Marrying the Male Lead’s Disabled Uncle – Chapter 34

Director Jin was overjoyed, but Yan Han was deeply frustrated.

Ever since Pei Lang left, Yan Han had been unable to sleep well, his face dark and stormy. The employees under him walked on eggshells, afraid to make any mistakes. Su Jia, in particular, found life increasingly difficult.

Director Jin’s words sounded like blatant boasting, making Yan Han’s already unpleasant mood even worse.

However, the conversation was short-lived. Director Jin had originally prepared a piece of music for the guqin scene but, not knowing Pei Lang could actually play, hadn’t given it to him. The piece Pei Lang played earlier wasn’t copyrighted, meaning it couldn’t be included in the final production.

Pei Lang had only chosen to play that particular piece on a whim, thinking the music teacher would be doing the actual recording as a hand double. Now that it was clear he could play himself, Director Jin handed him the prepared sheet music. “Kid, can you play this?”

Pei Lang took the music sheet and examined it carefully. The piece was intricate, well-crafted, and aligned beautifully with the atmosphere of the scene. It wasn’t difficult, but it sounded elegant and fitting.

After scanning it quickly, Pei Lang felt confident. His foundation in music was strong, and his ability to grasp new pieces was quite high. “I can do it, but I’ll need about twenty minutes.”

“No problem, I’ll give you twenty minutes,” Director Jin responded readily. Being able to learn a completely new piece in just twenty minutes was already remarkable.

Even if Pei Lang couldn’t manage it, Director Jin wouldn’t mind too much. At worst, he’d just revert to the original plan of having a substitute play the music. But Pei Lang was too enigmatic, full of unexpected surprises. If one wasn’t willing to take a gamble on him, they’d never realize the hidden potential he possessed. Seeing Pei Lang’s confident response, Director Jin knew the kid wasn’t one to bluff—if he said he could do it, then he could.

After informing the cast to take a twenty-minute break, Director Jin replayed the previous footage in his mind. It was a shame that the lead actors hadn’t followed the script properly; otherwise, the scene would have been nearly flawless.

Pei Lang returned to the guqin, set the music sheet aside, and began practicing. His first attempt was slow and hesitant as he familiarized himself with the melody. By the third and fourth runs, his fingers moved more fluidly, his confidence growing with each note. After fifteen minutes, he no longer needed the sheet music—he could perform it flawlessly from memory.

The female music teacher was utterly stunned. Talents like Pei Lang were exceedingly rare. It seemed that, in the end, it was she who had been arrogant.

She had studied music since childhood, practicing diligently for decades. Now, in her forties, she had to admit that she wasn’t as skilled as a young man in his twenties—one whom the industry had dismissed as worthless.

She felt humiliated, but she couldn’t tear her gaze away from Pei Lang. Being captivated by someone she had once despised was a deeply uncomfortable experience.

And she wasn’t the only one whose perspective had changed. Liu Ran, too, looked at Pei Lang with conflicted emotions. She was beginning to realize why she had disliked him so much. At first, it was due to rumors and preconceived notions. But more than that, it was because Pei Lang had taken on the role of her martial arts double—and had done it so perfectly that she felt overshadowed.

In truth, from start to finish, Pei Lang had never wronged her in any way. He had even ignored her subtle attempts at exclusion and provocation.

“Did you realize that he’s not as bad as you thought?”

Zhong Yixiao, who had been observing her, suddenly spoke. His eyes were filled with admiration as he gazed into the distance, speaking to Liu Ran.

Everyone had noticed Liu Ran’s subtle hostility toward Pei Lang, so it wasn’t surprising that Zhong Yixiao called her out on it.

Because of his directness, Liu Ran no longer felt awkward. Her mind cleared, and she saw things in a new light.

Human nature was strange. People often couldn’t tolerate someone they looked down upon surpassing them. They struggled to accept someone similar to them receiving more praise. But when a person’s excellence was so overwhelming, so far beyond their reach, resentment and jealousy faded—replaced instead by admiration.

That was exactly what happened to Liu Ran. The moment she truly acknowledged Pei Lang’s brilliance, all her previous resentment vanished.

She smiled in relief, feeling as if a weight had been lifted from her heart. “Yeah. Rumors can be deadly. If you want to know someone, you should see them with your own eyes, not through the words of others.”

Zhong Yixiao chuckled. “Rumors are unreliable. Now I finally understand why Director Jin was so insistent on casting him as Wen Yan.”

“I just realized today that his acting is really good—better than mine, even. I need to work harder so I don’t fall behind,” Liu Ran said with newfound determination.

Her jealousy had clouded her judgment. But now that she had let go of those feelings, she could see clearly. Pei Lang’s acting was undeniably impressive.

Last night, when he had stood in as Qin Junru, his martial arts movements and expressive eyes had flawlessly embodied the character. And today, as Wen Yan, he had once again delivered a perfect performance. It seemed that no role was beyond his reach.

He had shone in just two scenes. The high-intensity emotional sequences coming up later would showcase his talent even more. Liu Ran found herself looking forward to those performances.

Twenty minutes later, Pei Lang signaled to Director Jin that he was ready. The scene was re-shot, this time with the newly learned piece. Despite learning it on the spot, his performance was flawless.

The lead actors followed the script properly this time, executing the “love at first sight” moment perfectly. Wen Yan’s expression remained unchanged, but his eyes spoke volumes—layered with depth and emotions.

It wasn’t until Fu Zhixing coughed up blood that Wen Yan snapped out of his trance. Qin Junru quickly explained their purpose for seeking him out. Only then did Wen Yan reveal his identity and take them back to Fengzhuju.

Unlike the secluded bamboo forest, Fengzhuju was a serene courtyard built with bamboo, nestled by a tranquil stream at the foot of a mountain. The surrounding hills were rich with medicinal herbs, which Wen Yan often collected himself.

This entire sequence—both the guqin performance and the meeting—was completed in just two takes. Director Jin planned to edit the best parts together. For instance, Pei Lang’s improvised flicking of the bamboo leaf had been a stunning visual moment that deserved to stay.

The next scene would take place inside Fengzhuju. Fu Zhixing, in critical condition, required immediate attention. Wen Yan checked his pulse and examined him thoroughly.

In reality, an antidote could have resolved the issue quickly. However, Wen Yan deliberately prolonged their stay—because, at first sight, he had fallen for Qin Junru. He wasn’t ready to let them go so soon.

Moreover, the poison bore traces of the Demon Sect’s handiwork. If these two had enmity with the Demon Sect, it was beneficial for them to recover and regain their strength before confronting their enemies.

That night’s filming wrapped up late. When Pei Lang finally retrieved his phone from his assistant, he found it flooded with messages.

They were from the group chat—the three of them.

During the filming, Lu Lu secretly recorded a short video of Pei Lang playing the piano and excitedly shared it in their group chat. Sister You immediately showered Pei Lang with praises, and Lu Lu enthusiastically echoed her, passionately recounting how Pei Lang had been looked down upon—only to end up stunning everyone and turning the tables.

Sister You laughed heartily but still reminded Lu Lu, “Make sure to protect Pei Lang.”

Pei Lang, however, only smiled helplessly. He hadn’t done this to prove anyone wrong—he was simply fulfilling his responsibilities as an actor.

And besides…

“Director Jin’s scenes must be kept confidential. Filming with your phone is strictly prohibited. If this gets out, it could affect the entire crew.”

Director Jin was extremely protective of his artistic work. To maintain the audience’s anticipation, every crew member had signed a confidentiality agreement, barring them from sharing anything related to the actors or the plot. Any breach could result in legal consequences.

Rumors, stills, spoilers, character designs—everything was covered by the confidentiality clause. During filming, there was even a dedicated team tasked with preventing unauthorized photography. If any proxy photographers were caught, they would be dealt with immediately.

When actors agreed to work on Director Jin’s films, they also understood that they had to instruct their fans to stay in line.

Lu Lu was well aware of Director Jin’s strict rules, but today had been so exciting that he couldn’t resist sharing the moment. “Don’t worry, Brother Lang. I only recorded a short clip, and it’s just in our private group. It won’t get leaked.”

“Delete it,” Pei Lang said firmly. “Then go and personally admit your mistake to Director Jin.”

Rules were rules. Rather than risk getting caught, it was better to take the initiative and confess.

Lu Lu pouted but agreed. “Alright…”

Seeing Lu Lu’s reluctant expression, Pei Lang couldn’t bear to let her face Director Jin alone, so he accompanied her.

Director Jin was just about to head out for dinner when Pei Lang and Lu Lu approached him. Pei Lang directly explained the situation, had Lu Lu delete the video in front of Director Jin, and sincerely promised to manage his assistant better in the future to prevent such mistakes.

Director Jin was always known for his strictness, but this time, he reacted differently.

“If it’s you, it’s fine. Don’t be too nervous,” he said, smiling reassuringly.

“…It’s okay?” Pei Lang was taken aback, thinking he had misheard. He hesitated and asked again, unsure.

Director Jin laughed. “Hahaha, don’t blame Lu Lu. Even I couldn’t resist sharing. But don’t worry—this video won’t spread. Someone already took care of it before it even reached the media.”

Pei Lang was confused, and Lu Lu was equally bewildered. “Who?”

Director Jin smirked but didn’t answer directly. “What do you think?”

It sounded like whoever it was had considerable influence, enough to make the issue disappear instantly…

Pei Lang’s eyes narrowed slightly—he had a feeling he knew who it was.

Seeing that Pei Lang was starting to piece it together, Director Jin continued, “He wanted to see it, so I made an exception and sent him a video of you.”

That “he” was, of course, Yan Han.

Earlier that day, after finishing his work, Yan Han had sent Director Jin a message:

“Pei Lang is my man. If you don’t want me to take him away, you’d better let me see him every day.”

Not just today—every day.

Director Jin hadn’t been aware of the relationship between the two before, but after this, it was clear that someone was getting emotionally involved.

Well… though Director Jin was a man of principle, Yan Han was a powerhouse in the industry, and money wasn’t an issue for him. If he really wanted to take Pei Lang away and refuse to let him act, it would be a huge loss to the entertainment world.

Director Jin understood Yan Han’s personality—he admired talent. So, sending him a short clip each day wasn’t a big deal.

Meanwhile, Pei Lang, this clueless fool, still didn’t grasp Yan Han’s true intentions.

After thinking about it for a moment, he came to his own conclusion: Yan Han was simply monitoring his performance, ensuring he was bringing honor to the entertainment industry.

If their personal relationship was ever exposed, Pei Lang didn’t want to become a liability due to negative press. So, he assumed Yan Han was simply assessing whether he was good enough to earn recognition and bring prestige to the industry.

Director Jin sighed inwardly. This idiot still doesn’t get it.

“Kid, want to grab dinner together?” Director Jin invited him.

Pei Lang collected his thoughts and politely declined with a smile.

“No thanks, Director. Lu Lu already ordered takeout for us. I’ll eat with him.”

“Alright, looking forward to your performance tomorrow,” Director Jin said with a nod. He didn’t insist. After all, there was a generation gap between them, and he knew young actors often felt pressured eating with seniors.

As soon as Director Jin left, Lu Lu popped his head out. “Brother Lang, what do you want to eat?”

Pei Lang smirked mischievously. “Hey, Lu Zizi, did you forget something?”

Lu Lu blinked innocently, pretending not to understand. “What?”

Pei Lang raised an eyebrow. “Where are the snacks I asked you to buy?”

Lu Lu clutched his head, looking pitiful. “Brother Lang, don’t make things hard for me! I was going to buy them, but Sister You found out and scolded me. She said that as an actor, you need to manage your body and avoid junk food. Even for proper meals, she said you need a balanced diet. She told me to keep an eye on you and not let you eat anything unhealthy!”

Pei Lang huffed in disbelief. “Am I your boss, or is she your boss?”

Lu Lu, refusing to back down, pouted and said, “You pay my salary, but I have to listen to Sister You!”

Pei Lang burst into laughter, exasperated yet amused. He wanted to be mad, but seeing Lu Lu’s big, innocent, deer-like eyes and his pitiful little face, he couldn’t bring himself to lose his temper.

“Fine, fine. I give up. I’ll eat whatever you pick. Just find a place already,” he relented dramatically.

The moment Pei Lang gave in, Lu Lu’s face lit up with a bright smile. “I know a great place! A healthy restaurant with delicious low-calorie meals. I’ll go get the car!”

As Lu Lu happily ran off, Pei Lang tilted his head back and sighed to the sky.

“What a miserable life!!”