Author: 反舌鸟 / Mockingbird
Translator: Kinky || https://kinkytranslations.com/
Editor: Eli
Chapter 23
When alone, this house felt a bit too large.
On the bookshelf, behind Jiang Yu’s Lifetime Achievement Award, there was a collection of Yu Ruoyun’s trophies. The Lifetime Achievement Award could only be won once in a lifetime, and Yu Ruoyun hadn’t reached that point yet. Maybe one day he would. But there was another award that could only be won once in a lifetime, which neither of them had any chance of winning anymore.
The Best Newcomer Award.
Yu Ruoyun didn’t get it because he won Best Actor that year. Later, people involved with the committee revealed that they originally wanted to give him the Best Newcomer as well. The judges argued about it for a long time and ultimately decided that giving both awards would be too grand; winning Best Actor was enough. So, Best Newcomer went to another new actor.
The reason Jiang Yu didn’t get the award was somewhat laughable. The film he was in received good reviews, and he played a supporting role, successfully making the shortlist. It was his first film, and though he was just over twenty, he was already a familiar face after acting in many TV dramas; he’d even starred in a few low-budget series. Winning Best Newcomer would have undoubtedly been a great boost for him. Before the award ceremony, Jiang Yu found out he was disqualified. Someone reported that Jiang Yu had acted in a film back in school. After thinking hard, Jiang Yu vaguely remembered such an event. At the time, an unprofessional film crew needed people, and the director, an acquaintance from the directing department, insisted on having him join. He only filmed for four days, and somehow the movie got released with a box office of three thousand yuan. It was mainly for the director’s resume, and Jiang Yu had long forgotten about it. But now that his past was brought up, he was disqualified, with no second chance.
But back then, he wasn’t too upset; he thought it was unimportant. He was young and believed there would be plenty of opportunities ahead.
Now, he wondered if he started acting again, could he win a Best Newcomer Award? Recently, a director even praised his talent. He didn’t fully agree, feeling like he was cheating, but he was still a bit happy.
“Yu Ruoyun,” Jiang Yu called out the homeowner’s name. “Did you figure it out?”
He wasn’t entirely unaware. Maybe Yu Ruoyun had long felt something was off, waiting for him to reveal the answer. Not necessarily guessing his rebirth, but certainly connecting it to Jiang Yu.
Yet even now, Jiang Yu couldn’t be completely honest. Every time he got shortlisted before, he was a favorite, receiving hints from various sources that he might win. He went enthusiastically, only to return empty-handed. But now, thinking back, it didn’t seem like such a torment. It was just an award, after all, and he had one now.
Whenever Jiang Yu saw adults throw kids into the air, the kids were never scared, always grinning, finding it a fun game because they’d always be caught. But adults, when riding a roller coaster, scream when they plummet.
Because adults had experienced falling. Knowing how painful it could be, they learned fear. Like the repeated hopes for an award followed by disappointment or a painstakingly made film receiving no acclaim.
Jiang Yu was terrified, afraid of falling and having nothing left.
After his death, Jiang Yu became a highly esteemed artist, won prestigious awards, and had Yu Ruoyun.
He was willing to continue being a dead man or a counterfeit who looked like Jiang Yu in Yu Ruoyun’s eyes. Because being alive meant facing many challenges and choices, and the living Jiang Yu wasn’t that important to Yu Ruoyun. The roller coaster was soaring skyward, and he didn’t want to fall.
“I miss you too.” Yu Ruoyun wasn’t there, so Jiang Yu felt safe to say it out loud.
The house was empty, with a faint echo.
He slept in Yu Ruoyun’s bed, wore Yu Ruoyun’s pajamas, and occupied Yu Ruoyun’s space, with only Yu Ruoyun himself absent. Yet now, Jiang Yu was somewhat afraid to go find him.
Yu Ruoyun seemed crazy these days, only talking about Jiang Yu, testing his reactions. He wished he could find a baseball bat and knock Yu Ruoyun into amnesia again.
“You don’t follow the script at all,” Jiang Yu said, looking at Yu Ruoyun’s avatar on his phone. “Who loses their memory like this? This is the downside of not acting in dramas. You don’t know the clichés. Can’t you be more obedient? When I say I’m your boyfriend, you should immediately believe it and say, ‘So that’s how it is.’ Then I’ll say, ‘Yes, and you owe me a lot of money. Now you can’t pay me back, so you have to be my servant…’”
He was just talking to himself, pressing the voice button and able to swipe up to cancel. But Yu Ruoyun’s bed was so uncomfortable that he accidentally let go, sending the voice message.
Why did he always make such mistakes with Yu Ruoyun? He was annoyed and wanted to retract it, but Yu Ruoyun was too quick and had already replied.
It was just a few seconds of voice. Yu Ruoyun said, “So that’s how it is.”
Outside, it wasn’t only windy but also raining. It was time to sleep. He had to get up early tomorrow. Jiang Yu turned over, ready to fall into an unknown dream.
He suddenly stopped, frozen, unable to move, staring at the vase on the bedside table.
There was no water in the vase, not even real plants—just a single, not-so-pretty paper rose with water stains. He remembered throwing it into the trash.
After living for over thirty years, acting for more than a decade, being dead for a year, and being reborn once, time kept moving, and everything kept changing. But a rose was still a rose, and a rose only had one meaning.
He had received Yu Ruoyun’s rose.
<<< || Table of Contents || >>>
Kinky Translations 