Author: 颜凉雨 / Yan Liang Yu

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

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Chapter 71

When Yao Hong suddenly heard about Lu Yiyao’s decision to change careers, she was struck like a bolt from the blue. The moment the word “change careers” reached her ears, she could almost visualize herself, bewildered and unsure of whom to continue fighting alongside in her career.

The last time an artist she had worked with for years was taken away by Cupid, Yao Hong went through a prolonged low period until she met Lu Yiyao and regained her fighting spirit. Now facing a similar situation, she felt too old to bear it again.

But it seemed Lu Yiyao had read her mind, hitting the nail on the head—changing careers didn’t mean going separate ways. They were still going to work together, even more closely and on a higher level.

Although Yao Hong complained verbally, deep down, she was relieved. Over the years, Lu Yiyao had become more than just a collaborator to her, more like a younger family member or even a child she had nurtured. Who could bear to part with their child?

So if Lu Yiyao is determined not to be an artist anymore and starts an entertainment company instead, their continuing collaboration in a different way would be the most comforting ending for Yao Hong—but for now, she couldn’t be at peace yet. Although starting a company and investing in projects meant Lu Yiyao had essentially shifted from being a secondary party to a primary one, effectively elevating his status in the industry, and it was true he never had an insatiable love for acting, the thought that it was Ran Lin who made him realize his new direction still frustrated her…

Yao Hong was in a state where she couldn’t even bear to hear her prospective daughter-in-law’s name, like a stereotypical evil mother-in-law!

“Stop hiding and come out,” she called out to the little assistant lingering by the door frame. “He didn’t choose this time to tell me just to keep it from you. But since he trusts you so much, don’t let him down.”

“Rest assured, Hong Jie, Lu Ge.” Li Tong came running out, standing before them, and swearing to the heavens. “If I reveal what I heard today to a fourth person, then I will… stay single for life!”

Yao Hong couldn’t help but laugh.

Lu Yiyao held his forehead. “That’s a bit too harsh…”

Li Tong let go of his hand and returned to his usual jocular demeanor.

Yao Hong, amused by his carefree attitude, reminded him, “Although it’s early to talk about these things, you should start thinking about your future. If you want to continue in this industry, I can introduce you to other artists…”

“I’m not leaving,” Li Tong declared resolutely. “If Lu Ge is starting his own company, then there will be plenty of roles to fill. I want to continue working with him. If he doesn’t need an assistant, I’ll see what other positions are suitable, even a department head or deputy…”

“You wish!” Yao Hong would have hit his head if they weren’t seated at different levels.

Li Tong stuck out his tongue and laughed.

Lu Yiyao thought the suggestion was constructive, and he nodded in consideration.

Yao Hong felt she might be driven mad by these two sooner or later!

They couldn’t possibly cover all the aspects of such a significant life decision in one day, especially with Yao Hong still reeling from the shock. They would need time to cool down and think things through.

“Alright, rest well for the next few days,” Yao Hong said, standing up. “Once you’ve recuperated, we’ll plan further. We’ll also need to inform Pentium Times, as we originated from there. Although we’ve been virtually independent these last two years, we’re still technically under their umbrella. It’s only right to let them know.”

Lu Yiyao knew Yao Hong was now on his side, or rather, she had always been, no matter how whimsical his decisions were.

“I understand,” he replied, standing up sincerely. “Thank you, Hong Jie.”

“Just save me some worries,” Yao Hong said with a glance.

After seeing off Yao Hong and Li Tong, Lu Yiyao thoroughly soaked himself in a bath. But because it was too comfortable, he accidentally fell asleep in the middle of it. Fortunately, he was in the right position, with his arms resting on either side, his head and neck on the bathtub’s rim, and his legs against the end of the tub. He was a stable sleeper, so other than waking up to slightly cooler water, he didn’t slide into the tub and wake up choking—a tragic incident avoided.

However, the life-loving Teacher Lu was still a bit frightened afterward and vowed to set a safety alarm for his next bath.

After drying his hair, Lu Yiyao looked at himself in the mirror and sighed. His cheeks were slightly hollow, his dark circles apparent, and his stubble uneven—a look the director insisted on for an unkempt effect, coupled with his somewhat overgrown hair, really made him feel distressed.

After hesitating for a while, Lu Yiyao still squeezed some shaving foam into his hand, evenly applied it to his chin, and then picked up the razor blade, deciding to start the first step in restoring his once glorious appearance—from the chin.

Just as he made the first stroke, the phone on the washstand rang, displaying “Huo Yuntao” dancing happily across the caller ID. Lu Yiyao didn’t move the phone; he just slid to answer, hit the speakerphone, said “Hello,” and continued his task.

“Hey, are you home?” Huo Yuntao knew the time of his flight back today, so he timed his call to check on him.

“I am,” Lu Yiyao replied, trying not to move his mouth too much, making his speech a bit muffled. As the phone was also not near his mouth, his voice sounded even more vague and distant to Huo Yuntao.

“What are you doing?” Huo Yuntao asked, puzzled. Lu Yiyao, realizing he couldn’t avoid explaining, sighed, put down the razor, and with his chin still covered in foam, picked up the phone and said, “Scratch card¹.”

“Scratch card¹? Lottery?” Huo Yuntao was confused.

Lu Yiyao rolled his eyes. “Shaving. The cleaner the shave, the happier I feel. Happy shaving¹.”

¹Clarity: The word he’s using is (刮刮乐) which means scratch-off cards. Broken down, though, it means shave shave happy, so he’s kind of making a little pun.

“…” Huo Yuntao didn’t want to comment on his old friend’s odd metaphor but was more concerned about, “After months of sleep deprivation and hard work, your first thing after wrapping up is not to sleep but to shave?!”

“It’s my first sleep at home. I can’t just go to bed like this.” Lu Yiyao had his principles. “It doesn’t fit my aesthetic.”

“So, what? You plan to shave, then do your hair?”

“I can’t. I only have enough energy left for shaving.”

“Thank goodness.”

After teasing him, Huo Yuntao added with a smirk, “Ran Lin surely doesn’t know you’ve reached the peak in the field of narcissism.”

“He seems to know a bit…” Lu Yiyao, reminiscing about their interactions, always felt that Ran Lin had seen through some of the truth. “But probably not as clearly as you do.”

“Definitely not as clearly as me,” Huo Yuntao said. “Otherwise, he wouldn’t have fallen for you.”

Lu Yiyao: “…”

Huo Yuntao: “Speechless, huh?”

Lu Yiyao savored Huo Yuntao’s teasing, finding it more and more pleasant. “Hearing from someone else that he loves me feels quite wonderful…”

“Stay home tomorrow and wait for me. I’ve got some materials that should be helpful. See you!!!” With an authoritative tone, Huo Yuntao ended the call, leaving Lu Yiyao figuratively upending a bowl of dog food.

Lu Yiyao, in a cheerful mood, finished shaving and looked at the mirror, quite satisfied with the three parts of his charm that had returned. Finally, holding his phone, he plunged into the soft, big bed, entered WeChat, and his gaze gradually softened— [I’m back.]

After sending the message, he felt completely settled and peacefully fell asleep in the long-missed, familiar-smelling bed of his own home.

……

Ran Lin went back home in October.

The shooting of <Chronicles of Winter> was three months, mostly concentrated in a green studio due to extensive post-production work, so the actual shooting period was shorter than expected. However, aiming for a release on the first day of the lunar new year the year after next meant a tight schedule to allow ample time for post-production, with no breaks during the holiday season.

After <Chronicles of Winter> Ran Lin was to join the crew of <Dyeing Fire> without a break, so any visits home would have to wait until later in the year. Therefore, taking advantage of the current opportunity, he decided to spend a week at home.

Nothing had changed at home. The bun shop was still the same, the old neighbors were still around, and his mother was still hard working and capable, while his father was still semi-busy. Besides the payment for <Sword of Fallen Flowers> he had given half of his subsequent earnings from ads and press to his family. Although he meant it as savings, he hoped to improve his family’s living conditions and felt somewhat helpless whenever he heard they hadn’t used his money, unsure how to ease his parents’ burdens.

But when he actually got home, seeing everything as it always was and his parents’ healthy, happy faces, he felt that perhaps things were just fine as they were. A life of comfort was all that mattered, and this was the most comfortable life for his parents, with their own business and a son they were proud of.

And it wasn’t like nothing had changed.

In the past, when he returned home, his parents would worry about his future, carefully saving money for him, gathering a dowry. But this time, he could distinctly feel his parents’ relief, a burden lifted from their hearts, an ease that came from within. They no longer needed to worry about their son; instead, they could bask in his reflected glory.

There’s no need to go into detail about him being paraded around to the neighbors; since his return, he’s already made several appearances at the shop, meeting with familiar and unfamiliar folks who all came to see him.

Though it was a bit embarrassing, being his parents’ pride was the most gratifying thing in Ran Lin’s life.

The hometown that seemed to never change was Ran Lin’s charging station. Once back in Beijing, he was full of energy.

Wang Xi probably anticipated his excellent spirits, so the day after he arrived in Beijing, she sent him the script for the project after <Dyeing Fire>—

“<The Legend of Lantern Blossoms>?” Ran Lin looked at the characters on the script’s cover and immediately imagined an oil lamp flickering before a mottled window, creating a crackling of light.

Wang Xi watched him worriedly, not missing any slight expression on his artist’s face. “Can you still handle it?”

Ran Lin looked back at his agent with difficulty. “Depends on how many episodes there are.”

Wang Xi couldn’t help but laugh and point to the boldface at the top of the script’s cover. “Doesn’t it say here? It’s a 60-episode ancient mythology TV drama.”

“That’s okay then…” Ran Lin’s tense nerves relaxed. “I thought it would be eighty or ninety episodes.”

“Eighty days.” Wang Xi patted his shoulder. “Just endure it, and it’ll be over.”

Ran Lin was stunned. “The shooting period is less than three months?”

“That’s how these fast-food dramas are—a bunch of such crews in Hengdian.” Wang Xi also felt helpless. “This is one of the better scripts I’ve seen, with a quite delicate love line. If you perform well, maybe you’ll be the brightest star amidst the roaring thunder.”

“That doesn’t sound very tempting…” Ran Lin couldn’t laugh or cry, gently brushing over the script cover, almost with a sense of reverence.

Wang Xi saw his disheartened look and suddenly asked without warning, “Your contract expires at the end of June, the year after next. Have you thought about the future?”

Ran Lin was still immersed in the world of the magical lantern battles and didn’t react immediately to Wang Xi’s words.

After a moment, he honestly said, “Not yet.”

When his contract expired in two years, he indeed thought about switching careers after it was up. But then he met Lu Yiyao at the airport, and in the next two years, his entire career trajectory was like switching from a merry-go-round to a rapid ride. Caught up in the whirlwind, he was just focusing on doing well in the present, completing his roles and schedules, without thinking much about the distant future.

However, now that Wang Xi mentioned it, Ran Lin realized it wasn’t far off. His six-year contract had only one year and eight months left.

“Do you want to renew with Dream Without Limits?” Wang Xi asked again.

Ran Lin paused, unsure. “Xi Jie, is the company asking you to ask me this?”

“No.” Wang Xi looked at him calmly. “I’m asking you personally.”

Ran Lin looked down. To tell the truth, he was still somewhat wary of Wang Xi, especially after the incident with the drama version of <Chronicles of Winter> and since Wang Xi managed more artists than just him, he really couldn’t be sure if he could be completely honest about his feelings with her…

“I only manage you now,” Wang Xi suddenly said. “Your decision will also affect my future.”

Ran Lin looked up in surprise, or more accurately, shock. “Only me… what do you mean?”

Wang Xi revealed a relaxed smile. “I’ve handed Han Ze over to a new colleague.”

Wang Xi’s features were rather sharp, so when she was serious, she exuded an intimidating aura. But the more so, the gentler and more charming she seemed when she did smile.

“Why change agents?”

Ran Lin didn’t expect Wang Xi to reveal the whole truth. He knew that changing agents usually meant irreconcilable differences or some unrectifiable situation, as both were typically invested in a mutually beneficial relationship, deeply aware of each other’s strengths and weaknesses after years of collaboration. The cost of changing was too high. Thus, while he asked, he had already imagined various scenarios in his mind.

Unexpectedly, Wang Xi replied, “He doesn’t want me anymore, and insisted on changing. I can’t just cling on, can I?”

Ran Lin gasped inwardly. The phrase “doesn’t want me anymore” was too ambiguous. Was Wang Xi really thinking he wouldn’t read too much into it, or did she simply not care if he did?

Ran Lin couldn’t determine the truth, but he clearly saw a fleeting hurt in Wang Xi’s eyes. Suddenly, he felt that whatever the truth was, it didn’t matter. The past was past, and everyone needed to look forward. Moreover, without Wang Xi, if he was still under Kang Hui, he probably wouldn’t even be able to get roles like <The Legend of Lantern Blossoms>…

“I want you,” Ran Lin said calmly, yet firmly. “He lacks vision, but not me. I have an eye for quality.”

As Ran Lin’s words faded, the air in the small apartment slowly quieted down.

For a long time, neither spoke, just looking at each other.

Finally, a noticeable tremor shook Wang Xi’s forced calm, exposing deep-seated emotions. “You’re not my type…”

Ran Lin: “…You could give me everything, and I still couldn’t handle it!”

After a half-hearted complaint, Ran Lin chuckled, then added seriously, “Just give me the ‘warrior woman’ part. You lead in front, and I’ll support from behind.”

Wang Xi was speechless at such a “reasonable” arrangement.

Indeed, the “deep partnership” script didn’t suit her. Wang Xi used to think that the kind of rapport Yao Hong had with her artists, akin to kinship, required a secret manual to cultivate. Now she realized that no manual would help; it was a matter of innate talent.

“I hadn’t really thought about renewing the contract before,” Ran Lin steered the conversation back, “but if you ask me now, I might lean towards… no.”

How much trust does it take to talk about not renewing the contract with an agent who’s not personally signed with him, but with the company, and when there’s still more than a year left?

Wang Xi thought she would at least need to confess everything about Han Ze before Ran Lin would trust her this much.

Because if she turned around and told the company, it might mean no new work for Ran Lin from now on, being shelved after <The Legend of Lantern Blossoms>; or perhaps he’d be called back to the company for a talk, to be persuaded with reason and emotion, essentially a brainwashing marathon.

But Ran Lin just said it sincerely and openly, making his earlier “I want you” echo as a complete circle.

“Are you planning to start your own agency or switch to another?” Despite the emotional turmoil inside, Wang Xi’s words came out dry and business-like, making her want to scold herself.

Ran Lin, not sensing anything amiss, naturally replied, “I haven’t thought it through. Xi Jie, since you’re asking me this, do you already have some ideas for me?”

Wang Xi suppressed her turbulent emotions and analyzed calmly. “If you continue acting methodically for the next two years and everything goes smoothly, by the time your contract is up for renewal… No, just before it’s up, many companies will definitely contact you, offering you deals. Signing with a company means broader resources; after all, it’s good to lean on a big tree for shade. But conversely, no matter how big or good the company is, you’ll inevitably face the same issues you’re facing now; that sometimes the company’s will might override yours, giving you only relative, not absolute, autonomy.”

Watching Ran Lin fall into deep thought, Wang Xi suddenly thought of another possibility. “Or, if your drama becomes a massive hit, you rapidly rise to fame, or a company specifically targets you, wanting to poach you, even willing to pay the penalty for breach of contract.”

The last possibility, though delightful to imagine, is just that, a pleasant fantasy. But when it comes down to reality, Ran Lin still wants to honor the contract. “Even if I don’t renew, I want to leave on good terms. After all, it was Dream Without Limits that brought me into the entertainment industry.”

Wang Xi nodded, saying no more.

She was relieved by Ran Lin’s gratitude and sense of obligation, but knew better than him that a harmonious departure in a world driven by profit is quite difficult.

But Ran Lin didn’t need to worry about that. She just needed to know his stance. The rest, she would handle.

With this thought, Wang Xi exhaled softly and looked up. “You probably don’t need me to remind you…”

“Keep today’s conversation confidential.” Ran Lin finished for her.

Wang Xi frowned and gave him a look. “Don’t answer for me in the future.”

Ran Lin blinked, innocently.

As she was leaving, Wang Xi suddenly remembered to ask, “Have you packed everything?”

Ran Lin nodded.

Wang Xi, still concerned, asked, “Are you sure you don’t need Wenwen to follow?”

Ran Lin grinned. “Really not necessary. I’m just going to experience life. Have you ever seen a newly released unemployed youth carrying an assistant?”

Wang Xi was left speechless, finally managing to say, “Alright then, be safe.”

……

After seeing off Wang Xi, Ran Lin wanted to browse Weibo on his phone but couldn’t find it anywhere. He finally discovered it on the nightstand in his bedroom, not remembering when he had casually placed it there.

Picking up his phone, Ran Lin saw a message from Lu Yiyao.

[Welcome back.]—Ran Lin’s restless emotions contrasted sharply with the calm reply. It had been months since they last saw each other, and now he especially wanted to run straight to Lu Yiyao’s doorstep.

At times like this, Ran Lin would whimsically wish he wasn’t an artist but a paparazzo instead, able to stick to Lu Yiyao every day, not only inseparably but also legitimately.

Lu Yiyao didn’t reply, and Ran Lin thought he might be resting, so he didn’t disturb him and started devouring the script for <The Legend of Lantern Blossoms>.

All afternoon, Ran Lin lay in bed reading the script, his entire being immersed in a world filled with demons and spirits. The story wasn’t as ridiculous as he imagined, with a light, juvenile tone, focusing primarily on the romantic plot between the male and female leads, coupled with a grand demons’ brawl—all merry and boisterous.

The story actually began with a scholar painfully studying by the light of an oil lamp night after night for ten years, failing to pass the exams but inadvertently turning the lamp into a spirit, which developed human-like desires, ultimately leading to an epic love story. However, the scholar didn’t pursue officialdom afterwards but, after a life-and-death ordeal, gained strength and transformed from a weak scholar needing protection from the heroine into a true hero capable of protecting his woman.

When his phone’s notification sound pulled him out from this world of gods and demons, what Ran Lin actually thought was that the story was quite inspiring…

Lu Yiyao—[Just woke up and saw your message. Where are you?]

Ran Lin understood right away. Lu Yiyao was at home, asking where he was to determine if it was convenient for a more direct contact.

Without replying, Ran Lin made his move—sending a video call invitation.

Two seconds later—[The other party has declined.]

Ran Lin was taken aback and immediately typed—[Not at home?]

Lu Yiyao—[At home.]

Ran Lin—[Is there someone else there?]

Lu Yiyao—[No.]

Ran Lin frowned—[Then why not accept the video call?]

Lu Yiyao—[I don’t look good.]

Ran Lin—[What?]

Lu Yiyao—[Too haggard, not good-looking.]

Ran Lin choked back frustration.

What do you do when you’ve got a narcissistic peacock? Of course, you continue to love him!

Taking a deep breath, Ran Lin typed with all the love he could muster—[I like you no matter what you look like.]

The reply came quickly—[No, I have to be in my best state when I see you.]

Ran Lin took another deep breath and continued—[I love your soul.]

Lu Yiyao—[But appearance is also important.]

Ran Lin—[Accept the video call!!!]

Lu Yiyao—[Nodding like pounding garlic.jpg]

It would have been over if he had been like this, instead of forcing him to play tough.

Rolling his eyes internally, Ran Lin sent the video invite again, and this time it was almost instantly accepted, so fast that Ran Lin hadn’t even rolled his eyes back…

“How much do you despise me…” Lu Yiyao said, seeing his lover’s eye roll and thinking he really shouldn’t have video called.

Ran Lin had no time to explain, focusing all his attention on Lu Yiyao’s face, inspecting it up and down, left and right, as if Lu Yiyao’s face was a navigational chart and he was the captain who had to scrutinize every detail without missing anything.

Lu Yiyao, feeling awkward under the intense scrutiny, tried to persuade him. “Give it up. The dashing man of your memory has already been written off by the <Split Moon> crew. No amount of looking will bring him back.”

Ran Lin sighed and negotiated with his lover, “Since it’s the man of my memory, shouldn’t I be the one to add the adjectives?”

Lu Yiyao was very accommodating. “Then just remove ‘dashing.'”

Ran Lin deadpanned. “So ‘handsome’ is untouchable, right?”

Lu Yiyao leaned closer to the screen. “Mwah.”

Ran Lin covered his wildly beating heart, unseen by the video, gritting his teeth. “You’re cheating.”

Lu Yiyao’s lips curled up. “No, this is surpassing the master.”

“Oh right,” Lu Yiyao suddenly remembered something, becoming serious. “The three paparazzi who follow me every time I come back are gone.”

“They gave up on you, having followed for so long without any juicy scoop.” Ran Lin felt pity for the paparazzi for picking such a strict and self-disciplined subject.

“If all the paparazzi stopped photographing me, that would be great,” Lu Yiyao said indifferently. “Then you can come over to my place whenever you want.”

Ran Lin realized he shouldn’t feel sorry for the paparazzi. After all, they at least had staked out Lu Yiyao’s place, while he, the legitimate boyfriend, hadn’t even seen what Lu Yiyao’s apartment building looked like!

Sighing, Ran Lin suppressed his bitterness and said rationally, “There’s no ‘if’. You’re just that famous; if not you, then who else?”

Lu Yiyao said, “You’ll be even more famous than me in the future.”

Ran Lin instinctively wanted to say, “I hope so,” but then thought, if both of them became incredibly famous, wouldn’t meeting up become even more difficult?

As he was idly pondering, he heard Lu Yiyao ask, “Are you still leaving tomorrow?”

Ran Lin came back to reality and nodded reluctantly. “Yeah, so I probably won’t be able to see you.”

Lu Yiyao seemed unconcerned. “With the way I look now, even if you came to see me, I wouldn’t want to meet you.”

Ran Lin: “Hey—”

Suddenly, Lu Yiyao’s tone darkened, his voice husky. “Otherwise, I won’t be able to resist pouncing on you.”

Ran Lin suddenly covered the camera, then turned over, lying on his back in a starfish position, exhaling towards the ceiling as if that would dissipate the heat coursing through his body.

Lu Yiyao, on the other end of the phone, was about to lose it. “Covering the camera and turning it completely black when we get to the important part is cheating!”

By the time Ran Lin moved his finger away from the camera, the romantic atmosphere that Lu Yiyao had created was completely disrupted.

Lu Yiyao looked at him annoyedly, his teeth itching. “If you have the guts, don’t fall into my hands.”

“The one who can’t handle three drinks doesn’t have any threatening power.” Who’s afraid of who across the screen?

Lu Yiyao nodded, seemingly approving but actually thinking to himself, ‘Let’s see how long you can keep this up.’

Teasing one’s lover is part of the charm when done in small doses, but if it really makes the other angry, the one who suffers is still oneself. So, Ran Lin knew when to stop and started talking about serious matters. “The company has taken on another TV drama for me, so my schedule is packed until the end of next November.”

In other words, this pair of star-crossed lovers would only be able to meet if they could find a sliver of time.

Lu Yiyao knew that Ran Lin was leaving for Wuhan tomorrow to experience life for <Dyeing Fire> and that after returning in December, he’d need about ten days to recuperate before joining the crew of <Chronicles of Winter>. But that <Dyeing Fire> was followed by another drama was beyond his expectation.

“What drama? Does the schedule have to be so tight?” A good show is worth continuous work, but that’s from a career perspective. From a personal perspective, Lu Yiyao was worried about Ran Lin’s health.

But when he threw the question over, there was a long silence from the other end.

Lu Yiyao frowned in confusion. “What’s wrong? Did you sign a confidentiality agreement and can’t reveal the drama name yet?”

“No…” Ran Lin thought how there wouldn’t be any confidentiality agreement for such a drama; it was just a bit hard to say.

Hesitating, his eyes suddenly caught the script next to his pillow, so Ran Lin simply picked it up and showed it to Lu Yiyao through the camera.

Lu Yiyao saw <The Legend of Lantern Blossoms> at first glance, his feelings turning complex at the sight of the “60-episode ancient mythology TV drama” above it.

“Do you… like this script?” Lu Yiyao still held a glimmer of hope. “What’s it about? Tell me.”

“You won’t want to hear it.” Ran Lin knew Lu Yiyao’s attention was on him taking on another new project and hadn’t really listened to what he had just said, so he repeated, “The company took it on for me.”

Lu Yiyao heard clearly this time and basically understood.

“No room for negotiation?” he asked.

Ran Lin shook his head. “No room for negotiation. I have to take it. I already turned down an 80-episode drama with high pay for <Dyeing Fire>, if I refuse again, I’ll just be waiting to be shelved.”

Lu Yiyao pondered for a moment. “When does your contract expire next year?”

Ran Lin wondered if today was a special day since everyone seemed to be discussing contracts with him.

“June 30^th.” Ran Lin had it memorized.

Lu Yiyao stared at him. “Are you thinking of renewing it after it expires?”

Ran Lin laughed. “Did you and Xi Jie coordinate this?”

Lu Yiyao was puzzled. “Hmm?”

“She came over at noon,” Ran Lin said. “Brought me this script, and we talked about future plans.”

Lu Yiyao tensed up. “What did you say?”

Ran Lin replied, “The truth. I don’t want to renew.”

Lu Yiyao’s first reaction was disbelief, but then, thinking it over, he knew Ran Lin wasn’t one to act foolishly. He suppressed his sarcasm and cautiously said, “Aren’t you afraid she’ll go back and tell the company?”

Ran Lin shook his head. “I don’t think she will.”

Lu Yiyao rested his forehead in his hand. “If ‘thinking’ were reliable, courts wouldn’t need evidence to make decisions.”

Ran Lin’s eyes widened as he looked at the screen. “The first time I saw you, I thought you were especially handsome.”

Lu Yiyao: “…Sometimes ‘thinking’ is reliable.”

Ran Lin: “What about your principles?”

Lu Yiyao reflected on not speaking too absolutely as he backpedaled, learning a deep lesson.

Ran Lin, suppressing a laugh, revealed, “Han Ze has been handed over to someone else. Now Xi Jie only manages me.”

Lu Yiyao was surprised. “Really?”

Ran Lin nodded.

“What happened between them?”

“I didn’t ask, but I feel Xi Jie is quite sad.”

“…”

Lu Yiyao fell silent, deep in thought.

Ran Lin, thinking he was still concerned about Wang Xi, said: “When she took on <Dyeing Fire> for me, she convinced the company to drop the high-paying TV drama. I know she must have faced a lot of pressure and did a lot for me, so I trust her. But don’t worry, I won’t tell her about us two, especially since this matter is special…”

“I’m not worried about myself, I’m worried about you,” Lu Yiyao sighed. “You always think too well of people. I’m afraid you’ll suffer for it.”

“In fact, I am indeed surrounded by good people,” Ran Lin grinned proudly.

Lu Yiyao loved seeing Ran Lin smile, as if the whole world lit up with him.

“So, when you said you didn’t want to renew, what was Wang Xi’s reaction?” Lu Yiyao steered the conversation back.

Ran Lin said, “She analyzed the pros and cons of finding another company or going independent for me, but we didn’t talk much. After all, I still have several dramas to shoot, and the contract isn’t urgent. But she instructed me to keep our conversation confidential.”

Lu Yiyao: “And then you turned around and told me?”

Ran Lin: “You’re not just anyone.”

Lu Yiyao: “…”

Watching Lu Yiyao suddenly freeze, adorably stunned, Ran Lin sweetly awaited what was next, but unexpectedly, the screen suddenly went black.

Ran Lin blinked in confusion, then realized—

“Enough! First, you learned from my kisses, and now you’re copying me by covering the camera. Can’t you absorb some positive energy from me!”

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