Transmigrated into the body of a tycoon's son's ex-boyfriend

In his past life, he acted in a movie, but a lot of it was cut when it was released because of its sensitive subject matter.

He plays a drug dealer who experiences withdrawal symptoms while on the run.

The difference was that he played the villain back then, the drug dealer himself.

This time he plays an undercover police officer, a good guy.

However, the body's reactions during drug withdrawal are similar, only the performance style is slightly different.

It felt like countless ants were crawling inside my bones, and every cell in my body was screaming for drugs.

My willpower was crushed inch by inch, but I gritted my teeth and pieced it back together piece by piece.

To prepare for the role, he volunteered at a drug rehabilitation center for a month and witnessed firsthand what it's like to experience drug withdrawal.

About twenty minutes later, Lu Yu took a deep breath, placed two pages of paper on the desk, and said to Xun Qiu, "Director Xun, I'm ready."

Xun Qiu raised an eyebrow, somewhat surprised.

I glanced at my watch; only twenty minutes had passed, and there were still ten minutes left until half an hour.

He thought the new actor would need at least half an hour, or even longer, to figure out the script.

Xun Qiu was prepared for the other party to ask for more time.

He picked up the bottled water next to him, unscrewed it, took a sip, leaned back in his chair, and said without much expectation, "Okay, go ahead and try it when you're ready."

Lu Yu stood still in the open space in the center of the room.

He closed his eyes briefly and took a deep breath.

She walked to the bedside, sat down on the floor at the foot of the bed, and hugged her knees with both hands.

His tall body was curled up in a ball, huddled in the corner of the bed.

He began to tremble slowly, an uncontrollable tremor spreading from deep within his joints.

His fingers twitched unconsciously on his knees, his shoulders shrugged up and down, and even the muscles in his eyebrows and eyes twitched strangely.

He clenched his teeth, his jaw tightened, and a layer of cold sweat visibly seeped from his forehead.

After enduring it for a while, he simply couldn't fight off the addiction in his body.

He tried to stand up, but his legs gave way and he fell back to the ground, his knees hitting the floor of the cheap hotel with a solid thud.

He could only crawl forward using his knees and elbows, his movements sluggish and desperate, until he finally reached the closed door at the other end of the room.

He knelt behind the door, pressed his entire body against the door panel, and began frantically pounding on the door.

"Is anyone there? Please, give me an injection... I beg you, please give me an injection..."

His voice was hoarse and broken, completely different from his usual tone.

Because the trembling in my body was intermittent.

He kept banging on the door, his palms throbbing with blood.

Nobody paid him any attention...

His knocking on the door became more and more urgent, and he went from patting with his palm to pounding with his fist.

Suddenly, his eyes widened as if someone had finally appeared outside the door.

He slid his hands off the door panel, stretched them out through the gap under the door, and scratched the ground with his fingers.

The discipline officer has arrived; someone can save him now...

"Give me one injection... just one... I can't take it anymore..."

He pricked up his ears, as if he could hear what the other person was saying.

His expression instantly became ingratiating.

His voice was hoarse: "I'm not afraid of being destroyed... I just want to get through this, please... give me an injection..."

His eyes were filled with pleading, his eye sockets were bloodshot, and his pupils were dilated from extreme pain.

He knelt behind the door, clasped his hands together, and kowtowed to the non-existent person outside the crack in the door.

He heard something else from the other end, and his expression gradually changed from pleading to fierce. His eyes were bloodshot, and a surge of malevolence welled up inside him.

"Why?!" His voice was filled with despair and anger.

"I'm working for you! I'm risking my life for you... I almost died there, why did you just watch me be tortured like this without saving me?!"

He began pounding on the door in front of him frantically, his knuckles red and swollen from the impact.

He didn't seem to feel any pain.

"There were clearly things there, I led you guys to collect so much... why didn't you give me an injection? Just one injection would have been enough..."

"Just one injection..."

His tone became increasingly out of control, filled with near-manic hatred.

The veins on his forehead and neck were bulging, and sweat was pouring down from his temples, soaking a large area of ​​his shirt collar.

The person's entire state felt as if they were being torn apart by both physical and mental torment.

I can't live if I want to, and I can't die if I want to.

The most intense attack has passed.

He was curled up on the ground, his body still convulsing uncontrollably, and drool was spilling from the corner of his mouth.

The frequency of the convulsions has decreased significantly compared to before.

He was breathing heavily, his eyes staring blankly ahead, unfocused.

There was nothing in his eyes.

Without sadness, resentment, or hatred.

After being completely drained of both body and spirit, nothing is left.

Only blank.

About half a minute later, his gaze slowly returned.

First, it reacted to the outside world; its eyelashes trembled, and its eyes moved extremely slowly, turning half a circle.

Consciousness slowly returned.

He recognized where he was and recalled what had just happened.

A mixture of lingering fear and relief slowly surfaced from the deepest recesses of my eyes.

What I fear most is that I almost didn't make it through, and almost failed at the last minute.

What is liberated is...

Fortunately.

Thankfully, we made it through again.

He used the last of his strength to roll over and lie on his back on the ground.

His shirt was completely soaked, and his hair was wet, sticking haphazardly to his forehead.

He closed his eyes, and the corners of his mouth curved upwards very slightly.

He just lay there, motionless.

Xun Qiu was stunned by what he saw.

He didn't look away from beginning to end, and he didn't even dare to breathe too loudly.

He squeezed the mineral water bottle in his hand until it was slightly deformed, and he didn't even notice that a few drops of water had spilled onto his pants.

Xun Qiu is a director who makes realistic films and can't stand actors using exaggerated and dramatic methods to perform these kinds of scenes.

Drug rehabilitation is not a stage play; it doesn't require screaming until your veins bulge and then suddenly collapsing and convulsing.

That's called overly performative.

Every reaction, every detail, and every rhythm of the young actor's emotional shifts perfectly captured the state a real drug addict would be in.

He stood up after a long pause, walked to Lu Yu's side, looked down at the person still lying on the ground panting, and reached out his hand.

"Get up first."

Lu Yu grabbed his hand and used it to stand up.

Xun Qiu's hands were dry and thin.

After regaining his balance, Lu Yu subconsciously patted the dust off his clothes and took out a wet wipe from his pocket to clean the sweat and drool from his face.

He regained his composure.

Xun Qiu took two steps back and looked Lu Yu over again.

The initial disappointment was gone from his eyes; instead, they gleamed like the light of a hunter spotting his prey.

He had thought he was going to waste two more hours today.

I've made the same preparations as before: first, praise their acting skills, then subtly express that it's inappropriate, and politely see them off.

She continued smoking in her room, worrying about who would play the male lead.