Spoiled - Chapter 28

Author’s Note: Tired of the struggle, the heart dies.

Fang Baijing roughly flipped through the scripts. Sister Cai had already screened them, so he only needed to look at the few she had selected and choose the ones he liked best to take home.

Of course, Fang Baijing stealthily slipped The Palm of the Hand You Can’t Escape From into the stack.

Ji Weile drove him home as usual. Seeing the scripts in Fang Baijing’s hands, he asked curiously, “Did you find anything you like?” Fang Baijing was always very selective with scripts, only choosing roles he liked or stories he found interesting; sometimes he wouldn’t find a single one he liked in a pile of them.

Even while knowing Ji Weile was just making casual conversation, Fang Baijing suddenly felt nervous. He lowered his head to look at the scripts in his arms, and only after confirming that not even a corner of the specific script was showing, did he reply evasively, “A few are alright. I’ll read them when I get back.”

It was still early when Fang Baijing got back; Fu Feng was still a while away from getting off work. He hugged the scripts and bolted into the room.

He flopped onto the bed, rested his head on the soft pillow, and lay on his back to read. Ignoring the proper scripts lying next to him, he pulled out the one he had snatched from Sister Cai.

Fang Baijing held up the script, scanning it ten lines at a time.

He finally understood why Sister Cai had called it a “Renaissance” piece. Although Fang Baijing hadn’t read those old novels, he was familiar with phrases like “Woman, you’re playing with fire.” This script was essentially the same thing.

At first, Fang Baijing laughed out loud at some of the plot and dialogue, but the further he read, the more his smile froze on his face. Eventually, Fang Baijing couldn’t laugh at all.

The more he read, the more he felt that his story with Fu Feng resembled this script, which was why Fang Baijing had brought it home.

Fang Baijing’s posture gradually changed from languidly lying in bed to propping himself up, and finally to sitting cross-legged and upright.

The male lead in the script had all the standard features of a domineering CEO: handsome, rich, and powerful—very similar to Fu Feng, except his surname sounded slightly more formidable than Fu Feng’s: “Ouyang.” The female lead, conversely, was an impoverished “little white flower” forced to depend on the male lead due to her poor background and urgent need for money.

The subsequent plot was that the female lead decided this situation was unacceptable and resolved to leave the male lead. However, the male lead, having fallen in love with her, refused to agree no matter what. He wouldn’t utter a single word of love, instead choosing to humiliate the female lead. Nearly half the script was dedicated to the female lead attempting to escape, only to be chased back by the male lead, with each attempt ending more miserably than the last.

Aside from Fang Baijing not being an impoverished little white flower, the rest of the plot was strikingly similar. The sense of immersion was too strong.

He closed the script and took a few deep breaths. After sitting cross-legged for so long, Fang Baijing’s legs felt numb. He changed his position and lay back down on the bed.

He was getting tired of the repetitive plot and simply flipped toward the back. His eyes finally lit up because Fang Baijing saw a line of dialogue from the male lead—”I’ll let you go.”

Before Fang Baijing could analyze the preceding plot, his sharpened ears caught Fu Feng’s footsteps. Fang Baijing decisively yanked the quilt over himself, embracing the script as if taking it into complicity.

The quilt covered his head and, naturally, the script. Through the thick quilt, Fang Baijing heard the muffled sound of the door opening.

Fu Feng’s footsteps became less distinct, but Fang Baijing could still hear him approaching the bed.

Finally, the footsteps stopped by the bed, and there was silence, but Fang Baijing could guess Fu Feng was watching him. Probably assuming Fang Baijing was asleep, Fu Feng stood by the bed for five or six minutes before Fang Baijing heard his footsteps gradually retreat.

Fang Baijing sighed in relief. Only after confirming the sound of the door opening did he pull the quilt down.

His clothes were thick; in just a few minutes, a bead of sweat had formed on the tip of Fang Baijing’s nose. He cautiously pulled the script out of his arms, flipped back to that page, and read it, paying attention to every detail.

Fang Baijing even pulled Fu Feng’s fountain pen out of the nightstand drawer and, biting the cap, seriously took notes.

When he read about the female lead leaping from the fifth floor without hesitation, Fang Baijing’s eyelids began to twitch violently.

He walked over to the floor-to-ceiling window. The bedroom was on the third floor. Fang Baijing looked down and confirmed with 100% certainty that he absolutely would not dare to jump.

Fang Baijing braced himself and continued reading. Since she was the female lead, she definitely wouldn’t die, but she was injured and fell into an unconscious vegetative state.

The male lead was heartbroken and filled with belated regret. He stayed by the female lead’s side for two whole years until she finally woke up.

It was then that the male lead uttered the line Fang Baijing had been waiting for: “Do your physical therapy well. When you… when you’re better, I’ll let you go.”

Fang Baijing’s expression was complex as he read. He tentatively walked over to the window again. This time, he was absolutely certain: unless he lost his mind, he would not jump from this building. He was not yet mentally prepared to be crippled.

He tucked the script he was holding into the middle of the other scripts. Fang Baijing couldn’t help but look miserable.

Fang Baijing sat blankly on the edge of the bed when suddenly, an idea flashed, causing him to jump up—he couldn’t commit suicide, but he could fake a suicide!

Fang Baijing was quite confident in his acting skills and felt that deceiving a layman would be more than enough.

He had a plan, but perhaps because he was trying to trick Fu Feng, Fang Baijing felt unusually guilty when facing him.

Even when Fu Feng reached for him that night, Fang Baijing only tensed his back slightly, showing no intention to resist. Fang Baijing was very compliant and cooperative. Even when he felt pain, he just held back his tears and quietly called Fu Feng’s name, with no exaggerated reaction—just a soft whimper of pain.

His slender shoulders and back were hugged tightly, like a bird folding its wings.

The next day, Fang Baijing began cautiously setting his plan into motion. Fu Feng didn’t restrict him from leaving. He went to a supermarket, and since the bodyguards didn’t watch him too closely, Fang Baijing secretly hid food coloring under a pile of snacks.

Fang Baijing was alone in Fu Feng’s villa. He consulted with a props master he knew from a film crew and fearlessly mixed the food coloring with honey. Fang Baijing attempted this many times. Each time he failed, he had to destroy the evidence by washing the bowl.

Failure is the mother of success. After much effort, this mixture finally resembled fake blood.

He stuffed the fake blood into a small bag, which loosely looked like a blood packet.

Fang Baijing looked up at the wall clock, decided the timing was right, sat on the sofa to prepare his emotions, and then ran to the kitchen to grab a fruit knife.

Hearing the sound of the iron gate opening outside, Fang Baijing swiftly stuffed the blood packet into his mouth. The outside of the packet was smeared with a bit of the fake blood, and the sweetness made Fang Baijing’s head buzz. He endured the shock to his taste buds, hid the bowl under the table, and at the exact moment Fu Feng entered, Fang Baijing produced the fruit knife.

Fang Baijing opened his mouth to say his lines, but then suddenly realized: how could he speak with a mouth full of fake blood?! His body froze for a moment.

Relying on his professional actor’s instinct, Fang Baijing turned around, lowering his gaze, his eyes filled with sorrow and despair.

When Fang Baijing looked up, he saw Fu Feng’s face instantly change color. “Fang Baijing,” Fu Feng commanded, “Put the knife down!”

This was the first time Fang Baijing had heard such an anxious tone from Fu Feng.

He ignored Fu Feng and didn’t make a sound. He just lowered his head, silently looking at the fruit knife in his hand.

On the surface, Fang Baijing looked steady as a rock, but inside, his mind was racing with questions. Should I really cut myself? Will it hurt? Wouldn’t a very shallow cut look fake? But what if I cut too deep and get a scar? What if I accidentally hit a major artery?

Fang Baijing’s lip line was straight, his tightly pressed lips somewhat pale. As he internally struggled, he suddenly realized Fu Feng was moving toward him, step by step.

His arm was getting sore from being held up for too long. Now, as Fu Feng closed in, Fang Baijing’s hand trembled, and he truly did accidentally make a cut on his arm. It was a very shallow line, and the blood oozed out slowly.

It didn’t hurt much, but Fang Baijing’s mind went blank for a second.

In that brief moment, the fruit knife was snatched away by Fu Feng and tossed far away.

Fang Baijing’s reflexes were quicker than his brain. The blood packet he had been hiding in his mouth for so long finally had a purpose. His canine tooth pierced the bag, and the fake blood flowed from the corner of his mouth.

Fang Baijing was even more confused: Why is the blood flowing from my mouth when I cut my wrist?

He attributed this entire series of actions to being under a spell, but Fang Baijing still had to press on with the act. The blood packet he made was so cheap and poorly done that he didn’t dare let Fu Feng look closely. He quickly wiped the “blood” from the corner of his mouth.

Fang Baijing blinked, and the tears came instantly: “Fu Feng, will you please let me go?”

Fu Feng held his arm, frowning as he stared at Fang Baijing’s wound. He suddenly looked up and said coldly, “No.”

Fang Baijing started to panic internally, but he tried to maintain a delicate appearance. He coughed softly a few times: “Didn’t you see me bleeding just now? I think this must be a sickness caused by pent-up depression.”

Fu Feng hummed, then said, “Smells like honey.”

Fang Baijing couldn’t keep the act up. He angrily threw out his arm—the one Fu Feng wasn’t holding—and shouted in embarrassment and frustration, “Fu Feng!”

“Fang Baijing,” Fu Feng said, using his full name as he often did when angry, “Be honest.”

Seeing that Fang Baijing had finally stopped his shenanigans, Fu Feng got up and fetched the first-aid kit. He dressed the wound with professional skill, wrapping gauze layer after layer over Fang Baijing’s cut and tying a very neat knot.

Fu Feng deliberately didn’t lighten his touch. Hearing Fang Baijing gasp, he paused and asked, “Does it hurt?”

Fang Baijing insisted stubbornly, “It doesn’t hurt at all.”

“Mm,” Fu Feng said, finally softening his movements slightly. “Don’t do things like this again.”

Fang Baijing pretended to be oblivious: “What things?”

Fu Feng’s tone was very calm: “If you’re going to do it, just do it. Don’t act guilty beforehand. The moment you try to please me, I know you’re up to no good.”