Author: 颜凉雨 / Yan Liang Yu

Translator: Kinky || https://kinkytranslations.com/

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Chapter 32

Huo Yuntao’s return to China was a big deal for Lu Yiyao, even though it wasn’t happening until next year. Lu Yiyao immediately sent a video call request—a face-to-face talk was needed.

In the video, Huo Yuntao was in the living room of his quaint English countryside holiday home, the familiar fireplace visible in the background. Huo Yuntao had the look of a carefree playboy: a straight nose, thin lips, and charming eyes. He appeared to have just taken a bath, wrapped in a luxurious and thick dark blue bathrobe, his hair half-dry, epitomizing the image of a pampered young master.

Lu Yiyao was accustomed to his friend’s perpetual vacation lifestyle. However, his friend frowned and asked, “Did you add more movie stills to your wall?”

Lu Yiyao glanced at the wall behind him, feeling indifferent. “It’s alright, I guess.”

Huo Yuntao was incredulous. “Definitely more. You narcissist.”

Lu Yiyao didn’t dwell on this old topic and got to the point. “Why have you suddenly decided to come back?”

Huo Yuntao looked nonchalant. “Oh, I’m getting married.”

Lu Yiyao was stunned, taking a while to process this bombshell. “You, are, getting, married?!”

“What’s with that expression?” Huo Yuntao looked at the shock in his friend’s eyes speechlessly, as if he had announced he was becoming a monk instead of getting married. “You know I’ve been with Panxi for years. What’s so strange about getting married?”

“It’s not strange for you to marry Panxi, but I thought someone as fun-loving as you wouldn’t consider it until at least thirty…” Lu Yiyao narrowed his eyes skeptically, examining his friend’s frivolous face, then had a sudden realization. “You’re not, are you?”

Huo Yuntao paused, then, understanding his friend’s insinuation, responded in despair. “Drop your wild guesses. Our relationship is pure and profound!”

Lu Yiyao tilted his head in confusion. “Being a father is good news; you don’t need to be secretive about it.”

Huo Yuntao admitted, getting serious. “Her family started arranging blind dates for her because they saw I had no intention of returning. Could I allow that? If I don’t return soon, I’ll lose my wife!”

“Wait.” Lu Yiyao suddenly remembered today was April 1^st and became more cautious. “You’re not fooling me, right?”

Huo Yuntao was serious. “Would I joke about something like this?”

Lu Yiyao stared at him for a long moment, then nodded, indicating he believed him.

Huo Yuntao, feeling scrutinized and even more frustrated since he had to initiate the wedding announcement after waiting three days for a response, lamented, “You’re my best friend, yet you’re the last to know I’m getting married. It’s heartbreaking.”

“I found out a year in advance, and I’m the last one?” Lu Yiyao felt his friend misunderstood the term ‘advance notice’. But then he realized, “How would I know if you don’t tell me? Did you inform everyone else before me?”

“Of course not,” Huo Yuntao declared righteously. “You’re the only one I notified personally!”

“Then I should be the first to know.”

“I posted on Moments three days ago.”

“……”

“Any questions?”

“You win.”

Huo Yuntao held his phone in one hand, gesturing innocently with the other. “It wasn’t April Fool’s Day three days ago, so it can’t be a prank.”

Lu Yiyao nodded, accepting the suddenness of the news, but after thinking it through, he knew his friend never joked about relationships. “But didn’t Panxi consider moving to England before?”

Huo Yuntao sighed sadly. “She’s decided now. She prefers living in China.”

Lu Yiyao smiled gloatingly. “So even you, the infatuated idiot, have to return for career development?”

“What choice do I have? My wife is important.” Huo Yuntao languidly ruffled his hair, then suddenly cried out passionately. “Ah, my surfing, my yacht, my racing car—”

Lu Yiyao laughed until he was out of breath, then found his voice. “It’s not that bad. We have all these in China too.”

“It’s not about the hardware…” Huo Yuntao lamented after his outcry.

Lu Yiyao understood. “Your dad wants you to take over the company?”

Huo Yuntao said, “Being far away meant freedom, but returning under his watchful eye means training for sure.”

Lu Yiyao was silent, offering silent sympathy.

“So, you see,” Huo Yuntao suddenly said, “compared to your dad, he’s actually not bad. Even though he scolds you every time, he still lets you be. If your dad really wanted to stop you, even with my help, your dream of stardom would have been over.”

Lu Yiyao was silent; Huo Yuntao’s blunt truths left no room for argument. Like when Lu Yiyao secretly switched to drama school against his father’s wishes for him to attend Manchester Business School. Besides cutting off his finances, his dad didn’t do much else. In fact, his dad had a hundred ways to stop him, but in the end, he still didn’t finish school, unsure who won that battle.

“What are you thinking about?” Huo Yuntao knew his friend was deep in thought. His friend, aside from being narcissistic, was always full of inner drama.

“It’s strange. Now that I’m somewhat of a star, why don’t I feel like my dreams have come true?” Lu Yiyao had been pondering this question recently but had no one to confide in, until today when Huo Yuntao appeared, giving him a chance to finally talk about it. “Recently, I’ve been so busy that I fainted, completely losing consciousness. It was the first time in my life I had ever fainted, and it really scared me. Waking up in the hospital bed, I wondered, who am I working so hard for? What do I really want, and what am I aiming for?”

Huo Yuntao furrowed his brow, thinking hard before concluding, “You just take life too seriously. Who said people must have a dream? I just live each day happily, not dwelling on the past or future. Is that illegal?”

“You underestimate yourself.” Lu Yiyao looked at his friend with rare admiration. “You’re the one among everyone I know with the clearest and most steadfast goals.”

“What goal? How come I didn’t know about this?”

“To marry Lin Panxi.”

“…Well, that indeed is my dream.”

“And it’s been since elementary school.”

“I can’t be blamed for that; she sat right in front of me, swinging her ponytail in my face every day. You watch that for six years, you’d be hypnotized too.”

Lu Yiyao laughed and teasingly said, “But you’ve been in England for over ten years now. She’s long stopped swinging that ponytail. Why haven’t you let go?”

Huo Yuntao showed a roguish, domineering smirk, lifting his chin. “Too late. She’s swayed my heart.”

Lu Yiyao looked at his friend, apparently carefree but deeply in love, and genuinely remarked, “You’re the one who should be acting, with such rich emotions.”

“No, thanks. I don’t want to fall in love and have an underground affair.” Huo Yuntao firmly refused, and then brought the phone closer, warning with widened eyes. “Alright, I’ve informed you. Remember to prepare a wedding gift. You have a year, and if it’s not something decent, we can’t be friends!”

“I got it. I got it—” Lu Yiyao quickly agreed, not giving his friend a chance to make more unreasonable demands and ended the video call.

After the call with his mischievous friend, Lu Yiyao finally realized that he had forgotten to say congratulations.

Huo Yuntao seemed indifferent, but his joy seemed ready to burst through the screen, and Lu Yiyao could feel it. His friend might be playful and noisy, seemingly not serious about anything, but his love for Lin Panxi was unwavering.

Lu Yiyao had never seen anyone maintain a romance from elementary school into adulthood, enduring over a decade of long-distance relationship, and still end up together.

Huo Yuntao and Lin Panxi did just that.

Their families were close, and their match was suitable, so their relationship didn’t face much opposition. Huo Yuntao’s comment about the Lin Family arranging blind dates was probably just to force him back to China.

Childhood sweethearts, golden boy and jade girl*, perfect harmony, culminating in marriage.

*(金童玉女) Idiom referring to a handsome young man and a beautiful young woman, often with the undertone that they are a perfect match.

Even idol dramas aren’t this sweet.

Lu Yiyao didn’t often check Moments, so missing Huo Yuntao’s post wasn’t surprising. If his friend hadn’t directly informed him today, he probably wouldn’t have known until next year’s wedding.

Exiting the private chat, he went into Moments, not seeing Huo Yuntao’s post first but Ran Lin’s.

The person in the photo was paler and more delicate than he remembered, and perhaps due to the hairstyle, seemed particularly gentle and obedient.

Lu Yiyao resisted the urge to comment and scrolled down to find Huo Yuntao.

Lu Yiyao had many WeChat friends, mostly from the industry. People wanted to add him, and he couldn’t refuse, but after adding them, he usually set up a block due to the somewhat awkward relationships. They could see his Moments, but he wouldn’t see theirs.

As a result, the updates in his Moments were quite limited. After scrolling a bit, he found the short video posted by Huo Yuntao.

The video was brief, but it captured the most exciting moment of Lin Panxi accepting his proposal.

It was unclear from the video whether he had made a quick trip back to China or if she had gone to England, but the man in the video was laughing foolishly, and the woman was tearfully joyful.

Lu Yiyao typed a comment below the video: [Congratulations. Wait for my big gift!]

Having finally sent his well wishes, Lu Yiyao returned to the top of Moments and opened Ran Lin’s photo in full screen.

With the colors more vibrant and the features clearer, Ran Lin’s youthful beauty was more apparent. The natural hair, the distant look in his eyes, created a likable and dazed charm.

Reading the comments, mostly from Xia Xinran, Lu Yiyao smiled upon seeing Leo’s name.

Leo was a well-known stylist in the industry, a nice guy, quite open. Though not officially out, he was almost there and occasionally flirted with male celebrities he liked.

It seemed Xia Xinran wasn’t keen on this.

Lu Yiyao didn’t mind much. He had been pursued by the same sex during his studies in England, but after making clear his straight orientation, the pursuer backed off. So, as long as the other party didn’t cross boundaries, Lu Yiyao respected all orientations.

Xia Xinran was only concerned about the makeup, but Lu Yiyao was curious about the content. The photo clearly showed a makeup room, but he hadn’t heard Ran Lin mentioning any new work recently.

Actually, he had been so busy catching up with previous engagements and worrying about going home that he hadn’t really chatted with these friends lately.

Thinking this, Lu Yiyao straightforwardly asked in the comments: [A new gig?]

Comments in Moments don’t get immediate responses like private chats, and Lu Yiyao didn’t expect an instant reply. Instead, he reopened the photo, appreciating it objectively.

Leo indeed had skills.

During the reality show, everyone was usually disheveled, and Lu Yiyao never thought Ran Lin could be associated with “beautiful”. That word suited Xia Xinran more. As for Ran Lin, he was more about freshness and handsomeness, but if it really came to handsomeness, he couldn’t beat Zhang Beichen, so he could only uniquely claim freshness.

Admittedly, in the male artist circle, truly owning the “fresh and young” charm was rare and Ran Lin’s temperament was indeed unique. But the appeal of “freshness” is limited, and it’s unlikely to be overwhelmingly popular.

However, under Leo’s touch, Ran Lin looked beautiful.

The kind of fresh and clean beauty, even more rare, wasn’t effeminate but rather intelligent and scholarly. In ancient times, he would be a talented scholar or a graceful strategist; in modern times, definitely the school heartthrob and top student.

Lu Yiyao wondered if Leo flirted with Ran Lin.

He didn’t know why he suddenly thought of this, but once he did, he couldn’t stop imagining Ran Lin just smiling it off.

Just a smile and nothing more.

Lu Yiyao was confident in his imagination, as in his experience, Ran Lin almost never lost his temper.

Come to think of it, what would Ran Lin look like when angry? He was genuinely curious…

After a series of random thoughts, he still hadn’t received a reply to his comment.

Lu Yiyao regretted not sending a private message instead, but then thought it would seem strange to suddenly ask about a Moments post after not talking for days.

Lu Yiyao got up and reset the needle on the record player, surrounding the home theater with lazy tunes again.

Settling back into the sofa, he decided to wait patiently.

……

When Ran Lin got home at nine p.m., it was even earlier than when Lu Yiyao got home. At that time, Lu Yiyao hadn’t yet video called Huo Yuntao, nor had he seen the Moments.

Ran Lin was oblivious to all of this.

The only thing he knew was that Wang Xi hadn’t returned to her own home but came to his small apartment instead, along with Liu Wanwan.

Ran Lin didn’t ask, and Liu Wanwan, curious to death, could only follow along.

Finally, the three of them entered Ran Lin’s small living room. Wang Xi asked Liu Wanwan to pour some water and then leisurely sat down on the sofa, patting the space next to her to signal Ran Lin to sit.

Ran Lin said, “I’d rather stand. It feels safer.”

Wang Xi rolled her eyes at him. “Good news!”

Ran Lin sat down next to her, half-believing, half-doubtful.

As soon as he sat down, Wang Xi took out a stack of A4 papers bound together from her bag.

Ran Lin’s eyes brightened immediately, and he blurted out without thinking. “A script?!”

Wang Xi handed the papers to him, correcting him, “To be exact, it’s a script for an audition.”

Reminded by this, Ran Lin realized that the booklet in his hand was quite thin compared to a full script.

But the title on the cover was striking—<Sword of Fallen Flowers>.

Ran Lin couldn’t wait to flip through the script, starting with the plot summary, then quickly moving to the character introductions, and finally, to the actual script. It wasn’t a typical episodic script but rather just three scenes printed out—obviously the content he needed for the audition.

“A wuxia¹ drama?” Even without reading the plot summary in detail, Ran Lin had a good guess. He looked at Wang Xi, not questioning her choice of scripts, just a bit surprised because, in recent years, wuxia dramas hadn’t been very popular, with more investors favoring palace intrigue and xianxia².

¹Genre of Chinese fiction concerning the adventures of martial artists in ancient China.
²A genre of Chinese fantasy heavily inspired by Chinese mythology and influenced by philosophies of Taoism, Chan Buddhism, Chinese martial arts, traditional Chinese medicine, Chinese folk religion, Chinese alchemy, other traditional elements of Chinese culture, and the wuxia genre.

“Any problems?” Seeing his concern, Wang Xi didn’t answer directly but simply raised her eyebrows in question.

Ran Lin quickly shook his head. “Not at all.”

This was the truth. Whether the play was popular or not was the investors’ concern. He was just happy to have a script to work on and wasn’t in a position to be picky.

“This is a rare double male lead drama, a precious opportunity,” Wang Xi said earnestly.

Ran Lin was even more excited and stopped looking at the script, directly asking his manager, “Which role am I auditioning for?”

Wang Xi replied, “The third male lead.”

Ran Lin: “…”

Then why mention the double leads!

Ran Lin’s excitement turned into dismay, having thought he had a stroke of luck landing a lead role.

“Forget the leads.” Wang Xi ruthlessly shattered his illusions, pausing for a moment before adding, “Just focus on doing well in the audition. The outcome isn’t for you to worry about.”

Ran Lin pursed his lips, sensing there was more to her words.

Given his history of unsuccessful auditions, he tentatively asked, “Is this another ‘just for show’ audition?”

Wang Xi was silent for a while before cautiously saying, “The production hasn’t finalized the cast yet. There are a few potential candidates, but nothing is certain. Filming starts in September, and it’s already April; they’re in a hurry. The director hasn’t given the green light yet and wants more auditions, so—” Wang Xi said, fixing her gaze on Ran Lin, “you only have three days. This opportunity is very rare. Even if there’s only a 1% chance, you need to give 200%.”

When Wang Xi emphasized something so seriously, it meant it was very important.

She had said before that if there were more “for show” auditions already decided, they wouldn’t waste time on them. Now, although this role wasn’t predetermined, the chances were slim, yet she still took it so seriously. That only meant one thing—the drama had a bright future and was one of those highly sought-after projects.

Closing the script, Ran Lin looked at the cover again, noticing the small print under the title—

Director: Chen Qizheng

Screenwriter: Song Mang

Ran Lin was shocked.

Chen Qizheng and Song Mang were a golden duo in the film industry. Their wuxia films in recent years had carved out a unique path in the market, each one achieving both box office success and critical acclaim, revitalizing the somewhat stagnant wuxia genre.

Their movies inherited the traditional charm of wuxia but weren’t constrained by it, cleverly incorporating innovation, appealing to the new generation with their blend of poetic style and engaging content, full of swordplay and passionate heroism.

“Is it really Director Chen?” Ran Lin still found it hard to believe. It wasn’t unheard of for famous film directors to turn to TV dramas, but it was rare.

“The investors are going big, so they can even coax gods to descend,” Wang Xi said, taking a big gulp of the water Liu Wanwan had given her, obviously thirsty from the journey.

Liu Wanwan passed the other cup to Ran Lin, who took it but was still immersed in disbelief.

After quenching her thirst, Wang Xi continued, “So, it doesn’t matter if you don’t get selected. Just try to leave an impression on Director Chen; that would be beneficial.”

Ran Lin nodded, taking the advice to heart, then curiously asked his manager, “Are the double leads confirmed?”

Wang Xi frowned, displeased. “You’re not even sure about your role yet, why worry about the leads?”

Ran Lin clammed up, not saying another word.

“Focus on the script for the next three days. Contact me with any questions, got it?”

“Got it.”

Wang Xi nodded, satisfied, and then looked at Liu Wanwan.

The girl quickly and smartly responded, “I’m on call 24/7, ready anytime.”

Wang Xi looked at her for a long moment and sighed. “I should have just gotten a male assistant in the first place. You could have lived together, making it more convenient for care.”

Liu Wanwan was taken aback, almost blurting out “I can live here too,” but fortunately held back at the last moment.

Ran Lin also felt relieved, thinking how troublesome it would be if it were a young male assistant instead.

After much discussion and finally sending Wang Xi and Liu Wanwan away, Ran Lin immediately returned to the living room and started reading the script without delay.

The plot summary of <Sword of Fallen Flowers> wasn’t complicated.

The two male leads, Tang Jingyu and Fang Xian, had very different backgrounds. The former was orphaned at a young age and adopted by the martial arts Fang Clan. The latter was the young master of the Fang Clan. The two, close in age, grew up practicing martial arts together, as close as brothers and partners in mischief.

The “Sword of Fallen Flowers” was the legendary number one sword, with its manual lost twenty years ago and now resurfacing in the martial world. Various forces in the martial world were stirring, sending out people to investigate in Liuma Town, where the manual was rumored to have appeared. The Fang Clan sent their adopted son Tang Jingyu, while Fang Xian volunteered to accompany him.

Throughout their journey, they made friends and enemies. Upon arriving in Liuma Town, a shocking conspiracy that could overturn the martial arts world began to unfold…

The synopsis was always sketched out in the simplest and most direct language.

Even the best writers couldn’t add flourish to a synopsis.

But reading the character profiles made the emotional dimensions of the story clearer—

Tang Jingyu: Orphaned at a young age, he was adopted by the Fang Clan. He regarded Fang Xianqing as a brother, only to later discover their foster father, Fang Huanzhi, was the enemy who had annihilated his family. Seeking revenge, the brothers turned against each other, hurting the ones they loved, until Tang Jingyu had a sudden realization.

Fang Xian: The young master of the Fang Clan, as close as siblings with Tang Jingyu. He stepped back upon learning of Tang Jingyu’s affection for Zhao Buyao. Later, he discovered his biological father was the perpetrator of the Tang Clan massacre, caught between familial love and moral duty.

Zhao Buyao: Daughter of the leader of Liuhua Palace who’s in love with Tang Jingyu. She sees Fang Xian as a brother and is willing to risk everything for love.

Xu Chongfei: Young master of the Jiangnan Hidden Sword Tower. In Liuma Town, during the search for the Sword of Fallen Flowers Manual, he became friends with Tang, Fang, and Zhao after a fight. Caught in the middle of Tang and Fang’s feud, Xu Chongfei sacrificed his life for their enlightenment.

Ran Lin was auditioning for Xu Chongfei.

Just from the character profiles, a sense of tragedy was palpable. Reading the detailed biographies and the three scenes, Ran Lin’s eyes had teared up.

He read the few pages over and over for more than two hours. Finally overwhelmed, he lay back on the sofa, sighing at the ceiling. “Does it have to be so pitiful?”

Three scenes: a brotherly fallout, love-induced pain, and dying words; a relentless torment of the character.

Getting up to wash his face in the bathroom, Ran Lin looked at himself in the mirror and suddenly felt that the delicate-looking young man in the reflection couldn’t bear the weighty character of Xu Chongfei, known for his deep sense of loyalty and righteousness.

He appeared too frail, not resembling the self-sacrificing Xu Chongfei but rather like a pampered and indulged young noble. Xu Chongfei was about loyalty and friendship, not about an intimidating appearance or sharp eyes.

Slap, slap—

Ran Lin forcefully slapped his face twice, squinting his eyes slightly, attempting to make his gaze sharper.

No, that’s not right.

Ran Lin shook his head, clearing his vision.

Xu Chongfei, as a character, valued loyalty and friendship. His heroism wasn’t in a fierce appearance or a sharp gaze, but in his profound affection for friends.

Taking a deep breath, Ran Lin paused for a moment, then looked back at the mirror, imagining the person reflected not as himself but as that young master of the Hidden Sword Tower…Fifteen minutes later, Ran Lin left the bathroom, his eyes sore and twitching.

Staring intensely for so long was indeed unhealthy.

Glancing at the clock, it was already past eleven at night.

It had been Ran Lin’s most fulfilling April Fool’s Day: shooting an ad all day and pondering the script all night.

Ran Lin rubbed his still-twitching eyelids and decided to rest first, reminding himself that things must be done step by step, and haste doesn’t bring success.

Returning to the bathroom, Ran Lin quickly showered and then, with his phone in hand, crawled into his still-cold bed.

The breathing light on his phone had been on for who knows how long. Ran Lin checked it and saw, indeed, a red “1” on the upper right corner of the WeChat icon.

It was a private chat from Liu Wanwan sent two hours ago: [You can do it*, Ran Ge!]

*Add Oil expression used as an encouragement and support to a person. It derives from [Jiayou] which is an ubiquitous term for cheering on someone. There’s really no direct translation.

She must have sent it right after leaving.

Ran Lin’s lips curled into a smile as he replied with a cool smoking emoji.

Exiting the private chat, he noticed several new notifications in his friends’ circle.

Ran Lin instinctively thought someone had liked his photos, and indeed, upon checking, found six new notifications—five likes and one comment from Lu Yiyao asking, “A new gig?”

The timing was close to Liu Wanwan’s message. He wondered if the two had planned it.

With no further reply from Liu Wanwan—she was probably asleep—and likely so was Lu Yiyao.

Feeling a bit unclearly disappointed, Ran Lin replied: [Yeah, a shampoo advertisement.]

The response came instantly.

Almost as soon as Ran Lin exited the friends’ circle, a notification appeared.

Ran Lin was startled.

It was unexpected and a bit nerve-wracking.

He hesitantly opened the new message, replying with just one word: [Oh.]

Oh, your head!

Anyone who flirts in the middle of the night and then abruptly stops is bad news!

Without another reply, Ran Lin decisively turned off his phone, huffily turned off the lights, closed his eyes, and banished the disturbing thoughts of the surnamed Lu from his mind, kicking him out of his thoughts entirely!

What Ran Lin didn’t know was that at the same moment he turned off his phone, a new reply appeared in his friends’ circle: [What brand is it? I’ll try it too and see if I can get hair as flowing as yours. 😏]

…..

Lu Yiyao stared at his two replies, having waited for five minutes.

No new activity appeared.

Had Ran Lin fallen asleep?

It seemed unlikely. With his personality, even if he was dead tired, he’d say “Goodnight” before logging off.

But this was a friends’ circle comment, not a private chat, so maybe a “Goodnight” wasn’t necessary.

He decided to wait a bit longer.

Lu Yiyao comforted himself, thinking maybe Ran Lin was typing a long message, hence the slow response.

He should learn to do the same—send an “Oh” or “Mm” to let the other person know he was still there, then say the specific content…

Lu Yiyao lay on the couch in the audio-visual room, waiting for an hour.

He fell asleep with his phone in his arms, not receiving a reply from Ran Lin.

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