The Vicious Cannon Fodder Despised by Everyone Really Doesn't Want to Go Viral - Chapter 8

The newcomer shook the “wine jar” up and down. With one hand propped on the table and the other raised high, he tilted his head back in a simulated drinking motion.

He was blessed with striking features. His peach-blossom eyes carried a hint of a smile even before he spoke; when he swept that lazy gaze across the room, it felt like a shimmering spring pool, instantly drawing everyone’s attention.

His fingers gripping the mineral water bottle were long and well-defined. After finishing his “drink,” he leaned down with a beaming smile, looking at Lin Zhiyu. “Look at you. So young, yet your heart is weighed down by so many troubles.”

Lin Zhiyu did not speak. He simply remained frozen in his previous drinking posture, staring straight at the man.

Everyone present could keenly sense that his aura was being overpowered by this “uninvited guest.” Zhao Jinyu’s previously scrutinizing gaze suddenly darkened. She tapped her fingers twice on the table, her expression unreadable as she fell into deep thought.

Jiang Yubai, on the other hand, showed no significant reaction, continuing to watch the center of the conference room with great focus.

Lin Zhiyu was indeed nervous. The shadow cast by the newcomer firmly enveloped him. From his perspective, whether it was the man’s lean, tall frame or that half-smile, the pressure was immense.

It was different from the occasional authoritative pressure Mu Sui exuded as a long-time power player. This felt more like an overwhelming gap in… sheer capability.

“Your heart holds Central Continent, the Xie family, and your green-behind-the-ears younger brother. But how old are you really? Look around—plenty of hundred-year-old ‘young masters’ in the great clans of Central Continent are useless trash who haven’t even formed a Golden Core. Why must you force such a heavy burden upon yourself?”

“The old fogies in the academy do not worry nearly as much as you do.”

The man leaned in slightly closer, tossing the “wine jar” in his hand like a toy. A wave of rebellious, roguish energy typical of a prestigious clan cultivator washed over Lin Zhiyu.

Judging by his deep immersion in the role, he did not seem like a troublemaker out to cause a scene; rather, it felt like he had been driven by curiosity to join in and act as his partner.

But Lin Zhiyu really did not need this “blessing.”

He had acted with others before. In his second year of university, a performing arts student moved into his dorm—a 190cm tall, handsome guy with long legs who was a natural-born actor. Because Lin Zhiyu spent the most time in the dorm, he was constantly dragged into rehearsing stage scripts. Occasionally, he would be pestered into watching various movies together to analyze character emotions and expressions. Not only that, he even had to endure the secondary embarrassment of reciting movie lines with him.

If not for the fact that the roommate had paid for all his milk tea that semester, Lin Zhiyu would have quit long ago.

But now… he let out a breath, trying his best to blur the face before him into his college roommate. He reached out, pushed the man aside, and looked toward Jiang Yubai behind him.

“Sir does not believe what we have said…” Lin Zhiyu spoke with a trace of desolation, but the gaze he directed at Jiang Yubai hid a world of tenderness. “Furthermore, I have always felt that the dissipation of spiritual energy in Central Continent is not so simple. Do you remember… the ‘Soul-Crossing Array’ in Changqing Town on the Huai River? The involved Suyu Shen family is…”

“Xie Yunce, you are drunk,” the youth interrupted. “I see your brother still needs to practice for a while longer. There are no issues with his sword techniques or footwork. Since you have nothing to do, why not come outside with me for some fresh air? You spend every day brooding over these messy thoughts.”

“The ‘Soul-Crossing Array’ is not as simple as we thought. The dissipation of spiritual energy in Central Continent is likely because…”

The youth grabbed Lin Zhiyu’s arm and gave it a pull.

Lin Zhiyu did not budge.

The youth pulled harder, but Lin Zhiyu still did not get up. Instead, he stared at the man with a blank expression.

“…Let’s go?” the youth asked impatiently.

Lin Zhiyu replied innocently, “But my script only has these lines written in it.”

The youth: “…”

Lin Zhiyu wrenched his arm from the man’s grip and stood up by propping himself against the table. After a moment of hesitation, he bowed toward Zhao Jinyu. “Thank you, Director Zhao. My audition is over. If there is nothing else, I will head out first.”

The moment he finished speaking, he began frantically pushing the tables and chairs back to their original positions. It was as if staying for even one more second was a form of torture.

It was the first time Zhao Jinyu had ever seen an actor so eager to “get off the clock.” He did not even bother to say standard polite phrases like “Please consider me for the role.”

Lin Zhiyu had just finished tidying up and was about to open the door to leave when he heard Zhao Jinyu call out, “Wait!”

Lin Zhiyu froze. When he turned back, his face was the picture of melancholy, clearly thinking: What? Is there more work suddenly? I really just want to go home.

Zhao Jinyu: “…”

If one did not know better, they would think she had kidnapped him and was forcing him into some illicit business.

She glanced at the casting director before saying to Lin Zhiyu, “Regarding the character of Xie Yunce, what are your thoughts?”

Lin Zhiyu turned around. His entire body now radiated the universal law that “a meeting is always called the moment it’s time to clock out.”

Zhao Jinyu: “…”

Ten minutes later, Lin Zhiyu walked out of the conference room with a deadpan expression.

The actors waiting outside looked at him suspiciously. Since the auditions began, no one had ever stayed inside for that long.

But the person who went in was Lin Zhiyu—whose last drama was a teen sci-fi school series that scored a 3.0 on Douban. His performance as the second male lead consisted of nothing more than a few wide-eyed expressions, slightly more than the trees on the playground. The rest of the time, he was as wooden as a dead fish in a river.

They figured that staying inside for so long probably meant he had gotten into a one-sided argument with Jiang Yubai. After all, their long-standing resentment was well known; when enemies meet, their eyes burn with rage.

“…How was your audition? Is Director Zhao strict?” The actor closest to the door had a baby face and looked quite young. Likely a “newborn calf unafraid of the tiger,” he could not wait to pry for information.

Lin Zhiyu turned his head mechanically, looked at him, and said, “Not strict. It was… just like that. It was fine.”

As soon as he said this, someone sitting opposite him let out a snort of laughter.

“Zhao Jinyu is famous in the industry for being harsh. It is common to be scolded until you are covered in dog blood. The few actors who came out before were all unsatisfactory. Even if you tell the truth, it is fine. No one will laugh at you.” The speaker used a thorny tone. His cheeks were so overfilled with fillers that deep furrows formed next to his nose, making him look like Gargamel, the character Lin Zhiyu feared most as a child.

Lin Zhiyu really wanted to snap back: Sorry, I got the part. Do you want this “blessing”? Because I certainly don’t.

But he felt that would be acting like a “Green Tea” who got a bargain and then complained about it. After a thought, he swallowed the words.

“Yes, you are right. Good luck. If you get scolded, I will not laugh at you either.” Lin Zhiyu prepared to bolt, but then the conference room door clicked open. The young man who had acted with him earlier was looking at him with great interest.

Why did he come out too?

Lin Zhiyu forced a smile and said, “Thank you for earlier.”

The man arched an eyebrow. “Do you not recognize me?”

His voice was gentle—not provocative or looking for trouble, but simply curious.

Lin Zhiyu figured that with the man’s acting skills, he must be quite famous. However, his knowledge of this world was limited to the original novel, and the man before him did not match the description of any supporting character in the book.

But the people around began to whisper again. Amidst the blurred voices, Lin Zhiyu thought he heard a three-syllable name, followed by the phrase “arrogant and incompetent, pretending again.”

Then came another: “Maybe he only has eyes for Mu Yunji. He joined the industry for him, after all. Why would he care about anyone else?”

Lin Zhiyu: “…”

I already said I am not interested in Mu Yunji! You all make so much money; can you not afford a 208G phone to keep up with the latest news?!

“My name is Xie Jingyao. I am doing a guest appearance as Xie Yunce’s close friend, Wei Zheng.” He spun his phone around in his palm and then pointed it forward, displaying a WeChat QR code on the screen. “Let’s exchange contacts. I really liked your performance just now.”

His affectionate peach-blossom eyes curved, a wave of warmth spreading through them. Xie Jingyao lowered his voice and added, “Especially your lines. Your articulation is very sexy.”

Lin Zhiyu: “…Huh?”

The name Xie Jingyao sounded vaguely familiar. It had been mentioned briefly in the original text as a senior at the new company Jiang Yubai eventually signed with, and later as the youngest “Grand Slam” Best Actor.

But the author never mentioned he was such a… silver-tongued, flirtatious pretty boy.

Lin Zhiyu’s face went blank. He instinctively rubbed his earlobes. After a few seconds of silence, he said, “I think I will pass…”

“How shameless.”

Xie Jingyao looked toward the source of the voice. His gaze passed over Lin Zhiyu’s shoulder and landed on the person whispering behind him. He quickly withdrew his gaze, smiled, and toyed with the plain band on his ring finger.

“Do not misunderstand. That was a sincere compliment,” Xie Jingyao said. “It has been a long time since I have heard such comfortable delivery, so I wanted to get to know you. Besides, we will likely have many chances to meet in the future. Having a way to contact each other will be convenient.”

Lin Zhiyu glanced at the man’s fingers and let out an awkward cough before frantically reaching for his own phone.

The baby-faced actor caught the key part of Xie Jingyao’s words and asked tentatively, “Teacher Xie, when you said you will have chances to meet… has the role been decided?”

Xie Jingyao looked at the “Salted Fish with Hairy Legs” profile picture that popped up on his WeChat and let out a laugh before putting his phone away.

“Yes. I came out to use the restroom and, by the way, to help Director Zhao announce that the actor for Xie Yunce has been decided. If everyone has other roles in mind, you can stay and try for them. If not, thank you for making the trip.”

As soon as he said this, the actors looked at each other in shock. Some turned to ask their managers for advice. Only Gargamel, who had spoken mockingly earlier, sat with pressed lips, seething with anger.

“Is the actor for Xie Yunce really Lin Zhiyu?” he asked, still unwilling to accept it.

Xie Jingyao: “Yes.”

He chatted with Lin Zhiyu for a few more moments before turning toward the end of the hall. Unexpectedly, Gargamel stood up abruptly and shouted, “Everyone knows the level of Lin Zhiyu’s acting! If there is no… did he go through the back door? I do not believe it!”

Xie Jingyao turned his head and gave him a chilling look. A smile still lingered on his lips as he asked slowly, “What does your lack of belief have to do with me?”

Lin Zhiyu just stared helplessly at the ceiling. A sense of impending gloom and a faint desire for death rose in his heart.

Never-ending work and endless jealous colleagues, this transmigration is barely different from his real life.