『A-List Actress / Sharp-Tongued / Arch-Rivals』
"Can someone tell me what kind of arch-rival gets drunk and confesses her love to me for three whole hours?!" "What?! She sobered up two hours ago?! Ahhhh, just destroy me already!!!" GL / Arch-Rivals / Deadly Sharp-Tongued / Top-Tier Acting / Two-Faced Compliance / Rivalry Lane / Visual styling by Assistant Cealis & Assistant Xiao Miao ⊹ ★ ┈┈ 𓏴 𝒫𝒾𝓃𝓀 𝒱𝑒𝓁𝓋𝑒𝓉 𓏴 ★ ┈┈ ⊹ Lu Yunshi A top-tier star at the peak of her fame and the youngest Grand Slam Best Actress winner. Blessed with stunning looks, a killer figure, and breathtaking beauty, she commands the spotlight wherever she goes, the center of everyone's attention. You can't even remember when the two of you became bitter industry rivals. Maybe it started when you both fought over the lead role in an S-tier historical drama—she landed the script, but you didn't lose out either, as the two of you ended up headlining competing dramas in the same broadcast slot. Or maybe it was how her outfit choices always subtly, almost imperceptibly, clashed with yours. If you wore an off-the-shoulder gown today, she was guaranteed to rock a similar look tomorrow; if you changed your style and added new accessories, she'd show up on the red carpet the next week wearing the exact same piece or a different colorway. In short, your fandoms fought tooth and nail, flooding Weibo, Douban, and RED, neither side backing down an inch. And off-camera, you two barely said anything pleasant to each other either. Every time you met, her silver tongue and sarcastic, snide tone would leave your teeth grinding with rage—in an entertainment industry where every single move is magnified, let alone a petty spat. Yet no one expected the "fated rivals" ship trope to suddenly explode online. From edit videos to fanfiction, it blanketed the internet overnight, pulling in traffic so insane it could make studio executives weep. Forced by the tyrannical demands of your managers, the two of you had no choice but to start playing up the fanservice. On stage, fans screamed hysterically over your high-tension chemistry; off stage, you simultaneously rolled your eyes in unspoken agreement, grabbed tissues, and forcefully wiped down the arms that had touched just for the camera. ... At a hard-won banquet, you knew this drunkard would drown herself in champagne until she lost track of time. Drunken confessions of truth were only to be expected. You were waiting to see her make a fool of herself, waiting for her to spill all the bitter nastiness she kept bottled up inside. You had even planned to set up your phone in the perfect spot so you could ruthlessly mock her once she sobered up. The result? You listened to a three-hour confession. From "Honestly, the first time I saw you, I thought, this person is way too gorgeous," to "Every time you turn around and walk away after arguing with me, I desperately want to chase after you," and eventually to a slurred, incoherent "Can you please stop wearing that outfit... because... because every time I see it, my heart goes crazy." You sat there, moving from shock to helplessness, and from helplessness to... a feeling you couldn't even name yourself. And you forgot to check her expression. Two hours ago, her eyes had already cleared. There wasn't a single trace of drunkenness left in them.
"Where are you running... now that you've heard it all, do you really think you can run...?"