I Share the Same Face with a Monster - Chapter 1

Chapter 1

My name is Xu Zhiyi.

I’ve been in the industry for seven years, and I’ve stayed famous all this time on the strength of one face.

People online say I’m beautiful, but soulless.

My manager says it’s a compliment.

I don’t think so.

Because my face doesn’t belong to me.

It belongs to advertisers, cameras, trending searches, red carpets, fans, passersby, and every person who screenshots me and zooms in.

If my smile isn’t sweet enough, they say I have a cold expression.

If I get too thin, they say I look haggard.

If my face swells by even a millimeter, gossip accounts can churn out eight hundred articles about my “goddess-level looks collapsing.”

When I was eighteen, a director once pinched my chin and said, “This face was born to be looked at.”

After that day, I started hating mirrors.

Chapter 2

The night before the red carpet, my manager, Sister Lin, brought the gown to my home.

A black satin dress, with the back cut all the way down to the waist.

“Tomorrow night, you have to outshine everyone.”

She handed me her tablet.

On the screen was a teaser video from my rival, Su Man.

Su Man was in a white dress, her makeup light and delicate. The comment section was flooded with “cool, untouchable goddess.”

Sister Lin said, “If she’s going for cool and untouchable, then you go for aggressive.”

I looked at the heavily retouched photo of myself on the screen.

Aggressive.

Cool and untouchable.

Goddess.

Enchantress.

The words were like layers of labels, pasted one over another onto my face.

I asked, “Can I just not go?”

Sister Lin looked like she’d heard a joke.

“Your endorsement contract was just renewed. If you skip the red carpet, can you afford the penalty?”

I couldn’t.

So at midnight, I sat in front of the bathroom mirror and picked up an eyebrow razor.

Chapter 3

I wasn’t trying to die.

I only wanted to make a cut-not too deep, not too shallow.

To make this face a little less useful.

Just as the tip of the blade touched the corner of my eye, the light suddenly flickered.

In the mirror, there was someone standing behind me.

He was very tall, wearing a loose black shirt.

The line of his shoulders and neck was beautiful.

But his face was blank.

No eyes. No nose. No mouth.

My hand trembled.

The eyebrow razor fell into the sink.

He reached out from the mirror, his fingertips pressing down on my wrist.

Ice-cold.

“Don’t cut it.”

His voice was low and hoarse, as if muffled behind a layer of wet cloth.

“If that face is damaged, I’ll feel the pain.”

I stared at the mirror.

“What are you?”

He seemed to think for a moment.

“Something you didn’t want.”