The Vicious Cannon Fodder Despised by Everyone Really Doesn't Want to Go Viral - Chapter 11

Perhaps startled by Mu Sui’s gaze earlier, Lin Zhiyu had a strange dream in the middle of the night.

In the dream, his body was not his own. He felt as if he were submerged in hot water; his limbs were as soft as mud, yet his chest burned with an unshakeable heat. The scorching sensation spread all the way to his tailbone, making his thigh muscles tremble. No matter how he struggled, he could not find an ounce of strength.

Before his eyes was a blur of colors—dim yellow lights hallucinating into countless circular spots. The room was filled with the faint scent of sandalwood, which felt like a feather hooking and teasing the tip of his nose.

He desperately wanted something; he desperately hoped someone would rescue him from this fire and water. But the hot water submerged his nose and mouth. He gasped for air, only to receive a deeper sense of suffocation.

The fabric of the trousers he gripped was soft, the dense stitching exquisite and fine, yet it was crumpled into a mess in his hands.

His burning forehead pressed against cold suit pants, as if he could feel the temperature of the skin beneath that thin layer of cloth. He rubbed against the person’s knee repeatedly, but the breath escaping his lips only grew hotter.

“Save me… Brother Mu…”

Hot sweat slid from his brow, falling into the hollows of his eyes. His already clouded vision was blurred into a hazy shadow. Lin Zhiyu looked up dazeedly, his flushed face resting on the man’s knee. His already loose collar was pulled even wider, revealing skin that was a vivid, flaming red.

A crimson tongue licked moist lips, and sweat-dampened hair clung miserably to his face.

“I feel so bad… help me… please?”

But the gaze looking down from above was devoid of joy or sorrow, rippleless and calm, like a deity looking down upon mortals from beyond the nine heavens, carrying not a trace of human emotion. He was like an outsider, arrogantly and heartlessly looking down at Lin Zhiyu’s unsightly state, watching him reap what he sowed and suffer through the torment.

Yet, the man could have easily pushed him away and turned the wheelchair to leave. For some reason, he remained motionless from beginning to end, quietly waiting for it all to happen—waiting for Lin Zhiyu to lose control and climb onto his lap, waiting for the door to be rudely burst open.

Then, he calmly met the gaze of his furious father and the complex expression of Mu Yunji outside the room.

Lin Zhiyu snapped awake in bed. The images in his mind flashed back in full—Mu Sui’s cold, gloomy eyes simply would not fade away.

He instinctively touched his forehead, then suddenly thought of something and snatched his hand away as if burned. The heat climbed up his neck unreasonably. He instinctively gestured the dimensions he had accidentally touched in the dream, and both his earlobes burned a bright red.

As expected of a paper man’s dimensions… truly gifted.

Guiltily, Lin Zhiyu went to the bathroom to wash his face. When he left the bedroom, he peeked around for a long time to make sure Mu Sui had already gone out. Only then did he breathe a sigh of relief and move awkwardly out into the main area.

No one told him that he could inherit the original owner’s memories through dreams at night. It couldn’t be that he was starting to feel “spring fever” just as winter was approaching, could it?

The most fatal thing in the world is falling for the boss—especially a boss with strange “tastes” and an unpredictable personality.

Lin Zhiyu chugged three glasses of cold water to urgently flush the “yellow waste” from his mind before settling down to continue studying his script.

Unlike the original Blue Bird novel, Xie Yunce’s already small role had been cut even further in the script. Perhaps they were worried that the actor’s poor skills would ruin the character, or perhaps there were other reasons, but none of that was Lin Zhiyu’s concern. He was even a bit happy about it. After all, this meant he could finish filming and go on break in less than half a month. Who would complain about having too little work?

The script reading for Blue Bird had begun a few days ago, but because of the large cast, the production used a “layered” reading format for coordination. Lin Zhiyu’s scenes were mostly concentrated in the protagonist Xie Zhuoyu’s youth flashbacks, so he didn’t attend the intensive readings for the core leads’ major scenes. By the time he was notified, it was already the morning of the fourth day of official readings.

Xu Dongdong had recently taken on a new artist and was so busy his feet barely touched the ground; he had no time to care about how Lin Zhiyu’s work was progressing. Lin Zhiyu didn’t bother reporting his schedule and simply hailed a taxi to the production company building, showing zero awareness of being a public figure.

The driver was a man in his fifties. The car was playing an audiobook about a “discarded son-in-law’s revenge” the whole way. Lin Zhiyu originally wanted to ponder the emotions of a few lines, but the AI voice was so overbearingly catchy that he gave up and joined in.

When the car came to a stop, the driver poked his head out to look at the towering building and asked curiously, “Hey, working in a place like this, do you get to see a lot of celebrities?”

Lin Zhiyu grabbed his things to get out and said casually, “Yeah. Do you think I look like one?”

The driver turned around, squinted at him for a few seconds, then snorted and shook his head. “If any celebrity looked like you and had to take a taxi to the office, they might as well quit.” He then pointed to a bright purple G-Wagon parked ahead. “Look at that; now that person has their own ride.”

Lin Zhiyu: “…”

I wonder if Mu Sui’s luxury cars count as joint marital property.

Lin Zhiyu’s timing for work was top-tier; the crew told him it started at two, and he walked in exactly five minutes prior. When the door opened, half the people in the conference room turned to look at him. Fortunately, this wasn’t his first time experiencing such “honor.” Lin Zhiyu gave a polite bow and followed a staff member to his seat.

He didn’t know if the crew had failed to do a background check on the actors or if they did it on purpose, but his seat was placed right next to Jiang Yubai.

Jiang Yubai was wearing a white hoodie today with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms. His hair was unstyled and hanging loosely. His bare features looked a bit youthful, like a fresh university graduate. Seeing Lin Zhiyu, he froze for a moment before reacting with a thin-lipped smile and a greeting.

The assistant behind him, however, glared at Lin Zhiyu with a look that could burn a hole in his face.

“Let me introduce Lin Zhiyu, playing Xie Yunce,” Zhao Jinyu said, showing no displeasure. “Seeing you hadn’t arrived for so long, I wondered if something happened on the road.”

“The traffic in City A was great today. However, I always thought Director Zhao would choose a different actor for Xie Yunce.”

The person speaking was sitting opposite Jiang Yubai—the female lead of Blue Bird, Shen Chengyi.

“After all, the voices online calling for a recast aren’t small. Director Zhao has to consider the drama’s reputation,” Shen Chengyi said, smoothing her ponytail. When her eyes met Lin Zhiyu’s, the phrase “I don’t like you” was practically written on her face.

No one in the room was unaware of Lin Zhiyu’s reputation. No one was unaware of the “blood and fire” on Weibo or the investors’ landlines being blown up. To give the role of Xie Yunce to a “flop” actor with endless scandals and invisible acting skills was a waste of a good character—and it risked dragging the whole production down.

Furthermore, Shen Chengyi and her team placed extreme importance on this IP. She had turned down many appearances just to attend intensive training in horsemanship, martial arts, and performance. She had studied the original novel over and over, her notes squeezed into every available margin until there was no room left.

She had originally heard that Xie Jingyao was among the flashback actors and was quite happy. But then, while at the gym, she suddenly learned the role of Xie Yunce had gone to Lin Zhiyu. She was so angry she almost fell off the treadmill! Years ago, a junior at her company was grouped with Lin Zhiyu on Youth Create and was sidelined into a “one-round elimination” because of him.

Now, she was expected to follow this man around every day, calling him “Brother Yunce,” acting obsessed and crazy for him, and pretending they were “soulmates.” It was simply…

Not just her—the other actors looked at Lin Zhiyu with varying degrees of suspicion and disdain.

Zhao Jinyu smiled and said, “I actually think having noise is better than no noise. He can draw the fire for all of you.”

Lin Zhiyu: “…” Well, thanks for that.

But since Zhao Jinyu had spoken up for him, he had to voice his stance. “I am very sorry that everyone has to suffer because of me. I will work hard in the future to not drag everyone down.”

Shen Chengyi glanced at Lin Zhiyu, her grip denting her mineral water bottle. She opened her mouth as if to say more, but to avoid wasting everyone’s time, she swallowed her words.

Zhao Jinyu introduced the main characters one by one. After the introductions, the reading officially began.

Lin Zhiyu silently pulled out his script. The printed text was surrounded by his doodles and sketches, and the margins were filled with colorful, messy handwriting. Jiang Yubai, sitting next to him, noticed and instinctively peeked over.

Great, I can’t read any of it.

“This script looks like my Chinese textbook,” muttered the actor playing Xie Yunce’s other childhood friend. When he saw Lin Zhiyu look his way, he quickly turned his head and casually spun his pen, looking like he couldn’t wait to be away from him.

Lin Zhiyu was well aware of his own image and didn’t take it to heart. He focused his thoughts on Zhao Jinyu’s voice.

“Although the flashback chapters unfold from the perspective of Xie Zhuoyu and Yun Qi, the center is Xie Yunce.”

Young masters of the great families in Central Continent were sent to the Taixu Academy to study after reaching the Foundation Establishment stage. The generation of disciples during Xie Yunce’s time was full of talent. Xie Yunce and Wei Zheng were breathtaking geniuses who formed their Cores at twenty, created their own sword manuals, and forged twin swords. The female lead, Yun Qi, was knowledgeable in all things ancient and modern and could observe all creation, wielding her twin blades with ferocity. Yan Linxue mastered both medicine and poison to save the world. The young son of the Academy head was proficient in everything from talismans to artifacts.

But later, Xie Yunce died while suppressing evil spirits. Wei Zheng abandoned the sword to study arrays; of the twin swords that once made a name in Central Continent, one was broken and the other rusted. Yun Qi damaged her cultivation by peering into fate and went into seclusion at the Heavenly Mystery Pavilion for fifty years. Yan Linxue, who yearned for the world, was trapped in the internal struggles of the Yan family. The carefree young son became a stern Academy head just like his father.

And Xie Zhuoyu—

Lin Zhiyu’s gaze landed on Jiang Yubai beside him, a tender smile flickering in his eyes.

“Why this look? Who has provoked our little Yu today?”

In that moment, it felt as though rain was falling from the eaves, the distant mountains were turning green, and a red stove under the veranda was gurgling with milky-white mist as the scent of tea filled the damp air.

Everyone in the room looked up in surprise.