But Lin Ruijiao wasn't too worried. She immediately dialed Ye Zhi's number.
"Sister Ye Zhi…"
Before she could say more, the other side interrupted her. "This was Ye Ruihuan's instruction. She said to temporarily suspend your work."
As soon as she finished, Ye Zhi's tone turned teasing. "Did you two have a fight?"
"…No." Lin Ruijiao frowned. A fight? That wasn't even something that applied to them.
"Well, that's the order I was given," Ye Zhi said, sounding helpless.
"But didn't you say before that I wouldn't be affected by Ye Ruihuan's decisions?"
"…That was the plan. But to be honest, compared to her, your influence doesn't quite measure up," Ye Zhi replied candidly. "How about this—let's compromise. I can't argue with Ye Ruihuan too much. You'll have to forgo the acting role, but you can still accept other gigs. Take what you can."
"…Alright. Thank you, Sister Ye Zhi." After a moment of thought, Lin Ruijiao agreed. It was still better than having nothing at all. So, under the quiet support of Manager Wang, who reinstated her access, Lin Ruijiao continued taking what jobs were available.
But as time passed, the gigs became fewer and farther between. She began to miss those low-quality web dramas and the minor events she once turned down. At least back then, she still had something to do.
Time slipped by—one month, then two. Lin Ruijiao's appearances on screen became rare. Public attention gradually shifted to newer faces and fresher scandals. It was as if her brief explosion of fame had simply burned out, and she quietly faded from the spotlight, buried beneath the endless churn of entertainment gossip.
She spent more and more time at home. She and Ye Ruihuan, despite living under the same roof, passed each other like strangers, barely acknowledging each other's existence. Ye Ruihuan had stayed in the Yuwan villa the entire time. She kept track of Lin Ruijiao's movements online, and at home, she silently observed her from the shadows—always waiting, always expecting Lin Ruijiao to finally come to her, apologize, beg her forgiveness.
But weeks passed, and Lin Ruijiao never spoke to her. Not once. Even after she'd shut down all of Ruijiao's major projects—no filming, no new roles.
And yet, Ruijiao still found ways to be out and about, taking on small events. Somehow, Ye Zhi hadn't cut her off completely and let her remain active in the industry. Ye Ruihuan saw this, but turned a blind eye. She couldn't be bothered to confront her over it.
Meanwhile, Jing Jing and Assistant Li often whispered to each other about the silent tension between their two employers.
Jingjing, ever composed even while gossiping, asked with a serious tone, "What's going on between President Ye and Miss Lin this time?"
Assistant Li sighed. "Seems like Miss Lin lost her temper at Sister Ye…"
"That can't be. Miss Lin's always calm and steady—not the kind to explode like that."
"I know, but Sister Ye's definitely angry."
"Then it must've been something your Sister Ye did," Jingjing declared with conviction.
"…Let's not talk about this anymore," Assistant Li said, glancing around warily. "With both of them acting like this, it's exhausting just being near them."
"I don't know. Feels pretty normal to me," Jing Jing replied.
Assistant Li: "…Well, Sister Ye's not!"
Outside, the autumn wind was sharp and cold, scattering yellow leaves across the ground.
Ye Ruihuan wandered through the villa, but after making a full circle, she still didn't see Lin Ruijiao. That little bunny wasn't staying home properly again—who knew where she'd run off to?
After weeks of routinely seeing her at home, her absence unsettled Ye Ruihuan. She asked Assistant Li to check on her schedule.
Turns out, the little white rabbit was off doing minor gigs again, without a second thought about her. Meanwhile, she herself couldn't stop thinking about Lin Ruijiao—watching, waiting, caring in secret. The imbalance made her feel hollow and frustrated.
And yet, she couldn't bring herself to reach out. No excuse, no pride left to lean on. She couldn't lower herself, not even a little. She couldn't give up the last scrap of her dignity.
—
On the other side of town, Lin Ruijiao was recording a new show. With no roles available thanks to Ye Ruihuan, she had crammed her schedule full—meeting new people, networking, looking for any opportunity.
And it paid off. She met a popular rising actress during one of the recordings. They hit it off, and when Ruijiao casually asked about upcoming projects, the girl mentioned a drama crew currently holding auditions.
The drama was called Chuqiu. Lin Ruijiao had heard of it before. Good script, decent team. But she had no way of contacting them directly—especially with Ye Ruihuan possibly sabotaging her from the shadows.
Thankfully, the actress passed her the producer's contact info. Ruijiao immediately forwarded it to Manager Wang.
In less than two weeks, she got a response—Chuqiu's team had invited her to audition. Without hesitation, she wrapped up her recording for the day and headed out with Jing Jing.
The weather was getting colder. A light rain fell, the breeze sharp as needles against her skin. Ruijiao blew into her hands and rubbed them together. Even the warming pad Jingjing gave her had gone cold. She pulled her coat tighter.
The street was dark. Even the streetlamps couldn't chase away the night, and not a single pedestrian was in sight.
The howling wind reminded her of the moments before her death in her past life. It wasn't time yet. She wouldn't die again—not now. But staying alert never hurt.
The storefronts around them glowed with neon lights as they stepped into the audition location. Blinding light hit her as soon as she entered, forcing her to squint. The place didn't look like a casting venue. It was more like a flashy restaurant, with people performing on stage and music blaring. Still, the lively crowd eased her nerves slightly.
Jing Jing tugged her coat. "Sister Lin this place feels… off."
"There are a lot of people here. If anything seems wrong, we run," Lin Ruijiao said, her expression serious.
In her past life, sheltered under Ye Ruihuan's protection, she had lived like a flower in a greenhouse—never exposed to the industry's darker sides. Even now, her experiences were limited to petty schemes and subtle exclusion. She still harbored some naive optimism.
They pushed on, searching for the reserved room.
As soon as they stepped in, the stench of alcohol and smoke overwhelmed her. Three greasy men sat surrounded by heavily made-up women in revealing dresses. The rising starlet who had helped her earlier was there too—lounging with a cigarette between her fingers, exhaling plumes of smoke.