Chapter 107: Makeup

Closing the video window of the program preview, Mo Shu continued to browse through related videos about "Extreme Partners."

To his surprise, several viewers in the comment section below the video had already begun to inquire about his background.

“Can someone tell me who this racing ace is? Waiting online,” one netizen asked.

“The guest seems to be called Mo Shu. I heard he’s quite good at racing,” another replied.

“Really? Is he an experienced driver? How good could he be? Is he as skilled as the big-name international racers?”

“No way. When has our great China ever produced world-class racing talents?”

“Exactly, our motorsport scene started too late; we can’t compete on the global stage.”

“I don’t think so. Mo Shu is actually the champion of our national GTCC, and he won in his very first year, beating all opponents.”

Seeing some praise, Mo Shu felt slightly better; his reputation was a bit higher than he had expected, which was gratifying.

Curious, he scrolled further and found the situation wasn’t as optimistic as he’d hoped. Negative comments started to appear one after another.

“Who’s Mo Shu? Don’t know him. GTCC? No thanks, just a bunch of cars going in circles—so boring!”

“Do you even know who this guy is? I don’t, nor do I care. Racers are just spoiled rich kids wasting money on cars.”

“Heh, I was browsing foreign sites the other day, and it seems all of Europe is criticizing Mo Shu, calling him shameless, immoral, even accusing him of sabotaging competitors. Probably not a good guy.”

Mo Shu frowned at the screen. What kind of netizens were these? Their information was so outdated.

Even Ai Chixiang had publicly expressed respect for Mo Shu’s conduct in official interviews. Why did these netizens only see the bad and ignore the good?

Truly, “good news travels slow, bad news spreads far.”

As the European criticism spread, more and more netizens lowered their opinions of Mo Shu, and misunderstandings deepened.

Mo Shu grew anxious. Wang Yu had arranged for him to appear on the show to boost the team’s fame and reputation, as well as to promote and pave the way for their long-anticipated “Cloud Summit Speeddown Race.”

Now, before the show had even started filming, the Vermeulen family’s slander had already reached domestic shores. Unaware netizens would surely jump on the bandwagon to criticize them.

His reputation might be small now, but if it affected the race’s organization, that would be a serious problem.

Wang Yu’s calls remained unanswered. Mo Shu felt helpless and restless. He even considered pretending to be a fan to defend himself in the comment section, but ultimately gave up the idea. If he slipped up, the team’s and his reputation would be utterly ruined.

Just then, the sound of a key turning in the door lock came from home—it was his parents returning from the movies.

Mo Shu quickly closed his laptop; he didn’t want his parents to see the online comments. Last time they visited, his father had been downcast for days because of the harsh words people had posted about his son.

After all, his parents were from a different generation; they couldn’t understand some of today’s youth’s views and behaviors, so they might easily believe such trivial online nonsense.

After a brief chat, his mother urged him to go to bed early, reminding him he had to be up early for makeup and a full day of filming ahead, needing to get to the TV station on time.

...

At 5 a.m. sharp the next morning, Mo Shu arrived promptly at the entrance of the Nanshan TV Station office building.

Follow Producer Xiao Lian was already waiting, guiding Mo Shu to the makeup room before hastily leaving after arranging for the makeup artist. She said she would bring some breakfast since time was tight and he might have to eat while getting made up.

The makeup artist looked to be about fifty years old, with parched hair loosely tied back, lips painted in a heavy shade of lipstick, and exaggerated blue-purple eyeshadow that made Mo Shu question her sense of aesthetics, leaving him uneasy.

“Look up,” the makeup artist mumbled as if half asleep, giving vague instructions.

Mo Shu had no choice but to comply. At that moment, he felt the eyeliner pencil poking at his eyelids, the stinging sensation bringing tears to his eyes.

“All done, close your eyes,” she lazily tossed out, grabbing a powder puff and vigorously rubbing it over his face.

“Please don’t apply the powder too thickly; it doesn’t suit me,” Mo Shu said. He had taken plenty of racer promo photos before and knew what kind of makeup worked for him. Besides, this was a reality show; too much powder would be troublesome for touch-ups and might scare off bystanders.

“Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing,” the makeup artist replied with a hint of impatience, asserting her professionalism.

Mo Shu said nothing. Honestly, he felt something was off but now that he was in her hands, he could only wait to see the final result.

With his eyes closed, unsettled, he heard someone enter—the sound of the door opening. It must be Xiao Lian returning with breakfast.

“Mr. Mo, do you prefer soy milk and fried dough sticks or rice porridge with pickles? I brought you some of both,” Xiao Lian asked.

“Anything is fine; you choose first,” Mo Shu replied politely.

But just as he finished speaking, Xiao Lian let out a sharp scream, and the plastic bag dropped to the floor with a loud crash.

“What’s wrong? Did you trip?” Mo Shu quickly opened his eyes.

However, looking in the mirror nearly made him howl in despair. He realized Xiao Lian hadn’t tripped but had been scared into dropping the food by his makeup.

How to describe it? Mo Shu, frustrated, summed it up in eight words: “Even worse looking than Ai Chixiang.”

If Ai Chixiang found it ugly, then this makeup had to be truly dreadful.

His face was ghostly pale, lips blood red, inner and outer eyeliner thick and black, giving Mo Shu the eerie impression of a panda turned vengeful spirit.

Xiao Lian hurriedly cleaned up spilled porridge and soy milk, apparently unwilling to look at him again.

Swallowing hard, Mo Shu cast a resentful glance at the makeup artist. Didn’t she promise not to apply too much powder? This wasn’t a stage show—why so much dramatic eyeliner?

And the mouth—such stark contrast of pale skin and blood-red lips—was it meant to terrify passersby into mobbing him?

Growing angrier by the minute, Mo Shu suddenly stood up and signaled to Xiao Lian with a wrist flick to follow him out for a talk.

“Please get me a bottle of makeup remover,” he said gruffly as they left the makeup room.

Xiao Lian, still stunned, quickly ran back and returned with the bottle.

Mo Shu snatched it and headed straight to the restroom.

Halfway there, he unfortunately ran into two other guests who, like him, were participants on the show. Their eyes openly conveyed an unspoken message: “This guy’s makeup is just... bizarre.”

“So avant-garde, so exaggerated. Is this guy out of his mind?” they seemed to think.