Chapter 9: The Fair-Looking Young Nun

Despite having long, jet-black hair.

But Li Luo instantly recognized the girl as the actress who played the nun Yilin in the drama, though he didn’t know her name.

But that delicate, refined face—he definitely hadn’t mistaken her.

Her pitiful, fragile demeanor in the drama had left a deep impression on him.

“It’s fine.”

Seeing Li Luo hand her the room card, the girl flustered: “I didn’t notice—I’m so sorry, thank you.”

Not only was she dragging a large suitcase.

Her hands were full of bags; just as she reached for the card, her purse nearly slipped.

Seeing this,

Li Luo simply pressed the card directly against the lock.

He went the extra mile, helping her carry her luggage into the room—opposite his own, another single room, though the view from its window wasn’t as open as his.

“Thank you.”

The girl smiled brightly and extended her hand confidently: “I’m Chen Lifeng, the actress who plays Yilin.”

Anyone staying at this hotel now

Is either behind-the-scenes staff or a cast member.

Though she’s no newcomer, smiling warmly at this point is always right—this set is a small world; if you’re not careful, you won’t even know when you’ve offended someone.

“Li Luo.”

As he shook her soft hand, Li Luo flashed his white teeth: “I play Lin Pingzhi.”

Hearing he was also an actor,

Chen Lifeng relaxed visibly.

She wasn’t much older herself; coming alone to Wuxi to film was still nerve-wracking, and seeing Li Luo was about her age, she immediately felt a natural sense of closeness.

“That’s great—I’ll look forward to your guidance.”

Her eyes lit up as she asked: “By the way, what roles have you played before?”

“Hmm~”

Li Luo cleared his throat and waved his hand: “Actually, I’ve only played minor roles, but I’ve worked on over twenty productions—guidance? No way, let’s just learn from each other.”

Hearing he’d been in over twenty productions, Chen Lifeng was secretly startled.

She hadn’t expected someone so young to have such an impressive resume.

Her own career had gone smoothly enough, but she’d only joined three or four crews—compared to him, she was a mere speck.

No wonder he got the role of Lin Pingzhi.

Seeing the nun’s surprised expression, Li Luo smirked inwardly.

In this world,

Face is something you give yourself.

He couldn’t just come out and say he started as an extra—even though he didn’t care, he couldn’t let people look down on him for nothing. Besides, he hadn’t lied; twenty-plus productions was even an understatement.

Extras,

After all, just drift from one job to another.

“You go ahead and get settled.”

Seeing she still had things to pack, Li Luo didn’t disturb her further.

Saying goodbye to the nun,

He took the elevator straight to the restaurant.

Jiangsu cuisine is refined but sweet—Li Luo wasn’t used to it, but since the crew came from all over, they prepared dishes from every region to suit everyone’s tastes.

He himself preferred bold flavors and loved spicy food.

Naturally, he chose Sichuan and Hunan dishes.

Carrying a full tray of food, he found a corner seat.

As he ate, he glanced around.

With crew members arriving steadily, the restaurant grew lively; spotting a table nearby laughing and chatting, he quietly matched their faces to his memories.

He spotted Yue Buqun, Xiang Wentian, Yu Canghai, and others.

Also Tian Boguang.

Seeing these men gathered together drinking, he felt a strange sense of absurdity.

“Pfft~”

When his gaze landed on Tian Boguang, Li Luo spat a bone forcefully to the side—the actor’s skill was solid, delivering a memorable performance in his prime.

But dumb.

Truly dumb.

The couple’s later actions could only be described as having lost their minds.

He popped a piece of spicy chicken into his mouth and kept scanning.

The female lead, Ren Yingying, was nowhere to be seen.

He felt a pang of disappointment.

That girl was truly stunning, with an exceptionally long shelf life—still radiant and fresh even in later generations.

He also didn’t see Li Erpeng—when this version of The Smiling, Proud Wanderer aired, he got a surge of popularity, capturing Lin Pingzhi’s suffering well, but almost none of that free-spirited charm.

Looking back now,

Due to poor casting and a wildly altered plot, this drama was truly panned upon release.

Online, people listed three major flaws and eight laughable blunders.

It was thoroughly trashed.

But at Yue Buqun’s table, near the head seat, sat a man with a rugged face—in an industry obsessed with seniority, seats aren’t chosen lightly.

Yet Li Luo didn’t recognize him.

He shrugged.

Went back to eating.

“Hey~ You’ve got quite the appetite.” A scent drifted over; Chen Lifeng walked to the opposite side, smiling at the pile of food before Li Luo: “Mind if I sit here?”

After arriving at the restaurant, she found only one person she even sort of knew.

And since they were similar in age,

Without hesitation, she walked over naturally.

In just a short while, Chen Lifeng had changed clothes—dark blue jeans hugged her straight legs tightly, her shirt unbuttoned two buttons, revealing a sliver of smooth, pale skin.

The place wasn’t large, but the cleavage was there.

His gaze flickered over it and landed on her plate.

“Help yourself.”

He raised an eyebrow: “If I’m not mistaken, you’re not a real nun, are you?”

Her plate held not a trace of meat or fish.

Just green, leafy vegetables.

“Of course not.”

Chen Lifeng stared at Li Luo’s plate of spicy chicken, swallowed hard, then sat down with a graceful sway of her slender waist: “Female actors can’t eat like this—we’d get scolded to death by our agents.”

As she spoke, she popped a piece of mustard green into her mouth.

Her long eyebrows knitted together as she chewed, as if enduring great pain.

Looking at her delicate little face, Li Luo shrugged.

Beneath the glamorous exterior, most female actors endure inhuman suffering—dieting and weight loss are routine to stay camera-ready.

As they ate and chatted, they quickly grew familiar.

After all, they were all young.

They always found something to talk about.

Noticing Li Luo’s gaze kept drifting toward the side, Chen Lifeng glanced over and sighed with envy: “Shao Bing is barely in his thirties, yet he’s already won the Golden Rooster and the Huabiao Award.”

“Now he’s the male lead—his future achievements are boundless.”

After a brief pause, she crunched her greens like a rabbit: “I really need to learn from him.”

“Male lead????” Li Luo blinked.

“Huh?”

Chen Lifeng looked even more shocked than he did: “Shao Bing is the actor who plays Linghu Chong—you didn’t know that?”

Looking at the rugged man drinking heartily across the room,

Li Luo was stunned.

If this guy was playing Linghu Chong, then who the hell was the Li Erpeng in his memory?!

With a belly full of questions,

He cleaned every last bite off his tray.