Su Qinghe had already been lying at home for five days.
Yes, five days.
As an eighteen-line minor actress who had transmigrated into a novel, she had deeply come to understand what it meant to have “pitifully scarce resources.”
The small company the original host had signed with only had three agents and eight artists in total. The project pool could be counted on one hand: two low-budget web dramas supporting female roles, a micro-business advertisement, and a variety show featuring a mixed lineup of obscure entertainers. It was said the filming location was the central atrium of a county town shopping mall.
After reading the list of projects, Su Qinghe fell silent for three seconds, then quietly closed the chat window.
Forget it, she would just lie low.
Her main goal now was to survive, not to court disaster.
But once a person had too much free time, their thoughts tended to wander.
For example, how exactly had she ended up here?
Su Qinghe lay on her bed, her head resting on crossed arms, a pen spinning lazily between her fingers as her unfocused gaze drifted toward a thin beam of sunlight seeping through the curtain gap.
On the day she left her original world, she had just wrapped up filming a drama. After months of strict dieting, she had become so thin she looked like a sheet of paper. That night after wrapping, she could not resist and ordered a barbecue delivery: lamb skewers, chicken wings, chives, enoki mushrooms, and a box of grilled eggplant she had been craving for three months.
The food had just arrived. She picked up a lamb skewer, and before she could take a bite—
Her vision went black.
At the time, she assumed it was low blood sugar and even thought about calling her agent. But before the call could connect, she lost consciousness.
And then she opened her eyes in a hotel suite, saw Lu Zhiheng, and experienced that utterly humiliating scene that made her want to dig a three-room apartment into the floor with her toes.
Su Qinghe rolled over and lay flat, staring at the ceiling.
Could low blood sugar even cause sudden death?
She was healthy, had annual checkups, and aside from slightly low blood pressure, had no major issues.
It was just a plate of barbecue. It was not poison, so how could it kill her instantly? She had not even taken a bite yet.
Unless—
A ridiculous possibility suddenly surfaced in her mind.
That book.
The novel her fans had torn apart.
“Why did the author give the same name to this brainless villainess supporting character as our idol?” That had been her fans’ exact complaint. Her agent had said the company was gathering evidence and negotiating with the author. But the more her agent told her not to read it, the more curious she became, so she had eventually opened it.
After finishing it, she had even posted on social media complaining: how much did the author hate the name Su Qinghe?
And then she had transmigrated.
Su Qinghe stared at the ceiling, slowly furrowing her brows.
Quantum entanglement?
She remembered seeing a science video explaining that once two particles became entangled, no matter how far apart they were, a change in one would affect the other. So could the “Su Qinghe” in reality and the “Su Qinghe” in the book be a form of entanglement?
Because the fans’ criticism was too intense and the author’s portrayal too harsh, did some kind of quantum-linked state emerge between them?
The thought made her laugh.
But after laughing, she felt a slight chill.
If that were true, how was she supposed to go back?
A direct answer appeared in her mind: die back.
If she had crossed over due to sudden death in the real world, would dying in this world send her back?
But—
What if that was not the case? What if she died here and truly died for real?
Su Qinghe rolled over and buried her face in the pillow.
No, that was too painful.
And too risky. If she failed to return, it would be a pointless death, and just thinking about it was embarrassing.
She lifted her head, pushed the pillow aside, and continued staring at the ceiling.
Besides, what if there was some system in this world?
Even though she had not seen anything like it since arriving, she did not dare gamble. If her death disrupted the plot and a system suddenly appeared declaring, “Host detected violating rules, initiating termination protocol,” then she would really be done for.
Su Qinghe sighed and tossed the pen onto the bedside table.
Forget it! Thinking about it was useless.
She would just adapt for now. Her real-world body was probably already in the hospital after her agent found her. It was just low blood sugar; an IV drip would fix it. She would not be cremated over something like that.
When she wakes up, she should be able to return.
Probably! She comforted herself with that thought, then turned over into a more comfortable position.
Today she was dressed rather lightly.
A pale pink camisole with thin straps rested on her shoulders, the neckline slightly low, revealing a stretch of fair skin along her collarbones and chest. Below was a pair of denim shorts so short they barely covered her thighs, exposing her long, straight legs. Her ankles were crossed, toes unconsciously flexing.
Because she was lying on her stomach, the straps of the camisole slipped slightly, and the faint curve beneath was subtly visible.
At home, she always dressed for comfort.
No one was watching anyway.
This body was even better than her real one.
At 172 cm, she was four centimeters taller than her original 168. The proportions were excellent, with long legs and a slim waist, and all the right curves in all the right places. When she had looked in the mirror earlier, she had even paused for a couple of seconds. A figure like this, in the real world, would have brands fighting to sign her.
What a pity the original owner had chosen to be love-brained instead.
Su Qinghe reached out and touched her waist, then pinched the flesh on her thigh.
Firm, elastic, unmistakably youthful.
Twenty-four years old, such a perfect age.
In her real world, she was already twenty-nine. Even though she maintained herself well and looked about twenty-five or twenty-six, her body knew the truth. One late night required three days of recovery, a single drink caused morning puffiness, and her metabolism had clearly slowed.
This body was different.
Last night she stayed up until three in the morning scrolling on her phone, and today she slept until noon. When she looked in the mirror, her skin was clear, her complexion radiant, and there were no dark circles at all.
Youth really was wonderful.
Su Qinghe rolled over, shifting from lying on her stomach to lying on her back, her legs bent and feet on the bed, a completely unrestrained posture.
She glanced down at her chest.
Mm, bigger than in her real world.
She measured it with her hands and concluded it was at least one cup size larger.
Was this a transmigration perk?
While she was lost in thought, her phone suddenly rang.
Caller ID: Sister Zhao.
Su Qinghe answered lazily.
“Hello, Sister?”
Sister Zhao’s voice came through, sounding excited.
“Qinghe, the deal for Our Little Courtyard is confirmed. You’ll join the production next week. Get ready, don’t run around these next few days, and rest well.”
“Okay, Sister.” Su Qinghe agreed and hung up.
She lay under the blanket with only her head exposed, staring blankly at the ceiling again.
She was going into filming next week.
She would be spending time with Lu Zhiheng.
And sharing scenes with Jiang Nian.
She took a deep breath, then slowly exhaled.
Forget it! She would just take things as they came.
As for how to return—
She would think about it slowly.
There would always be a way.
She rolled over, buried her face in the pillow, and before long, fell asleep.
Outside the window, sunlight gradually slanted westward, spilling over her body and outlining a soft silhouette.
Like a lazy little cat.