You were asked to write a political intrigue drama, but you wrote "Da Ming 1566".

Chapter 97 A God-Level Scene! A Wall of Money!

With a loud bang, the refrigerator door swung open completely, and a blast of cold air, mixed with the smell of paper and ink, rushed out.

Then, a jaw-dropping scene unfolded—the refrigerator, which should have been crammed with food, was instead neatly stacked with hundred-yuan bills bound together with banknote straps, one bundle after another, from the refrigerator compartment to the freezer compartment, without a single gap.

The top few bundles lost their balance due to the vibration when the refrigerator door was opened, and they fell down one after another with a "clatter," hitting the cold tile floor, and the scattered banknotes flew everywhere like snowflakes.

Time seemed to stand still. Zhao Dehan's body stiffened abruptly, his lips, which had been trembling slightly, instantly drained of color, and his entire face turned as white as a sheet of paper fresh from a printer, devoid of any trace of blood. His pupils dilated sharply, staring intently at the scattered banknotes on the ground, a strange "hoarse" sound escaping his throat, as if someone were choking him, unable to utter a single word for a long time. His previously eloquent explanations ceased abruptly; his mind went blank, and all his pretense and composure crumbled instantly before the mountain of banknotes.

"Who put so much money in our refrigerator?!"

Almost instinctively, Zhao Dehan blurted out this flawed explanation. As soon as he finished speaking, he realized his mistake, his face turned even uglier, and he wished he could swallow his words back.

The next moment, Hou Liangping's pent-up anger finally erupted. He stepped forward, pointed at Zhao Dehan's nose, and roared deafeningly, "Now you admit this is your refrigerator?!"

The roar, like a thunderclap from a clear sky, echoed for a long time in the empty living room. Zhao Dehan was struck dumb, his whole body swaying, almost collapsing to the ground. His legs felt as heavy as lead, unable to support his weight, and he could only subconsciously take a step back, his back slamming heavily against the cold refrigerator door with a dull thud. Cold sweat instantly soaked through his shirt, clinging tightly to his back, making him shiver. He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but found that his tongue was tied in knots, and he couldn't utter a single word. The psychological defenses he had painstakingly built up over the years had been completely breached under Hou Liangping's precise strike, shattering into nothingness.

At this moment, on the other end of the live stream, Chen Yu sat in front of his computer, watching the scene he had written on the screen, his heart filled with mixed emotions. He recalled the veteran actor Hou Yong, who played Zhao Dehan in his previous life. Hou Yong's divine performance in this classic scene—from the initial feigned composure to the panic when exposed, and finally to the complete breakdown and weeping—every expression and every movement was perfectly executed, vividly portraying the image of a cowardly and greedy corrupt official. It was precisely because he was so deeply moved by that performance that Chen Yu specially added a detailed description of Zhao Dehan's expression to the script, hoping to convey that extreme sense of collapse to the audience.

[Zhao Dehan's expression shifted from a forced panic to utter collapse, his face gradually breaking down, revealing a tearful expression, his wrinkles bunching together like crumpled pieces of paper.]

Then came those few lines that are enough to be recorded in film and television history.

Zhao Dehan, whose psychological defenses had completely collapsed, slowly raised his head, looked at Hou Liangping, who had a serious expression on his face, his lips trembling, and with a heavy sob in his voice, he managed to utter three words: "Director Hou—"

His voice was hoarse, like sandpaper rubbing against wood, filled with endless despair and regret. The next second, he could no longer control his emotions, and tears rolled down his face like broken beads, mixed with snot, covering his entire face.

"I didn't spend a single penny—"

"I dare not—"

"Our family has been farmers for generations. We were terrified of poverty and dared not touch a single penny. It's all here—"

These few simple, almost clumsy lines struck the hearts of all the viewers like a heavy hammer.

The live stream, which had been buzzing with excitement over the famous scene of money hidden in the refrigerator, suddenly fell into a deathly silence. The scrolling speed of the comments slowed down abruptly, and the dense barrage of "Holy crap!" and "Awesome!" disappeared without a trace, leaving only a few scattered question marks.

Countless viewers stared wide-eyed at the screen, their minds reeling from the powerful lines. They couldn't believe that this corrupt official, who had embezzled an astronomical sum, would say such a thing. He'd embezzled so much money, yet dared not spend a single penny? Was it because he was "terrified of poverty"?

Are farmers' children terrified of poverty?

In an instant, countless complex emotions surged and intertwined in the hearts of the viewers. Some, watching Zhao Dehan weeping bitterly on the screen, even felt a strange sense of identification.

"That's what happens when you're terrified of poverty. The insecurity that comes from poverty that seeps into your bones can really stay with you for a lifetime."

"Just like my grandparents' generation, even though they are already living a very comfortable life and have no worries about food and clothing, they still have to have a rice container that is full to the brim, the refrigerator is always crammed full without leaving any gaps, and the closets are still stocked with old clothes from several years ago."

"I asked them why they did this, and they said they knew they wouldn't go hungry now, but they were terrified of hunger back then. Without enough food and supplies, they would panic and couldn't sleep soundly."

"Zhao Dehan said he was terrified of being poor. He embezzled so much money but didn't dare spend a single penny. He didn't even dare live in this mansion. He still rode a beat-up bicycle to and from get off work every day and ate noodles with soybean paste. Maybe that's his mentality. Even if he didn't use the money, as long as the money was there and he could see it, he would feel safe."

However, most viewers scoffed at this, feeling more anger and disdain. Just like Hou Liangping's resounding rebuke in the script, it instantly awakened those viewers who felt sympathy.

[A farmer's child?]

Hou Liangping's eyes were filled with disappointment and anger. He looked at the man in front of him, who was crying and snotting his eyes, and his voice was as cold as the snow in the dead of winter.

When you were making huge sums of dirty money, why didn't you ever think about the fact that you were born into a farming family?

Now that things have gone wrong, he claims to be the son of a farmer? Farmers in China are really unlucky; how could they have such a wicked son?

Faced with these piercing questions, Zhao Dehan was speechless. He could only lower his head, letting out suppressed sobs, his shoulders trembling violently. Suddenly, he jerked his head up and, with all his might, slammed his forehead against the cold refrigerator door.

"Thump!"

A dull thud was heard, and his forehead instantly turned red. Seeing this, the anti-corruption officers nearby rushed forward to grab his arms, trying to stop him. But Zhao Dehan seemed to have gone mad, struggling desperately, repeatedly banging his head against the refrigerator door, making a loud "thump thump" sound, as if only in this way could he alleviate his guilt and fear.

"I was wrong—I was wrong—"

He screamed through tears and sobs, his voice hoarse and broken, filled with despair. Only when two police officers held him down firmly and made him unable to move did he stop his thrashing, collapsing to the ground like a lump of mud, wailing and crying loudly.

After a long while, Zhao Dehan finally calmed down. His face was ashen, his eyes vacant, and he was helped by the police officers to slump down on the expensive leather sofa in the mansion. On the coffee table in the center of the living room, bundles of banknotes taken from the refrigerator were neatly stacked into a small mountain, gleaming coldly and glaringly under the light.

The viewers breathed a collective sigh of relief. The leader of the Zhejiang Provincial Anti-Corruption Bureau, sitting in his office watching the live broadcast, wore a satisfied expression. The corrupt official had finally been caught, confessed on the spot, and accepted punishment—the most exhilarating and satisfying result in the anti-corruption work. He picked up his teacup, about to take a sip, but the next moment, a sentence on the screen made him freeze in place.

Resigned to his fate, Zhao Dehan raised his head, staring blankly at the ceiling. He weakly pointed upwards and said in an almost inaudible voice, "There's more in the bedroom upstairs."

These words, though spoken lightly, resonated like a thunderclap in everyone's ears.

In the script, Hou Liangping's pupils suddenly contracted, and he abruptly raised his head to look at the stairs leading to the second floor. The audience outside the script felt a chill run down their spines, a cold shiver shooting from their feet to their heads.

"besides?!"

"There's already so much in the fridge, and there's still more upstairs?!"

The scene shifts abruptly to the master bedroom upstairs. Two officers cautiously approach the large oil painting covering the entire wall. One of them grabs one side of the frame and slowly pulls the painting up. As the painting is raised, a huge hidden compartment behind the wall is gradually revealed.

The moment the hidden compartment was fully revealed, the scene Chen Yu described caused all the viewers to gasp in shock. Even the self-proclaimed expert from the Zhejiang Provincial Anti-Corruption Bureau, who boasted of his vast experience and numerous major cases, couldn't help but jump up from his office chair. In his excitement, his elbow slammed against the table, nearly knocking over a teacup. The scalding tea spilled onto his hand, but he seemed oblivious, his eyes glued to the screen, muttering to himself, "What?"

"What?!"

"An entire wall, all covered in money?"

He had dedicated his life to anti-corruption work, witnessing countless sums of embezzled money, from tens or hundreds of thousands to millions or tens of millions. He thought he was used to it all. But now, looking at the wall on the screen filled with banknotes, he was still deeply shocked. Bundles of brand-new hundred-yuan bills were stacked neatly like bricks in a hidden compartment, piled from the floor to the ceiling without a single gap, forming a veritable "wall of money." The dense array of banknotes was dizzying to look at.

"A whole wall of money, how much money must that be?!" The anti-corruption bureau leader gasped, his heart pounding.

Even this anti-corruption bureau leader, who is used to seeing big scenes, reacted this way, let alone the ordinary audience.

At this moment, the live stream chat exploded with a barrage of "Holy crap!" that instantly filled the screen, almost completely covering it.

"A wall full of money, that's terrifying! I've never seen so much money in my life!"

"Terrifying? If I had the money for this whole wall, I'd rather die inside!"

"Can anyone calculate how much this wall costs? A few million definitely isn't enough, how about tens of millions? Or even hundreds of millions?"

"Are you kidding me? I really didn't expect that after reading Chen Yu's script, my understanding of the unit for measuring the amount of corrupt officials' ill-gotten gains would change from a briefcase to a refrigerator, and now it's even a whole wall!"

"Awesome, Chen Yu is truly amazing! His imagination and the impact of his ideas are off the charts!"

After a long while, the viewers in the live stream slowly recovered from their extreme shock. Looking at the breathtaking wall of money on the screen, and recalling the overwhelming accusations and insults Chen Yu had faced earlier, a look of suspicion appeared in their eyes.

Their previous anger and agitation stemmed entirely from the so-called "internal chat logs" released by Ma Yingkui. As the head of the Xiangyu Pictures screenwriting team, and given the seemingly credible nature of the chat logs, they carried considerable weight. Immediately following suit, almost all major film and television companies issued statements condemning Chen Yu, with the Screenwriters Association even declaring a permanent ban on him. Under this overwhelming media onslaught, they naturally believed Ma Yingkui's words, feeling deceived and emotionally hurt by Chen Yu, which explains their fervent joining the condemnation of him.

But now, after watching the first scene of Chen Yu's "In the Name of the People," viewers feel that the accusations against Chen Yu are utterly absurd.

What do you mean Chen Yu only wrote "The Ming Dynasty" because of Ma Yingkui's team? What do you mean Chen Yu is just being pretentious and stealing other people's work?

But now, Ma Yingkui's team has completely broken ties with Chen Yu, and almost all the top film and television companies have declared that they will blacklist Chen Yu. In such a short period of time, it is impossible for Chen Yu to find any good screenwriting teams to cooperate with.

Therefore, the script for "In the Name of the People" could only have been written by Chen Yu alone.

And this first act was already absolutely explosive. The refrigerator hiding money, the money wall, one memorable scene after another appeared, and the divine lines such as "I didn't spend a penny" and "the son of a farmer" were endless. Every detail was handled perfectly, bringing the dramatic conflict and character tension to the extreme.

What is this? This is Chen Yu's unique style!

That's how incredibly talented and unreasonable he is. Scenes that others might spend months or even years crafting can be produced by Chen Yu as easily as if they were wholesale.

Even without Ma Yingkui's team, Chen Yu wrote it himself, and it still retained the same flavor and quality, without the slightest drop in standard, even surpassing "Da Ming Dynasty" in some ways. Doesn't this precisely demonstrate that the previous "Da Ming Dynasty"...

Is it really not as Ma Yingkui and others claim?

At this point, the audience, having calmed down, felt increasingly uneasy.