Author: 反舌鸟 / Mockingbird

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

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Chapter 24

Jiang Yu came across a somewhat unimportant piece of news on his social media feed.

A staff member in charge of casting was urgently seeking a male actor: height, weight, and a sunny, healthy appearance were specified, around twenty-five years old, preferably with some acting experience, and requiring an audition.

In the comments, the director complained that the originally chosen actor had suddenly fallen ill. This role wasn’t minor, and filming was about to start, so anyone who knew someone suitable should recommend them quickly.

Jiang Yu’s heart stirred as he thought of someone. Even though it was late at night, he contacted the person directly, sending a screenshot and the contact number to Lu Zheming. “I think you’d be a good fit. Why not go for the audition?”

Lu Zheming felt hesitant. “Isn’t this a bit too rushed…”

“Just give it a try. It won’t hurt.” Jiang Yu couldn’t help but lecture Lu Zheming. “You need to pave your own way. Having a smaller role has its advantages. It won’t take much time, and you might even become popular.”

Jiang Yu vaguely remembered this role. It was in the last unit of this web series, and there were rumors of some big names making special appearances. Originally, Long Xingyu wouldn’t have gotten to see the full script usually, but Yu Ruoyun had some copies. He finished it and even took a copy home, and Yu Ruoyun hadn’t asked for it back. The script had Yu Ruoyun’s notes, written extensively, and Jiang Yu often flipped through it, nearly memorizing the entire story.

He told Lu Zheming that he had spoken to the casting director, but admitted he wasn’t a big shot, so his influence was minimal. It would still depend on Lu Zheming’s abilities. After the small company finished shooting this snack commercial, there were no other external engagements. If they didn’t find their own resources, they’d be stuck in the practice room waiting for teachers. The company was responsible, but what good did that do? Without a stage, who cared about their singing and dancing?

Lu Zheming stopped resisting. “Thanks. I’ll head over tomorrow.”

Jiang Yu felt relieved, but when he checked the time, he realized he’d only get a few hours of sleep. He thought of Yu Ruoyun again.

Yu Ruoyun had said he’d be back in a few days, meaning the filming was almost over. He’d see Yu Ruoyun soon.

He needed to discuss some things with Yu Ruoyun, like whether they should debunk the rumors that weren’t even really rumors, maybe take a selfie to show they were just friends. Had Yu Ruoyun ever taken a selfie? Probably not. He was always so aloof, but people were used to it, thinking Yu Ruoyun was meant to be above others, giving guidance. Jiang Yu, on the other hand, wasn’t like that. Whenever he lashed out, people would think, “Who does Jiang Yu think he is? Didn’t he start from minor roles too? Hasn’t he acted in enough bad films? Why look down on others?”

The inherent disparity was there from the moment they entered the entertainment industry. How could he not have been jealous?

It was because of this jealousy that when he saw Yu Ruoyun reduced to acting in a web series, the complex feelings drove him to provoke Yu Ruoyun. “You’re washed up, you’re outdated, you’ve lost your commercial value.” Over and over in his mind, he thought, “Why?”

The trophies were still there, taking up a whole row—so many that he didn’t bother counting. Only Jiang Yu knew that Yu Ruoyun deserved every single one.

They had ridden the waves of changing times, transitioning from print media and television to the internet, witnessing the decline of the music industry and the expansion of the film market. Once, being an actor was considered frivolous; now, being an influencer selling clothes could earn millions a month. Surviving such a tumultuous environment, it shouldn’t end this way. But the entertainment industry didn’t provide a minimum income guarantee for geniuses.

Jiang Yu didn’t think he had the right to pity Yu Ruoyun, but he couldn’t help it.

……

Wang Yao finally secured an appointment with Yu Ruoyun.

He wasn’t the kind of reporter who needed to chase news constantly. He could take his time crafting articles. But Yu Ruoyun never had time, always busy. Wang Yao liked writing about celebrities, which his friends found odd. Generally, straight men didn’t chase stars. He always argued, “I’m not chasing stars. They’re my interview subjects.”

“If you like doing interviews, why not be a sports reporter? You like playing basketball. Why interview people covered in makeup all day?”

“You don’t understand.”

“Then ask for me. I like that actress. Is she really dating so-and-so? I heard she’s pregnant!”

“Fuck off!”

Having written many such pieces, celebrities liked his articles. He had a knack for digging out and amplifying details, making them relatable—and his articles were good for saving their reputation. Having interviewed many big stars, it was natural for him to list Yu Ruoyun as a target, but he hadn’t expected it to take so long.

There had been interactions in between, but Yu Ruoyun dodged his sharp questions, leaving Wang Yao feeling like he was punching cotton.

“He doesn’t have much desire to express himself,” a colleague told Wang Yao the day before, sharing their experience. “It’s like he doesn’t need to confide in the outside world and is very smart, knowing which questions are traps. He’s actually cooperative, but it’s just not interesting.”

This didn’t sound like a good interview subject, but Wang Yao had a mission this time. Yu Ruoyun’s new movie was about to be released—a miracle, considering it was shot years ago. The magazine interview was part of the promotion. Yu Ruoyun was cooperative, still filming on set, and suggested Wang Yao come over first to prepare the draft. The hotel room was even booked for him, which he appreciated—not for the money but because it saved him from submitting another reimbursement form.

On-site, Wang Yao found Yu Ruoyun truly impenetrable.

The task was quickly completed. Regarding the movie itself, Yu Ruoyun answered whatever was asked.

“It was filmed in the Northwest. The conditions weren’t particularly bad compared to ten years ago. At least we could find a toilet.”

“Bo Yan is a great actor. We had many interactions. The movie has two storylines, his and mine, that intertwine in the end. In fact, art films aren’t necessarily boring. I think it’s a very interesting story.”

Talking about his role, Yu Ruoyun showed some enthusiasm, but Wang Yao felt frustrated. The movie hadn’t been released yet, and he wasn’t interested in these details.

He wanted to ask about Yu Ruoyun himself, this actor who became famous as a teenager. But finding the right time to ask was difficult.

After he complained to his colleagues later, they were delighted to have predicted it. They told Wang Yao that Jiang Yu was easier to deal with, full of scars from the past. It was easy to trigger his pride, but with a bit of consolation, he’d expose his weaknesses.

“The highlight of my interview with him came at the end. I said I had to leave, couldn’t afford a cab because my hotel was far. He asked where I was staying. I said at the Qilin Hotel. He laughed, saying, ‘Your boss is stingy. The reimbursement standards are low.’ Then he told a story: ‘That hotel used to be full of crew members. During the day, the corridor doors were open, actors walked in for auditions, introducing themselves, quickly leaving. They might walk all day without getting a role. He was underage then, and people asked, ‘Where’s your mom?’ He hadn’t brought a guardian, just his ID, so no one wanted him, telling him to go home. He argued, saying Yu Ruoyun was about his age, so why could he do it and not him? He waited until he got a minor role, then realized he couldn’t waste time like that, reconciled with his family, signed with a company, and seriously prepared for university.’”

“He said he’d seen many with star dreams there, asking, ‘Do I look like Andy Lau?’ Maybe one in a thousand would be seen again, and the chance of becoming famous was even lower, but he did it,” the colleague said. “I remember that article won an award that year. He’s easy to handle, just don’t ask if he’ll go crazy if he doesn’t win an award, and he won’t want to kill you. If you play the pity card, he’ll give you a story.”

Would this work for Yu Ruoyun? Wang Yao decided to try.

He deleted the sharp questions, no longer asking if Yu Ruoyun felt he wasn’t as good as before, why he took on a web series, and rephrased everything to make himself seem like a concerned friend.

“Expectations for love?” Yu Ruoyun finally reacted. “Why ask that? I thought such questions were for girls in their twenties.”

“Men can also look forward to love,” Wang Yao said, feeling like a gossip journalist now. “Besides, everyone’s curious about your love life.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever had expectations,” Yu Ruoyun said.

Wang Yao felt disappointed, expecting another evasive answer with no real content.

“If it’s anticipated, then it’s not love. How can you predict who you’ll fall in love with?” But Yu Ruoyun didn’t stop. “Sometimes you know someone is drawn to your light, but you still love them. You don’t want to show any shortcomings in front of them, and it becomes a habit.”

Wang Yao’s mouth opened slightly. Did he accidentally hear something significant?

“I do look forward to love.” Yu Ruoyun came back to his senses, as if what he said before was someone else’s story. “It will come soon.”

Very soon.

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Kinky Thoughts:

It’s kind of bittersweet how we get to see both sides bit by bit why their relationship in the past was so tumultuous. Jiang Yu with his inferiority complex, which is only exacerbated by Yu Ruoyun’s perfect façade that he maintains because he thinks that’s why Jiang Yu loves him.

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