Damn It! The Main Shou Turned Me Gay! (Showbiz) - Chapter 11

Chapter 11: Uncle?!

The speed and sincerity of Chu Zhiyu’s self-reflection left Qi Wenyan stunned into three whole seconds of silence.

He looked at the taller young man before him with suspicion. “You really took that to heart?”

But the guy, who was at least half a head taller than him, now had his head down like a student caught cheating—appearing all humble and repentant.

Chu Zhiyu murmured, “I truly understand what I did wrong. If you don’t believe me, Qi-ge, you’re welcome to supervise me anytime.”

Qi Wenyan raised a brow—oh? Someone’s throwing a tantrum? Not even calling him “ge” anymore, huh.

Still, a little lesson wasn’t a bad thing. After all, if he ended up like the original version of Chu Zhiyu from the novel—someone who turned cold and ungrateful after rising to fame—he’d burn bridges everywhere.

Qi the Screenwriter prided himself on staying iron-hearted and refused to be swayed by the pitiful act. No comforting the kid just yet.

Sensing he wasn’t getting a response, Chu Zhiyu peeked up at Qi Wenyan’s face, then obediently added in a soft tone:

“My manager came to see me today and brought takeaway from Yu Yan—the Cantonese place. Qi-ge, have you eaten yet? Can I offer this as a gesture of apology…”

Yu Yan’s Cantonese food.

Shrimp dumplings?!

Qi Wenyan was instantly tempted. “That place we were spotted at last time? Wasn’t that in Jiangcheng? Your manager went all the way there just to buy food?”

Chu Zhiyu opened his mouth to respond, but then suddenly remembered the earlier misunderstanding.

So he pivoted and said, “My manager has always wanted to thank you properly. He heard from me that you liked Cantonese food, so he picked some up while visiting me.”

Qi Wenyan nodded in realization, gaze thoughtful.

He hadn’t had to deal with kids this age before, and he’d been acting strict long enough—it should be time to ease up now, right?

Yes, it was time.

Qi the Screenwriter nodded firmly, then slung an arm over Chu Zhiyu’s shoulder in the classic “bros-for-life” move.

“Let’s go!”

As long as he held the line and refused any kind of shady unspoken rules, no plotline could trap him!

Chu Zhiyu blinked up at him in confusion, only for Qi Wenyan to click his tongue and raise a brow:

“What are you spacing out for? Move it! If we don’t eat now, lunch break’s gonna be over!”

Chu Zhiyu’s tense shoulders finally relaxed, and he smiled gently.

“Mm, thank you, Qi-ge.”

As he followed behind Qi Wenyan, gaze lingering on the other’s back, Chu Zhiyu casually placed a hand behind him and secretly sent a message to his manager.

On the rural dirt road, a black van was parked beside a rice paddy.

Just as Qi Wenyan reached to open the door, it suddenly swung open with a whoosh, revealing a round, smiling face squeezing its way out excitedly.

The heat smacked Qian Ning backward as soon as he stepped out. He staggered a little, wiped the sweat beading on his forehead, then lit up upon seeing the person in front of him.

He hastily wiped his hands and eagerly grabbed Qi Wenyan’s, shaking them up and down with gratitude:

“You must be Writer Qi, Teacher Qi! It’s an honor to finally meet you!”

That overly enthusiastic tone instantly reminded Qi Wenyan of a certain director.

Drawing on experience, he smoothly cut the flattery short: “Haha, thank you—let’s talk inside?”

He’d definitely felt the blast of air conditioning from the van.

Qian Ning nodded vigorously and followed him in, visibly relieved.

Inside, the little foldable table in the van was already set with steaming Cantonese dishes—each plate piping hot, as if untouched by the long journey.

Qi Wenyan was impressed. “These are from Zhao’s restaurant?!”

Qian Ning answered honestly, “Not quite! Boss Zhao actually rushed—”

Then suddenly paused. The cold air in the van jolted his brain back into working order—and his heart sank.

Crap. He’d been so excited to meet his savior, he forgot the young master’s instructions!

Qi Wenyan looked curious. “Rushed what?”

Qian Ning froze mid-smile.

Sweating, he slowly turned to Chu Zhiyu.

Chu Zhiyu, still smiling, picked up a pair of disposable chopsticks and opened them for Qi Wenyan. Calmly, he answered:

“Manager Qian said he was coming to see you, so Boss Zhao packed it all in the best thermal bags he had.”

Qian Ning jumped in right away. “Yes, yes! Boss Zhao even emphasized how effective those bags are. Said they’re a patented design, one of a kind—ha ha!”

To survive a journey from Jiangcheng to Fuan and still arrive steaming hot… those bags were amazing.

Qi Wenyan now looked at the plain thermal bag next to the table with newfound reverence.

“Qian-ge, have you eaten? Come join us.”

Qian Ning beamed. “Oh no, no, I already ate with Boss Zhao before I left. You two enjoy!”

He still needed to go thank the actual cook—also, he had to ask what brand those miracle thermal bags were.

Inside the van, Qi Wenyan happily shoved a shrimp dumpling into his mouth.

He decided, on the spot, that shrimp dumplings were the greatest invention in human history.

Only red rice rolls could maybe compete. Maybe.

But that bliss didn’t last long before reality came knocking—literally.

Both their phones buzzed with the same incoming message.

It was Director Li.

Qi Wenyan was still chewing when his phone started ringing again—this time a direct call.

Over the line, background noise was loud and messy.

Director Li’s voice came through a bit late: “Director Li really can’t cut it this time. President Fang is insisting on seeing—”

There was a pause. Then Li spoke into the mic: “Qi, where are you? I’m at the bamboo house right now. One of our investors—biggest one, actually—claims he’s a huge fan of yours. Said he’s basically watched you grow up. Wants to meet you. Can you make time?”

“…?”

Li chuckled nervously. “Qi? You there?”

Qi Wenyan, still chewing, forced down a final bite of tripe, gulped down his tea, and sighed like his soul had left his body.

“Got it. I’m coming.”

He hung up and frowned at his now-black phone screen. “Watched me grow up? I’ve only been in the industry for one year. Which CEO’s kid is this?”

Chu Zhiyu began tidying the table. Trying to sound casual, he offered, “I was thinking of taking a walk to digest. Mind if I come with you?”

Qi Wenyan thought for a moment. Last time he met someone alone, it ended with him getting harassed by a sexist old creep.

He sat up straight, determined. “Please—definitely come with me.”

He wasn’t about to go through that trauma again.

Inside the bamboo house, Fang Ruxu sat cross-legged, sipping cheap tea made from grocery-store tea bags like it was fine wine.

Director Li sat beside him, unimpressed. He plucked the tea bag from his tiny cup and dumped it into his own thermos.

The assistant director, who was in charge of handling investor relations, sat like an anxious bonsai plant—trying very hard not to breathe too loudly.

The antique wall clock ticked once.

A man in a tailored suit with gold-rimmed glasses finally put down his plastic cup.

“Director Li,” he said, tone sharp, “is your screenwriter some kind of delicate porcelain vase? I’m one of the show’s biggest investors, and I don’t even get a meeting?”

Director Li kept his cool, feigning cluelessness. “President Fang, your keen eye for talent is truly admirable. Qi is essential to this production—you’ll be glad you backed us.”

Fang Ruxu wasn’t buying it. He sneered at the assistant director.

“When Wu Tianyi’s backer pulled out, I stepped in and filled the gap. My only request was to speak with Qi Wenyan. You said he was too busy writing. And now, when filming’s already started, he’s still too busy?”

He scoffed. “What is he doing, writing the next Bible? He should just retire if he can’t spare a damn minute.”

Just then, the door opened.

Qi Wenyan stepped in—only to be smacked right in the face by that last comment.

“…?”

He looked down, confused. Did he step in with the wrong foot or something? Weren’t they saying this guy was his superfan? Why did it sound like he just got fired?

Even a clay Buddha has a temper.

With Qi Wenyan’s personality, even if the guy was an investor—if you insult him like this, he’s absolutely going to—

Qi took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and—

Grinned.

“I’ve heard so much about you, President Fang. We’re truly lucky you chose to invest in our show. What incredible foresight!”

Even Chu Zhiyu, who came in right behind him, was stunned by the sheer shamelessness of that pivot.

But President Fang’s expression… was weird.

He looked almost offended. Like someone had just fed him something gross by surprise.

Still, the man regained composure quickly and narrowed his gaze at Qi Wenyan, voice sharp:

“Where’ve you been hiding, Writer Qi? Not even a peep online. Mysterious much?”

Qi Wenyan almost blurted out, “Even if I told you, you wouldn’t go looking.”

But under everyone’s gaze, he smoothed it over with a chuckle.

“You’re too kind, President Fang. I’ve only been able to focus thanks to investors like you.”

Putting two and two together, this man was probably one of those over-invested superfans—desperate for content, and now bitter from long silence.

Since he was a money man, a bad attitude could be tolerated… to a point.

Qi Wenyan softened his tone, treating the man like a grumpy child:

“I’ve just been really busy on set. I’ll try to update Weibo at least once a week. How’s that sound?”

Fang Ruxu’s frown deepened.

“Okay… two posts?” Qi added, holding up two fingers.

Still no response.

“…Three. That’s the limit. What else can I post that’s not confidential and still entertaining?!”

But instead of appeasing him, Fang Ruxu now looked downright furious.

He suddenly stood and marched toward Qi Wenyan—but before he could get far, Chu Zhiyu blocked him with a calm, firm arm.

“President Fang,” Chu said politely, “can we not have this conversation like civilized people?”

Fang Ruxu let out a breathy laugh, pointed past Chu to Qi Wenyan, and barked:

“Qi Wenyan! Are you seriously going to pretend you don’t recognize your uncle?!”