Chapter 15: Secret Struggle

“Injustice Cleared” went live.

This was Jiang Zhizhou’s first role after her rebirth—and her first project that wouldn’t grace the big screen.

A few years ago, web dramas were synonymous with cheap, slapdash productions. But in the internet age, traffic ruled all. Ever since a certain web drama blazed the trail for paid viewing last year and turned a tidy profit, investors had piled in, flooding the market with cash. Traditional television was in for a rude awakening.

With enough traffic and exposure, you could manufacture a star.

On premiere night, the production crew’s PR team rolled out their press releases and hot searches right on cue.

“Injustice Cleared,” “Great Song Spirit,” and “Little Jiang Zhizhou” shot up the Sina Real-Time Hot Search List one after another.

Jiang Zhizhou was sipping water while scrolling Weibo when she spotted that last hot search title. She nearly choked.

Am I riding my own coattails?

She tapped into it.

“Entertainment Jun: #Little Jiang Zhizhou# Director Zhe Teng’s new drama female lead is fresh and captivating, a dead ringer for Jiang Zhizhou from every angle.” A nine-grid collage followed: in-character and off, ancient costumes and modern outfits, side-by-side comparisons galore.

She scrolled into the comments.

“Aaaah, this girl’s got such a great vibe! [heart][heart][heart]”

“She really looks like her—not just the face, but the eyes and aura are straight out of the same mold.”

“That white shirt shot is gorgeous and badass! Sis! I’m sold!!! [drool][drool]”

“So pretty! Pretty enough to cry over. Her acting’s solid too, and “Injustice Cleared” is a blast!”

“Buying hot searches again? This director’s marketing hustle never quits.”

“The person’s barely in the ground, and they’re already cashing in? Blood money?”

As the buzz built and it hit ninth on the charts, that last comment jogged Jiang Zhizhou’s memory.

Sure, it was her own fame they were borrowing, but to outsiders, it smacked of jumping the gun while the corpse was still warm. Push the marketing too hard, and you’d alienate folks—plus, it left you wide open for rivals to trip you up.

As an eighteenth-tier has-been, Jiang Zhizhou had no enemies to speak of. But who knew if Director Zhe Teng had ticked someone off.

She gave Director Zhe Teng a call, laid out her worries, and urged the crew to quit while they were ahead. Overdoing it could backfire.

He told her “Injustice Cleared”‘s views were skyrocketing, the campaign had done its job, and the PR team had her concerns in mind—they’d ease off.

Late that night, the crew’s hired shills started peeling away, and #Little Jiang Zhizhou# cooled off.

Only after it tumbled past fortieth on the real-time list did Jiang Zhizhou finally crash.

The next day was the “Nine Songs” audition Sister Chen Lin had mentioned.

At eight a.m., Jiang Zhizhou grabbed her resume and treated herself to a cab ride to the hotel hosting the “Nine Songs” auditions.

Pulling up downstairs, she spotted Chen Lin climbing out of a Porsche. A glamorous woman in a red dress and sunglasses followed.

Chen Yu, Chen Lin’s sister.

They say a big tree offers the best shade. With a gold-standard agent for a big sis, she should’ve had it made. Sadly, her acting and people skills fell short, her personality was brash and showy, and her mouth ran without a filter, racking up enemies. Then there were the nonstop scandals—boyfriends swapped out like tissues, always nabbed by paparazzi, torpedoing her innocent image. She’d turned a clear shot at stardom into a minefield.

Chen Lin had hyped her up for a bit, landing her third-tier status and some buzz with the kids. But once it was clear she was a lost cause, Chen Lin pivoted to Jiang Qingmeng, dumped her on someone else to “toughen her up,” and called it tough love.

Later, Star Source VP Zhou Qi took a shine to her and wanted to push her. At the same time, to keep Jiang Qingmeng from hogging the spotlight, the execs decided to build up new blood. Chen Yu got shuffled back under Chen Lin.

Jiang Zhizhou walked over and gave Chen Lin a polite nod. “Sister Chen Lin, good morning.”

Chen Lin, sharp and no-nonsense as ever, smiled back. “Xinghe, morning. Fancy running into you.”

Chen Yu at her side yanked off her sunglasses and chucked them to her assistant. She side-eyed the newcomer and snorted. “Shen Xinghe, you look just like that Jiang Zhizhou. What’s the rush—can’t wait for her grave to settle before aping her style?”

Chen Lin’s face hardened. “Chen Yu, shut it!” Then, to Jiang Zhizhou: “Xinghe, she didn’t mean anything by it. Don’t mind her.”

Just a rude kid—not worth the energy.

Jiang Zhizhou nodded and said coolly to Chen Yu, “It’s just a tribute. She’s too great, the pride of the film industry. I’m paying homage to my idol—what’s wrong with that?”

She praised herself without the slightest blush or hesitation.

The assistant standing behind Chen Yu let out a sudden snort of laughter.

The other three all turned to look at the little assistant.

Chen Yu shot her a sharp glare and snapped, “What are you laughing at? What’s so funny!”

Jiang Zhizhou paused in surprise.

“Little Star…” Xia Yuhe clutched Chen Yu’s sunglasses in one hand while holding her bag in the other. She hesitated to speak, glancing cautiously at Jiang Zhizhou.

“Right, Shadow Queen Shen. I wonder if my Sister has talked to you about this.” Chen Yu draped her hand over Jiang Zhizhou’s shoulder, tapping her fingertips lightly against it twice before flashing an alluring smile. “I’m short-staffed right now. You don’t have any shoots lined up, so keeping an assistant around is just wasting resources. She’ll work for me from now on. Oh, and your agent’s mine too. My old agent, Little Zhao, goes to you.”

“Stop fooling around! Can’t you behave for once?” Chen Lin cut in again, scolding Chen Yu. Chen Yu pouted but said nothing more.

Chen Lin switched back to her professional tone as she addressed Jiang Zhizhou. “Xinghe, I’ll go over the work arrangements with you later. Head up for the audition first. I’ve already spoken to the casting team, so getting through to the callback round won’t be a problem.”

Jiang Zhizhou nodded. She glanced sideways at Chen Yu’s wine-red nails, rolled up the script in her hand, used it to brush Chen Yu’s hand away, then turned to Xia Yuhe. “Take good care of your artist.” To Chen Lin, she added, “Sister Chen Lin, I’ll head up now.”

Chen Yu, who had been hoping for an outburst of humiliated fury, let out a cold snort. In her mind, she cursed: An eighteenth-tier has-been putting on airs for whose benefit? She really thinks she’s Jiang Zhizhou!

Jiang Zhizhou stepped into the elevator without a change in expression, crossing her arms as she sank into thought.

Chen Yu had a notorious reputation for being difficult, having fired several assistants already. Word was, the last one got the boot because Chen Yu had been snapped by paparazzi at the airport. The assistant had accidentally ended up in the frame, and netizens gushed that the “assistant sister” looked fresh, sweet, and stunning—no less beautiful than Chen Yu herself. When Chen Yu saw the comments, she flew into a rage, splashed coffee in the girl’s face, and snarled, “Are you trying to pull a Jiang Qingmeng and step on me to climb up?” Then she told her to get lost immediately.

Reason urged Jiang Zhizhou to mind her own business—sweep the snow from her own doorstep and leave the frost on others’ roofs alone. The industry had always been cutthroat like this. In her past life, when disaster struck her, hardly anyone had spoken up in her defense. Not piling on had been kindness enough. Besides, even if she wanted to step in now, she simply didn’t have the clout.

And yet, despite telling herself that, Jiang Zhizhou couldn’t shake the image from the first day of her rebirth: Xia Yuhe’s tear-streaked face, pretty as pear blossoms in the rain. Or those months when she’d show up with pig brains, insisting that “you eat what you lack to make it up,” force-feeding her until she’d packed on ten pounds—a battle she’d only won after months of effort.

Jiang Zhizhou let out a sigh. She fished her phone from her bag and pulled up Jiang Qingmeng’s contact.

She already owed the woman too many favors. Asking for another one might leave her with no choice but to fully align herself with her side.

The elevator chugged along, stopping now and then, until it reached the ninth floor. Jiang Zhizhou hardened her resolve and stopped hesitating. She was just about to hit dial when Zhe Teng’s call came through.

She picked up. “Director Zhe, what’s going on?”

“Xinghe, you called it! The marketing backfired hard—you’re number one on the hot search, and everyone’s piling on!”

Jiang Zhizhou blinked. “Didn’t the buzz die down last night? Did your team buy more bots?”

“No way! This isn’t our promo crew. It’s a total drop-in—someone else bought the push. Have you pissed off the wrong person lately? There’s even a press release claiming you brought investment to steal the lead role!”

“Me? An earnest, upright young woman like myself, offending anyone?” Jiang Zhizhou gave a wry smile. “Okay, ‘bringing investment’ I can live with, but ‘stealing the role’? Your original lead bailed to sweep floors at Changchun Palace, and I just picked up the scraps…” She glanced at the floor indicator. “Anyway, never mind. I’ve got an audition coming up. Handle it on your end—cool the heat before it messes with the show’s ratings. I don’t care; let them bash away. Bad buzz is still buzz.”

After all, in her past life, her reputation hadn’t been any better. Snatching roles and endorsements, sleeping with directors and execs, playing the other woman—the rumors had been endless. It was only after her untimely death that she’d risen as a superstar, the pride of the silver screen.

The elevator dinged at the top floor.

Jiang Zhizhou hung up.

She stepped out and immediately spotted the massive banner hanging on the wall: “Nine Songs Production Audition Site.”

Invited actors came to the hotel for initial auditions. Those who passed the casting director’s prelim had their footage sent to the director for a second review. Clearing that led to callbacks.

Nine Songs’ director, Feng Shangxian, stubbornly stuck to his principles and protocols. Aside from the leads, who were cast directly without auditions, every supporting role had to follow the full process.

Jiang Zhizhou went to sign in, collected her number tag, and settled onto the sofa to wait.

Seizing the downtime, she pulled up Weibo to see just how badly the netizens were trashing her.

The topic “Little Jiang Zhizhou” had rocketed to the top of the hot search charts.

The top post was still from Entertainment Jun: “#Little Jiang Zhizhou# Zhe Teng’s new drama lead, Shen Xinghe—elegant and captivating, a dead ringer for Jiang Zhizhou from every angle.”

Unlike the wave of rave reviews from the night before, the hot comments were a sea of negativity.

“Someone just died—riding the hype this quick? Blood money bun?”

Water army bots had propelled that one to the top spot.

“Riding the dead’s coattails too? Desperate to blow up, huh?”

“An eighteenth-tier nobody trying to play film empress? Shameless as hell!”

“Blind hype much? Check your own skills—got even one percent of Jiang Zhizhou’s talent?”

“Heh, she’s a legend in the game. You? Some web series hack. Worthy?”

“Rumor has it she bought her way in and straight-up stole the original lead’s spot. Crafty one.”

As Jiang Zhizhou scrolled through the comments, she remembered the last time she’d trended amid a storm of hate: two years prior.

Back then, the internet had drowned her in vitriol, dragging her ancestors through the mud for eighteen generations. Now, two years on, they’d hoisted her onto a pedestal—only to perch on their moral high horses, preaching away.

Infamous in life, sainted in death. Jiang Zhizhou wouldn’t be the first, nor the last.

She closed Weibo, intending to ignore the noise for now. First things first: contact Jiang Qingmeng and sort out the Xia Yuhe situation.

She was just about to dial when a WeChat message from Xia Yuhe popped up—

“Little Star! Stay far away from Chen Yu from now on! I just overheard her arguing with Chen Lin in the bathroom. She got wind of a rumor that the original author modeled Nine Songs’ Female Second Lead after Zhouzhou—and since you look just like Zhouzhou, she’s paranoid you’ll snag her role. So she bought hot searches to smear you! Way over the line! I recorded it!!!”

Jiang Zhizhou finished reading. Her left index finger tapped the sofa twice. Then she dialed Jiang Qingmeng.

“Qingmeng, I’ve changed my mind. I’m going to audition for the Female Second Lead.”