I Rely on My Versatility to Reach the Top of the Entertainment Industry [Ancient Times to Modern] - Chapter 40

Discovered!

The thought flashed through Lu Yuzhi’s mind as the square characters on the screen transformed into Jing Yi’s indifferent face. The handsome monk, with compassion in his brow, sat solemnly beneath the Buddha statue, closing his eyes in silent refusal.

Startled by the imagined scene, Lu Yuzhi furrowed his brows.

Before the same screen content, Jing Yi was filled with regret.

When Yang Xin had asked him that on the show, he had initially thought it was just the program team joking around, but later he found himself inexplicably bothered by it.

Bothered enough to… frequently recall it during meditation.

What had Lu Yuzhi posted on Weibo?

Driven by this desire to verify, Jing Yi clicked on Lu Yuzhi’s Weibo account for the first time.

But aside from promotions for films and movies, there was only one post related to him.

That post was about the breakfast he had made for Lu Yuzhi while staying at his house. It was also that post that sparked speculation among netizens about their relationship.

Jing Yi subconsciously opened the post, and the most popular comment immediately caught his eye.

“Rounding it up, this is basically Film Emperor Lu deliberately showing off his lovingly made breakfast.”

The top reply to the comment read: “Hahaha, let’s fangirl together! Film Emperor Lu rarely posts casual life photos—he always seems like he only cares about work. Even in others’ posts, he’s usually in formal attire at events. But in Yi Zai’s Weibo, we can actually see photos of him working out. Those who get it, get it.”

Driven by curiosity, Jing Yi specifically scrolled through many of Lu Yuzhi’s Weibo posts.

The fan was right—there really were no casual life photos. Posting about breakfast was a first.

But these were all just speculations.

Jing Yi thought for a moment and, following his usual habit, clicked on Lu Yuzhi’s latest promotional post for the TV film “Xie Qiyun.” Sure enough, he saw the fans’ latest comments.

Moreover, the IDs were the same ones who were particularly active on his own account. The questions they asked were surprisingly similar to Yang Xin’s.

It felt like confirmation of what Yang Xin had said.

It was strange.

Jing Yi felt a strange unease.

Just like the confused emojis flooding the internet, his mind was also filled with question marks.

These question marks eventually turned into a single query posted under Lu Yuzhi’s Weibo.

But no one replied to this query.

Lu Yuzhi’s Weibo was as quiet as stagnant water. The netizens who had been so lively just moments before had all disappeared within a minute of his post.

Jing Yi refreshed the page again, and something even stranger happened.

Aside from the top comment, “Yi Zai doesn’t know about the pursuit,” many of the other replies had vanished.

Jing Yi never doubted his memory.

He refreshed twice more and noticed that the netizens’ comments had dwindled even further, while Lu Yuzhi’s ID was getting closer to his own. He froze in surprise.

Why were the netizens deleting their own replies?

Jing Yi was puzzled, while the netizens were grinning like matchmaking aunties.

Yes, Film Emperor Lu had posted: “Heaven knows, earth knows, you know, I know, but he doesn’t. Please don’t tell him.”

They hadn’t actively told Jing Yi anything—they were being good!

This time, Yi Zai had found out the truth by scrolling through Weibo himself. It wasn’t their fault at all.

Their Yi Zai, their precious treasure, was the best in the world. Whatever choice he made would be the best. But if such a pure, kind, and talented child really left to become a monk in a temple, how tragic would that be!

We need to quietly play matchmaker while Yi Zai hasn’t truly become a monk yet.

Forget the wealthy circles—within the entertainment industry, Lu Yuzhi is undoubtedly the best choice!

Zero scandals! Zero haters! Kiss scenes are faked with camera angles! For unavoidable intimate scenes, the lights are always cut! He treats his fans consistently well for years and always ranks first in charitable donations!

If this doesn’t prove that Lu Yuzhi is clean and worthy of entrusting one’s life to, then what does?

Of course, matchmaking aside, if Yi Zai shows any dislike or discomfort, they’ll stop immediately.

Fans anxiously refreshed the comments and noticed that all the extra replies had been deleted. After Lu Yuzhi and Jing Yi’s IDs ended up in adjacent comments, Lu Yuzhi still hadn’t posted a new reply, making their hearts sink.

Lu Yuzhi may be pitiful, but he’s also genuinely timid.

With such a perfect opportunity to make a direct move right in front of him, how could he not reply?

Should they screenshot the hashtag #LuYuzhiSecretlyLikesJingYi and send it to Jing Yi? Or maybe screenshot Lu Yuzhi’s Weibo post and send it to Jing Yi?

The fans hesitated, unsure. When they refreshed again, they discovered that Jing Yi’s comment had disappeared.

Jing Yi deleted his comment and lowered his gaze.

Since childhood, he had a habit of digging to the root of things. Before he turned fourteen, his fellow disciples often called him “Little Monk Why.”

After being called that repeatedly, Jing Yi sought out the abbot to discuss it, asking whether constantly questioning everything was a good habit.

The abbot said that having a strong thirst for knowledge is a good thing, but if frequent questioning causes trouble for others, he should quietly hide that curiosity and seek answers on his own, judging their correctness.

Since Lu Yuzhi and the netizens weren’t answering, perhaps he had caused them trouble?

But how could he find the answer to the question of “pursuit” by himself? If Lu Yuzhi didn’t answer, did that mean he had asked the wrong question, and everyone else had too?

Besides these thoughts, there was one more crucial question.

—Xuan Kong, why do you care about this matter?

Jing Yi pressed a hand to his chest, searching his heart. His clear eyes filled with deep confusion. Was it due to curiosity about something he’d never experienced before, or was there something else he hadn’t yet discovered?

No matter how much he pondered, he couldn’t find an answer.

Jing Yi clasped his hands together, parted his lips lightly, and began reciting the Great Compassion Mantra.

A soft chant filled the quiet room.

Ding-dong

Hearing the doorbell, Jing Yi opened his eyes.

The apartment doors were quite close together, and sometimes delivery people rang the wrong bell.

Jing Yi walked to the door, turned the knob, and his eyes widened instantly.

Standing outside was none other than Lu Yuzhi—and he was wearing only pajamas, completely drenched.

His black hair was wet and clung to his forehead, his handsome face streaked with rain, his expression both panicked and dejected.

“Yuzhi? What’s wrong?” Jing Yi pushed the door wide open and stepped aside. “Come in quickly, you’re soaked.”

Lu Yuzhi glanced at the clean wooden floor and pressed his lips together. The reply he had prepared about that question changed at the last moment: “I… I’ll get your floor wet.”

A hint of helplessness flickered in Jing Yi’s eyes.

He grasped Lu Yuzhi’s hand and firmly pulled him into the apartment.

The door closed.

While channeling his inner energy to warm Lu Yuzhi’s icy hands, Jing Yi headed toward the bathroom.

“What does the floor matter? You need a shower first.” He nudged Lu Yuzhi under the showerhead. “I’ll get you some pajamas.”

Lu Yuzhi watched Jing Yi leave in a daze, his hand flexing unconsciously. He turned on the showerhead, wondering why Jing Yi’s attitude remained exactly the same as before.

Had that question been asked out of mere curiosity?

Did Jing Yi truly harbor no feelings for him beyond friendship?

When Jing Yi returned with his pajamas and entered the bathroom, his brow furrowed slightly.

“Yuzhi, what are you doing?”

After being caught in the night rain, he was still standing under the cold water? Did he think the April rain wasn’t chilling enough?

He was supposed to be a steady, composed person.

Jing Yi stepped under the showerhead and adjusted the water to warm.

Lu Yuzhi turned his head to look at the person beside him, whose eyes were filled with concern, and suddenly curved his lips into a smile.

“Jing Yi, are you worried about me?”

His words carried an inexplicable hint of vulnerability.

“Yes, I’m worried about you.” Jing Yi pressed his lips together and nodded seriously. “Take a shower first, okay?”

Lu Yuzhi fell silent again, his amber eyes fixed intently on Jing Yi.

Seeing Lu Yuzhi like this, Jing Yi sighed.

“Sorry about this.”

He reached out and pulled off Lu Yuzhi’s soaking wet bathrobe. Just as he was about to undo the only remaining piece of clothing—his pants—his hand was caught by Lu Yuzhi.

“I’ll wash. You can go out.” Lu Yuzhi lowered his gaze, his wet eyelashes blurring his vision of the floor.

Jing Yi hesitated, unwilling to leave.

Lu Yuzhi looked up and gave Jing Yi a faint smile. “I really will wash up. Go out, okay? Hmm?”

Jing Yi’s frown deepened.

He gave Lu Yuzhi a long, searching look before stepping out of the bathroom and closing the door.

Forty minutes later, Lu Yuzhi finally emerged from the bathroom.

The tall man, now dressed in cartoon-print pajamas, had regained his usual composure, a faint smile playing on his lips.

“I’ve troubled you again.”

“It’s fine.” Jing Yi smiled back.

The room suddenly fell into silence.

After a long moment, the two of them, still locked in each other’s gaze, simultaneously averted their eyes.

“That question… I probably shouldn’t have asked.” Jing Yi lowered his head. “It was just a moment of curiosity. I’m sorry if it caused you any distress.”

Lu Yuzhi froze, his heart seeming to skip a beat.

In that instant, the emotional defenses he had built up over the past forty minutes crumbled completely under Jing Yi’s apology. If Jing Yi didn’t even have a basic sense of curiosity anymore, what was the point of explaining?

He should have just replied on Weibo from the start, instead of agonizing over whether to discuss it in person.

Lu Yuzhi felt utterly drained, both physically and emotionally.

After apologizing, Jing Yi felt much more at ease. But when he received no response from Lu Yuzhi after a long while, he looked up and saw that the man who had been smiling faintly just moments ago now wore a dejected expression again.

…Was apologizing wrong too?

Jing Yi grew even more confused.

At that moment, Lu Yuzhi lowered his head, his voice hoarse and every word tinged with exhaustion. “I’m the one who should apologize. I’m the one who caused you trouble.”

“You don’t need to pay attention to what was said on Weibo. I’ll make sure my fans don’t speak out of turn.”

“I’ve disturbed you enough.”

Lu Yuzhi began walking toward the door.

Hearing something off about his footsteps, Jing Yi glanced down and noticed Lu Yuzhi wasn’t wearing any shoes. Only then did he remember that, in his own distress, he hadn’t thought things through.

“The rain hasn’t stopped. You should stay until tomorrow.”

Lu Yuzhi shook his head and quickened his pace.

Jing Yi had no choice but to grab Lu Yuzhi’s hand again and step in front of him.

Their eyes met. Lu Yuzhi’s amber eyes looked like stagnant water, devoid of life, and his hand was still cold to the touch.

Jing Yi had no choice but to circulate his energy once more to help Lu Yuzhi dispel the cold. He let out a long sigh and said, “When I asked, no one answered. When I withdrew the question, you still frowned. What exactly… should I do?”

Lu Yuzhi looked at Jing Yi, his eyes dark and deep. “I don’t know what I should do either. It seems like no matter what I do, it feels like an offense to you.”

“Offense?” Jing Yi murmured the word softly. “You’ve always treated me with courtesy. How could it be an offense?”

Lu Yuzhi suddenly took a step forward.

The distance was too close, forcing Jing Yi to tilt his head up.

At that moment, Lu Yuzhi spoke, “I never wanted to treat you with courtesy. From the first moment I saw you, I’ve been thinking about how to get closer to you. So close that…”

Lu Yuzhi fell silent.

Jing Yi asked curiously, “So close that…?”

“You place me in the same position as the Buddha, just as I regard you as the pursuit of my entire life.” Lu Yuzhi lowered his eyes. “Yes, I am pursuing you, using methods that seem utterly ineffective to pursue you.”

Jing Yi saw the pain in Lu Yuzhi’s eyes.

He didn’t dare to look directly at Lu Yuzhi and averted his gaze slightly, saying, “No one compares themselves to the Buddha… You are you, and the Buddha is the Buddha.”

Lu Yuzhi: “…”

So what if he wanted to compare? He desperately wanted to compare—what was wrong with that?

When Jing Yi looked at Lu Yuzhi again, intending to say more, Lu Yuzhi’s face suddenly drew closer. The next second, his waist was pulled tightly, and Lu Yuzhi’s lips pressed against his.

It was a soft and unfamiliar sensation.

Jing Yi’s eyes widened.

At that moment, Lu Yuzhi’s tightly closed eyes actually shed tears.

Wait… why was he crying now?

Jing Yi wondered, could it be that Lu Yuzhi knew deep down he couldn’t compare to the Buddha? Was that why he felt so aggrieved?