Author: 反舌鸟 / Mockingbird

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

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Chapter 45

[Three Years Ago]

The celebration banquet set by the crew for today was finally not canceled.

As soon as Yu Ruoyun walked in, someone unexpectedly shot a confetti cannon at him, covering him in confetti. Others tried to smash a cake into his face—fortunately, they didn’t succeed; the clothes he wore weren’t his own.

“Which number is this for you?” someone asked, then added as if just remembering, “Oh, I forgot to complete the sentence—how many Best Actor trophies is this?”

It was a friendly joke from a friend, so Yu Ruoyun couldn’t brush it off. “However many, it’s more than yours.”

The friend feigned hurt. “That’s not saying much—my count is zero.”

He didn’t feel offended, nor did anyone else think Yu Ruoyun was being rude because this friend was a singer.

This film had won both Best Picture and Best Actor along with several minor awards, which certainly called for a celebration. Even if Yu Ruoyun stood still, someone would come over to offer him a drink.

“Today, I was even more nervous than you,” a friend said. “I almost thought it would go to Jiang Yu. I even helped you gather intel, hearing that the judges were deadlocked between you and Jiang Yu, voting back and forth multiple times… Why aren’t you saying anything?”

“Thinking about Jiang Yu,” Yu Ruoyun followed his friend’s words, “He did act quite well in that film.”

“It was just okay.” The friend dismissed it, whether genuinely unimpressed by Jiang Yu or feeling the need to act that way in front of Yu Ruoyun. “Was this his second or third nomination? I just remember last time when he lost to Chen Zhou, and a reporter asked him about it—he told the reporter not to mention it. Wow, I’ve never seen anyone with such a temper.”

Losing to Chen Zhou was, of course, frustrating. Chen Zhou transitioned from idol dramas to movies, and this was only his first film—pure luck. Many others felt the same, thinking Chen Zhou’s win was undeserved. Yu Ruoyun also lost that year but didn’t say much, leaving the spotlight on the obviously dissatisfied Jiang Yu.

Ambitious, full of desire, always unwilling to settle—Jiang Yu once again didn’t win an award today. He was a bit pitiful, sometimes annoying, but also somewhat… endearing.

It was strange. Jiang Yu had already passed thirty, as had Yu Ruoyun. They had known each other for several years, and Yu Ruoyun had often pondered whether they were truly suitable for each other.

The answer was obvious—there could hardly be a less suitable pair. Gay, competitors, what other identities were there? Oh, perhaps Yu Ruoyun was also the thorn in Jiang Yu’s side.

But Yu Ruoyun had no intention of yielding.

Jiang Yu was climbing up, and the effort Yu Ruoyun put in was no less than anyone else’s, perhaps even greater. Newcomers had infinite possibilities, while those at the peak faced countless challengers. Could he just go with the flow? It wasn’t impossible, but Yu Ruoyun doubted Jiang Yu would be content with someone resting on their laurels.

“You’re silent again,” a female actor toasting with him complained. “Not happy?”

“How could I not be happy after winning an award?” Yu Ruoyun said, downing his drink as if nothing had happened.

That year’s Golden Phoenix Awards ceremony was exceptionally held in Beijing, but Yu Ruoyun was still surprised to find Jiang Yu at home. As far as he knew, Jiang Yu had an early flight the next morning. And now it was already past midnight.

“Haven’t slept?” Yu Ruoyun stated the obvious. No one could sleep while cracking sunflower seeds.

Jiang Yu glanced at him, then let Yu Ruoyun turn on the light. “Why don’t you ask what I’m doing?”

Because it was too obvious. Jiang Yu was watching a movie—specifically, the one Yu Ruoyun starred in.

“This website is quite sly,” Jiang Yu laughed. “As soon as you won the award, it became the homepage recommendation. I even bought a membership to watch it.”

Yu Ruoyun took the remote. Jiang Yu asked, “Don’t want to watch?”

“I can recite every line. Watching it again would make me sick,” Yu Ruoyun said. “Let’s change the movie.”

In the recommended list, the next one was Jiang Yu’s nominated film. Jiang Yu still smiled, half-joking, “The Best Actor is here to taunt the loser.”

Despite saying that, Jiang Yu didn’t stop him. As the film’s title appeared, they continued watching.

Some scenes in the film were shot in a rural, mountainous area. When a certain shot appeared, Jiang Yu pointed to someone in the background. “That person isn’t an extra.”

“A local?”

“Yeah. The crew used his house because it was dilapidated,” Jiang Yu said. “I remember him because, as we were leaving, he asked me if I wanted to buy his daughter. She was in her second year of middle school. After the third year, it wouldn’t be compulsory education anymore, and he couldn’t afford to keep her in school.”

The thought was unsettling.

“The world is so vast, and so many people suffer,” Jiang Yu continued. “At least I live a well-off life and can pursue my career. So even if there are small setbacks, I shouldn’t be disappointed, right? Sometimes I feel so undignified.”

Jiang Yu was trying to convince himself.

But Yu Ruoyun didn’t give him affirmation. “Not necessarily. Everyone has their own struggles. It’s not about one being light and another heavy. There’s no way to measure it like that.”

The movie continued to play with the room brightly lit. Jiang Yu was in a foul mood. Even now, he still felt terrible. This film hadn’t been well received by the market and didn’t win over the judges either. Many expressed regret, but regret remained just that.

Why, despite feeling so bad, did hearing Yu Ruoyun speak still make him want to kiss him?

Yu Ruoyun might not know what he was thinking, but Yu Ruoyun provided an answer, a way to vent his emotions. Even if it was just because Yu Ruoyun hadn’t yet seen his darkest thoughts, Jiang Yu felt an unhealthy satisfaction, like breaking a carb fast with a sweet dessert after three months.

Indeed, the world was vast, and many suffered. One should be content and look on the bright side. But even a farmer in the deep mountains might suddenly get funds to keep his daughter in school, while some people slowly fell into a deep pit, unable to call for help.

……

As Yu Ruoyun’s web drama was about to air, he got busier. Jiang Yu, on the other hand, found himself with more free time. His mock exam scores came out poorly, not even ranking well in Beijing. Returning to his hometown to take the exam would be a dead end. Fortunately, Yu Ruoyun didn’t scold him—thankfully, or it would be too strange, like an older generation lecturing Jiang Yu to study hard for a bright future. Just a few days ago, Qi Yiren, who was younger than Jiang Yu, had scolded him similarly. Qi Yiren had said Jiang Yu worked much harder at eighteen than he did. Jiang Yu thought, ‘When I was eighteen, you were still in elementary school. How could you know?’ But whether it was Yu Ruoyun, Qi Yiren, the company’s agent, or his parents far away, they all had the same message: “Go study.”

So Jiang Yu was thrown into an intensive prep class. He tried sneaking in a smartphone, but Yu Ruoyun found it. Yu Ruoyun repeated, “Study well.”

Jiang Yu was still uneasy. He left many selfies and videos, instructing staff to post them regularly and to tailor the captions to current trending topics. Then he worried, what if the show had no trending topics?

“If you buy trending spots,” Jiang Yu told the increasingly impatient assistant, “make sure to buy the top spot around midnight.”

The new assistant didn’t understand. “What?”

“That time slot is cheaper but still ranks high,” Jiang Yu explained.

Then he entered the prep class, leaving the assistant wondering, “Does the rumor seem off? Would Yu Ruoyun really be his sugar daddy?”

He wasn’t sure whether to recommend an eye doctor to the Film Emperor or praise him for finding such a frugal partner.

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