Chapter 106.1: Tang Le Celebration
When did Immortal Path get this popular?!
Didn’t Shen Xiu reject them before? Why the sudden interest now? And it was already past 2 a.m.—shouldn’t he be asleep… ah, right, of course the “King of Grinding” doesn’t sleep.
Wait, that’s not the point. The real question is: why is Qinghe Entertainment suddenly interested too?
Even more strangely, both parties specifically expressed interest in the role of Li Yang.
The admin, who occupied multiple positions due to Immortal Path being too poor to hire a full team, didn’t dare reply casually to either side. Instead, they took screenshots of both Shen Xiu’s private message and Du Heng’s WeChat, and sent them to the assistant director.
For a no-budget web drama like Immortal Path with zero backing, Du Heng hadn’t even bothered to follow up after adding their team on WeChat and sending his offer.
He was determined to land this project—after all, it was a cheap production that had already lost its investors.
His reason for choosing the role of Li Yang was simple: even though Li Yang was a villain, the character was vivid and multidimensional. His willful and domineering nature bore a striking resemblance to Lin Jiashi.
Among book fans, Li Yang held a controversial but unforgettable spot—a “love-to-hate” character that mirrored Lin Jiashi’s current infamy and popularity.
As long as Lin Jiashi took company-arranged acting lessons seriously, or had an acting coach guide him live on set, it wouldn’t be impossible to clean up his image a little.
An arrogant, spoiled little prince-type role—there’s always an audience for that.
After sending the message, Du Heng told a streamer to add him to a team so they could play games together.
No choice—he’d been scolded mercilessly during the day over the Mu Zhenchu situation. Life was just too bitter. So bitter, in fact, that he had resolved to stay up all night grinding ranks in-game.
—
After Shen Xiu sent the message, he remembered it was two in the morning. Under normal circumstances, the other party would’ve been off work and resting—there was no way he’d get a reply.
Realizing that the awkwardness of being rejected could be postponed until the next morning, Shen Xiu immediately felt at ease. He happily turned off Weibo, tilted his head to glance at the always adorable Lucky sleeping in the moonlight, rested his hands on his stomach, and peacefully fell asleep.
Being rejected tomorrow—that was tomorrow’s awkwardness. What did it have to do with him right now? Don’t take out an awkwardness loan in advance—he would start with himself!
—
The next day.
At 9 a.m., Zhao Heng, the assistant director who occupied many positions, was awakened by his alarm. After looking at the screenshots that had been sent to him, his previously gloomy face lit up with joy. He excitedly slapped his bed and said, “Good, good!”
“Finally, the hardship is over!”
Overjoyed, Zhao Heng admired the screenshots the operations team had sent him on his tablet while dialing their number.
As soon as the call connected, Zhao Heng couldn’t hold back: “Why are you only telling me about this amazing news now?!”
Operations: “Director Zhao, are you sure? It’s both sides, you know. You’re calling this good news?”
The operations staff reminded the director, who had been overwhelmed by joy: “Both sides chose Li Yang. Don’t you think this puts us in a tough spot? After all, we can’t afford to offend either of them. Lin Jiashi isn’t someone to—”
“He’s nothing.” Looking at the screenshot of the private message from Shen Xiu, Zhao Heng laughed so hard he wanted to slap his thigh.
“Mu Zhenchu not only successfully terminated his contract with Qinghe today, but he didn’t pay a single cent in penalty fees. Do you know why?”
The operations staff didn’t quite understand why the assistant director was suddenly bringing up Mu Zhenchu, who seemed unrelated, and asked curiously, “Why?”
Zhao Heng said proudly, “Kid, your instincts aren’t sharp enough. Why else? Of course it’s because of Shen Xiu.”
“According to gossip from other artists at Qinghe, Captain Xiu flew into a rage for the sake of his teammate. Less than an hour after a conflict broke out between Lin Jiashi and Mu Zhenchu, the ‘living devil of the legal world’ personally stepped in on Shen Xiu’s behalf and got Mu Zhenchu out of Qinghe.”
The operations staff whispered, “But didn’t the gossip accounts say it was all just rumors? Could it be real?”
“Real or fake, fake or real—for someone else it might be hearsay, but this is Shen Xiu we’re talking about. If it involves Shen Xiu, anything’s possible!”
Although Mu Zhenchu didn’t post any official announcement about terminating his contract on Weibo, he did share it in his WeChat Moments, and someone had screenshotted it and posted it to Weibo. On top of that, someone snapped a photo of Shen Xiu with Lin Jiashi and Mu Zhenchu outside a shopping mall, which sparked gossip among marketing accounts.
As someone who had once seriously considered casting Shen Xiu as Li Yang, even though Shen Xiu had turned him down, Zhao Heng couldn’t help keeping tabs on him—just like someone secretly watching their unattainable first love after being rejected.
Through his quiet lurking, Zhao Heng saw the gossip about Shen Xiu, Mu Zhenchu, and Lin Jiashi.
Borrowing from the vocabulary of Shen Xiu’s internet fanbase, Zhao Director declared: “In short, all you need to understand is—it’s Shen Xiu. Then it’s fine!”
Operations: “Got it—choose Shen Xiu!”
Zhao Heng: “A teachable kid!”
That said, as just a low-level operations staffer, he was still worried that if something went wrong later, he’d be the one blamed. Cautiously, he said, “Director Zhao, I think for something this important, it’s best if you handle it personally. I’ll send you the account and password now so you can reach out to Shen Xiu yourself.”
After the call abruptly ended, Zhao Heng was speechless: “……”
Too rash. That kid isn’t dumb—he’s sharp as a tack.
Looking at the official Immortal Path Weibo account credentials, along with the corresponding WeChat account and passwords sent by the operations team, Zhao Heng carefully composed a message and forwarded everything to Immortal Path’s chief director, Xuan Ji.
Director Xuan Yushu’s son, Xuan Ji, started filming dramas as soon as he became an adult. Even though they were only low-budget web dramas, no matter what happened, he always had someone to back him up. If he couldn’t handle it, his dad would take care of it.
When Shen Xiu participated in the variety show Crossing the Primeval Forest, although he treated Xuan Yushu indifferently—no different from how he treated Qiao Pengyi—he still answered all questions and was reasonably cordial. If Lin Jiashi decided to make things difficult, maybe Shen Xiu would be willing to help?
When Xuan Ji saw the screenshots and messages Zhao Heng had sent him, he was so excited he shot up from bed.
Xuan Yushu had just raised his hand to knock on the door when he heard his son’s excited voice from inside.
“Ahhh!!! Shen Xiu’s interested in playing Li Yang—if you round it up, that means he agreed!!!”
Xuan Yushu lowered his hand. The next second, the door clicked open from the inside.
Xuan Ji had been planning to rush out and brag to his dad, but was startled to find Xuan Yushu standing right outside. He nearly had a heart attack.
Clutching his chest, Xuan Ji stumbled back: “D-d-dad…”
“Shen Xiu agreed to play Li Yang.”
Hearing that, Xuan Ji’s excitement was instantly doused like a bucket of cold water: “…Dad, did you contact Shen Xiu and get him to agree for your sake?”
Xuan Yushu smiled. “Why are you so nervous? I don’t have that kind of pull.”
“Whew… thank goodness.” Xuan Ji was relieved. He didn’t want to rely on his father—he wanted to carve out his own path and show the world that being the son of a great director didn’t mean anything. He could stand on his own, powered by his own charm!
His non-existent tail wagging with pride again, Xuan Ji declared, “Dad, Shen Xiu chose me—he must have his reasons!”
After basking in his glory, Xuan Ji turned and went back to his room, sat on the bed, and started grinning like an idiot as he replied to Shen Xiu’s private message, asking him to add the Immortal Path liaison WeChat account.
—
The next day, at nine in the morning, Shen Xiu was on the bus returning from the cemetery when he saw Xiang Yueting tagged everyone in the group chat, saying they were going to celebrate Mu Zhenchu’s freedom.
Seeing his friends reply one after another with “Got it,” Shen Xiu quickly responded as well.
Watching his reply mixed in with the others—not too early, not too late—Shen Xiu felt satisfied.
According to the location shared in the group, Shen Xiu got off at the next stop and transferred to another bus heading to the party venue.
Since he was already on the road, Shen Xiu arrived earlier than the others.
After getting off the bus, the distance from the bus stop to the party location wasn’t far, and no matter how slowly Shen Xiu walked, it wouldn’t take much time.
Still, Shen Xiu couldn’t wait for the others to arrive together and found himself standing alone outside this unfamiliar yet seemingly expensive private party venue. Just standing there, he already felt the gaze from the reception staff inside.
Standing outside felt even more awkward, but under the watchful eyes of the front desk staff, Shen Xiu steeled himself and walked forward.
As soon as he stepped inside, one of the two receptionists approached and asked, “Hello, sir. May I ask which private room you reserved? I’ll show you the way.”
Shen Xiu gave the room number that Song Chengwang had mentioned in the group chat: “Number 6.”
To avoid causing unnecessary crowds or disturbing others’ travel, ever since leaving the training camp, Shen Xiu had gotten into the habit of wearing a mask and a baseball cap when going out.
The receptionist wasn’t a fan and didn’t recognize Shen Xiu, only sensing his aloof and unapproachable aura, so he instinctively kept some distance.
After hearing Shen Xiu’s calm voice report the room number, the receptionist said, “Please follow me.”
“Okay, thank you,” Shen Xiu replied and followed the receptionist.
“You’re welcome.” The receptionist, having dealt with all kinds of people in this job, found someone like Shen Xiu—cold on the surface but well-mannered and politely distant with everyone—very easy to assist.
Shen Xiu had only walked a few steps when he suddenly stopped. “Wait.”
The receptionist turned slightly to the side. “Is something wrong, sir?”
It had just occurred to Shen Xiu that, as the group leader, he should be the one handling the arrangements for his teammate’s celebration.
Sure enough, he hadn’t been thorough or thoughtful enough in his role.
Feeling a pang of guilt, Shen Xiu asked, “Excuse me, is it possible to pay in advance?”
The receptionist smiled. “Of course.”
“Please follow me,” he said, turning back toward the front desk.
This was a members-only establishment. Joining required both identity verification and recharging a sufficient balance on a membership card.
Every time a member came to dine, they could either state their name before or after the meal, and the system would automatically log the expense—no need to swipe a card on the spot.
From the calm way Shen Xiu had entered, his refined demeanor, the confidence with which he gave the private room number, and now his initiative to pay in advance, the receptionist instinctively assumed he was a member.
Once they reached the front desk, the receptionist asked, “Sir, may I have your name, please?”
You need to give your name to pay in advance?
Shen Xiu hesitated slightly before replying, “Shen Xiu.”
The receptionist’s fingers froze briefly over the keyboard upon hearing the name. “Very well, Mr. Shen,” he said, then quickly typed it in and proceeded with the registration.
After completing the process, the receptionist hesitated for a few seconds before cautiously asking, “Mr. Shen, would you like to use Private Room 1?”
Shen Xiu: “?”
Song Chengwang had clearly said Room 6—so why were they suddenly asking about Room 1? Completely unfamiliar with how things worked here, Shen Xiu chose to decline. “No.”
Hearing his calm and distant refusal, the receptionist nodded. “Understood, Mr. Shen. Everything has been processed. Once you and your friends have finished, the charge will automatically be billed.”
The receptionist, reciting the standard training lines with practiced ease, didn’t quite understand Shen Xiu’s reasoning. Why ignore Room 1, which had been long reserved, and opt for Room 6 instead?
The staff member assigned to guide guests stepped forward and said, “Mr. Shen, this way, please.”
“…Alright.”
Wait—you just need to say your name, and it automatically deducts money from your bank account? It’s that high-tech?
Shen Xiu followed the staff member, feeling as lost as a fool.
