I spent five years as a stand-in for movie star Gu Chen. I even had the mole by my mouth dotted on to match his. The day his dream girl returned to the country, I handed him divorce papers and my medical records. “I’m dying. You can have your place back.”
He sneered. “That playing-hard-to-get routine is so cliché.”
After I disappeared, he thought I was just trying to make him chase me. Then he saw me on television, interviewed by the National Museum as a master restorer of cultural relics. On camera, the host asked about the mole by my mouth. I casually wiped it away. “Oh, this? I got it when I was young and stupid.”
Gu Chen went crazy searching for me. Meanwhile, in my livestream from the Palace Museum, I held a priceless ancient painting while a respected archaeologist sat beside me, gently reminding me to take my medicine.
Red-eyed, he called me. “You lied to me…”
I smiled. “Mr. Gu, the dead don’t lie. And you’re in the way of my restoration work.”
