Author: 颜凉雨 / Yan Liang Yu

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

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Chapter 53

The “Happy New Year” message wasn’t a mass text from Ran Lin. But indeed, Lu Yiyao wasn’t the only one who received it.

Xia Xinran, Gu Jie, Tang Xiaoyu, Liu Wanwan, and others all received Ran Lin’s New Year wishes. He typed each message word by word, feeling that this way, the intention of the blessing would genuinely attach to the text and be sent along with it.

Of course, the recipients might not feel it, but Ran Lin liked doing it this way; it was his little personal conviction.

The first to reply was Xia Xinran, instantly. Clearly, at the turn of the new year, this friend was holding his phone.

“I thought you’d forget about me after your trip to Hengdian!”

Xia Xinran usually sent voice messages when possible—he found typing too troublesome.

Ran Lin also responded with a laugh. “I’m back from Hengdian now.”

“I know you wrapped up shooting. I even liked your Weibo post, didn’t you see?”

“……”

With nearly ten thousand likes on each post, especially the wrap-up one, which garnered over fifty thousand due to other actors’ popularity, how could he specifically look for one named Xia Xinran? Ran Lin felt almost wronged to tears.

Then, the voice on the other side of WeChat was even more aggrieved—

“You could look at my Weibo. You’d see my like instantly!”

“……”

“You definitely never visit my Weibo…” 😭 😭 😭

Voice messages and emoticons together constitute a dramatic narrative on WeChat. Ran Lin never thought of himself as a dishonest person, but he really wanted to laugh.

[My mistake. I’ll make sure to check your Weibo frequently from now on!]

“Why are you suddenly texting… You’re laughing, aren’t you!”

[If I weren’t at my parents’ house, I’d suspect you installed a pinhole camera in my room.]

“You have the nerve to admit it…”

[Hahahahaha]

Unable to hold back, Ran Lin needed to express his mood. Xia Xinran, of course, was riled up again.

But after a bit of banter, Xia Xinran got serious and suggested, “Let’s meet up sometime. It’s been a year in a blink; I’ve almost forgotten what you look like.”

Xia Xinran had always been carefree, far from melancholy, so his sigh took Ran Lin by surprise. It turned out that even the most jovial people have a delicate side.

“Sure.” Ran Lin agreed readily.

It had been almost a year since the recording of “Drifting Story” ended in March last year, and since then, he really hadn’t seen Xia Xinran. Looking back, it had almost been a year. If you go back further to the airport incident with Lu Yiyao, which was actually in October, the year before the reality show, if you consider that day as the start of their acquaintance, it had now been a year and over three months.

The badge collection seemed like yesterday, and time flew so fast when it sped up—it was frightening. No wonder Xia Xinran would sigh; Ran Lin could empathize. A year flew by, and even the best of friends could drift apart without contact amidst the relentless pace of work.

After chatting with Xia Xinran, Ran Lin finally saw Lu Yiyao’s reply—[Happy New Year.]

It seemed so unoriginal, as if he just copied and pasted his greeting.

Outside, firecrackers thundered. Ran Lin quietly watched the avatar that had stirred his whole year, secretly blessing him again in his heart—Happy New Year, bad guy.

He was initially planning to stay home until the fifteenth day of the first lunar month, but on the fourth day of the new year, Wang Xi called him back. His parents didn’t object. In fact, they were happy for their son—being busy meant his career was flourishing.

This time it was for a Valentine’s Day special issue of a magazine. Initially, only Han Ze was invited for the shoot, but the magazine heard that a rival publication—actually a competitor—planned to feature a more popular new-generation male star on the same issue’s cover. A direct comparison seemed unfavorable, so the magazine’s planning team decided to use a “double-boyfriend” theme.

Changing from a solo cover to a duo wasn’t exactly ethical, but the magazine was prestigious, and so-called shooting invitations were often eagerly sought by stars’ agents. So when they said they wanted to change, Wang Xi, despite her reluctance, agreed.

Fortunately, the magazine acknowledged Wang Xi’s flexibility and, after several alternative stars couldn’t be booked—either genuinely busy or feeling Han Ze wasn’t high-profile enough to share a cover—agreed to Wang Xi’s recommendation of Ran Lin.

Ran Lin knew getting this opportunity was half due to Wang Xi and half to luck. Valentine’s Day wasn’t far off, and any more delays would leave the magazine with a gaping hole.

The day before the shoot, he returned to Beijing, and the next day was scheduled for shooting. The location was in a remote wilderness on the outskirts of Beijing, almost deserted. But there was a particular wide field there, covered with dry, frosty grass, offering a desolate cinematic feel—precisely what the photographer wanted.

Ran Lin got up early, quickly got ready, and headed to the company. After waiting for about half an hour, Wang Xi and Han Ze arrived together. Wang Xi’s phone was incessantly buzzing, and after an apparently exciting call, she stepped out, leaving Ran Lin and Han Ze staring awkwardly at each other in her office.

While Wang Xi was there, Han Ze was all smiles. But as soon as she left, he took all traces of friendliness with her. It was the first time Ran Lin had seen someone’s face change so quickly—so fast that he didn’t feel insulted but rather found it amusing.

“Long time, no see.” Han Ze’s face was cold, but his opening line was mild.

“Long time, no see.” Ran Lin reciprocated the courtesy.

Han Ze wore a light gray cashmere coat that day, beautifully tailored to accentuate his lean and handsome figure. Ran Lin looked down at his down jacket—not bad-looking, but next to Han Ze’s, it clearly showed the difference in status.

There was a styling team in the company, but not exclusively for Ran Lin, so unless there was a high-profile event, he wore his own clothes.

“When does <Sword of Fallen Flowers> air?” Han Ze suddenly asked casually.

Ran Lin hadn’t expected Han Ze to initiate conversation and honestly replied, “The production team is aiming for a June premiere, so they’re currently working hard on post-production.”

Han Ze nodded and then curiously raised an eyebrow. “I haven’t seen your acting yet. I can’t imagine what it’s like.”

Ran Lin internally rolled his eyes. This was clearly a dig, as he might not have played many significant roles, but he had been in several minor ones. Han Ze’s comments were undoubtedly meant to be a slight.

“You’ll know when it airs,” Ran Lin replied with a slight smile, meeting his gaze directly, unflinching.

A flicker of annoyance crossed Han Ze’s eyes, but he said no more.

Ran Lin suddenly regretted his reaction. Han Ze had a point to be upset; even though the switch to a duo cover was the magazine’s idea, he ultimately benefited from it. It was normal for Han Ze to be a bit sour and sarcastic and Ran Lin didn’t need to provoke him unnecessarily.

Ran Lin lowered his eyes, furrowing his brow, seriously reflecting whether he had grown more temperamental in the new year.

When Wang Xi walked in, she found two quiet, handsome men and was quite pleased. “Handsome guys, the car’s here.” She didn’t need them to be close as brothers since they were in competition over resources. Being polite and courteous was enough.

Ran Lin knew they were going to shoot in the wilderness, but when they actually arrived at the location, the sight still took his breath away.

An expanse of desolate land, only a small farmhouse stood solitary amidst the wilderness, accompanied only by a few trees. The roof and branches were laden with remnants of snow, and the wind scattered fine snowflakes around.

The photographer invited by the magazine was already there, busy capturing various angles of the small house as if it were the day’s star.

Tian Mai was one of the most renowned male star photographers in the industry, not because he only shot males but because his male portraits were always outrageously handsome. Unfortunately, his female portraits were rather ordinary. Over time, he was no longer sought after for female shoots.

Ran Lin had only heard his name and was seeing him in person for the first time today. The photographer turned around at the sound of the car; his semi-long, wavy hair, deep eyes, and thoughtful stubble, holding a camera, looked like a brooding male god from an art film.

Ran Lin genuinely thought he should be the one photographed.

The magazine’s styling team was already on site, and both Ran Lin and Han Ze went into the makeup van to be dolled up, emerging as the warm male idols perfect for Valentine’s Day.

Tian Mai was pleased with the styling and lifted his camera to signal that it was time to start. “Let’s get moving now!”

Ran Lin and Han Ze glanced at each other, and finally, Han Ze asked, “Move how?”

Tian Mai blew a lock of hair from his forehead and smiled. “Climb the roof.”

The farmhouse had been long abandoned but was refurbished and decorated in advance, giving it a retro vibe reminiscent of photos from the 80s. They managed to get on the roof, and Tian Mai—or rather, “Cheerios*” as Ran Lin nicknamed him—had them embrace the wilderness wind on the roof.

*Clarity: His name is Tian Mai (田麦). Ran Lin changed it around to [Tian Maiquan] (甜麦圈), substituting the (田) with (甜) as they are homophones, making his nickname Cheerios (the literal translation would be sweet wheat rings, referring to any cereal that’s round).

After a recent snowfall, although much had melted, there were still patches of snow. The photographer had the crew build a snowman and bring it to the roof to join them for the shoot.

The winter wind was harsh, and the temperature low. By the end, both men were nearly unable to smile, but Cheerios was finally satisfied and called it a day.

That evening, the magazine released behind-the-scenes footage on Weibo, showing both men posing stylishly on the roof. During the shoots, they looked cool, but in the intervals, they appeared to be pleading to be let down. The background was always filled with the photographer’s satisfied laughter, clearly enjoying the shoot immensely. The video immediately trended on Weibo, especially for the photographer’s infectious laugh, which netizens found addictive.

Ran Lin’s PR team had already re-posted it for him. By the time he checked Weibo, there were already over a thousand comments. During the airing of the reality show, his Weibo was bustling with activity, with fans and haters alike leaving nearly ten thousand comments. But as the show ended and discussions cooled down, especially since he hadn’t been exposed much after, sticking to filming in Hengdian, his Weibo comments stabilized at one to two thousand.

Most detractors had left, and aside from the company-paid commenters, his feed was now filled with genuine fans. Some were daily regulars, others dropped by every few days. While it wasn’t bustling, it was harmonious and warm.

[This courtyard feels so nostalgic and vintage. Can I have the location please? 🤩]

[Ahhh both of them are so handsome!!!]

[Are you still looking for a snowman? One with a college degree?]

[Why am I feeling this CP vibe? I’m a loyal Green Forest member. I don’t want to switch sides 😭]

[……]

Ran Lin scrolled through the top comments, accidentally blinded by the “Green Forest” reference. He wasn’t sure who coined the CP name, but even after so much time, Ran Lin still resented it, feeling like he wasn’t doing it justice without a large golden hoop around his waist.

While internally mocking, his lips curled into a smile.

But before the smile fully formed, he froze.

[Love Yao For Life: After hyping up God Lu, now it’s Han Ze’s turn. A masterstroke indeed. I salute you 👋.]

Ran Lin remembered this ID, not out of will but because this user was deeply devoted to him, visiting more punctually than a true fan from last year to this.

Amidst his fans’ domain, seeking attention, especially when almost all the detractors had left, Love Yao For Life naturally became a target. Ran Lin clicked on the replies to this comment, and indeed, the tone shifted dramatically into a storm of blood and fury.

Among the many irrational true fan voices, there was one ID that remained calm and restrained throughout, and interestingly enough, Love Fao for Life only conversed with this one ID.

Ran Lin recognized it—Lin’s Family Burning Noodles.

The first reply was—[Han Ze and Ran Lin are artists from the same company. Collaborating for a duo cover is normal. There’s no hype involved. Plus, you can tell from the behind-the-scenes that they had a lot of fun.]

Ran Lin then witnessed a “magical conversation”—

Love Yao For Life: [Same company?]

Lin’s Family Burning Noodles: [Yes, and they share the same agent. Next time before you speak, maybe you should do your homework.]

Love Yao For Life: [I don’t like your tone!]

Lin’s Family Burning Noodles: [What a coincidence, neither do I.]

Love Yao For Life: [Doesn’t matter, in my eyes, Ran Lin can never be cleared of guilt. I will always be against him!!!]

Lin’s Family Burning Noodles: [Welcome to the opposition, but please make it intelligent.]

Love Yao For Life: [Expletive] [Expletive] [Expletive]

Lin’s Family Burning Noodles: [😊😊😊]

Love Yao For Life: [Ahhhhhhhh!]

Lin’s Family Burning Noodles: [Hahahaha!]

Love Yao For Life: [You’re sick!]

Lin’s Family Burning Noodles: [Very sick 😳]

Love Yao For Life: Please stop replying to me and go get treatment!

Lin’s Family Burning Noodles: [Only you are my antidote ❤️]

Love Yao For Life: [Fans’ behavior will be paid for by the idol. You’re bringing hate to your master!]

Lin’s Family Burning Noodles: [No one is anyone’s master. All are born equal.]

Love Yao For Life: [Can’t bother talking to a crazy person. I won’t reply to you anymore 👋.]

Lin’s Family Burning Noodles: [👋 Don’t forget to check your private messages.]

Love Yao For Life: [Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!]

After reading the last comment, Ran Lin laughed so hard his stomach hurt, and he still felt unsatisfied, so he refreshed the comments to see if there were any new developments in the past ten minutes.

Indeed, there were—

Lu Yiyao: [Have you considered the snowman’s feelings…]

Ran Lin was momentarily stunned. It seemed like he was suddenly brought back from the world of Weibo to reality, and the light-hearted mood slowly settled down, grew roots, and began to develop other indescribable emotions.

If the snowman could speak, it would surely curse him and Han Ze for accidentally knocking it over during the shoot, which was clear in the behind-the-scenes footage.

But Lu Yiyao surely wasn’t really coming to defend the snowman. He was standing up for him.

Because right after his comment, someone immediately @Love Yao For Life—[Your God Lu has commented. Awkward much?]

Actually, this tagging was a bit spiteful, but Love Yao For Life replied—[Don’t tag me. Hanging my head in shame, reflecting on my life…]

Though it was overly wishful to imagine Lu Yiyao scrolling through his comment section to then reply directly to defend him, considering that he once sent dozens of Weibo message screenshots in one breath, it might not be impossible.

But after all they had gone through, would he still look at his comment section?

Ran Lin shook his head. He was probably overthinking again.

……

Lu Yiyao looked at Ran Lin’s reply with a [😂] emoji, feeling utterly dismissed.

The crying while laughing emoji is the most versatile expression in the world. Whatever emotion you interpret it as, it embodies it, making it the perfect response for any situation.

Lu Yiyao sighed, watching the behind-the-scenes footage again, confirming once more that he indeed disliked it. Watching Ran Lin have fun with another person made him want to pull the other person out of the screen, replace them with himself, or even replace the snowman standing there would be fine!

He never considered himself a possessive person, but now he just wished Ran Lin would laugh with him.

He wanted the whole world to know how great Ran Lin was but didn’t want Ran Lin to share his greatness with the whole world. Lu Yiyao felt he wasn’t far from becoming a possessive freak.

One step forward was an abyss.

One step back was heartbreak.

Should he try the abyss…

“Huh?” Suddenly, a questioning sound came from Yao Hong across from him.

Lu Yiyao looked up bewildered. “Huh?”

Yao Hong frowned slightly. “I just asked you what you were looking at. Didn’t you hear me?”

“Oh, I heard.” Lu Yiyao tried to maintain a natural expression, shaking his phone. “Just browsing Weibo.”

Yao Hong studied him for a long while, finally shaking her head. “No, you’ve been off these past few days, often daydreaming and laughing for no reason.”

Lu Yiyao looked innocent and naïve. “Really?”

Yao Hong stared at him seriously and said, “If there’s anything, you must tell me. Only when we are honest with each other can we do our work well.”

Lu Yiyao pondered for a moment, nodding solemnly. “I understand.”

Yao Hong seemed to want to say more, but just then, a staff member came to notify Lu Yiyao it was time for him to go on stage for a talk show he was guesting on.

As the dressing room door closed again, Yao Hong turned to look at Li Tong.

Li Tong, as if anticipating, promptly raised his head and proactively said, “Hong Jie.”

Yao Hong cut to the chase. “Did anything happen in Hengdian while I was away?”

Li Tong hesitated briefly but quickly recovered. “What do you mean by ‘anything’, Hong Jie?”

Yao Hong bluntly said, “Your Lu Ge.”

Li Tong promptly replied, “It was just filming and rushing work every day. Nothing particularly notable.”

Yao Hong: “Did he get particularly close to any female actress on set?”

“No.” Li Tong didn’t even need to think. “He’s avoiding the female lead as much as he can, let alone the second or third female leads.”

Yao Hong was silent, just staring intently at Li Tong, not missing any subtle expression on his face.

Li Tong swallowed nervously but didn’t divert his gaze, standing upright and proud.

Finally, Yao Hong believed him, sighing and instructing, “Pay more attention. Whatever the situation, you must report to me in time.”

Li Tong’s tense nerves gradually relaxed, but he asked knowingly, “Hong Jie, are you worried Lu Ge will fall in love?”

Seeing him ask this, Yao Hong dismissed a bit of her suspicion and said, “I’m not worried about him falling in love. Of course, it’s best if he doesn’t, but I know at his age it’s impossible to control, and it’s inevitable. What I’m worried about is him secretly dating and not telling me.”

Li Tong could tell Yao Hong genuinely cared for Lu Yiyao, which only intensified his guilt.

But this was something he couldn’t reveal, or the sky would fall.

Watching Yao Hong slowly close her eyes to rest, Li Tong put on his earphones and continued playing the song he had paused earlier, right at the chorus—

“The young man under the sun~~ Has your dream come true~~ In this cold world~~ Have you changed~”

Scouring the internet with bits and pieces of lyrics he remembered, he finally found the song Lu Yiyao was humming that day.

Looking at the name in the artist column, Li Tong felt utterly hopeless.

The song was pleasant, the person was good-looking, and Lu Ge was indeed heading for trouble…

……

The day after the magazine shoot, Ran Lin got a script from Wang Xi—<Chronicles of Winter>. It was an ancient fantasy drama based on a novel. The original novel wasn’t a super popular IP, but it had a decent fan base. The investment was moderate, and the cast was all young newcomers. The role given to Ran Lin was the male lead.

Wang Xi sat in Ran Lin’s apartment’s living room sofa, smiling at him, saying, “Ran Lin, you’re going to be the lead.”

Ran Lin felt like he was dreaming.

After Wang Xi left, he spent all night reading the script. To be honest, the script was just okay—more like a martial arts and romance story dressed in a fantasy guise. But the male lead was indeed the center of all the main and subplots, with all conflicts and emotions revolving around him. It could be said that the director gave the most splendid part to the male lead, including the female lead, who was also second to the male lead.

And if it were a big IP, big investment, and a high-quality script, Ran Lin knew it might not necessarily be his turn.

According to Wang Xi, the production company was interested in him because of his role in <Sword of Fallen Flowers> believing that he would gain significant popularity once the drama aired, so they were willing to take a risk on him. After all, his current price was very cheap. If <Sword of Fallen Flowers> really hit big, then they would have gotten a jade for the price of cabbage. By the time <Chronicles of Winter> aired, it would no longer be a cast of newcomers but a popular rising star leading a group of young talents.

Though he didn’t need to audition, Ran Lin still read the script whenever he had free time, trying to get into the character, as the male lead’s personality was too different from his own, necessitating constant reflection.

Before he could fully grasp the character, Valentine’s Day quietly arrived. With no schedules that day, Ran Lin slept in and woke up to countless @ mentions on Weibo. Upon checking, he found out that the magazine’s official account had released the special issue.

The cover feature was a separate post with a grid of nine pictures of him and Han Ze, including posed and candid moments on the rooftop. In the desolate wilderness background, he and Han Ze looked brilliantly warm and radiant in the photos.

Looking at himself in the photos, Ran Lin felt very unfamiliar. Even though the features were familiar, no matter how he looked, he seemed to have become a much more handsome version of himself.

The PR team had already shared it for him. With nothing of his own to repost, Ran Lin simply went to the photographer Tian Mai’s Weibo and liked one of his posts.

Just as he finished liking, his phone rang. It was Xia Xinran.

Ran Lin curiously answered, and the voice on the other end immediately said, “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

Ran Lin chuckled. “Same to you.”

“Do you have time tomorrow night?” Xia Xinran was straightforward.

Ran Lin teasingly replied, “Depends on what kind of gathering you’re organizing. I’m not attending if it’s unhealthy.”

Xia Xinran protested, “I’m so healthy, I could be the entertainment industry’s positive energy ambassador!”

Ran Lin laughed, then said, “I’m free tomorrow, where do you want to meet?”

Xia Xinran, a man of his word, had mentioned meeting up over the phone, so Ran Lin knew it would definitely happen. “Let me clarify first. It’s not just the two of us. There will be others too,” Xia Xinran hurriedly explained, sensing Ran Lin’s misunderstanding.

Ran Lin’s heart sank momentarily, his first thought being Zhang Beichen, but then he remembered Xia Xinran’s attitude towards Zhang Beichen and realized he was probably worrying over nothing. He guessed, “Gu Jie?”

“No.” Xia Xinran didn’t keep him guessing and disclosed. “It’s like a friends’ circle gathering. Mostly people we get along with, including artists, designers, etc. We’re planning an old-fashioned Republic of China-themed party. You don’t need to wear a costume; you can change when you get here.”

Ran Lin had heard of such private industry gatherings where close friends got together for drinks and chats, a way to maintain relationships. Everyone was relaxed since it was just among friends. Sometimes friends brought other friends, and it was a good way to expand one’s social circle.

Xia Xinran said, “Don’t overthink it. It’s just a private gathering. Getting to know more people is only good for you, and it’s also a chance for us to catch up. Otherwise, I’ll be going into another drama production next week, and you’ll forget my stunning beauty.”

Ran Lin was dumbfounded but warmed by the thought.

Xia Xinran was from a talent show background and had fought hard for his current status. His success wasn’t only due to his agency but also his efforts. He was sociable, clear-headed, and well-regarded by investors and directors he worked with. Although not every artist he worked with liked him, those who did become his friends were genuine friends. Thus, his social circle was indeed valuable.

And now, Xia Xinran wanted to introduce these friends to him.

“Hello?” Beauty Xia was getting impatient again. “Hello?”

“Just send me the time and place,” Ran Lin finally said.

“That’s more like it.” Xia Xinran was satisfied. “I’ll send you a WeChat once it’s all set.”

Ran Lin was exasperated. “So it’s not set yet?”

Xia Xinran said, “The time is set. The place is still being discussed. The competition for hosting rights is fierce. Two guys are even ready to PK with their house deeds.”

Ran Lin asked, “PK what?”

Xia Xinran explained, “Who has a larger construction area.”

Ran Lin: “……”

After hanging up, Ran Lin thought it over and sent a heart emoji to Xia Xinran.

Xia Xinran replied with a face-holding emoticon, with seven dynamic glowing words on it—The bashful beauty of a glorious era.

As Ran Lin was internally rolling his eyes at the emoticon, his phone rang again. It seemed like his phone had turned into a hotline today.

“Xi Jie.” The caller ID showed it was Wang Xi, and Ran Lin greeted her as he answered.

“Mm.” The voice on the other end didn’t sound very energetic.

Ran Lin frowned slightly and asked proactively, “Xi Jie, is something the matter?”

There was a long silence on the phone before the reply came, “Chronicles of Winter… there might be some changes.”

Ran Lin was stunned, not quite knowing what to say.

“The male lead.” Wang Xi’s voice was low. “The production company might still prefer Han Ze for the role.”

Ran Lin blinked, feeling as if something flashed through his mind but couldn’t quite grasp it.

“Xi Jie, this is the male lead role. Once it’s gone, it’s gone*.” Ran Lin wasn’t sure what he was trying to express. Was it his importance to the role or his inability to accept the sudden change?

*There’s no shop like this after passing this village (过了这个村，就没这个店) Proverb that means opportunities are rare and cannot be missed casually.

“I know.” Wang Xi’s voice sounded troubled. “But the investors have the final say. If they want a change, there’s nothing anyone can do.”

At this point, Ran Lin felt he should just say, “Okay, I understand,” to fit his easy-going nature. Yet, he couldn’t say it; something in his chest felt like it was urging him to fight back, to try one more time.

“Isn’t it the same as last time with Lei Baishi? He didn’t agree with me playing Fang Xian at first, but didn’t he change his mind later? Xi Jie, can you arrange another dinner like last time—let me have one last try? Or ask the director if I can audition. At least give me a chance to compete fairly with Han Ze…”

“Ran Lin,” Wang Xi interrupted him, “it’s already decided. After all, you’ve never carried a leading role; the production company has to consider the risk.”

“But you just said they are leaning towards Han Ze, didn’t you?” Ran Lin’s heart slowly calmed down, vaguely understanding.

In fact, he should have realized right away. When a production company changes a decided role, it’s usually because the newcomer has done better work; it’s not that the investors suddenly have an epiphany while sitting at home.

Wang Xi was silent for a long while before saying, “Maybe we can still fight for the second male lead.”

There was no “we”, only himself. At this moment, Ran Lin could clearly feel the difference in closeness between him and Han Ze in Wang Xi’s eyes.

“No one becomes a male lead overnight. Many have ground away for years in secondary or even smaller roles. You’ve been quite lucky already.”

“Yeah,” Ran Lin replied, no longer pushing, just saying, “I’ll think about it…”

However, Wang Xi seemed somewhat dissatisfied with his response, her tone inadvertently rising. “Now you even have to ‘think’ about taking a secondary role?”

Ran Lin quietly looked at the wall, took a deep breath, and, after a long while, said clearly, “Xi Jie, I really appreciate you getting me this opportunity. If you had offered me the second lead from the start, I would have happily accepted it. But now, under these circumstances, if you offer it to me and I tell you I’m happy, do you think that would be the truth?”

“Xi Jie, you don’t have to worry about me not accepting it. Even if you say the production company leans towards Han Ze,” Ran Lin never thought he would talk to Wang Xi like this, but now that he did, he felt calm and composed, “I am being outcompeted for the role, and I accept it because I understand my place. But I see you as my sister, which is why I’m being honest with you. I’m not happy, and I don’t want to play second to him.”

Wang Xi, who usually didn’t respond well to hard approaches, immediately got upset hearing this. “When did you become so willful? I always thought you were smart, but now look at you, giving up even the secondary role because of some temporary pride. Where’s your sense?”

“So I said I would think about it.” Ran Lin’s tone was full of innocence, patiently explaining to Wang Xi. “The subtext is that I need to settle my feelings about being usurped first, then I can sincerely tell you how much I value this opportunity.”

Wang Xi was left speechless by Ran Lin’s flexibility. You couldn’t say he was being difficult; he was discussing openly with you. You couldn’t say he was illogical; he was selling you his woes, and you couldn’t even call him unreasonable because his logic was clear as he obviously lost his role, which she felt somewhat guilty about.

Between choosing Han Ze or Ran Lin, her answer was almost without hesitation. But looking back, Ran Lin had become harder to handle than when she first took him on, and what was worse, she didn’t think it was a bad thing but rather felt it might be… star-like?

Wang Xi wondered if she might have some misunderstandings about what “star-like” meant.

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