Chapter 51: The Tale of the Supporting Character’s Reversal 2

During her livestream, Mu Yin focused on broadcasting her rehabilitation and her preparations to retake the performing arts entrance exams. A number of curious viewers tuned in, assuming it was just a gimmick, but they soon realized she was the idol singer who had collapsed at a concert two years prior and ended up in a coma. It didn’t take long for someone to dig up her new social media posts after she woke, confirming the story as real.

As word spread, her stream quickly attracted a large audience. Watching her struggle through rehabilitation and prepare to study for the exams again, everyone found her story incredibly inspiring. Whenever Mu Yin occasionally spoke to the viewers, the comment feed would explode.

Most people, however, were curious about her experience during the coma. The majority of comments ran along the same lines:

“Streamer, streamer, what did it feel like to be in a coma for two years?”

“Streamer, did you have any sensations while you were unconscious?”

“Streamer, was your soul out of your body while you were in the coma?”

Speculation ran rampant in the chat, echoing all sorts of theories circulating online about the state of consciousness during comas.

In truth, most people in vegetative states experience soul separation; some souls even move on to reincarnation, while others are trapped somewhere else. You see, in this world, since transmigration exists, the laws of reality also encompass supernatural phenomena. Originally, the world was purely scientific, but as the laws of fate were altered, that’s why Mu Yin could still access her source energy—otherwise, she really would have been stuck following the true path of a vegetative patient.

If the world had remained purely scientific, she might not have known what would happen. Still, even in a scientific world, reincarnation exists—otherwise, the balance of fate would be disrupted. In worlds where supernatural forces exist, souls may linger on earth, become ghosts, and then go through the underworld’s process of reincarnation. In a purely scientific world, the soul enters reincarnation directly after death, bypassing the underworld entirely.

This world belongs to the latter category. Thus, when the soul leaves the body, the person becomes a vegetable and is swiftly drawn into reincarnation, with no waking up again. As for those who do wake up from a vegetative state, it must be due to some other cause, not soul separation. It's not all that surprising—after all, cancer can be benign or malignant; surely vegetative states can have different roots as well.

Therefore, Mu Yin couldn’t really answer the viewers’ questions. All she could say was, “I didn’t feel much at all. It was like I just slept and woke up, and suddenly two years had passed. Honestly, when I woke up, I felt like I’d just finished my concert. But then I found out the Dreamchaser group had already disbanded.” The girl group she’d belonged to was called Dreamchaser, meant to signify “Girls Who Build Dreams.”

Someone then asked, “Do you know any way to wake people from vegetative states? That would benefit the whole world.”

Suddenly, a highlighted comment popped up, different in color from the rest. Upon checking, it turned out this person had gifted a massive amount, instantly becoming the top supporter and earning this unique badge.

“Well, I don’t have a way,” Mu Yin replied, spreading her hands with a hint of regret. “I don’t even know how I woke up myself.” She certainly couldn’t pull back those who had already reincarnated. As for other cases, she could no longer use her abilities, and unless this world included supernatural powers—which it didn’t—there was nothing she could do.

That viewer didn’t send any further messages. Perhaps someone in their family was in such a state. Mu Yin sighed; she truly could offer no solution. Regardless, her stream continued, though she mostly focused on her own activities. The broadcast ran all day, but she only responded to comments for half an hour at a time.

Fortunately, preparing for the entrance exams required diligent practice in every art—music, chess, calligraphy, and painting. Even though her body remembered nothing, the skills she’d learned were easy to reacquire with enough repetition. Once her body was able to move, she began practicing dance. Besides the modern dance styles she’d learned before, she also had to master traditional dance. Thanks to her memories and the recent nourishment from source energy, her body felt invigorated, making flexibility training much easier.

She changed the name of her stream to “Preparations for the Entrance Exam,” which helped her build quite a following ahead of her comeback. The entrance exam itself went smoothly—except for the acting portion, which nearly tripped her up, as she had little experience in that area.

Still, she passed. To be honest, if not for the mission rewards and the chance to advance her powers more quickly, she wouldn’t have been willing to complete the task at all. She still didn’t know the state of her own world—whether anyone else had entered it. Probably not, since she wasn’t there herself.

After the arts exam, she took the national college entrance exam. To her surprise, she scored decently well. Though she couldn’t get into the National University (analogous to Tsinghua), she could still make it into one of the top-tier universities. Now, she was admitted to the Film Academy—even the best one—where the cultural scores weren’t especially high; with her exam results, getting in was no trouble at all.

Naturally, the news of her being accepted into the Film Academy was sensationalized by gossip media. After all, she had once gotten in before, and now she’d done it again after waking from a two-year coma—this time with even higher academic scores.

Originally, as a washed-up idol group member, she wouldn’t have attracted much attention. But after streaming for several months, she was back in the public eye, and her open intention to enroll in the Film Academy brought renewed interest.

Even her former management company expressed a desire to sign her again. After her accident, they had paid a sum to terminate her contract. Now, seeing her poised for another rise, they came knocking once more.

Mu Yin, of course, refused. The original company’s conditions had been poor; when their group debuted, they were ruthlessly exploited. The original Mu Yin collapsed from exhaustion, and after her accident, the company was quick to sever all ties, offering little in compensation.

Realizing she knew little about the entertainment industry, she carefully sifted through offers from various companies, eventually signing with one known for its good reputation and decent treatment—at the very least, somewhere that didn’t engage in shady practices.

She scrutinized the contract repeatedly, even had a lawyer review it to confirm its safety before signing. Afterwards, the company assigned her a manager—a poised and intellectual woman named Lan Lu, thirty-three years old.

“Sister Lan, I’ll be relying on your guidance from now on,” Mu Yin greeted her.

“Of course,” Lan Lu replied, adjusting her glasses and nodding. “May I call you Mumu?”

“Of course,” Mu Yin agreed. The original’s name was Zhang Muran; her family and fans always called her Mumu or Ranan.