As the final day of filming approached, the pace of the set grew frantic. The sound engineer shouted, the crew scurried, and the director barked for camera positions. Everyone was being pushed forward by time.
Everyone, except Ye Xiaoxiao.
Her heart felt like a tightening string. She knew that once filming ended, her life and Qin Mu's would drift apart. No shared studio, no shared lunch breaks, no excuse to be near him. The chance of even a "random encounter" would become infinitesimal.
Qin Mu was an actor; though not yet an A-lister, he had three consecutive projects lined up. After wrap-up, he would immediately head to the next city, the next crew. Every day of his life was scheduled.
And her? She was just a junior assistant. She didn't even know if she'd get into the next production. The thought made her chest ache so much she could barely breathe.
During lunch, she sat alone on the stairs outside the warehouse. She gripped her chopsticks but couldn't eat. She stole a glance into the distance—Qin Mu was discussing blocking with the director. He stood tall, his gaze calm—the natural focus of every lens.
After this, she thought, I probably won't be able to look at him like this anymore, will I?
Her fingers gripped her lunchbox. Her eyes burned. She took a deep breath, forcing back the moisture. I know I shouldn't hope for more. How could someone like him ever notice someone like me?
While she was lost in her own thoughts, Qin Mu suddenly turned his head.
Their gazes collided.
Xiaoxiao's heart leaped. Like a child caught stealing a glance, she jerked her head down.
What she didn't know was that at the moment he saw her, Qin Mu's breath hitched too. His assistant, Xiao Zhang, noticed the pause. "Qin-ge, why are you spacing out?"
Qin Mu looked away, his voice cool. "...It's nothing." But the tips of his ears were burning. A thought he wasn't yet ready to face was hidden in his heart: Once we wrap... will I ever see her again?
In the afternoon, Xiaoxiao was sent to run errands at a local flea market. The sunlight filtered lazily through the canvas tents, and the air smelled of face powder, old books, and cheap fabric.
Usually, a visit here would brighten Xiaoxiao's mood instantly. She loved feeling the fabrics, looking at weird hair accessories, and haggling with vendors. But today, she sighed with every step.
The show is almost over. Qin Mu is leaving the crew. I have no reason to be near him. Her mood was like a marshmallow with the sugar washed off—limp, soft, and devoid of sweetness.
She wandered through the narrow alleys, looking for vintage accessories. The bustling market felt muted, as if someone had turned down the volume on her world.
Until—a cold, silver flash "jumped" in the dim sunlight.
Xiaoxiao looked up instinctively. In the corner of a stall, a silver bracelet lay quietly in an old wooden box. Its lines were ancient and elegant, the surface engraved with archaic script and strange symbols—like the secret sigils of an ancient clan.
It didn't belong in a flea market. It was too clean, too cold, too full of untold stories. Xiaoxiao was drawn to it. She knelt down and picked it up carefully. The silver was colder than expected, yet it felt as if it possessed a faint, rhythmic pulse.
This style is so unique, she thought. If we used this as a prop in a period drama, it would be stunning. It's like a treasure for a stylist.
"Can I try it on?" she asked.
The vendor, an old lady with clear, bright eyes, smiled and nodded. "Put it on, young lady. It's been waiting for you."
Waiting for me? Xiaoxiao's heart skipped. Without thinking, she snapped the ring onto her wrist.
The moment the cold metal touched her skin—it was as if someone had slammed the "off" switch on the world.
BOOM.
The world began to spin. The ground felt like it was being pushed by water. Everything around her stretched, twisted, and blurred. She heard herself gasp, but no sound came out. The last thing she heard was the noise of the market fading away—a rhythmic hum as someone turned the volume of the universe down to zero.
Vision went dark. Her heart gave one final, heavy thud.
Next second—absolute blackness.
Xiaoxiao never imagined she'd wake up on silk sheets.
When she opened her eyes, she was wrapped in softness. A crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, refracting light like shattered diamonds. The air smelled of jasmine—a high-end fragrance that smelled "too expensive to afford."
As she lay there in a daze, a maid in a crisp black-and-white uniform rushed in. "The Young Miss is awake! Hurry, inform the Master and Madam!!"
Xiaoxiao: "...???"
Miss? Master? Madam? Did I just wake up in a period drama?
She threw off the duvet and stepped onto a carpet as thick as a cloud. Stumbling toward the mirror, she froze.
The face in the mirror wasn't hers.
The skin was so pale it practically glowed. The features were as refined as a heavy beauty filter. Eyelashes long and curled, like tiny fans. Even the neckline looked Photoshopped. This wasn't Ye Xiaoxiao. This was...
She turned and saw a massive portrait hanging on the wall. The girl in the photo danced with grace, her aura cold and elegant, her gaze sharp enough to tear through a stage.
It was an exact match.
Xiaoxiao sucked in a breath. "This is too much like an idol drama... am I dreaming?"
Within the hour, she was surrounded by maids washing and dressing her. Through their frantic chatter, she pieced together the "truth." Her current identity was Qiao Fei. The sole heiress of the Qiao Corporation and the "Little Queen" of the dance world. Her three brothers were all legends in their respective fields. The youngest, Qiao Fei, was pampered, arrogant, and brilliant—the apple of the Qiao family's eye.
Six months ago, Qiao Fei had been in a car accident during her tour and had been in a coma ever since. Doctors said she might never wake up. Until today.
The moment Xiaoxiao's soul "landed," Qiao Fei's body miraculously revived. The maids were crying, and the Qiao family was already preparing champagne. Only Xiaoxiao stood paralyzed.
How do I tell them I'm just a production assistant who got sucked in by a silver ring??
While Xiaoxiao was stuck in a shock-loop, a cool, impatient girl's voice spoke right behind her ear.
"Who are you? Why are you in my body?"
Xiaoxiao froze. She turned—very, very slowly—and nearly screamed.
The air at the foot of the bed seemed outlined by a misty light. A slender figure stood leaning against a bedpost, arms crossed, her aura cold enough to freeze the air conditioning. That face—it was identical to the one in the mirror. But sharper. More refined. And carrying an immense "I am very annoyed" vibe.
Qiao Fei (the soul) tilted her chin, surveying Xiaoxiao like the star of a stage. Her gaze unapologetically screamed: Dissatisfied + Disbelieving.
"I'm asking you," she said coldly. "Why are you in my body?" She emphasized the word "my" as if her very core had been offended.
She reached out a pale finger, sweeping it toward Xiaoxiao's arm—and her hand passed right through.
Qiao Fei's brow twitched, her voice dropping an octave. "...And why am I stuck outside? I've been trying for six months—and I haven't been able to get back in once."
Xiaoxiao stumbled back, pressing herself against the bed. "I-I... I don't know! I just... I tried on a bracelet at a flea market... and then... then..."
Qiao Fei narrowed her eyes, catching the clue. "So after you put that bracelet on, you... somehow squeezed me out?"
Her voice was sharp, like the sound of a high heel crushing wood. Xiaoxiao's hands shook as she held them up in a "please don't come closer" gesture. "I didn't do it on purpose! I don't even know where I am! I was just at the flea market yesterday—"
"Flea market?" Qiao Fei cut her off. Her gaze shot to Xiaoxiao's wrist. "Are you talking about—this?"
Xiaoxiao blinked. The silver ring was still on her wrist. The light was steady, as if it were permanently bonded to her skin.
"Wait... how is this still on my wrist?"
Qiao Fei gave a cold snort. "I would never wear something so tacky."
Xiaoxiao: "......"
She was about to have a total breakdown when the door burst open with a flurry of footsteps and shouts.
"Feifei?! Feifei is really awake!!" It was the mother's voice, thick with emotion.
"Let me see her!" The father's voice was steady but clearly urgent.
Xiaoxiao froze. Qiao Fei's soul tilted her head, her expression one of cold indifference. "...They're here. You better learn quickly—how to pretend to be me."