📚 Hey lovely readers!
Thanks a ton for sticking with this amazing novel and cheering on Jiang Qi and Zhi Qi 💖 Your support means the world! 🌍

This story has a total of 96 chapters 🎉 — but I haven’t been able to find the extra chapters anywhere 😢. If any of you come across them, please drop the link 🔗 and I’ll happily translate it for everyone! 📝✨

Just a few chapters left to wrap up this beautiful journey… 💫
Happy reading! 📖💕

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Chapter 68: Shen Lei Was An Expert—He Could Tell Whether The Pastry Smelled Good Or Not…

After Jiang Qi returned to the entertainment industry, not only did media and entertainment companies want to sign him, but many film offers also came pouring in.

However, Jiang Qi didn’t even have a manager, so the producers had nowhere to send their scripts. For a while, many people reached out to Shen Lei and Qu Heng, leaving both of them amused and helpless. They also tried to persuade Jiang Qi to sign with a company.

If you want to have a long-lasting career in the entertainment industry, you need backing. Even top-tier celebrities rely on their company’s PR team for protection—let alone Jiang Qi.

Although Jiang Qi had many haters, his controversial and dramatic persona guaranteed high traffic and value, giving him plenty of options.

Whether it was companies or scripts.

For example, a few days ago, a well-produced script wanted Jiang Qi for the lead role. Unable to contact him directly, they called Shen Lei instead.

Shen Lei had received so many calls like this that he went from being amused to actually listening.

If the script looked poorly made or unreasonable, he wouldn’t even mention it to Jiang Qi—but this particular historical film offer, Shen Lei did bring up.

The reason was simple: the production team was top-notch, the lead character suited Jiang Qi, and the story focused on the male lead’s journey and growth, with minimal romantic scenes.

From every angle, Shen Lei felt this was worth mentioning to Jiang Qi.

At the time, Jiang Qi didn’t pay much attention to it. But after the recent incident with the young girl, and after meeting Mei Ran and Zhi Minglin… Jiang Qi suddenly realized he needed to be more career-minded.

So, he came to Shen Lei to “humbly ask for advice.”

“Of course,” Shen Lei replied without hesitation. “I know the director of that film—Old Linzi. He’s always said you’re his top choice.”

Old Linzi’s full name is Lin Qihang, a typical “commercial director” in the industry. His films are grand and box-office hits. He loves casting big stars and usually doesn’t care for unknowns. So when he contacted Shen Lei saying he wanted to meet Jiang Qi, Shen Lei was quite surprised.

Jiang Qi absentmindedly tapped the railing with his fingers. “When can I audition?”

“You want to go? That’s rare,” Shen Lei chuckled. “Old Linzi said he’s been holding auditions in Hengdian these past few days, but it depends on your schedule.”

Shen Lei knew that in Jiang Qi’s heart, Zhi Qi was the most important. Right now, the young man was taking care of Zhi Qi in the hospital and had taken half a month off from the film crew… Could he really “make time” for an audition?

But Jiang Qi replied, “I’m free in the afternoon.”

He had already discussed it with Zhi Yu—every day from 10 a.m. to 5 p.m., their family members would take turns accompanying Zhi Qi. Mei Ran and Zhi Minglin didn’t want to see him.

So, he should naturally avoid that time.

That left his afternoons free, which meant he could do something else.

A few days later, one afternoon when Shen Lei was free, he personally drove Jiang Qi to the film set.

As soon as Jiang Qi got into the car, a document was tossed onto his lap, accompanied by Shen Lei’s casual voice:
“Take a good look. Perform well later—don’t embarrass me.”

…

Shen Lei always had that domineering “protective boss” vibe.

Jiang Qi didn’t respond, silently picking up the document to read.

It was a synopsis of Lin Qihang’s upcoming project, “Sovereign at the Gates.”
Before casting is finalized, no one gets access to the full script—only a character summary for audition purposes.

In addition, Shen Lei had marked the specific audition scene chosen by Lin Qihang for today.

Sovereign at the Gates is a typical commercial blockbuster. It tells the story of the Liang family army, once powerful during the Wu Dynasty, being destroyed by imperial power due to fear and jealousy. The only survivor, Liang Jieyu, wanders in exile, carrying deep vengeance. He infiltrates the military, rises through the ranks, and eventually becomes a great general. The story follows his journey of revenge, usurpation, and confrontation with royal authority.

It’s a classic male-lead revenge drama. The protagonist is dark and extreme, blinded by vengeance, using everyone around him as stepping stones to power. Only after he seizes the throne does a trace of tenderness remain.

Audition scenes for this type of drama usually test whether the actor can embody the charisma and ruthlessness of a rising anti-hero—

For example, a triumphant scene where Liang Jieyu leads an army to crush foreign invaders, or the chilling moment when he points a sword at the emperor’s throat, smiling coldly as the ruler kneels before him…

But the scene Shen Lei highlighted was surprisingly simple:
“Liang Jieyu, after ascending to power, sits on the dragon throne and looks at the court.”

Jiang Qi’s eyes darkened. He realized the director was likely testing the actor’s true depth.

Because whether it’s youthful arrogance or cold cruelty, those are surface-level emotions that any young actor can portray.

But Lin Qihang chose the moment when Liang Jieyu first sits on the throne—a scene that demands the actor interpret the character’s inner complexity based only on the synopsis.

At this point in the story, Liang Jieyu has endured thirty years of hiding and scheming. His life has revolved around revenge. Now, having succeeded, he’s also become a traitorous usurper. How conflicted must he feel?

Jiang Qi pondered this deeply, remaining silent even as Shen Lei pulled up to the set.

Only when Shen Lei tossed him a mask and said, “We’re here,” did Jiang Qi snap out of it.

There were many actors auditioning for Sovereign at the Gates—fifteen just today.

Despite Shen Lei accompanying him, Jiang Qi received no special treatment. He queued up like everyone else, ignoring the curious or probing glances around him, fully immersed in his thoughts about the script.

And in that moment of quiet reflection…
Jiang Qi understood.

He understood.
Jiang Qi now knew how to portray Liang Jieyu’s psychological state and how to interpret the audition scene.

As a man burdened with deep vengeance, yet who had grown up serving the Wu Dynasty and receiving its rewards, Liang Jieyu was inherently conflicted. He had to seek revenge and usurp the throne, but as the protagonist, he also had to see himself as a loyal subject of Wu—otherwise, he would simply be a traitor.

And in that moment when his lifelong wish was finally fulfilled, beneath the surge of triumph, there would be nothing but sorrow.

A sorrow that no one could understand, and no one could share.

So when Liang Jieyu sat on the dragon throne, gazing at the blood-stained court filled with bones and shadows of blades, his heart should be filled with melancholy—and loneliness.
A loneliness born from being misunderstood.

Liang Jieyu was a dutiful son avenging his family, but he was no hero. At best, he was a warlord in chaotic times.

Jiang Qi closed his eyes. He knew how to act it now.

That day, he was the 13th actor to audition. The ten before him mostly chose to portray Liang Jieyu with bold emotions—laughing wildly, expressing joy or sorrow with dramatic flair.

But Jiang Qi’s performance was restrained.

His Liang Jieyu was a cold and lonely emperor. With barely any expression, just sitting on the dragon throne, he made the entire room feel steeped in sorrow.

As if everything had happened out of necessity. As if he hadn’t wanted it to be this way.

Even in his moment of triumph, Liang Jieyu’s thoughts would be:
“Fate is the cruelest villain.”

Otherwise, why would he have spent thirty years scheming, only to become a traitor?

Coming from the bottom, even after reaching the top, he would still empathize with those below. He would possess a kind of imperial compassion.

Jiang Qi captured this layer of Liang Jieyu’s psyche, portraying his loneliness—because in that moment, Liang Jieyu had become emperor. And the path of an emperor is always lonely.
There’s only room for one.

No one knew how long it lasted before the director behind the camera finally called out, “Cut.”

Jiang Qi snapped out of character.

The emotion in his eyes vanished, replaced by his usual cold indifference. He stood up and walked out of the audition room.

Only when the door clicked shut did Shen Lei come back to his senses. He looked at the tall young man and said:
“You acted well.”

Actually, it was very well—but Shen Lei wasn’t used to praising someone before the results were official.

Even though he felt that Jiang Qi was already a near-perfect fit for the role.

Interestingly, the two actors who auditioned after Jiang Qi also tried to portray Liang Jieyu’s “lonely sorrowful” side.

But their imitation was too obvious—like poor copies of something great—and ended up looking laughable.

After the auditions ended, as expected, the producer came over to Jiang Qi.

“Mr. Jiang,” he said with a smile in front of everyone, “Director Lin would like to see you.”

This basically meant the audition had a result.

Beside him, Shen Lei finally unclenched the fists he’d been unconsciously gripping and let out a breath of relief. He couldn’t help but smile and pat Jiang Qi on the shoulder, saying just two words:
“You did great.”

Jiang Qi stood up amid the sharp, envious gazes surrounding him and followed the producer, unfazed by praise or criticism. He replied calmly to Shen Lei:
“What’s there to prove?”

Nothing was set in stone yet—there were always unexpected turns.

Ever since his last emotional breakdown, Jiang Qi had come to believe that nothing in this world was guaranteed.

Even a duck already in hand could still fly away—let alone something that was barely beginning to take shape.

What Jiang Qi didn’t know was that he was the duck now—and the production team behind Lin Qihang was afraid he might fly away.

They moved quickly, almost desperately, to sign a preliminary agreement with him.

This was the new “offer” officially on the table.

Shen Lei, being an industry insider, knew how valuable this opportunity was. He threw an arm around Jiang Qi’s shoulder, excited:
“Come on, let’s go grab a drink!”

This was a big deal—definitely worth celebrating.

Jiang Qi glanced at his watch. It was exactly 3:00 PM. Zhi Qi’s parents were likely still at the hospital.

The audition hadn’t taken too long. He still had two hours to spare—technically, he could go for a drink.

But he didn’t smoke or drink anymore. If Zhi Qi’s sensitive nose caught even a trace of alcohol, she’d feel uncomfortable.

So Jiang Qi, choosing love over friendship, coldly brushed off Shen Lei’s arm.

The young man said calmly:
“I’ve quit drinking.”

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