The Weibo account of that Z-surna top-tier celebrity with tens of millions of fans instantly turned into a line of cold, gray small text the mont the official announcent was released.
[This user has been banned due to violation of relevant laws and regulations.]
The pent-up anger and dissatisfaction finally found an outlet at this mont.
Jiang Ci's Weibo post with only four words was elevated to the altar by furious netizens.
The number of reposts exploded at a terrifying, insane speed.
"Holy shit, prophet! Get the knife, bro, do you have inside information?"
"Is this fucking the only living person in the entire dostic entertainnt industry? When everyone else was playing dead, only he stood up!"
"At this mont, I declare Jiang Ci the God of War of dostic entertainnt! Single-handedly taking on the entire capital circle and brain-dead fans, and he fucking won!"
"I announce, from today on, I'm Jiang Ci's die-hard fan! Not for anything else, just for this guts!"
Jiang Ci's Weibo follower count skyrocketed by another five hundred thousand overnight.
The total was rapidly approaching the seven million mark.
The online frenzy and praise lasted a full five days, but all this clamor seed to have nothing to do with Jiang Ci in his hotel room.
He had cut himself off from all external information until a rapid knocking sound mixed with wind and rain shattered this deliberate silence.
Opening the door, a rush of damp, cold air surged in.
Yan Zheng stood at the doorway, travel-worn, his hair wet from the rain, plastered ssily to his temples.
But in his bloodshot eyes, there was a light that bordered on madness.
In his hand, he held that familiar kraft paper bag.
The corners of the bag were already wrinkled from being soaked by the rain, showing just how urgently he had co.
The two assistants following him looked at Jiang Ci with expressions that had completely changed.
They no longer dared to see the young man before them rely as a lucky actor.
Yan Zheng strode in with large steps and slapped the damp kraft paper bag down with a "thwack" on the table in front of Jiang Ci.
Water stains spread across the rosewood tabletop.
He pulled out a chair and sat down heavily, his chest heaving violently as he gasped for breath.
"It's done."
He only said two words, firm and resounding.
Jiang Ci didn't imdiately reach for the paper bag.
He watched quietly.
The cover that originally bore the four words "Naless Monunt" was now covered by a brand-new white sheet.
On it were two large characters handwritten in black marker, the ink seemingly about to burn through the paper.
"Icebreaker."
No longer a monunt singing praises.
But a desperate effort to smash through that frozen ice solidified with blood and lies.
Jiang Ci reached out, his fingertips touching those two words.
He opened the kraft paper bag and pulled out that thick stack of script, still emitting the fresh scent of printer's ink.
He opened to the first page.
[Scene One, Rainy Night, Abandoned Dock]
[Characters: Jiang He (Undercover), Cha Cai (Drug Dealer)]
[Setting: Torrential rain pours down, muddy ground covered in puddles everywhere.]
Just the first line, and everything around rapidly faded.
Jiang Ci's mind was instantly filled with the scene from the script.
He could feel the suffocating sensation of cold, muddy water flooding his nostrils, the tallic chill of the gun barrel pressed against the back of his head.
A drug dealer with a neurotic smile squatted before him,
holding a condom wrapped in plastic film,
inside which a tiny tal object was faintly visible.
"Swallow it."
The drug dealer's voice carried a hint of amusent.
"When you get there, it'll take you to see Buddha."
His stomach churned violently.
A tracking device.
Swallow it, and there might still be a sliver of hope.
Don't swallow, and die right now.
Jiang Ci's Adam's apple bobbed violently, a wave of physiological nausea surging from his stomach straight to his throat.
He forced himself to turn to the next page.
The images switched rapidly.
When Jiang He first faced an informant going through drug withdrawal, he was so terrified by the other's frenzied state that he stumbled backward repeatedly.
Jiang He, on the verge of having his cover blown, curled up painfully in a filthy bathroom stall,
banging his head against the cold wall again and again, finally losing control from extre fear, looking as wretched as a dying dog.
When reading about Jiang He vomiting violently after killing a drug dealer for the first ti, hiding in a corner,
Jiang Ci's own stomach churned violently; he had to put down the script and dry-heave several tis.
He looked at his own hands, trembling slightly from the strain,
unable to imagine how cold and sticky they would feel
when truly stained with blood.
The line in the script, "His hands shook so badly he couldn't even unscrew a bottle of mineral water," resonated deeply with him.
Jiang He, in countless deep nights, silently wept while looking at a family photo already blurred by sweat.
This was no longer just a symbol.
This was a tornted soul, repeatedly torn apart and pieced back together ti and again by sheer willpower.
Every word in the script felt as if it had been ripped straight from veins, carrying flesh, blood, and warmth.
Jiang Ci's breathing beca rapid and scorching.
These cold words began to overlap bit by bit in his mind with that vague, mory-deep silhouette belonging to his father.
He rembered how, before his father went on a mission, he would always call him over and clumsily ruffle his hair with those large hands covered in calluses and scars.
Those hands could strangle a criminal's throat without hesitation.
Yet they shook so badly when peeling an apple for him that they couldn't even peel it cleanly.
On a certain page of the script, scribbled descriptions showed Jiang He,
during a break in the mission,
trying to write a letter ho to say he was safe, but only managing to write the four words "All is well,"
before being unable to continue, eventually crumpling the paper into a ball.
He rembered that old dictionary his father had worn ragged.
Only after his sacrifice, when his mother was sorting through his belongings,
did she discover from within the dictionary's interlayer a similarly unfinished letter that would never be sent.
"Xiao Ci, Dad is going to a very far place this ti, and it might take a long ti to co back. Listen to your mom and study hard."
"Dad doesn't ask for you to achieve great things in the future, only hopes that you can live safely, peacefully, under the sunlight."
Sunlight...
Jiang Ci's fingertips left a deep indentation on the script's paper page.
Yan Zheng hadn't spoken the entire ti.
He just watched the young man opposite him, watching the flashes of pain and struggle that crossed his face,
and finally, the settling of sothing harder than steel.
He had handed the sharpest blade to this young man.
"Well?"
Yan Zheng finally spoke.
"Do you dare take this blade?"
Jiang Ci closed the script.
"Snap."
A crisp sound echoed in the quiet room.
He reached out and gently traced those two words on the brand-new cover with his fingers.
Icebreaker.
This would be a feast of heartbreak.
He raised his head and t Yan Zheng's burning gaze.
In those eyes, he saw not just a screenwriter's expectations for an actor,
but also a comrade-in-arms entrusting another comrade-in-arms!
He gently closed the script and placed it on the table.
Then he said:
"Teacher Yan, thank you... for giving him back to ."
He paused, then spoke again.
"I'll take it."
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