Liang Xiao: “…”
Butler: “…”
Liang Xiao sat bolt upright.
In hindsight, the child mode mode and its cheerful motto, “Play moderately, grow healthily and happily”, might have been an ominously specific hint.
Unable to sleep in the dead of night, perhaps he really should embrace healthy growth and studious diligence by writing his reflection essay.
Liang Xiao sat there, dazed, staring at that robust and resounding letter of apology. After a long moment, he asked, “Any specific requirements?”
The butler, evidently not expecting Liang Xiao to not hang up immediately, paused for a good while before faithfully relaying the instructions: “One…”
Liang Xiao was incredulous. “What?”
“First,” the butler braced himself for the plunge, “You’re free to decide on the theme and the format. Second, the title is up to you, but the structure must be complete.”
Liang Xiao: “And third?”
The butler sighed deeply. “…There’s no word count limit.”
Liang Xiao pressed a hand to his forehead, resigned to his fate. “Let me ask one thing.”
The butler, now thoroughly melancholic: “Go ahead.”
Liang Xiao: “Did Mr. Ho accidentally trigger his secondary gender differentiation while cramming for final exams?”
—
The next morning, Liang Xiao’s manager arrived with breakfast, only to be startled by the sight before him.
Liang Xiao wasn’t curled up in bed locked in a life-or-death battle with his blanket, nor did he even notice Duan Ming entering. Instead, he was fully dressed, sitting by the window with a piece of paper in front of him, holding a pen.
Duan Ming set down the fried dough sticks, eyeing Liang Xiao’s dark circles nervously. “What’s going on?”
Liang Xiao let out a long sigh.
Worried that Liang Xiao had been up all night gaming, Duan Ming watched him suspiciously for a few seconds before reaching for his phone. “Let me check.”
“I didn’t play.” Liang Xiao reclaimed his phone. “Don’t look.”
This only made Duan Ming more anxious. He frowned, reaching out to feel Liang Xiao’s forehead. “Why not?”
“It’s for your own good.”
Exhausted to the point of near collapse, Liang Xiao folded the paper and tucked it away, patted Duan Ming on the shoulder, and floated off towards the bathroom. “Some things… shouldn’t be seen.”
Duan Ming: “…What?”
Liang Xiao, now a weathered soul, sighed deeply. “Once you see them, you have to pay the price…”
Completely baffled, Duan Ming grabbed the sleepwalking Liang Xiao, who was blindly marching in place against the wall, and redirected him half a meter to the right, shoving him into the bathroom.
He had just received two notices from the production team and originally planned to mention them early, but seeing Liang Xiao’s state, he hesitated. “You look like a mess. Didn’t sleep well last night?”
Not just poorly.
He didn’t sleep at all.
Liang Xiao let out another long sigh. After groggily finishing his morning routine, he emerged from the bathroom and accepted the soy milk from his manager.
He had two scenes to film that morning, both with heavy lines. In one, he needed to deceive the male lead’s elder brother, Jing Ming, the chairman of the Jing family, using intricate and verbose rhetoric.
Initially, his plan was to finish the reflection essay quickly and then get some sleep, but writing it turned out to be more difficult than expected.
“You sure you’re okay?” Duan Ming, seeing how exhausted he was, stuck a straw into the soy milk and placed it in Liang Xiao’s mouth with a resigned look. “If not, I can check with one of the directors to adjust your schedule.”
The soy milk had cooled. Liang Xiao took a few sips, then inhaled deeply to steady himself. “I’m fine.”
Duan Ming remained unconvinced. He steadied Liang Xiao as he wobbled to his feet, then gathered their things, called the assistant, and ushered them all out the door.
—
Half an hour later.
The man who swore he was fine promptly fell asleep on set.
Liang Xiao’s scene required him to confront Jing Ming head-on, navigating a tense verbal sparring match. Yun Lian, his character, would carefully drop half-truths that hinted at his position, leaving Jing Ming, the seasoned head of the Jing conglomerate, with just enough to suspect where Yun Lian’s loyalties lay.
This scene would set up a crucial turning point: when the male lead faces life-threatening peril, Jing Ming, desperate and out of options, would finally seek Yun Lian’s help to save his brother. Yun Lian would refuse the bribes and gifts offered, leave behind a pristine suit, and enter the lion’s den alone.
Liang Xiao, however, started this pivotal sequence by sleeping through step one.
Meng Feibai, the actor playing Jing Ming, greeted the arriving guest with a warm smile, stepping outside to welcome him as the car approached.
Two seconds passed. Then two more.
Meng Feibai, growing faintly puzzled, lifted the curtain of the carriage.
“…”
Duan Ming’s vision darkened. Just as he moved to apologize and wake Liang Xiao, the chief director, Song Qi, clapped a hand over his shoulder and pushed him back into his seat at the edge of the set.
The assistant director picked up on the signal, keeping the camera angles and lighting steady.
Inside the carriage, Yun Lian leaned back, eyes closed. His delicate features hinted at exhaustion, his complexion pale and wan.
Jing Ming stood watching for a moment before reaching out to touch Yun Lian’s shoulder.
Before contact was made, Liang Xiao stirred, his expression instantly guarded as he straightened, fully alert.
—
The screenwriter was ecstatic. “Brilliant!”
In the narrative, Yun Lian had sustained injuries that no one knew about and had been mentally and physically drained from days of maneuvering in the shadows. Jing Zhe fought on the frontlines while Jing Ming stayed behind to manage the Jing conglomerate. The two brothers, one working in the light and the other in the dark, wouldn’t join forces until the climax of the story—a fact well-known to the audience.
Yun Lian falling into a light sleep during his visit to Jing Ming was a subtle indication that he already trusted the brothers’ allegiance.
Liang Xiao’s unscripted nap had saved three scenes and five pages of dialogue.
“Sheer brilliance.”
The screenwriter grew increasingly fond of him. Waving the script toward Director Song, they said, “Add him to the promotional variety show lineup.”
Director Song frowned in disagreement. “Main cast members must appear in at least 35 episodes—”
The screenwriter, being quite good at math, nodded, pulled out a pen, and added five more episodes for Yun Lian to the script under his black-and-white photo.
—
After pushing through two scenes, Liang Xiao relaxed just enough to collapse into a deep sleep once back in his room. Upon waking, he was still a bit dazed. “What variety show?”
“A talk show, airing on a top-tier satellite TV channel.”
Duan Ming returned holding a travel itinerary and schedule, patting Liang Xiao’s shoulder with satisfaction. “We leave the day after tomorrow.”
That morning, Butler Huo had relayed a message to the assistant director, asking him to inform Liang Xiao about the promotional event. The production team had squeezed him in, and if necessary, Liang Xiao could pay his own way for any additional expenses, which Xingguan would reimburse.
Liang Xiao had been too groggy earlier for Duan Ming to explain.
Duan Ming grew more pleased as he thought about it, lifting Liang Xiao’s hand to give him a high-five. “If you switch companies, you must take me with you.”
The assistant, busy tidying up the room, raised their hand. “Take me too.”
“…” Liang Xiao had spent an entire dream-writing reflections and now massaged his temple with a newfound sense of helplessness. “It’s not easy.”
Especially if transferring to Xingguan meant dealing with reflection essays as part of daily life.
“Take it slow,” Duan Ming comforted, not knowing the full story. “No rush—your current contract hasn’t expired yet.”
Liang Xiao chuckled. “Neither have yours, right?”
“Our contracts are employment agreements,” Duan Ming replied. “If we want to switch, we can just resign.”
“At most, they’ll dock a month’s pay,” the assistant chimed in, clearly eager to leave as well. He grumbled, “I’ve wanted to quit for ages. If they hadn’t…”
Duan Ming cut them off sharply. “Xiao Gong.”
The assistant clammed up, sulking as he returned to mopping the floor.
Liang Xiao, still groggy from the set earlier, had powered through the scenes with sheer professionalism and habit. Back in his room, he’d passed out until just now. Seeing the tension, he casually folded his clothes, chuckling to diffuse the atmosphere. “It’s fine.”
Duan Ming didn’t look happy, but he placed the travel schedule neatly on the desk. Behind him, the assistant, still holding a mop, mimed stabbing motions at him a few times.
“Calm and collected,” Liang Xiao teased, sensing Duan Ming’s frustration. Taking the initiative, he tossed his clothes into the washing machine and patiently tried to reason with him. “In this industry, working in this circle, we need a basic level of professionalism…”
“Enough about that,” Duan Ming said, unwilling to dwell on the matter. “What happened to you last night, anyway?”
Liang Xiao pressed the water fill button and froze for a moment. “Huh?”
“Was it a side effect?”
Duan Ming, recalling the scene from earlier that morning, was still uneasy. He worried Liang Xiao had suffered through another sleepless night. “Are you overworked lately? Is the auxiliary medication not working? And why are you suddenly doing laundry?”
Liang Xiao vaguely felt that something had gone awry amidst all this. He froze for a moment, then raised a hand. “Ah.”
Duan Ming: “?”
Liang Xiao: “…”
Duan Ming stepped back two paces, pulling the assistant aside as they watched their supposedly composed and unflappable artist yank the washing machine’s plug, lift the lid, and dive into the drum like a frantic groundhog.
Half a minute later, Liang Xiao sat on the floor, holding a handful of shredded paper.
“The floor is cold,” Duan Ming said, utterly perplexed, as he pulled him up. “What’s going on?”
Liang Xiao: “This was supposed to be a piece of paper.”
Duan Ming: “…” He could see that. “Yes, and you just washed it.”
It hadn’t registered for him earlier, but now that he saw the bits of paper stuck all over the laundry, he remembered Liang Xiao had tucked a piece of paper into his pocket that morning. Sighing, he said, “Forget it, I’ll handle it.”
The cast was full of big names, and their clothing was generally expensive, handled by a professional laundry service on set.
Liang Xiao’s wardrobe wasn’t as demanding, and his assistant usually handled his laundry.
But today, the assistant had been too annoyed and gone off to mop the floors.
Liang Xiao, trying to be considerate, had decided to do it himself.
The paper residue clinging to the clothes was a hassle, though, so Duan Ming gestured for the assistant to take over while he guided Liang Xiao to the sofa.
Liang Xiao looked up. “That really was a piece of paper.”
Duan Ming: “… I’ll find you another one?”
Liang Xiao: “You can’t.”
That piece of paper had carried 364 painstakingly crafted words—a masterpiece.
Each word was a gem, painstakingly selected and polished.
It was the most carefully written reflection essay Liang Xiao had ever produced in his 20+ years, despite failing to score above 100 in high school language exams.
Now it was gone.
“…” Duan Ming, after extracting the full story from him with great difficulty, was baffled by every part of it. “Why on earth did you write it on paper?”
“What else was I supposed to do?”
Liang Xiao, utterly despondent, stared blankly at the shredded remains in his hands. “Should I have used bamboo slips instead?”
—
“President Huo.”
The butler assured him: “Mr. Liang will definitely submit his reflections today.”
Huo Lan, his expression calm, flipped through a few pages of a report before glancing at the clock.
Three minutes to midnight.
The butler was starting to question the circumstances under which their boss, Huo Lan, had undergone his differentiation. Carrying a cup of coffee, he deftly swiped a stack of reports. “Please get some rest, sir. Once Mr. Liang submits it, I’ll bring it to you.”
Huo Lan closed his eyes briefly, pressed his fingers against his temples, and shook his head. “No need.”
The butler hesitated to speak, but then remembered the speculation Liang Xiao had floated the previous night. “Mr. Huo.”
Huo Lan opened his eyes.
The butler found Liang Xiao’s theory somewhat far-fetched but decided to mention it anyway, albeit cautiously. “Mr. Liang asked something.”
Huo Lan: “What?”
“Mr. Liang wondered,” the butler mustered his courage, “if you subconsciously resist sleeping.”
If one applied the logic of cramming for exams, this wasn’t entirely unreasonable.
After all, no matter how exhausted you were before a big test, you wouldn’t dare sleep too much. Because inevitably, the one question you’d skimmed but couldn’t quite recall the answer to would, by some mysterious cosmic force, reappear as the final question on the exam paper, smirking mockingly.
As soon as the words left the butler’s mouth, Huo Lan’s brows furrowed sharply.
He hadn’t slept properly in days and was undeniably fatigued. While he didn’t appear colder than usual, his aura carried a sharper, more unrestrained edge.
The butler fell silent, set down the iced coffee, brushed the light frost off his hair, and mentally crossed out that impractical possibility.
“Tell Mr. Liang,” Huo Lan said, his tone calm yet definitive, “if time runs out, he doesn’t need to submit it.”
The butler often wondered why these two couldn’t simply communicate through any of the myriad messaging apps available, but Huo Lan’s instructions left no room for debate. “There are 30 seconds left.”
The iced coffee’s surface glimmered with shards of frost.
The butler remained steadfast. “Mr. Liang is working on it.”
With years of finely honed skills, he was confident that even if Liang Xiao submitted just a single Chinese character, he could craft an interpretation that would convey two parts shock, three parts emotion, and five parts profound enlightenment. “You can rest assured—”
Huo Lan’s phone dinged softly.
The ice in the coffee clinked faintly.
The butler’s eyes lit up, brimming with joy and relief, as he watched Huo Lan open the message.
[Mr. Liang: Reflection Essay]
[Mr. Liang: QAQ]
![After losing all his wealth, the ancestor rose from his coffin [BL]](https://www.freenovels.net/wp-content/uploads/2025/01/Your-paragraph-text-1.png "After losing all his wealth, the ancestor rose from his coffin [BL]")
QAQ