Peninsula: I can steal the luck of disgraced celebrities

Li Yuexi was taken away by the housekeeper from last time.

Lin Puzhi stood in the corridor for a while, then walked to the bench by the wall and sat down.

The corridor was quiet, with only the sound of water flowing in the heating pipes.

The young actors who had been waiting for their auditions with him had all left, leaving only a few staff members who occasionally passed by, their footsteps sounding particularly clear in the empty corridor.

Lin Puzhi could vaguely hear the contents of the meeting room.

He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.

On the system panel, the icon for the [Passive Skill - Strong Luck] is still flashing. It consumes 1 point of merit every minute, and nearly thirty minutes have passed since it was activated before entering the meeting room.

Thirty points of good deeds are not much for a wealthy person who currently has 434 points of good deeds.

But he remembered the warning in the system instructions.

If the time left on is too long, you will suffer a bad backlash after closing it. The longer the time left on, the greater the backlash.

Is twenty minutes considered "too long"? He didn't know.

Last time he activated it for one minute, and the misfortune backfired for one minute, but nothing happened.

Some people are naturally good at waiting. Because they have no other choice but to wait.

They believed that Lin Puzhi's background was merely a case of a fox borrowing the tiger's power.

If they knew that Lin Puzhi was just an ordinary person with no background, would they still argue so fiercely for him?

Hard to say.

The meeting room door was ajar.

A middle-aged man from the production team poked his head out, said something to a staff member in the corridor, and then retreated back inside.

The moment the door closed, Lin Puzhi heard Li Hengmin's voice clearly—"Then it's settled."

Lin Puzhi's heart skipped a beat. Although he didn't know the answer, he had already submitted a perfect answer.

He is leaving.

By the time I stepped out of the SBS Ilsan Production Center, it was already completely dark.

In Seoul at the end of January, night falls exceptionally early; it's only a little past six o'clock, and the sky is already as dark as midnight.

The streetlights cast a dim, yellowish light, dividing the street into alternating segments of light and shadow.

Lin Puzhi stood at the door and took a deep breath of the cold air.

Then he silently recited it in his mind.

"System, disable [Forced Luck]."

[Beep. Passive skill - Strong Luck is now off.]

Total usage time: 67 minutes.

[Charity points consumed: 67 points.]

[Current balance of good deeds: 367 points.]

[Warning: The duration of your "Strong Luck" buff has reached 67 minutes. The negative consequences are about to begin.]

[Backlash duration: 67 minutes, equal to the usage duration.]

During the backlash, the host's misfortune value reaches 30%, but it will not endanger the host's life.

During the backlash, all active skills of the system will be unusable.

[Countdown to backlash: 3, 2, 1 —]

Lin Puzhi's right foot had just stepped down the step when his foot suddenly slipped.

He reacted quickly, grabbing the railing beside him with his other hand to steady himself.

Looking down, I saw a patch of unmelted ice on the steps, reflecting a faint light under the streetlights.

It didn't snow all day, and I don't know where this piece of ice came from.

He carefully walked down the steps, holding onto the railing, and came to the roadside.

Less than ten meters away, a black sedan drove past.

The wheels rolled over a puddle of half-melted snow on the roadside, splashing gray mud like a fan.

Lin Puzhi was unable to dodge in time.

The dark jeans were soaked through from the knees down, clinging to the skin, icy cold.

The car didn't slow down; its taillights flashed briefly in the night before it disappeared around the corner.

Lin Puzhi looked down at his soaked trouser legs.

Sixty-five minutes remaining.

Can I cross the road to the other side?

He patted the mud off his trousers and continued walking.

Finally reaching the crossroads, given Lin Puzhi's current luck, he naturally had to wait for the red light.

Beside the road is an old residential building, six stories high, with air conditioner units and clothes racks hanging all over the exterior walls.

The winter wind in Seoul blows through the buildings, carrying the moisture from the Han River and the smell of kimchi soup.

The red light has 20 seconds left.

Lin Puzhi heard a very faint "click" from above his head.

He raised his head.

On the fifth-floor windowsill, a terracotta flowerpot is sliding outwards.

The flowerpot was small, containing a withered green plant, with a thin layer of ice on the surface of the soil.

It was stuck on the metal railing at the edge of the windowsill, and was being blown outwards little by little by the wind.

The flowerpot fell down.

Lin Puzhi took two steps back.

It hit the spot where they had just been standing.

The sound of clay shattering was particularly jarring on the winter night streets, splattering dirt everywhere and snapping dry plant stems into pieces.

The fragment rolled to the side of Lin Puzhi's shoe; it was a triangular piece of pottery with sharp edges.

The sound of a window opening came from upstairs. A woman leaned out, saw the shards on the ground, and screamed.

"I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry! The wind was too strong—did anyone get hurt?"

Lin Puzhi looked up at her. "It's okay. Next time, put the flowerpot a little further inside."

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!" The woman's voice trembled with lingering fear.

Lin Puzhi waved his hand and crossed the road.

He knew he didn't blame her.

He continued walking. He crossed the commercial street and turned into a small alley.

The alley is narrow, with old residential buildings on both sides, their walls peeling and revealing the gray cement underneath.

One of the streetlights was broken, so only the middle section of the alley was lit, while both ends were dark.

Lin Puzhi heard a sound when he reached the middle of the alley.

In the shadows ahead, three young men leaned against the wall, smoking.

The firelight flickered at their fingertips, and the smoke drifted like a thin blue veil in the light of the streetlights.

They were wearing loose-fitting sportswear, one of them had dyed yellow hair, and the other two were wearing baseball caps.

When they saw Lin Puzhi walking over alone, the three of them exchanged a glance.

"Hey," the blond guy said, his voice slurred with drunkenness, "Can I borrow a light?"

Lin Puzhi did not stop walking. "I don't smoke."

"You don't smoke? Then what's in your pocket?"

The blond-haired man stretched out his hand, blocking the way.

He smelled of liquor, mixed with the smell of cigarettes and sweat.

He didn't take Lin Puzhi seriously and wanted to reach directly into his pocket.

Lin Puzhi knew that all they wanted was money.

As long as the toll is paid, you can pass through smoothly.

There might also be a verbal humiliation.

Lin Puzhi took a step back, dodging the outstretched hand.

"You know what?" Lin Puzhi said, stretching his ankles, "I'm really angry tonight."

The three of them laughed heartily, not taking Lin Puzhi's words seriously.

Lin Puzhi continued speaking to himself:

Do you know who I'm associated with?

"Who?"

"Master Tang!"

"Never heard of it."

"Never even heard of Master Tang? Where do you guys work?"

The three looked at each other, then formed a circle and began to discuss.

"Who is Master Tang Jiu?"

"Never heard of it."

"But he spoke with such conviction that it seemed he really existed."

"Who cares? Let's just grab it. Seoul is so big, how could he possibly find us?"

"That's true."

After the discussion, the three looked at the spot where Lin Puzhi had been standing.

Where are they?

The sharp-eyed blond man spotted Lin Puzhi, who had already run far away, and pointed in that direction:

"Shiba, there it is!"

"Damn it! How dare they lie to us! Chase after them!"