Salted Fish and Melon-Eating Otters

Real-time trending search No. 1—#Li WenchuanCastingCouch#, followed by a huge "Explosive" tag.

For a moment, the data surged wildly. Overtime-working programmers who had been planning to eat self-heating hot pots all sprang into action, barely keeping the servers from crashing.

Li Wenchuan's popularity had been building these past few days. With a trending topic like this, plus someone continually paying to boost it, the programmers found it terrifying just to watch.

Sun Min looked at her phone with a gleeful expression. "Let's see how you turn this around this time."

Not long ago, she had received a rumor that a male actor from her production had been subjected to the casting couch, and someone had even photographed evidence. But the paparazzo had thought the offers from other outlets were too low and had held onto it.

So Sun Min made her move. Sure enough, it was Li Wenchuan.

The pinned Weibo post came from a major entertainment gossip account. It included a GIF. The camera footage was crystal clear; the people in it were not even wearing masks. With the detached, unsurprised expressions of people accustomed to it, they got into a luxury car headed somewhere unknown.

Li Wenchuan was simply used to keeping a blank expression whenever he was alone in private.

How could anyone expect someone to smile every day while reviewing memorials? All the ministers of Great Qing knew that if His Majesty did not smile, there was still room for negotiation. But if he suddenly smiled with a cold face, they had better pray for themselves.

But in the hands of netizens, it instantly turned into every possible kind of reading comprehension exercise:

"Just look at lwc's face—he clearly doesn't want to do this. Tsk, tsk."

"Heh. Playing the victim after selling himself? Who are you