It’s a modern-city romance crossed with transmigration, neon lights bleeding into fate like rain on billboard ink. The plot coils around Chi Mu, the heroine waking like a startled bird into a world from her favorite novel. From there, it’s a Feng Aotian power fantasy, luck rolling like thunder and doors blooming open like lotus.

In her agent’s car, Nana Toki smoothed her thoughts like combing wet hair slick with drizzle. The whole plane played out clear as a river: the heroine wakes, dazed as mist, and finds herself inside that oft-read romance.

With a full-book spoiler cheat in hand, the heroine swam through this world like a carp riding spring currents. She entered the entertainment industry, seized favorable resources like plucking ripe peaches, and blasted into stardom, finally winning Best Actress, young as sunrise.

When trouble rose like storm-head clouds, she flipped her cheat and winged it. With that cheat as a sun on her back, no trap could cage her.

When idle, she went fishing for men like casting lines over moonlit water, or teased others with smoke-and-mirror ambiguity; her days floated sweet as candied fruit under lantern light.

Yeah, you read that right, a bell striking noon in a temple courtyard. This plane runs otome-style, a reverse harem blooming like a peony garden.

Retired war king, domineering CEO, full-time dad—men crowded in waves like migrating swans. If that sounds unreal, picture this: the heroine steps out, grabs any passerby, and he’s handsome enough to fell a forest of hearts.

The original Qiao Wan was the first stepping stone paving the heroine’s red-carpet climb, smooth as polished jade. As a well-known actress, Qiao picked her scripts like choosing pearls; this time, the historical series Frosted Jade was handpicked by her.

Before Qiao even auditioned, the heroine cut in like a knife through silk. She also stole the leads Qiao was set to play in other dramas, and Qiao’s career slid like sand through fingers.

If it stopped there, Qiao wouldn’t have clashed like flint and steel. In this industry, roles are fight-and-grab like market stalls; if your skill falls short, losing a part is a wind you endure.

But—like a thorn under skin—the heroine seemed hexed. Any script Qiao eyed drew the heroine’s boot heel like a shadow on snow.

Before the heroine even entered the industry, Qiao lacked roles like a winter orchard stripped bare. After the heroine rose, Qiao still found no good scripts, shelves empty as bleached bone.

It was deliberate cold storage, a frost spreading like night across a field.

Even a saint would choke on that, anger crackling like dry leaves. Qiao was no saint, yet a mere cannon fodder can’t wrestle a heroine blessed with cheat-winds.

By mid-arc, the heroine had fame and fortune like twin suns burning over the city. Her collection of men, gathered by bizarre maneuvers, could feed lifetimes like granaries full after harvest.

Qiao’s fate collapsed like a paper lantern in rain. Her career shattered, and interference ground her down into depression like a millstone turning slow and heavy.

In the end, she ended her sorrow with suicide, a candle snuffed by a draft in a dark hall.

At bottom, Qiao had one wish, sharp as a blade—revenge. She had never wronged Chi Mu, yet was driven to a dead end like a hunted deer. If possible, she wanted Chi Mu to taste that same cliff-edge despair.

Ding! Main quest triggered: Best Actress. Quest description: become the pinnacle presence of all time in the entertainment industry.

Nana Toki: “...” Damn, a curse coiling like smoke in her chest.

She thought the original wanted only revenge, iron set in snow. What’s with “pinnacle of the industry,” like climbing Everest in heels on ice?

Why do you, lousy System, keep issuing quests that feel like cats stepping on keyboards?

System: Hey now, this System didn’t want to rain on you like a sudden squall. If it were just revenge, you’d fixate on killing the heroine like a hawk on a mouse. To keep you humane, we swapped the main quest. Oh—and thanks to your excellent performance last plane, luck points here settle double, like interest after harvest. So swing for the fences, wind at your back!

“...” A big fight that forbids killing the heroine is like a tiger declawed under moonlight.

Cursing that trash System under her breath, Nana Toki felt the car jolt like a boat tapping dock. They’d reached today’s destination, headlights cutting the building like blades.

“Qiao Wan, when you see people, stay sharp like a fox,” her agent warned, voice taut as bowstring. “Don’t let what was in your hand flutter off like a scared bird.”

Thinking on it made Zhou Wen’s temples throb like drums in a parade. Frosted Jade’s people had begged Qiao to join, faces sweet as syrup under festival lights. Now they wouldn’t even show a smile, canceling a not-yet-signed deal like sweeping crumbs off a table. Their reason? They found a newcomer more suitable for Chen Yuyu, like finding a brighter pearl overnight in a muddy river.

What kind of reason is that? In this industry, good acting is rare as snow in June. They think they can find a rookie stronger than Qiao at this critical moment, blades crossing at dusk?

Zhou Wen didn’t buy it, stance firm as a mountain under storm.

“If this damn crew won’t give me a proper reason,” she growled, voice like thunder, “I’ll tear their equipment down bolt by bolt, like pulling nails from rotten wood.”

Nana Toki: “...” With that tiger energy, you’re the one who needs to stay nimble, like a cat on a wall under rain.

She locked the car, while Zhou Wen dabbed Nana’s makeup like dew on petals at dawn. Once it looked right, Zhou Wen tugged her hand, and they ran toward the building like wind chasing leaves along a street.

“Zhou jie, I feel this time’s shaky, like a bridge in storm,” Nana murmured, heart cool as river stone. It wasn’t lack of spine. The one snatching her role was the heroine herself, wrapped in protagonist halo like sunlight; how could a little cannon fodder beat that lucky tide?

“Maybe we should scout other options,” she offered, voice soft as rain on tile. The heroine’s matter could wait like a cloud drifting.

“Scout my ass,” Zhou Wen snapped, eyes flicking like wildfire in dry grass. “Even if a cooked duck flies, I’ll get a reason, so you don’t swallow this for nothing.”

You had to admit, Qiao Wan’s agent cared like a sturdy pine on a cliff. Even in the later downturn, Zhou Jie stayed, a lantern beside the road through fog.

Good hearts aside, Zhou Wen’s temper was volcano-hot, ash falling like sparks. In this industry, eight or nine in ten knew this iron-flower was no one to provoke, thorns set like steel.

If her stock of solid scripts weren’t few as stars at dawn, Zhou Wen wouldn’t wrestle this crew like a bull in dust.

Frosted Jade’s people had headaches like splitting logs with dull axes. When their director heard Zhou Wen was coming with her artist, he rushed out like a butler in snow, pouring tea and water, hoping to send them off smiling like spring sunlight.

“Zhou jie, what wind blew you and your artist to our shabby place today?” Director Zhang grinned like a dog wagging tail, squeezed Nana’s hand, then served tea with both hands, steam curling like mist.

He knew why they came, clear as a mirror catching light. But orders came from above like iron edicts dropping like stones. As a director, he lacked the rank to pry. Besides, the one behind it fed the whole crew like a granary brimming; he couldn’t afford that storm.

“Heh, what wind?” Zhou Wen slapped the table, thunder cracking wood like a summer strike. “Zhang, drop the flowers and sugar. If you don’t explain why you canceled my artist’s deal, I’m not leaving, not even if night falls like ink.”

Frosted Jade’s folks winced like dogs in fireworks, ears flat. Director Zhang wrestled with it, then spoke plain as snow under sun: “Zhou jie, it’s not that we look down on you or your artist. Orders from above say we must replace the actress for Chen Yuyu. We employees are shackled like oxen in yoke.”

“Bullshit!” Zhou Wen’s glare cut like a blade catching moonlight. “Is your boss blind? My Qiao Wan’s skill shines like the full moon, and you want some street-found rookie? That’s a sickness, not taste, like drinking brine for wine.”

“Zhou jie, quality, quality...” Nana Toki murmured, trying to soften it like pouring cool water over hot stones. Don’t spit fire that scorches bridges.

Zhou Wen bulldozed on, words sparking like flint against steel. She nearly started cursing their boss’s ancestors, and Nana had to hold her tight like restraining a horse at cliff’s edge.

“In any case, it can’t be changed,” Director Zhang said, palms sweaty as summer rain. “If you really won’t accept it, we still lack a second female lead. Your artist can audition, to test the waters like dipping a reed.”

“You think I’m a fool?” Zhou Wen barked, voice like cannon fire echoing in a valley. “Your script’s second lead is a villain, and her reputation stinks like stagnant water in a ditch. You want my artist to play that? Who are you looking down on?”

“Hey, hey, Zhou jie, it’s fine,” Nana cut in, eyes glinting like stars over a river. “A villain’s fine. No problem. We’ll play it, like sharpening a blade on stone.”

She’d been fishing for snacks like a squirrel, half enjoying the spat. The word “villain” lit her up like a match in twilight.

Villains are fun. The System won’t let her kill the heroine like cutting weeds, but acting lets her bully on-screen under bright lamps like a fox dancing.

Just picturing herself openly tormenting the heroine felt sweet as honey on the tongue. Maybe her wind finally shifted like weather after drought.

“But Qiao Wan,” Zhou Wen’s brow furrowed like plowed fields in spring, “that role isn’t likable. If fans with heavy immersion swarm, you’ll get cursed like a scarecrow in a storm.”

In this industry, stars often pay for what they play. If you act poorly, you get flamed like dry grass; if you act too well, immersive fans bite like ants. Zhou Wen feared her artist would suffer that online storm, and wanted to refuse, sheltering her like an umbrella.

“It’s okay, Zhou jie,” Nana smiled, calm as a still lake under moon. “Treat it as practice. The road here isn’t always smooth as a spring river. What must come will come; I’ll adapt early like a seedling in wind.”

Nana wouldn’t give up the chance to bully the heroine under bright lights. Don’t talk about later ‘reverse slap’ arcs; those are paper tigers painted on screens.

As long as she gets a good swing at the heroine, it’s enough, like stealing one bite of ripe peach behind a curtain. If the heroine reverses later, let her; that’s the character’s fate, not Nana’s blood.

Nana Toki feared nothing, heart beating like a drum before battle.