Chapter 109: Film Emperor (29)

Ever since he heard things from the child that were far beyond imagination, Tong Jianxu had become even more anxious about her.

He had rarely participated in events or galas before, and now he avoided them altogether whenever he could, choosing instead to stay home with the child. Even the two bodyguards introduced by Assistant Zhang, who had previously been dismissed, were now brought back.

Because of health reasons, Tong Jianxu never liked having too many people in his private space. But for the sake of the child, this issue had more or less been cured.

In the past, only his assistant and agent would come frequently, and people like the makeup artist, skincare expert, and fitness trainer would occasionally visit. The house was usually quiet and empty. But ever since the child arrived, the place had grown increasingly lively without him even noticing.

Tong Jianxu didn’t know whether the child would truly leave one day, or when or how she might leave. So after reinstating the two bodyguards, he solemnly instructed them, “Qian’s danger might come from anywhere. Please be vigilant.”

The two seasoned bodyguards, after mentally filling in the blanks in their own way, became even more cautious about the child’s safety. They tightened external security and eased up inside, monitoring not just Tong Jianxu’s house but the surrounding area as well.

That afternoon, after lunch, Tong Jianxu took the child for a walk nearby. The two bodyguards caught three paparazzi attempting sneak shots in the vicinity.

With these two big guys around, even the usually cocky local stray dogs didn’t dare bark at the gate of the Film Emperor’s home.

Having reliable bodyguards around slightly eased Tong Jianxu’s inner anxiety, but he still remained on edge. His insomnia returned at night.

Meanwhile, the child ate well, drank well, and slept even better.

Before bedtime, Tong Jianxu chatted with her.

Lately, he had been using casual conversation to probe into the child’s past lives in different worlds.

“So, this Demon Lord could also turn into a child?”

“Mm-hmm! He shrunk down to my height, and he couldn’t beat me,” Qian said enthusiastically. Then she sprang up and performed a clumsy set of cat punches on the bed, only to trip on the blanket and fall.

Tong Jianxu clapped earnestly for her. “And then? How did he change back?”

“Don’t remember!” Qian replied.

“You said he took you out to play. What did you two do?”

Qian thought hard, but only recalled tasty food and fun drinks.

While she spoke, the system by her head occasionally chimed in with an emotionless prompt:

【The host must not disclose information about other worlds or the system. Otherwise, the punishment mechanism will be triggered.】

The first time it said this, the child had widened her eyes and looked around nervously. But after realizing that the system was all bark and no bite, she started treating the voice like an annoying fly buzzing in her ear.

Kids were like that—if you didn’t immediately punish them after a warning, they wouldn’t take it seriously, let alone remember it.

Tong Jianxu didn’t press her too hard. As much as he wanted to know everything about her, the child often couldn’t explain things clearly, and he could only guide her bit by bit.

By mid-September, Tong Jianxu took the child to the cemetery to pay respects at the graves of his maternal grandparents.

His feelings for the two elders who had raised him were complicated. He didn’t visit every year, usually entrusting cemetery staff to clean and maintain the graves. But this year, perhaps because he was unsettled inside, he came in person.

His mother’s grave was there too, but since she had committed suicide when he was still a baby, he had no memories of her. That gravestone held no emotional meaning for him.

As for his father—he couldn’t even ask. Whenever he brought it up as a child, his grandfather would fly into a rage, cursing his daughter for being shameless and saying she brought shame by having a child out of wedlock. He refused to speak of the father at all. All Tong Jianxu knew was that his mother had had him out of wedlock, and the man’s side had refused to acknowledge him.

At school, Tong Jianxu had never been popular. Because of his family background and personality, he lived a stifled, gloomy life. He was always alone. Whenever a classmate got too close to him, his grandfather would drive them away with scolding and insults. No one wanted to deal with that kind of unprovoked abuse.

Everyone has things they long for as a child. What Tong Jianxu wanted most was for someone to love him—be it family or a stranger—someone who could love him without reservations.

But he quickly realized, if even family couldn’t love him, how could strangers?

It was a bit pitiful, but the reason he first got into acting was because someone liked him after seeing a character he portrayed on screen. That role made people love him.

When he was first stopped on the street by someone expressing their admiration, Tong Jianxu suddenly realized that maybe he wasn’t as worthless as his grandparents made him feel.

For a long time, he poured himself into acting just to earn love from fans and viewers. But then, he quickly discovered with despair: they didn’t love him—they loved a one-dimensional version of him they imagined.

People who had once shown him fiery devotion could turn around and curse him with equal intensity.

The love he was chasing couldn’t be found in the adoration of a massive fanbase.

He couldn’t form close connections with anyone.

Then one day, a child suddenly appeared—someone who shared his blood, resembled him, and needed him.

When his daughter clung to his leg and called him “Daddy”; when she hugged a bowl and bit her spoon, eyes squinting with joy as she smiled at him; when she was willing to share her favorite snacks with him—these seemingly mundane moments brought him overwhelming happiness.

He cherished this child deeply. He wanted to give her all the love he could, as though trying to make up for the desperate longing for love that he had endured in his own childhood.

That’s why he was so terrified of losing her now.

He stood before his grandparents’ grave, while Qian obediently held onto his finger. After the offering, they walked away. The child skipped along, jumping from one stone tile to another, stretching her legs to step on the patterned bricks.

Looking at her so full of life, Tong Jianxu couldn’t bear to imagine that one day she, too, might lie quietly in a place like this—just like the two elders he loved and resented.

As they walked, Qian suddenly noticed her father had stopped moving. She looked up in confusion and saw tears streaming down his face. Startled, she flinched, her expression full of fear.

Tong Jianxu slowly crouched down and pulled her into his arms, burying his face in her shoulder.

“Qian… stay with Daddy a little longer, okay?”

After returning from the cemetery, Tong Jianxu was clearly not in a good mood. Qian hugged her phone, sneaking glances at her father resting on the sofa, and quietly squatted to one side to send messages to people she knew.

She sent a voice message to Zaiye first.

“I’m telling you, Daddy cried today. He cried so much!”

Zaiye, hearing the voice note: “?”

Then Qian messaged Assistant Zhang—one of her favorite people, mostly because he always gave her game bundles.

“Daddy cried today, and I couldn’t even cheer him up.” She shook her head with a sigh and let go of the voice button.

Then she sent a message to the manager auntie.

“Auntie, my daddy is crying. He’s lying on the sofa and won’t get up.”

She sent messages to both assistant sisters as well.

“My daddy really likes crying. He’s crying again.”

She even ran over to the two bodyguard big brothers, tiptoed and asked in a whisper, “Do you know why my daddy is crying?”

In short, after the child’s full round of broadcasting, just about everyone knew that Film Emperor Tong had been caught crying.

Especially Special Assistant Zhang. When she received Qian’s message, she was busy and assumed the child was just asking for another game gift pack. She tapped on it absentmindedly—only for the voice message to play out loud in public. Her nearby colleagues all gave her odd looks.

Someone couldn’t hold back a strange smile. “Is Special Assistant Zhang going back to comfort the Film Emperor? Hehe.”

Special Assistant Zhang said nothing. She was just an employee. Who would’ve thought that after coaxing the big boss, she’d now have to comfort the second boss too.

Lately, her immediate superior had also been in a terrible mood. He came to and left work with a scowl, occasionally sighing at his phone, bloodshot eyes and all.

The boss was anxious and inefficient, and it was miserable for her as the subordinate. She could only buy coffee for him every day, hoping he’d sober up and stop increasing her workload.

Letting out a silent sigh, Special Assistant Zhang, upon receiving the child’s call for help, temporarily set her work aside and brought along some under-eye patches and a fresh flower cake to visit the second boss.

On the way, she ran into the big boss Zaiye, who was also carrying supplies—a box of liquor and a box of yogurt, apparently prepared to drink away the sorrows with the father-daughter duo.

After Tong Jianxu had lost control of his emotions at the cemetery, he slowly calmed down at home. But then his manager rushed over and gave him a once-over.

“You scared me to death. Qian said you cried. I was really afraid you were emotionally unstable and taking pills again.”

Tong Jianxu: “?”

Before he could clarify with his manager, the doorbell rang again, and Zaiye and Special Assistant Zhang showed up together at the door.

Zaiye placed the liquor on the table and said to him like an old friend, “Let’s have a drink today.”

Special Assistant Zhang handed him the bouquet. “Mr. Tong, have a look at the flowers, maybe it’ll lift your mood.”

Then the two assistants he had given time off also showed up, carrying bags of groceries.

Ayan said, “I stopped by the nearby market today. There were lots of fresh seasonal veggies. Brother Tong hasn’t had much of an appetite lately, so I figured I’d come over and cook something good.”

Tong Jianxu: “…”

He slowly looked toward his daughter and saw her smiling at him with a face full of innocence.

He didn’t even need to ask. His precious daughter had obviously gone around telling everyone he cried, and now they’d all shown up.

At this point, Tong Jianxu could only be glad she didn’t have too many contacts in her phone—otherwise he was genuinely afraid that tomorrow’s trending topic would be about his crying.

Since everyone was already here, they ended up having a meal together. There were even more people than at New Year’s Eve, and they sat around a round table.

Despite agreeing not to drink, the two “dads” still ended up doing shot-for-shot again.

Qian hugged her bowl and gnawed on ribs—or rather, sucked on them—licking off the sauce and biting off the tender parts.

Seeing Daddy watching her, the little girl thought for a moment, then placed the half-eaten rib into his bowl.

Tong Jianxu’s eyes suddenly reddened. “Qian is such a good girl, she knows Daddy likes ribs.”

Zaiye: “What are you so touched for? Look clearly—she gave you the rib she already half ate.”

Tong Jianxu shook his head solemnly. “Qian knows I don’t like greasy food. She helped me suck off all the fat.”

Zaiye couldn’t help rolling his eyes, downed his wine in one gulp, and refused to debate with the child-spoiling Film Emperor.

He warned the girl instead, “Don’t put the ribs you’ve sucked on into my bowl. I’m not eating them.”

Tong Jianxu, full of fatherly love, stroked the child’s head. “Put them in Daddy’s bowl. Whatever Qian gives, Daddy will eat.”

As soon as Qian heard that, she turned and tossed a whole bunch of cilantro into his bowl.

Tong Jianxu paused for a moment, then picked up half and placed it back into her bowl with a smile. “Qian and Daddy will share—half each.”