The Tool Brother Thinks It’s Not Okay [Quick Transmigration] - Chapter 9

Qin Yunran’s hands didn’t tremble even slightly as he calmly wiped the cream from Cheng Kaixin’s face under Lian Weiwei’s unwavering gaze.

His movements were so gentle and light that Cheng Kaixin felt a tickle. “You’re not going to spread it evenly, are you?” he teased.

Qin Yunran paused, chuckled softly, then crumpled the tissue in his palm. He reached out and lightly swiped his finger across the spot he’d just wiped.

From Lian Weiwei’s angle, it looked like Qin Yunran had suddenly flicked Cheng Kaixin’s chin.

How could he?! Her eyes widened, her face flushing crimson.

Startled by the warm touch, Cheng Kaixin looked up. Qin Yunran held up his index finger, showing him the fingertip. “See? It’s gone now.”

His slightly smug tone sounded like he was asking for praise. Cheng Kaixin still felt a lingering tickle where he’d been touched, and seeing Qin Yunran’s smugness, he impulsively reached out and pinched the tip of his finger.

Qin Yunran withdrew his hand, his index finger and thumb subtly rubbing together. He then pinched his own cheek, as if trying to retain the lingering sensation of Cheng Kaixin’s touch.

He casually glanced toward the doorway, a smile curving his lips as he addressed Lian Weiwei. “What were you saying earlier?”

“Ah, I mean, the internet’s blowing up with criticism…” Lian Weiwei blurted out, momentarily forgetting what she wanted to say.

“Let me see,” Qin Yunran said, pulling out his phone, only to find it was dead.

Lian Weiwei suddenly snapped back to reality, as if she’d been stepped on the tail. She rushed over, pulled out her own phone, and slapped it down on top of Qin Yunran’s. “I’ll show you! I’ll tell you!” Then she plopped down between them.

Qin Yunran: “……” So cramped.

Seeing this, the System sighed contentedly. “The female lead is finally taking initiative. Wonderful! Congratulations, Host, you’ve taken a small step toward completing your mission. See? You’re not a lost cause after all. After all, with my guidance, only the most stubborn stone could fail to bloom…”

Cheng Kaixin scoffed. “Why don’t you bloom first and show me?”

The System nearly had a myocardial infarction. What kind of person is this?! I’ll never praise Cheng Kaixin again!

The set of Elegant Shadows of Espionage was closed to the public. Since filming began, the crew had maintained strict secrecy, preventing even a single leaked photo from surfacing.

Unexpectedly, someone posted a photo of Qin Yunran’s injury and fall on Weibo, and several major influencers immediately shared it. Fueled by malicious actors, the incident quickly spiraled into a full-blown scandal.

Qin Yunran’s fans swarmed the drama’s official Weibo account, demanding an explanation. At first, the production team remained silent, but then several top-rated comments began calling for a boycott of Elegant Shadows of Espionage. It was clear someone had hired bots to stir up trouble, and many less discerning fans began joining the boycott. The drama’s official Weibo account, as well as the director’s personal account, were completely overrun with angry comments.

Some even sent private messages to the director, hurling vile insults. The director, who had always stayed out of public opinion and focused on his craft, had never experienced such online harassment. He immediately drafted a lengthy statement, first apologizing to Qin Yunran and his concerned fans, then outlining the production team’s reasonable and comprehensive handling of the incident. Finally, he politely and firmly refuted the abusive comments. His sincere and earnest tone swayed many onlookers, who began to feel that Qin Yunran’s fans were being unreasonable.

[The show and the actors are one. Why boycott the drama? Everyone, calm down. If this keeps up, it’ll only hurt Ranran!]

[Fake fan alert! If we don’t support him now, it’ll just make us look like pushovers. People take advantage of kindness—don’t you get that?!]

[No one wanted this accident to happen. The director said they’re negotiating compensation. Even Qin Yunran himself hasn’t complained. What’s the point of fans chasing after them to yell?]

[Ranran was fine when he joined the cast, then suddenly he’s in the hospital. Of course you wouldn’t care—it’s not your precious idol who got hurt!]

[Capitalism is disgusting. Even celebrities aren’t powerless, but when something this big happens, they’re just brushed aside. It’s terrifying.]

The situation escalated, framing it as capitalistic oppression of actors. [Overwhelmed, the director closed the comments section.]

Meanwhile, a hashtag began trending:

#Zhu Qian’s comment on young actors#

Clicking on the link revealed a screenshot from an interview with the veteran actor Zhu Qian from several years ago. When asked about his views on an actor’s professional ethics, Zhu Qian replied, “Actors are no different from people in other professions. It’s just that they’re under greater public scrutiny, which gives them an aura in the eyes of the masses. But there’s really nothing special about it. When I was young, conditions were much worse than they are now. Sometimes, during scenes where we had to eat, the food would be spoiled because there was no refrigerator on set. We still had to wolf it down, no matter how nauseating it was. That was just part of the job. If you’re earning this kind of money, you have to endure these hardships.” He shook his head and sighed. “Now, many young actors complain about staying up late, getting a minor scratch, or even feeling too hot or too cold.”

Look at this. This is what a true actor looks like, virtuous in both character and talent. How can today’s pretty boys even compare?

There are fewer and fewer dedicated actors like this these days. Now, someone falls and gets a scratch and throws a tantrum. They’re so precious that even the production crew can’t tolerate their diva behavior.

Someone posted an unflattering photo of Qin Yunran with the caption: [Feeling called out.]

Some people are so passive-aggressive, hiding behind “random passerby” profiles. But when you click on their Weibo, it’s clear they’re just toxic haters. Your life must be pretty miserable if you need to tear others down to feel validated.

Fan groups, a chaotic mix of genuine supporters, paid trolls, and casual observers, were tearing each other apart online. The truly rational fans were frantic, but their voices were drowned out by the orchestrated chaos. Qin Yunran’s previously solid public image was rapidly deteriorating. Many, without ever having seen his work, joined the bandwagon, criticizing his acting and accusing him of diva-like behavior, as if he were the very embodiment of Zhu Qian’s “unprofessional young actor” comment.

Sitting between the two men, Lian Weiwei recounted the entire saga of the online firestorm in one breath, panting for air at the end. “What do we do now?”

No one answered. She glanced at Cheng Kaixin’s nonchalant expression, then at Qin Yunran’s thoughtful demeanor, realizing she was like a eunuch more anxious than the emperor himself.

“Who’s behind this drama?” Cheng Kaixin scoffed.

Qin Yunran chuckled wryly. “Perhaps I’ve offended someone.”

He plugged in his phone and turned it on. The screen lit up with missed calls from Qu Wen. When he called back, the other end was clearly in a state of panic.

Even Cheng Kaixin, sitting half a meter away, could hear Qu Wen’s frantic voice: “My dear ancestor! Were you on a space mission or something?! Vanishing at a time like this?!”

“I’m aware of the situation,” Qin Yunran replied, his voice calm and steady. “Panicking won’t help. Don’t lose your composure.”

Qu Wen, who had been pacing frantically, gradually calmed down at the sound of Qin Yunran’s steady voice.

“I’m negotiating with the company’s PR team,” Qu Wen said, his voice gradually fading. “This is really tough. Some people have even gone to Lingxing to hurl insults, all claiming to be your fans. They’re practically begging for you to be kicked off the show.” He paused. “Oh, is Mr. Lu still there? What does he say? Is he angry?”

Qin Yunran frowned. This whole scheme was meticulously orchestrated, not only drawing a torrent of criticism toward him but also dragging the entire production team into the mess.

Worse, it had positioned him as Cheng Kaixin’s adversary.

He glanced over Lian Weiwei’s head at Cheng Kaixin. The man showed no signs of anxiety or anger, even scrolling through the comment section with a faint, mocking smile.

Qin Yunran let out a breath, a faint, inappropriate smile tugging at his lips. After a moment’s thought, he said to Qu Wen, “Right now, we need to address two things: the conflict between me and the production team and clearing up…” Before he could finish, Cheng Kaixin snatched the phone from his hand.

Turning to look, Qin Yunran saw Cheng Kaixin continue into the phone, “Clearing up the rumors about his unprofessional behavior.”

“Mr… Mr. Lu?!” Qu Wen stammered.

“That’s me,” Cheng Kaixin replied, his voice laced with amusement. “I’m not angry.”

Qu Wen nearly collapsed.

Half a minute later, Qu Wen hung up the phone, still dazed. The person next to him, seeing his vacant expression, asked curiously, “What’s wrong?”

Qu Wen murmured to himself, his mind still reeling, “It’s like I’ve latched onto a golden goose.”

No, wait, Qin Yunran did!

See? I was right all along. That kid really does have some looks.

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