The script reading lasted until past midnight. Despite multiple reminders, Director Jin kept everyone until 2 AM before dismissing them.
At noon the next day, the disheveled production manager went door-to-door apologizing: “Our deepest regrets—”
“No trouble at all,” Duan Ming assured, blocking the doorway. He glanced back at the room. “He’s still out cold. Should we wake him?”
“Everyone’s still asleep,” the manager whispered urgently, shoving the schedule through the door. “No rush—just delivering these.”
Duan Ming watched them rock-paper-scissors over who’d knock next before quietly shutting the door. “They’re gone.”
Liang Xiao burrowed deeper into the blankets with a muffled groan. Having finally collapsed at dawn, six hours’ sleep left him more dead than alive. “Brother Duan…”
“Here.” Duan Ming approached. “Need something?”
Groping blindly, Liang Xiao seized his hand. “All these years I’ve been so poor—”
Duan Ming stuffed the hand back under covers. “Sleep.”
Since last night, Liang Xiao had cycled through a dozen variations of hinting about those damned 10-yuan red packets. Duan Ming had finally sent one from his own pocket, still unclaimed.
“Can’t sleep now.” Liang Xiao squinted at his phone. The production group chat showed hundreds of unread messages about extras casting and discount coupons. His special notifications remained conspicuously empty.
“Too soon…” Liang Xiao lamented dramatically, clutching his pillow. “Now that I’m his after the confession… no more messages… he doesn’t care…”
Duan Ming deadpanned: “So dramatic.”
“I’m worried.” Liang Xiao sobered. “What if something’s wrong? Remember when President Huo suddenly locked himself in that room during our script meeting?”
The reminder unsettled Duan Ming. They’d never learned what crisis had driven the usually composed alpha to such extremes that day.
Duan Ming considered: “Should I ask butler Huo?”
“No.” Liang Xiao shook his head. “President Huo wouldn’t want to talk about it.”
If Huo Lan chose silence, it must involve matters too unpleasant to voice. While Liang Xiao didn’t need full disclosure, leaving Huo Lan alone at home unsettled him.
…Home.
The word struck Liang Xiao like an arrow. He flushed crimson, unwrapping another candy to hide his sudden pulse acceleration.
Duan Ming watched him turn red. “Which scenario are you fantasizing about now?”
“What scenarios?”
“Master bedroom, guest room, study, office—” Duan Ming produced a keychain jingling with five keys. “Why is there a walk-in closet key now?!”
Liang Xiao choked on his candy.
“Since when did you—”
“So what?” Liang Xiao snatched back the keys, defiantly looping the master bedroom key (adorned with red thread) around his neck. “A man can dream!”
“…Indeed.” Duan Ming patted his shoulder. “Aim high.”
As Liang Xiao buried himself in his phone, Duan Ming scrolled through the Huo Residence staff group chat. “Could it be business troubles?”
“No.” Liang Xiao stared at his empty notifications. “Business matters never unsettle him.”
“…” Duan Ming conceded defeat.
Their speculation yielded no answers by afternoon. The failed networking lunch had morphed into an awkward dinner gathering.
“Apologies again,” the production manager addressed the sleep-deprived crowd. “We’ll better manage schedules moving forward.”
Director Jin huffed nearby, disdainful of what he deemed “modern fragility.”
“The performances were too captivating,” the producer mediated. “Even we crew members got swept into the scenes.”
Several actors nodded. Liang Xiao’s delivery during last night’s reading—crackling with desperation and aristocratic defiance—had electrified the room.
“Especially Liang Xiao,” praised the middle-aged actor who’d played his pursuer. “Your *Year-End* dailies showed remarkable screen presence.”
“Thank you.” Liang Xiao’s voice still carried residual hoarseness from yesterday’s marathon session.
Director Jin appraised him. “We’ll polish your scenes thoroughly.”
The declaration made veterans shudder. Director Jin’s “polishing” meant twenty-plus takes for a single close-up.
Liang Xiao smiled. “I welcome it.”
—
At the buffet station, Liang Xiao checked his phone again—still no messages. The prolonged silence gnawed at him.
“Why not eat?” The production manager joined him, mistaking his distraction for nerves. “Don’t worry—Director Jin’s strictness comes from high expectations.”
“Thank you.” Liang Xiao pocketed his phone. “I was just—”
“Your variety show’s first episode aired well.” The manager changed tack. “That breakfast truck concept—viewers loved the slice-of-life moments.”
Liang Xiao blinked. “It’s out already?”
“Trending charts.” The manager lowered his voice. “But we should adjust your public image. The ‘readily approachable’ persona conflicts with Yun Lang’s noble aura. Now that you’re under Xingguan…”
Liang Xiao himself didn’t even realize he wanted to see the complexities of the world. He nodded: “Yes.”
“With Xingguan handling things, we can rest assured,” the production director said. “Their promotional strategy is solid, but could you discuss with President Huo about temporarily adjusting the direction?”
This kind of thing was common in the industry. When an artist’s long-term image conflicted slightly with a role, the team would subtly make short-term adjustments to avoid breaking the audience’s immersion.
Even the most serious and aloof actors, when taking on a light comedy, needed to lower their guard and release some press materials. Similarly, someone with a gentle and refined image taking on a tough role might need to post clips of morning runs or weightlifting.
The production director had worked with Director Jin for a long time and remembered Liang Xiao’s years as a stand-in, holding a favorable impression of him.
Wanting to help him, the director explained further: “In this drama, your character is positioned as a young marquis from a noble family. Forcing an adjustment isn’t necessary; it might even affect your future roles… You could attend some ceremonies or galas to show your face.”
Attending such events would require formal attire and matching accessories.
Liang Xiao’s good looks, combined with his calm composure cultivated through experience, meant that as long as he wore formal attire and had a reliable stylist to polish his appearance, he could handle any occasion effortlessly.
Without needing much promotion, just leaked photos alone could exude an air of elegance and nobility.
“I understand,” Liang Xiao said seriously, nodding earnestly. “Thank you.”
The production director waved his hand with a smile, encouraged him a bit more, and then left.
Liang Xiao was still lost in thought when the director’s suggestion to “discuss with your President Huo” caught his attention. He snapped out of it when he noticed Duan Ming approaching with a food tray: “Brother Duan, when did you get back?”
“Just now. I saw someone talking to you, so I didn’t come over.”
Duan Ming set the tray in front of him and pulled the assistant to sit down: “What did the production director ask you to do?”
Liang Xiao felt a bit embarrassed: “Brother Duan, don’t ask.”
Duan Ming was stunned. He couldn’t understand why he, as Liang Xiao’s manager, wasn’t allowed to ask: “Why not?”
Liang Xiao had been waiting for this question and happily replied: “The director asked me to call President Huo.”
Duan Ming: “…”
Duan Ming felt that this definitely wasn’t what the director had meant. He opened his mouth but didn’t know what to say. Rubbing his forehead, he looked at Liang Xiao.
Duan Ming even felt a bit sorry for him: “…Fine, go make the call.”
Liang Xiao refocused and briefly explained to his manager about adjusting the promotional direction.
Xingguan’s team was professional and responsible. Even if the production director hadn’t mentioned it, they had already included this in their plans. Duan Ming even had several invitations for evening galas on hand.
After listening carefully, Duan Ming said: “We’ve already prepared for this…”
Liang Xiao understood but still appreciated the gesture: “They’re helping us out of goodwill.”
Duan Ming replied: “Then act well in return; it’s mutually beneficial.”
Liang Xiao nodded and picked up his phone.
Originally, he didn’t want to disturb Huo Lan at work. However, since the production director specifically mentioned discussing it with President Huo… it should count as work—big or small.
Liang Xiao no longer cared much about saving face. With this excuse in hand, he quickly convinced himself: “Brother Duan, I’m going—”
Duan Ming was nearly driven mad by him and waved his hands repeatedly: “Go quickly! Don’t come back for at least half an hour.”
Liang Xiao had slept from midnight until now without eating anything. Worried that he might starve while on the phone, Duan Ming wrapped several freshly baked onion bread rolls in kraft paper and handed them over: “Take these snacks… What’s wrong?”
Seeing Liang Xiao’s expression change, Duan Ming glanced at his phone.
It was an automatic push notification from an app that Liang Xiao had just opened and was reading.
Duan Ming frowned: “Huo Corporation subsidiaries protesting… What are they protesting about? Didn’t the main family insist on mutual assistance back then instead of letting them go bankrupt?”
Liang Xiao shook his head slightly, having a vague premonition: “It must be someone stirring up trouble.”
“Who could stir up trouble for Huo Corporation—” Duan Ming suddenly realized something and was startled. “Is it Longtao again?!”
Liang Xiao looked up at him and made a gesture.
Duan Ming quickly lowered his voice: “Is Longtao unwilling to give up? Is he trying to bite back at Xingguan one last time before going down?”
Liang Xiao didn’t respond but opened the trending topics to take a look before scanning through reposts and comments.
Longtao’s internal problems were numerous—years of bad debts and losses—and Xingguan had relentlessly targeted them. It was clear to everyone that their collapse was inevitable.
This trending topic seemed like nothing more than a desperate struggle. It hadn’t caused much of a stir; public opinion didn’t even need Xingguan’s intervention—it overwhelmingly mocked those ungrateful subsidiaries.
Liang Xiao wasn’t worried about such trivial matters: “They won’t last long.”
After a moment of silence, Liang Xiao put down his phone: “Butler Huo once said that President Huo grew up in one of those subsidiary families.”
Duan Ming froze for a moment before realizing: “Are these the same ones causing trouble now?”
Liang Xiao wasn’t sure either, but judging from Huo Lan’s reaction, it seemed highly likely.
“What kind of situation is this…” Duan Ming frowned deeply. “Isn’t this just breaking President Huo’s heart? Are these people so blinded by money that they have no loyalty left?”
Liang Xiao shook his head: “There’s probably a lot we don’t know.”
“I’ll ask Butler Huo later,” Duan Ming said.
When Liang Xiao tried to speak again, Duan Ming stopped him: “Butler Huo knows what he should or shouldn’t say. If it’s something President Huo doesn’t want others knowing about, he won’t say anything.”
Liang Xiao opened his mouth but inexplicably felt his face heat up: “…Not necessarily…”
The butler had revealed some things he probably shouldn’t have—like how young Huo Lan once braved heavy rain to retrieve letters.
That absolutely couldn’t be mentioned to President Huo; if it were brought up, Liang Xiao might end up being spanked ten times on the sofa.
They hadn’t seen each other all day—not even exchanged messages. Liang Xiao felt tempted—even wanting to run over right now and ask their President Huo if the rain had been heavy that day.
Duan Ming was confused: “What?”
Liang Xiao had no intention of sharing this punishment with his manager, so he shook his head vaguely: “Nothing.”
Duan Ming was baffled and wanted to ask more, but Liang Xiao had already grabbed his phone and the onion bread, gave Duan Ming a high-five to cheer himself up, and slipped out of the dining hall amidst the commotion.
—
“President Huo.”
The butler set down the documents in his hand. “The PR department reports that public opinion is under control, with minimal issues to address. They’re continuing real-time monitoring…”
Huo Lan: “Leave it be.”
The butler nodded: “Understood.”
When the subsidiary families caused trouble at the main house a few days ago, they had anticipated this. Over the following days, disruptions also occurred at Xingguan and several Huo Corporation subsidiaries, so it was only a matter of time before it trended online.
In this matter, the Huo family wasn’t at fault. The events of the past were clear-cut, and there was no need to suppress the news forcefully.
People loved stories about wealthy families. Without Xingguan needing to intervene, marketing accounts were already recounting the near-legendary tale of how Huo Corporation had turned things around during a crisis.
The butler wanted to distract him from these matters and deliberately brought up something interesting: “Many are saying that your investment in Feiyang Pharmaceuticals back then was a stroke of genius. At the time, it seemed like an impossible deadlock, and no one inside or outside the industry expected that the breakthrough would come from there…”
Huo Lan closed a file: “I didn’t know either.”
The butler, prepared for an hour-long monologue, was stunned: “What?”
“It wasn’t a stroke of genius. I didn’t know at the time,” Huo Lan said, looking up. “I just—”
He paused, unable to stop himself from frowning as he glanced at his phone.
The butler pressed on: “Just what?”
Huo Lan: “Why hasn’t Mr. Liang finished work yet?”
The butler: “…”
Inwardly, he thought that President Huo’s train of thought truly was remarkable. Clearing his throat, he replied, “The team said that last night’s script reading went until early morning. Mr. Liang slept until noon and then went straight into a crew meeting.”
Huo Lan only had a general understanding of film crew operations and hadn’t realized how tedious it could be in practice. He stared at his phone for a while without asking further questions.
The butler tried to redirect his attention: “You were saying earlier that you didn’t know Feiyang Pharmaceuticals would be the breakthrough point, you just…”
Huo Lan interrupted: “He asked me to solve his work problems.”
The butler was startled: “Who?”
As someone who managed all sorts of Huo family affairs for years, the butler had developed an instinct for pinpointing key details: “Back then—the person you met in Jiangnan?”
Huo Lan fell silent for a moment before pulling a walnut out of a small drawer by his desk.
The butler: “…”
He suspected that every time President Huo was separated from Mr. Liang, he entered a susceptible period.
Huo Lan held the walnut in his hand: “I promised him back then too.”
Huo Lan usually avoided talking about such matters. However, with Mr. Liang’s work dragging on and still no signs of homesickness from him even now, Huo Lan found himself unable to settle down whenever he had idle moments.
“He…” The butler swallowed back words like *Jiangnan’s little wild omega* and cautiously asked instead, “Asked you to solve his work problems? Did he know what you did?”
Huo Lan closed his eyes briefly: “He knew some things.”
At that time, young Liang Xiao’s focus had been entirely on his meal card and showed little interest in Huo Lan’s identity. Still, he had some understanding.
That school was filled with children from prominent families. Occasionally, when Huo Lan brought him medicine and explained that it didn’t cost anything because it came from their family hospital, young Liang Xiao’s eyes would light up. He’d lean over his desk and tug on Huo Lan’s sleeve endlessly, pestering him to ensure his future livelihood.
The butler asked cautiously: “Did he say he wanted to work in the pharmaceutical industry?”
Huo Lan nodded slightly.
The butler opened his contact list and marked all doctors and pharmacists with a highly alert red exclamation mark.
Huo Lan continued: “He told me that if one day he severed ties with his family and ran away with nothing to eat, he’d come find me.”
“I… thought back then,” Huo Lan said quietly, “that if he suddenly disappeared one day, maybe it meant he’d severed ties with his family and run away.”
As a teenager returning to take charge of the Huo family during its crisis, Huo Lan hadn’t rested for a single day. Carrying the burden of a massive business teetering on collapse while guarding against hidden schemes at every turn left him constantly analyzing risks and potential traps.
Walking as if on thin ice over an abyss where every step could lead to ruin.
The butler still remembered how young Huo Lan had been merely quiet when he first returned to the family—not yet cold or distant. But circumstances allowed no room for softness.
Bit by bit, young Huo Lan gritted his teeth and stripped away trust and innocence, sacrificing warmth and relaxation until he forced himself into solitary resilience.
Feiyang Pharmaceuticals became the only door he left open for himself.
At that time, all he knew about Liang Xiao was that he wanted to work in pharmaceuticals—just one small piece of information amidst countless factories and hospitals across the nation.
It was like searching for a needle in a haystack—a faint possibility.
Huo Lan murmured softly: “I didn’t know back then…”
If he had known what Liang Xiao ended up doing later on, perhaps he would have gambled everything on Xingguan instead.
The butler listened anxiously: “Didn’t know what?”
Huo Lan composed himself and shook his head slightly: “Nothing.”
The butler had never realized how deep President Huo’s connection with *Jiangnan’s little wild omega* ran. Clutching his chest nervously, he probed further: “Do you have any other stories like this with him? Similar ones?”
Huo Lan’s gaze softened slightly: “There are many more.”
The butler felt like dying on the spot.
After chatting for a while longer with the butler—enough to calm some of his chaotic thoughts—Huo Lan was about to refocus on work when his phone suddenly vibrated.
Glancing down briefly at the screen, Huo Lan picked up his phone.
For an instant, the butler thought he saw President Huo’s eyes light up: “Is it… Mr. Liang?”
Huo Lan nodded slightly without saying more and walked into his bedroom with the phone in hand.
The butler followed to the door but didn’t step inside, leaning absentmindedly against the doorframe.
The head of security, stationed outside, quickly approached. “So? Is President Huo happy now?”
“President Huo is very happy…” The butler’s emotions were complicated as he clutched the head of security’s arm with trembling hands. “But Mr. Liang might not be so happy in the future.”
The head of security was confused. “Why?”
The butler stared at him blankly, unable to put into words how their President Huo had just been reminiscing softly about past memories with a gentle expression, only to have his eyes light up the next second when Mr. Liang called.
After a long silence, the butler sighed deeply: “We must treat Mr. Liang well.”
The head of security hadn’t planned to treat Mr. Liang poorly and was momentarily stunned. “Why?”
The butler shook his head. “You wouldn’t understand…”
“Mr. Liang’s love,” the butler sighed again, “is too bitter.”
![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]")
