After Transmigrating Back, I Became My Own Stand-in - Chapter 1

“Yes, the next performance is Meng Heng’s.”

“Everyone knows Meng Heng—she’s that rookie ‘resource-backed’ star. She suddenly blew up at the end of last year, and this year she feels like she’s everywhere.”

“Her seat is even further forward than Sun Sitiao’s. Please, with the rotten movies she’s acted in, how is she qualified to sit in the row right behind those famous directors…”

…

The Night of Star Gathering was one of the larger annual events. Every year, the seating arrangement was the favorite topic for the gossip-loving public, with discussions starting from the moment the official guest list was announced.

This year’s planning continued the style of the previous year, with celebrity performances interspersed throughout. When the seating chart for the first row came out, many people felt this year was quite respectable, as several artists of high moral standing and talent had been invited.

From the director’s circle came someone rarely seen in public: Chen Caiwei. She hadn’t directed anything in years, but her television dramas were classics—the childhood memories of an entire generation.

Of course, the most eye-catching person in the first row during the brief flashes of the livestream wasn’t Chen Caiwei, but Shen Tianqing.

“That beauty in the camel-colored coat is Shen Tianqing, right?”

“She’s literally glowing… among a group of directors, she’s the most beautiful.”

“But why is she here? I thought she stopped directing?”

“Every time I see Shen Tianqing, I have to marvel at how she’s truly ‘blessed by the gods.’ She can do anything… Wang Li, who is the same age behind her, is completely outmatched…”

An anonymous forum had opened a chat thread for the event, and the screen was scrolling rapidly. There was also a synchronized livestream window showing Meng Heng’s performance.

The stage was set with an ancient-style scenery. Meng Heng was dressed in a feathered garment, descending from a birdcage lift designed to simulate flight.

“The outfit is actually beautiful… Meng Heng’s professional skills are so weak, but her visuals are truly beyond reproach…”

“I’m numb. How many outfits has she changed into? It hasn’t even been that long. From the entrance to the interview to the seating and now the performance… everything she wears is priced at a ransom. What’s this person’s background?”

The song had a great melody. Produced by Meng Heng’s studio in the first half of the year, the digital album sales were good, and the fans were very supportive. It was just that the vocals relied entirely on post-production; there was a high chance she was lip-syncing during the live broadcast.

The forum was in the middle of debating whether she was faking it—and why she still looked flawless even under the high-definition “face-staring” camera—when, in the next second, she fell.

THUD.

The livestream had a slight delay. Many people watched as Meng Heng, who was supposed to “fly” from the second-tier stage onto a slowly rising prop platform… slammed into the ground.

The prop lift that was supposed to rise seemed to have malfunctioned. In the lens, one could only see a pitch-black hole and a snow-white figure.

She was still wearing the “exquisite feathered garment” that marketing accounts were currently spamming online. Before the sickly sweet marketing buzzwords could even be scrutinized, the subject of the praise had met with an accident.

A flood of “Holy crap” scrolled across the forum. In the final second of the livestream before it cut to commercials, many people saw a flash of a close-up of Meng Heng.

Blood stained her white clothes. This “black-and-red” resource celebrity had her eyes closed, looking as if she were dead.

If the internet was exploding, the scene itself was pure chaos. The music stopped abruptly. The backup dancers were stunned, while the ink-wash animation continued to play on the giant screen, making the silence of the venue feel even heavier.

Staff members were the first to rush over. Celebrities in the back rows stood up one after another.

In the first row, Shen Tianqing, who had been speaking with Chen Caiwei, also looked in that direction.

Chen Caiwei: “What happened?”

Ji Qiao, who was sitting next to Shen Tianqing, stood up. “How could something like this happen…”

The event’s emergency protocols kicked in. The intended advertisements and TV trailers were replaced by a temporary loop on the streaming platform.

Meng Heng was carried away on a stretcher, surrounded by people. Shen Tianqing’s assistant, Tao Yi, came over and whispered into her ear: “The situation isn’t good. They’ve sent her straight to the hospital.”

Shen Tianqing nodded.

Seeing the assistant leave in a hurry, Ji Qiao sighed. “How old is that kid? Barely twenty? What a mess…”

Someone nearby whispered something. Ji Qiao glanced at Shen Tianqing. “Do you know her?”

Shen Tianqing gave a performative nod. “Met her a few times.”

Ji Qiao had witnessed Meng Heng bumping into Shen Tianqing before. They didn’t seem familiar at all, but it was strange—Meng Heng had looked like she was seeing her homeroom teacher.

The accident immediately hit the headlines of every major app.

Meng Heng made it onto the trending searches multiple times a year, but this time, the high-ranking search caused many passers-by to sigh in annoyance: Her again?

But the following tags were:

#1: Star Gathering Night Lift Malfunction

#2: Meng Heng Emergency Treatment

Within ten minutes, more than half of the top ten trending topics were about the accident. Marketing accounts were posting in panicked tones:

“Meng Heng fell from a great height during the show. I thought it was a performance effect, but she really fell. Hope she’s okay [prayer emoji].”

Attached was a screenshot: a dark hole, a snow-white costume, and a fallen girl. Even the low resolution couldn’t hide the blood.

Inside the ambulance, Meng Heng’s consciousness was blurred, as if she had entered a void. She vaguely heard voices.

“Are you kidding me? I’m responsible for the result of the Mainframe malfunctioning?”

The blunt tone didn’t leave a bad impression. It must be a…

“I don’t care. The contract I signed back then said that once the task was done, I’d return to the year I died. What is this? You can’t operate in the real world?”

“Have I worked for nothing all these years? Even if my soul-form dissipates, I’ll complain to the Chief God about your ‘996’ and ‘007’ overwork culture. We part-time systems work our tails off for this? Is ‘sorry’ useful? If I formatted your data and said ‘oops, not on purpose,’ could you forgive me?”

Ah, I was wrong, Meng Heng thought. Not a gentle person at all.

The voice responding to this person was extremely mechanical, clearly lagging under the rapid-fire speech.

“Apologies. Encountered an extra-dimensional attack. The Mainframe cannot execute the real-space regression function. Please understand!”

Then, following a harsh beeping sound, that clear female voice gave a cold laugh. “Then wait for my complaint.”

“Please wait patiently, 6900!”

“I’ll wait for you! I’ve waited hundreds of years. In the world ten years later, my ashes have already been scattered. Is this the ‘wish fulfillment’ you promised?”

Meng Heng, dazed, opened her eyes to find herself in a space so pure it was almost transparent. There was nothing else there, except for a terrifyingly large… jellyfish at the center of her vision.

To her right was a woman with her back turned. She was tall and thin, her hair tied in a bun that wasn’t quite a bun. Her clothes were oversized, making her look a bit like a Taoist priest. She only sounded female because of her voice.

“New near-death entity detected. Initiating welcome greeting: My dear person of destiny, would you like a delicious cup of octopus sake?”

Meng Heng: “…” Aren’t you a jellyfish?

The woman turned around and looked at Meng Heng with great surprise. “You just pulled her in? Tell me yourself, which rule did you just break?”

The transparent jellyfish’s tentacles moved smoothly. “Article 79 of the Local Space Manual: In special circumstances, near-death entities can be pulled into the space for recruitment.”

Shi Xu: “Are you sure?”

Great Jellyfish: “I am sure.”

Meng Heng was stunned. The woman who had turned around possessed a face she was very familiar with.

You couldn’t tell her exact age—she wasn’t old, but not exactly young either. She looked like someone out of an ancient painting. But whereas others were clearly defined, her features were like a wash of ink, her eyes a vast, misty sea. It felt as though she could take someone’s soul into her gaze.

“Shi… Shi Xu?”

Although the girl was tall, she looked timid. Shi Xu looked at her white dress and figured she wasn’t very old. Who knows what happened to make her lose her life so young?

“What did you call me?”

The other party took two steps forward. Meng Heng lowered her head sharply, then raised her eyes again after two seconds.

This person was slightly taller than her. When Meng Heng looked up, her eyes met Shi Xu’s. In that instant, both were surprised.

One was surprised that this person might truly be the “White Moonlight” who had died years ago—the one belonging to her financial backer.

The other was surprised that this child, at first glance, looked quite like herself. But upon closer look, she didn’t. Her youth was still apparent in her eyes, mixed with a hint of terror.

“Is it really Teacher Shi?” Meng Heng asked again, her eyes red.

Shi Xu hadn’t been called by her real name in a long time. She nodded. “Where are you from? How old? What’s your name? What happened?”

Her voice was nice, but she talked a lot. She had been barking at the Mainframe jellyfish, but to the young girl, she was gentle and considerate, even reaching out to steady Meng Heng’s wrist.

“My name is Meng… Meng Heng. Am I dead?”

Shi Xu smiled. When she did, the tiny red mole between her brows seemed to deepen, radiating a bit of charm. “Yes. But it’s okay to be dead. There are more worlds waiting for you to explore.”

At that moment, the Mainframe made an inappropriate sound: “Task-taker 6900, you may substitute into Meng Heng’s identity.”

Shi Xu sneered. “That’s a violation of rules.” She turned hostile in an instant—the transition from gentle to cold happened in a flash, stunning the girl beside her.

Meng Heng understood what was being said. “I agree,” she said softly, without a hint of hesitation.

Mainframe: “Confirmed?”

Shi Xu: “Wait, you’re agreeing without knowing anything?”

Meng Heng: “I read the regulations on the big jellyfish’s body.”

Shi Xu: “…” The kid has good eyesight.

“I am willing.”

Meng Heng had no feelings for Shen Tianqing, the woman who kept her. To put it another way, she had basically been snatched away by Shen Tianqing. Shen Tianqing rarely mentioned Shi Xu in front of her, but many people said Meng Heng looked like that deceased actress.

“You have a few points of resemblance to her; that is your good fortune,” many had said after she entered the industry.

Meng Heng’s head wasn’t entirely clear, but she was resolute. The entertainment industry was boring. After paying off her debts, she wanted to leave, only to enter another cage. Now… there seemed to be another chance…

“Fine, but this jellyfish goes back on its word,” Shi Xu warned.

Mainframe: “6900, please respect reality.”

Shi Xu: “I only respect love.”

She laughed. “Think about it slowly. There’s a lot of data here for you to look at first. Don’t just agree blindly.” She rubbed Meng Heng’s head and went back to negotiating with the Mainframe, though she switched to “Privacy Mode.”

Meng Heng had long since lost the will to live. It wasn’t that she was depressed, she just found it boring.

What Shi Xu meant by “considering it” was actually an auto-play of her life—her boring memories and her boring life as a “canary.”

Shen Tianqing was a contradiction, a person no one could control, but her charm was a form of torture for Meng Heng. Shen Tianqing said Shi Xu could not be replicated; Meng Heng said she couldn’t imitate her.

One sold her face; the other bought a shadow.

Now, Meng Heng actually felt a sense of relief. She thought this was good.

The person you love becomes me, but you won’t know it. How will that feel?

The ambulance drove into a private hospital. Meng Heng’s body was being resuscitated, but Shen Tianqing had not yet left the event venue.

Even after the banquet ended, no reporters dared to interview her. After Shen Tianqing got into her car, her assistant asked, “Do you want to hear about Meng Heng’s condition?”

Shen Tianqing hummed in affirmation.

“It’s not optimistic. If she doesn’t make it through the night, she might…”

Shen Tianqing turned her head. Her long hair reached her waist, with half of it draped over her chest. She had carelessly tossed aside an expensive brooch, revealing her rare agitation. The lights outside the window scattered across her face, outlining a restless emotion.

Her carefully selected flawed product was broken.

In this world, there was ultimately only one Shi Xu.

But Shi Xu had been dead for twelve years, and she still couldn’t forget her.