The Genius Cannon Fodder's Counterattack 8

Under the effects of the medicine, Chi Xiaochi fell asleep and dreamed of what had happened before he came here.

He was an actor doing quite well for himself. At twenty-six, he won two international A-list awards, one for Best Actor and one for Best Supporting Actor; by twenty-five, he had collected every one of the domestic film industry's three major golden trophies.

But the entertainment industry was, after all, a circle.

Ling Nanguo, a top photographer in the industry, was friends with the renowned screenwriter Elder Sun Guangren, the man who had discovered Chi Xiaochi.

The niece of one of Ling Nanguo's acquaintances was putting on a stage play, and through all those twists and turns, the request eventually found its way to Chi Xiaochi.

He owed Elder Sun a favor; the theater was in his hometown; and he happened to have an open stretch in his schedule. So Chi Xiaochi accepted the job.

When he arrived at the theater, Chi Xiaochi took off his sunglasses. "This theater is still so old. What a wreck."

Chi Xiaochi's mouth had gotten him into plenty of trouble. His assistant had long since developed a conditioned reflex; with a start, he smoothly rushed to patch things over for him. "Old but still sturdy. Old but still sturdy."

It was certainly old. It was the longest-established theater in town, serving as both a playhouse and a movie theater. When Chi Xiaochi's father was young, he had even brought Mother Chi there to see movies.

As for whether it was sturdy, Chi Xiaochi had the greatest right to speak on that.

During the official performance, thanks to the building's aging renovations, Chi Xiaochi was knocked into this world by a chandelier.

Chi Xiaochi woke from his dream.

In the dream just now, the moment when the chandelier struck him had stretched out without end.

Lying amid the shattered wreckage of the crystal chandelier, Chi Xiaochi felt like a can of soft drink smashed open, blood spurting out in little bursts.

Fortunately, it was a dream, so he could not feel the pain.

The people in the theater had probably never expected that this was what they would see after buying tickets. They all rose from their seats; some climbed onto chairs and pulled out their phones to film.

Lying on the ground, Chi Xiaochi thought, Go ahead and take all the pictures you want. When I die, I'll possess them, crawl out at midnight, and have a nice talk about life with you. If I don't scare you to death, I'll consider it a loss.

He lay there and twisted his neck, which he could no longer feel.

The old theater had serious design flaws. Several load-bearing pillars happened to block the view for audience members seated behind them, who had to crane their necks just to barely see the stage. Seats behind the pillars were therefore much cheaper than the others.

He saw a brother and sister of about ten peering around a pillar in the southeast corner, looking at him curiously.

Chi Xiaochi's eyes widened.

The scene before him blurred, then sharpened. The faces of the two children watching the spectacle changed into those of two half-grown boys, peeking out from behind the pillar, bewildered and uneasy as they watched this sudden accident.

Chi Xiaochi moved his fingers, his lips silently forming the words: "...Brother Lou."

The girl still wanted to look, but a parent behind her barked an order. The boy covered the girl's eyes from behind and led her away.

Chi Xiaochi's teeth chattered. "Brother Lou, don't go. Don't go."

He did not know where he found the strength, but he struggled noisily until half his body emerged from beneath the shattered chandelier—then woke up.

After waking, Chi Xiaochi held a long, thin cigarette between his lips. He did not light it, only pressed it lightly with his mouth.

The system said, "It's three thirty. You only slept four hours."

Chi Xiaochi said, "Sleep my ass. Get up and have some fun."

The system: "..." Oh no. He had not slept enough; he had already gone crazy.

Chi Xiaochi suggested, "Let's put on a movie and watch it together."

The system said helplessly, "It's time to sleep."

Chi Xiaochi jumped out of bed. "When I'm awake, it's daytime."

The system: "..." Fine. If he said it was daytime, it was daytime.

Cheng Jian had thought things through very carefully for his younger brother.

Every facility in this two-hundred-square-meter apartment was excellent, and it even came with a great many thoughtful notes.

For example, there was a note on the liquor cabinet: "You can bring friends over to drink. Help yourselves to anything on the bottom three shelves; you can drink from the middle two shelves; the top two shelves are my collection. Touch them and I'll break your legs."

Chi Xiaochi smiled, tore down every note, stacked them together, opened the wallet he carried with him, arranged them one by one, and tucked them inside.

The system noticed what he was doing, and something stirred in its heart.

In the real world, The Cape Murder Case had made Chi Xiaochi famous overnight. Yet less than two months later, he was plunged into a mire of scandal just as suddenly.

—In an interview, Chi Xiaochi's parents accused him of failing to support them.

When Chi Xiaochi became famous, the internet had only recently begun to flourish. People had just discovered the advantages of online anonymity, yet had not developed the ability to distinguish truth from falsehood in all kinds of information.

For his supposed lack of filial piety, Chi Xiaochi was cursed to pieces on every BBS and forum. He even became a frequent subject in entertainment print media for a time. The denunciations and spittle flew everywhere; it was a bloody storm.

At the time, everyone thought Chi Xiaochi was finished.

But ten months later, 72 Hours of Terror, in which Chi Xiaochi starred as the male lead, became that year's surprise box-office hit.

Chi Xiaochi, knocked down from his pedestal, rose swiftly again. His endorsements, which had originally been cut off, gradually came back to life as well.

In an interview after 72 Hours took off, the host asked about the recent scandal.

Chi Xiaochi, who had previously refused to mention the matter publicly on any program, made an exception. "Ever since I started earning money, I've transferred money to my parents every month. I still have the bank statements."

The host was astonished. "Then they..."

"My father gambles," Chi Xiaochi said. "The money I earned from Cape was all gambled away by him. I helped him cover the hole, but he kept gambling, and he even asked how much I'd make from 72 Hours. I refused them. I said I would send them money monthly from then on, but they... didn't seem very satisfied."

At that point, Chi Xiaochi paused at just the right moment, leaving the host and viewers time to speculate and digest what they had heard.

The host had only asked in passing. She never expected Chi Xiaochi to answer, much less that the truth would be this. "Then why didn't you explain?"

"I was filming during that time." Chi Xiaochi smiled, but his expression held a coolness and composure someone his age should not have possessed. "Besides, everyone seemed very happy to see negative news about celebrities. If I'd explained then, would anyone have listened to me?"

No wonder those who disliked Chi Xiaochi smeared him as deeply calculating.

Not everyone could endure ten months of humiliation and abuse before casually playing an unbeatable trump card.

Nor could everyone so casually expose the family secrets of the parents who had raised them before the public. He spoke neither of hardship nor of the debt of birth; he stated only the facts.

Not even Chi Xiaochi's parents had expected their son to be so ruthless.

If he did not move, he did not move; once he did, he struck like thunder. One blow left no room for reconciliation.

Overnight, public opinion reversed completely. The sharp tongues and pens turned and attacked Chi Xiaochi's parents instead.

No one had guided nineteen-year-old Chi Xiaochi through handling the matter from beginning to end.

Yet in ten months, he had successfully severed the connection to his family. From then on, his parents had neither the face nor the nerve to pester him again.

But many questions remained unresolved in that confrontation.

Six years later, Chi Xiaochi appeared on the same interview program again, with the same host as before.

She asked him, "July, have you ever considered this? Back then, with the matter involving your parents, if there hadn't been 72 Hours of Terror, how would your career in film and television have gone? Would you have faded into obscurity?"

July was Chi Xiaochi's English name.

Wearing a turtleneck sweater, Chi Xiaochi leaned sideways against one arm of a soft sofa. He smiled at the question. "No. Without 72 Hours, there would have been 36 Hours, or 24 Hours."

After six years of refinement, Chi Xiaochi was like the expensive sweater he wore, faintly faded with age: distant and cool, yet carrying an indelible air of worth.

The female host looked at him admiringly. "You're that confident?"

"Because it's me," Chi Xiaochi answered. "That's why."

Before the two sleeping pills Chi Xiaochi had taken wore off, 061 had just finished catching up on his interview program to this point.

Through Chi Xiaochi's smooth, self-possessed manner in the interview, 061 instead saw the "Cheng Yuan" from a few days ago, quietly nibbling at the edge of a bun in a porridge shop, bundled in a somewhat worn down jacket.

His gaze then had been very gentle, tinged with a soft, helpless bewilderment.

Thinking of that look, 061 felt a faint, numbing itch in his heart.

He clearly cared so much about familial affection; why, then, had things come to this when he managed his own family?

Naturally, Chi Xiaochi had no responsibility to answer his question.

He fiddled with the large projector in the living room until he got it running, squeezed himself a glass of carrot juice, curled up on the sofa, and played with the remote as he drank.

He said, "It's been a long time since anyone watched a movie with me."

Before 061 could answer, Chi Xiaochi added, "Oh, right. You're not a person."

061: "..." Fair enough.

Chi Xiaochi said, "That works too. What do you want to watch?"

061 said, "Your call."

Chi Xiaochi smiled. "Oh my, so considerate. You sound like you're spoiling a girlfriend. You must be pretty popular among your AIs, huh?"

061 said, "I'm all right."

There was nothing wrong with that statement. He had a gentle temperament and was always treated by the other AIs as an emotional dumping ground for complaints; he really was rather popular.

He quickly added, "But the Master System has not set an intimacy mode for AIs. Among us AIs, there is only pure friendship."

Chi Xiaochi tapped at the remote buttons as he chose a movie. "No ambition at all. If there aren't any conditions, create them. Don't you have zero and one?"

061: "..."

He thought about it for a moment, then felt that both his ears and his soul had been defiled.

Chi Xiaochi picked a horror movie and casually dimmed the lights in the living room.

At the very start, the system reminded him, "Turn down the sound a little. It's still sleeping hours; don't disturb the neighbors."

"The soundproofing here is excellent." Chi Xiaochi was unconcerned. "Unless I bring a drill in here right now and start drilling for oil, nobody's going to complain."

He talked a big game, but as soon as the opening horror music began, Chi Xiaochi frantically lowered the volume from forty all the way to twenty.

After two minutes of watching, Chi Xiaochi's teeth began to chatter.

061: "...Are you scared?"

Chi Xiaochi: "Obviously."

061: "...Then why are you watching it if you're scared?"

Chi Xiaochi held his cup in front of his eyes. "I'll only watch it when someone's with me."

The system sighed, unable to quite understand the mindset of watching something precisely because one was afraid of it.

But it still made small adjustments to the temperature-regulation system in Chi Xiaochi's body, regulating the amount of cold sweat so he would not feel uncomfortable.

For the next hour and a half, the system became Chi Xiaochi's live commentator.

"The ghost hasn't appeared. Don't worry, open your eyes. ...I'm not lying to you."

"At this pace, nothing will happen when the heroine turns around. When she turns back again, the ghost will appear. Close your eyes."

With his eyes opening and closing, closing and opening like that, Chi Xiaochi actually curled up on the sofa and fell asleep.

The system said softly, "Wake up. Go sleep in bed; you'll catch a cold sleeping on the sofa."

Chi Xiaochi gave a low hum, turned over, and pulled the light blanket around himself, curling into a ball.

061: "...Sigh."

A moment later, a dark figure materialized in front of the sofa.

The tall young man in a white shirt and black trousers bent down and gathered Chi Xiaochi, blanket and all, into his arms.

Chi Xiaochi's whole body suddenly stiffened, and he opened his eyes at once.

061 was a little embarrassed. But after Chi Xiaochi stared at him fixedly for a while, he closed his eyes again.

Chi Xiaochi thought, I'm dreaming again. This time, it's a good dream.

He could not let Brother Lou realize he had noticed him, or else he would leave again.

061 waited for a while. Only after he found that Chi Xiaochi seemed to have fallen asleep again did he slowly carry him into the bedroom.

Chi Xiaochi was living quite comfortably, but Yang Baihua was restless and agitated.

He returned home exhausted, only to find no hot soup or warm meal, just a cold stove and empty pots. Yang Baihua felt increasingly displeased.

Had he gone straight to live with that childhood friend? Was he really so impatient? He did not even have time to tell him?

Yang Baihua was very tired. He felt that his enthusiasm for Cheng Yuan had gradually waned lately. Even in bed, he had little interest; often, while he was still washing up, exhaustion made his whole body go limp. How could he have the energy to fool around with him?

He was so busy for work, yet young master Cheng Yuan had never learned to be considerate.

Yang Baihua did not look for Cheng Yuan.

In his experience, Cheng Yuan was always the one who could not hold out. He would call very soon to make up with him anyway.

Yet his parents had already been there three or four days, and he still had not received an explanation from Cheng Yuan.

When he took his parents out to eat, he was especially quiet, his fingers continuously rubbing the leather cover on the steering wheel.

Father Yang and Mother Yang sat in the back seat, while his cousin Yang Xiaoyan sat in the passenger seat.

After riding in it for several days, the old couple still had not gotten over the novelty of the car. Mother Yang was studying the film on the windows. "Son, with this stuff on, people really can't see inside from outside?"

Yang Baihua came back to himself, nodded, and smiled. "That's right."

Yang Xiaoyan wore bright red gel nail polish, and both her makeup and clothes were fashionable.

Her phone had run out of battery, so she had borrowed Yang Baihua's to play with. Hearing this, she silently curled her lip.

...Such hicks.

She scrolled through Weibo for a while, replied to several comments from her followers, and then tapped in and out of the various apps on Yang Baihua's phone.

Driven by curiosity, she secretly opened the chat history between Yang Baihua and Cheng Yuan. After flipping through a few pages, she saw three songs Cheng Yuan had sent a few days earlier, labeled demo 1, 2, and 3.

Yang Xiaoyan occasionally wrote little tunes herself, so she was naturally very interested in her Brother Cheng's work. With a tap of her finger, she hit play.

When the music rang through the car without warning, Yang Baihua's scalp nearly exploded.

He wanted to snatch the phone away, but he was driving, and he feared too great a movement would make his parents suspicious. All he could do was fret helplessly as cold sweat seeped endlessly from his palms.

Meanwhile, Yang Xiaoyan was delighted.

She could tell that these were not finished demos, only rough beginnings, but the melodies were quite inventive and the technique assured. Accompanied by soft hummed vocals, they tugged powerfully at the heartstrings.

Yang Baihua said coldly, "Don't play music at random. It uses up data."

Yang Xiaoyan's eyes rolled, and an idea occurred to her. "Did Brother Cheng write this?"

Yang Baihua's expression changed. He gave Yang Xiaoyan a meaningful look.

Yang Xiaoyan looked at him with bright eyes, pretending not to understand.

Yang Baihua cursed under his breath.

Sure enough, the question caught Father and Mother Yang's attention.

Father Yang asked, "Xiao Cheng? Your brother's friend?"

Yang Xiaoyan answered first. "Yes. Didn't my brother tell you? He's his good friend, and he makes music."

Yang Baihua's palms were sweating so much that his grip on the steering wheel was beginning to slip.

When Mother Yang heard the words "good friend," she showed a trace of expectation. But when she heard "makes music," the corners of her downturned mouth pulled even farther down in a scornful expression—strangely like Yang Xiaoyan's just moments ago.

"Son, listen to your mother. Don't mix around with people who don't have proper jobs. You're different from them. You studied hard to get into college, step by step; you're a college graduate, one of Heaven's favored. So many people who study art are little hooligans. They only study art because they have nowhere else to go. They're worthless."

Yang Baihua said nothing, but Yang Xiaoyan cut in again. "Brother Cheng's family is rich. What's wrong with studying whatever he likes?" Then she turned to Yang Baihua and wheedled, "Right, Brother?"

Mother Yang was embarrassed and looked toward Yang Baihua.

Yang Baihua followed his mother's lead. "He just writes and sings for fun. It's not like he'll amount to much."

Mother Yang regained a little face. She gave a "Hah," then turned to Xiaoyan. "Hear that? Only rich people fool around with this kind of thing."

Xiaoyan pretended not to hear. She played with Yang Baihua's phone, growing more and more captivated as she listened.

She tested the waters. "Did Brother Cheng write these just for fun too? Like before, he doesn't plan to put them out for sale?"

Eager to end the subject, Yang Baihua pressed hard on the horn and answered in a low voice, "His family has money. He doesn't care about the little income from selling songs. Besides, he doesn't like mixing music with money."

That put Yang Xiaoyan at ease.

She quietly selected two of the three demos, forwarded them to her WeChat, then moved her fingers again and swiftly, silently deleted the forwarding record from Yang Baihua's phone.