The velvet-dark cinema room hummed faintly, its wide screen still frozen on the paused program logo.
An Ning settled back into the cushioned chair, the heavy quiet a welcome contrast to the bright clatter of the kitchen.
A translucent notification flickered across her vision.
[Melon Available: Han Yichen Scandal]
Consume? [Yes/No]
Without hesitation, An Ning selected [Yes].
[You have consumed a melon!]
+5 Luck Value
+1 Insight into Han Yichen's character.
The little melon's voice piped up immediately, hushed in her mind, its voice dropping:
"Host, in the original timeline, Han Yichen was accused of stealing songs from someone. At first, it seems his career would end…but instead, the accuser was attacked online, she was blacklisted, and eventually destroyed. Han Yichen came out untouched - his reputation even better than before."
An Ning arched a brow. Typical. Ruin someone else, walk away spotless.
She was aware of this from the novel, but from the tone of the little melon, there appeared to be more than what was written on the page.
The characters in the novel weren't just plain characters anymore; they were real humans with feelings, thoughts, and lives that unraveled beyond the neat lines of text.
"It turns out," the little melon whispered, wobbling uneasily, "that the accuser was actually his girlfriend who supported— the one who had supported him for years.
"She was far more talented than he was, but under the guise of chasing their dream, he coaxed her to give him songs she had written, believing he could make it big in the industry.
"When she realised the truth and tried to speak out…it was already too late. He had the fame, the connections, and the sympathy. She had nothing. In the end, she was pushed to despair and…jumped off a building."
In the book, Han Yichen's girlfriend had been nothing more than a faceless stepping stone—mentioned briefly before being brushed aside to highlight his rise.
But here, she wasn't just a name on a page. She had trusted, sacrificed, and shattered.
The little melon's voice dipped lower.
"The scandal didn't explode right away. It happened soon after the first edited episode of this dating show was aired. At that time, his girlfriend didn't even know he had joined the show.
"Imagine…watching the man you trusted, the man who used your work, suddenly appear on national television as the charming soulful songwriter everyone adored."
An Ning's fingers curled slightly in her lap, though her expression remained serene for the cameras.
So that's the real story hidden between lines. A man who could sacrifice the very person who loved him most, all to polish his golden-boy facade.
"Why she didn't watch the livestream?" An Ning asked quietly in her mind.
"I would attune it to luck," the little melon murmured. "It wasn't that she was busy or unaware—just sheer misfortune. The news of the livestream never reached her.
"By the time, she discovered the truth, the edited episodes were already being aired, and his image was set in stone."
The little melon wobbled uneasily, then added, almost slipping:
"Han Yichen later went on to write songs for Sun Qiaolian - "
He caught himself mid-sentence and quickly clamped down, as if terrified to reveal more.
An Ning's lips curved faintly, a knowing chill beneath her calm expression.
Luck, fate, misfortune…or simply the cruel hands arranging this script.
"Can you send her the link to the livestream?" She asked the little melon, her voice quiet in her mind.
"I could," the little melon said. "But it requires your Luck Value."
A faint translucent prompt flickered across her vision:
[Special Action Available: Send Link to Han Yichen's Girlfriend]
Cost: - 10 Luck Value
Current: 25 + 10(Starting Luck Value) Luck Value
Effect: Alters the original timeline
Warning: Unpredictable consequences
An Ning glanced at the notification, her fingers tightening in her lap.
She only had 15 Luck Value. Spending ten would leave her with only five - dangerously low in a world where bad luck meant becoming cannon fodder.
For a long moment, she considered.
If I intervene, the script will change. If I don't, her tragedy repeats. Either way, it's a gamble.
The camera only caught a faint, serene smile on her lips as she made her choice.
[Luck Value - 10]
Remaining Luck: 25
The prompt dissolved into a streak of light.
Somewhere beyond the cameras, beyond the set, a message was sent—a simple link to the livestream, delivered straight to the girlfriend who should never have seen it.
The little melon bobbed anxiously. "Host…you've changed the script."
An Ning's smile deepened ever so slightly.
Good. Let's see what happens when fate is forced to improvise.
In a dimly lit apartment, the glow of a laptop screen cast pale shadows across the room.
Empty instant noodle cups littered the desk, and handwritten music sheets were stacked haphazardly to one side.
Her phone buzzed with a new message. Frowning, she picked it up—and froze.
It was a link to the livestream.
With hesitant fingers, she tapped it open.
On the screen, under bright studio lights, Han Yichen smiled his gentle smile.
A cold weight settled under her ribs as she watched him wear that practiced, soulful facade, leaning close to Sun Qiaolian at the counter, sleeves rolled as if he'd always been the type to help.
His hands moved with easy precision—chopping, stirring, smiling at her—as though he were an attentive admirer.
Yet in all their years together, he had never once done that for her.
Her heart plummeted, her stomach knotting.
The man she had written for, the man she had believed in, was there—clean, polished, beloved by strangers.
She had given him her music willingly, every lyric and note, thinking it was for their dream.
She hadn't realised—she was only ever building his.
She thought he carried her in his future. In the end, it was nothing more than wishful thinking on her part.
Her throat constricted as she watched him smile at the cameras, showcasing that gentle, considerate image with deliberate polish—each movement was crafted to win hearts.
Her fingers trembled, nearly dropping the phone.
The scrolling barrage of comments praising him blurred through her tears.
No one knew her name. No one knew the truth.
To the audience, she was invisible; to him, disposable.
To the world, she had never existed. Only his smile did.
Her own existence had been erased—edited out of his story as neatly as a scene cut from film.
She pressed a hand to her mouth, a muffled sound breaking out of her chest.
So this was what he wanted all along.