Author: 颜凉雨 / Yan Liang Yu

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

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Chapter 90

Ran Lin had anticipated a busy New Year’s Eve but didn’t expect it to be sadly spent at the airport due to a flight delay. The whole main team of <Chronicles of Winter> was stuck there, needing to rush back to Beijing as the movie was premiering the next day.

Most staff were waiting in the terminal, while he and a few main actors were arranged to wait in the VIP lounge. The exhaustion from the roadshow and the frustration of the flight delay dispelled the scarce festive spirit, leaving everyone in the lounge catching up on sleep in different corners, except for Jiang Yi sweetly talking to her boyfriend.

Ran Lin checked the time; it was 11 p.m.

The VIP lounge on New Year’s Eve was deserted, except for them. Ran Lin chose a single sofa in a corner by the window farthest from everyone. The runway outside the window looked no different from any other day, showing no sign that in an hour, it would be the new year.

Ran Lin pulled out his phone and dialed his mother’s number.

After a while, she picked up, her voice robust amidst the lively background of the Spring Festival Gala. “Hello—”

Ran Lin’s lips curved into a gentle smile. “Haven’t gone to bed yet?”

The other end shouted back, “What—”

Ran Lin’s tender sentiment shattered, and he had to raise his voice, devoid of any tenderness. “Haven’t gone to bed?”

“We just finished eating.” His mother finally turned down the TV volume a bit. “About to sleep.”

As they aged, his parents no longer insisted on staying up late for the New Year, as it took a toll on their health. Even when Ran Lin was home, the family would enjoy themselves and usually retire around 10 or 11 p.m., waking up the next day for New Year greetings.

“Where are you?” Lu Qing initially didn’t notice anything unusual, but after turning down her TV, she caught the sound of public announcements in her son’s background.

“At the airport,” Ran Lin said truthfully. “The flight’s delayed.”

Lu Qing sympathized, “So you’re spending the New Year at the airport?”

Ran Lin sighed softly. “Yeah, your son’s quite pitiful.”

Lu Qing: “Your dad and I have to get up at four every day to steam buns. Making money is never easy.”

“…” Is this my mother or the agency!

“Come on, cheer up.” Lu Qing raised her voice in the way she would greet neighbors in her shop, uplifting and energetic. “It’s the New Year; it should be cheerful!”

“Okay.” Ran Lin couldn’t help but smile, utterly helpless against his mother.

“By the way, son, I’ve bought the movie tickets. Three groups in total; tomorrow morning, I’m taking your uncles and aunties, in the afternoon your other uncles and aunties, and then tomorrow it’s Auntie He, Auntie Zhou, Auntie Sun, Auntie Li…”

“Do we need all these aunts?” Ran Lin felt it was understandable for his family to support him, but doubted these friends of his mother would enjoy being so obligatorily “showed off”.

Lu Qing: “I just casually mentioned it, but these aunts insisted on going. Your Auntie Zhou even said she’s always known you’d be successful…”

Ran Lin doubted the casualness of his mother’s mentions.

Also, he decided it might be best to avoid visiting these family friends next time he’s home. Being “the neighbor’s child” comes with its own set of challenges.

Despite his internal complaints, hearing his mother’s proud chatter warmed Ran Lin’s heart.

Being the source of pride for your parents is the highest honor.

“Mom…” Ran Lin called out softly.

“Hmm?” Lu Qing paused.

Ran Lin didn’t know what he wanted to say. He just felt like calling out. After a while, he blurted out, “You’re not leading all three groups, are you?”

“Of course, I am.” His mother didn’t miss a beat. “It’s been years since I’ve been to a movie. I barely figured out the cinema’s door when buying tickets; they’d be lost without me.”

Ran Lin: “So you’re watching it three times?”

“This is my son’s movie!” Lu Qing exclaimed. “I’d find it great even if I watched it three hundred times!”

Ran Lin: “……”

It felt more like his mother was trying to one-up his imagined fans rather than praising him.

“Are you done yet…” came his father’s voice from the phone, clearly out of patience.

“Okay, okay, here you go.” Lu Qing passed the phone with apparent disdain.

Ran Lin chuckled. “Dad…”

Ran Yimin: “Mm…”

Ran Lin: “……”

Ran Yimin: “……”

Ran Lin: “Don’t drink too much for the New Year.”

Ran Yimin: “I know, your mom’s been nagging all day.”

Ran Lin: “……”

Ran Yimin: “……”

Lu Qing: “Are you going to talk, or should I take the phone back—”

Finally, with reluctance, Ran Lin thought as the call ended, his parents probably lasted together because they complemented each other in their talkativeness, or lack thereof.

Jiang Yi was still chatting on the phone.

Ran Lin looked at her from afar, his mind on his own lover.

Lu Yiyao was spending the day at his father’s place. Although Lu Yiyao always said their interactions were nothing but awkward, it was hard for Ran Lin to imagine a stoic Lu Yiyao.

Ran Lin snapped a picture of the empty VIP lounge and sent it to his lover with a crying emoji.

……

Lu Guoming, alone, had finished the entire fish down to the bones.

Lu Yiyao thought if his father weren’t afraid of getting another bone stuck, he might have eaten those too.

He was anxious the whole time, not wanting to trouble Dr. Meng again. Fortunately, his father didn’t repeat the mistake, allowing the departed Dr. Meng to have a peaceful New Year.

However, after such a fuss, there wasn’t a good opportunity to bring up his career change. Even his mother would immediately express skepticism about why he wouldn’t help with the family business if he wanted to go into commerce, let alone his father, who would be even more questioning. Considering the rare harmonious atmosphere, Lu Yiyao didn’t want to spoil it.

As Dr. Meng left, he advised getting plenty of rest, so after their interrupted meal, Lu Yiyao looked at the time and saw it was getting late. Together with the auntie, they hurried his father back to his room for rest.

His father reluctantly went upstairs with a frown and a dark face, probably realizing he wasn’t as sprightly as he once was.

Before entering his room, however, he turned back to look down into the living room from the second-floor railing.

Lu Yiyao, who was seeing his father off, naturally noticed and looked up, “Hm?”

Lu Guoming’s face flickered with discomfort, but he still sternly spoke. “If you’re short on funds, just say so. Don’t get tangled in messy investments. Treat the first project as practice; don’t worry about losses.”

After saying his piece without waiting for his son’s response, he turned and went into his room, leaving Lu Yiyao alone in the living room, stunned.

The auntie, with a smile, began picking up dishes and didn’t disturb Lu Yiyao as he “processed the spirit of the words.”

Once everything was tidied, and seeing Lu Yiyao still standing there dazed, the auntie suggested, “You should sleep early too.”

Lu Yiyao finally snapped out of it, slightly embarrassed as he saw the auntie holding back a laugh. “It’s okay. I’m not sleepy yet. You go ahead and rest.”

After the auntie went back to her room, the villa returned to quiet.

Lu Yiyao turned off the main lights, leaving only the soft glow of a nightlight on. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the yard was adorned with big red lanterns. The red of the lanterns and the blue of the nightlight interwove into a dreamlike array of lights and shadows.

Looking up towards his father’s bedroom, Lu Yiyao couldn’t quite define his feelings. There was warmth, solidity, surprise, relief, regret for past naïveté, and lingering resentment over “why did you have to divorce?”

If both had moved on and started new families, that might have been one thing, but after more than a decade post-divorce, neither had remarried. His mother still got irked mentioning his father, and his father still kept their wedding photo, just turned face down in a corner of the room—a perfect analogy for covering one’s ear to steal the bell*.

*(掩耳盗铃) Idiom referring to someone who attempts to deceive others but ends up fooling only themselves. It comes from a story in ancient China where a man wanted to steal a valuable bell but feared that the sound of the bell would alert others. To prevent this, he covered his own ears while stealing the bell, thinking that if he couldn’t hear the sound, no one else would. In this context, it’s like turning a blind eye.

Keeping things bottled up, not laying them out for discussion, this kind of self and mutual torment had the power to devastate—that’s the most painful and profound lesson Lu Yiyao learned from his parents. In matters of love, he’s always used them as an example of what not to do.

Pondering was useless; after all, matters of the heart can only be resolved by those involved.

After a soft sigh, Lu Yiyao shook off the turmoil, looking at the tote bag placed near the entrance—”goodies” he had brought from his sister’s place, intended to share with his lover.

Ding dong.

The crisp notification sound echoed in the quiet living room.

Lu Yiyao couldn’t help but smile as he walked over to the table to pick up his phone, expecting a message from his lover saying “safely home.” Instead, the message revealed he was still at the airport and not even in Beijing.

[Flight delayed?]—As a fellow frequent flyer, Lu Yiyao had ample experience.

Ran Lin —[😭.jpg]

Lu Yiyao—[Can you do a video call?]

Ran Lin—[Sure, just let me plug in my earphones and connect.]

While waiting for the video call invite, Lu Yiyao quickly grabbed his coat from the entryway rack, wrapped up, and picked up the tote bag to head to the open-air courtyard at the back of the house.

Before even reaching the courtyard, the video call invite rang out. Lu Yiyao hurried to the backyard, setting down the tote bag and answering the call.

Ran Lin, seeing his breath fogging in the air, was initially surprised. “You’re outside?” But as he noticed the hurried breath and the rapid fogging, he realized, “A New Year’s Eve… night run?”

“I’m in my own backyard.” Lu Yiyao rolled his eyes, regretting not bringing a selfie stick out, as he could feel the warmth leaving his fingers holding the phone.

“Where’s your dad?” Ran Lin could barely make out anything in the dim light, except for his partner’s face, still managing a hint of handsomeness.

“He’s gone to rest. Staying up late isn’t good for him at his age.” To maintain his father’s dignified image, Lu Yiyao didn’t mention the fish bone chaos to his lover.

“What are you doing in the backyard?” Ran Lin was puzzled.

Lu Yiyao’s breathing gradually steadied as he said softly, “Keeping vigil with you.”

Ran Lin, amused yet touched, replied, “You don’t have to stand outside in the cold for that. You could do it inside.”

Lu Yiyao moved closer to the phone screen, eyes narrowing with pride. “But I can’t set off fireworks inside.”

Ran Lin was taken aback.

Lu Yiyao set his phone down on something about half a meter tall, perhaps a bench or a flower stand, and then pulled out six or seven different types of fireworks from a large tote bag. After a moment of consideration, he chose a cylindrical one and placed it in the middle of the yard, quickly producing a lighter as if by magic.

“Don’t blink…”

Lu Yiyao said from a distance and then swiftly lit the fuse with the lighter.

Ran Lin didn’t blink, so he clearly saw his boyfriend light the firework and then dash back, lifting the phone high, angling the camera up towards the vast sky.

Fizzle, fizzle, fizzle—

Almost as soon as Ran Lin saw the sky, he heard the sound of the fireworks.

His heart thumped in anticipation.

Fizzle, fizzle, fizzle—

The sky remained unchanged.

Fizzle, fizzle, fizzle—

No fireworks burst in the sky.

The silent sky at that moment seemed a bit awkward.

Ran Lin didn’t want to break the mood but, after a while of hearing sounds without seeing the corresponding visual effect, was about to speak when the video suddenly shook. The angle shifted from the sky back to the ground, and in the last few seconds, Ran Lin caught a glimpse of the “Christmas tree”-like firework.

Well, more like a “Christmas sapling”.

Once the fire died and the fizzle faded into the night, Lu Yiyao’s face, with mixed expressions, finally appeared on the video.

Ran Lin asked, “What happened?”

Lu Yiyao frowned, and after a while, not ready to give up, said, “Let me try another one.”

Clearly, he was unsure what had gone wrong.

Ran Lin patiently waited as his partner lit the second firework, this time keeping the camera focused on the ground.

So, the two of them witnessed the entire process of the fireworks—first, the fuse burned, followed by the release of pretty sparks, though not as grand as the previous one. At least the prior had the shape of a small Christmas tree. This one sent sparks flying outwards, its circular base spinning like a top, circling around on the ground with dazzling lights.

It was beautiful and cute.

But it was quite different from the “bursting in the sky, filling the heavens with dazzling lights” that the two young men had envisioned.

“Strange, it didn’t look like this when my sister set them off yesterday…” Lu Yiyao stood baffled in the night air.

“Are you sure your sister set off the same kind?” Ran Lin was now skeptical of his boyfriend’s “romantic skills”. “Point the phone at the rest of the fireworks; let me see the packaging.”

The romantically challenged Lu Yiyao obediently crouched next to the tote bag, directing his phone’s camera at the remaining fireworks for a close-up.

Ran Lin watched as the phone’s camera moved from one firework to the next, revealing their boldly printed names—

Thunder Top, Fairy Tree, Little Duck…

“Okay.” Ran Lin sighed. Though each firework wasn’t small in size, every name resonated with pre-school innocence. “They are all children’s fireworks.”

Lu Yiyao was embarrassed; he hadn’t looked closely when picking them up, assuming they were the same ones Lu Yimeng had already set off…

Ran Lin remembered Lu Yiyao mentioning that the effect was different from what his sister had the day before and guessed, “Did Mengmeng give these to you?”

Lu Yiyao hesitated before admitting, “They’re the leftovers she didn’t use. I just brought them all over.”

Ran Lin: “…Now you understand why she left them.”

Lu Yiyao: “Completely understood.”

Despite the awkwardness, Ran Lin found his boyfriend’s helpless face endearing and sighed with a smile. “Romance that comes naturally tends to come with a twist…”

Lu Yiyao nodded solemnly.

Just when Ran Lin thought his partner had resigned himself to the situation, Lu Yiyao suddenly looked up, mischief sparkling in his eyes. “So, should we continue?”

Without hesitation, Ran Lin replied, “Yes.”

Thus, for the rest of the time, Lu Yiyao’s backyard was surrounded by various modest yet warm and cute little fireworks. The sizzling sounds of their burning were like the most beautiful notes of New Year’s Eve.

As midnight struck, the last “Fairy Tree” was still burning, its sparkles like lush branches lighting up most of the yard.

“Lu Yiyao,” Ran Lin said softly. “Happy New Year.”

The fireworks on the screen soon changed back to his lover’s face. “Happy New Year.”

Ran Lin smiled. “I hope I can spend next Spring Festival with you.”

Lu Yiyao looked at him silently for a while, then said in a deep voice, “Remove ‘hope’ and ‘can’.”

……

The next morning of the first day of the new year, while the streets were still quiet, Lu Yiyao, having paid his New Year’s respects to his father, sneaked out of the house, wrapped up tightly against the cold, and went to a nearby cinema with a lower traffic to secretly watch <Chronicles of Winter>.

Though the cinema wasn’t doing well business-wise, the screen quality was quite good. Combined with the genuine 3D effects and top-notch team behind <Chronicles of Winter>, the movie was thoroughly enjoyable.

Without any romantic bias, objectively speaking, Lu Yiyao would still rate the movie a 7.5 or even an 8. Money was well spent where it should be, not just on piling up special effects for visual bombardment but making the world of <Chronicles of Winter> look realistic and beautiful.

If one was watching for entertainment, the film’s visuals were stunning, the characters enchanting, the storyline smooth, and both the humorous and emotional moments were on point.

If one were looking to dig deeper, the film’s subtle yet persistent themes of “awakening,” “rebellion,” and “freedom” among others, were sufficient for the audience to explore.

After leaving the cinema and sitting in his car before even starting the engine, Lu Yiyao first posted on Weibo—

[My Ran Lin Is the Best in the World: #ChroniclesofWinter 360-degree rotationally recommend Chronicles of Winter! A conscientious work of domestic blockbusters, with exciting plot, exquisite performance, and beautiful special effects, an astonishing viewing experience. If you haven’t seen it, hurry up; if you have, go for a second round! ❤️ ❤️ ❤️]

After triple-checking his post for any flaws, Lu Yiyao clicked send, then contentedly drove home.

Although “My Ran Lin Is the Best in the World” only had about a hundred fans, they were all fervent supporters, so Lu Yiyao was optimistic about the success of his recommendation.

While Lu Yiyao was secretly watching the movie, Ran Lin, who had been stuck at the airport, finally flew back to Beijing. As soon as he landed, he joined the entire creative team for a promotional event at a prestigious cinema—crucial for the first day of the film’s official release.

Perhaps the midnight fireworks had a spiritually uplifting effect, because Ran Lin was in high spirits all day, the promotional activities were a complete success, and in the cinema they were promoting, <Winter of Chronicles> had the highest screening rate, not overwhelmingly so, but still a few percentage points higher than <Mint Green>.

His mother, knowing he was busy all day, didn’t call him, but from noon until night, she sent him several WeChat messages—

“Your auntie said you looked too handsome in the movie!”

“Your uncle was almost scared by the hammer you wielded, as if it could come flying out of the screen.”

“I saw several young girls taking photos with your promotional standee. That’s what it’s called, right? The big one with the movie name and actors’ heads on it.”

“Your uncle left halfway through, couldn’t last, and said the sound was too loud for his heart…”

Ran Lin returned home at 2 a.m., and after listening to his mother’s voice messages, he couldn’t help but laugh, especially at the one about his uncle. He could almost imagine the plight of his uncle tormented by the sound effects, especially the bass. Ironically, his mother, unknowingly keen on contributing to the box office, had bought all IMAX tickets for the extra price, taxing the relatives’ patience and endurance.

After taking a slightly hotter than usual bath, Ran Lin finally relaxed completely, the fatigue of the past two days hitting him all at once.

Yet, after lying in bed, he still picked up his phone to check the box office for <Chronicles of Winter>.

As an actor, performing well in a film, receiving the paycheck, and cooperating with the promotion are considered fulfilling one’s duty. How the box office fares are typically the concern of the financiers. However, in reality, no actor is indifferent to box office numbers because they signify the audience’s recognition of the work, and the work is something they’ve been a part of.

Nowadays, box office numbers are tallied in real-time. A quick search revealed the current standings of all films in theaters—

<Mint Green> has accumulated 146 million.

<Chronicles of Winter> has accumulated 137 million.

<XXX> has accumulated 92.14 million.

<XXXX> has accumulated 73.35 million…

<XXXXX> has accumulated 40.22 million…

The top four rankings were films released on the first day of the new year, meaning they’d only been in theaters for one day and three hours. Besides <Mint Green>, the other three were all 3D films, which meant their tickets were slightly pricier than <Mint Green>. Even if the box office numbers were similar, it suggested that <Mint Green> had more viewers, and its box office was even slightly ahead.

At this point, there weren’t many reviews, and the audience word-of-mouth hadn’t fully developed yet, so box office results were primarily driven by marketing and promotion. However, in terms of promotion, <Chronicles of Winter> wasn’t falling behind, which left the inherent appeal of the IP—the original novel’s appeal of <Mint Green> was far surpassing that of <Chronicles of Winter>.

However, what surprised Ran Lin were the other films’ box office numbers, which were also quite high. Compared to previous years where one or two films dominated New Year’s Day and others were mere fillers, this year seemed evenly matched, leading to a more even distribution of box office returns and no overwhelming single-day champion.

Ran Lin noticed during the day’s promotional activities that the cinema’s scheduling was relatively balanced. Although <Chronicles of Winter> had the highest scheduling rate in the cinema where he promoted, it didn’t completely overshadow the scheduling space for other films.

This sort of balanced scheduling usually indicated that several movies were fairly matched, and cinemas needed time to observe which would stand out before adjusting their scheduling based on box office and word-of-mouth.

Clearly, this was a highly competitive New Year’s slot.

Ran Lin hadn’t had a chance to watch <Mint Green> yet and could only scroll through reviews on movie critique sites.

Comments on movie critique sites and those on Weibo often had different tones. Weibo had fans, detractors, and neutrals, with posts not solely focused on the film itself, while movie critique sites usually had reviews from audiences who had seen the film. While these also had their biases, with some rating blindly one star or five stars, the majority of comments were focused on the film itself, though the latter tend to be more fiercely critical.

<Mint Green> currently had a score of 7.4 on the website, which was quite high for a domestic youth film.

Ran Lin clicked on the short reviews and indeed found them sharp—

[Watched the preview. Better than expected but could be better. Four stars for encouragement.]

[The movie adaptation is okay, engaging, but the most touching and spirited part of the original is gone, a pity.]

[Zhang Beichen’s performance here is eye-catching. Not sure if it’s his own breakthrough or the director’s good guidance.]

[Why do actors in youth films always look so world-weary! Although this movie has improved in this aspect, it’s still not quite there. Youth films should feature 15, 16, 17, 18-year-olds!]

[Our youth was all about five years of mock exams and three years of college entrance exams. The original novel balanced academic pressure and youthful confusion well, but the movie focuses only on the latter. Where do you find all the time? No classes? No homework? No tutoring? No exams? No memorizing classical Chinese texts? Confused for the sake of confusion. Not even worth one star.]

[Haven’t read the original; the story feels a bit bland to me. Not sure if it’s the story itself or the director’s flat handling.]

[No melodrama, but the forced confusion, too many cuts from the original, and character transitions lack groundwork. Three stars.]

[Better suited as a TV series. The movie’s too short to cover everything deeply. Feels rushed.]

[Don’t understand why Li Yan was cut. Although he didn’t have much screen time in the original, he was a delightful character.]

[Only the visuals are somewhat appealing. The confusion of adolescence, the subtle emotions, all lack depth. Two stars for the visuals, one for Zhang Beichen. His acting here shows effort.]

[I’ve always thought <Mint Green> would be difficult to adapt, and after watching the movie, I should have trusted my intuition.]

The comments weren’t terrible, with few outright slating the film, but they weren’t overwhelmingly positive either. At least compared to its 7.4 rating, they seem somewhat mismatched. Positive comments generally focused on visuals and acting, particularly praising Zhang Beichen, while criticisms centered on the plot, and each was reasoned out, indicating a consensus among viewers rather than just nitpicking.

Ran Lin scrolled through many pages to the earliest reviews and saw a slew of five-star ratings, giving him a good idea of where the 7.4 rating came from.

But this is fairly normal; usually, at the start of a film’s release, the promotional team tries to lift the film’s rating slightly—not excessively, as no amount of organized effort can withstand the vast sea of public ratings, but enough to give it a little boost. Then, as the film progresses through its run or after it’s finished showing, the ratings tend to become more objective.

Of course, there are genuinely good films with strong word-of-mouth, where audiences come voluntarily to give full marks and spread the word.

Having nearly scrolled through the entire <Mint Green> page, Ran Lin couldn’t decide whether to search for <Chronicles of Winter>. Viewing critiques of other films was one thing but facing potential criticisms of his own film or even himself felt daunting.

But criticism doesn’t cease to exist just because you avoid looking at it…

Ran Lin rolled around in bed a few times and then, in a secretive manner, typed <Chronicles of Winter> into the search bar and hit enter.

Both the drama and the film version came up.

Ran Lin didn’t click on the drama version but glanced at its rating—5.2.

The film version, however, had a rating of—7.9.

Ran Lin was somewhat surprised to see the rating. Although he suspected there might be some inflated scores, it was still higher than he had expected.

He clicked into the page to open all the short reviews—

[People, stop deceiving me with these fantasy films. No need to watch, straight one star. P.S. Strongly request the setting of zero or negative one star!]

[The original novel was hard to watch; even less interested in the film.]

[Don’t come here to rate if you haven’t watched, okay? I watched the midnight premiere (yes, I was that free on New Year’s Eve), and the visuals were stunningly beautiful. All actors’ performances were on point, especially Ran Lin. I was worried he was too slight for the role, but he absolutely dominated when it counted! So cool!]

[Thought all the good parts were in the trailer, but it was just the tip of the iceberg. This is what I call spending money where it counts. Please, all future domestic special effects films learn from this.]

[Turning a ten-point original into an eight is passable, but turning a five-point original into an eight is impressive. Don’t hit me, original fans, but I really think the script adaptation is good, and the special effects and performances keep up. Rarely do I want to stay for the whole movie in the cinema. Four stars objectively, one more for encouragement.]

[After watching, all I feel is that Ran Lin is too damn handsome!]

[As a book fan, the movie only covers the first third of the original, relieved they didn’t ruin it with changes. All the modifications and original parts are smooth, and characters’ personalities match the book. Wondering if there will be sequels, if so, will support.]

[Without exaggeration, it represents the top level of Chinese film industry, special effects have moved beyond the typical copycat and Western fantasy trend, clearly much effort has been put into creating an Eastern fairyland, full of sincerity. Though the story’s direction and ending are predictable, the necessary fluctuations, twists, climaxes are all perfectly executed, and the humor is smartly crafted—not awkward at all. Ran Lin’s performance is stunning. Whoever decided to cast him should get an extra drumstick.]

[Didn’t plan to watch this, but the timing of other films didn’t work out. Now I’m glad I watched it, a real surprise. Already planning for a second viewing, good movies deserve support!]

[How does Ran Lin manage to look like a delicate shou¹ but fight like a dominant gong², damn the contrast cuteness!]

¹Bottom/uke
²Top/seme

While the overall tone here was different from Weibo, there were still some crossover comments, like the last one, making Ran Lin seem like an angel from Weibo.

Scrolling through, Ran Lin eventually fell asleep, dreaming of returning to the Ninth Heaven to continue as a Xiao Shitou, tormenting the Emperor of the North.

He slept until Liu Wanwan came knocking with breakfast.

Yawning, Ran Lin got up, threw on some clothes, opened the door for his assistant, took the steaming buns and soy milk, then went to the bathroom to wash up.

Although Liu Wanwan seemed more energetic than Ran Lin, she too sported faint dark circles under her eyes, no less busy these past days.

“Where’s Xi Jie?” Ran Lin asked after washing up, opening the soy milk as he spoke.

“She’s sleeping in the car. Told me to come up alone,” Liu Wanwan replied.

Ran Lin nodded, understanding the exhaustion from constantly flying and participating in various promotional events.

Quietly watching Ran Lin eat for a while, Liu Wanwan suddenly said, “Ran Ge, if you feel too tired or unwell, you must tell me. Don’t push yourself.”

Ran Lin was surprised at the assistant’s sudden seriousness, laughing it off. “Don’t worry, I’m young and strong.”

“I’m not joking.” Liu Wanwan became even more serious, a rare sight. “Your health is your capital for the revolution, don’t always think you can handle everything. It’s too late when something really happens.”

Ran Lin noticed something was off, putting down his half-eaten bun to ask earnestly, “What happened?”

Liu Wanwan guessed her boss probably went straight to bed without checking social media the previous day. “Zhang Beichen fainted during the promotion of <Mint Green> yesterday and was unconscious when taken to the hospital, only waking up this morning.”

Ran Lin: “What was the reason?”

Liu Wanwan: “Not sure. Just said it was physical discomfort, but he’s fine now after waking up. I think it must be due to exhaustion, then maybe low blood sugar or something. He’s been as busy promoting <Mint Green> as we are. So I thought, if you feel unwell, you must say it right away. Don’t wait until you suddenly faint. It’s too frightening.”

Ran Lin suddenly remembered that Lu Yiyao had also fainted once a few years back.

It seems sub-health is a common ailment among artists.

“Don’t worry. I’ll report to you as soon as I feel unwell,” Ran Lin assured his assistant.

Liu Wanwan smiled, then after a moment, her smile faded, and she asked softly, “Ran Ge, after you leave Dream Without Limits, can I still follow you?”

Ran Lin was taken aback, as he had never discussed post-contract matters with Liu Wanwan. He asked, “Don’t you want to try other jobs? If you follow me, you might always be an assistant.”

“I don’t know what it’s like for others, but I really like this job and can learn a lot,” Liu Wanwan said, looking earnestly at Ran Lin. “As long as you don’t leave the entertainment industry, I’ll always follow you. And in the future, if you think I’m capable, you could promote me to be an agent assistant or something. An agent is fine too.”

Ran Lin laughed. “You’ve got quite a clear career path planned for yourself. I’ll have to tell Xi Jie about your ambition to seize her job.”

“It was Xi Jie who helped me plan this career path,” Liu Wanwan said, eyes wide. “And even if I seize, it would be seizing the job of your future agent, not Xi Jie’s.”

Ran Lin paused. Something flickered in his mind, catching it in time. “What do you mean by that? Did Xi Jie tell you she’s not going to be my agent anymore?”

Liu Wanwan’s mouth hung open, seemingly not expecting this to still be a secret, a hint of regret in her eyes.

Ran Lin narrowed his eyes, his tone rising slightly. “Comrade Liu Wanwan, whose assistant are you exactly?”

“It’s fine. You would have found out sooner or later, and Xi Jie didn’t tell me to keep it a secret. I thought she had already told you.” Liu Wanwan pouted, revealing the secret. “Xi Jie plans to quit after you part ways with Dream Without Limits, then help you find a reliable agent and go on a long vacation.”

Ran Lin was puzzled. “How long?”

Liu Wanwan: “She said she wants to travel around the world…”

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