Her concept of beauty

As the personal photo editor for Dean, a current superstar, I posted a comparison of his raw photos and edited versions on an online marketplace to attract clients. I never expected the man himself to find out.

When Dean called, I was hard at work using Photoshop.

His voice, usually a bit whiny, was now shaking with frustration. "Gillian, what is this?"

He sent me a link to the online marketplace.

"Celebrity photo editing, aesthetic guaranteed, fair pricing for everyone, $10 per photo."

The accompanying image was a close-up from an art gallery event three days ago.

In the raw photo, his skin looked dull, his eyes half-closed, his chin oddly crooked, and a small patch of acne on his cheek.

But with my meticulous editing, all imperfections vanished, leaving the most authentic skin texture intact.

My mind raced between denial and apology for three seconds before I decided to play dumb.

"What's this, boss?" I asked him. "Boss, what are you doing on an online marketplace?

Are you selling your clothes too?"

"Don't be ridiculous!

I stumbled upon it while looking for a coach for a popular online game—"

Dean's voice abruptly stopped, and I chuckled before quickly apologizing, "Sorry, boss, I didn't mean to laugh at you."

"..."

On the other end, Dean took a deep breath, which was quite audible.

Then he grumpily asked, "Why do you charge others $10 per photo but charge me $1000?"

Well, that's because you're wealthy but naive, of course.

But I couldn't say that.

"Boss, they're just ordinary people, and I only edit regular selfies for them.

But for a superstar like you, if I charged so little, it wouldn't do justice to your stunning looks."

Dean seemed convinced by my flattery.

He hummed contentedly and then hung up.

I finished color-correcting the last photo, packaged it, and sent it to another client. Just as I was about to message them to confirm receipt, Dean messaged me again on Whatsapp: "Gillian, you tricked me!!"

This naive kid finally realized it.

---

Dean is a big star.

A popular actor known for playing charismatic CEOs.

In idol dramas, his characters are bloodthirsty, ruthless, and domineering, making countless girls swoon.

In reality...

He seems a bit clueless.

I'm a photo editor, an amateur one.

Initially, I just posted photos on Twitter. Then one day, someone messaged me, claiming to be Dean's manager, wanting to hire me for photo editing.

I thought it was a scam until she added me on Whatsapp, sent a photo package, and transferred a thousand dollars as a deposit. That's when I realized she was serious.

Later, during an official event, Dean needed to select photos, and his assistant added me to a group chat.

That's how I got Dean's Whatsapp.

At that time, my roommates were obsessed with his new drama, infatuated with the decisive emperor he played. Our dorm walls were plastered with his posters.

Meanwhile, I sipped iced watermelon juice, scrolling through Dean's Facebook filled with scores from a popular online game and a farming simulation game, concluding that the charismatic CEO on screen was just a soulless gaming noob in real life.

I even played a couple of ranked games with Dean.

His character, Hou Yi, started with a 0-3 score, hiding behind my Sun Bin, whimpering, "Gillian, protect me."

"Save me, save me, save me!

—I'm dead, whimper."

His whimper shocked me so much that I couldn't watch his idol dramas anymore.

Whenever he spoke, I just wanted to laugh.

To be fair, Dean isn't bad-looking.

He has a face perfect for playing a charismatic CEO, with a high nose bridge, slightly long eyes, thick eyelashes, and a beautifully defined jawline.

But I know well that factors like condition, angle, lighting, and even the photographer's skill can directly affect a photo's quality.

Moreover, my seamless editing skills were honed because I have a face that can't be seen without Photoshop.

Above my left eye, there's a deep black birthmark the size of a fingernail, and my features are quite plain, making the mark even more prominent.

Because of it, I was isolated from elementary to high school, subjected to countless pranks and school bullying.

It wasn't until college, after learning Photoshop, that I could remove it from photos and make myself look better.

The illusion created by online beautification gave me a space to breathe.

But fake is always fake.

Six months ago, I used carefully edited photos to date a guy online.

For a whole month, we stayed up late chatting, discussing everything from poetry to philosophy.

I almost believed he was my true love, my soulmate.

But when we met for the first time, he politely declined me after buying me a cup of milk tea.

Once again, I realized that this world is all about appearances.

Since then, apart from attending classes, I rarely left my dorm.

I took on editing jobs like crazy, becoming a soulless photo-editing machine.

But I never expected that because of the online marketplace incident, Dean would want to meet me.

The next day, after my morning class, I habitually lowered my cap and was about to return to my dorm when my phone rang.

Answering it, I heard Dean's voice: "Gillian, I'm at the gate of N University."

"What?"

I was shocked. "How do you know which school I attend?"

"Two years ago, you tweeted about the delicious spicy noodles at the seventh cafeteria, a popular local dish.

I checked, and only N University in the city has a seventh cafeteria, and its spicy noodles are famous."

Dean sounded proud, as if very impressed with his deduction skills.

I just wanted to smack him with my "Analog Electronic Circuits" textbook.

"If you don't come out to meet me, I'll post about you scamming me on a public message board at your school."

He even threatened me.

"And I'll tweet a nationwide search for you."

I... I gave in.

Dean has twenty million followers on Twitter.

If he really tweeted about me, my roommates, who are head over heels for him, would personally see me off from this beautiful world.

"Where are you?

I'll come find you."

Dean said he was at our school's east gate. With a nervous heart, I walked to the gate, finding everything normal, not crowded as if a celebrity were around.

Standing by the roadside, I took out my phone, about to message Dean.

Suddenly, a car door opened behind me, and a hand grabbed my collar, pulling me into the car before I could react.

"Help—"

I screamed, turning around, only to be silenced by a handsome face.

Such clear and bright eyes, such fair skin, such beautiful light pink lips, such an exquisite jawline and collarbone.

In an instant, real and dazzling beauty appeared before me.

I was speechless.

And those moist eyes were now fixed on my face, a flash of shock followed by a mix of surprise and realization.

...

I wasn't surprised.

Everyone who sees my real appearance reacts this way.

"...Dean?"

I finally regained my composure and tentatively asked.

The man in front of me nodded, then seemed to remember something, putting on a pouty face: "Gillian, I finally found you!

You posted such an ugly raw photo of me on an online marketplace, do you know you're damaging my reputation?"

I tried to play dumb. "What reputation?"

"That's a bad photo!

They'll use it to make fun of me!"

I worried for Dean's naivety and immediately took out my phone, opening Douban, showing him the forum thread compiling thousands of his bad photos.

Dean scrolled through it, and when he looked up again, his eyes were red.

His handsome and delicate face, now with such an expression, was truly endearing.

Poor thing.

"Don't cry, don't cry."

I quickly comforted him, "Many of those are deliberately edited to look bad. You're really good-looking in person, I swear on my professional ethics."

Dean looked at me with red eyes. "You posted my raw photo on an online marketplace, do you still have professional ethics?"

"Don't be so unappreciative when I'm just trying to help you out."

Dean sniffed and suddenly turned to the driver, "Let's go."

I felt a surge of caution, "Where are you taking me?"

He tried to look sinister, like a fierce lion ready to pounce, "To a hotel."

Dean's car pulled up at a nearby five-star hotel.

"Get out."

I clung to the car door, "What are you planning?

I'm not getting out!"

Before I could finish, Dean pulled out a pair of sunglasses from his bag and placed them on my nose.

I paused, silently withdrawing my hand.

Dean seemed like a harmless fool, but he was surprisingly sharp.

Given his previous timid behavior in the canyon, I wasn't worried he'd do anything to me.

Besides, I had this face.

I was just afraid of the looks of surprise or disgust when people saw my face.

With the sunglasses on, I followed Dean upstairs and was led into a lavish suite for a script meeting.

That's when I learned Dean was about to start filming a new drama, with some scenes to be shot at our school.

Just like that, I was introduced to Dean's director, screenwriter, and investors. He introduced me as someone from his studio.

Later, when I went out to get water, I overheard people mocking Dean in the stairwell at the end of the hallway:

"He's an A-list celebrity, yet his studio is full of amateurs. Dean really doesn't care about his future."

Another seemed to know some inside story, "If it weren't for that incident, he'd probably still be signed with Creative Nexus Studios and wouldn't be stuck in idol dramas..."

I quickly ran back before they noticed me, pondering what Dean might have done.

Before I could figure it out, Dean caught me staring at him, "Gillian, why are you staring at me?"

I blurted out, "Just thinking about how to edit the next photo."

"You don't need to edit it."

Dean looked at me and suddenly pushed a piece of paper towards me, "You posted my unedited photo on an online marketplace. I'm upset, and you need to compensate me."

It was a contract.

It stated that during the filming of Dean's new drama, I needed to stay on set as his personal assistant.

Although I felt guilty, I tried to resist, "I have classes!"

He glared at me, "Come when you don't have classes."

"I also need to take on jobs to earn money!"

"I'll pay you, 200 per hour."

I immediately shook his hand, "Alright, boss. No problem, boss. When do we start, boss?"

Dean's car dropped me off at the school gate. When I returned to the dorm, my roommates asked, "Gillian, where have you been? You're back so late."

"I went for an interview."

I handed out signed photos from Dean, "I'm going to be Dean's temporary assistant."

The dorm was silent for five seconds before three of them screamed in unison.

Stephanie grabbed my clothes excitedly, "When did this happen?

How did you get the job?

Where is he filming?"

"At our school. They'll be shooting near the pine forest and Classroom in a couple of days."

I thought for a moment and added, "Maybe it's because he's a star, and I have a non-threatening appearance, so he hired me?"

"Did he say that?"

Stephanie was stunned, then suddenly angry, "Dean, I misjudged you!"

She threw Dean's signed photo into the trash.

I silently mourned for the innocent Dean for three seconds and explained, "No, that's just my guess."

Stephanie quietly retrieved Dean's photo from the trash.

On the day of the shoot, I had no classes, and Stephanie insisted on escorting me.

When they saw Dean, they forgot all about me.

Dean signed autographs and took photos with them, sending off my satisfied roommates.

When he returned, he immediately dropped his smile, "Pretending to be a tough CEO all the time is tiring."

I teased him, "You could cry to them and ask them to protect you."

Dean's eyes reddened instantly, "Do you really think I'm that kind of person?"

What on earth?

I've never seen a guy who cries more than Dean.

During filming, there was a scene where Dean's character had to save the heroine in the woods and look cool.

Dean knocked out the villain with a blank expression, then smoothly pulled the actress into his arms and kissed her.

"Cut!"

The director nodded in satisfaction, "Take a break."

Dean's expression immediately switched from cold to pitiful.

He ran over to me, whining, "Gillian, my hand."

I realized he'd scraped his hand on a tree while showing off.

I turned to get a band-aid, but Dean shook his head, tears in his eyes, "I can't use it. It'll show on camera."

"What should we do then?"

"Could you blow on it to make it feel better?"

Dean placed his finger in my palm, the wound still bleeding. I gently blew on it while disinfecting it with iodine.

When I looked up, he was biting his lip, his long lashes wet, tears almost falling.

"Does it hurt?"

He nodded slightly.

Dean had a youthful build, with slightly narrow shoulders, a slender waist, and long, straight legs that gave him a delicate, fragile look.

But I was unmoved, "Tough it out."

He looked at me, on the verge of tears.

Fine.

I relented, patting his head, "If you don't disinfect it, it'll get infected. Be good and bear with it."

Remarkably, Dean's tears vanished instantly.

I spent half a day as Dean's assistant, and he cried three times in front of me.

By the end, I was numb. Watching him switch to a domineering CEO on camera, I had only one thought:

If anyone on Twitter says Dean can't act, I'll be the first to disagree.

After wrapping up for the night, Dean offered to drive me back to the dorm. I was startled and refused, "No, no, I don't want to be chased by your fans."

Before I finished, Dean pulled out a mask and hat, covering himself completely.

With a hint of childish pride, he said from under the mask, "See, now they won't recognize me."