MTL - 19

Tang Yu, when I liked you, I was myself. After being rejected, I’m still myself.

It’s just that you didn’t see clearly.

— From the Diary of a Little Rich Girl

________________________________________

At that moment, Gao Heng swore on his life that he had never seen President Tang look so terrible—not even when he first took over the company and faced difficulties from old shareholders, lost contracts to competitors, or had project teams forcibly disbanded. Tang Yu’s expression now was darker than any of those times.

Little did Gao Heng know, this was only the beginning. In the days to come, the number of times Tang Yu would show a black face would increase, and there would be moments far worse than this…

But that’s a story for later.

After a long silence, Tang Yu’s expression returned to its usual calm, though his brows remained slightly furrowed. “Who wants to buy her copyright?”

Gao Heng tensed. “I haven’t heard anything about that…”

“You can go now.”

As Gao Heng reached the door, Tang Yu called him back. “Wait.”

Gao Heng turned around. “Yes, President Tang?”

Tang Yu exhaled softly and picked up a document from the desk—it was the proposal submitted by the project team that morning. He tapped it lightly. “Call a meeting with them at three o’clock.”

It seemed the topic had been decided. Gao Heng nodded. “Understood.”

________________________________________

Downstairs, after rejecting Gao Heng, Tang Xin felt somewhat out of sorts. She wondered if Tang Yu would be angry upon hearing those words. Suddenly, someone tapped her shoulder. Startled, she looked up to see Han Xiaoxiao leaning in conspiratorially. “What are you doing?” Tang Xin exclaimed.

Han Xiaoxiao leaned close to her ear and whispered, “Quick, tell me secretly—who’s ‘Father Lu’?”

Tang Xin: “….”

Han Xiaoxiao pulled out a chair and sat beside her, lowering her voice. “I saw your reply on Weibo. Didn’t you say you were going to negotiate the contract renewal? Why didn’t you sign it? Who exactly is ‘Father Lu’?”

After logging out of her main account yesterday, Tang Xin hadn’t checked her mega-influencer Weibo account “Sugarheart.” She had no idea that her comment section was already exploding with guesses, bets, and votes about who “Father Lu” could be.

“Guess,” Tang Xin said with a bright smile.

“….”

Han Xiaoxiao rolled her eyes. “If I could guess, would I bother asking you? You don’t know how crazy your fans are—they’ve listed every producer, director, and executive in the film industry with the surname ‘Lu.’”

Some popular entertainment bloggers had reposted her tweet, sparking curiosity about the identity of “Father Lu.” This drew in many non-book fans, and chaos ensued.

Tang Xin was dumbfounded. “…Are you serious?”

Han Xiaoxiao: “Don’t believe me? Go check!”

Tang Xin hurriedly grabbed her phone, logged out of her secondary account, and accessed “Sugarheart.” Before she could even glance at the notifications, there was a knock on the door. A planner cleared his throat. “Meeting at three o’clock. Everyone get ready—we’ll head upstairs soon.”

The screenwriters in the project team began gathering their things, chatting as they packed up:

“Do you think our topic got approved?”

“I think so. Otherwise, why would we have a meeting so suddenly? My hair’s falling out from the stress.”

“What genre do you think it is?”

“I bet it’s either a Republican-era spy drama or an urban crime thriller. President Tang prefers those kinds of projects.”

…

Tang Xin listened without much interest. As a low-ranking screenwriter, her job was simply to assist the team. Other decisions weren’t her responsibility.

Han Xiaoxiao, who wasn’t even part of this project team, watched her pack and whispered urgently, “Tell me quickly—who’s Father Lu?”

Since nothing was finalized yet, Tang Xin didn’t want to reveal anything. What if negotiations with Lu Zhixing fell through and he decided not to buy it? Wouldn’t that embarrass both parties?

She blinked. “I’ll tell you once it’s confirmed.”

Han Xiaoxiao glared at her, annoyed. Tang Xin might seem easygoing and fond of gossip, but when it came to uncertain matters, she kept her lips sealed tightly, refusing to risk embarrassment.

When they reached the conference room upstairs, Tang Xin chose a seat farthest from the head of the table. While waiting for Tang Yu to arrive, she scrolled through Weibo.

Her account usually garnered around a thousand comments per post, but this time, there were nearly ten thousand comments under her latest tweet.

Opening it, she saw everyone speculating about the identity of “Father Lu.” Her fans were tagging her relentlessly—

“Sugar, Sugar, Sugar, come out and tell us—who’s Father Lu?!!!!”

“I’m dying to know too! Who is Father Lu?!”

“I’m voting for Father Lu from Zhongce. Sisters, like my comment!”

“Please don’t let it be Lu Zhixing! Director Lu just wrapped up filming. Besides, doesn’t he prefer artistic films?”

…

Tang Xin was both shocked and speechless. Her fans really had too much free time.

A single offhand comment from her had caused such a frenzy.

Just as she was thinking about what to say—or whether to delete the tweet—the sound of knocking echoed, and Gao Heng walked in. He placed the documents on the main table. Moments later, Tang Yu strode in wearing a white shirt and black trousers. Tall and imposing, he stood at the head of the conference table, his expression cool and collected.

Tang Xin lowered her gaze to her phone and leaned back slightly.

Tang Yu scanned the room and spotted the girl partially hidden behind others in the last row. His brows furrowed slightly as he said in a low voice, “Let’s begin.”

He leaned casually against his chair, his posture relaxed but his demeanor cold. His tone was even colder. “I noticed everyone is in favor of making a Republican-era spy drama. Let’s vote again. Raise your hand if you agree.”

Swish, swish, swish—

Almost everyone raised their hands, except for two or three people.

Including Tang Xin.

Tang Yu pressed his lips together and called her name. “Tang Xin.”

Holding her phone, Tang Xin froze, surprised that he’d singled her out.

She leaned forward, tilting her head to peek at him. Finally, their eyes met. Though it had only been a week since they last saw each other, it felt like an eternity. Tang Xin smiled brightly and said lightly, “President Tang, are you asking for my opinion? I have no objections. The minority follows the majority, and whatever you decide to make is fine.”

“‘Whatever I decide’?”

Tang Yu stared at her smiling face, his brows furrowing slightly. An inexplicable heaviness settled in his chest.

After speaking, Tang Xin lowered her head again and leaned back, revealing only one slender, pale hand resting on the table. Her index finger traced circles absentmindedly, as if cursing or scolding someone.

Tang Yu half-closed his eyes, shifting his gaze from her hand to another screenwriter. “Do you have any suggestions?”

The screenwriter, meeting his dark gaze, suddenly felt nervous. “I was thinking maybe we should make a crime thriller…”

“There are already over a dozen crime thrillers scheduled for production this year.”

“…Never mind, then.”

With the genre decided, the meeting continued for two more hours before adjourning. Since Tang Xin had been sitting in the innermost seat, she was the last to leave. Unhurried, she gathered her notebook and trailed behind everyone else.

After stepping out of the conference room, Tang Yu paused and turned to glance back at it.

“President Tang, is there something else?” Huang Siyi asked with a smile.

“No.” His tone was indifferent as his gaze landed on the last person leaving the room. “Tang Xin, come to my office.”

Tang Xin: “….”

She looked up at him, her brows furrowing slightly.

Without giving her a chance to refuse, Tang Yu turned and walked away. With his long legs, he disappeared down the corridor in just a few strides.

Huang Siyi glanced at Tang Xin, her lips curling into a mocking smile. “President Tang is calling for you.”

Tang Xin shot her a look. “I’m not deaf.”

She walked past Huang Siyi and quickened her pace to catch up.

So what if he wanted her to go to his office? She wasn’t afraid.

Huang Siyi watched her retreating figure, frowning as she turned to Zhou Dan, another editor. “I refuse to believe there’s nothing between them. Why else would he call her to his office after the meeting? And during the meeting, he even asked for her opinion specifically… Doesn’t that seem biased?”

Zhou Dan smirked. “Have you seen her Weibo?”

Huang Siyi turned to her. “What?”

“She tweeted that she’s not renewing the rights for Make a Dream for You with Shiguang Films and will instead give it to ‘Father Lu.’ Now everyone’s guessing who Father Lu is. I’m guessing… President Tang called her to discuss this. How dare she embarrass him like that? If I were him, I wouldn’t tolerate it. I bet they’re breaking up—even if they were just friends with benefits.”

“…Really? Let me check!” Huang Siyi suddenly became excited and quickly opened Weibo. She had been busy with the proposal yesterday and hadn’t checked her feed. Now, as she opened it, she immediately saw “Sugarheart” ranked first among her mutual followers’ trending posts. There was even a hot topic—

#WhoIsFatherLu?#

Huang Siyi: “….”

After scrolling through Weibo, Huang Siyi sneered. “She sure knows how to stir up drama.”

________________________________________

Meanwhile, Tang Xin followed Tang Yu to his office. Seeing Gao Heng still wearing glasses, she smiled and complimented him. “Assistant Gao, you really look good in glasses.”

Gao Heng wiped sweat from his brow. “…Thank you.”

Tang Xin grinned. “You’re welcome.”

Tang Yu paused mid-step upon hearing this and glanced back at her.

Tang Xin walked over confidently and smiled at him. “President Tang, what did you want to talk to me about?”

Feigning ignorance.

Tang Yu frowned slightly. Once Gao Heng closed the door, he turned to face her, his gaze dropping to meet hers. “Tang Xin, I told you those two copyrights would eventually be produced. Why didn’t you renew the contract?”

Tang Xin tilted her fair face up at him, her expression innocent. “But they’ve been sitting here for four years already.”

Just like… how I’ve liked you for four years.

You never noticed.

Not even a little.

For a moment, Tang Yu was at a loss for words. He shoved his hands into his pockets, leaned back against the desk, and stretched out his long legs casually. Calmly, he said, “That was before. The company has plans for them now.”

Tang Xin thought for a moment, then looked up at him. “President Tang, it feels like you’re forcing yourself.”

Tang Yu frowned, disapproving of her words.

Ignoring the displeasure in his eyes, Tang Xin smiled and took a step forward, not looking at him directly. “I know what kind of scripts you like to produce. My copyrights have been sitting unused at Shiguang for so long—it’s probably because they’re not a good fit. It’s like… when you said we weren’t compatible, so you didn’t value my work either…”

Those words unexpectedly struck a nerve, leaving Tang Yu feeling uneasy.

After speaking, Tang Xin turned to look at him.

Tang Yu’s brows seemed to furrow even deeper. His eyes still held restrained calmness and suppressed emotions. Tang Xin couldn’t decipher what exactly he was suppressing, but she paused for a moment. Quickly, she turned her gaze to the window, lifting her chin defiantly. “Anyway, it’s my property. I can sign it to whoever I want.”

“Tang Xin.”

Tang Yu pressed his hand against the desk, fingers tightening with force. His voice was low and heavy. “I never said I didn’t value your work, nor did I… nor did I ever look down on you. Being incompatible and looking down on someone are very different.”

“Oh.” Tang Xin blinked at him. “But the result is the same, isn’t it?”

“…”

Tang Yu gave up trying to reason with her. Staring straight at her, he lowered his voice. “Is it because I rejected you that you decided not to renew the contract?”

Tang Xin’s heart trembled with a dull ache. She smiled brightly at him. “Am I only allowed to be rejected by you?”

Tang Yu: “….”

He felt a lump in his throat and was left speechless.

Tang Xin bit her lip, no longer wanting to stay. She looked up at Tang Yu and said softly, “If there’s nothing else, I’ll take my leave now. Goodbye, President Tang.” With that, she turned and headed toward the door.

“Wait.”

Tang Yu straightened his posture and called her back.

Tang Xin turned around. “What?”

Tang Yu shifted his gaze, suddenly feeling restless and unable to articulate his thoughts. Narrowing his eyes, he looked back at her, his voice emotionless as always, slightly cold. “Who did you sell the copyright to?”

“It won’t be worse than you. Why do you care so much? It’s none of your business.”

Tang Xin huffed, leaving him utterly exasperated. She turned, pulled open the door, and walked out with light steps.

Tang Yu stood rooted in place, his frustration and suffocation intensifying. He turned and walked back to the desk, glancing at the renewal contract on the table. Pressing the intercom, he called Gao Heng in. Leaning back into his chair, he picked up the contract, frowned at it, and roughly shoved it into the drawer.

Gao Heng knocked and entered, his expression delicate. “President Tang.”

Tang Yu raised his head indifferently. “Find out who Tang Xin sold the copyright to.”

“Well…” Gao Heng coughed. “It might be to someone with the surname Lu.”

He had originally wanted to say “Father Lu,” but didn’t dare.

Tang Yu: “….”

What nonsense?

Gao Heng quickly explained, “I overheard some secretaries gossiping earlier, so I checked Weibo. Miss Tang replied to her fans yesterday, saying she’s signing the rights over to ‘Father Lu…’” He paused. “Why don’t you take a look yourself?”

Father Lu?

Tang Yu’s brows knitted tightly. Glancing at the glowing computer screen, he clicked open Weibo. His personal account wasn’t used often, and he rarely posted anything. Still, he had many followers, mostly attracted by his verified blue tick and handsome profile picture.

As soon as he opened Weibo, he saw a mysterious trending topic—

#WhoIsFatherLu?#

Gao Heng watched him scroll and said earnestly, “Everyone’s speculating it’s Lu Jingcheng from Zhongce. I think it’s possible—they like producing this type of content…”

Tang Yu skimmed through the posts casually, his brows furrowing even more. Almost every prominent figure in the industry with the surname Lu had been dragged into the discussion.

Most importantly, he saw Sugarheart’s reply to her fans: “Not giving it to Father Tang anymore,” and a fan comment with thousands of likes: “Is Sugar leaving Shiguang Films?”

Tang Yu’s gaze lingered on that comment for a long time before he slowly moved the mouse. Looking up at Gao Heng, he said coldly, “Find out who this Father Lu is.”

Gao Heng: “Understood.”

About ten minutes later, there was no need for Gao Heng to report back.

Everyone in the company—and across the internet—already knew who Father Lu was.

Lu Zhixing himself had reposted Sugarheart’s reply to her fans: Perhaps… Sugarheart is referring to me as Father Lu. @Sugarheart: The contract is about to expire. Not giving it to Father Tang anymore. Giving it to Father Lu to produce.

________________________________________

Author’s Note:

Father Lu: Making a dramatic entrance. Please welcome him with applause!

Little Boss Tang: Hmph.

Stand… for one second, Father Lu? Don’t worry, Tang Yu—I’ll restore your dignity! Mommy still loves you.