Substitute Lover [Entertainment Industry] - Chapter 93

[Camel Cigarettes Tops the Palme d’Or; Jiang Cha Wins Best Actress]

The headline on the front page of the day was a striking title, accompanied by photos of Song Baiwei and Jiang Cha taking the stage to accept their respective awards.

In the photo, the woman wore a silver-white long gown with a deep V-neck and a cinched waist. Her ebony hair was pinned up, revealing a smooth, fair forehead and a slender swan neck. Clutching her trophy, her snow-white profile remained composed and cool like ice, yet her red lips carried a faint, subtle smile. This contrast lent her an aura that was both aloof and slightly sweet, like a white lotus tinged with crimson—translucent and moving.

However, this smile was quite displeasing to certain people, especially those who had firmly believed that Luo Yan would take home the prize.

— “How is it her?”

— “Jiang Cha? Best Actress???”

— “Cannes has really become mediocre (watery) this year.”

— “It’s probably because Luoluo has won it too many times, and the judges wanted to give Jiang Cha a chance.”

— “No, I think the jury members were face-blind and mistook Jiang Cha for my Luoluo.”

— “Cannes is flooded, absolutely flooded with mediocrity!!!!!”

…

“Sigh, winning an award is useless sometimes.”

Yang Yan scrolled through the comments under a marketing account and felt a surge of frustration. “Do you care what people are saying? They say you…”

Jiang Cha simply hummed softly, saying nonchalantly, “Let them say what they want.”

Sometimes one must learn to remain unruffled by both favor and humiliation. When the whole world is praising you to the skies, you shouldn’t lose your head and must remember your own true worth; similarly, when the whole world is cursing you, you shouldn’t care too much or engage in self-deprecation.

Ultimately, it is about having a clear understanding of oneself.

Self-perception sounds easy, but it is incredibly difficult to achieve.

Jiang Cha had experienced both extremes.

When she first debuted, she easily reached heights that many low-level actors could never climb. But back then, her good reputation and glamorous appearance were indeed hollow. Aside from a pretty face and a marketed “perfect persona,” she had nothing.

She hadn’t even reached the entry-level requirements for the basic skills an actor needs.

The subsequent total reversal of her reputation was, in fact, predictable.

Now, however, she had substance.

The encounters one faces in life either knock a person down completely or provide them with more strength to stand even higher.

This movie, along with the many things she had been through, had given her strength and courage.

“Let me see the trophy,” Yang Yan smiled. “The Palme d’Or—this is my first time seeing one.”

Jiang Cha lowered her gaze and opened the light-gray box in her hand.

Nestled within the snow-white silk was a trophy.

It was heavy, crafted from solid gold. The golden palm leaf rested atop a square crystal base, shimmering with a cold light. Tiny white diamonds scattered a chilly brilliance over the small golden leaves, exquisite and magnificent. The rose-gold leaves were small and lustrous, their veins slightly curved. As Jiang Cha held it, her fingertips trembled slightly in this moment, as if time had frozen forever.

---

After the film won the award, even before the domestic promotion began, its popularity was already soaring. The Palme d’Or—Cannes’ highest honor—was something a mainland film might only clinch once every several years!

When the film was released in mainland China, the box office was unprecedentedly high. During the holidays, theaters were almost completely sold out.

After the screenings, praise flooded social media platforms.

Five-star reviews dominated, with many writing lengthy essays analyzing the plot—the most intriguing part being the handling of the two sisters’ identities.

The two characters appeared separately in spy scenes and were rarely seen together.

Many viewers who had only seen the movie began to get confused:

— “Am I the only one who can’t tell which one is Jiang Cha and which is Luo Yan?”

— “Me too +1.”

— “Same here.”

— “No, the original book fans say it’s easy to recognize once you understand the plot.”

— “True, you have to sort out the storyline first.”

Since many viewers were confused, people on various video platforms began planning edited explainers. On one hand, they organized the plot, putting scenes of the two characters together for comparison; on the other hand, they showed photos of the two lead actresses from different periods to compare the differences in Jiang Cha and Luo Yan’s appearance and aura.

While editing the videos, it was inevitable to come across Luo Yan’s debut work, Blind Youth.

Since these creators were analyzing the video for their own content, they watched more closely than ordinary viewers, and details began to surface. It’s unclear who first discovered the anomaly, but a thread started on the entertainment section of a certain forum:

[Shocking! Jiang Cha was actually the Best Actress’s body double? The blind girl in ‘Blind Youth’ isn’t just one person!]

The post included screenshots. Under the dim candlelight, a woman on a dilapidated bed slightly tilted her face. Her ebony hair was soaked by rain, clinging to her profile in strands as water droplets slid down.

The light illuminated her jaw and the tip of her nose.

In the screenshots, one could clearly see that the young girl with her shoulder half-exposed had a slight, subtle bump on her clean nose bridge.

This person was not Luo Yan!

It was likely—Jiang Cha.

Many people saw this startling post and couldn’t believe it.

Slowly, the news began to spread.

[#Was ‘Blind Youth’ a Stand-in?#]

[Insiders claim the original lead of this film was Jiang Cha, but she was later replaced and relegated to a body double?]

Below were two pictures of the same “blind girl” character from the same movie.

The bridge of the nose was circled in red.

The difference was obvious.

On the left, it was smooth; on the right, there was a subtle, barely noticeable protrusion.

The trending topic had just reached the bottom of the list when it was suddenly pushed up by an unknown force, occupying the number one spot.

Comments exceeded ten thousand.

— “What? What? Luo Yan used a body double? And the double was Jiang Cha???”

— “I went to watch those edited videos; that scene in ‘Blind Youth’ really isn’t played by the same person.”

— “My world is shattered. My favorite scene was actually acted by Jiang Cha?! I’ve been a fan of Luo Yan for so long for no reason!”

— “I feel emotionally cheated.”

— “No wonder Jiang Cha won an award; she was actually good even back then.”

…

The trending topic appeared rapidly, but soon a wave of “comment control” arrived, claiming it was the result of makeup, or that it was a matter of camera angles and lighting. In short, Luo Yan did not step forward to respond, and the comments flatly denied the fact that she used a double.

Makeup, lighting… it seemed logical enough.

After all, the Best Actress’s reputation was still intact, and the news came too suddenly. This somewhat forced explanation actually managed to suppress some doubts.

Luo Yan’s fan base was massive; with so many people willing to believe her, their combined voices were enough to drown out the negative comments from bypassers.

A while ago, the fans were still fiercely defending their idol and saying Jiang Cha was unworthy. Now, hearing that the scene they worshipped as “divine” and the peak of her performance was actually acted by Jiang Cha created such a huge gap that they couldn’t accept it immediately.

It was too disillusioning. It had to be fake. It didn’t fit the image of Luo Yan they had in their hearts.

It must be someone intentionally slandering Luo Yan.

The trending topic was vaguely suppressed.

The top-voted comments gradually became positive.

Luo Yan seemed about to be cleared of the “charges.”

---

“Do you know who did this?”

Chen Mo paced back and forth in the office, frantic like an ant on a hot pan. “Was it Jiang Cha who leaked the news? Does she want to make a comeback?”

“I don’t think so,” Luo Yan frowned. “If it were her, why didn’t she do it earlier? She didn’t act like this even when things were at their worst.”

Chen Mo thought about it and realized she was right.

She was the one who brought Luo Yan up; she knew about that incident years ago. Non-disclosure agreements (NDAs) exist in a legal gray area. Most of the time, those agreements are signed by professional body doubles who have almost no hope of rising to stardom and rely on being stand-ins to make a living.

But Jiang Cha was different.

She was an actress.

The kind who could stand on equal footing with Luo Yan at any time.

Making such a person sign a body double NDA was a risk from the start.

In the early years, Chen Mo had worried about what would happen if Jiang Cha spoke out. But as years passed without a whisper, she gradually relaxed.

It turned out Jiang Cha was just that type of person—when she committed to something, like a promise, she would definitely keep it. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have been so “stupid” as to take that NDA seriously and remain silent for so long.

If it wasn’t her, then who did it?

“It must be that person surnamed Zhang,” Chen Mo cursed, throwing a magazine onto the floor. The cover girl wore a fishtail dress, swaying gracefully—it was Zhang Zifeng.

Chen Mo pointed at the magazine and yelled, “That woman is truly malicious. For the sake of an award, she’d wish you dead.”

The more Chen Mo thought about it, the more she felt it was her. Previously, Luo Yan and Zhang Zifeng had competed for the title of Best Actress, and Luo Yan had defeated her at an international award. Consequently, resources that originally belonged to Zhang Zifeng and investments worth hundreds of millions vanished, all leaning toward Luo Yan.

Luo Yan came from behind and pushed her out of her position. As for Zhang Zifeng, she was savagely attacked by the media with negative comments like “her career is on the decline” and “her acting is getting worse.”

Sometimes, what crushes a person isn’t just material loss, but psychological damage.

Psychological damage is greater, and the hatred runs deeper.

---

Luo Yan didn’t sleep a wink.

It felt like walking on a thin wire over a gorge, fearing she would fall into the abyss at any second.

While the tide in the comments was clearly improving, and some were even attacking Jiang Cha in defense of Luo Yan—claiming Jiang Cha was just clout-chasing—the atmosphere was still tense.

— “Don’t people know how Jiang Cha’s acting is? Look at the trashy movies she’s been in!”

— “This news breaking right as she wins an award is suspicious. She probably wants to use the opportunity to climb up.”

— “Exactly.”

These messages seemed favorable to them.

But Chen Mo felt an unspeakable panic in her heart.

She didn’t know how much more “dirt” the other party held.

At dawn, Luo Yan received a call.

“It’s over.”

Chen Mo sighed over the phone. “This time, it’s truly over.”

Luo Yan had reached this stage like someone who had painstakingly built a magnificent high-rise, and now, under the watchful eyes of the public, the building was collapsing.

A video over forty minutes long was released without warning—it was the original footage of Jiang Cha acting in Blind Youth, which had been filmed but was discarded when the role was recast.

The video began with a lush green field. On a mountain path, a girl with snow-white skin and soft red lips carried a vegetable basket on her fair arm, filled with fresh radishes and greens.

Yet the person was fresher than the newly picked vegetables.

…

The further one watched, the more one realized that the “blind girl” in this footage was different from the one Luo Yan played.

Particularly in the handling of subtle expressions.

Delicate, vivid, and natural.

She blended perfectly into the character, making the viewer completely forget the element of “acting.”

Stunning.

Awe-inspiring.

— “This is the original ‘Blind Girl’!”

— “Aaaaawsl (I’m dying)!”

— “This is Jiang Cha, right? There’s no doubt now, right???”

— “Jiang Cha’s acting is actually very good. What happened back then? Why was she replaced?”

— “Comparing the two versions makes it clear: it’s a hard fact that Luo Yan used Jiang Cha as a body double.”

— “Tsk, Luo Yan is so hypocritical.”

— “I might have stayed a fan for a bit longer if she had just admitted it.”

…

The comment section turned into a massive scene of fans deserting and turning against her. The few still speaking for her were suppressed in an instant.

Jiang Cha, however, only noticed the released original video.

That video had been burned onto a disc and sent to her. Aside from the original crew, she was the only one who had a copy.

But from a crew so many years ago, who would have kept a discarded video?

The only possibility was—

“Ji Fan!”

Jiang Cha carried her tablet upstairs, entered the study, and pointed to the video. “You did this, didn’t you?”

“Hmm?”

Ji Fan propped up her clean chin, glanced at it, and shook her head. “I don’t know.”

Her tone and demeanor were perfectly innocent.

But Jiang Cha got angry: “Why do this? I signed an NDA with them. This is very bad!”

“NDA?”

Ji Fan looked at her. “They told you to keep it secret, so you actually did?”

Jiang Cha lowered her head. “What else was I supposed to do?”

Ji Fan closed the book on her lap, set it aside, and looked up under the desk lamp. “Don’t you know that making a body double sign a non-disclosure contract is actually illegal in itself?”

Jiang Cha’s eyes widened.

“Is it?”

Ji Fan frowned slightly and let out a helpless, gentle sigh. “You really are—”

As she spoke, she reached out her arm, hooking and pulling Jiang Cha by the waist, cradling her on her lap.

“What about me?” Jiang Cha asked.

“If you run into any trouble in the future, you can tell me,” Ji Fan said softly. Her long lashes fluttered as she leaned in to kiss Jiang Cha’s ear. “You’re just too honest.”

Jiang Cha felt a bit embarrassed.

“Actually, relying on myself is fine too.”

As she spoke, Jiang Cha reminisced: “You see, many times I don’t need to seek help from others. In the past—”

Ji Fan pressed her index finger against Jiang Cha’s lips.

She was sitting on the bed, wearing a loose white cotton shirt. The thin, soft material outlined her slender frame clearly. Her slightly curled long hair was like an ink-colored waterfall, draped over one shoulder. Ji Fan slightly lowered her jade-like chin, resting it on Jiang Cha’s shoulder, her red lips pursed slightly with a hint of stubbornness:

“I am not ‘others.’ No matter what, you must remember—you have me.”

---

Some matters are like waves following waves.

Someone took a screenshot of the local news from the day of the Cannes Film Festival and added a Chinese translation. It said that Jiang Cha had nearly died that day; the criminal gang had been captured, but they insisted that no one had instigated them.

However, Jiang Cha had strangely switched cars that day—to a red car.

That Maserati happened to be the one Luo Yan used on the opening day; even the license plate matched.

This was far too coincidental.

— This matter was probably Luo Yan’s doing.

This was just a speculation, but as the saying goes, “three people make a tiger”—the rumor soon spread and became increasingly “real.”

Luo Yan’s current scandals were just the tip of the iceberg; rival management companies soon dug up even more. Posts and news attacking her flew everywhere:

[Jiang Cha Nearly Lost Her Life at Cannes? Has the Mastermind Luo Yan Apologized Today?]

[Is Luo the ‘White Lotus’ Still Pretending?]

[Please, Luo Yan, Get Out of the Entertainment Industry!]

…

A month later, Luo Yan’s manager, Chen Mo, was investigated for tax evasion. Luo Yan, plagued by endless scandals for a long time, gradually faded into silence.

“This industry is a vanity fair. Some people are blinded by fame and fortune; they can’t see anything else, so naturally, they get trapped.”

That’s how the entertainment world is—above ten thousand people one day, in the mud the next.

Some can turn their lives around; others are trapped for a lifetime.

---

The following year, on the first day of the Lunar New Year, the city was covered in snow.

The movie Qing Yu An, starring Jiang Cha, was released.

In the same slot was Deadly Pursuit, starring Luo Yan.

A day after the release, the headline of the entertainment news was a row of bold characters:

[Reputation Declines Sharply, Box Office Crushed; How Much Longer Can the Former Best Actress Hold On?]

[Powerful! ‘Qing Yu An’ Box Office Breaks Records Again!]

[New Year Films Compete! ‘Deadly Pursuit’ Criticized as a Flop?]

…

Jiang Cha glanced at the content of the newspaper, crumpled it up, and tossed it into the trash.

At nightfall, the sky was a dark indigo, a misty blue. She draped a cloak over her shoulders and walked along the snowy path.

She passed a food stall where the owner was rubbing his hands while selling steamed buns, the steam dispersing like white mist.

Jiang Cha revealed her chin from her scarf and looked up slightly. “Three mantou (steamed buns), please.”

“Alright.”

The owner reached out for the money and suddenly realized the girl looked familiar.

Her dark hair was hidden under the snow-white cloak, her lips were rosy, and her eyes were exceptionally pure and bright.

“Are you—”

Jiang Cha was startled.

“The Best Actress! The one who won the award!”

She smiled gently. “You’ve mistaken me for someone else. I’m not.”

The owner continued:

“Your name is Jiang Cha, right? I remember the name.”

Jiang Cha’s long lashes trembled, and a flicker of surprise passed through her clear eyes.

“Isn’t the name Luo Yan?”

The owner scratched his head in confusion. “Eh?”

The two looked at each other for a moment. Jiang Cha smiled apologetically, took her bag, and turned to leave.

For the Spring Festival, many migrant workers had gone home, and the surroundings were sparsely populated. Ji Fan’s car was parked nearby, the headlights on, casting a warm red glow.

Jiang Cha opened the car door and took off her cloak.

Scattered snow had fallen on the white fur; as she entered the warm car, it began to melt.

Ji Fan had been watching her somewhat nervously since she opened the door.

Her lips moved, but no words came out. She lowered her head, smoothing her long hair by her ear. After a moment, she suddenly said, “Later…”

“Hmm?” Jiang Cha asked.

Ji Fan thought for a bit and said, “Don’t you think celebrating the holiday with just two people is too quiet?”

“Yeah, a little.”

She had given the driver the day off and was driving herself. Passing a shop, she parked and got out with her bag. Jiang Cha watched her receding figure curiously. A moment later, Ji Fan returned.

She noticed Ji Fan was carrying a heavy bag of things.

“What did you buy?” Jiang Cha turned her head.

Ji Fan gripped the steering wheel, her lips slightly pursed. “Firecrackers, and joss paper.”

At night, Ji Fan placed the firecrackers in her yard, lit them, and quickly moved away. In the magnificent Baroque-style villa, a series of crackling sounds erupted. Red debris scattered like tiny sparks across the snow.

The sound of the firecrackers triggered the alarm system.

A security guard came over with a lantern. Raising the light, he saw two women on the steps nearby. One was standing, and the other was kneeling on one knee, currently putting a ring on her finger.

A gray parrot perched on the standing woman’s shoulder, tilting its head curiously.

The kneeling woman took the other’s slender fingertip and elegantly slid the simple white band onto it.

Then, she lowered her red lips and kissed the back of her hand.

Snowflakes danced one by one in the halo of the light.

In the soft glow, the expressions of the two were so serious and devout.