Chapter 3: The Morning Commotion

“Xiao Xi, wake up, wake up!”

The sound pierced her ears like a devilish chant. Chu Luoxi pulled the blanket tighter around herself, successfully cocooning into a bundle, and stretched out an alabaster hand to press her soft pillow—well, right over her head—utterly ignoring the commotion beside her bed.

Seeing that her shouting had only made things worse, Liu Yujia’s mouth twitched with embarrassment.

After a brief silence, Liu Yujia grabbed a book, gripped it with both hands, inhaled, exhaled, and inhaled again...

Suddenly, she erupted, wielding the textbook with unrestrained force, smacking it across the “cocoon” on the top bunk—head to toe, left to right. “Chu Luoxi, get up! Get up! Do you know what time it is? You sleep like a pig!”

“What are you doing? It’s still the National Day holiday, isn’t it? Why are you hollering so early in the morning?” A voice, clear and cool as spring water, and decidedly annoyed. Chu Luoxi abruptly sat up, raking her hair into an even greater mess, slumping on her knees atop the bunk, exuding a fierce aura of morning grumpiness.

No matter how good one’s sleep, it could not survive such harassment.

Swallowing nervously, Liu Yujia muttered to herself, “You can’t afford to cross someone with morning grumpiness! And I was just sent to wake her up, poor me...”

“Xiao Xi, don’t be angry. Didn’t we agree last night you’d come with me to that bridal photography studio to model today?” Zhu Xueshuang emerged from the bathroom, quickly mediating. Although Chu Luoxi’s morning temper had been especially severe lately, Liu Yujia’s method of waking people was rather too extreme.

“Photo studio? Model?” Chu Luoxi mumbled, tousle-headed and clearly still half-asleep, her gaze unfocused and dazed.

Pressing her forehead, she realized that Zhu Xueshuang’s so-called “agreement” was likely wrung from her in a daze, having nodded absentmindedly with no recollection of the conversation.

Ever since that fateful day she’d been struck and reborn, she had felt out of sorts—unsure if it was the blow to her head or the struggle to adapt to her new reality. Memories of her past and present lives clashed constantly, leaving her in a perpetual fog.

A time difference of over twenty years—even if she’d lived through it once before—required time to reconcile the old and the new. Thus, absent-mindedness had become routine these days.

Zhu Xueshuang, after a quick assessment, smiled gently. “If you don’t want to go, Xiao Xi, just rest in the dorm. You haven’t seemed yourself lately—better not go out.”

Chu Luoxi gazed blankly at Zhu Xueshuang’s moist red lips moving, slowly regaining her ability to think, her eyes still somewhat dazed.

This university roommate always smiled softly, her temperament gentle—a true southern belle, a delicate daughter raised in a modern family. Yet this very girl, not long after graduation, had chosen to end her own life. At the time, Chu Luoxi had been searching for opportunities, trying to land a bit part on a film set.

It was unimaginable what could have driven the mild-tempered Zhu Xueshuang to psychological collapse and eventually suicide. The way she was now—gentle yet resilient—she did not seem like someone capable of such extremity.

In her past life, the four roommates had always maintained a lukewarm relationship, with Zhu Xueshuang and Liu Yujia being slightly closer. In freshman year, the Film Academy had strict rules: acting students were generally not allowed to take outside jobs. Everyone was kept on campus, focused on diligent study, and spent much more time together.

By sophomore year, management relaxed. As long as you turned in half your earnings, the school and instructors generally didn’t interfere with good opportunities—in fact, if possible, mentors would even help their favorite students gain experience.

Of course, such chances were few, reserved for the teachers’ favored protégés; everyone else had to fend for themselves.

So, outside of mandatory classes, everyone scrambled to seize opportunities, networking and hustling outside—naturally, this meant less time together and increasingly distant relationships. As for what happened to Zhu Xueshuang later, Chu Luoxi had heard only fragments. While the outcome shocked her, the details remained a mystery.

To her surprise, upon being reborn, she landed right at the start of sophomore year—nothing should have happened to Zhu Xueshuang yet! Given the chance, she hoped Zhu Xueshuang could be well; it was a terrible waste for a girl like her to meet such an end.

Everyone has their fate, but now, she intended to keep a close watch on her friend, to prevent Zhu Xueshuang from repeating her tragic path, and help her find a brighter future.

“Wait, I’ll be ready in a minute. We won’t be late, will we?” Chu Luoxi, suddenly invigorated, opened the wardrobe inset in the wall by her bed and chose a simple outfit to change into.

Only those who have struggled through the complexities of society can truly cherish the innocence of student days, including the bonds of friendship. When one is young, one doesn’t understand this—squandering youth only to realize later that nothing has been left behind.

In her past life, she would never have gotten involved in something like this, too focused on her own ambitions. But now, she couldn’t bear for Zhu Xueshuang to relive such a tragedy; perhaps by accompanying her, she might discover a clue to the cause.

Seeing Chu Luoxi’s actions, Zhu Xueshuang was briefly stunned. She exchanged a glance with Liu Yujia, a hint of surprise in her eyes. “There’s still time—you don’t need to rush.”

Climbing down from the upper bunk—below were computer desks, each flanked by double-layer bookshelves—Chu Luoxi glared at Liu Yujia in annoyance. “Then why were you in such a hurry?”

“Now that you’re up, there’s no rush. But if you’d slept any longer, who knows!” Liu Yujia retorted cheekily, refusing to admit fault.

“Clearly just your twisted sense of fun,” Chu Luoxi muttered, the corners of her mouth betraying a faint smile.

How many years had it been since she had interacted with anyone so easily and openly? Probably too long for her to remember. In the entertainment industry, one only sinks deeper—especially a nobody without connections or power, struggling upward, only to look back and realize the truest self has long been lost.

Since her rebirth, apart from attending classes the first two days, Chu Luoxi had spent the holiday holed up in the dorm, having her roommates bring back every meal—she hadn’t set foot outside for days.

After graduation, her visits back to campus had been rare, at least in the memories she retained. Now, seeing these once-familiar scenes again felt strangely foreign, as if from another lifetime.

Passing the campus convenience store, Chu Luoxi bought three breakfasts—each a carton of milk and a piece of bread.

“Hm?” Liu Yujia, ever carefree, happily accepted hers, but Zhu Xueshuang hesitated so much that Chu Luoxi almost felt a twinge in her stomach.

With Liu Yujia’s boisterous nature, she might not fit in show business, but she was refreshingly straightforward and easy to get along with.

“No need to feel awkward. You’ve brought me meals these past few days—let me do this much.” Chu Luoxi stretched her hand out again, inwardly sighing, “Come on, beauty, just take it. My arm’s getting tired.”

“You keep it, Xiao Xi. I won’t eat—there’ll be a photo shoot soon,” Zhu Xueshuang glanced at the blissful Yujia, finally making up her mind.

Chu Luoxi’s stomach clenched again. In her previous life, it had only been a couple of years in the industry before she’d ruined her own health; now, she should still be perfectly fine.

She took back the bread and tossed the milk into Zhu Xueshuang’s arms. “Don’t joke around with your health. It’s nearly ten already—who knows how long the shoot will last?”

Flat models usually eat little or nothing before a shoot to maintain their figure—no matter how flat one’s stomach, too much food will show on camera. Even the slightest change can affect the subtle effects picked up by the lens.

After all, with technology advancing, camera resolution only gets higher. Even now, it’s intimidating enough...

“Thank you!” Zhu Xueshuang smiled gently, not refusing this time.

Returning her smile, Chu Luoxi sighed to herself. In class, professors often casually mention little tips—like skincare secrets for actors who wear makeup constantly, or how to protect your health amid an irregular diet.

Such advice is never just one or two things; everyone finds what suits their own body.

But after years as students, and especially in the Film Academy where everyone hears plenty of industry truths, you learn that most teachers are academic theorists, not practical veterans. They speak with apparent authority, but can’t compare to actors who’ve really been on set.

In practice, most advice isn’t useful—either unsuitable or impractical. Over time, it all goes in one ear and out the other, and few take it seriously.