Author: 反舌鸟 / Mockingbird

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

---

Chapter 22

Yu Ruoyun received a call from Long Xingyu.

“Is it too late to call you now?” Long Xingyu asked. “But I thought you might be having dinner earlier, and before that, I figured you were probably filming on set, so it never seemed like a good time. If I don’t call now, you’ll be going to bed soon.”

“I’m not asleep yet,” Yu Ruoyun replied.

“I went into your house,” Long Xingyu said. “It doesn’t look great.”

“Some people say that,” Yu Ruoyun responded, “but it doesn’t stop them from living there.”

Long Xingyu asked directly, “Why is Jiang Yu’s trophy at your place?”

“The Lifetime Achievement Award?” Yu Ruoyun asked. “His mother gave it to me.”

“What?!” Long Xingyu was genuinely surprised and wanted to ask more but couldn’t find the words.

“I exchanged it for the inheritance he left me. A large sum of money.”

“……”

Yu Ruoyun added, “Just kidding. His mother gave it to me, saying she felt it was more fitting for me to keep it as a memento.”

“I think she might have guessed the relationship between Jiang Yu and me. But being an elderly lady, she didn’t want to break the ice directly. I wonder if Jiang Yu would have been happy if his mother knew while he was still around.”

Long Xingyu was stunned. He hadn’t considered this before. “What are you saying?”

“I didn’t think much about it before. Keeping it secret seemed normal, given how this is not yet widely accepted,” Yu Ruoyun said. “But now that I think about it, it’s really meaningless. I only saw what his home looked like on a variety show. He wouldn’t let me visit, saying there was a high chance of being photographed, like we’d be courting death.”

Unable to afford a house in Beijing, Jiang Yu decided to rent in a neighborhood filled with celebrities. He didn’t think it was that great, but since the stars lived there, he had to live there too, even though paparazzi were always staking out with high-definition cameras outside.

“Are you sitting on the sofa now?” Yu Ruoyun asked.

“Yeah.” Long Xingyu thought it was a pointless question. Otherwise, where would he sit? On the floor?

“Is it the right side?” Yu Ruoyun continued, “He liked to sit on the right side.”

Long Xingyu looked and realized he was indeed sitting on the right side. “No, I’m sitting on the left.”

“The last time he was in this house, he sat on my right, and we were watching TV,” Yu Ruoyun said. “He was watching and suddenly told me, ‘Don’t you think being an actor is an exceptionally easy and cheap job?’”

That’s exactly what Jiang Yu said. If he recalled, he could remember everything they talked about that day.

“It’s too easy,” Jiang Yu wrapped himself in a big blanket, thought for a moment, then shared half with Yu Ruoyun, draping it over Yu Ruoyun’s legs. “Look at these people. Whether they can sing, whether they can dance, whether they can keep up with the beat, you can see at a glance. But acting is different. The audience might not have the ability to appreciate it, and the actors might not even know themselves. Crying when sad, laughing when happy—that’s supposed to be qualified acting. So now any kind of people want to act.”

He was just chatting casually, never expecting Yu Ruoyun to remember.

“Recently, I met his mother because of the awards ceremony and talked about his past,” Yu Ruoyun said, sounding like he was closing a window, with the wind whistling in. “She said that when Jiang Yu was young, there was a period when they had a huge falling out because he broke free from her control, and she was unwilling to accept it. Once Jiang Yu told her, ‘You’ve taken me to so many places. You think I don’t know how those teachers evaluated me? My vocal range isn’t wide enough, my sense of pitch isn’t good enough, my flexibility is lacking, I’ve practiced instruments, and it’s just not good enough. No matter how hard I try, I can’t be the best. But acting is different. Anyone can act. No one can dictate who the final winner is. This is my own path. You have no right to choose it for me.’”

Long Xingyu was almost furious. This was years ago. What was wrong with his mother, telling Yu Ruoyun everything. “Maybe he said that just to convince his parents. Acting isn’t that easy to win at either.”

“Is that so?” Yu Ruoyun asked softly. “Maybe you’re right. But that day, I went back and remembered the last time we sat on that sofa watching TV. On TV was a boy band whose name I don’t remember. He told me that anyone could act, and I thought he was talking about the people on TV.”

“I wondered if, that night, he was actually talking about himself.”

Long Xingyu found it absurd. This absurdity even made his heart tighten. “He’s been dead for a year, and you’re still obsessing over something he said. Aren’t you too bored?”

His voice was loud, echoing in the living room. He felt guilty. Yes, it had been a year since he died. A year after his death, Long Xingyu realized Yu Ruoyun understood Jiang Yu far better than he ever imagined. He knew the vulnerability behind Jiang Yu’s strength, why Jiang Yu was attracted to Yu Ruoyun, and why he was tormented by Yu Ruoyun. Those things and that person, he longed for while also feeling unworthy of them.

Yu Ruoyun knew what kind of person Jiang Yu was, so why did he still remember him so fondly?

Long Xingyu, or rather Jiang Yu, couldn’t understand.

Yu Ruoyun stopped talking. “Keep staying there. I’ll come back in a few days.”

The call ended. Jiang Yu sat on the right side of the sofa. The TV opposite was switched off, reflecting his face.

Even though he had a younger face and a healthier body, even though he had once tried, he still couldn’t become someone else.

……

Yu Ruoyun’s filming today was somewhat difficult.

He and the director rarely had a disagreement. Today’s scene involved the protagonist’s long-time girlfriend being killed by the villain, and when the protagonist returns, it’s too late. He holds her body and breaks down in tears.

Yu Ruoyun suggested, “I think maybe we could handle it differently.”

Yu Ruoyun felt that the scene didn’t need tears. For the protagonist, he indeed had an emotional breakdown, but tears weren’t necessary to express it. Silence could also convey despair, and Yu Ruoyun had the capability to express it.

The director said, “I understand what you mean, but the audience might not. They’ll just think, ‘The protagonist’s woman just died. Why isn’t he reacting?’”

They compromised in the end. The character didn’t hold his girlfriend and say he’d avenge her—he didn’t say a word—but tears mixed with the artificial rain. The close-up was enough to clearly show the protagonist’s pain.

On the way back, when he received Long Xingyu’s call, Yu Ruoyun had been thinking about Jiang Yu.

In the long year, he hadn’t shed a single tear for Jiang Yu’s death. The director said the audience wouldn’t understand not crying when one’s loved one died, and he thought about this.

But he wasn’t qualified.

---

The author has something to say:

It might be hard to believe, but things are about to get sweet…

---

<<< || Table of Contents || >>>