1 Jinjiang Literature City
Page 1/3
# Secret marriage and childbearing: Yes, we have a child #
# Top male celebrity S caught using drugs #
# xxx involved in underage prostitution #
# Wang Feng concert #
# Jinjiang is falling apart #
...
# Rising star You Yun rides an electric scooter without a helmet #
You Yun stared blankly at the last headline, feeling oddly out of place amid the fierce competition for internet traffic. Her trending topic had only five comments—a stark contrast. It was clearly bought by her agency, likely to shield a scandal-ridden artist by putting her forward as a scapegoat.
She sighed, checking a message from her close friend Liang Zhen: [“Babe, you’re trending! Such good fortune!”]
You Yun replied, [“Want this fortune? You can have it.”]
Liang Zhen laughed: [“Haha, exposure is exposure. Otherwise, what’s the point of filming all those dramas every year, ending up so obscure you don’t even have a Douban rating?”]
Though reluctant, You Yun had to admit Liang Zhen had a point.
You Yun: [“I might really have to give in and do a variety show.”]
Liang Zhen: [“Really? Travel show or extreme challenge?”]
You Yun: [“Girl group.”]
Liang Zhen: [“?”]
Two weeks ago, her agency’s platform Pineapple was planning a girl-group youth growth reality show. They were recruiting 100 contestants to train and compete, ultimately debuting five members. Acting on the principle of keeping profits in-house, her manager submitted her photo.
In the picture, You Yun wore long hair, her delicate, fresh appearance with wide, innocent eyes like a lively anime girl was sure to spark buzz for the show. With luck, she might even gain some minor fame.
At the time, You Yun had no idea and was stunned when she got the news. A performing arts graduate with no singing or dancing skills and terrible pitch—why would she join a talent contest?
No way.
You Yun refused: “I’m not going.”
Her manager tried to persuade her: “It’s just for show, to get your name out there and help you land roles later.”
Tempted but resolute, she said firmly: “Impossible. Even if I starve without work, I’d rather jump off a building than participate in such a show!”
“There’s a 100,000 yuan appearance fee if you join.”
“Where do I sign?”
“...”
It was just embarrassing herself on TV. But losing dignity for money was no shame.
So she was quickly softened by the money and sent into training camp.
Liang Zhen messaged: [“Relax, all entertainment shows have scripts. Just coast along, flirt a little with handsome guys, treat it like a vacation.”]
You Yun: [“Girl group contests don’t have handsome guys.”]
Liang Zhen: [“Then flirt with pretty girls, same effect.”]
You Yun: [“...”]
On WeChat, ten minutes passed with no driver accepting the order.
Star Rui Entertainment was located in the heart of the tech park, surrounded by hundreds of companies and tens of thousands of workers. It was 10 p.m., rush hour, and taxis were scarce.
Waiting longer was pointless. You Yun canceled the order and briskly walked to the bus stop.
A No. 212 bus heading directly to her neighborhood arrived. She swiped her card and stepped in, the air conditioning instantly cooling the suffocating heat.
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At the first stop, plenty of seats were available. You Yun chose one near the back and placed her storage box by her feet.
Two high school girls sat beside her, excitedly chatting about entertainment gossip.
In the deep night of Beijing, the air was heavy with summer heat. The thick darkness was like a hot mist, blurring the neon lights.
Soon one girl nudged her friend: “Look, your brother’s trending.”
As the bus turned, You Yun swayed and caught a glimpse of the phone screen.
The phone was playing a music video.
A red velvet tablecloth spread beneath a delicate crown and ornately carved metallic cups. The scene was richly Baroque, luxurious and intricate, with flickering light highlighting the central figure—brilliant yet lonely.
The clip was short, about ten seconds, likely a teaser, but enough to provoke the girls’ screams.
“So handsome.”
“Right? It sounds so full of story. Maybe it’s written for a secret crush?”
“Handsome but still has a crush? I wish I could be that girl.”
“Hahaha, me too.”
Their whispers mingled with the bus’s advertising.
You Yun usually didn’t follow industry news closely but knew exactly who they were talking about.
Zhao Zhiyu.
A top singer-songwriter who burst onto the scene four years ago with the hit “Moonlight,” instantly gaining fame and sweeping music awards. Renowned as a walking hit factory, he was both incredibly talented and flawless in appearance.
Though he avoided the film industry, his edited face-swap videos dominated websites, eclipsing actors, becoming a legend—truly a case of “face is everything.”
This was why Liang Zhen kept pushing her to do variety shows. In her view, acting skills didn’t matter in showbiz; as long as you had traffic, you could make a fortune beyond ordinary dreams. Besides, You Yun’s looks were on par with popular young actresses. Given a chance, she could explode in popularity.
You Yun wasn’t overly confident about her looks, but she had to admit Zhao Zhiyu was genuinely handsome—even by her exacting standards.
She never told Liang Zhen that Zhao Zhiyu had been a high school classmate, though they weren’t close—just ordinary schoolmates who lost contact after graduation.
Her continued interest stemmed from a chance she wrote a fanfic about him. Hearing the girls chattering beside her, she thought she had new material and reopened the trending video to watch the brief clip again.
It wasn’t the first time she searched for his videos, but it was the first time she observed him so closely.
The man had classic peach blossom eyes, long and slightly upturned at the corners, always with a casual curve. As the video progressed, he slowly lifted his eyelids, his brows gently rising.
It was as if he was gazing at her through the screen.
For a moment, You Yun’s heart tightened.
Guiltily, she shut off the phone.
September weather was changeable. Before boarding the bus, it had been hot and clear. Getting off, thick clouds loomed, threatening a storm—perfectly matching her sour mood.
She hurried home, barely changing clothes before kicking off her shoes and opening her laptop. Logging into a predominantly pink-themed novel website, she clicked into the author’s dashboard.
As a modern multi-hyphenate, she was also a fanfiction writer under the pen name “Yuzu Meow.” Her ongoing work was “101 Ways to Conquer a Mermaid (Explicit),” last updated two weeks ago, with readers eagerly awaiting new chapters.
Comments flooded in:
“Author, where are you?!”
“Yuzu, seriously stuck? Our little fish is still in the sensitive period underwater! She’s almost wrinkled—will she still be usable? If not, I’m jumping into the story to help!”
“@Above, count me in! Requesting to watch.”
...
Guilty about the prolonged hiatus, You Yun had been busy with auditions, spending ten hours daily on the road, leaving no time to write.
She exhaled and typed: “Scheduled: stew tonight!”
The beauty of online anonymity was freedom—no one knew her true identity. She could write whatever she wished, insane or eccentric, always finding like-minded readers.
After a frustrating day, she channeled her gloom into productivity, opening her document and diving in.
The fan whirred, but the stifling heat persisted.
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She recalled those peach blossom eyes from the video—deep yet bright pupils, fiery and wild like a beast, seeming to burn through the screen, perfectly matching her story’s male lead.
Her fingers hesitated over the keyboard before starting to type.
“Shattered moonlight spread across the water, casting two entwined bodies. Hair tangled with seaweed. She liked burying her head in his chest, tenderly kissing, and listening to his low breaths...”
The cursor blinked as lines of text poured out, filling three thousand words until the final punctuation.
By midnight, she uploaded the chapter, watched the approval come through, stretched, and took a shower. Back in bed, she browsed the newest comments.
“Wife is dancing wildly on my XP, non-human forever, bully him hard!!”
“Finally got a good one! Slurp slurp, the little fish is so cute, frying her should make her cry for a long time.”
“Cry louder, I love listening ahhhh!”
“Thanks for the luxury ride, love you!”
You Yun smiled at her readers’ shameless enthusiasm, losing herself in their praise.
Crossing her legs, she scrolled further until a comment sharing daily life caught her eye.
“Yuzu, have you tried Weibo’s new visitor feature? I bought a membership out of curiosity yesterday and found my ex stalking me. Laughing so hard—my daily life is just eating, drinking, and checking out male models. He’s so mad hahaha *covers mouth laughing*”
She’d heard of this feature—Weibo recently launched visitor records showing who visits your page daily, even tagging “frequent” or “multiple” visits—an internet embarrassment trap.
Her mood lifted slightly. While her own troubles were vexing, a friend’s social awkwardness was far more amusing.
Life was about finding joy amid hardship.
She quickly logged into her Weibo, splurged on a super VIP membership, and checked the visitor list.
Most were familiar IDs—her regular readers who followed her on multiple platforms, leaving comments here and there.
“Crazy person, get out of the way.”
“Lin Pinru Your Dad.”
“Save me, I’m 36D.”
“Old lady crossing red light.”
...
Scrolling, she spotted an unfamiliar avatar: a fishbone on a black background, with a yellow verified badge. The username was not a wild fan alias but a real name—Zhao Zhiyu.
“He visited you frequently yesterday.”
“Multiple visits the day before.”
You Yun froze. This must be a fake.
Originally, You Yun was just a casual fanfic writer with a few thousand followers, writing whatever readers requested—a self-proclaimed saint of the fandom. She made a modest living from short stories when not filming.
Later, a client commissioned her to write Zhao Zhiyu fanfic. She hesitated—writing about an old classmate felt strange—but the payment was generous and allowed creative freedom.
She gave in and took the job. The resulting short story about a non-human character exploded online, gaining tens of thousands of followers in a week, with countless pleas for continuation.
Riding this wave, she expanded it into a full-length novel. The comments were frequently filled with Zhao Zhiyu fans, using names like “Little Fish is My Wife,” “Sleeping with Paper Fish for Three Days,” and “Zhiyu True Love,” so fake accounts were to be expected.
Still, her instincts told her something was off. Her palms sweated as she nervously clicked the avatar.
It had to be a fake.
It had to be a fake.
With a pounding heart, she waited as the page refreshed.
The first thing she saw was his follower count—tens of millions. Below was the verified Weibo badge: “Singer, musician. Works: ‘Moonlight,’ ‘Bloom,’ ‘Runaway to the Moon.’” The pinned post was the very ten-second MV teaser she’d just watched on the bus.
This was the wildly popular, frequently trending, chart-dominating top star Zhao Zhiyu.
The real deal.
You Yun gasped and felt her tension finally release.