The Vicious Cannon Fodder Despised by Everyone Really Doesn't Want to Go Viral - Chapter 7

That being said, Mu Sui still finished that perfunctory bowl of tomato and egg noodles.

However, he ate with a slow, methodical grace that felt eerily refined, as if the dish before him were still a gourmet delicacy from a high-end restaurant. He even went as far as peeling the skin off the tomatoes before eating them, as if he utterly distrusted Lin Zhiyu’s culinary standards.

Lin Zhiyu really wanted to tell him that the skins had already been boiled through in the soup, and peeling them now was a futile effort. But after a second thought, he swallowed his words. As long as the boss was happy, this was not something a man with a monthly salary of 300,000 should worry about.

After the meal, the two retreated to their respective rooms.

Lin Zhiyu closed his script and collapsed into his chair to rest. He casually commanded his phone assistant to search for the original novel Blue Bird.

The audition script provided was quite interesting. It was a scene from the protagonist’s youth involving his elder brother. The role Lin Zhiyu was auditioning for was exactly that: the elder brother.

The original Blue Bird was a Xianxia ensemble novel. The elder brother, who had died fifty years prior, served as the hidden thread of the story and the ultimate “white moonlight” of the entire book. The events fifty years ago revolved around this brother and his young friends, while the crisis fifty years later was inextricably linked to him.

He was a natural genius. In his youth, his sword glowed with a chilling frost, and his talent was breathtaking. He traveled with a few close friends, living a life of unbridled freedom and passion, all while possessing the compassionate heart of a Bodhisattva. He was essentially the perfect blueprint for an early period drama male lead.

However, no matter how much Lin Zhiyu thought about it, he could not understand why the casting director had chosen him. By any standard, he was far better suited for the role of the arrogant cannon fodder who picks a fight with the protagonist at the academy in the flashback chapters.

The mechanical, cold electronic voice of the phone droned on, reading the original text. Lin Zhiyu was listening intently when a loud thud suddenly echoed from outside the room. He was right at the climax of the story and was startled into a jump, bolting upright instantly.

The apartment was massive, and his room was tucked away at the very edge. If he could hear such a loud noise from here, something significant must have happened on Mu Sui’s side. After a moment of hesitation, Lin Zhiyu left his bedroom and tentatively walked toward Mu Sui’s room.

The study door was half open. When Lin Zhiyu reached the doorway, he happened to see Mu Sui supporting himself against his wheelchair as he sat down. His legs did not seem completely immobile; with a bit of leverage, he could manage to stand up briefly. With the Mu family’s wealth, if the leg injury were not severe, why had it not been cured by now?

Lin Zhiyu was curious, but his gaze swept toward several books scattered near the wheelchair and an uninstalled lift platform by the bookshelf. Sensing his arrival, Mu Sui turned his head coldly, his icy gaze landing on him. He seemed displeased by the sudden appearance, perhaps sensitive about having his vulnerability witnessed by others.

Yet, Lin Zhiyu felt that the vast study made Mu Sui look exceptionally small. That wheelchair somehow resembled a lonely boat in a vast ocean. Before this, he had felt that Mu Sui was like a solitary mountain peak piercing the clouds, bitingly cold and intimidating. But at this moment, he suddenly realized the man before him was quite fragile. This posture of feigned indifference and threat was no different from a lone wolf snarling to ward off enemies while injured.

“Mr. Mu, may I come in?”

Mu Sui withdrew his gaze and did not respond. His hands pressed against the armrests as he leaned down slightly, clearly intending to pick up the fallen books himself. Without waiting for permission, Lin Zhiyu stepped directly into the study. He knelt down without a word and briskly gathered the books from the floor, smoothing out the folded pages.

“Which one do you want?” He handed them toward Mu Sui without even looking at the titles.

The latter shook his head, his expression softening slightly. “No need.”

Lin Zhiyu then placed the books back onto the top shelf where they belonged. “If you need anything, you can ask me for help.”

Mu Sui was silent for a few seconds before saying, “The fifth one on the right.”

“Thank you.”

Lin Zhiyu gave a light chuckle and thought to himself: Would it not have been easier just to say so? How much is pride really worth? He used his fingertips to count off the books, looking down to silently ask Mu Sui if it was the correct one. After receiving a nod, he pulled the book out by its spine. “If you finish it, I will come back and help you put it back.”

Mu Sui took the book and gave a short “Mhm.”

Lin Zhiyu patted his hands and was about to leave when he heard Mu Sui ask, “Which play are you auditioning for tomorrow?”

Lin Zhiyu paused and turned his head blankly. A few seconds later, he realized what Mu Sui meant and teased, “You are not planning to pull some strings behind the scenes for me, are you?”

Mu Sui lifted his eyelids and stared straight at him. He said nothing, but Lin Zhiyu felt that Mu Sui might actually be thinking exactly that.

“I am just going for fun. I do not expect to actually pass the audition,” Lin Zhiyu said airily. “You probably have not seen my terrible acting. The audience’s lives matter too, so I would rather not torment them.”

Mu Sui replied, “And yet, you spent the whole afternoon reading the script.”

Lin Zhiyu countered, “That is only because I have a bit of pride. If I make a complete fool of myself tomorrow and cannot save face, I will feel miserable.” After saying this, he pursed his lips and put on an innocent, pitiful expression. Mu Sui’s lips twitched almost imperceptibly.

Seeing that Mu Sui had no intention of continuing the topic, Lin Zhiyu smiled and changed the subject. “Then please, continue reading. I will head out first.” He then retreated from the study.

The next day, Lin Zhiyu arrived at the audition set on time. Ensemble dramas were the easiest way to make someone famous, and there were countless actors, both famous and obscure, auditioning. However, most were accompanied by managers or assistants. Looking around, there was almost no one else standing alone like a commander without an army.

Lin Zhiyu felt a bit pathetic, like a little sprout with no one to care for it. He grabbed a cup of “worker’s life-saving medicine”—coffee—from the break area at the end of the hall and sat in the furthest corner. He planned to lay low, get through this, and leave, but he soon noticed many gazes, both subtle and overt, concentrating on him.

The original owner’s infamy was widespread; almost everyone in the industry had heard of him. Coupled with the fact that he had been trending for several days, many people present recognized his face. The whispers around him were filled with curiosity about why he was here to embarrass himself and whether the things said in the live stream were just an act.

Lin Zhiyu nonchalantly sipped the bitter coffee. A few minutes later, he felt the noise around him grow louder, and the number of stares increased significantly. He instinctively looked up and met a refined gaze.

Jiang Yubai was wearing a light-colored shirt with the sleeves rolled up casually, revealing well-defined forearms. His features were not stunning, but they were clean and sharp, especially his warm, smiling eyes. Though those eyes froze the moment they landed on him.

Why had no one told him Jiang Yubai would be at the audition too? That unreliable Xu Dongdong had screwed him over again!

The stiffness on Jiang Yubai’s face lasted only a split second before he regained his composure. However, the assistant following him glared at Lin Zhiyu with indignation. As they passed him, Lin Zhiyu even heard the assistant mutter, “Why is he here? Is he trying to compete with Brother Bai again on purpose? With that acting skill, he will probably be passed by Director Zhao within two seconds.”

Jiang Yubai cut the assistant off and gave him a warning look. When he withdrew his gaze, it happened to collide with Lin Zhiyu’s. He could only offer a soft smile, his lips parting slightly as if he wanted to say something, but in the end, he said nothing.

“When rivals meet, their eyes burn with fire.” “Shh, do not let him hear you, or he will go crazy again. They came from the same show, but their situations are worlds apart. One has already landed great roles and sits firmly on a pedestal, while the other still has to fight tooth and nail for auditions.” “But did people not say he has strong financial backing?” “He has been abandoned, has he not?”

The conference room door closed with a snap. Lin Zhiyu weighed the possibility and consequences of slipping away secretly, but before he could decide, a staff member called his name.

The conference room was spacious. The original tables had been pushed to the sides, leaving an open space in the middle. The young lead director, Zhao Jinyu, sat in the main seat. On one side was the casting director who had invited Lin Zhiyu, and on the other was Jiang Yubai, who was playing the male lead.

In the furthest chair sat a man leaning back lazily. He seemed to find the light too bright, as he had an open script draped over his face, hiding his features. Lin Zhiyu gave a casual self-introduction.

Zhao Jinyu likely did not follow industry gossip, as her face showed little emotion. The casting director next to her whispered, “I saw his live stream a few days ago. His image is very suitable, but his acting is a bit lacking.”

Lin Zhiyu thought to himself: It is not just a bit lacking; it is unwatchable. I am a complete amateur.

Zhao Jinyu gave a flat response, her scrutinizing gaze sweeping over Lin Zhiyu. “Have you read the script?”

Lin Zhiyu nodded.

“Xie Yunce knows his life is coming to an end. This is the scene where he drunkenly instructs Xie Zhuoyu in swordsmanship. Let us begin.”

As the elder brother who only existed in the protagonist’s memories, Xie Yunce attracted the most fans despite his limited page time and scenes. This was not only because of his spirited and righteous character, but also because of his lonely courage: sacrificing himself to the Dao despite knowing the odds when he discovered the spiritual energy of Central Continent was dissipating decades ago.

However, the dissipation was not a divine punishment but a man-made disaster. Xie Yunce was targeted by the mastermind while investigating with a close friend. He sensed his death was near, yet he could not let go of the myriad lives in Central Continent and the Xie Clan. With countless thoughts and no one to tell, he could only turn to wine to drown his sorrows.

Lin Zhiyu looked around, grabbed the nearest table, and dragged it toward the center of the room. Zhao Jinyu winced at the screeching sound and frowned. Lin Zhiyu offered a quick apology, then brought over a chair. He placed a bottle of mineral water he had just bought from a vending machine on the table and sat down in a slouching, casual manner.

If she had not dealt with high-maintenance actors before, Zhao Jinyu would have called for the next person immediately.

Just as she reached the limit of her patience, Lin Zhiyu went silent for a moment. He leaned forward, snatched a black pen from Jiang Yubai’s table, and lowered his gaze. His fingers rested on the water bottle as if he were holding a jar of wine. He lifted his eyelids, his eyes shimmering with a blurred tenderness and the intoxication of wine. A faint smile played on his lips, and the pen in his left hand swayed lazily.

“Zhuoyu, hold the sword steady. Do not let your footing falter. A swordsman must possess an unbreakable will.”

His voice was slightly raspy and carried a hint of weariness. His tone shifted between low and soft, like an elder brother giving sincere instructions or a man whispering to the moon in solitude. Lin Zhiyu’s delivery took everyone by surprise. His articulation was clear and powerful, similar to a stage performance. Though it was a bit unpolished, it felt exceptionally refreshing.

Zhao Jinyu’s brow gradually smoothed out. She propped up her head with interest, waiting for Lin Zhiyu’s next move. He gently swayed the “wine jar,” a trace of imperceptible loneliness flashing across his face, which then turned into a generous composure. His gaze seemed to reflect the image of the young Xie Zhuoyu swinging his sword, and the smile on his lips grew tender.

“In my youth, Father once said I was the only genius of this generation in the Xie family. But I believe that in time, you will surely surpass me. The Xie family, Central Continent, I… forget it.”

The young man who had been lounging in the far chair suddenly sat upright. The script slid off his face and into his palm. He signaled to Zhao Jinyu, and without waiting for a response, he walked around the table and stood directly in front of Lin Zhiyu.

Lin Zhiyu was still immersed in the scene. He saw the youth raise a hand, grab his wrist, and snatch the “wine jar” from his hand.

“Such good wine. Why did you not wait to drink it with me?”