Author: 反舌鸟 / Mockingbird

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

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Chapter 30

That day, they talked a lot, mostly about things Yu Ruoyun had never shared with Jiang Yu before.

For instance, he criticized Jiang Yu’s acting.

“Your acting method is mostly self-taught,” Yu Ruoyun said. “It’s clever, and sometimes it even shines with unexpected brilliance. You’ve watched a lot of movies and have your own understanding of the industry and a good taste in selecting roles. But the flaws are also obvious. Some directors feel it lacks depth, seeing it as clever tricks. Some rough edges are your strengths, but others are sharp points that need smoothing out. Formal education isn’t just about a diploma. Spending more time in school won’t hurt. Don’t rush. This is the time to hone your skills.”

Clearly, he knew that the previous Jiang Yu hadn’t attended many proper classes in school.

Yu Ruoyun not only said this but also practiced it himself. During the peak of his career, Yu Ruoyun took on theater, performing one show after another, even with a high fever. But he gained a lot from it. Well-known theater directors, both domestic and international, praised him highly, and the industry was full of positive reviews. Jiang Yu couldn’t do it. He had been invited before, but he declined without much thought. The long gaps and the unforgiving nature of theater, where a single mistake could ruin a performance, scared him. He was afraid of making mistakes and being laughed at, so he didn’t dare to gamble.

“Take it slow,” Yu Ruoyun said to Jiang Yu. “You’re much younger than me now. You’ll catch up to me eventually.”

It was like a person standing at a high place, calmly waiting without a sense of urgency for his opponent at the foot of the mountain to catch up and surpass him. These were words Yu Ruoyun would never have said to Jiang Yu before, and Jiang Yu knew what his reaction would have been back then.

“I don’t aim to catch up with you now. That’s too childish,” Jiang Yu finally said. “I’ve got new goals.”

“What are they?” Yu Ruoyun asked.

“To make love with you,” Jiang Yu said. “Kiss you, eat ice cream until my teeth hurt. The rest will come naturally. I don’t need to surpass you to live.”

And to call Yu Ruoyun by a different name.

“A’Yun*,” Jiang Yu called him. “I heard your dad call you that. He said, ‘A’Yun, why aren’t you coming?’ So, you can be like this too.”

*Adding a (阿) in front of a name can signify familiarity or affection. It’s commonly used as a term of endearment.

The gentle, rational Yu Ruoyun and the hidden, slightly sharp Yu Ruoyun—he had only just seen them. He kept calling this name until Yu Ruoyun had to stop his chatter with a kiss.

And so they fulfilled their wishes one by one. At the climax, Yu Ruoyun whispered in Jiang Yu’s ear, “Do you still want to be a Film Emperor?”

He asked while still moving, the wave of desire crashing over, leaving Jiang Yu unable to respond, barely able to breathe.

After a while, the room quieted down, filled with the scent of their intimacy. Lying on the bed, Jiang Yu stared at the glaring ceiling light and finally said, “Of course I do.”

No matter how many times he started over, he would still be Jiang Yu. Whatever he pursued, a person could only be themselves, and Yu Ruoyun understood this better than he did, piercing through his façade of disinterest in fame and fortune. He was filled with countless desires—about fame, recognition, and an unfinished list of wishes.

Feeling stifled, Jiang Yu turned over, burying his face in the pillow, hiding his expression. With his voice muffled, he said, “You’re really annoying. Did you have to say it out loud? Talking about acting awards in bed. Aren’t you afraid that I’d go soft?”

“Then I won’t say it again,” Yu Ruoyun said gently.

“Once said, you can’t take it back,” Jiang Yu grumbled. “Now you have to be responsible.”

He didn’t know how Yu Ruoyun could be responsible. It wasn’t like he could go out and buy him an award, like a late-night snack. But somehow, Yu Ruoyun was at fault.

“You can be more honest with me,” Yu Ruoyun said.

It was indeed difficult for Jiang Yu to be completely open with him, but he could try a bit more.

“Because sometimes…” Yu Ruoyun said, “I really don’t know how to coax you.”

Such sentimental words seemed better suited for a spoiled girlfriend. Jiang Yu felt this topic was too embarrassing to continue and raised his voice slightly. “You’re ridiculous. Coax?”

He quickly declared he was tired and about to sleep, urging Yu Ruoyun not to disturb him. Yu Ruoyun had work the next day, which wasn’t easy either. Seeing the late hour, he decided not to continue the conversation. Ironically, it was Jiang Yu who couldn’t fall asleep.

He sat up halfway, looking at Yu Ruoyun’s face. His mind was blank as he just stared at him.

“You don’t need to say anything,” Jiang Yu said. “Just being here is enough.”

……

Surprisingly, “Dark Fire” performed much better at the box office than expected. In the days following its release, ticket sales continued to rise.

Yu Ruoyun finally watched the film. Despite unavoidable plot gaps, the overall effect wasn’t bad. Some even thought it had the potential to win awards, joking that Yu Ruoyun’s trophy collection might grow again.

When Qi Yiren relayed this to him, Yu Ruoyun said, “That’s unnecessary. The cabinet might be too small to hold it.”

He added, “I almost thought about throwing them away.”

Qi Yiren was shocked. “Why would you think that?”

“It just felt meaningless suddenly,” Yu Ruoyun said, not clarifying and leaving Qi Yiren more puzzled. “That period, I wasn’t in a good mood. Even when I wanted to take on roles, I couldn’t find my rhythm, so I took a long break last year. Then I realized, to live, you have to truly live well.”

He had indeed come to this realization. He wasn’t the protagonist of a romantic film; life held other possibilities. Those trophies still held value, even after Jiang Yu’s death. They were earned through time, effort, prolonged self-doubt, and struggle. Jiang Yu’s few years and one accident couldn’t destroy them all. He shouldn’t let his life fall apart. He should at least live with dignity.

“But even with movie offers, they were in the planning stages and would take a long time,” Yu Ruoyun recalled. “Only that web series could start filming quickly.”

He clung to it like a lifeline, even investing his own money. People thought he was crazy to take on such a project. Even though his movies in recent years had mixed reviews and box office performances, they were average at worst, but weren’t flops. Why step down so far? He hadn’t explained to anyone. What was there to say? Jiang Yu was gone, and no one knew who he thought of when he woke up at night, sitting on the edge of the bed.

Qi Yiren could tell that every word from Yu Ruoyun, though not mentioning Jiang Yu, was about Jiang Yu.

She thought she had to do something, for Yu Ruoyun and for Jiang Yu.

So she arranged to meet with Long Xingyu.

Long Xingyu—or rather, Jiang Yu—was handling transfer procedures. His academic record was from his home province, so he could only apply for a random high school in Beijing. He was struggling with the idea of taking the college entrance exam again after so many years when Qi Yiren’s call interrupted, bringing an unexpected touch of humor.

“Go ahead.” Jiang Yu decided to play the rogue. “Why did you call me? If you’re here to persuade me to leave your boss, it’s gonna cost you. Normally, at least fifty million. For you, I’ll give a 20% discount—forty million in cash.”

“Sir, please don’t put your feet on the table,” the waiter serving coffee couldn’t help but remind him.

“Oh.” Jiang Yu reluctantly put his feet down and wiped the table.

Qi Yiren watched him without speaking, making Jiang Yu impatient. “What are you hesitating about?”

“What do you think of Mr. Yu?” Qi Yiren asked.

The question seemed out of nowhere. Long Xingyu chose a conservative answer. “He’s an award-winning actor, a big star, and he’s good to me.”

Qi Yiren sighed, clearly disappointed. Jiang Yu thought he was about to be called shallow and superficial. Whatever, he thought, and took another sip of coffee. The beans were quite good.

“You know too little about him,” Qi Yiren said. “I called you because I suspect Mr. Yu is sick.”

Jiang Yu put his coffee down, thinking it was good he hadn’t swallowed, or it would’ve been embarrassing.

“What illness?” Jiang Yu forced himself to continue the conversation.

“Erotomania,” Qi Yiren said.

“What’s that?” Jiang Yu frowned. He knew Qi Yiren would misunderstand, but this was completely unexpected.

“It means he fantasizes that he and Jiang Yu were lovers,” Qi Yiren explained. “Lately, he’s been acting like he’s fully immersed in the role. He even told me about Jiang Yu yesterday. And now he’s found a fake substitute like you.”

“Qi Yiren,” Jiang Yu gritted his teeth, “watch your words. I’m not a fake substitute. Also, didn’t you talk to him about Jiang Yu before? Now you’re saying it’s his delusion?”

“I realized something was wrong after asking,” Qi Yiren said earnestly. “If Jiang Yu was really his lover, why did he laugh when he heard it? Losing a lover and finding a similar person as a substitute—isn’t that sad? But he laughed so happily.”

‘That’s because you’re hilarious,’ Jiang Yu thought. ‘Here I am, wrongly accused as a fake substitute.’ Of course, he laughed.

“Besides, I used to be Jiang Yu’s assistant,” Qi Yiren added. “Jiang Yu cursed him every day. How could they be…”

“Stop talking,” Jiang Yu said, holding his head.‘This plot is worse than being a substitute,’ Jiang Yu thought. ‘Now Yu Ruoyun is labeled as a lunatic, and he’s really losing out.’

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