Author: 颜凉雨 / Yan Liang Yu

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

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Chapter 76

From the moment Shi Jiuting entered the set, Wang Xi recognized him, but since he headed straight towards the male lead without looking around, she didn’t find it appropriate to forcefully approach him.

Only when Shi Jiuting retreated to the side of the set, casually observing, did Wang Xi approach and politely greeted, “President Shi, hello.”

Shi Jiuting tilted his head slightly, eyeing the competent woman who appeared out of nowhere, but still politely rose and asked, “You are…?”

“Dream Without Limits, Wang Xi. We’ve spoken on the phone,” Wang Xi said, taking out her business card and handing it to him.

Shi Jiuting took the card, glanced at it briefly, and remembered, “Ms.¹ Wang?”

“Not at all,” Wang Xi hurriedly replied. “You can call me Xiao Wang or Wang Xi¹.”

¹Clarity: He’s using (总) to address her here, which can be like “President, Chief, Director, ect.”. Wang Xi is showing humility by “lowering” her status and basically saying, “I don’t dare accept such honor of being referred to that kind of address.”

Shi Jiuting glanced at the agent, who seemed to be around his age or perhaps a year or two older and found it difficult to address her as “Xiao Wang”. So, he vaguely responded with a noncommittal “Mm, okay.”

Wang Xi didn’t dwell on the formality and went straight to the point. “I’ve been wanting to invite you to dinner to thank you in person for giving Ran Lin this opportunity.”

Shi Jiuting smiled, not denying his role in providing the opportunity for Ran Lin, and simply stated, “Opportunities come, but it takes real skill to seize them.”

Shi Jiuting always gave this impression over the phone: no pleasantries, no insincerity, direct and clear in just a few words, avoiding unnecessary flattery. As an agent, Wang Xi preferred dealing with such straightforward investors; it was less tiring.

“Since you’re here, President Shi, Ran Lin, and I would like to invite you to dinner tonight…”

Before Wang Xi could finish, Shi Jiuting politely gestured with his hand to stop her.

“Filming is already exhausting, and I shouldn’t deprive actors of their precious rest time. If entertaining me affects tomorrow’s work, then my visit here would really be more trouble than it’s worth.”

His refusal was both irrefutable and soothing to hear—a sign of his adeptness.

Wang Xi didn’t press further. She had mentioned it several times over the phone and now again in person; her sincerity was clear. If he genuinely didn’t want to dine, then she would not insist.

As they spoke, the set was ready for the next scene.

Shi Jiuting settled back down, and Wang Xi chose a nearby chair to sit, so as not to walk back and forth and disturb the shooting.

The second scene is still underwater, but this time it involves Ran Lin, who has sunk to the bottom, receiving vital energy from the little white jiao* and then, in turn, helping the white jiao escape its plight. Thus, Ran Lin needs to “break the chains and shackles binding the white jiao” while underwater.

*Clarity: The author has switched to using jiao instead of dragon.

As the clapperboard sounded, Ran Lin dove back into the water without hesitation.

From Wang Xi and Shi Jiuting’s perspective, they could only see the rippling water surface. In other words, except for the photographer shooting from the underwater window, everyone in the studio could only see the surface and not the actor—except for the director.

The monitor vividly displayed Ran Lin’s underwater performance, with Director Huang watching intently, not missing a single frame.

Even though the lifeguard was ready by the pool, Wang Xi couldn’t help but clench her fists.

Time seemed to stretch on, and what was less than a minute felt like an eternity.

Finally, with a splash, their actor resurfaced.

Wang Xi exhaled a breath of relief as if she had been the one holding her breath underwater.

Another successful take The director was satisfied, and Ran Lin was helped ashore and wrapped in a towel as the set buzzed back to life.

“You’re more nervous than the actors.” A teasing voice came from beside her.

Wang Xi looked towards Shi Jiuting and replied with a bitter smile, “He knows what he’s doing. I don’t, and those who don’t know are naturally more anxious than those who do.”

“That makes sense.” Shi Jiuting not only agreed but nodded seriously. “No wonder when I heard you mention Han Ze was coming to visit, no matter how busy I was, I had to come and take a look because you’re familiar with the situation and Han Ze, but I’m not.”

Wang Xi understood his point and didn’t play dumb. “Now that you’ve seen the set, the only uncertain factor left is Han Ze.”

“I’m giving face to Dream Without Limits, you, and Ran Lin,” Shi Jiuting said with a meaningful look at Wang Xi. “Don’t make me regret that doing less is better than doing more.”

Wang Xi braved a smile, knowing there was no turning back now. She couldn’t very well say, “Perhaps you should reconsider. Don’t do this for our sake to accommodate Han Ze,” especially since Han Ze and Ran Lin were both under Dream Without Limits. It was a shared fate of glory or downfall.

However, upon further thought, Han Ze at most would be self-promoting, unlikely foolish enough to harm the movie version since it would bring no real benefit to him, or the drama series already aired and would only create enemies.

Shi Jiuting left the topic at that, avoiding further discussion on the slightly awkward subject, and instead reached for a slender, long box leaning against the chair and handed it to Wang Xi. “I need to trouble you with this.”

The box was only half a palm wide but about sixty to seventy centimeters long, unmarked but entirely painted with a traditional landscape, overly elaborate for mere packaging.

A scroll?

A cane?

A sword?

The box, light but with some weight, left Wang Xi guessing its contents based on its shape, leading to more and more outrageous assumptions. She looked up, puzzled, at Shi Jiuting.

He only smiled and nodded slightly.

Wang Xi internally rolled her eyes. She wasn’t a mind reader. She didn’t know whether this person’s nod meant, “You guessed right,” “You may open it,” or “Just accept it without worry.” Surely, some narration was needed for such a mysterious box!

With no other option, Wang Xi asked, “What you just mentioned troubling me with is…”

“I hope you’ll have it signed by Ran Lin,” Shi Jiuting said, touching his nose, seemingly a bit embarrassed. “And then trouble you to return it to me.”

Wang Xi, caught off guard, held the slender box. “May I open it to see?”

“Of course,” Shi Jiuting replied.

The box didn’t open at either end but was capped all around, so Wang Xi held the ends between her palms, lifted the box slightly, then gently shook it down, separating the lid from the box. Once the lid was entirely removed, Wang Xi finally saw the contents inside—

A traditional oil-paper umbrella.

In the past, when Wang Xi managed Han Ze, she also helped obtain his autograph on various items for VIP fans—photos, T-shirts, basketballs, and more. However, all these items paled in comparison to the oil-paper umbrella before her.

With the box open, Wang Xi didn’t hesitate and took out the umbrella, gently untied the silk cord, and slowly opened it. The surface of the umbrella featured a painting of proud red plum blossoms braving the snow, accompanied by a small poem with elegant script—Three knocks form a golden orchid friendship, a single sword observes the falling flowers.

Wang Xi finally understood that this was merchandise from <Sword of Fallen Flowers>.

Suppressing her urge to comment, Wang Xi carefully closed the umbrella back up. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure Ran Lin signs it beautifully.”

Shi Jiuting seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, albeit subtly, as he watched Wang Xi close the box, smiling helplessly. “It’s my daughter’s request; I have no choice but to comply.”

Wang Xi was taken aback, as the information she had previously obtained had always indicated that Shi Jiuting was a fan of <Sword of Fallen Flowers>, particularly of the character Fang Xian, leading to his desire for Ran Lin to star in <Chronicles of Winter>. It seemed the intelligence was inaccurate.

Shi Jiuting always protected his family privacy well, so all that was known was that his daughter was about junior high school age.

Being a “good father” definitely scored points in his favor, so Wang Xi viewed Shi Jiuting more favorably and spoke with less formality and more warmth. “You can count on us.”

When Ran Lin wrapped up for lunch, Shi Jiuting had already left, leaving only an assistant to wait.

So, before Ran Lin could even eat his meal, he was pulled aside by his agent to a quiet spot—to sign the umbrella.

It was the first time Ran Lin had been asked to sign an umbrella, and he curiously admired it for a while before finding a spot that wouldn’t detract from its overall beauty and signing his name.

Afterward, as if remembering something, he asked his agent, “Xi Jie, did President Shi just come to visit? Did he say anything?”

Of course, Shi Jiuting had given a clear reminder not to let Han Ze’s visit become a nuisance, but these were things for her, the agent, to handle and not relevant to Ran Lin, so ultimately Wang Xi shook her head. “He didn’t say much. Just told you to focus on your acting.”

Ran Lin nodded, not suspecting anything amiss.

But looking at the umbrella again, he still felt a sense of dissonance. Shi Jiuting, dressed in a stylish biker jacket, exuded a cool, distinct aura, yet he had asked for an autograph on a gentle Jiangnan-style oil-paper umbrella, which seemed oddly mismatched.

“We all misunderstood,” Wang Xi said, noticing her artist’s perplexed expression and deciding to clarify. “It’s his daughter who is your real fan. Probably part of his motive for having you act in <Chronicles of Winter> was to please her.”

“That’s quite an investment…” Ran Lin was taken aback by the depth of fatherly love, considering the substantial investment in <Chronicles of Winter>.

“He’s not foolish,” Wang Xi said. “He also had the director and producer oversee things. Of course, it’s great if you can do it, but if you really can’t, he wouldn’t joke around with real money.”

Ran Lin pondered this and still felt impressed. “If all my fans were of this caliber, I could struggle twenty years less.”

Wang Xi packed up the umbrella and retied the ribbon, laughing off any further dreaming. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. Focus on hard work and earning your keep.”

……

Two days after Shi Jiuting’s visit, Han Ze arrived.

He seemed to have precisely timed his visit, possibly coordinating with the unit manager, as he arrived with the lunch delivery. Along with the meals, he brought hot drinks and pre-cut boxed fruits.

In the cold of winter, a hot drink was quite comforting, and a bit of fruit after the meal was delightful.

The crew welcomed this practical and straightforward form of support, and the atmosphere was jovial, with Han Ze’s visit almost taking on the air of the male lead.

Ran Lin and Wang Xi watched from the sidelines, unable to lend a hand, unsure if Han Ze was there to visit them or the crew.

But they didn’t mind. Han Ze’s presence brought prestige to Dream Without Limits, which in turn reflected well on Ran Lin. If he could maintain this positive impression consistently, it would be beneficial.

Finally, when the hustle settled down, Han Ze found a moment to greet Ran Lin and Wang Xi, accompanied by his new agent, Deng Minru.

“You’ve worked hard,” Han Ze said, giving Ran Lin a brotherly pat on the shoulder.

Ran Lin shook his head. “Not at all. Thank you for visiting.”

“As fellow apprentices, no need for formalities,” Han Ze replied.

Wang Xi felt that further pleasantries might lead to awkwardness, as there wasn’t much else to say, so she cut straight to the point. “Since media visits for the film aren’t open yet, interviews will need to be conducted nearby.”

“No problem,” Deng Minru responded, understandingly.

Wang Xi nodded, got a crew member to help, and the group moved to a nearby area that wouldn’t interfere with the set.

The so-called interview was actually prearranged by both parties, consisting of formalities and pleasantries. For example, the reasons for Han Ze’s visit were discussed, such as the rarity of actors from the same company playing roles from the same original work, coupled with their good relationship, making his support a necessity. Additionally, both sides would discuss their expectations for the future product from their respective roles in the performance. Of course, the conversation would inevitably lead to revealing that the drama version of <Chronicles of Winter> was set to air in June, followed by both individuals naturally offering blessings for each other’s versions.

The entire set visit lasted only about an hour, all during lunch break, without affecting the shooting schedule. The process and interview were standard procedure, and Han Ze didn’t cause any disruptions. When the time came to bid farewell to this “colleague”, both Ran Lin and Wang Xi simultaneously breathed a sigh of relief.

But the calmer the visit seemed, the more unsettling it was upon reflection.

“Everything’s okay, right?” Ran Lin asked his agent apprehensively.

“It should be fine,” Wang Xi replied, then thought for a moment and added, “Let’s see what his press release says in the next day or two.”

Wang Xi underestimated Deng Minru’s efficiency. It wasn’t until early March, after Ran Lin had completed shooting in Hengdian and Xinjiang and moved to the second location in Guangdong, that the press release finally arrived.

[Chronicles of Winter: One Story, Two Stellar Roles, Xiao Shitou Visits Xiao Shitou!]

Despite being a bit late, the press release spread like wildfire across the internet, making “Han Ze’s Chronicles of Winter” a trending topic. Opening the trend revealed the set visit’s press release and videos. Additionally, “Chronicles of Winter airing in June” also became a hot topic.

In the trending topics and discussions about <Chronicles of Winter>, no one specifically emphasized whether it was the film or the drama version, but the information was mostly focused on the drama version.

This was natural, as Han Ze’s visit was primarily intended to generate buzz for himself and the drama version, something Wang Xi and the film’s team were well aware of before the visit. Moreover, the final interview didn’t cut out any information related to Ran Lin and the film version, including Han Ze’s wishes for the film’s success. Thus, while the buzz was more drama-focused, it also provided some free publicity for the film version.

Naturally, comparisons between the two versions were inevitable—

[Smoking Blue Cloud: Personally, Han Ze fits my image of Xiao Shitou more.]

[If I Can’t Write Calligraphy, I’m a Loser: I prefer Ran Lin; he feels more youthful.]

Fans of both versions and most neutral observers preferred to spread positive vibes—

[Ze_520: Both versions of Xiao Shitou have their merits. Let’s not start any fan wars.]

[Blazing Flame of Bear: Wishing both the drama and film versions success!]

[Yao Isn’t Far Away: As a neutral party, I love seeing harmony and joy, especially since it’s about brothers visiting each other’s sets and blessing each other. Please, some people, don’t be too dramatic and incite conflicts.]

Of course, Han Ze’s visit was intended for publicity, and many netizens’ comments confirmed the necessity of it—

[Respect for Filial Piety: Is <Chronicles of Winter> novel any good? Should I catch up before the drama airs?]

[I’m Already a Couch Potato: Read the novel. Almost forgot the plot, but remember it being quite good. Looking forward to the drama!]

[Little Yellow Duck Dada: Book fan here. Please don’t ruin the original!]

[Outsider of Snow Mountain Flying Fox: Airing in June, that’s a long wait…]

[Alicia: When will the teaser be released? Even stills would do! 🤩 🤩 ❤️ ❤️]

By this time, Wang Xi had already returned to Beijing, and Ran Lin had logged off Weibo, sending a voice message to his agent, “Xi Jie, did you see Han Ze’s trending topic? Seems like no issues.”

His agent replied swiftly, “Yeah, he kept it clean.”

Ran Lin chuckled. “Are you also browsing Weibo?”

Wang Xi: “Of course, I’ve made a promise to Shi Jiuting’s side; if anything goes wrong, I’m the first one responsible.”

Ran Lin: “Now we can rest easy.”

Wang Xi: “Wrong, it’s normal for me to worry. What are you worrying about? You should spend your time on the script instead of browsing Weibo.”

Ran Lin: “The script is already etched in my brain. I’m even dreaming of beating up the Northern Emperor.”

Wang Xi’s voice message carried laughter. “Good, keep it up.”

After finishing the conversation, Ran Lin took a quick shower.

The temperature in Guangdong at the end of February was almost like April in Beijing, slightly cool but overall comfortable.

After showering, Ran Lin felt refreshed and lay on the bed, scrolling through the photos Liu Wanwan took for him during the day. He selected a satisfying one, about to send it to Lu Yiyao, but received a message from him first—

[Han Ze visited your set?]

Lu Yiyao had started shooting a comedy film after the new year, a contract that was signed long ago with the intention of exploring Lu Yiyao’s comedic talent and possibly broadening his acting range. The director was known for making hit comedy films in recent years.

But now, it seemed like this would be Lu Yiyao’s last movie.

However, as it was his last, Lu Yiyao was especially serious, wanting to end his acting career on a high note. Ran Lin could sense his dedication and thus always shared good news, avoiding any distractions for his partner.

He didn’t mention Han Ze’s set visit, something that would fall under “distractions”.

[He came last month. Just made a brief appearance, nothing much.]—Ran Lin replied truthfully.

After sending the message, Ran Lin quickly shared the selected photo as well.

In the endlessly golden rapeseed fields, his character, Xiao Shitou, was running innocently and joyfully with Jiang Yi’s character, Ah Jin.

Indeed, compared to the uneventful visit from Han Ze, this photo had more impact.

Teacher Lu sent a voice message. “Are you showing off your love with the female lead in front of me?”

The intonation at the end of “showing off love” had a dangerous rise.

Ran Lin, flustered, replied via voice message, “Please ignore the female lead. Focus on me and the rapeseed field!”

The voice message from the other end carried a suppressed chuckle. “What scene is this?”

Ran Lin, realizing they hadn’t switched to video call yet, understood that Lu Yiyao was probably still on set or somewhere else inconvenient for video, likely hiding in a quiet corner with his earphones on, so he continued typing—[It’s the sweet clover field in the village.]

Without speaking, Lu Yiyao sent another voice message—[Looks good.]

Ran Lin—[Of course it looks good. I heard the crew looked at several locations before choosing this one.]

Lu Yiyao, amused by his lover’s response, felt Ran Lin looked stunning standing amidst the brilliant rapeseed fields.

But as much as he thought it, he didn’t correct it.

If counted from the confession at last year’s Republic party, it had been exactly one year. He felt he had used up all his romantic words in that year, especially at the beginning of their relationship, when the desire to express his feelings seemed to surge from the depths of his soul. He had never considered himself particularly eloquent, but it came naturally then. And he always felt that if you love someone, you should express it repeatedly.

But now, compared to sweet nothings, he preferred to do something tangible—to work towards their future.

No matter how many sweet words are said, or love expressed, without practical support, it’s all fleeting and illusory.

The crew called Lu Yiyao, and he quickly sent one last message—[Back to work. Can’t talk now. Rest early.]

The reply was a picture goodnight—Tigger wearing a sleeping cap.

……

Throughout March, Ran Lin traveled with the production team across Guangdong, Zhangjiajie, and Yunnan to complete all the exterior shots for <Chronicles of Winter>. On March 30^th, the filming wrapped up.

At the wrap party, Jiang Yi insisted on a BFF selfie with him, and somehow Ran Lin got labeled with that attribute. Their photo ended up as one of the nine squares on Jiang Yi’s Weibo, surrounded by other group shots and images from the party, culminating in a wrap-up post.

Ran Lin retweeted it, thanking the crew for months of hard work and expressing anticipation for the movie’s release next year.

Almost immediately after the wrap party, Ran Lin took barely any rest, staying in Beijing for just a day before rushing to the set of <Dyeing Fire>.

<Dyeing Fire> began shooting on April 3rd, but Ran Lin arrived on the afternoon of April 1st.

Unlike his previous life experience journey, this was the real deal, and naturally, the production had arranged hotel accommodations for the actors. Still, Ran Lin opted for the high-speed train, accompanied only by Liu Wanwan, and hopped onto the production team’s vehicle upon arrival.

It was a drizzly day with slightly overcast skies. It wasn’t too gloomy, with the tender leaves on trees along the road still distinctly visible. Compared to the bleakness when he left, Wuhan in the spring rain was brimming with vitality.

It was said that Gu Jie had stayed in the area without leaving, just moving into the hotel after his short-term rental expired. Unable to wait to surprise his friend, Ran Lin immediately called Gu Jie.

The phone rang for a while before being answered, “Hello?”

“Busy?” Ran Lin asked.

“No, just fell asleep.”

“Sleeping in the middle of the day?”

“Have you never heard? Rainy days and napping are the perfect match.”

“……” Ran Lin felt sure that Gu Jie had invented that saying himself.

But considering that Gu Jie had been here for half a year, whether experiencing life or memorizing scripts, he should have done all the necessary preparations. Taking an afternoon nap to rejuvenate before the shoot starts seemed quite sensible.

With that in mind, Ran Lin decided not to tease anymore and simply stated, “I’m here.”

It took a moment for the other end to process before asking, “Here where?”

“In Wuhan,” Ran Lin said exasperatedly. “Almost at the hotel.”

Gu Jie: “Didn’t you just wrap up the day before yesterday?”

Ran Lin: “Yeah, rested yesterday, and came over today.”

Gu Jie: “No way!”

Ran Lin: “Huh?”

Gu Jie: “You’re trying to fool me, right? Look, I’m telling you, I won’t fall for it again. It’s raining in Wuhan right now, so don’t expect me to foolishly wait for you in the rain!”

Gu Jie sounded genuinely indignant, his earnestness not seeming like a joke, especially considering it was Gu Jie, a man not known for joking.

Ran Lin widened his eyes in realization—today was April Fool’s Day!

No wonder Gu Jie said he wouldn’t fall for it again… Wait, again?

“Who was the last villain?” To coax out the truth, Ran Lin decided to play along with the “deceiver” role.

After a brief silence, Gu Jie said, “I refuse to recall…”

Ran Lin thought for a moment and guessed, “Xia Xinran?”

“……” The complete silence on the other end confirmed his suspicion.

“He fooled you into waiting for him in the rain?” Ran Lin pressed on.

Finally, Gu Jie couldn’t contain his frustration. “He called saying he was visiting the set and was already below my hotel window. He told me to open the window and look for him. I did and saw no one there. He said the rain might be obscuring my view and asked me to shout his name because he couldn’t see my window either. So, I ended up shouting ‘Xia Xinran’ several times…”

Ran Lin: “Each time louder?”

Gu Jie: “Until the security guard came out, standing below asking if I needed help.”

Ran Lin: “…”

Gu Jie sighed, clearly hurt. “I thought you guys were different.”

“Thanks, Ping Ge.” Ran Lin thanked the life director he had just met, then got out of the car, holding the phone in one hand and his luggage in the other under the umbrella Liu Wanwan was holding. He looked up at the dense hotel windows, feeling equally aggrieved. “I’m actually under your hotel right now, but you probably don’t believe me…”

After handing over the room card instructions to Liu Wanwan, the life director left. Ran Lin looked up and was about to enter the hotel with Liu Wanwan when he heard, “Is that little yellow umbrella yours?”

Ran Lin, not being able to discern which window was open, replied exasperatedly, “The little yellow umbrella is my assistant’s. Do you really think I’d carry a little yellow duck one?”

“You really arrived this early!” Gu Jie’s tone shifted from skepticism to surprise. “I knew you were different from Xia Xinran; you wouldn’t just join in the April Fool’s joke.”

Ran Lin frowned. ‘Had Gu Jie ever said that?’

The rain seemed to have stopped, as Ran Lin couldn’t hear the sound of raindrops on the umbrella anymore, but he still entered the hotel lobby with the umbrella up, walking with Liu Wanwan to the seventh floor.

As the elevator doors slowly opened with a ding, Ran Lin swallowed and hesitated to step out.

Gu Jie, blocking the elevator doors with open arms in a welcoming gesture, looked puzzled. “I came especially to meet you, and you give me that look?”

“If you hadn’t said you were coming to meet me, I might have thought you were here to collect protection money.” Ran Lin teased as he stepped out of the elevator, pulling his suitcase, and finally gave Gu Jie a hug.

Gu Jie was slightly displeased at not being hugged immediately but accepted it nonetheless.

Liu Wanwan, observing the two friends’ playful banter, decided to leave them to their reunion and took Ran Lin’s luggage. “Ran Ge, I’ll take this to your room.”

Ran Lin, dressed casually with no intention of changing, handed over his luggage to Liu Wanwan and went straight to Gu Jie’s room with him.

Gu Jie’s room was surprisingly neat, without clothes or clutter thrown everywhere. There was just a suitcase in the corner and a few simple exercise equipment against another wall.

“Time flies too fast,” Ran Lin said, opening the window as the rain had almost stopped. The air was still cloudy and cool, but the breeze was refreshing and comfortable. “It feels like I just left and now I’m back.”

“That’s because you’ve been busy,” Gu Jie offered Ran Lin a Red Bull. “I’ve been vacationing here. I even went home for a month during New Year’s. It feels like I’ve made up for all the holidays I’ve missed in the past half-year.”

Ran Lin envied him but teased, “Sounds like you’re ready to retire from acting.”

“Not that fortunate. It’s just <Dyeing Fire’s> shooting schedule kept changing. I didn’t want to commit to other contracts and cause scheduling conflicts. Now that it’s confirmed to start in April and wrap up by the end of July, at worst, it’ll stretch into August. I’ve already had my agent fill up my schedule from September to the end of the year.”

“What about next year?” Ran Lin was curious.

Gu Jie shrugged. “I’ll see next year. I don’t like to fill up my schedule too much in advance. It’s too frustrating if a good project comes up and I don’t have the availability.”

Ran Lin sat in a chair by the window, enjoying the breeze and looking at Gu Jie. He felt the hectic pace he’d gotten used to during the shooting of <Chronicles of Winter> was slowly relaxing, much like the city around him and the friend before him, all unfolding leisurely in the spring rain.

“How did the shooting of <Chronicles of Winter> go?” Gu Jie asked, opening his Red Bull and taking a sip, lazily inquiring about his friend’s recent work.

“Pretty good,” Ran Lin said truthfully. “If the post-production doesn’t mess it up, it should be fine.”

Gu Jie sat cross-legged on the bed, one hand holding the Red Bull, the other massaging his neck. “What counts as not messing it up?”

Ran Lin listed on his fingers, “Cheap special effects, online game-like visuals, or outsourcing it to a foreign special effects team who just use some ready-made elements from their library. Especially if it’s supposed to be an Eastern fantasy but ends up looking like a Western fantasy with castles, glaciers, dragons, and especially if the dragons have wings, then all the money spent on special effects is wasted.”

Gu Jie initially wanted to suggest that Ran Lin might be expecting too much from domestic special effects films, but as Ran Lin continued, he understood the underlying disappointment. If a so-called domestic fantasy film, touted as Eastern fantasy, features Western-style dragons, that would be quite disheartening.

So, what he ended up saying was, “Aren’t you a bit too pessimistic about the quality of domestic special effects films?”

Deep down, Ran Lin hoped <Chronicles of Winter> would break new ground for domestic fantasy films, but the past disappointments made it hard to be optimistic about the future.

Facing Gu Jie, Ran Lin spoke his mind. “The best outcome would be to produce a real blockbuster. If that’s not possible, I hope it’s at least not too embarrassing. Otherwise, if the film version is compared to the drama version and gets completely overshadowed, Han Ze will definitely take the opportunity to gloat in front of me.”

Gu Jie paused, recalling that Han Ze had visited Ran Lin’s set, which made the hot search and stayed a trending topic for days. He had assumed the two were on good terms but Ran Lin’s tone suggested otherwise. “You two don’t get along?”

Ran Lin thought about his relationship with Han Ze, which had been complicated from the start. “At first, he was hostile to me, and now I’ve gotten competitive too. I don’t want to lose to him.”

Gu Jie didn’t understand. “Then why did he visit your set?”

Ran Lin explained, “For publicity. His TV series airs in June, so he’s warming it up.”

Gu Jie frowned. “Isn’t that tiring?”

It was only an hour-long visit, not physically exhausting, but Ran Lin knew Gu Jie was referring to the mental fatigue of constantly scheming for publicity. Of course, it’s tiring.

But for Han Ze, who had been struggling for the past two years and was eager to make a comeback with <Chronicles of Winter>, a little scheming was nothing.

Ran Lin shared these thoughts with Gu Jie, and they didn’t dwell much on the subject afterward, moving on to talk about <Dyeing Fire>.

……

<Dyeing Fire> was scheduled to shoot over four months, starting on April 3^rd and wrapping up on July 30^th.

The original actress for the supporting role had to drop out due to the repeatedly delayed shooting schedule, only informing the production in late March. The director, in a panic, tried several other actresses, none of whom fit the role, and had to adjust the shooting schedule hastily, prioritizing the male actors’ scenes.

So, for all of April and the first half of May, Ran Lin was busy shooting scenes with Gu Jie.

With the rapport built from their previous life experience together, the two synced well, and the shooting went smoothly. Before they knew it, it was late May.

May 20^th, a prime time for confessions*.

*Clarity: Chinese Valentine’s Day.

Just after midnight, Lu Yiyao sent a homemade sticker featuring a husky kissing a cat, with shiny text around it crafted by Teacher Lu himself—“One kiss and you’re mine.”

Knowing it was Teacher Lu’s creation because of the little dog paw watermark he loved to include in his own stickers, Ran Lin received it in the morning and replied with a sticker—[Daydreaming.jpg]

Lu Yiyao didn’t respond, obviously busy.

Ran Lin didn’t waste any time, put down his phone and quickly washed up. Then when Liu Wanwan came over and knocked on the door, he quickly followed his assistant downstairs to the set.

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