Author: 反舌鸟 / Mockingbird
Translator: Kinky || https://kinkytranslations.com/
Editor: Eli
Chapter 38
This year, the Golden Key Awards adjusted their schedule and were held a few days earlier.
Jiang Yu, who wasn’t eligible to attend, was preparing to watch the live stream when he received a message from Qi Yiren, saying she had secured him a ticket.
“No,” Jiang Yu refused without hesitation. “I haven’t even filmed a movie. I’d just embarrass myself if I went.”
But as he said this, Jiang Yu felt something was off. He was giving the award too much credit, as if he wasn’t worthy of it. He added, “There’s no point in going. It’s just a red carpet spot. Even a dog from Futuo can go.”
Futuo was a well-known film and television company in the industry, always keen to insert its connections, which Jiang Yu always disdained. His insult had slipped out unintentionally
Qi Yiren was taken aback by his words, saying, “How can a newcomer like you speak so carelessly?”
Jiang Yu didn’t mind. After all, Qi Yiren wouldn’t spread this around. At most, she’d complain to Yu Ruoyun. He wasn’t afraid. Yu Ruoyun was used to his attitude.
“But it’s not just minor celebrities there. My boss will be there too,” Qi Yiren reminded him.
“Do you think I don’t know?” Jiang Yu retorted. “That’s all the more reason not to go. Why would I want to watch him win Best Supporting Actor? I won’t go.”
Qi Yiren felt that Long Xingyu’s attitude towards his sponsor was too ungrateful. He was simply spoiled and arrogant. She hung up in anger. But not long after, Long Xingyu sent her another message.
“I noticed your studio doesn’t publish his schedule. It’s really inconvenient. Can you send me his itinerary?”
Qi Yiren thought, ‘What kind of person is this? Checking up on him?’
She replied coldly, “No.”
“Let me ask you a question, do you prefer your former boss Jiang Yu or your current boss Yu Ruoyun?”
“None of your business.” Qi Yiren was a bit annoyed.
“Come on, tell me. I won’t tattle to Yu Ruoyun.”
Qi Yiren found Long Xingyu annoying but decided to provoke him, letting him know he couldn’t compare to Jiang Yu. “Jiang Yu.”
“Why?”
But as Qi Yiren typed her reply, she hesitated. What advantage did Jiang Yu have over Yu Ruoyun? It seemed nothing was particularly convincing. So she said, “Jiang Yu gave more money.”
“…That’s a pretty straightforward reason.” Jiang Yu believed it himself.
The picky Jiang Yu was indeed generous with money. No matter how much he annoyed his team, they always held back their complaints when they saw the money. In comparison, Yu Ruoyun was perfectly normal, never mistreating his employees or throwing money around like Jiang Yu. Just like his relationships in the industry, Yu Ruoyun was neutral and uncontroversial, with only Jiang Yu, the psychopath, crossing the safety line.
Not getting the schedule was fine. Jiang Yu didn’t care much, but Yu Ruoyun’s fans were lazy, making it hard to find information on his own.
For instance, Yu Ruoyun recently appeared on a state media reading program. Jiang Yu found it boring and too formal to have celebrities read classic literary excerpts on screen. Would fans actually read because of it? Thinking this, Jiang Yu still opened Yu Ruoyun’s video.
Yu Ruoyun was reading classical Chinese. Though not extremely difficult, it required more focus than modern language. Yu Ruoyun read slowly, as he always did when reading scripts to Jiang Yu, with perfect diction and a magnetic voice, slipping into character instantly, different from his everyday speech. Jiang Yu had learned proper vocal techniques but always felt slightly inferior to Yu Ruoyun.
“Read me a book next time,” Jiang Yu said to Yu Ruoyun. “I have trouble sleeping and need a bedtime story.”
But now Yu Ruoyun would call him out. “You sleep just fine, never waking up.”
Jiang Yu felt something was off. Yu Ruoyun had tried to wake him before, but he hadn’t noticed. He decided not to ask, leaving room for imagination, lest Yu Ruoyun only wanted to ask where he had kicked his slippers.
“You should ask what book I want you to read,” Jiang Yu said.
“You should just say it,” Yu Ruoyun replied. “If you say it, I’ll do it.”
So Jiang Yu wrote down a book title. Yu Ruoyun said he hadn’t read it and would buy it later. Jiang Yu eventually forgot about it. One night before bed, Yu Ruoyun suddenly said, “I’m almost finished with that book.”
“Oh.” Jiang Yu yawned. “Never mind, I think your voice sounds better in bed.”
Yu Ruoyun nearly laughed in exasperation. “Same to you.”
But he still brought the book and started reading. He didn’t know which part Jiang Yu liked, relying on his own intuition.
“Because I’m like you. Because I’m as lonely as you, unable to love life, unable to love others, unable to love myself.” Yu Ruoyun read with the gentle tone of a bedtime story.
Jiang Yu thought, so Yu Ruoyun liked that line. He had never considered it before. He used to think he and Yu Ruoyun had nothing in common.
Maybe Yu Ruoyun was indeed very lonely. He just didn’t show it like Jiang Yu, exposing everything to others. Because he never said anything, he seemed like the most stable—a reliable cornerstone. If not for the accident, even Jiang Yu would never have discovered the different side of Yu Ruoyun.
Thinking of this, Jiang Yu felt like an idiot. Selfish and arrogant, driven by his personality, he might have hurt Yu Ruoyun more than once.
But Yu Ruoyun leaned in, interrupting Jiang Yu’s thoughts. Yu Ruoyun said, “Now it’s my turn to hear your other voice.”
Jiang Yu sank with Yu Ruoyun into an endless deep sea, where a tsunami engulfed him, and he let go of everything.
Yu Ruoyun kissed him from behind. Jiang Yu used to dislike this position because he couldn’t see the other’s face, leaving all control to the other person. But Yu Ruoyun seemed to like it more and more, as leaning down from behind allowed their skin to touch with no distance. So Jiang Yu turned his head to kiss Yu Ruoyun. It seemed to be raining heavily outside. A whole summer had passed, this season with its high temperatures and rainfall. Droughts and floods continued, but for the selfish Jiang Yu, natural disasters became meaningless as he found light and salt in the world.
Without a ticket, Jiang Yu set an alarm to watch the entire film award ceremony.
To his satisfaction, Bo Yan didn’t win Best Actor. Yu Ruoyun’s choice was indeed wise. This year’s Best Actor competition was fierce, and Yu Ruoyun avoided the battle. Thinking this, it made sense why Yu Ruoyun had such a high nomination and selection rate, as he strategized every step like a chess game. And before the Best Actor award, Yu Ruoyun won Best Supporting Actor. Watching him go on stage to accept the award, Jiang Yu suddenly felt a bit regretful. Refusing to attend might not have been the right choice.
On stage, Yu Ruoyun was joking about insuring the trophy, saying it was too precious, making the audience laugh and applaud. Everyone would gradually fade from the public eye. No one could stay at the peak forever. But Yu Ruoyun would undoubtedly earn lasting respect.
Jiang Yu realized this long ago. He often wondered when he could reach such a level himself—something more challenging than winning any award. He had also wondered if Yu Ruoyun would ever have a downfall, like a scandal that would shock everyone. But the closer he got, the more he knew it was impossible.
Now he still wanted to be that kind of person. Fortunately, Yu Ruoyun wasn’t wrong. The age gap between them, which once seemed like a barrier, had become a ladder for Jiang Yu to climb slowly. He could take his time, knowing that one day he would succeed, as the world had proven that even rebirth was possible.
And this time, he wouldn’t think he had to reach the same level to earn equal love.
Yu Ruoyun held his hand, correcting this wrong answer stroke by stroke.
The author has something to say:
Because I am like you. Because I am as lonely as you, unable to love life, unable to love others, unable to love myself.
— Hermann Hesse, “Steppenwolf“
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