Chapter Twenty-Five: Overthinking

“Brother Lei, you’ve changed. You’re not as good as you used to be.”

“So do you prefer me a little wicked, or always honest and upright?”

“Well, hehe, I think I like you a bit wicked. But from now on, you can only be wicked with me.”

“I’d like to, but others won’t allow it. Only you, silly girl, took a fancy to a cripple like me. No choice but to make do. Ah, stop pinching, it hurts.”

In truth, such exchanges didn’t happen in Wang Lei’s bedroom or some hotel, nor did they take place on a comfortable bed. Supporting Wang Lei and Ma Dongmei was a pitiful old swivel chair, already three years into its service. This test proved its quality; after all, Zhang San had spent quite a bit of money on it back then.

There were no thin clothes, no fragrant sweat, but the “wicked” Wang Lei couldn’t help sighing over Ma Dongmei’s “bun.” Alas, he’d chosen a girl who only grew taller, not elsewhere, and it seemed their future child would have little hope for breastfeeding.

Although Ma Dongmei and Wang Lei had been together for over two years, the first two years saw Wang Lei as a walking corpse—hardly any physical contact, barely any conversation.

A girl just past twenty—who was fierce and formidable on the volleyball court, strong and swift—couldn’t resist Wang Lei’s “wickedness” in this situation, ending up dragged onto the same old chair with him.

“Brother Lei, do you plan to stick to scriptwriting and songwriting?”

Though worried she might upset him, she couldn’t help but ask about his future plans. They’d decided to be together but hadn’t discussed it deeply.

This is the reality of living together: for a couple to unite, many obstacles must be overcome. Without reasonable communication, it’s easy for problems to arise. Mutual respect and courtesy are more fantasy than reality; some friction is inevitable in real life.

“Why, don’t you like my stories and songs?”

“No, it’s not that. I just worry you might not truly love these things. I want you to be happy, that’s all. What you do, or how famous you become, isn’t important.”

Ma Dongmei spoke from her heart. Her real worry was what would happen if Wang Lei became too prominent in the entertainment industry. Everyone knew that world was full of dazzling temptations. Ma Dongmei feared one day she’d face a challenge from another woman—prettier, more alluring, more gentle.

“Girl, can I say you’re overthinking? Haha, don’t worry, I won’t get too deep into it. Though I’m disabled now, my athlete’s certificate hasn’t been canceled. So, I’m still an athlete; maybe I’ll be a coach someday. And when I’m your coach, I’ll definitely ‘bend the rules’ for you. If you don’t behave, I’ll ‘punish’ you hard.”

Wang Lei’s “wickedness” made her instinctively raise her right hand and pat his shoulder—perhaps out of habit from striking volleyballs. Wang Lei’s vision went black and his shoulder throbbed with pain.

“Ouch, Wang Lei—Brother Lei, are you all right?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine, it’s nothing.”

Though neither incarnation of Wang Lei had ever known successful love, he knew how to act at moments like this.

As Wang Lei and the Three Dreams Theater gained popularity online, more and more news was released by internet media. Even Zhang San and Li Si’s rescue at the Capital Film Academy’s gates was exposed.

The lead actor was a hero, and even received a bravery award, instantly igniting the media. In the tightly monitored capital, such an incident was a hot topic.

A series of publicity stunts began, intentionally or otherwise. Major film companies noticed the surging popularity of “Charlotte’s Troubles.” Some unscrupulous individuals began plotting to acquire the rights to the promising play at the lowest price.

On the way home with Ma Dongmei, Wang Lei’s phone kept ringing. This was due to his lack of experience—he’d made his number public on RapidCast, thinking it would take time for profit-driven companies to notice “Charlotte’s Troubles.” But unexpectedly, thanks to a confluence of factors, the play became a sensation right from the start; everyone noticed it.

“Hello, is this Mr. Wang Lei? We’re from Longfang Film Group. Congratulations, your ‘Charlotte’s Troubles’ on RapidCast has been recognized by our production department, and your talent by our scriptwriting headquarters. We’d like to invite you to join our scriptwriting team. Your future works could be produced by us. Please tell us, do you hold all rights to ‘Charlotte’s Troubles’? We’d like to purchase them at a suitable price.”

To be fair, the caller’s tone was dignified and their promise sounded sincere. Yet even inexperienced, Wang Lei could sense the traps hidden in their words.

Despite its grand name, the film company was in fact quite small, headquartered in Lin’an, with fewer than thirty employees—a bona fide small-scale studio.

These companies, eager to call Wang Lei as soon as the news broke online, hadn’t bothered to research him. They assumed a former basketball player with a broken leg must be living miserably. Offer a little charity, and this “cripple” would desperately hand over his rights, then be squeezed dry for as long as possible.

Wang Lei might not immediately grasp their intentions, but he had a standard reply for such condescending calls: “Sorry, you’re mistaken. The rights are mine, but I don’t intend to sell. Nor do I plan to become a scriptwriter.”

Seeing Ma Dongmei’s puzzled look, Wang Lei smiled calmly.

“Hehe, just like you, overthinkers. Come on, let’s hurry home before your mother checks on us again. Poor Uncle Ma.”

His witty remark was met by another slap on the shoulder, though this time Ma Dongmei held back her strength. Still, Wang Lei acted as if he’d been blasted three meters away.

“Ouch, murder! Attempted murder of your own husband!”

“You wicked Wang Lei, I’ll beat you to death!”

In the midst of the crowd, Ma Dongmei’s face burned at his “husband” remark, furious.

Passersby noticed the tall couple, but few said anything. These days, there’s always an audience for a fight, but no one cares to watch a public display of affection.