Chapter 51
Shu Ci clutched his chest, gasping for breath, trying to calm himself after the startling nightmare. At the same time, his fingertips trembled as they flew across the screen, his eyes hunting for any information or images related to that Alpha.
News flashes, nothing.
Disaster progress updates, nothing.
Live broadcast footage from Area Three, nothing.
A wave of fear washed over Shu Ciāfear that the dream was real, fear that Lu Wanqing, who had lived a life on the periphery, would just silently disappear from the face of the earth.
He couldn’t even explain the source of this fear himself.
The movie in the classroom was showing the protagonist running under the night sky.
In the dark lecture hall, the light from Shu Ci’s phone was glaring. All eyes instinctively fell on him, but he was completely oblivious.
The news reports all seemed to say the same thingā The worst of the disaster in the Far Territory’s Area Three was over. With the arrival of reinforcements, the evacuation of victims was proceeding smoothly, and post-disaster reconstruction had begun in an orderly fashion. The civilians in official interviews no longer looked as grim-faced as they had in previous days…
However, he only saw the general from the assisting Area Eight speaking to the camera.
He couldn’t find Lu Wanqing anywhere.
He understood. For someone like Lu Wanqing who was used to keeping a low profile, it was normal to not want to be in front of the media.
But in the past few days, he could at least find text-based information related to the Far Territory’s Seventh District, catching glimpses of Cui You and Lu Wanqing between the lines. Today, however, there was not a single piece of news related to him, which deeply unsettled Shu Ci.
The successive nightmares about Lu Wanqing had been the beginning of his unease.
The dream during his nap today had been exceptionally vivid, pushing his anxiety to its peak.
“Ahem.” The microphone on the podium crackled to life. “The student in the back corner. You’ve had your sleep, and now you’re up looking at your phone. Is my class so comfortable it feels like home?”
Shu Ci’s seat was close to the lecture hall’s speaker. The teacher’s sudden use of the microphone sent a sharp, screeching sound that made him jump. Before he could even register that the teacher was calling him out, his hand flinchedā
And tapped straight into the live broadcast of the campaign rally on his home screen.
It wasn’t on silent. It was on speaker.
“Today is Councilman Shen Lin’s first public campaign speech. Currently, Councilman Shen’s approval rating is…”
The host’s introduction played from the phone, quickly followed by Shen Lin’s clear, pleasant greeting.
Only then did he feel the gazes of everyone around him.
Crap! Shu Ci ducked his head, fumbling to turn the volume off.
The classroom immediately filled with whispers. The people who had been gossiping about Shu Ci now shifted their focus to Shen Lin’s live speech. The low murmur of their discussions gradually drowned out the movie’s audio.
As the youngest candidate for councilman, Shen Lin’s gentle and refined appearance was a hit with many Omegas.
In the past, most Alpha candidates, in order to maintain a good image, built their appeal on being married and having a perfect family. Shen Lin could be considered the first unmarried candidate, and he had unexpectedly gained a large following of “son-in-law fans” and “girlfriend fans” during this election.
It was said that following his campaign trail was like following a celebrity, and some were even more obsessive than star chasers.
“I received a lot of emails requesting leave this morning. I thought those of you who bothered to show up weren’t interested in this sort of thing.”
The teacher’s voice was faint as her knuckles tapped the desk.
Her gaze swept around the room. Seeing the high level of interest from the students, she relented. “Forget it, there are five minutes left. I’ll give you time to chat. You can finish watching this movie at home and submit a short essay. Choose your own research angle, no less than five thousand words.”
A chorus of groans rose from the students, but despite the complaints, many began to pull out their phones to watch the live stream.
“The one in the back rowā”
She raised an eyebrow and glanced at the class roster. “Student Shu Ci, don’t leave after class. Come here for a moment.”
Shu Ci: “…”
For Shu Ci, who had received a scholarship for four consecutive years, being held after class by a teacher was a rare life experience indeed.
Lu Wanqing, oh Lu Wanqing. Because of you, I’ve lost face in ways I never have before.
While grumbling internally, Shu Ci dragged his feet to the podium after the bell rang. He saw the teacher sitting with her legs crossed, her gaze somewhat distant, seemingly lost in thought as she looked at the roster.
The film history professor was one of the few Omegas in the department. Her long hair was pinned up, giving her an exceptional air. Her slender neck made her seem to possess a calm that looked down on the world.
Shu Ci studied her profile, feeling a sense of dƩjƔ vu.
It was then that he abruptly realized he had been slacking off too much since returning to school. Lately, he’d been so preoccupied with starting a jewelry company with Shen Ti that he’d nearly forgotten his professor’s name. He quickly pulled up his schedule for an emergency confirmation.
Wen Yuan, Omega, primarily teaches Film History and Art Theory.
“You’re here?” Seeing him approach, the professor shifted her gaze from the roster to Shu Ci.
Shu Ci put away his phone and cleared his throat. “Professor Wen.”
Wen Yuan had sharp eyes and had caught a glimpse of his screen before he locked it.
A corner of her mouth lifted in a smirk. “I remember the paper I praised before class today, the one analyzing ‘The Characteristics of Film History in the Developmental Period and the Portrayal of Omega Characters,’ was written by you. What’s the matter? Can’t even remember your teacher?”
Shu Ci: “I’m sorry, Professor. I’ll definitely pay attention in class next time.”
When he was in the right, his temper could flare, and his tongue could be sharp.
Once he was in the wrong, he couldn’t even be bothered to argue. The best course of action was to just lower his head, admit fault, and promise to do better.
The students were trickling out of the classroom. A few stood by the door, watching Shu Ci with schadenfreude. Some even tried to record his embarrassed expression.
Wen Yuan gathered her lecture notes and textbooks, her cool gaze sweeping over the teenagers.
“Come with me to my office,” she said to Shu Ci before turning to leave.
Shu Ci glanced at the group’s petty amusement and lowered his eyes.
The tension from the nightmare still lingered in his heart. He felt as if his heart was suspended in mid-air, and sweat trickled down his neck. He had no energy to deal with these childish onlookers and simply put on a cold expression.
He stared numbly at his feet, following closely behind Wen Yuan as they left.
He only breathed a sigh of relief when they reached Wen Yuan’s private office.
A faint scent of plum blossoms drifted past his nose. Shu Ci followed the scent and saw an aroma diffuser on the desk.
“Sit,” Wen Yuan said, pointing to the sofa.
Shu Ci was a bit taken aback. He thought she had only called him to her office to help him escape the crowd.
“Is there something you need? I have something else to do later.”
Shen Ti was busy with the company’s preparations and had even helped him book an appointment with a lawyer who handled comprehensive business affairs. He heard that after consulting on the company matters, the lawyer could also advise him on the lawsuit against Gu Lanzhu.
“Don’t worry, this will be quick.” Wen Yuan pulled a folder from a box on her desk. “If you had to look up the fact that I’m your course instructor, does that mean you also don’t know that I’m actually your academic advisor?”
“…Yeah,” Shu Ci said, looking down in embarrassment.
“Don’t be nervous. I was on sick leave before and was only your advisor in name. I haven’t been to the school much in a few years, so it’s normal that you don’t remember me.”
Wen Yuan opened the folder and sighed.
“The academic affairs office contacted me today, saying they need to verify the authenticity of a few students’ summer internship projects. I took a look, and most students have provided the contact information for their internship film crews or studios and a liaison, but you haven’t.”
Shu Ci nodded. “Because the production unit had confidentiality requirements. My name is credited; you can confirm its authenticity once it’s released.”
The promotional film was a confidential project. If the school called the base to verify it, it would be difficult to guarantee the project’s secrecy. At the time, he was only concerned with respecting the base’s position and had forgotten that an internship certificate without contact information or a liaison looked a lot like a fake one a crafty student might print to fool the school.
“Alright, then I’ll hold onto this credit for you for now. It will be entered into the system after it’s been confirmed.”
Wen Yuan’s gaze seemed guileless. She didn’t doubt her student’s words. She simply put the folder back in the box and pulled out another one, handing it to Shu Ci. “There’s a film crew looking for an Omega lead, and they’re hoping the department can recommend someone for an audition.”
Shu Ci’s eyelid twitched. Here it comes.
Gu Lanzhu was still out of the country on business. Why was this plot point from the original story happening now?
The “substitute” storyline between the original owner and Bai Yue was one of the most heavily featured arcs in the middle of the book. The climax of this arc involved the two of them competing for the same role in a script.
And as luck would have it, the script was also about a substitute.
The casting director thought they were both well-suited for the role, so he had Bai Yue, who came with funding, play the main character, while the original owner played the tragic substitute in the story. And so, the drama and conflict, both on and off-screen, began.
Bai Yue, believing he was still Gu Lanzhu’s “white moonlight,” refused to admit that off-screen, Gu Lanzhu was treating his new favorite with special favor. The original owner, under a mountain of misunderstandings, believed that Gu Lanzhu truly saw him as Bai Yue’s substitute. A series of bitter, angsty “cremation ground” scenarios ensued.
During one of Gu Lanzhu’s set visits, he happened to walk in on the original owner filming a kissing scene.
Consumed by jealousy, CEO Gu used his “money power” to force the director to use camera tricks and have the script rewritten to remove any overly intimate physical contact. The moment the kissing scene was done for the day, he whisked the original owner away and devoured him in his car.
This incident served as a wake-up call for Bai Yue, making him finally realize Gu Lanzhu’s true feelings, but it also intensified his jealousy. He began to team up with Yu Xingxing to retaliate against the original owner even more fiercely.
Shu Ci himself, as a director, had not put himself in the protagonist’s shoes while reading this part. His empathy had been entirely with the tragic director.
From the snippets of the film-within-the-story, he believed it was a good script.
When he read about Gu Lanzhu causing chaos on set and forcing the director and screenwriter to revise the script overnight, he had been livid.
A film is the lifeblood of an entire team. Gu Lanzhu’s selfish actions were tantamount to trampling on someone else’s hard work a hundred times over. It was something no creator could easily tolerate.
Wen Yuan’s fingertips caressed the script’s cover as she softly praised the director and the production team.
Finally, she looked up at Shu Ci. “Based on your overall performance in previous semesters, your final major production, and your average grade in acting class, I’d like to recommend you.”
Shu Ci felt suffocated. He shook his head like a rattle-drum. “No, no, I’m already planning to switch to directing. As for acting, you should recommend someone else. There are many people in the class who are more talented than me.”
There was no way in hell he was getting dragged back into the original novel’s plot!
“But…”
Wen Yuan had never seen a student so averse to an audition. For a moment, she didn’t know what to do.
She tried to persuade him earnestly. “It’s a rare opportunity for a team of this caliber to be willing to cast a university student as the lead.”
“If you think the role is too difficult, I have two tickets to a charity cruise here. It’s happening soon, and the director will be there. I can take you to meet him before the audition to talk about the character.”
What? A charity cruise?
Isn’t that the setting for the “running away with a baby” plotline from the original book?! Is the plot coming out of order now?
Shu Ci backed away, his emotions surging. He felt exceptionally tense, his heart pounding so fast he was almost out of breath. He parted his lips, forcing himself to take deep breaths.
He felt as if a blade was hanging over his head.
He suddenly understood what Lu Wanqing meant by not being in control of his own fate.
Shu Ci’s brow furrowed as he struggled to keep himself standing.
Why did it feel like every time Lu Wanqing wasn’t around, the plot went into overdrive? It had been the same when Gu Lanzhu had kidnapped him to the island.
“Don’t get so worked up.” Seeing his face turn deathly pale in an instant, Wen Yuan became flustered. “Sit down and rest. I’m not trying to force you to audition. If you don’t want to go, we won’t go…”
She tried to soothe Shu Ci with her words, but she soon noticed something was wrong.
The glands on the student’s neck were red and hot. He was trembling violently, and soon, his pheromones began to pour out uncontrollably.
Wen Yuan quickly rushed to close the door and windows, then immediately dialed the emergency number for the infirmary.
“Your pheromones… are they plum blossoms?”
The same as my diffuser.
She turned around and saw Shu Ci’s dazed expression.
His Instability Syndrome had relapsed???
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