of her life through digital breadcrumbs turned out to be a lost cause. After a while, she gave up and opened her Weibo profile. Her follower count sat at exactly one million—no more, no less.
The number wasn’t bad. Certainly better than when she was still a nobody. But when she looked at the engagement on her posts… well, even her best-performing ones barely reached a hundred likes. Most comments and likes hovered in the tens.
That was when Liang Yan had to admit the truth: she didn’t have many real fans left.
She sighed.
Just then, Jiang Mu sent her a WeChat message with the flight info for their return to City B. Right after that, another message came in—a street address, marked with the note: “Your and Lu Lincheng’s home.”
Her eyebrows twitched at the words ‘your and Lu Lincheng’s home’.
Thankfully, Jiang Mu followed up with a thoughtful reassurance: “Don’t worry, Lu Lincheng rarely goes back there. The place is basically yours alone.”
Only then did Liang Yan relax. She opened Lu Lincheng’s Weibo fan page just to be sure and saw that he’d been busy filming on set lately. Since actors who’d officially joined production weren’t allowed to leave without notice, the chances of running into him were practically zero.
Relieved, she slid her phone under her pillow and, with a head full of thoughts, tried to sleep.
The next day, she and Jiang Mu boarded their flight back to City B, dragging their suitcases behind them.
The flight was delayed by more than an hour. By the time Liang Yan arrived “home,” it was already 8 PM.
She pressed her fingerprint to unlock the door and stood in the entryway, staring blankly at the 200-square-meter apartment.
The decor was sleek and modern, dominated by cold grays—clearly designed to suit the male owner’s taste. It was a far cry from the cozy, beige-toned warmth of her old studio apartment.
The place was spotless—clearly maintained by a cleaning service. The fridge was stocked with fresh fruit and food, all with recent expiration dates.
Since Jiang Mu had assured her that Lu Lincheng rarely came home, and given that he was confirmed to be filming on set, Liang Yan felt safe enough to settle in. She put her luggage away, grabbed a yogurt from the fridge, and wandered through the apartment in slippers to familiarize herself with the layout.
Everything was in place—immaculately so. But it all felt too tidy, too perfect. Like a set piece in a drama. Lifeless. Soulless. Missing the warmth and chaos of a home actually lived in.
The floor heating was on, and the apartment was almost uncomfortably warm. Liang Yan sighed and pulled a silk camisole nightdress from the wardrobe.
After another shower, she lay in bed in her nightgown and turned off the lights.
But no matter how many times she turned over, she just couldn’t fall asleep.
Liang Yan stared wide-eyed into the darkness, watching the faint silhouettes of furniture cast deep shadows across the room. She tried desperately to recall the three years she had forgotten, but her mind remained blank—only a dull ache pulsing at the back of her head.
Just sleep, she told herself over and over. Maybe you’ll remember everything tomorrow.
She closed her eyes, repeating the thought like a mantra. Just as she was beginning to drift off, the mattress beside her suddenly dipped.
Liang Yan’s eyes flew open. She bolted upright from under the covers, and when she saw a shadowy figure beside her, an involuntary gasp slipped from her lips.
The man heard her and, realizing she was still awake, reached out and clicked on the bedside lamp with a soft snap.
Lu Lincheng sat on the edge of the bed, looking over at her. In the dim amber light, her long, wavy hair spilled over her shoulders like seaweed, the dark strands making her skin look even paler by contrast—soft as porcelain. The silk camisole she wore clung to her curves, outlining every delicate contour of her body.
A faint smile tugged at Lu Lincheng’s lips.
Liang Yan was still reeling from the shock of seeing his face when she somehow found herself pinned beneath him.
A hand trailed slowly up her thigh, and her body reacted on instinct—she tried to kick out, only for her ankle to be caught in a firm grasp.
Her entire body trembled. She stared up at the man’s devastatingly handsome face, now just inches from her own.
Lu Lincheng held her ankle and asked casually, “You don’t want to?”
But he didn’t seem particularly interested in waiting for an answer. His long fingers slipped beneath her camisole strap and pushed it off her shoulder with ease. Then, his body lowered over hers, his hand finding the softness of her chest and kneading it lazily in his palm.
Liang Yan was in a daze the entire night.
She had no memory of the past and no experience to draw from. All she could do was surrender—completely—her body light and limp like a piece of driftwood caught in the tide. Her toes curled instinctively, her slender legs kicking weakly in the air. Her hands clutched helplessly at the bedsheets behind her, face burning as the unfamiliar sounds spilling from her lips echoed in her ears.
Whether she wanted to or not…
In the end, it didn’t really matter, did it? She still did.
***