Prologue
"Tonight, I care not for humanity—I only think of you."
Chapter 1 Begins—
His eyes snapped open. Chu Zhi felt as though his soul had just endured a bout of motion sickness before being yanked onto a boat. A violent urge to vomit and a dizzying disorientation left his thoughts scrambled for what felt like an eternity.
It took another dozen seconds before his consciousness fully returned. The foreign memories flooding his mind told him one thing—he had crossed over into a parallel world. A world where history had unfolded similarly to his own, yet the development of arts and culture had taken a drastically different path.
"What was I doing before I crossed over?" Chu Zhi tried to recall.
He had been pulling an all-nighter, revising a proposal for his company. As the founder of a small startup, the days leading up to their IPO were beyond hectic. At 3 AM, just as he took his first sip of iced coffee after finishing his work—everything went black.
"Did I die from overwork?" Chu Zhi muttered to himself. "Even as a boss, I managed to work myself to death. I must be an embarrassment to capitalists everywhere—maybe the heavens couldn't stand it and sent me here? But no, I wasn't chronically sleep-deprived… ugh—"
Another wave of nausea hit him. This time, he couldn't hold back—vomit splattered across the floor. The sensation was eerily similar to a brutal hangover.
"My stomach's killing me."
Stumbling past the dining area, Chu Zhi rushed to the kitchen sink, gulped down a few mouthfuls of tap water to rinse his mouth, then braced himself against the counter with his left hand. His right hand pressed firmly against his abdomen, massaging in slow circles until the pain dulled slightly. With unsteady legs, he dragged himself back to the dining chair and collapsed into it, forcing himself to sort through the original owner's memories.
The countertop was made of black-gold marble, its surface cold beneath his palm—a stark contrast to the warmth of his right hand still pressed against his stomach. The alternating sensations mirrored the turbulence in his mind.
Elementary school, middle school, high school, university. During his senior year, he had signed up as a trainee at an entertainment company. Every memory played out like a drama in fast-forward inside Chu Zhi's head.
"So the body I've taken over… was a top-tier idol?"
He unlocked the phone in his hand. The logged-in Weibo account—@EatingABigOrange
[Verified Singer | Representative Works: "My Dream," "Gorgeous Radiance"] (11.54M followers | 54 following | 710M reposts/comments/likes)
@EatingABigOrange: [Good morning, world. [Photo]]
The attached image was a mediocre shot of a sunrise—unremarkable in composition, angle, or aesthetic. Yet, this single post had 180,000 comments. Chu Zhi was beginning to grasp the terrifying scale of fame.
[SCREECHING LIKE A GROUNDHOG, I MISS YOU!!]
[HUSBAND MATERIAL RIGHT HERE.]
[Baby's photography skills are amazing—almost professional-level!]
[Sniffles… waiting for you at Huanghua Airport! Got my ticket ready!]
[When an orange grows south of the Huai, it reigns supreme; north of the Huai, it becomes bitter. Though the leaves may look alike, my heart follows only you.]
[Why no selfie, Zhi-ge? I have a terminal illness that only your face can cure.]
[...]
In his past life, Chu Zhi had despised fan culture—especially obsessive stans. The mindless "gie gie" chants and lack of critical thinking had disgusted him. But if those rabid fans were his rabid fans? Well… that was a different story.
Imagine having a crowd of people who'd blindly support you no matter what. Who wouldn't want that?
Scrolling further, he noticed that whenever the original owner posted a selfie, comments would skyrocket past 200,000—flooded with praise about his flawless skin, god-tier visuals, and declarations of love. Some even went as far as saying they'd "bear his children."
Professionally? A single song of his could sell 5 million digital copies in 24 hours. When he endorsed a certain brand of milk, fans mass-ordered from e-commerce platforms until both Taobao and Pinduoduo's official stores sold out.
But all of that glory? It was from two months ago.
The most recent comments told a different story—
[Former fan turned anti. Sugar baby? Secret marriage? What a joke.]
[How can trash like him still be a celebrity? The entertainment industry is way too lenient—he shouldn't even qualify as a human.]
[How's the steel wool treating you, huh? Enjoy being scrubbed by your sugar mommy? (dog head)]
[Pfft, steel wool? More like taking the 'dry route' from a male sugar daddy.]
[Let's all spit on this scumbag's grave before we go—HETUI!]
[...]
In fandom terms, this was called "the house collapsing." And when a top-tier idol's house collapsed, it was catastrophic. From June to August, his name had trended on Weibo 31 times.
Accusations piled up—diva behavior, song plagiarism, being a kept man, marriage fraud. From the original owner's memories, Chu Zhi knew he'd been framed.
Two months ago, at a business dinner, the original owner and his manager had taken a close photo with a female sponsor. The next day, rumors of him being a sugar baby exploded online. Weibo turned into a deep fryer—instantly boiling over.
Before his agency could issue a statement, a second bombshell dropped—a woman claiming to be his girlfriend of five years came forward with exposés.
Over the next week, more black material flooded the internet. Like lighting a fuse in an armory, the chain reaction was a series of explosions.
Amid the chaos, only two accusations held any truth:
-Plagiarism of his title track (his company had bought the song without proper vetting).
-Diva antics (after skyrocketing to fame, the original owner had let it get to his head, mistreating staff and making unreasonable demands).
"When the media accuses you of being a sugar baby, you'd better actually be one," Chu Zhi muttered. "Then you could use your sugar mommy's connections to shut it down. But alas…"
Alas, he wasn't.
For an idol with no real talent, image and looks were everything. Wife fans were his lifeblood. You could get away with being a diva. You could have parents who were deadbeats. You could even make unpatriotic remarks—there'd always be brainless fans ready to defend you.
But the one thing you could never do? Get into a relationship and shatter your persona. Because then you'd learn the true meaning of love turned to hatred.
And Chu Zhi? He'd been accused of both secret marriage AND being a sugar baby. It was like Mount Everest—instantly avalanching. Of course, the rumors needed to be refuted. But his agency, Kangfei Entertainment, had fumbled the response. Their legal approach backfired spectacularly.
There's a saying: "Justice may be delayed, but it won't be denied."
But rumors and public opinion could delay justice indefinitely. Influencers, self-media, and tabloids began fabricating even more scandals. A whale's death could nourish an ecosystem—a fallen idol could feed an army of clickbait accounts.
Some even claimed he was gay. After two months of enduring this hell, Kangfei Entertainment delivered the final blow—
"Due to limited company resources, we will be suspending further legal support."
Translation: They were cutting him loose.
Surrounded by nothing but malice, the original owner saw no way out. He swallowed an entire bottle of sleeping pills—a dose that would've killed him twice over. His resolve to die had been absolute. Even in his final moments, he hadn't understood why this was happening to him.
"While there's no shortage of baseless malice and envy in this world, the way these rumors and smear campaigns unfolded—it was too organized, too calculated. Someone spent at least millions orchestrating this. This wasn't random."
Only substantial interests could justify such an attack.
Chu Zhi, with his analytical mind, quickly pinpointed the prime suspect—Dahua Entertainment, the original owner's former agency.
As one of the Big Three in the industry, Dahua had a rigorous trainee system. The original owner had joined at sixteen but refused sexual advances from a department head. As punishment? Five years of zero opportunities.
When his contract expired, he left for Kangfei Entertainment. Dahua hadn't cared—until he blew up overnight as a contestant on "Future Star."
How big was his rise? The show was supposed to crown the best singer-songwriter, but despite his mediocre skills, fans voted him to victory by a landslide—his votes exceeded the 2nd and 3rd place contestants combined. Endorsements and gigs poured in. He became an overnight sensation.
Seeing their former trainee rake in millions? Dahua was livid. They sued him for breaching a "priority clause," but the court only ordered a 1 million RMB penalty.
"You think Dahua would just let it go after that? Hell no."
When legal means failed, they resorted to dirty tactics. And now? Their plan had succeeded.
"The entertainment industry might be a lost cause for me now." Chu Zhi assessed the damage.
The hardwood chair was uncomfortable. He shifted to the sofa, propping a cushion behind his back. His frown deepened—the situation was dire. During his two-year peak, he'd earned millions. But with the scandals, brands like L'Oréal, Givenchy, and HR had terminated contracts and demanded compensation.
Capitalism's golden rule? "Lend umbrellas on sunny days, take them back when it rains."
Every cent he'd made was gone. Now? He was in debt.
[1. "Perfect Harmony 2" breach penalty: 4.7 million RMB
2. Yum China Holdings (McDonald's endorsement reputation damages): 5.09 million RMB
3. "Back to Nature Season 3" breach penalty: 1.97 million RMB
...]
Chu Zhi pulled up a spreadsheet on his phone. Total debt: 47 million RMB (after deducting the agency's share).
A throbbing headache set in. Endorsement fees were high—but breach penalties were astronomical.
"This is a hellish starting point." He massaged his temples. Even as a calm, scheming person, the pressure was crushing.
Then—
Click.
A crisp, keyboard-like sound echoed in his mind.
[The "Idol Personality System" has awakened. Binding in progress—]
[3… 2… 1… Binding complete.]
[Your system assistant is at your service.]