Lin Zixi was reading books on professional management when she received Jiang Yue’s call. Hearing the urgency in Jiang Yue’s voice through her earphones, she turned to glance at Ye Can, who was sitting on the sofa, her delicate brows furrowing slightly.
Lin Zixi was utterly confused. “What’s wrong with her? Did she do something?”
Jiang Yue sighed in exasperation on her behalf. “She overdid the hype, and now it’s backfiring. She’s flying into a rage for a beauty’s sake.”
Lin Zixi grew even more puzzled. “Flying into a rage for a beauty’s sake?”
Jiang Yue let out a long sigh. “Teacher Lin, do you never check your own Weibo? Anyway, first things first—get Ye Can off her phone. She’s arguing with a bunch of homophobic haters, and if it keeps going, it’ll be impossible to contain.”
Jiang Yue added, “She has some buzz right now; she can’t afford to piss off the masses. You know the rules in this industry—the public wrath is the hardest to face.”
Lin Zixi nodded and thanked Jiang Yue. Jiang Yue replied, “For the sake of those fifty million, I’ll check with the studio on follow-up PR plans. Don’t worry too much—just get her to stop for now.”
If it was truly for the fifty million, it was more for Lin Zixi’s sake. Lin Zixi agreed and hung up.
Lin Zixi stood and walked over to Ye Can, watching her fingers fly across the screen. She let out a soft sigh. “Ye Can, what are you doing?”
Ye Can didn’t look up. “Cursing people out.”
Lin Zixi reached out and blocked her phone. “Stop cursing. There’s no need.”
With the screen blocked mid-sentence, Ye Can looked up at Lin Zixi, eyes wide. “Why? What do you mean no need? I felt offended—fighting back is a problem how?”
“They started it!”
Lin Zixi held her phone and sighed softly, smiling as she said, “If a dog bites you, do you bite it back?”
Ye Can stared at Lin Zixi, replying matter-of-factly, “Why would I bite back? I just hit it instead! Wherever it bites, I hit there!”
It was so logical, so irrefutable.
The world should be that simple—revenge for grudges, payback for enmity. But the world was also profoundly complex, because most people’s eyes acted like funhouse mirrors, distorting the slice of reality they saw.
Most people knew you didn’t bite back if a dog bit you. As a public figure, that awareness was even more crucial.
Even ordinary folks, living under others’ gazes, fretted over whether their actions might be labeled “abnormal,” sparking social friction.
For celebrities under the spotlight, every move demanded utmost caution. To different observers, “throwing diva tantrums,” messy private lives, sugar baby rumors, homewrecker accusations, nepotism claims, or snapping at paparazzi could mean wildly different public opinions and industry treatment.
If you were a top-tier star, it might be chalked up to personality.
If you were a nobody, it could brand you as deranged, low-EQ, or even mentally ill.
Once slapped with a label, it stuck like glue.
Because most people couldn’t view anyone objectively. They didn’t grasp that a person was a complex multifaceted gem—they fixated on the shiniest, broadest face.
For public figures, once defined by the masses, flipping the narrative was an uphill battle.
Ye Can, just starting out in entertainment, getting into public spats with haters could easily paint her as ill-tempered, abrasive, unfriendly.
Everyone seemed to know that for an actor aiming for bigger stages and broader audiences, bickering with trolls was irrational.
The smart play? Ignore, delete posts via connections, or hire water armies to fight back anonymously.
Jumping in personally? Brainless, low-EQ, stupid. Ruining goodwill with randos for worthless haters? Utterly not worth it.
Anger was an emotion, but acting on it this way was irrational.
Ye Can’s actions were irrational, and Lin Zixi knew that as a normal adult who’d navigated society, she should stop her.
Lin Zixi lowered her gaze to Ye Can, still gripping her phone. Ye Can gazed back pleadingly, trying to snatch it. “If you’re done, give it back. There are so many—I can’t keep up.”
Lin Zixi raised her hand high. “Ye Can, but after you hit these wild dogs back, they’ll swarm you, and you’ll take even greater damage.”
Lin Zixi knew all too well—these behavioral wounds surfaced briefly, but the rest lurked as hidden arrows, ready one day to riddle a person like a sieve.
That was the wisdom of “being kind to others.”
The overly rigid will snap easily. Lin Zixi understood this too profoundly. She didn’t think striking back at haters was inherently wrong, but she feared Ye Can would suffer more for it.
She’d rather Ye Can not be so exceptional—just an ordinary person, gliding along the world’s track, safe, steady, ripple-free.
That was Lin Zixi’s selfish wish, but merely a wish.
Lin Zixi leaned close to Ye Can. “Ignore them. I’ll spend some money later and have the studio handle it. Wasting time on these people isn’t worth it.”
“For things like this in the future, don’t engage either. They’re trivial—not worth it.”
Ye Can lowered her hand, her gaze deepening. She looked at Lin Zixi and said, “If the world mocks me, insults me, curses me—it doesn’t matter.”
“But not you.” Any prick against Lin Zixi feels like the world owes her a debt.
Though Lin Zixi hadn’t checked Weibo, Jiang Yue’s “flying into a rage for a beauty’s sake” told her Ye Can was clashing with haters over her.
Lin Zixi cupped Ye Can’s face and smiled. “Hearing that makes me happy.”
“But Ye Can, I feel the same.”
Lin Zixi cradled her face, eyes tender. “I cherish you, love you—so I don’t want anyone hurting you, or you doing things that hurt yourself.”
“Words turn to knives. Even if you think it’s nothing, seeing it hurts me for you.”
“Besides, trash-talking them barely works. They outnumber you—it’s not worth it.”
Ye Can said, “I know, but this is the only thing I can do for you right now.”
She was no longer that lofty sovereign—just an ordinary person trapped by the Immoral God in this world, clumsily acting, pathetically surviving.
Just Ye Can.
Like before her coronation: merely struggling to live.
But one thing remained: she still wielded blade and sword.
When unable to wound foes, words became her knives to shield Lin Zixi.
Choosing what the masses deemed foolish or pointless to defend another was irrational.
But humans were irrational creatures forever—expecting rationality from them was a pipe dream.
Yet it was that irrational passion of love that sparked the world’s brilliant fireworks, its soaring anthems.
Ye Can gazed at Lin Zixi, utterly serious. “Even if it’s a false existence, even meaningless words—I’ll treat them with gravity.”
Lin Zixi found this stubborn clash with the world utterly adorable. She cupped Ye Can’s face, straddled her lap, and leaned down for a kiss.
As their lips met, Ye Can’s eyes flew wide.
Ye Can mumbled through the kiss, “Out of nowhere… you kiss me…”
“Why kiss me?” When they parted, Ye Can stared with damp eyes, silently accusing.
Lin Zixi hooked her arms around Ye Can’s neck. “Still wanna keep cursing them out?”
Ye Can blinked, silent. Lin Zixi leaned in again. Ye Can set her phone aside, wrapped her arms around Lin Zixi’s waist, and kissed back.
As their lips parted, Lin Zixi still hooked around her neck, smiling. “Still thinking of fighting back?”
Ye Can huffed, frowning at Lin Zixi. “This is a beauty trap. For your sake, I’ll let it slide for now.”
“But next time…”
Lin Zixi reached up, ruffled her hair. “No next time. Leave these things to me—I can handle them. I won’t worry you, won’t let myself get bullied. Got it?”
Ye Can murmured an “oh,” and Lin Zixi took her phone, powering it off. “No phone for the next couple days, okay?”
Another beauty trap—could Ye Can say no? She nodded, asking cautiously, “You can protect yourself, right?”
Lin Zixi said, “Yeah, I can.” Not just myself—I’ll protect Ye Can too.
After some effort to halt Ye Can’s escalation, Lin Zixi contacted Jiang Yue, paid for PR help.
Ye Can’s combat prowess was off the charts—she’d roasted hundreds of comments, all screenshotted. Onlookers kept surging. Lin Zixi logged into Ye Can’s account, posted in her style: “Tired. Sleepy. Round two another day.”
Building on that, the PR team crafted Ye Can a “sharp-tongued little angel who stands firm” persona. They had marketing accounts screenshot her savage clapbacks to the filth, spun soft articles, deployed water armies, and solidified her as the righteous side.
Finally, Lin Zixi posted on her long-dormant Weibo: “Filmmaking themes should embrace diversity, but love remains the eternal muse of all art. No love in this world deserves the labels of ‘wrong’ or ‘deviant.’ If love itself is wrong, what meaning remains in anything?”
Just that short line, paired with a photo of Ye Can in flowing white sleeves, her elegant silhouette beneath plum blossoms.
No extra explanations—just staunch support that moved people.
Lin Zixi had decent industry ties, and Jiang Yue’s repost ignited a frenzy.
Ye Shen, who’d been prepping legal letters, went subtly silent upon seeing Lin Zixi’s post.
This absurd hater-tearfest concluded as “flying into a rage for a beauty’s sake,” capped with slick PR.
Other passersby aside, Calamity Nation’s CP fans went wild. On the arc’s second day, You Wang tearing into haters for the Beauty topped the CP super topic.
CP fans, sugar-high to madness, saw Ye Can’s defenses bleed from characters to reality, dubbing this “Wedding Anniversary.”
CP marriage right out the gate—peak life for countless fans.
Fresh off story-induced pain, CP fans swarmed the Calamity Nation super topic. That night, Ye Can and Lin Zixi’s followers exploded. Overnight, Ye Can’s Favorability ticked forward.
Ye Can, expecting a Favorability drop, went subtly silent at the Immoral God’s midnight data announcement. In her mind, she asked: “Do fans these days like me cursing people out that much?”
The Immoral God replied coldly, “No. Ye Can, your Favorability has already reached 102,339,987. There are three months left until you achieve 11.”
“Hurry and complete this task. You don’t have much time left.”
