IBKAWB Chapter 24

**Chapter 24: The Original Protagonist**

Re-translated by: Namizaki

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Fueled by the efforts of gossip-hungry netizens and the machinations of behind-the-scenes manipulators, related topics quickly surged in popularity.

The hashtag [ #ChiZhongqiaoSuspectedOfBeingKeptByASponsor?# ] shot to the top of trending searches.

If escorting one’s superior to their car was unremarkable, and sharing a ride with them was equally innocuous, then entering the same residential complex as one’s boss surely raised eyebrows, right?

[ What? Living in the same neighborhood as your boss is normal too? Come on, what kind of status does Chi Zhongqiao have? Could he really afford a house in Jade Pool Garden? He’s clearly being kept! ]

[ I knew it! How else could he have risen to fame so quickly without powerful backing? ]

The anti-fans’ airtight logic left no room for rebuttal. The gossip-hungry masses waved their flags in agreement, while the Qiao Family fans who had missed the previous night’s livestream huddled together, pitifully besieged, their collective misery palpable.

When the main force of Qiao Family fans finally arrived on the scene, they witnessed this devastating spectacle.

Just as the vanguard was rolling up their sleeves, ready to tear the anti-fans to shreds, they saw the high-resolution photo of Chi Zhongqiao escorting someone to their car. Despite being a paparazzi shot, the sheer charisma of Chi Zhongqiao and his companion had somehow captured a hazy, ambiguous beauty and an undeniable air of intimacy.

This photo became a favorite among anti-fans, spreading widely across the internet.

The main force, originally poised to attack, was left speechless: Is this supposed to be dirt? It’s hilarious!

[ I Hear Your Voice in the Wind V: EMMM isn’t that Qiaoqiao’s Younger Brother? ]

[ My Precious Qiaoqiao: Hmm… I was ready to tear them apart… but now… ]

[ I Hear Your Voice in the Wind V: Now it just feels a bit silly, lol. Official confirmation of close family for generations, childhood friends and brothers, link here. Take it and go, no thanks needed! #ChiZhongqiaoLiveRecording# ]

[ Wild Ferry, No One: The media these days is disgusting. Their own minds are filthy, so they assume everyone’s being kept. Sisters, spam the link! Don’t argue with them—we don’t want to alienate neutral observers and bring more hate to our Qiaoqiao. ]

[ Nine Curves: Sisters, no insults! Remember, one fan can undo ten haters. Qiaoqiao is so gentle; let’s be gentle people too, okay? ]

Chi Zhongqiao’s fans unexpectedly showed remarkable unity. Once the initial fan leaders called for spamming the link, waves of followers copied and pasted it below.

[ Heartfelt Admiration: Please don’t misunderstand our Qiaoqiao, everyone! Sisters, remember to check the pinned comment for the timestamp! Mwah! #ChiZhongqiaoLiveRecording# ]

[ Younger Sister OK: Timestamp: 121 minutes 12 seconds. You can jump right to it! #ChiZhongqiaoLiveRecording# ]

[ Sauerkraut Fish: Stunningly handsome, kind-hearted, with explosive acting skills and calligraphy talent—this peerless cutie is a must-see! #ChiZhongqiaoLiveRecording# ]

While some irrational comments surfaced, they were quickly drowned out by a flood of rational fans. Some casual viewers couldn’t help but think, Damn, he’s kinda cute. What’s going on?

It had to be said, this coordinated effort by the fans was incredibly effective at attracting new followers. For casual observers just looking for drama, such polite and organized fans were a rare sight. Intrigued by the “Brother Qiao” they kept mentioning, many clicked the provided links and, guided by the fans’ instructions, successfully jumped to the designated timestamp.

There, they saw a handsome young man in a trench coat push open the door, silently approach Chi Zhongqiao, and suddenly shout “Brother Qiao!” in his ear.

The composed young man startled as if he’d been caught doing something wrong, dropping his phone, which the teenager swiftly caught.

**Live Comments:**

“Hahaha, the big boss is a bit mischievous, deliberately scaring Brother Qiao.”

“Seriously, calling him ‘Brother’ is way too sweet.”

When the recording reached the part where the two were talking, the casual viewers were speechless. No wonder the fans refused to engage with the haters. Just yesterday, the pair had mentioned being childhood friends and living together, and the very next day, a bunch of misleading photos surfaced, smearing their relationship. If they were fans, they’d probably be torn between laughter and tears right now.

Sponsorship? What kind of sugar daddy calls his kept canary “Brother”?

How twisted does someone have to be to jump to the conclusion of sponsorship just because there’s a slight difference in status?

As the casual viewers mentally ranted, they noticed some real-time comments:

“Since you’re here, might as well watch a bit longer. Skip to 91 minutes and 8 seconds for Brother Qiao’s talent showcase!”

“Cute Qiaoqiao’s online calligraphy demonstration! Check it out!”

“You’ve come this far, might as well watch Qiaoqiao write. His Liu-style calligraphy is amazing!”

Passerby: These fans are too much! Since you’re all so enthusiastic, we guess we’ll have to take a look.

They dragged the progress bar backwards a bit- while others drag it forward, and saw Chi Zhongqiao leaning over, his ink-dipped brush gliding across the paper like a swimming dragon. Just as the fans had claimed, it was indeed a stunningly beautiful Liu-style calligraphy.

This talent is impressive, and the fans are kind of cute… Maybe I’ll follow them for a bit and see what happens?

“Thank goodness you had us control the situation. Otherwise, it would have devolved into a full-blown war of insults, ultimately making innocent Brother Qiao pay for his fans’ irrational behavior.”

Sun Qi gazed at the peaceful atmosphere beneath the trending topic, marveling at the young CEO’s sharp instincts.

Ever since Chi Zhongqiao’s fan group was established, Sun Qi had been working for Lu Yuzhou, managing it under the alias “Wild Ferry, No One.” Thanks to her connection to Lu Yuzhou, she often obtained exclusive information about Chi Zhongqiao, earning her considerable authority among the fans. As a result, when she and a few other fan leaders spoke up, the other fans instinctively lined up to flood the comments with coordinated messages.

This marketing campaign deserved a solid 90 out of 100.

Lu Yuzhou’s pen paused mid-stroke. “Xu Xingzhou practically handed this to us himself,” he said coldly. “Are the video and blog post I asked you to prepare ready?”

“Yes, they’re ready,” Sun Qi replied. “Shall I send them to you for review now?”

“En.”

Sun Qi sent the edited video to Lu Yuzhou. Despite being reviewed by the CEO himself, she felt no nervousness. Being paid by the CEO to manage Brother Qiao’s Fan Group was a sweet deal, but she was also a die-hard fan of Brother Qiao herself. This video had been crafted with genuine affection, and she was confident it would meet the CEO’s standards.

As she expected, Lu Yuzhou replied within minutes.

“Alright, post it online as soon as possible.”

Sun Qi asked, “Should I post it myself? Or should we get another major influencer involved?”

Lu Yuzhou twirled the black pen between his fingers. “No need to pretend to be a random passerby. Post it as a fan, with a slightly aggressive tone. I’ll have other major influencers retweet it.”

Sun Qi immediately understood: this video clearly wasn’t edited by an ordinary person. Pretending to be a random passerby would backfire. Instead, having a fan post it, followed by retweets from entertainment bloggers and subtle guidance of public opinion, would naturally lead people to suspect the one who stood to benefit.

“Understood,” Sun Qi replied. “I’ll prepare the video for release immediately.”

Lu Yuzhou hung up. Only then did he realize he was… twirling his pen.

He gently massaged his temples, feeling his mindset increasingly reverting to that of an eighteen-year-old.

Lu Yuzhou set down the pen. Before him stood a framed photo of just three people: Chi Zhongqiao, the Old Master, and himself. It had been taken during a stroll in the park. Compared to Lu Zhuo’s family of three, these three truly looked like a family.

Lu Yuzhou’s fingertip lightly brushed across the photo twice, his habitually cold expression softening slightly.

That afternoon, Qin Zhu Media published a new article, penned by an Editor who had been fueling rumors about Chi Zhongqiao being a kept man. The entire piece focused on a male-female pair of close friends who were always seen together but insisted to others that they were just ordinary friends. By the end of the article, even readers were starting to believe this nonsense. But just as the piece concluded, the Editor abruptly shifted tone, claiming to have accidentally witnessed the pair’s intimate behavior. Forced to explain, the two confessed they were actually lovers, but had been pretending to be just friends due to the office’s ban on workplace romances.

This thinly veiled article immediately swayed the wavering public. The Editor’s claims suddenly seemed plausible, leaving many uncertain about which side to believe.

As the rumors of Chi Zhongqiao being a kept man continued to escalate, a video surfaced in his Super Topic.

The video was widely shared by several influential fans with over ten thousand followers each. Though their individual follower counts might not have been massive, every account was genuine and authentic, with no fake followers.

The original editor of the video was a die-hard fan of Chi Zhongqiao. In the video description, she wrote: “I really don’t understand why Qiaoqiao is always plagued by these ridiculous rumors. He’s just a rookie in the entertainment industry who barely speaks up even during promotional periods. His acting skills are undeniable—he’s clearly talented. Who did he offend? Who did “we” offend?”

Fans who clicked on the video discovered it was a personal compilation of Chi Zhongqiao’s work. The first half featured his role as General Mu Yan in the <Empress of the World>, while the second half showed Chi Zhongqiao out of costume.

The top-rated comment read:

[ Princess’s Knight Commander: “Just a casual viewer here, but your Qiaoqiao really has god-tier visuals. I could watch him on repeat forever and never get tired of it. But honestly, the most impressive thing is his acting. The first half and the second half feel like two completely different people with the same face! His eyes are so intense—when he looks at you, it’s like you can’t breathe. It’s hard to explain… all the slander online makes you feel a bit sorry for him. It’s just that newcomers who shine too brightly often attract jealousy.” ]

Checking this “casual viewer’s” account revealed they were indeed a long-time member of the anime community, with no trace of real-world celebrities in their profile.

The comment was so pointed that every netizen who saw it couldn’t help but suspect a conspiracy.

As the netizens’ minds churned, a prominent entertainment blogger retweeted the video with a cryptic remark: [ “Envy is the price of talent. I hope the young general can weather this storm. Keep fighting!” ]

Envy? Who could be envious?

Following the blogger’s line of reasoning, Chi Zhongqiao had only acted in one drama. Who could possibly be jealous of him? Or, to put it another way, who would benefit from his downfall?

The answer was obvious: Xu Xingzhou, whose popularity was gradually being eclipsed by Chi Zhongqiao.

Imagine if Chi Zhongqiao were mired in scandal. Wouldn’t all the attention and buzz shift to Xu Xingzhou?

Xu Xingzhou was actually quite pitiful. His acting skills were above average for his generation, and this was his first time appearing in a drama as the male lead. He must have expected to be the brightest star in the series. But then Chi Zhongqiao burst onto the scene, completely overshadowing Xu Xingzhou’s limelight and even surpassing the senior actor in popularity. Anyone with a shred of pettiness would find that unbearable.

Whoa, the netizens thought. This has to be Xu Xingzhou.

Some netizens, eager for drama, went straight to Xu Xingzhou’s Weibo account to ask if he knew about the smear campaign against Chi Zhongqiao. Before long, Xu Xingzhou’s Weibo was under siege, with relentless comments flooding his recent posts. Netizens scoured every Weibo post related to <The Empress of the World>, analyzing every detail for clues to prove his jealousy of Chi Zhongqiao.

Xu Xingzhou’s fanbase consisted mostly of young girls who were furious at the unwarranted attacks on their “Gege.” They retaliated fiercely, but their increasingly aggressive responses only alienated neutral observers. Xu Xingzhou’s Weibo became a chaotic battleground, with no corner left untainted by the conflict.

Xu Xingzhou never imagined that the situation he had provoked would spiral into such a disaster. He had intended to smear Chi Zhongqiao, yet somehow he was the one being dragged down. How could such a coincidence occur? He hadn’t even started his smear campaign when Chi Zhongqiao preemptively issued a clarification, as if he had foreseen the attack.

Why?!

Why did he get the Second Male Lead role in his debut drama? Why did he become so popular with his first role?

Why does some people have such incredible luck?

In a fit of rage, Xu Xingzhou disabled the comments on his Weibo account and personally went undercover on other platforms to argue with people. But he quickly realized, to his dismay, that he was no match for the others, and deep down, he knew he was in the wrong.

While he was using a burner account¹ to defend his actions, he noticed an entertainment influencer he followed had retweeted a video.

Xu Xingzhou clicked on it and discovered it was a compilation of Chi Zhongqiao’s performances. Against his better judgment, he opened the video and was immediately overwhelmed by the dense barrage of comments flooding the screen.

He minimized the video and scrolled through the comments, finding that every top comment praised Chi Zhongqiao’s acting skills, not just his looks.

Xu Xingzhou knew firsthand how solid Chi Zhongqiao’s acting was. In their scenes together, Chi Zhongqiao could either completely dominate him, leaving him unable to hold his own, or effortlessly draw him into the scene.

In a fit of rage, Xu Xingzhou threw his phone. After the jarring crash, he slumped back in his chair, staring blankly as a question gnawed at him: Was the gap between him and Chi Zhongqiao really that vast?

It seemed… it really was.

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Chi Zhongqiao missed today’s spectacular online battle—he was preoccupied with studying his new role.

This script had come to him unsolicited, and Chi Zhongqiao was genuinely surprised when he received it.

When Zhuang Fu delivered the script, his expression was peculiar. “Take a look at this. The director and screenwriter specifically requested you, but the role is for a villain.”

The script was titled <Invisible Crime>. As Zhuang Fu mentioned, the role offered to Chi Zhongqiao was indeed for a villain. However, what made Zhuang Fu’s expression so odd wasn’t the villainous nature of the character itself, but rather the fact that the Director, Fu Jingshen, had personally requested Chi Zhongqiao for the part.

Who was Fu Jingshen? He was a leading figure in domestic realistic drama series, renowned for creating critically acclaimed and commercially successful shows.

This young man, not yet thirty, had directed five television series, and every single one had become a massive hit.

Since transmigrating into this world, Chi Zhongqiao had rewatched these five series multiple times. If there was any Director he particularly admired or even idolized in this world, it would undoubtedly be Fu Jingshen.

Yet when he received the script, Chi Zhongqiao’s first reaction wasn’t elation, but astonishment. Although his popularity was considerable, he was still quite far from the level of a Director like Fu Jingshen. It wasn’t a matter of insufficient popularity, but rather a lack of the so-called “prestige” required for such a role.

Chi Zhongqiao flipped through the script, and after reading it, he couldn’t help but exclaim, “What a brilliant script!”

<Invisible Crime> and <Empress of the World> were worlds apart.

While <Empress of the World> was a decent drama, it remained confined to the narrow scope of a historical romance idol drama. Its grandest scale lay in the rivalry between the male lead and his male counterpart, with political intrigue in the Imperial Court and the love-hate dynamics between family and nation occupying only a small portion of the script. The majority of the plot focused on domestic and palace power struggles.

It was a satisfying “feel-good” drama—enjoyable in the moment but lacking the depth to warrant multiple rewatches.

<Invisible Crime>, on the other hand, was a modern suspense drama with a dark and brooding tone. Yet its brilliance lay in its ability to maintain a glimmer of hope amidst the darkness.

The plot never reached a dead end; that sliver of light dangled before the characters like a sweet apple in the desert, always just out of reach.

The former catered to the masses, while the latter was high art.

The role offered to Chi Zhongqiao was Shang Tang, the drama’s main antagonist. But calling him simply an “antagonist” would be inaccurate. Shang Tang was a multifaceted character, capable of shifting between good and evil, or, to put it more elegantly, existing in a moral gray area. With his extraordinary intellect, he ultimately provided the very evidence that led to his own downfall.

Having acted for over a decade, Chi Zhongqiao rarely encountered such a compelling script. He ran his fingers over the pages twice, then declared, “I’ll take it!”

Chi Zhongqiao wasn’t entirely sure how the Director had found him, but by afternoon, he understood—the Director was a close friend of Lu Yuzhou, despite their age difference.

“Brother Qiao, you don’t need to dress so formally,” Lu Yuzhou said, his arm draped with over a dozen ties. Chi Zhongqiao seemed intent on adding more, turning him into a veritable coat rack.

Chi Zhongqiao peeked out from the walk-in closet, his gentle eyes meeting Lu Yuzhou’s.

Lu Yuzhou explained, “Jingshen just wants to be friends with you.”

Chi Zhongqiao’s eyes narrowed skeptically. “What did you promise him?” he asked. “Why would a renowned Director lower himself to befriend a newcomer? Even connections can’t explain this. You must have offered him something.”

Lu Yuzhou shook his head. “I swear, I didn’t.”

After a moment’s thought, Chi Zhongqiao removed the ties from Lu Yuzhou’s arm one by one. “Alright, then I’ll wear something casual.”

He emerged from the closet in a plain-colored down jacket. “Is this okay? Is it too casual?”

With Chi Zhongqiao’s striking looks, he could make anything look good.

Lu Yuzhou said, “This looks perfect on you.” Truthfully, anything would have looked good on Chi Zhongqiao.

They had arranged to meet Fu Jingshen at a highly private Cantonese restaurant in the southern part of the city. Despite arriving five minutes early, Fu Jingshen was already there.

Inside the restaurant’s ample warmth, the man wore only a crisp overcoat. He sat at a table behind a massive potted plant, his chin resting on his clasped hands as he gazed out the window. When he turned at the sound of their approach, a smile lit up his pale eyes.

The young Director was even more handsome in person than in photographs.

“Hello, Teacher Fu Jingshen,” Chi Zhongqiao said, extending his hand.

Fu Jingshen stood and shook his hand lightly. “It’s an honor to meet you, Mr. Chi. I’ve watched every one of your performances countless times.”

As they settled into their seats, a waiter presented the menu. The small booklet made its way around the table twice before landing in Lu Yuzhou’s hands.

Both men turned to look at him expectantly. Lu Yuzhou had no choice but to open the menu and begin ordering.

Fu Jingshen narrowed his eyes and smiled at Chi Zhongqiao. “I’ve also been watching <Empress of the World>. Your portrayal of the Young General is simply brilliant. May I venture a guess about the ending? Prince Yu ultimately ascends the throne, and Mu Yan is stationed permanently in the Northwest, isn’t he?”

Chi Zhongqiao nodded. “Yes, and he remains unmarried for the rest of his life.”

Fu Jingshen clapped his hands. “Exactly! The best way to make a character unforgettable is to give them an incomplete ending.” Once the series concludes with its happy ending for the leads, their colors will gradually fade. Only Mu Yan will remain etched in the audience’s hearts, the embodiment of all the unresolved regrets in the story.

“Have you read the script I sent over?” Fu Jingshen asked. “What do you think of the role of Shang Tang? Don’t feel obligated to accept just to save Yuzhou’s face. I want to know if you genuinely want the part.”

Chi Zhongqiao looked puzzled. “Why would you say that? A script this good is highly sought after. I’m actually more surprised that Director Fu would consider me for such a substantial role.”

“Well,” Fu Jingshen said, stroking his chin, “Shang Tang and Mu Yan actually share some similarities… Fine, I admit it. Your physical appearance is a perfect match for the character.”

The renowned Director had initially planned to improvise an explanation on the spot, but he was undone by Chi Zhongqiao’s gaze.

People with those doe-like eyes really have an unfair advantage. Just a few seconds of their gaze can trigger an overwhelming paternal instinct, compelling you to spill all your secrets. If a grown man like him could be so easily swayed, imagine the effect on young women!

“As this year’s breakout hit, <Empress of the World> naturally caught my attention. The moment the trailer dropped, I spotted you and immediately felt your face and demeanor perfectly matched Shang Tang’s image. Later, as the series progressed, I became convinced your acting skills were more than capable of carrying the role. That’s why… as soon as the script was finalized, I sent it straight to your agent.”

Fu Jingshen snapped his fingers. “Oh, right! I owe Yuzhou a debt of gratitude for this. We had dinner at the Film City last time, and he kept mentioning you. That’s why I started following <Empress of the World> from the very beginning.”

Lu Yuzhou cleared his throat softly. The Film City was where Chi Zhongqiao had caught him smoking. Fortunately, Chi Zhongqiao had been drunk at the time, and he never remembered the incident after sobering up.

Lu Yuzhou glanced hesitantly at Chi Zhongqiao, wondering how he’d smooth things over if Brother Qiao suddenly remembered.

Luckily, Chi Zhongqiao’s pitiful alcohol tolerance had completely wiped out all memories from his drunken state. After hearing Fu Jingshen’s explanation, though he sensed something was off, he couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was.

Chi Zhongqiao didn’t object to the “ultimately, it was your face that fit” part. Acting skills were crucial, but if an actor’s appearance clashed too strongly with the character’s, it simply wouldn’t work.

After discussing the roles for a while, Chi Zhongqiao grew concerned that Lu Yuzhou might be bored. Although he longed to delve deeper into the script with a Director of this caliber, he quickly steered the conversation away from acting and toward more casual, everyday topics that anyone could chime in on.

When asked how he and Lu Yuzhou had met, Chi Zhongqiao replied naturally, “Yuzhou has such a great personality—he’s so easygoing. Who wouldn’t enjoy being around him?”

Great personality? Easygoing?

Your rose-tinted glasses are a bit thick, aren’t they?

Fu Jingshen glanced at Lu Yuzhou with a half-amused, half-skeptical expression. This friend, nearly ten years his junior, was known for his aloof demeanor, sharp judgment, and iron-fisted resolve—qualities hardly synonymous with “easygoing.”

Lu Yuzhou calmly sipped his tea, meeting Fu Jingshen’s gaze head-on. Do you have a problem with what Brother Qiao said?

Fu Jingshen: Absolutely not. I wouldn’t dare.

Chi Zhongqiao was very satisfied with the meal and even had a little wine afterward. However, mindful of his low alcohol tolerance, he only sipped from his glass and didn’t drink much.

As for Lu Yuzhou, he always acted like a good boy in front of Chi Zhongqiao, never smoking or drinking in his presence. So when Chi Zhongqiao and Fu Jingshen were drinking, Lu Yuzhou, under Fu Jingshen’s horrified gaze, calmly ordered a glass of orange juice.

Fu Jingshen finally understood how Chi Zhongqiao’s “filter” for Lu Yuzhou had come to be.

After the meal, Chi Zhongqiao and Lu Yuzhou said goodbye to Fu Jingshen. As they walked toward the entrance of the Cantonese restaurant, they saw a young man step out of a black Honda. He looked to be about the same age as Chi Zhongqiao.

Chi Zhongqiao initially paid little attention until the man hurried over to them with a down jacket in hand.

Fu Jingshen smiled warmly. “This is my friend, Li Xi.”

Oh, Li Xi… Li Xi?

The cold wind, combined with the alcohol, sent a jolt through Chi Zhongqiao as he heard the name.

The original novel’s… protagonist Shou?

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1
A burner account is a temporary or secondary online profile, usually on social media, created to conceal a user’s real identity and separate activities from their main account. People create them for privacy, anonymity, or to test ideas and share opinions without impacting their primary identity, but they can also be used for harmful activities like harassment and trolling.