NOVEL WEB Ch. 41
Chapter 41: “BestActorLuChulinORScumbagLuLin”
Sang Zhe was dazed, not reacting even as Zhou Ji stood before her.
No choice—to avoid a cold, Zhou Ji pushed the suitcase with one hand, her with the other, to her room’s door.
“Take a hot shower. Call if you need me, I’m next door, I’ll come fast.”
Turning, a faint tug pulled his soaked shirt hem.
Looking back, Sang Zhe had let go, fingers tapping her phone rapidly, then raising it, screen glowing with words.
[I saw Lu Lin.]
She didn’t know who else to tell; few knew Lu Lin, Zhou Ji among them.
Zhou Ji didn’t immediately recall Lu Lin.
Their only shared circle was Jiang Zu; he likely didn’t know her acquaintance.
“Okay, okay, saw a friend? Go…”
He froze.
“Lu Lin?”
“The jerk who scammed Brother Jiang?”
Zhou Ji’s temper flared lately, curses flowing, but he stayed proper around Sang Zhe.
After Zhou Lily’s incident, he spent a night swearing off trouble for her, vowing maturity.
He couldn’t hold back.
No way, even Zhou Lily would curse worse.
“Which one’s Lu Lin?” he asked.
Sang Zhe turned her phone, pointing to the figure in the photo.
Zhou Ji froze, this time from absurdity.
“Lu Chulin?” he muttered.
“Lu Lin is Lu Chulin?”
Sang Zhe shook her head, clueless about Lu Chulin, unsure of the name.
Zhou Ji, dazed, took a deep breath, forced a smile, “Take a hot shower, I will too, then we’ll talk.”
In their rooms, both gripped phones.
Sang Zhe typed the heard pinyin, search engine locking onto “Lu Chulin.”
She clicked his Baike page.
Lu Chulin, Chinese actor, producer.
2014, played Luo Qian in Zhou Shengzheng’s Return, winning Huaying Film Festival Best Actor.
Youngest Best Actor, a miracle debut.
…
2017, founded his charity fund, paused work, volunteered at orphanages.
In interviews, he said charity outweighed filming.
From a tough background, nearly missing college due to illness.
Thanks to kind people and mentor Director Zhou (Shengzheng), he found purpose, hoping to help others.
In 2018, at his career peak, he quietly retired.
His agent cited private matters, no details shared.
…
Maybe from the rain, Sang Zhe’s fingertips chilled, body stiffening, freezing.
What a dazzling resume—talented, charitable, flawless.
Lu Chulin seemed to embody all admirable traits.
Rough start, illness setbacks, didn’t hinder success.
Liar.
Sang Zhe trembled.
Did Lu Lin ever speak the truth?
Kind people’s help?
Charity over films?
He never glanced back at the orphanage that raised him, as if he owed Jiang Zu nothing—this utter liar!!!
…
Next door, Zhou Ji called Zhou Lily.
He hadn’t dared, planning to grovel post-trip.
Instinctively, he dialed her number, nearly hanging up when she answered.
“Speak,” Zhou Lily said flatly.
He told her everything.
Keyboard clacks sounded from her end; after his story, all went silent.
Neither rushed to speak.
After ten seconds, Zhou Lily sneered, “You’re good at losing it, huh? Calling me to teach you?”
Zhou Ji, tense, relaxed at her scolding, “I’ll follow orders.”
“Don’t fight, I’m not bailing you out abroad. Otherwise, do you.”
“Got it.” Zhou Ji knew his move.
Zhou Lily skipped domestic issues; he didn’t ask, hanging up to plan settling old and new scores.
Mid-thought, he sneezed.
Touching his nose, he realized he was soaked, stripping and hitting the shower.
By noon, he texted Sang Zhe.
She replied: [Sorry, no sleep last night, need to rest.]
She slept till evening.
Eyes open, anger solidified in her chest, stifling her.
She’d written Jiang Zu: [When you understand this summer, you’ll be sadder than now.]
Not true.
She was the sad one.
At eighteen, she judged right and wrong easily—Lu Lin was wrong, shouldn’t have lied, left.
Now, knowing Lu Lin was Lu Chulin, her thoughts tangled.
She searched: [Why do people suddenly turn bad?]
Before hitting search, she hesitated, erased “bad,” typed “rotten.”
[Why do people suddenly turn rotten?]
Search results missed her intent:
Why does skin rot?
Expert dermatologist answers.
Why’s my skin rotting?
Health site article.
What drugs cause skin rot?
Ask doctors directly.
…
Sang Zhe craved answers.
Before eighteen, Lu Lin was loyal, generous, honest, brave; his back gave her strength.
His good image, so ingrained, made his betrayal cruel.
In a moment, his smiling face rotted, every detail nauseating.
What went wrong?
She rose, having eaten only plane food, legs weak on carpet.
Opening curtains, post-rain stars gleamed in her heavy eyes, edges softened like soaked.
Biting her lip, she grabbed her phone, heading to the hotel rooftop.
She wanted to video-call Jiang Zu.
High altitude, far from downtown, the open rooftop drew star-gazing tourists.
She didn’t expect the crowd, hesitating, spotting a familiar figure.
Lu Lin… Lu Chulin.
Few abroad knew him; excited Asian girls surrounded him.
Sang Zhe approached quietly, hearing hushed excitement.
“Teacher Lu, we’re your fans!”
“No news so long, I didn't expect to meet here!”
“Rumors said you’re ill, nonsense—haters can’t stand success.”
“…”
Hiding in the crowd, Sang Zhe saw Lu Chulin smile, always smiling, calm, mature, poised.
“Since Return, I’ve followed you. You brought Luo Qian to life! No one else could do that with naive youth!”
Her nerves snapped.
She’d watched Return clips that afternoon.
At 21, Lu Chulin shed student air; critics said his Luo Qian earned Best Actor.
But Sang Zhe saw only Jiang Zu’s shadow.
A normal, optimistic Jiang Zu, unburdened by intellect.
He mimicked Jiang Zu’s acting, even casual gestures.
Comments praised Lu Chulin’s nuance, no theatricality—acting’s true challenge.
They said he was born for it, not “acting” but crafting daily details.
Not just everyday nuance—he nailed intense scenes.
When Luo Qian faced crushing blows, his trembling showed mental illness traces.
The script didn’t specify trauma, but it enriched Luo Qian, giving him past, present, and future audiences craved.
Lu Chulin could do it.
He knew Jiang Zu for years, caused his PTSD, and mastered those micro-expressions!
How dare you?
How dare you use another’s scalding knife-edge path as your stepping stone?
Sang Zhe couldn’t bear it, her chest’s weight suffocating—she needed to act to breathe.
She rushed forward, pushing through.
Seeing her, Lu Chulin looked surprised.
His demeanor softened, eyes gentle, less aloof than before.
The girls giggled, pure fans, not star-chasers, happy for the semi-retired actor’s love life.
Lu Chulin had no scandals since debuting.
Unlike peers swapping partners or marrying, fans awaited his good news.
Sang Zhe typed, arm rigid, nearly hitting his face.
[Don’t you recognize me, Lu Lin?]
Seeing the screen, his smile faded, replaced by shock.
His lips moved, silent.
She typed: [I’m Sang Zhe, from the orphanage.]
Lu Chulin’s face lit with joy, stepping forward, as if to hug.
She retreated, typing fiercely with piano-agile fingers.
[Why’d you steal A-Zu’s college aid?]
[You’re doing great, charitable, but never visited the orphanage after leaving. Without A-Zu, it’d have collapsed.]
[Are you playing Luo Qian, or the A-Zu you destroyed?]
Staring at the screen, his light pupils contracted.
He shifted to Sang Zhe’s forced-calm face, eyelids drooping, expression shifting subtly.
She hated his real-or-fake hurt, stomach churning.
Stepping back, she held the phone steady.
Their distance hid the screen, but now, far apart, onlookers read it.
The girls, confused, whispered as Lu Chulin’s face faltered.
“Sang Zhe…” His voice rasped, gentler.
He seemed to explain, eyes flickering, dimming, stepping forward.
Sang Zhe tried retreating; crowd noise rose, someone calling her name.
Turning, Zhou Ji ran toward her.
Panting, disheveled, he stopped, “Thought you got sick from rain, not up. The elevator guy said "you're here… why so many people?”
Sang Zhe patted his back, waited for him to catch his breath, then pointed at Lu Chulin.
Her gesture was direct, trusting Zhou Ji, like tattling.
Zhou Ji, clueless, looked, laughed angrily.
Lu Chulin wasn’t Li Qiya.
Li Qiya had her dad’s protection, her own schemes.
Lu Chulin?
Backed by a top “fifth-generation” director, nearly a global Chinese film icon.
Sadly, Zhou Ji’s dad.
As a kid, Zhou Ji defied Zhou Shengzheng; now, wings hardened.
He’d long disliked Lu Chulin’s fake kindness, too lazy to engage.
Not now—recalling “I got wiser in college,” rage flared.
Lu Chulin didn’t know his pre-college deeds?!
He’d tear off that fake skin, or he couldn’t face Zhou Lily and Jiang Zu!
Zhou Ji shouted, “Looked familiar, didn’t recognize my bad, all from staying up. My dog brain just recalled who you are.”
“Our Best Actor who lied to dodge student loans, stole aid, vanished post-exam? I’m right, yeah?”
Fast, enunciated, rehearsed countless times.
Chinese-speaking listeners paused, digesting.
Zhou Ji gave them time, watching reactions shift, then continued.
“Your award-winning role was a naive victim. Not enough? Play a two-faced, ungrateful wolf.”
“My dad didn’t give you the right script, stunted your career?”
“No good scripts lately, no wonder you tanked a project and retired here.”
Lu Chulin’s response surprised Zhou Ji—he just swallowed, silent, lips holding an unsaid sigh.
Zhou Ji expected a fake smile, venom cloaked in kindness.
He was ready—barring Zhou Lily, he never lost a fight!
This guy played innocent?
Retreating to advance?
Spotting sneaky phone recordings, Zhou Ji sneered.
No use.
Li Qiya might plaster him online, so he’d ride her bots, dragging this jerk up too.
Before continuing, Sang Zhe tugged his sleeve.
She pointed to her ear, then Lu Chulin, shaking her head.
His polished expression froze.
Zhou Ji grinned.
Oh, a deaf jerk?
Perfect for his show.
Zhou Lily said, no jail, do what you want.
*
Zhou Ji’s performance skyrocketed domestic hot searches, landing second, behind government news.
#BestActorLuChulinORScumbagLuLin#
The system watched the video fifty-eight times, never tiring.
Shot perfectly, high-res, capturing Lu Chulin’s shifting expressions.
Shock, disbelief, scanning crowd reactions, turning confused, twisting as Sang Zhe signaled Zhou Ji.
Expressions collided.
Chu Zu once watched, triple-speed, Zhou Ji’s fiery speech with a proper chick voice.
“Lu Chulin’s acting… how’d he get Best Actor?”
Chu Zu mused, “Playing confused and innocent fits, makes Zhou Ji seem unreasonable, matches his deaf state, could milk sympathy to cut back.”
“But it’s so bad, he cracked. Did we overestimate him?”
System, bold, “No overestimating. Mystic, evil stuff needs full guard, not overestimating!”
Facing Lu Chulin, the chick turned battle-ready.
Chu Zu was used to it.
No use expecting analysis.
“Lu Chulin panicked from Sang Zhe,” he said.
System, skeptical, “She’s that important? No love at first sight.”
“No,” Chu Zu said.
“As a healthy kid among disabled peers, subtle superiority fueled his protectiveness for me and Sang Zhe.”
“But illness made him like us, grades tanked, pride took a hit, so he hid his ear issue.”
“Even semi-retired, he kept it a secret… deep down, he always felt above us.”
System managed, “Total nutcase.”
Chu Zu tsked, “Sang Zhe outing his ear issue publicly—he couldn’t take it.”
“No wonder he didn’t recognize her, never cared about her, all about himself…”
System speculated, “Or faked it. Who forgets our pretty girl? Acting.”
Chu Zu shook his head, “He cares most about himself, especially now, mid-relapse. Forgetting her normal.”
He pivoted, “But why didn’t Sang Zhe recognize him? Without my nudge, she might’ve fallen for him—is there really mysticism?”
The system shouted, “He got plastic surgery!”
Chu Zu, curious, “Found that in the settings?”
“No,” the chick insisted, “He’s shameless, so surgery fits, to go unrecognized!”
Chu Zu: “…”
System: “I’d know him as ashes!”
“Okay, okay.”
Chu Zu, helpless, “Track the hot search, check who’s boosting it.”
“This traffic’s odd, targeting only Lu Chulin, not Zhou Ji or the gala.”
“He’s been low-key forever; shouldn’t have this heat.”
Chick, fired up, dug in.
Chu Zu worked.
For Zhou Lily, he took two days off from the nursing home.
Approved, but she, barely recovered, went full workaholic, discharging herself when doctors weren’t looking.
She told him to wait at home; she’d send the script.
Script pending, he logged into Weibo.
His account was nobody's.
Follows were just the Zhous, Sang Zhe, and elder-care tips.
He hit the hot search, and found a lively post.
Lu Chulin, handsome, avoided traffic circles, rarely did shows, only appeared for promos, cemented as a skilled actor with Zhou Shengzheng’s backing.
Who was the other guy?
Zhou Ji, internet surfer, young CEO whining about male stars, Zhou Shengzheng’s son.
Despite follower gaps, drama fans didn’t care.
Lu Chulin’s fans, less fierce than traffic fans, were steady.
They didn’t fight, demanded studio responses—statements or legal letters.
Onlookers: Eating dad’s resources, then lawyering his son?
Real or fake?
Fans listed awards, arguing Lu Chulin earned it all.
No big fight, but lively.
The search’s fuel suggested Lu Chulin’s PR team was crying overtime.
Chu Zu commented.
[Lu Lin was good to me, protected me from bullies, and left for college out of town.]
[I went to college too, someone stressed its importance, lent me a lot, never chased repayment.]
[Don’t judge him wholly by one mistake. I mess up, but Director Mom and colleagues forgive me. Learn, do better.]
System, done checking, saw Chu Zu hit send, panicked.
“You’ll get roasted!”
It yelled, “Netizens might not watch the full video, focus on Zhou Ji and Lu Chulin’s clash, not his words! Zhou Ji hid your info, they don’t know you…”
“Right, no fight, no focus on the issue, heat dies fast.”
“Lu Chulin won’t sue Zhou Ji for defamation or reputation.”
Chu Zu, calm, “Without fuel, it ends in empty reconciliation.”
He set the phone down, “Who bought the search?”
The system, hating his risk, blamed Lu Chulin.
“Zhou Lily first, then Li Qiya added fuel.”
Chu Zu, unsurprised.
“My comment will ferment. Even if Zhou Lily wants me out, Li Qiya doesn’t care. They’ll move, wait.”
“Maybe they’ll sync up, land a combo punch, I wouldn’t be shocked.”
The system didn’t see Zhou Lily as scheming, but knew Li Qiya’s knack.
Initially anti-Li Qiya, now it softened—the enemy's enemy was a friend!
Lu Chulin did so much to earn hate, even passing dogs wanted a kick.
Post-backtrack, Chu Zu barely rested.
Thought he could relax, waiting for moves.
But storms hit.
Zhou Lily’s email arrived.
Subject: [Recursion Audition Script & Male Lead Profile]
The phone rang.
“Check the script,” Zhou Lily said, no hot search talk.
“If it feels unplayable, don’t stress. Even a top actor would need time.”
“Acting teacher contacts you tomorrow. Ask anything.”
“Just try, I’ll handle the rest.”
“…”
Chu Zu was confident elsewhere, but acting?
No sure grip.
More comfort, less grip.
Hanging up, System soothed, “Don’t forget ‘Cat and Mouse Game.’”
He nodded, opened the attachment.
A zipped file, lead profile plus other characters’ bios, tied to the lead, stuffed in by Zhou Lily.
The exam analogy was spot-on.
She was the teacher marking the whole book, also the examiner.
Chu Zu skipped the script, opened the lead profile.
Zhou Lily gave a leg-up, starting with a bolded, simple summary for Jiang Zu.
With nervous System, he read—
[Simply, the lead seems emotional but acts solely for specific directives, like a humanoid AI.]
[He shows little expression, occasional emotional bursts, only for the directive’s goal.]
[He seems human, a successful AI, but is an emotionless machine.]
[He changes later due to the environment, but you don’t need that now—just learn to act this part.]
System: “…Why’s this description so familiar?”
Chu Zu: “…Pretty familiar.”