NOVEL WEB Ch. 40
Chapter 40: “Yes, That Scammer Is Lu Lin.”
Learning the host planned to teach Zhou Shengzheng a lesson, the System bought hundreds of entertainment romance novels.
Books were cheap, and the boss supported legit reading, allocating funds for it.
The boss warned against pirated sites—backend logs could detect it, leading to bans without reset eligibility.
Unsure how to tackle an industry director, the System scoured novels for tips.
Chu Zu’s first task was a background check on Zhou Shengzheng.
System agreed eagerly, diving into Silent Peach and Plum’s updated background, full text, and related characters’ plots with fiery determination.
Then Chu Zu said, “What I need isn’t in the background or main text. Try another way.”
System: “Huh?”
Chu Zu coached, “Open a browser.”
System: “Opened.”
“Type three words in the search bar.”
“Go ahead.”
“Tianyan Check.”
System: “…”
What?
Chu Zu: “I can’t check myself, it’d leave records—can our credit points convert to money?”
System: “I know we can’t use novel characters’ assets for points. Converting back… I’ll check.”
No luck in the rulebook, so it searched their internal forum.
“There’s precedent.”
Amazed, it said, “A ‘Dragon King Correction System’ host did it. On his last job, carpe diem, knowing points couldn’t leave, he swapped them all, living rich.”
“Ratio’s 10:1, 10 points for 1 currency, RMB for us.”
Absurd system—real-world money to points was 10:1, novel-world money 100:1.
The system couldn’t fathom the middleman’s cut.
Chu Zu, unbothered by the imbalance, said, “Use points for a Tianyan Check membership, or we can’t see related people.”
System, lavish in mall shopping, winced at converting.
The results were worth it.
“Got it!”
Per Chu Zu, it compiled findings.
Zhou Shengzheng was legal rep for 8 companies, shareholder in 17, executive in 3, tied to 25 firms.
Unsurprising—he was a prominent male director, linked to media and streaming platforms.
What caught Chu Zu’s eye was a low-investment company.
Mingsheng Culture Media Co., Ltd.
Zhou Shengzheng held 50%, the rest by untraceable proxies, likely placeholders.
Scrolling the list, a familiar name appeared.
Lu Chulin.
Chu Zu smiled.
System, unclear on details, heard Chu Zu: “Usually, only shady firms use proxies to avoid trouble, but Lu Chulin’s a minor shareholder.”
The system, never dealing with company-owning hosts, especially not novelists so savvy, struggled.
It couldn’t keep up!
Those romance novels didn’t cover shares or Tianyan Check!
“And Zhou Shengzheng’s 50% is interesting. Check company law.”
The system did, targeting “50%.”
“Only 51% or more grants most control…”
It got it, “1% isn’t much for him, yet he takes 50%—big investment, no control?”
Chu Zu nodded, “Only one reason: this company’s essentially Zhou Shengzheng and Lu Chulin’s. Proxies are Lu Chulin’s people.”
“Lu Chulin uses the company’s name to profit, avoiding deep ties with a shady firm, just a minor shareholder, like a financial perk.”
System: “Got it! The text says Lu Chulin’s transitioning behind the scenes—this company’s Zhou Shengzheng’s investment for him!”
Chu Zu sighed, “A realistic story gets logical, so tight. Lu Chulin supports Zhou Shengzheng later, right? Funding 50% for a company, he’s practically a dad—deserves support.”
System gnashed, “Zhou Ji scammed money to help Zhou Lily and got chewed out. Zhou Shengzheng’s so quick for Lu Chulin, isn’t he @?@!#!!”
It'd been cursed before, but never auto-censored.
Must’ve been filthy.
“Honestly, I wasn’t targeting Lu Chulin,” Chu Zu said, wry.
“His mess only hurt me, not worth the time. With so much to do and little main plot time, but…”
“But Lu Chulin’s deeply tied to Zhou Shengzheng!” The system jumped in.
“Hit Zhou Shengzheng, he’ll take losses, just starting behind the scenes. From the investment, he might’ve sunk all his savings!”
“You got it backward.”
Chu Zu, calm but grinning, “I meant to find easy targets to pull down Zhou Shengzheng. Turns out, Lu Chulin’s the easy one… seems he’s fated for my blow.”
The system countered, “No, you met his blow first.”
Dreaming of Chu Zu crushing the ungrateful wolf and deadbeat dad, it heard, We follow the film’s structure.
Silent Peach and Plum’s buyers likely don’t want a crude frame
He mused, “Keep digging, check entertainment news. Who’s Lu Chulin clashed with?”
The industry was cutthroat.
Male star rivalries were less public than female ones, as gossip preferred women’s petty dramas.
Driven by onlookers.
Same scandal, male stars got leniency, female ones spread wider.
Ignoring bias, event-focused—
“Too many…” The system's eyes swam.
“Since his Best Actor win, he grabbed film roles, endorsements, anything he wanted. So many grudges… wait.”
It found a familiar yet strange name, stunned.
“Two years ago, before his ear issue flared, he stole a lead role from another actor.”
“That actor was the investor’s pick, but backdoor leaks hit the web. Lu Chulin took the moral high ground, joined, but his ear issue stalled filming, tanking the project.”
“That investor… Li Qiya!”
The system, shocked, raised its voice.
“Lu Chulin crossed Li Qiya, tanking a whole project!!!”
Chu Zu, silent for a few seconds, asked, “Know what this means?”
System: “Li Qiya dislikes Lu Chulin, and Zhou Shengzheng backing him.”
“She doesn’t know the Zhous’ specifics, so Zhou Lily’s likely targeted due to her dad…”
Chu Zu shook his head, barely believing, laughing openly.
“It means three tangled messes, and I just focus on one to fix them all.”
*
In the morning, Jiang Zu returned with porridge to Zhou Lily’s room as she was on the phone.
Sunlight hit her expressionless face, looking healthier than last night.
She glanced at Jiang Zu, chin up, signaling to wait.
Her mood was sour, but her tone was warm.
“All a misunderstanding, won’t delay the project. I skipped dinner, got gastroenteritis, that’s why I’m here. You didn’t buy the rumors, did you?”
“You should’ve come last night—big investors were there, I couldn’t decide alone.”
“Forget him, you know my dumb brother’s temper—pure idiot, impulsive, but good-hearted.”
“For the project. If rumors of discord spread, with investors there, it’s bad.”
“I thought it over. Your suggestions make sense; I was obsessed. Prepping years, I want a great film.”
“Mhm.”
“I’ll let the casting director set a time. You must be there—I’m not confident without you.”
“Good, settled.”
“I’m fine, thanks for caring. Next time, my treat.”
Hanging up, Jiang Zu stepped forward, setting the bed table, placing hot porridge, and holding a disposable spoon.
Zhou Lily hesitated, “The film’s changed—”
“Eat first,” Jiang Zu said.
“You said gastroenteritis, skipping breakfast’s worse. Eat, then talk.”
Zhou Lily, half-laughing, “No gastroenteritis, that was to brush off Li Qiya. I’m fine.”
Jiang Zu ignored, holding the spoon closer, nearly shoving it in her hand.
“I asked the doctor. You didn’t eat yesterday, stomach’s empty. Five hours post-lavage, no issues, but you drank alcohol. You need liquid food.”
He rambled, “You told me to eat bread if I'm hungry, but you don’t eat. That’s wrong. Don’t diet, you’re thin, beautiful, don’t need it—it’s unhealthy…”
Zhou Lily, hearing his nagging, took the spoon, “Fine, I’ll eat, hush.”
Jiang Zu quieted.
He watched her, eyes on the spoon, glancing away when caught.
Caregiver habit.
Stubborn elders resisted eating, might agree then dump it.
Reasoning didn’t work—they were aged kids.
You had to see them eat, not obviously, avoiding pressure.
Zhou Lily ate half; Jiang Zu handed a tissue, “Not too much, your stomach can’t handle.”
She watched him clear the table, grab a spoon, sit, and gulp the rest.
Seated, he looked small, mumbling, “Save food.”
Packing takeout bags, Zhou Lily resumed.
“Film’s changed.”
She said, “Li Qiya knows I’m hospitalized, stepped back, didn’t cling to the producer, suppressed hospital news, but wants me to yield the lead.”
Jiang Zu: “I don’t fully get it, but Zhou Ji said you value producers. That’s good, right?”
“So I proposed an open audition. Both sides can push candidates, let skill decide. She wants profit, I want awards. Li Qiya agreed.”
Zhou Lily lacked confidence.
Her champion, Jiang Zu, had no acting lessons.
Li Qiya’s new lead wasn’t the annoying bit players from before.
Her script, tailored for Jiang Zu, was tough for him short-term.
Seems like Li Qiya conceded, but with her people in supporting roles, if she took the lead too…
Nominally, Zhou Lily kept producing, but Li Qiya’s funding and people held sway.
From shooting to release, a long process—anything could happen.
No need to tell Jiang Zu; he might not grasp, or it’d just worry him.
Jiang Zu tilted his head, “Like an exam?”
“Yes, like an exam.”
“Are there study guides, practice questions?”
“Guides, no practice.”
Zhou Lily explained, “I’ll get an acting teacher, send you character details and script excerpts. Like movies, TV—perform the excerpt on audition day.”
Jiang Zu looked nervous.
…
“I know you’re thrilled for acting lessons,” System advised solemnly.
“Stay calm, calm… Zhou Lily’s got a filter for you, but doctors are coming. Don’t let others notice…”
“Can’t I be excited?” Chu Zu was frank.
“Came for lessons, hit all this mess, finally close. Excitement’s normal.”
The system, guilty of past “scams,” stayed quiet.
“But it’s a problem.”
Chu Zu didn’t know the industry's unwritten rules, but Zhou Lily’s detail meant it mattered.
She was avoiding pressuring Jiang Zu.
Musing, Chu Zu said, “Playing my strengths is fine. If Zhou Lily picks something I can’t, it’s tricky.”
The system was optimistic, “No worries, we’ll assess. Maybe she wrote you a stoic or repressed lover—you’re great at those!”
“Where’d you get a repressed lover?”
“…Host,” the chick pivoted, “I mean, if you can’t act, we buy ‘Cat and Mouse Game’! We’ll be broke a bit, but this job’s payout will make us rich!”
Chu Zu didn’t refuse, “We’ll see.”
Doctors checked Zhou Lily’s vitals.
Chu Zu, noting she hadn’t mentioned Zhou Ji, brought it up post-check, “Zhou Ji—”
“He’s traveling with Sang Zhe,” Zhou Lily said.
Chu Zu: “How’d you know?”
She showed her phone—Sang Zhe’s Weibo.
Posted past 5 a.m., a selfie with Zhou Ji.
Her selfie skills were poor, showing her forehead, airport background.
Zhou Ji, pushing luggage, looked panicked, expression grim.
Sleepless, barely groomed, he looked comical.
Caption: [Traveling with a friend! Happy!]
Few fans, comments from foreign peers, congratulating her tour or wishing safe travels.
She replied to each, emojis and exclamation marks galore.
“I thought her parents would stop her… Tying to Zhou Ji now isn’t great…” Zhou Lily’s face showed no clues.
“She’s hit her rebellious phase, good.”
Chu Zu smiled, “Zhou Ji looks okay, Sang Zhe’ll care for him—she’s great at it.”
Zhou Lily scoffed, “Her caring for him? Look at his prospects.”
“He cried a lot yesterday, felt awful.”
“Crybaby, no surprise. Ugly as a monkey, only thing like Zhou Shengzheng.”
“…”
Why no kind words from Zhou Lily?
“When he’s back, tell him…”
She paused, eyes down.
“I didn’t… because of him. Just lost control. He messed up, true, but I’ve got issues too. It’s not that hard, just tedious.”
Chu Zu: “Okay.”
“Not okay,” the system cut in mentally.
Out of nowhere, Chu Zu asked, “What’s not okay…?”
System, snapping from data, “I mean, bad news. I checked Zhou Ji and Sang Zhe’s hotel—Lu Chulin’s there, checked in days ago!”
*
Deciding to travel, Sang Zhe and Zhou Ji moved fast.
Sang Zhe dodged her parents—another long talk would sway her, so she skipped it.
Zhou Ji avoided the media.
Sketchy news was out, no hospital reports, but the gala incident spread.
They clicked.
Zhou Ji packed light—ID, passport, spare clothes.
He drove Sang Zhe home.
She crept into her room, luggage half-unpacked from her return, added toiletries, ready to go.
Like thieves, they parked far, moved quietly, fearing noise.
In the car, they exhaled, glanced, and laughed.
Destination was Sang Zhe’s pick; Zhou Ji agreed, got a ticket, checked in, and napped on the flight.
Unsure how long, woken by a flight attendant, they stepped sleepily into a trouble-free foreign land.
The first crisis hit.
Peak season, no taxis, no pre-booked driver.
Their hotel was far, nearly across the city.
Waiting was futile.
Zhou Ji asked Sang Zhe, deciding to take a bus.
But rain poured.
After the bus, they needed another transfer.
Foreign transit was awful, infrastructure spotty outside downtown.
They waited at a leaky stop, no bus in sight.
Rain worsened, like God dumping buckets, only silver curtains visible.
Zhou Ji asked a worker.
A fifty-ish man, raincoat not covering his belly.
Wiping rain, he said calmly, “I hear you. Be patient, rain stops. Like life—the bus comes, right?”
Zhou Ji caught the core, “So, rain doesn’t stop, bus doesn’t come?”
The worker grinned, yellow teeth, “Yep.”
Zhou Ji: “…”
The worker closed the door, opened a window.
“Your place isn’t far, a half-hour walk. There’s a gas station that way—”
He pointed.
“They sell umbrellas. Better than soaking here.”
“…Thanks.”
Zhou Ji told Sang Zhe, draping his jacket over her, “Stay dry, I’ll be back. Don’t follow bad guys.”
Sang Zhe, drenched, eyes blinking under the jacket, nodded.
Zhou Ji ran into the rain.
Waiting intently, Sang Zhe zoned out, worrying if her parents were mad.
Post-flight, she turned on her phone, fearing missed texts, losing explanation chances.
If asked, she’d muster courage, spill her thoughts.
No messages—why?
Didn’t see her Weibo? Or knew, fully disappointed?
Anxiously musing, she noticed the rain lighten, looked up, and saw a clear umbrella’s edge.
Following its ribs, a young man stood behind, shielding her partly.
Refined, pale-haired, light-eyed, he smiled faintly, silent, as if not the one helping.
Sang Zhe didn’t know how long he stood, nervous, but didn’t want to type thanks, revealing her muteness.
She knew people pitied mutes; she didn’t need it.
So she clumsily nodded thanks.
The wet jacket slipped over her face; she fumbled to free herself.
Thunder roared, wind howling, startling her.
The man lifted the jacket.
They locked eyes, silent.
Sang Zhe stared, closer now, feeling he looked familiar.
Not long, she realized staring was rude, seeming dim, and turned back.
Zhou Ji, with two umbrellas, saw a pensive Sang Zhe.
Nearing, he spotted the man behind, eyes twitching.
He knew him—Lu Chulin, Zhou Shengzheng’s “star pupil.”
Lu Chulin recognized Zhou Ji, slightly surprised, nodding politely.
Normally, Zhou Ji’d scowl, but calmer now, with Sang Zhe.
“Here.”
He handed her an umbrella, took his jacket, and wrung it, “Let’s go.”
He meant to use his, but Sang Zhe stepped from Lu Chulin’s, shielding him, her shoulder soaked.
Hearing the hotel, she moved closer, ready to walk.
Zhou Ji couldn’t help smiling, “We’ve got two suitcases, one umbrella’s not enough. Use yours, watch me push single-handed.”
Sang Zhe, distracted, nodded.
Zhou Ji’s mood, lifted by her, soured seeing Lu Chulin trailing.
He guessed Lu Chulin headed the same way—no bus, same path.
Still annoying.
Zhou Shengzheng often cited Lu Chulin, scolding, If you had half his skill, would I worry?
Absurd.
Zhou Ji was raised by Zhou Lily—she stopped him from skipping, gaming all night, and dragged him from bridges.
What worries me?
Being scolded didn’t grudge Lu Chulin, but his good-guy act—Zhou Ji’s young, rebellious, I got wiser in college, don’t be mad—sparked rage.
Saying he was immature?
You outsiders know nothing!
Zhou Ji pegged Lu Chulin as a rat turd, stinking everything.
Rain couldn’t wash it.
Only relief: the worker didn’t lie.
Half an hour later, they reached the hotel.
Zhou Ji, fearing Sang Zhe’s cold, ignored Lu Chulin, checking in.
During verification, his soaked phone rang—Jiang Zu.
Calming, Zhou Ji answered.
Jiang Zu, as always, checked their safety, said Zhou Lily was recovering, working hard pre-discharge, and stopped by a stern doctor.
He asked how traveling felt.
Zhou Ji, light, “Good, just missed the forecast—raining. I checked, it’ll stop tonight.”
“Sang Zhe’s a great travel buddy, just bad at photos, didn’t capture my charm.”
Jiang Zu laughed long.
Hanging up, Zhou Ji turned with keycards, saw Sang Zhe sneaking another photo.
Prepared, he flashed a peace sign.
She smiled, gave a thumbs-up.
Bonding fast, she mischievously skipped his posed shot, picking one of him sighing.
Better than posed, she posted it.
[Reached hotel! Freshly drenched Zhou Ji!]
She sent it to Jiang Zu.
Typing, his reply popped up.
[Met Lu Lin?]
Sang Zhe froze, opened the photo, zoomed in.
Many stood behind Zhou Ji—checking in, asking for services, passing tourists.
But Jiang Zu’s mention, years later, let her spot the overlooked figure.
She’d felt familiarity seeing him.
Thought it was his kindness, like others she knew.
It wasn’t.
Though changed from youth, she knew him.
Same orphanage, then moved together to another when it closed.
There, they met Jiang Zu, grew up, and waited for meteors that never came.
He ended it all with lies and abandonment.
Sang Zhe gripped her phone, eyes passing Zhou Ji, locking on the man.
Noticing, he met her gaze, smiling gently, unchanged.
She confirmed.
Yes, that scammer is Lu Lin.