Author: 颜凉雨 / Yan Liang Yu

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

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Chapter 68

By the time Ran Lin was auditioning for the last scene, Wang Xi received a message from a friend. This friend had some connections with Shengshi Media; although not employed there, they often interacted and knew some insiders. So ever since the producer changed their attitude and invited Ran Lin to audition, Wang Xi had asked this friend to investigate the reasons behind it.

Wang Xi feared encountering another Ding Kai.

Even now, Wang Xi didn’t fully understand the ins and outs of the <Mint Green> incident. Despite inquiring through friends, they couldn’t unearth much. Zhang Beichen had surely pulled some strings, but ultimately, Ding Kai had the final say. So when they were stood up at the last minute, Wang Xi couldn’t help but feel played by Ding Kai.

Being played was the least of it; she was just relieved Ding Kai hadn’t set them up intentionally.

Wang Xi definitely didn’t want to experience the same thing a second time, knowing not everyone was as easy to move on as Ding Kai.

Fortunately, the replying friend said it was genuinely because the higher-ups at Shengshi Media really appreciated Ran Lin’s performance in <Sword of Fallen Flowers>. Moreover, Ran Lin’s career wasn’t focused on being a popularity-based idol but more on being an actor, which aligned with the executives’ intention not to turn <Chronicles of Winter> into a fan-driven movie. Additionally, Ran Lin was young enough and had a strong youthful vibe, fitting the character of “Xiao Shitou” well, making him an almost natural choice.

Wang Xi’s heart, suspended for half a month, finally settled down.

She turned off her phone screen and looked up at the audition area, where Ran Lin had just finished berating the Emperor of the North. His anger hadn’t subsided yet; his face was flushed red with rage, his chest heaving dramatically, and his eyes seemed to spit fire.

As Wang Xi watched Ran Lin, the producer and director were also observing him.

Ran Lin’s aura was unyielding; they too were caught up in the emotional rollercoaster of his lines, unable to detach themselves immediately.

The producer, who had initially been entertained, now furrowed his brow, unable to feel as upbeat. When Ran Lin was denouncing the Emperor of the North, he practically directed all his emotions at them, almost making them and Director Huang stand-ins for the Sage. The producer felt he was being scolded, so he intellectually observed but was emotionally involved—such was the actor’s influence.

Director Huang’s expression remained unchanged, but he knew inside he was somewhat relieved. It was not easy in recent years for a candidate recommended by investors to meet a director’s aesthetic and artistic standards—not even needing full marks, just passing was enough. This was especially true for commercial films like his, requiring more compromises, needing to please investors without tarnishing his own reputation, which sometimes made things quite challenging.

“Pretty good.” Director Huang finally broke the silence, allowing the stagnant air in the room to circulate once more. He stood up and walked over to Ran Lin, picking up the green frog plushie from the ground, looking at it for a couple of seconds, then asking Ran Lin. “Shall I take it back, or do you want to keep it as a souvenir?”

The forty-something-year-old man asked this with a hint of mischief, which oddly fit the whimsicality of conjuring up the frog plushie earlier.

Ran Lin snatched the plushie without hesitation. His actions was exaggerated but his voice was light. “Not as a souvenir…”

Director Huang raised an eyebrow inquisitively.

Ran Lin grinned. “I’ll take it home and keep practicing with it.”

Director Huang laughed, half-jokingly saying, “The role might not necessarily go to you.”

“Then consider it an improvement in my professional skills.” Ran Lin clutched the frog plushie tightly to his chest. “A craft can never weigh you down.”

Director Huang gave him an approving glance, turned, and joined the conversation between Wang Xi and the producer, who had gathered to talk.

It was just some pleasantries. After all, the production team wouldn’t announce on the spot whether they’d use him or not. Even if they had an idea, they’d maintain formalities, as stars can easily get carried away. Wang Xi, understanding the etiquette, steered clear of the core issue, expressing her gratitude in a hundred different ways.

Ran Lin’s task was to audition. In such a setting, networking wasn’t his job, so holding the green-eyed frog, he was as well-behaved as the neighbor’s kid.

With a good start and a successful finish, Wang Xi left the audition site with Ran Lin, almost beaming.

Ran Lin was also feeling sunny inside. Big productions, something he’d never dared to dream of before, were now literally falling into his lap. Although, compared to <Mint Green>, a so-called fantasy blockbuster like <Chronicles of Winter> might be more contentious in terms of depth and artistic quality, being able to star in such a production was an acknowledgment of his status as an artist.

According to the contract with Dream Without Limits, it had been exactly four years since he debuted.

Once, Ran Lin thought he might switch careers after his contract expired, but life’s twists and turns had other plans.

Back in the van, Liu Wanwan, full of anticipation, asked, “Xi Jie, how did it go?”

Normally, this wouldn’t be an assistant’s concern, but Ran Lin had only one assistant, and over time, the boundaries between work and friendship blurred. Wang Xi knew she genuinely cared and wouldn’t gossip, so she replied, “It went smoothly. It looks promising.”

Liu Wanwan’s face lit up. “That’s great!”

Seeing her open mouth, Ran Lin, feeling mischievous, suddenly pushed the frog plushie toward her face.

Liu Wanwan yelped, nearly hitting the roof of the car before realizing it was a plushie and laughed. “An audition souvenir?”

“It’s not a souvenir.” Ran Lin shook the big-eyed frog. “This is Bell, my most loyal partner. I’ll have to act with it every day on set!”

“…….” Liu Wanwan leaned back, distancing herself from the “green Bell”, then took a deep breath to calm herself down. Indeed, acting was a high-tech profession.

Wang Xi watched the two of them finish their banter and gave Liu Wanwan a look.

Liu Wanwan understood and shook off the image of the green demon from her mind, digging out the schedule Wang Xi had asked her to print and handing it to Ran Lin. “Ran Ge, this is your schedule for August.”

The schedule was simple, a calendar-like grid with thirty-one days, each cell marked with a date in the upper left corner and the day’s appointments or events in the center. If there was nothing scheduled, it remained blank.

Ran Lin thought he would see an entirely empty schedule, but to his surprise, it was half full.

[8.4 Premiere of the movie <Autumn of Ink and Water>]

[8.5 <Miya – Who’s Your Leading Lady> audition event appearance]

[8.10 Premiere celebration of the TV series <White Coffee>]

[8.13 Advertisement shoot for <Sword of Fallen Flowers> online game]

[8.14…]

“I’m actually… quite busy?” Ran Lin felt a surge of excitement as he read through the schedule.

“You’re really busy.” Wang Xi found his clueless demeanor amusing, though such opportunities were rare. “Students are on summer break, full of energy. The market is booming.”

Ran Lin understood.

Indeed, the summer season is always the golden time for TV shows, movies, and variety programs.

He scrolled down the schedule, but as soon as he got to the third item, he paused—<White Coffee> was a TV series Han Ze had filmed last year. It seemed it was now post-produced and ready for broadcast.

Perhaps knowing their awkward relationship, Wang Xi had almost never arranged activities that would make them cross paths since the drama version of <Chronicles of Winter>. This time Han Ze had a TV series going on air, and whether it could reignite his popularity depended on this. It was likely the company wanted his fellow junior to help boost the buzz.

Ran Lin instinctively looked up at Wang Xi, who was sitting in the front passenger seat, waiting for his reaction. Their eyes met.

“What’s up?” Wang Xi asked naturally.

“Oh, nothing.” Ran Lin quickly looked back down, but his mind was full of questions.

The Cartier watch Wang Xi always wore on her left wrist was gone.

When she had taken it off, he wasn’t sure. He only noticed it when he looked up, and her wrist was bare.

Was it just a simple choice not to wear it anymore, or was there an issue with the watchband, or perhaps something had changed in her personal life?

Geniuses who can deduce the truth at a glance mostly exist in novels, with a few scattered around in real life, but Ran Lin was definitely not one of them.

Not wanting to overthink, Ran Lin gave up and continued scrolling through his schedule, only to stop again at the fourth item.

It took him a while to remember that when he signed the contract for the TV series, it included an endorsement for the game. Costume dramas and fantasy series typically have corresponding online games, so production companies usually package the endorsement when signing the actors. For the artists, it’s just about shooting an advertisement and saying a few lines, then leaving the rest to the game’s marketing team for distribution.

But <Sword of Fallen Flowers> wasn’t just about him, the second male lead…

“Xi Jie.” Ran Lin tried to hide his glee, keeping a neutral face as he asked, “For the online game ad, am I shooting it alone?”

“Not really.” Wang Xi thought back to the document she received yesterday. “I remember there’s a scene with a partner. I’ll send you the ad script tonight.”

“Oh…” Ran Lin could no longer hide his anticipation.

Wang Xi saw right through him and smiled lightly. “Meeting an acquaintance. Happy, right?”

Ran Lin let his emotions flow freely, the more forthright, the less suspicious. “Yes!”

“I might not be around much, but I’ve heard,” Wang Xi said confidently, “you and Tang Xiaoyu get along very well.”

Ran Lin quickly reined in his unrestrained joy. “Tang…Little Fish?”

“Yes.” Wang Xi frowned slightly at her artist’s unexpected reaction. “Who else? Lu Yiyao? He wouldn’t sign up for this kind of endorsement.”

Ran Lin slowly came back to reality.

Right, with Lu Yiyao’s popularity, saying lines like “Pick up equipment and pets easily, let Fallen Flowers take you flying” would be somewhat beneath him.

Wang Xi misinterpreted Ran Lin’s slightly downcast look, thinking he was envious of Lu Yiyao’s autonomy, and said, “If <Chronicles of Winter> sweeps the box office, your value and status will rise, and in the future, we can demand various amendments when signing contracts.”

Ran Lin nodded, going along with the conversation.

On the last evening of July, a torrential downpour turned the sky as dark as midnight. Raindrops beat fiercely against the window, initially forming a curtain of water and later pattering like tiny steel beads, almost threatening to shatter the glass.

Ran Lin took shelter in his small apartment, cooling off with the air conditioner, munching on watermelon, and practicing with the little frog plushie while reading the script. He was engrossed in a scene where Xiao Shitou and his childhood friend Ah Jin experienced the first flutters of young love…

Then his phone rang.

Xia Xinran—[Meeting with Gu Jie, August 10th, 6 PM, XX Street, Shuzhai, Wenshu Monastery.]

Shuzhai is a hotpot restaurant opened by an artist within the circle. Among many artists involved in the catering industry, it is considered to be flourishing, with each new branch becoming popular as soon as it opens. It shows a trend of gradually withdrawing from the entertainment industry to focus exclusively on the catering business.

Ran Lin looked at the message, and all feelings of first love evaporated, replaced by visions of bubbling hotpot and spicy aromas.

But August 10th?

Ran Lin pulled out the photographed schedule, a bit troubled.

[I have to appear at Han Ze’s TV series premiere celebration that evening. 😭]—Ran Lin typed out the message, feeling the tantalizing scent of the hotpot drifting further away.

Xia Xinran—[What time does it end?]

Ran Lin—[Around 10 or 11 p.m.?]

Xia Xinran—[No problem, we’ll wait for you. It’s an all-night hotpot party 🥳]

Ran Lin—[…Did you and Gu Jie discuss this fancy plan? 😓]

Xia Xinran—[He’s free. His new movie script just got overhauled and rewritten, so he’s got plenty of time. 🤣]

For the sake of not capsizing the friendship boat, Ran Lin decided to destroy the conversation with Xia Xinran after reading.

……

<Autumn of Ink and Water> was a film by Su Mu, a typical art film. However, the producers, seeking to create a buzz, hosted a premiere resembling that of a blockbuster commercial film, inviting nearly half of the entertainment industry’s celebrities.

Xia Xinran attended, but Ran Lin barely spoke to him. Following the staff’s arrangement, everyone quickly took their seats, and soon, the premiere began amid the host’s modulating voice.

Ran Lin sat in the audience, barely able to see Su Mu’s face on stage. Yet, as various segments concluded and the film began, Su Mu’s features became clear on screen.

Every move he made was charismatic. Even a slight glance seemed to carry a myriad of emotions and words, captivating and entrancing the audience.

Ran Lin thought the Su Mu he saw at the Republic party that night was attractive enough, but it was nothing compared to his presence on camera. It seemed Su Mu was born for acting.

Ran Lin watched with respect, imagining himself reaching such heights one day.

Just days after the premiere, it was time for the first broadcast celebration of <White Coffee>. While one was a lead actor and the other was merely making a supportive appearance, both being Wang Xi’s artists, they set off together for the celebration.

That afternoon, Ran Lin arrived at the company and, with the stylist’s help, donned a sharp suit and a sleek hairstyle. He then waited in the lounge.

Han Ze, having taken leave from the drama team, arrived around four in the afternoon and immediately headed for the makeup room. Ran Lin expected to see his colleague only when they shared a car, but Han Ze, finished with styling, entered the lounge unexpectedly.

“Been waiting long?”

Han Ze, in a black suit, looked dashing and full of presence. But what really surprised Ran Lin was his tone of voice, which was hundreds of times more pleasant than usual.

Ran Lin suspected that Han Ze’s suit had a “doubling friendliness” attribute.

“No,” Ran Lin replied politely, standing up to chat. “I just finished myself.”

Han Ze nodded, sitting naturally on the nearby sofa, and casually asked, “What have you been busy with lately?”

Unsure if Han Ze knew about his audition for the film version of <Chronicles of Winter>, Ran Lin cautiously replied, “I wish I was busy; it’s the idleness that’s disheartening.”

Han Ze seemed unsurprised by the answer, his eyes carrying a hint of pleasure. He said soothingly, “It’s a pity about <Mint Green>, but the decision to go with Zhang Beichen is understandable, given his fame and popularity…” He then hastily amended, realizing his words might be inappropriate. “I don’t mean anything by that. I’m just saying that opportunities will come. Don’t worry too much.”

The corners of Ran Lin’s mouth twitched as he smiled weakly, but his mind was clear.

First, Han Ze was unaware of the <Chronicles of Winter> film; second, Han Ze’s amiability stemmed from a realization that Ran Lin was no longer a threat, a notion that relaxed and pleased him.

Han Ze’s thought process and behavior were predictable—annoying yet laughable.

Realizing this, Ran Lin couldn’t bring himself to be upset.

When Wang Xi learned that both Han Ze and Ran Lin were in the lounge, she hurried over. Fortunately, Han Ze didn’t make any foolish remarks. Upon entering, the atmosphere seemed pleasant.

“The car’s ready. Let’s go,” Wang Xi said calmly.

Ran Lin stood and headed out first, with Han Ze following. After a few steps, Han Ze casually checked his watch, pretending to look at the time.

Ran Lin had his back turned, so he didn’t notice and hadn’t paid attention to Han Ze’s watch during their conversation.

But Wang Xi, facing Han Ze, noticed and nearly choked with frustration.

Since visiting the drama set, she had maintained a strictly professional attitude toward Han Ze, thinking her message was clear. However, Han Ze seemed to interpret her demeanor as petulance and had resorted to wearing the watch she had given him—a desperate gesture.

When she first gifted Han Ze the watch, Wang Xi made her intentions clear—it was meant to be worn. To avoid any misconceptions, she wouldn’t wear the female counterpart publicly.

Han Ze, however, had dismissively suggested she wear it instead, deeming the style too effeminate for him and expressing concerns about being typecast with a particular brand, which might deter other endorsements.

Wang Xi was shocked at Han Ze’s unrealistic self-perception.

His worries, especially about endorsements, were naively presumptuous. Given Han Ze’s status and prospects, it would be a long shot for a prestigious watch brand to approach him even in a decade. His concern about impacting potential endorsements was as baseless as an ant worrying about tripping an elephant.

Nevertheless, she had come to accept the situation.

Since Ran Lin had been present during the purchase, she impulsively asked Han Ze to wear the watch, only to realize after his refusal that perhaps it was for the best.

From then on, she wore the watch herself. Even though Han Ze never wore it, every time she checked the time, it brought a sweet reminiscence.

She had since disposed of the watch, out of sight and out of mind, ready to move on. Yet, now Han Ze was wearing it.

Wang Xi had encountered many simple-minded people but never thought she’d fall for one.

If she had a time machine, she’d go back and advise her past self to get an eye check before falling in love.

As Ran Lin had already walked several meters away, Wang Xi caught up to Han Ze and, walking side by side, softly commanded, “Take off the watch.”

Han Ze, with a tinge of sadness and resentment, muttered, “What are you upset about? I’ve already lowered myself so much.”

Wang Xi held back her frustration until they were in the car, remaining silent.

Due to Ran Lin’s presence, Han Ze restrained himself.

Ran Lin sensed the tension in the air but, considering his previous speculations about the pair’s relationship, assumed it fit the scenario of “lovers quarreling”. He kept his distance to avoid getting involved, eagerly anticipating the upcoming meal of mandarin duck hotpot.

At 11:10 p.m., just as Ran Lin arrived at Shuzhai, Wang Xi, having dropped Han Ze off at his apartment, confronted him right in the entrance without even entering the house.

“I’ll say this once, I’m not being petulant. We’re broken up.” Wang Xi’s voice was calm, more of an announcement than an expression of sorrow.

Han Ze was stunned, never imagining those words coming from Wang Xi. He had thought that if a breakup were to happen, it would be because he grew tired and weary of this “old hag”.

“Is this some kind of reverse psychology?” Han Ze’s displeasure was evident in his nearly explosive tone. “What are you so upset about?”

Wang Xi frowned slightly, wanting him to lower his voice, but then figured it was better to just end things swiftly.

She took out her phone, found several photos, and held them up to Han Ze. The photos, taken at night, showed the brightly lit window of a restaurant’s private room. Through the half-open curtains, one could see Han Ze sitting by the window, kissing a woman on his lap, surrounded by laughing friends—almost all young actors from the drama version of <Chronicles of Winter>.

“It’s fine to have fun,” Wang Xi said, knowing he had seen the photos clearly, and put her phone away. “Just remember to close the curtains next time.”

Han Ze’s face was a mix of emotions.

Wang Xi waited patiently for him to respond. His first question was, “Were these taken by paparazzi?”

His concern was not guilt or remorse for cheating but worry about the scandal damaging his “nice guy” image.

Wang Xi had held onto a last bit of hope that he might care about her feelings. However, she realized that the most embarrassing thing in the world is unrequited love.

“The photos were sent to the company this morning. They had to pay to get them back. Thanks to you, I got a severe scolding.” Wang Xi’s mocking gaze scrutinized him.

Han Ze kept his composure, secretly relieved.

Wang Xi saw right through him, feeling indifferent. “I won’t hinder your search for true love, and you don’t need to worry about me seeking revenge. Starting today, we’ll strictly be artist and agent. I’ll still work hard to get you good resources…”

“No need.” Han Ze cut her off, his face devoid of any feigned tenderness, adopting a strictly professional tone. “Just focus on taking good care of Ran Lin. Hopefully, he’s not useless.”

Wang Xi’s eyes flickered with a bad premonition but refused to believe it.

Han Ze seemed to smile, then suddenly softened his voice. “I want to change agents.”

Wang Xi took a deep breath to calm her racing heart. “Do you remember how many years I’ve managed you?”

“I know it was you who brought me from obscurity to where I am today,” Han Ze acknowledged. “But we both know that my acting career has been stagnant, even regressing, from last year to this. I can’t say it’s all your fault, but I feel a change of agent devoted solely to me would be better.”

Wang Xi forced a smile. “So you think your career’s stagnation is because I’m distracted by Ran Lin?”

“Various reasons.” Han Ze shrugged, implying the topic wasn’t worth discussing further. “Anyway, our relationship isn’t suitable for continued collaboration. You might be fine, but I’m not, so either you apply to the company or I will. It’s better for everyone to make the change sooner.”

Wang Xi, realizing something, nodded. “Alright. Would you prefer a female agent then?”

Han Ze smiled. “We’re broken up. No need to be bitter, Xi Jie.”

A pang hit Wang Xi’s heart, but she maintained her composure, her last bit of pride. “Do you know I was a top agent at Pentium Times?”

Han Ze tilted his head, his tone mocking. “Then why did you leave and not Yao Hong? Have you ever managed anyone more famous than Lu Yiyao?”

Wang Xi stared at him, not daring to look away, as if doing so would mean defeat.

Han Ze crossed his arms, allowing her gaze.

This relationship—if it could be called that—had always been dominated by Han Ze, and he was not afraid of Wang Xi.

“I’ll convey your request to the company.” In the end, that was all Wang Xi could say.

Han Ze felt triumphant, feeling fresh and invigorated.

He had been dissatisfied with Wang Xi for a while, believing he deserved a broader horizon. Everyone thought Wang Xi was responsible for his rise, but he felt she held him back. If he had followed Yao Hong, he might already be more famous than Lu Yiyao.

……

Ran Lin had dined at other Shuzhai branches before, so when he arrived at the one Xia Xinran had suggested, he thought he was at the wrong place.

Other Shuzhai restaurants were unmistakably Sichuan hotpot places from a distance, but this one looked more like a literary bookstore than a hotpot restaurant. If not for the scent of Sichuan peppercorns wafting from the entrance, he might have called Xia Xinran to confirm the location.

Compared to other branches, this one had fewer customers and, due to its décor, didn’t have a large hall with tables lined up. Instead, each table was partially concealed, resembling a coffee house.

However, there’s no quiet way to enjoy hotpot, so even though other customers were obscured, the lively laughter and banter were constant.

The private rooms here were uniquely named after local features: Wenshu Monastery, Wide and Narrow Alley, Du Fu Thatched Cottage, and the largest one, accommodating 25 to 30 people, named after the Leshan Giant Buddha.

Ran Lin followed the waiter into the “Wenshu Monastery” private room and saw Gu Jie and Xia Xinran already drinking, each with a glass of draft beer and nothing else on the table except for a dish of boiled peanuts and edamame. The center of the table featured a desolate and forlorn stove.

As the waiter left and the door closed, Xia Xinran slammed his beer down, got up, and hugged Ran Lin like a koala. “Finally, you’re here! We’ve been starving!”

Ran Lin removed his mask, slightly puzzled. “I thought we were having an all-night hot pot party. You didn’t have to wait for me.”

Xia Xinran looked up at him with a face full of loyalty. “That wouldn’t be right. We’re brothers!”

Touched, Ran Lin was about to respond when Gu Jie stood up, unable to stand the sentimentality any longer. “Now you’re brothers, huh? Who was crying about ordering just now?”

“I was. I was going to order first and wait for Ran Lin to come straight up!” Xia Xinran’s voice was righteous, but his guilty pause gave him away.

Ran Lin, unable to hold back his laughter, grabbed Xia Xinran off him and went around the table for a real hug with Gu Jie.

Gu Jie hugged him back tightly. “Long time, no see.”

Ran Lin felt the sincerity of his friend—so much so that he was almost breathless.

The friendship felt as fresh as if they had just finished filming a variety show yesterday.

Gu Jie looked slightly paler than the last time they met, perhaps from avoiding reckless sunbathing. He wore a healthy wheat color, looking clean and pleasant to the eye.

In the still-sweltering August heat, Gu Jie wore an army green vest and camouflage pants. With a few streaks of paint on his face and a gun in hand, he could be ready for jungle warfare.

As Ran Lin appraised Gu Jie, Gu Jie also looked him over, laughing more and more. “You don’t need to dress up in a suit for hot pot.”

Ran Lin, slightly irritated, removed his suit and opened up the collar and cuffs of his printed shirt. Only after rolling up his sleeves did he feel relaxed. “I came straight from a premiere celebration. Cut me some slack.”

“And we told you about the all-night party,” Xia Xinran said, pretending to be sympathetic. “You could have changed. We wouldn’t have minded… Hey, right, put the spicy pot on his side, and the mild one on mine.”

Ran Lin realized he had no say in the matter of hot pot flavors.

As the hot pot base arrived, various dishes were laid out on the table: lamb, beef, yellow throat, shrimp paste, bamboo shoots, tofu skin, greens, black fungus, glass noodles…

Ran Lin, noticing Xia Xinran’s complete absorption in the dishes, quietly asked Gu Jie, “Did he order all this?”

Gu Jie closed his eyes, shaking his head with a “you’re so naive” expression, and finally said, “This is just a part of what he ordered.”

When the food filled the six-person round table and the waiter suggested bringing a cart, Ran Lin understood the full meaning of the statement.

Xia Xinran justified it. “It’s an all-night party. We have to eat till morning!”

As they started drinking draft beer, Ran Lin learned that Gu Jie and Xia Xinran had rescheduled for him, finally setting the time for 8 p.m. Both arrived on time, thus making three hours pass with just two beers and a dish of snacks.

This is what friendship is all about!

Without a word, Ran Lin downed a whole glass of draft beer.

Gu Jie and Xia Xinran were stunned.

After finishing, Ran Lin slammed the glass down with a loud bang.

Gu Jie and Xia Xinran applauded in unison.

Ran Lin wiped his mouth nonchalantly. “Another round…”

Gu Jie: “Hey, take it easy.”

Xia Xinran: “We’re not the sponsors. Why are you doing this?”

Ran Lin: “Another round… How about some chilled plum juice?”

Gu and Xia: “Can you breathe a little?”

The friends’ gathering was all about comfort and joy, so for the rest of the hot pot party, Xia Xinran and Gu Jie drank beer, and Ran Lin had plum juice. Gu Jie needed the spicy pot for some zest in his too-relaxed life, Xia Xinran stuck to the mild pot due to acne, and Ran Lin enjoyed a bit of both, fostering unity and happiness.

During the meal, the owner, also a fellow artist and friend of Xia Xinran, came over to greet them. After sending the owner off, the three resumed their chat. The previous topic forgotten, Xia Xinran started a new one. “Ran Lin, you said you were dying of boredom last time. How come you’re suddenly busy this month?”

“It wasn’t sudden. It was early July when we talked. My agent only showed me next month’s schedule in mid-July, and it wasn’t even full. Today just happened to be busy,” Ran Lin explained.

“Oh.” Xia Xinran nodded, then caught a keyword from earlier. “Audition?”

Ran Lin realized he hadn’t yet told Xia Xinran and quickly said, “I auditioned for the film version of <Chronicles of Winter>. No results yet.”

Xia Xinran’s eyes widened in indignation. “Why didn’t you share such good news!”

Before Ran Lin could reply, Gu Jie rolled his eyes. “What are you, his mom? Does he have to report everything to you?”

Xia Xinran sulked, poking his chopsticks into a meatball and chewing vigorously without making any sounds. He looked quite pitiful and aggrieved.

Trying to hold back laughter, Ran Lin looked at Gu Jie.

Gu Jie, exasperated, scooped various goodies from the mild pot into Xia Xinran’s bowl. “Here, eat up…”

Touched by Xia Xinran’s forlorn look, Ran Lin quickly shared the details about the film version of <Chronicles of Winter>.

Initially pretending not to care, Xia Xinran was engrossed by the end, declaring, “That means you’re set for the role!”

“Let’s hope so,” Ran Lin said sincerely.

Gu Jie listened quietly and then asked, “When does it start filming?”

“Next January,” Ran Lin recalled Wang Xi mentioning.

Gu Jie put down his chopsticks, took a big gulp of draft beer, then sighed heavily, clearly frustrated. “The film I signed up for last January might not even start shooting, yet you’re already set to shoot this January.”

“Movie?” Ran Lin remembered Xia Xinran mentioning that Gu Jie’s new film script had some issues.

Delays in projects due to various reasons are common, and for celebrities, rescheduling an already busy calendar is troublesome. Popular artists can’t always accommodate changes and may need to be replaced.

“Yes, Director He’s new film,” Xia Xinran answered, seeing his friend still downcast. “It was supposed to start shooting this November, then moved to January next year, and now the script is being rewritten, hoping to shoot by April.”

He Guan was a master director known for his realism and focus on the underdog. His movies might not always be blockbusters, but they’re critically acclaimed, often winning domestic awards and being recognized at international A-list festivals. His least-acclaimed film still ranks highly among domestic movies.

Directors like him have their convictions. For instance, He Guan insists on controlling everything from the script to the casting, preferring financiers just to provide funding. If financiers wish to interfere, he’d rather they withdraw their investment. Many famous and affluent stars vie for a role in his films, not just for the awards they might win but also to elevate their artistic stature. However, this insistence can lead to delays due to continuous script rewrites or other production issues.

But this time, it wasn’t about revising the script; it was about rewriting it…

Ran Lin patted Gu Jie’s shoulder, offering his sympathy.

Xia Xinran sighed, empathizing with Gu Jie. “After finishing filming in Dalian, he didn’t dare to take on any other projects, just waiting for <Dyeing Fire>. Now, half a year’s gone to waste.”

Ran Lin thoughtfully added, “For a Director He’s film, it’s worth the wait.”

The previously disheartened Gu Jie perked up at these encouraging words, sitting up straight as if bolstered by camaraderie. He asked Ran Lin, “You think it’s worth it too?”

Ran Lin nodded earnestly. “A good play is worth waiting for.”

Gu Jie downed half a glass of draft beer, feeling refreshed.

Xia Xinran, looking at his two friends, felt rather pedestrian by comparison but pointed out. “Not all the signed actors can afford to keep their schedules open like you.”

“Of course, they can’t. Those with full schedules can’t delay.” Gu Jie shrugged. “Several leading roles have left, including one of the male leads. What was supposed to be a double male lead is now just me.”

“Waiting is fine, but waiting indefinitely is a headache.” Xia Xinran worried. “What if it’s not ready by April?”

Gu Jie replied firmly, “Then I’ll confront the director.”

Ran Lin laughed and passed him a cup of sour plum drink to “cool down”.

Gu Jie drank it in one gulp, savoring the sweet and sour relief. Just as he was about to ask for more, he caught sight of Ran Lin’s expression and had a sudden inspiration. “When does your <Chronicles of Winter> shoot?”

Caught off guard, Ran Lin replied, “It’s not confirmed for me yet, as I haven’t been given a contract, but my agent mentioned it might start at the end of March.”

“That’s perfect,” Gu Jie exclaimed. “With <Dyeing Fire> now set for April, I think May is more realistic. The other male lead left, but if you’re interested despite the lower pay, I could recommend you. He Guan is busy supervising the script rewrite and desperately seeking actors.”

“Are your recommendations effective?” Xia Xinran asked skeptically.

“In this world, no one can deter He Guan’s decisions,” Gu Jie responded. “But I do think Ran Lin suits the role. Of course, the final decision is yours, as the pay might be a bit low.”

As Gu Jie spoke, he looked at Ran Lin.

Xia Xinran also followed suit and looked over.

As the focus shifted to him, Ran Lin kept his mouth half-open in a daze.

Gu Jie swallowed hard and said, “I was just saying. If you’re interested, I’ll help you connect. If not…”

“I am!” Ran Lin grasped Gu Jie’s hand firmly, his eyes blazing. “I really am!”

Just the thought of having the opportunity to work with such a director, to learn and compete in acting under his guidance, filled Ran Lin with ecstatic excitement.

Gu Jie, startled by the sudden enthusiasm, stiffly nodded after a moment. “I can feel that.”

Ran Lin released his hand, stood up without a word, grabbed Xia Xinran’s draft beer, and clinked it against Gu Jie’s glass before downing it in one go.

Finally, he showed the empty glass to Gu Jie, flashing a bright smile. “Brothers don’t need to thank each other. It’s all in the drink.”

Xia Xinran subtly shifted back, pressing closer to the chair for more security.

‘That was close,’ he thought, relieved he hadn’t challenged Ran Lin to a drinking game… He seemed to have befriended a true master of drink!

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