Chapter 113: Cloud (4)
113 – Cloud (4)
Qi Yun: “You…”
His voice held a trace of disbelief, a hint of trembling, and a touch of lemon.
Lin Xun gazed at him: “I seem to have advanced again.”
Qi Yun: “You…!”
Qi Yun seemed on the verge of turning against him in the next second.
However, reality didn’t give Qi Yun much time to stew in jealousy and hatred, because Director Gao stirred, appearing about to wake up.
Lin Xun acted swiftly, sprinkling a bit of Butterfly Madam’s hallucinogenic powder into the air, then pulling along Qi Yun, whose face had grown even paler, expression weary, and spirit teetering on the brink of collapse.
Director Gao opened his eyes.
Director Gao sat up from the floor.
Director Gao’s eyes held a trace of confusion.
Director Gao looked at them.
At this point, things were quite clear—Director Gao seemed innocent.
“Director Gao,” Lin Xun said, “You suddenly fainted earlier. I was about to call 120 when you woke up. I think if you have time, you should get a brain CT.”
Gao Liao looked at the still-unconscious assistant: “Him too?”
“Not him,” Lin Xun replied sincerely. “When you fainted, you knocked him out.”
Gao Liao’s expression was wooden: “Oh.”
“By the way, your prop master,” Lin Xun added. “He seems to have disappeared.”
To be honest, he was a bit panicked. If the prop master had turned to dust, didn’t that mean he had a life on his hands?
No, that wasn’t right either. A few days ago, the little girl Lin Kexin had been the same—reduced to ashes after he struck her. After returning, he had reflected on it and felt as though he had taken a life, but when he called the children’s hospital, they said there was indeed a little girl named Lin Kexin whose condition had suddenly stabilized today. Once she passed the observation period, she might be discharged.
Gao Liao pressed his fingers to his forehead and said, “I suddenly remembered something.”
Lin Xun: “Go ahead.”
“The prop master,” Gao Liao said. “He took the day off today.”
—That made sense.
Demonic creatures parasitize the human body and can emerge independently when necessary, but ultimately, they originate from someone’s inner self. Low-level demonic creatures have no form, while high-level ones, like Lin Kexin and the prop master, perfectly mimic the host’s appearance. In other words, demonic creatures are like a person’s inner demons. Today, the prop master turned to dust under his hands, leaving no corpse, while Gao Liao and the assistant, who were also affected by the Spiritual Power fluctuations, remained unharmed. This precisely proved that the prop master defeated today was merely a demonic creature, not the actual living person.
As for the real, living prop master…
How could someone who attracted such a high-level Nascent Soul stage demonic creature be normal?
Lin Xun immediately called Officer Cao.
By the time the call ended, Qi Yun had finished dealing with Director Gao and dragged him away.
Lin Xun couldn’t shake the feeling that Director Gao was staring at their retreating backs. Never mind—he could sympathize with someone who had lost their muse.
In the elevator, Qi Yun fixed him with a gaze full of jealousy, hatred, and malice. However, because this person’s features were now too beautiful and his aura too weak, it only made him look pitiful, which amused Lin Xun. Just as he was about to mock Qi Yun, his phone rang—a WeChat notification.
It was from Brother Chang Ji. His senior brother had probably finally emerged from the depths of thesis writing.
The chat history was vivid in his mind. He had sent his senior brother seven or eight photos of Qi Yun shirtless, wearing eerie eye makeup, and posing as a dream mermaid among the rocks.
The senior brother’s reply was brief, just one message. And within that message, only a single symbol.
Chang Ji: ?
A Happy Pointer: .
Chang Ji: What is he doing?
A Happy Pointer: Shooting a film.
After replying, he realized his wording was somewhat inappropriate and immediately withdrew the message.
His senior brother seemed to fall silent on the other end.
Lin Xun quickly tried to make amends.
A Happy Pointer: It’s a film audition. It’s over now, and we’re planning to head back. I’ll take him home.
Chang Ji: No need, I’ll pick him up.
A Happy Pointer: Okay.
Lin Xun happily deposited Qi Yun, now claimed by someone, in the first-floor lounge: “Be good, I’m leaving. Wait here for someone to pick you up.”
Qi Yun said nothing.
Lin Xun: “Gao Liao seems like a decent person. Try to land a few more films with him.”
Qi Yun still said nothing.
Fine, if he didn’t want to talk.
Lin Xun: “Goodbye. Don’t worry, we keyboard users are just like that. Keep at it, and don’t put too much pressure on yourself.”
Qi Yun replied coldly, “Goodbye.”
Lin Xun turned and left, feeling the jealous, resentful gaze of Qi Yun on his back. It made him quite happy.
He had been happy all day today. Even the fight had been enjoyable, though he had nearly died. Recalling that moment still sent shivers down his spine.
But it seemed he truly enjoyed such high-stakes challenges, especially when he won back his life in a gamble-like manner. The moment of reversal, the exhilarating shiver akin to nearing death, felt like solving a perfect proof.
He returned to the car, where a few young girls had gathered outside. They looked somewhat familiar—probably Qi Yun’s fans waiting to see him finish work. He paid them no mind and got straight into the car. Qi Yun’s current state really wasn’t suitable for being photographed, but his senior brother would likely handle it.
What worried him was if the car model was exposed. He hadn’t expected Dong Jun’s garage to contain something like this.
The moment he thought of Dong Jun, his heart gave a heavy thump.
The joy of surviving a near-death experience arrived belatedly, and he let out a deep sigh of relief.
He wasn’t unattached, not someone who could die casually. For instance, he now temporarily had Dong Jun, and death would mean losing him.
If he had died just now, what a waste that would have been.
Lin Xun opened his chat with Dong Jun and sent him a cute cat emoji.
A Happy Pointer: [Emoji]
A Happy Pointer: Love you!
After sending it, he relaxed into the seat, fatigue washing over him. The day had drained all his energy. The journey back would take about an hour and a half. After telling Lo the destination, Lin Xun reclined the seat, closed his eyes, and decided to rest for a while.
Once he rested, his eyes refused to open again.
When he woke up, he was still in the car, which was still moving.
He was in the passenger seat. Shifting his gaze slightly to the left, he saw the screen of the Automated Driving System. On the route map, a cursor marked their current location, an arrow indicated the direction of travel, and a blue marker in the distance represented the destination—still on the way back to his residence.
In the top left corner of the screen was the version number: V2.0.1.
Lin Xun frowned. For some reason, he seemed to remember the current version was 4.3.2.
But his body and movements refused to obey his mind, his memories were jumbled, nothing made sense. He turned his head to look left.
The person on the left wore a simple black shirt with silver buttons. He was flipping through a folder, a few strands of long hair falling down before being brushed behind his ear.
Dong Jun, he silently repeated the name in his mind.
Lin Xun reached over and pulled out the folder beneath the one Dong Jun was currently browsing.
As he flipped through it, he said, “Funding’s a bit tight?”
The man on the left gave a faint “Mm,” and replied, “Global expansion requires investment, but it’s within manageable limits.”
Lin Xun turned a few pages, seemingly losing interest, and closed it. “Then I won’t worry about it.”
He heard Dong Jun’s familiar voice say, “You don’t need to worry about these things.”
He put the folder back and looked out the window.
The scenery was familiar, yet it felt like he hadn’t traveled this road in a long time. He was mentally exhausted—lately had been too busy, and he hadn’t been home in ages.
“Version 3.0 has no progress for now. There are a few issues I’ve been wanting to discuss with you, but there hasn’t been time.”
Dong Jun shifted his gaze from the documents to him and said, “We can talk tonight.”
“Not really feeling it tonight either,” he fiddled with the car’s hanging ornament. “I’ve been losing my passion lately, thinking of switching directions.”
At this point, he finally perked up a bit. “I want to work on artificial intelligence, the broad kind. Eagle’s system is genuinely idiotic—how can such a dumb system have a 55% global adoption rate? I don’t think it’s acceptable.”
“But making a breakthrough is really tough, a bottleneck. I’m considering other angles, or…”
Before he could finish, Dong Jun’s phone rang. Lin Xun glanced at the screen—it was someone he didn’t know.
He paused, a bit dejected, and said, “You should answer it.”
Dong Jun picked up the call, and Lin Xun fell silent, quietly listening as he gave a few brief commands before hanging up.
This man was always busy.
So busy… sometimes to the point where he didn’t even want to disturb him.
A faint unease stirred in his heart, though he couldn’t pinpoint its source.
Finally, Lin Xun tentatively, almost apprehensively, reached over and placed his hand on the back of Dong Jun’s. Dong Jun clasped his hand in return, hooking their fingers together, and asked, “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Lin Xun replied.
Dong Jun said, “If you want to work on AI, I can help you hand over the autonomous driving project.”
“Not that fast,” Lin Xun chuckled, then paused. “But stepping away from that project for now is fine too. I really have no inspiration lately. There aren’t many familiar faces left on the team—you transferred Jiang Yun abroad. You’re so annoying, he didn’t even…”
He left the sentence unfinished and tried to pull his hand back.
But his wrist was held firmly, and the attempt failed.
He murmured, “You don’t like me working on projects with others, but when I work with you, you never have time.”
Dong Jun remained silent.
Lin Xun looked at him, meeting his gaze.
Just a look, no extra expression. As if, among all the things in his field of vision, he could only see one.
But Lin Xun insisted on challenging Dong Jun, trying to pull his hand free from this man’s grasp. The harder he tried, the worse he felt inside. At one point, he lowered his eyes, pursed his lips, and turned his head away as if giving up.
—He was so aggrieved that he woke up directly.
It seemed like he hadn’t fully woken up yet, still holding someone’s hand.
Lin Xun opened his eyes.
He was holding Dong Jun’s hand. Dong Jun was looking at him, his features still as flawlessly beautiful as ever, untouched by worldly cares. One arm was wrapped around his shoulder, seemingly trying to get him out of the car.
Coincidentally, he was also wearing a black shirt now, its waistline tailored cleanly and sharply, with silver buttons.
Lin Xun felt dazed for a moment. Three seconds later, he realized this person wasn’t that scoundrel from his dream—it was his idol.
So he reached out, making it easier for Dong Jun to move him. Not fully awake yet, he felt quite comfortable being picked up and, in his groggy state, gently nuzzled his cheek against Dong Jun’s shoulder.
The treatment from an idol naturally differed from that of a scoundrel.
Before he fell asleep, he had even sent this person an “I love you.”