Chapter 1

Joy That I Return Has a Time Limit (01)

"Like Slightly Sweet"

Lin Yuan Yu'er / Written

2019.10.16

Chapter One

The feeling of autumn gradually deepened.

In the clear night sky, the crescent moon hung like a hook, with a few bright stars scattered around it.

Dongshan Film and Television City was still bustling with voices and brightly lit.

Mu He changed out of her costume, wrapped herself in a coat, and as soon as she came out of the dressing room she received a call from Zhong Mingyu, who said something had delayed her and she would be late. She told Mu He to order something to eat first. In the background there was also a man’s irritable roar: “If you don’t finish filming, don’t even think about wrapping up!”

Mu He’s ears buzzed from the noise. Before she could respond, the other side gave two careless “mm” sounds and hurriedly hung up.

She put away her phone. Just as she turned a corner after going out, she heard a childish milky voice behind her: “Hey, you, stop right there for Zhen!”

Mu He turned around. A bright yellow figure entered her eyes—it was Haohao, the little boy who played the young emperor in the drama. Although he stood there only as a short little figure, the authority of an emperor could not be ignored. She walked respectfully to him, slowly crouched down, slightly bowed, which counted as a salute: “What orders does Your Majesty have?”

Their heights were suddenly at the same level. The little boy lifted his chin, clasped his hands behind his back in a proper manner, and secretly sized her up.

Mu He waited in confusion for several seconds before the little emperor finally spoke with childish yet deliberately dignified “imperial words”: “Although you don’t have lines, and you don’t have many shots, and you also… also poisoned me to death…”

In the drama, she played a spy arranged beside the young emperor. At the final moment, she fed him a bowl of poisoned porridge, poisoning him to death, and then she herself was killed. The two of them wrapped filming together and “received boxed meals” together.

Mu He showed a guilty expression: “Sorry, Your Majesty.”

The little boy was not interrupted and raised his chin even higher: “But I think you acted much better than that Miss Alphabet who only knows how to say ABCD.”

Mu He froze slightly, then followed the direction he pointed. In the studio, Qin Zhi, who played the Grand Princess Protector of the Nation, was arguing fiercely with the Regent. Palace maids and eunuchs were kneeling on the ground in panic. Behind the monitor, the director wore an expressionless face…

The little boy hammered the final verdict: “You’ll definitely be more promising than her in the future!”

Mu He withdrew her gaze and asked with a faint smile: “Why are you so confident in me?”

“Because, because…” The little boy rarely stammered, seeming a bit shy as he avoided her gaze, pursed his small mouth and muttered, “Because not only is your acting good, you’re also prettier than her.”

Mu He burst into laughter. She stretched out her hand, wanting to touch his cute little face, then realized her hands were cold, so she stepped forward and hugged him instead. A sudden warmth surged into her eyes, and her tone softened: “Thank you.”

A faint blush appeared on the little fellow’s face. He struggled awkwardly twice, then obediently let her hold him: “Work hard. Don’t embarrass Zhen.”

Mu He released him, gentle light flowing in her eyes: “As you command, Your Majesty.”

The little fellow nodded with satisfaction. Out of the corner of his eye he saw his mother looking for him everywhere with a milk bottle, so he immediately straightened his back: “Um, it’s getting late. You may withdraw.”

After saying that, he ran off in a flash himself.

Mu He stood up and saw him being picked up by his mother, holding the milk bottle with both hands and gulping down a big mouthful. She suddenly laughed. The person who had just warmly encouraged her was actually still a child who needed milk.

The night wind brought a trace of chill. She couldn’t help shivering. Touching her empty stomach, she walked briskly outside, took a shortcut to a nearby snack shop, ordered a bowl of tomato beef brisket noodles, and additionally asked for a fried egg.

Halfway through the noodles, Zhong Mingyu finally arrived late. She had been following a supernatural film crew these past few days. She had changed clothes but hadn’t removed her makeup. After greeting Mu He, she went to order with a frightening ghost makeup on her face.

The owner had been doing business in the film city for two years and had seen all kinds of monsters and demons. Facing that face whiter than a wall and those bright red lips stretched to the ears, he was naturally unsurprised. After she ordered a portion of spicy hotpot, he tapped the payment QR code stuck on the glass window, signaling her to pay first.

No choice—most customers who came here were extras. Not only did they not bring much profit, sometimes they would receive a call from the crew while eating and disappear in the blink of an eye. His small business couldn’t handle that.

Zhong Mingyu didn’t like his attitude. Although she was poor, she didn’t lack money for this bowl of spicy hotpot. She scanned the code and paid, then fiercely poked her phone in front of his eyes, telling him to open his dog eyes and look carefully: “Paid, paid!”

The owner wasn’t angry at all. Whoever paid was the boss. He even smiled and praised her ghost makeup as very realistic—perfect for home travel and stopping children from crying at night.

Zhong Mingyu also smiled back, pale face and red lips, sinister and terrifying. The chopsticks in the owner’s hand trembled twice.

She ignored him, pulled out a chair, and sat opposite Mu He, asking meaningfully: “How does it feel acting with the currently red-hot female star Qin Zhi?”

Mu He heard the teasing. She lowered her eyes and recalled that scene. After she poisoned the young emperor, the Grand Princess waiting outside rushed in with a long sword. Seeing her little nephew dead on the ground—shock, anger, disbelief, and hidden delight at the success of the coup—all emotions stacked together, reaching a bursting climax. The Grand Princess gnashed her teeth, her face ferocious, pierced her chest with one sword, and then recited her lines: “ABCDEFG!”

Zhong Mingyu directly spat out her tea: “…What a talent.”

She asked again: “Didn’t the director say anything?”

“He did.”

Mu He cleared her throat and seriously imitated the director’s Hong Kong-accented Mandarin: “‘Pass! Very good, very excellent! Miss Qin has worked hard. Go rest quickly.’”

Actually, that web drama was invested in by Qin Zhi’s company. She entered the crew with capital. Even the director had to look at her face.

Zhong Mingyu thought that made sense. The little princess of the Qin family—her family had plenty of money. Her father was also a major shareholder of Dongchen Film. So what if she had no acting skills? She didn’t even need to memorize lines. With just the 26 letters, she was easily pushed to an enviable high position.

She sighed faintly. Although she tried to hide it, her words still carried jealousy: “Who told her to be born well?”

Some people’s ability to rely on their fathers was so high they didn’t need acting skills at all to run rampant in the entertainment circle.

Mu He smiled and said nothing.

There was a moment of silence. The owner brought the spicy hotpot. Zhong Mingyu split the chopsticks, took two bites, and looked at the girl opposite with complicated feelings. The girl in front of her was bright and beautiful, her skin white as snow without flaws, apricot eyes clear and sparkling—an appearance that amazed at first glance.

In this circle, you could lack acting skills, but you must have beauty. Mu He had both, yet she had fallen to only being able to play extras.

Zhong Mingyu met her when they were both background actors. They sympathized with each other. Three months ago they even rented a place together. She had heard before that when Mu He first debuted she was briefly popular, but later someone wanted to cast her on the casting couch. She firmly refused, offended people, and since then was suppressed at the bottom, unknown.

As long as she was willing, with this face, would she still worry about not having a good future?

“Mu He, what are your plans in the future? Will you just… go on like this?”

Zhong Mingyu had already seen the answer in her eyes. She was even more puzzled and asked the question buried in her heart for a long time: “You have such a good education. Why enter the entertainment industry?”

A dream?

Reality had long proven its absurdity and ridiculousness.

Mu He lowered her head and looked at the grain of the wooden table. She remembered when she was six years old, a film crew came to the mountain city. She was temporarily chosen by the director to play a shepherd girl. She simply drove the sheep back and forth on a hillside and received fifty yuan.

At that time, her father, who was the village chief, only earned three hundred yuan a month.

Later, she became the first girl in the mountain city to be admitted to university. Coming from deep mountains to a bustling city, the huge difference made her clearly realize that the root of the problem wasn’t her personal fate, which she tried hard to change, but money.

A lot, a lot of money.

Seeing her silent, Zhong Mingyu narrowed it down: “For fame, or for profit?”

Mu He came back to her senses: “Profit, I guess.”

Hearing that, a tense string in Zhong Mingyu’s heart loosened: “Haha, the world bustles for profit; the world hustles for profit. But I’m greedy. I want both.”

She raised a disposable plastic cup: “May we both succeed!”

Mu He smiled and clinked cups with her. The tea touching her lips was already cold.

It grew later. After finishing the night snack, the two returned home, washed up, and each went back to their rooms to sleep.

Mu He slept well all night. After several days of continuous work, she planned to rest today. She only got up at noon, starving, and came out to find food. She was surprised to see Zhong Mingyu too: “Why didn’t you go to the set?”

“Don’t mention it.” Zhong Mingyu looked dejected. “I was replaced.”

These days even extras faced fierce competition. Others were willing to lower their price by twenty yuan, didn’t want boxed meals, and even volunteered to stay after filming to move props.

Heh, might as well throw away their dignity.

Since they were free in the afternoon, Zhong Mingyu suggested going to Banruo Temple in the suburbs to burn incense and change their luck. Mu He happily agreed.

Banruo Temple was halfway up the mountain. After a frost, the trees all over the mountain quietly turned autumn colors. Leaves either hung on branches dancing in the wind, or piled on the ground like gold. Under sunlight they shone dazzlingly.

They admired the scenery all the way and entered the temple, worshipping devoutly in each hall.

In a Zen room in the back courtyard.

A monk in gray robes sat by the window, chanting. On the wooden couch diagonally opposite him lay a slender body—a young man. His eyes were closed, his brows slightly furrowed, long fingers tapping lazily at the couch edge.

The chanting stopped.

The monk looked at his hand—fair, with distinct joints. No one knew how much blood and darkness stained it. Just like the man himself: a face too striking, harmless on the surface, yet extremely dangerous.

Exquisitely handsome, unparalleled in the world.

“Your physiognomy belongs to the lone star of calamity. You are destined to have no wife, no children, and die alone.”

The man smiled lightly, unconcerned: “So what.”

As he spoke, he opened his eyes. There was no smile inside: “Huo Er.”

Huo Sinan was too lazy to remind him again that he had already become a monk, his Dharma name Jue Ming, unrelated to worldly affairs.

“You’ve been having insomnia again recently?”

Huo Siheng sat up from the couch, raised his hand to rub his neck, and replied lightly: “Otherwise, do you think I came here for nothing to listen to you chant?”

Huo Sinan pressed his palms together and smiled without speaking.

Huo Siheng stood up: “I’m leaving.”

Veins faintly appeared on Huo Sinan’s forehead, as if restraining something. When Huo Siheng opened the door and sunlight poured in, illuminating the mottled old wall, he finally spoke: “Some people’s blood, once stained, can never be washed clean in a lifetime.”

Huo Siheng didn’t turn back. The light was too strong. He narrowed his eyes. Long, dense lashes covered the light and all emotions in his eyes. He curled his lips casually, tone indifferent: “Didn’t you say you wouldn’t interfere in worldly matters?”

Huo Sinan choked, speechless, and could only watch him leave.

Huo Siheng disliked crowds and planned to leave through the back mountain. Just after passing a half-moon arch, he heard girls laughing. Expressionless, he took out a mask and put it on.

In the courtyard stood a tall tree—the fate tree of Banruo Temple—covered with red ribbons. Mu He held one too, which she had just asked from Yue Lao.

“Strangely enough, this temple has prayers for safety, health, longevity, romance… but none for career.”

She tilted her head and smiled playfully and proudly at Zhong Mingyu, golden light scattered in her eyes: “So I negotiated with Yue Lao just now—advanced three years of peach blossom luck and converted all of it into career luck.”

Zhong Mingyu found it both speechless and funny: “Peach blossom luck is good too.”

“Mu He, think about it. It’s autumn now, right? If you had a boyfriend… when sleeping at night… hugging him wouldn’t be so cold.”

Catching the words “Mu He,” Huo Siheng stopped and looked over.

The young girl had her back to him, stepping backward, looking up for a suitable spot on the tree. Her black hair fell like a waterfall to her waist, swaying lightly as she moved. He heard her smiling voice: “If one more quilt can solve it, why make it so troublesome?”

For Mu He, going from meeting a strange man to falling in love, then to sleeping in the same bed, required a long process.

Zhong Mingyu was about to speak when she noticed a strange man standing behind Mu He. She didn’t know when he appeared. Being slightly nearsighted, she couldn’t see clearly—only that he was tall, straight, wearing a mask, exuding a cold aura that kept strangers away.

Even the surrounding air seemed colder.

She instinctively sensed danger: “Mu He…”

“What’s wrong?”

As soon as the words fell, Mu He’s back bumped into an obstacle. Huh?

She turned around and crashed straight into a deep gaze.

The temperature was low. The man wore only a thin black shirt and trousers. Amid warm autumn sunlight, he was the coldest tone—aloof, yet strongly present.

At such close distance, Mu He could clearly see his deep brown eyes. His brow bones were high, making his eye sockets deep, the corners slightly raised. His tall nose bridge was partly covered by the mask.

This upper facial contour felt strangely familiar. In her life, she had only seen such unique and beautiful peach blossom eyes on that man. Meeting his gaze again, her heart uncontrollably lost rhythm.

Bell sounds came from the southwest corner, one after another, distant and long, as if from beyond the heavens.

Mu He felt like she was in a dream, dazed. Afraid he might just be an illusion, she blinked, stepped forward, and lightly tugged his sleeve: “Sir, have we met somewhere before?”