Author: 颜凉雨 / Yan Liang Yu

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

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Chapter 93

Ran Lin couldn’t stop his tears from falling, but they were abruptly halted by his partner’s acceleration.

Sniffling, he removed Lu Yiyao’s hand from his face and took another look at the house. His vision was slightly foggy from the tears, making everything seem as if it were behind a layer of mist, ethereally beautiful.

Lu Yiyao let go of his embrace and instead took his hand. “Let me show you around.”

Ran Lin allowed himself to be led, exploring every corner of the house as if on an adventure. They started with the first floor and then moved to the second, visiting the living room, kitchen, bathroom, bedrooms, guest rooms, study… and finally, a home theater.

Ran Lin was astonished by the huge screen, clearly soundproof walls, and the surround sound system. He walked around the room several times before turning to Lu Yiyao with a laugh and disbelief. “So you’ve brought a mini cinema home…”

Lu Yiyao leaned against the doorframe. “I have a similar room in my apartment. Whenever I want to learn acting skills from the masters, I play their films on loop here. It’s very effective.” He paused for a moment and then smiled at Ran Lin. “Now it’s your turn to learn here.”

Ran Lin, tickled by the idea, was almost tempted to start watching a movie right then and there. His eyes caught the gramophone in the corner, and he walked over to examine it, realizing it was not just for show but actually functional. He looked questioningly at Lu Yiyao. “You listen to vinyl records while watching movies?”

“After watching, you’ll want to digest and absorb,” Lu Yiyao said. “Playing music helps with thinking.”

Ran Lin glanced at the gramophone and then back at his partner, imagining him after watching a movie, starting the gramophone, and lying on the sofa in contemplation…

All that for acting skills! One could simply practice in front of a bathroom mirror. Why the need for such pretentiousness!

“Which room did you like?” Lu Yiyao suddenly asked.

Ran Lin, shifting his gaze from the gramophone, looked puzzled at his partner standing in the doorway.

“The bedrooms we just saw,” Lu Yiyao clarified. “Which one did you like?”

Ran Lin tilted his head, recalling the tour. Each bedroom was beautiful, each with its own main color theme and corresponding style of bed and cabinets, making some feel fresh, others warm, some richly retro, and others simply serene.

“The blue one.” Ran Lin had a personal preference for colors. “The Mediterranean style one.”

“Okay.” Lu Yiyao straightened up and moved away from the doorframe. “Go wait in the room. I’ll call you when the bath is ready.”

Ran Lin was momentarily stunned, then caught on to the implication. “You’re moving through this process a bit too smoothly, aren’t you?”

Lu Yiyao, halfway out the door, turned back and said with a serious tone, “Ever since that time I fell asleep in the hotel, I’ve engraved the process deep in my soul.”

Ran Lin sensed a deep sorrow under his boyfriend’s resolute voice.

……

After two years of anticipation, Ran Lin thought he was in for a rock concert, but what he got was a jazz session. But jazz was great too.

Relaxed and lazy, Ran Lin looked around the room bathed in tranquil ocean blue and thought, just like his relationship with Lu Yiyao, there was no need for dramatics—a gentle, pleasant rhythm and flow was enough.

Soon, Lu Yiyao’s call from downstairs indicated the bath was ready. Ran Lin got up and went downstairs, only to find his partner missing. Puzzled, he walked into the bathroom.

The exhaust fan was off, filling the room with a steamy haze. Behind the mist, Lu Yiyao was sitting in a water-filled bathtub, smiling at him with his eyes.

Ran Lin had fantasized about sharing a bath, the close physical contact in a confined space… But Lu Yiyao’s circular bathtub was so large it felt more like a bathing hall!

“Are you just going to watch me?” Lu Yiyao asked softly with a hint of grievance, as if saying, ‘I’m already like this. How can you just stand there?’

Of course, Ran Lin couldn’t just stand there. All the nights he had imagined with Lu Yiyao were filled with tension, haste, and the fear of being interrupted. But when it actually happened, it was solid, warm, and romantic, surpassing all his fantasies.

It was Lu Yiyao who led him into such a night. Without his knowledge, his partner had quietly done so much, prepared for so long.

“Turn around,” Ran Lin heard himself say. Lu Yiyao gave a reluctant look but eventually complied.

The water rippled softly with gentle sounds. Ran Lin quickly stripped and entered the water.

As soon as he got in, Ran Lin felt the warmth rush from his feet to the rest of his body, first shivering, then enveloped in a comfortable and secure warmth.

Hearing the splash, Lu Yiyao turned back around. By the time Ran Lin was fully immersed, Lu Yiyao had already drawn close, gently pressing him against the side of the bathtub and kissing him.

Lu Yiyao’s kiss was tender. Ran Lin closed his eyes, feeling both his body and soul melting.

After a while, Lu Yiyao softly broke the kiss and started planting smaller kisses on his chin, neck, and before Ran Lin realized it, he was already being held in Lu Yiyao’s arms.

Ran Lin’s entire body softened, with one particular area remaining tensely hard.

Lu Yiyao was the same, as Ran Lin could clearly feel him pressing against him.

But after the kiss, Lu Yiyao simply held him quietly, motionless. Ran Lin leaned into him and murmured, “Shall we start…”

“It’s okay.” Lu Yiyao rubbed his head with his chin. “I’ve waited two years already. I can wait a bit longer, till we’re back in the bedroom.”

Ran Lin thought about the disparity in willpower between them and surrendered.

“But I can’t wait any longer…”

With that, he turned around and took the initiative, splashing water everywhere in the tub.

Limited by space, the two didn’t really have full physical contact but used their hands to comfort each other.

After reaching their peaks in a flurry, they finally managed to calm down and have a proper bath.

Ran Lin felt so comfortable that he didn’t even want to move his fingers. Lu Yiyao, still full of energy, half dragged and half carried him out of the bathtub and under the showerhead.

“Close your eyes.” The somewhat muffled voice of Lu Yiyao reached his ears. Still foggy-brained, Ran Lin obediently closed his eyes, feeling the continuous flow of the shower washing over him from head to toe, the warmth enveloping him.

Suddenly, the shower was turned off. Ran Lin wanted to open his eyes but remembered his partner’s instruction and continued to stand obediently. Soon, he felt a pair of hands rubbing his hair, not too hard nor too soft, comfortably with a cool touch of shampoo.

His partner was washing his hair for him. With his eyes closed, Ran Lin couldn’t help but secretly smile…

Wait.

Ran Lin sniffed a couple of times, recognizing the scent…

The shower turned back on, and Ran Lin cooperated by lowering his head to let the water rinse off the foam. When he finally could open his eyes, he indeed saw the familiar shampoo bottle and exclaimed in surprise, “This is the one I endorsed…”

“It’s pretty good,” Lu Yiyao replied, taking some more to start washing his own hair.

Ran Lin asked, “Have you been using this all along?”

“Uh-huh,” Lu Yiyao muttered, massaging his scalp.

Ran Lin frowned. “But I remember when I started endorsing it, we weren’t together yet…”

Splash.

Very conveniently, his boyfriend turned the shower on again.

…Suspicious indeed!

But Lu Yiyao didn’t give Ran Lin another chance to seek the truth. After quickly finishing their shower, he carried Ran Lin back to the room.

After that, Ran Lin was completely submerged in the blue ocean of their room, tossed by the waves and forgetting all about his previous suspicions.

Lu Yiyao had made thorough preparations and patiently waited until Ran Lin was completely relaxed before making his move.

Initially, Ran Lin was grateful for the lack of pain, only experiencing a sense of fulfillment.

But when Lu Yiyao came for the third time, Ran Lin finally understood the saying, “short pain is better than long pain*”…

*It’s an idiom that refers to it’s better to endure brief, intense discomfort and deal with the problem immediately rather than prolonging the agony over an extended period of time. Basically, deal with it quickly rather than letting it drag out. || In this context, well… Lu Yiyao prefers dragging it out (if you know what I mean).

……

Ran Lin hadn’t had such a sound sleep in a long time. No intruders disturbed his dreams, only a sea of his favorite light blue, carrying a tempting fragrance, warm and comfortable.

His eyelashes fluttered twice before he slowly opened his eyes. The sunlight streaming in from the window tinted the room a lighter shade of blue.

“Good morning.” A cheerful greeting reached his ears.

Ran Lin turned slightly to the right and saw his partner propping up his head with his arm, watching him with a satisfied, refreshed look.

“Morning.” Ran Lin tried to turn and lie face-to-face with Lu Yiyao, but as soon as he moved, he felt sore all over.

Lu Yiyao seemed to chuckle.

The next second, he suddenly lifted the covers and dove in, swiftly pouncing on Ran Lin and popping his head out from under the covers on Ran Lin’s chest.

“No way!” Ran Lin sternly refused.

Lu Yiyao couldn’t help but laugh. “I didn’t say we’re going again.”

Ran Lin didn’t speak, just kept looking at his partner on his chest, his gaze indicating that he should reconsider his position. But Lu Yiyao relaxed instead, laying his entire weight on Ran Lin like a human blanket. “Let me lie down for a while…”

Ran Lin rolled his eyes, but after a few seconds, he couldn’t help but wrap his arms around his partner’s head.

“After you sign the contract, move in and live with me here,” Lu Yiyao said gently.

“No, I’ll buy another villa next door and be your neighbor,” Ran Lin replied, feeling somewhat extravagant for the first time. “How much is this villa?”

“…million,” Lu Yiyao replied.

“Hm?” Ran Lin urged.

Lu Yiyao lifted his head slightly, his voice clearer this time.

Ran Lin finally heard it clearly and nodded earnestly, staring into his partner’s eyes. “Let’s discuss if I can get a higher salary for my first film after I join your company…”

Lu Yiyao laughed out loud, kissing him spontaneously. A single look can spark a fire in the throes of passion, much less a kiss. So they cuddled for a while longer before Lu Yiyao got out of bed, put on clothes, and said he’d make breakfast.

Watching his partner leave the bedroom with a tender gaze, Ran Lin grimaced as he got up, feeling sore but finding a set of home wear laid out on the nightstand. He put it on, appreciating its softness and comfort, especially since it fit perfectly.

Ran Lin remembered, if not mistaken, the set Lu Yiyao had worn when he got out of bed looked identical to his, except for the color.

Getting up, the soreness was quite intense at first, but it eased after moving around a bit, thanks to Lu Yiyao’s utmost tenderness.

Descending to the living room, Ran Lin caught a faint whiff of coffee. Following the scent to the kitchen, he hesitated as he sensed not just coffee but also soy milk.

As he was about to peek at what his partner in matching home wear was concocting, Lu Yiyao turned around with a small tray in hand.

It wasn’t soy-flavored coffee but simply a cup of coffee, a cup of soy milk, a simple sandwich, and two soft buns.

Who was eating what was evident.

Ran Lin was curious about when it had all been prepared, as there was hardly a few minutes’ gap between him and Lu Yiyao coming downstairs. The only explanation was that Teacher Lu had gotten up earlier, prepared everything, and then went back to bed to wait for him to wake up.

It was nearing noon.

But for both of them, this was still breakfast.

Ran Lin had no schedule today, and Boss Lu had also skipped work, stealing a day of leisure for themselves.

“My followers have reached 17 million…” Lying on the couch, enjoying the afternoon sun, Ran Lin casually scrolled through Weibo and then discovered the surprise. “Last time I checked, it was only 14 million.”

“That was long ago.” Lu Yiyao pulled him into his embrace, lazily yawning. “With <Chronicles of Winter> and <Dyeing Fire> being released back to back, you’re at the height of popularity right now.”

“It’s just a phase.” Ran Lin saw through it. Once <Dyeing Fire> was out of theaters and new movies and TV shows came along, the focus would shift to someone else.

“It’s enough for a phase,” Lu Yiyao said. “You’re not one to chase fame with gimmicks, right? You just want to act well. You should go for quality, not quantity, nor do you need to be in the public eye every day of the year. As long as you ensure that every work you put out is of high quality and that your name becomes synonymous with good work, you’ll have succeeded.”

Ran Lin was captivated by the future Lu Yiyao depicted. “Can I really do it?”

“We’ll try together.” Lu Yiyao tightened his embrace.

……

In the last few days of April, <Dyeing Fire> and <Split Moon> were taken off the screens one after the other. <Dyeing Fire> ultimately broke 400 million in box office, which was a resounding success compared to its production cost. No one was happier than the investors and director He Guan, who held a celebration party the day after the movies were taken down.

Ran Lin, who had been “vacationing” at Lu Yiyao’s villa for over a week, had to rush back to resume work. Unexpectedly, after days of not seeing each other, his agent Wang Xi, like pulling a magic trick, presented him with a small pile of scripts—at least six or seven of them—on their way home after the celebration party.

“Are these all for me?” Ran Lin carefully held the scripts, a bit uncertain.

“These are the ones I’ve screened and found decent.” Wang Xi turned from the passenger seat and said, “There are more in my office, but also a lot of duds.”

Ran Lin: “But I’m about to break my contract with Dream Without Limits soon…”

Wang Xi: “I’m not asking you to sign now. Just take a look first. If you find something suitable, we can talk after the contract termination.”

“Ran Ge, you’ve made it,” Liu Wanwan said proudly. “Before, you were looking for scripts, but now scripts are looking for you.”

“And you don’t need to audition,” Wang Xi added. “For these scripts in your hand, as long as you nod, the producers will immediately confirm you.”

Ran Lin was about to speak when Wang Xi changed the topic. “But the more this is the case, the more cautious you need to be.”

Ran Lin looked at his agent.

Wang Xi slowly continued, “Your current popularity, all that fame, it’s built upon <Sword of Fallen Flowers>, <Chronicles of Winter>, and <Dyeing Fire>. Popularity and reputation are hard to build but easy to destroy. One bad drama can do it.”

Ran Lin was starting to grasp what she meant.

Indeed, Wang Xi pointed out. “<The Legend of Lantern Blossoms> will air in July, so the next project you pick after that is crucial. The audience might forgive a sudden misstep, but they won’t tolerate consecutive failures. If the project after <The Legend of Lantern Blossoms> is also subpar, all the effort you put into <<Sword of Fallen Flowers>, <Chronicles of Winter>, and <Dyeing Fire> will mostly go down the drain.”

Ran Lin: “Audiences only look forward.”

Wang Xi nodded. “Exactly, so never let yourself be associated with trashy or rushed projects.”

Ran Lin looked at the scripts in his lap, pondered for a moment, and then looked up, feeling a bit guilty. “Xi Jie, I’ll probably be working on a project prepared by Lu Yiyao’s side next.”

Wang Xi didn’t expect Lu Yiyao to act so quickly. “Is everything ready?”

“The script is still being polished,” Ran Lin said, “but everything else is almost ready. We should start filming by October.”

……

Wang Xi didn’t probe any further into Ran Lin’s plans. She could see Ran Lin’s trust in Lu Yiyao. After all, he was going to sign with his company, so she didn’t want to give an impression of doubting Lu Yiyao with her questions.

To say doubt might not be accurate, but she indeed wasn’t very confident in Lu Yiyao’s capabilities. Acting, being a star, an idol—Lu Yiyao was unquestionable, but making a TV series was a different story, especially since he was a novice.

So, from that day onwards, she used her connections to deeply understand the status of Lu Yiyao’s project. The information she received was astonishing—Lu Yiyao had assembled a movie-level production team!

The person who informed her bluntly said Lu Yiyao was clearly aiming to make a name for his company, not necessarily to profit from this project. However, it was also predicted that as long as nothing went wrong, the project would definitely be a hit, maybe even a blockbuster. Because while the project sought movie-level team quality, it was operated by experienced industry veterans well-versed in TV rules. That meant Lu Yiyao had clearly distinguished between quality and operation, and with ample funding at hand for the project, it’d be surprising if it didn’t succeed.

Wang Xi didn’t know if Ran Lin was aware of these details. If he was, it meant he had good judgment. If not, and he was merely trusting a friend, then it was destiny shaped by character.

While Wang Xi was concerned about the future of her soon-to-be former artist, Ran Lin was getting ready to attend the wedding of his boyfriend’s friend—Huo Yuntao was getting married.

The wedding was set for a Saturday in early May. As his contract termination neared, Dream Without Limits no longer scheduled any activities for Ran Lin, so from May onwards, he was completely free. The wedding day was sunny and pleasant, with a gentle breeze. Ran Lin got ready early, invitation in hand, and drove to the venue.

According to Lu Yiyao, it was a lawn wedding, with most guests being business partners and acquaintances of the Huo and Lin families. There weren’t many friends of Huo Yuntao and Lin Panxi, especially Huo Yuntao, who could count his friends on one hand, including Ran Lin and Lu Yiyao.

Both the Huo and Lin families were prestigious, and Ran Lin anticipated a grand wedding but still underestimated its magnificence. The lawn was teeming with people, most mingling and socializing, making it hard to distinguish anyone.

Fortunately, someone guided him to a seat with a name tag once they knew he was a friend of Huo Yuntao. Once seated, Ran Lin dared not wander and simply observed his surroundings. Unlike him, most guests were engaged in conversation on the adjacent open ground. With the wedding not yet started, only a pianist was playing on the garden stage. Ran Lin’s seat in the third row was quite upfront, likely specially arranged by Huo Yuntao.

As Lu Yiyao was the best man, he wasn’t around yet, probably busy welcoming the bride with his buddy. Not wanting to disturb him, Ran Lin relaxed in his chair, admiring the rare, clear blue sky.

Clouds floated by, white and soft like candy. Just looking at them felt sweet. Weddings indeed made people feel happy, Ran Lin thought leisurely in the gentle spring breeze.

Ding dong.

A WeChat notification sound broke his reverie.

Ran Lin took out his phone to see a short video from his partner. In the video, Huo Yuntao was facing the camera, saying, “Brother, I’m about to break through the door. Cheer me on!”

Ran Lin laughed out loud and immediately replied with a voice message, “Go for it!”

There was no response from the other end, probably because his lover was busy breaking down the door.

Suddenly, a voice from behind startled him. “Teacher From Sanya?”

Ran Lin jolted and instinctively turned off his phone before turning around, only to see Ding Kai smiling broadly.

“Why so nervous? You’ve been so discreet.” Ding Kai casually sat down in the fourth row behind Ran Lin, offset by one seat so that when Ran Lin turned back, he faced him directly.

Ran Lin wasn’t sure if Ding Kai was supposed to sit there or had just come over to chat, but he quickly caught the teasing tone regarding the change of his WeChat nickname.

Ran Lin could counter most things, but this one was a clear shot. “At least it’s more thoughtful than 1111.”

Ding Kai looked unjustly accused. “I didn’t change it. That account always had that nickname.”

Ran Lin corrected himself, “Sorry, I thought you changed your nickname to add me. Turns out you just used an alternate account.”

Ding Kai: “……”

Ran Lin expected Ding Kai to come up with a bunch of excuses, not just to concede. Just as he wondered why this “forthrightness” didn’t fit Ding Kai’s style, he heard him say, “It’s risky out there in the world. What if you got annoyed and shared screenshots?”

Ran Lin rolled his eyes. “Even if you used your real name, I could post WeChat screenshots claiming they’re yours, and you could say I fabricated them since you’ve never sent a voice message.”

“Are you resenting that fact?” Ding Kai’s tone teasingly rose.

Ran Lin glared at him. “You’re overthinking.”

“Who’s the Teacher From Sanya?” Ding Kai suddenly circled back to the previous question without warning.

Ran Lin thought he had diverted from this topic and was caught off guard for a moment.

Ding Kai laughed and confidently uttered a name. “Lu Yiyao.”

His voice was so soft it dispersed with the wind. Ran Lin neither confirmed nor denied; he just looked at him calmly.

“You don’t have any connections with Huo Yuntao. The one who really does is him,” Ding Kai continued without pressing further but changed the subject. “I just found out Lu Yiyao started a company. I apologize for my earlier comments. That was foolish of me. I want to apologize to you here.”

Ran Lin flashed a look of confusion.

Ding Kai, catching it, shrugged and explained further, “I mean when I said not to find an artist because it’s like walking near a river, you’ll eventually get your shoes wet. You should’ve reminded me then.”

“Remind you of what?” Lu Yiyao’s voice came from another direction.

Startled, Ran Lin quickly turned from looking back at Ding Kai to the right side, seeing Lu Yiyao already close by, as if out of nowhere.

Ding Kai leaned back in his chair, looking up at Lu Yiyao, who had now appeared beside Ran Lin in the third row, casually saying, “Remind me that he’s not just finding an artist but a boss, and he’s about to sign with him.”

Lu Yiyao didn’t speak, just looked down at Ding Kai, trying to discern his intention. However, he failed. Ding Kai’s annoyingly inscrutable smile gave nothing away.

“Ran Lin must have shared all my less than glorious deeds with you,” Ding Kai said, not hiding anything, perhaps thinking everyone was already on the same page, or maybe because he wasn’t a public figure and didn’t need to be as cautious as Ran Lin and Lu Yiyao.

Lu Yiyao shrugged, pulled a chair next to Ran Lin, and sat down, facing Ding Kai. Ran Lin moved his chair to sit beside Lu Yiyao, facing Ding Kai together.

Ding Kai slightly frowned, feeling slightly disadvantaged, as if he were being double-teamed. Lu Yiyao also frowned slightly, firstly not expecting to encounter Ding Kai here as the Huo family’s focus isn’t on the entertainment industry, and secondly, he’s always been unclear about this uninvited guest’s depths.

Ding Kai guessed that Ran Lin had shared the harassment incident with Lu Yiyao, but he probably didn’t guess that after hearing it, Lu Yiyao had used all available resources to investigate him.

Not afraid of a thief stealing, but afraid of a thief thinking about it, he needed to understand what kind of thief he was dealing with. But the results were surprising—Ding Kai hadn’t dated or supported anyone in the industry, male or female. The only blemish was once trying to meet Ran Lin as an investor through an agent. But whether he’s gay remains uncertain, according to the investigators.

When Lu Yiyao sent people to investigate, he didn’t reveal any details, and the only conclusive information he got back was already known to him. The results were frustrating. Ding Kai is either gay or bisexual; there’s no doubt about it. Otherwise, why would he keep bothering Ran Lin unless it’s just for amusement? But apart from harassing his partner, this man appears to be clean, leaving Lu Yiyao unsure how to judge him.

However, he hadn’t shared these findings with Ran Lin.

Ideally, Ran Lin wouldn’t remember there’s such a person at all. It would be better that way.

Seeing the united front of the two across from him and with no one else around, Ding Kai decided to lay it out. “Let me clarify: I’m not trying to stir trouble, just offering an objective opinion. If it’s true love, it’s probably best not to turn it into a superior-subordinate relationship. Think about it, when one person becomes another’s boss, can the feelings of the one who becomes the employee, or the one who’s financially supported, remain independent?”

“One doesn’t need permission to give their wife the best,” Lu Yiyao retorted, clearly at his limit.

“It’s not about who’s supporting whom. It’s about two people who love each other striving together.” Ran Lin nearly spoke at the same time.

Both were defending their stance, and simultaneously, they blurred the subject, making it clear to Ding Kai what they were referring to, but outsiders would only think they were discussing relationship matters unrelated to themselves.

The moment their words fell, they paused and smiled at each other.

“…” Ding Kai felt as if he’d been hit by a hidden weapon.

Ran Lin turned his gaze back to Ding Kai. “Independence isn’t about the form, but the mindset. Like those you support, you’re not in the same company—no explicit relationship, does that make them independent?”

Ding Kai looked baffled; who had he supported?

“President Ding—”

Someone called out to Ding Kai from a distance. He reflexively turned back, recognized an acquaintance, and stood up to leave, quickly walking over to socialize.

Ran Lin felt a slight regret for not taking this opportunity to have a thorough conversation with Ding Kai and letting him give up. Lu Yiyao was mulling over Ran Lin’s last question, feeling that his lover might have some misunderstandings about Ding Kai.

But it was all good. They were beautiful misunderstandings.

“Speaking of which.” Ran Lin finally remembered to ask his partner. “How did you move so quickly? One second you were welcoming the bride, and the next, you were here?”

After asking, Ran Lin realized the timing of the video didn’t necessarily align with the actual welcoming. It could have been sent after everything was done, during a moment of downtime…

Seeing his partner’s expression, Lu Yiyao knew he didn’t need to explain and skipped that part, directly saying, “My task was just to welcome the bride, and now it’s perfectly completed. Lao Huo is already rehearsing his speech backstage.” Lu Yiyao nodded toward the stage direction.

Ran Lin had a clear view of the stage from his angle but naturally couldn’t see behind it. “Don’t you need bridesmaids and groomsmen to pass rings later?”

“No need.” Lu Yiyao sighed. “Lao Huo wants to do a magic trick himself and produce the rings.”

Ran Lin: “…Does the bride not mind?”

Lu Yiyao: “He didn’t tell Panxi. Said he wanted to surprise her.”

Ran Lin: “Didn’t you remind him it might be awkward or fall flat?”

Lu Yiyao: “Lao Huo is very confident in his magic.”

About fifteen minutes later, guests gradually took their seats, and the venue quieted down. The host began to speak, setting a warm and grand tone for the event.

As the host invited the groom to the stage, Ran Lin finally saw Huo Yuntao. His friend, usually carefree, had his hair neatly combed, wore a sharp suit, and even his expression was unusually serious.

“Getting married really changes a person,” Ran Lin muttered.

Lu Yiyao sighed, thinking it was due to nerves.

As the music flowed out, pouring over the entire lawn, Lin Panxi, arm in arm with her father, slowly approached from a distance, walking onto the stage under the blessed gaze of all the guests.

After a series of procedures, it was finally time for the exciting moment of exchanging rings. The host skillfully heightened the atmosphere to its peak.

Then, under the gaze of all the guests, the groom performed a small-scale close-up magic trick. So close that no one saw what he did, only that after two long and awkward minutes, the groom had two rings in his hand.

It was an uncomfortably long two minutes, which even the host’s attempts couldn’t salvage. However, when Lin Panxi saw the rings, her face lit up.

Ran Lin watched her radiant expression and suddenly thought perhaps Huo Yuntao anticipated the awkwardness. But what does it matter? It’s his wedding, and he just needed to make his bride happy.

The bouquet toss was a universally loved part of the wedding. Since Lin Panxi didn’t have many friends there, the host encouraged all the single ladies present to try their luck.

This call to action rallied over twenty girls under the stage. The atmosphere was lively, and when the bride tossed the bouquet, the girls scrambled for it. The winner, too excited, swung her arms, and two-thirds of the bouquet scattered like a celestial scattering of flowers.

Ran Lin’s seat happened to be in the “disaster zone”, and a rose hit him right on the head. Guests around found it amusing—some catching and some dodging—creating quite a scene.

Ran Lin caught the rose, pinching its shortened stem, looking at the petals, bemused.

“Good omen.” Lu Yiyao took the flower to play with it, noting the thorns had been removed so there was no risk of getting pricked.

Ran Lin jested, “Everyone else catches a bunch, not just a single stem.”

“It’s the same, a stem or a bunch.” Lu Yiyao placed the flower in Ran Lin’s suit pocket, decisively nodding, “Let’s settle on this.”

Ran Lin paused. “Settle what?”

The host said something, and the guests burst into enthusiastic applause.

“My magic will definitely be more spectacular than Lao Huo’s.” Amidst the thunderous applause, Ran Lin heard Lu Yiyao whisper in his ear.

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<<< || Table of Contents || >>>

Author: 颜凉雨 / Yan Liang Yu

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

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Chapter 92

In late April, as the screenings of <Dyeing Fire> and <Split Moon> drew to a close, Ran Lin finished the last of his promotional activities. <Dyeing Fire> had accumulated a box office of 370 million, while <Split Moon> reached 302 million. In the brutal battlefield of April, filled with several imported blockbusters, achieving these figures was no small feat.

Both films were equally matched in terms of critical acclaim, with similar ratings on movie websites. The difference in box office was determined by the style of the films themselves. <Dyeing Fire> was more suspenseful and intense, while <Split Moon> leaned more towards a plain and humanistic approach. Thus, for audiences looking to relax over the weekend, if they had to choose one, they were slightly more inclined towards the former.

On the day he completely finished his promotional obligations, Beijing was under a yellow smog alert. Driving on the overpass was like entering a mythical fairyland; no sky above, no ground below, and other cars invisible ahead or behind. The poor visibility made all vehicles tame, no matter how expensive they were, creeping forward slowly unless one wanted to rev the engine in neutral.

The promotion ended at 4:30 p.m., but by the time Ran Lin got back to his apartment, it was already 7:00 p.m. As the venue was close to Ran Lin’s place, the driver dropped him off first. When he alighted, Wang Xi and Liu Wanwan were still in the car.

Ran Lin had been contemplating all the way and finally made up his mind. So, instead of closing the car door after getting out, he turned around, leaned on it, and bent over to ask the others inside, “Shall we have dinner together?”

Wang Xi and Liu Wanwan hadn’t eaten yet. They were packed so close together that when Ran Lin asked them, they couldn’t think of a reason to refuse. Moreover, everyone was acutely aware that June was approaching, and the days they could dine together were dwindling.

The driver was happy to finish early and go home for dinner with his family. The three found a restaurant near Ran Lin’s apartment.

Wang Xi thought it was just a casual dinner, but just after a few bites, her comfort was disturbed by the “transfer explanation” of her artist.

“You’re going to Lu Yiyao’s company?!”

Ran Lin swallowed hard and said, “Xi Jie, I’m switching companies, not quitting the industry. You don’t need to look so desperate.”

“If you don’t want to run your own studio and prefer to sign with a company, there are many big companies out there. Why choose Lu Yiyao’s?” Wang Xi was aware that Lu Yiyao had started a company. Though it wasn’t publicly announced, it was no secret in the industry where many stars have more than one company under them. However, she hadn’t expected it to be Ran Lin’s choice.

“It’s all about signing with a company anyway…” Ran Lin said, recalling a line from a drama, and chuckled. “Better the devil you know than the devil you don’t.”

Wang Xi understood his point but still couldn’t help advising, “I know you and Lu Yiyao are close, but business and friendship are different things. Being close doesn’t mean you can work well together, especially when the relationship changes from friends to employer and employee. It can lead to awkward situations or even falling out, potentially ending the friendship.”

Ran Lin wanted to ask if it’s awkward when a friend becomes a boss, then what about when a friend becomes a boss’ wife? But Wang Xi was unaware, and her advice was not only faultless but also considerate. Ran Lin appreciated it.

Precisely because he understood, he hoped his agent could be at ease. “Guan Yu and Zhang Fei were brothers, but that didn’t stop them from helping Liu Bei conquer the world. There are cases of falling out, but there are also cases of mutual success.”

Wang Xi raised an eyebrow skeptically. “Do you think you can both succeed?”

Ran Lin smiled confidently. “It’s worth a try.”

Wang Xi sighed, not wanting to be too blunt but also concerned about Ran Lin being shortchanged. “Have you considered that the resources within a company are limited, and external resources are even scarcer. Who do you think those resources will favor first, you or your boss?”

“Me,” Ran Lin answered without hesitation.

Wang Xi held her forehead. “Where does your confidence come from?”

Ran Lin thought for a moment and decided to reveal that Lu Yiyao was planning to change careers. After <Split Moon> Lu Yiyao would essentially retire from acting. The audience and fans would eventually realize this. Changing careers wasn’t a permanent secret, and he also wanted his agent to be reassured, especially since she was planning a global trip. There was no need for her to worry about these things constantly.

The news of Lu Yiyao’s career change left Liu Wanwan with her mouth agape, struggling to digest it. After all, Lu Yiyao was at the peak of his career, and it seemed unnecessary for such an abrupt exit.

After a moment of surprise, Wang Xi had an epiphany. She recalled a recent dinner with several investors where one mentioned wanting Lu Yiyao for a television drama with a strong investment and production team and generous payment, but he declined. She had thought Lu Yiyao might be aiming solely for movies, not television dramas anymore. It all made sense now; it wasn’t about choosing between TV dramas and films but a fundamental career decision.

“It’s such a pity…” Liu Wanwan sighed in disappointment.

“What’s a pity?” Wang Xi asked.

Liu Wanwan earnestly said, “He’s not even thirty yet and has already starred in two movies that were nominated for international film festivals. With a few more years, no, just with his current choice of scripts, he could have become a film emperor!”

“And then what?” Wang Xi tilted her head.

“Then…he could change careers,” Liu Wanwan replied after a pause, feeling it wasn’t right to go against someone’s wishes.

Wang Xi laughed. “If you can see that, Yao Hong must have analyzed it thoroughly with him already. He chose to retire at the peak, which means being a film emperor isn’t his goal. He’s aiming to be a business tycoon.”

“But he’s already succeeded in acting; changing careers could lead to failure,” Liu Wanwan argued.

Wang Xi gestured towards Ran Lin. “Here’s someone about to go over and help him make money.”

Ran Lin felt awkward.

Liu Wanwan chuckled, though she clearly wasn’t fully convinced.

Wang Xi directly asked, “If you had to choose, would you prefer being a film empress or a domineering female CEO?”

Liu Wanwan paused, pondering.

Wang Xi waited patiently.

Ran Lin was curious too.

After a long moment, Liu Wanwan finally realized that both options were appealing, and the choice depended on personal preference. Life is a struggle for one’s own goals.

As for the options Wang Xi presented, she believed, ‘Either is fine with me. I’m not picky, really.’

……

After finishing the meal, Ran Lin’s last bit of worries disappeared. His agent no longer needed to fret about selecting companies or agents for him; he could peacefully prepare for his own journey.

Wang Xi’s heart finally settled. Although she still harbored a cautious attitude toward the future of Lu Yiyao’s company, Ran Lin’s decision to join it was made after careful consideration. As long as Ran Lin was determined and knew what he wanted, all she could do was offer her support and blessings.

Only Liu Wanwan felt a bit of emotional complexity because it dawned on her on the way home in the taxi that if she followed Ran Lin to Lu Yiyao’s company, she would become colleagues with Li Tong. More importantly, Li Tong was the boss’ assistant, and she was the assistant to a signed artist, creating a hierarchical difference. She wondered if she should remove him from the “No Access to My Moments” list…

As the old saying goes, speak of Cao Cao, and he shall appear. Liu Wanwan hadn’t expected that merely thinking of someone could be unsafe too.

Two days after that meal, before she had the chance to unblock Li Tong from her social circle, she received a call from her boss, who was on vacation, informing her that they would go to a late-night movie screening with the future boss to avoid paparazzi rumors. She was asked to accompany them, along with Li Tong, to provide cover.

As an assistant, it was her duty to oblige.

……

The next morning, Ran Lin woke up before the alarm, not feeling tired or sleepy but quite spirited.

It reminded him of when he was a child, waking up early for school sports days or excursions, eager for the day ahead with a backpack full of tasty snacks.

He didn’t understand then, but as he grew older, he realized that excitement and anticipation are the best “alarms.”

Throughout the day, Ran Lin rolled around in the living room, bedroom, kitchen, sofa, dining chair, and bed, not remembering exactly what he did, until finally, at 7:30 p.m., he put on a new gray hoodie and a mask and left his apartment.

The cinema chosen by Lu Yiyao was close to Ran Lin’s apartment. Since it was past rush hour, the roads were relatively clear, and he arrived at the cinema entrance by 7:50 p.m.

The cinema was in an older shopping mall with a less favorable location, hence not very prosperous. The main entrance seemed to be under renovation, with scaffolding all around, forcing customers to use a side door. The side entrance was narrow, but luckily, there wasn’t much foot traffic.

Ran Lin suspected his boyfriend had scouted the location beforehand; otherwise, it was hard to explain how such a low-profile spot was chosen. Coupled with the fact that it was a quiet Tuesday, Ran Lin didn’t struggle much to find a parking spot once a car left.

After parking, he adjusted his hoodie and mask, leaving only his bright eyes visible, then darted into the mall like a thief in the night.

The first floor of the mall was almost deserted, with bored salespeople standing in their shops and some without any attendants at all. Some brands had even vacated the premises, leaving behind empty counters and partially removed logos, adding to the bleak atmosphere.

Ran Lin quickly found the elevator leading directly to the top floor, where the cinema was located.

He rode the elevator with three or four others, all seemingly there to watch a movie. Wrapped up like a ninja, no one paid him any mind, as even wearing a gas mask wouldn’t be out of place given the recent air quality.

As the elevator ascended, Ran Lin’s heartbeat accelerated, unsure why he was so nervous about just a date.

The elevator reached its destination, and as the doors opened, Ran Lin’s heart pounded like a drum, realizing that the cinema was probably the liveliest place in the mall.

Straight out of the elevator was the cinema’s waiting area. While not full, it was relatively busy with about a dozen or two people, and six or seven were checking in.

It was 8 p.m., a typically busy time for cinemas, and though the numbers were sparse compared to a busy night, it was lively compared to the rest of the mall.

The waiting area was spacious, and Ran Lin immediately spotted Liu Wanwan and Li Tong among the small groups seated apart from each other. While others whispered or cuddled quietly, the two were focused on their phones, fingers moving rapidly in the midst of intense gaming.

Ran Lin, with his hat and mask, scanned the area but couldn’t spot Lu Yiyao.

Feeling slightly disappointed, he walked to a discreet corner and texted Liu Wanwan.

The assistant looked up from her phone, and their eyes met. Ran Lin bent his eyes in a wave, and Liu Wanwan quickly approached him, handing over the tickets while whispering, “Li Tong said Lu Ge will arrive later.”

Liu Wanwan rarely communicated directly with Lu Yiyao and felt it inappropriate to use his full name or call him “President Lu”, so she followed Li Tong’s lead in calling him “Lu Ge”.

Ran Lin took the tickets and nodded. “Okay.”

Before they could say much more, the cinema announced it was time to enter the theater for the 8:10 p.m. movie, checking tickets ten minutes early.

A few couples got up and headed to the ticket gate. Ran Lin, holding his ticket, hesitated whether to go in or wait.

Sensing his indecision, Liu Wanwan grabbed his arm and whispered, “We’ll go in first, and Li Tong will wait outside. It’ll be more conspicuous if we all enter together after Lu Ge arrives.”

Her logic made sense, and Ran Lin followed her towards the entrance.

The ticket checker was more focused on the tickets than the patrons, not noticing anything unusual about the pair, one tall and the other short.

They were there to watch <Split Moon> which was nearing the end of its run with low screening numbers and attendance. Before them, only four people had checked in, and after them, aside from Li Tong waiting for Lu Yiyao, no one else was there.

Walking through the somewhat empty corridor of the screening hall, Liu Wanwan expressed her sentiments. “It’s kind of sad to sneak around to watch your own movie.”

Ran Lin chuckled. “It doesn’t feel sad when the paycheck comes in.” His words were both a comfort to the assistant and a straightforward truth.

There is a common saying that you only see the thief eating meat, not getting beaten—the idea being that you only notice the rewards, not the punishments or hard work. But the reverse is also true. Thinking of the effort during times of gain and the potential rewards during times of sacrifice helps maintain a balanced mindset.

The vast cinema hall was eerily empty, so much so that a chill breeze seemed to blow through as they walked in. When they ascended the side stairs, the few people seated in the middle rows glanced up briefly.

But that was all.

Commercials began to play on the big screen. Its dim light was enough to guide the way, and the full sound effects dispelled the emptiness.

When they reached the fourth row from the back, Liu Wanwan turned in.

When they reached the last row, Ran Lin turned in.

The low attendance rate meant they had the luxury of choosing any seat, even comfortably settling in the middle of the last row.

One commercial followed another, featuring various products and new movie trailers, and finally, a public service announcement played. When it finished, the familiar green dragon logo appeared, and the lights in the cinema dimmed instantly.

The movie started.

Ran Lin leaned back, pressing tightly against the seat, as if sitting upright could make him feel less nervous.

Various production company logos flashed on screen—this company, that company, none of which Ran Lin really saw because his eyes were fixed on the entrance…

Right as the last financier’s logo faded from the big screen, Lu Yiyao’s figure appeared both on the screen and at the entrance.

Although the boyfriend on the big screen was clear down to every pore, the one entering was bundled up like a zongzi.

Ran Lin watched Li Tong and Lu Yiyao make their way up, then Li Tong turned into the fourth row from the back and Lu Yiyao into his row.

Ran Lin watched, twisting his neck up as the other man approached closer and closer.

By the time Ran Lin realized, he had eagerly flipped down a seat for the other, even dusting it off.

As his lover settled down, Ran Lin tried to retract his hand, but before he could pull it away, it was caught.

That hold never loosened.

Ran Lin allowed Lu Yiyao to hold it, his eyes on the big screen but muttering, “Why are you so late?”

On the big screen, Lu Yiyao was in a bathroom, looking into a mirror. The scene was silent and tense, making the entire cinema quiet.

Lu Yiyao leaned close to Ran Lin’s ear, his breath warm as he whispered, “Hard to find parking.”

Ran Lin was exasperated. “Couldn’t you come up with something more romantic…”

Lu Yiyao didn’t reply.

Just as Ran Lin was wondering why, his mask was suddenly pulled off with lightning speed, and the next second, his view of the big screen was blocked as Lu Yiyao accurately captured his lips.

A kiss somewhere between a peck and a French kiss, deeper than a peck but not as lingering as the French style. When they parted, Ran Lin’s lips felt tingly and warm, slightly itchy.

“Is that reason okay?” Lu Yiyao asked with a light smile.

“So you were late because you wanted to kiss me?” Ran Lin wanted to tease him but found himself charmed instead, noticing the twinkling eyes of his lover under the cinematic light.

Lu Yiyao flipped up the armrest drink holder, removing any barrier between their seats, then drew Ran Lin into his embrace, bending down for another peck. “Because if I’m late, I can do this without wasting words—kiss you directly.”

Ran Lin was speechless.

Though his lover was shameless as soon as the lights went out, it was a kind of shamelessness that won hearts. Deciding to enjoy the moment before contemplating resistance, Ran Lin relaxed, shifted to find a comfortable position in Lu Yiyao’s embrace, and settled down to watch the movie.

Lu Yiyao, with his arm around Ran Lin’s shoulder, occasionally caught the scent of the other’s hair. He had seen the movie more than a dozen times during promotions, knew every shot by heart, and thus found his attention drifting. As his focus wandered, his hand itched to touch, and soon he was gently caressing Ran Lin’s face.

Occasionally, if his touch distracted Ran Lin from the movie, his hand would be swatted away, but mostly, Lu Yiyao managed the balance well, making up for all the times they couldn’t touch during their online relationship.

<Split Moon> ended abruptly, leaving a lingering impression.

So, as the last shot faded and the credits began to roll, with the audience still recovering, Lu Yiyao quickly put the mask back on his partner. He, of course, was already prepared.

Ran Lin was still immersed in the storyline until Lu Yiyao covered him up, bringing him back to reality.

As the credits rolled and the lights came on, the two couples in the front row didn’t hesitate and quickly left, seemingly forgetting there were still four people behind them.

Ran Lin turned to Lu Yiyao with proud admiration. “You acted really well.”

Since <Split Moon> was nominated for a film festival, Lu Yiyao had heard countless praises, online and off, from fans and peers, elaborate analyses, and simple compliments. But hearing “You acted really well” from Ran Lin felt entirely different.

At that moment, Lu Yiyao realized he had been nervous. The reason his mind couldn’t settle into the movie, aside from having seen it too many times, was the anxiety over his performance. It felt not like watching a movie but a live broadcast, where any moment could reveal a flaw.

“Really?” Lu Yiyao found himself asking.

Ran Lin didn’t reply but earnestly suggested, “Maybe we shouldn’t watch the next one.”

Lu Yiyao paused. “Why?”

Ran Lin: “Watching your performance then mine makes me feel a bit insecure.”

Lu Yiyao: “……”

Despite suspecting that Ran Lin was just being modest or trying to cheer him up, Lu Yiyao couldn’t help but feel delighted.

They would, of course, watch <Dyeing Fire>, which Lu Yiyao had been looking forward to ever since he visited Ran Lin on set.

As it approached 10:00 p.m., returning to the ticket gate from the exit, the waiting area was even less populated with all new faces. The previous audience had gone to watch their respective movies, not staying back for a second screening like them.

At 10:05 p.m., <Dyeing Fire> was starting, so they could proceed directly to ticket checking and entry without waiting.

Only the four of them were there to watch <Dyeing Fire>; it seemed the others in the waiting area were there for a Hollywood blockbuster starting five minutes later.

As they approached the empty cinema hall for the second time, Liu Wanwan, with starry-eyed admiration, expressed her appreciation for <Split Moon> and her admiration for Lu Yiyao’s acting skills.

Li Tong, standing aside, sighed silently. Foolish, thinking she was here just for the movie! Couldn’t she have a pair of discerning eyes in the back of her head?!

The screening hall for <Dyeing Fire> was smaller than for <Split Moon>, and with only the four of them, they all moved forward a few rows without changing their positions.

This time, Lu Yiyao wasn’t distracted, intertwining his fingers with Ran Lin’s with one hand and sitting upright, watching the movie intently.

In <Dyeing Fire>, Ran Lin was no longer himself but Di Jiangtao—pale, gaunt, and weakly—his appearance so transformed that even his familiar face, thanks to his completely different demeanor, seemed like that of another person. Even as the movie’s truth was revealed and the criminal brought to justice, with Di Jiangtao finding his true path in life, the character retained a hint of unshakable rakishness, distinctively Di Jiangtao.

<Dyeing Fire> was longer than <Split Moon>, and by the time the credits rolled, it was past midnight.

Seeing Liu Wanwan and Li Tong getting ready to leave without offering any comments, Ran Lin became anxious and initiated, “How was it?”

Lu Yiyao, slowly putting on his mask, replied somewhat muffled, “Nine points…”

Ran Lin, hearing clearly, immediately asked, “Where’s the one point deducted?”

Lu Yiyao instructed, “Put on your mask first.”

Ran Lin obediently did as told, then stared expectantly at his partner.

Lu Yiyao held up five fingers. “Out of five.”

Ran Lin was flabbergasted. “…So you’re just adding in the extra points for sentiment!”

Exiting through the departure channel, the four of them took the elevator down.

In the elevator, with only the four of them present, Lu Yiyao directly asked Ran Lin, “Did you drive or take a cab?”

Ran Lin responded, “Drove.”

Lu Yiyao nodded. “Alright, then Li Tong, you drive Ran Lin’s car to take Wanwan home later, and then take the car back to your place.”

“No problem,” Li Tong replied promptly and clearly.

Ran Lin, puzzled, glanced at Lu Yiyao but hesitated to ask in front of Liu Wanwan.

Lu Yiyao, as if sure Ran Lin wouldn’t dare to ask, simply stretched out his hand. “Car keys.”

Ran Lin, while Liu Wanwan wasn’t looking, rolled his eyes at him but still fished out the keys from his pocket and handed them over amidst the jingling sound.

Li Tong took the keys, offering what he thought was a simple smile to Liu Wanwan.

Liu Wanwan, feeling a chill, held back her barrage of questions. Seeing Ran Lin equally perplexed and yet not asking made her wonder why.

Catching Lu Yiyao’s confident and authoritative gaze, Liu Wanwan figured it out.

Being an overbearing boss indeed had its own aura, not to mention that Lu Yiyao seemed to have Ran Lin, the future employee, completely wrapped around his finger!

As they left the elevator, some latecomers for the midnight show hurried past them into the elevator, while the group exited into the dimly lit and deserted ground floor of the mall.

“Make sure to get Wanwan home safely,” Ran Lin sternly instructed Li Tong.

Li Tong thumped his chest in assurance. “Consider it done.”

Ran Lin then turned to Liu Wanwan. “Send me a message when you get home.”

Liu Wanwan nodded.

Li Tong gave a woeful look to his boss—They don’t trust me!

Lu Yiyao glanced at him—I think your gaze towards Liu Wanwan is a bit too floaty.

Li Tong—…Wishing you a successful night.

Lu Yiyao—You’re essentially a good kid.

Li Tong stopped engaging with his unprincipled boss and asked Liu Wanwan directly, “Where’s the car parked?”

After bidding farewell, Liu Wanwan led Li Tong to the car.

As Li Tong started the engine, sitting in the back, Liu Wanwan finally vented her pent-up questions. “What’s Lu Ge taking Ran Ge to do? Any other plans?”

Li Tong, driving out of the parking spot and onto the road, vaguely responded, “Not sure. Maybe discussing work or something…”

Liu Wanwan: “Discussing work in the middle of the night?”

Li Tong glanced at the rearview mirror at his future colleague’s indescribable expression and continued to fabricate, “Time waits for no one, right? Both Lu Ge and Ran Ge are so busy, who knows when they’ll get to meet again. By the time Ran Ge joins our company, it’ll be too late for discussions. Work planning is something you have to do in advance.”

Liu Wanwan frowned, feeling something was off.

Li Tong’s heart fluttered with pity, nearly spilling the truth several times but ultimately swallowing it back down.

Let the boss and his wife deliver such a thrilling surprise themselves…

……

“Where are we going?” Ran Lin, sitting in the passenger seat, watched as Lu Yiyao calmly sped, keeping within the speed limit. The steadier Lu Yiyao’s driving was, the more uneasy Ran Lin felt. “Not to your place, right? Didn’t you say your neighborhood is always swarming with paparazzi?”

Lu Yiyao kept his eyes on the road, driving safely but with a content smile creeping onto his face. “So going back to my place is also on your date agenda?”

Ran Lin: “……”

Why did he always feel like he was being led astray?

As the night stretched on, Ran Lin couldn’t discern the road signs nor understand where Lu Yiyao was heading. But seeing the unmistakable “I have a surprise for you” radiance on his lover’s face, he didn’t want to spoil the mood by pressing for answers.

About twenty minutes later, Lu Yiyao suddenly pulled over to the side of the road.

Ran Lin tensed up, instinctively saying, “This isn’t a good spot, right? There are road cameras everywhere, and your window tint isn’t dark enough…”

Lu Yiyao grabbed his phone from the dashboard compartment with a complex expression, holding it while looking at his partner. “Are you rejecting me or hinting at something…”

Ran Lin, looking at the phone in the other’s hand, also realized that he might have, well, misunderstood the situation.

But why would Lu Yiyao suddenly stop driving to use his phone?

Before Ran Lin could figure it out, Lu Yiyao reached out to turn on the car’s electronic screen. Soon, following his phone’s operation, a map appeared… on Amap.

Who gets lost while planning a surprise for their boyfriend!!!

“Turn left at the second traffic light ahead…”

“Turn left…”

“There’s a speed camera 300 meters ahead…”

“Right turn at the traffic light ahead…”

Ran Lin, hopelessly leaning against the car window, listened to the sweet voice of the navigation, his mind void of any romantic thoughts.

Lu Yiyao was equally flustered. He naturally struggled with directions and, apart from driving to his apartment, his office, and his parents’ home in Beijing, was unfamiliar with the rest of the city. But he didn’t show any signs of distress on his face, keeping his head high and speeding the car as if forgetting the route was a very natural occurrence.

Despairing, Ran Lin followed Lu Yiyao without paying much attention to the route until he heard the navigation announce, “You have arrived at your destination.” Recognizing the familiarly luxurious retro style of the security room, the small fountain, and even the uniform of the security staff emerging from the security room, Ran Lin finally realized this was the same Aobei Villa area he had been brought to for the Republic-era party by Xia Xinran!

There couldn’t be another party, could there…

As Ran Lin pondered, he noticed Lu Yiyao’s car approach, and the gate automatically opened with the security guard saluting after recognizing the license plate.

Ran Lin instinctively held onto the seatbelt, feeling like he might be in for a roller coaster ride.

Lu Yiyao, puzzled by Ran Lin’s silence since he should recognize the place by now and expectedly ask something, glanced sideways and saw his partner looking as if he was about to be robbed or assaulted. He figured with Ran Lin’s intelligence, he must have already deduced the answer.

Like last time, they drove through layers of tall green trees, but this time they stopped in front of a different villa.

The villa’s exterior looked similar to the others, except for the many little gnomes on the lawn in front of this one, each with a unique, endearing look, like tiny guardians of the lawn and garden.

Lu Yiyao parked the car and turned to his partner, unable to resist asking, “Don’t you have anything to ask?”

Ran Lin looked deeply at him and decided to plunge in. “Whatever the surprise is, just throw it at me. I can take it.”

Seeing Ran Lin’s blissfully silly smile, Lu Yiyao couldn’t help but grin, his heart swelling with warmth.

As Lu Yiyao opened the villa door, a refreshing fragrance of flowers greeted them. Once Ran Lin stepped into the foyer, the scent became subtler, replaced by the fresh smell of greenery.

Lu Yiyao closed the door and turned on the lights.

The room lit up brightly.

Ran Lin was stunned, mesmerized by the beauty of the living room.

The décor was simple yet artistic, primarily in light colors, making the space feel more expansive. Brightly colored accessories and furniture added a pop of color, while strategically placed plants and flowers lent a layered look to the space, creating a comfortable and warm atmosphere. The pale ice-blue curtains covered the floor-to-ceiling windows tightly, but one could still imagine the beauty of the room filled with sunlight when the curtains were drawn during the day.

“It was renovated last year, but I’ve been airing it out since then because I was worried about the air quality right after the renovation.” Lu Yiyao walked up behind Ran Lin, gently embracing him. “My apartment has become a hotspot for paparazzi, but this place won’t be.”

Although Ran Lin had suspected as much when Lu Yiyao’s car passed through the gate without issue, hearing it directly still felt surreal.

“So we won’t have to be in a long-distance relationship anymore?” Ran Lin’s voice tightened.

“Mm.” Lu Yiyao nuzzled Ran Lin’s neck, murmuring. “In June, when you break your contract and sign with my company, we’ll release an announcement, letting the whole entertainment industry know you’re mine.”

Despite it not being a true public coming out, Ran Lin couldn’t suppress the warmth welling up in his eyes…

Suddenly, a warm drop fell on the back of his hand. Lu Yiyao was taken aback, not even looking before he raised his hand to cover Ran Lin’s eyes, leaning close to whisper, “You’re not allowed to cry anywhere but in bed.”

---

<<< || Table of Contents || >>>

Author: 颜凉雨 / Yan Liang Yu

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

---

Chapter 91

From the first to the fifth day of the Lunar New Year, Ran Lin’s promotional activities were non-stop. It wasn’t until the sixth day that he finally got a half-day rest before hurrying back to Dream Without Limits to pay a New Year’s visit to the boss. The boss was all smiles, obviously having had a very satisfying holiday, and didn’t skimp on giving him a hefty red packet as both acknowledgment of the past year’s work and encouragement for the new one.

Ran Lin felt a bit guilty accepting the red packet.

He then went to Wang Xi’s office with the red packet and broached the subject with his agent. “How about we discuss the termination now? The sooner we bring it up, the more time the company has to prepare. It doesn’t seem right to suddenly say we’re not renewing when the contract is about to expire.”

Wang Xi stopped her work and looked at him resignedly. “If you propose to terminate the contract now, there’s only one outcome.”

Ran Lin leaned forward across the desk, whispering like a thief, “What outcome?”

Wang Xi smacked her forehead with annoyance. “You’ll be shelved.”

Ran Lin frowned. “There are only a few months left. What’s the point of shelving me now…”

“You still have <Dyeing Fire> after <Chronicles of Winter>, right? They might not let you promote it or go on any shows.” Wang Xi gave him a sideways glance. “What would you do then?”

Ran Lin was speechless; he indeed had no solution.

“So, listen to your Xi Jie. I’m never wrong.” Wang Xi took a sip of water, a bit relieved.

Seeing the fatigue that Wang Xi couldn’t hide on her face, Ran Lin hesitated slightly before saying, “I want to always listen to you.” The statement came abruptly, without any preamble, leaving Wang Xi slightly stunned. She set down her cup and fixed her gaze on Ran Lin for a while before narrowing her eyes suddenly. “Liu Wanwan.”

Without any guesswork or questioning, her tone was one of absolute certainty. Ran Lin mentally apologized to his assistant before blatantly throwing her under the bus. “Yeah.”

Wang Xi rolled her eyes. Though she never intended to keep it a secret from Ran Lin, it was just that the team had been so busy since the decision was made that there hadn’t been an appropriate moment to bring it up. “I’m tired. I want to take a break for myself.”

“Then I’ll wait for you to come back,” Ran Lin said sincerely. “You’re not going to change careers after your break, are you?”

Wang Xi chuckled, standing up to lower all the blinds in the office, shutting out prying eyes. When she sat back down, her shoulders relaxed, losing the sharpness of her usual working demeanor and even adopting a lazy tone as if they weren’t in an office but some private space, chatting casually. “I haven’t taken a proper vacation since I started in this industry. This time, I want to make up for twenty years of missed holidays. Maybe I won’t come back and just retire.”

Ran Lin looked at her speechlessly.

Wang Xi laughed, ruffling his hair. “You deserve a better partner. Neither I nor Dream Without Limits are enough.”

Ran Lin felt reluctant to let her go, wanting to say something to persuade her, but seeing the peace and relaxation in Wang Xi’s eyes, the comfort of momentarily stepping away from work, he swallowed back his words.

Everyone makes choices and changes at some stage in their life. Taking a long break, slowing down, and thoroughly enjoying life was what Wang Xi wanted now, and as a friend, all he could do was wish her well.

“Stop with the farewell melancholy,” Wang Xi teased him with a smile. “I’m not leaving yet. What you should be focusing on now are the upcoming promotions. Even a slight lapse could give <Mint Green> a chance to overtake.”

The ongoing battle between <Mint Green> and <Chronicles of Winter> since their release could indeed be described as tumultuous. On the first and second days, <Mint Green> was leading in box office while lagging behind in website ratings, receiving mixed reviews. In contrast, <Chronicles of Winter> received more favorable ones.

The turning point came on the third day. That day, <Chronicles of Winter> completely overtook <Mint Green> in box office, and though the final numbers for the day weren’t out yet, it was clear from the real-time data that it had surpassed <Mint Green>. Coupled with the successful word-of-mouth marketing of <Chronicles of Winter>, a future of both critical and box office success seemed almost certain.

However, on that very night, a long blog post made it to the hot search, bluntly titled [Chronicles of Winter KO Mint Green, Winning Where?] Describing it as a KO, the post really went all out praising <Chronicles of Winter> while criticizing <Mint Green>. Despite the seemingly neutral and objective writing style, it was riddled with sharp points—

[First, style. <Chronicles of Winter> fits the New Year’s Day viewing preference—a blockbuster. Historically, on New Year’s Day, special effects films rarely flop, even if the plot is weak. As long as the effects are decent, they can garner a good box office. Moreover, <Chronicles of Winter> is one of the few domestic blockbusters in recent years that has bolstered both storyline and effects. Such films leave the audience feeling more festive, exhilarated, and satisfied as they walk out of the cinema. In contrast, <Mint Green’s> style is more delicate, emotional, and nuanced in capturing the subtleties of adolescence. However, during the festive season, how many are willing to slow down to appreciate the “confusion of adolescence” the film wants to convey? Regardless of its quality, in terms of style alone, an entertainment blockbuster VS a youth emotion film, the former is a sure win.]

[Second, story. The main theme of <Chronicles of Winter> is rebellion, freedom, and the relentless pursuit of truth and defiance against fate. Such themes are simple, direct, and spirited, understandable and relatable to everyone. It even allows viewers to vicariously satisfy the regret of not being able to defy fate in real life and find comfort. <Mint Green’s> story, as mentioned in the first point, is about the ‘confusion of adolescence,’ but that’s specific to the post-90s and post-00s. What about the 70s and 80s generations? Are they supposed to watch their children’s adolescence in the cinema? Each generation has its unique mark of youth, and no youth film can transcend age groups—a congenital limitation, which also means <Mint Green> can’t resonate with a wider audience compared to <Chronicles of Winter>.]

[Third, film adaptation. <Chronicles of Winter> perfectly inherited the original novel’s spirit while boldly modifying several less impressive scenes from the original. This made it more conducive to film adaptation without changing the original storyline and character traits, making the whole film’s progression more natural, tighter, and interlinked, almost entirely without dull moments. <Mint Green>, on the contrary, was reluctant or perhaps afraid to make changes to the original. Besides some basic subtractions, such as removing some irrelevant subplots from the original, almost everything was retained, making the whole movie a “translated novel”. For those who have read the original, watching the movie offers no surprises…]

[Fourth…]

As expected, it didn’t take long after this hot search went up for well-known film critics to express their disagreement, stepping in to counter the claims—

[First of all, both <Chronicles of Winter> and <Mint Green> are among the better domestic productions in recent years. The former is fluid with stunning effects, and the latter has tender and sincere emotional expression. They are inherently different kinds of films, like drinking cola doesn’t affect enjoying salad; unfortunately, both targeting the New Year’s slot inevitably leads to comparison. But there’s a decent way to compare, and disparagement is unsightly.]

[First, style. Who says you can’t watch sensitive, realistic films during the New Year? So if I want to contemplate youth and life during the holidays, I’m being antisocial? Furthermore…]

[Second, story. According to your “emotional resonance theory”, many films need not be made at all. If I watch a crime film without having committed or experienced crime, am I unqualified to watch it because there’s no resonance? The same goes for horror films; after all, none of us have met psychopaths or fake ghosts… Here lies your most basic and fatal narrow-mindedness: a truly good film will convey what it wants to express and earn audience resonance with its quality, not the other way around, choosing a subject or theme you think will resonate and then constructing a story around it…]

[Third, I don’t even feel like addressing your point. So being loyal to the original is a flaw in film adaptation? Why did the producers buy the rights in the first place? They could have just made up their own story. Not that adaptation doesn’t allow for creative reinvention, and <Chronicles of Winter> itself does a decent job at that, but it seems rather ungrateful to both want to capitalize on the IP’s popularity and brag about how many of the original’s “flaws” were changed…]

By the end, the famous critic almost treated the “KO” blog post as if it were a move made by the <Chronicles of Winter> promotional team, so the criticism wasn’t just of the blog but the promotional tactics of <Chronicles of Winter>, which they found distasteful.

As the saying goes, too much of a good thing can be bad. Even if something is genuinely good, overpraising it can cause backlash, and thus <Chronicles of Winter>, which had been suppressing <Mint Green> in reputation for the first two days, started to face public recoil with this argument.

And from there on, <Mint Green> began to garner more affirmation and praise.

Ran Lin didn’t believe that the long blog post was the doing of the <Chronicles of Winter> promotion team because it seemed rather foolish. This hot search not only damaged the reputation of <Chronicles of Winter> but also garnered sympathy for <Mint Green>, further rallying fans of both the original novel and the film adaptation of <Mint Green> as many began strongly recommending it on their homepages. Wang Xi shared this sentiment, thus leaning more towards the possibility that it was a maneuver by <Mint Green>.

Regardless of the truth, three days later, on the sixth day of the new year, <Mint Green’s> rating had risen to 7.4, while <Chronicles of Winter> dropped to 7.4, marking the first time the two films tied in ratings since their release.

However, in terms of box office, the 3D film <Chronicles of Winter> slowly began to reveal its advantage, steadily widening its lead over <Mint Green>.

The overall box office landscape also saw significant changes—<Chronicles of Winter> and <Mint Green> stood out with robust word-of-mouth, their daily box office seeing substantial growth, while the other films that were closely following behind began to see a drastic slowdown in box office increment, most notably in the cinema’s scheduling. These two films had almost formed a monopoly.

All this happened within just six days. Wang Xi’s caution against the potential comeback of <Mint Green> wasn’t unfounded because if its reputation continues to improve, it’s uncertain how many viewers it could divert. Given that <Mint Green’s> investment was far lower than <Chronicles of Winter>, being a youth film versus a special effects blockbuster, this predestines a vastly different breakeven point for the two films. Perhaps <Mint Green> only needs to reach 400 million to recoup and start profiting, while <Chronicles of Winter> might need up to 1 billion.

Naturally, Wang Xi hoped the film Ran Lin starred in would earn more money for the financiers, as this is part of an actor’s value.

“Don’t worry, Xi Jie,” Ran Lin declared to his agent. “Even if it means not eating, drinking, or sleeping, I’ll make sure to run the promotions well, rally the crowd, and <Dyeing Fire> is up next. I have to dominate the screen!”

Wang Xi was both relieved and amused. “Getting cocky, are we?”

……

Ran Lin did as he said. Throughout February, he was probably the <Chronicles of Winter> actor who did the most promotional work, and he put his all into every single event, never just going through the motions. In contrast, <Mint Green> was somewhat quieter on the promotional front, mainly because its male lead, Zhang Beichen, spent the first half of the month recuperating in the hospital and the latter half resting post-discharge, virtually absent from the entire month’s promotional activities.

By early March, several New Year’s films that had been squeezed to nearly no room in the schedule began to drop off. The typical effective period for a movie key is usually about a month, but <Chronicles of Winter> and <Mint Green>, as if by agreement, both announced—they would delay the withdrawal for another month. This means the keys for both films were extended by a month, so the two films that were supposed to be off-screen at the beginning of March will now be off-screen at the beginning of April.

At this point, <Chronicles of Winter> had nearly reached 1.7 billion in box office revenue, while <Mint Green> had broken the 1 billion mark. Considering the difference in ticket prices between 3D and 2D movies, it was almost fair to say that both films were on par in terms of screenings and occupancy rates.

Main actors from both films have garnered a wave of popularity from their respective movies. However, Ran Lin had seen the highest surge in popularity due to the stark contrast between his real persona and the character “Xiao Shitou” he portrayed, which led many fans to express their surprise with comments like “Never thought this would be you, Ran Lin.”

Although the films extended their run, in reality, the promotional activities were nearing an end. As new films started releasing, further promotion for these films made little impact on the box office; it was the cultivated word-of-mouth that played a crucial role now.

Ran Lin finally had some time to rest and sneak into a cinema to watch <Mint Green>.

On March 5^th, a month after the New Year’s slate of films was released, and after countless trips in and out of cinemas due to promotional activities, he finally had the opportunity to see the film that had once been within his grasp, rather than just reading about it online.

Ran Lin bought a ticket for the late evening show and arrived at the cinema around 10 p.m. The peak hours had passed, and as it wasn’t a holiday, only seven or eight people casually waited to enter their respective screenings. The air was cool with March’s chill, but the sweet scent of popcorn brought back some warmth.

Ran Lin, dressed in a black down jacket and wearing a mask, sat unnoticed in a corner. The waiting audience, mostly couples, were too immersed in their worlds to pay attention to a lone moviegoer like him.

Finally, the announcement for the 10:10 p.m. showing of <Mint Green> prompted him and another couple to enter the theater.

In the vast cinema, there were only three people, almost like a private screening. Ran Lin sat in the middle row, as per his ticket, while the couple took the last row.

As the lights dimmed and the movie started…

For the entire 125 minutes, Ran Lin didn’t allow himself to be distracted for even a moment.

Perhaps because of his complex feelings towards the film, he focused so intently that he didn’t want to miss a single shot, occasionally wondering how he would have played certain scenes and whether he could have done better than Zhang Beichen. Sometimes he would recall the script and ponder whether it had been portrayed as he remembered. More often, he compared what was on screen with his initial expectations from the script—whether it aligned, exceeded, or fell short.

His continuous internal dialogue made him feel somewhat dazed when the credits rolled, and the cinema lights turned back on.

It wasn’t until the couple passed by him and the girl glanced back at him, her expression curious but uncertain, that Ran Lin snapped back to reality and quickly put his mask back on. The timely arrival of the cleaning staff diverted the girl’s attention.

After driving home, Ran Lin finally settled down to reflect on <Mint Green> he had just watched.

Honestly, it was a sincere and delicate film, with great atmosphere and performances. The concentrated criticism on film websites about not capturing the essence of the original probably had to do with the diminishment of several important supporting characters in the adaptation.

The film presented a difference from the script he initially read.

Ran Lin didn’t know if it was the director’s or the production company’s decision, but he clearly remembered the script he had initially received. As the male lead, Li Yi’s storyline only made up about 65% of it, with the remaining percentage belonging to several well-integrated supporting characters, each representing diverse aspects of youth. However, in the final cut, Li Yi’s storyline occupied about 80%, meaning Zhang Beichen’s scenes increased, but this left less room for the other characters, leading to a sense of rush and lack of depth in their stories.

Those familiar with the original might be dissatisfied with how the film narrowed the diverse youth portrait to a story centered around Zhang Beichen; others might feel that the film overly focuses on his “confusion” and deem it a bit forced. But most likely had a decent viewing experience.

At least Ran Lin enjoyed it.

What if he had acted in the movie? Ran Lin didn’t know. There are no what-ifs in this world; if an opportunity seems close but is ultimately missed, it simply means it was never meant to be his.

Perhaps influenced by just having watched <Mint Green>, Ran Lin searched for news about Zhang Beichen before going to bed. He found that after being discharged, there was hardly any public activity. His Weibo was updated only on the day of discharge, reassuring fans that he was fine and they didn’t need to worry.

……

The day after Ran Lin secretly watched <Mint Green>, Lu Yiyao finally carried out his plan—he paid out of his pocket to treat the entire company to watch <Chronicles of Winter> and, through Yao Hong, subtly hinted to the staff to promote it on Weibo and social circles if they genuinely liked it after viewing, or at least, out of appreciation for the free movie, to sell some promotions.

Lu Yiyao’s company staff weren’t surprised, as they were all aware of their boss’ tight relationship with Ran Lin. Rumors within the company also indicated that Ran Lin’s contract with Dream Without Limits was about to expire and that upon expiration, he would sign with their side, becoming the first true signed artist after the company’s establishment.

However, their gossip only went so far because after organizing the <Chronicles of Winter> viewing, the boss and the entire company got busy—<Split Moon> was scheduled for release on March 28^th.

As they say, brothers go into battle together; perhaps it was fate that, at the same time, <Dyeing Fire> also announced its release date—March 25^th.

<Split Moon>, had the blessing of being shortlisted in an A-list film festival—though it didn’t win any awards, the sole selected Chinese language film provided enough prestige for it to assert quality.

<Dyeing Fire> was boosted by renowned director He Guan, the reappearance of Gu Jie on the big screen after more than a year, and Ran Lin, who had just shone in the New Year’s slot with <Chronicles of Winter>. The combination of these three explosive elements made it a formidable contender.

The two movies announced their release dates close to each other, sparking a fierce battle in the industry.

<Dyeing Fire> initiated the promotional campaign first. Wang Xi rode the wave of hype, sparking discussions about <Chronicles of Winter> vs. <Dyeing Fire>, with Ran Lin caught in a self-battle of sorts. His second collaboration with Jiang Yi also became a topic of interest among the public.

Not to be outdone, <Split Moon> launched its promotional campaign, focusing naturally on Lu Yiyao, especially since he was trying a split personality role for the first time. Just the character itself was enough to intrigue audiences.

Objectively, both movies promoted themselves without mentioning the competition. However, marketing accounts, seeking attention, frequently pitted the two films against each other in discussions about box office prospects. While the general public enjoyed the spectacle, the fans weren’t pleased.

Especially Lu Yiyao’s fans. When <Split Moon> was shortlisted for the film festival and <Chronicles of Winter> was gaining momentum, there had been minor skirmishes between the fans of Lu Yiyao and Ran Lin. The conflict subsided as <Mint Green> entered the fray and <Split Moon> hadn’t widely spread its promotions.

Now, some fans finally had the chance to vent—

[Please stop comparing the two movies. One explores split personalities, and the other is a dark crime thriller. They’re incomparable. Also, enough with the “brotherly love, ruling the screens together” narrative. God Lu doesn’t need to team up with anyone. Is it that hard to focus on our own?]

[I’m so fed up. Is Ran Lin doing this on purpose? Why does every promotion involve Lu Yiyao? Can’t he promote without God Lu?]

[True fans have been enduring this for a long time. Please open your eyes and see that the instigators are marketing accounts! True fans always focus on their own. Ran Lin is busy with <Chronicles of Winter> in February and now <Dyeing Fire> in March. He’s collaborating with Director He. Does he need to bring up Lu Yiyao for promotions? Wouldn’t we rather mention Gu Jie?]

[Fans of “Green Forest” are trembling…]

[As a fellow Green Forest fan, it’s not about them being together, but they have always been good friends. It’s clear to anyone with eyes. Fans tearing each other apart like this will only make things awkward for them 😔.]

[Melone eater here. Aren’t you all overacting? The movies haven’t even been released, and you’re already fighting. What’s next, physical fights after the release?]

When Ran Lin saw these comments in mid-March, he was busy with promotional activities for <Dyeing Fire>. Suddenly, he and Wang Xi were urgently called back to the company.

Back at the company, Wang Xi was called into the boss’ office first. Ran Lin waited in her office, idly browsing Weibo, and came across these comments, feeling a mix of emotions.

Bored, Ran Lin screenshotted the comments and sent them to Xia Xinran. When it comes to such matters, it’s best to turn to “friends and family” for a sigh. Of course, he couldn’t send them to Lu Yiyao, the other party involved, as he knew the response would be as complex as his own.

Xia Xinran, having slowed down his pace of work since establishing his studio, often teased Ran Lin about various things.

As expected, his friend quickly replied—[Hahahahahahahahahahahaha]

Ran Lin looked at the insincere string of characters and reflected on whether his choice of friends had gone a bit awry.

[The other party has blocked you.jpg]—Ran Lin expertly flipped out an emoticon from his collection to counterattack.

To his surprise, the other side wasn’t defeated by the emoticon but was instead charmed to the point of depletion—[Ahhh so cute, do you have more, do you have more?!]

Deciding to indulge his friend, Ran Lin sent a series of emoticon—[[The other party has let you out of the little black room.jpg], [The other party doesn’t want to kiss you.jpg], [The other party insists on kissing you.jpg], [The other party doesn’t want to talk and throws a naked man at you.jpg], [The other party happily catches the naked man.jpg]]

Xia Xinran—[Is it just me, or do the last few look like they’re for couples, and they all have a little dog paw!]

Ran Lin—[I don’t produce emoticons. I’m just a carrier for emoji expert [Teacher Lu] 😊.]

Xia Xinran—[Did you come here to complain or to show off your love… 😠]

Ran Lin—[Not exactly to complain, just feeling a bit complicated.]

Xia Xinran—[Lighten up. You two are just ‘friends’ to the outside world; that’s already a lot. Look at those celebrity couples who are openly in a relationship or even married. Their fans still tear each other apart 🤲.]

Ran Lin—[……]

Xia Xinran—[Because fans love their idols, they want to give them the best of the world and are even more intolerant of anyone saying bad things about them. So, as soon as they feel their idol is wronged or taken advantage of, they’re ready to take up arms and fight. Thus, no matter how intense their words are, it all stems from love… 🤲]

Ran Lin—[Right, so when I see them scolding me and protecting Lu Yiyao at the same time, I want to grab them, pinch their face fiercely, then hug and lift them high 😂.]

Xia Xinran—[So when falling in love, why find someone in the same industry 🤔.]

Ran Lin—[Are you suggesting finding someone outside the industry now?]

Xia Xinran—[No. Find the fated one.]

Ran Lin—[The fated one is likely to be in the same industry.]

Xia Xinran—[Then let it be the same industry. Just bestow me with someone soon; I want to break free from being single 💦 💦.]

Ran Lin—[…So what were all those things you just said to me!!!]

“Ran Ge.” Liu Wanwan barged in, panting and with a deeply furrowed brow, not looking like she bore good news. “The boss is calling for you.”

Ran Lin asked, “Is Xi Jie still in there?”

Liu Wanwan pursed her lips tightly and nodded.

Because he already had a bad premonition, when the boss straightforwardly asked if he had found a new company and had no intention of renewing his contract with Dream Without Limits, Ran Lin wasn’t surprised.

With only a little over three months left on the contract, it was time to lay everything out on the table. Ran Lin didn’t know how Wang Xi communicated with the boss, but he could sense some pacifying effect. Although the boss was displeased, he didn’t really say anything but simply discussed continuing to cooperate with promotional activities for works signed during the contract period after its expiration.

Ran Lin understood immediately that this was referring to <The Legend of Lantern Blossoms>, which was scheduled to air on satellite TV in July. It was a drama the company secured for him, and if he, the male lead, didn’t promote it, Dream Without Limits would still be responsible for the fallout.

Cooperating with promotions is an actor’s duty, and Ran Lin agreed immediately. He also roughly understood that <The Legend of Lantern Blossoms> was Wang Xi’s negotiating chip. After all, terminating a contract upon expiration is a legitimate matter, and Dream Without Limits couldn’t stop it. Now, with only a little over three months left until the contract’s end, even if Dream Without Limits decided to shelve him, it wouldn’t really affect Ran Lin. Rather than causing harm to both parties, it was better to part amicably.

……

On March 21^st, four days before the movie’s release, <Dyeing Fire> held its premiere in Beijing.

On March 25^th, the day <Dyeing Fire> was released, <Split Moon> held its premiere in Beijing.

On March 28^th, when <Split Moon> was released, <Dyeing Fire> broke the one billion box office mark.

On April 5^th, the Qingming holiday began, and Hollywood blockbusters dominated completely, with <Split Moon> and <Dyeing Fire> being the only domestic films to see steady box office growth amidst the imported film squeeze.

Compared to the New Year’s slot where <Chronicles of Winter> broke one billion on the first day, March and April indeed tend to be a tough period for domestic films. Firstly, there were several high-quality overseas blockbusters, and secondly, both <Dyeing Fire> and <Split Moon> are reality-based films. Although both were bolstered by idol fresh faces, they took a somewhat profound approach, with the former being a dark crime story and the latter exploring special populations, neither being mainstream commercial entertainers. Thus, the former took three and a half days to break one billion, and the latter took three days.

However, as word-of-mouth gradually fermented, the box office began to stabilize. And both films received well-rounded acclaim for directorship, script, and acting. Naturally, the actors’ promotional teams would tout their own, but when it came to marketing accounts, everyone grouped together for a more interesting perspective—

[Rotten Tomato Film Studio: The most surprising domestic films of April are these—<Dyeing Fire> is mind-bending, <Split Moon> is heart-wrenching! The boys of Drifting Story, Lu Yiyao, Gu Jie, and Ran Lin, all on the big screen. There’s one for everyone! Deep analysis on what makes these two movies good, no spoilers involved, safe to read…[View full article]]

Although there are always bad actors online leading the charge, there are also good ones. This long Weibo post was written objectively and sensibly, acknowledging the strengths of the films and offering professional suggestions before recommending audiences watch them, a true conscience of the industry.

Comments from the netizens were surprisingly harmonious—

[I just watched <Split Moon>. Different from what I expected, but better than expected. I agree with the poster. Lu Yiyao delivered the best performance of his career.]

[<Dyeing Fire> is truly gripping throughout. Gu Jie looks so handsome in a police uniform!!! And how does Ran Lin make the fearless young “Xiao Shitou” and the deeply despaired unemployed youth Di Jiangtao so believably acted out by the same person. I only realized towards the end they were played by the same actor 😢.]

[I’ve been wanting to watch <Split Moon> since it was nominated at XX. Glad I didn’t wait too long. The director’s approach is sincere, the pacing of the film is great, and Lu Yiyao’s acting is nothing short of amazing. A film worth settling down to watch.]

[As a melon-eater who has watched both <Dyeing Fire> and <Split Moon>, I personally prefer <Dyeing Fire> a bit more—just a personal taste. But the way Lu Yiyao can distinguish personalities with just a small gesture, or a look is just incredible…]

[Am I the only one who likes Jiang Yi? I genuinely think she’s also very spirited in modern dramas, and her transition this time was very successful!]

[I don’t stan any actor. I stan Director He! Even if he makes a science education film, I’d still love it…]

[I wasn’t planning to watch, but now I want to watch them all because of you…]

[I’ve watched both, thanks to the original poster’s persuasion, and decided to go for a second round 😂.]

Ran Lin was grinning ear to ear as he scrolled through the comments when suddenly a message from his lover popped up on his phone screen—[Are you asleep yet?]

It was nearly midnight, and Ran Lin, still buzzing, replied—[No.]

Lu Yiyao—[Where are you?]

Ran Lin—[At home.]

The video connected, and his lover hadn’t even taken off his coat. Given that Lu Yiyao had been promoting <Split Moon> with the creative team, Ran Lin immediately understood. “Just finished work?”

Lu Yiyao nodded but didn’t continue on the subject. Instead, he asked, “When are you free from your schedules?”

Ran Lin reflexively answered, “End of the month. Have to keep running <Dyeing Fire> promotions until then.”

After responding, he suddenly realized the implication of the question and asked curiously, “Why do you ask?”

Lu Yiyao pondered for a moment before saying, “I want to go watch a movie with you.”

Ran Lin’s heart fluttered, but he teased, “Watch <Split Moon> or <Dyeing Fire>?”

Lu Yiyao already had an answer. “Both. The two of us, watching our movies.”

Ran Lin: “……”

This was the most romantic invitation Ran Lin had ever heard.

---

<<< || Table of Contents || >>>

Author: 颜凉雨 / Yan Liang Yu

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

---

Chapter 90

Ran Lin had anticipated a busy New Year’s Eve but didn’t expect it to be sadly spent at the airport due to a flight delay. The whole main team of <Chronicles of Winter> was stuck there, needing to rush back to Beijing as the movie was premiering the next day.

Most staff were waiting in the terminal, while he and a few main actors were arranged to wait in the VIP lounge. The exhaustion from the roadshow and the frustration of the flight delay dispelled the scarce festive spirit, leaving everyone in the lounge catching up on sleep in different corners, except for Jiang Yi sweetly talking to her boyfriend.

Ran Lin checked the time; it was 11 p.m.

The VIP lounge on New Year’s Eve was deserted, except for them. Ran Lin chose a single sofa in a corner by the window farthest from everyone. The runway outside the window looked no different from any other day, showing no sign that in an hour, it would be the new year.

Ran Lin pulled out his phone and dialed his mother’s number.

After a while, she picked up, her voice robust amidst the lively background of the Spring Festival Gala. “Hello—”

Ran Lin’s lips curved into a gentle smile. “Haven’t gone to bed yet?”

The other end shouted back, “What—”

Ran Lin’s tender sentiment shattered, and he had to raise his voice, devoid of any tenderness. “Haven’t gone to bed?”

“We just finished eating.” His mother finally turned down the TV volume a bit. “About to sleep.”

As they aged, his parents no longer insisted on staying up late for the New Year, as it took a toll on their health. Even when Ran Lin was home, the family would enjoy themselves and usually retire around 10 or 11 p.m., waking up the next day for New Year greetings.

“Where are you?” Lu Qing initially didn’t notice anything unusual, but after turning down her TV, she caught the sound of public announcements in her son’s background.

“At the airport,” Ran Lin said truthfully. “The flight’s delayed.”

Lu Qing sympathized, “So you’re spending the New Year at the airport?”

Ran Lin sighed softly. “Yeah, your son’s quite pitiful.”

Lu Qing: “Your dad and I have to get up at four every day to steam buns. Making money is never easy.”

“…” Is this my mother or the agency!

“Come on, cheer up.” Lu Qing raised her voice in the way she would greet neighbors in her shop, uplifting and energetic. “It’s the New Year; it should be cheerful!”

“Okay.” Ran Lin couldn’t help but smile, utterly helpless against his mother.

“By the way, son, I’ve bought the movie tickets. Three groups in total; tomorrow morning, I’m taking your uncles and aunties, in the afternoon your other uncles and aunties, and then tomorrow it’s Auntie He, Auntie Zhou, Auntie Sun, Auntie Li…”

“Do we need all these aunts?” Ran Lin felt it was understandable for his family to support him, but doubted these friends of his mother would enjoy being so obligatorily “showed off”.

Lu Qing: “I just casually mentioned it, but these aunts insisted on going. Your Auntie Zhou even said she’s always known you’d be successful…”

Ran Lin doubted the casualness of his mother’s mentions.

Also, he decided it might be best to avoid visiting these family friends next time he’s home. Being “the neighbor’s child” comes with its own set of challenges.

Despite his internal complaints, hearing his mother’s proud chatter warmed Ran Lin’s heart.

Being the source of pride for your parents is the highest honor.

“Mom…” Ran Lin called out softly.

“Hmm?” Lu Qing paused.

Ran Lin didn’t know what he wanted to say. He just felt like calling out. After a while, he blurted out, “You’re not leading all three groups, are you?”

“Of course, I am.” His mother didn’t miss a beat. “It’s been years since I’ve been to a movie. I barely figured out the cinema’s door when buying tickets; they’d be lost without me.”

Ran Lin: “So you’re watching it three times?”

“This is my son’s movie!” Lu Qing exclaimed. “I’d find it great even if I watched it three hundred times!”

Ran Lin: “……”

It felt more like his mother was trying to one-up his imagined fans rather than praising him.

“Are you done yet…” came his father’s voice from the phone, clearly out of patience.

“Okay, okay, here you go.” Lu Qing passed the phone with apparent disdain.

Ran Lin chuckled. “Dad…”

Ran Yimin: “Mm…”

Ran Lin: “……”

Ran Yimin: “……”

Ran Lin: “Don’t drink too much for the New Year.”

Ran Yimin: “I know, your mom’s been nagging all day.”

Ran Lin: “……”

Ran Yimin: “……”

Lu Qing: “Are you going to talk, or should I take the phone back—”

Finally, with reluctance, Ran Lin thought as the call ended, his parents probably lasted together because they complemented each other in their talkativeness, or lack thereof.

Jiang Yi was still chatting on the phone.

Ran Lin looked at her from afar, his mind on his own lover.

Lu Yiyao was spending the day at his father’s place. Although Lu Yiyao always said their interactions were nothing but awkward, it was hard for Ran Lin to imagine a stoic Lu Yiyao.

Ran Lin snapped a picture of the empty VIP lounge and sent it to his lover with a crying emoji.

……

Lu Guoming, alone, had finished the entire fish down to the bones.

Lu Yiyao thought if his father weren’t afraid of getting another bone stuck, he might have eaten those too.

He was anxious the whole time, not wanting to trouble Dr. Meng again. Fortunately, his father didn’t repeat the mistake, allowing the departed Dr. Meng to have a peaceful New Year.

However, after such a fuss, there wasn’t a good opportunity to bring up his career change. Even his mother would immediately express skepticism about why he wouldn’t help with the family business if he wanted to go into commerce, let alone his father, who would be even more questioning. Considering the rare harmonious atmosphere, Lu Yiyao didn’t want to spoil it.

As Dr. Meng left, he advised getting plenty of rest, so after their interrupted meal, Lu Yiyao looked at the time and saw it was getting late. Together with the auntie, they hurried his father back to his room for rest.

His father reluctantly went upstairs with a frown and a dark face, probably realizing he wasn’t as sprightly as he once was.

Before entering his room, however, he turned back to look down into the living room from the second-floor railing.

Lu Yiyao, who was seeing his father off, naturally noticed and looked up, “Hm?”

Lu Guoming’s face flickered with discomfort, but he still sternly spoke. “If you’re short on funds, just say so. Don’t get tangled in messy investments. Treat the first project as practice; don’t worry about losses.”

After saying his piece without waiting for his son’s response, he turned and went into his room, leaving Lu Yiyao alone in the living room, stunned.

The auntie, with a smile, began picking up dishes and didn’t disturb Lu Yiyao as he “processed the spirit of the words.”

Once everything was tidied, and seeing Lu Yiyao still standing there dazed, the auntie suggested, “You should sleep early too.”

Lu Yiyao finally snapped out of it, slightly embarrassed as he saw the auntie holding back a laugh. “It’s okay. I’m not sleepy yet. You go ahead and rest.”

After the auntie went back to her room, the villa returned to quiet.

Lu Yiyao turned off the main lights, leaving only the soft glow of a nightlight on. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the yard was adorned with big red lanterns. The red of the lanterns and the blue of the nightlight interwove into a dreamlike array of lights and shadows.

Looking up towards his father’s bedroom, Lu Yiyao couldn’t quite define his feelings. There was warmth, solidity, surprise, relief, regret for past naïveté, and lingering resentment over “why did you have to divorce?”

If both had moved on and started new families, that might have been one thing, but after more than a decade post-divorce, neither had remarried. His mother still got irked mentioning his father, and his father still kept their wedding photo, just turned face down in a corner of the room—a perfect analogy for covering one’s ear to steal the bell*.

*(掩耳盗铃) Idiom referring to someone who attempts to deceive others but ends up fooling only themselves. It comes from a story in ancient China where a man wanted to steal a valuable bell but feared that the sound of the bell would alert others. To prevent this, he covered his own ears while stealing the bell, thinking that if he couldn’t hear the sound, no one else would. In this context, it’s like turning a blind eye.

Keeping things bottled up, not laying them out for discussion, this kind of self and mutual torment had the power to devastate—that’s the most painful and profound lesson Lu Yiyao learned from his parents. In matters of love, he’s always used them as an example of what not to do.

Pondering was useless; after all, matters of the heart can only be resolved by those involved.

After a soft sigh, Lu Yiyao shook off the turmoil, looking at the tote bag placed near the entrance—”goodies” he had brought from his sister’s place, intended to share with his lover.

Ding dong.

The crisp notification sound echoed in the quiet living room.

Lu Yiyao couldn’t help but smile as he walked over to the table to pick up his phone, expecting a message from his lover saying “safely home.” Instead, the message revealed he was still at the airport and not even in Beijing.

[Flight delayed?]—As a fellow frequent flyer, Lu Yiyao had ample experience.

Ran Lin —[😭.jpg]

Lu Yiyao—[Can you do a video call?]

Ran Lin—[Sure, just let me plug in my earphones and connect.]

While waiting for the video call invite, Lu Yiyao quickly grabbed his coat from the entryway rack, wrapped up, and picked up the tote bag to head to the open-air courtyard at the back of the house.

Before even reaching the courtyard, the video call invite rang out. Lu Yiyao hurried to the backyard, setting down the tote bag and answering the call.

Ran Lin, seeing his breath fogging in the air, was initially surprised. “You’re outside?” But as he noticed the hurried breath and the rapid fogging, he realized, “A New Year’s Eve… night run?”

“I’m in my own backyard.” Lu Yiyao rolled his eyes, regretting not bringing a selfie stick out, as he could feel the warmth leaving his fingers holding the phone.

“Where’s your dad?” Ran Lin could barely make out anything in the dim light, except for his partner’s face, still managing a hint of handsomeness.

“He’s gone to rest. Staying up late isn’t good for him at his age.” To maintain his father’s dignified image, Lu Yiyao didn’t mention the fish bone chaos to his lover.

“What are you doing in the backyard?” Ran Lin was puzzled.

Lu Yiyao’s breathing gradually steadied as he said softly, “Keeping vigil with you.”

Ran Lin, amused yet touched, replied, “You don’t have to stand outside in the cold for that. You could do it inside.”

Lu Yiyao moved closer to the phone screen, eyes narrowing with pride. “But I can’t set off fireworks inside.”

Ran Lin was taken aback.

Lu Yiyao set his phone down on something about half a meter tall, perhaps a bench or a flower stand, and then pulled out six or seven different types of fireworks from a large tote bag. After a moment of consideration, he chose a cylindrical one and placed it in the middle of the yard, quickly producing a lighter as if by magic.

“Don’t blink…”

Lu Yiyao said from a distance and then swiftly lit the fuse with the lighter.

Ran Lin didn’t blink, so he clearly saw his boyfriend light the firework and then dash back, lifting the phone high, angling the camera up towards the vast sky.

Fizzle, fizzle, fizzle—

Almost as soon as Ran Lin saw the sky, he heard the sound of the fireworks.

His heart thumped in anticipation.

Fizzle, fizzle, fizzle—

The sky remained unchanged.

Fizzle, fizzle, fizzle—

No fireworks burst in the sky.

The silent sky at that moment seemed a bit awkward.

Ran Lin didn’t want to break the mood but, after a while of hearing sounds without seeing the corresponding visual effect, was about to speak when the video suddenly shook. The angle shifted from the sky back to the ground, and in the last few seconds, Ran Lin caught a glimpse of the “Christmas tree”-like firework.

Well, more like a “Christmas sapling”.

Once the fire died and the fizzle faded into the night, Lu Yiyao’s face, with mixed expressions, finally appeared on the video.

Ran Lin asked, “What happened?”

Lu Yiyao frowned, and after a while, not ready to give up, said, “Let me try another one.”

Clearly, he was unsure what had gone wrong.

Ran Lin patiently waited as his partner lit the second firework, this time keeping the camera focused on the ground.

So, the two of them witnessed the entire process of the fireworks—first, the fuse burned, followed by the release of pretty sparks, though not as grand as the previous one. At least the prior had the shape of a small Christmas tree. This one sent sparks flying outwards, its circular base spinning like a top, circling around on the ground with dazzling lights.

It was beautiful and cute.

But it was quite different from the “bursting in the sky, filling the heavens with dazzling lights” that the two young men had envisioned.

“Strange, it didn’t look like this when my sister set them off yesterday…” Lu Yiyao stood baffled in the night air.

“Are you sure your sister set off the same kind?” Ran Lin was now skeptical of his boyfriend’s “romantic skills”. “Point the phone at the rest of the fireworks; let me see the packaging.”

The romantically challenged Lu Yiyao obediently crouched next to the tote bag, directing his phone’s camera at the remaining fireworks for a close-up.

Ran Lin watched as the phone’s camera moved from one firework to the next, revealing their boldly printed names—

Thunder Top, Fairy Tree, Little Duck…

“Okay.” Ran Lin sighed. Though each firework wasn’t small in size, every name resonated with pre-school innocence. “They are all children’s fireworks.”

Lu Yiyao was embarrassed; he hadn’t looked closely when picking them up, assuming they were the same ones Lu Yimeng had already set off…

Ran Lin remembered Lu Yiyao mentioning that the effect was different from what his sister had the day before and guessed, “Did Mengmeng give these to you?”

Lu Yiyao hesitated before admitting, “They’re the leftovers she didn’t use. I just brought them all over.”

Ran Lin: “…Now you understand why she left them.”

Lu Yiyao: “Completely understood.”

Despite the awkwardness, Ran Lin found his boyfriend’s helpless face endearing and sighed with a smile. “Romance that comes naturally tends to come with a twist…”

Lu Yiyao nodded solemnly.

Just when Ran Lin thought his partner had resigned himself to the situation, Lu Yiyao suddenly looked up, mischief sparkling in his eyes. “So, should we continue?”

Without hesitation, Ran Lin replied, “Yes.”

Thus, for the rest of the time, Lu Yiyao’s backyard was surrounded by various modest yet warm and cute little fireworks. The sizzling sounds of their burning were like the most beautiful notes of New Year’s Eve.

As midnight struck, the last “Fairy Tree” was still burning, its sparkles like lush branches lighting up most of the yard.

“Lu Yiyao,” Ran Lin said softly. “Happy New Year.”

The fireworks on the screen soon changed back to his lover’s face. “Happy New Year.”

Ran Lin smiled. “I hope I can spend next Spring Festival with you.”

Lu Yiyao looked at him silently for a while, then said in a deep voice, “Remove ‘hope’ and ‘can’.”

……

The next morning of the first day of the new year, while the streets were still quiet, Lu Yiyao, having paid his New Year’s respects to his father, sneaked out of the house, wrapped up tightly against the cold, and went to a nearby cinema with a lower traffic to secretly watch <Chronicles of Winter>.

Though the cinema wasn’t doing well business-wise, the screen quality was quite good. Combined with the genuine 3D effects and top-notch team behind <Chronicles of Winter>, the movie was thoroughly enjoyable.

Without any romantic bias, objectively speaking, Lu Yiyao would still rate the movie a 7.5 or even an 8. Money was well spent where it should be, not just on piling up special effects for visual bombardment but making the world of <Chronicles of Winter> look realistic and beautiful.

If one was watching for entertainment, the film’s visuals were stunning, the characters enchanting, the storyline smooth, and both the humorous and emotional moments were on point.

If one were looking to dig deeper, the film’s subtle yet persistent themes of “awakening,” “rebellion,” and “freedom” among others, were sufficient for the audience to explore.

After leaving the cinema and sitting in his car before even starting the engine, Lu Yiyao first posted on Weibo—

[My Ran Lin Is the Best in the World: #ChroniclesofWinter 360-degree rotationally recommend Chronicles of Winter! A conscientious work of domestic blockbusters, with exciting plot, exquisite performance, and beautiful special effects, an astonishing viewing experience. If you haven’t seen it, hurry up; if you have, go for a second round! ❤️ ❤️ ❤️]

After triple-checking his post for any flaws, Lu Yiyao clicked send, then contentedly drove home.

Although “My Ran Lin Is the Best in the World” only had about a hundred fans, they were all fervent supporters, so Lu Yiyao was optimistic about the success of his recommendation.

While Lu Yiyao was secretly watching the movie, Ran Lin, who had been stuck at the airport, finally flew back to Beijing. As soon as he landed, he joined the entire creative team for a promotional event at a prestigious cinema—crucial for the first day of the film’s official release.

Perhaps the midnight fireworks had a spiritually uplifting effect, because Ran Lin was in high spirits all day, the promotional activities were a complete success, and in the cinema they were promoting, <Winter of Chronicles> had the highest screening rate, not overwhelmingly so, but still a few percentage points higher than <Mint Green>.

His mother, knowing he was busy all day, didn’t call him, but from noon until night, she sent him several WeChat messages—

“Your auntie said you looked too handsome in the movie!”

“Your uncle was almost scared by the hammer you wielded, as if it could come flying out of the screen.”

“I saw several young girls taking photos with your promotional standee. That’s what it’s called, right? The big one with the movie name and actors’ heads on it.”

“Your uncle left halfway through, couldn’t last, and said the sound was too loud for his heart…”

Ran Lin returned home at 2 a.m., and after listening to his mother’s voice messages, he couldn’t help but laugh, especially at the one about his uncle. He could almost imagine the plight of his uncle tormented by the sound effects, especially the bass. Ironically, his mother, unknowingly keen on contributing to the box office, had bought all IMAX tickets for the extra price, taxing the relatives’ patience and endurance.

After taking a slightly hotter than usual bath, Ran Lin finally relaxed completely, the fatigue of the past two days hitting him all at once.

Yet, after lying in bed, he still picked up his phone to check the box office for <Chronicles of Winter>.

As an actor, performing well in a film, receiving the paycheck, and cooperating with the promotion are considered fulfilling one’s duty. How the box office fares are typically the concern of the financiers. However, in reality, no actor is indifferent to box office numbers because they signify the audience’s recognition of the work, and the work is something they’ve been a part of.

Nowadays, box office numbers are tallied in real-time. A quick search revealed the current standings of all films in theaters—

<Mint Green> has accumulated 146 million.

<Chronicles of Winter> has accumulated 137 million.

<XXX> has accumulated 92.14 million.

<XXXX> has accumulated 73.35 million…

<XXXXX> has accumulated 40.22 million…

The top four rankings were films released on the first day of the new year, meaning they’d only been in theaters for one day and three hours. Besides <Mint Green>, the other three were all 3D films, which meant their tickets were slightly pricier than <Mint Green>. Even if the box office numbers were similar, it suggested that <Mint Green> had more viewers, and its box office was even slightly ahead.

At this point, there weren’t many reviews, and the audience word-of-mouth hadn’t fully developed yet, so box office results were primarily driven by marketing and promotion. However, in terms of promotion, <Chronicles of Winter> wasn’t falling behind, which left the inherent appeal of the IP—the original novel’s appeal of <Mint Green> was far surpassing that of <Chronicles of Winter>.

However, what surprised Ran Lin were the other films’ box office numbers, which were also quite high. Compared to previous years where one or two films dominated New Year’s Day and others were mere fillers, this year seemed evenly matched, leading to a more even distribution of box office returns and no overwhelming single-day champion.

Ran Lin noticed during the day’s promotional activities that the cinema’s scheduling was relatively balanced. Although <Chronicles of Winter> had the highest scheduling rate in the cinema where he promoted, it didn’t completely overshadow the scheduling space for other films.

This sort of balanced scheduling usually indicated that several movies were fairly matched, and cinemas needed time to observe which would stand out before adjusting their scheduling based on box office and word-of-mouth.

Clearly, this was a highly competitive New Year’s slot.

Ran Lin hadn’t had a chance to watch <Mint Green> yet and could only scroll through reviews on movie critique sites.

Comments on movie critique sites and those on Weibo often had different tones. Weibo had fans, detractors, and neutrals, with posts not solely focused on the film itself, while movie critique sites usually had reviews from audiences who had seen the film. While these also had their biases, with some rating blindly one star or five stars, the majority of comments were focused on the film itself, though the latter tend to be more fiercely critical.

<Mint Green> currently had a score of 7.4 on the website, which was quite high for a domestic youth film.

Ran Lin clicked on the short reviews and indeed found them sharp—

[Watched the preview. Better than expected but could be better. Four stars for encouragement.]

[The movie adaptation is okay, engaging, but the most touching and spirited part of the original is gone, a pity.]

[Zhang Beichen’s performance here is eye-catching. Not sure if it’s his own breakthrough or the director’s good guidance.]

[Why do actors in youth films always look so world-weary! Although this movie has improved in this aspect, it’s still not quite there. Youth films should feature 15, 16, 17, 18-year-olds!]

[Our youth was all about five years of mock exams and three years of college entrance exams. The original novel balanced academic pressure and youthful confusion well, but the movie focuses only on the latter. Where do you find all the time? No classes? No homework? No tutoring? No exams? No memorizing classical Chinese texts? Confused for the sake of confusion. Not even worth one star.]

[Haven’t read the original; the story feels a bit bland to me. Not sure if it’s the story itself or the director’s flat handling.]

[No melodrama, but the forced confusion, too many cuts from the original, and character transitions lack groundwork. Three stars.]

[Better suited as a TV series. The movie’s too short to cover everything deeply. Feels rushed.]

[Don’t understand why Li Yan was cut. Although he didn’t have much screen time in the original, he was a delightful character.]

[Only the visuals are somewhat appealing. The confusion of adolescence, the subtle emotions, all lack depth. Two stars for the visuals, one for Zhang Beichen. His acting here shows effort.]

[I’ve always thought <Mint Green> would be difficult to adapt, and after watching the movie, I should have trusted my intuition.]

The comments weren’t terrible, with few outright slating the film, but they weren’t overwhelmingly positive either. At least compared to its 7.4 rating, they seem somewhat mismatched. Positive comments generally focused on visuals and acting, particularly praising Zhang Beichen, while criticisms centered on the plot, and each was reasoned out, indicating a consensus among viewers rather than just nitpicking.

Ran Lin scrolled through many pages to the earliest reviews and saw a slew of five-star ratings, giving him a good idea of where the 7.4 rating came from.

But this is fairly normal; usually, at the start of a film’s release, the promotional team tries to lift the film’s rating slightly—not excessively, as no amount of organized effort can withstand the vast sea of public ratings, but enough to give it a little boost. Then, as the film progresses through its run or after it’s finished showing, the ratings tend to become more objective.

Of course, there are genuinely good films with strong word-of-mouth, where audiences come voluntarily to give full marks and spread the word.

Having nearly scrolled through the entire <Mint Green> page, Ran Lin couldn’t decide whether to search for <Chronicles of Winter>. Viewing critiques of other films was one thing but facing potential criticisms of his own film or even himself felt daunting.

But criticism doesn’t cease to exist just because you avoid looking at it…

Ran Lin rolled around in bed a few times and then, in a secretive manner, typed <Chronicles of Winter> into the search bar and hit enter.

Both the drama and the film version came up.

Ran Lin didn’t click on the drama version but glanced at its rating—5.2.

The film version, however, had a rating of—7.9.

Ran Lin was somewhat surprised to see the rating. Although he suspected there might be some inflated scores, it was still higher than he had expected.

He clicked into the page to open all the short reviews—

[People, stop deceiving me with these fantasy films. No need to watch, straight one star. P.S. Strongly request the setting of zero or negative one star!]

[The original novel was hard to watch; even less interested in the film.]

[Don’t come here to rate if you haven’t watched, okay? I watched the midnight premiere (yes, I was that free on New Year’s Eve), and the visuals were stunningly beautiful. All actors’ performances were on point, especially Ran Lin. I was worried he was too slight for the role, but he absolutely dominated when it counted! So cool!]

[Thought all the good parts were in the trailer, but it was just the tip of the iceberg. This is what I call spending money where it counts. Please, all future domestic special effects films learn from this.]

[Turning a ten-point original into an eight is passable, but turning a five-point original into an eight is impressive. Don’t hit me, original fans, but I really think the script adaptation is good, and the special effects and performances keep up. Rarely do I want to stay for the whole movie in the cinema. Four stars objectively, one more for encouragement.]

[After watching, all I feel is that Ran Lin is too damn handsome!]

[As a book fan, the movie only covers the first third of the original, relieved they didn’t ruin it with changes. All the modifications and original parts are smooth, and characters’ personalities match the book. Wondering if there will be sequels, if so, will support.]

[Without exaggeration, it represents the top level of Chinese film industry, special effects have moved beyond the typical copycat and Western fantasy trend, clearly much effort has been put into creating an Eastern fairyland, full of sincerity. Though the story’s direction and ending are predictable, the necessary fluctuations, twists, climaxes are all perfectly executed, and the humor is smartly crafted—not awkward at all. Ran Lin’s performance is stunning. Whoever decided to cast him should get an extra drumstick.]

[Didn’t plan to watch this, but the timing of other films didn’t work out. Now I’m glad I watched it, a real surprise. Already planning for a second viewing, good movies deserve support!]

[How does Ran Lin manage to look like a delicate shou¹ but fight like a dominant gong², damn the contrast cuteness!]

¹Bottom/uke
²Top/seme

While the overall tone here was different from Weibo, there were still some crossover comments, like the last one, making Ran Lin seem like an angel from Weibo.

Scrolling through, Ran Lin eventually fell asleep, dreaming of returning to the Ninth Heaven to continue as a Xiao Shitou, tormenting the Emperor of the North.

He slept until Liu Wanwan came knocking with breakfast.

Yawning, Ran Lin got up, threw on some clothes, opened the door for his assistant, took the steaming buns and soy milk, then went to the bathroom to wash up.

Although Liu Wanwan seemed more energetic than Ran Lin, she too sported faint dark circles under her eyes, no less busy these past days.

“Where’s Xi Jie?” Ran Lin asked after washing up, opening the soy milk as he spoke.

“She’s sleeping in the car. Told me to come up alone,” Liu Wanwan replied.

Ran Lin nodded, understanding the exhaustion from constantly flying and participating in various promotional events.

Quietly watching Ran Lin eat for a while, Liu Wanwan suddenly said, “Ran Ge, if you feel too tired or unwell, you must tell me. Don’t push yourself.”

Ran Lin was surprised at the assistant’s sudden seriousness, laughing it off. “Don’t worry, I’m young and strong.”

“I’m not joking.” Liu Wanwan became even more serious, a rare sight. “Your health is your capital for the revolution, don’t always think you can handle everything. It’s too late when something really happens.”

Ran Lin noticed something was off, putting down his half-eaten bun to ask earnestly, “What happened?”

Liu Wanwan guessed her boss probably went straight to bed without checking social media the previous day. “Zhang Beichen fainted during the promotion of <Mint Green> yesterday and was unconscious when taken to the hospital, only waking up this morning.”

Ran Lin: “What was the reason?”

Liu Wanwan: “Not sure. Just said it was physical discomfort, but he’s fine now after waking up. I think it must be due to exhaustion, then maybe low blood sugar or something. He’s been as busy promoting <Mint Green> as we are. So I thought, if you feel unwell, you must say it right away. Don’t wait until you suddenly faint. It’s too frightening.”

Ran Lin suddenly remembered that Lu Yiyao had also fainted once a few years back.

It seems sub-health is a common ailment among artists.

“Don’t worry. I’ll report to you as soon as I feel unwell,” Ran Lin assured his assistant.

Liu Wanwan smiled, then after a moment, her smile faded, and she asked softly, “Ran Ge, after you leave Dream Without Limits, can I still follow you?”

Ran Lin was taken aback, as he had never discussed post-contract matters with Liu Wanwan. He asked, “Don’t you want to try other jobs? If you follow me, you might always be an assistant.”

“I don’t know what it’s like for others, but I really like this job and can learn a lot,” Liu Wanwan said, looking earnestly at Ran Lin. “As long as you don’t leave the entertainment industry, I’ll always follow you. And in the future, if you think I’m capable, you could promote me to be an agent assistant or something. An agent is fine too.”

Ran Lin laughed. “You’ve got quite a clear career path planned for yourself. I’ll have to tell Xi Jie about your ambition to seize her job.”

“It was Xi Jie who helped me plan this career path,” Liu Wanwan said, eyes wide. “And even if I seize, it would be seizing the job of your future agent, not Xi Jie’s.”

Ran Lin paused. Something flickered in his mind, catching it in time. “What do you mean by that? Did Xi Jie tell you she’s not going to be my agent anymore?”

Liu Wanwan’s mouth hung open, seemingly not expecting this to still be a secret, a hint of regret in her eyes.

Ran Lin narrowed his eyes, his tone rising slightly. “Comrade Liu Wanwan, whose assistant are you exactly?”

“It’s fine. You would have found out sooner or later, and Xi Jie didn’t tell me to keep it a secret. I thought she had already told you.” Liu Wanwan pouted, revealing the secret. “Xi Jie plans to quit after you part ways with Dream Without Limits, then help you find a reliable agent and go on a long vacation.”

Ran Lin was puzzled. “How long?”

Liu Wanwan: “She said she wants to travel around the world…”

---

<<< || Table of Contents || >>>

Author: 颜凉雨 / Yan Liang Yu

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

---

Chapter 89

When the film <Split Moon> made it into the hot search for being nominated in a film festival, many industry insiders reposted the news to express their congratulations. Ran Lin also quietly joined the congratulatory crowd, modestly reposting with a pulsating red heart emoji. In a sea of similar loving reposts, his didn’t stand out.

Lu Yiyao was obviously busy, and it wasn’t until the next day that he posted a few Weibo updates. First, he expressed his gratitude for having the opportunity to act in this film, then praised the entire crew, and finally thanked his friends who congratulated him.

Unlike other actors from the same film who were eagerly promoting themselves due to the buzz, Lu Yiyao’s team, after posting these few Weibo updates, remained quiet. Although the general public felt that his low-profile approach was endearing, his fans became impatient, voicing their concerns under his Weibo posts—

[Last time it was <Beihai Tree>, this time it’s <Split Moon>. Two films nominated in the main competition of A-list film festivals in three years. Why aren’t you promoting this more? [Unsatisfied.jpg]]

[God Lu, did you change your PR team? It doesn’t seem as effective as before…]

[The female lead and the second male lead are trending. Where’s your name?]

[Playing a character with split personality is a test of acting skills. Are you planning to use this as a promotional point when the film is released domestically? [Questioning]]

[Let me speculate, maybe you saw Ran Lin’s <Chronicles of Winter> being promoted and didn’t want to overshadow your good brother… But humility doesn’t work like this! 😅]

Ran Lin could understand Lu Yiyao’s low profile.

Firstly, the film <Split Moon> had already gained attention through the hot search and the promotions by the leading actress and second male lead. Even the crew didn’t miss the opportunity and released a 50-second behind-the-scenes clip. Lu Yiyao’s Weibo posts also served as promotion for the film. Any further hype would be more about himself than the already hot film, which wasn’t what Lu Yiyao wanted, as his career focus was slowly shifting. Secondly, the release of <Split Moon> was still far off, and it wasn’t yet time for full-scale promotion.

But fans always prioritize their idols, so when someone brought up <Chronicles of Winter>, others followed suit—

[Maybe because of the early buzz, I’ve always had a hard time becoming a fan of Ran Lin.]

[God Lu can choose his friends, but we also have the freedom not to like them.]

[I also think there’s some truth in the hot comments. Last night, <Chronicles of Winter> was dominating the hot search, then it was overtaken by <Split Moon>. Ran Lin’s fans have already complained.]

[Ran Lin’s fans complaining about God Lu? Where? Show me!]

[I think each fan base should stick to their own, and fans shouldn’t bring the celebrities into their conflicts. It would make things difficult for God Lu.]

These subtle shifts in comment trends happened the next day. Ran Lin was busy attending the release conference for <Chronicles of Winter>, while Lu Yiyao was in a tea house with several business owners, neither paying attention to these developments.

Surrounded by elegant zither music and lingering tea fragrance, Lu Yiyao watched the business owners taste tea with expertise, wondering if they were genuinely leisurely or just pretending to be cultured.

Lu Yiyao knew a bit about tea, as his father liked it and often included tea culture in his ‘one-on-one Chinese education sessions’ during Lu Yiyao’s school holidays.

However, as he watched these magnates discuss tea with authority, Lu Yiyao remained humbly attentive.

These people weren’t always mentioned in entertainment reports, and some of them were not even primarily involved in the entertainment industry. Still, their capital had extended into various sectors, and it was a rare opportunity to have tea with them.

Today, Lu Yiyao was brought here by the CEO of Pentium Times. The CEO had good relations with these people and would occasionally organize such gatherings, which sometimes led to significant project discussions. Bringing Lu Yiyao along was partly an introduction and partly an exposure to this milieu, a kind of mentorship.

Lu Yiyao’s presence significantly lowered the average age of the group, which was around 50, nearly the same age as his father. Facing these elders, he felt like a youngster.

Most of them didn’t recognize Lu Yiyao, or even if they had heard his name, they couldn’t match it to a face among the multitude of young stars. However, they were surprised to learn that the popular young star wanted to shift careers and invest in his own business projects.

“You’re at the peak of your popularity and only in your twenties. It’s the first time I’ve seen a popular artist wanting to change careers. Usually, they only do so when their fame fades, or they balance both acting and investing,” Mr. Liu said. He was a lean and dark-skinned businessman in his fifties, dressed in traditional Chinese attire and exuding a strong presence.

At first, Mr. Liu didn’t think much of Lu Yiyao. After all, from their position, holding resources and viewing celebrities was much like looking at their own employees. Moreover, many celebrities are all show and no substance, evident after a brief conversation, which is why interactions are mostly done through agents—at least they can hold a conversation.

However, after chatting with Lu Yiyao, Mr. Liu realized that this young man did have something in his brain. When he heard that Lu Yiyao wanted to completely change his career, it piqued his interest.

Lu Yiyao understood what Mr. Liu meant. Many stars in the industry juggled roles as both artists and business owners successfully, but that wasn’t what he wanted. “A person’s energy is limited. Trying to focus on too much can lead to distraction.”

“But your popularity and fame can benefit your company and your new ventures,” Mr. Liu pointed out.

Lu Yiyao shook his head. “Some manage to balance both without compromising, but to excel, one must focus.” He added with a teasing smile, “That’s why when Uncle Li introduced you, he mentioned the projects you’ve invested in but not the films you’ve acted in.”

Mr. Liu immediately understood Lu Yiyao’s point—if it were possible to excel at both, the gathering today wouldn’t be exclusively businessmen but perhaps a mix of business-savvy stars.

Lu Yiyao using Mr. Liu as an example was quite amusing to him, who couldn’t help but laugh. “I don’t have the looks to be a star, Lao Li.”

“Uncle Li” was what Lu Yiyao called the CEO of Pentium Times, given that he joined the company as a connection, and the name had stuck since his debut. To Mr. Liu, of the same age group, it was naturally just “Lao Li”.

Mr. Li joined in the banter without hesitation. “Isn’t it trendy now to say that one should rely on talent instead of just looks—that’s me.”

The room burst into laughter. After a round of good-natured ribbing, the conversation drifted off to other topics, leaving behind the young man preparing to change careers.

Lu Yiyao didn’t try to steer the conversation back; he just listened and found it interesting.

These bosses, dignified and imposing in business settings, were like a bunch of old friends when gathered privately. Watching them, Lu Yiyao couldn’t help but think of his father.

In his memory, his dad was always stern and authoritative, a man of few words but strict commands, both at home and work. But now, as the atmosphere lightened and these men became engrossed in their conversation, all formalities were dropped, and it was as if they were just a group of friends chatting away—a stark contrast to their earlier demeanor.

Lu Yiyao wondered if his father also had such moments, away from his sight, laughing and cursing with old friends. The thought was so alien that every time he tried to imagine it, he failed.

It had been a long time since he last visited his dad.

Absentmindedly glancing outside, Lu Yiyao noticed that it had started snowing at some point. The bamboo curtains partially obscured the view, but he could still see the snowflakes settling on the bamboo leaves in the courtyard, resilient against the cold.

After the tea master left early in the morning, Mr. Chen, with a round face and full figure, took over brewing the tea himself, eager to show off his skills to his old buddies. The tea was ready, and everyone began to taste it.

Since his debut, Lu Yiyao rarely had the opportunity to drink tea properly. Relying on memories, he first looked at the color, then smelled the fragrance, and finally took a small sip, closing his eyes to savor the taste slowly.

Mr. Chen had a round head and face, fair and plump, especially with wide earlobes, a sign of fortune. He was originally focused on making tea and didn’t pay much attention to the kid a friend brought along, merely smiling and waiting for everyone to give some comments. This tea wasn’t offered in the store but was a fine tea he had recently acquired, and he wanted to share it with his old friends at today’s tea gathering. However, at this moment, he noticed the child seemed to know a bit about tea, and for the first time, he took a serious look at Lu Yiyao.

He found Lu Yiyao familiar.

“Not bad,” Mr. Li, the one who brought Lu Yiyao, said, setting down his cup with a sigh. “Lao Chen, you’ve finally brought something worthwhile.”

Expecting Mr. Chen to boast, Mr. Li looked up and found his friend staring intently at Lu Yiyao with a peculiar look.

Before Mr. Li could figure out why, Mr. Chen addressed Lu Yiyao directly. “You know about tea?”

Surprised to be engaged in conversation, Lu Yiyao quickly replied, “I wouldn’t say I know much. My father likes it, and he used to take me along to drink.”

“You…” The kind-faced and gentle Mr. Chen stuttered before finally asking, “What’s your surname?”

Lu Yiyao was a bit taken aback, confirming that the man’s focus had indeed been on his tea drinking all along.

“His surname is Lu, Lu Yiyao,” Mr. Li intervened, a bit displeased. “Lao Chen, you should at least follow entertainment news, not just invest in projects. You don’t even recognize the actor you’ve hired. If you keep this up, you’ll fall out of touch with the times.”

“Well, I’ll fall out of touch regardless. I’m going to retire in a couple of years anyway. I don’t understand the trendy stuff these days; if you don’t understand, you don’t have a say. Just blindly investing and being misled every day… Wait, don’t interrupt.” Mr. Chen finally realized the conversation had digressed and stopped irritably, looking back at Lu Yiyao seriously and asked, “Your surname is Lu? Do you know Lu Guoming?”

Lu Yiyao felt momentarily disoriented, as if he was watching a movie that suddenly switched to a fantasy flashback, leaving him baffled and unable to react.

The other bosses also fell silent, curiously looking over.

Still not fully recovered, Lu Yiyao hesitantly replied, “Lu Guoming… is my father.”

Mr. Chen slapped his thigh, realization dawning. “I knew it! You looked familiar. You’re the spitting image of your dad!”

Lu Yiyao thought that if his mother, always proud to say, “My son takes after me,” heard this, she’d be furious. But what surprised him more was, “You know my dad?”

The others, still clueless, asked, “Who’s Lu Guoming?”

With a sense of “it’s a small world,” Mr. Chen explained to his old friends. “He’s the Lao Lu I’ve always talked about, the one I met through tea, the one too busy to meet up with us.”

Mr. Liu frowned, recalling something. “The one adamant about saving the country through industry?”

“Yes.” Mr. Chen sighed. “I’ve told him so many times that the cultural industry is a booming sector, with new capital pouring in every day. You’re going to miss out if you don’t get involved. You know what he told me?”

Without waiting for an answer, Mr. Chen turned back to Lu Yiyao. “Guess what your dad told me?”

Lu Yiyao had no idea, only saying, “Probably nothing too flattering…”

“Sure enough, you are his biological son.” Mr. Chen clapped Lu Yiyao on the shoulder. “Your dad said, ‘I don’t eat cake because I have diabetes.’”

Mr. Chen’s imitation was so spot-on that, for a few seconds, Lu Yiyao almost thought his father was the one patting his shoulder.

The room erupted in laughter, choking on their tea.

Lu Yiyao’s emotions were mixed.

This blunt style, along with a passion for industry and disdain for the entertainment world, was undoubtedly his father’s. Yet, ironically, he had stumbled into his father’s circle of friends. This feeling was… indescribably odd.

……

With the halo of his dear father, the already amiable-looking Mr. Chen became almost affectionate towards him, treating him as an elder would care for a younger one. He gave him many pointers, and of course, he also probed why his father disliked the entertainment industry while his son dove headfirst into it.

Lu Yiyao could only say that there are always differences in perception between generations, but his father respected him greatly. So, although he might not fully agree with his choices, he still supported him vigorously.

After saying this, Lu Yiyao felt his father should give him a red envelope to commend him for upholding his father’s lofty image.

Although only Boss Chen at the scene knew his father, the others were Boss Chen’s friends. So, in the end, they all treated Lu Yiyao as a friend’s son, speaking less formally and more cordially.

At the end of the tea party, Mr. Liu, who initially asked him why he didn’t pursue both acting and business, pulled him aside and gave him some practical advice rather than just broad suggestions. He said, “If I were you, I wouldn’t aim for stability in my first film but rather excellence. Don’t be stingy in spending money. Every penny you save will reflect in the final product. And don’t worry about losing money; as long as the reputation is good, losing money can also be considered a gain in attracting more attention. For the second project, you could earn back several times or even more.”

After returning, Lu Yiyao pondered over the other’s words until Huo Yuntao called to inquire about the company’s recent situation, and only then did he share the matter with his friend.

Huo Yuntao, after listening, had only one feeling. “You’ll never escape your father’s shadow in this lifetime…”

Lu Yiyao was embarrassed. “I’m discussing the future of my company with you.”

“Brother, different trades, different skills. Asking me to help you think about what kind of TV drama or movie to make is as difficult as asking you, who has no sense of direction, to find the cardinal points,” Huo Yuntao said, then shifted the conversation. “But investing is okay. If the funds aren’t enough, you can find me.”

Lu Yiyao laughed. “Hmm, that suggestion is quite valuable.”

After bantering, Huo Yuntao then asked, “How does it feel to be the boss?”

Lu Yiyao sighed. “One word, busy.”

Huo Yuntao: “Busier than being a star?”

Lu Yiyao: “It’s different. Before, whether shooting or rushing to events, once one task was finished, it was done, like completing a mission with a beginning and an end. Now, I can’t see the end; it feels endlessly busy and more draining.”

Huo Yuntao: “Regretting it?”

Lu Yiyao: “Busy but exhilarating.”

Huo Yuntao: “You’re a masochist…”

Lu Yiyao laughed, wearily rubbed his temples, and after a moment of silence, said, “Lao Huo, do you remember I told you before that when I was a kid, my dad was hardly ever home, or he’d come back after I had already slept, and I’d barely see him once a month?”

“Yeah, you said you didn’t believe someone could be so busy they couldn’t come home. You thought he was doing it on purpose, that he didn’t want to get along well with your mom,” Huo Yuntao replied in a half-serious, half-teasing tone. “So, do you believe it now?”

“I believe, but don’t forgive,” Lu Yiyao insisted. “My mom mentioned divorce out of anger, and he had many opportunities to make amends, but he didn’t.”

“And he even deliberately sent you abroad, causing you and your mom to be separated.” Huo Yuntao was well aware of his friend’s past. “Why suddenly bring this up?”

“Although there are unforgivable aspects, I’m also thinking maybe my view of him is too one-sided,” Lu Yiyao said. “I only saw him from my perspective, but I never tried to understand what kind of person he really is. Hearing others talk about him at the tea party felt strange, as if that wasn’t the dad I know.”

Huo Yuntao admired his friend’s reflective spirit, making him feel ashamed of his own lack of ambition.

“Then don’t just sit here thinking. Go home more and communicate more.” This was also Huo Yuntao’s experience. After returning to the country for more than a year, or nearly two, living under the same roof with his parents, he found they understood each other better than when he was abroad.

Knock knock.

Someone knocked on the office door.

Lu Yiyao directly said, “Come in.”

Hearing this, Huo Yuntao on the other end of the phone understood and said, “Won’t disturb your struggle,” and hung up.

The person entering was Li Tong, holding a mobile phone, and straightforwardly said, “Boss Lu, the release date announcement video for <Chronicles of Winter> is out.”

Lu Yiyao nodded. “Alright, I’ll check it out myself later.”

Li Tong waited a moment, seeing no further instructions, then turned to leave, thinking that only their boss could make “having an assistant monitor a boyfriend’s Weibo page” seem so serious and righteous.

After watching the assistant leave, Lu Yiyao pulled down the office blinds to shut out the outside world. Then he sat back at his desk, picked up his phone, and quickly found the official Weibo release video for the release date announcement of <Chronicles of Winter>—

[The fiery hammer smashes the new seasons. The young boy breaks through the nine heavens! <Chronicles of Winter> scheduled for 2.5 (New Year’s Day)! [Video link] @Ran Lin @Jiang Yi @Huang…]

As Ran Lin appeared on stage in the video, Lu Yiyao felt all the fatigue of recent days dissipate. Lately, no matter how tired, busy, or stressed he was, just thinking about this person or sneaking a peek at his Weibo felt invigorating, more effective than any tonic.

Ran Lin, attending the press conference, was in a custom suit, handsome and elegant, and for some reason, had a slightly mature air about him, perhaps due to the hairstyle.

The press conference proceeded as usual, introducing the movie, playing games, interacting with the audience, and the host asking questions. But in addition to the prepared questions, there were a few extra questions collected from the audience on the spot, one of which was for Ran Lin.

Host: “Last year, there was already a clip of your initial audition online, where you were holding a green frog plushie and crying very convincingly…”

Before the host could finish, Ran Lin had already started to smile.

Lu Yiyao watched, feeling moved yet somehow unsettled, as if his lover’s smile was like someone who’d done something naughty but hadn’t been caught…

Host: “A viewer named ‘Love Yao For Life’ wants to know how you can cry so convincingly with a plushie. What were you thinking at the time?”

Ran Lin paused when he heard “Love Yao For Life”, seemingly expressionless, but Lu Yiyao felt his smile seemed sweeter.

“Actually, at first, I couldn’t cry either.” Ran Lin began, his voice clear and melodious. “Later, I tried to think of the plushie as a real person, someone I truly cared about who got hurt trying to save me, and then the tears just wouldn’t stop.”

Host: “We’ve all seen that plushie; its color is really… eye-catching. Doesn’t that distract you from getting into the character?”

Ran Lin: “It’s okay, actually. Once you’re into the character, you’ll feel some sort of similarity in temperament between the person you imagine and the plushie you’re holding.”

Host: “So who did you imagine the plushie as at the time?”

Ran Lin: “I can’t say that…”

It might have been an illusion, but Lu Yiyao always felt that Ran Lin glanced at the camera and then turned to the host with a smile. “This friend of mine is very sensitive. I’m afraid they wouldn’t take it well if I said it.”

The host immediately pulled out his phone to bring up a photo of the plushie and mischievously said, “Camera, please give us a close-up. Attention to all friends of Ran Lin watching this video, if you have a temperament similar to this plushie in the picture, no doubt Ran Lin was thinking of you during his audition.”

Laughter filled the room, both on and off stage.

Watching the cameraman dutifully give that close-up, Lu Yiyao didn’t suspect himself for a second, as his own appearance and aura were there for all to see, entirely different from a frog plushie.

However, after watching the video and standing up to go to the bathroom, Lu Yiyao still found himself subconsciously looking in the mirror…

……

When Lu Yiyao was watching the <Chronicles of Winter> release video, Ran Lin and Jiang Yi were guests on a variety show recorded for airing just before the New Year to promote the New Year’s Day release of <Chronicles of Winter>.

It was late at night by the time he finished recording and returned to the hotel, where he finally had time to check Weibo. To his surprise, he found that <Mint Green> had released both a teaser trailer and an announcement for its premiere almost back-to-back with <Chronicles of Winter>. The competitive intent couldn’t be more obvious.

The teaser for <Mint Green> was also about a minute long, but completely different in style from <Chronicles of Winter>, featuring a dimmer, more realistic color tone, sunsets, grasslands, tree shadows, a quiet campus, and the noisy city. However, like the first teaser of <Chronicles of Winter>, it didn’t reveal the actual conflict, focusing instead entirely on the confusion of youth, without a hint of restlessness.

While everyone discussed the special effects of <Chronicles of Winter> and occasionally compared it to the drama version, when <Mint Green> was released, fans of the book flocked to it. The one-minute teaser didn’t reveal much about the plot, so discussions were based on the actors’ looks and the overall atmosphere—

[Ah, my favorite novel. Please don’t ruin it! 😭]

[The vibe feels right, but Zhang Beichen isn’t the Li Yi I pictured. 👈]

[I think Zhang Beichen fits Li Yi quite well, looking forward to the movie.]

[Heard they cut out Li Yan? Why! He’s my favorite… 😠]

[Zhang Beichen is Li Yu. No arguments!]

The netizens’ discussions were heated, but Ran Lin found the announcement rather cold since the lead actor didn’t appear, and the event was carried by the lead actress and the second male and female leads.

The host excused Zhang Beichen’s absence as being unwell, leaving it unclear whether it was true or an excuse.

Zhang Beichen’s Weibo showed no activity except for the routine reposting of <Mint Green’s> various promotions, making it unclear whether it was him or his publicity team posting.

The audience wasn’t aware of the behind-the-scenes of these movies; they just knew that <Chronicles of Winter> and <Mint Green> were both set to premiere on New Year’s Day. Several other films were also released on that day, but in the current overwhelming promotional battle, these two stood out the most and were highly anticipated.

In late January, Ran Lin began a roadshow, following the <Chronicles of Winter> crew from city to city, engaging in activities and promotions almost non-stop until the New Year.

……

February 4^th, New Year’s Eve.

Having spent two days with his mother and sister, Lu Yiyao returned to his father’s side, carrying both things he bought, and some brought from his mother and sister.

When Lu Yiyao entered, it was already evening, with the auntie preparing the New Year’s Eve dinner in the kitchen and Lu Guoming watching TV in the living room.

Lu Yiyao put down the things and approached, saying, “Dad, I’m back.”

Lu Guoming glanced at him and merely responded, “Mm.”

Usually, that would be the extent of their interaction, followed by everyone quietly doing their own thing in an atmosphere pretending nothing was amiss, but everyone knew it was hard to bear.

Perhaps because Lu Yiyao was intent on communicating, wanting to take this opportunity to share his career change with his father, he didn’t leave but instead sat down on the sofa next to him.

Lu Guoming glanced over, his eyebrows twitching slightly.

Lu Yiyao could tell his father was somewhat surprised.

They had spent many Spring Festivals in such distant, indifferent ways. Suddenly switching to a more familial mode made Lu Yiyao somewhat nervous too.

“I heard you’re changing careers?”

Before Lu Yiyao could speak, Lu Guoming spoke first. Although his tone was steady, the abruptness of the topic still took Lu Yiyao aback.

A conversation between father and son after months apart should have had some preamble…

“Yes, I’m not acting anymore.” As soon as he said it, Lu Yiyao realized he was indeed his father’s son.

Lu Guoming slightly furrowed his brow, lightly indicating his mood was still okay but somewhat dissatisfied. “If you’re quitting acting, why do you want to stay in the entertainment industry?”

“I like this industry,” Lu Yiyao replied without hesitation.

Lu Guoming snorted coldly, the usual disdain.

If this had been the past, the conversation would have broken down here, but perhaps because of the festive atmosphere or because Lu Yiyao had grown more resilient over the years, he felt the atmosphere was still manageable, conducive to continuing the conversation, thus he sighed. “You dislike the entertainment industry so much, it’s hard for Lao Chen to still be your friend.”

Lu Guoming’s face changed slightly, as if the fortress-like dignity of a father had suddenly been breached by his son. “Lao Chen is what you call him? No manners.”

“Alright, Uncle Chen.” Lu Yiyao quickly corrected, then curiously asked his father, “What did he say about me to you?”

Since his mother and sister already knew about the matter, it was unlikely that the information leaked from them. The only source left was the kind-hearted Mr. Chen. Lu Yiyao could almost imagine Mr. Chen calling his father, likely starting with praises like “You have a good son,” then lamenting “You never mentioned your son is in the industry; I could have looked out for him,” and finally reverting to the usual “You really should consider investing in some projects in the industry.”

But what he anticipated and what he heard from his father would feel entirely different.

Lu Yiyao had never heard any praise from his father’s mouth.

“Lao Chen didn’t say much.” It took a while before Lu Guoming finally gave such a dry response.

Lu Yiyao, resigned to his fate, replied, “At least he must have mentioned I’m changing careers. Otherwise, how would you know?”

Lu Guoming frowned; his face now truly marked with lines. “If I know, why ask.”

Lu Yiyao didn’t find his father as hard to communicate with as before; instead, he found it interesting, as he seemed to have captured his father’s logical pattern—in his father’s eyes, a father must maintain an authoritative and infallible image. Any hint of personal softness or imperfection, like how he behaves among friends, must not be revealed to his son. Once it appears or is glimpsed, it makes his father feel insecure.

So, as a child, whenever his parents argued, his father would first send him and his sister back to their rooms. His mother wouldn’t leave any face for him, and more unfortunately for him, Mrs. Fan was often the victor, always walking into the room with a smile to bring them out after the quarrels.

Lu Yiyao, who was once fearful of such a stern father, turned rebellious during his teenage years. Now, neither fearful nor rebellious, sitting down and reevaluating his father, he made new discoveries.

“Dinner’s ready—”

The auntie’s voice wafted over, along with the fragrance of the dishes.

Lu Yiyao stood up first, saying, “Just the smell is making me hungry—”

Having reached the dining table, Lu Yiyao gave the auntie a big hug, then washed his hands and took his seat.

It took a good while longer for Lu Guoming to slowly make his way over and sit down without any intention to speak, just picking up his chopsticks to eat. But just as he put a piece of fish into his mouth, he heard his son say—

“By the way, Uncle Chen is impressive. He didn’t know my name or recognize me, but he identified me based on my looks alone, saying I’m a spitting image of you.”

Lu Guoming, perplexed, replied without thinking, “What kind of eyesight does Lao Chen have? If you looked like me, could you be a star? Your eyebrows, nose, eyes are all… cough cough cough—”

Lu Yiyao, initially in good spirits, was startled by his father’s sudden coughing and hurriedly got up to pat his back.

Finally, the coughing ceased, and Lu Yiyao quickly handed his father the water passed by the auntie. Lu Guoming took a sip and waved it off.

Seeing his father still furrowing his brows in discomfort, Lu Yiyao asked worriedly, “Dad, are you okay? Nothing serious?”

Lu Guoming finally looked up with a pained expression and pointed to his throat after a long struggle. “Stuck… fish bone…”

A rare “family moment” for the Lu father and son on the eve of the Lunar New Year ended abruptly due to a fish bone.

……

Getting a fish bone stuck is easy; just one bite of fish does it. Removing it is also easy; a doctor just presses down your tongue with a small stick, shines a light, uses tweezers, and in a couple of seconds, it’s out. But for some reason, almost everyone tries swallowing rice, steamed buns, or vinegar as miraculous solutions before seeking a doctor’s help.

Some fish bones, not too thick or hard, might indeed dislodge with such maneuvers, but for the more stubborn ones, it only increases the pain—like for Lu Guoming.

In the end, he had to concede that the fish bone was more resilient than him and agreed to let Lu Yiyao call the family doctor. In fact, Lu Yiyao had already secretly called Dr. Meng.

It was quite a thing to call someone over during the New Year’s festivities, and although it was a long-standing relationship, Lu Guoming felt quite sorry. Dr. Meng, embodying the compassionate spirit of a doctor, not only didn’t complain but also gently reminded him to eat fish more carefully next time and watch for bones.

While Lu Guoming, relieved of the fish bone pain, went to the bathroom, Dr. Meng pulled Lu Yiyao aside to tell him about his father’s not-so-good heart condition over the past year, mainly due to persistent fatigue without rest and his temperamental nature, which also affects the liver and overall health. He urged Lu Yiyao to advise his father to take it easier with age.

Lu Yiyao thanked Dr. Meng profusely and offered New Year’s greetings, intending to personally escort him back, but Dr. Meng declined, having driven himself.

After sending off Dr. Meng, who was called away from his peaceful New Year’s Eve, Lu Yiyao returned to find Lu Guoming back at the dining table. For the first time, he noticed that the authoritative figure he remembered from his childhood had aged, and he hadn’t even realized when it had happened.

The food had cooled down, and the auntie was ready to reheat it. Using helping the auntie as a pretext, Lu Yiyao silently took away the plate of fish, but just as he reached the kitchen and before he could tell the auntie it didn’t need reheating, he heard his father’s loud voice—

“Reheat the fish first; I haven’t finished eating it yet—”

Lu Yiyao finally understood where his unyielding persistence came from.

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