STD CH3

Chapter 3: Dark Shadow

By the time Lu Wenxi arrived at the company, he had already come to terms with things.

As an atheist, he did not believe in ghosts or spirits, concluding that the timing was merely a coincidence. Besides, a stranger had committed suicide; even if they were in the same industry, it had nothing to do with him. He felt no real grief, only a fleeting sense of pity.

Entering the building, he went straight to the seventh floor. The moment he stepped out of the elevator, he noticed everyone dodging out of his path as though he were carrying the plague. Lu Wenxi was somewhat resigned to it, walking candidly toward Han Fanming’s office.

His assistants stopped outside the door and headed toward the adjacent lounge.

Stepping into the office, Lu Wenxi saw that he was not the only one there; Yu Yan was also present.

Yu Yan was managed by the same agent. Unlike Lu Wenxi’s overnight rise to fame, Yu Yan had climbed step by step, relying on an accumulation of solid works to reach where he was today. Only a year ago had he transferred under Han Fanming to begin receiving the company’s top-tier resources.

Lu Wenxi did not get along with Yu Yan.

Or rather, very few people could get along with Lu Wenxi.

He took a seat immediately upon walking in. Han Fanming was seated diagonally across from him, fiddling with his phone, ignoring his arrival.

Yu Yan, seated beside him, was also on his phone. Rather than browsing news, he was playing a game—something like tile-matching—and the device occasionally emitted an electronic “pew-pew” sound.

Lu Wenxi looked over, hesitating for a second, wondering whether he should pull out his phone and play along to follow the local customs.

At that moment, Han Fanming locked his screen, set the phone aside, and looked up at Lu Wenxi with an intricate expression. After a brief pause, he asked, “Have you heard?”

“About what?”

“Deng Xuanhan died.”

“I didn’t do it.”

Beside him, Yu Yan failed to hold back and sputtered into a sudden laugh.

Han Fanming was so aggravated by Lu Wenxi that he was left speechless for several seconds. He slammed his phone down, ready to curse him out, but forcibly swallowed his anger back down. “Do you… have any thoughts on this?”

“Are we analyzing the cause of death?”

“Are you genuinely stupid, or just playing dumb with me? I’m asking for your reflections! Don’t go getting depressed from fan attacks and end up taking your own life too.”

Only then did Lu Wenxi put on a look of sudden realization, answering, “Try putting yourself in my shoes. If you were as handsome and as wealthy as I am, would you have the heart to commit suicide?”

Yu Yan broke into snorting laughter, sputtering like a chain of little firecrackers.

Han Fanming shot Yu Yan a sharp glare before continuing, “I originally planned to chew you out, but now I’m afraid of pushing you over the edge and having you jump too. Seeing this now, it seems I worried over nothing. So, shall we talk about the stunt you pulled last night?”

“I was just promoting my new single.”

“I know you like singing, and I know you joined the industry just to be a singer. I even drafted plans for you, but you’ve never cooperated once. In all my years in this business, I’ve almost never seen an artist like you.”

Lu Wenxi loved singing; he disliked acting.

Born into a family of merchants, he had attended business dinners alongside Lu Yushang in his earlier years. Watching those people drink, offer toasts, flatter one another, and boast endlessly about owning the world had filled him with a deep aversion toward that greasy lifestyle. He had quietly resolved never to become such a person.

He had no other hobbies—he only liked singing. Yet once he signed with the agency and debuted, they immediately put him into training and pushed him to act.

Taking on the script for Grandmaster had practically felt like being forced into a shotgun wedding, and Lu Wenxi had put zero effort into the role. When the overwhelming wave of public condemnation hit, it truly landed like a solid blow to the head, leaving him completely disoriented.

“The market today isn’t what it used to be. It’s an awkward landscape. Barely anyone buys albums, and most fans still lack the habit of paying for music. You can look for yourself at what state pure singers are in,” Han Fanming said as calmly as he could manage.

“I’m not short on money.”

“Right, you don’t lack money. What you want is artistic sentiment, isn’t it? Without fame, who is ever going to hear your songs? If you release a track out of nowhere, your traffic might not even match that of an amateur web singer. Many rookie singers today jump into talent shows, reality series, or take on dramas and films just to avoid fading into obscurity.”

Lu Wenxi kept his head lowered, saying nothing.

“And look at you. We secured the best resources for you. Even a stellar crew and an extraordinary director couldn’t save your performance. Look at your angry expression in the film—glaring wide-eyed like someone was choking your neck! If you don’t intend to cherish film resources, what do you plan to do, reality television? With your temper, the only show suited for you is X-Change.”

Lu Wenxi turned his head slightly and saw Yu Yan shaking with suppressed laughter, clutching his phone. Yu Yan skillfully made no audible noise, though the game’s sound effects had stopped, showing he had paused playing long ago.

Lu Wenxi pointed at Yu Yan. “Did this guy sit here just to scavenge free laughs?”

“He’s here to cover for you.”

“Meaning?”

“The contract for your next script hasn’t been finalized yet, which leaves room for adjustment. You’re currently at the center of public controversy, and people already perceive you as having a roguish air. The next script doesn’t suit your current image, so it might as well be transferred to Yu Yan.”

Lu Wenxi’s next script was titled For Justice. True to its name, the film followed the story of a police officer.

The protagonist begins as a passionate young man fresh to the force, dedicated to being an exceptional officer, rescuing victims, and confronting criminals. He is unable to be at his mother’s side when she passes away, loses his romantic relationship, and ultimately ends up with a female medical examiner.

It was an uplifting, tear-jerking narrative where the protagonist’s internal conflict, struggle, and obstinate persistence required high-level nuance.

Lu Wenxi had been slated to play the lead.

Han Fanming’s initial plan had been straightforward: place Lu Wenxi in a major supporting role within an anticipated blockbuster to gain massive traction, followed by carrying a production entirely on his own shoulders as the male lead. That trajectory would have guaranteed enough exposure to build a loyal fanbase and solidify his standing.

Instead, after this debacle, Han Fanming genuinely feared that if Lu Wenxi played the part, audiences would accuse him of ruining the reputation of law enforcement.

Hearing this, Lu Wenxi turned to look at Yu Yan.

Yu Yan did not look back, resuming his tile game as though he were nothing more than an innocent bystander.

Yu Yan had distinct features: deep-set, chiseled bone structure with a Eurasian look, a tall frame, and an athletic build maintained through persistent training.

Many called Yu Yan a walking bundle of hormones.

Very masculine, very handsome—he genuinely matched the film’s righteous protagonist.

“The lead character is a weakling,” Lu Wenxi remarked.

Han Fanming paused.

“The protagonist starts out completely weak and nearly gets transferred to a desk job, surviving solely on willpower. With a frame like his… if he got reassigned, he’d only look fitting as a security guard.”

“Remarkable. You actually read the script in advance,” Han Fanming said, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

“I don’t enjoy being cursed at endlessly either.”

“Then what are your thoughts?” Han Fanming asked.

Lu Wenxi remained silent.

Without waiting, Han Fanming continued, “I reassigned Sister Xia to someone else.”

Lu Wenxi was taken aback. “Why? She didn’t do anything wrong. I was the only one home last night.”

“Your staff indulges you far too much, allowing you to run wild every single day. She’s the oldest among them, yet she failed to rein you in and even came here begging for leniency on your behalf. I transferred her elsewhere to start trying her hand as a manager.”

Sister Xia was no longer young, already thirty-three this year.

She had served as Lu Wenxi’s personal life assistant since his debut, and their relationship was close. Having her abruptly reassigned left Lu Wenxi feeling unsettled. He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it.

Transitioning to a talent manager might actually be better for Sister Xia’s career.

Someone like Han Fanming was already a senior agent at thirty-one. The only difference between Sister Xia and Han Fanming was educational background; in terms of industry tactics and network connections, Sister Xia had already accumulated plenty.

Sensing the heavy atmosphere, Yu Yan paused his game, stood up, smoothed out his clothes, and announced, “I’ll head out first.”

“Go grab some breakfast,” Han Fanming replied.

“Yeah.” Yu Yan turned and walked straight out of the office.

Han Fanming watched Yu Yan leave before speaking again: “Let’s discuss your new series. I plan to arrange more acting coaching for you. This time, you cannot humiliate me again. You have to win back some ground, at the bare minimum.”

Lu Wenxi emerged from the office over half an hour later. Upon stepping outside, he found Yu Yan leaning against the corridor wall, still immersed in his phone game, looking like a delinquent student made to stand outside the classroom as punishment.

Lu Wenxi tilted his head toward Yu Yan without saying a word.

Yu Yan glanced at him sideways and took the initiative: “My schedule is fully booked through next May.”

“Oh.”

The statement was blunt. Yu Yan was simply informing Lu Wenxi that his schedule was entirely packed, meaning he had no time to take over Lu Wenxi’s role. Han Fanming had brought Yu Yan in purely to rattle Lu Wenxi.

“You… just played along with him like that?” Lu Wenxi looked at Yu Yan, slightly puzzled. Being gay himself, there were times he genuinely wondered whether Yu Yan harbored a secret crush on him or was running an undercover romance with Han Fanming.

“Dropping by gave me a chance to watch a drowned dog,” Yu Yan said, the corner of his lips curling upward as he shot Lu Wenxi a look.

Lu Wenxi played along obligingly, doing a slow pirouette right in front of Yu Yan. He couldn’t let Yu Yan stand in the hallway for half an hour for nothing; if the man wanted to look, he could look his fill.

Lu Wenxi only had foundation on his face, practically bare-faced, his hair unstyled, wearing a simple black jacket over ripped jeans.

Yu Yan watched him for a beat, put his phone away, rolled his shoulders, and walked over to tap on the lounge’s glass door. Moments later, his team members emerged and followed Yu Yan down the hall.

Yin Hanwei and Lin Xiao had already learned that Sister Xia had been docked a month’s salary for pleading on Lu Wenxi’s behalf and subsequently reassigned to manage incoming rookies. Both appeared thoroughly dejected.

This time, Han Fanming was determined to teach Lu Wenxi a lesson, leaving zero room for negotiation.

Between an assistant and an agent, many assumed being an agent was more prestigious, and the base salary was indeed double that of an assistant. In reality, it depended heavily on the assigned celebrity.

Managing a newcomer yielded meager commission splits, requiring agents to grind through hardships just to push an artist into the spotlight.

Serving as Lu Wenxi’s assistant, however, brought year-end commissions that could easily surpass several years of regular salary. On top of that, Lu Wenxi was wealthy himself and exceptionally generous with holiday bonuses, making the income extraordinarily lucrative.

Consequently, they were unsure whether to congratulate Sister Xia or mourn the loss.

Sister Xia had treated Lu Wenxi like an overly doting grandmother; she truly had spoiled him far too much.

Leaving the company, Brother Liu drove the vehicle toward Lu Wenxi’s regular city apartment.

En route, Lu Wenxi received a phone call from Lu Yushang. The old man always spoke in an authoritative, bureaucratic cadence, and he addressed Lu Wenxi in that exact tone: “Son, are you being mistreated? Stop being a celebrity and come back home. Dad will transfer 300 million to your account so you can run your own business, alright?”

“I’m fine,” Lu Wenxi replied.

“Then I’ll add another 100 million and dispatch a few seasoned executives to assist you. I guarantee you won’t lose money.”

“Dad, I know a man like you with no mistresses on the side genuinely has nowhere to spend his money. But money is a fine thing; save it for something else so your capital chain doesn’t snap and crash the company.”

“You little brat! Is that how you talk to your old man?!”

“Mm, hearing that you’re still this lively puts your son’s mind at ease. Alright, I’m hanging up.”

Ending the call, Lu Wenxi felt a wave of despondency.

Leaning against the headrest, he felt thoroughly worn out, mostly from mental exhaustion.

Han Fanming had asked what his thoughts were, but he couldn’t answer. He didn’t know; his thoughts were a tangled mess.

Sometimes, reading the vicious attacks online, he genuinely wondered if he simply wasn’t cut out to be an actor. He had wanted to try his hand at singing, but the lukewarm reception to his new single had been a deflating blow.

Going into business like his father? He harbored a visceral dislike for those social dinner circuits.

After circling near the apartment complex, Brother Liu turned the car around and headed toward the suburban residence.

Even with the news of Deng Xuanhan’s suicide dominating headlines, reporters were still camped near Lu Wenxi’s usual residence, alongside large crowds of gathered fans. The last time Lu Wenxi’s car entered the gate, someone pelted the vehicle with raw eggs, which escalated into a full-blown physical brawl between loyal fans and the egg-throwing anti-fan—an absolute spectacle.

Such encounters were best avoided; Lu Wenxi intended to lay low a little longer.

If another egg hit the car, he might actually jump out and throw hands, which would only trigger an even worse media catastrophe.

Upon arriving at the suburban home, Yin Hanwei asked, “Boss, do you need me to bring up any food?”

“No appetite, don’t want to eat.”

“You haven’t eaten all day.”

“I’m fine, there are still apples in the room.”

Yin Hanwei hesitated before offering comfort: “Honestly, Boss, you don’t need to take that old guy’s words to heart. An extra earning a few tens of thousands at most criticizing a lead actor earning millions—his opinion isn’t worth considering.”

“I know what I’m doing. You can head out,” Lu Wenxi said, then immediately recalled something else. “Transfer 500,000 to Sister Xia. Tell her it’s an advance on her year-end bonus.”

The money was meant to cover her docked pay and serve as an apology.

“Got it. I need to handle the handover with Sister Xia anyway. I’ll keep an eye out during this period to find you another assistant.”

“Mm.”

“Don’t binge-eat weird stuff to decompress either. We tidied up the dining table.”

“…” Lu Wenxi looked at Yin Hanwei, baffled. Before he could ask, Yin Hanwei had already stepped out the front door.

Once everyone was gone, Lu Wenxi sprawled on the sofa for a short while before getting up and heading into the home gym. He worked out continuously from 1:00 PM until past 4:00 PM.

Catching his breath, he walked into the dining room and poured himself a glass of water. Waiting until his sweat had mostly dried and the water cooled to room temperature, he drank it down in one gulp.

The entire residence was dead silent without a sound, yet he faintly detected the whisper of wind.

Indeed—inside an apartment with no open windows and no air conditioning running, he heard the sound of wind. He glanced around suspiciously, but spotting nothing out of the ordinary, he paid it no mind. He switched on the robot vacuum, then took a shower.

Stepping out, he ate an apple, went straight into the bedroom, and went to sleep.

Lu Wenxi was awakened by hunger. His stomach rumbled loudly, accompanied by an uncomfortable, gnawing ache. Lying in bed, he stared at the ceiling, then reached under the pillow to pull out his phone to check the time. It was only 9:00 PM. He tucked the phone back beneath the pillow, but after stowing it away, his hand lingered before retrieving the phone once more.

Waking the screen again, the bright glow illuminated the bedroom. He turned his head toward the side of the bed.

The curtains were drawn, and the only illumination came from his phone screen, making other shadows impossible. Yet, he clearly saw a dark figure crouching by the edge of his mattress, two hands resting on the side of the bed, chin resting atop the backs of its hands, staring intently straight at him.

It was purely a black shadow, resembling the blackened silhouette of a culprit in Detective Conan—it didn’t even have visible eyes. Yet he was absolutely certain that blurry shadow was looking directly at him.

Terror made the apartment feel freezing cold. A chill shot straight up his spine, freezing his entire body instantly, rendering him unable to move a muscle.

His heart rate accelerated violently, pounding loudly enough to rupture his eardrums, his eyelids twitching along with the heavy pulse. There was nothing physical around him, yet he felt the surrounding air was saturated with an ominous, sinister wind.

With bizarre occurrences happening one after another, maintaining his composure was no longer possible.

He remembered what the youth had told him, and a sudden realization struck.

An evil spirit had rung his doorbell. Because he couldn’t see spirits, the video intercom had appeared empty. When he opened the door to look outside, he might have genuinely let something inside. That freezing draft might have been the evil spirit entering the home.

Afterward, the young Taoist priest tracking the spirit had arrived intending to expel it, only to be driven away by Lu Wenxi himself.

His brain short-circuited entirely. He swallowed hard on instinct. Perhaps to flaunt his own bravado and demonstrate his sheer disdain for the entity, he slowly raised his right hand and flipped the dark shadow the middle finger.

The shadow went still, caught entirely off guard.

A split second later, the dark figure abruptly rose and lunged violently straight at Lu Wenxi.

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Author’s notes:

Lu Wenxi: Even when seeing a ghost, one must still be badass as f*ck.