Author: 反舌鸟 / Mockingbird
Translator: Kinky || https://kinkytranslations.com/
Editor: Eli
Chapter 40
Jiang Yu waited for a long time but didn’t receive a return call from Yu Ruoyun. Instead, he got another call.
It was from his legal mother, who had watched his variety show. She was surprised he was collaborating with Yu Ruoyun and had a drama about to air, saying this was much more reliable than being in a boy band. She finally asked him to bring back an autograph, as it was almost the Spring Festival.
“You’ll come back for the Spring Festival, right?” she asked cautiously. She hadn’t seen her son in several years.
Jiang Yu didn’t know how to answer. He had acted for so long but wasn’t sure if he could play this role well. He stammered, “That depends on the company’s schedule. I might not get time off.”
After hanging up, even his heartbeat seemed to quicken. It was such a difficult issue to face. In ancient times, his despicable act of taking over someone’s life would have warranted an exorcism. But he couldn’t commit suicide. He had too many attachments in the world. If he left again, he knew some people wouldn’t be able to bear it.
But another person came to mind—someone he hadn’t contacted in a long time. When his memory surfaced, Jiang Yu realized he had never forgotten them.
“Hello, who is this?” The voice was so familiar—it was Jiang Fangping.
But Jiang Yu didn’t know what to say. Why had he called?
“My name is Long Xingyu,” Jiang Yu had to say.
“Oh.” Jiang Fangping wasn’t surprised. “Ruoyun mentioned you.”
Damn, having just a two-syllable name is great. They had only known each other for a little over a year, and she was already calling him Ruoyun. Jiang Fangping used to always call him Jiang Yu*.
*Clarity: Just calling someone by their first name usually signifies a really close relationship, as it’s often extremely rude otherwise.
But Jiang Fangping asked him, “Why are you calling? How do you know my number?”
“Uh…” Jiang Yu said, “Just consider this a greeting.”
Jiang Fangping was even more confused. “Greeting about what? I think you’ve got the wrong person. I’m not Yu Ruoyun’s mom. Did he save the wrong number? Or did I get it wrong? Aren’t you Yu Ruoyun’s new lover?”
“…” Jiang Yu said, “Fine. Just consider this a provocation.”
“??? Are you insane?” Jiang Fangping was on the verge of cursing him out.
This conversation was going nowhere. Jiang Yu said, “What if I say, from now on, just consider me your son? Would you want to hit me?”
“Yes,” Jiang Fangping said, “So you better not say that. I don’t have any other sons, and I plan to spend all my money. Go scam Yu Ruoyun for his.”
“I’m not here to scam you,” Jiang Yu said, feeling unconvincing. “I care about lonely elderly people. Didn’t you like singing and dancing? I’m much better at it than your son.”
It really sounded like a provocation.
Jiang Fangping couldn’t take it anymore and scolded him. She ended with, “The Lord will punish you, you homosexual.”
Jiang Yu said, “Your son is also gay.”
“He didn’t say so, so he isn’t,” Jiang Fangping retorted, sounding righteous.
“He really is.” Jiang Yu inexplicably persisted. “How can you accept Yu Ruoyun but not admit the truth? Jiang Yu only likes men…”
The call was disconnected.
Jiang Yu thought, after all these years, it was still difficult to communicate with his mother. But Yu Ruoyun was right; Jiang Fangping still had plenty of energy. There was background noise of an aunt urging her to go to rehearsal.
Since Yu Ruoyun and Jiang Fangping were still in contact, he still had chances to visit in the future—er, to provoke her. Was Jiang Fangping still living in that old two-bedroom apartment? If he went back and she didn’t let him stay in Jiang Yu’s room, he’d have to sleep on the couch.
Walking into Jiang Yu’s room, he would see a poster of Yu Ruoyun on the door facing the bed. It was from Yu Ruoyun’s first movie, which won an award. It was somewhat artsy but understandable for the average person. At least at that time, Jiang Yu felt he understood it. Yu Ruoyun’s profile faced the camera, seemingly glancing indifferently. What could catch his attention?
Yu Ruoyun finally called him back.
Yu Ruoyun didn’t ask what was up, and Jiang Yu didn’t have anything urgent. He just wanted to talk to Yu Ruoyun.
“They don’t allow phones in the meeting,” Yu Ruoyun explained.
“Okay,” Jiang Yu listened, not saying much more.
He wasn’t good at expressing himself. Explaining how anxious he had been and all the scenarios he had imagined felt impossible.
“I’ll inform you next time,” Yu Ruoyun said.
“It makes me seem like I’m checking up on you,” Jiang Yu said. “Aren’t you annoyed?”
Yu Ruoyun sighed. “It is annoying. There’s a lot going on. I’m arguing with someone.”
This genuinely piqued Jiang Yu’s curiosity. “About what?”
Yu Ruoyun brushed him off. “I’ll tell you later.”
Jiang Yu agreed and started talking about mundane things. For instance, their new EP was the top seller, he got the highest score on his art exam, and today’s performance was a mix of acts. When he looked into the audience, he saw many sign boards with their group’s names, and fans were shouting their names.
“I used to look down on being an idol,” Jiang Yu said. “You know, I’ve criticized it before.”
“And now?” Yu Ruoyun asked.
“Now I still don’t have much respect for it. The path is tough. These years, everything is hard. China’s environment is complicated. Foreign cultural models can’t be copied here. Even South Korea’s mature system has problems. China’s system is chaotic, with immature bosses, markets, and artists who don’t plan their careers and can’t. Some succeed, but more are eliminated, or they succeed and then get eliminated again. The most mature ones are the fans, organizing support, fundraising, and defending their idols. It’s all meaningless—creating multiple accounts to boost posts, chasing idols, enjoying fleeting popularity on stage.” Jiang Yu was a thinker, constantly pondering his direction amid the daily hustle.
“But when I went to take the art exam recently, it was cold. Standing outside, waiting to enter, I remembered doing the same over ten years ago, knowing nothing about the future, just moving forward.”
Over a decade ago, the entertainment industry was even less mature, feeling its way through. Movies with box office earnings exceeding a billion yuan were rare, and actors’ pay wasn’t very high. Many actors turned to singing and releasing albums as another way to participate in various mixed concerts, where they could earn money by singing a few songs. Why not take advantage of such opportunities?
“The last time, over a decade ago, when I took the art exam, I barely passed. The examiners didn’t say I was bad, but they didn’t praise me for my talent either. They kept saying that the top scorer had great potential and might surpass Yu Ruoyun. I stood there, thinking, ‘One day, I’ll prove you all wrong.’ Later, I was stumbling around, feeling it was all meaningless and a waste of life. When I wanted to act, I had to lower my pay. I took roles that paid only a few thousand yuan per episode. To get on magazine covers, I had to flatter the editors and brands, drinking and socializing with them. And when I wanted to pursue you… I actually succeeded,” Jiang Yu said. “So maybe it isn’t meaningless. It just takes a few more years to see where the path leads.”
The world was always changing rapidly, and even performances were no longer so sacred—stages were everywhere. On short video apps, there were content creators posting brief dramas every day, crudely arranged plots that millions of people watched. Just like a few years ago, when Jiang Yu first opened his Weibo account, he never imagined that this seemingly ordinary social network would evolve into what it was today, where trending topics cost so much to buy and even more to remove.
The elevator reached the floor, and Jiang Yu walked out, took out his key, and opened the door. The layout of the old house was all too familiar, as were the sounds that greeted him.
Yu Ruoyun said, “You’ve succeeded since a long time ago.”
In the silence, Jiang Yu suddenly remembered the poster on the door.
In that movie, the male and female leads ultimately chose to leave, escaping the place that bound them. On the motorcycle, wearing helmets, they rode against the wind.
The female lead said, “Are we just abandoning the world?”
“The world?” Yu Ruoyun’s character responded. “What world? We are the world.”
The author has something to say:
The lines were adapted from Patrick Tam’s movie “Nomad”.
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