Marrying the Male Lead’s Disabled Uncle – Chapter 33

Liu Ran hated Pei Lang’s calmness. To her, it was all an act—hypocritical and fake. What was the point of pretending to be so composed? Everyone knew that Pei Lang was just a shameless lunatic.

Still, she found solace in the thought that once filming started, Pei Lang would surely embarrass himself. He didn’t know how to play the guqin, and he hadn’t even tried to learn. Director Jin would scold him for sure.

The female teacher, though furious, did not immediately go to Director Jin to complain. Instead, she decided to wait until Pei Lang failed during filming. Only then would she expose him—when the damage would be at its worst.

“Brother Lang, what are we going to do during the shoot later? The teacher left in anger,” Lu Lu asked, his voice laced with worry. As he spoke, he quickly searched for a basic guide on guqin hand gestures on his phone. Maybe if Pei Lang crammed some last-minute learning, he wouldn’t look too bad on camera…

But Pei Lang simply patted Lu Lu on the shoulder. “It’s fine, don’t worry.”

Then, as if he wasn’t about to face public humiliation in front of the entire crew, he sat back down and resumed eating his snacks.

Why do these weird things keep getting more and more addictive? Pei Lang thought to himself, stuffing another chip into his mouth.

“Oh, right. When I start filming later, take some time to stock up on snacks for me. Just buy whatever you think is good. You have better taste in these things than I do.”

Lu Lu stared at him in disbelief.

Not only is he not practicing, but he’s also thinking about eating?!

He was so anxious that he could almost cry.

Before long, the actors were called to change into their costumes.

After styling was complete, the two leads had simple outfits—since their characters were fugitives on the run. But Pei Lang…

Pei Lang was different.

He wore a wide-sleeved robe, its fabric adorned with ink-painted bamboo leaves. A jade crown rested upon his head, his jet-black hair flowing smoothly beneath it. His entire being exuded an air of refinement and scholarly elegance.

The moment he stepped out of the dressing room, the entire crew fell silent.

Even those who looked down on him couldn’t help but admit—Director Jin had good taste.

This wasn’t just an actor playing Wen Yan.

This was Wen Yan.

Liu Ran was momentarily stunned. She had to admit—Pei Lang was very good-looking.

But so what?

What’s the use of having a nice face if you can’t act?

She still firmly believed that Pei Lang was exactly as the rumors described him—a talentless, scandal-ridden fool. Perhaps out of jealousy, she completely ignored the fact that his behavior didn’t match the gossip.

Originally, she had liked Wen Yan as a character. But now that Pei Lang was playing him, she couldn’t help but feel prejudiced against the role itself.

Everything was ready.

Filming began.

Director Jin, pleased with Pei Lang’s appearance, couldn’t help but praise him. He was growing increasingly fond of Pei Lang—not just because he looked the part, but because his personality was likable, too. On top of that, he had been personally recommended by Yan Han, which made Director Jin pay extra attention to him.

The setting was breathtaking.

The emerald-green bamboo swayed in the wind, rustling softly.

A simple yet exquisitely crafted wooden guqin sat atop a natural stone table. Beside it, a teapot released wisps of fragrant steam into the air.

The atmosphere was serene.

Pei Lang moved to sit on the stone bench.

All around him, crew members gathered.

The scenes featuring the male and female leads had already been filmed. Now, they were shooting the moment where Wen Yan, playing the guqin, unknowingly draws the protagonists toward him. This scene was his.

Pei Lang sat upright, waiting for the camera positions to be set.

Countless eyes fell upon him.

Some were worried.

Some were just waiting to watch him fail.

Among them was the female teacher, standing next to Director Jin with her arms crossed.

Once Pei Lang finished the scene, she would take over—filming close-up shots of the guqin being played properly.

She was certain that Pei Lang would make a fool of himself.

Then, she would step forward and publicly humiliate him, forcing him to apologize to her and the entire hardworking crew.

Her eyes burned with disdain.

And yet, Pei Lang didn’t even glance at her.

Even now, he showed no signs of worry.

Was he really that confident?

Or was he just relying on Director Jin’s favor to shield him from consequences?

The teacher’s disgust deepened.

Pei Lang turned to Lu Lu and smiled.

It was a gentle smile—one that carried no hint of nervousness, only a calm assurance.

The upturned corners of his lips were subtle, pure, yet strangely captivating.

There was an effortless charm to it, hidden beneath the cinnabar mole at the end of his narrow eyes.

That tiny red mark was like a seal—locking away something dangerously alluring.

If the seal were to loosen…

What kind of expression would Pei Lang reveal?

Zhong Yixiao, who had been quietly observing him, suddenly found himself wondering.

The thought sent an odd chill down his spine.

Realizing what he had just imagined, he quickly composed himself.

At that moment, Pei Lang turned his head, catching Zhong Yixiao watching him.

Their eyes met.

Zhong Yixiao stiffened.

Pei Lang’s gaze was still calm, still carrying that faint smile.

But there was a hint of curiosity in his expression—as if he had seen right through him.

Feeling slightly exposed, Zhong Yixiao forced himself to remain composed.

As an actor, he couldn’t let something like this shake him.

So he smiled warmly at Pei Lang and mouthed, “Good luck!”

Pei Lang’s smile deepened.

He gave a small nod before looking away.

The director called out—

“Action!”

In an instant, the three actors stepped into their roles.

After a long journey, the two leads had finally reached the bamboo forest.

But despite circling through it countless times, they still couldn’t find Fengzhuju.

Days passed.

Fu Zhixing’s poison worsened. His strength had dwindled to just 20%.

The innkeeper had warned them—once all his strength was gone, he would die.

Qin Junru had been taking care of Fu Zhixing throughout the journey. He was often in a dazed, half-conscious state. Only occasionally would he regain enough clarity to speak with her.

The carriage was stuffy.

Wanting to help him breathe better, Qin Junru assisted Fu Zhixing out of the carriage.

“Brother Fu, have some water,” she said gently.

They both knew—if the poison wasn’t cured, there was no hope.

The weight of despair grew heavier with each passing day.

The bamboo forest was strange and shrouded in mist at night. Travelers could only search during daylight. Along the way, they had encountered numerous skeletons—grim evidence of how many had perished here.

Despite this, Qin Junru refused to give up.

Even if there was only a one-in-ten-thousand chance…

She would not give up.

Then, suddenly—

A soft melody drifted through the air.

A guqin’s song, floating amidst the rustling bamboo.

Fu Zhixing, too weak to hear it, remained unaware.

But Qin Junru’s ears caught the sound.

She froze.

Hope flared in her chest.

Afraid she had imagined it, she held her breath and listened carefully.

Yes.

There it was again.

The sound of a guqin.

Her eyes lit up.

“Brother Fu, listen! There’s music! That means someone is here!”

Even if they didn’t know if it was friend or foe…

It was their only chance.

Qin Junru tightened her grip on the reins.

They had to take the risk.

Since they were filming without props, there was no actual music during this scene. The guqin melody would be added in post-production. The next segment was crucial—it was the moment when the two protagonists arrived at their destination, disembarked from the carriage, and encountered the guqin player, marking the first meeting of all three characters.

To ensure the scene’s impact, the director had hired a professional composer to create an original score and brought in a music teacher to perform it. This showed just how significant the moment was.

As filming began, the male and female leads sat inside the carriage, fully prepared to immerse themselves in their roles the moment the director called, “Action!”

Pei Lang, too, slipped seamlessly into character.

At this moment, he was Wen Yan.

The divine doctor—gentle and refined, with the scent of books lingering around him. A man as warm as jade, dedicated to saving lives.

His slender, pale fingers, with their long and elegant joints, moved gracefully over the guqin strings, his every motion fluid and mesmerizing.

A bamboo leaf drifted down, landing softly atop the strings.

Wen Yan picked it up, his wrist turning lightly as he flicked it away with his fingertips.

The leaf shot out like a dart—swift and sharp.

Then, with delicate precision, he plucked the guqin’s strings.

A haunting melody, Tangli Jianxue, unfolded like mist through the bamboo forest.

The moment the music “played” (though unheard on set), it seized the hearts of those present.

Inside the carriage, the two lead actors momentarily forgot their roles.

It was too good.

Even without real sound, Pei Lang’s performance carried a presence so strong it made the nonexistent melody feel real.

Originally, the scene was meant to play out like this:

The male and female leads would step down from the carriage, their feet crunching against dried bamboo leaves. The sound would break Wen Yan’s concentration, surprising all three of them. At that moment, Wen Yan would look up, locking eyes with Qin Junru—love at first sight. Despite her simple clothing, her beauty would shine through.

But that didn’t happen.

Instead, the hero and heroine sat frozen, unable to break the moment.

Even the crew was entranced.

No one followed the script.

No one spoke.

The only sounds were the quiet whirring of cameras and recording equipment.

The female teacher, who had been waiting to witness Pei Lang’s failure, felt as if she had been struck by lightning.

She had assumed he was all talk, but in reality…

He was the real deal.

Her eyes widened in disbelief, fixed on Pei Lang’s hands.

She had to admit—his fingers were mesmerizing, the hands of a true artist.

His technique was neither amateurish nor unimpressive. In fact, it was exceptional. Combined with this stunning composition, Pei Lang’s entire being glowed.

She clenched her fists.

She had played the other songs provided by the production team before. They were good—excellent, even.

But they didn’t compare to this.

She felt a mix of frustration, anger… and grudging admiration.

No matter how much she disliked Pei Lang, she could not look away.

Seated in front of the monitors, Director Jin’s eyes burned with excitement.

He looked at Pei Lang as if he had just discovered a rare, unpolished gem.

No—not unpolished. This jade was already cut and refined. It simply needed to be revealed to the world.

Before this, he had estimated that Pei Lang could embody Wen Yan at 90% accuracy.

Now?

He had underestimated him.

Pei Lang’s performance was at 101%.

That extra 1% wasn’t just a number—it was proof of excellence.

What thrilled the director even more was Pei Lang’s improvisation.

For example, that flick of the bamboo leaf—it wasn’t in the script.

Yet it fit perfectly.

Wen Yan was not just a kind, scholarly doctor—he was a master in his own right. His hidden strength was revealed in subtle details, in moments where others might not notice.

And Pei Lang had captured that effortlessly.

The song ended.

Pei Lang sat still, waiting for the male and female protagonists to appear and interrupt the moment.

But… they didn’t.

Seconds passed.

He frowned slightly. Had he misremembered the script?

Or had the screenwriter changed the scene without telling him?

Looking up, he finally saw them—

Qin Junru still holding the reins, Fu Zhixing lifting the curtain of the carriage.

Both were staring at him.

Neither had yet returned to reality.

Pei Lang, unaware of his own captivating presence, could only continue acting.

Since they weren’t following the script, he had to push the plot forward.

Brushing away the fallen leaves on his robe, he picked up the teacup beside him, took a slow sip, and spoke in a calm voice—

“Who goes there?”

Hearing his words, the male and female leads snapped out of their daze.

Zhong Yixiao immediately resumed his role, his expression shifting back to his sickly, weakened state.

Liu Ran, however, hesitated.

She was stunned.

Pei Lang’s line wasn’t in the script.

For a brief moment, she didn’t know how to respond.

The scene had gone off track not because of a script change, but because everyone had been too immersed to remember their cues.

Fortunately, Director Jin reacted quickly.

“Cut!”

With that, the spell was broken.

Pei Lang stood up, walked over to Lu Lu, and took the script from him. He flipped through the pages, frowning slightly.

“My script is correct.”

Before he could make sense of what had happened, Director Jin’s voice rang out.

“Kid, come here.”

Pei Lang turned.

The director was smiling—beaming, actually. His eyes gleamed with satisfaction.

“Did you compose the song you played just now?” Director Jin asked, unable to hide his admiration.

Pei Lang blinked.

“I haven’t heard it before,” the director continued. “It’s incredible. I want to use it in the show.”

Pei Lang shook his head. “No, it’s by another artist. It’s not very well-known, so you probably haven’t heard of it.”

Director Jin’s excitement didn’t wane. “Can you contact the original composer? Negotiate the copyright?”

Pei Lang hesitated, looking a little awkward.

“…That might be difficult.”

Director Jin raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

Pei Lang scratched his nose, glancing away.

“Because… I am the original composer.”

A brief silence.

Then, Director Jin burst into laughter.

He reached out and clapped Pei Lang on the shoulder. “Good! Very good!”

Without wasting another second, he pulled out his phone and dialed a number.

“Yan Han! You bastard! You sent me a treasure, and you didn’t even tell me?!”

On the other end of the line, Yan Han nearly spat out his drink.

His face darkened instantly.

This damn show-off…

Right now, he just wanted to drag Pei Lang back and lock him up.

So he’d stop stealing the spotlight.