The Genius Cannon Fodder's Counterattack 6

Ten minutes later, a man in a pale gray wool-blend suit coat appeared at the foot of the company building.

His younger brother Cheng Yuan was huddled inside a short down jacket, the tip of his nose and the sliver of neck left exposed gone pale and pink, the rims of his eyes reddened—he looked thoroughly frozen.

Cheng Jian frowned, and with a touch of irritation reached out and loosened the wool scarf knotted at his own throat.

A moment later, warmth carrying a faint trace of men's cologne wrapped around Cheng Yuan.

But Cheng Yuan, unable to sit still, stretched his neck against it. "It's too warm."

Cheng Jian glared. "Take it off and see what happens."

Cheng Yuan's legs gave a little shiver, and he behaved.

Cheng Jian really did hit people.

At the age of seven or eight, the age even dogs find annoying, Cheng Yuan had been far more delicate than other children his age—the reason being that whenever he misbehaved as a child, his older brother would grab whatever tool was handy and dole out violent correction, until he'd been drilled into someone both obedient and soft.

A domineering father and older brother, a weak mother—small wonder that once Cheng Yuan met the gentle Yang Baihua, he sank in headfirst, refusing to turn back no matter who tried to pull him out.

Cheng Jian seized Cheng Yuan's hand without waiting for permission, and the cold that filled his own palm made his expression even uglier.

He yanked his gloves off one after another and tossed them into Cheng Yuan's arms, sneering, "Is he that broke? Can't even afford gloves?"

Cheng Yuan tucked the scarf down a little, baring his mouth—

He protested, "I just don't like wearing them."

That part, at least, was true. Cheng Yuan hated scarves and gloves, especially scarves—wear one for even a little while and he started to feel hot and stifled.

Cheng Yuan wanted to say more, but the instant his eyes met Cheng Jian's, he instantly lost his nerve.

"Go on, say it." Cheng Jian gave a cold laugh. "I say one word about him, and you can argue back ten. That's the extent of your ambition—pick up a rock and you'd treat it like a treasure."

Chi Xiaochi, playing the role of Cheng Yuan, stole a moment to say to the system, "I suspect what he actually meant to say was a lump of dung."

The system thought Chi Xiaochi had a point.

That Cheng Jian managed to swallow the rest of his words clearly meant he didn't want things to get too tense with Cheng Yuan right from the start.

He studied the redness under Cheng Yuan's eyes, and the not-yet-dried wetness at the edge of his lashes. "...Did you two fight?"

Cheng Yuan was a full size smaller than Cheng Jian; both his hands together could curl up inside one of Cheng Jian's gloves to warm themselves. "No, my stomach's just a little upset."

Cheng Jian: "Didn't eat breakfast?"

Cheng Yuan smiled. "Dieting."

"Dieting, my ass." Cheng Jian pinched a fold of his waist. "You're skin and bone—you think that's attractive?!"

Cheng Yuan jumped at the pinch and whined, "...Bro."

"Bro, bro, bro—being your brother is eight lifetimes' worth of bad luck." Cheng Jian shoved his hands into his pockets. "Still won't drink soy milk, I take it? Fine, forget Yonghe, we'll go to the congee place over there instead."

As he spoke he glanced around casually and asked, "Where'd you park?"

Cheng Yuan answered matter-of-factly, "He drove it to work. I took the bus here."

Cheng Jian froze for a moment, eyes bulging, and Cheng Yuan immediately went on alert, clutching his head and bolting five steps back before anything else happened.

Cheng Jian truly did want to beat some sense into him right then, but it was rush hour, and they were right in front of the office building, and President Cheng had an image to protect, so he strode up instead, hooked an arm around Cheng Yuan's neck, and hauled him back in. "What are you running for?"

Thinking he was about to get hit, Cheng Yuan shrank his neck in fear. "Bro, there are people—people watching."

Noticing the fright in his little brother's eyes, Cheng Jian's heart softened at once, and the arm locking around his shoulders loosened just slightly.

Even so, his mouth remained merciless, and sarcasm poured out of him without any need to build up to it. "Cheng Yuan, look at you—you've gotten real good at keeping a pretty boy. Work a little harder and earn enough to buy him a house too, then it'll be one full set of everything—food, clothing, shelter, transportation—and he can handle the inside while you handle the outside, he can do the embroidery and you can work the fields, and the two of you can live happily ever after. Lovely."

Cheng Yuan lowered his head. "Bro, don't talk like that. He needs a car to get to work. I'm home all day, I don't need one."

Cheng Jian was so angry he nearly keeled over backward, but remembering Cheng Yuan said his stomach was upset, he forced the fire down.

He dragged Cheng Yuan toward the congee shop. "...What kind do you want? Preserved egg and pork congee, or plain white congee?"

"Preserved egg and pork congee."

"Picky, aren't you."

"Thanks, Bro."

"Thanks my ass—preserved egg and pork, pretty fancy for you. Your stomach's upset, so you'll drink millet congee like a good boy and like it."

After a few mouthfuls of hot congee, some color returned to Cheng Yuan's face, which had gone pale from the cold; aside from the still-reddened tip of his nose, his cheeks had regained their powdery glow, and he looked thoroughly pinchable.

Cheng Jian took off his coat, rolled up his shirt cuffs, and mixed a little dish of vinegar for him. "What did you come looking for me for?"

Before Cheng Yuan could answer, Cheng Jian added quickly, "If it's something to do with him, do me a favor and don't even open your mouth."

"It's not about him... well, sort of." Cheng Yuan picked up a crab roe bun, and hearing his brother say that, his expression turned awkward. "...Bro, could you not mention this to Mom and Dad?"

Cheng Jian's face was blank. "Depends."

Cheng Yuan dunked the bun in the vinegar dish and said quietly, "Bro, do you have a spare place?"

Cheng Jian's brow twitched. "...What are you planning?"

Cheng Yuan waved his hands hastily. "Not like that, Bro. I just want to borrow a place of yours to stay for a week. Just me, nobody else."

Cheng Jian: "Did you two really fight?"

Cheng Yuan looked a little downcast, biting the edge of the bun, mumbling, "No, his parents are coming to visit. He wants me to make myself scarce for a while."

Cheng Jian slammed a palm on the table.

The bang drew the eyes of half the shop.

Cheng Jian couldn't have cared less. "His parents still don't know about the two of you?!"

Cheng Yuan stiffened, immediately speaking up to defend Yang Baihua. "No, no, it's not that. Old Yang's parents have scrimped their whole lives—they'd never be willing to stay in a hotel. I'm moving out so it's easier for them to stay..."

"That's what I asked you? That's all bullshit!" Cheng Jian wouldn't listen to Cheng Yuan's explanation at all. "Just tell me this: does he have any intention of letting you meet his parents at all?"

Cheng Yuan poked his spoon at the bottom of the bowl.

"...You still haven't made it official?!"

"He's not ready yet..."

"No—when exactly is he planning on being ready? When he's getting married and having kids, or on his deathbed?"

Cheng Yuan said nothing, and for once didn't defend the man.

Seeing his little brother's listless little face, Cheng Jian's heart gave a sudden soft ache; he raised a hand to pat his head, but the hand hung in midair a moment before landing, neither too hard nor too soft, as a smack to the back of his head, making Cheng Yuan's neck shrink down.

Cheng Yuan said, "Worst case, I could just stay in your office."

Cheng Jian snapped, impatient, "...Quit coming up with nonsense and eat."

Cheng Yuan looked up. "Don't let Mom and Dad find out..."

"This whole mess of yours—them finding out is only a matter of time." Cheng Jian was none too gentle about it. "You'd better pray for yourself."

With that, he took his phone and stepped outside to find Cheng Yuan a place to stay.

Chi Xiaochi quietly lowered his head and bit into the crab roe bun, the thick fragrance of crab roe mingling with the tang of aged vinegar filling his mouth, steaming hot, a little too hot to handle.

In his previous life, Cheng Yuan never once came to Cheng Jian for help—he'd simply crashed at a friend's place for a week.

He'd always felt his family sheltered and controlled him too much, never realizing what he was giving up was a fortress that would always have been willing to shield him from the wind and rain.

While looking back through the original host Cheng Yuan's memories, Chi Xiaochi had deliberately shifted the timeline forward a stretch, and glimpsed Cheng Jian after Cheng Yuan's death—arriving abroad to handle his brother's affairs.

This was the brother who couldn't even take out the trash without putting on a three-piece suit, who never forgot to style his hair with product and dab on cologne—overnight he looked as though he'd aged ten years, his jaw covered in uneven stubble, a long cut left by a slip of the razor running from his lower left jaw down to his neck, jarring to look at.

He had seen his little brother's cold body at the hospital.

Cheng Yuan had nearly severed half of his own wrist.

...A cut that deep—how had he been able to do it to himself.

Thinking this, Cheng Jian had taken a taxi back to the Yang family's home in silence, getting out partway there to buy a cleaver.

Afterward, he'd very nearly hacked down the Yang family's front door with that cleaver. Yang Baihua and his parents, sensing something was wrong, had fled into the house in time, refusing to respond to any of his hysteria, and called the police instead.

Assaulting a private residence was treated as an extremely serious offense abroad; the police arrived swiftly and subdued Cheng Jian.

As he was roughly forced down onto the ground, half of Cheng Jian's face was pressed into gravel baked hot by the sun.

He had already gone still by then, only murmuring the same sentence over and over, his voice soaked in pain.

"...My little brother was only twenty-seven. He wasn't even thirty yet."

Having finished his phone call, Cheng Jian walked back and pulled out a stool. "You're moving out next week, right?"

Chi Xiaochi looked at him.

Quickly, that unshaven face, caked with grit and dark blood, separated away from this spirited, bright-eyed one.

Emerging from that stretch of emotion, Chi Xiaochi slipped back successfully into the role of Cheng Yuan, nodding obediently. "Mm."

"I sent you the address on WeChat. Once you're full, I'll have my driver Xiao Yan take you home—let me know when you're actually moving. Xiao Yan keeps his mouth shut, he won't go blabbing to Dad," Cheng Jian said, "After you're back, don't tell Yang Baihua you came to see me—just say you're staying out with friends."

When handling real business, Cheng Jian was always capable and incisive, decisive yet not without a thoughtful side—but he rarely carried that version of himself into everyday life. To Cheng Yuan, he was just a brother with a vicious tongue and a heavy hand, who happened to be absurdly soft-hearted underneath it all.

In other words, this attitude of his proved he'd recognized just how serious the problem between Cheng Yuan and Yang Baihua had become, and he'd started to actually take it seriously.

As he was leaving, Cheng Jian left both the scarf and the gloves with Chi Xiaochi.

Not long after Xiao Yan drove him away from the company, Chi Xiaochi volunteered to get out of the car.

"You must still have things to do—go on and get to it," Chi Xiaochi said. "I know the way back. Tell my brother I ate too much and can't sit still—I'm going to walk a bit to help digest."

The moment Chi Xiaochi stepped out of the car and looked up, he spotted the headquarters tower of "Yundu Entertainment."

This was the entertainment company Tang Huan was signed to—after a thorough round of image-polishing, Tang Huan had become one of the rising stars of the mainland music scene, and was now, without question, Yundu Entertainment's trump card in the music market, its undisputed leading female star.

The system asked, "Did you have something in mind, coming here?"

Chi Xiaochi glanced around. "Just looking."

With the audience who'd been watching his performance now out of sight, Chi Xiaochi turned back into Chi Xiaochi.

He loosely knotted the scarf and stood there casually, half dashing and half languid, thoroughly eye-catching.

Whether star or actor, both go through long stretches of deportment training, which sets them noticeably apart from ordinary people. Cheng Yuan's own looks weren't bad to begin with—a clean-cut, handsome young man—but Chi Xiaochi's bearing undeniably infused that slightly youthful handsomeness with something electric.

Standing at the roadside, Chi Xiaochi kept drawing the gazes of passersby. Watching this unfold, the system had a sudden idea. "Mr. Chi, I have a proposal: how about you try being an actor?"

Just the night before, the system had watched the first film Chi Xiaochi had ever starred in, The Cape Murder Case.

Back then, Chi Xiaochi had been only eighteen, yet he'd performed the short, ruinous life of an ordinary fishing-village boy's downfall and destruction in a way that was both stunning and gut-wrenching.

He had used the span of a single film to show everyone what talent truly meant.

One emotional climax in the film was the scene where his one and only friend died.

The friend had died protecting him, died in agony; the fishing-village boy had held his only friend in his arms and hummed, for him, a softened, winding version of the tune they used to bellow together when out at sea.

He knew his friend's pain, so he sent him off smiling—there was a smile in his eyes and at the corners of his mouth, even as a single tear slid out from those smiling eyes.

Chi Xiaochi hadn't gone mad with grief, hadn't howled; he'd played that whole scene in stillness.

This kind of minute perception and delicate expression of a dramatic character's emotion was something many actors spend their entire careers chasing, yet Chi Xiaochi had been able to summon it effortlessly, at will, the very moment he debuted.

He had the talent, and in this world, the entertainment industry was highly developed—if he became an actor, there was no telling how far he could go.

Hearing the system's suggestion, Chi Xiaochi's response was lukewarm. "Good idea."

Chi Xiaochi's noncommittal attitude made the system suspect he probably had no such plans.

Sure enough, Chi Xiaochi said, "To me, so-called acting means truly, completely becoming that person—that's the greatest respect you can pay them."

He tilted his head up to look at the Yundu Entertainment tower, saying lightly, "This is Cheng Yuan's life. I need to live it the way Cheng Yuan would want it lived."

Something stirred faintly in the system.

...Chi Xiaochi, it seemed, wasn't quite as willful and reckless as it had imagined.

The system asked, "So what's your plan from here?"

Chi Xiaochi said nothing, simply walked on, moving away from the front of the Yundu Entertainment tower.

Not far off, an LED screen was looping a large jewelry endorsement poster of Tang Huan.

The Tang Huan incident had been a massive turning point in Cheng Yuan's tragic life—yet because of it, Tang Huan's own buzz had only climbed, and she had successfully pulled off her rebrand.

Tang Huan's life and Cheng Yuan's life—one was the lead, the other the supporting cast, and the role of the supporting cast was to use one's own dimness, as much as possible, to set off the other's radiance.

But in Chi Xiaochi's world, he too was someone long accustomed to being the lead.

Chi Xiaochi murmured to himself, "...Well, if that's how it is, then let's see who's really the lead on merit alone."