Chapter Sixty-Eight: The Master’s Persona Has Collapsed

“Can’t keep up, can’t keep up—a monthly pension of only three thousand four hundred is just too deadly!”
“As expected, in this materialistic world, all talk of detachment and carefree living is a lie! The only reality is to be a wage slave, trading your dignity and receding hairline each month for enough to live on!”
“Brothers, my dream is over. I’m going back to my real company, to face my real boss, and earn a real salary. Sorry, I’m out!”

...

On Bilibili, after a wave of crushing disappointment, many viewers quietly logged off.
In fact, just yesterday, someone had posted that they’d seen the so-called wandering master at a casting call and revealed that he was actually an actor.
But the post had drawn little attention.
After all, there was no photo or video proof, and ever since the master’s videos had gone viral on Bilibili, there were all kinds of people trying to ride the hype, claiming they’d been taught by the master or even taken on as his disciples.
So no one believed it.
Who could have guessed that now, Li Shixin would publicly admit his identity, clarifying that this whole wandering act was just character immersion for his role in “Riding the Wind.”
Once the truth was out, it wasn’t just wailing across Bilibili. Even the streamers who’d come to capitalize on the trend were in an uproar, arguing loudly before scattering. Some viewers, feeling as if their faith had been shattered, silently gathered their things in the junkyard and left, one by one.
Watching this group of young people, so impulsive and heedless of consequences, Li Shixin only shook his head with a faint smile.
They hadn’t really been tempered by the world yet—still naive, thinking life was simple.
He felt no guilt whatsoever.
The wandering master persona had always been something the internet foisted on him. With his acting career developing and his exposure increasing, it was only a matter of time before the illusion broke.
He truly didn’t care.
Waving to the departing backs and wishing them well at their jobs, he clasped his hands behind him and strolled back into the junkyard.
Li Erchun, fearing the viewers would come after him, trailed behind, trembling.
Surrounded by the fading figures and the curses of the streamers, Li Erchun tugged his sleeve gently, “Old man, don’t be sad. I believe in you!”
“Yeah! Old geezer, I could tell what was going to happen as soon as they showed up yesterday. These kids are just bored with easy lives and looking for a thrill. Don’t let them get to you!” the big guy beside him chimed in.
Li Shixin couldn’t help but laugh, patting their shoulders as he returned to the bus that had once sheltered him from the wind and rain.
He truly didn’t take it to heart.

After gathering a few of the vagrants, Li Shixin told them the crew would soon begin shooting, and arranged for them to clean up and help out with odd jobs.
The big guy and a few others wiped away tears at his words.
Actually, when they’d learned Li Shixin was an actor, it wasn’t the streamers or the viewers who were most shocked—it was these vagrants.
For the past ten days or so, they’d thought of Li Shixin as one of their own. When his identity as an actor came out, a sense of inferiority crept in, born of the difference between them.
Suddenly, the image of the old man telling stories by the fire seemed to drift far, far away.
But now, seeing that Li Shixin still cared about them, the big guy’s tears flowed all the more.
“All right, enough with the tears.” Li Shixin pulled some money from his pocket and handed it to the big guy. “In these next few days, buy yourselves some decent clothes and take a bath. When filming starts, I’ll come let you know.”
“Old man,” Li Erchun said after a moment’s hesitation, “I won’t go. Life here has been tough, but I’ve felt truly at ease. My heart has settled, my writing is flowing, so I’d like to stay a while longer.”
Looking at Li Erchun, so solemn and earnest, Li Shixin chuckled, “As you wish.”
Just then, Needleman spoke up as well, “Old man, I’m not going either.”
This surprised Li Shixin.
“Needleman, you’ve been so sick lately you can barely walk, and you haven’t found much of anything in days. If you don’t go with the old man, are you just going to stay here and wait to die?”
The big guy, who was closest to Needleman, was furious.
“It’s not that—” Needleman shrank back as the big guy shot to his feet, looking ready to bite. He pulled up his pant leg.
His calf was already ulcerated in patches.
Amid the shocked stares of his companions, Needleman gave a sheepish grin, “Don’t have much time left. I thought, rather than burden my family, I’d just die quietly here. But... even Stammer, who killed a man and ran, turned himself in... I don’t know why, or how to say it. Maybe I’m just a coward, but before I die, I want to see my wife and kid again.”
“That’s how it should be.” In the silence, Li Shixin smiled and patted Needleman’s shoulder. “When are you leaving?”
“Today, I guess. Now that everyone’s leaving, no point in me staying. I’ll... go first.”
Needleman’s “go first” clearly had a double meaning.
As the other vagrants wept, Li Shixin laughed softly, standing up with his hands behind his back: “A man’s place is back home, like leaves returning to their roots. It’s a good thing. Come, I’ll help you pack.”
But really, there wasn’t much for a vagrant to pack.
Li Shixin followed Needleman to the old van he lived in, and after searching for a while, all they found was a pile of medicines, unsure if they’d been bought or scavenged.

They say there are only wrong names, not wrong nicknames—Needleman had earned his for a reason.
While Needleman sorted through his meager belongings, Li Shixin quietly mixed ten blank-packaged health suppositories into a box of medicine for proctitis.
Then, together with the others, he escorted this man—whose real name nobody could recall, only knowing he was from Shanxi—out of the junkyard.
When he returned, he directed the remaining vagrants to gather some props from beside the bus, preparing for a new start, and then he left.
He hadn’t gotten far from the junkyard when he ran into a figure with a huge backpack, walking straight toward the junkyard.
“Master!”
Before Li Shixin could approach, the man waved and called out to him.
Li Shixin stopped his three-wheeler, squinting to get a better look, and frowned, “Young man, I told you, there’s no master here. Why are you back?”
Zhang Quandan adjusted his glasses, baring his teeth in a grin, “Master, I’ve thought it through. No matter who you are, whether you’re acting or putting on a show, I truly found peace in your presence. I don’t regret quitting my job, I’ve chosen my path, so I want to stay and find my true self.”
Looking at Zhang Quandan’s youthful face beneath a forty-year-old’s hairline, Li Shixin smiled slightly.
He said nothing, just waved his hand, and drove off in a cloud of dust.

...

In the days that followed, the conversation on Bilibili about Li Shixin changed in tone.
From “wandering master” to “wandering scam.”
Videos began cropping up—“A pension of three thousand four hundred,” “I’m just an actor, but the fools believed me”—poking fun at the situation.
In the comment scrolls under popular videos and romance anime, new memes emerged: “Girl, will you roam with me? But I don’t have a pension,” and “Send him to the junkyard to receive the master’s teachings—standing room tickets on me.”
Li Shixin paid it no mind, simply accepting the trickle of mocking or cheering comments.
He went about his business as usual, preparing small props for “Riding the Wind” with Zhang Ying and Li Xiaomeng.
The days of pretending to be a sage passed in a flash.

On the eighth day after the master persona had collapsed, with all the props ready, Li Shixin finally received a call from Jiao Chendong.
With Tianmeng Entertainment as lead producer, partnered with several other film companies, the art film “Riding the Wind” was officially going into production!