After a Top Idol Married the Sickly Young Master of a Wealthy Family to Bring Him Good Luck - Chapter 9

Pei Xinglu sneered.

Ling Suiyao must be talking nonsense.

Sui Ning was an author who had attained “God” status with a single book.

At eighteen, they wrote The Song of the Folding Blade. The prose was beautiful, archaic, and cinematic; the characters were vivid and full; the plot was tightly knit and full of ups and downs. It looked upon a chaotic era with a soul-stirring grandeur, yet the further one read, the more one felt the author’s touch was cold, like the ink of a Spring and Autumn annalist. The author mercilessly shattered the beauty established early on, infusing that fictional era with the fatalism of historical cycles, creating countless “eternal regrets” for the readers.

Upon publication, The Song of the Folding Blade swept across the internet. It was highly controversial and immensely popular, remaining a “white moonlight” in the hearts of many readers to this day.

Countless readers were waiting for Sui Ning’s second book.

This included Pei Xinglu, who, back then, was still working odd jobs to make a living.

But just one year later, Sui Ning announced their retirement from writing due to poor health.

…Hmm? Wait, health reasons?

Pei Xinglu suddenly put down the script in his hand and looked at Ling Suiyao—who was sitting on the carpet, cross-legged and clutching a book—with a serious and incredulous expression.

…Ling Suiyao? Sui Ning?

Pei Xinglu’s brain stalled.

“Young Master, the car is here.”

Ling Suiyao closed the book, took the coat handed over by Butler Zhou, and put it on. He adjusted his mask and waved goodbye to the motionless Pei Xinglu. “Brother Pei, I’m going to meet the director and screenwriter first. See you at the company in a bit. Good luck, Brother Pei, I think highly of you!”

Pei Xinglu still maintained his expressionless “iceberg” face, taking a long time just to squeeze out an “Oh.”

Ling Suiyao got into the car, pulled his zipper to the very top, looked out the window, and sighed.

Ling Jing stroked his hair and immediately followed up: “What’s wrong, Suisui? Did that guy Pei do something to make you unhappy?”

“No.” Ling Suiyao sighed again. He tugged at his jacket zipper and pursed his lips, looking quite regretful and disappointed. “Brother Pei’s emotions are so stable. I just told him I wrote The Song of the Folding Blade, and he wasn’t shocked at all. But he owns the out-of-print edition; he should be a fan of the book.”

Ling Jing couldn’t bear to see his brother in self-doubt and asserted firmly: “He must be faking it, or else he’s just an idiot. I don’t believe—”

Before he could finish, his phone rang.

Ling Jing raised an eyebrow and showed the screen display to Ling Suiyao.

Pei Xinglu.

Ling Suiyao hurriedly sat forward a bit, urging Ling Jing to answer the call.

Ling Jing turned on the speakerphone: “Hello? Mr. Pei?”

“Ling Suiyao is Sui Ning? The author of The Song of the Folding Blade? The screenwriter? Participating in the casting? Why didn’t you tell me sooner???”

The tones of the two formed a sharp contrast.

The former was affected and leisurely; the latter was like a machine gun—urgent, aggressive, and sweeping through everything.

Ling Jing shrugged, covered the microphone, and said to Ling Suiyao, “See? I told you he was faking it.”

The gloom Ling Suiyao felt from Pei Xinglu’s overly cold attitude vanished instantly. He stopped fidgeting with his zipper, and a smile surfaced on his face; his features were stunningly beautiful.

It was the simple happiness of a child who had received a long-awaited piece of candy.

Ling Jing cleared his throat: “Mr. Pei, you didn’t ask.”

Pei Xinglu rolled up the script and paced back and forth in front of the floor-to-ceiling window. “Then why didn’t Ling Suiyao tell me before?”

“Probably because you didn’t ask then, either,” Ling Jing said slowly.

Pei Xinglu was so angry that he blurted out a curse. “Damn it! Are you guys playing me? Is this fun?”

Ling Jing clicked his tongue and said elegantly, “Mr. Pei, your persona seems to be crumbling. As a public figure, you should mind your words and deeds; a ‘High Mountain Flower’ doesn’t swear. Is it really that shocking that my brother is the original author and screenwriter of the drama you’re auditioning for?”

Ling Suiyao pulled down his mask and shook his head at his second brother, motioning with his mouth for him not to fan the flames further.

“That’s not what I want to talk about!”

Pei Xinglu sat back on the sofa, drank the glass of warm water in one gulp, and slammed the glass upside down on the coffee table with a crisp clink.

“When the ‘Good Luck Marriage’ contract was signed…”

Ling Jing timely turned off the speakerphone. Ling Suiyao couldn’t hear the rest of the words. He looked at his second brother in confusion.

Ling Jing smiled slightly, pointed to his own ear for Ling Suiyao, and then signaled the driver to pull over. He got out of the car to take the call.

Ling Suiyao had tinnitus; in high-pitched or sealed environments, he would hear a buzzing sound like a train in his ears.

Although it hadn’t flared up just now, his second brother was being considerate of him, so Ling Suiyao didn’t press further and simply pressed his ears gently with his fingers.

After Pei Xinglu finished speaking and received no response, he grew impatient: “I’m not participating in this audition anymore. Yes, I like the story of The Song of the Folding Blade very much, but I don’t stoop to using the ‘back door’ or engaging in inside deals.”

Ling Jing pushed up his gold-rimmed glasses, one hand in his suit pants pocket. “I didn’t expect Mr. Pei to be so sensitive. However, you might have misunderstood. We’re just letting you audition; there is no internal pre-selection.”

Pei Xinglu remembered the night he first moved into Pingye Villa, when Ling Suiyao excitedly said he would give him resources.

Then he thought of how, just as he was leaving, Ling Suiyao said he “thought highly” of him.

This was clearly a hint.

Ling Suiyao was both the original author and the younger brother of the CEO of Maisui Entertainment—the little young master held in the palm of the Ling Group’s hand. His power was great enough to completely bypass the director and directly finalize a choice.

Pei Xinglu hated this kind of behavior most in his life, and he absolutely would not allow himself to become such a person.

Back in the car.

Ling Suiyao asked impatiently, “Second Brother, what did you guys talk about?”

Ling Jing weighed his words: “Even though we signed the ‘Good Luck’ agreement and used resources as an exchange… men are all about face. Especially someone like Pei Xinglu, who has no background and fought his way to the top on his own, he has high spirits. He thought you were going to hand the role to him directly, and now he’s so twisted about it he doesn’t want to come to the interview.”

“Huh?”

Ling Suiyao grew anxious.

After hanging up the phone, Pei Xinglu pinched the bridge of his nose. He picked up that out-of-print set of The Song of the Folding Blade and flipped past the mottled cover. His finger fell upon the two characters “Sui Ning” on the title page, sighing with regret in his heart.

But he really hadn’t expected that Sui Ning, who created such a magnificent yet desolate story, was actually Ling Suiyao.

The deep, calm, and steady original author he had imagined was actually a…

The door was suddenly pushed open.

A burst of hurried and frantic footsteps rushed toward him.

Ling Suiyao had run a bit too fast; he almost collapsed onto the sofa, clutching the bunny-shaped backrest. He parted his lips, seemingly trying to say something, but was unable to make a sound.

“Ling Suiyao?” Pei Xinglu was startled.

Ling Suiyao’s breathing became increasingly rapid, making those who heard it feel quite uncomfortable.

Pei Xinglu realized something was wrong. “Do you have asthma? Do you have your medicine?”

Ling Suiyao’s hand trembled as he pointed to his coat pocket.

Pei Xinglu found the aerosol inhaler and held his hand to help him take it.

Ling Suiyao sprayed the medicine. After a while, his breathing gradually calmed down, and the rhythm of his chest returned to normal. However, the hand gripping Pei Xinglu’s sleeve was still shaking slightly, and his head was nearly buried in Pei Xinglu’s chest.

“I’m fine now, thank you, Brother Pei.”

Ling Suiyao’s face still had a sickly flush. He raised his hand to wipe away the tears that had just been forced out; his raven-feather lashes were still adorned with tiny teardrops.

Like crystal-clear dewdrops on a green leaf on a spring morning.

Inexplicably, Pei Xinglu’s brain automatically completed the second half of his earlier thought.

The deep, calm, and steady original author Sui Ning I imagined is actually a delicate, pitiful, and beautiful little young master.

Pei Xinglu: “…???”

Pei Xinglu frowned. He extended two fingers, pressed them against Ling Suiyao’s forehead, and pushed him away to maintain a certain distance. He asked, “What were you running for?”

“I came to explain to Brother Pei!”

“Explain?”

Pei Xinglu looked at him.

Ling Suiyao’s eyes were very bright now—watery and clear, without a hint of impurity. Pei Xinglu could even see his own reflection in them.

“I didn’t intentionally hide that I was the author of The Song of the Folding Blade. There just hasn’t been a suitable time to say it. Also, regarding the casting for The Song of the Folding Blade, Brother Pei, you’ve misunderstood.”

Ling Suiyao slowed down, his voice lowering and his speed decreasing. If he spoke too fast, he would feel a pulling pain in his throat.

“This book took me two years to write; it cost a lot of heart’s blood, and the script has been polished for nearly a year. Second Brother and the director have said that with the Ling family backing it, money is not an issue, and we aren’t afraid of offending anyone. Therefore, the casting follows only the principle of excellence—fair, just, and open. We reject capital bundling and choose the best actors. If the one who finally takes the role of Meng Ce is you, it will only be because you are the most suitable, not because we fixed it internally.”

When Ling Suiyao spoke, his face was full of sincerity. His gaze was direct and excessively candid.

For once, it made Pei Xinglu feel a bit uneasy. He avoided the other’s bright eyes. “Then what did you mean just now by saying you ‘think highly’ of me?”

Ling Suiyao told the truth: “From my perspective, I think Brother Pei’s appearance fits Meng Ce perfectly. This really isn’t an internal fix. If Brother Pei performs poorly in the audition, I won’t go against my heart to choose you.”

Pei Xinglu didn’t speak, seemingly weighing the credibility of these words.

Ling Suiyao hurriedly raised his hand: “I swear, what I’m saying is true. Brother Pei, please still go to the interview. You really are the young Meng Ce in my heart. I believe you will definitely perform well in the audition.”

His pinky pressed against his thumb, with the middle three fingers held together.

A very standard, correct gesture for an oath.

So he did know that the oath he made in front of Butler Zhou earlier was fake.

Although Ling Suiyao looked as though a gust of wind could knock him over and even speaking was a struggle, he was exceptionally stubborn about certain things—and he really talked a lot.

Butler Zhou was distressed beyond measure. He brought over warm water and medicine, shooting several blatant, blaming looks at Pei Xinglu while sighing gloomily.

Pei Xinglu: “…”

“Fine, I believe you.”

With this one sentence from Pei Xinglu, Ling Suiyao finally smiled and obediently drank the water and took his medicine.

Pei Xinglu’s heart was a mess of emotions.

This little “sickly seedling”, who was supposed to be bringing him good luck, was his fan.

He was also the author of his favorite book and the screenwriter of the drama he wanted to act in.

…What kind of situation was this?

Xiao He’s car was stuck on the elevated highway. Due to time constraints, Pei Xinglu rode in the same car as Ling Jing and Ling Suiyao to the company.

Ling Jing sat in the passenger seat, looking back sourly. “Suisui, you’ve never coaxed me that anxiously. What did you two talk about just now? You wouldn’t even let Second Brother in to help you hold down the fort.”

Before Ling Suiyao could speak, Pei Xinglu swept a cold glance over. “What do you mean, ‘coax’?”

Coax?

Such a foreign word.

Pei Xinglu sneered.

Ling Suiyao also nodded and said seriously, “That’s right, Second Brother. I was resolving a misunderstanding with Brother Pei. Brother Pei is the male lead I’m rooting for; I wanted to fight for him a bit.”

He didn’t hide his admiration at all.

Pei Xinglu crossed his arms, cleared his throat for no reason, and picked up the script to read.

Ling Suiyao peeked at him secretly.

Ling Jing knew that Pei Xinglu was his brother’s current favorite “wall-poster” idol.

Although he wasn’t very willing, he still gave an assist.

“Mr. Pei, I heard you like The Song of the Folding Blade very much. Suisui is the author—don’t you feel very surprised? Or do you have anything you want to say?”

Ling Suiyao felt a bit embarrassed and shy: “Second Brother!”

Pei Xinglu closed the script. “I do.”

“I would very much like to ask the author: Why did you make Liu Sang go mad? Why did you kill off Zhao Zhaoyan? Why did you turn Meng Ce and Chu Erya into a couple who wouldn’t rest until the other was dead? And why was Meng Ce’s old age so miserable—a generational hero dying at the hands of his own son?”

Pei Xinglu smiled slightly, the corners of his mouth curling up. “Can the author please answer that?”

Ling Suiyao: “…”

What… what a heavy aura of resentment!