Ye Can had been filming on the Above the Throne set for a little over half a month. When she wrapped and returned to the hotel, it was exactly midnight. As usual, the Immoral God sent her a notification at that moment: “Extra Thousand Times completion: 1,871,000. Favorability detection: 1,000,01346.”
Ye Can followed Lin Zixi into the room. Hearing the voice, she muttered to herself inwardly, I’ve been busting my ass for half a month, and I haven’t even hit one-fifth of the task. The Immoral God is straight-up torturing me. I’m done!
No sooner had she thought that than another cold, mechanical voice echoed in her mind: “Close Protection” task failed, but hidden task “Sharing the Bed” completed. Offsets cancel out—no punishment. Lin Zixi survives.
Ye Can exploded. She argued furiously in her mind with the Immoral God: What do you mean ‘barely completed’? Haven’t I been watching Lin Zixi the whole time? Hasn’t she been fine?
The Immoral God replied coldly: Note: Within one thousand meters. The straight-line distance between the two crews had long exceeded a thousand meters. Ye Can’s sense of distance was fuzzy, and her brain short-circuited.
This Immoral God is such a scammer, she thought. Just as she grumbled inwardly, the Immoral God went silent. But Ye Can knew the Immoral God—which issued that voice—was watching her every second of every day.
The thought killed her post-wrap high. After entering the room, Ye Can set the flowers she’d received on the living room coffee table and sat on the sofa, carefully reviewing the tasks from the Immoral God.
The Immoral God never answered questions; it had its own standards for judging progress. Ye Can thought it through from every angle and concluded that the nitpicky Immoral God must be playing games with the word “extra” in “play extras.”
Favorability probably meant getting others to like her, to acknowledge her. That meant attracting more people like Meng Jiaren.
Ye Can figured the two tasks were linked: Play extras, then gain others’ favor.
As she pondered, enlightenment struck. That sneaky bastard Immoral God wants me to debut and become a big star, like Meng Zhiqiu?
Realizing the truth, Ye Can propped her cheek on her hand, finding the whole thing a massive hassle—tricky to pull off. She’d need to think it through carefully.
Lin Zixi, having changed out of her jacket, walked over and saw Ye Can spacing out. She urged her: “Didn’t you say you were tired? Go take a shower already.”
Ye Can mumbled an “oh” and wandered into the bathroom like a lost soul under Lin Zixi’s prodding. While showering, she mulled over an idea: If Lin Zixi added “extra” credits to all her roles, maybe she could fool the Immoral God.
The more she thought about it, the better it seemed. Emerging from the bathroom, towel-drying her hair, Ye Can said to Lin Zixi: “Lin Zixi, didn’t you say you’d give me a lead role and a supporting one later? When you draw up the contracts, can you make them both extras?”
Lin Zixi blinked, confused: “Huh?”
Ye Can clarified: “You know, make all the contracts I sign extra contracts. Keep it that way from now on.”
Lin Zixi, sorting through her scripts, turned to look at Ye Can: “Why?”
Ye Can waved it off: “Eh, just do it as extra contracts—no other kinds—or I’m out.” To make it stick, she added: “And pay me extra rates only. Got it?”
Lin Zixi had never heard such a demand. She chuckled: “Is this some new rule from that little head of yours? You love playing extras that much—or just the sound of the words?”
Ye Can blinked and dropped a profound line: “Don’t you think that in the life of an extra, leads and supports are all just extras too? So signing extra contracts makes perfect sense.”
It was logical, irrefutable. Lin Zixi went along: “You’re right. I’ll make sure the producer preps your contracts that way.”
She pressed down on the script in her hand, hesitated, then said to Ye Can: “You… just wrapped a shoot. Want to rest a bit?”
Ye Can sat on the bed’s edge, drying her hair without looking up as she grumbled: “Rest? No time for that. Starting tomorrow morning, I’m heading to your set to play extras.”
She looked up at Lin Zixi, eyes sparkling with curiosity: “Oh yeah—what roles did you line up for me?”
Lin Zixi smiled lightly and handed over the script she’d been holding: “Here’s the script. Take a look first. I’ll shower, then we can talk.”
Ye Can took the script with a nod and waved her off: “Go on, go on.”
After drying her hair, Ye Can opened the first script and sped through it. The first role was Yu Yuan, the one director Yu Ming had tried to lure her into playing.
Ye Can skimmed the script and saw she’d be a big bad with a demon mask. Not bad, she thought.
Finishing the first, she flipped open the second.
Unlike the fragmented first script—choppy with other actors’ scenes—the second was a complete, standalone story. It even had a title: Calamity of the Nation.
Ye Can turned to the opening of Calamity of the Nation and read:
[Scene 1: Royal Capital, Night, Interior
Snowy night, the Royal Capital ablaze with war.
You Wang, clad in ceremonial robes, cradled the Beauty in crimson finery. She knelt, head bowed, before the great hall of the Royal Capital.
Snowflakes swirled, dusting You Wang’s robes, hair, and the sword piercing her chest.
The Beauty in her arms weakly placed a hand over You Wang’s chest, then slowly lifted her bloodied hand to close You Wang’s eyes.
Beauty: My lord…
Beauty: In our next life, don’t meet on a winter night…
Beauty: It’s too cold… ]
Plop. A tear fell from Ye Can’s cheek, swiftly soaking the tiny print on the script.
Her hands went limp. Thud. The script slipped to the floor. In her blurring vision, Ye Can sat dazed on the bed’s edge, staring down at it.
What… what’s happening? Why am I… crying?
Ye Can raised a trembling hand to the tears on her cheek. Like she’d been shocked, she flung her hand away, jumped off the bed in a panic, and scrambled to pick up the script.
Kneeling on the floor, through tear-blurred eyes, she flipped it open frantically, fat teardrops splattering the pages.
This is… this is…
Clutching the script, tears poured uncontrollably from Ye Can’s eyes. She knelt there, page by page, until she’d read it all—then wailed like a heartbroken child.
The bathroom door opened. Ye Can looked up through blurry vision, spotting Lin Zixi’s silhouette. Clutching the script, she gritted out: “What the hell… did you write?!”
Lin Zixi, wrapped in a bathrobe, froze at the sight of Ye Can on her knees, script in a death grip, face streaked with tears as she stared up. She rushed over and steadied her: “Ye Can… what’s wrong? What happened?”
“Why are you crying so hard?”
Ye Can felt awful. Her eyes red and puffy, she looked at Lin Zixi like a madwoman: “I… I don’t want to cry. I really don’t. But I can’t stop… Lin Zixi… it won’t listen…”
Through tears, she gazed at Lin Zixi: “Why… why did you write something like this…”
Bewildered, Lin Zixi assumed the story had wrecked her. She knelt and pulled Ye Can into a gentle embrace, aching for her: “There, there, no more crying. The ending’s happy, isn’t it?”
Ye Can couldn’t control her tears. Pillowing her head on Lin Zixi’s shoulder, arms around her waist, she sobbed: “You’re… so mean! So immoral! And you want me to act in this?!”
Lin Zixi patted her back soothingly: “Shh, shh. It’s just a story. No more crying, really—no more.”
She’d never seen anyone cry so raw over a script. Lin Zixi found it funny and oddly endearing. She held Ye Can, comforting her until the uncontrollable tears finally ebbed, like a dam closing.
The sobs quieted to sniffles. Ye Can wiped her eyes. Sensing she’d stopped, Lin Zixi released her, knelt in front of her, and gently wiped away the tears.
Smiling as she dabbed: “You really are a kid. Crying like this over a script—what’ll it be like when you film it?”
Ye Can hadn’t wanted to cry at all, but the script had made her lose control completely. She blamed the Immoral God, sniffling indignantly: “I didn’t cry! I really didn’t want to! And I won’t cry filming it either!”
Lin Zixi treated it like a child’s tantrum, coaxing softly: “Okay, okay, you didn’t cry. It’s just a story—I didn’t know you’d take it so seriously.”
Just a story?
Ye Can’s eyes widened in shock at Lin Zixi: “Just a story? Is that really all you think?”
Lin Zixi sighed: “What else should I feel?” She wiped Ye Can’s tears, murmuring gently: “I’m glad my story moved you, but crying this hard is bad for you. Don’t be so sad.”
Your story?
Held in Lin Zixi’s arms, Ye Can was struck by the absurdity again. It hit her late: Lin Zixi didn’t remember any of it. To her, this was just a story.
Ye Can wrapped her arms around Lin Zixi’s shoulders and asked: “Then why write a story like this? It’s not good at all.”
Lin Zixi smiled: “I’d planned it ages ago. Nothing wrong with it—it’s just a classic tale of a Calamity Beauty and a Faint Lord.” Patting Ye Can’s back softly, she added: “Plus, I wanted to thank you. Didn’t you say that day a Faint Lord should be Faint from the start?”
“So I built the story around that.”
Lin Zixi’s voice faded in Ye Can’s ears. Holding the warm body in her arms, Ye Can realized: This was the Immoral God’s cruel prank again.
Memoryless Lin Zixi had no recollection of their past, yet subconsciously scripted their story—forcing Ye Can to relive it.
The hand of god. Divine punishment.
Ye Can clung to Lin Zixi as the Immoral God’s cold voice rang out: Complete Calamity of the Nation with Lin Zixi. Failure to co-star results in task failure—punish Lin Zixi by returning her to Avici Hell.
Ye Can forced a bleak smile.
Of course. Fate’s always ready to toy with us.
![Her Prey [Infinite]](https://i2.wp.com/dobytranslations.com/wp-content/uploads/2025/04/prey.jpg?resize=151,215 "Her Prey [Infinite]")
