Chapter 23 - 2#
“Like hell it is!”
Dong Qihao shot back, but slumped onto the sofa, seized by an inexplicable dread and unease.
Well, now he had gone too far, using public opinion to stir up sympathy and hype among his fans, only to offend someone he shouldn’t have. In the span of a single night, the backlash had consumed him entirely.
…
Before long, it was the day of the program recording.
As one of the observer guests, Jing Shun remained unaffected by the online uproar, arriving at Studio No. 1 as scheduled.
While waiting at a red light, Yu Xiuzhu turned his head to glance at his artist and teased, “Still not done gawking? I should take a picture of you acting like such a gossip right now.”
Today, Jing Shun wore a white-and-blue shirt, his bangs naturally falling before they could be styled. His fair, delicate face was impossible to look away from.
Jing Shun looked up with an embarrassed smile and said, “I’m just looking—I won’t spill the beans if I talk.”
To make it easier to keep up with the gossip, he had deliberately gotten a burner Weibo account from one of the staff members. Having nothing better to do at home over the past couple of days, he had secretly been hopping through all the drama.
Just this past weekend, another netizen came forward with a real-name expose—
Claiming that Dong Qihao had already started a romantic relationship with her while he was still an idol, accusing him of maintaining a relationship with her over the past two years while simultaneously flirting with other girls incessantly, and, more recently, even having a male sugar daddy!
Reconstructing the timeline made it clear: the man was a master of time management.
The negative buzz surrounding Dong Qihao kept snowballing, like an avalanche triggered by a rolling snowball.
Within two days, Dong Qihao lost countless followers. Pre-sales for his quasi-first-tier magazine hit an all-time low, and even the brand he endorsed announced an early termination of their partnership.
“I heard,” Yu Xiuzhu said as he drove through the intersection and pulled into the underground parking lot of Studio No. 1, “that he originally landed the male lead for Director Zou Shiming’s new drama. They were just about to sign the contract, but the investors got scared these scandals would affect the show’s broadcast later, so they dropped him.”
“Director Zou’s male lead?” Jing Shun’s eyes lit up briefly before dimming with regret. “What a great opportunity.”
Yu Xiuzhu knew he was itching for a chance like that. Smiling reassuringly, he said, “He brought it all on himself. No loss. Anyway, we’re here. Wait a moment—I’ll grab your wheelchair from the back.”
Jing Shun smiled and nodded. “Okay.”
In no time, Yu Xiuzhu came over with the wheelchair.
As he did, he handed over a delicately wrapped luxury-brand gift box. “Here, the thing you asked me to pick up. Almost forgot.”
Jing Shun remembered how important it was and carefully stored it in the side pocket of the wheelchair. “Thanks, Brother Yu.”
The two entered the elevator from the basement floor.
Jing Shun’s eyes landed on the “Hai City Television Station” logo on the elevator wall, and a thought struck him. “Brother Yu, why did HST’s official account step in to repost? Did Sister Yin arrange that?”
Yu Xiuzhu found it odd too. Shaking his head, he replied, “Doesn’t seem like it? Sister Yin only said it was an order from higher-ups at the station. No specifics. Maybe the netizens were right—Dong’s fans maliciously reported something and pissed off HST leadership.”
Jing Shun felt there was more to it. “Really?”
Yu Xiuzhu reminded him, “We’re on the fifth floor.”
Ding-dong.
The elevator doors slid open, and sounds from the fifth-floor hallway drifted in.
“Director Chi, this floor houses our indoor studios, divided into three main areas:…”
“…”
When Jing Shun heard the familiar title, he quickly stepped out of the elevator and shifted his gaze.
On the outer hallway of the studio, Chi Gui was surrounded by a crowd, but his exceptionally tall figure made him stand out immediately.
A staff member beside him was energetically introducing things, but Chi Gui’s expression was indifferent—even a little cold. His nods were barely perceptible, carrying a chilling aloofness.
For a moment, Jing Shun thought he was imagining things.
The next second, Chi Gui turned his head and locked eyes with him perfectly.
Their gazes met.
Jing Shun felt the world around him fall silent.
Yu Xiuzhu looked at Jing Shun, asking in a low, surprised voice, “Why is Director Chi here?”
Jing Shun shook his head. He wanted to know too.
Perhaps Chi Gui had been staring for too long; the group around him also noticed Jing Shun and Yu Xiuzhu’s presence.
Among them, Yu Yinhe, catching the subtle shift in Chi Gui’s demeanor, quickly stepped forward to make introductions.
“Director Chi, President Yan, this is one of our program’s guests, Jing Shun, and his agent, Mr. Yu Xiuzhu.”
Everyone expected Chi Gui to remain silent like before, but instead, he took the initiative to respond.
“Yes, I know. Teacher Jing and I are acquainted.”
“…”
Teacher Jing?
Jing Shun had never heard Chi Gui call him that before, and he froze.
President Yan was one of the senior leaders at HST and had caught wind of last week’s online controversy.
He immediately guessed what was happening, probing with a hint of calculation. “What a coincidence, Director Chi. How about you and Teacher Jing have a private chat?”
“Sure.”
Chi Gui walked over to Jing Shun, revealing a hint of a smile invisible to the others behind him. “Where’s your break room? Let’s catch up.”
That “catch up” was clearly for show.
Jing Shun had no choice but to play along. “Okay.”
“…”
Yu Xiuzhu watched the two backs as they walked away, not following.
Instead, he moved closer to Yu Yinhe and whispered, “Sister Yin, what’s going on? Why is Chi Gui—I mean, Director Chi—here?”
Yu Yinhe said, “Since last year, the station has been planning to build a global multimedia platform, but upper management never approved the funding.”
“I only heard this morning that an investor was coming.” She made a subtle hand gesture. “They’re putting in this much.”
The station chief and senior executives had confirmed Chi Corporation’s intention to cooperate, practically revering Chi Gui like a money god.
Yu Xiuzhu pushed up his glasses and sighed, “I think I finally get it.”
Jing Shun was sharp, too.
Inside the break room, when he learned the real reason behind Chi Gui’s presence, the last shred of doubt in his mind was resolved.
Jing Shun asked, “Did HST’s official account repost the show’s Weibo because of you?”
Chi Gui didn’t deny it. “I just had Yi Ming mention it.”
The senior executives who thrived in this industry—none of them were fools.
Jing Shun took a sharp breath. “I thought you only stepped in to warn off the backers behind Dong Qihao on my behalf. How did you end up tied up with the TV station’s investment? That’s… unnecessary.”
Chi Gui, sensing his unease, explained, “Chi Corporation had never touched the entertainment industry before, but we’ve been considering expanding into that sector for the past two years.”
For a conglomerate like Chi Group, ordinary film and television companies were too small to absorb such a large investment, and the senior management wouldn’t care about the paltry scraps those projects brought in anyway.
Chi Gui was straightforward. “Choosing HST was a careful decision based on multiple factors. Your situation just happened to coincide with this timeline.”
Jing Shun felt the weight lift off his shoulders. “I see.”
No wonder Chi Corporation’s subsidiary had agreed to film The Real Job. No wonder Chi Gui’s car could so easily access the TV station’s private parking lot.
Chi Gui noticed his relief and smirked inwardly. “I almost asked you this morning if you wanted to ride together, but I figured you’d feel pressured, so I didn’t bring it up.”
He paused for two seconds, adding somewhat deliberately, “Who knew we’d run into each other anyway.”
Jing Shun hummed, “Good thing you didn’t. You’re HST’s investor now. If anyone saw me arriving in the same car as you, it’d be way too flashy.”
Chi Gui had expected that reaction. “And us being alone together right now—that’s not flashy?”
“…”
Jing Shun’s ears inexplicably grew warm as he cleared his throat.
Suddenly remembering the gift in the wheelchair’s side pocket, he pulled it out. “Here, thanks for all your help lately and for giving me that jasmine tea.”
“This is a return gift I picked out for you. I was going to bring it home and give it to you when I had the chance.”
“For me?”
A ripple of pleasure flickered deep in Chi Gui’s eyes as he took it. “Can I open it now?”
Jing Shun said, “It’s yours. Up to you.”
Chi Gui didn’t stand on ceremony, quickly unwrapping it. “Okay.”
The simple packaging came off, revealing a tie.
It was a steady, dark blue base with exquisite black patterns and a well-known luxury logo. The craftsmanship was extremely detailed, but it wasn’t a style commonly found on regular store shelves.
Jing Shun hadn’t given anyone a gift in a long time, and now his heart was pounding. “Do you think it looks good?”
Having grown up shooting on set, Jing Shun rarely had to worry about his wardrobe. During the years he was ill in his past life, his material desires had dwindled even further.
Jing Shun knew Chi Gui surely lacked nothing in terms of luxury goods. After thinking it over, he had turned to Yu Xiuzhu, another rich young master, for help.
The tie was a limited-edition high-end custom piece from the brand, purchased using Yu Xiuzhu’s black card. But it was Jing Shun who personally chose it—its feel and drape were excellent.
“Very nice.”
Chi Gui held it up, affirming, “You have good taste and an eye for quality. Thank you.”
Jing Shun smiled with renewed confidence, the corners of his lips lifting. “I noticed you wear formal suits often, so I picked a tie.”
Chi Gui looked down, his words carrying a hint of intent. “Mm, it seems to go well with the color of my suit today.”
Jing Shun gave him an appraising look and suggested, “Want to try it on now? A Kelvin knot would look good.”
Chi Gui rubbed the subtle pattern on the tie’s surface but said, “I haven’t really studied tie knots. Do you know how? Help me out.”
“Me?”
Jing Shun was taken aback by the sudden request.
He subconsciously glanced at the height difference between them and hesitated. “It might not be convenient for me right now. You’re too tall.”
“…”
Not convenient, not impossible.
Chi Gui confirmed the younger man’s willingness and decisively bent down, quickly closing the height gap.
To maintain balance, he braced his left hand on the wheelchair’s armrest, bringing him very close to Jing Shun in a private, possessive posture.
“How about now? Is it convenient?”
“…”
Jing Shun had never been eye-level with Chi Gui from such a close distance before. He was momentarily struck speechless.
Chi Gui’s eyes were deep, but not cold.
From them, Jing Shun caught a glimpse of an earnest, expectant glint he couldn’t quite decipher—fleeting as a dragonfly skimming the water.
Then Chi Gui placed one end of the tie into his hand. “Jing Shun, help me tie it?”
Jing Shun gripped it tightly, his voice coming out obediently. “Alright.”