Author: 颜凉雨 / Yan Liang Yu

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

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Chapter 61

Lu Yiyao’s pride lasted only until Yao Hong left. As the door closed, his smile gradually faded into a sorrowful and aggrieved expression.

Ran Lin couldn’t possibly have agreed to that bastard Ding something, but why hadn’t he mentioned anything about this message delivery? And even later, about the audition, Ran Lin didn’t mention a word.

Thinking it over, Lu Yiyao could only come up with a pessimistic answer that he was “worried about overthinking, being suspicious, or even making a jealous scene without reason.” And for Ran Lin to have such worries only meant one thing—that he, as a boyfriend, hadn’t managed to fully earn Ran Lin’s trust and peace of mind.

This realization made Lu Yiyao gloomy.

In his first relationship, he wasn’t quite clear on how lovers should interact. His most familiar couple, Huo Yuntao and Lin Panxi, who were long-distance most of the time, hardly provided a reference. Moreover, Ran Lin was a man.

He could only try his best based on instinct, but it was evidently not enough.

If only they could be together every day, Lu Yiyao thought while showering. Even if not every day, at least not like now, where seeing each other once a month was considered fortunate. The rest of their communication had to rely on messaging apps.

Many things were better said face-to-face, and many things were better done face-to-face. Probably only celebrities experience love like a mobile nurturing game.

Continuing his inner monologue until he finished showering, Lu Yiyao didn’t feel a bit sleepy and ended up clutching the corner of his blanket, pitifully, until dawn.

Finally, as the early summer sun rose, Lu Yiyao couldn’t wait to send a WeChat message—[Are you awake?]

……

Ran Lin got up early today as it was going to be a very busy day. With the explosive viewership of <Sword of Fallen Flowers> and Fang Xian’s rapidly rising popularity, the company immediately seized the opportunity to organize a fan meeting for him. Today was the first one in Beijing, and if it went well, they planned to visit other cities. However, the fan meeting was at 7 p.m., and in the morning, he had to visit the company first, as the higher-ups wanted to personally send their condolences to him. Then in the afternoon, there was a live broadcast, previously promised to fans on Weibo, and only after all this would be the evening’s main event.

When he received Lu Yiyao’s WeChat, he was already in the company’s dressing room getting styled.

Since they started dating, Lu Yiyao and Ran Lin both changed their WeChat profile pictures to landscapes, changing them every few days like a calendar. They even renamed each other’s contact names to “Teacher from Sanya” and “Iron Fan from the Airport” to have a cover story just in case their chats were seen by others.

So, Ran Lin glanced at the stylist in the mirror, switched his phone to silent mode, and carefully replied—[Started working.]

Lu Yiyao—[So early?]

Ran Lin—[Now you know I wasn’t bragging. I’m really famous now, back-to-back schedules, super busy!]

Lu Yiyao—[Please write ‘modesty’ a hundred times.]

Ran Lin—[Modesty is for others, for you I only have swagger. There’s a saying you’ve probably never heard, “Like an old lady stepping on the accelerator, shaking things up*!” That’s me right now 🦚 🦚 🦚.]

*It’s a colloquialism used to describe a situation where someone or something suddenly becomes active or agitated, much like an old lady who accidentally steps on the gas, causing the car to lurch forward unexpectedly and everyone inside shakes or jolts. In this context, Ran Lin is basically saying he’s the old lady suddenly stepping on the gas (rising to stardom) and shaking everyone up (getting more exciting fans).

Lu Yiyao stared at his phone, grinning foolishly.

Ran Lin never hesitated to tell him that he was different from others, so everything he received from Ran Lin felt uniquely special.

Lu Yiyao—[When are you free? I want to call you.]

Ran Lin—[Not now. Maybe after I’m done with styling, if the boss hasn’t arrived yet. I’ll find a place to call you. Are you always available?]

Lu Yiyao—[In another hour and a half, I have to start working too.]

Ran Lin—[Okay, I’ll message you before that.]

Lu Yiyao—[Feels like a spy rendezvous 💦.]

Ran Lin—[No, it’s like comrades who have formed a deep bond in the revolution.]

Ran Lin—[I love you ❤️.]

Ran Lin—[“Ran Lin has withdrawn a message”]

Lu Yiyao—[…Couldn’t you have waited two seconds longer before retracting?!]

Ran Lin—[Safety.]

Lu Yiyao—[Tigger smashing a honey jar.gif]]

Ran Lin smiled, feeling like the jar of honey had shattered in his heart, sweetening everything.

On the other end of the phone, the gloominess that hadn’t subsided the entire night suddenly disappeared without Li Yiyao noticing. As the chat ended, he felt clear and bright.

He decided to take another shower, feeling refreshed, ordered hotel breakfast, and while eating a sandwich with soy milk, watched the morning news.

Less than an hour and a half later, just an hour after their chat, Ran Lin’s call came through.

Li Tong was helping him pack in the room and knew from his boss’ expression that they were about to witness some more lovey-dovey moments. He discreetly left to his own room, giving his boss some privacy.

“What’s up?” Ran Lin asked as soon as the call connected. Although Lu Yiyao had only mentioned wanting to call, Ran Lin always felt Lu Yiyao had something to say, so as soon as he found a break, he sneaked off to a secluded spot and made the call.

Lu Yiyao hesitated for a moment but decided to start with the good news. “It looks like you’re confirmed for the lead in <Mint Green>.”

Ran Lin had made many guesses and assumptions while waiting for the call but never expected this. “Really?!”

Lu Yiyao could hear the disbelief and delight in the other’s voice, his gaze softening unconsciously. “Really. Do you still doubt my sources?”

“Not at all.” The voice on the other end suppressed a laugh with a bit of smugness. “My harbinger of good news is always accurate.”

Lu Yiyao smirked and, after a while, asked, “Why didn’t you tell me about the audition?”

There was no hesitation on the other end. The reply came naturally. “I thought the chances were slim, so I planned to wait until there was definite news to tell you. Even if it didn’t work out, it would just be a disappointment. I didn’t want you to be kept in suspense with me.”

Lu Yiyao always felt Ran Lin worried too much. “It’s you who is fighting for the role, not me. Why are you always worried about me?”

After a long silence, a soft sigh came through. “I always thought the fight was on me, but the suspense was in your heart. It seems I overestimated my charm.”

Lu Yiyao suddenly found himself at a loss for words.

He felt like his heart was a bucket tied to a well rope, which, despite his contemplations on life, had only been moving up and down vertically with the rope. But a single sentence from Ran Lin stirred up a wild wind, causing the rope to sway chaotically and the bucket to clatter against the wall of the well.

“Why did you stop talking all of a sudden?” Ran Lin felt a bit embarrassed. “I was just joking. If you don’t play along, it’ll be awkward for me.”

“You haven’t overestimated your charm,” Lu Yiyao said with a deepened voice, earnestly. “I think about you every day, worrying if you’ll miss good opportunities, if you’ll be bullied, or if you’ll meet bad people.”

Ran Lin blinked, feeling a flush of warmth on his face but still teasing, “Can’t you give a buffer before switching to deep emotional mode?”

Lu Yiyao confidently retorted, “I’ve always been in this mode. There’s no switching.”

Ran Lin loved his outpour of sweet nothings. “Don’t worry, I’m fine. We live in a society ruled by law; there aren’t that many bad people around.”

Lu Yiyao’s eyes dropped, murmuring softly, “Aren’t there…”

On the other end of the phone, Ran Lin’s brows furrowed, and the joking mood faded as he pondered and then cautiously asked, “Do those trying to take advantage of me… count?”

Lu Yiyao was caught off guard, not expecting the topic to be brought up before he even started. The already clear mood immediately returned to the primeval, expansive, full of birdsong and wildlife, lush greenery. “You tell me!”

After an anxious wait, Ran Lin was comforted by such a seemingly ferocious but paper tiger-like roar. “I think they should count.”

“Of course, they count!” Lu Yiyao wished he could rush over and do this and that and then this and that in an infinite loop!

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Lu Yiyao’s tone softened, carrying a tinge of sullenness. Actually, this was what he most wanted to ask.

But Ran Lin sensed something unusual in his lover’s reaction. Lu Yiyao’s tone didn’t sound like he had just found out. Wouldn’t the first reaction be to ask, “Who is that bastard?”

“You already know?” Though it was phrased as a question, the certainty was apparent.

Lu Yiyao didn’t hide it and straightforwardly affirmed, “Yeah.”

The phone fell silent for a moment, then came a sigh. “Hong Jie not becoming a gossip reporter is truly a blessing for celebrities.”

Lu Yiyao, amused, was about to agree when he heard Ran Lin continue, “Guilty by association. I was worried you’d overthink, always feeling it’s better to say less than more.”

“So it was about exchanging the lead role for your favor.” Lu Yiyao’s eyes narrowed, as if his dangerous gaze could pierce through space and incinerate that bastard to ashes.

Ran Lin frowned slightly, realizing something was off. Lu Yiyao knew all along, so why did it sound like he was just making sense of it?

“What exactly did Yao Hong tell you?” Ran Lin asked cautiously. They couldn’t see each other in person anymore, so at least over the phone, everything had to be thoroughly discussed to avoid any misunderstanding.

Lu Yiyao thought for a bit. “Just said that Ding… Kai, right, conveyed some message to you, but what he conveyed, and your response are unclear. However, it was he who recommended you for the audition, and then you indeed secured the lead role. The contract should be sent to your company in the next couple of days.”

Ran Lin leaned against the wall, feeling a cold sweat breaking out on his forehead.

With such a description, anyone would think the worst!

“Hello?” Lu Yiyao noticed the silence on the other end after he finished speaking. “Can you still hear me?”

“Yes…” Ran Lin swallowed hard, not daring to imagine what Lu Yiyao might have thought if he hadn’t been honest.

“Why the silence?” Lu Yiyao started to worry.

Ran Lin lowered his voice. “I was thinking… What were you feeling when you heard all this from Hong Jie…”

Lu Yiyao fell silent for a while, then admitted, “Actually quite upset. I knew you were just worried about me overthinking; hence, you didn’t say anything, but not being able to reassure you is my fault.”

Ran Lin blinked, feeling the plot twist wasn’t quite what he expected.

“Don’t you doubt me? You know I got the lead role…” As Ran Lin spoke, he felt increasingly trapped.

“It has nothing to do with the outcome,” Lu Yiyao stated plainly. “I like you, and I know what kind of person you are.”

Ran Lin felt a whirl of emotions, unable to speak.

He looked up at the ceiling as if his lover was standing right in front of him, his image so grand it could break through the roof.

After mentally slapping himself a few times, he felt a bit better and spoke again. “Listen, I’m going to tell you everything…”

For the next few minutes, Ran Lin recounted the entire incident, from the conversation at the dinner, meeting Zhang Beichen, to the end of the audition, not missing any detail.

After listening, Lu Yiyao finally understood the whole story.

Regarding that bastard Ding Kai, he reserved his judgment, but one thing he grudgingly admitted—the guy had good taste.

“Lu Yiyao,” Ran Lin suddenly said, out of the blue. “I’m sorry.”

Lu Yiyao’s heart skipped a beat, and then his breathing became erratic.

Over the phone, Ran Lin’s voice was clear and resolute. “From now on, anything related to me, I absolutely won’t let you hear from someone else.”

……

On the way to the airport, Lu Yiyao reluctantly crawled out of his honey pot and then remembered he forgot to ask for a concession, quickly adding—[A promise with a penalty clause is a real promise 😊.]

Ran Lin must have been busy, as at 12:30 p.m., when Lu Yiyao landed, he finally received a reply—

[If you hear anything related to me from someone else that I haven’t told you, I’ll lie down and let you do whatever you want.]

Lu Yiyao unconsciously swallowed, suddenly contemplating whether to have Hong Jie dig up some more news.

Meanwhile, Ran Lin put his phone back in his pocket, his mood as clear as a blue lake.

Liu Wanwan thought his good mood was due to a recent chat with the company’s executives, as they were preparing to focus on promoting him. Anyone would be happy in his place.

But there was an extra sweetness in Ran Lin’s happiness, which Liu Wanwan couldn’t fathom, feeling like just being near Ran Lin could lift her spirits.

Wang Xi also noticed something unusual and asked during lunch, “What’s got you so happy?”

Ran Lin didn’t expect his mood to be so apparent. He snapped back to reality and replied, “I have a live broadcast this afternoon. A little excited.”

Wang Xi eyed him skeptically but couldn’t figure out the reason, so she let it go.

Ran Lin reined in his thoughts, no longer daring to be too boastful. Although he trusted Lu Yiyao’s information about the lead role in <Mint Green>, the contract hadn’t reached the company yet. Moreover, the source of the information wasn’t easy to explain, so he acted as if he didn’t know anything, waiting for any movement from the company.

His thoughts then drifted back to the earlier “heart-to-heart” with the company’s executives.

It wasn’t his first time having such talks, but all the previous ones felt superficially courteous, seemingly to reassure him of the company’s high regard so he wouldn’t overthink and just focus on developing with the company. But they were mostly vague and idealistic rather than concrete.

Today was different.

He could sense their “expectation and optimism” about his future. During the talk, they even discussed near- and far-reaching plans—not vague ideas, but actual, feasible strategies the company had seriously considered. For the first time, Ran Lin truly felt “valued”.

He knew he had <Sword of Fallen Flowers> to thank.

Since the betrayal of Tang and Fang, the viewership had exploded. Although the upward momentum slowed due to some criticisms of clichés and melodrama, it still stabilized at the forefront of domestic dramas. The dedicated setting, the elegantly poetic world of martial arts, and the actors’ dedicated, even stunning performances made it the undisputed king of dramas for the June slot.

Many viewers started watching mid-series, expressing that their battered souls found healing in this drama. The aesthetic yet not vulgar, whimsical yet free-spirited world of martial arts was indeed a rare sight in recent years.

Ran Lin had never imagined that becoming famous overnight would happen to him.

When it did, along with the happiness, there was also a bit of trepidation.

It felt like it happened overnight. By the time he noticed, his Weibo followers had already surpassed 8 million.

The popularity came so quickly that it always felt unreal, as if at any moment, it could just as quickly slip away.

All Ran Lin could do was constantly pull his drifting heart back down, reminding himself constantly that the path is still to be walked on the ground, step by step, moving forward.

At 2 p.m., the live broadcast began in the Dream Without Limits conference room.

The Weibo announcement had been made well in advance, so before it even started, the live room was packed.

Wang Xi said it was just chatting with fans, answering questions—anyway, an hour would pass quickly.

When Liu Wanwan handed over the phone, all set up, Ran Lin suddenly felt like escaping.

“Hello everyone, I’m Ran Lin.” Speaking to the phone felt odd, so Ran Lin tried to smile naturally.

To his relief, as soon as he spoke, the comments exploded, scrolling at double speed, all saying—

[Ahhhhhhhhh!]

[Fang Xian!!!]

[Your voice is so nice!]

[Sending flowers, hearts, stars, everything for you ahhhh—]

The comments came too fast for Ran Lin to keep up, so he just spoke freely. “Thank you everyone for supporting <Sword of Fallen Flowers>, and for liking Fang Xian… Uh, feel free to ask anything. I’ll answer what I can…”

“What do you mean by ‘what you can answer’?” Ran Lin looked at the questions popping up, his expression playful. “It means whatever won’t get me scolded by the company or beaten up by other artists, so please be mindful of your questions… Ah, this is… thanks to ‘Burning Elf’ for the roses, thanks to ‘I Want to Send the Scriptwriter Blades’ for the yacht…”

After reading the comments, Ran Lin laughed first.

Immediately, the comments section erupted into wails. Blades were no longer enough; they were planning to gang up and beat the scriptwriter.

“Count me in. Acting that part was so distressing, thinking every day why I’m so miserable…”

Ran Lin joined in the fans’ banter. As he was speaking, he suddenly saw a question—[What’s your private relationship with Lu Yiyao?]

The comments scrolled too quickly, and in a blink, they were gone. Ran Lin pretended not to see it, picking out some innocuous questions to answer.

Unknowingly, fifty minutes passed, and the substantial questions were mostly covered. Some sensitive questions kept scrolling, including about his relationship with Lu Yiyao and other various issues. Compared to those, this question was quite normal, but he instinctively avoided it due to his guilty conscience.

But on second thought, he and Lu Yiyao had worked together, and their Weibo interactions were still ongoing. Disassociating would actually be strange.

But with so many questions, overlooking a few wouldn’t matter to anyone.

Seeing it was almost time, Ran Lin offered, “Ten minutes left. Let me sing a song for you.”

As soon as he finished speaking, Liu Wanwan came over with his phone, playing the accompaniment.

Ran Lin sang his debut song.

The young man under the sun, has your dream come true? In this cold world, have you changed?

The first time he sang this song, he always felt the lyrics were a bit pessimistic.

But gradually, he understood that it’s not about whether dreams are realized, but if you’re still the same person.

This was what the song was really about—fortunately, he still was.

……

The fan meeting was bigger than Ran Lin had anticipated, but thankfully there was a host guiding the flow. He followed through the event almost in a daze, thanks also to the fans selected for interaction on stage, who were even more excited and nervous than him. When two nervous souls met, it ended up being quite harmonious.

By the time he returned to his apartment late at night, he could still hear fans calling his name.

[Finished work?]—In WeChat, it was a message from Lu Yiyao sent an hour ago.

Ran Lin just saw it, not even bothering to change his clothes, and replied—[Just finished. Just got back. How about you?]

Lu Yiyao obviously hadn’t gone to bed yet, as a video call came through immediately.

Ran Lin hurriedly answered, and Lu Yiyao’s handsome face soon appeared on the screen.

Ran Lin liked what he saw and deeply felt the person who coined the term “licking the screen” was a genius.

“Haven’t removed your makeup yet?” Lu Yiyao, oblivious to Ran Lin’s smitten gaze, instead noticed his face.

Ran Lin yawned wearily. “I just got back and saw your message.”

Lu Yiyao felt a pang of sympathy. “Then you should rest. Why bother replying?”

“By the time I’m done resting, who knows when we’ll be able to contact each other again,” Ran Lin said with a forlorn expression. “Of course, I have to seize the moment.”

Lu Yiyao felt a bittersweet sentiment. “It feels like we are racing against time in our relationship.”

“No.” Ran Lin thought for a moment. “It’s more like an online relationship.”

Lu Yiyao felt reassured, “No worries, online relationships can also end happily. Huo Yuntao and his wife are proof.”

Ran Lin: “……”

The word “wife” sent a small, non-fatal, tingling current through Ran Lin, buzzing through him.

Lu Yiyao, intently gazing into Ran Lin’s eyes, suddenly seemed to understand something and murmured softly again, “Wife?”

The current turned into a high voltage shock. Ran Lin heard a “boom”, and then his mind went blank.

Lu Yiyao was delighted by the dazed Ran Lin on the screen and kept calling out to him a dozen times. Finally, Ran Lin was jolted back to reality.

“Why am I the wife?” Ran Lin realized how hoarse his voice sounded after speaking.

“Either is fine, whatever you prefer.” Lu Yiyao leaned closer to the screen, filling up their communication world with his face, smiling softly.

“You really aren’t fussy…” Ran Lin covered his forehead, shielding his eyes, to avoid being seen blushing with sweet embarrassment.

After enough teasing, Lu Yiyao remembered the main topic. “By the way, there’s a celebration party the day after tomorrow. Huo Yuntao and Lin Panxi will also be there. If you’re free, we can get together after the party.”

The celebration party for the explosive success of <Sword of Fallen Flowers> was inevitable for a second wave of promotion and to boost the finale. It was also the only chance in June for him and Lu Yiyao to intersect openly.

Ran Lin knew Lin Panxi was Huo Yuntao’s fiancée. According to Lu Yiyao, Huo Yuntao’s return was for marriage, but as the date approached, the woman hesitated, probably due to the long distance. They decided to get engaged first and postpone the official wedding.

A gathering of four, including female company, wouldn’t raise any suspicions even if photographed, especially after a celebration party, which is considered normal socializing. So as soon as Lu Yiyao suggested it, Ran Lin immediately agreed. “I’m very free.”

Lu Yiyao smirked. “Then it’s a plan.”

Ran Lin nodded vigorously, then said, “Move your head up a bit.”

Lu Yiyao was confused. “What?”

Ran Lin instructed, “Just tilt your head up a little.”

Lu Yiyao, not understanding why, complied.

“Good.” Ran Lin was satisfied with the angle. “Stay like that.”

Lu Yiyao stayed still, then watched as Ran Lin’s mouth approached the screen. After the kiss, Ran Lin leaned back, looking refreshed. “You didn’t hang up this time.”

Despite the childish act, Lu Yiyao nodded earnestly, wholeheartedly praising, “Yeah, you’re the best.”

……

The day of the celebration party arrived quickly.

Wang Xi arrived at Ran Lin’s apartment two hours earlier than scheduled, not waiting downstairs but coming up to knock on the door directly.

Ran Lin was puzzled by the call, so as soon as he opened the door, he asked, “Xi Jie, why are you here so early?”

Wang Xi, without bothering to remove her shoes, just stood in the foyer, looking at him, her eyes filled with faint excitement.

Ran Lin felt a chill down his spine and swallowed, asking again, “Xi Jie, what’s the matter?”

Finally, after enough buildup, Wang Xi pulled out the printed contract from her bag, revealing the answer, “<Mint Green>, it’s secured.”

“Really? That’s great.” Ran Lin took the contract naturally.

But his casual demeanor made Wang Xi feel something was off. “Why aren’t you more excited?”

Ran Lin felt a bit guilty; he couldn’t exactly say he had inside information.

Thinking quickly, he resorted to “confidence.”

“I felt pretty good about my audition that day.” Ran Lin nodded wisely. “Yeah, I had a good feeling.”

Wang Xi rolled her eyes at him. “Don’t be too full of yourself; you were just lucky this time.”

Ran Lin believed that. As he told Lu Yiyao, he hadn’t held much hope during the audition. Even though Ding Kai mentioned fair competition, it was hard to imagine they’d still want to give him a fair chance after all that had happened. He initially thought it was just a formality.

Wang Xi’s excitement today was also for that reason.

Securing a significant role for an artist wouldn’t normally excite her this much, but refusing the investor’s conditions and still getting the role was rare, not only for artists she managed but also in the entertainment industry. The joy from this kind of success was a very special feeling.

“I’ve contacted Ding Kai to express our thanks, and surprisingly, it wasn’t an assistant but him personally on the phone,” Wang Xi said. “Guess what he said?”

Ran Lin couldn’t guess and just curiously awaited the revelation.

Wang Xi didn’t keep him in suspense, simply shrugging. “He said it was all the director’s decision; there was no need to thank him, and he was busy with other things. If there’s nothing else, I should get busy too.”

Ran Lin imagined several ways Ding Kai might have said this, none endearing, and half-seriously, half-jokingly asked, “Xi Jie, didn’t you feel like punching him then?”

Wang Xi thought about it seriously, then pointed at the contract in Ran Lin’s hand, tapping on the A4 paper to make a rustling noise—

“<Mint Green> saved him.”

……

On the way to the celebration party, Ran Lin secretly messaged Lu Yiyao—[Contract received.]

He didn’t need to be too explicit; he believed Lu Yiyao would understand.

But there was no reply from the other end.

It wasn’t until backstage at the celebration party that Ran Lin finally saw Lu Yiyao, who was chatting amiably with the director and the screenwriter.

There he was, sitting on a sofa, dressed in a black suit, exuding an elite aura. His fringe was swept back, revealing a handsome forehead; the hairstyle was neat and mature, enhancing his facial features’ charm, especially his eyes, brimming with ease and confidence amidst laughter and conversation. He no longer seemed like a popular young actor but rather had the taste of a superstar.

Of course, Ran Lin thought it might also be because he was viewing him through rose-colored glasses. After all, he had rarely seen this side of Lu Yiyao lately—professional, dignified, and dashing.

“Ran Lin.” Song Mang was the first to see him and immediately stood up to greet him. “Come here. We were just talking about you.”

Lu Yiyao and Chen Qizheng turned to look at him, and Ran Lin, after a moment of thought, politely said, “Director Chen, Lu Ge¹.”

Cheng Qizheng nodded, noticing nothing amiss.

Lu Yiyao almost burst a blood vessel¹, but luckily he caught the warning in Ran Lin’s eyes—so deep that only he could see through the facade to the essence.

¹Calling someone [Ge] (哥) is reserved, usually for close relationships. This is significant considering the kind of relationship Ran Lin and Lu Yiyao have, which is why Lu Yiyao reacted like this.

But as Ran Lin sat down, Lu Yiyao belatedly savored the address.

Lu Ge…

If it weren’t for the public setting, in a place where curtains needed to be drawn, calling out like that might indeed be quite interesting…

Ran Lin always felt Lu Yiyao’s gaze wandering, and not in a very proper manner, but given the public setting, he couldn’t well execute a private punishment. He could only ignore him and turn to Song Mang, casually asking, “Screenwriter Song, you were talking about me?”

“Yes,” Song Mang confirmed. “We were just discussing crying scenes, saying yours are different from others.”

Ran Lin was curious. “How so?”

Song Mang explained, “They’re contagious. Some people cry, and neither the co-actors nor the audience feel it, but when some cry, everyone wants to cry. You’re the latter.”

It was still early, and only the four of them were in the lounge, so this kind of actor evaluation was part of a casual private conversation, not worrying about others overthinking.

But with Lu Yiyao there, praising the second male lead in front of the primary one, even if just for appearances, Ran Lin felt the need to be courteous. “Don’t say that, Screenwriter Song. If I can cry well, it’s all thanks to Lu Ge. Most of my crying scenes were because of him.”

Chen Qizheng coughed twice, then, as if to cover it up, picked up his tea and leisurely started to sip.

But Ran Lin swore he saw a smile in the director’s eyes.

Alright, he also felt that his recent flattering comment was a bit cheesy, but under normal circumstances, if he and Lu Yiyao weren’t in an abnormal relationship, hearing the screenwriter praise him, he would definitely praise the lead first to prevent any misunderstandings.

“You don’t need to be modest.” Lu Yiyao spoke up lightly, his tone clearly holding back laughter. “Just now, Director Chen, Screenwriter Song, and I have reached a consensus. For setting the mood, it must be you who cries. My crying is mainly responsible for attracting the camera.”

Ran Lin stared at him blankly. “What do you mean by attracting the camera?”

Lu Yiyao explained seriously, “It means making the scene in the camera look better.”

Ran Lin blinked, seeming to understand. “So you’re saying you look better when you cry than I do?”

Lu Yiyao spread his hands, deliberately asking, “Any doubts?”

Ran Lin looked at him, then at the director and the screenwriter, puzzled. “Why are we discussing this? Isn’t it a fact?”

Lu Yiyao was taken aback.

Song Mang laughed, patting him on the shoulder. “See? He’s devoted to you.”

Lu Yiyao knew Song Mang was teasing, but he almost wanted him to repeat it.

Most of the time, Ran Lin was watching Lu Yiyao with peripheral vision, as if missing a glance was a loss.

Neither had delved deep into what a secret relationship in the entertainment industry was like; they were just going by instinct. With a bit of trepidation, sweetness, thrill, and joy, sometimes it felt hard, but sometimes it felt incredibly happy.

As the time for the celebration party drew near and the actors started arriving, Tang Xiaoyu, Xi Ruohan… nearly all the key characters were there. The place became lively, but similarly, it was no longer convenient to chat about everything, mostly sticking to pleasantries.

Tang Xiaoyu did pull Ran Lin aside for a chat, which lasted until the staff informed them it was time for the red carpet, and they reluctantly parted.

The red carpet ceremony was an important prelude to the celebration party—the main creators and actors had to walk down the red carpet, sign their names on the signing board, and take a group photo. It wasn’t only about making an appearance but also about bringing good luck.

The love triangle between Tang Jingyu, Zhao Buyao, and Fang Xian in the drama was one of the most discussed topics. The organizers arranged for them to walk the red carpet together. Otherwise, Tang Jingyu and Zhao Buyao would pair up, and Xu Chongfei and Li’er would pair up, leaving Fang Xian alone, which would look quite pitiful.

The last time during the premiere celebration, Ran Lin walked the red carpet paired with another female actress, and during “Drifting Stories”, the five guests all walked the red carpet separately.

So this was the first time Ran Lin would share the red carpet frame with Lu Yiyao.

Ran Lin was also in a suit today, like Lu Yiyao, suitable for summer with its light, breathable linen material. Unlike Lu Yiyao’s meticulous look, he didn’t wear a tie but only buttoned one button of the suit, allowing the light-colored shirt underneath to be a focal point of color—casual yet formal.

Looking over Xi Ruohan’s head, Ran Lin tried to catch a glimpse of Lu Yiyao’s profile.

But before he could get a clear view, Lu Yiyao turned to look at him.

Their eyes met, and both saw what they needed in each other’s gaze.

Perhaps it was anticipation, courage, trust, love, or everything that makes you fearless about the future.

Xi Ruohan was accustomed to being ignored. During filming, these two only had eyes for each other. But now she still had to play the spoiler because—

“It’s time to go, gentlemen.”

As the cameras clicked incessantly, the trio elegantly stepped onto the red carpet. The lead actress walked in the middle, flanked by the handsome lead and second lead.

The red carpet wasn’t long and didn’t take much time to walk, but they tread each step firmly as if they weren’t walking on a red carpet but on the path of life itself.

At the signing board, Xi Ruohan stood in the middle, with Ran Lin and Lu Yiyao on either side. The three of them signed their names together.

Lu Yiyao and Ran Lin, positioned at opposite ends of the board, managed to sign at approximately the same height and position, creating a sense of remote connection.

Ran Lin had never signed with such focus before; every stroke was deliberate.

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