Chapter 22: I, Lingqiong, Send Money! (22)
By the lake, in a bamboo cottage, a man in white leaned against the window, seemingly drunk. His clothes were disheveled, the collar slightly open, his gaze lazy and flirtatious, eyes misty, carrying an effortless allure. He resembled a tempting spirit lurking deep within the bamboo forest, bewitching unsuspecting wanderers.
Ling Qiong swallowed hard, cradling her thundering heart, her eyes sparkling with stars, longing for...
[Kiss him—exciting, isn’t it?]
“Exciting…”
[There’s something even more thrilling. With a card draw, you can have it all.]
Ling Qiong snapped out of her daze, coldly dismissing the suggestion, “No money.”
Don’t even think about tricking me into spending!
[…]
…
Lu Wenchi prepared lunch himself. Ling Qiong picked through her bowl, tossing everything she didn’t like into Lu Wenchi’s bowl.
Lu Wenchi said, “Why are you so picky?”
“If I don’t like it, I won’t eat it.” Ling Qiong snorted lightly. “Eating things I dislike makes me unhappy. Why torture myself? Life should be joyful.”
“…”
Lu Wenchi quietly ate all the vegetables Ling Qiong had discarded. “What do you want to do later?”
“Shopping,” she replied, her gaze lingering on him, her eyes curving into a playful smile.
“…”
Lu Wenchi felt he shouldn’t have asked. If he hadn’t, he wouldn’t have become her designated bag carrier.
Ling Qiong only bought things that looked beautiful. Even if they weren’t practical, she was willing to pay for “pretty,” simply to display them at home.
Lu Wenchi felt that no matter how quickly she earned money, she could never keep up with how fast she spent it.
The mall was bustling with people. In the center stood a giant billboard, displaying his currently popular drama. Nearby, there was a life-size standee, with many people taking photos.
“That standee is quite nice,” Ling Qiong said, leaning over the railing on the third floor, looking down. “But it’s nowhere near as good as you—it doesn’t capture your essence.”
Lu Wenchi asked, “My essence?”
“Exactly.”
“What is my essence?”
Ling Qiong tilted her head, her clear, beautiful eyes shining, “Handsome. Gorgeous.”
“…”
Handsome and gorgeous—weren’t those words usually used to describe girls?
After all, the standee inevitably lost some accuracy in the production process; it just couldn’t compare to the real person.
Ling Qiong thought about having the real Lu Wenchi to herself and felt a bit giddy. And giddy she was, so when the system flashed a discount event with a guaranteed “Date” card, she couldn’t resist.
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True delight may be delayed, but it never fails to arrive.
Ling Qiong drew a card called “Meeting You,” its image resembling a cinema. No sooner had she drawn it than she was stamped with a two-thirds red seal.
Then she heard Lu Wenchi ask, “Do you want to watch a movie?”
Ling Qiong: “…”
She suddenly realized the card’s intended use.
Lu Wenchi went to buy tickets. The film was a newly released, fresh romance called “Meeting You.” Box office was decent, reviews were good, and as a romance, it attracted many couples.
Since it was a spur-of-the-moment idea, Lu Wenchi could only get seats near the back.
The theater lights dimmed, leaving only the glow of the screen.
At that moment, the person beside him seemed to fade from existence. Only when Lu Wenchi glanced sideways did he confirm she was still there.
He focused on the screen, but a third of the way through, his hand suddenly grew warm—someone had taken hold of it.
Lu Wenchi felt the world quiet down, leaving only his pounding heart.
Living together, physical contact was inevitable. But it had never felt like this before.
A flutter—nerves.
Lu Wenchi didn’t dare move, his palm growing damp with sweat.
He had no idea what was happening onscreen.
Only when the credits rolled did Lu Wenchi come to his senses, pulling his hand away from Ling Qiong’s grip and rising to leave.
“Hey, why are you walking so fast? Lu Wenchi!”
Ling Qiong called out, and several young women looked their way.
“I think I just heard my brother’s name…”
“Brother? I didn’t know you had a brother,” her boyfriend asked in confusion.
“Sis, you heard it too?”
The girls scanned the departing crowd like radar.
Lu Wenchi’s tall figure and distinctive aura made him stand out among the people.
Ling Qiong: “…”
Lu Wenchi doubled back, grabbed Ling Qiong’s hand, and ran.
A sudden burst of shrieks erupted behind them.
…
Perhaps because they ran so quickly, no one had time to take photos, so nothing went viral.
Ling Qiong wasn’t sure if it was her imagination, but ever since the cinema incident, Lu Wenchi seemed to be avoiding her.
Of course, he was busy now, so Ling Qiong wasn’t certain.
After Lu Wenchi’s drama exploded in popularity, oddly enough, every project that followed—be it drama or variety—failed to gain traction.
It was like a fleeting bloom.
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Lu Wenchi was quickly overshadowed by other, hotter stars.
Chen Fangchuan couldn’t figure out why Lu Wenchi was fading. He had the right image, decent acting skills, no scandals, and the company gave him good resources.
How could he still flop?
What Chen Fangchuan and Yueying Entertainment couldn’t grasp, Ling Qiong probably understood.
Lu Wenchi needed her to nurture him; she had to keep drawing cards and spending to maintain his popularity.
Or rather, only the resources she won through card draws could make Lu Wenchi shine.
Logic?
Games have their own logic. Whatever the designers decide is absolute truth—who are you to argue? Would it even bother with you?
Damn it, this was forcing her to spend!
But if other players’ idols had these perks… shouldn’t hers have them too?
Ling Qiong, feeling like a concerned father, solemnly poured her last bit of money into the game.
…
“Brother, what did the director say?” Lu Wenchi emerged from his room, and his assistant immediately approached, concerned.
“Wait for news.” Which meant almost certainly no chance.
That had been the outcome for him lately.
The assistant tried to comfort him, “Don’t worry, you’ll definitely make it. Your acting is good, your image is great. If you don’t get the role, it’s just unfair.”
“Oh, unfair? Why so dramatic?”
The speaker was a young man, around twenty-three, with a classic pretty-boy face. He stood with his arms crossed, mocking Lu Wenchi.
“Lu, I thought your last role would be huge, but I didn’t see any splash at all.”
Lu Wenchi: “…”
The role the young man referred to was a good one.
Lu Wenchi later learned that the production had already been in contact with the young man, and he was likely their initial choice.
But somehow, thanks to Chen Fangchuan’s maneuvering, Lu Wenchi landed the role.
Whether it was auditions or filming, the director was satisfied.
But when it aired…
Not a ripple.
And the subsequent resources he received ended up the same way.
Now, people in the industry said he carried bad luck—any project he joined would flop.
The resources came from the company, not through any scheming on his part, so Lu Wenchi felt little guilt toward the young man before him.
Lu Wenchi didn’t want to argue, so he prepared to leave with his assistant.
But the other wasn’t so willing, blocking his path, full of malice, “Lu, where are you going? Why not tell me how you manage to flop every project you join?”
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