Chapter Thirty-Two: Not Enough Money, Cast Undecided, Script Unavailable

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Finding someone else is out of the question.

Someone who perfectly met Yu Wei’s requirements and was willing to accept his freeloading terms would be nearly impossible to find a second time...

“What do you mean, find someone else? You’re my stairway to the clouds.”

“You know that phrase?”

It wasn’t that Qi Luo’an looked down on celebrities. It was common knowledge that the entertainment industry was something of a cultural wasteland. Many entertainers lacked not only cultural knowledge but even the ability to speak coherently during interviews.

Her brother, Qi Yuan, was a typical example. After mispronouncing a polyphonic character on a variety show, she had mocked him sarcastically for an entire year.

“I did go to university, you know.”

The dance academy the original body had attended could be disregarded. It existed mainly to gild idols’ résumés; students could earn their degrees without even showing up. Yu Wei was referring to the university he had attended before.

“I believe you.”

Qi Luo’an’s earlier remark had merely been an instinctive expression of surprise. Someone capable of writing two songs and planning to work on a screenplay could hardly be illiterate.

“How can you believe me? At a time like this, aren’t you supposed to question my lack of culture mercilessly, so that I can write two poems and slap you in the face?”

What was this inexplicable poetry-recitation segment from some entertainment-industry protagonist?

Fortunately, Qi Luo’an was a devoted reader of entertainment-industry novels. Otherwise, she would never have understood what Yu Wei was implying. In their own way, they were evenly matched, like two generals meeting worthy opponents...

Before they realized it, the awkwardness of their first meeting had vanished completely. The distance between them had quietly collapsed, like cream just beginning to melt.

“What about the song you performed on the show? Let me hear it.”

As their relationship gradually grew more familiar, Qi Luo’an had unconsciously become much more open. In fact, when she had first encountered him in the novel, she had already wanted to hear it, but at the time she was only an online acquaintance and had felt too embarrassed to ask.

Human relationships always progressed from shallow to deep. They could not leap straight to the end as they did in novels...

Their current relationship was roughly that of fairly good friends. They could joke around, but there was still a degree of politeness between them.

Yu Wei happened to have the rough cut that Hong Hui had sent him on his phone, so he simply forwarded it to her. In any case, she would be able to hear it when they recorded the music video a few days later.

There was none of the shock or astonishment described in the novel. After putting on her earphones, Qi Luo’an listened with great concentration, merely nodding approvingly several times along the way.

Watching her brows draw together and then relax, Yu Wei found himself inexplicably nervous, as though he had returned to that afternoon when a teacher had repeatedly inspected a little note filled with obscene remarks.

“I don’t understand it, but it’s pretty damn impressive.”

“?”

If you didn’t understand it, why were you making it so professional? You kept nodding as you listened. Anyone who didn’t know better would have thought you were taking part in a music-appreciation class.

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“Sorry. My knowledge of music theory has deteriorated to the level of an eight-year-old. The contrast between the stillness and motion of the rain and vocals is handled well, and the arranger is quite skilled.”

She truly wasn’t completely ignorant. She had simply been away from it for so long that she had forgotten most of what she knew. Even a fallen genius was still better than an ordinary passerby.

“The thunderstorm effect created by the drums and bass is pretty good too,” Yu Wei added casually, which also served as an affirmation of Qi Luo’an’s assessment.

At eight years old, she had already possessed this level of ability. Was she being modest or boasting?

He had initially thought she belonged to the “fallen genius” category. Now it seemed she was more like Zhang Chulan: even after ten years of inactivity, she could still put up a fight.

“The song is good. I can act in the music video. As for the short film, I’ll have to see your screenplay...”

Qi Luo’an’s position was clear. She was willing to appear without pay, but she had standards when it came to the quality of the work. She could do him a favor, but she would not allow herself to be dragged into something terrible.

She had no particular interest in acting, but other people would be watching the finished product. If it turned out to be complete garbage, she would be embarrassed too.

“When will your screenplay be ready?”

“When it’s ready.”

Yu Wei genuinely couldn’t say. The related plot in the novel had only just begun, so it would take at least five or six days. And even after he finished, he would still have to see what the data demanded.

“You don’t have enough money, the cast hasn’t been decided, and the screenplay doesn’t even exist yet. You really have some nerve.”

Qi Luo’an couldn’t help but tease him. Other people wrote their screenplays before recruiting actors. He, on the other hand, had first taken advantage of everyone willing to work for free, then started writing.

She had intended to chat for a little longer, but when her gaze casually swept to the side, she discovered that the sky had already grown completely dark. The coffee before her had long since been drained, leaving only a faint brown ring at the bottom of the cup.

Had they really been talking that long?

“I have to get back to school.”

Suppressing the inexplicable reluctance rising in her heart, she teased, “You haven’t updated today either. Go home and start typing.”

Only then did Yu Wei realize belatedly that it was already eight in the evening. They had entered the café a little after three. Where had all that time gone...?

The last time he had become so engrossed in conversation that he lost track of time was when he had met up with his roommates after graduation. They had simply said whatever came to mind, and one afternoon had vanished in an instant.

“Do you want me to walk you to the school gate?”

That was purely a matter of social courtesy. He had been the one to invite her out, and it was already dark. Not offering at least a polite gesture would have seemed wrong.

“Forget it, superstar. If you walk me there, won’t the whole school come out to stare?”

Qi Luo’an couldn’t speak for everyone else, but at least her three roommates had already become Yu Wei’s fans. They had joined the authoritative organization known as the Little Squids.

Wait. If she filmed a movie with Yu Wei, would she still be able to live in that dormitory?

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...

“I haven’t updated right on the deadline in ages.”

At 11:58 p.m., Yu Wei finally managed to publish the new chapter before midnight. Back when his novels had been flopping, he had spent plenty of time hovering around that line between life and death.

Actually, online novelists were not all that busy. They simply had a habit of waiting until the last minute. Their author group chat could easily rack up ninety-nine-plus messages while they chatted and idled, but after ten o’clock every night, the entire group would fall silent...

Today was an exception. He had never expected a casual conversation to delay him for so long. At the time, he had even felt as though the conversation had only just begun.

Amid his reflections, Yu Wei glanced at his novel’s statistics. The glowing figures reflected in his pupils, and his heart suddenly sank.

Oh no!

His number of active readers had fallen to just over two hundred. When he had last exchanged points for “The Sound of Rain,” his active readership had been above three hundred. Yet after writing for a while, the numbers had actually dropped?

A flop wasn’t afraid of flopping. What was frightening was flopping harder the longer you wrote. For people in their line of work, watching the numbers decline with every chapter was practically a nightmare...

“What am I supposed to use to exchange for the short film now?”

After his initial panic, Yu Wei quickly identified the crux of the problem. Many of his earlier readers had come for the “song prophecy” rather than because they genuinely wanted to read the novel.

When he had written “The Sound of Rain,” the novel’s popularity had been at its peak. Everyone had been betting on whether the song actually existed.

Now, more than ten days had passed without the song being released. On top of that, the short film’s plot was too vague. For the moment, the readers had lost their enthusiasm for continuing and were mostly waiting to see what would happen.

“Don’t let them kill the book by stockpiling chapters.”

Readers naturally wanted to save up several chapters and read them all at once, but without positive feedback, authors could easily lose faith and motivation. After that, there was no telling what would happen.

Fortunately, Yu Wei was not too concerned. The data for ordinary chapters did not matter much. What mattered were the chapters connected to the relevant works.

As long as the statistics for the designated chapters met the requirements, he could make the exchange. The numbers for the other chapters would not have much impact.

He had to find a way to trick the readers into clicking in. Otherwise, he would never get the short film...

He had it. He would name the chapter “New Song.” Everyone would assume he had written another song and click in to take a look.

It was not exactly honorable, but he needed the data before he could produce another song. It was a virtuous cycle!

“Hopefully they won’t curse me too harshly.”

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