Lin Yuyan returned to work like a woman possessed.
She buried herself in scripts, training sessions, choreography, interviews. Anything that could drown out the noise of men who said they loved her but only ever seemed to leave scars behind.
Director Shen Rouyan welcomed her back without a word of sympathy—only silent approval at her renewed focus. The set of Blood Eclipse became Yuyan's sanctuary. She'd show up early, leave last. Stay in character even between takes. Her performance was raw, magnetic, laced with the kind of heartbreak that couldn't be faked.
"She's on fire lately," one assistant whispered to another.
"No distractions," the scriptwriter replied. "It's like she's finally free."
But freedom, Yuyan knew, came at a price.
She didn't return Luchen's calls. Didn't respond to the flowers he sent each morning with a different message:
Let me explain.
I miss you.
Come home.
Each bouquet ended up in a crew member's hands. Yuyan didn't even look at the cards.
When Lemin sent a food truck to the set—offering organic drinks and sushi rolls branded with her name—she nodded politely, then walked away before he could approach.
But Lemin wasn't easily deterred.
"You haven't changed," he said one day as she exited the studio, cutting her off in the parking lot. "Still icy when you're hurt."
She didn't stop walking.
"Yuyan. Please."
She turned, sunglasses low on her nose. "I'm busy."
"You can't avoid me forever."
"I can try."
He sighed, placing a hand on his chest in mock pain. "Harsh. But I deserved that."
She said nothing.
"I just… I wanted you to know I'm serious now. I came back for you. Not the family. Not the board. You."
"That's funny," she said coolly. "Because it feels like you came back to rewrite history."
He tilted his head. "I'm not trying to erase anything. I just want to start over. We were good together once."
"Until you disappeared."
"I had no choice—"
"No," she cut in. "You made one."
For a flicker of a second, the smile cracked.
Then he recovered. "Okay. Then let me make another one now. Let me choose you again. Let me prove I'm different."
Her voice dropped, flat and final. "You all keep saying the same thing. But none of you stop to ask what I want."
He stared at her, genuinely thrown off.
And that was the moment Lin Yuyan realized something: both brothers had fallen in love with versions of her they'd built in their heads.
The real woman—the one standing before them, bruised and furious and healing—was someone neither of them had yet taken the time to see.
Days turned into weeks.
Yuyan's performance gained industry buzz. Critics were calling her a revelation. Fans dubbed her the Ice Phoenix online—reborn from scandal, rising with fire in her eyes.
Luchen stayed away. For now.
Lemin, however, kept showing up. Small gestures. Coffee in her preferred blend. Articles slid across her desk about future brand partnerships. Even a script he'd personally financed, with a powerful female lead and a studio deal attached.
"I want to support you," he said one evening after dropping it off. "No conditions."
Yuyan flipped through the pages. The character was sharp. Angry. Wounded.
Much like her.
But she closed the script and handed it back. "You can't buy my trust with ink and promises."
Lemin nodded slowly. "Then tell me what I can do."
"Disappear," she said simply. "Until I ask otherwise."
That stunned him into silence.
And for once, he obeyed.
One night, alone in her apartment, Yuyan finally exhaled.
The silence was thick—but this time, it didn't feel empty. It felt earned.
She poured herself a glass of wine, pulled out her laptop, and returned to her personal project: a film she wanted to write herself. A story of a woman who had loved too deeply, trusted too easily, and finally learned how to choose herself.
Not a revenge tale.
Not a romance.
A rebirth.