I have a persona specifically for acting.

Tong Zhao casually clicked “follow back.”

Even if the collaboration didn’t work out in the end, it was worth making friends with a director who admired her.

‘Sister Chu appreciates it, so let’s meet. I’ll take my time reading the script later. Is there anything else?’

Sister Chu handed her two more scripts.

Both were tailored for the role of the ‘Sea King’s Femme Fatale.’ Tong Zhao didn’t want to be typecast—she had many personalities in her memory palace, several of which had never appeared. She had asked the system, and the response was that her current mental energy was limited, insufficient to allow all personalities to emerge simultaneously. Keeping some personalities dormant was intended for her mental health. If she wanted to unlock more of her past, she needed to focus on acting and training!

According to the system, shooting instinctual films connected her consciousness, serving as a form of mental training.

It was quite an upgrade.

‘I’m not interested in either of these.’

Tong Zhao declined, and Sister Chu quickly stopped trying to tell her the benefits of the two scripts, simply saying, ‘If there are any types you want to play, let me know, and I’ll keep an eye out. There are actually many good ones; these two were just the most sincere offers.’

‘Fantasy and martial arts would be great.’

‘Okay, I’ll keep that in mind.’

Tong Zhao thought for a moment and added, ‘I don’t want to take on too many emotional roles next time.’

In recent years, there has been a show titled *What to Do if the Demon Lord Falls in Love with Me at the Same Time*, which tells the story of a matchmaking deity who dozes off and accidentally ties the female lead to two red threads. The other ends of the threads lead to two powerful figures from the righteous and evil realms. The male lead and the male supporting character wage war over her, while the little junior sister just needs to act cute and relax to ascend. The ease of gaining so much without effort while being pursued by two handsome guys is simply too enjoyable. This low-budget drama became a hit for an entire season, and since then, the industry has discovered the formula for success, leading to many more fantasy dramas centered on the competition for the female lead.

If Lu Xianzhang were to act in a similar drama…

She would probably feign weakness while secretly enhancing her strength, and when she was powerful enough, she would take out both the male lead and the supporting character with a single sword, then ascend after overcoming the tribulations and confront the matchmaking deity who tangled the red threads…

As Tong Zhao thought of this, the character of the little junior sister came alive again, cheerfully interjecting, “I’ve even thought of her immortal title! Let’s call her ‘The Lonely Immortal.'”

Lu Xianzhang: “…”

Duan Ge: “Why not just make a modern cultivation film where she wears a ‘kill the man’ lipstick and slays all the scumbags?”

The little junior sister laughed heartily.

“Sounds good,” Sister Chu nodded. “But you really are the most unique artist I’ve ever managed.”

As the assistant finished packing up, the three of them walked to the underground parking lot, where a van would take her to the next promotional venue. Sister Chu continued, “Your subconscious is quite special. The Instinctual Film Association has already listed you as a subject of special attention… Don’t worry, it won’t affect your roles. If you have any psychological needs, they will recommend professionals for you.”

Only then did Tong Zhao retract her worried gaze.

“Do you really not need a psychologist?” Sister Chu asked.

“If I need help, I will reach out to you first,” Tong Zhao promised.

Having multiple personalities sounds cool, but it often comes with many negative traits, making one sensitive and suspicious. This was the system’s way of protecting her as she experienced long lives across multiple worlds. It was different from traditional dissociative identity disorder, and seeing a psychologist would mostly be ineffective—if it were effective, the doctor would aim to eliminate her symptoms, while she felt there was nothing wrong with having so many personalities and even wanted to unlock more.

This has nothing to do with acting as a golden finger.

One person is like a chat group; Tong Zhao has long been accustomed to this unique liveliness.

Otherwise, who could share those fantastical experiences? How lonely would it be?

[No matter what happens,]

Noticing her low mood, Lu Xianchang comforted her: [We will always be here for you.]

As the elevator to the underground parking garage opened, Tong Zhao was about to say a few words to Lu Xianchang when she unexpectedly faced several dark cameras—reporters who were lurking around. Today, there were other artists in the studio, attracting some tabloid reporters eager to snap photos and write their little essays. The flash momentarily blinded them, and Tong Zhao quickly blinked twice, forcing herself to look at the cameras despite her discomfort.

The three young reporters took pictures of her emotionless face behind a black mask for a while. When they realized they weren’t going to capture any new expressions, they finally pulled their eyes away from the viewfinder. One of them asked, “Isn’t Young Master Wei picking you up for work today?”

Sister Chu patted her on the shoulder and said, “Let’s go.”

Tong Zhao responded with a sound of acknowledgment and continued walking without glancing aside.

The three reporters followed behind her, seemingly oblivious to her expression, and walked straight ahead.

Even without anyone responding, they fired off numerous questions, each with a sensational angle: “I heard someone saw you and Wei Zekai leaving the film set together after filming ‘Aquaman Kill.’ Are you two together now? Have you met his parents? What do his friends think of you? There are also rumors that you’ve moved; did Wei Zekai pay for it? His name is on the investment list for ‘Aquaman Kill,’ and it’s said that this variety show was created specifically to boost your popularity.”

Seeing that Tong Zhao had no intention of stopping to answer, the reporters continued their rapid-fire questioning while taking quick shots, trying to glean news from her expression. Unfortunately, with their barrage of malicious questions, she didn’t even raise an eyebrow, leaving them with no room for speculation.

The three reporters followed all the way until they watched Tong Zhao get into the plain nanny van. Confirming they wouldn’t get any gossip about Wei Zekai picking her up after work, they left reluctantly.

Once inside the car, the assistant pulled the blackout curtains and muttered, “What a bunch of flies.”

Sister Chu and Tong Zhao turned to look at her.

Realizing her mistake, the assistant quickly apologized to her two superiors.

“It’s fine; they are indeed annoying.”

As Sister Chu spoke, she complimented Tong Zhao again for her calm and composed demeanor, saying she had the aura of a superstar.

“They can’t get anything out of me, so they just want to provoke me. They would love for me to start yelling and cursing, so they can rush back and write their articles.”

The assistant handed Tong Zhao an eye mask and noise-canceling earplugs. After putting them on, she tried to close her eyes and rest in this brief moment of quiet.

The reporters were desperate to get a shot of her.

Tong Zhao was the type who made her manager’s job much easier—

She didn’t go clubbing or bar-hopping, leading a nearly ascetic lifestyle at home. Her biggest daily entertainment was brewing a cup of coffee, reading novels, watching live streams of others playing games, and occasionally playing a few rounds of Honor of Kings for practice. Sometimes, while gaming, she would have classical music playing in the background, mixed with the insults from her random teammates on her phone. The juxtaposition of high culture and the lowbrow created a kind of postmodern humor in her bedroom.

The reporters had no chance of capturing her.

Not only did they miss out on any embarrassing late-night drunken moments, but even decent street shots were incredibly rare.

The reporters had been lurking outside her apartment complex for two days, but aside from catching a glimpse of her getting into the nanny car, they had nothing to show for it.

Since her debut, Tong Zhao had kept her personal life very low-key.

However, she was never short of news or topics of discussion.

As that entertainment reporter mentioned, rumors of her relationship with the city’s wealthiest young master circulated when they were spotted leaving the film studio together—his flashy pink sports car was hard to miss even from eight hundred miles away. She didn’t care about the news surrounding her; let them take their photos, let them say whatever they wanted, and let the fans think what they wished. Acknowledging any of it would be conceding defeat in her eyes.

Knowing that she wouldn’t easily fall asleep, Sister Chu analyzed, “The company previously discouraged you from dating, but now that ‘Aquaman Kill’ has performed well, everyone is saying you and Wei Zekai have great chemistry. If you really want to date, everything can be arranged. Although he’s a rich second generation, he’s handsome, and the online perception of you dating into wealth won’t be too strong. Saying it’s true love would be very convincing and enhance your public image. Plus, since you don’t want to take on movies with too much romance, it indirectly confirms that you’re in a passionate relationship…”

“That’s nonsense,” Tong Zhao interrupted.

Tong Zhao waved her hand, “If you say more, I’ll get goosebumps.”

In fact, these things could be avoided.

She could tell Wei Zekai to act separately and find ways to avoid any misunderstandings.

There were countless methods; she could post on Weibo to clarify that she was single, and as long as her fans believed it, that would be enough. As long as there were no photos of them together, the rumors would soon fade…

But telling one lie requires countless others to cover it up. Tong Zhao planned to act until she could no longer perform and then retire gloriously. Did she want to maintain a persona until she was eighty? Just thinking about it was tragic. It was better to be herself, and her fans should stop fantasizing about a romance with her; that was nonexistent. At least before she secured a prestigious Best Actress award, she wouldn’t even consider romance—it was just too troublesome.

Fans really had a vivid imagination.

Tong Zhao had many fans, and those who controlled the comments didn’t seem too obvious.

Meanwhile, Wei Zekai was horrified to discover that every time he posted on Weibo, there were always comments urging him to be with Tong Zhao.

[They’ve moved the civil affairs bureau here, when are you getting your certificate?]

[It’s really hard to wrap this up if you don’t get married.]

[Am I shipping a fake couple? I don’t believe it, boohoo!]

Crazy!

Wei Zekai racked his brain for a way to clarify their relationship without making it seem like he was the one being rejected.

@Wei Zekai:

My dad doesn’t let me date young.

As a result, the CP fans didn’t disperse at all. A wealthy young heir actually being forbidden from dating? This intriguing tidbit quickly attracted more netizens to discuss it. Wei Zekai’s background was already dug up; he was the heir of Xiangze Group. The official account was flooded with tags, catching the chairman’s attention.

Chairman Wang didn’t have a Weibo, so he directly sent his secretary to clarify the rumors.

But how to clarify this?

The secretary was at a loss and finally decided to handle it officially, retweeting Wei Zekai’s post from the official Xiangze Group account.

[It is purely a rumor that Chairman Wei prohibits his son from dating. We urge an immediate stop to the spread of false information. Our company reserves the right to pursue legal action for infringement. Let’s start by not believing or spreading rumors!]

In just one afternoon, Wei Zekai’s original Weibo post was updated with an official label:

[This is false information and has been addressed. Details >>]

Wei Zekai was left dumbfounded.

Netizens below were laughing so hard they were almost in tears, mocking him for being single while passing the blame to his father. His father, in turn, was quick to put the blame back on him, almost giving him a concussion!

Being laughed at by netizens was one thing, but coming home to a lecture was another.

“You’ve embarrassed the family! If you’re incompetent, don’t blame your father. I’ve told you not to get addicted to video games; if you played less, you might have a girlfriend by now! What have you achieved playing games every day? Do you think games will just drop a girlfriend into your lap?”

Wei’s father scolded him. Coincidentally, his uncle had come over to discuss some matters and stayed for dinner, adding fuel to the fire: “Brother-in-law, these days, young people make friends through gaming. I heard from my daughter that she has a popular internet celebrity friend who goes out three times a month, each time to a different server! Xiao Kai, is your gaming skill just that poor?”

Wei Zekai’s heart had already stopped beating from embarrassment, leaving him just a shell of himself sitting there at the dinner table.

…

With the help of her agent, Tong Zhao’s first meeting with Screenwriter Shi was set in a private room at a five-star hotel restaurant.

The hotel was located by the river, and from the floor-to-ceiling windows, one could gaze at the luxurious riverside view across.

Tong Zhao arrived five minutes early, and as soon as she stepped in, a waiter greeted her with a smile, saying that Mr. Shi was waiting for her inside. “Okay, I understand.” The upscale restaurant during lunch was filled with patrons quietly conversing, some beautiful girls seizing the moment for selfies, while others noticed Tong Zhao’s presence and cast her curious glances.

Not causing too much commotion, Tong Zhao walked into the private room.

“Hello, Miss Tong,”

The afternoon sunlight by the river softly illuminated the man, casting him in shadow and making his features somewhat indistinct. The only clear detail was his model-like physique that the table couldn’t conceal. Upon hearing his cultured and gentle voice, combined with his profession, Tong Zhao couldn’t help but imagine a scholarly face. He rested one hand on the table’s menu, his long, elegant fingers holding a slender electronic cigarette—

Tong Zhao caught a faint scent of peach blossoms.

He turned off the electronic cigarette and put it away. “Please have a seat. Would you like to order first?”

Yuhe Xuan was a Chinese restaurant. After Tong Zhao sat down and exchanged greetings, a tea artist came to pour her a welcoming tea. The light golden liquid, brewed from osmanthus and peony, was poured from a glass pot into a small cup adorned with gold lotus leaves, filling it halfway. The fragrant tea created a warm atmosphere, and the inside of the cup was decorated with six lively red koi, symbolizing good fortune.

Tong Zhao took the menu and ordered two dishes she was particularly interested in, leaving the rest up to him.

“Is there anything you can’t eat?”

“Nothing in particular, but I do prefer things a bit on the sweeter side,” Tong Zhao honestly shared her preferences, not feeling the need to cater to him just because he was a renowned director.

“Let’s start with a tomato and snow pear soup. At this time of year, you can’t miss the drunken hairy crabs. The eel here is served without soy sauce, which balances the sweet and salty flavors nicely, so it’s worth trying… By the way, could you block the light a bit? It’s a bit too bright.”

At Shi Qianqiu’s gesture, the waiter brought over a screen to slightly shield them from the glaring light, and she was finally able to see his face clearly.

Shi Qianqiu had a gentle and refined demeanor.

His deep black eyes had a hint of flirtation at the corners, adorned with a mole that added a touch of charm to his serious appearance.

This reminded Tong Zhao of the background information her agent had sent her.

Unlike the Wei and Tong families, Shi Qianqiu’s family was involved in the gray industry, and even earlier, it had been purely black. Their ancestors had been astute enough to wash their reputation and transition to legitimate business, moving from black to gray, with some connections to the Hong Kong side. The information Sister Chu had found was quite limited, but fortunately, Shi Qianqiu himself was not a dangerous individual. He had previously had public spats with several celebrities and influencers due to his straightforwardness, yet he had not been harmed in any way.

In his films as a screenwriter, he didn’t have actors he wanted to work with refusing to come, nor was he ever forced to shoot at gunpoint.

He wasn’t dangerous, which was why the agent hadn’t outright rejected this opportunity.

After he politely finished ordering, and the waiter stepped out, he asked, “Have you read my script?”

“I’ve read it; it’s quite interesting. However, compared to a movie, I think it feels more like a game designed to deliberately challenge players.”

She saw a hint of appreciation in his eyes.

“One of my dreams is to become a game designer for Souls-like games.”

The most famous Souls-like games, such as ‘Dark Souls’, ‘Bloodborne’, and the widely discussed ‘Sekiro: Shadows Die Twice’, are known for their difficulty—exceedingly difficult.

Browser games might give you automatic pathfinding and a crit of 9999. Souls-like games also have their own version of a crit of 9999.

It’s just that the small monsters hit the player with a crit of 9999.

When you die, you’ll lose experience, equipment, and money, making the difficulty feel extremely hardcore to Souls-like enthusiasts.

Why is it hardcore?

Perhaps it’s because their brains can withstand the constant hits from monsters, enduring the cold and ruthless game design.

Tong Zhao nodded. “I can sense that from the script you wrote.”

‘The Heartless Tribulation’ has a straightforward main plot.

It’s a dual-protagonist film centered around a pair of Daoist partners.

The male and female protagonists are fated to be each other’s companions, achieving great results through their dual cultivation. In the past, the male lead married the female lead, who only had a mid-tier fire spirit root, to enhance his cultivation. After obtaining a method for killing his wife to attain enlightenment, he encountered a suitable match, but the troubled female supporting character, harboring jealousy, led the male lead to take all the benefits. She trapped the female lead in a water prison with a life-swapping curse, forcing her to wait in fear, despair, and resentment for seven days until her death.

The female lead escapes the water prison while severely injured, descends the mountain to survive, and finds a way to seek revenge.

The only way to break the life-swapping curse is to crush the mother curse hidden in the heart of the female supporting character.

Desperate not to die in the wilderness and give her enemies an advantage, the female lead must return.

The only way to break the deadlock in the script is for the female lead to overcome her inner demons and find the legendary sword of severing emotions, sealed for a thousand years…

Tong Zhao: “There’s a high chance the female lead will die right at the start. Every time a full-dome movie is reshot, it costs a fortune.”

Shi Qianqiu: “I have plenty of money.”

Tong Zhao doesn’t doubt this at all.

“I used to dream of being a writer,” Shi Qianqiu naturally shifted to what seemed like an unrelated topic. “I wrote suspense novels on Jinjiang, with a grand scope. Every character was filled with doubt, and the protagonist was constantly threatened by death. Readers said each chapter was thrilling and exciting, eagerly anticipating how the subplots would be resolved and how those seemingly unsolvable problems would be tackled…”

“And then?”

The dishes were served.

Tong Zhao sipped her tea while listening to him speak.

“And then I realized I couldn’t turn it around, and I messed up.”

Shi Qianqiu spread his hands, looking helpless yet candid.

…

Tong Zhao: “Ah, I really didn’t see that coming.”

From the rhythm of their conversation, it seemed Shi Qianqiu had a talent for writing humorous novels.

“Back then, readers said the challenges I designed were really engaging. They also expected my protagonists to accomplish the impossible, to do things that were logical yet unexpected…”

“So, working with the instinctive filmmaking is quite interesting. I just need to focus on designing the challenges, and I’m very confident in that.”

“When I saw ‘Countdown 72 Hours,’ despite the critical NPC dying, you still managed to bring the movie to a successful conclusion,”

Shi Qianqiu’s originally gentle tone became filled with excitement, and his gaze toward her sparkled with enthusiasm, as if he viewed her like a game designer admires a top player, feeling that only she understands him: “It really touched me. You are the player… ah, I mean, the actress I’ve been looking for.”

Tong Zhao thought: [System, he must have a lot in common with you.]

The system did not respond to her remark.

“Have you found the lead actor yet?”

She asked.

In this script, if viewed from the male protagonist’s perspective, it’s a typical story of toxic masculinity, where he ascends, gets rich, and swaps wives—essentially fulfilling the three great joys of life.

Such a malicious subconscious is something most people truly can’t handle.

Shi Qianqiu nodded happily and mentioned a name.

“Don’t worry, what I, Shi Qianqiu, love most is paying attention to those uniquely styled subconscious elements. The lead in last year’s hit slasher film ‘Don’t Look Back on Rainy Nights’ was someone I recommended to Director Zhang.”

At this point, he sighed regretfully, filled with sorrow over lost talent: “I initially wanted to give that supporting role to Xu Zhu, who played Feng Sisi. It was so perfect for her! Unfortunately, her manager rejected it after hearing about the character’s traits and positioning. I really thought it suited her.”

Tong Zhao, who was eating bamboo fungus, almost laughed and bit her tongue.

The meal was enjoyable for both host and guest. Through their conversation, Tong Zhao discovered that Shi Qianqiu was a very thoughtful screenwriter. His understanding of instinctive filmmaking possessed a level of innovation that many directors and screenwriters transitioning from traditional cinema lacked.

“The more you try to control, the more likely the performance will fall apart.”

“The screenwriter can only lay out the framework and provide guidance. Rather than hoping actors follow your intentions, it’s better to understand what kind of actor you need and what their personality is like.”

“Whoever performs better among the two leads will get more screen time. If one tries to dominate, the protagonist might end up being a supporting character. The male lead was aware of this possibility before signing the contract. He is very confident that no matter who I cast, they won’t overshadow him.”

“But I think you, Tong Zhao, should give it a try.”

Tong Zhao felt quite excited listening to him.

This filming style suits her perfectly.

As for the plot…

“It’s a bit similar to your past experience with Lu Xianchang. Do you want to take it?”

Tong Zhao asked.

She actually didn’t like that memory very much.

That time was truly disastrous; she had just arrived and was in a state of bloody agony, feeling worse than death. The original character’s memories were filled with sorrow and resentment, so the personality formed after experiencing that world was one of the least similar to Tong Zhao herself.

In cultivating immortality, one seeks to understand the heart and the path, fearing karma the most.

A magnanimous person can smile and let go of grudges, but unfortunately, Lu Xianchang hasn’t smiled since he suffered that life-threatening blow from his husband.

She only believes in a sword to resolve grudges.

Lu Xianchang said, “What harm is there in cutting once more?”