High-Altitude Worker, Unfortunately a Cannon Fodder Female Supporting Role - Chapter 24

Zhao Ke paid no attention to the wild comments flooding the live stream. She was frowning at the message on her phone.

Yan Huaixu had sent her a payment request for ten thousand yuan.

AAA High-Altitude Installation – Master Zhao: Boss, you added an extra zero this time.

Zhao Ke had agreed to one thousand yuan, even that only because of the torrential rain. On a normal day, someone might have done the job for just a hundred.

Yan Huaixu was probably busy with the cat, as it took a while for him to reply.

Yhx: No mistake. Keep it. You’ve earned it.

The man stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, glancing down at the pickup truck now reduced to a tiny black dot on the road below. He exhaled a shallow breath of stale air.

At the very least, I should have made her dry her hair before she left.

Zhao Ke didn’t dare accept such a huge sum. She scratched her head and decided to take a step back to move forward.

AAA High-Altitude Installation – Master Zhao: Boss, since you’re a regular customer and rescuing a cat is a small matter, I won’t charge you this time. Feel free to contact me again if you need anything in the future.

After sending the message, Zhao Ke stepped on the gas and drove away from the residential complex.

Yan Huaixu watched the black dot traverse the dark gray road, gradually disappearing into the horizon. Only then did he slowly turn around and pick up his phone from the coffee table.

When he saw the message on the screen, his pupils instantly contracted.

Zhao Ke not only sent a rejection message but also immediately refunded the payment.

Yan Huaixu stared at the dark screen displaying the words “Refunded” in muted tones. He pressed his tongue against the roof of his mouth, resisting an inexplicable and overwhelming itch.

On Weibo, the news spread like wildfire, instantly topping the trending charts.

Yan Huaixu’s name alone was a benchmark for online buzz.

“To be fair, I’m just grateful Zhao Ke got the autistic kid to appear on camera.”

“The comment above is right. It’s been ages since we’ve seen this guy, and he doesn’t even seem that close to Zhao Ke.”

As the youngest Film Emperor in the original novel, Yan Huaixu had always shunned marketing and excessive public exposure.

Apart from film crews, his fans, the “Salt Grains,” had no information about his whereabouts, making him as elusive as a dragon whose head appears only briefly before vanishing again. This scarcity fueled their rebellious streak, leading them to openly refer to their idol as the “autistic kid” online, knowing he wouldn’t mind.

It had been over half a year since his last film’s release. Zhao Ke’s livestream was likely the first time fans had seen fresh footage of the Film Emperor in months, and they recorded every second, unwilling to miss a single moment.

Some fans even dug into Zhao Ke’s timeline, deducing that their acquaintance likely began between two weeks and a month ago—between the hospital incident and his variety show appearance.

Zhao Ke returned home and took a shower to shake off the dampness.

On WeChat, Yan Huaixu sent her another 1,000 yuan transfer, accompanied by several photos of a wet kitten.

The pure white kitten, with heterochromatic eyes, huddled in a corner of the sofa, its fur still damp.

But as the massive figure approached, the kitten hissed fiercely, tearing several holes in the sofa’s surface.

Yhx: “The kitten is healthy. Thank you.”

Zhao Ke was about to reply with polite formalities when her manager, Liu Tiande, called.

Liu Tiande’s voice crackled with excitement: “Zhao Ke, a director wants us for a film! Hahahaha! And it’s Director He! Hahaha!”

Zhao Ke: …Who’s Director He?

Never mind, he sounds important.

Zhao Ke: “Okay, Brother Tiande, you handle the arrangements.”

Liu Tiande thumped his chest, assuring her, “Just wait and see! I’ll find you an acting coach. We don’t need a breakout performance, but you can’t hold the production back.”

Zhao Ke calmly hung up.

The moment she gently set down her phone, she clutched her head and began frantically pacing the room.

Aaaaaah! Someone save me! I can’t act!

After pacing her room anxiously for the tenth time, Zhao Ke decided to start learning from scratch.

It’s often said that the material base determines the superstructure.

Zhao Ke had struggled to stay above the poverty line for two lifetimes. On this strangely gloomy, rainy day, she took her first tentative step into the realm of the spirit.

A full belly breeds lust, and inner fulfillment shapes outward expression.

Just as Zhao Ke was contemplating the meaning of life and feeling herself on the verge of spiritual enlightenment, Liu Tiande called again.

“I’m sorry, Zhao Ke, but the drama might not be happening after all.”

Zhao Ke: Well, that’s a quick reversal.

Liu Tiande stammered, unable to give a clear reason. He offered a few comforting words, urging her to focus on the variety show, and hung up abruptly.

Zhao Ke glanced at her newly drafted schedule: 30 minutes of facial exercises, 1 hour of expression training… Should she even bother practicing now?

In the manager’s office at Star Yue Media, Kong Jianshan maintained his usual smiling demeanor, though now he lounged with his feet propped on the desk, his eyes twinkling with amusement as he watched Liu Tiande grip his phone tightly.

Liu Tiande gritted his teeth. “Qiao Qinglu’s trial is next month. The case is already settled. You can’t still be trying to protect her, can you?”

Kong Jianshan chuckled, his massive belly jiggling twice. “Do you think your manager is such a fool?”

“Then why are you making Zhao Ke give up her resources?!” Liu Tiande roared, slamming his hands on the manager’s desk with a deafening crash.

Kong Jianshan’s narrowed eyes glinted with disdain. “Tiande, you’re still too young. You don’t see things clearly enough. Zhao Ke may have performed well recently, but she has baggage. With so many artists in our company clamoring for opportunities, how can you bear to disappoint those innocent young girls? Don’t you agree?”

Liu Tiande’s chest heaved violently. “You have the nerve to bring that up?! The biggest dirt on them is all in your hands!”

Bang!

Kong Jianshan kicked the desk, glaring at Liu Tiande. “Get out! If you utter another word, neither you nor Zhao Ke will ever work in this company again!”

On Zhao Ke and Yin Wenyuan’s first day working together, they finished late.

It was already eight o’clock at night. Darkness had fallen, and the dazzling neon lights of the building cast surreal, cyberpunk-esque shadows across their faces.

Ugh, they’re both so gorgeous! I’m devouring these visuals!

I’ve already imagined a dozen fanfics. Any authors out there willing to write them?

Double A, strong vs. strong, kings who refuse to share the throne, life-or-death showdowns—any similar recommendations?

Tsk, all these comments are just trash-talking. Not a single one offering actual help.

If this were a true battle of strength, Yin Wenyuan would undoubtedly be losing miserably.

He realized that simulated assessments were nothing like the real thing. The high-altitude winds buffeted his emotions and movements, while the surrounding glare distorted his judgment.

Even for a simple task like cleaning windows, he struggled to complete it. Only when Zhao Ke finished her own section and came to help did their progress finally pick up.

“I’m sorry for holding you back,” Yin Wenyuan said, his hand gripping the rope tightly, still struggling to adapt to the feeling of being out of control at such a height.

Zhao Ke smiled dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. You’ll get used to it in a few days.”

“When I first started…”

Before Zhao Ke could finish her sentence, something suddenly struck her left shoulder.

It felt like a blunt object, propelled by distance, had slammed into her humerus. In the next instant, excruciating pain surged from her shoulder joint, flooding her brain.

Something flashed!

Holy sh1t, falling debris from above!

“Did something just hit you?” Yin Wenyuan noticed the anomaly.

Zhao Ke looked up, but the pitch-black night sky obscured her view.

In the gray-blue night, a dark silhouette seemed to flash overhead.

Zhao Ke’s smile faded. “Let’s go up and check it out.”

“Alright,” Yin Wenyuan nodded, pulling on the safety rope as he began to climb.

Zhao Ke watched Yin Wenyuan’s retreating figure for two seconds before suddenly kicking off with her left leg, gliding along the building’s edge toward its right side.

Yin Wenyuan awkwardly scrambled onto the rooftop, still catching his breath, when he spotted a slender figure standing on the parapet across the way.

!

Someone was about to jump.

Yin Wenyuan instinctively took a step forward.

“Don’t come any closer!” a shrill voice screamed.

The girl wore a plain school uniform and pants, her black-framed glasses clutched in her hand. Tears streaked her resolute face.

Yin Wenyuan froze, raising his hands slightly to show he meant no harm.

What’s going on? I’m going to check it out.

This show has way too many unexpected twists!

Is this real or staged?

Call the police! Does anyone know which building this is?

Yin Wenyuan froze in place, his breath shallow. In a low voice, he said, “I won’t come any closer. Just stay still.”

The two were separated by three or four meters. Even with the climbing rope secured around him, Yin Wenyuan couldn’t guarantee he could pull her back if she jumped.

He forced a stiff smile. “Sister, did something bad happen? Don’t act rashly. I can help you.”

“You can’t help me! No one can!” the girl screamed in anguish, her body trembling in the fierce wind, as if she might lose her balance and fall at any moment.

Ahhh, I can’t watch! It’s too scary!

Sigh, the pressure on young people these days is truly immense.

Everyone, I’ve already called the police, but there’s heavy traffic near this building. It might take ten minutes for emergency services to arrive.

“No, no, no,” Yin Wenyuan quickly countered, seeing her agitation rise. “I know you’re not happy right now. Actually, I’m not feeling great today either.”

Tears welled in the girl’s eyes as she stared at him, unmoving.

Yin Wenyuan took a deep breath and spoke calmly, “You can see I’m a worker here. Today was actually my first day on the job, and I didn’t do very well. I even slowed down my coworkers.”

“In my… previous life, I performed quite well. That’s why I thought I was capable of anything, believing that past experiences were holding me back. But the truth is, I wasn’t nearly as capable as I imagined. I was just spinning in circles within my comfort zone.”

The girl seemed moved, her grip on her glasses loosening slightly. “If you do this job, will you also fail to meet others’ expectations?”

Yin Wenyuan paused, then chuckled self-deprecatingly, his wet bangs obscuring his tense gaze. “Yes.”

“And you… what’s your reason?”

The girl’s voice trembled with emotion. “I… I didn’t get into First High School.”

“Does that mean my whole life is ruined?”

Her voice grew softer with each word as she crouched down, clutching her chest, her whole body trembling.

Yin Wenyuan’s pupils constricted, terrified she might lose her balance and fall. He hastily reached out, but hesitated to move closer.

She’s still in middle school? She’s so young!

What’s First High School? A really good high school?

Local here. First High School is the top-tier high school in City A. To aim for it, this girl must have been a top student.

The night wind howled louder, growing stronger. Even Yin Wenyuan, a grown man, struggled to stay steady.