The Sickly Beauty Gives Up Struggling [Rebirth] Chapter 207

Lin Zhen had a dream.

In the dream, he was completely alone. He had never met Jian Fu, Li Rong, Cen Xiao, Ji Xiaochuan, or Aunt Hui.

In high school, he had been quiet and unassuming, almost invisible in the class. He didn’t seek attention and didn’t feel he needed any.

Most of his energy was devoted to preparing for his arts entrance exams. He had loved the arts from a young age, excelling in singing and dreaming of performing on a grand stage, of creating works that were his own.

As he wished, he got into the film academy. In his free time, he came across an ad for a talent competition. On a whim, he signed up for it.

The road through the talent show was smoother than he had imagined. Never in his wildest dreams did he expect the quiet, unknown boy from high school to become so popular.

He gained a massive fan following and became one of the most talked-about contestants.

The contestant that Wajing Entertainment had originally been promoting was completely overshadowed by him, so naturally, they extended an olive branch.

He had heard of Wajing Entertainment long before—an influential and well-established company that had nurtured countless actors and singers, some of whom had become legendary figures in the industry.

When they approached him, they were warm and welcoming, showing no trace of disdain for him as a rookie. They even hinted, in private, that talent competitions were only relatively fair and that if he wanted the placement he deserved, he needed a powerful company to back him. Wajing wasn’t his only option, they said, but he should choose wisely.

That statement struck a chord with Lin Zhen.

He despised the underhanded dealings behind the scenes of the competition, but Wajing’s candor made them seem genuine and transparent. So, he decided to sign with them.

He never expected this decision to mark the beginning of his descent into a nightmare.

After winning first place in the competition, Lin Zhen became the center of attention. Praise, adoration, and applause flooded in, and the avalanche of fan letters nearly overwhelmed the company.

Lin Zhen was flattered but deeply grateful.

He knew he was luckier than most, so he threw himself into singing and acting, working tirelessly. He slept only five or six hours a day, often skipping meals to practice.

He dreamed of one day holding a free concert to give back to his fans who loved him.

He even daydreamed during meals, imagining what surprises he could prepare for the concert and what gifts he could give his fans.

But one day, out of the blue, Song Yanyi, an executive at Wajing, summoned him to the office and gave him a knowing smile. “Not bad—you’re getting more famous. The industry is buzzing about you now.”

Lin Zhen humbly lowered his gaze. Being known by more people was always a good thing.

Song Yanyi continued, “I’ve got a script here. It’s good. The company wants you to take the role.”

Lin Zhen hesitated. “Can I see what kind of story it is? I’ve only just started learning how to act, and I’m worried I might not handle some roles well.”

Song Yanyi waved dismissively. “It’s a romance script. You’ll manage just fine. Coincidentally, the female lead is already decided. You’ll meet her tonight.”

Lin Zhen frowned. “So soon? The actress has already been chosen?”

Song Yanyi nodded. “Yeah. There’s a dinner tonight for you two to get acquainted. If all goes well, shooting can start next month.”

“So, can I read the script?” Lin Zhen felt something was off. This wasn’t the usual process for taking on a role, and the company hadn’t even consulted him.

Song Yanyi brushed him off. “Ask your manager for it. And make sure you dress nicely tonight.”

After leaving Song Yanyi’s office, Lin Zhen hurried to his manager and spent a long time convincing them to hand over a half-completed script.

It was a story about a younger man and an older woman, with the female lead being ten years older than the male lead.

The age gap wasn’t an issue, but the first half of the script was absurdly shallow and over-the-top, filled with plotlines no person with common sense could take seriously.

Worse still, the script was packed with kissing scenes—almost one in every other scene—making it feel like the characters’ entire lives revolved around their romance.

Or, more accurately, it seemed the script existed solely to fulfill someone’s private desires.

According to his manager, though, it was a big-budget drama slated to air on a major network, with top-tier promotional resources. For a newcomer, it was an opportunity not to be missed.

That evening, at the dinner meeting, Lin Zhen finally understood what was really going on.

The so-called female lead turned out to be an obsessive fan. Her family happened to have significant influence in the industry, and they had pulled strings to hastily commission a romance script, invested their own money, and offered benefits to Wajing in exchange—all just so she could act opposite Lin Zhen in a love story.

Calling it a love story was putting it mildly. At the dinner, the “actress” continually harassed Lin Zhen, while the company staff conveniently turned a blind eye.

After returning home, Lin Zhen called his manager at 1:00 a.m. and firmly refused to take the role.

The manager had anticipated Lin Zhen’s dissatisfaction and could only painstakingly urge him to let go of his “naivety” and face reality.

Obedience, they argued, might actually be a good choice. After all, the other party had a powerful background and an intense love for him, which could translate into abundant resources for him in the future.

But Lin Zhen refused.

Some people choose to sacrifice their dignity for the sake of their future, while others would rather fight to protect their principles and self-respect.

He didn’t consider himself noble—after all, every choice comes with gains and losses, and how one chooses is entirely personal.

He just wanted to stay true to himself.

Rejecting the script, however, inevitably enraged the fan. Her obsessive love turned into obsessive hatred in an instant. She retaliated by fabricating allegations of sexual harassment against him and spreading defamatory claims within the industry, even pressuring production teams to blacklist him.

No one was willing to offend a powerful figure in the entertainment circle for the sake of a newly debuted rookie, let alone speak up for Lin Zhen.

Song Yanyi initially made some efforts on his behalf and tried multiple times to persuade Lin Zhen to apologize and give in, but Lin Zhen stood his ground.

Eventually, Song Yanyi ran out of patience. Pointing a finger at Lin Zhen, he cursed him out: “You’ve wasted a winning hand! If you want to survive in this industry, you’ll have to get on your knees and make money!”

But Lin Zhen refused to kneel, and with that refusal, he lost many opportunities to salvage his career.

Fans, unaware of the truth, began to criticize him, believing he wasn’t working hard enough or fighting for himself. Their discontent with him began to grow.

Meanwhile, the fan who orchestrated the smear campaign didn’t relent, continuing to escalate her attacks. Seeing no way forward for Lin Zhen, Song Yanyi decided he wasn’t worth investing in for the long term.

Instead, Lin Zhen became a tool for making quick money.

Song Yanyi booked him for countless commercial appearances, product promotions, and group concerts.

Fans who wanted to see him at these events had to spend thousands on tickets—money that, ultimately, would flow straight into Song Yanyi’s pocket.

No amount of popularity can withstand such exploitation, and no youth can endure being squandered like this.

Eventually, Lin Zhen had enough. He confronted Song Yanyi and demanded to terminate his contract.

That’s when Song Yanyi revealed his true colors, slamming Lin Zhen’s original contract onto the table. If Lin Zhen wanted out, he’d have to pay the company 200 million yuan in compensation.

But Lin Zhen didn’t have that kind of money.

Without money, he had no choice but to continue participating in those chaotic, exploitative events to earn more, perpetuating the cycle of milking his fans for profit. He hadn’t known, when he first signed, that Song Yanyi had calculated every step to trap him.

Not wanting his fans to be taken advantage of, Lin Zhen began refusing to cooperate with the company’s arrangements.

Finally, Song Yanyi dropped the facade entirely. He purchased several smear articles accusing Lin Zhen of being arrogant, ungrateful, unprofessional, and unmotivated. The articles claimed he refused to work on company-assigned projects, deceived his fans, and betrayed their trust and love.

The evidence released against Lin Zhen included edited audio clips of him rejecting the shady script, footage of him missing endorsement events, and his absence from joint concerts.

As a result, the fans believed it. They began criticizing him, condemning his actions in anger. Some even tore apart the carefully prepared gifts he had once given them, throwing the pieces into trash bins, recording videos of the act, and posting them online to mock him.

At first, Lin Zhen tried hard to explain, but lacking experience in dealing with such situations, he couldn’t produce meticulously prepared counter-evidence like Song Yanyi could.

Because of this, the marketing accounts labeled him as someone who lacked accountability, evaded responsibility, and wallowed in self-pity—an ordinary, entitled man with no redeeming qualities.

Many people knew the truth. Many didn’t care about the truth.

Without a powerful PR team, no one was willing to speak up for him.

What hurt him the most, however, was seeing the people who once claimed to love him and believe in him trample all over his sincerity and good intentions.

When he saw the fan group’s official accounts all change their profile pictures to black, something inside him broke.

At that moment, he stopped wanting to explain.

Those who care too much are always hurt by those who don’t.

At the age of 20, Lin Zhen was blacklisted by his company, and his artistic career came to an abrupt end.

As the first light of dawn broke across the horizon, Lin Zhen woke up abruptly from his dream.

He stared blankly at the ceiling, at the familiar chandelier, the floral wallpaper, and the sliver of morning light peeking through the curtains. Only then did he realize that everything just now had been nothing but a nightmare.

Reaching a hand out from under the covers, he touched his face. His pillow was already soaked with tears.

In the dream, he had experienced utter and complete despair.

Lin Zhen let out a long sigh, feeling unusually fatigued.

The incident with Cheng Zerui stealing the endorsement must have left a shadow on him, he thought—that’s probably why he had such a terrifying dream.

Propping himself up on the bed with both hands, he sat there for a while, waiting for the lingering anxiety to gradually fade.

Hearing some rustling next to him, Jian Fu stirred awake, groggily opening his eyes. “Is it time to get up already?”

Lin Zhen sniffed and replied softly, “No, sleep a bit more.”

Jian Fu immediately noticed the sobbing tone in his voice and woke up completely. “What’s wrong? Were you crying? Didn’t we resolve yesterday’s issue?”

Lin Zhen shook his head, covering his eyes with his palm. “I had a nightmare… it scared me.”

Jian Fu looked at Lin Zhen’s silhouette and suddenly felt a deep sadness emanating from him. Or maybe it was just the dim room and the stifling heat creating an illusion.

“Seriously? You’re this old and still scared of nightmares,” Jian Fu teased. Lifting his blanket, he patted the space beside him. “Fine, Grandpa Jian is feeling generous. Since I’m worried your nightmare might ruin today’s work, how about you sleep here with me?”

Lin Zhen turned his head to look at Jian Fu.

Jian Fu assumed he’d refuse—the idea of two grown men sharing a bed was a little ambiguous, after all. He was about to say something to diffuse the awkwardness when Lin Zhen quietly climbed out of his bed, walked over, and slipped under Jian Fu’s blanket.

Jian Fu froze for a moment, instantly wide awake. His blood felt like it was boiling.

Lin Zhen rubbed his arms, curled his knees, and looked up at Jian Fu. His almond-shaped eyes, still glistening from his tears, appeared especially clear and luminous. “It’s a little cold.”

Jian Fu hurriedly pulled the blanket over Lin Zhen, wrapping him snugly, as if wanting to transfer all his body heat to him.

Lin Zhen’s slender back was pressed against Jian Fu’s chest, and Jian Fu’s hand, through the blanket, rested lightly on Lin Zhen’s shoulder. That chill from before dissipated in an instant.

Jian Fu didn’t dare move, barely even breathing, afraid that any motion or sound might disturb Lin Zhen.

Lying so close, he could smell the faint fragrance of Lin Zhen’s hair, see the tiny mole on the back of his neck, and feel the warmth of their shared closeness.

After a long while, Jian Fu finally spoke, his voice unusually gentle, even to his own surprise. “Still scared?”

Lin Zhen, his eyes closed, mumbled sleepily, “Not anymore.”

Sleeping next to Jian Fu, Lin Zhen didn’t have any more nightmares that night.