Did the Movie Emperor Blow His Cover Today? - Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Tao Hui actually loved the hustle and bustle. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have insisted on moving to this lively neighborhood.

During her breaks, she enjoyed listening to the elderly neighbors shouting conversations across the courtyard, “Green onions are two mao cheaper now, hurry and buy some!” “There’s a vendor selling Northeast rice at the gate—looks pretty good!” “Little Wang’s kid has grown so tall, ha ha ha!” The voices surrounded her, their echoes lingering in the air.

Tao Hui found this chaotic energy comforting, a reminder of how life should be—warm, lively, and pleasantly chaotic.

With this in mind, she had once hoped that a kind old grandmother would move into the empty apartment across from hers.

Ideally, someone with failing eyesight who couldn’t quite make out faces, and who would occasionally knock on her door with homemade pickles or dumplings.

Today, her wish for a neighbor had come true, though not in the way she’d imagined. It wasn’t a kind old grandmother, and their eyes were perfectly sharp.

It was Han Buji, the one person Tao Hui had never been able to stand, yet couldn’t shake off—her nemesis of 21 years.

Standing in the elevator, Tao Hui felt her mind emptied by the day’s embarrassment, tension, surprise, and shock. Her brain had long since evaporated, leaving only a hollow skull.

In a daze, Tao Hui stood silently in the elevator with Han Buji, staring blankly at each other for fifteen floors.

Under Han Buji’s gaze, utterly exhausted both physically and mentally, she marched out of the elevator with stiff, unnatural steps, her movements mechanical and awkward as she fumbled for her keys.

Unlock. Enter. Close the door.

Leaning against the door, Tao Hui listened to the sound of the elevator doors closing in the hallway. She pulled out her phone and texted Zhou Xun.

[ Sister Xun! Help! I need to move! Why does Han Buji live across from me? I don’t want to be his neighbor! ]

After sending the message, Tao Hui wrinkled her nose, convinced that the cedarwood and sandalwood scent clinging to Han Buji still lingered in the air. Grabbing her bathrobe, she retreated to the bathroom, muttering her life motto, “Tù máo ròu, A zī, é ná zé dei.”

– T/n: She wanted to say, ‘Tomorrow is another day,’ but ended up saying, ‘Tù máo ròu, A zī, é ná zé dei.’ This literally means ‘Rabbit fur meat, A-juice, goose take zdei.’

A hot shower washed away the lingering scent, leaving only the fragrance of her bath gel. Her mood lifted considerably. If not for her deep attachment to the egg pancakes and fried dough sticks at the neighborhood entrance, she would have moved out immediately.

Towel-drying her hair, Tao Hui noticed two new messages on her phone screen.

One message was from Zhou Xun.

[ As far as I know, Han Buji has two villas in the Imperial Capital, but they’re likely just temporary residences. You’ll be joining the film crew in a few days, so wait until you return to observe the situation. In the meantime, be careful and avoid entering or leaving the residential complex at the same time as him. (Bolded and all caps) ]

The other was from Little Fanboy.

[ Teacher Tao, are you coming? ]

Tao Hui opened Honor of Kings. Little Fanboy was indeed online. She usually played with him while connected via WeChat voice chat, given the sensitive nature of her profession. If she accidentally revealed something she shouldn’t, it was better for one person to hear it than a group.

After a few rounds, Tao Hui remained mostly silent. A soft giggle came from the phone, followed by Little Fanboy’s gentle, clear voice, “Teacher Tao, are you in a bad mood today? You’re so quiet.”

Having played with Little Fanboy often, Tao Hui occasionally chatted with him about non-game-related topics, careful to avoid revealing her identity.

Tao Hui sighed softly. “A bothersome neighbor moved in next door. It’s a bit upsetting.”

Little Fanboy paused, clearing a wave of minions before cautiously asking, “Why do you dislike them?”

Tao Hui couldn’t shake the feeling that Little Fanboy’s question carried a hint of caution, his mumbling tone sounding almost dejected.

Could it be that my silence today had scared him?

But explaining why she disliked Han Buji wasn’t something that could be summed up in a sentence or two.

“Maybe because he’s a stumbling block on my career path,” Tao Hui said slowly, gazing at the little bee pattern on her bedsheet.

Little Fanboy remained silent, likely realizing that workplace issues were beyond his advice. After all, he was only nineteen, still a boy fresh out of school.

After two rounds of gaming, Tao Hui’s focus waned. She declined Little Fanboy’s invitation and exited the game.

Outside, the sky had darkened, and streetlights began to glow. Leaning against her fluffy pillows, Tao Hui gently touched her neck, pondering Little Fanboy’s question.

Why do I dislike him?

Tao Hui debuted at sixteen, and her career had started smoothly. With her long, jet-black hair and wholesome, charming image, she was cast in a coming-of-age film by a director.

The film’s authenticity resonated with audiences, becoming a modest hit and earning Tao Hui the title of “Nation’s First Love” among netizens.

Of course, there were skeptical netizens. After all, this era is rife with contrarians—if you say 135, they’ll insist on 246.

Marketing accounts jumped in, claiming Tao Hui’s looks were too limiting, suitable only for pain-filled youth dramas, and that her future prospects were dim.

Fresh off her debut, Tao Hui, brimming with youthful ambition, naturally refused to accept this assessment. She rejected the lead role in another teen movie and instead took on a supporting role in a crime thriller, appearing on screen as a female police officer.

She chopped off her long hair, adopted a fierce and stylish look, and though her acting still needed refinement, she stunned netizens.

From then on, Tao Hui’s fanbase grew steadily, and she earned the nickname “the rock candy girl”—sweet yet not cloying, capable of being both salty and sweet.

With these two films, Tao Hui won two awards at the film festival in her second year as an actress, at the age of 18: Most Popular Newcomer and Most Promising Newcomer.

The memory of her triumph still lingered when disaster struck. Before the trophies had even cooled in her hands, Tao Hui’s career suffered a devastating setback, nearly torn apart by a swarm of anti-fans.

This setback was none other than Han Buji.

Tao Hui had just turned eighteen and, brimming with excitement, embarked on a solo trip to Iceland. In Reykjavik, the capital, she booked the most luxurious hotel, kicked off her shoes, and sprawled on the bed, planning how to rent a car and set up a tent alone to watch the Northern Lights. Everything seemed perfect.

Then disaster struck, Han Buji happened to be in Iceland at the same time, and he was staying at the same hotel.

Tao Hui was so focused on the aurora forecast website that she hadn’t noticed the other tourists in the hotel.

Who would pay attention to other travelers on vacation anyway? Everyone’s too busy thinking about what to do and what to eat!

The Icelandic weather was bitterly cold. That morning, Tao Hui tossed her belongings into the rental car, bundled up in a thick scarf and hat, and returned to the hotel for her last load of luggage. As she stepped outside, a fierce gust of wind nearly slammed the heavy door shut.

Clutching her bags helplessly, Tao Hui was relieved when a tall man braced the door open for her. She nodded her thanks to the equally bundled-up stranger and drove off in search of the Northern Lights.

The weather was so cold that Tao Hui’s phone froze and shut down automatically, but she didn’t think much of it.

By the time she had finished admiring the aurora, taken enough photos, and carefully driven back to the hotel across the icy plains, it was already the next evening.

Tao Hui shed her heavy winter coat and took a long, hot shower. When she heard a knock at the door, she wasn’t expecting anything. She slipped on a wool dress and opened the door.

Outside, a swarm of reporters pointed their cameras at her, their lenses like dark, gaping holes. Without a word, they began snapping photos relentlessly.

The flashes blinded her, and Tao Hui belatedly covered her neck.

Later, when Tao Hui looked back on those chaotic days, it all felt like a blur.

She remembered being picked up by her manager and flown back home, only to find that all the film and television projects she had been offered had been snatched away. Anti-fans swarmed online, spewing venomous insults. Her phone buzzed every three minutes with gossip notifications about her.

Tao Hui hid in her apartment, afraid to go out or even browse the internet. The photo that had gone viral showed the hazy dawn light illuminating two figures in the warm, orange-lit hotel lobby, a tall man shielding a petite woman from the door.

The angle of the photo made the two appear quite intimate.

The man was rumored to be Han Buji, the Best Actor winner and Movie Emperor.

Both Han Buji and Tao Hui’s companies immediately issued official denials, but the coincidence was too convenient. Two domestic celebrities appearing at the same overseas hotel, both claiming not to know each other?

Netizens were skeptical.

Some people dislike calm waters, preferring the ripples and waves that arise when the wind picks up.

Soon after, an old interview with Tao Hui resurfaced.

In the video, Tao Hui wore a crisp police uniform, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear with a slightly embarrassed smile. “The senior I admire most? I deeply respect Movie Emperor Han’s acting. I’ve watched many of his films, and I hope to follow in his footsteps and push myself to work even harder.”

After this video went viral, Tao Hui was once again trending for all the wrong reasons. Rather than believe the two were dating, most people preferred to think that a newcomer’s simultaneous appearance with the renowned Movie Emperor was a deliberate scheme.

[ ~These newcomers have no shame. Claiming not to know Han Buji after praising his acting? What a joke! LOL. ]

[ ~Tao Hui, shameless clout-chaser! Get out of the entertainment industry! ]

[ ~Out of all the cities and hotels on Earth, she just happened to be in the same one as Han Buji? And she’s pretending she didn’t know? Who believes that crap? Ugh! ]

[ ~Every random chick thinks she can hook up with my oppa! Clout-chasing scum! ]

[ ~Tao Hui’s company’s statement didn’t explain the kiss mark on her neck. Where did that come from? Is she really having an affair with Han Buji? ]

[ ~The commenter above is talking out of their ass! My oppa isn’t that kind of person! Tao Hui should take responsibility for her own actions instead of dragging our oppa into this mess! ]

[ ~+1! That mark on Tao Hui’s neck definitely came from someone else. Oppa’s company said he was busy filming and only stayed at the hotel for less than half an hour! If they’re not explaining it, it’s because they’re guilty and don’t dare to! ]

[ ~Maybe it was Han Buji. They’re both trash. ]

[ ~Did you eat shit? Didn’t you see oppa’s company’s statement? Keep your hands off our oppa and keep dragging that slutty “nation’s first love”! ]

[ ~Tao Hui, get out of the entertainment industry! “Nation’s first love”? Don’t make me laugh! ]

[ ~That mark on her neck is so intense… it must have been rough. Is she even an adult? How can minors be so bold these days? ]

Tao Hui was only eighteen at the time, and the relentless online abuse felt colder than Iceland’s icy winds. Sobbing uncontrollably, she still wanted to apologize to Han Buji, who had also been subjected to harsh insults from irrational fans.

What had Han Buji done wrong? He had simply been kind enough to block the door for her.

The situation had escalated largely due to her interview from that year and the “kiss mark” on her neck, captured by reporters who had stormed into the hotel.

But the truth about the “kiss mark” was something she couldn’t explain.

As she cried, Tao Hui felt a pang of guilt. After all, Han Buji had been her idol. She had once stayed up past midnight to secure tickets to his movie premiere.

Eighteen-year-old Tao Hui, teary-eyed and sniffling, spent 130,000 yuan to buy Han Buji’s private phone number from a prominent Weibo influencer. With a pounding heart, she dialed the number.

First try, no answer.

Second try, the call was hung up.

Third try, the call was hung up.

He’s the Best Actor, he must be busy, Tao Hui thought. Over the next few days, she called more than ten times. Finally, one afternoon, the call was answered.

Author’s Note: My heart aches for Tao Hui.