Fu Yanzong had entered the entertainment world at sixteen, making his debut by claiming the Silver Bear for Best Actor on the red carpet at the Berlin Film Festival. At twenty-one, he won the Palme d’Or in Cannes. By twenty-five, he earned an Academy Awards nomination. His life appeared to be one charmed run of success, gifted with exceptional looks, talent, and sheer luck. Even his mercurial, flamboyantly prickly temperament drew legions of fervent admirers.
But one day, a so-called Self-Rescue System informed him that he was merely one of the cannon-fodder suitors in a trashy entertainment industry novel about arranged marriages, belated romance, shattered mirrors mended, and a protagonist who captivated everyone.
All those accolades and stacked buffs existed solely to fuel his cutthroat contest for the prize alongside the other cannon fodder.
The business empire titan, the prodigy idol, the powerhouse newcomer, the ruthlessly efficient ace manager… they would all inevitably fall for the story’s true lead, the “purest handful of snow in showbiz.”
Fu Yanzong eyed the “handful of snow’s” utterly unerotic childlike build and found he simply couldn’t conjure “red-eyed feelings that strayed beyond the script.”
No thanks—he drew the line at that plotline.
Flipping ahead in the script, he discovered his fiercest rival was none other than Song Linyu, the legendary business empire overlord, domineering CEO, and psycho stalker.
The same Song Linyu who had once masqueraded as a lovestruck kept assistant, stringing him along in a years-long fake sugar-daddy charade as his ex-boyfriend.
Fu Yanzong: ……
/
System: Host, please read the original novel text next. While keeping the core plot intact, make minor adjustments to the direction to alter your fate.
“In the novel, Song Linyu seized Su Tang’s wrist on set, pinning him hard against the wall. Eyes bloodshot, he rasped, ‘Just how many men have you seduced?'”
In reality, Song Linyu wore a menacing scowl as he clamped down on the heartthrob’s wrist, slamming him into the wall. His voice came out low and icy: “I’ve warned you not to mess around.”
Su Tang’s eyes brimmed with red, his fingertips clutching at Song Linyu’s clothes in a picture of fragile vulnerability.
“‘At this point, Fu Yanzong finally arrived. Gazing at Su Tang—nose tip flushed red from crying, delicate as a flower in bloom—he yanked the man away in fury, seized Song Linyu’s tie, and snarled a warning: “Don’t touch my man!”‘”
Fu Yanzong strolled unhurriedly through the crowd, his gaze settling on the pair locked in confrontation.
The subpar actor rehearsing his lines hadn’t even finished his dialogue. Fu Yanzong let out a mocking chuckle, grabbed Song Linyu’s tie at random, and yanked him stumbling two steps closer.
His long-fingered hand slipped familiarly into Song Linyu’s hair, his tone lazy and offhand: “Don’t touch my man.”
Then he glanced at the heartthrob frozen in place and, with utmost professionalism, gripped Song Linyu tighter to deliver that final, rather idiotic line.
“Just how many men have you seduced?”
System: ……? Something felt profoundly off.
The anticipated Shura field failed to materialize.
Song Linyu’s Adam’s apple bobbed sharply beneath his pale skin. The man who had seemed so menacing and aloof moments ago now tilted his head with exquisite care to evade Fu Yanzong’s breath. In a tiny, halting whisper, he explained.
“…Only you.”
The heartthrob: What the hell???
