Chapter 29: I, Ling Qiong, Send Money! (29)

Ling Qiong’s sudden arrival to pick him up filled Lu Wenchi with genuine joy.

Perhaps finding it too tiring to rest her arm on his shoulder, Ling Qiong simply linked her arm through his. Lu Wenchi, having experienced this a few times before, wasn’t sure if he’d grown used to it or what, but he actually didn’t find it strange anymore.

The two of them walked together to the parking lot. When they spotted Ling Qiong’s car, Lu Wenchi hesitated for a moment.

“You changed your car?”

“Mm-hmm.” Ling Qiong stroked the flashy little sports car, which was even more ostentatious than the last one. Her tone was satisfied, tinged with a hint of pride. “Looks good, doesn’t it?”

“……”

He suddenly didn’t feel like getting in.

…

In the end, Lu Wenchi still rode home in that car. Inside, the house was coated in a thick layer of dust; it was unclear how long it had been since anyone lived there.

“You haven’t been staying here?”

Ling Qiong replied, “You’re not here, so why should I be?”

Lu Wenchi: “……”

That was a statement easily open to misunderstanding.

He knew she had already returned to the Su family, so it made sense she wasn’t living here.

Lu Wenchi began tidying up the long-uninhabited room.

Ling Qiong, as usual, played the role of a little lord—shaking her legs, snacking, gaming, and bossing Lu Wenchi around.

[Darling, don’t you want to change the protagonist’s residence?]

“Didn’t he start making money? Can’t he do it himself?”

[You know how it is, darling,] Flashing gently hinted.

Ling Qiong: “……”

No, I don’t know.

Why does everything depend on her spending money? Is she just a wallet on legs?

Flash’s voice was slightly shy, [After all, this is a little paper-man raising game~]

Ling Qiong: “……” There was something unsettling about that tone.

She refused to pay for a new place, which resulted in Lu Wenchi staying put for a long time.

Perhaps this was the true charm of pay-to-win mechanics. As long as she didn’t pay, nothing would change. Even when Lu Wenchi’s later dramas became hits, and a certain variety show unexpectedly went viral, propelling him to heartthrob status, this situation remained unmoved.

Lu Wenchi’s fans discovered that his popularity was a roll of the dice. One drama might explode in popularity, but the next would flop. Then a variety show would take off, only for the following one to sink without a trace—again and again, never consistent.

His fans dubbed him “Schrödinger’s Lu Wenchi.”

Only after a show aired would anyone know if it was a hit or a miss.

This made those looking to work with him rather hesitant. If it was a hit, it was huge; if it flopped, it was just as spectacular a disaster. Thus, the opportunities coming his way were always a mixed bag.

Still, thanks to this mysterious “quantum” constitution, Lu Wenchi managed to maintain his popularity. Even if the shows flopped, the actor did not.

[Is this the legendary metaphysical constitution, brother?]
[Isn’t this a bit too supernatural? His acting is fine, so why does this keep happening?]
[Our poor boy—no one knows if his next drama will flop. His career fans are worried sick.]
[I’ve already gone to get lucky charms, hoping he’ll always stay popular.]

His fans were anxious about his career. Yet they had no idea that Lu Wenchi’s fate was entirely in Ling Qiong’s hands.

At this moment, Ling Qiong was sitting in her office, staring at the compendium—

Lu Wenchi (10/16).

She had drawn ten cards, with six remaining.

Ling Qiong eyed the six still-unrevealed cards, her fingers itching to flip them all.

Should she do another draw?

She’d already drawn so many; if she left just six, wouldn’t all her previous effort be wasted? And if she didn’t fill out the lower row, the big illustration at the top probably wouldn’t unlock…

But if she did draw…

With this game’s abysmal drop rates, who knew how much more money she’d have to throw in?

Ling Qiong clutched her head, her forehead pressed to the table in anguish.

Ugh… this was such a tough decision.

Ten minutes later.

Ling Qiong washed her hands—three times with soap—then sat up straight on the sofa.

Inhale, exhale… Draw!

Ten consecutive draws yielded nothing.

A hundred draws—still nothing.

A thousand…

Three thousand…

Five thousand…

Ling Qiong’s expression grew numb; she had become nothing more than a soulless card-drawing machine.

Last ten draws!

If nothing appears, she swore she’d never draw again!

She did the final ten—and indeed… nothing.

Ling Qiong: “……” If I draw again, I’m a fool!

Stupid game! Trash! Destined to go bankrupt!

She furiously shut the game’s homepage, spun circles in her chair, and cursed the developers.

After venting her frustration, Ling “Piggy” Qiong took a deep breath, rolled up her sleeves… and reopened the card pool.

She simply didn’t believe it!

Perhaps the developers heard her outburst, for after just two more sets of ten, she finally got something.

Ling Qiong stared at the flipped-over card. The words “Thirteenth Hour of the Night” stood out starkly.

The card art was somewhat blurry, as if it were night. Ling Qiong scrutinized it for a long time but couldn’t tell what scene it depicted.

What exactly had she drawn?

She couldn’t quite figure it out. There wasn’t the 2/3 red stamp either, so presumably, she hadn’t reached the required location yet.

…

That card sat unused in Ling Qiong’s hands for over a month, never triggering any event.

She got busy and eventually forgot about it.

“Miss Su, please don’t leave, just stay a while,” her assistant pleaded pitifully, chasing after her.

Since her father was President Su, everyone at the company called her “Little President Su.” But she was always plotting to take over and didn’t much care for the nickname.

“No. I’m not here to play hostess.” Ling Qiong was willful. “If they were handsome, I’d tolerate it, but you want me to entertain that lot? Am I, your President Su, so cheap?”

Back in the day, she’d played hostess only to state officials; now, just anyone dared think themselves worthy!

“But this is about building relationships, and we’re partners. President Su said—”

“No,” Ling Qiong responded, utterly unmoved. “At worst, I’ll find someone else to… work with.”

“……”

Her assistant was about to cry.

Ling Qiong patted the assistant’s shoulder, her eyes curving kindly, her smile gentle. “Money’s money, no matter who it comes from, right?”

“……”

She strode off—her assistant couldn’t stop her and could only report to President Su.

But before he could even get help, Ling Qiong had already vanished.

The assistant: “……” We’re doomed!

…

At this moment, Ling Qiong was supporting Lu Wenchi, leaning against the corner wall.

“How much did you drink?”

He reeked of alcohol.

“Not much,” Lu Wenchi replied, though he didn’t seem at all drunk—his speech was clear and logical.

Ling Qiong asked, “Why are you here?”

“Crew dinner,” Lu Wenchi answered with crisp enunciation, like a child called on in kindergarten.

A blush tinged his fair face, his delicate bangs shading his lovely eyes, making him look inexplicably obedient.

Ling Qiong thought he seemed a bit tipsy.

But the more she looked, the cuter he appeared.

She swallowed. “Are you heading back now?”

“Yes, let’s go.”

Ling Qiong took him home. As soon as they arrived, he didn’t even take off his shoes, just marched straight into the bedroom and collapsed onto the bed.

Ling Qiong: “……”

She followed, patting his shoulder. “Are you sure you’re not drunk?”

Face buried in the covers, his voice was muffled: “No.”

Ling Qiong: “……”

You’re obviously drunk!

Still denying it!

She stood for a few seconds, exhaled, helped him off with his shoes, and tucked him under the covers.

*

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