Melon Eating Cannon Fodder, On Air!-Chapter 61 - Sixty-One: The Camera Never Forgot Her

Chapter 61: Chapter Sixty-One: The Camera Never Forgot Her

Everyone froze for several long seconds, the kind of stunned stillness that felt almost sacred.

Then the livestream detonated.

Comments surged across the screen at an incredible rate, a waterfall of disbelief and exhilaration.

[IS THAT LU JIAXIN I AM SEEING???]

[THE NATIONAL SWEETHEART IS BACK]

[No way. No way. NO WAY]

[She disappeared for YEARS why is she here of all places]

[This dating show won the lottery]

[THE DIRECTOR IS A GENIUS OR A MADMAN I CANNOT DECIDE]

Even the cast needed another moment to fully process what they were witnessing.

Lu Jiaxin.

The former sweetheart of the nation.

The legend who walked away at her peak.

The actress whose name was still spoken with fond nostalgia.

Standing here in their village courtyard, smiling gently under the lantern lights as though her return to the screen was the most normal thing in the world.

The director stepped forward, glowing with pride. "Everyone, please welcome Miss Lu Jiaxin."

The cameras captured every stunned expression, every breath held too long, every flicker of awe.

The atmosphere shifted instantly.

This was no longer just a dating show.

This was history being filmed.

*****

Lu Jiaxin was a household name, known for her gentle screen presence and an acting career that had quietly accompanied an entire generation’s growth.

She had started young. Considerably young.

Her first role had been as a supporting character in a family drama, playing a well-behaved daughter with bright eyes and an earnest smile. She had been barely out of her teens then, still carrying the rawness of youth, yet there was something about her that drew attention. Not loud. Not dazzling. Just sincere.

From there, her rise had been steady rather than explosive.

She became the girl next door audiences trusted, the kind of actress parents felt comfortable letting their children watch. She played students, daughters, first loves, and gentle heroines who cried beautifully without ever feeling performative. Even when she portrayed heartbreak, it was restrained, dignified, and achingly real.

By her early twenties, she had already secured her place as the nation’s sweetheart.

It was not a title pushed by marketing alone. Viewers had given it to her themselves.

Her dramas aired during dinner hours. Families gathered around the television, recognising her face the way one recognised an old friend. She was in romantic films that made people believe in quiet love. She was in commercials that sold sincerity rather than glamour.

And she delivered every time.

She never relied on shock value or controversy. She did not chase trends. Instead, she built her reputation on consistency understandability and a warmth that felt unmanufactured.

People grew up watching her.

Students remembered her as the first actress whose dramas they stayed up late to finish. Office workers recalled humming theme songs from her shows on crowded morning commutes. Even those who did not follow entertainment news knew her name.

That was how deeply she had embedded herself into public memory.

Which was why her sudden retirement had felt unreal.

At the height of her fame, she had stepped away without scandal, without warning, and without explanation. One day she was everywhere. The next, she was gone.

And now, years later, she stood before them again.

Not on a red carpet.

Not at an awards ceremony.

But on a dating show, under village lantern light, smiling softly as though she had never left at all.

The weight of her presence settled over the courtyard.

For a brief moment, everyone understood.

This was not just a guest appearance.

This was a comeback.

*****

Standing in front of the cameras again made Lu Jiaxin realise just how much she had missed this feeling.

The familiar weight of the lens.

The quiet hum of equipment.

The unspoken understanding that, for this moment, she was being seen.

It stirred something deep in her chest.

If there was anyone she owed an apology to, it was not the industry, nor the media, nor even herself.

It was her fans.

The fans who had followed her from her earliest roles, who grew up alongside her characters and celebrated every milestone of her career. The fans who defended her when rumours surfaced, who waited patiently when she disappeared from the screen, and who never turned their backs on her even when she chose marriage over stardom.

They had congratulated her sincerely when she announced her wedding. They had wished her happiness without resentment, believing that her joy mattered more than their own loss.

And when she left the industry, they had let her go with grace.

They did not demand explanations.

They did not accuse her of betrayal.

They simply waited.

Standing here now, under the lights once more, Lu Jiaxin felt the full weight of that kindness.

She had walked away to pursue what she believed was happiness, only to realise far too late that she had also walked away from something she truly loved. Acting had never been just a job. It had been her voice, her refuge, and the place where she felt most alive.

She exhaled slowly, steadying herself.

This time, she would not leave so easily.

If she could not rewrite the past, then she would at least move forward honestly. She would return not as the flawless sweetheart people remembered, but as herself, scars and all.

And if the cameras were willing to have her again, then she would stand before them properly.

Not for fame.

Not for validation.

But for the people who had believed in her, even when she had disappeared from their screens.

This time, she would not turn away.

*****

"Shaoheng-ge, it is time for us to go," Wen Shaoheng’s assistant gently reminded him.

Wen Shaoheng did not respond immediately.

His gaze remained fixed on the tablet in his hand, the livestream paused on a frame of Lu Jiaxin standing beneath the lights, her posture composed, her expression calm yet unmistakably alive. The screen could not quite capture it, but he could see it all the same. That quiet radiance. That ease in front of the camera that no amount of time could erase.

She belonged there.

She always had.

Years ago, when they were both still struggling through auditions and rejection, he had known it even then. Jiaxin did not merely act. She breathed life into the frame. The camera loved her, and more importantly, she respected it. She understood angles, timing, silence. She knew when to pull back and when to lean in. These were instincts that could not be taught.

And now, watching her again after all these years, Wen Shaoheng felt a familiar certainty settle in his chest.

Stepping away from the screen had never erased her talent. It had only buried it under years of restraint and compromise.

"She looks good," his assistant said softly, glancing at the screen.

Wen Shaoheng gave a small nod. "She always does."

But there was more than beauty there now. There was depth. Weight. The kind that came from living, from being worn down and choosing to stand back up anyway.

The livestream chat scrolled rapidly, comments pouring in faster than the eye could track.

[Is that really Jiaxin?]

[She hasn’t changed at all]

[No... she feels different. Better.]

Wen Shaoheng’s thumb hovered briefly over the screen before he turned it off.

"She is ready," he said quietly, more to himself than anyone else.

Ready to return.

Ready to reclaim what had always been hers.

He stood, slipping the tablet into his bag. "Let’s go."

As they headed toward the car, Wen Shaoheng allowed himself a rare smile.

This time, he would make sure she stayed where she belonged.

On the screen.