Failed to Transmigrate, I’m Back Again - Chapter 3

Many people believed Tang Wuyun’s mental state was deeply concerning.

Fueled by a reckless sense of impunity, Tang Wuyun logged into her work account and unleashed a scathing tirade against the company, from top to bottom, making no attempt to restrain her “madness” in the eyes of others.

Damn it, I’ve wanted to do this for ages!

The sheer exhilaration of cursing out capitalists without restraint was intoxicating.

In Tang Wuyun’s subconscious, she didn’t believe that simply yielding her body and ceasing resistance would necessarily end the time loop.

In her mind, since everything was going to reset anyway, what harm could a little madness do?

Thus, a significant portion of her current frenzy stemmed from the conviction that the loop would continue. Indulging in madness to observe different outcomes seemed like a worthwhile experiment.

Tang Wuyun occasionally drifted into a daze, unable to fully grasp her own motivations.

If time were to rewind to before her outburst, she would have been steadfastly determined to end the loop and escape the torment. But now…

Staring at the retirement announcement she had just posted, Tang Wuyun secretly pondered whether she should reset again. Perhaps she could go mad in a different way this time.

Yes, she felt a pang of regret.

Even knowing her time was limited and that she would be replaced, Tang Wuyun couldn’t help but feel a pang of sadness when faced with the prospect of leaving the entertainment industry.

But the feeling was fleeting. Tang Wuyun quickly rationalized it.

There were only two possible outcomes:

First, she could rewind time and start over, with no one ever knowing about her madness.

Second, she could successfully be replaced, letting someone else suffer the consequences.

Perhaps she could take her actions even further.

What if she had herself committed to a mental asylum, labeled as mentally unstable by others? Or maybe committing a crime and serving time in jail would be even better?

Tang Wuyun began to consider the feasibility of these options.

She didn’t believe her actions were immoral. If others were trying to replace her and take her life, why should she show them any mercy?

Before she could reach a conclusion, she discovered that all her previous Weibo posts had been deleted.

After two years of neglect, Tang Wuyun had almost forgotten that her agency could also access her Weibo account. The company had registered and managed her account during her time as an idol.

Tang Wuyun was furious.

Without hesitation, she immediately drafted a new Weibo post:

Tang Wuyun V: Petty people are at work, deleting my Weibo posts!

As expected, someone was monitoring her actions. The post was deleted within minutes.

Tang Wuyun, stubborn as ever, simply reposted it.

After a brief tug-of-war, a notification popped up on her phone: “You have been logged out.”

She couldn’t log back in.

To regain control of her Weibo account, she would have to wait until her contract with the company expired.

The back-and-forth deleting and reposting had already caught the attention of many netizens following the drama. Sharp-eyed fans noticed Tang Wuyun’s account IP address jumping around repeatedly.

Many netizens began to suspect that Tang Wuyun’s sudden outburst was due to her account being hacked, assuming the latest IP address belonged to her.

A beautiful misunderstanding.

Tang Wuyun desperately wanted to shout, “No! The one going crazy was me!”

However, those who had been blocked and deleted by Tang Wuyun knew better. They recognized her behavior for what it was: pure, unadulterated madness.

The drama-hungry netizens waited all night, but no official announcement of Tang Wuyun’s account being hacked ever came. Nor did Tang Wuyun or her company issue any response.

Wild theories began to circulate, with some even resorting to conspiracy theories, speculating that Tang Wuyun might be under some kind of threat.

Tang Wuyun: ……

Fine, I’m angry. I won’t respond. Let them guess.

Well, truth be told, she couldn’t log into her account anyway, so explaining herself was impossible.

The entertainment company, heavily suspected by netizens and Tang Wuyun’s fans of “threatening” her, was also puzzled. Had Tang Wuyun offended someone?

With Tang Wuyun unreachable, no one knew what she was thinking. The company couldn’t directly address whether she truly intended to retire.

If Tang Wuyun later emerged and publicly contradicted the company, they’d be unable to defend themselves. The only course of action was to stop this farce from escalating.

Moreover, Tang Wuyun’s fans were quite intimidating. Several major fan accounts had already contacted the company demanding answers. If they’d known this would happen, they would have terminated Tang Wuyun’s contract sooner.

Tang Wuyun’s manager—or rather, former manager—Liu Shu was even more bewildered.

Everyone was asking her about Tang Wuyun’s situation, but who could tell her? Who could come and tell her? She wanted to know too!

Not only had Tang Wuyun cursed her out and blocked her, but now her boss was berating her as well.

The company owner was clearly out of his mind. Two years ago, he had forced her to stop managing Tang Wuyun. Now that trouble had erupted, he suddenly remembered she was her manager.

He even ordered her to find Tang Wuyun during a typhoon! Did her life mean nothing to him?

The company deserved to die, the boss deserved to die, and whoever drove Tang Wuyun to madness deserved to die even more!

Liu Shu sometimes really wanted to call the police.

Shi Shuwu was also being bombarded with messages.

As the only significant character mentioned in Tang Wuyun’s trending Weibo posts, Shi Shuwu couldn’t escape the conspiracy theories.

Most netizens believed Tang Wuyun had likely gone mad on Weibo due to a one-sided heartbreak, mocking her for her poor emotional resilience.

Tan Qingyu shared this view. She couldn’t think of any other reason for Tang Wuyun’s sudden outburst.

Knowing her artist’s unpredictable temperament and fearing another meltdown, Tan Qingyu rushed to the hotel early that morning to personally keep an eye on Shi Shuwu, preventing her from doing anything rash.

Shi Shuwu hadn’t gone anywhere the previous day, instead checking into a hotel near the airport.

Tan Qingyu asked curiously, “Did you really never reject her?”

Shi Shuwu, who hadn’t slept all night, was now slumped on the sofa, looking utterly dejected.

“I’ve told you, she never confessed in the first place.”

She had spent the entire night racking her brain, trying to recall any moment when she might have given Tang Wuyun the wrong impression.

Tan Qingyu shrugged. Seeing Shi Shuwu’s genuine distress, she decided to offer some comfort. “Don’t rush to find her. Let’s wait for her agency’s official response first.”

“It’s possible her account was hacked,” Tan Qingyu suggested.

If she hadn’t known Tang Wuyun was simultaneously going berserk on all her other social media accounts, she would have suspected a hack based on the Weibo situation alone.

Tan Qingyu paused, then added, “Maybe someone found her phone.”

Shi Shuwu blinked, then quickly realized, “Then let’s just hope she’s simply having a meltdown.”

The thought of a major celebrity’s phone being found and unlocked by someone else was terrifying. Just mentioning it would scare half the industry to death.

Given Tang Wuyun’s habit of gossiping with Shi Shuwu, countless secrets would be leaked, collapsing at least half of the Chinese entertainment industry’s foundations.

Tan Qingyu, clearly aware of the horror of her own idea, quickly spat several times for good luck.

Noticing Shi Shuwu’s continued gloomy expression, Tan Qingyu suddenly asked a question similar to Luo Zhuo’s: “You don’t even like her, do you?”

Shi Shuwu considered for a moment, then replied bluntly, “No, I don’t.”

Tan Qingyu suppressed her frustration for a moment, then burst out, “Then why are you so worked up?!”

Yesterday at the airport, Shi Shuwu had even skipped going home, insisting on finding Tang Wuyun.

“Anyone who didn’t know better would think your girlfriend was running off with someone else.”

Shi Shuwu, having been lectured, was in a complicated mood. She couldn’t quite understand her own feelings.

But she still hadn’t given up on finding Tang Wuyun.

She needed to explain herself.

Unlike Shi Shuwu’s proactive approach, Liu Shu, forced to look for Tang Wuyun, was grumbling and cursing as she prepared to leave.

Fortunately, Tang Wuyun’s work account hadn’t been deactivated yet. Just as Liu Shu was about to head out, Tang Wuyun re-added her.

Seeing how things were developing online, Tang Wuyun could guess with her toes that the company’s usual tactics would involve sending someone to her door.

Liu Shu accepted the request instantly, and Tang Wuyun immediately took the offensive.

Tang Wuyun: Give me back my Weibo account.

Liu Shu: !!!

Liu Shu: Are you really Tang Wuyun?

Tang Wuyun received a call from the other end to verify her identity.

Half an hour later, Tang Wuyun successfully reclaimed her Weibo account.

The first thing she did was post a joint announcement with the company about the expiration of her contract.

Both parties were satisfied.

After a night had passed, Tang Wuyun temporarily changed her plans. She decided it would be safer to just lock herself away somewhere.

Just as she was about to edit her Weibo post announcing her retirement to address yesterday’s events, her vision suddenly went black, and a searing pain tore through her brain. The familiar sensation made her heart sink. Her phone slipped from her hand, and she lost consciousness.

Tang Wuyun was bewildered. How could this be…? Why did it happen so early this time…?

Could it be that she’s worried I’ll actually send myself to a mental hospital, so she’s transmigrating ahead of schedule?

This time was different. Tang Wuyun didn’t enter the blinding white space, nor did she see her script.

She “woke up.”

When her consciousness returned, Tang Wuyun found herself completely helpless. She could only watch as someone else controlled her body, making it perform various actions.

Tang Wuyun couldn’t quite grasp her current state. It was… peculiar.

She didn’t understand why she hadn’t reverted to an earlier timeline or why she hadn’t died.

Could it be that the heavens, seeing how far I’ve gone, want to torment me like this? Make me watch helplessly as someone else uses my body to do things I hate?

This was indeed tormenting her. Tang Wuyun, whose body had been hijacked ahead of schedule, was deeply unhappy.

Her periods of consciousness were brief, but she didn’t miss the actions the other entity had taken during the time they’d replaced her.

Her account hadn’t even been deactivated for a week before it was easily recovered. She had no idea how the System managed to retrieve her phone number as well.

Tang Wuyun: “Damn it! This is cheating!”

She also saw that the System had posted a new response on her Weibo account:

Tang Wuyun V: Apologies, the previous Weibo post wasn’t written by me.

Tang Wuyun nearly had a heart attack. That’s the truth! It wasn’t you who wrote it—it was me!

The internet was divided on whether to believe the statement.

The friends Tang Wuyun had blocked and deleted were even less easily fooled.

Throughout this period, many people questioned “Tang Wuyun” about what was going on, but the real Tang Wuyun, whose consciousness only surfaced intermittently, never saw the System offer any response.

It was as if the System was simply… ignoring them?

What kind of strategy was this?

Wasn’t it afraid of further antagonizing people?

Tang Wuyun, who had been hoping to watch the drama unfold, only saw the System throwing itself wholeheartedly into its career, capitalizing on the recent controversy by signing onto a variety show.

When Tang Wuyun saw the show’s title, she was stunned: ?

It was a large-scale variety show featuring over a dozen celebrities, including several artists she had blocked and offended that day.

Playing it this risky? Is this person suicidal?!

However, the show’s cast did include a character she needed to romance.

Tang Wuyun, now a detached observer, settled in to watch the spectacle unfold.

Heh, I’ve never seen anyone so stubbornly reckless.