Chapter 1: Rebirth

Jiang Zhizhou was dead.

It happened on the third day after she won Best Actress at the Berlin International Film Festival.

The television and online media were flooded with reports—

“Film Queen Jiang Zhizhou Dies in Car Crash: Accident or Foul Play?”

“Actress Jiang Zhizhou Killed in Car Accident; Studio Confirms Death Late at Night”

“International Star Jiang Zhizhou Tragically Passes; A Look Back at Her Iconic Screen Roles”

“A Generation’s Superstar Falls: She Was the Pride of Cinema”

…

Her fingers swiped across the phone screen as Jiang Zhizhou skimmed the repetitive headlines. She let out a sigh, tilted her head back against the headboard, and stared up at the ceiling, lost in thought.

At least the media still had some conscience.

The dead were honored, after all.

Slandered relentlessly in life, but in death, they’d nailed her coffin shut with praise, calling her the pride of the film world. Heaven hadn’t treated her too badly.

Jiang Zhizhou had been profoundly unlucky.

She’d risen to fame young: debuting at sixteen in a commercial, then exploding across the nation at seventeen with the film Jingzhe. She’d outshone seasoned veterans to claim Best Newcomer and Best Actress at the Golden Horse Awards, even earning a nomination in the main competition at the Venice International Film Festival.

Her early career had felt like she was playing on easy mode—achievements others slaved a lifetime for, handed to her on a silver platter at seventeen.

Fame brought smooth sailing in her acting career, right up until two years ago, when police hauled her in for a drug investigation.

She’d never touched the stuff. She held a press conference afterward, releasing her clean urine test to prove it, but it was no use. Scandals crashed over her like a tidal wave.

Rivals piled on, spreading baseless rumors. No matter how she fought back, the negativity clung like smoke.

It was right around then that her father passed away. Exhausted in body and soul, Jiang Zhizhou had seriously considered quitting the industry altogether. In the end, Director Li Ze pulled her back from the brink. He showed up with a script and said, “I’ve got this film in the works. It’s perfect for where you are right now. Want to give it a shot?”

That shot lasted two years.

Li Ze was infamous for his glacial pace, obsessively chasing every detail to perfection. Industry folks spoke of him with a mix of admiration and dread.

But slow and steady won the race. After two years of honing and refining, Jiang Zhizhou tuned out the world’s noise and threw herself into the role. As Zhuang Xiaodie in Dream Butterfly, she swept the major awards at home and abroad—culminating in that Berlin Best Actress win.

She remembered shaking in her seat that night under the stage lights as the news rocked the Chinese entertainment world back home.

The moment of triumph.

She’d raised her eyebrows, alright—but then she was out of breath forever.

Talk about rotten luck.

Jiang Zhizhou gazed at the ceiling and sighed heavily again.

It had been one month since her rebirth.

She’d woken up in the hospital exactly thirty days ago.

No throngs of fans or doting concern—just the sharp sting of antiseptic in the air and a pounding headache. All she could make out was a frantic litany: “Little Star… Little Star… Little Star, wake up!”

It made golden stars dance behind her eyelids and her head spin worse. She forced her eyes open to find a baby-faced stranger with curly hair, young and utterly unfamiliar staring back.

Jiang Zhizhou rasped a rebuke. “Who the hell are you? Quit yelling ‘Little Star’ like some damn monkey… Go pick one from the sky or the zoo…”

What are you doing in my face?

The baby-faced stranger burst into tears, sobbing like a rain-soaked pear blossom. “I’m Xia Yuhe from the banks of Daming Lake! Little Star, what’s wrong? Don’t you remember me?”

Xia Yuhe?

Does that make me Ziwei or the Qianlong Emperor?

Jiang Zhizhou’s eyes filled with helpless exasperation, but she managed a polite request. “Could you hand me a mirror, please?”

As an actress, her first thought upon waking was whether her face had been ruined.

The curly-haired woman named Xia Yuhe hurriedly dug a small mirror from her bag and held it up—

High nose bridge, low cheekbones, fair skin, a slender and refined beauty. The scrapes and bruises did nothing to diminish it.

No disfigurement, but—

“Did I get smashed so bad they had to reconstruct my face? Did the doctors plastic-surgery me into someone else?” Jiang Zhizhou asked, staring at the unfamiliar reflection.

Xia Yuhe set the mirror aside and gently cupped her face in both hands. “Little Star, what nonsense are you saying? No surgeon could craft a face like yours. Everyone says you look about thirty percent like Jiang Zhizhou, but after the crash, I’d say it’s seventy! Look—even your vibe matches her more now!”

Spittle flew perilously close to Jiang Zhizhou’s face.

Jiang Zhizhou desperately wanted to shove her away and keep those hands off her, but with her arm in a cast, she couldn’t budge. She squeezed her eyes shut, turned her face aside, and said coldly, “Miss, please show some respect. Hands off.”

Xia Yuhe heard her address her as “miss” in such a cold, distant tone that she froze for a couple of seconds before dissolving into fresh tears, her face streaked like a pear blossom caught in the rain. “We’re done for… Your head really is damaged! You forgot even me… Do you at least remember your own name?”

Jiang Zhizhou replied with a blank expression. “I’m Jiang Zhizhou.”

Not your pet chimp.

Xia Yuhe let out a wail and cried even harder. “It’s all over! Not only do you not remember your name—you’ve turned into an idiot!”

Xia Yuhe hurriedly called the doctor over. They ran a CT scan on Jiang Zhizhou and performed a full checkup.

In the end, the doctor adjusted his glasses and explained: The patient had suffered a severe external impact to the brain, damaging the memory nerves and causing dissociative amnesia.

He added that dissociative amnesia meant the patient’s memory of general knowledge remained intact, but they had lost recollection of their personal identity. Their emotions, behavior patterns, and attitudes had all undergone certain changes—like acquiring an entirely new personality.

By the end of the explanation, Xia Yuhe’s eyes brimmed with tears. She told Jiang Zhizhou, “Little Star, your brain really did get knocked out of whack. You’re Shen Xinghe, not Jiang Zhizhou. Zhouzhou was in the car crash with you that same day, but she didn’t make it—you did… You’ve got to keep on living, okay…?”

It took Jiang Zhizhou several days to process the fact that she had died in a car accident, only to be reborn in the body of a no-name actress scraping by on the fringes of showbiz.

She spent a few more days learning everything she could about this new body.

Shen Xinghe, female, nineteen years old. Three years earlier, she’d shelled out money to get on a talent competition show, where Star Source Entertainment had spotted her and signed her.

With a face that bore a passing resemblance to Jiang Zhizhou—about fifty percent similar—she’d debuted under the banner of “Little Jiang Zhizhou.” Unfortunately, she lacked both the talent and the luck. After three years, she’d failed to make so much as a ripple in the industry, eking out an existence as a bottom-rung actress no one had ever heard of.

Her mother had died young, and a year ago, her father had jumped to his death after a failed business venture left him drowning in debt—ten million yuan’s worth.

She had none of a star’s sparkle. Even if she dropped dead tomorrow, the industry wouldn’t bat an eye.

Her assistant, the ever-teary Xia Yuhe, had tear ducts that worked overtime. She’d gotten her name because her parents were fans of My Fair Princess.

Jiang Zhizhou stayed in the hospital for a full month.

Every day, Xia Yuhe showed up with bags of supplements and homemade soups, regaling her with old stories in hopes of jogging her memory.

A month later, a debt collector called, demanding repayment.

Jiang Zhizhou glanced at the original owner’s bankbook, touched the bandage on her head, hopped out of bed without another thought, handled her discharge papers, and headed back to the company-provided apartment assigned to its artists. There, she focused on resting and recuperating.

But no matter how she turned it over in her mind, she just couldn’t let it go.

She hadn’t done a single bad thing in her life—why had fate dealt her such a tragic hand for a beauty like her?

She wasn’t ready to accept it.

After staging a brilliant comeback that turned everything around, she had been utterly unwilling to die just like that. Heaven must have heard her plea and granted her this chance at rebirth.

Sadly, the dazzling star she once was had become like the dim bulb flickering overhead.

Yellowed, lackluster, utterly ignored.

But the wick inside was different now. Sooner or later, she’d wipe away the grime and make it shine bright once more.

With that thought steeling her resolve, Jiang Zhizhou gathered her spirits. Her chest swelled with bold ambition—until her stomach let out a loud, traitorous growl.

Rubbing her belly, she climbed out of bed, shuffled to the kitchen, and yanked open the fridge. Inside: a bunch of greens, a few eggs, some sausage links, and two packs of instant noodles.

The original owner really was broke.

An actress—even a bottom-tier one—should have made more than your average joe. But her deadbeat father’s mountain of debt ate up every penny. After her monthly payments, she was left scraping by.

Just then, a text pinged in: a reminder to repay her Huabei balance. Jiang Zhizhou checked it—forty-eight thousand yuan due next month. She felt nothing.

Cheaper than a single outfit from her old life. Not a big deal.

Even that ten-million debt didn’t faze her.

There was just one tiny hitch: She couldn’t scrape together so much as a thousand yuan right now.

The original owner had been stubborn about it. Even though the law didn’t require children to pay their parents’ debts, she’d insisted on clearing it all—living honorably, with her head held high and nothing to be ashamed of.

Out of respect, now that Jiang Zhizhou inhabited her body, she’d taken on every last cent of that debt.

She’d even asked Xia Yuhe if she had any younger siblings or elderly relatives back home who needed looking after.

Xia Yuhe had just shaken her head with a sigh. “Think about it—during all those days you were hospitalized, aside from me and the company folks, did anyone else even come to visit?”

No one.

The original owner had started out as a rich second-gen kid. When her family fell apart overnight, so did her circle of friends and relatives. She’d grown reclusive and withdrawn, the sort who hated dealing with people. In an industry full of sharks, that made survival impossible.

Jiang Zhizhou tore open a pack of instant noodles, cracked an egg into it, diced up some sausage, blanched a handful of greens, and figured that would have to do.

In her previous life, Jiang Zhizhou had come from an impoverished background and endured hard times before achieving fame.

Back then, while filming with the production crew, she didn’t even have an assistant by her side. Her daily meals were either takeout or instant noodles.

Only after becoming famous did she start paying more attention to her diet. Her three meals a day followed plans crafted by a nutritionist, though they weren’t lavish delicacies—mostly vegetarian dishes and fruits.

But times had changed. Jiang Zhizhou wasn’t the type to fuss; if things were rough, so be it. Life had to go on.

“Twinkle, twinkle, little star,

How I wonder what you are.

Up above the world so high,

Like a diamond in the sky…”

Her phone’s ringtone chimed.

It was a tune set by the original host. Jiang Zhizhou hadn’t gotten around to changing it yet, nor did she plan to—she intended to replace the phone entirely.

She picked up the call, and Xia Yuhe’s voice came through from the other end. “Little Star, I just ran into Sister Meng at the company. She said she wants to come visit you. I tried talking her out of it a few times, but she was dead set on it… I’m stuck handling something at the company right now and can’t go with her… She’ll be heading over soon, so please talk nicely with her. She’s coming with good intentions—you absolutely can’t afford to offend her…”

Jiang Zhizhou asked, “Who is Sister Meng?”

“Ugh, did that car crash scramble your brains? It’s Jiang Qingmeng! The top star at our company—she used to be your assistant!”

Jiang Qingmeng. Of course Jiang Zhizhou had heard of her.

In fact, she’d even met her.

She was the breakout idol Star Source Entertainment had promoted. Debuting two years ago, she’d skyrocketed to fame a year later with the palace drama The Legend of the Bright Pearl. Headlines, trending topics, and glossy promo pieces flooded the feeds, while fans endlessly hyped her “flawless beauty” on Weibo.

The entertainment industry was overflowing with beauties of every stripe—curvy or slim, bold makeup or subtle glows, you name it.

So when Jiang Zhizhou crossed paths with Jiang Qingmeng at a charity gala half a year earlier, catching just a glimpse, a few words flashed through her mind: petite face, perfect for the camera, full of vitality.

She had the face of a natural-born movie star, made for the silver screen.

Pity she was a pearl lost in the dust, wasting her talent on cheap IP adaptations and disposable TV fodder that dulled her spark.

Wherever people gathered, hierarchies formed—and the entertainment world was no different. Stage actors carried a touch more prestige than film stars, who in turn outranked TV actors. Plenty of television veterans, after landing a movie role, never looked back.

Jiang Zhizhou herself had started in film and had no shortage of money. She had no reason to stoop to television, so she naturally had little overlap with idols like Jiang Qingmeng.

Jiang Qingmeng had served as the original host’s assistant for half a year.

Great talents came from all walks; plenty of A-listers in the industry had begun as assistants to other artists.

Jiang Qingmeng had struck gold with her luck. Once, while tagging along with the original host to an audition, the original host noticed her aura fit the role and urged her to try out. To everyone’s surprise, the director took an immediate shine to her.

She later signed on with the original host’s manager, Chen Lin, and rocketed upward from there, emerging as Star Source Entertainment’s brightest rising star.

The original host, Shen Xinghe, meanwhile, languished as an obscure eighteenth-tier actress. After her family’s fortunes crumbled, she’d spiraled downward, eventually succumbing to depression.

That fateful night of the car crash, she’d downed a lot of alcohol before veering onto the main road and slamming into another vehicle…

Xia Yuhe was cautioning Jiang Zhizhou to watch her words and not offend Jiang Qingmeng—likely because the original host had never warmed to her, even though she was gracious enough to visit now.