The More Tragic I Act, the Stronger I Get — My Fans Beg Me to Stop Killing Off My Roles-Chapter 276: One bite at a time, and you’ll live longer

Lin Wan placed the black box heavily on the coffee table in front of him, producing a dull thud.

The box was sealed, entirely pitch-black, exuding a metallic chill, and had considerable weight.

Jiang Ci looked at the box, his mind racing.

A prop for "Icebreaker"?

Supplementary script materials delivered early?

Or some kind of... performance art?

Lin Wan didn't keep him in suspense; she directly lifted the lid.

Inside was not a cold prop, nor was it a tragic script that would excite him.

It was a meticulously crafted set of purple clay tea utensils.

Jiang Ci was stunned.

"Idle hands are the devil's workshop," Lin Wan crossed her arms and gestured with her chin towards the tea set. "Make me a pot of tea."

This request was even more absurd than asking him to perform a comedy.

Jiang Ci's fingertips hovered above the tea set for a moment.

He silently took out each piece of the tea set one by one, arranging them on the coffee table with an almost obsessive-compulsive sense of perfect symmetry.

Boiling water, warming the cups, placing the tea leaves, brewing.

Lin Wan just watched him quietly.

She watched him approach this activity, which should have been filled with leisurely enjoyment, with the attitude of handling precision instruments.

Had he still not emerged from the character?

The living room was left with only the faint sound of flowing water.

When the amber-colored tea liquor was slowly poured into the tasting cups, Lin Wan suddenly asked a question.

"Do you remember what day it is today?"

Jiang Ci's hand pouring the tea didn't pause; he answered almost subconsciously: "August 20th, 2025."

He looked up blankly at Lin Wan, his eyes filled with genuine confusion.

Seeing him like that, the last bit of anger in Lin Wan's heart dissipated.

She sighed silently, didn't say anything more, turned around, and walked into the kitchen.

Ten minutes later, she walked out carrying a large white porcelain bowl and placed it heavily in front of Jiang Ci.

With a "thud," the bottom of the bowl collided with the tabletop, startling Jiang Ci back to his senses.

It wasn't any rare delicacy.

It was just a bowl of the most ordinary Yangchun noodles.

Clear broth, thin noodles, a few chopped scallions,

and lying neatly on top were two golden-yellow poached eggs.

"Twenty-three years old, Jiang Ci."

Lin Wan placed a pair of chopsticks in front of him.

"According to tradition, longevity noodles. One continuous slurp, live a long life."

Jiang Ci's gaze was glued to that bowl of noodles.

Those two poached eggs, those few chopped scallions,

were like a rusty key, thrust into a corner deep within his memory, and then given a forceful twist.

He finally remembered, in that dream from the night before last that held no joy or sorrow, parting or reunion,

who that woman who sang him the birthday song, her face unclear, actually was.

It was his mother.

In his memory, ever since his father left, on this day every year, no matter how tight the family's finances were,

his mother would always, like performing a magic trick, bring out an identical bowl of noodles like this.

Then, in Mandarin tinged with a heavy local accent, she would say the same words.

"One continuous slurp, live a long life."

A year ago, he was still deeply mired in the anxiety of extending his life, harboring an almost obsessive craving for the words "long life."

But now...

He looked at the string of numbers on his system panel, a life balance that felt unrealistically long,

then looked at this bowl of steaming hot noodles before him, and a sense of peace he had never felt before arose in his heart.

Lifespan no longer made him so anxious.

At the very least, it was enough for him to accomplish some things more important than merely "living" itself.

"Jiang Ci, what are you doing?"

Seeing him still lost in thought, Lin Wan couldn't help but urge him on. "The noodles will get cold if you don't eat them soon. They'll become a soggy lump and won't taste good."

Jiang Ci snapped back to reality. Looking at that bowl of noodles, so simple it clashed with the luxury of this mansion, his throat felt blocked by something.

He picked up the chopsticks; his fingers were actually a bit stiff.

This time, he wasn't acting.

It was a tremor originating from the depths of his bloodline, more real than any script.

He lowered his head, picked up a strand of noodles with the chopsticks, and carefully brought it to his mouth.

To conceal that sudden surge of emotion, he ate very quickly.

But he truly managed "one continuous slurp."

Seeing him like that, the softest part of Lin Wan's heart was gently nudged.

The bowl of noodles was soon empty, even the broth was drunk clean.

Jiang Ci put down the bowl and chopsticks, his Adam's apple bobbed, and he spoke softly.

"Thank you, Sister Wan."

As soon as the words left his mouth, the screen of his phone, which he had placed on the coffee table, suddenly lit up.

On the caller ID, a familiar contact name flashed.

"Mom."

The number's location was Star City.

The call connected.

Immediately, a voice that sounded somewhat aged, carrying a heavy local accent, yet desperately trying to suppress sobs, came through with a question.

"Son, Mom saw that video..."

Mother Jiang's voice held unconcealed probing and worry so thick it was almost palpable.

She had clearly seen that online video about him being blacklisted.

Mother Jiang didn't understand terms like "reversal," "marketing," or even "the play is greater than heaven."

In her simple world, she only saw her own son,

being screamed at and pushed away by a beautiful actress on the film set, saw him standing there alone, at a loss.

In her eyes, that was "being bullied."

"Mom, that was acting, it's fake," Jiang Ci hurriedly explained.

But Mother Jiang on the other end of the line had her own set of beliefs.

"How can acting involve crying so realistically like that?"

Her voice was stubborn. "I watched it back and forth several times. That girl was crying her heart out; it didn't seem fake."

"And you, I saw your hands were shaking, you must have been frightened."

Jiang Ci's heart felt both sour and tender. The more he tried to explain clearly, the less Mother Jiang seemed to receive the message.

But this anxiety, in Mother Jiang's ears, automatically transformed into another signal.

It was ironclad proof that her son had suffered a grievous wrong but didn't dare tell his family.

Jiang Ci wanted to say more, but suddenly there was silence on the other end of the line.

A few seconds later, Jiang Ci's WeChat notification sounded.

He tapped it open.

A transfer message abruptly popped up.

[Transfer Amount: 2000.00 yuan.]

Below it was an awkwardly typed note.

[Son, buy something good to eat for your birthday, don't skimp. If it really doesn't work out, just quit and come home. Mom will take care of you.]

Looking at that bright red "2000 yuan" and that simple, straightforward phrase "Mom will take care of you,"

Jiang Ci, this now multi-million yuan valued actor in the entertainment industry, pursued by capital,

completely broke down at this moment.

These 2000 yuan weren't enough for a fraction of the down payment on the large flat he bought for his mother.

Yet, at this moment, they felt heavier than all his acting fees combined in his bank account.

Jiang Ci held his phone, his gaze lingering on the screen for a long time, unmoving.

Lin Wan stood to the side. Seeing him like that, she silently turned her back, leaving him with a space of his own.

A long time passed before Jiang Ci managed to regain some composure.

He cleared his throat, his tone becoming light and cheerful.

He told the person on the phone that he was doing very well, that his boss was exceptionally good to him,

not only giving him a holiday but also that he had just eaten a big lobster for his birthday.

He rambled on for a long while, finally managing to reassure his mother.

Just before hanging up, Mother Jiang seemed to suddenly remember something.

Her originally gentle tone instantly turned forceful.

"Oh, right! If that boss named Lin Wan dares to bully you, you tell Mom!"

"Mom would dare to go to the capital and confront her, even if it costs me my old life!"

Jiang Ci hung up the phone. When he looked up,

he happened to meet Lin Wan's gaze reflected in the hanging painting on the wall, a look that seemed both amused and not.

Lin Wan leisurely spoke up: "I heard. She's coming to the capital to have a word with me, is that it?"

A rare warmth flushed Jiang Ci's cheeks. He lowered his head and silently tapped to accept the payment.

Then, he took a screenshot of that 2000 yuan transfer record and solemnly saved it in his phone's photo album.

Only then did he lift his head and reply in a tone that was half-serious, half-teasing:

"Sister Wan, what my mom said was, if you dare to dock my wages."