If The Persona Is Wrong, Everything Else Is In Vain - Chapter 5

Lin Luo squatted in the stairwell and pulled out a cigarette. Just as he lit it, the person who stepped in behind him snatched it away.

He looked up, his lighter frozen in mid-air.

“When did you learn to do that?”

The newcomer was dressed entirely in black, a sharp suit under a heavy overcoat. His facial features were sharp, naturally fierce looking, and his expression matched. If he didn’t intentionally force his facial muscles into a smile, he could easily make a child cry. He usually wore a pair of non-prescription glasses on the bridge of his nose to mask that predatory aura, it gave him a bit of that “refined scoundrel” vibe.

Regardless, at least he looked somewhat refined.

If Lin Luo didn’t know his true nature, he really would have mistaken him for some high-powered CEO.

The man’s leather shoes clicked against the floor as he walked over to Lin Luo. He leaned against the stair railing, crossing his legs. The cigarette smoke drifted past his nose, he sniffed it carefully, catching a hint of grassiness.

It was the scent of Lin Luo’s fingertips, and it was a frustrating fragrance.

He looked down at Lin Luo, sizing him up.

With a faint, indiscernible smile, he pinched the cigarette between two fingers, snapping it in half. “This isn’t a good habit.”

Lin Luo stood up. “President Ming.”

“Shh.” Ming Songqin pressed a finger to his lips, making a silencing gesture. “I don’t like hearing that.”

“I’d much prefer you call me Ming-ge.”

He fished a mint out of his pocket, unwrapped it, and popped it into Lin Luo’s mouth, saying with a grin: “You used to love these.”

That demeanor was always a world apart from his appearance.

Lin Luo gave a dry laugh. “Is there something you need?”

“Can’t I come find you if there isn’t…”

“No,” Lin Luo interrupted him, his eyes filled with a resolute distance. “Our professional relationship has ended.”

“You aren’t my boss anymore, and I’m not your subordinate.”

“Then how about a ‘brother’ relationship?” He wasn’t annoyed, still smiling and speaking in a relaxed tone, like he was coaxing a child. “Our families were close friends back when Uncle Lin was alive. You wouldn’t be that heartless, would you?”

“I…”

The door swung open with a loud thud. Without turning around, Lin Luo knew who it was. That damn grassy scent, who else could it be but that crazy, alluring “Grass Spirit”?

Ming Songqin didn’t bother moving. He lifted his eyelids to glance in that direction; his previously relaxed facial muscles tightened imperceptibly, and a flicker of impatience survived within the cracks of his fake smile.

Zhou Wan walked up to Lin Luo and yanked him up, gripping his wrist with a dark expression. “Is this the reason you ditched me and ran off?”

“For him?” He pointed at Ming Songqin, radiating the hostility of mutual repulsion between Alphas.

The scent of his pheromones hadn’t fully dissipated yet, and the corners of his eyes were slightly red. He had likely used a forceful suppressant, leaving his hormone levels unstable.

The sudden rush of wind as he approached dragged Lin Luo back into unpleasant memories. He frowned and took a step back, covering his nose and glaring at Zhou Wan with pure disgust.

“Is there something wrong with your brain? Did the pheromones swallow your mind? Since we’re already at the hospital, please go get yourself checked out.”

Ming Songqin’s gaze shifted back and forth between the two. “And this is…?”

Zhou Wan pushed Lin Luo behind him, shielding him completely. He puffed out his chest and raised his head, trying to match Ming Songqin’s height, though he was still a fraction shorter.

“His A…”

Lin Luo poked his head out and cut him off. “An Omega in heat.” He gestured toward his own head. “His brain isn’t working right.”

“Omega?” Ming Songqin narrowed his eyes, examining Zhou Wan closely. He savored that familiar yet currently strange term, then let out a cryptic smile.

Zhou Wan’s face darkened, and his gaze grew heavy. He grabbed Lin Luo, intending to walk away. “Come with me.”

Ming Songqin was quick, grabbing Lin Luo’s other arm.

Lin Luo was being pulled between the two of them, inexplicably turned into a human tug of war rope. Both their hands were like iron clamps, refusing to let go.

“If you two have a grievance, please go fight in the rain. I promise I won’t stop you. Just don’t involve me, alright?”

Zhou Wan: “We don’t have a grievance.”

Ming Songqin: “How could we?”

They spoke in unison, glaring at each other, competing in a silent clash of wills. All that silent pressure was being exerted on Lin Luo.

Lin Luo sighed, wishing he could slap them both, but fearing that if he ruined their faces, they’d sue him for damages.

Ming Songqin’s free hand pulled a phone from his pocket and quickly dialed a number. “I only came today to talk to you about a collaboration.”

“Collaboration?” Lin Luo immediately shook off Zhou Wan’s hand. “What collaboration? How do we talk? How much does it pay?”

Zhou Wan grasped at empty air, staring at him in disbelief, teeth clenched in a fury he had nowhere to vent.

Ming Songqin shot him a glance, mockingly triumphant, his eyebrows practically soaring with smugness.

“Wait,” Lin Luo snapped back to reality. “No private work is allowed during the filming of The Unquestioned. What did you do?”

Ming Songqin didn’t speak; he just looked at him with a gaze full of his usual “victory is in my grasp” leisure.

Lin Luo’s expression gradually grew grave.

“Don’t worry,” Ming Songqin patted his shoulder. “The director of The Unquestioned… well, because of this one,” he jerked his chin toward Zhou Wan, “he can’t film for the time being.”

“What?”

Zhou Wan avoided Lin Luo’s sharp gaze, acting as if it had nothing to do with him. He said flatly, “It was bound to happen sooner or later.”

“Just because Director An didn’t get along with you?” Lin Luo didn’t understand. “But that’s been going on for ages. Are you really that petty?”

“Petty? You have no idea what he did…”

Lin Luo froze. “What did he do?”

Zhou Wan let go of his hand in frustration and turned away, ruffling his hair. His voice sounded muffled. “Anyway, he’s not a good person.”

“And you are?” Lin Luo retorted.

“If I may interject,” Ming Songqin spoke up abruptly, breaking the icy atmosphere. “Luo, your conditions are excellent across the board. This project is practically tailor-made for you. If you’re willing, I can change your style.”

He shot a sidelong glance at Zhou Wan. ” and I can also change your partner.”

“You wouldn’t dare!” Zhou Wan spun around, his anger aimless.

“If I agree, can you make me famous?” Lin Luo asked.

“Of course.” Ming Songqin answered easily, though a hint of urgency flickered in his eyes.

“Lin Luo!”

Lin Luo pushed back the lunging, beast like Zhou Wan and shot him a look. “What does this have to do with you?”

“I…”

Lin Luo took a deep breath, readjusting his carefully practiced smile, polite, elegant but the words he spoke stabbed right into Ming Songqin’s heart. “But you said the same thing before.”

“And then you blacklisted me for four years,” he laughed candidly. “Furthermore, I don’t believe my current self is any more charming than I was four years ago.”

“That was because…” The words at the tip of Ming Songqin’s tongue failed to come out, and he swallowed them back down.

Lin Luo couldn’t fathom why everyone seemed to have some grand secret, and why they were all connected to him.

His father did, Zhou Wan did, and Ming Songqin did too.

He didn’t need their mysterious behind the scenes protection or their invisible “it’s for your own good.” His life was already shrouded in enough unknowns, he had plenty of secrets.

His father had secrets, so his father died inexplicably, never even getting the chance to say sorry to his mother. He had secrets too, so he faced retribution, and his mother stopped recognizing him.

And the source of all this misfortune was always “for your own good.”

Hesitant “for your own good” scenarios were truly the worst; they only made things more chaotic.

He knew Ming Songqin’s temperament, a needle hidden in cotton; you’d get pricked without making a sound. He wasn’t about to get pricked once and then go back for another needle with his scabs still fresh. That would be asking for trouble.

But Zhou Wan didn’t know that. He glared at Lin Luo with the expression of an abandoned husband, as if he’d discovered something scandalous. Having not yet recovered from his heat, his haggard appearance made it look like he was one second away from shouting, “You heartless man!”

Lin Luo gave him a brief glance, feeling a massive headache coming on. Ultimately, it was his own blind self that had gone to provoke this “liar” in the first place.

“However, I have a middle ground proposal, if President Ming is interested in hearing it.”

Ming Songqin tilted his head slightly, signaling him to continue.

“I accept President Ming’s proposal, but,” he pulled over the stiff-bodied, completely resistant Zhou Wan, “I’m not changing partners.”

“If President Ming has the ability to promote both of us together, I have no objection.”

Ming Songqin’s face slowly darkened, a hint of danger crossing his eyes. “Aren’t you going to ask what the project is first?”

“Whatever the project is,” Lin Luo answered honestly, not even giving himself a chance to regret it. He smiled and said, “We have a prior contract. I may not be a noble gentleman, but I won’t do something as low as ‘slaughtering the donkey once the grinding is done’.”

Of course he wouldn’t. Pulling Zhou Wan into the game served as a perfect shield. He didn’t believe Ming Songqin would act recklessly or try to cover the sky with one hand, at least once the Lin-Zhou CP (couple) was successfully tied together, you couldn’t have Zhou without Lin. Or so Lin Luo thought.

Ming Songqin was silent for a moment, then nodded thoughtfully. “Fine, I agree.”

“I don’t agree.” Zhou Wan crossed his arms, looking displeased, but the slight twitch at the corner of his lips betrayed him. His words weren’t that absolute, there was plenty of room for negotiation.

“You don’t have a choice.” Lin Luo lowered his head to check his phone, confirming from Gu Ning’s messages that The Unquestioned production had indeed run into trouble.

But it wasn’t a huge deal. The investors were loaded, they could just find a new director and continue working. In the meantime, he needed to find other work.

Due to time constraints and contract issues, he couldn’t take on a new drama. He could only drag Zhou Wan to some variety shows to keep their faces visible and maintain their buzz.

However, looking at Fanxing’s current resources.

One could only say that Ming Songqin’s proposal was both a giant ship and the storm itself. Great wealth is found in risk. With Zhou Wan as insurance, there was a chance of a smooth landing.

He briefly went over the details of Ming Songqin’s collaboration offer with Gu Ning before putting his phone back in his pocket. He turned to Zhou Wan and asked, “He’s your boss, didn’t you know?”

Zhou Wan: “?”

Ming Songqin resumed his business persona, extending a hand of friendship to Zhou Wan. “First time meeting. I’m Ming Songqin. Looking at our seniority,” he pretended to calculate, a smirk playing on his lips, “you should probably call me Uncle Ming.”

Well then, the first “Uncle” had appeared.

Lin Luo thought to himself that Ming Songqin was going to extremes just to get the upper hand on Zhou Wan and achieve a hollow victory.

A few days ago, this was the man on social media saying that men in their 30s were in their prime, and now he was suddenly doubling his own age.

To keep his rebellious son in check, when Zhou Wan mentioned wanting to enter the entertainment industry, his father had wasted no time packing him off to Qinchao Entertainment, famously known as the “Artist’s Nightmare.”

Only Lin Luo was foolish enough to think that the lonely, gloomy work-study student was Zhou Wan’s “true self” and had rushed to offer him “warmth.”

Qinchao Entertainment belonged to this President Ming, and it was the same company that had blacklisted Lin Luo for four years during the peak of his career.

The Zhou family only requested the Qinchao name; in reality, Zhou Wan’s team and most of his resources were handled by the Zhou corporation itself. The goal was to let the “Living Yama,” Ming Songqin, discipline Zhou Wan.

Unfortunately, the 21-year-old Young Master Zhou was in his peak rebellious phase and hadn’t even shown up for the contract signing.

As for Ming Songqin, why wouldn’t he enjoy the benefits of a deal where he didn’t have to spend money or effort?

However, Zhou Wan clearly wasn’t buying it. His arms remained crossed, showing no intention of shaking hands.

Ming Songqin retracted his hand awkwardly but wasn’t annoyed. “Chairman Zhou was asking about you just today,” he said, taking off his glasses to wipe them. “But I haven’t seen you at Qinchao once this whole month. I feel a bit indebted to the Chairman, so—”

“I feel I must take full responsibility. I will personally oversee this project.” He smiled at them, that ferocious face somehow squeezing out an expression of reasonableness.

It was only later that Lin Luo realized “personally oversee” was meant quite literally. As in, “personally coming along.”