Chapter 385: Another Scandal: Lu Bu Goes Viral in Japan

Yangjiao Lantern Alley

Yan Li, reminded by Dong Xuan, realized he had gone to the hospital—and it had been posted online.

Hmm, that’s not surprising; hospitals are crowded, and Yan Li didn’t hide his identity when coming and going, so being spotted or photographed was perfectly normal.

But what was more absurd was how wildly exaggerated the reports about his hospital visit had become.

Some credible reports claimed Li Xiao was hospitalized, and Yan Li went to visit; rumors spread that Li Xiao had an ectopic pregnancy and was rushed to the hospital, with Yan Li appearing as the child’s father.

That at least had some connection, but gradually the rumor shifted to Hu Siyan being pregnant—and it spread even further.

Compared to Li Xiao, whose link to Yan Li was minimal, the gossip between Hu Siyan and Yan Li was far more widespread, and someone had indeed captured blurry photos of the two at the hospital—Hu Siyan seeing Yan Li off downstairs.

Yan Li, upon seeing this, had already stopped caring.

He’d thought he’d been exposed for something serious, but now it was clear: just tabloids and gossip-seekers stirring trouble; looking at it twice was a waste of time.

Yan Li didn’t care, but Hu Siyan and Li Xiao couldn’t sit still.

Both feared being implicated in Yan Li’s reputation, and rumors of ectopic pregnancy or pregnancy would damage their careers and social standing, so they quickly clarified via Weibo.

Li Xiao denied being pregnant, stating she was hospitalized due to an accidental injury, posted her medical records, and thanked Yan Li for helping her find an expert friend for diagnosis.

She didn’t mention switching wards—since that involved hospital internal matters—but seeking help from an expert friend was perfectly understandable human behavior.

Hu Siyan also stated she wasn’t pregnant; the online photos showed her escorting Yan Li out on Li Xiao’s behalf.

Both posted a photo of them together in hospital beds, clearly portraying close friends caring for a patient, with no connection to pregnancy.

Ma Yi and Xiong Naijin also appeared in their comment sections to testify; Qin Lan even posted an emoji, indirectly confirming she knew Yan Li had gone on her behalf.

After the two Weibo posts, the pregnancy rumors were cleared—but the words “corpus luteum rupture” on the medical records pulled Yan Li back in.

Though this condition can result from falls or spontaneous causes, the majority of cases are linked to physical activity—yes, various kinds of activity.

Everyone knows Yan Li’s reputation as “Yan the Cannon,” and combined with Li Xiao’s petite frame and Yan Li’s personal hospital visit, the connection was impossible to ignore.

Now it was perfect: no explanation could possibly clear it up!

Pregnancy rumors were easy to debunk and attracted limited attention, but this kind of ambiguous, explosive scandal couldn’t be refuted or disproven.

Even with evidence, people wouldn’t believe it—they’d smile mysteriously and cling to whatever they wanted to believe.

Whether true or not, once labeled with things like golf, Sky Dragon tent, or stamp collecting, the stigma stuck.

Yan Li had faced similar rumors before: the Seven Fairies all conquered, “Painted Skin” filming with two soldiers sharing a bed, the Xiangjiang yacht scandal, and so on.

Even though the parties consistently denied them, many refused to believe it—and now Li Xiao’s incident had landed on him again.

Though, truthfully, most of these incidents were largely true…

For Yan Li, too many lice mean no itch—he had so many romantic scandals that one more, Li Xiao, made no difference, as long as he remained pristine in Qin’s eyes.

Dong Xuan and Qin Lan had no doubts either.

Li Xiao had minimal public contact with Yan Li; they both knew the full story—he was purely taking the blame.

So no matter how noisy the outside world became, Qin didn’t take it seriously—she merely mocked and ridiculed the man for his terrible reputation, which had landed him in such trashy messes.

Li Xiao couldn’t explain further, nor could she properly address it—she could only pretend ignorance and lie flat, enduring the mockery.

Fortunately, Jia Nailiang believed her; mainly because when he arrived at the hospital, Li was only accompanied by Hu Siyan, and everything appeared perfectly normal.

When Yan Li later arrived, his behavior was entirely logical—he naturally wouldn’t suspect falsely, nor dare to suspect.

Jia Nailiang, in pursuit, held an absolute inferior position; if he dared voice complaints or make moves, Li Xiao would kick him out without hesitation.

As a top actress, Li Xiao had no shortage of suitors—but Jia Nailiang might never find another female star who fell for his type.

The entertainment industry is a marketplace of fame and fortune, prioritizing money, power, and talent; the warm-guy approach has an audience, but the proportion is truly low.

Think about it: ordinary beauties can keep several sycophants; how much more so these female stars, wealthy, beautiful, and surrounded by a halo? A single gesture draws countless groveling men—even some with respectable credentials.

Li Xiao thought she could just play dead, ride out the storm, and wait until the Spring Festival Gala news broke—then no one would care, at most a few teasing jabs now and then.

But unexpectedly, her ex-boyfriend Li Chen showed up.

The reason? A bored netizen, knowing Li Chen was Li Xiao’s ex, went to his Weibo comment section and asked about it.

When Li Chen and Li Xiao broke up, part of the reason was his suspicion that she and Yan Li were involved, along with accumulated conflicts over emotions and family—later, Li Xiao even went out of her way to provoke him.

Li Chen likely still harbored resentment and seized this chance for a small revenge.

Perhaps wary of Yan Li, he didn’t say it outright; his accusations leaned more toward Li Xiao, implying she was vain, betrayed true love, and now clung to a rich, powerful man—this was all her own fault, and so on.

Though merely implied, at this moment, combined with the rumors, it hammered Yan Li and Li Xiao again.

Li Xiao was furious, stomach aching; Hu Siyan, seeing this, stood up for her best friend—primarily to defend Yan Li.

The matter between the two Lis had nothing to do with Yan Li.

When Yan Li and Li Xiao had dealings, they were already broken up; the main reasons were Li Chen’s insecurity, paranoia, and accumulated emotional and familial conflicts.

So Hu Siyan directly @ed Li Chen on Weibo, scolding him for malicious intent and dirty tactics, and laid out some of their past conflicts (mostly Li Chen’s negative actions).

Hu Siyan was close to Li Xiao and understood their situation well; her statements were reasonable and well-supported.

The Teddy Sisterhood stood united; once Hu Siyan opened fire, the others followed.

They knew relatively little—back then, the Teddy Sisterhood wasn’t especially close, and Li Xiao wouldn’t broadcast her romantic affairs; most just sided with Li Xiao.

But Li Chen had his own cronies, like Liu Tianzuo, who starred in “Soldiers Sortie,” and Du Chun, his colleague signed to Huayi.

The former merely supported Li Chen as a good guy, backing his brother; Du Chun was more pointed, implying one shouldn’t bow to evil forces and so on.

As for the other “Soldiers Sortie” cast members, whether they didn’t want to meddle in private affairs or feared someone, none spoke up.

Seeing the Teddy Sisterhood’s fierce onslaught, especially Hu Siyan’s fearless demeanor, Li Chen grew wary and quietly deleted his Weibo replies—effectively surrendering.

Hu Siyan wasn’t satisfied; she went to his comment section to taunt him, warning him to behave himself and never bother Li Xiao again—or she wouldn’t let him off.

Wow!

Li Xiao finally vented her anger; Hu Siyan thoroughly enjoyed this moment of commanding authority and power.

She even wished Li Chen would argue with her again—since all the leaks targeted Li Xiao anyway.

After Li Chen went quiet, she turned her attention to Du Chun—but the bastard deleted his Weibo and vanished.

Liu Tianzuo didn’t delete; his remarks weren’t excessive, and his fame was too low—she didn’t even bother to care.

Just as Li Chen had jumped out to whine, Yan Li made no statement.

Too low-class!

Someone Hu Siyan could easily handle was no different to Yan Li than a random netizen—getting angry over them would be beneath him.

Of course, not getting angry or caring didn’t mean letting them jump around in front of Yan Li.

But Yan Li didn’t need to act himself; his subordinates who understood the game and wanted to advance would handle it—later, casually bringing it to Yan Li’s attention would earn them points.

Yi’an’s senior executives were little brothers to Yan Li, but outside, they were all major figures in the industry.

This was evident from Luo Haiqiong’s wedding to Huayi’s vice president, attended by countless stars and big names.

Of course, this vice president was also a Huayi shareholder with considerable background—not comparable to ordinary executives.

But Yi’an also had senior executives who were shareholders with strong connections; handling one or two lesser-known male stars was no problem, even without much effort—a single snare, and others would naturally join in.

In the entertainment industry, the rarest thing is a benefactor willing to lift others up; the most abundant is colleagues and peers who kick you while you’re down to climb up.

…

Aside from occasionally asking after Li Xiao’s health, Yan Li focused entirely on the New Year.

This year’s New Year was slightly busier for Yan Li, mainly because he had to have dinner with Qin Lan and Dong Xuan’s parents, who were coming to Beijing after the holiday.