After his virtuous roommate left, Gu Lizhou returned to his room, turned on his computer, and got ready to write for a bit.
Since his left hand wasn’t usable, he had downloaded a voice input tool, connected it to his phone, and used the phone as a microphone to sync content directly to the computer.
He knew this feature had been around since last year, but he had never tried it before. Reciting dialogue alone in an empty room felt a bit weird.
Especially after the editor told him to add more brotherhood scenes, the lines became a lot more melodramatic.
Some sentences already felt embarrassing to type out, and reading them aloud just made it ten times worse.
“His steps were fast as he followed behind Yu Hao. ‘Captain Yu, I’ve already figured out their deal location. It’s at the South Bay Pier. I swear I can take them down! Trust me! If I fail, you can punish me however you want.’”
“His undercover identity had long been exposed. Yu Hao suddenly turned around. ‘You’re going to take them down? Do you believe I’ll take you right here’ …ah, uh!”
The door was suddenly pushed open, and his final word came out in a broken pitch, the ending trembled.
His heart skipped a beat.
Zhong Weishi was standing in the doorway, staring at him blankly, his face full of confusion.
The shame of getting caught voice-inputting his lines was no less than being caught watching p0rn by your family. A suffocating wave of embarrassment overwhelmed him.
“What are you doing? Who are you trying to take?” Zhong Weishi asked.
Gu Lizhou froze for a second before quickly locking his screen. He stammered, “I-I… I was practicing storytelling.”
As soon as he said it, he regretted it. That excuse couldn’t be more absurd.
Zhong Weishi wore a look that screamed “what the hell are you hiding,” and suspiciously asked, “You’re not schizophrenic, are you? Talking to yourself like that?”
Gu Lizhou wasn’t sure what Zhong Weishi had heard at the door, but just thinking about the two lines he’d read aloud made him want to crawl into a hole. He quickly changed the subject: “Weren’t you headed to an audition? Why are you back?”
“I forgot my subway card,” Zhong Weishi said.
“Oh,” Gu Lizhou finally recovered and lifted his hand to check the time. “It’s already eight. Didn’t you say you had an appointment at eight thirty?”
“fvck, fvck, fvck…” Zhong Weishi took off running.
Gu Lizhou walked over to the balcony and leaned on the railing. He saw a figure dart out of the building, and had a feeling Zhong Weishi would probably look back.
Sure enough, the little brat waved toward Unit 301 while running.
Gu Lizhou waved back and laughed.
After going back inside, he logged into the backend of Xinghe Century to take a glance. From the moment he released the synopsis for his new story last night until now, it had reached exactly fifteen thousand bookmarks. Considering he hadn’t been active in years, that number already met his expectations.
He wrote “Long time no see” on a sticky note.
Took a picture, posted it on Weibo with a link to the new work. The comment section exploded instantly.
An hour later, the bookmarks rose past twenty thousand.
The data proved he hadn’t truly faded into obscurity.
The only other person monitoring the numbers as closely as he was was his bald editor.
[Cat Puff Bell]: Looks like our Teacher Wanli’s sword is still sharp.
[Wanlizhou]: ……
[Wanlizhou]: I saw your update. Your wife’s pregnant with your second kid?
[Cat Puff Bell]: Yeah, heihei. Get that red envelope ready.
[Wanlizhou]: Congrats. Didn’t expect you to still have it in you, old man ah.
[Cat Puff Bell]: ……
Reality had taught him one lesson: even if you’re bored out of your mind, never pick a fight with a writer.
On the coffee table in the living room was Xie Yun’s business card. Gu Lizhou casually looked up the company online. It had been established just over two years ago. While they’d put out a fair number of film and television works, only one time-travel period drama had really become a hit.
Xie Yun was originally a writer, 29 this year. The drama currently in pre-production, “Secrets from the Old Days”, was based on a romance novel she had written early in her career and had received a fair amount of praise.
Who would’ve thought that this seemingly gentle and cheerful young woman was actually quite a powerhouse. Gu Lizhou now saw her in a new light.
Maybe in Zhong Weishi’s eyes, he himself didn’t seem like much of a writer either.
A couple of days ago, Cheng Yue had chatted with him on WeChat about the talent show. The open auditions were scheduled for July. If Zhong Weishi took a drama job now, that’d leave just over four months before July. Time would be tight.
But he knew this was the best opportunity Zhong Weishi had ever had. If he objected now to him taking the role, the kid would probably be really disappointed.
He went back to his room and messaged Cheng Yue.
[Stubborn Scrap Iron]: How long will it take to get the results of the open auditions?
[Cheng Yue]: Around two months or so. Our program officially airs in October. I’ll send you the online registration link when it’s ready. Don’t forget to sign him up ah.
[Stubborn Scrap Iron]: Thanks.
[Cheng Yue]: What’s there to thank me for? Wishing your precious son a brilliant future.
Gu Lizhou chuckled, then, seeing the time was about right, sent a message to Zhong Weishi.
— How was the audition?
The message came half an hour later. Zhong Weishi sent him a photo of the contract.
— They want to sign me!!!!!!!!!!
— Male lead!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Before Gu Lizhou could even reply, his phone rang. Zhong Weishi had called him directly: “Did you see my message? They decided to sign me!! I’m the male lead! I’m playing this badass high jumper!”
His voice was nearly a roar, mixed with background noise and subway announcements pouring into Gu Lizhou’s ears. Gu Lizhou laughed and said, “Congratulations, ah. Dinner’s on me tonight, we’ll celebrate.”
“No, no, no! I’m treating you! I’m treating everyone!”
Zhong Weishi came home with two sample contracts. One was an actor employment contract, and the other was an artist agency contract.
In other words, beyond just this project, Qianhong wanted to sign Zhong Weishi as a full-time artist.
The second contract was out of Gu Li Zhou’s expectation.
“Are you planning to sign with their company?”
“I don’t know, that’s why I came back to ask you to give me some advice.” Zhong Weishi downed a mouthful of cool water.
Once he signed with a production company, he’d officially become one of their artists. The upside was having a team to manage him, and for roles in the company’s productions, their in-house artists would naturally be prioritized. The downside was the loss of freedom.
Many agencies didn’t allow their artists to take on jobs privately. All earnings from commercial events, TV and film roles, and advertisements had to be split with the company based on a set ratio.
Qianhong’s offer was a 50-50 split.
Signing with Qianhong meant Zhong Weishi could no longer join the talent show, and would lose any chance to sign with Tianyao. And in terms of industry influence, Qianhong was like an egg going up against a stone when compared to Tianyao.
The gap in strength was stark.
Gu Lizhou quickly brought up the talent show to Zhong Weishi. “If you sign with Qianhong now, the upside is that your future path will be more certain. But at the same time, you’ll be giving up a lot of opportunities. This show is a collaboration between Tianyao Media and the most popular streaming platform right now. The open auditions are expected to start in July, and the whole point is to discover new talent. I think maybe you should think it over a bit more?”
“No need.”
Gu Lizhou was stunned.
“I’m not signing,” Zhong Weishi smiled. “The whole reason you’re telling me all this is because you hope I can go farther, right? Otherwise, you would’ve already congratulated me and told me to sign. I trust you.”
“A promising kid.” Gu Lizhou smiled and ruffled his hair. “But don’t trust me, trust yourself.”
Truth be told, to survive in the entertainment industry, talent, looks, and hard work were the basics. If someone had one of the three, they could scr4p3 by. Two would open more doors. But people who had all three were extremely rare because luck was also an essential ingredient.
Especially in the current traffic-driven era, new-generation idols were sprouting like mushrooms after rain. Whether one could last until the end heavily depended on luck.
Some people had the looks and the skill but lacked public appeal. No matter how hard they worked, it went to waste. Others had great looks but terrible character—sooner or later, they’d fall from grace.
Fate may appear unpredictable, yet everything is subtly interconnected.
Gu Lizhou carefully read through the actor employment contract that Zhong Weishi had brought back twice and didn’t find any loopholes.
The web drama had 24 episodes in total. The kickoff ceremony was scheduled for March 6, with a projected filming period of 90 days.
Gu Lizhou did the math and then made a call to Cheng Yue.
“How long does it usually take for a web drama to go from wrap-up to airing?”
“That’s hard to say. It depends on the type of drama and how fast the post-production team is. Once everything’s done, it still has to go through the higher-ups for approval. If the content’s sensitive, it might even get cut. I’ve seen the fastest team wrap things up in three months. The slowest? Years, and it still didn’t air.”
“It’s just a regular campus inspirational idol drama. Nothing sensitive.”
“Then it should be fine. Campus dramas are pretty quick to edit too. The main thing is whether the team’s capable. Why are you suddenly asking about this?” Cheng Yue asked.
“My son’s about to take on a web drama. This won’t affect his participation in the show later, right?”
That son came out a little too naturally. Sitting next to him, Zhong Weishi glared at him and shot him a middle finger.
“That depends on the quality of the web drama. If it’s good and gets popular, it can instantly boost the actor and director’s visibility. But if it’s bad, well, you know the consequences. In serious cases, it could hurt an artist’s future. Before signing, make sure to understand the story well. If there’s anything unclear, talk to the screenwriter.”
Gu Lizhou looked up the original novel online and finished it in two hours. The plot was tight, decently written, and full of highlights. Both the male and female leads were high jump athletes, supporting each other through ups and downs. A light and sweet campus life story with an inspirational tone.
The site rating was a solid 9.2, mostly appealing to a female audience.
Gu Lizhou stared at Zhong Weishi for a while. The latter got a little flustered, turned away, and switched on the TV. “Why are you staring at me?”
That face, that physique definitely had the potential. But just thinking about this kid stepping into the public eye stirred a mix of emotions in his fatherly heart.
“Want some?” Zhong Weishi offered him a slice of apple on a fork.
Gu Lizhou took a bite and continued researching.
Looking at Qianhong’s past projects, the average time from opening ceremony to official release was about seven to eight months. Conservatively estimating, this new web drama should be out by the end of the year.
If the timing worked out just right, it would coincide with the peak of the talent show. No matter what, it would at least help him ride a wave of popularity.
Even an outsider like Gu Lizhou understood how crucial public exposure was for a newly debuted artist. If the web drama gained traction, it would definitely be a boost for Zhong Weishi.
Let’s hope fate favors him.
Zhong Weishi turned around and asked, “Do you think if I don’t sign with their company, they’ll still let me do the drama?”
“They probably will. If not, just call Xie Yun, I’ll talk for you.”
“What are you going to say ah?”
Gu Lizhou motioned with his lips, “Go on, call her. Put it on speaker.”
Since this concerned his son’s future, Gu Lizhou had already done a deep dive into Qianhong Entertainment. The company mainly handled film and TV investment and production, while its newly established talent agency had only signed a handful of artists.
Even the leads in last year’s hit historical drama were signed under different agencies.
With that precedent and his own insight as a writer, Gu Lizhou had confidence in how this phone call would play out.
Every writer wants their work to be presented in the best possible way. If that weren’t the case, Xie Yun wouldn’t be so hands-on with the drama adaptation herself.
There was less than a month left before filming started, and she was still scouting for the leads. Gu Lizhou guessed the most likely scenario: the actor she had her eye on didn’t quite match her ideal image for the role. He was in a pending state. If she didn’t find someone better in time, she’d settle for the next best thing.
If the actor was willing to sign with her agency, she’d naturally weigh the added value and make a decision. So she played a lowball strategy.
She slashed the actor’s listed salary in the company contract.
Zhong Weishi clutched his chest with both hands, heart aching like it was bleeding.
Sure enough, after some discussion, Xie Yun gave a clear response: “I’ll have someone draft a new contract and send it to your email. If there are no issues, come to the office tomorrow to sign it.”
“I’ll cover the other half they cut from your pay. Just think of it as household grocery money.” Gu Lizhou said
“Where’d you get so much money? Are you some rich second generation?”
“Nope. My dad’s a university professor, and you’ve met my mom. Because she’s too foolish, every time she starts a business it either she loses money or she gets scammed. I have money because I’m smart.”
“…”
“You don’t believe me?”
“Then tell me how you made your fortune.”
Gu Lizhou rested his cheek on his palm. “I told you before ah. Wanlizhou is me. I’m Wanlizhou.”
“Pfft, again with that.” Zhong Weishi didn’t believe it at all.
Gu Lizhou raised an eyebrow. “Let me ask you. If you had to choose between Wanlizhou and me as a roommate, who would you pick?”
“Hmm…” Zhong Weishi’s eyes rolled upward as he drifted into a little fantasy.
“You hesitated.”
“Huh?”
“You like him more, don’t you? Hah. All this time we’ve spent together, and I still lose to a writer you’ve never even met.”
Zhong Weishi had a sudden idea and pointed at him. “Didn’t you just say the two of you are the same person? Why are you making me choose?”
“…”
Forget it.
Why bother getting jealous of himself?
“I heard making games is really profitable ah. Like, one launch and you can live off it for three years. Did you make a game once and now you’re just taking a three-year break?” Zhong Weishi asked.
“More than three years. It’s enough to feed you for a lifetime.” Gu Lizhou’s tone was light.
That immediately piqued Zhong Weishi’s interest. “Is making games hard? I saw Qiangzi is still doing game livestreams. That seems to make decent money too.”
“Not hard,” Gu Lizhou glanced at him, “but you’re IQ can’t.”
Zhong Weishi slapped the table and huffed, “I choose to live with Wanlizhou!”
“……”
Ever since Gu Lizhou moved into Unit 301, Zhong Weishi’s quality of life had significantly improved. First off, the rent was now halved, and he no longer had to pay for utilities. Second, he no longer had to steal Wi-Fi. For the usual expenses, Gu Lizhou bought them all—mainly because he couldn’t stand what Zhong Weishi picked out, which were either low-quality or pirated.
The cheap Shujiajia soap in the bathroom was replaced with fruit-scented disinfectant hand wash. Blue Sunlight became “Blue Moonlight.” The expired ice cream in the fridge got tossed out, replaced with fresh meat.
Every time Zhong Weishi opened the fridge and saw the mountain of fruits, snacks, and drinks, he felt like life was just amazing.
He even found time to buy himself a new phone.
When Gu Lizhou came back from the supermarket, he saw him sitting on the couch downloading apps.
“Yo, new phone ah?”
“Yeah.” Zhong Weishi grinned happily and nodded. “Next time you hear someone’s collecting old phones, help me flag them down. Even a stainless steel washbasin would be a good trade.”
“…Sure.” Gu Lizhou weighed the bag in his hand. “I bought strawberries. You want some?”
“Of course, ah. I’m not picky,” Zhong Weishi replied without even lifting his head.
“Then go wash them,” Gu Lizhou said, placing the bag on the table.
Zhong Weishi pouted.
Being rich is being the grandfather.
Gu Lizhou chuckled, picked up his new phone, and gave it a glance. Weibo had just been logged in.
Tens of thousands of posts, the screen flooded with “hahahahahahahaha”…
Aside from a few Weibo V, he’d never seen anyone’s page with that many posts.
Gu Lizhou took out his own phone, searched for his Weibo ID, and quietly clicked Follow.
His finger accidentally brushed over the private messages, only then did he discover that the little guy had once sent him a private message.
Dated two years ago.
[-Wishiws-]: Jiayou, ah! (๑•̀ㅂ•́)و✧ I’ll always look forward to your next book!
Gu Lizhou smiled faintly.
Five minutes later.
The two of them were curled up on the couch, snacking on strawberries while watching a drama.
Suddenly, Zhong Weishi shouted, “Holy shit!” and jumped up from the couch, stomping his feet and screaming, “Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah——”
Gu Lizhou held back a laugh and asked calmly, “What happened?”
“Wan-wan-wan-wan-wan-wan—” Zhong Weishi clutched his phone, tongue-tied from excitement, “Wanlizhou replied to me! He sent me a private message!!! Oh my god, ya!!!”
He rubbed his eyes hard, and after confirming he wasn’t seeing things, started running laps around the couch, screaming again, “Wanlizhou has a new book out! Oh my god, yeah! Why am I only seeing this today? I’m such a terrible fan!”
He frantically liked, forwarded, and recommended the post like a madman, then hugged his phone and rolled around on the couch. “He replied to me! He actually replied to me! He actually reads private messages! Tell me—don’t you think this is fate or something?”
“More like cursed fate.”
Seeing how utterly uninterested Gu Lizhou looked, Zhong Weishi grabbed his head and pressed it down. “Look! Look at the private message he sent me!”
“It’s just a ‘thanks.’ You’re this excited over two words?”
“You don’t get it! He’s my male god, you know? Male god! Forget it, you wouldn’t understand even if I explained.” Zhong Weishi was on cloud nine, taking a screenshot of the private message and showing it off across all his social media platforms.
But the very next second, he ended up in a full-blown brawl on the couch with his so-called male god over the biggest strawberry in the bowl.
“Gu Lizhou, you fvcking spread your hand! I touched it first!” He yanked at Gu Lizhou’s hair with all his strength.
Gu Lizhou stuck out his tongue, gave the strawberry a quick lick, then held it out to him. “Still want it?”
“You’re disgusting! My male god would never act like this.”
Gu Lizhou couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re really something.”
Author’s Note:
I, Gu Lizhou, am crazy enough that I even get jealous of myself.
Leave a Reply