Author: 反舌鸟 / Mockingbird
Translator: Kinky || https://kinkytranslations.com/
Editor: Eli
Chapter 46
For Jiang Yu, if he could completely isolate himself from news and enjoy campus life, it would be a good thing. But why was there still a TV?
The teacher said it’s for watching the news every day to stay informed about current events and political affairs and to accumulate writing material. Jiang Yu was solving problems absentmindedly, hearing about meetings being held, anti-corruption campaigns, the country’s prosperity, and the people’s happiness. It was great to know everything happening in the world from a single room, but he knew nothing about how his show was doing.
He wasn’t close to the others. Watching them secretly play on their phones made him envious and resentful. He could have borrowed a phone to check, but he decided against it. If the show wasn’t doing well, it would just upset him and affect his mood and performance.
Jiang Yu called Yu Ruoyun every day, sometimes several times a day, more frequently than he called his parents. He told Yu Ruoyun he had completed all the levels in the only game on the old phone and wouldn’t want to see Snake for at least a year after he got out.
Although he wasn’t receiving external information, he wasn’t completely unaware. For instance, his test papers started disappearing. At first, he thought he had misplaced them, but after it happened several times, he realized something was wrong. The first step towards rising fame was having his papers stolen, which annoyed Jiang Yu. The missing papers were poorly done, and if someone sold them, it would be even worse, embarrassing him further.
After evening self-study, with nothing else to do before bed, he went outside to call Yu Ruoyun and casually mentioned this issue.
“So, stop beating around the bush,” Jiang Yu finally said. “Tell me how the show is doing.”
Yu Ruoyun said, “You’ve been calling a lot these past few days.”
“Not really.” Jiang Yu tried to explain. “Just two or three times a day. This phone doesn’t even have WeChat, so I can only call.”
“I’m fine,” Yu Ruoyun said. “You don’t have to worry.”
Jiang Yu felt choked. He wanted to retort, like saying Yu Ruoyun was overthinking, but after a few seconds of silence, he said, “Okay.”
“You said they show the news there,” Yu Ruoyun added, “so maybe you’ve already seen it.”
Yu Ruoyun mentioned a name, and Jiang Yu still found it incredibly absurd.
“Actually, Zhu Xiao had already escaped them and was living a normal life, but recently they started investigating again, and Zhu Xiao became a liability. Her last call before she disappeared was to you,” Yu Ruoyun said. “Embezzlement, bribery, abuse of power, murder… these are the charges.”
“That night, Zhu Xiao said she didn’t want to live like that anymore,” Jiang Yu slowly said. “I thought she was having issues with her husband and was too proud to get a divorce, so I told her to call the police if she needed help. She said she had no one else to talk to, which sounded like a relationship problem.”
Looking back, it was like a conversation between a chicken and a duck. Zhu Xiao said she had made up her mind, and Jiang Yu felt relieved, thinking she was going to get a divorce. Then… nothing happened.
“What did you do?” Jiang Yu asked.
“Just pushed a little,” Yu Ruoyun said. “You always complain about Beijing, but you’re used to it. Beijing has many advantages, like easily finding someone’s enemies and conveniently filing complaints.”
Jiang Yu recalled that his name wasn’t mentioned in today’s news, probably because he was too insignificant—just a small player in the whole affair.
“I have one last question,” Jiang Yu said. “Did I really run a red light?”
“No,” Yu Ruoyun replied. “But you weren’t paying attention, charging forward with your head down, not looking at the road.”
That was true. He was just following his instincts to find Yu Ruoyun, not looking at the road.
“I’m sleepy. I’m hanging up,” Jiang Yu said, feeling guilty and hurriedly ended the call before Yu Ruoyun could continue.
The dormitory was quite decent, a double room. As soon as Jiang Yu entered, his roommate asked, “Why were you on the phone for so long? Talking to your partner?”
“So what if I was? Do you have one?” Jiang Yu retorted. “Lend me your phone.”
Reluctantly, the roommate handed over the phone. A minute later, he started to rage, “Long Xingyu, are you nuts? Borrowing my phone to watch the news!”
Luckily, it was the news, because they were quickly caught by the teacher on duty. Jiang Yu explained that he was gathering material and staying informed about current events. But staying up past lights-out to play on the phone still earned him punishment.
Jiang Yu felt aggrieved but could only strive to study harder, hoping to perform well on the next test and show his results to Yu Ruoyun, the strict guardian, to get him out of this high-demand, tightly controlled camp.
Fortunately, others wanted him out too. The sudden surge in popularity wasn’t something the company wanted to waste. Finally, after achieving decent test results, Jiang Yu was released. His homework book started disappearing too. The day after regaining his freedom, his character was left in a critical state, seemingly dead, and disappeared from the storyline.
Jiang Yu caught the tail end of the trend. Seeing his character’s name on the trending list, with viewers debating whether the villain was really dead, he seemed to gain some sympathy fans. Several related trending topics were climbing the ranks, and Jiang Yu felt they weren’t bought.
“Maybe it’s part of a yearly package,” Yu Ruoyun said beside him. “A bundled deal.”
“When did you become an expert in these things?” Jiang Yu asked, not really expecting an answer.
“I’ve always understood,” Yu Ruoyun said. “More than you.”
That wasn’t very pleasant to hear.
“You’re good at making connections with strangers,” Yu Ruoyun said. “It’s easier for you or more straightforward with a clear transaction. But with those close to you, you tend to avoid them. I always wonder, the next time you get more famous, will you again act like we have nothing to do with each other?”
Jiang Yu suddenly understood.
For instance, why Yu Ruoyun seemed so indifferent. By now, many people knew about their relationship, but they hadn’t taken it seriously, thinking the Film Emperor was just having a fling.
“When I started acting, there were also many rumors,” Yu Ruoyun said. “Some were quite nasty, suggesting Director Wu Yi, who discovered me and kept recommending me, liked boys. He got so angry he announced he would stop making films, but a few years later, he regretted it and came back. Over time, people realized we were just a normal director-actor relationship.”
“But when people ask me what my relationship with Jiang Yu is, I find it hard to answer.”
What kind of relationship was it? Like a finished film that would never be released, lacking approval, with no chance of being publicly shown. Many things ended quietly, like Yu Ruoyun sending him to study, immersing himself in books and exercises, and then casually telling him everything was resolved, no need to worry. Jiang Yu could continue living, with regrets resolved.
Jiang Yu felt his heart tighten, turning bitter and sour, rising to his mouth. He thought, ‘So this is what synesthesia feels like, as described in literature.’
This might be the taste of loneliness and dissatisfaction, coming from both Yu Ruoyun and himself.
“You can answer,” Jiang Yu said. “Next time someone asks, you’ll know what to say.”
He was someone you can’t forget, even after the lights are out, eyes are closed, and memories are deleted. If possible, this should be announced to millions.
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