Chapter 72: I Still Remember

Lu Nan hadn’t expected that after so long in the training camp, by the time the drama hit the screens, more than a year had already passed.

Li Erning had found her several cameo roles in wuxia dramas. Lu Nan had no fame yet and wanted to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Song Wenwei, so she had to climb up step by step. No one could become fat in one bite.

“Take a look yourself. I still suggest you go brush your face in hot dramas. Don’t think there’s anything wrong with that—this is the path Song Wenwei is still walking right now.”

“You need buzz to rise up. Keep filming non-stop for me, and in a few more months with some luck, you’ll have a name and fame.”

Lu Nan understood the reasoning. She finished filming and joined several more crews. Movie production was relatively fast, and it premiered in the summer of the following year, right up against the National Day slot.

That was when the movie exploded in popularity. Gu Yue and the male lead rose in status, inundated with offers, and Lu Nan, as the third female lead, also caught a bit of fire. Her proficient fight scenes, honed from long practice, caught the audience’s eye.

Everyone’s fight scenes in the movie are pretty good.

The third female lead’s fights have real power.

Come on, I watched it—it’s all stunt doubles. What’s there to praise? You might as well praise the stunt team.

Shut up, cloud viewer. There were no cutaways for her—where would the stunt double come from?

That comment wasn’t wrong. Not long before, Li Erning had thought about it for a long time.

She said, “If you want to take this path quickly, you need a different approach. Your acting is average and needs polishing. If you rely solely on acting, it’ll take years of grinding.”

Lu Nan asked seriously, “Then what path should I take? Comedian? No, I can’t tell jokes.”

“Action star, you know? Gamble on that. You might carve out a path. There are few martial stars these days, so fewer competitors too. But the key is whether you can endure the hardship and master every move to perfection.”

As she said, Lu Nan took it to heart. During the movie shoot, there were several high-difficulty action scenes scheduled together.

Lu Nan pushed through the crowd toward the director and proposed, “Can we skip the stunt double? I want to try it myself.”

The director had originally suggested everyone practice more to avoid goofs and not rely on stunt doubles. But for safety, he’d use them when necessary.

He was both surprised and delighted by Lu Nan’s proposal. He hadn’t expected anyone to forgo a stunt double—it saved him from checking for slip-ups at midnight, and an actor’s injury would drag production endlessly.

The director maintained his previous attitude. “Lu Nan, better not. This scene is too tough for you. Let the stunt double handle it. You’re young—don’t risk permanent injury. It wouldn’t be worth it.”

“No, Director, let me try. If the test shot doesn’t work, I won’t bring it up again.”

“Fine then. Get ready. Action.”

“…”

The role Lu Nan played was that of a thug, requiring a lot of effort, and thus more fight choreography. This was one of Li Erning’s suggestions—if she first gained notice through action, she might have gains continuing down that road.

Though the level of explosion differed and she only caught a little fire, Lu Nan was already very satisfied.

Having a name in the industry was no small feat. Of course, some said she must have brought investment into the crew; otherwise, how could a debutante land such a solid IP right away? There was praise and criticism, but Lu Nan simply stopped looking—out of sight, out of mind.

Editing circles already had videos of her shipping edits and standalone plots, which Lu Nan watched one by one.

Her account began accumulating fans. Lu Nan always hoped for a chance to meet Song Wenwei alone. Song Wenwei had just left the company and gone independent, so as long as there weren’t too many people, it wouldn’t affect her.

Before she had another chance to meet Song Wenwei at Weibo Night, a phone call came—the one she’d made to gather information.

“Hello, it’s confirmed for Lu-jie. The early doctor’s test report shows her amnesia was caused by hematoma pressing on nerves.”

“Got it.” Lu Nan paused, then added, “Why couldn’t we find this test report before?”

The person on the line let out an “aiyo,” leaned down close to the phone, and said, “You can’t blame the brothers for this. Truth is, if we couldn’t find it, someone was blocking it. How else could there be zero news for so many years? Now that person’s not blocking anymore, so we could find it.”

“You be careful too. We’ve worked together a long time—don’t mind me being nosy. Why was someone blocking the info on this person you wanted checked? Who’s blocking? For a little girl’s sake, who’d block for so many years? Think if you’ve offended someone. Don’t let them screw you over.”

“Mm, I’ll be careful. Anything else?” Lu Nan asked.

“Yeah, yeah. The other thing you asked me to check: Song Wenwei left the hospital in 2030. That same year, her aunt brought her into the industry, and she’s been grinding ever since.”

“Any leads on the driver from that accident?”

“Yeah. Police were called back then. He was caught two days later—DUI plus hit-and-run, sentenced to seven years. Out next October.”

“Got it. I’ll transfer the money to your account.” Lu Nan hung up. The night wind chilled her back.

She squatted in a corner, calmly watching the fish swimming in the pond. Their tails flicked, sending ripples across the surface.

She watched entranced, then suddenly let out a soft laugh.

“So that’s how it is… Fucking dog-blood as hell.”

“Amnesia?”

In the cicada-filled courtyard, only a heavy sigh echoed.

Who would block it? No wonder Tang Jiu and Li-jie’s news had stopped at “in Country C” for so many years—someone had been suppressing the information.

Was it Song Wenwei’s father? Or…

She’d heard back in school that he was working on a project abroad and needed to protect even his family to keep the project safe, fearing this weak point would affect it.

If it really was amnesia, Lu Nan wouldn’t be so heartbroken. At least Song Wenwei just didn’t remember her existence and hadn’t come looking—not intentional, not heartless.

She just sighed at the years they’d wasted, and laughed at how fate was truly unpredictable.

Lu Nan kicked the cloth by her feet onto the table. She squatted down, sinking into a horse stance in the empty courtyard.

She wanted to calm the mess of emotions inside, but the longer she held it, the angrier she got.

“So annoying.”

She held her breath and focused for a good while before calming the irritation and gloom. Lu Nan straightened up and returned to her room.

Ever since learning Song Wenwei had amnesia, Lu Nan had started worrying.

She lay in bed, tossing and turning, unable to sleep, her mind occupied by the matter.

A person without memories couldn’t recognize her at all, let alone anything else. In her eyes, Lu Nan was just a junior—or maybe a total stranger.

“Stranger?” Lu Nan murmured the word. “Screw stranger. Even with amnesia, I’ll get back together with you.”

“You don’t remember, but I still do.”