Lu Xianqing’s steps halted abruptly. He spun around to look at He Xing, trying to read any trace of mockery on her face but saw only confusion. His chest tightened. Forcing a smile, he said, “Once I find him, your year-end bonuses for the next three years are mine. Even you dare to trick me?”
“Where are you going?” He Xing asked, watching him rush back to the main house, then decisively told An Ning, “Fourth Brother just finished filming and isn’t in a stable mood. Go get Shen Qing, and I’ll watch him so he doesn’t do anything rash.”
Lu Xianqing hurried back to the room, grabbed his phone, and dialed. A cold, mechanical voice came through: “We’re sorry, the number you have dialed is not in service. We apologize…”
He frantically checked WeChat.
The contact note he had for Qin Sizheng still read “Circus Director” from their variety show recording. Now, no one by that name could be found. He tried “Yan Yan” and “Qin Sizheng”—nothing.
Unease swelled in him like a water-filled balloon, ready to burst at any moment.
Lu Xianqing repeated silently, Impossible… Qin Sizheng exists!
His fingers flew across Weibo, typing Qin Sizheng’s name. He had been trending countless times; there had to be news, articles, proof.
User does not exist.
No, no!
“Fourth Brother? What exactly are you looking for?” He Xing asked, leaning over to see the screen: the name “Qin Sizheng” typed in.
An Ning explained he had gone to the guest room early, but no one had been there yesterday. People in the industry knew his rules—after finishing a project, no one would disturb him for a year. And now, with his studio open, anyone approaching him would have to go through her.
“Fourth Brother?”
Lu Xianqing ignored her, searching every app—no trace of Qin Sizheng, not a single news article!
“Fourth Brother, there is no Qin Sizheng. Did you read something and mix it up?” He Xing asked softly. “Maybe you should rest—”
“Shut up!”
Lu Xianqing sprang to his feet, grabbed the jacket he wore yesterday, rifled through it, and pulled out a piece of paper. “This is his memo. He said he likes me!”
He Xing took the paper with both hands and opened it, eyes widening. “This…”
Lu Xianqing stared. “Isn’t it?”
She flipped it toward him. It was blank. “Fourth Brother, there’s nothing written.”
He snatched it back, examining it repeatedly, as if some invisible hand had wiped away all evidence of his existence.
“He exists!” Lu Xianqing gripped the paper, then grabbed He Xing’s hand. “He exists! Yesterday he wrote on this very paper that he likes Lu Xianqing, that he will never abandon me!”
“Yes, we also had a fan forum, ‘Green Mountains Remember,’ meaning ‘Lu Xianqing has Qin Sizheng.’ He Xing, tell me he exists! You colluded with him to trick me, didn’t you?”
The bones in He Xing’s hand ached terribly under his grip, nearly crushed, but she held steady. “Fourth Brother, calm down first, don’t rush.”
“Give him back to me!” Lu Xianqing’s eyes reddened, pleading as he held He Xing’s hand tightly. “Give him back! Stop this! Please, stop!”
Seeing his lips quiver and his frantic state, He Xing almost cried herself. She used one hand to steady his shoulder, feeling the tremor clearly.
“Calm down first. I’ll help you find Qin Sizheng—ask around now.” She didn’t dare act rashly, just holding him steady until Shen Qing arrived.
Lu Xianqing finally released her hand and grabbed his phone to call Shen Changfeng. After a moment, the line answered: “Hello?”
“Has Sizheng gone home?”
There was a pause, then a polite question: “Sizheng? Who is that? I don’t know anyone by that name. Did you dial the wrong number?”
He Xing made dozens of calls in the industry asking if anyone knew a Qin Sizheng—nobody did. When she returned to inform Lu Xianqing, he was gone.
“Fourth Brother!”
She ran downstairs and barely caught a glimpse of his car speeding past Shen Qing’s, moving far too fast.
“ID PX8830, mission complete, returning.”
Qin Sizheng was awakened by a faint electronic beep. He found himself in a completely unfamiliar place, a space where individuals were miniaturized, floating in the air like shadow puppets.
Reaching out, his wrist tingled. Looking down, he realized he too was trapped in midair. Instinctively, he struggled.
“Stop struggling.”
He raised his head, but no one was visible—only a cold, emotionless voice.
“Who are you?! Why are you capturing me?! Detaining someone against their will is illegal!” Qin Sizheng clenched his fists, struggling. Even with full effort, he could only gain a little mobility, not enough to escape.
The man seemed to smile faintly. “Looks like you’ve been gone so long, you’ve forgotten who you are. Fine. Before I reset you, let’s see what you’ve actually done.”
“What?” Qin Sizheng’s first words barely left his lips before his head felt like it was about to explode, as if ten thousand insects had burrowed in, gnawing at his brain. Pain shot through his body, forcing his hands to tense and clench, almost convulsing.
The images felt like sharp blades, forcibly cutting through his memories, carving them back bit by bit with fine needles. Layer upon layer of agony nearly drove him insane.
“It hurts.”
“Stop… please…” Qin Sizheng shivered, twisting his body. Even biting his tongue brought no pain; the searing agony had been replaced by numbness, dizziness, and nausea.
He had no sense of how much time passed before the torture finally ended.
Qin Sizheng slumped forward, utterly exhausted, yet the scenes and voices in his mind became startlingly clear: “ID PX8830. Your identity: Qin Sizheng, student. Mission: to heal Lu Xianqing. Mission completion requires immediate return; no delays allowed.”
“Directive received,” Qin Sizheng heard himself say, his voice cold, devoid of any emotion.
The scene shifted: he saw himself meeting Lu Xianqing, and during the mission, they unexpectedly developed feelings for each other.
Qin Sizheng was just an NPC created to heal Lu Xianqing; he was never allowed to love him. Thus, all memories of him were forcibly erased and transferred to Jiang Zhen.
From a godlike perspective, Qin Sizheng watched the interactions between Lu Xianqing and Jiang Zhen. His heart ached and tingled, yet surprisingly, it was bearable.
Shortly after, Lu Xianqing sensed something was wrong. He dismissed everyone, took a knife, and with a cold, blank expression, cut along the veins.
“No! Fourth Brother, don’t!”
Qin Sizheng screamed desperately but could not stop him. Lu Xianqing lay in the bathtub, letting the blood dye the water red, eyes closing in satisfaction.
“Fourth Brother, wake up! Don’t die! Please don’t die!” Qin Sizheng struggled, barely distinguishing reality from illusion, trying to stop him—but the scene remained unaffected. Only he could hear his own voice.
Lu Xianqing was the anchor of the story and the source of this world’s fate. His death would collapse everything. The original author had to rewrite the plot.
Qin Sizheng’s memory was deleted, and he was dispatched again.
The second mission went smoothly. He did not fall in love with Lu Xianqing and, leveraging his night blindness, completed the task, telling him his name was Jiang Zhen before returning to the system.
Unexpectedly, Lu Xianqing attempted suicide again, praying daily for Qin Sizheng’s return, eventually descending into madness.
His face became pale and haggard, eye sockets sunken and terrifying, body emaciated—far from the majestic and charismatic top-tier actor he once was.
Hearing his desperate prayers, Qin Sizheng could no longer hold back tears; they fell relentlessly.
“Fourth Brother, get up! Please get up! I’m not that good—you should forget me.”
Lu Xianqing’s death caused the original plot to collapse again, granting Qin Sizheng self-awareness. The remaining memories drove him to a maddening obsession with Lu Xianqing.
He finally understood why the original character hoarded R-rings and hidden items, obsessively infatuated with Lu Xianqing.
No—it wasn’t the original character. It was him. Everything had been experienced firsthand.
Qin Sizheng looked at his hands. He was not a transmigrator. “Why are my hands…”
“Boxer?” the voice chuckled, patiently explaining, “If the original story grants you abilities, you possess them. The author is the god of this world.”
Qin Sizheng frowned, recalling what Lu Xianqing once said, gasping: “Even the author can’t control the protagonist’s thoughts or actions!”
“I know. The author is meant to accompany the protagonist, to listen. But you aren’t the protagonist. You’re a disposable NPC, created to heal Lu Xianqing. Once the mission is done, you return.”
He asked incredulously, “So the jumping-off-the-building scene was planned from the start? After I healed Fourth Brother, I was meant to come back?”
“No, no.” The man waved his hand. “You escaped. You no longer had the right to heal Lu Xianqing. Initially, the chapter was set for you to jump, with Jiang Zhen replacing you. But you developed self-awareness, so I had to add a meta-consciousness to your character, keeping you away from Lu Xianqing. Yet you still fell in love with him.”
“Unfortunately, this life’s Jiang Zhen didn’t love Lu Xianqing. The plot spiraled out of control. Your appearance gradually stabilized Lu Xianqing’s mental state. After you two were together, he cared for you, which is why you stayed by his side so long.”
“He was obsessed with you across three lifetimes; his mental state has long been linked to you. Your mistrust triggered a turning point in the original story. Your doubt caused another fluctuation, destabilizing the world. That’s why your memories rewound, your combat abilities vanished, until you returned here.”
Qin Sizheng began to understand: he and Lu Xianqing mutually influenced and depended on each other; every word and action affected the other.
Lu Xianqing loved him across three lifetimes—a madness ingrained in his very bones, just as Qin Sizheng was obsessed with him. Even when the plot was overturned, Lu Xianqing’s desire for him remained innate.
His obsessive actions, even violent ones, stemmed from uncontrollable instinct. He had lost too much; upon reuniting, he could no longer restrain himself.
Qin Sizheng recalled their cold war period, when Lu Xianqing restrained himself from finding him, even keeping his gaze in check.
Pain gnawed at his heart inch by inch. The proud Lu Xianqing had become cautious, speaking in questions, wary of overstepping.
With memories fully restored, Qin Sizheng saw how he had forgotten birthdays and prepared for him. Even then, Lu Xianqing hadn’t noticed his amnesia. Such a sharp man, yet so gentle and self-effacing.
When had he ever become so self-sacrificing, only to heal some small wounds?
Qin Sizheng realized: he never justified himself, never argued. He only apologized and, in his own moment of loss, said with difficulty, “Fine… if you don’t want it, then don’t.”
Qin Sizheng felt as if he were drowning in a flood of emotions. He was only a cold, mission-driven NPC, yet Lu Xianqing was the one who had truly done it—no matter how many times they were separated, the person he loved had always been him.
Not even the overwhelming force of the plot could make him fall for Jiang Zhen. He had remained steadfast, resolute to the end.
And now… Fourth Brother!
The thought hit Qin Sizheng like a jolt. Based on the experiences of the previous two missions, Lu Xianqing would surely attempt suicide again!
No!
“Let me go! Fourth Brother will go insane!” Qin Sizheng struggled violently, using all his strength to break free. “He’ll die—if he finds out I’m gone, he’ll die! This time there’s no Jiang Zhen, no one to deceive him—he’ll die!”
The man spread his hands helplessly. “I can’t. I can’t control it.”