Chapter 3
“Alright. I’ll wait for you to pick me up at six tonight.” Meng Xuehuan hung up.
Lin Xilan caught the keyword “compensation” and said, “A film contract issue? I’ll go with you.”
He had a background in law and had handled no fewer than a hundred major contracts for his boss. A mere film contract—he could definitely help Meng Xuehuan secure maximum compensation.
Meng Xuehuan said, “No. They want to restart the film. You can add this fee to the housing construction budget.”
Bai He said, “Why not wait until after filming and use the money for phase two?” This film had been plagued with bad luck—what if something else went wrong?
Meng Xuehuan said, “Use it for phase one.”
The producer had arranged dinner for the evening; he would only go if Lu Xiao agreed to join the cast. With Lu Xiao involved, there wouldn’t be a problem.
Besides, his manager had managed to get in touch with Lu Xiao, which meant Lu Xiao didn’t object to keeping quiet about the “suspected romance.”
Lin Xilan then opened his folder and made a few adjustments.
After that, the two of them stood up to take their leave.
The entryway was piled with boxes, mostly gifts from brand sponsors. The ones he couldn’t use, he sent back for the clan to use.
They were about to change houses anyway—it was time to clear these out.
“Perfect timing. Help me take these away. Keep what’s useful; send the rest back home,” Meng Xuehuan said. He grabbed a large bag, squatted on the floor, tore open the flashy packaging, and roughly stuffed the scarves, skincare products, wallets, and other items inside.
Once stripped of their boxes, luxury brands looked no different from street-stall goods. His clanspeople didn’t care about packaging anyway, and it saved on shipping.
Lin Xilan and Bai He squatted down to help him dismantle the packaging.
When they got to a few boxes in the far corner, Meng Xuehuan said, “Not those.”
After packing everything up, Meng Xuehuan said, “I won’t see you off.”
Lin Xilan and Bai He nodded, each carrying a bag. “Contact us anytime if you need anything.”
Even if Meng Xuehuan asked them to run an errand to buy an apple, in their hearts it would be more important than reporting to a CEO.
But Meng Xuehuan never ordered them around.
He opened the door to see them off, then remembered something. “There’s something I’ll need to trouble you with soon. I’ll contact you then.”
He closed the door. There was still an entire afternoon to kill.
He rarely had this kind of free time. Sitting on the bench by the entryway to change shoes, his finger moved, and he opened a subforum of a certain niche forum—
A hot thread title:
[Meng Xuehuan Is Way Too Scheming! Our Brother Took the Fall!]
1L (Excellent Night Watchman): I analyzed this morning’s incident. Here’s the truth: Meng Xuehuan can’t whitewash himself anymore, so he needed a well-regarded insider to vouch for him. A white lotus with no friends in the industry like him could only think of a former colleague. Brother Lu is loyal and soft-hearted, so he agreed to post a clarification. They even agreed on the timing.
And then—stabbed in the back! One second before Brother Lu posted! One second! Not the next second! He rushed out an ambiguous relationship statement, making everyone think his partner was Brother Lu! And now he’s playing dead!
2L (Dead-On Insulter): I’m crying. Meng Xuehuan even posted one second earlier, making my brother look like the one chasing after him.
3L (Blessed Mouth): His level is way too high! No wonder my brother couldn’t wait to go solo. I seriously suspect that if this trash group had stayed together one more month, Meng Xuehuan would’ve hyped a “they got married” press release.
4L (If You Argue, You’re Right): Thank god he’s a man. If Meng Xuehuan could have kids, he’d probably also spread rumors about having had an abortion for Brother Lu.
5L (Two Cats): Holy crap, don’t give him ideas upstairs. There are Snowflakes lurking under skirts here—I’m scared I’ll see Meng Xuehuan in Thailand tomorrow.
6L (It Never Snows in the South): My brother barely escaped the tiger’s jaws.
7L (Late-Night Snack Lover): Who doesn’t know Meng Xuehuan’s manager has 800 marketing accounts on WeChat?
8L (Endure It or Get Mastitis): Aaaaah shameless! I’m so mad my heart hurts!
…
He was being scolded again.
Meng Xuehuan had been born a queen bee, beloved by the entire clan. He’d been a top student at school, and before entering the entertainment industry, he’d never been cursed at.
This was a forum he’d discovered by chance, where people tirelessly found every possible angle to berate him.
Interesting.
Meng Xuehuan logged into his forum account with practiced ease and selected photos from his phone album.
Since he’d debuted as part of a group, he had plenty of photos of Lu Xiao. Lu Xiao hadn’t changed much in the past two years—old photos and recent ones looked almost the same.
Thread title: Photo dump o(???)o
[Image ×1, Image ×2… Image ×5]
1L (Blessed Mouth): Sis! You’re my god! Beautiful, kind, generous, and low-key—way better than that smug fansite master out there!
2L (Excellent Night Watchman): Licking the screen. What’s my brother been busy with these past two months? The old pics were about to get polished smooth—thanks to OP for dropping fresh material.
3L (This Is a Side Account): OP’s account is already level 11—respect.
7L (Endure It or Get Mastitis): Aaaah, OP’s photos are so clear. Licking my brother’s god-tier looks—after coming straight from the neighboring thread, I feel healed.
8L (Late-Night Snack Lover): Healing +10086.
…
Praised o(???)o
Meng Xuehuan closed the forum.
…
5:30 p.m.
Meng Xuehuan took out an outfit from the wardrobe—a white silk shirt with a standard cut, embroidered only at the inner cuff with a red-pink peony the size of a fingernail.
He finished dressing just as Lin Mu arrived at the underground parking garage.
Meng Xuehuan put on a baseball cap and went downstairs. He pulled open the back door, froze—and saw that Lu Xiao was inside.
His fingers paused. He walked around to the back of the car and glanced at the license plate. It wasn’t his.
He’d gotten into the wrong car again.
Lu Xiao owned a car identical to his.
Lin Mu, in the front passenger seat, leaned his head out and said, “Uh, we’re on the way—hop in.”
Meng Xuehuan looked at Lin Mu, asking with his eyes why he hadn’t said Lu Xiao would be there.
Lin Mu, looking utterly miserable, pointed at his phone. Another call came in right on cue, and he immediately answered it. “…Xuehuan’s endorsement renewal can be discussed. I can’t speak for Lu Xiao’s business… A dual endorsement is impossible…”
Meng Xuehuan understood. Because of the publicized “relationship,” Lin Mu had been harassed nonstop and hadn’t had time to talk to him.
Many brands were trying to use Lin Mu to ask whether Lu Xiao would take endorsements—Lu Xiao had accepted none since debut.
Fans of other celebrities could at least pick apart packaging or stare at billboard ads; Lu Xiao gave them no chance at all.
His massive fan purchasing power was unquestionable. Many brands dreamed of cutting that first harvest.
No chance. Forget it.
Meng Xuehuan bent and got into the car, leaving one empty seat between himself and Lu Xiao.
The car started moving. After taking two more calls, Lin Mu finally set his phone to silent and began slacking off.
Earlier it had just been him. In front of Lu Xiao—who counted as half a boss—he didn’t dare slack. Now that his own artist was here, he felt a bit bolder.
The air in the car suddenly went quiet.
Meng Xuehuan raised a hand and took off his cap. The peony at his cuff brushed his cheek, as if it had come alive—rolling out of the sleeve, carrying a warm fragrance.
A beauty adorned with flowers.
Lu Xiao caught the scene in the rearview mirror. Meng Xuehuan’s clothing was always restrained, cool-toned, yet in some hidden detail there was always a petal of a flower.
“Did any endorsements drop?” Lu Xiao spoke suddenly, unclear whether he was asking Lin Mu or Meng Xuehuan.
Seeing that Meng Xuehuan didn’t answer, Lin Mu replied, “No.”
Lu Xiao’s voice was slightly cold. “Anyone who wants to terminate doesn’t need to beg. I’ve got better ones.”
Meng Xuehuan turned to look at Lu Xiao and noticed some scratches on his neck. “What happened there?”
Lu Xiao: “…Huh? Got scratched by branches this morning while going back to the ancestral graves. I was climbing trees, and my phone fell too.”
He was quietly explaining why he’d been unreachable that morning.
Meng Xuehuan said, “Thank you for helping clarify things.”
—
Jiaping Hotel, private dining room.
The producer and the screenwriter had already arrived.
Little Mountain God had initially invited Lu Xiao as well. He’d declined, saying he wasn’t interested in the story. Now that the entire team had collapsed, there was even less reason for him to be interested.
Who knew a movie could crash like this? The producer felt miserable.
A big-budget production that countless people had begged to join had turned into a mess. Sets were already built; they could only grit their teeth and keep shooting. But the once-boasted top director, art team, lighting, and cinematography had all fallen through. Where could they find replacements of the same caliber on such short notice? Everyone was already working on other crews.
Mention Little Mountain God and the focus was prostitution scandals. A big promise had turned into rotten bait. But if Lu Xiao and Meng Xuehuan joined, it could still be salvaged!
The producer knew Lu Xiao was agreeing out of consideration for Meng Xuehuan, and that Meng Xuehuan had proactively auditioned because he liked the mountain god role. With a quick turn of thought, he invited the screenwriter to dinner as well.
As long as Meng Xuehuan was still willing to act, it would work.
The screenwriter was a young black-haired man named Suo Tao, in his early twenties, exceptionally talented, with hit films and TV series to his name.
The producer instructed him, “Meng Xuehuan likes the mountain god role. Talk to him properly—try to make him like it even more.”
Suo Tao replied earnestly, “Okay.”
The producer said, “They’re here.”
The private room door opened. Two men of similar height walked in one after the other, like runway opening models—instantly eye-catching.
“Serve the dishes,” the producer told the waiter, then handed the menu to Lu Xiao. “Anything you want to add?”
Lu Xiao placed the menu in front of Meng Xuehuan. Meng Xuehuan didn’t even look at it and handed it back to the waiter. “No need.”
The producer said, “What happened really shocked me, but our script is a good script, and the sets were built with care. The liquidated damages from those who got arrested will also be added to later promotion. Ultimately, a film depends most on the script and the leads—and we’ve got both, right?”
Lu Xiao responded casually, “Mm.”
The producer gestured for the screenwriter to speak. “Suo Tao.”
Suo Tao’s gaze flicked between Lu Xiao and Meng Xuehuan. He took four copies of the script from his backpack. “These are the scripts. I made some revisions today—take them back and have a look.”
The round table turned, and each person received a copy.
Lu Xiao flipped through it casually, not really reading. In truth, seeing large blocks of text made him dizzy right now.
He’d taken a red-eye flight back to his hometown in the southwest at dawn, gone straight to hiking to sweep graves after landing, then rushed back immediately upon hearing about Meng Xuehuan’s public-opinion storm. In thirty-five hours, he’d only dozed briefly on the planes.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Meng Xuehuan lowering his gaze, seriously reading the story, so he pretended to be interested too.
In fact, he’d read this script before. It opened with a little mountain god sleeping deep in the mountains, woken up by firecrackers.
The reason: another CEO male lead was thirty, not dating or going on blind dates. His parents believed something must be wrong with the ancestral grave’s feng shui and hired a master to relocate it—five times.
The firecrackers and gongs were thunderous, the sense of ceremony maxed out—but they’d picked the wrong ancestral grave. Every time they set them off, they blew up the mountain god’s lair instead. Driven to distraction, the little mountain god went to the city to find the culprit and, if possible, help him sort out his lifelong romantic prospects.
Lu Xiao felt the premise was flawed. His two useless older brothers were also thirty and unmarried; even sweeping their ancestral graves was that difficult, yet his family had never once thought of relocating them.
Such a trivial matter, bothering the ancestors.
What kind of nonsense was this?
Screenwriter Suo Tao said, “Previously, considering that Teacher Meng doesn’t do kissing scenes, we leaned toward comedy and kept the romance restrained. But cutting it entirely would be a pity—when emotions erupt, a bit of impulse is needed…”
As he spoke, he observed the reactions of the two leads.
?
…What? Intense emotional scenes?
The drowsy Lu Xiao snapped awake instantly.
He pretended to be calm, flipping open the script, eyes blazing, practically wishing for a one-click magnifying glass search for kissing scenes.
Relocating graves? What’s relocating graves—this is a lifelong matter; the ancestors should bless it anyway.
He flipped to the ending at lightning speed and saw that the finale was: deity descends to the mortal world = meat bun thrown to a dog.
I’m the dog.
Lu Xiao slipped into the role effortlessly.
Honestly speaking, the screenwriter really was talented.
