After She Fell for Me, I Lost My Memory (GL) - Chapter 50

Five minutes passed after Jian Mu sent that message before she received a reply. It consisted of several shared web links.

[These are mandatory courses for idols.]

[Take this one; many idols in the entertainment industry have taken classes here.]

Chen Li quoted one of the links while messaging Jian Mu.

Jian Mu: […]

Chen Li didn’t know what Jian Mu was up to, but thinking about “facial expression management,” the first thing she did was search for a few popular ones to send over. She didn’t expect to receive only a string of ellipses from Jian Mu.

Chen Li: [Actually, our studio currently doesn’t have video tutorials for this specific area.]

Jian Mu didn’t intend to reply further. Instead, she opened a web browser on her computer to search for herself. She absently touched the side of the paper cup containing the sugar water; the water had gone completely cold.

As the temperature dropped, some undissolved sugar granules had begun to settle at the bottom of the cup. Jian Mu tilted her head, watching the granules, and started counting them one by one.

Meanwhile, Chen Li, having received no reply, was terrified of losing this major client and frantically searched for other courses. After a while, Jian Mu received another link share. Just as she was about to say it wasn’t necessary, she saw Chen Li’s latest message.

Chen Li: [Since you are our SVIP user, our President, Chu Linbai, will be in charge of your upcoming curriculum. She will add you as a friend shortly.]

Chen Li: [She is very experienced in matters of the heart. Please rest assured.]

Jian Mu: […?]

She suddenly felt like this company was incredibly unprofessional. Soon after, she received a friend request.

That evening, Cen Luo received a message from Zhao Zhao saying she had finished work and would have a full day off tomorrow, so she could come over at any time.

Cen Luo was still hard at work categorizing the contents of the cardboard boxes. Clothing filled her already small wardrobe to the brim. She took out all the books and placed them on the bookshelf.

She was surprised by how hardworking she must have been over these past ten years. Since her discharge from the hospital, she had only managed to read three or four books, and even then, she had just skimmed through them.

Among the items were many interview materials from recent years, neatly organized in document folders. Stack after stack of A4 paper; sometimes ten consecutive pages were just different drafts of the same interview. It was more than just ordinary effort.

Judging by the dates on the early drafts, she must have been in her senior year of internship. It looked like she had a tough time.

Some drafts occasionally had strange numbers on them. At first, Cen Luo was puzzled, but as she read further, she realized these were the number of days she hadn’t seen Jian Mu. Even in the midst of a busy schedule, she made time to think of her.

How truly foolish.

Every interview draft had one or two pieces of trivia related to the interview: “Never mention so-and-so because they have a bad relationship,” “So-and-so are secret lovers,” “So-and-so are a PR couple, feel free to mention.”

Cen Luo’s curiosity was piqued, and she couldn’t help but keep flipping through. She heard her phone vibrate and thought she would reply later, but she got so lost in the reading that she forgot the time. By the time she snapped back to reality, an hour had passed.

Seeing the string of messages on her screen, Cen Luo felt a wave of guilt.

Cen Luo: [I’m so sorry! I got so absorbed in looking at some things that I forgot to reply.]

Cen Luo: [Wait, what did you withdraw earlier?]

On her chat interface with Zhao Zhao, there was a small grey line indicating a withdrawn message. Zhao Zhao replied almost instantly.

Zhao Zhao: [What did Sister get so absorbed in?]

Cen Luo hesitated on whether to tell her, but while she was wavering, Zhao Zhao sent another message:

Zhao Zhao: [Were you staring at my photos and lost track of time?]

Cen Luo: […]

Following that message, Zhao Zhao sent a series of her own photos—studio portraits, memes, and selfies. Watching the number of photos continue to climb, Cen Luo fell silent for a moment before complimenting the narcissistic star.

Cen Luo: [They’re really beautiful.]

The flurry of photos pushed the previous messages up, and Cen Luo forgot that Zhao Zhao hadn’t answered her question about the withdrawn message. She thought it was just a simple compliment, but she didn’t expect it to go to Zhao Zhao’s head.

Zhao Zhao: [I know Sister never gives out compliments lightly.]

Cen Luo hummed in agreement. It was only natural for a popular actress to be a bit vain.

Zhao Zhao: [So, does this mean Sister has fallen in love with me? Is that why you’re praising me like this?]

The message was followed by a cute meme of a character saying “I’m such a clever little ghost.” The meme was clearly edited; Zhao Zhao looked ten years younger, winking and blowing a kiss. It was quite adorable.

It was the cutest meme Cen Luo had received from Zhao Zhao so far. She smiled and saved it. Because of the meme, she took Zhao Zhao’s words as a joke. After saving it, she told Zhao Zhao she had done so.

The consequence was a never-ending stream of cute memes appearing in her chat.

Zhao Zhao: [Save as many as you want. If it’s not enough, I’ll keep taking them.]

Cen Luo first sent an ellipsis, then joked:

Cen Luo: [I feel like I could be a good person and send these to your fans for their benefit.]

Cen Luo: [They seem to miss you a lot.]

Cen Luo recalled that while browsing the internet a couple of days ago, she had seen fans under the company’s official account begging for new photos.

On the other side, Zhao Zhao stared at these two messages for a while. Calculating the time, it had actually been less than twenty days since her last photo post. Artists couldn’t always post whenever they wanted; sometimes there were company regulations, and sometimes it was necessary to maintain a sense of mystery.

The company’s rule for Zhao Zhao was one post a month, except during promotional periods. For the past two months, Zhao Zhao had been filming on set and was supposed to keep her image mysterious. This month’s photos had already been posted.

Zhao Zhao thought for a while, then found a few good photos in her gallery and posted them.

[Sister said you all missed me very much.]

The post was a grid of nine photos. The center image was a screenshot of the chat—specifically the two sentences Cen Luo had sent her.

Soon, the comment section was filled. Besides praising Zhao Zhao, many people were asking this “Sister” to keep pressuring her for more beautiful photos, and many others were calling her “Sister” as well. It was like a massive family reunion.

Cen Luo hadn’t received a message from Zhao Zhao, so she continued organizing her things. When Zhao Zhao finally replied, it was ten minutes later.

Zhao Zhao: [Sister, are you not following me?]

After posting the photos, Zhao Zhao had waited for a while, expecting Cen Luo to find them quickly and praise her for being obedient. But after two minutes passed with no message, she realized maybe Cen Luo wasn’t even following her.

The second Cen Luo received the message, she immediately went to Weibo, searched for Zhao Zhao, and hit “Follow.” She even sent a screenshot to prove her “innocence.”

She had no choice; Zhao Zhao had specifically reminded her to follow her before. Cen Luo had agreed but then forgotten. She was forgetful and prone to procrastination. Like yesterday, she was reminded that the range hood was broken and thought about calling a repairman, but forgot. If the property management hadn’t come to the door, she probably still wouldn’t have fixed it. Forget treating Zhao Zhao to dinner tomorrow; she probably would have used it as an excuse to eat out again today.

Zhao Zhao: [Then why haven’t you praised me yet?]

Only then did Cen Luo belatedly open Zhao Zhao’s Weibo homepage and see the post. She suddenly burst out laughing. She had only said it casually, but Zhao Zhao had actually posted it. With that caption, Zhao Zhao looked like a well-behaved baby listening to her older sister.

The atmosphere in the comment section was very good, with friendly comments at the top.

Cen Luo: [You’re so good to your fans.]

Cen Luo believed she only played a minor role as a reminder; if Zhao Zhao didn’t want to post, she wouldn’t have done it just because of two sentences. She had researched Zhao Zhao before; when she first became popular, Zhao Zhao wouldn’t let her fans do elaborate “fan support.” She clearly stated she was an actress and her job was to improve her acting and bring good work to everyone—she hoped people would like her for her work and nothing else. That act alone had won her countless fans.

Cen Luo’s gaze settled on a particular thread in the comments. She took two screenshots and sent them to Zhao Zhao.

Cen Luo: [But it seems they’ve misunderstood.]

The screenshots showed people asking if she had finally found “that Sister,” and others asking if this Sister was the person she loved. In a program a long time ago, Zhao Zhao had mentioned she had a sister she liked very much, but just hadn’t found her yet. She had never hidden her feelings.

But when Cen Luo asked now, Zhao Zhao suddenly lost her nerve. She remembered how the pre-amnesia Cen Luo had tactfully rejected her. It wasn’t hard to see that for the old Cen Luo, if someone expressed their feelings and she didn’t reciprocate, she would definitely draw a clear line.

Zhao Zhao hesitated. She clearly felt that the current Cen Luo saw her as a younger sister. So, she could only flirt subtly. If she were any more obvious, she feared Cen Luo would reject her again.

The message she had actually withdrawn earlier was:

[Sister, the sky is so dark and I’m so scared. Can I stay the night at your house?]

She was worried Cen Luo would reject her, yet also worried Cen Luo would agree simply because she saw her as a sister. She had a guilty conscience; she was afraid.

Aaaah! Zhao Zhao, why have you become so cowardly!

Zhao Zhao threw her phone on the bed and buried her head in her pillow. Shortly after, a message from her manager dragged her back to reality.

[Go explain what the ‘Sister’ thing is about.]

Zhao Zhao didn’t want to lie and refused.

[You’re a star; you should know what to post and what not to post.]

Zhao Zhao still refused. If she was brave enough to post it, she was brave enough to take responsibility for it. The manager knew that even though Zhao Zhao appeared mature and sensible, she was actually stubborn. Furthermore, having been in the industry for a short time, she didn’t understand the complexities of it all.

The manager advised patiently:

[I know you want to say you mentioned a sister you liked on a show before. When you weren’t famous, no one cared what you said, but it’s different now. Do you know how many people are watching you?]

[And do you think just mentioning it is enough? Fans say they want you to be happy and date, but it’s all fake. Once you’re actually in a relationship, they’ll turn on you instantly.]

[Your footing isn’t stable yet. That’s why I want you to take ‘Late Soul.’ It’s the best choice to make you powerful quickly. Once you’re established, we can talk about this then, okay?]

With every message the manager sent, Zhao Zhao’s heart grew a little colder. Seeing that she still wasn’t moving, the manager questioned her:

[Or do you want her to trend and get attacked by your fans?]

A sudden concentration of discussion can easily lead to a trending topic. Her silence would only lead more fans to discuss it. While she had the chance, she should stop it.

She wasn’t afraid of being criticized, but she didn’t want Cen Luo to be criticized. If the manager’s earlier words were buckets of cold water, the last sentence was a heavy blow to the head. Zhao Zhao suddenly realized she had been too naive.

Zhao Zhao: [I understand.]

Zhao Zhao looked at her chat interface with Cen Luo for a long time. Then, she replied to a comment on Weibo:

[She is a very, very good sister/friend.]