Author: 颜凉雨 / Yan Liang Yu

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

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Chapter 43

In mid-October, Hengdian finally welcomed autumn. The remnants of the summer heat had faded, and the cold of winter was still far away. It was a time of clear skies and cool breezes.

Xi Ruohan had been with the crew for a month now.

Ran Lin had been avoiding her for about the same time. Unless a scene required them to act together, he kept his distance on set, avoiding appearing within the leading actress’ field of vision. It was obvious that she didn’t like him, and Ran Lin had no desire to throw himself into the line of fire.

Tang Xiaoyu saw this and teased him, saying, “When you play Fang Xian, you’re fearless, but why do you become timid when you return to Earth?”

Ran Lin always laughed it off.

If Xi Ruohan was just a difficult leading actress, Ran Lin wouldn’t have avoided her like this. There are always difficult stars on set, and if you don’t provoke them, they won’t always be out to get you. But the leading actress liked the leading actor. Unfortunately, Ran Lin, playing the second male lead, also liked the leading actor.

Ran Lin always felt that women in love, including those with unrequited love, were very perceptive. They would use high-precision scanning rays on everyone around the person they liked. Ran Lin didn’t think it was necessary to take such a risk.

Fortunately, Xi Ruohan had her own makeup room and was always accompanied by assistants, so she didn’t have much time to bother with him.

But that was before.

Starting tomorrow, the most important scenes between him and Xi Ruohan were about to be filmed.

Ran Lin put down the script he had been studying all night and sighed deeply, feeling an unprecedented pressure.

He could pour his heart out to an imaginary Zhao Buyao, loving until it hurt. But once the face in his mind switched to Xi Ruohan, his love would instantly vanish.

To put it bluntly, Xi Ruohan was like a rival in love for him.

Of course, this relationship was something he could only think about privately. After all, she had pursued Lu Yiyao, and he was still daydreaming here. But privately, they both liked the same man, and now he had to act with full affection towards her, which was both delicate and difficult.

Getting into character was easy to say, but hard to do.

Ran Lin went to the bathroom to wash his face, then returned to bed and picked up the script to read.

After a while, he threw the script onto the bed. The emotionally fluctuating “Fang Xian” began to confess to the void…

……

At the same time, in Lu Yiyao’s room.

Li Tong was packing his boss’s luggage—there was an extremely important event tomorrow, which had been scheduled a long time ago, so Yao Hong had requested leave for her artist in advance when preparing to join the crew.

Yao Hong, who had just arrived from Beijing that day, looked tired but still talked spiritedly with Lu Yiyao, as they hadn’t seen each other for half a month. After filming started, Yao Hong left first. As Lu Yiyao’s agent, she had many things to deal with and couldn’t stay away for the five-month shooting.

Li Tong kept her informed of everything happening on set. But hearing reports and communicating face-to-face with the person involved were different.

“Is Xi Ruohan really that honest?” This was Yao Hong’s most pressing concern.

Lu Yiyao smiled bitterly. “Really very honest. She gets up at five every morning to do makeup, doesn’t rest until eight at night, and sometimes even later. Even if she wanted to, she wouldn’t have the energy.”

“That’s good.” Yao Hong was, for the first time, happy with the high intensity of the set. “Just make sure you know what you’re doing.”

Lu Yiyao assured her naturally, “Don’t worry. I know my limits.”

Lu Yiyao’s assurance didn’t comfort Yao Hong. Maybe because he answered too smoothly, she started to overthink.

After a moment of silence, she spoke again, more seriously than before. “Whether it’s Xi Ruohan or other female artists, your fans will find it hard to accept a relationship at this stage, so you must be very careful about romance.”

Lu Yiyao looked helplessly at his agent and hit the nail on the head. “Just say outright that I’m forbidden from dating.”

Yao Hong smiled. “I didn’t want to put it that way in case you found it offensive.”

“It’s indeed not pleasant to hear.” Lu Yiyao forced a smile, partly complaining but mostly understanding. “But I know the pros and cons, and I understand you’re thinking of my future.”

Yao Hong nodded with relief. “When your talent surpasses your popularity, I won’t even interfere if you get married tomorrow.”

Lu Yiyao joked, “Yao Hong, I’m only twenty-five.”

Yao Hong was taken aback, then uncertainly asked, “Isn’t your birthday next week?”

Lu Yiyao’s birthday was something Yao Hong wouldn’t forget, as every year various fan groups and artists in the circle would send their blessings.

“Externally, I celebrate my solar birthday, but at home, we’re used to following the lunar calendar, so starting this week, I’m already twenty-five*,” Lu Yiyao explained, showing Yao Hong a photo of a beautiful cake on his phone.

*Clarity: Without going into too much detail, the solar (Gregorian) calendar is calculated as 365 days a year, while the lunar calendar is roughly about 354 days a year. Thus, going by the lunar calendar, one’s birthday date can vary each year (so it can be earlier or later than your solar birthday date).

It was a three-tiered fondant cake with a base of light macaron blue, decorated with classic but not overly complex lace, topped with a small house with a family of four standing in front, hand in hand, happy together.

“My sister made it herself,” Lu Yiyao said, with a hint of pride.

Yao Hong knew about Lu Yiyao’s family background. His parents were divorced, he had a sister, and both parents’ businesses were thriving. But she also knew Lu Yiyao didn’t like talking about his family, so the fact that he brought it up today meant he was in a rare good mood.

“It’s beautiful,” Yao Hong sincerely complimented. “Did she send it to the set?”

Lu Yiyao sighed. “No, she thought it would be too much trouble to transport and said it was enough for me to just see it.”

Yao Hong couldn’t help but chuckle. “What a good sister.”

Lu Yiyao put away his phone, slightly helpless but mostly doting. “Yeah.”

……

Ran Lin had a restless night. His dreams were filled with the tangled love and disputes between Fang Xian and Zhao Buyao. When he was woken up in the morning by his phone’s alarm, he found his blanket lying quietly on the floor, not knowing when he had kicked it off during the night.

Lu Yiyao had taken the day off, so the entire day was filled with scenes between Ran Lin and Xi Ruohan. Arriving on set, Ran Lin realized that the screenwriter, Song Mang, was there. This was his first time seeing the talented writer on set after a month of filming.

It had been over a month since their last meeting. Song Mang’s attire had shifted from summer to autumn wear. What remained unchanged was his love for bright colors. Last time it was colorful beach shorts, this time an orange baseball jacket. He sat in a corner of the set, easily noticeable.

After Ran Lin finished makeup and styling, while the lighting and sound were still being adjusted, he took the opportunity to greet the screenwriter: “Writer Song.”

This was also Song Mang’s first time seeing Ran Lin in full costume. He looked him up and down and seemed quite satisfied: “Not bad. You really do have a bit of Fang Xian’s charismatic aura.”

“Having filmed for a month, if I still couldn’t get the feel of it, I’d be letting you and Director Chen down,” Ran Lin responded politely, secretly pleased inside. After all, everyone loves to hear praises, but Director Chen was stingy with compliments. So, for Ran Lin, who was eager for affirmation, Song Mang seemed to shine brilliantly in front of him.

Song Mang wanted to say more, but as he opened his mouth, his eyes suddenly flickered and then fixed behind Ran Lin, followed by an almost inaudible sigh.

Ran Lin turned to follow his gaze, realizing that Xi Ruohan, now in costume, had appeared.

Ran Lin suddenly understood that the screenwriter was still resentful about being forced to intensify the romantic subplot. He also figured out why Song Mang was present today—although the romantic storyline was already set and he had modified the script himself, reluctant creative work always leaves one uneasy. Naturally, he wanted to see the final effect.

“How do you think these scenes are?” Song Mang suddenly asked.

Ran Lin knew the screenwriter was actually longing to hear a positive response; otherwise, he would only be more troubled. Ran Lin replied objectively, “Speaking of the romance, it’s actually quite touching. Moreover, it intensifies the conflict and emotional depth later between Fang Xian and Tang Jingyu.”

Song Mang raised an eyebrow. “So you also think the romantic storyline should be emphasized?”

After pondering, Ran Lin said, “There is no first in literature and no second in martial arts*. I quite agree with this saying. I don’t think there’s an absolute which line is better than another. <Sword of Fallen Flowers> itself is emotionally heavy, so whether it’s highlighting the romance or focusing on brotherhood, as long as we can bring out everything the script wants to express, we can definitely move the audience.”

*(文无第一，武无第二) Proverb that refers to in some area of life, like arts and literature, comparison and rankings aren’t as straightforward or meaningful as they are in sports or martial arts, where competition can clearly declare a winner.

Song Mang looked at him intently for a while, then suddenly remarked with a sigh. “This is the most comforting answer I’ve heard in a month.”

Ran Lin was surprised, thinking how many people the screenwriter must have complained to and sought comments from.

But a dedicated screenwriter is always particularly attached to their work. This, Ran Lin understood.

After a brief chat, Song Mang casually asked, “Today it’s all about you two. How’s the emotional development?”

Ran Lin was at a loss for words. This question hit right at the heart of the matter.

Fortunately, the director’s assistant came over to announce the start of filming, and Ran Lin quickly excused himself from the screenwriter and headed straight for the camera.

However, once filming actually started, Ran Lin realized he could avoid Song Mang’s question, but Fang Xian and Zhao Buyao’s performance under the camera couldn’t deceive anyone.

This was a scene where he confessed to Zhao Buyao and was rejected. However, it wasn’t the usual heart-wrenching confession followed by a tearful rejection. It was an extremely gentle scene—The spring breeze for ten miles isn’t as good as you*.

*It’s an expression that has a romantic undertone, often used to express deep affection and admiration for someone. In this case, Fang Xian expressing his love for Zhao Buyao, referring to her as more precious and delightful than a cherished aspect of nature (spring breeze).

By a lakeside, with a green tree on the shore, Ran Lin and Xi Ruohan were carefully helped onto a thick tree branch, sitting side by side. Under the tree, outside of the camera’s view, thick crash pads were laid out.

As the clapperboard snapped shut, “Fang Xian” gently turned his head, secretly gazing at “Zhao Buyao”, who was looking into the distance.

A wind machine gently rustled the leaves, also lifting Zhao Buyao’s hair.

Ran Lin looked at Xi Ruohan’s profile, trying to make his gaze as soft as possible, and even softer…

“Cut!”

From a distance, the director, watching behind the monitor, used a walkie-talkie to explain to the second male lead why he called cut. “You need to look at Zhao Buyao tenderly, that’s fine, but in that tenderness, there needs to be affection, love. The camera will focus on your eyes. If you were sitting here, you’d see that your gaze is fixed, emotionless, not shimmering or surging…”

In fact, the moment the director called cut, Ran Lin knew where the problem lay, but he still listened attentively to the director’s words, memorizing every one.

He had expected Xi Ruohan to kick him while he was down, or at least give him a mocking look, but she kept her gaze fixed on the lake the whole time, appearing serious, as if too preoccupied with channeling Zhao Buyao’s feelings for Fang Xian to listen to the director’s guidance to the second male lead.

The clapperboard snapped again, starting the second take.

Ran Lin lowered his eyes, thinking about how he, if he were to sit next to Lu Yiyao, wanting but not daring to confess, would look at him secretly…

Gently lifting his eyelids, he stole another glance. In Fang Xian’s originally gentle gaze, complex emotions slowly surfaced.

There was liking, heart-fluttering, cherishing, and timidity…

“I wonder how Tang Jingyu is doing now.” The oblivious Zhao Buyao gazed into the distance, sighing softly. “I should have gone with him to the Bodhi Temple.”

“Abbot Hai Kong of the Bodhi Temple is highly skilled in martial arts. Jingyu won’t be in danger there,” Fang Xian replied casually.

Zhao Buyao turned back, looking anxious. “I’m worried that Tang Jingyu might be in danger on the way and not even make it to the Bodhi Temple. He was going to send a message; those in black won’t let him easily reach the temple.”

Zhao Buyao’s face showed only concern for Tang Jingyu.

But Fang Xian’s eyes were filled with complex emotions.

“Buyao.” Fang Xian suddenly called out softly.

Zhao Buyao was startled and looked at him, puzzled.

Fang Xian suddenly smiled gently, softly saying, “You like Jingyu, don’t you?”

Zhao Buyao looked into Fang Xian’s eyes, clearly feeling the sorrow there, and suddenly forgot her lines.

“Cut!”

The director, frustrated, called cut.

Xi Ruohan came back to her senses, still somewhat bewildered, but was the first to apologize. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

This was for the director and for the entire crew, whose time had been wasted.

Although Xi Ruohan’s reputation in personal relationships was complicated, her professionalism in her work was consistent. This was why numerous producers and directors were willing to work with her—she was good at her job, professional, didn’t delay the shooting schedule, and didn’t make unreasonable demands that could disrupt filming. Her personality might have been a bit difficult, but everyone was there to work, not to make friends. Delivering work on time and with quality was enough to relieve the producers and directors.

However, today, Xi Ruohan’s NGs were unusually frequent.

Just as Ran Lin’s emotions were getting into the groove, her feelings couldn’t be found.

The director, having no other choice, called for a half-hour break, letting the staff help the two actors down to rehearse their lines together and foster the right emotions. Fang Xian’s confession was an important turning point in the emotional storyline of the play. From this point on, Zhao Buyao would realize her feelings for Tang Jingyu, setting the tone for the development of the emotional storyline later on.

Such a crucial scene wasn’t something the director wanted to rush.

The wind blew by the lakeside, rustling the green grass.

Xi Ruohan’s light-colored gauze skirt was gently lifted by the breeze.

Xi Ruohan looked at the script with a heavy expression, as if what lay on the paper wasn’t a confession scene but a scene of sacrifice.

Ran Lin sighed and spoke up. “Stop looking at the script. Look at me.”

Xi Ruohan frowned and finally lifted her head from the script, her tone a bit irritable. “What’s so good about looking at you?”

Ran Lin knew this wasn’t directed at him personally, but rather Xi Ruohan was struggling with herself.

As a fellow actor, he understood the frustration of not being able to get into character.

“It’s not about looking at me. It’s about seeing Fang Xian. If you can’t see me as entirely Fang Xian, this scene won’t work.”

His direct words made Xi Ruohan struggle to save face. “I don’t need you to teach me how to act.”

Ran Lin calmly replied, “I’m not teaching you how to act. I’m asking you.”

Xi Ruohan was puzzled. “Asking me what?”

Ran Lin tilted his head to look at her. “Asking you to fall in love with me.”

Xi Ruohan frowned. “I love Tang Jingyu.”

Ran Lin: “But you also have to like Fang Xian—the pure friendship kind of liking. It’s because you like this friend that when you reject him, it’s hard for you.”

Xi Ruohan looked at Ran Lin quietly for two seconds, then let out a heavy sigh. “It’s really hard to get into character with you.”

Ran Lin nodded solemnly. “I understand. I feel the same.”

Xi Ruohan looked at Ran Lin incredulously, wondering if she had heard him wrong. She knew many colleagues talked about her behind her back, but Ran Lin was definitely the first to confront her face-to-face.

Then he continued to add fuel to the fire. “If I were Fang Xian, I wouldn’t fall in love with you. Xu Chongfei has good taste. Li’er is so quirky, gentle, and young…”

“Hey, that’s enough…” Xi Ruohan’s face darkened, unable to maintain her composure.

Ran Lin suddenly laughed, looking towards the lake with a distant gaze. At that moment, he wasn’t Ran Lin, but Fang Xian. “But you are brave, passionate, and pure. The first time I saw you at the righteous mansion, you were dressed in aqua, cold as the moon, yet fiery in temperament. I thought then, this girl has grown up too pretty, prickly and poisonous, untouchable.”

Xi Ruohan stared blankly at his profile, unable to distinguish who he was at that moment, and her own identity became muddled. “Then you still later…”

“Love is like that. The more you want to avoid it, the more you can’t escape. The more you want to stay away from someone, the more entangled you become.” Ran Lin turned back, looking at Xi Ruohan as if he were looking at someone else. “So I won’t run anymore. I accept it. I admit that I have fallen for you. No matter what response you give me, just being able to like you has made me very happy.”

The wind rose along the riverbank.

Not from a wind machine, but a real, gentle autumn breeze.

“I’m sorry.” Xi Ruohan looked at Ran Lin, her voice light and bitter. “I like Tang Jingyu…”

“It doesn’t matter who it is.” Ran Lin smiled softly, lightly touching her hair. “I just wish you happiness.”

Xi Ruohan’s eyes reddened.

At that moment, she couldn’t differentiate between the play and reality.

……

The half-hour of fostering feelings was surprisingly effective. Even the director hadn’t expected that after he called “action” again, the two actors would smoothly enter their character’s emotions.

Chen Qizheng remained stern but was inwardly satisfied.

This is what good actors are. They may not necessarily be exceptionally spirited, but having the right attitude, willing to work hard, and what’s more rare, being quick to understand and brighten up, making fast and accurate adjustments to problems.

Song Mang was even more pleasantly surprised.

He had come to observe these few emotional scenes with a resigned mindset, but, unexpectedly, he was moved, almost feeling the urge to go back to his hotel and write Fang Xian and Zhao Buyao into a relationship.

Ran Lin and Xi Ruohan’s delicacy in emotional expression and control over emotional tension far exceeded his expectations, making him look forward even more to the emotional scenes between Tang Jingyu and Zhao Buyao, as well as the scene where Tang Jingyu and Fang Xian become adversaries.

Alright, if he had to choose one, he was more looking forward to the adversarial scenes.

Ran Lin hadn’t expected things to go so smoothly later on. He was the first to get into character, but once in character, Xi Ruohan really did further drive the emotions of her counterpart, to the point that he almost couldn’t step out of being Fang Xian for the entire afternoon.

The leading actress was also unable to step out of character.

That night, back at the hotel, Xi Ruohan went online to watch an episode of <Yun Zhang>, choosing the scene where Lu Yiyao, playing the male lead, confessed to her, the female lead.

It was that day she fell in love with Lu Yiyao.

Even now, she still remembered the feelings from that scene.

But the problem was, she experienced the same feelings today.

If it weren’t for having to stick to the script, she might have impulsively agreed to Fang Xian.

Yes, she was sure that it was Fang Xian in the play she had fallen for, not Ran Lin, because she deliberately waited until Ran Lin had removed his makeup and found that the palpitations she felt towards Fang Xian had disappeared.

This realization brought her comfort, but also unrest.

Because she found that “Lu Yiyao” and “Yun Zhang”, the two images that had overlapped in her mind, were slowly separating.

Not only separating, but also an additional “Tang Jingyu” appeared out of nowhere.

Yet her feelings weren’t divided into three parts; they were still tied to “Yun Zhang”, gradually distancing from the two men, “Lu Yiyao” and “Tang Jingyu”.

……

[How was the scene with your scene partner today?]

[Everything went smoothly.]

Lu Yiyao, who had just finished a schedule and was on his way back on the high-speed train, looked at the WeChat message from his friend with a mix of belief and disbelief. When he and Ran Lin filmed their first scene together, they were already friends who frequently contacted each other through WeChat, and even then, it took them a while to find their rhythm. During the past month of filming, Ran Lin and Xi Ruohan had practically no interaction, and even if they appeared in the same scenes, it was mostly in group scenes. It seemed very likely they would struggle to find their state.

[I am masterful and dashing in the role. Just doing a confession scene, how hard can it be? 😎]

Lu Yiyao chuckled—[You’re overacting.]

Reading the message, Ran Lin could almost hear Lu Yiyao’s tone, and it made him feel a bit ticklish inside—[What time will you arrive?]

[It’ll probably be past midnight.]

[Can you get up at 5 a.m. tomorrow?]

[Don’t worry, I once managed with only two hours of sleep over three days.]

[And then you fainted and missed the Thailand curry trip.]

[A true hero doesn’t dwell on the past.]

Ran Lin, who was just drinking water, almost spat it out. He couldn’t even bother typing and directly sent a voice message. “What kind of hero is that!”

Lu Yiyao played it immediately, listening and laughing.

Yao Hong, sitting next to him, recognized the voice immediately. “Ran Lin?”

Lu Yiyao hummed in affirmation.

Yao Hong nodded but didn’t say much more.

Over the years she had managed Lu Yiyao, she rarely saw him truly make friends in the industry. Sometimes, when she saw other male artists showing off their friendships, boosting each other’s popularity, and attracting fans together, she wished Lu Yiyao could find one or two friends like that. But Lu Yiyao wasn’t the kind to warm up easily. Sometimes, when other male artists tried to get close to him and found his response lukewarm, they would also lose interest.

Her artist had seen too much of the industry, and when you see too much, things lose their excitement.

The night view outside the train window was a blur, making it hard to tell where they were. Yao Hong, bored, plugged in her headphones, intending to listen to some music. But she noticed a WeChat group message notification that had been there for half an hour. The message was from a colleague group that she often muted because it was too active. Sometimes she would check it out when she was free, but now someone in the group had mentioned her.

Yao Hong curiously clicked in and found the mention. It wasn’t just her being mentioned, but a whole string of people—basically two-thirds of the group members. Usually, this method meant someone was about to share gossip, calling out everyone to join the fun.

Colleagues in the industry were always eager for a juicy story.

There were three Weibo screenshots. The first was from a well-known marketing account with a sensational title: Shocking! Old high school photos of Zhang Beichen unearthed. His first love is also a handsome guy?!

The other two screenshots were zoomed-in photos. One showed two boys, arms over each other’s shoulders, grinning at the camera. In the other, they were still arm-in-arm, but one was pretending to kiss the other’s face, captured just before the kiss. The one being kissed was making a funny face at the camera, as if expecting the kiss but also seemingly unaware of it.

Zhang Beichen was the one making the funny face.

The photo quality wasn’t high, and it looked like a selfie taken with a phone. Both boys were still young, wearing high school uniforms.

In half an hour, hundreds of messages had flooded the group chat.

Most were speculating whether Zhang Beichen was gay, and a few were snickering that Wu Xuefeng would now have a headache.

Wu Xuefeng generally had a mixed reputation among his peers, often described as a smiling tiger with deep schemes.

In this industry, no agent was innocent; everyone had their ways and strategies, all hoping to push their artists to the pinnacle of success. But Wu Xuefeng was known for being more unscrupulous than others, hence his poor reputation.

Was Zhang Beichen really gay?

Yao Hong thought that these two photos alone weren’t enough proof.

Zhang Beichen’s team could easily dismiss it as youthful frivolity—just two good friends taking silly photos. Who hasn’t been young and reckless?

The real concern was if these photos were released by someone with an agenda, possibly with more to come.

Or, if the other person in the photos came forward to clarify.

Yao Hong opened Weibo and searched for Zhang Beichen. Sure enough, the photos were spreading like wildfire, with the narrative becoming more and more detailed, almost piecing together a tragic high school love story.

The comments were divided into three groups: pure fans who refused to believe and accused the marketing accounts of slandering their idol; onlookers who were just there for the drama, waiting for further developments; and a group, possibly fans or onlookers, who were keen detectives, analyzing even the micro-expressions in the photos, determined to uncover the truth behind them.

So far, Zhang Beichen hadn’t responded.

Someone was stirring the pot—Yao Hong glanced at the public opinion and the most forwarded posts, and she had her suspicions.

Maybe Zhang Beichen had offended someone, or perhaps he was blocking someone’s path, so someone wanted to target him.

This was all too common in the industry.

Some never recover from such a scandal, while others turn it around.

But these were not Yao Hong’s concerns.

She looked at Lu Yiyao, who seemed totally engrossed in his phone, probably chatting up a storm. Yao Hong sighed and gently pushed his phone screen down.

Lu Yiyao looked up, eyebrows raised in question.

Yao Hong asked directly, “What’s your relationship with Zhang Beichen?”

Lu Yiyao was puzzled and put down his phone for a moment. “Just so-so. Why suddenly ask this?”

Yao Hong didn’t answer directly but thought for a moment. “Isn’t he also filming in Hengdian now?”

“Yes,” Lu Yiyao replied. “We even had late-night snacks together when he first joined the crew.”

“Just the two of you?” Yao Hong frowned.

“No, it was with Ran Lin; the three of us ate together,” Lu Yiyao explained honestly. “After all, we were on a reality show together.”

Yao Hong asked, “Is Ran Lin on good terms with him?”

Lu Yiyao thought about the situation during the late-night snack they had together and said, “It’s alright, I guess. Better than with me, but I didn’t feel they were particularly close. Ran Lin gets along with everyone, so it looks like he’s good with everyone, but that’s not necessarily the case.”

Yao Hong was exasperated. “I was just asking casually. You don’t have to keep explaining for Ran Lin.”

Lu Yiyao spread his hands innocently. “I’m just telling the truth.”

“It doesn’t matter. Just avoid meeting him for now,” Yao Hong advised cautiously.

Lu Yiyao felt a pang of concern. “Ran Lin? But we still have scenes together.”

Yao Hong held her forehead, almost grinding her teeth. “Zhang Beichen.”

Lu Yiyao fell silent, squinting at Yao Hong. After a while, he asked softly, “Did he get into trouble?”

Originally, Yao Hong wouldn’t have shared the gossip with Lu Yiyao since it didn’t concern him, as each agency should only worry about its own artists. But after this series of questions, she couldn’t be at ease anymore and decided to show Lu Yiyao the Weibo post.

Lu Yiyao scrolled through several posts and read the comments carefully.

In the end, he looked up and said straightforwardly to Yao Hong, “Someone’s smearing him.”

“How can you be so sure?” Yao Hong, although she had the same judgment, was unsettled by Lu Yiyao’s definitive defense of Zhang Beichen. “Maybe he really is gay.”

Lu Yiyao realized Yao Hong had misunderstood him and smiled wryly. “I didn’t say he isn’t. Whether he is or not, this matter is someone targeting him. I don’t believe you can’t see that.”

Yao Hong rolled her eyes. “If I couldn’t see what you can, how would I manage you?”

Lu Yiyao looked at Weibo again and sighed. “Zhang Beichen must be in a mess right now.”

“If there’s no follow-up, it’s easier to handle.” Yao Hong pulled her phone back from Lu Yiyao. “Let’s see how Wu Xuefeng deals with it.”

Lu Yiyao didn’t speak, lost in thought as he looked out the window.

After pondering for a while, Yao Hong still asked softly, “Is Zhang Beichen really…?”

The question from his agent made Lu Yiyao recall the late-night snack they had. He felt Zhang Beichen’s sexual orientation was questionable, but there was still no concrete evidence, and intuition was always a mysterious thing.

“Hard to say.” Lu Yiyao finally gave a responsible answer.

……

Ran Lin only learned about Zhang Beichen’s trouble the next day at noon while scrolling through his phone during lunch. His first reaction was to call his agent, Wang Xi, to see if she knew the inside story, but to his surprise, she was unaware of Zhang Beichen’s situation. Ran Lin explained the situation to her, and Wang Xi’s reaction was indifferent, as it wasn’t her artist’s affair. She only advised Ran Lin to steer clear of Zhang Beichen for the time being, given the sensitive nature of the scandal.

Ran Lin, of course, understood the implications, but he couldn’t help but be curious about the situation.

The Weibo hot searches had already cycled through several rounds, but it was still the same two photos being circulated, and the direction and intensity of public opinion seemed abnormal.

Lu Yiyao, who had been observing the whole time, knew Ran Lin was concerned about his friend, but at such times, only Zhang Beichen’s team could help him. Ran Lin, despite his concern, was unable to assist.

By evening, worried that Ran Lin was still preoccupied with the matter, Lu Yiyao invited him and Tang Xiaoyu for dinner at a nearby restaurant.

Tang Xiaoyu had realized by then that Lu Yiyao and Ran Lin were genuinely good friends, and he was just tagging along. But since Lu Yiyao had invited him, he was happy to accompany them for a meal.

The three male celebrities, although conspicuous, went out late at night when it was less noticeable.

Lu Yiyao chose a small restaurant near the hotel, within walking distance. It was a rare opportunity for the three of them to get together in the evening.

“Toasting with tea instead of wine, I first toast to my big brothers.” Tang Xiaoyu stood up to start the meal in the private room. “Soon we’ll be adversaries in the drama, so I’m here to ask for mercy in advance.”

Ran Lin laughed, raising his cup to clink with Tang Xiaoyu. “I’ll be using a sword.”

Lu Yiyao joined in. “Me too.”

Tang Xiaoyu was baffled. “It makes sense for Fang Xian to use a sword, but your weapon is a flying knife!”

Lu Yiyao tilted his head. “But later I used a flying sword.”

Tang Xiaoyu paused.

Ran Lin, trying not to laugh, reminded, “The Sword of Fallen Flowers Manual is not just any sword manual; it’s also a manual for hidden weapons. In the end, Tang Jingyu learns it.”

Tang Xiaoyu remembered, “In the final part of the script, you effortlessly decipher the secrets of the Sword of Fallen Flowers Manual. In the final battle with the Liuhua Palace, you release a short sword from the shadows, eliminating the biggest villain.”

“Under the halo of the protagonist, I can only admire,” Tang Xiaoyu conceded and downed his drink.

The dinner started cheerfully.

Lu Yiyao thought it was wise to invite Tang Xiaoyu, but about a third of the way through their casual conversation, Tang Xiaoyu suddenly brought up, “Have you guys heard about Zhang Beichen’s situation?”

Lu Yiyao wished he could stuff a bun in his mouth.

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