Rebirth: A big star falls in love with me

She's right. Zhang Yu couldn't refute her.

From the moment he awakened to those memories, he embarked on a path of no return.

Collecting starlight marks and completing that damned mission—these are the things that truly put him "out of his control."

"If I told you that I had my reasons for everything I did, would you believe me?" Zhang Yu asked, his voice tinged with a rare vulnerability.

Chen Chen looked at him for a long time. Then she gently shook her head: "I believe you have your reasons. But Zhang Yu, reasons are not a reason to hurt others. You could have chosen not to hurt me, but you chose to hurt me."

She stood up, her moon-white cheongsam gleaming softly under the lamplight: "Zhang Yu, we both need some time to calm down. There's still a month left on the film, and I'll do my job professionally. But after filming is finished... maybe we should reconsider our relationship."

She spoke calmly, but every word was like a knife, piercing Zhang Yu's heart. He knew she was subtly proposing a breakup.

"Chen Chen..." Zhang Yu wanted to say something, but the door to the dressing room was suddenly pushed open.

Gao Yuanyuan stood at the door, script in hand. Seeing the scene inside, she froze. "I'm sorry... I didn't know you were talking. I... I came to return the script. Director Zhang, you made notes on it, and I'd like to review them carefully tonight..."

As she spoke, her face flushed slightly, and her eyes darted between Zhang Yu and Chen Chen, clearly realizing that she had arrived at the wrong time.

"It's alright," Chen Chen said calmly. "I'll go first, you two chat."

She picked up her bag, walked past Gao Yuanyuan, and didn't look at Zhang Yu again. Her figure in the moon-white cheongsam gradually disappeared down the corridor, finally vanishing around the corner.

Gao Yuanyuan stood at the door, somewhat at a loss: "Director Zhang, did I... disturb you?"

"No." Zhang Yu rubbed his temples. "Come in, give me the script."

Gao Yuanyuan walked in and handed him the script. The script was covered with Zhang Yu's annotations—where to pause, where to emphasize, what expression to use. Every point was written in detail and with great care, showing that he had put a lot of thought into it.

"Director Zhang, you wrote so carefully," Gao Yuanyuan said softly. "I will definitely read it carefully."

“Hmm.” Zhang Yu took the script, turned to the last page, where he had written a passage: “The most important thing in acting is authenticity. Techniques can be learned, but authenticity cannot. Remember, you are not playing Zhou Wanqing, you are her. What she thinks is what you should think; what she feels is what you should feel.”

Gao Yuanyuan's eyes lit up as she read the passage: "Director Zhang, you're absolutely right. I... I've always felt that acting is about becoming the character, not just performing the character."

“You are very perceptive,” Zhang Yu said, looking at her. “But this path is difficult. In this industry, sincerity is often the easiest thing to be trampled on. You must protect yourself.”

He spoke with great sincerity. Gao Yuanyuan looked at him and suddenly asked, "Director Zhang, what about you? Have you protected your sincerity?"

That's a very pointed question. Zhang Yu paused for a moment, then gave a wry smile: "I didn't."

"why?"

“Because…” Zhang Yu paused, “Because some games, once started, cannot be stopped. Even if you know it will hurt others and hurt yourself.”

Gao Yuanyuan looked at him, seemingly understanding but not quite. This naive girl didn't yet comprehend how complex and sordid the adult world was. But Zhang Yu could sense her growing admiration and affection for him—another starlight mark was slowly taking shape.

"Director Zhang, don't be too upset about today's news," Gao Yuanyuan said softly. "I believe you. You're not that kind of person."

"Why do you trust me?" Zhang Yu asked, "We've only known each other for a day."

“Because of your eyes,” Gao Yuanyuan said earnestly, “your eyes are so pure and sincere. A person with eyes like that wouldn’t do that kind of thing.”

She spoke with such conviction and such naivety. Looking at her, Zhang Yu felt a surge of intense guilt—this girl trusted him so much, yet he might use her and hurt her in the future.

"Thank you," Zhang Yu finally said. "It's getting late, let's go back. We have filming tomorrow."

"Okay!" Gao Yuanyuan nodded vigorously. "Director Zhang, you should also get some rest and not overwork yourself."

She turned and left, her white dress silhouette appearing pure and captivating under the corridor lights. Zhang Yu stood in the dressing room, staring at the empty space, the mole under his left eye burning as if it would pierce his skin.

He could feel two more starlight imprints appearing within him—Chen Chen's utter disappointment and Gao Yuanyuan's pure adoration. The progress was accelerating, but the emptiness in his heart was growing ever larger.

Can he really make it to the end in this game?

he does not know.

All he knew was that he had no way out.

Outside the window, Hengdian was brightly lit at night. In the distance, the sounds of a film crew shooting a night scene could be heard; the director was yelling "Cut!" and the actors were laughing.

Everything felt so familiar, yet so strange.

Zhang Yu stepped out of the dressing room and stood under the eaves of the Imperial Garden. A night breeze blew, and the silk-embroidered red plum blossoms swayed gently in the darkness, like a dream from which he would never awaken.

In his dream, there were 108 women's faces—Chen Chen's tears, Zeng Li's smile, Bai Bing's coldness, Yang Mi's scheming, Gao Yuanyuan's purity, Jing Tian's timidity, Gulinaza's beauty, Zhao Liying's resilience, Dilireba's passion, Wang Likun's elegance...

Every face is a starlight, every starlight is a mission, and every mission is a form of harm.

This is his path.

Whatever the cost.

He could only keep moving forward.

……

The nights in Hengdian are never quiet. At 7:30 p.m., the lights in the Ming and Qing Palace gradually went out, but filming in other areas of the film studio was in full swing. Zhang Yu stood under the corridor of the Imperial Garden, the cigarette between his fingers had burned to the end, but he was completely unaware of it.

The phone screen lit up again; it was Li Xiaoming's twelfth call. Zhang Yu finally answered, and the other person's voice was urgent and tired: "Director Zhang, the investors can't hold back anymore. President Wang, along with two other investors, is demanding an emergency meeting tomorrow morning to discuss financial issues and... a possible change of director."

"Change the director?" Zhang Yu's voice was calm, revealing no emotion.

“Yes, they said that if the financial problems are true, someone must be held responsible.” Li Xiaoming paused. “Director Zhang, I know those documents are forged, but public opinion is very unfavorable to us right now. You need a strong counterattack.”

"How to fight back?"

“Hold a press conference to clarify things directly,” Li Xiaoming said. “I have already contacted fifteen mainstream media outlets. It will be tomorrow afternoon at 2 PM at the Hengdian World Studios Hotel. You must attend, and you must bring the main actors—especially Chen Chen and Zeng Li; their attitude is very important.”