The Male Lead Always Thinks My Script is Wrong - Chapter 32

When Ji Shinian woke up the next day, he felt like smothering himself with his pillow.

As a thirty-eight-year-old man, it was one thing to get caught up in late-night sentimentalities, but why on earth did he have to drag the male lead into it and ramble on about such nonsense?!!

He seriously wondered if the owner of that tea house had swapped his brain for something else after he drank that cup of tea.

“Miss?”

Qingwei poked her head in from the outer room, her voice laced with concern. “Is everything alright?”

Ji Shinian, whose face was flushed from hiding under the covers, pulled himself out of the bedding. He tried his best to look nonchalant and said, “It’s nothing. I’m awake.”

Qingwei gave him a suspicious look but didn’t press further. She walked in carrying a bronze basin and said, “The inn has sent over some food. Would you like to eat now, or would you prefer to see Lord Lin first?” As she spoke, she wrung out a silk cloth, reaching out to help him wash up and get out of bed.

“Just help with my hair.” Ji Shinian didn’t dare let her get too close while he was dressing. He quickly grabbed the cloth, finished washing in a blur, and hopped behind the folding screen to change into his jingling red robes.

Qingwei chuckled and guided Ji Shinian to sit before the bronze mirror, beginning to arrange his hair. “Does the young miss really dislike being looked after that much?”

Ji Shinian couldn’t exactly explain that he was actually a man. In the dim reflection of the mirror, the “lady’s” eyes darted around. He awkwardly changed the subject. “It’s not quite like that. Uh, who is this Lord Lin?”

“Lord Lin Jingya. He is a friend of the Young Master from the Muxu Academy. Your admission slip was secured through his connections.”

Qingwei wrapped a ribbon through his hair and added a dangling hairpin. “Would you like to meet him?”

“Sure.”

After finishing a breakfast of Western Desert specialties in the side room, Ji Shinian pushed open the door. Before he could ask Qingwei where Lin Jingya was, a figure approached from the jade pavilion in the courtyard. “This must be Ji Shuangyuan’s sister. Haha, how did you sleep last night?”

The man wore simple hemp clothes in a clean, practical cut. He reached Ji Shinian in a few strides. His skin was slightly tanned, and his eyes held a touch of wildness. These few words alone revealed his boisterous and hearty nature.

Truly, one cannot judge a book by its cover. Ji Shinian hadn’t expected someone from the Academy like Lin Jingya to look more like a traveling merchant. Surprised, he asked, “Lord Lin?”

“No need for such formalities! Just call me Brother Jingya. Once you’re in the Academy, it won’t be too late to call me Teacher!” Lin Jingya laughed heartily and patted him on the shoulder, the force of the gesture causing the light veil of Ji Shinian’s hat to flutter.

“He might be a teacher whose job is sweeping the Academy streets.” Before Ji Shinian could reply, a light, soft voice drifted from behind the two men, dripping with sarcasm.

There was someone else in the pavilion. In stark contrast to Lin Jingya, this person wore incredibly intricate white robes with wide sleeves, appearing to float out of the peach grove without his feet even touching the ground. His face was a sickly, pale green, and his eyes were cold.

Despite looking like an ethereal immortal, the man’s expression softened after sniping at Lin Jingya. He nodded to Ji Shinian and said, “Greetings, Miss Ji. I am Situ Xuan.”

“Right, right, look at my memory, I forgot to introduce you. Situ Xuan is his name, and he’s my friend. We happened to be heading out together today, so he came along.”

Lin Jingya didn’t seem offended by the jab. He grinned and said, “He’s right though. My application for a position hasn’t been approved yet. Sweeping the Academy wouldn’t be so bad.”

Looking at this “black and white” duo, Ji Shinian felt a vein throb in his temple. “Teacher Lin, is there something you needed to see me about?”

“Nothing specific,” Lin Jingya said candidly, casually slinging an arm around Situ Xuan’s shoulder. “We were just wandering around and ran into Uncle Li on the street. Since your brother has been talking about you every single day since you returned, I figured I’d bring this guy along to check in on you.”

Situ Xuan shoved him away, cold and ruthless. “No. He was just hiding from the birds. He didn’t expect you to be at the Elegant Residence.”

“That is a total slander! As a Son of the Sands, why would I be afraid of birds?”

“Right, the Sons of the Sands aren’t afraid. You are.”

Lin Jingya was clearly outmatched when it came to dry wit and bickering. He pressed his palms together over his head in a humble gesture. “I lose, alright? You’re the boss. Just leave me some dignity in front of Ji Shuangyuan’s sister.”

“Suit yourself. I’m just telling the truth.”

…

After their little spat, Lin Jingya sheepishly retracted his hands and gave Ji Shinian a helpless smile. “Alright, Miss Xiaoyun, right? I only realized there were acquaintances here after I ducked into the Elegant Residence. But a chance meeting is fate, and since you’re Shuangyuan’s sister, it’s destiny, wouldn’t you say?”

Ji Shinian felt those words sounded familiar but didn’t dwell on whether the man was actually there to “check in” or not. He asked considerately, “True enough. But what did you mean by ‘hiding from birds’? Have sand eagles entered the city?”

Lin Jingya shook his head. “No, no, they don’t attack the cities. Why don’t we find a table and talk properly?”

The four of them walked into the main building of the Elegant Residence and took a seat at a table by the window.

It was afternoon in the desert, and the autumn sun hung high, casting piercing rays of light. Heat waves shimmered in the air. Looking through the window, Ji Shinian saw that the street was even more crowded than yesterday, looking like a parade of ghosts and monsters.

Under the blazing sun, there was no sound of the huqin, only a sea of people. Some were half-naked, with blue veins bulging and throbbing. Some were dressed like Lin Jingya but covered in strange feathers. Others wore earthy yellow robes, splashing bright blood on anyone they passed… In short, the street was filled with people of all kinds. Their expressions varied from wild to gloomy, and some even looked to be in pain, covered in dripping blood that left prints on the bluestone pavement as they walked.

“What… what is going on?”

Even though Ji Shinian considered himself well-traveled, he was startled by the sight and nearly reached for a weapon. “What are they doing?”

Just as he spoke, a small figure with a gashed-open stomach darted under the window. He grabbed the windowsill and bared his wide mouth at them.

“Go away, Earth Spirit. There is no flesh or blood of Shahegel here.” Situ Xuan reached out to shoo him away and closed the window with a blank expression. “It’s fine. They are celebrating the Spirit Masquerade.”

“The Spirit Masquerade?”

Lin Jingya nodded and pushed the hot tea served by the waiter toward the others. “Desert folk usually call it ‘Yelebi.’ You probably haven’t seen it, Xiaoyun. It’s a Western Desert festival. Legend has it that on the autumn harvest day, we are closely connected to our ancestors…”

In the ancient legends of the Western Desert, when the first autumn lamb hits the ground and lets out its first cry, it signals the spirits of the ancestors in the River of Souls to return to their ancestral lands to protect their descendants.

The children of the desert share the same blood and the same blessings. They love their companions, including those who have passed, believing that everything will eventually be reconnected and never abandoned. Thus, they believe that by dressing as their ancestors on this day, they can win the favor of those who came before. Some even believe the spirits might descend into their bodies, granting them the strength of their forebears and allowing them to recreate the miracles of legend.

As the Muxu Academy grew larger, people from all over gathered here. The rumors of “spirit descent” were gradually forgotten over time. It became more about the ancestors everyone knew or the names of heroic spirits they had heard of. The tradition evolved into a belief that if you dressed as those extraordinary figures on this day, you could receive their blessings.

This was known as the Spirit Masquerade, or Yelebi.

“…Usually, for the sake of the atmosphere, everyone does their best to recreate their ancestors. That person just now was the legendary Red Sand Child, a kinsman of the Sons of the Sands. Legend says he was a warrior who died for Shahegel and was resurrected by consuming flesh and blood, which is why he pretends to look for Shahegel’s meat everywhere.” Lin Jingya pointed to himself and spread his hands, a look of resignation on his face. “And I am dressed as the Son of the Sands, a legendary warrior of the falcons. Yeah, I’m very popular with birds during the Masquerade.”

Ji Shinian glanced at the smear of paint left on the windowsill by the “Red Sand Child,” finally understanding why everyone was dressed so bizarrely. He quietly moved his hand away from his forehead and smoothed his hair, thinking to himself: I get it. It’s just ancient cosplay.

In the original novel, perhaps because the male lead arrived too late or spent all his time at the Academy training and gathering intel, this interesting festival wasn’t mentioned even once.

Ji Shinian said, “It sounds quite fun. Can you dress up as anyone?”

“Of course. Nowadays the Masquerade isn’t strictly about ancestors. Look at this… Oh, Uncle Li, you’re back?”

As Lin Jingya spoke, he raised his hand to wave toward the door. Ji Shinian turned his head and saw Li Moyan entering.

Xiao Shu was following right behind him.

“Uncle Li.” As Li Moyan’s “Young Miss,” Ji Shinian noticed the loyal servant’s return a split second after Lin Jingya did, but he knew he had to play the part and greeted him. “You’ve returned?”

“Miss. Lord Lin.” Li Moyan nodded in greeting and led his companion over. “I intended to see him off for a bit, but there are so many people on the road. Is there a festival happening?”

“Yes.”

Lin Jingya explained the Spirit Masquerade again and introduced Situ Xuan in passing before extending an invitation. “How about it? Why don’t you sit down and have some hot tea?”

“No, thank you,” Li Moyan shook his head. “So it’s a festival like that. It sounds wonderful. However, we weren’t prepared when we went out, so we need to go tidy up.”

Both of them had bits of strange paint-like colors smeared on them. Xiao Shu was dressed in black, so the colors, especially the red, stood out vividly against his clothes. He followed behind Li Moyan, clutching an iron sword, his face showing a rare expression of annoyance and irritation.

Ji Shinian instinctively looked toward him. Thanks to the veil of his hat, he could clearly see Xiao Shu’s gaze sweep over the three people at the table. His eyes lingered slightly on Situ Xuan before quickly moving on.

Finally, Ji Shinian watched as those dark eyes darkened further, landing squarely on him.

Once again, they were looking at each other through the veil.

Ji Shinian hadn’t forgotten the heartfelt “essay” he had delivered yesterday, and a wave of embarrassment washed over him. He snapped his head away and asked Situ Xuan the question he had been dying to ask. “So, who are you supposed to be?”

“Xue Chuanzhao.”