Chapter Fifty-Two: Voices of Doubt Arise

Chapter Fifty-Two: Voices of Doubt

Whether or not Lin Guofu sought out Yang Xiner, Zhang Le had no idea, nor did he care to ask. He truly had little interest in such matters. As for how Lin Guofu might weigh the pros and cons, calculating and scheming to minimize the impact of this incident on Wanbang Group, Zhang Le found it even less worth his attention.

After the fourth episode of “With You All the Way” aired, the program reached a new peak of popularity. Zhang Le’s act of taking a knife for Yang Xiner moved countless viewers, who began to accept this young man of such disparate status compared to Yang Xiner. The public’s reaction to their relationship grew less intense.

After all, any man willing to take a knife for the one he loves is worthy of respect. Such love, entwined with life and death, surely deserved to be embraced. If even a love as deep as this could not be accepted, then what love ever could?

Gradually, the tide of public opinion began to shift. The romance between the two was slowly gaining acceptance.

However, just at this juncture, voices of doubt suddenly arose—and grew louder with each passing day.

Following the broadcast, there were those online who questioned the authenticity of the incident. In their eyes, it was pure hype—a drama staged by Yanjing Television and Zhang Le, with Yang Xiner playing a key role. The aim, they claimed, was to boost ratings and improve the program’s effect for the channel, while also helping the public accept the relationship between the two.

Of course, when these claims first surfaced, they were thoroughly refuted. After all, the incident had made headlines in American newspapers, and was officially recorded at the police station. If it had all been staged, neither the American press nor the police would have cooperated. Neither Zhang Le, Yang Xiner, nor Yanjing Television wielded such influence.

Yet, after only two days of relative calm, the situation escalated. The internet became flooded with such skepticism, and the arguments grew increasingly convincing.

This was but one strand of doubt.

Another questioned the fact that Zhang Le had actually been stabbed. After all, it was a knife, not a gun. Why hadn’t he dodged it?

Zhang Le’s martial prowess had been so spectacular—especially his fight with the nearly two-meter-tall black man, which was nothing short of astonishing. Such a massive opponent was subdued with ease. With skills like that, how could Zhang Le have been injured?

Moreover, why block the knife with his body instead of stopping it another way? Had he not demonstrated the ability to disarm an assailant barehanded? Why didn’t he take the knife, or simply take down the thug?

The way he blocked the knife was beneath his supposed level of skill.

Even if the attackers were real and not actors, Zhang Le taking the knife appeared to be nothing more than a staged act of martyrdom—a ploy to win Yang Xiner’s gratitude and public sympathy. The motive seemed obvious.

This, perhaps, could be understood, and even if it were true, it might not be unforgivable.

Yet, because it involved Zhang Le, many found it distasteful. In the eyes of the masses, any love tainted by calculation or intrigue was a desecration—no longer pure.

A love no longer pure was like a sullied relic, naturally difficult to bless. The romance between Zhang Le and Yang Xiner could barely be accepted, let alone blessed. When Zhang Le took the knife, acceptance of their relationship grew; but as these doubts spread, the tide quickly turned.

People with too much cunning are seldom liked.

Zhang Le’s detractors emerged anew, multiplying at a startling pace.

They depicted Zhang Le’s love for Yang Xiner as calculated and self-serving. Was love with an ulterior motive still love at all? If it wasn’t true love, why should anyone accept or bless it?

“Whose ancestor’s grave did you dig up? Clearly someone’s hired an army to smear you!” Feng Lei looked at Zhang Le with a touch of schadenfreude.

“Can’t you guess?” Zhang Le shot him a look.

Feng Lei was not only his friend now, but also an actor signed to his film studio. Zhang Le could understand why he’d signed—the guy probably wanted to finally step out from his father’s shadow.

“Is there any need to guess?” Feng Lei chuckled, then shook his head. “I do wonder, though, was it worth it to invite you for that drink in the first place?”

“Is there really any point in weighing everything?” Zhang Le smiled. “Not every matter needs to be measured for profit and loss. Who could have predicted that a simple drink and a new friendship would lead to all this trouble?”

“That guy obviously wants to ruin things between you and Yang Xiner. If your relationship falls apart, his problems are much smaller,” Feng Lei said. “So, what’s your plan? Going to argue back and turn things around with a few words? For a public figure, public opinion is a huge deal.”

“I’m not interested. Since getting together with Xiner, haven’t there always been people trying to drag me down?” Zhang Le shook his head. “Getting into a quarrel with those people isn’t worth my time—I’d rather focus on something else.”

“And what could you possibly focus on now?” Feng Lei scoffed.

“Preparing for a new film,” Zhang Le replied calmly.

“Oh?” Feng Lei’s eyes lit up. “So soon? What kind of film?”

“Got any ideas?” Zhang Le grinned.

“Of course! Why else would I sign with your studio? I was hoping our friendship would help me land a leading role, get some real results to show my old man!” Feng Lei said.

“You want to be the lead?” Zhang Le looked him up and down.

“An actor who doesn’t want to play the lead isn’t a good actor,” Feng Lei declared.

“Letting you star isn’t out of the question,” Zhang Le replied. “First, lose some weight.”

“How much?” Feng Lei frowned. He knew Zhang Le too well; from his tone, he realized Zhang Le wasn’t joking this time.

“Forty pounds,” Zhang Le said.

“You might as well kill me!” Feng Lei shook his head vigorously. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to lose weight—it was that he simply couldn’t, or couldn’t stick with it. Even twenty pounds would be hard, let alone forty.

“Think carefully,” Zhang Le said. “Did you really come to my studio just to play supporting roles? Don’t waste your good looks.”

Feng Lei had inherited his striking features from his celebrity parents. He was a handsome man—just a bit overweight. If he slimmed down, he’d be quite the heartthrob.

“Do I have to lose weight?” Feng Lei asked, suddenly serious.

“If you can’t, you’ll look nothing like the lead,” Zhang Le answered. “But if you really can’t, the second male lead suits you and is still a great role.”

“Oh?” Feng Lei seemed to catch something in his tone. “Don’t tell me the script’s already written?”

“It is,” Zhang Le said.

“Can I see it?” Feng Lei smiled. “Let me see if the lead is worth shedding all that weight!”

“You’re the only one I’d show it to,” Zhang Le laughed, pulling the script from his drawer and tossing it over.

“‘Flirting Scholar’!” Feng Lei read the title, then looked at himself and gave an awkward laugh. Just from the name, he could tell his current physique was entirely wrong for the lead.

The lead in “Flirting Scholar” could only be Tang Bohu. When people thought of Tang Bohu, no one imagined a fat man. The elegant and dashing Tang Bohu—if played by someone overweight, unless it was meant as a parody, would surely be universally panned.