The Multitasking Queen: From “Useless” Starlet to Village Hero

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In the cutthroat world of entertainment, some are born to shine, while others are scripted to fail. To boost their rising star, Linh Á, the management company decided to package the two of us together for a social reality show. They created a forced contrast: Linh Á was to be the “Little Sun”—charming, high EQ, and effortlessly beautiful—while I, Phuong Chi Ha, was cast as the “bumbling disaster.” My role was simple: take on every task with fake enthusiasm, fail miserably, and make Linh Á look like a goddess in comparison.

The day of filming arrived. As we stepped out of the car, the livestream comments exploded. Linh Á was a “visual explosion,” the “Number One Sweetheart of CIS.” When the camera panned to me, the chat went silent. It made sense; I was a nobody, an 18th-tier actress who had spent three years as a background extra.

Linh Á, playing her role perfectly, turned to the camera with a “kind” smile. “Everyone, please be gentle with Chi Ha. She’s from my company. She’s shy and has social anxiety; she’s only here to challenge herself. She even prepared a special performance for you all!”

I froze. A performance? This wasn’t in the script. She wanted me to humiliate myself on live TV. But Linh Á didn’t know one thing: while I might be a struggling actress, I am a natural-born comedian with humor stitched into my DNA.

“Who wants to see her?” the comments sneered. “Just another girl desperate for screen time.”

I took a deep breath. This was the moment of peak viewership. I stepped forward and launched into a lightning-fast stand-up comedy routine. “Once a year we gather! I’m Phuong Chi Ha—remember the name! Step one: build the nation. Step two: study hard. Walking the flower path while boosting my fame. Rising every day, working harder than the idols. Can I get a round of applause?”

The chat went dead for exactly one second before erupting. “Shy? If that’s shy, I’m a monk! This girl has been practicing for years!” “You’ve caught my interest, mystery girl!”

In a corner hidden from the cameras, Linh Á hissed at me, her face contorted. “Weren’t you supposed to be a ‘useless’ burden?” I tilted my head innocently. “Useless? Who? Me?” She stomped her foot, her face flushed red. “Just you wait!” I smiled sweetly. “Okay. I’m waiting.

The next stage was the division of labor. Linh Á immediately volunteered to be the “Human Alarm Clock,” waking everyone up to maintain her “Little Sun” persona. Then, she “helpfully” suggested a role for me.

“Since Chi Ha is so meticulous, she should handle the finances,” Linh Á said. It was a trap. In these shows, money is the root of all drama. If the budget falls short, the internet blames the accountant. Most celebrities are terrible with math, making it a thankless, grueling job.

“Surprise,” I thought. I reached into my bag and pulled out a certified Auditor’s License. “Accounting and Finance are like siblings to me,” I told the stunned group. “If I’m handling the books, let me go all out.”

One guest gasped, “I’ve been trying to pass that exam for three years!” I opened my laptop, my fingers flying across the keys like a high-speed printer. Within minutes, I handed out 15 different spreadsheets: budget forecasts, expense tracking, management cost allocations, and profit-loss statements. “Fill these out if you need cash,” I said firmly. “No documentation, no money. Any objections?” Looking at the wall of professional jargon and complex formulas, the celebrities nodded like frightened kittens.

Then came the food dilemma. “I only eat organic!” “I need meat!” “No oil for me!” Linh Á smirked at me. “Since you have the money, you should cook too. And I don’t do takeout.”

I stared her down. “Two options: I buy ingredients and you cook for yourselves, or I cook everything but I don’t cater to individual whims.” Knowing they couldn’t boil an egg, they hesitated. Linh Á scoffed, “You? Cooking? What if we get food poisoning?”

I pulled out a Professional Chef’s License and a Western Cuisine Certification. “Arigato gozaimasu, Linh Á-san,” I teased. Her jaw dropped. That night, the plates were licked clean before she could even get a bite. “I’m dieting anyway,” she muttered, staring at the empty platters with a look of pure longing.

Later, the conversation turned to “Antifans.” Linh Á looked at the lens, acting brave. “I was once bullied so badly I almost fell into depression. Some people,” she glanced at me, “have never been in the eye of the storm, so they don’t understand.”

I continued peeling sunflower seeds. “What a coincidence. I have a license in Psychological Counseling. Want a session? It’s free.” The livestream went wild: “Is there anything she CAN’T do? She’s unlocked five skills in one day!”

That night, Linh Á was in my room. For an hour, I applied professional psychological techniques, gently analyzing her insecurities until she fell fast asleep on my sofa. It was barely 9:00 PM.

With her asleep, I transformed into a “Study Warrior.” I pulled out my thesis and civil service exam prep books. While Linh Á snored softly, I finished an essay titled “Leading Rural Villages into the Digital Age.” When she woke up, she saw me working and grumbled, “You’re so talented, why are you on this trashy show? Are you sick?” “I need the money,” I said bluntly. “The national exams are coming up.” She turned red, “Did you take pictures of me sleeping? That’s a privacy violation!” “Go to sleep,” I sighed. “If your mind is crooked, at least keep your body healthy.”

The next morning, Linh Á overslept. I had already finished breakfast. Frustrated, she ran to sit next to Chi Xuyen, a rising star and her former co-star. The “shippers” in the comments were going crazy, but the fans of Chi Xuyen were cold: “Linh Á, get away from him. Look at Phuong Chi Ha—she was up at 6:00 AM cooking. That’s a real woman.”

Linh Á tried to provoke me. “Chi Ha, the food is great, isn’t it, Chi Xuyen?” I glared. “Eat it and find out. I left a portion for you.” “Is it even nutritious?” she sneered. BAM. I slapped my Nutritionist License on the table. “Doubt my fame, but never doubt my professional expertise.”

The show continued with a house-renovation task. Linh Á tried to drag Chi Xuyen to buy flowers, but he refused, wanting to stay in the garden with me. Linh Á forced herself into our group. “I’m just afraid you two will kill the plants,” I remarked. The comments mocked me for sitting still while they struggled with shears. I stood up, took the tools, and said, “Move. Let a professional handle this.” I pulled out a Landscaping License.

By the end of the day, I hadn’t just fixed our garden; I had shaped the neighbor’s hedge into a giant panda. “If she says she can build a rocket, I’ll believe her!” one commenter wrote. But then, someone dug up my past: “She’s an orphan from a foster home. She played piano in high-end restaurants to survive before being scouted. She has no money, no backing, and her contract is about to end. This is her last stand.”

The climax came during the individual livestream PK (competition). While others did standard “idol” things, I performed a one-woman show: stand-up comedy mixed with professional magic tricks. Then, I performed Sichuan Face-Changing. “Skill number nine unlocked!” the fans screamed.

I ended the night with voice acting, mimicking famous actresses with haunting accuracy. I went viral. The hashtags #QueenOfGrind and #PhuongChiHaSkillUnlock took over the hot searches.

My manager suddenly called, his voice dripping with fake sweetness. “Chi Ha, let’s renew your contract!” “No thanks,” I said. “Don’t forget,” he threatened, “we still have your ID and papers.” I went silent. He thought I was scared. “Sign, and I’ll make you a superstar.” I sent him a screenshot of my law exam scores. “I know a bit about the law, too. Under the National ID Law, withholding an individual’s documents is a crime. See you in court, Manager.” He hung up, defeated.

There was a knock on my door. It was Linh Á, clutching a pillow. “Phuong Chi Ha… please, stop grinding. You’re making us all look bad,” she pleaded. I laughed coldly. “As long as I’m not dead, I’m grinding.” She hesitated, then blurted out, “Can I… sleep in here with you?” I was baffled. “What?” “Please! Last time you talked to me, I had the best sleep of my life. I have chronic insomnia, but your voice… it’s like magic.” She pushed past me and fell asleep on the sofa in seconds.

Later that night, I went to the roof for some air and ran into Chi Xuyen. “My parents miss you,” he said softly. “Tell them if Chi Trach doesn’t study for his finals, he’s dead to me,” I replied. It turned out I had been a live-in tutor and gardener for Chi Xuyen’s wealthy family during my university years to pay off my debt of gratitude to them. “When are you coming home?” he asked. “I have a country to serve, Chi Xuyen.”

The show ended. Linh Á sobbed as she hugged me. “Don’t go!” I handed her a business card. “Call me if you need me. I’m a certified 5-star hotel mystery shopper now. Here are my rates.” Chi Xuyen stepped forward. “I’m waiting in line for your time.”

I didn’t return to the entertainment industry. I passed my civil service exams and returned to the impoverished village where my friend, Tieu Le, was the village head. I used my “specialist” skills to transform the place. I invited Chi Xuyen to paint murals (reviving his childhood dream of being an artist) and convinced Linh Á to livestream-sell the village’s produce.

Within five years, the “useless” village became a thriving tourist hub. At a major awards ceremony years later, Chi Xuyen—now an award-winning actor—stood on stage. “I want to thank Phuong Chi Ha. She taught us that knowing what you want is the only way to truly love life.”

In the audience, Linh Á leaned into my ear. “Is he using that ‘Authentic Self’ psychology trick you taught us?” I pinched her cheek. “You’ve learned well.” Chi Xuyen sat down next to me, draped a jacket over my shoulders, and whispered, “Let her have her fun tonight. But starting tomorrow, you’re mine every night.”

I posted one last update on my social media: “The first journey is over. The next begins. My focus: psychological support for rural children.” Chi Xuyen shared it instantly: “And yet, I’m still not mentioned by name?” Linh Á mocked him: “Poor Chi Xuyen, the ultimate simp.”

I looked at them and smiled. I came into this world with nothing, so I learned everything. And in the end, the greatest skill I unlocked wasn’t accounting or magic—it was the power to change my own destiny.