YA Ch7: Clues

In the end, Lu Yu didn’t get permission to enter the room. He watched helplessly as Ming Yan’s door closed cruelly before him. Crestfallen, he returned to his own room to sleep.

Lying on the two-meter-wide bed, he couldn’t get comfortable, no matter how he slept. Lying horizontally, there was no headboard, and it felt like ghostly hands might reach out from under the bed to pull his hair. Lying vertically, he felt miserable—such a wide double bed, yet he had to sleep alone. He had gotten married, but it felt lonely.

On this deep night, ten years later, Lu Yu finally understood the true meaning of Mr. Lu Xun’s words: “No matter how I sleep, I can’t fall asleep.”

He decided to imitate the great writer and got up to walk around.

He had once imagined that he could close his eyes and then open them to find himself a CEO, marry a rich and handsome partner, and reach the pinnacle of life. The reality was that he had become CEO, but the company faced a massive crisis. He had married a rich and handsome partner, but after three years of a contractual marriage, he hadn’t even had a taste of the good life. As for reaching the pinnacle of life…

Lu Yu walked into the study, the room where he had woken up after crossing over.

As he entered, the lights in the room automatically turned on, illuminating the bookshelves that reached the ceiling. Tall bookshelves were equipped with sliding wooden ladders, high-end yet vintage. It was the kind of study he had always dreamed of, but instead of walls full of rare hardcover books, the bookshelves were covered with opaque covers.

Lu Dongdong ran over, wagging his tail quickly: “Father, say, Dongdong, please remove the covers. Say it, say it.”

Lu Yu twitched his mouth and reluctantly complied: “Dongdong, please remove the covers.”

The fish ball immediately stopped wagging its tail, pretending to be a real intelligent assistant, standing straight in the air with vacant eyes: “Okay.”

The covers in front of him quickly retracted downward like the light shields in sci-fi movies, instantly revealing the true appearance of the entire bookshelf.

Then, he saw a whole wall of keyboards!

“Really rich,” Lu Yu was slightly surprised and couldn’t help but complain, “This could be a keyboard museum.”

All the keyboards were displayed upright on the shelves in various styles and colors—red, orange, yellow, and green. They all looked like custom keyboards. Lu Yu casually picked one up, and the weighty metal block almost slipped from his grasp. The electroplated shell kept changing colors under the spotlights, like neon lights in a cyber world, expensive yet dilapidated.

He extended four fingers to tap on it. The feel was smooth, and the key sounds crisp. Every key’s sound was identical, without any extraneous noise. One could imagine that if he typed quickly, the typing sound would turn into pleasant white noise, no longer prompting roommates to desperately beg him to change keyboards.

Lu Yu sneered, tossing the hefty metal “instrument” back onto the shelf: “So many fancy gadgets, Lu Dayu is such a loser.”

Turning to look at the other wall, he glimpsed Lao-er Ball peeking in from the doorway.

Lu Yu smirked and said seriously: “Qianqian, please remove the covers.”

Shen Baishui immediately appeared, angrily retorting: “How many times do I have to tell you, I’m not called Qianqian! And I am Ming Yan’s intelligent assistant, you don’t have the authority to command me.”

Lu Yu raised an eyebrow: “Alright then, Xiao Bai, please remove the covers.”

The CEO ball stood at attention: “Okay.”

Then the cover on this bookshelf dropped in the same manner.

As he had guessed, since intelligent assistants were products, customers wouldn’t call them by their full names—it would sound silly. Therefore, the assistants must have a nickname like “Xiao Ai, Xiao Du.” Lu Dongdong’s nickname was Dongdong, so Shen Baishui’s should be Xiao Bai.

Shen Baishui crossed his arms, sneering: “Huh, just as despicable as Lu Dayu.”

The fish ball floated over and kicked his brother’s butt with its tail.

The CEO ball bounced back: “Am I wrong? It’s just a contractual marriage, yet he shamelessly enabled partner privileges, able to command Ming Yan’s assistant.”

“Well, Daddy also has the authority to command me, right? Did I say anything?”

The two little ones started arguing, entering debate mode.

Lu Yu ignored them and looked up at the bookshelf. This side was indeed filled with books, but most of them were written by Lu Yu himself.

It seemed that over the years, he had only completed three long novels, each probably over three million words.

His fingers slowly slid over the spines, identifying the titles.

The first book, “The Fish King,” needed no introduction. It had been published in several versions, all of which were on this shelf. Besides the domestic editions, there were English, Russian, French, and Thai versions. Probably because it was based on a Cthulhu mythological background, it was more easily accepted by foreigners.

The second book, “The Golden House,” was Shen Baishui’s. The cover was luxurious, looking very wealthy. Next to it was a Shen Baishui figurine, with the CEO sitting on a sofa, swirling a wine glass.

The last book was called “Shooting the Heavenly Wolf,” a novel set in ancient times. Lu Yu pulled out the first volume and flipped through it. The book was finely made, in a traditional thread-bound style, and could be laid flat.

The protagonist was Hua Wenyuan, a young general living in a chaotic era when the dynasty was about to fall. The opening line was an ancient poem:

[Will draw the strong bow like a full moon, looking northwest, shooting the heavenly wolf.]

On the bookshelf, besides his own books and some well-known classics, there was a row of trophies. Lu Yu recognized only one—the “Newcomer King” trophy awarded by the website in the year he wrote “The Fish King.” The trophy was a short, fat crystal scepter engraved with the words “Newcomer King Han Di Ba Yu,” both tacky and cheesy.

“Han Di Ba Yu” was Lu Yu’s pen name.

The other trophies were unfamiliar to Lu Yu, given by websites and other organizations, including the gaming industry.

Shen Baishui appeared at the right moment, pointing to a game trophy and bragging: “This is my trophy. ‘The Golden House’ was made into a game, very profitable, earning you your first ‘small goal.’ Now you know who is the economic pillar of this family? I, President Shen, am the backbone of this house, and you all should listen to me.”

Lu Yu nodded perfunctorily: “Yes, yes, yes, we’ll listen to you.” He then turned to the desk and opened the computer to see if Lu Dayu had left any clues for him.

Although intelligent brains have become widespread, computers are still indispensable.

After turning on the computer, there was a password. Lu Dongdong and Shen Baishui both rushed over.

Lu Dongdong: “I know the password, ask me quickly.”

Shen Baishui: “Beg me, and I’ll tell you the password.”

Lu Yu glanced at them, then directly entered his usual password without a second thought, and it worked: “I know myself too well, haven’t changed my password in ten years.”

The desktop was cluttered, with many drafts scattered around, some with file names, some without. The background was a screenshot from an old movie, the final scene of “A Chinese Odyssey”:

The samurai and the heroine were hugging, watching Sun Wukong walk away carrying his golden staff, saying, “He looks like a dog.”

Lu Yu stared at the background for a while, not understanding what Lu Dayu was trying to express. He opened those files one by one; most were fragmented notes of inspiration, but many were incoherent. There was a larger file called “Hua Wenyuan Transformation Plan.”

The plan detailed a proposal to transform the male lead of “Shooting the Heavenly Wolf,” Hua Wenyuan, into an intelligent brain personal assistant, seemingly as a new product launch.

But clearly, it wasn’t going well. Lu Dayu couldn’t write it. After a few lines, he would add:

[This is impossible to adapt, Hua Wenyuan is an ancient character and cannot accept the concept of intelligent brains, but I have no other works left.]

Then there were more forced ideas, followed by another bout of frustration, filling an entire page with:

[Ming Yan, Ming Yan, Ming Yan, Ming Yan…]

Lu Yu felt a strong sense of mental disturbance from Lu Dayu’s writing. Watching for a while made him feel like he was going crazy too.

Sitting in front of the computer, staring at the flickering screen, he was silent for a long time. Lu Yu decided to shut it down and go to sleep, ignoring whatever mental breakdown Lu Dayu was experiencing, since he wasn’t Lu Dayu.

The next day, Lu Yu woke up well-rested, his dark circles nearly gone, and his facial swelling reduced, looking refreshed and more handsome.

Ming Yan saw him and nodded in satisfaction: “Now there’s no fear of being photographed.”

Despite saying that, Ming Yan still suggested that Lu Yu wear a mask to avoid being recognized.

Firstly, Lu Yu, being a homebody writer for years, was extremely socially anxious and would be very uncomfortable being swarmed by reporters. Secondly, Lu Yu knew nothing at the moment; if reporters asked, he wouldn’t know what to say, and saying the wrong thing would cause more trouble.

“What’s to fear? Lu Dayu might be scared of reporters, but I’m not.” Lu Yu grinned, happily choosing a suit to wear.

This was his dream “adult moment”:

Wearing an expensive suit, he walked confidently toward his own business empire. Meeting financial reporters looking for trouble, he would only smile faintly, absolutely unfazed.

Lu-absolutely-unfazed-Yu put the tie around his neck, then was stumped. Having just turned 18, he didn’t know how to tie a tie!

Pulling at the ends of the tie around his neck, he sidled up to Ming Yan, who had just finished tying his own tie: “Yan-ge, help me tie this.”

Hearing “Yan-ge,” Ming Yan’s hand shook, turning to look at Lu Yu.

Without the dark circles, Lu Yu looked clean and pure, with clear youthful eyes… Acting cute was disgraceful! Especially as a top-tier actor, acting cute was particularly disgraceful!

Ming Yan took the tie, skillfully tying it, softly advising: “There might be a bunch of reporters at the company entrance. Try not to answer their questions; they’re just looking to mock you.”

Lu Yu stared at the white neck exposed by Ming Yan’s lowered head, with its green veins and beautiful Adam’s apple, each part perfect, tempting the wolf inside him to pounce and bite hard, leaving two deep teeth marks. Swallowing to ease his parched throat, Lu Yu distractedly asked: “Mock me about what?”

The tie was done, and Ming Yan helped straighten his collar, patiently explaining: “You became famous young, then switched to a cutting-edge industry at your peak. They don’t believe in you and are eager to see their predictions confirmed, hoping to see you fail.”

Lu Yu stroked his chin; from Lu Dayu’s perspective, it was quite tragic. The company hit a bottleneck, and his wife left him. But from his perspective, it was completely different: “Then they’ll be disappointed. Even if the listing fails, it’s still a ‘soon-to-be-listed’ company. I’m young, successful, with a wife, money, and children. They’ll be green with envy!”

With that, he marched out confidently.

Shen Baishui floated to Ming Yan’s side: “When he says wife and child, does he mean us?”

Ming Yan fastened his watch: “He means you.”