Quick Transmigration: Yandere Male Leads? Hand 'Em Over! - Chapter 46

Shang He was wrapped up like a burrito, his cheeks burning red. Just as he was about to tell Jie to leave the medicine on the bedside table, his lips bumped into the rim of a warm cup.

Su Ci sat on the edge of the bed, her eyes gentle and fixed on him.

“Drink it. You had a high fever last night, and your clothes were soaked. I threw them into the washing machine.”

It took Shang He’s sluggish brain a few seconds to process that… Jie had changed him out of those dirty clothes with her own hands?

His ears flushed an even deeper red.

He was burning up more now than when he was actually sick.

He’d been rushing between schedules lately and had been neglecting his workouts. What if his body had gone out of shape?

Meeting her calm and composed gaze, Shang He felt like the sky was falling.

Of course—his unimpressive body wasn’t even remotely attractive to her. Jie wouldn’t feel shy or flustered around him at all.

So sad.

So, so sad…

“Why the frown? Are you feeling unwell? Do you want to go back to the hospital?”

Shang He pouted, trying to act cute.

“The medicine is too bitter… I can’t swallow it…”

“Hm?”

Though Su Ci didn’t get sick often, she remembered most flu meds being sweetened now. Or maybe Shang He was just unusually sensitive to the taste?

She dug a milk candy out of her pocket, unwrapped it, and brought it to his lips.

Most managers would have their artists on strict diets, counting every calorie. Everyone knew the camera added ten pounds.

But Su Ci never made Shang He suffer like that. He was perfect the way he was—fit, healthy, full of strength. Not like some flimsy idol who’d collapse in a gust of wind.

After discovering his love for sweets, she always carried candies and dried fruit with her.

Shang He’s pale irises gleamed. He stuck out his tongue to take the candy—but moved a little too much and… seemed to lick her finger in the process.

Sweet.

Sweeter than candy.

His eyes lowered as he stared at her now-damp, pale-pink fingertip. His long lashes trembled, and a storm of dark emotion threatened to spill out of his eyes.

—

When Shang He first went viral for his variety show performances and original songs, his fans hadn’t realized how serious the situation would get.

With fame came haters—and endless waves of malicious comments, like:

“Looking that good? Who’d believe that’s not plastic surgery? Unless your goddess-fan-club-leader shows up to vouch for you with an even prettier face!”

“Original songs? Sounds interesting… but how do we know you’re not just a plagiarist? Unless that fan-club leader of yours confirms she wrote the lyrics.”

“Not gonna lie, we did rig the votes for Shang He. But we did it willingly—just a way to get closer to that fan-club goddess!”

Bystanders who’d never seen fans drag their own idol were stunned. What kind of fresh meat star took the dark-route-to-fame from the start?

Curious, people clicked into his profile. Violin, cello, saxophone, guitar, piano… a multi-instrumentalist. Grade 10 piano. First place in the Chopin International Piano Competition at age 17…

The only reason he hadn’t won earlier was because the competition was held once every five years—he might’ve broken the youngest-winner record otherwise.

After hesitating for a second, the viewer quietly hit the “Follow” button.

Oh… he’s actually a big shot taking a detour through the entertainment world. My bad.

Their very next video recommendation was a clip from a music show. In it, the stunning goddess-like woman smiled and said to an unknown singer:

“Shang He, do your best. I’ll always love you—and your music.”

That moment, ten thousand cows stampeded through the viewer’s mind.

No joke—going from casual fan to obsessive anti could happen in just one second. Why did this nobody singer get to have her love?

Why?!

Viewers started recommending the “goddess” to their friends, families, anyone they could. Then immediately joined the “Crush Shang He” army.

As long as he handed over that treasure of a woman, they’d still support him like the fragile little idol he was.

But to this kind of deranged, borderline-sasaeng behavior—

Shang He didn’t spare even a glance.

The moment those comments appeared, he’d already been crouched by his phone, ready to unleash his blacklist-ban-delete combo.

Jie was his alone. No one else could steal her.

With acting jobs, variety shows, and songwriting on his plate, he even paid Tangtang to help him delete the comments and increase efficiency.

Tangtang, ever loyal, refused to take a cent. She zealously scrubbed the comment section until it was cleaner than a new plate—barely a word left standing.

She was, after all, the goddess’s personal assistant. No way was she letting any shady creeps compete with her for that spot!

Every time this happened, Tangtang couldn’t help but thank Song Weijiao. If that woman hadn’t fired her when she did, she’d never have landed such a sweet gig.

—

Meanwhile, without her assistant, Song Weijiao was overwhelmed. She couldn’t secure any decent resources at the company, so she had to personally take Yan Zhiyan and Qu Tongzhou around for auditions.

Yan Zhiyan was doing alright. Her vocals were solid, and she advanced to the semifinals in several music competitions. The only drawback was her lack of original compositions.

Still, for a rookie, that was impressive. She’d gathered over 100,000 fans. But Song Weijiao wasn’t satisfied.

In her past life, Yan Zhiyan had been the breakout dark horse of the music scene. She was supposed to explode in popularity.

But now? Every time someone mentioned music variety shows, Shang He dominated the trending searches. No matter which short-video app you opened, Shang He’s self-written songs were everywhere as background music.

And his follower count? Just a few months in, he’d already broken ten million?

“That’s enough! Yan Zhiyan, go home and reflect. Hire a teacher, learn how to compose and write lyrics. I don’t want to see you flunking another round!”

“…Huh?” Yan Zhiyan blinked.

Was she… being benched?

She hadn’t even made much money yet—how was she supposed to afford a music teacher?

And even if she crammed and managed to learn a little, did they really expect her to compete on the same level as Shang He, a top music academy graduate with international awards?

She knew her limits. And she had pride.

Faced with her questioning stare, Song Weijiao’s embarrassment turned into fury. She slammed the table and snapped:

“You think I can’t arrange that? Just go home and wait for updates!”

What she hated most was being compared—especially when someone pointed out her own lack of capability.

Blinded by her competitiveness, Song Weijiao had forgotten just how many of Shang He’s compositions she’d borrowed in her past life to help push Yan Zhiyan to fame.

As for Qu Tongzhou, he only made her more furious.

No acting talent. Average looks. He’d failed every audition they attended.

This was the same guy who won three major film awards in his past life? Seriously?

In truth, not all the blame lay with Qu Tongzhou. If he’d gone on his own to try out for a small supporting role, he might’ve made it.

But Song Weijiao had always aimed too high. She wanted him to land lead roles from the start, and she spoke with such arrogance during meetings that she rubbed every director the wrong way.

Who the hell are you? they thought. You’re acting like this set belongs to your family. If we cast a dog in this role, at least it’d wag its tail in gratitude.

Just as Song Weijiao and Qu Tongzhou stormed out of yet another rejection, Shang He arrived in a hurry.

He wasn’t picky about scripts. As long as there were no romance scenes—even villains were fine.

As long as there was a paycheck, he’d take it. He had to save money… for his wife’s future.

One arrogant and haughty, the other modest and practical—compared side by side, the director didn’t even hesitate.

With a wave of the hand—

“Main role goes to him!”