Did the Movie Emperor Blow His Cover Today? - Chapter 31

Chapter 31

Watching Han Buji surrounded by a crowd of people, whooping and hollering as they walked away, Tao Hui stood rooted to the spot for a moment, like someone struck by a wave at the beach, a strange unease settling in her chest.

As she recognized the figures around Han Buji, Tao Hui labeled this unease as jealousy toward “those at the very top of the pyramid.”

Though the Best Actor lived right across the hall from her, their worlds were worlds apart.

Former Best Actors, rising pop stars, renowned directors, critically acclaimed investors, top-tier comedians—each one a dazzling figure, fueling the “flames of jealousy” in Tao Hui’s heart.

Yet, remarkably, even among this constellation of talent, Han Buji’s effortless charm and easy laughter made him the most striking presence.

Tao Hui paused, struck by how Han Buji’s sharply defined profile and the way his eyelids lowered slightly when he spoke felt like a tiny hook, suddenly tugging at her.

But caught up in the professional atmosphere of work, Tao Hui didn’t notice her heart flutter. She watched the group of elites stop nearby to wait for the elevator.

And her neighbor stood among them, perfectly at ease.

As Tao Hui gazed at Han Buji, she was suddenly reminded of the summer she was sixteen, when she auditioned for a film.

Why did she choose acting? Why did she enter this industry? Tao Hui slowed her pace, carefully recalling her past.

It had nothing to do with ideals, dreams, money, or fame. In truth, it all began on a dull afternoon when Tao Hui walked into a movie theater and saw a film starring Han Buji.

Han Buji’s appearance should have been the “sexually indifferent” type, with slightly lazy, drowsy eyes. Yet the young man he played in the film was nothing like that. His family background was like an abyss: a gambling and abusive father, and a mother constantly having affairs.

Back then, in his early twenties, Han Buji’s gaze was even sharper. The character he portrayed resembled a towering white poplar, vigorously growing towards the sun.

Though the boy was only a supporting character, Little Tao Hui, sitting in the theater, felt an inexplicable familiarity in Han Buji’s eyes.

The unknown actor turned his head on the big screen, his face etched with resolute indifference—a vitality that thrived even when mired in mud, reaching for the sunlight.

As the credits rolled, Tao Hui lingered until the crowd had dispersed. Finally, she spotted Han Buji’s name in the cast list and searched for him online, finding his Weibo account with only one post and sixteen followers.

Han Buji: [Photo]

The soft-lit photo showed a young Han Buji sitting in the sunlight, his gaze lazily lowered, a copy of Memories of Old Beijing in his hand.

The sunlight was gentle, and the young man looked like jade.

He was nothing like the desperate, all-or-nothing character he played in the film.

It was at that moment that Tao Hui suddenly realized acting could be interesting.

Before millions of Han Meimeis, the very first Han Meimei was sixteen-year-old Tao Hui.

Every weekend, she would scour Han Buji’s online updates. Even on the day of the film audition, she carried a printed photo of him from a print shop.

“Hello, Tao Hui. I’d like to ask you a few questions.” A timid female voice interrupted Tao Hui’s reverie from behind.

Tao Hui stopped walking, brushed aside the lingering melancholy of her memories, and turned back with a smile. Standing behind her was a woman carrying an enormous camera, barely 150cm tall.

“Which media outlet are you with?” Tao Hui asked, noticing the woman wore no press badge, hadn’t introduced herself, and was even dressed in formal attire.

Reporters like this usually needed to be approached with caution, even if this petite woman looked harmless.

The short girl wore a red phone around her neck, her face flushed the same color as the phone case. “I-I’m a new reporter from Xiangcheng Entertainment! Could you give me a chance? Just one question, please! Just one!”

A new reporter? No way a newbie could get into an event like this.

And this one’s way too green—she even forgot to turn on her camera…

She’s probably not even a reporter.

Tao Hui mused that the girl might be the daughter of Xiangcheng Entertainment’s CEO, the one who’d rather be a journalist than an actress. Deciding not to press the issue, Tao Hui smiled and agreed, “One question is fine.”

But even though the short girl was a “newbie” who couldn’t even remember to turn on her camera, her question was surprisingly sharp. She immediately asked, “Tao Hui, you and Best Actor Han Buji were both filming Sheng Jue together, and there were rumors about you two. Many fans are curious—what’s your relationship with Han Buji like in private?”

Tao Hui paused, thinking of Han Buji’s clean, decisive exit. Suppressing a flicker of discomfort, she forced a polite smile. “Han Buji and I? We’re not close.”

The short girl tried to press further, but Tao Hui cut her off with a dazzling smile, placing a finger to her lips. “One question answered, and I gave you a genuine response. Bye~”

With her striking looks and expertly applied makeup, Tao Hui could effortlessly radiate captivating charm whenever she chose.

With those words, Tao Hui turned, her black skirt billowing like the graceful, proud wings of a black swan.

The black swan smiled sweetly as she pressed the elevator button. The doors slid open, and she looked up to see Han Buji’s face.

The proud black swan instantly wilted, lowering her head and staring at the necklace pendant dangling just above her stomach. She mumbled, “Why are you back?” Her voice carried a hint of grievance.

She had clearly seen Han Buji enter the elevator with the “elite” group earlier. How had he returned so quickly?

Han Buji leaned against the elevator wall, watching Tao Hui’s muttering with amusement.

The Best Actor had been quite irritated earlier. The girl had avoided him all day, pretending not to know him as they left, only to turn around and chat animatedly with various men, her eyes crinkling with laughter.

Han Buji had observed coldly, initially planning to return home alone. But after going downstairs, he couldn’t bring himself to leave. He made up an excuse about forgetting something and came back.

Now, this heartless girl was asking why he had returned. Han Buji smiled wryly. “I left something very important here.”

Huh? Something important? Here?

Tao Hui looked up, her face a mask of confusion, and stared at Han Buji’s long necklace, which hung at the same level as her own. She was utterly perplexed.

Did you drop something important? Why don’t you go get it? Did it fall into the elevator?

Just as she was thinking this, the elevator doors behind her closed and immediately reopened.

A familiar figure carrying a large video camera rushed in. Tao Hui, standing near the doors, instinctively moved to make room, but as soon as she shifted, a force tugged at her neck.

Click! Tao Hui watched in disbelief as her necklace and Han Buji’s necklace snapped together perfectly.

Tao Hui: ?!

She abruptly reached up and tugged, trying to hide the connection, but the two pendants remained stubbornly locked together.

Damn it, what’s going on? Are they magnets? Super-strong magnets?

Why are my necklace and Han Buji’s necklace stuck together?

The reporter who had just rushed in stared in bewildered shock as the elevator doors closed, watching Tao Hui and Han Buji suddenly move closer, almost touching.

And their necklaces were firmly linked.

Short Reporter: ?

At the same moment, the reporter’s phone played back the earlier interview:

“What’s your relationship with Han Buji like in private?”

“Han Buji and I? We’re not close.”

“That’s one question answered, and I gave a genuine response. Bye~”

She glanced at her phone, then looked up at Tao Hui and Han Buji, who were standing intimately close together. She recalled Tao Hui’s claim of “not being close” and “genuine feelings,” then noticed the couple’s necklaces, tightly linked together.

Celebrities’ words are lies!

Tao Hui tugged at her necklace, blurting out, “This is a misunderstanding! You didn’t see anything! What you saw isn’t real!”

Han Buji leaned casually against the elevator wall, bending down slightly as Tao Hui tugged at her necklace.

The short reporter, lugging her camera, had clearly never witnessed such a blatant reversal. One moment Tao Hui was claiming “we’re not close,” and the next, the couple’s necklaces clicked together, magnetically locked and impossible to separate.

In this situation, the protagonist was still trying to brainwash her like a cult member, insisting she turn a blind eye and pretend not to see.

The short girl felt utterly lost.

She wasn’t actually a reporter. She was Cheng Xiaoxiao, the youngest daughter of the Cheng Family, who had stolen her father’s company camera to chase her own dreams.

Cheng Xiaoxiao knew Han Buji; their families were acquainted, and she had met him as a child. She looked at him pleadingly, hoping for help.

Han Buji smiled and summarized, “You didn’t see anything.”

“Oh,” Cheng Xiaoxiao responded blankly.

Han Buji finished speaking and immediately pressed the button for the next floor.

Coincidentally, Tao Hui, flustered, clutched her necklace with one hand and reached out with the other to press the button for the next floor as well.

A slender, pale index finger overlapped with a well-defined, bony index finger, their tips forming a staggered heart shape.

Behind them, Cheng Xiaoxiao, a single dog who had devoured a bellyful of gossip only to be bombarded with PDA, was left speechless: “……”

Tao Hui was genuinely shaken by the tightly intertwined necklaces that refused to come apart. The looping recording from the fake reporter’s phone only added to her panic, her mind spiraling into chaos.

Forgetting all about Cheng Xiaoxiao, who had just suffered a double blow, Tao Hui grabbed Han Buji’s wrist and squeezed out of the elevator the moment the doors opened.

The Weibo Night venue was located on the top floor of the building, which featured an open-air area. Break rooms and a hotel occupied the lower floors.

Now, Tao Hui and Han Buji stood facing each other in a quiet hotel corridor, their necklaces still linked.

The corridor window was open, and the winter night wind helped Tao Hui regain some composure. She stared at the intertwined necklaces, lost in thought.

Her necklace was shaped like a colorful Easter egg.

Tao Hui had noticed Han Buji’s long necklace before: a pair of interlocking black diamond wings.

Aside from both being long necklaces, Tao Hui couldn’t see any connection between the two.

But now that the pendants were linked, the black wings tightly guarded her egg… no, her egg-shaped pendant. The wings, which had originally resembled those of a great angel poised for flight, now gently encircled the egg…-shaped pendant.

The feeling was one of protection.

These necklaces were always meant to be a pair, Tao Hui thought.

After her initial shock, Tao Hui realized that the necklaces hadn’t simply been drawn together by chance due to magnetic materials.

But Little Fanboy… the Little Fanboy she’d been gaming with for so long…

Tao Hui tugged at the necklaces again, refusing to give up. The powerful magnets held firm, unyielding.

A wave of betrayal washed over her. Her eyes burned as she stared blankly at Han Buji, yet all she could see was his tiny, delicate voice changer.

“How old are you this year, Little Fanboy?”

“…19.”

“Still in university, then?”

“…Yeah.”

“Teacher Tao, wanna play some games? I don’t have class today.”

“Alright, come on! Teacher Tao will carry you to victory!”

The conversation with her Little Fanboy flashed through Tao Hui’s mind, frame by frame. She took a deep breath and asked, “Was that you I was playing games with?”

“Yes,” Han Buji replied.

Unable to describe her emotions, Tao Hui ripped off her necklace and threw it into Han Buji’s arms, shouting, “Han Buji, you’ve gone too far!”