“What did you say?” Zhu Wen stared at his phone, unable to stop himself from shouting again.
“…Wen… Wen-ge, please calm down…” his assistant stammered, trembling as she held the phone. Her voice grew smaller and smaller, almost inaudible.
The situation on Weibo had blown up so badly that the company had decided to temporarily shelve Zhu Wen. Even his assistant was about to be reassigned to a new artist.
Zhu Wen took a deep breath, forcing down the anger rising in his chest, and asked with difficulty, “Say that again.”
The assistant repeated the details haltingly, her voice barely above a whisper.
More indecent photos of Zhu Wen had been released online. In each, another man was present, though his face had been blurred—only Zhu Wen’s face remained clear.
It was simply Zhu Wen’s bad luck.
His previous Weibo post had been misconstrued as a feud with Yu Junqing. Then a scandalous video surfaced. Although Yu Junqing had been heavily criticized, Zhu Wen’s new photos served like a slap in the face, making people turn against him.
Many of his staunch supporters were now caught in the backlash. Those who had championed him now hated him; some wished they could make him suffer overnight just to experience the bitterness themselves.
Zhu Wen’s fanbase, once vocal and combative online, comparable even to troll armies, had been shaken. Some refused to believe the photos at first, but the majority accepted them as true.
Some fans quietly disappeared, unfollowed him, or turned against him entirely, mercilessly criticizing Zhu Wen. The few remaining conscientious fans flocked to Yu Junqing’s Weibo to express apologies.
The situation had quickly spiraled out of control. Most importantly, Zhu Wen’s investor, Zhong Feng, had decided to drop him.
Zhong Feng had initially been attracted to Zhu Wen’s fiery temperament. Recently, however, he had acquired a new talent from Xingyu—someone uninhibited, affectionate, and clingy in private. That was the kind of personality he now preferred.
Besides, Zhong Feng was irritated. Zhu Wen, useless as he was, had cost the company’s reputation by stirring up a scandal. Losing some money was one thing, but Zhu Wen had dared to show up and test his patience. That day, Zhong Feng had seen Zhu Wen turn to leave, and his anger exploded.
Zhu Wen had always feared punishment. Before, he had been pampered and indulged, never pushed too far. But this time was different—if he didn’t learn a lesson, he would truly overstep.
The company quickly learned through his agent that Zhu Wen had fallen out of favor. Since he had accomplished nothing and tarnished the company’s image, shelving him was the simplest solution.
The assistant cautiously relayed the situation, noticing that the voice on the other end of the line had gone silent.
“Wen-ge?”
“Wen-ge?”
“Wen-ge, are you still there?”
“Scram,” Zhu Wen said lightly, cutting the call.
His tense body collapsed heavily onto the floor. Lying there motionless, his eyes vacant, he seemed lost in thought. Just a few days ago, he had mocked Yu Junqing; now, karma had come knocking, and the tables had turned.
Meanwhile, Yu Junqing reviewed his carefully drafted Weibo post and timed it perfectly before sending it out.
Yu Junqing V: You’re all overthinking this. It’s just filming a movie. A few days of seclusion and you blow it up like this? Video and photo truth links inside.
The post stunned everyone.
All the heated speculation of the past few days came crashing down with a single revelation: “Excuse me? It was just filming?”
Confused were not only the casual onlookers but even Zhu Wen himself.
At the same time, the director, scriptwriters, and other members of the crew posted supporting evidence. Videos and photos were shared showing the full scene from the original video: from Zhu Wen acting to Director Wang pointing out improvements, to Yu Junqing stepping in for a demonstration.
Subtitles clarified that Zhu Wen’s performance in that scene required him to display extreme anger at Yu Junqing—Director Wang had intentionally provoked him.
As for the indecent photos circulating, many photos showed the cast drinking at the hotel together. That night, everyone had played wildly, and Zhu Wen, losing the most in games and getting drunk, had been tied up by the others.
A single Weibo post might have been disbelieved, but once all the crew members with credibility corroborated it, doubt began to fade.
The situation slowly shifted in the right direction. Many casual viewers and fans began to believe the truth. Trolls and spam accounts continued to attack, but few paid them any heed. Idle trolls eventually redirected their attacks toward Yu Junqing’s team.
The official project Weibo released a series of costume photos and behind-the-scenes clips, including the previously controversial content, immediately grabbing everyone’s attention.
The trolls realized they had been duped. What had started as minor gossip about Zhu Wen escalated into a supposed feud between him and Yu Junqing, then turned into scandalous rumors about Zhu Wen himself, and finally became part of a staged publicity act.
Zhu Wen’s fans finally snapped back to reality, confessing their loyalty under Zhu Wen’s posts and complaining to the crew’s official Weibo. Their clean-cut idol had almost been misunderstood due to the crew’s crafty publicity.
Once everything settled, the most relieved was Zhu Wen himself. Seeing the new Weibo updates, he broke down in a mess of tears. His company had shelved him, the investor abandoned him, fans had turned away—but if not for Yu Junqing and the crew stepping in, he wouldn’t have known what to do.
“Looks like it went pretty much as you expected?” Director Wang asked, his relaxed voice carrying a hint of admiration as he scrolled through Weibo.
“Thanks to you, Director Wang. Otherwise, this wouldn’t have been resolved,” Yu Junqing smiled, genuinely impressed.
His own idea had been minor compared to Wang’s decisive intervention. Without Wang’s influence, no one else in the crew would have dared to step forward, and the spread of the photos relied heavily on habitual filming, selfies, and street shots—while Zhu Wen’s photos simply showcased the skill of a true expert.
Truthfully, if this had happened before, Yu Junqing wouldn’t have conceived such a clever reversal. The script Wang provided reminded him of the possibilities: perspective changes everything.
“So it was the script that gave you the idea? Looks like this role was meant for you all along. Fate, I suppose,” Wang remarked. Even he hadn’t expected that his decision would save the production.
“Thanks to you, this ordeal has finally passed—at least for now. But you should still watch out for who’s behind all this,” Wang cautioned before hanging up. The attack had been aimed at Yu Junqing, though luck had intervened when a fool dragged Zhu Wen into it, ultimately benefiting the crew.
After hanging up, Yu Junqing looked up to see Bo Rui standing in front of him.
“Rui-ge?” he asked, surprised. Why was Bo Rui back at this hour?
“Came back to celebrate a job well done,” Bo Rui said casually, placing two boxes of Wishcake’s pure dark chocolate cakes beside him.
Yu Junqing was surprised. How could Bo Rui have known he liked this kind of cake?