Author: 颜凉雨 / Yan Liang Yu

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

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Chapter 78

[Don’t worry. I already saw it yesterday. It’s all marketing accounts talking. Han Ze hasn’t made a move, and I certainly won’t speak out either.]—Ran Lin replied promptly to his lover.

After replying, Ran Lin thought about how Lu Yiyao was really keeping up with the latest news, and he started to type a message advising him to rest instead of always browsing Weibo at night. But before he could finish, a new message came in—[Have you finished shooting? Are you at the hotel?]

Seeing his lover switch from “reminder mode” to “concern mode”, Ran Lin silently deleted his teasing message and responded with a gentle—[Yeah.]

Seconds after sending it, a video call request came through.

As the screen lit up with Lu Yiyao’s face, Ran Lin was about to greet him with a bright smile, but he noticed that Teacher Lu’s expression was serious.

“What’s wrong?” Ran Lin asked, puzzled. He had already said he wouldn’t respond, so why the solemnity?

Lu Yiyao sighed, seeing Ran Lin’s clueless expression, and softened his voice. “Just got back?”

Ran Lin nodded and replied, “Just finished showering, then saw your message.”

Lu Yiyao understood. “So you didn’t check Weibo.”

It wasn’t a question, but an affirmation.

Ran Lin paused, suddenly realizing that he might have misunderstood his lover’s earlier “don’t respond” remark. He thought it referred to the previous day’s trending topic, but considering how he himself could analyze the superficiality of such manipulative tactics, Lu Yiyao certainly wouldn’t overlook them. His serious tone suggested something new might have developed today.

As if reading Ran Lin’s thoughts, Lu Yiyao stated without warning, “Han Ze responded.”

Ran Lin, still processing, blurted out, “Today?”

Lu Yiyao confirmed, “Just now.”

“How could he respond?” Ran Lin wondered aloud. “Admitting to a relationship with Wang Xi? Or denouncing the marketing accounts’ baseless speculations? Either way, it brings trouble and no benefits to him, making the situation worse. Better not to respond and treat it like a joke.”

“The narrative has shifted today, not about a relationship anymore but about the agent’s favoritism,” Lu Yiyao explained with a wry smile. “Yesterday’s trend was just a lead-up. Now it’s the main issue.”

At the mention of “favoritism,” a sense of foreboding sank in Ran Lin’s heart.

He had been unconcerned about yesterday’s events because the main parties hadn’t come forward, and it was just fans and netizens arguing under marketing accounts, no different from countless baseless rumors. Plus, all speculations focused on a “supposed affair” between Han Ze and his former agent, which is damaging for all involved and unlikely to be self-inflicted by Han Ze. Known for his warm persona and having a fanbase of adoring fans, implicating himself in a “supposed romance” was of no benefit. Already, many fans under his Weibo had declared they’d turn against him if the rumors of a romance with the former agent were true.

Because Ran Lin felt Han Ze was unlikely the instigator, perhaps just taking advantage of the situation to hype up “Han Ze’s <Chronicles of Winter>” he hadn’t taken it too seriously.

But now, with Lu Yiyao indicating the focus had shifted from “supposed romance” to “agent favoritism”, Ran Lin realized he might have oversimplified things yesterday.

“I’ll check Weibo and get back to you.” Understanding the situation firsthand, including public sentiment and fan reactions, was crucial, so Ran Lin decided to see for himself rather than continue asking his lover.

Lu Yiyao agreed, saying calmly, “Okay, waiting for you.”

Ending the video call, Ran Lin immediately opened Weibo.

The bright yellow icon felt like a portal to another world. On the outside, his life was ordinary—acting, loving, striving, with its share of happiness and troubles, just like anyone else living earnestly. But inside, it was a different world where usual rules didn’t apply, and established understandings had to be reconsidered. His Weibo account, in a way, was like a gaming profile in this simultaneously virtual and real world where situations changed rapidly, and whether you liked it or not, you were swept into the current.

Han Ze was trending again, but the keywords were different, and so was the position.

—The keyword was “Han Ze suspected response to former agent’s favoritism”, ranking first, not sixth or seventh.

Clicking into the search, Ran Lin found the top trending post wasn’t from Han Ze but a marketing account, with Han Ze’s response second.

Lu Yiyao’s mentioned shift was evident from the top post, with tens of thousands of comments and shares—

[Tianwang Lao Entertainment Studio: It is rumored that Han Ze changed agents due to the former agent’s serious bias during the period of managing him and another male artist R, allocating all good resources and opportunities to R, resulting in stagnation in Han Ze’s career over the past two years. Han Ze’s Weibo post “Grateful for the past, looking forward to the unknown tomorrow” is suspected to be a response…[Link]]

Following closely was Han Ze’s Weibo post:

[Han Ze: Grateful for the past, looking forward to the unknown tomorrow.]

The content matched exactly what the marketing account described, accompanied by a photo of him standing against the sea waves. It could be interpreted as peaceful times, solitary melancholy, or facing the future with endless courage.

Han Ze’s post was made at 10:30 p.m.

Ran Lin searched for “Han Ze + favoritism” and finally located the supposed “internet rumors” source—still a bunch of entertainment marketing accounts with similar posts, mostly published between 7 and 8 p.m. that evening, creating a wave of orchestrated narrative—

[Fengshen Entertainment Channel: The truth about Han Ze’s change of agents is here! After verification by Fengshen’s editors with insiders at Dream Without Limits, there is no older woman-younger man romance, no unequal distribution of interests. It’s all trouble caused by favoritism. 😮‍💨 Ms. Wang, who was initially managing only Han Ze, took over the financial affairs of another male artist, R, two and a half years ago and has been working with him since. While managing both artists, Ms. Wang gave most of the good resources and opportunities to R, causing Han Ze’s acting career to stagnate over the past two years while R’s popularity soared. Han Ze had no choice but to request a change of agents. Fengshen’s editor just wants to say that it’s indeed hard to treat everyone equally when you’re human, but as an agent, one should adhere to professional ethics. Is it not excessive to treat an artist you’ve worked with for years this way? ❓😮‍💨💔 [Web link]]

This was the most representative post, and Ran Lin even exceptionally read the entire article, word by word. After reading, his feelings were indescribable.

There was ridicule, anger, grievance, and indifference—a mix of similar and opposite emotions—that left him with a headache and a heavy chest.

He admired his ability to still make sense of the timeline at this time—yesterday, a smoke bomb of an “older woman-younger man romance” was thrown, fermenting until today. Then another “truth” was thrown, making today’s “favoritism theory” seem more credible. As the “favoritism theory” flew high, Han Ze responded with a seemingly profound “grateful and looking forward”, which, although not saying much, seemingly confirmed both the “change of agents” and “favoritism as the reason”.

Otherwise, why not release such a post yesterday when the “older woman-younger man romance” rumor was flying around? Why wait until now?

But Ran Lin’s chaotic thoughts could only make out so much. That male artist, R, was almost explicitly named. Clever netizens didn’t even have a chance to guess; they just looked at the comments under the marketing accounts that were neatly filled with “Ran Lin”, making it quite a spectacle.

Under Han Ze’s Weibo post, it was practically a large-scale brawl between Han Ze’s fans and Ran Lin’s fans.

Han Ze’s fans mainly went through three stages: distress, consolation, and righteous indignation—

[What should I do? I’m already crying. My heart aches.]

[Strong hugs. You have to say goodbye to the wrong ones to meet the right ones. You will have a better future.]

[I just want to ask, after years of cooperation, how can a newcomer compare to that? In terms of fame, popularity, and prospects, Han Ze is better, right? Those who babbled about the older woman-younger man romance yesterday are all silent today? Obviously, Ran Lin is the one who got together with Ms. Wang!]

Ran Lin’s fans were mostly indignant, knowing well that speaking up would lead to conflict but unable to suppress their force—

[In two and a half years, all he has to show is one variety show, “National First Love Drift Story” and one TV drama, <Sword of Fallen Flowers>. Where exactly are Ran Lin’s good resources? From January last year, when <Sword of Fallen Flowers> finished filming, to January this year, when he started shooting <Chronicles of Winter>, he had no dramas to shoot for a whole year. If this is considered good resources, then I really don’t know how bad Han Ze’s must be.]

[The focus is that both Han Ze and Ran Lin are signed to Dream Without Limits! The salary of the agent also comes from Dream Without Limits, not Han Ze or Ran Lin. If Ms. Wang is so biased, wouldn’t the company notice having her manage Han Ze for so many years? How foolish would Han Ze have to be to endure for two years before asking the company to change agents?]

[I don’t like conspiracy theories, but I can’t help saying that from yesterday to today, all the hot topics are about Han Ze changing agents, Han Ze being wronged, Han Ze being suppressed. Great, now everyone knows about your <Chronicles of Winter> coming out in June. This publicity stunt is too much. My only request is, can you not involve Ran Lin? He’s really unlucky to be in the same company as you, getting involved in big productions, and now this mess—really no one has it worse.]

After exiting Han Ze’s Weibo and returning to the homepage, Ran Lin realized his inbox was exploding.

Ran Lin hadn’t blocked messages from strangers, so every time he opened Weibo, he received a lot, mostly fan confessions and some cursing him, saying they hated him. But that evening, it seemed there were especially many negative ones.

Those who, in public comments, might scoff or scorn at most, turned into full battle mode in private messages—

[You’re trash compared to Han Ze. You’re not even worthy to carry his shoes!]

[You’re so good at snatching resources. Hope you make it to paradise soon.]

[You’ve been collaborating for a few years and think you’re on par with him? You really think you’re a male god now. Ugh, it’s no wonder you haven’t become popular after so many years.]

[Feeling guilty, aren’t you? If you’re not, why don’t you respond? Let me tell you, what goes around comes around!]

With mixed feelings, Ran Lin exited Weibo, looked up at the ceiling, took several deep breaths, and, after a while, felt a bit calmer. He then reconnected with Lu Yiyao.

The other side picked up immediately. “Finished reading?”

Ran Lin nodded. “Yeah, read it all, sorted it out from start to finish.”

“Yesterday, when I saw the trending search, I felt something was off,” Lu Yiyao said. “It’s indeed like a serial drama.”

“You all are amazing,” Ran Lin admired, not daring to call Lu Yiyao naive anymore.

“You all?” Lu Yiyao repeated, puzzled.

“Xi Jie,” Ran Lin explained. “She told me yesterday through Wanwan, suspecting that Han Ze was orchestrating it all and afraid more would come out later, told me not to say anything, and leave everything to her.”

“But we haven’t seen any move from her till now.” Lu Yiyao didn’t want to doubt Wang Xi, but seeing is believing. “Either find a way to pull the trending topic down, issue a positive PR statement in response, or create some distraction to shift focus. There are many ways to handle it, each better than being led by Han Ze’s narrative and public opinion. What is she waiting for?”

Ran Lin didn’t have an answer.

Lu Yiyao was somewhat anxious. In fact, he had been unable to contain his anger upon seeing the messages cursing Ran Lin.

Ordinary haters are no big deal; everyone has them, and no one can be universally liked like money. But it’s intolerable when others deliberately lead a smear campaign. He was busy filming and couldn’t be distracted, but Yao Hong might be able to help.

“I’ll have Hong Jie…”

“No need.”

Lu Yiyao had barely spoken four words when Ran Lin interrupted him.

He said, “I’ll call Xi Jie.”

Lu Yiyao pondered for a few seconds. “Okay.”

No one can read minds; trust is built on thorough communication, be it in friendship, love, or work.

After disconnecting the video call again, Ran Lin dialed Wang Xi’s number. It rang for a while before she picked up, sounding alert and probably still working late.

“Why haven’t you rested?” Ms. Xi didn’t ask why Ran Lin called but started with a critique.

Ran Lin sighed, his reply tinged with jest. “Weibo is toxic.”

Wang Xi understood immediately. “Saw Han Ze’s response?”

“And the new narrative of favoritism,” Ran Lin said.

Wang Xi sounded resigned. “Didn’t I tell you to stop scrolling? Whatever happens, I’m here. You just focus on filming.”

Ran Lin fell silent, long and wordless.

Sensing something, Wang Xi suddenly asked, “Don’t trust me?”

Ran Lin was about to ask how she planned to handle things, but her counter-question made him swallow his words.

Neither spoke for a while, time ticking by silently.

“I trust you,” This was the third and final thing Ran Lin said to his agent that evening.

After a pause, the agent’s voice came through the receiver. “Thank you.”

Long after the call ended, Ran Lin remained somewhat dazed.

Wang Xi’s final words were faint, almost like an illusion.

In his memory, Wang Xi never said “thank you” to him; instead, it was dominated by commands like “you must,” “remember this,” and “you need to do it this way” in their collaboration. Ran Lin still remembered the first time he met Wang Xi when he was assigned to her team. Wang Xi started by mocking him for dozing off in the meeting room, asking if he had been sleeping there all morning before directly moving on to the point, stating that the company had accommodated him before, but now he needed to start cooperating with the company.

Back then, Wang Xi was like the strictest discipline dean during his school days.

But unknowingly, that version of Wang Xi became distant. Although she remained assertive, efficient, and to the point, she would negotiate with the company for him when he wanted to perform in <Dyeing Fire>, offer comforting words when he reluctantly accepted <Legend of the Lantern Flowers>, and even proactively think about his future, advising him like a friend rather than just an employee of Dream Without Limits, analyzing the pros and cons of renewing or terminating his contract and the various directions he could take after termination.

He didn’t know what Wang Xi was thanking him for. It seemed superficial to trust her, but Ran Lin felt there was more to it.

But the call ended too quickly. Otherwise, he would have told her—It’s me who should be saying thanks. Thanks for bringing me from a nobody to where I am today, for fighting for every opportunity for me.

Taking a deep breath, Ran Lin reconnected the video call with Lu Yiyao…

……

“Okay, I understand,” Lu Yiyao said gently to his partner on the phone screen. “Rest early, good night.”

As Ran Lin responded with a good night, Lu Yiyao turned off the video and finally put down his phone. Then he looked up somewhat helplessly at Yao Hong, sitting in the corner of the sofa.

Yao Hong was both annoyed and sympathetic. “I told you not to worry.”

Rarely visiting the set, she ended up staying up late strategizing for her artist’s “boyfriend”, only to find he didn’t need it. Yao Hong wasn’t sure whether to feel sorry for herself or sad for her artist.

“He said he trusts Wang Xi must have a plan.” Lu Yiyao was still unsettled even after ending the video call. “I don’t know where his confidence comes from.”

“Why didn’t you ask me where my confidence comes from when I’ve been telling you not to worry?” Yao Hong looked leisurely at her artist.

Lu Yiyao had been preoccupied with Ran Lin all night, not really listening to Yao Hong, always planning to discuss strategies with her after talking to Ran Lin. Now, confronted by her question, he realized. “Right, why do you also think there’s no need to worry?”

“Because I, like Ran Lin,” Yao Hong shrugged, “also trust Wang Xi.”

Lu Yiyao frowned, skeptically squinting. “Weren’t you two fighting tooth and nail back then?”

Yao Hong rolled her eyes at this description but couldn’t refute. “Exactly because it was ‘tooth and nail’, I know her capabilities. If she was incompetent, what does that say about me after fighting with her for years?”

Lu Yiyao couldn’t imagine Yao Hong fighting anyone. “Hong Jie, I’ve never asked, but why did you clash with her and even force her to leave Pentium Times? That’s very unlike your ‘world peace’ style.”

Yao Hong massaged her forehead amidst a mess of rumors about herself. “Who told you I clashed with Wang Xi? It was she who was too competitive, always challenging me and trying to replace me as the head of the brokerage. I was forced to respond…”

Lu Yiyao spread his hands. “So you responded.”

“One mountain can’t contain two tigers*.” Yao Hong lightly brushed her hair. “She bared her teeth first, so I had to draw my sword.”

*(一山不容二虎) Idiom referring to two strong people can’t get along in one place.

A momentary aura of ferocity seemed to emanate from “the past” Yao Hong.

Lu Yiyao shivered, suddenly realizing he might not know his agent as well as he thought.

But those tumultuous days were long gone, and the agent before him was once again gentle and kind. “I have a premonition that Wang Xi, this time, will turn the tables.”

Lu Yiyao was confused. “What do you mean?”

“If she only wanted to debunk rumors or quell the discussion, she would have acted by now,” Yao Hong explained. “The fact that there’s still no movement only means one thing.”

Lu Yiyao seemed to catch on. “She’s brewing something big—a comeback move?”

Yao Hong shook her head, slowly saying, “A fatal strike.”

……

Beijing, Wang Xi’s apartment.

In the spacious living room next to the dining table, a short-haired girl in her mid-twenties intently scrolled the mouse over her laptop, not missing any content on the page.

Wang Xi, carrying freshly brewed flower tea, walked over from the open kitchen and placed it beside the girl.

The short-haired girl looked up and said, “Xi Jie, it was just as you expected. There has been no further action on their part.”

Wang Xi nodded and softly said, “Have some tea. Take a break.”

The girl didn’t move to drink the tea but instead asked with confusion, “Xi Jie, since Deng Minru has already started biased tactics, why not just list out the resources outright? It’s clear with <Chronicles of Winter>, a small investment in the drama version and a large one in the movie version, the quality of resources is obvious.”

“She doesn’t dare.” Wang Xi, holding her own cup of tea, gently blew on it and took a sip before continuing, “Her aim was to re-hype Han Ze’s popularity, to get him attached to the drama version of <Chronicles of Winter> if possible, but if not, then so be it. However, if she had deliberately stirred up a comparison between the movie and drama versions, suggesting Han Ze only got the drama due to my partiality and missed out on the movie, she would have offended both sides.”

The short-haired girl, named Wu Xia, had been a junior staff member in the publicity department of Dreams Without Limits. She was recruited by Wang Xi during her interview and greatly admired her, thus becoming her right-hand in publicity matters. However, lately, it had been clear the company wanted to replace Wang Xi with Deng Minru as the head of the brokerage department, causing shifts in allegiance within the department. Wu Xia, a staunch supporter of Wang Xi, had faced increasing direct and indirect hostility until she couldn’t tolerate it anymore and resigned.

When Wang Xi found out, Wu Xia had already completed the resignation procedures. Instead of persuading her to return to Dream Without Limits, Wang Xi recruited her personally, arranging for her benefits and a higher salary to work in publicity, now working for Wang Xi instead of the company.

Having loyal people around had been a rule Wang Xi learned from years of navigating the corporate world.

Wu Xia, quick-witted, soon grasped Wang Xi’s point. “If she had exposed the comparison between the movie and drama versions, admitting he only got the drama due to favoritism, it would be akin to conceding that the drama was inferior. The drama side wouldn’t be happy, and the movie side would have resented being implicated for poor casting choices.”

Wang Xi was pleased she didn’t need to explain further and leisurely sipped her tea, then slowly added, “Let him hype as he wishes and retreat once he gains the advantage. He became the victim, and Ran Lin ended up smeared for no reason. The world doesn’t work so conveniently.”

Wu Xia took a sip of her tea, then steadied the cup before asking, “What do you need me to do now?”

Wang Xi gazed indifferently at the petals floating in her teacup and said, “Dig out the press releases of his visit to the <Chronicles of Winter> movie set. Let’s spin it with him.”

……

Ran Lin hadn’t expected the winds of online opinion to change overnight.

Admitting it was hard not to check, he reluctantly got up early after a restless night and opened the gateway to another world while waiting for Liu Wanwan to come knocking.

Han Ze was still trending, but the keywords had changed. Now it wasn’t about changing agents or responses, nor about favoritism, but “Han Ze Misses Out on Movie <Chronicles of Winter>”.

It was quite bizarre, as he was clearly the one starring in the movie version of <Chronicles of Winter>, yet the posts with high responses and massive shares on Weibo all focus on how Han Ze, due to his agent’s favoritism, missed out on the movie version of <Chronicles of Winter> and had to settle for the lesser drama version. In this situation, he was also forced by the company to visit the set and put on a brave face for the cameras, which was truly pitiable. Meanwhile, he, the actual male lead of the movie version, seemed to have become an insignificant character, merely mentioned in passing by most of the promotional accounts as a co-artist from the same company, Ran Lin, and then nothing more.

The key information had been updated again, and naturally, the direction of public opinion had subtly shifted.

Han Ze’s fans had already started to confront him with clear stances. In their eyes, he was utterly reprehensible—a wolf in sheep’s clothing, deliberately plotting against their idol. In short, they were vehemently airing their grievances and accusations.

The Burning Noodles had calmed down considerably. It was uncertain whether it was due to “Ran Lin’s Official Fan Club” posting on Weibo, calling for the fans to refuse to engage in disputes, not to add fuel to the rumors, and to concentrate on waiting for Ran Lin’s new works as the best form of support for him. At any rate, the kind of mutual bashing seen last night has become much rarer.

However, bystanders had started to speak up, criticizing Han Ze’s fans. They had said they’d seen enough of their internal disputes. Initially, there was some sympathy for Han Ze, but now it seemed more and more like a publicity stunt. Who was it that had the bright smile during the set visit interviews if it was so forced? Such good acting really made it believable.

Of course, many fans and onlookers felt that his not coming forward signified guilt, further solidifying their belief in the various “facts” they’d come across these past days.

In short, the waters had become muddier.

Upon arriving at the set and getting into makeup, Ran Lin shed his distracting thoughts and began to focus on filming <Dyeing Fire>.

Meanwhile, in Beijing, Wang Xi had made an apology call to Shi Jiuting at ten in the morning.

She had been prepared to be brushed off by his assistant or outright rejected, but the call was quickly picked up, and it was Shi Jiuting himself.

“Ms. Wang,” Shi Jiuting’s voice was as ever, gentle and polite.

“President Shi.” Wang Xi got straight to the point. “I’m sorry.”

“Was it for failing to fulfill the set visit promise or for dragging the movie version of <Chronicles of Winter> into this?” Shi Jiuting’s voice was light and breezy, making it seem like a casual conversation if not for the content of his words.

Wang Xi had anticipated that Shi Jiuting would be aware or informed of some of the online public opinion, but she hadn’t expected him to see through the situation so thoroughly. It wasn’t just a matter of catching wind of rumors; it had seemed as if he had been following the Weibo saga for days and nights.

However, Wang Xi hadn’t had the time to ponder whether it was him tracking the developments himself or being informed by his daughter or assistant. After all, he was someone who evidently placed great importance on the <Chronicles of Winter> project, perhaps even more so than she had imagined.

Suddenly, Wang Xi felt a bit panicked in her heart.

But when she spoke, she remained calm and composed, even genuinely earnest. “When the company asked me to arrange the set visit, I really didn’t expect it would turn into the situation it is now.”

“But in this situation, you played a part.” Shi Jiuting’s tone was slightly playful, betraying no emotion.

Wang Xi didn’t intend to treat him as a fool, but she also didn’t expect him to be so shrewd. Saying yes or no, both seemed difficult to end the conversation, and for the first time, Wang Xi felt awkward.

“I will ask questions, and you just need to answer yes or no, okay?” Although the manner of speaking was dominant, the final “okay” softened it, making it courteous.

Wang Xi finally had the chance to respond. “Okay.”

Shi Jiuting: “Was Han Ze visiting the set his idea or Dream Without Limits, unrelated to you and Ran Lin?”

Wang Xi: “Yes, because we had no reason to have him visit the set, and the press release after the visit was also his…”

Shi Jiuting: “Yes is enough.”

Wang Xi: “……”

Shi Jiuting: “You were Han Ze’s agent before?”

Wang Xi: “Yes.”

Shi Jiuting: “Did you part on bad terms?”

Wang Xi: “…Yes.”

Shi Jiuting: “The trending topic about changing agents was orchestrated by his current team, unrelated to you?”

Wang Xi: “Yes.”

Shi Jiuting: “The topic today about Han Ze missing out on the movie version of <Chronicles of Winter> was stirred up by you.”

Wang Xi: “…Yes.”

Shi Jiuting: “You’re calling me to apologize; it’s actually just to apologize for the unnecessary negative publicity Han Ze’s set visit brought to the movie version of <Chronicles of Winter>, not to admit that the latter topic was stirred up by you.”

Wang Xi: “…”

“Sorry, I might have been too aggressive.” Shi Jiuting sighed in relief. “Cancel the yes or no only. Can you tell me what you plan to do after this call?”

Wang Xi pursed her lips, pondered for a moment, and then cautiously said, “After apologizing to you, I will steer the public opinion again, firmly pinning the hype on Han Ze. In the next few days, the drama version of <Chronicles of Winter> will announce its release date. Timing it like this, no one will believe it’s not a publicity stunt.”

“That wasn’t your original plan, was it.” Shi Jiuting chuckled lightly. “Or should I say, not all of it.”

Wang Xi was taken aback.

Shi Jiuting continued, “If I’m not mistaken, you originally hoped that when the production side saw the public opinion about Han Ze missing out on the movie version of <Chronicles of Winter>, they would issue a statement to clear the names of Ran Lin and the crew, clarifying that the crew never invited Han Ze, directly countering his claim.”

“…” Wang Xi felt a chill all over. This man wasn’t just perceptive, he was like an X-ray!

“My time is limited. Let’s make it brief.” Shi Jiuting’s tone became serious, a rarity for him. “I don’t like being manipulated, but like you, when I am manipulated, I prefer counterattacking over defending. Now, with Ran Lin as the lead of the movie version of <Chronicles of Winter>, any issue or scandal with him doesn’t benefit the whole project. So, the matter of you dragging the movie into the mud, let’s put it on account for now, and I will have the production team issue a statement as soon as possible.”

Before Wang Xi could grasp how the conversation had turned, Shi Jiuting politely said, “If there’s nothing else, I’ll hang up first.”

“President Shi!” Wang Xi hurriedly called out, afraid he would hang up.

Fortunately, he wasn’t in a rush and simply uttered a monosyllabic, “Hm?”

“If Han Ze’s drama becomes muddled, the drama version of <Chronicles of Winter> might also suffer,” Wang Xi subtly reminded.

But subtlety was as good as directness to Shi Jiuting, and it seemed he had already considered this issue. “Originally, I agreed to Han Ze’s set visit, thinking if the drama version did well, the movie version might benefit from some positive effects. My intentions weren’t pure, so this situation today is partly my negligence. But now, foreseeing that the drama version will flop, there’s a strategy for flops just as there is for hits. I would rather it tank completely, making it easier for the movie version to shine by comparison and win acclaim.”

“…” Wang Xi didn’t know what to say anymore, Shi Jiuting was like a promotional director trapped in a CEO’s body! If not for his high position, she really wanted to recruit him to her team.

“Is there anything else this time?” Shi Jiuting asked again.

Wang Xi, fully feeling his valuation of time, didn’t want to waste any more and sincerely said, “President Shi, thank you.”

Shi Jiuting didn’t say ‘you’re welcome’; instead, he said, “There will be a time for everything.”

Wang Xi listened to the beeping of the phone, feeling a sense of impending reckoning.

In the top-floor office of a CBD skyscraper, Shi Jiuting sat in front of his brown, solid wood desk, silently pondering over the calendar.

Even though he was looking at the calendar, his eyes weren’t really focused on the dates but rather on some unfocused void, allowing his brain to operate more clearly.

Shi Jiuting had no interest in humiliating others, so even after seeing through Wang Xi’s tricks, he simply clarified things calmly. The matter had already escalated to this point, and what he truly focused on was solving the problem and ensuring that those responsible understood that it was okay to target anyone, but preferably not him.

Compared to Wang Xi’s defensive counterattack and leveraging, he disliked those who initiated the issues more.

……

Ran Lin was unaware of what Wang Xi had done, but when he checked Weibo during his lunch break, an official announcement from the movie <Chronicles of Winter> was prominently displayed on the trending searches.

[Chronicles of Winter Movie: In response to recent rumors about <Chronicles of Winter>, here is our official statement [View image]. We are reluctant to clarify before the movie has even been released; we prefer to see everyone working together for a harmonious and prosperous film industry.]

Ran Lin clicked on the announcement image. It didn’t directly mention Han Ze, but from beginning to end, it solemnly clarified that the casting of <Chronicles of Winter> was through a series of selections, including invitations, auditions, and crew discussions, nearly saying they never extended an invitation to Han Ze.

Comments under the announcement were mostly mocking Han Ze for being “slapped in the face” by the public.

By evening, when Ran Lin was on his way back to the hotel, he found himself trending on Weibo!

His heart skipped a beat.

For the past two or three days, the keywords revolved around Han Ze, agent, and <Chronicles of Winter>, with himself barely mentioned as “R”. Suddenly trending now seemed like a very ominous sign.

With a thumping heart, Ran Lin cautiously searched his name, then froze the next second.

On the full screen of his phone, the Weibo page showed search results for Ran Lin, all pointing to the same video:

[<Chronicles of Winter> audition footage leaked. Ran Lin VS Bell, showcasing what true acting is! This crying scene is definitely top-notch, but all I want to do is 🤣 🤣 🤣 🤣 🤣 🤣 🤣 🤣 [Video link]]

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

Author: 颜凉雨 / Yan Liang Yu

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

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Chapter 77

When Ran Lin arrived at the set, he didn’t see Gu Jie. After getting his makeup done, he found Gu Jie already sitting at the edge of the set, cooling himself with a handheld fan.

The week had been all sunny days, and the temperature was gradually rising. It wasn’t extremely hot yet, but it was getting stuffy. Gu Jie wasn’t bothered by the heat, but he sweated easily, which affected his appearance on camera, so he started carrying a fan around three days ago and used it whenever he wasn’t filming.

Ran Lin, wearing Di Jiangtao’s faded green T-shirt, which made his complexion look paler, had makeup applied to make his eye sockets look sunken and give off a decadent vibe. The only way to tell if he was filming or resting on set was by his eyes—dull and guarded while filming, but lively and spirited once the director called cut.

Now, with that look in his eyes, he quietly approached Gu Jie’s chair from behind and then slapped his friend’s shoulder vigorously. “Good morning!”

Gu Jie jolted, loosening his grip and dropping the fan onto his lap. He quickly picked it up again, checking that the blades weren’t damaged by his muscular thighs, then looked up, annoyed. “Aren’t you childish.”

Without much thought when he slapped, Ran Lin suddenly realized he had become more unrestrained with people he was close to, almost returning to his mischievous youth. Pondering over this change, he inadvertently noticed a beautiful girl talking to Director He not far away.

The girl was dressed in a light blue striped shirt and denim shorts. The hem of her shirt was fully tucked into her shorts to reveal her slender waist and long, attractive legs.

Having been with the crew for over a month and a half, Ran Lin didn’t remember such a person in the crew. She was definitely not an actress, as apart from extras like elderly women, the drama had no significant female roles yet. The only female supporting role had also been vacated due to the original actress pulling out at the last minute…

Hold on.

Could this be the replacement for the female supporting role?

<Dyeing Fire> was essentially a man’s drama, with the storyline revolving around four men—officer Xiao Gu, the young sociable Di Jiangtao, the small store owner Ying Feng, and Lao Zhang, who was inexplicably targeted by Ying Feng.

Jiang Xiaoxiao, the daughter of Di Jiangtao’s landlord, was the only female character in the drama. When she accidentally discovers the “mysterious investigation” going on between her tenant and officer Xiao Gu, she volunteers to join, becoming an unofficial member of the investigative team.

Initially, this role was to be played by a certain second-tier female artist. Though a supporting role, she was the lone female character in this predominantly male drama. While her screen time couldn’t compete with the main male actors, her unique presence, if well portrayed, could be striking.

However, due to the continual delays in the shooting schedule, she had to withdraw, leaving the director scrambling to find a replacement. Either the director’s preferred choices were unavailable or the available actresses didn’t meet the character’s or director’s requirements. It was only last week that Gu Jie mentioned the director had been recommended a non-professional newcomer by a friend.

However, Gu Jie’s exact words were that the director wasn’t too satisfied with the newcomer, but the role was supposed to start shooting in early May, and it was already late May. They had adjusted all possible scenes without her to the front of the schedule, and the crew couldn’t wait any longer. Despite his dissatisfaction, he hadn’t outright rejected her and was still hesitating.

Ran Lin had always trusted information from Gu Jie, given Gu Jie’s tight relationship with Director He and his no-nonsense nature.

“Is that Jiang Xiaoxiao?” Instead of guessing, Ran Lin decided to ask his friend directly.

Following Ran Lin’s gaze, Gu Jie noticed the “newcomer” on set for the first time but quickly recognized her. “Yes, that’s her. Director He even showed me her photo to get my opinion.”

“What did you say?” Ran Lin was curious.

“She’s beautiful, but not quite what I imagined Jiang Xiaoxiao to be.” Gu Jie recalled the conversation from a week ago, and seeing the actress in person only reinforced his assessment.

Ran Lin understood.

He and Gu Jie had discussed this when they saw Director He troubled over the choice for Jiang Xiaoxiao. They had casually talked about what kind of person should play her.

Both had leaned towards “quirky and spirited”, not out of any agreement but because that’s the vibe the script’s Jiang Xiaoxiao gave off: a daring and quirky girl.

And this girl before them, while beautiful, was a far cry from “quirky and spirited”. Her beauty was more radiant and seductive. With shoulder-length wavy hair, fair skin, and a tall and curvy figure, her simple casual attire did little to diminish her allure. Her beauty was immediate and undeniable, the kind that didn’t require close inspection, which was why both Ran Lin and Gu Jie noticed her despite being engrossed in their conversation.

Ran Lin remarked, “Now that she’s here, it must mean Director He finally approved of her.”

“Probably didn’t have a better choice,” Gu Jie analyzed objectively. “Every day after the shooting starts costs money. If they can’t finalize an actress, the director will bear all the responsibility for any delays. The producer has given him a lot of freedom, so he has to consider the producer’s interests too.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think the director was speaking through you just now.” Ran Lin swore he could hear the director’s sincere frustration in Gu Jie’s words.

Gu Jie sighed. “If you were dragged out for tea and venting sessions by the director after wrap-up every other day, you’d understand.”

Ran Lin joked, “I’ll leave such arduous tasks to the leading man.”

Gu Jie was about to protest that their drama was essentially a double lead when he heard a soft voice. “Hello, Gu Ge, Ran Ge.”

Both turned to see the girl who had been talking with the director had made her way over to the actors’ resting area and was standing about a meter away, politely greeting them.

One meter was a comfortable distance, neither too close to make unfamiliar people awkward nor too far to feel distant and cold.

Ran Lin and Gu Jie almost simultaneously stood up.

“Hello.” Gu Jie spoke first, straightforwardly. “Just call us by our names.”

Ran Lin immediately followed. “Hello.”

Face to face at close range, the actress’ “beauty” was even more intense. Dressed in a fresh and simple style, she still resembled a blooming rose, especially with those smiling eyes that seemed shallow in laughter yet somehow captivating.

Ran Lin was sure the girl was trying to charm them. Unfortunately, she was facing Gu Jie, who was too blunt for such subtleties, and himself, who was genuinely disinterested in girls.

“My name is Qi Luoluo,” the girl introduced herself confidently. “I’m playing Jiang Xiaoxiao. Director He asked me to familiarize myself with the set environment today, and I’ll officially join the shoot tomorrow. I’m a newcomer with not much acting experience, but I promise to work extra hard. I hope Gu Ge and Ran Ge can be forgiving and offer lots of guidance!”

Just as she was about to bow to her “seniors”, Gu Jie hurriedly interjected, “No need to be so formal. We’re all part of the same team here, like a family. And I’m not much older than you; Ran Lin might even be younger than you, so don’t keep adding ‘Ge’.”

Ran Lin wasn’t sure of the girl’s exact age.

But noticing the fleeting “complex feelings” in her pretty eyes, Gu Jie’s comment about Ran Lin possibly being younger might have hit a nerve.

Seeing the conversation about to freeze due to Gu Jie’s bluntness, Ran Lin quickly intervened, “Qi Luoluo, Jiang Xiaoxiao, just by the names, it seems like you and the character are fated*.”

*Clarity: He’s referring to the meaning of the names playing off how their surname and first name are basically opposites. Qi & Luo(luo) = Up & Down, while Jiang + Xiao(xiao) = Stiff & Smile.

Qi Luoluo smiled. “Director He said the same.”

……

Di Jiangtao walked into the small store, making the already cramped space feel even tighter. He pulled out a crumpled ten-yuan note from his track pants and placed it on the counter, listlessly. “Two bottles of beer.”

Ying Feng, always welcoming customers, asked with a smile, “Cold or room temperature?”

Di Jiangtao glanced at him lifelessly. “It’s hot as hell outside. Who would drink room temperature beer now?”

Ying Feng wasn’t offended, as this young man had always been like this, as if everyone owed him millions. Rumor had it that he had been “inside” and had just been released. Anyone could chat in the small store, but Ying Feng couldn’t differentiate between truth and fiction. However, it was none of his business.

The moment Ying Feng turned to get the beer from the fridge, Di Jiangtao’s gaze shifted from listless to piercing. He watched Ying Feng’s back as if it contained all the answers to the mysteries.

Ying Feng quickly returned with the beer, turning around.

In an instant, Di Jiangtao’s eyes reverted to their listless state. As Ying Feng handed him the change and beer, Di Jiangtao yawned out of sheer boredom.

“Take care.” Ying Feng watched as Di Jiangtao took the change and beer and left. As the young man walked away, a flicker of confusion passed through Ying Feng’s eyes, followed by a long moment of contemplation.

“Cut, good take!”

Following the director’s cue, the actor playing Ying Feng, Qiu Ming, let out a sigh of relief, while Ran Lin, who had already walked out, immediately returned with the beer and placed it on the counter, pretending to be serious. “Boss, I’d like to return these.”

Qiu Ming: “Who gave you the courage to return things?”

Ran Lin pointed to a small sign on the counter. “Doesn’t it say, ‘Seven days, no reason’ here?”

Qiu Min was speechless. “Can’t you scam more sophisticatedly? It reads, ‘No credit required’. How did you read three words into four?”

“I’m asking if you two are done with work yet.” Gu Jie, who couldn’t wait any longer, barged into the small store.

All of this afternoon’s scenes were here, so before Ran Lin’s scene, it was Gu Jie and Qiu Ming’s scene. After finishing, Gu Jie didn’t leave, waiting loyally outside for his friend, not knowing the wait would be in vain.

The three men joked and laughed as they left the small store. Ran Lin saw Qi Luoluo, who had been observing all day, talking to the director again, not sure if she was seeking advice or reporting her findings.

The director, as always, was good-natured and listened intently, occasionally offering some advice.

Modern dramas require much less makeup for male actors, typically just changing back into their clothes and washing their faces with makeup remover. It’s much more convenient than historical dramas. In about ten minutes, Di Jiangtao reverted back to the bright young man, and together with Gu Jie and Qiu Ming, the trio hooked arms and prepared to go for some good food.

That was when Liu Wanwan came over.

Ran Lin was about to tell her she didn’t need to follow and could go back to the hotel to rest, but when he saw Liu Wanwan’s hesitant expression, he had a bad feeling.

“Wait a moment.” Ran Lin told his friends and then stepped aside with Liu Wanwan.

Liu Wanwan didn’t waste time. “Ran Ge, there was a Weibo exposure this afternoon saying Han Ze changed his agent, and the rhythm was very obvious.”

Ran Lin frowned. “Changed his agent? That’s old news.”

Liu Wanwan explained, “Xi Jie suspects it’s a self-staged act by him. Since the drama version of <Chronicles of Winter> is about to air, he wants to stir up some news.”

Pre-airing hype wasn’t unusual in the entertainment industry, and typically, these things wouldn’t concern Ran Lin. But if this was indeed a maneuver by Han Ze’s team and they chose to publicize the agent change, it was a sensitive issue. “He’s not implying the change was because of a disagreement with me, is he?”

Liu Wanwan replied, “No, it’s just marketing accounts that are leaking the news, and he hasn’t responded yet.”

“Oh…” Ran Lin wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved or more anxious.

Liu Wanwan continued, “But Xi Jie is worried that it might spiral into something more troublesome, so she wanted me to give you a heads-up. You don’t have to respond to anything; just focus on filming. She’s keeping an eye on the situation and will handle anything that comes up.”

With the agent’s instructions so comprehensive, all Ran Lin could do was nod in agreement. “Understood.”

Gu Jie and Qiu Ming, being somewhat oblivious, assumed Ran Lin was just discussing something with his assistant and didn’t pry further. As soon as Ran Lin rejoined them, they continued their quest for delicious food.

Because Ran Lin was preoccupied with the gossip, he was somewhat absent-minded throughout dinner. Finally, back at the hotel, he could scroll through Weibo in peace to see exactly what Han Ze was up to.

He didn’t need to search for specific keywords; when he opened the trending list, “Han Ze changes agent” and “Han Ze’s <Chronicles of Winter>” were already in the sixth and seventh spots, respectively.

Changing agents isn’t usually a big deal to the general public compared to, say, a celebrity relationship reveal, which would likely trend higher. Moreover, with “Han Ze’s <Chronicles of Winter>” also trending, those familiar with the industry could easily spot the promotional intent.

But most Weibo users, looking for a bit of entertainment unless they’re fans, don’t delve deep into why something is trending; they’re just there for the news.

Ran Lin clicked on the “Han Ze changes agent” trend first. The top post was the original exposé from a major marketing account with millions of followers—

[Entertainment Seven Princess: Has Han Ze dropped his long-time agent? With <Chronicles of Winter> airing in June, Han Ze has gone through all sorts of hardships in its production. Recently, Princess received a tip-off that Han Ze has replaced his agent, Ms. Wang, who has been with him since his debut, and <Chronicles of Winter> was one of the projects she secured for him. According to sources, the reasons behind the agent switch are complex and not straightforward to disclose… [Read more]]

Ran Lin clicked to read more, but it was all vague insinuations about the complexities behind the agent change, concluding with three central ideas:

First, what could have led Han Ze to replace his agent from debut?

Second, there had been rumors about a romantic relationship between Han Ze and his agent—could this change be due to a breakup?

Third, regardless of the reasons behind the agent switch, as Han Ze has gone through many hardships filming <Chronicles of Winter>, he still deserves support. The show airs in June, and Princess will be watching.

Following this post were similar hot posts from other marketing accounts, all essentially reiterating the same points and each featuring a photo of Han Ze at the airport with arrows or red circles highlighting Wang Xi nearby.

Ran Lin wasn’t sure when the photo was taken, as it was a hurried paparazzi shot providing little information other than that it was taken at an airport, likely in spring or autumn. Given the clothing, Wang Xi, although blurred due to the photo’s focus on Han Ze, was distinguishable as a neatly dressed, professional woman.

The Weibo comments under “Entertainment Seven Princesses” had already garnered over six thousand messages. Half were from onlookers eating melons, and the other half were fans of Han Ze, with most joining the rhythm to develop wild speculations and guesses of all kinds. The most popular few comments essentially represent several mainstream opinions—

[Hokkaido’s White Lover: Changing agents is nothing more than disagreements over future career planning, unequal profit sharing, or dissatisfaction with the agent’s professional capabilities. The poster is leaning everything towards love, which is ridiculous. Why would Han Ze not choose among many young beauties and go for someone older? What’s he after? 😔]

[Not enough melons: Every time there’s a drama about to air, there’s bound to be a round of hype beforehand. It’s routine. But it’s the first time I’ve seen using a former agent for hype. Han Ze has really started a new genre. 😂]

[Cold Water and Wood: Among the popular comments, those saying Han Ze is hyping things up, please think a bit. To hype up scandals with his former agent, he must be really out of options—it’s all harm and no good! And the rhythm in this article is too obvious. The blackening doesn’t have any technical content. 😒]

[Breeze at Dusk: Han Ze is signed with an agency, not operating his own studio. Changing agents would still require the company’s decision, so why is everyone guessing there’s a grudge between Han Ze and his former agent? Can’t it be an internal company issue? 🤔]

[Shining Ze Ze: <Chronicles of Winter> starts airing on 6.3, 6.3, 6.3. Important things need to be said thrice. Please pay more attention to Han Ge’s dramas, judge his character by his works to see what kind of person he is. Understanding him through his works is more direct and real. 🙇]

Although the comments were full of wild speculations and many floors were either discussing or quarreling joyfully, it all stayed within the normal range of gossip. Without more information from marketing accounts, whatever the netizens chat or dug into was all just castles in the air, with no real harm. Moreover, Ran Lin originally thought someone would dig up the “former agent Ms. Wang” who was now leading him, but it seemed that didn’t happen. Everyone was basically following the rhythm of the marketing accounts, guessing towards “May-December romance*”.

*A relationship between two people where there is a significant age difference.

Liu Wanwan said that Xi Jie thought it was all directed and acted by Han Ze himself.

But having looked at it, Ran Lin thought the trending topic “Han Ze’s <Chronicles of Winter>” might have been orchestrated by Han Ze’s team, but the agent change might really be an unforeseen disaster, just coincidentally happening at this time. Or perhaps Han Ze’s team saw it breaking out and simply rode the wave to buy the hot search for “Han Ze’s <Chronicles of Winter>”.

There was no other reason.

Just like the comments under the marketing account, if Han Ze really wanted to create hype, he shouldn’t rely solely on love scandals, as it would be very damaging to him and not worth the loss.

If it were any other content, Ran Lin could still discuss it with Wang Xi, but now the speculations were about the two’s “ambiguous relationship”, and it wasn’t appropriate for Ran Lin to discuss with Wang Xi. Even if she and Han Ze really had something, it was all in the past. Back when Wang Xi was still leading Han Ze, he didn’t clarify things with his agent, and there was even less need to do so now.

Idly scrolling until past eleven at night, seeing no new content and that the heat over changing agents was also slowly dying down, in contrast to the constant flow of official releases about how hard Han Ze had worked shooting <Chronicles of Winter>, Ran Lin logged out of Weibo and went to wash up and sleep.

The following day was overcast with intermittent rain.

When Ran Lin arrived at the set, it hadn’t started raining, but the sun was hidden. A wind rising under the cloud cover brought a hint of coolness. All of the day’s scenes were to be shot inside a “rental house”. By the time Ran Lin, with makeup done, reached the set, Qi Luoluo, already styled, was waiting there.

Transformed by the stylist’s skill, she shed her usual glamor for a girl-next-door look. Wearing jeans and a white T-shirt printed with black letters, her hair simply tied into a ponytail. The stylist also toned down her bright complexion with a slightly darker foundation, so as not to clash with the film’s color palette or the male lead’s skin tone.

“Ran Ge, good morning.” Qi Luoluo greeted him respectfully as soon as she saw him.

Ran Lin was a bit overwhelmed but accepted the respectful address since she insisted on using it, replying as a “senior” might. “Good morning. How are you feeling about today?”

“A bit nervous,” Qi Luoluo admitted, sticking out her tongue.

“No problem,” Ran Lin reassured her. “The director is easygoing. As long as you’re serious and put your heart into it, it’ll be fine.”

Ran Lin didn’t actually know how good this Qi girl’s acting was and could only offer polite words.

They stood in the “bedroom” set while the crew was busy preparing in the “living room” outside, adjusting lights, and finding the right angles for shooting. The space was limited, and it was going to be a physical scene with Ran Lin and Gu Jie grappling, followed by Qi Luoluo joining in, which made it easy to slip up.

“What are you chatting about?” Gu Jie entered, still looking dashing in casual clothes.

Before Ran Lin could speak, Qi Luoluo replied, “I get chatty when I’m nervous, and unfortunately, Ran Ge was caught by me.”

“You picked the right person,” Gu Jie teased. “He’s the most considerate and attentive of all the male actors here.”

Ran Lin was surprised. “So I have such a high reputation in your heart?”

Gu Jie looked at him seriously. “If you’d help me stretch or do sit-ups, your reputation would be even higher.”

Ran Lin was unamused and refused without a second thought, “No way.”

Ever since the last time he almost got flipped over by Gu Jie’s leg, he’d stayed away from such perilous acts of kindness.

“What stretching? Can I help?” Qi Luoluo asked, eyes wide.

Ran Lin was at a loss for words.

Gu Jie felt a bit awkward. He could joke around with Ran Lin, but it was different with a female actor he wasn’t close to, so he instinctively looked towards the “living room”, hoping they’d finish setting up soon.

Perhaps the crew heard Gu Jie’s silent plea as a staff member peeked through the doorframe, announcing that shooting was about to begin.

Ran Lin and Gu Jie breathed a sigh of relief and quickly headed out.

Qi Luoluo shrugged and followed swiftly.

The first scene didn’t include Qi Luoluo—just Ran Lin and Gu Jie in the room. The scene was about Xiao Gu, having a rare day off, visiting “Informant Di” on set, leading to a fight when words failed. Specifically, Di Jiangtao, known for his temper, strikes first, and Xiao Gu, initially dodging, eventually restrains him when Di Jiangtao seems out of control.

Gu Jie, skilled in combat, and Di Jiangtao, a brawler, made for a scene that didn’t require martial arts choreography. The more realistic and grounded, the better. So, the director let them improvise after a couple of run-throughs.

Ran Lin, who hadn’t really fought much in his life, found this improvisation challenging. His limbs felt foreign as he moved awkwardly, unsure how to approach Gu Jie.

Gu Jie, visibly frustrated, pushed him hard.

Ran Lin, concentrating on mimicking the motions, stumbled back against the wall, wincing at the pain but managing to stay upright.

“What the…” Ran Lin’s first word came out almost as a yell, but realizing where he was, he subdued his anger. “What are you doing?”

“Fighting,” Gu Jie retorted with a glance. “What else? You expect a hug?”

Gu Jie’s demeanor was cold… No, not Gu Jie, but Xiao Gu, the character disdainful of Di Jiangtao.

Ran Lin lowered his eyes, brewing a moment, then suddenly lunged forward, pushing Gu Jie hard!

His move mirrored Gu Jie’s earlier action—an eye for an eye.

Gu Jie, with a sturdier stance, only stepped back half a step before smiling broadly, teeth gleaming, “Keep going.”

Ran Lin complied, pushing harder.

This time, Gu Jie didn’t retreat but instead grabbed Ran Lin’s wrist, pulling him into an arm lock in a swift motion.

The intense twist caused sharp pain in Ran Lin’s shoulder. He instinctively struggled, but Gu Jie held firm. In desperation, Ran Lin elbowed backward.

Gu Jie dodged too late, the blow landing partially, loosening his grip. Ran Lin broke free, putting some distance between them, both panting and facing off.

Gu Jie watched him with a scornful sneer, then silently mouthed his lips.

Ran Lin’s eyes widened in disbelief. Was this guy cursing him?!

Though he knew it was just a rehearsal, his emotions flared. Ran Lin charged again, embroiled in a messy scuffle.

Eventually, they ended up on the ground. Ran Lin was caught off-balance and tumbled down.

Gu Jie, still holding his arm, cushioned the fall, then mounted his lower back, pinning both arms and stopping any further resistance.

As his shoulders ached increasingly, Gu Jie finally got off, looking expectantly at the director. “Director He, how was it?”

Director He nodded approvingly. “I like it.”

Ran Lin, sore all over, couldn’t muster the energy to comment on their “routine”. Was this some kind of exercise?

“Another round?” Gu Jie flexed his shoulders, eager as if the previous bout was just a warm-up.

Ran Lin shook his head like a rattle drum. “I think we’re ready to shoot for real.”

Another round, and he might not be able to get up.

“Alright,” Gu Jie said, looking slightly disappointed, before turning to the director. “We’re ready.”

Director He looked towards Ran Lin for confirmation.

Ran Lin gave a thumbs up and a resilient smile.

“Scene XX, <Dyeing Fire>, take 1…”

Click!

The clapperboard sounded the start. Di Jiangtao, standing in front of the window, turned and pushed Xiao Gu forcefully!

It was a repeat of the previous rehearsal, in the cramped room filled with the dull sound of grappling, representing a restrained policeman and a frenzied youth.

Finally, when Xiao Gu got Di Jiangtao pinned down, twisting his arms behind his back, Di Jiangtao desperately turned and shouted, “Let go of me! What right do you have to arrest me?”

He had turned with all his might, but in reality, he couldn’t see Xiao Gu behind him, only shouting towards the dimly perceived shadow and the air.

Xiao Gu frowned, about to give a lecture, when suddenly a knocking sound echoed from the entrance hall.

Tap, tap.

The casual rapping made the metal security door resonate, startling both men inside, who instinctively looked towards the entrance.

“Cut, pass—”

Gu Jie immediately let go and got off Ran Lin.

But Ran Lin lay there, unable to move for a while—Gu Jie had been too forceful, nearly causing dislocation with any weaker resistance.

“Are you okay?” The director walked over, squatting down to pat Ran Lin’s back gently.

“I’m fine.” Ran Lin gave another strong smile, then justified his inaction. “Isn’t there another take right after? I just stayed put to keep the position consistent to avoid continuity errors.”

Director He, not only good-tempered but also expressive, nodded in approval. “Good, you’ve got spirit!”

Watching the director walk back to the monitor, Ran Lin suddenly felt the aches and pains were worth it.

The set and decor remained unchanged, so the director, not wanting to waste time, sat back down at the monitor to continue.

Gu Jie remounted him, repositioning his arms behind his back with much less force than before, and Ran Lin tensed his body, portraying a sense of subdued indignation…

Click!

As the clapperboard sounded again, the voice of the landlord’s daughter, Jiang Xiaoxiao, rang from outside. “Don’t pretend you’re not home. I heard you!”

The two men inside maintained a baffled state.

Suddenly, the sound of keys in the door followed, and quickly, the security door opened with Jiang Xiaoxiao entering the hallway, grumbling, “I’m not as easily fooled as my mom. You haven’t paid your rent and…”

Her complaint stopped abruptly as she took in the scene in the living room.

A woman at the entrance, two men in the living room, a few meters apart, still in an awkward position.

Xiao Gu, in casual clothes, didn’t immediately signal to Jiang Xiaoxiao that he was a policeman. All she saw upon entering was one young man pinning another to the floor.

“Um…” Jiang Xiaoxiao swallowed, her mouth twitching slightly. “What are you doing?”

“Cut—”

Director He called for a cut, but it wasn’t satisfactory.

Nevertheless, Gu Jie quickly got off Ran Lin to prevent exerting too much pressure for too long, considering his own weight.

Ran Lin sat up, stretching his upper body.

The scene was short, with Jiang Xiaoxiao entering to demand rent, puzzled by the sight, meant to bring a touch of humor to the awkward moment. Therefore, the delivery needed to be precise.

Clearly, her performance hadn’t been quite up to par.

Not only the director, but even Ran Lin felt her delivery was a bit stiff and unnatural.

Since the movie mostly used live sound, with dubbing reserved for scenes with excessive background noise or other issues, the director was particularly meticulous about the tone and feel of the dialogue.

After the cut, Qi Luoluo immediately ran to the monitor to listen to the director’s guidance.

It was understandable for her to be slow getting into character on the first day, and her attitude was commendably proactive.

However, after seven or eight takes without success, even Ran Lin was feeling the strain.

It wasn’t mental fatigue but physical exhaustion; the contorted posture was taxing, and even without Gu Jie applying any force, the twisted position was torture on the joints.

Though Gu Jie wasn’t experiencing the same physical discomfort, retaking the scene numerous times was also trying for him.

Sensing that continuing this way was futile and unwilling to settle for any of the previous takes, the director decided to skip this scene and move on to the next.

However, perhaps influenced by the difficulties of this scene, Qi Luoluo’s performance in the subsequent ones wasn’t up to par either. By the time they wrapped up for the night at 10 p.m., they had barely managed to shoot the planned scenes, leaving two, including the rent collection and a later confrontation, for the next day.

Even with the director’s patience, the delayed progress was disheartening. The usual cheerful atmosphere was gone, leaving him brooding silently behind the monitor.

Qi Luoluo apologized repeatedly throughout the day, clearly anxious and feeling terribly guilty with each NG. But mere regret wasn’t enough to improve the performance, leaving everyone in a quandary.

After removing his makeup, Ran Lin and Gu Jie shared a ride back to the hotel. As the car started moving, Gu Jie rolled down the window and sighed into the night air.

“I should be the one sighing.” Ran Lin massaged his shoulders, despairing. “I can hardly feel my arms.”

Gu Jie turned from the night view to Ran Lin, asking seriously, “Do you think she’ll suddenly get it tomorrow, and everything will go smoothly?”

Ran Lin pondered carefully before responding, “It seems unlikely.”

Gu Jie’s head drooped, disheartened.

Ran Lin now understood Gu Jie’s earlier comment—the director wasn’t pleased with the new actress.

This “wasn’t” was probably about to escalate to “wasn’t very”.

From what Ran Lin knew of the director, even with tight schedules, he wouldn’t completely lower his standards. They must have auditioned, and Qi Luoluo’s performance then was probably just passable, enough to proceed given the time constraints.

Yet auditions and actual shooting were different, and with the added pressure of the first day, it was likely Qi Luoluo was more nervous, leading to a day’s work that left much to be desired.

With a hope that “tomorrow will be better”, Ran Lin returned to the hotel.

Thoroughly showering away the fatigue, he dried his hair and went to bed by 11:30 p.m. Fortunately, he had cut his hair shorter to fit the timeline of about half a year after release from prison. Simple drying sufficed for now—by July, when they would shoot scenes right after his release, his hair would be cropped very short, so he cherished these moments with longer hair.

Settling into bed, Ran Lin reached for his phone on the pillow to message his lover, only to find a new message waiting in WeChat, sent while he was showering, from Lu Yiyao—

[About Han Ze’s situation, don’t respond.]

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

Author: 颜凉雨 / Yan Liang Yu

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

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Chapter 76

From the moment Shi Jiuting entered the set, Wang Xi recognized him, but since he headed straight towards the male lead without looking around, she didn’t find it appropriate to forcefully approach him.

Only when Shi Jiuting retreated to the side of the set, casually observing, did Wang Xi approach and politely greeted, “President Shi, hello.”

Shi Jiuting tilted his head slightly, eyeing the competent woman who appeared out of nowhere, but still politely rose and asked, “You are…?”

“Dream Without Limits, Wang Xi. We’ve spoken on the phone,” Wang Xi said, taking out her business card and handing it to him.

Shi Jiuting took the card, glanced at it briefly, and remembered, “Ms.¹ Wang?”

“Not at all,” Wang Xi hurriedly replied. “You can call me Xiao Wang or Wang Xi¹.”

¹Clarity: He’s using (总) to address her here, which can be like “President, Chief, Director, ect.”. Wang Xi is showing humility by “lowering” her status and basically saying, “I don’t dare accept such honor of being referred to that kind of address.”

Shi Jiuting glanced at the agent, who seemed to be around his age or perhaps a year or two older and found it difficult to address her as “Xiao Wang”. So, he vaguely responded with a noncommittal “Mm, okay.”

Wang Xi didn’t dwell on the formality and went straight to the point. “I’ve been wanting to invite you to dinner to thank you in person for giving Ran Lin this opportunity.”

Shi Jiuting smiled, not denying his role in providing the opportunity for Ran Lin, and simply stated, “Opportunities come, but it takes real skill to seize them.”

Shi Jiuting always gave this impression over the phone: no pleasantries, no insincerity, direct and clear in just a few words, avoiding unnecessary flattery. As an agent, Wang Xi preferred dealing with such straightforward investors; it was less tiring.

“Since you’re here, President Shi, Ran Lin, and I would like to invite you to dinner tonight…”

Before Wang Xi could finish, Shi Jiuting politely gestured with his hand to stop her.

“Filming is already exhausting, and I shouldn’t deprive actors of their precious rest time. If entertaining me affects tomorrow’s work, then my visit here would really be more trouble than it’s worth.”

His refusal was both irrefutable and soothing to hear—a sign of his adeptness.

Wang Xi didn’t press further. She had mentioned it several times over the phone and now again in person; her sincerity was clear. If he genuinely didn’t want to dine, then she would not insist.

As they spoke, the set was ready for the next scene.

Shi Jiuting settled back down, and Wang Xi chose a nearby chair to sit, so as not to walk back and forth and disturb the shooting.

The second scene is still underwater, but this time it involves Ran Lin, who has sunk to the bottom, receiving vital energy from the little white jiao* and then, in turn, helping the white jiao escape its plight. Thus, Ran Lin needs to “break the chains and shackles binding the white jiao” while underwater.

*Clarity: The author has switched to using jiao instead of dragon.

As the clapperboard sounded, Ran Lin dove back into the water without hesitation.

From Wang Xi and Shi Jiuting’s perspective, they could only see the rippling water surface. In other words, except for the photographer shooting from the underwater window, everyone in the studio could only see the surface and not the actor—except for the director.

The monitor vividly displayed Ran Lin’s underwater performance, with Director Huang watching intently, not missing a single frame.

Even though the lifeguard was ready by the pool, Wang Xi couldn’t help but clench her fists.

Time seemed to stretch on, and what was less than a minute felt like an eternity.

Finally, with a splash, their actor resurfaced.

Wang Xi exhaled a breath of relief as if she had been the one holding her breath underwater.

Another successful take The director was satisfied, and Ran Lin was helped ashore and wrapped in a towel as the set buzzed back to life.

“You’re more nervous than the actors.” A teasing voice came from beside her.

Wang Xi looked towards Shi Jiuting and replied with a bitter smile, “He knows what he’s doing. I don’t, and those who don’t know are naturally more anxious than those who do.”

“That makes sense.” Shi Jiuting not only agreed but nodded seriously. “No wonder when I heard you mention Han Ze was coming to visit, no matter how busy I was, I had to come and take a look because you’re familiar with the situation and Han Ze, but I’m not.”

Wang Xi understood his point and didn’t play dumb. “Now that you’ve seen the set, the only uncertain factor left is Han Ze.”

“I’m giving face to Dream Without Limits, you, and Ran Lin,” Shi Jiuting said with a meaningful look at Wang Xi. “Don’t make me regret that doing less is better than doing more.”

Wang Xi braved a smile, knowing there was no turning back now. She couldn’t very well say, “Perhaps you should reconsider. Don’t do this for our sake to accommodate Han Ze,” especially since Han Ze and Ran Lin were both under Dream Without Limits. It was a shared fate of glory or downfall.

However, upon further thought, Han Ze at most would be self-promoting, unlikely foolish enough to harm the movie version since it would bring no real benefit to him, or the drama series already aired and would only create enemies.

Shi Jiuting left the topic at that, avoiding further discussion on the slightly awkward subject, and instead reached for a slender, long box leaning against the chair and handed it to Wang Xi. “I need to trouble you with this.”

The box was only half a palm wide but about sixty to seventy centimeters long, unmarked but entirely painted with a traditional landscape, overly elaborate for mere packaging.

A scroll?

A cane?

A sword?

The box, light but with some weight, left Wang Xi guessing its contents based on its shape, leading to more and more outrageous assumptions. She looked up, puzzled, at Shi Jiuting.

He only smiled and nodded slightly.

Wang Xi internally rolled her eyes. She wasn’t a mind reader. She didn’t know whether this person’s nod meant, “You guessed right,” “You may open it,” or “Just accept it without worry.” Surely, some narration was needed for such a mysterious box!

With no other option, Wang Xi asked, “What you just mentioned troubling me with is…”

“I hope you’ll have it signed by Ran Lin,” Shi Jiuting said, touching his nose, seemingly a bit embarrassed. “And then trouble you to return it to me.”

Wang Xi, caught off guard, held the slender box. “May I open it to see?”

“Of course,” Shi Jiuting replied.

The box didn’t open at either end but was capped all around, so Wang Xi held the ends between her palms, lifted the box slightly, then gently shook it down, separating the lid from the box. Once the lid was entirely removed, Wang Xi finally saw the contents inside—

A traditional oil-paper umbrella.

In the past, when Wang Xi managed Han Ze, she also helped obtain his autograph on various items for VIP fans—photos, T-shirts, basketballs, and more. However, all these items paled in comparison to the oil-paper umbrella before her.

With the box open, Wang Xi didn’t hesitate and took out the umbrella, gently untied the silk cord, and slowly opened it. The surface of the umbrella featured a painting of proud red plum blossoms braving the snow, accompanied by a small poem with elegant script—Three knocks form a golden orchid friendship, a single sword observes the falling flowers.

Wang Xi finally understood that this was merchandise from <Sword of Fallen Flowers>.

Suppressing her urge to comment, Wang Xi carefully closed the umbrella back up. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure Ran Lin signs it beautifully.”

Shi Jiuting seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, albeit subtly, as he watched Wang Xi close the box, smiling helplessly. “It’s my daughter’s request; I have no choice but to comply.”

Wang Xi was taken aback, as the information she had previously obtained had always indicated that Shi Jiuting was a fan of <Sword of Fallen Flowers>, particularly of the character Fang Xian, leading to his desire for Ran Lin to star in <Chronicles of Winter>. It seemed the intelligence was inaccurate.

Shi Jiuting always protected his family privacy well, so all that was known was that his daughter was about junior high school age.

Being a “good father” definitely scored points in his favor, so Wang Xi viewed Shi Jiuting more favorably and spoke with less formality and more warmth. “You can count on us.”

When Ran Lin wrapped up for lunch, Shi Jiuting had already left, leaving only an assistant to wait.

So, before Ran Lin could even eat his meal, he was pulled aside by his agent to a quiet spot—to sign the umbrella.

It was the first time Ran Lin had been asked to sign an umbrella, and he curiously admired it for a while before finding a spot that wouldn’t detract from its overall beauty and signing his name.

Afterward, as if remembering something, he asked his agent, “Xi Jie, did President Shi just come to visit? Did he say anything?”

Of course, Shi Jiuting had given a clear reminder not to let Han Ze’s visit become a nuisance, but these were things for her, the agent, to handle and not relevant to Ran Lin, so ultimately Wang Xi shook her head. “He didn’t say much. Just told you to focus on your acting.”

Ran Lin nodded, not suspecting anything amiss.

But looking at the umbrella again, he still felt a sense of dissonance. Shi Jiuting, dressed in a stylish biker jacket, exuded a cool, distinct aura, yet he had asked for an autograph on a gentle Jiangnan-style oil-paper umbrella, which seemed oddly mismatched.

“We all misunderstood,” Wang Xi said, noticing her artist’s perplexed expression and deciding to clarify. “It’s his daughter who is your real fan. Probably part of his motive for having you act in <Chronicles of Winter> was to please her.”

“That’s quite an investment…” Ran Lin was taken aback by the depth of fatherly love, considering the substantial investment in <Chronicles of Winter>.

“He’s not foolish,” Wang Xi said. “He also had the director and producer oversee things. Of course, it’s great if you can do it, but if you really can’t, he wouldn’t joke around with real money.”

Ran Lin pondered this and still felt impressed. “If all my fans were of this caliber, I could struggle twenty years less.”

Wang Xi packed up the umbrella and retied the ribbon, laughing off any further dreaming. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. Focus on hard work and earning your keep.”

……

Two days after Shi Jiuting’s visit, Han Ze arrived.

He seemed to have precisely timed his visit, possibly coordinating with the unit manager, as he arrived with the lunch delivery. Along with the meals, he brought hot drinks and pre-cut boxed fruits.

In the cold of winter, a hot drink was quite comforting, and a bit of fruit after the meal was delightful.

The crew welcomed this practical and straightforward form of support, and the atmosphere was jovial, with Han Ze’s visit almost taking on the air of the male lead.

Ran Lin and Wang Xi watched from the sidelines, unable to lend a hand, unsure if Han Ze was there to visit them or the crew.

But they didn’t mind. Han Ze’s presence brought prestige to Dream Without Limits, which in turn reflected well on Ran Lin. If he could maintain this positive impression consistently, it would be beneficial.

Finally, when the hustle settled down, Han Ze found a moment to greet Ran Lin and Wang Xi, accompanied by his new agent, Deng Minru.

“You’ve worked hard,” Han Ze said, giving Ran Lin a brotherly pat on the shoulder.

Ran Lin shook his head. “Not at all. Thank you for visiting.”

“As fellow apprentices, no need for formalities,” Han Ze replied.

Wang Xi felt that further pleasantries might lead to awkwardness, as there wasn’t much else to say, so she cut straight to the point. “Since media visits for the film aren’t open yet, interviews will need to be conducted nearby.”

“No problem,” Deng Minru responded, understandingly.

Wang Xi nodded, got a crew member to help, and the group moved to a nearby area that wouldn’t interfere with the set.

The so-called interview was actually prearranged by both parties, consisting of formalities and pleasantries. For example, the reasons for Han Ze’s visit were discussed, such as the rarity of actors from the same company playing roles from the same original work, coupled with their good relationship, making his support a necessity. Additionally, both sides would discuss their expectations for the future product from their respective roles in the performance. Of course, the conversation would inevitably lead to revealing that the drama version of <Chronicles of Winter> was set to air in June, followed by both individuals naturally offering blessings for each other’s versions.

The entire set visit lasted only about an hour, all during lunch break, without affecting the shooting schedule. The process and interview were standard procedure, and Han Ze didn’t cause any disruptions. When the time came to bid farewell to this “colleague”, both Ran Lin and Wang Xi simultaneously breathed a sigh of relief.

But the calmer the visit seemed, the more unsettling it was upon reflection.

“Everything’s okay, right?” Ran Lin asked his agent apprehensively.

“It should be fine,” Wang Xi replied, then thought for a moment and added, “Let’s see what his press release says in the next day or two.”

Wang Xi underestimated Deng Minru’s efficiency. It wasn’t until early March, after Ran Lin had completed shooting in Hengdian and Xinjiang and moved to the second location in Guangdong, that the press release finally arrived.

[Chronicles of Winter: One Story, Two Stellar Roles, Xiao Shitou Visits Xiao Shitou!]

Despite being a bit late, the press release spread like wildfire across the internet, making “Han Ze’s Chronicles of Winter” a trending topic. Opening the trend revealed the set visit’s press release and videos. Additionally, “Chronicles of Winter airing in June” also became a hot topic.

In the trending topics and discussions about <Chronicles of Winter>, no one specifically emphasized whether it was the film or the drama version, but the information was mostly focused on the drama version.

This was natural, as Han Ze’s visit was primarily intended to generate buzz for himself and the drama version, something Wang Xi and the film’s team were well aware of before the visit. Moreover, the final interview didn’t cut out any information related to Ran Lin and the film version, including Han Ze’s wishes for the film’s success. Thus, while the buzz was more drama-focused, it also provided some free publicity for the film version.

Naturally, comparisons between the two versions were inevitable—

[Smoking Blue Cloud: Personally, Han Ze fits my image of Xiao Shitou more.]

[If I Can’t Write Calligraphy, I’m a Loser: I prefer Ran Lin; he feels more youthful.]

Fans of both versions and most neutral observers preferred to spread positive vibes—

[Ze_520: Both versions of Xiao Shitou have their merits. Let’s not start any fan wars.]

[Blazing Flame of Bear: Wishing both the drama and film versions success!]

[Yao Isn’t Far Away: As a neutral party, I love seeing harmony and joy, especially since it’s about brothers visiting each other’s sets and blessing each other. Please, some people, don’t be too dramatic and incite conflicts.]

Of course, Han Ze’s visit was intended for publicity, and many netizens’ comments confirmed the necessity of it—

[Respect for Filial Piety: Is <Chronicles of Winter> novel any good? Should I catch up before the drama airs?]

[I’m Already a Couch Potato: Read the novel. Almost forgot the plot, but remember it being quite good. Looking forward to the drama!]

[Little Yellow Duck Dada: Book fan here. Please don’t ruin the original!]

[Outsider of Snow Mountain Flying Fox: Airing in June, that’s a long wait…]

[Alicia: When will the teaser be released? Even stills would do! 🤩 🤩 ❤️ ❤️]

By this time, Wang Xi had already returned to Beijing, and Ran Lin had logged off Weibo, sending a voice message to his agent, “Xi Jie, did you see Han Ze’s trending topic? Seems like no issues.”

His agent replied swiftly, “Yeah, he kept it clean.”

Ran Lin chuckled. “Are you also browsing Weibo?”

Wang Xi: “Of course, I’ve made a promise to Shi Jiuting’s side; if anything goes wrong, I’m the first one responsible.”

Ran Lin: “Now we can rest easy.”

Wang Xi: “Wrong, it’s normal for me to worry. What are you worrying about? You should spend your time on the script instead of browsing Weibo.”

Ran Lin: “The script is already etched in my brain. I’m even dreaming of beating up the Northern Emperor.”

Wang Xi’s voice message carried laughter. “Good, keep it up.”

After finishing the conversation, Ran Lin took a quick shower.

The temperature in Guangdong at the end of February was almost like April in Beijing, slightly cool but overall comfortable.

After showering, Ran Lin felt refreshed and lay on the bed, scrolling through the photos Liu Wanwan took for him during the day. He selected a satisfying one, about to send it to Lu Yiyao, but received a message from him first—

[Han Ze visited your set?]

Lu Yiyao had started shooting a comedy film after the new year, a contract that was signed long ago with the intention of exploring Lu Yiyao’s comedic talent and possibly broadening his acting range. The director was known for making hit comedy films in recent years.

But now, it seemed like this would be Lu Yiyao’s last movie.

However, as it was his last, Lu Yiyao was especially serious, wanting to end his acting career on a high note. Ran Lin could sense his dedication and thus always shared good news, avoiding any distractions for his partner.

He didn’t mention Han Ze’s set visit, something that would fall under “distractions”.

[He came last month. Just made a brief appearance, nothing much.]—Ran Lin replied truthfully.

After sending the message, Ran Lin quickly shared the selected photo as well.

In the endlessly golden rapeseed fields, his character, Xiao Shitou, was running innocently and joyfully with Jiang Yi’s character, Ah Jin.

Indeed, compared to the uneventful visit from Han Ze, this photo had more impact.

Teacher Lu sent a voice message. “Are you showing off your love with the female lead in front of me?”

The intonation at the end of “showing off love” had a dangerous rise.

Ran Lin, flustered, replied via voice message, “Please ignore the female lead. Focus on me and the rapeseed field!”

The voice message from the other end carried a suppressed chuckle. “What scene is this?”

Ran Lin, realizing they hadn’t switched to video call yet, understood that Lu Yiyao was probably still on set or somewhere else inconvenient for video, likely hiding in a quiet corner with his earphones on, so he continued typing—[It’s the sweet clover field in the village.]

Without speaking, Lu Yiyao sent another voice message—[Looks good.]

Ran Lin—[Of course it looks good. I heard the crew looked at several locations before choosing this one.]

Lu Yiyao, amused by his lover’s response, felt Ran Lin looked stunning standing amidst the brilliant rapeseed fields.

But as much as he thought it, he didn’t correct it.

If counted from the confession at last year’s Republic party, it had been exactly one year. He felt he had used up all his romantic words in that year, especially at the beginning of their relationship, when the desire to express his feelings seemed to surge from the depths of his soul. He had never considered himself particularly eloquent, but it came naturally then. And he always felt that if you love someone, you should express it repeatedly.

But now, compared to sweet nothings, he preferred to do something tangible—to work towards their future.

No matter how many sweet words are said, or love expressed, without practical support, it’s all fleeting and illusory.

The crew called Lu Yiyao, and he quickly sent one last message—[Back to work. Can’t talk now. Rest early.]

The reply was a picture goodnight—Tigger wearing a sleeping cap.

……

Throughout March, Ran Lin traveled with the production team across Guangdong, Zhangjiajie, and Yunnan to complete all the exterior shots for <Chronicles of Winter>. On March 30^th, the filming wrapped up.

At the wrap party, Jiang Yi insisted on a BFF selfie with him, and somehow Ran Lin got labeled with that attribute. Their photo ended up as one of the nine squares on Jiang Yi’s Weibo, surrounded by other group shots and images from the party, culminating in a wrap-up post.

Ran Lin retweeted it, thanking the crew for months of hard work and expressing anticipation for the movie’s release next year.

Almost immediately after the wrap party, Ran Lin took barely any rest, staying in Beijing for just a day before rushing to the set of <Dyeing Fire>.

<Dyeing Fire> began shooting on April 3rd, but Ran Lin arrived on the afternoon of April 1st.

Unlike his previous life experience journey, this was the real deal, and naturally, the production had arranged hotel accommodations for the actors. Still, Ran Lin opted for the high-speed train, accompanied only by Liu Wanwan, and hopped onto the production team’s vehicle upon arrival.

It was a drizzly day with slightly overcast skies. It wasn’t too gloomy, with the tender leaves on trees along the road still distinctly visible. Compared to the bleakness when he left, Wuhan in the spring rain was brimming with vitality.

It was said that Gu Jie had stayed in the area without leaving, just moving into the hotel after his short-term rental expired. Unable to wait to surprise his friend, Ran Lin immediately called Gu Jie.

The phone rang for a while before being answered, “Hello?”

“Busy?” Ran Lin asked.

“No, just fell asleep.”

“Sleeping in the middle of the day?”

“Have you never heard? Rainy days and napping are the perfect match.”

“……” Ran Lin felt sure that Gu Jie had invented that saying himself.

But considering that Gu Jie had been here for half a year, whether experiencing life or memorizing scripts, he should have done all the necessary preparations. Taking an afternoon nap to rejuvenate before the shoot starts seemed quite sensible.

With that in mind, Ran Lin decided not to tease anymore and simply stated, “I’m here.”

It took a moment for the other end to process before asking, “Here where?”

“In Wuhan,” Ran Lin said exasperatedly. “Almost at the hotel.”

Gu Jie: “Didn’t you just wrap up the day before yesterday?”

Ran Lin: “Yeah, rested yesterday, and came over today.”

Gu Jie: “No way!”

Ran Lin: “Huh?”

Gu Jie: “You’re trying to fool me, right? Look, I’m telling you, I won’t fall for it again. It’s raining in Wuhan right now, so don’t expect me to foolishly wait for you in the rain!”

Gu Jie sounded genuinely indignant, his earnestness not seeming like a joke, especially considering it was Gu Jie, a man not known for joking.

Ran Lin widened his eyes in realization—today was April Fool’s Day!

No wonder Gu Jie said he wouldn’t fall for it again… Wait, again?

“Who was the last villain?” To coax out the truth, Ran Lin decided to play along with the “deceiver” role.

After a brief silence, Gu Jie said, “I refuse to recall…”

Ran Lin thought for a moment and guessed, “Xia Xinran?”

“……” The complete silence on the other end confirmed his suspicion.

“He fooled you into waiting for him in the rain?” Ran Lin pressed on.

Finally, Gu Jie couldn’t contain his frustration. “He called saying he was visiting the set and was already below my hotel window. He told me to open the window and look for him. I did and saw no one there. He said the rain might be obscuring my view and asked me to shout his name because he couldn’t see my window either. So, I ended up shouting ‘Xia Xinran’ several times…”

Ran Lin: “Each time louder?”

Gu Jie: “Until the security guard came out, standing below asking if I needed help.”

Ran Lin: “…”

Gu Jie sighed, clearly hurt. “I thought you guys were different.”

“Thanks, Ping Ge.” Ran Lin thanked the life director he had just met, then got out of the car, holding the phone in one hand and his luggage in the other under the umbrella Liu Wanwan was holding. He looked up at the dense hotel windows, feeling equally aggrieved. “I’m actually under your hotel right now, but you probably don’t believe me…”

After handing over the room card instructions to Liu Wanwan, the life director left. Ran Lin looked up and was about to enter the hotel with Liu Wanwan when he heard, “Is that little yellow umbrella yours?”

Ran Lin, not being able to discern which window was open, replied exasperatedly, “The little yellow umbrella is my assistant’s. Do you really think I’d carry a little yellow duck one?”

“You really arrived this early!” Gu Jie’s tone shifted from skepticism to surprise. “I knew you were different from Xia Xinran; you wouldn’t just join in the April Fool’s joke.”

Ran Lin frowned. ‘Had Gu Jie ever said that?’

The rain seemed to have stopped, as Ran Lin couldn’t hear the sound of raindrops on the umbrella anymore, but he still entered the hotel lobby with the umbrella up, walking with Liu Wanwan to the seventh floor.

As the elevator doors slowly opened with a ding, Ran Lin swallowed and hesitated to step out.

Gu Jie, blocking the elevator doors with open arms in a welcoming gesture, looked puzzled. “I came especially to meet you, and you give me that look?”

“If you hadn’t said you were coming to meet me, I might have thought you were here to collect protection money.” Ran Lin teased as he stepped out of the elevator, pulling his suitcase, and finally gave Gu Jie a hug.

Gu Jie was slightly displeased at not being hugged immediately but accepted it nonetheless.

Liu Wanwan, observing the two friends’ playful banter, decided to leave them to their reunion and took Ran Lin’s luggage. “Ran Ge, I’ll take this to your room.”

Ran Lin, dressed casually with no intention of changing, handed over his luggage to Liu Wanwan and went straight to Gu Jie’s room with him.

Gu Jie’s room was surprisingly neat, without clothes or clutter thrown everywhere. There was just a suitcase in the corner and a few simple exercise equipment against another wall.

“Time flies too fast,” Ran Lin said, opening the window as the rain had almost stopped. The air was still cloudy and cool, but the breeze was refreshing and comfortable. “It feels like I just left and now I’m back.”

“That’s because you’ve been busy,” Gu Jie offered Ran Lin a Red Bull. “I’ve been vacationing here. I even went home for a month during New Year’s. It feels like I’ve made up for all the holidays I’ve missed in the past half-year.”

Ran Lin envied him but teased, “Sounds like you’re ready to retire from acting.”

“Not that fortunate. It’s just <Dyeing Fire’s> shooting schedule kept changing. I didn’t want to commit to other contracts and cause scheduling conflicts. Now that it’s confirmed to start in April and wrap up by the end of July, at worst, it’ll stretch into August. I’ve already had my agent fill up my schedule from September to the end of the year.”

“What about next year?” Ran Lin was curious.

Gu Jie shrugged. “I’ll see next year. I don’t like to fill up my schedule too much in advance. It’s too frustrating if a good project comes up and I don’t have the availability.”

Ran Lin sat in a chair by the window, enjoying the breeze and looking at Gu Jie. He felt the hectic pace he’d gotten used to during the shooting of <Chronicles of Winter> was slowly relaxing, much like the city around him and the friend before him, all unfolding leisurely in the spring rain.

“How did the shooting of <Chronicles of Winter> go?” Gu Jie asked, opening his Red Bull and taking a sip, lazily inquiring about his friend’s recent work.

“Pretty good,” Ran Lin said truthfully. “If the post-production doesn’t mess it up, it should be fine.”

Gu Jie sat cross-legged on the bed, one hand holding the Red Bull, the other massaging his neck. “What counts as not messing it up?”

Ran Lin listed on his fingers, “Cheap special effects, online game-like visuals, or outsourcing it to a foreign special effects team who just use some ready-made elements from their library. Especially if it’s supposed to be an Eastern fantasy but ends up looking like a Western fantasy with castles, glaciers, dragons, and especially if the dragons have wings, then all the money spent on special effects is wasted.”

Gu Jie initially wanted to suggest that Ran Lin might be expecting too much from domestic special effects films, but as Ran Lin continued, he understood the underlying disappointment. If a so-called domestic fantasy film, touted as Eastern fantasy, features Western-style dragons, that would be quite disheartening.

So, what he ended up saying was, “Aren’t you a bit too pessimistic about the quality of domestic special effects films?”

Deep down, Ran Lin hoped <Chronicles of Winter> would break new ground for domestic fantasy films, but the past disappointments made it hard to be optimistic about the future.

Facing Gu Jie, Ran Lin spoke his mind. “The best outcome would be to produce a real blockbuster. If that’s not possible, I hope it’s at least not too embarrassing. Otherwise, if the film version is compared to the drama version and gets completely overshadowed, Han Ze will definitely take the opportunity to gloat in front of me.”

Gu Jie paused, recalling that Han Ze had visited Ran Lin’s set, which made the hot search and stayed a trending topic for days. He had assumed the two were on good terms but Ran Lin’s tone suggested otherwise. “You two don’t get along?”

Ran Lin thought about his relationship with Han Ze, which had been complicated from the start. “At first, he was hostile to me, and now I’ve gotten competitive too. I don’t want to lose to him.”

Gu Jie didn’t understand. “Then why did he visit your set?”

Ran Lin explained, “For publicity. His TV series airs in June, so he’s warming it up.”

Gu Jie frowned. “Isn’t that tiring?”

It was only an hour-long visit, not physically exhausting, but Ran Lin knew Gu Jie was referring to the mental fatigue of constantly scheming for publicity. Of course, it’s tiring.

But for Han Ze, who had been struggling for the past two years and was eager to make a comeback with <Chronicles of Winter>, a little scheming was nothing.

Ran Lin shared these thoughts with Gu Jie, and they didn’t dwell much on the subject afterward, moving on to talk about <Dyeing Fire>.

……

<Dyeing Fire> was scheduled to shoot over four months, starting on April 3^rd and wrapping up on July 30^th.

The original actress for the supporting role had to drop out due to the repeatedly delayed shooting schedule, only informing the production in late March. The director, in a panic, tried several other actresses, none of whom fit the role, and had to adjust the shooting schedule hastily, prioritizing the male actors’ scenes.

So, for all of April and the first half of May, Ran Lin was busy shooting scenes with Gu Jie.

With the rapport built from their previous life experience together, the two synced well, and the shooting went smoothly. Before they knew it, it was late May.

May 20^th, a prime time for confessions*.

*Clarity: Chinese Valentine’s Day.

Just after midnight, Lu Yiyao sent a homemade sticker featuring a husky kissing a cat, with shiny text around it crafted by Teacher Lu himself—“One kiss and you’re mine.”

Knowing it was Teacher Lu’s creation because of the little dog paw watermark he loved to include in his own stickers, Ran Lin received it in the morning and replied with a sticker—[Daydreaming.jpg]

Lu Yiyao didn’t respond, obviously busy.

Ran Lin didn’t waste any time, put down his phone and quickly washed up. Then when Liu Wanwan came over and knocked on the door, he quickly followed his assistant downstairs to the set.

---

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

Author: 颜凉雨 / Yan Liang Yu

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

---

Chapter 75

Hengdian, January.

It was exactly one year since Ran Lin left after wrapping up <Sword of Fallen Petals>. Now he had returned for <Chronicles of Winter>, completing a full year’s cycle.

Hengdian remained the bustling hub it always was, filled with busy production crews, hustling extras, and small-time merchants. This winter had yet to see snow, so the bluestone paths remained unchanged, as did the black tile roofs. It felt as if he had only left yesterday, and now, as the sun melted the snow, he was back again.

However, most of the filming for the previous <Sword of Fallen Flowers> took place on built sets within the film base, featuring various pavilions, corridors, and waterside gazebos, all constructed to bring the ancient martial arts world to life.

But <Chronicles of Winter> relied heavily on post-production for many of its scenes, meaning less on-site and more studio filming. Additionally, much of the location shooting wasn’t in Hengdian but was planned in various other locations, including Guangdong, Zhangjiajie, and Xinjiang, after completing the Hengdian portions.

The studios in Hengdian were well-equipped to simulate forests, caves, underwater scenes, or any special designs like celestial realms, palaces, and ancient tombs, with green screens surrounding the sets.

Ran Lin’s first day on set for <Chronicles of Winter> involved a scene where Xiao Shitou and Ah Jin rescue a scholar at the bottom of a high cliff.

The girl playing Ah Jin was Jiang Yi, a rising star in the industry. Even as a student at the Film Academy, she had been involved in many TV dramas, gaining considerable popularity. Her first post-graduation role in a critically and commercially successful film as the second female lead solidified her entrance into the cinema, thereafter focusing on movies and becoming a rare newcomer with popularity, box office draw, and acting skills.

<Chronicles of Winter> was Jiang Yi’s fifth film and her second as the leading actress.

Ran Lin had never interacted with her before but had looked up information when he learned she would be his co-star. Aside from the usual promotional materials, there were some negative rumors about her being difficult and unprofessional. These rumors never solidified into a firm public image, and Jiang Yi’s team never issued any denials, leaving them to circulate occasionally among anti-fans and gossipers.

Ran Lin never judge people based on internet chatter, especially those he was about to work closely with. He preferred to trust his own eyes.

Their first meeting at the opening ceremony was brief, so today’s filming was their real introduction.

Arriving half an hour early at the studio, Ran Lin, after getting makeup done, saw that the green screens were already set up, props were in place, and the lighting and camera crew were making final adjustments.

Spotting the director, Ran Lin immediately went over to greet him. “Director Huang, good morning.”

The director briefly assessed his look, then nodded in satisfaction. “Morning. Go rest over there for now. We’ll start shooting in half an hour.”

Nodding, Ran Lin didn’t want to disturb the director further and headed towards the actors’ resting area. Before he got there, he noticed a petite figure sitting alone, engrossed in the script, without even her assistant nearby.

“Good morning,” Ran Lin greeted first. The actress looked up from her script, squinting slightly until he approached, then stood up, letting go of the script with a bright smile. “Hello, Xiao Shitou.”

Jiang Yi in person was as stunning as on screen, if not more so. Her oval face looked even more delicate due to her slender frame, with naturally blended features and a soft makeup look that enhanced her fresh and elegant beauty.

The slight awkwardness melted away with Jiang Yi’s casual address. Smiling, Ran Lin responded, “Let’s start over. Good morning, Ah Jin. I look forward to working with you from today onwards.”

With a handshake and a friendly exchange, the two actors found comfort in each other’s professional ease.

Liu Wanwan chose a spot to sit where she wouldn’t interrupt her boss’ conversation with the co-star, occasionally stealing glances at Jiang Yi to compare her real-life demeanor with her online persona, which was notably different. The internet depicted her as temperamental and hard to work with, yet in just the few minutes of conversation with Ran Lin, her smile hadn’t faded once, portraying her as someone quite pleasant to be around.

“Why are you here so early?” Ran Lin asked, noting that he was already half an hour early, and Jiang Yi seemed to have arrived even earlier.

“Getting familiar with the environment,” Jiang Yi explained, “especially since we’ll be ‘playing’ at the bottom of a cliff later, in a dangerous area. It’s best to be prepared.”

Ran Lin chuckled, looking at the rock props nearby. “Aren’t those made of foam?”

“You’re too naïve.” Jiang Yi sighed, perhaps recalling some harsh experiences. “Once you’re suspended by wires and the wind machines start, you’ll lose control. Being battered around by the wind and getting bruised is the least of your worries. I got hit by a falling rock once.”

Ran Lin’s eyes widened. “What happened then? Were you okay?”

“I was fine,” Jiang Yi reassured. “It was just cardboard; didn’t hurt, just scared me.”

Ran Lin, recalling Jiang Yi’s filmography filled with ancient settings, teased, “Maybe next time you could try a down-to-earth romance. Keep your feet on the ground.”

“Hopefully,” she sighed, her voice soon becoming chipper as she looked around. “Why hasn’t Xiao Ma Ge arrived yet? Did you see him when you were getting makeup done?”

Ran Lin always felt a momentary drop in the other’s spirits when they said, “Hopefully.”

Suddenly, he remembered that when he was looking up information about the other person online, he had read an interview with Jiang Yi. One of the questions was, “Many audiences say you can only act in ancient costume dramas. What do you think about this?” Jiang Yi’s response was sincere and somewhat helpless. She said she really wanted to act in modern dramas, but since her debut, almost all the scripts offered to her were for ancient dramas. In the early TV series she filmed, there were occasionally modern dramas, but none were as well-known as her ancient dramas. After graduating, she started filming movies and got completely immersed in ancient costume roles. At the end of her response, she expressed hope that the interview program could help appeal to directors to consider her for modern dramas as well.

The interview was one and a half years ago, and it seemed that the appeal didn’t have much effect.

Ran Lin could understand her feelings because, after <Sword of Fallen Flowers>. 90% of the new scripts offered to him were wuxia, and the roles were similar to Fang Xian. He knew it would be very difficult to surpass Fang Xian because the success of that character was the result of a collaboration between a great script, director, crew, and co-actors. But rejecting these roles meant losing 90% of the opportunities. So he persevered, and nearly a year passed without any roles until he signed <Chronicles of Winter>. After that, he started getting more offers, and now his schedule for the year—no, it was already January, so this year—was fully booked.

However, Jiang Yi still had more scripts to choose from than he did, so even without leaving the ancient costume genre, every movie character she played was distinctly different. There were roles that were cute and charming, dark and sharp, gentle and demure, or straightforward and carefree, ensuring that the audience wouldn’t feel like “the actor is always repeating herself”.

The “Xiao Ma Ge” Jiang Yi had just asked about was Ma Bin, the male supporting actor playing the scholar. They had worked together in a movie before and were alumni from the same acting department, so their relationship had been good since their last collaboration, often interacting on Weibo. However, because their interactions were so open and Ma Bin was known for his jokes and lively online presence, no rumors started between him and Jiang Yi, much to many fans’ hopes.

“He’s still getting his makeup done,” Ran Lin recalled seeing Ma Bin’s forlorn face in the makeup room and laughed unkindly. “Poor Mr. Ma, he must look utterly pitiful and breathless.”

“From what you’re saying…” Jiang Yi sighed and then slowly grinned. “I’m even more looking forward to it.”

Twenty minutes later, the poor, downtrodden scholar arrived. Ma Bin, usually with a clear and scholarly demeanor, now appeared in tattered clothes and several bloody scrapes across his face from rocks, creating a truly pitiful sight.

Jiang Yi skipped the pleasantries and burst into laughter. Ma Bin gave her a disdainful look, too lazy to bother with his heartless junior, but extended a hand of friendship to Ran Lin instead. “Hello.”

Ran Lin had already stood up by the time Ma Bin approached and immediately returned the greeting. “Hello, I’m Ran Lin.”

Ma Bin had only arrived at Hengdian the previous night and hadn’t attended the opening ceremony, so this was the first time he and Ran Lin had met face to face.

“I’ve seen your <Sword of Fallen Flowers>,” Ma Bin said. “It was fantastic.”

“I’ve also seen your <Emerald Mountains and Green Rain>,” Ran Lin replied courteously. “It was beautifully shot.”

“Can we skip the mutual flattery?” Jiang Yi interjected, laughing. She picked up the script she was reading before and suggested to the two actors. “Why don’t we rehearse our lines before we start filming?”

The two agreed happily.

Actually, for today’s scenes, all three had already memorized their lines, so when they actually started rehearsing, they didn’t even need the script. Everything went smoothly, and with no physical positioning or actions required, they conveyed all the emotions as they would in a real performance, with no one breaking character, not even Ma Bin, who was especially serious and “breathlessly pitiable”.

When the director’s assistant came to notify them that it was time to start filming, the trio had already rehearsed up to the second scene.

As Ma Bin doused himself with a bucket of water and lay down in the artificial stream, the filming of <Chronicles of Winter> officially began.

……

Throughout the entire January, Ran Lin spent his time in the green studio. His co-stars ranged from Jiang Yi and Ma Bin to green-suited stand-ins and various others, changing constantly.

Many of the scenes required post-production computer graphics, so Ran Lin had to imagine all sorts of mountain spirits and demons, sometimes even creating his own conceptual drawings to help get into character during scenes.

Jiang Yi was a simple and lively girl, nothing like the diva or foul-tempered personality some online rumors suggested. She took her acting very seriously and was highly professional, whether it meant hanging from wires or wearing thin clothes in water. Unless a stunt was too difficult and required a professional double, she would always do it herself without complaint.

Ma Bin, on the other hand, was the mood-maker of the crew—a thirty-year-old with the heart of a three-year-old. At the director’s call, he would immediately transform into the wise and clear-headed scholar, but once the director yelled cut, his playful nature would return.

Unfortunately, his role wasn’t large, and after about twenty days, he finished his part. After he left, various celestial beings and deities entered the set, and the filming moved from the ground to the heavens. As a result, Ran Lin spent most of his time against a green screen, suspended on wires, becoming quite accustomed to performing various stunts mid-air, from flying amidst clouds to fierce combat.

On the day Wang Xi visited the set, Ran Lin was demolishing the “Sweet Wine Pond” in the Nine Heavens as part of his scene.

As the director yelled “cut”, he immediately stopped, though his chest still heaved from the intensity of the scene. It wasn’t until Liu Wanwan draped a warm coat over his shoulders that he began to calm down.

The cold was pressing in Hengdian by the end of January. Wang Xi arrived in a beige cashmere coat and tall, high-heeled boots, exuding both efficiency and femininity.

“Xi Jie, how come you’re here?” Ran Lin hadn’t received any calls beforehand, so he was surprised to see Wang Xi, who should be busy in her Beijing office, appear on the set.

“I came to see how you’re doing,” Wang Xi said. “Is everything going smoothly?”

“Pretty smoothly,” Ran Lin replied. “If nothing unexpected happens, we’ll go shoot on location in mid-February, probably starting in Xinjiang.”

Wang Xi nodded and looked around the still busy studio. “How many scenes left?”

It was six in the evening by then, and Ran Lin knew that what Wang Xi really wanted to know was when they would wrap up for the day, so he said, “Just one scene left. It’ll be quick.”

“Okay,” Wang Xi replied. “Let’s have dinner together after wrap-up.”

Ran Lin felt something was off and sensed that Wang Xi had something on her mind—that her visit wasn’t just a simple set visit. But before he could ask, the next scene was ready to be shot, and Ran Lin had to put aside his questions, clear his mind, and re-enter the world of his character.

Finally, when they wrapped up, the three of them headed to a homely restaurant in the evening light and settled into a private room. After ordering, the waiter left, and Ran Lin stood up to pour tea for the two ladies.

Wang Xi, preoccupied with her thoughts, didn’t notice, but Liu Wanwan quickly stood up, reaching for the teapot. “Let me do it, Ran Ge—”

Ran Lin, startled by his assistant’s eagerness, quickly moved away with the pot, laughing. “It’s freshly boiled water. You could get scalded.”

“I can’t let you pour water for me,” she replied. Despite their good relationship, she was the assistant, and it didn’t seem right to let her boss serve her.

“Don’t be so formal with me,” Ran Lin said sincerely. “You’ve been taking care of everything while I’m busy filming. If you still make a fuss about who pours the water, I’ll really be upset.”

“Thanks, Ran Ge,” Liu Wanwan replied with a giggle, her cheeks flushing.

Wang Xi snapped back from her thoughts and envied the carefree artist and assistant before her. But the news she had to deliver next would likely dampen their spirits—

“Han Ze is coming to visit the set.”

Ran Lin nearly spilled the hot tea at this news.

“What did you say, Xi Jie?” he asked, placing the teapot back down, wondering if he had misheard.

“Han Ze is coming for a set visit,” Wang Xi repeated with a shrug.

Ran Lin was completely baffled, a whirlwind of questions in his mind, but he picked the simplest one. “Has he wrapped up his part?”

“He wrapped up in December.”

“But he’s the lead in the drama version, and visiting the film version’s set—won’t that be awkward?”

“It depends on how you look at it,” Wang Xi analyzed. “The drama version is set to air in June, and the film won’t be out until February next year, so there’s no direct competition between the two. On the contrary, if the drama does well, it could have a positive effect on the film, attracting viewers who liked the drama version to see the film. The film’s producers also don’t want any hostility or disparagement between the two versions, as it would only hurt both.”

Set visits need the consent of the visited crew. It’s not just a matter of showing up unannounced. So with Wang Xi’s words, Ran Lin began to understand. “Has Han Ze already communicated with the crew here?”

“Yes,” Wang Xi sighed. “The film crew thinks it would be beneficial to have a harmonious public image of both versions—a win-win situation. Plus, to be honest, they’re not very concerned about the drama version; the real competition for the film <Chronicles of Winter> is with other films releasing around the same time. All promotional resources and competitive tactics are reserved for then.”

“If they think it’s a good idea and it’s not a big deal…” Ran Lin looked puzzledly at his agent. “Why do you look so down, Xi Jie?”

“Because the company wants me to spearhead this.” Wang Xi grimaced.

If Han Ze wanted to visit the set, it was necessary for someone to communicate with the film version’s crew, so it made sense for the company to assign this task to Wang Xi. After all, as the lead actor in the film version, his agent would naturally have a way with the film’s crew and producers.

Moreover, if he remembered correctly, Wang Xi just mentioned that the film side had already agreed, which proved that she had successfully facilitated the arrangement.

“Didn’t you say it’s settled?” Ran Lin asked, not understanding her frustration.

“That’s exactly why I’m worried,” Wang Xi replied, reaching for her teacup only to find it still too hot and reluctantly putting it back down. “I was hoping they wouldn’t agree.”

“Why?” Ran Lin didn’t have a good impression of Han Ze, and the falling out between Wang Xi and Han Ze likely hadn’t ended pleasantly. But if Han Ze’s visit was truly beneficial to both sides without any harm, then from a professional standpoint, Wang Xi’s reaction didn’t make sense.

Wang Xi pondered for a moment and said, “As I mentioned earlier, the film version will be released later, so if the drama version has a positive impact, it will benefit the film version. But have you considered that when the drama version is airing, the film version won’t have any updates or movements, making it almost impossible to reciprocate the favor to the drama version? So why would Han Ze specifically want to visit the set?”

Ran Lin thought hard and finally understood, “He’s not visiting the film. He’s visiting me.”

“Right.” Wang Xi frowned. “I can imagine how the press release will go after his visit. A novel branching into both a film and drama version, both starring artists from the same company, and then the drama’s lead actor visiting the film’s lead actor, making a seemingly harmonious story in the competitive entertainment industry. If the film <Chronicles of Winter> becomes a hit, they can reuse this publicity, rekindling interest.”

“For the first time in my life, I’m being used for clout…” Ran Lin mused. “It’s quite novel.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Wang Xi retorted. “What clout do you have for someone to leech off? At most, you’re being dragged along for the hype.”

“You just said, if the film becomes a hit and he brings up old news for hype, he’d be riding on my popularity.”

“Well, that’s only if your film actually becomes a hit…”

Ran Lin sighed pitifully. “I’ve been ‘waiting on set, while the hype comes from above,’ can’t you say something supportive?”

Wang Xi couldn’t help but smile, but she still grumbled, “I’m not in a good mood right now. I can’t say anything nice.”

“Can’t the film crew see his visit is just a personal PR stunt?” Ran Lin felt that if Wang Xi could see through it, the film crew should be able to as well.

“Of course, they can see it. It’s not some clever tactic. But the hype is about you, and for the movie, the best-case scenario is that Han Ze, while promoting himself and the drama version, also inadvertently boosts the film’s popularity. The worst-case scenario is that he only promotes himself and the drama, leaving no impact on the film. In either case, there’s no reason for the film crew to deliberately make things difficult for him or Dreams Without Limits.”

Clearly, Wang Xi wasn’t happy about the situation from the beginning. The company must have put a lot of pressure on her to facilitate Han Ze’s set visit.

“Alright, Xi Jie. I don’t mind anymore, so you shouldn’t be upset either,” Ran Lin tried to console her. “Like you said, if his PR visit actually increases exposure for the film, that’s a good thing.”

“But just thinking about how you have to smile on the outside while despising it on the inside makes me feel so frustrated.” Wang Xi nearly furrowed her brow into deep lines. “I only manage you as my artist right now, you’re my treasure, you know. I’m looking forward to the day you shine. And here they are, wanting to use you for some quick hype. Why should they? Who’s responsible if it gets messed up!”

Ran Lin was touched, rarely complaining about Dreams Without Limits, with a mix of grievance and coquettishness. “Too bad the company’s leaders don’t treasure me like you do.”

Wang Xi looked at her artist and sighed lightly. “I’ve only just learned how to recognize true talent. But Dream Without Limits, I guess, will never learn in this lifetime.”

Listening to his agent’s words and understanding their tone, like discerning music from the sound of drums and gongs, suddenly reminded Ran Lin of their previous discussion about not renewing the contract. It was apparent that Wang Xi was no longer avoiding the implication of an eventual complete separation from Dream Without Limits.

At that time, although he knew he didn’t want to renew the contract, he hadn’t thought about where he would go after the termination. However, things were different now; Lu Yiyao had brought their futures together. Should he also inform Wang Xi about this?

But nothing was confirmed yet, and it also involved Lu Yiyao. If he spoke too soon and things changed…

“Actually, when I communicated with the crew about Han Ze’s visit, they did check with the investors,” Wang Xi continued, not noticing Ran Lin’s preoccupation. “After all, a TV drama and a movie are closely related, but the investors agreed immediately upon hearing it’s from the same company. They thought rejecting it might make things difficult for you within the company. So in this regard, they were actually looking out for you.”

Hearing this, Ran Lin’s thoughts were pulled back to the present. “Hearing you say that, I’m even more curious about the investor.”

From pre-production to the start of filming, the investor had never shown up, though Wang Xi had tried to arrange a meeting. But the person was genuinely busy and had never been available.

Ran Lin was just speaking offhandedly, considering the shooting schedule was already one-third complete and would wrap up in another two months. He hadn’t seen the investor so far and wasn’t really expecting to.

Unexpectedly, Wang Xi said, “Wish granted.”

Ran Lin was puzzled. “Huh?”

“In the next day or two, they might come for a set visit,” Wang Xi smiled. “They said they want to check things out before the drama’s lead actor arrives, to get a sense of the situation.”

Ran Lin was bemused. “Then I should thank Han Ze for this.”

Without Han Ze’s commotion, he might not have had the chance to meet the investor before the filming ended.

“That’s procrastination for you,” Wang Xi teased. “Always thinking it’s not urgent, no worries, it’s fine. But when outsiders are coming, they rush over to check things out.”

Ran Lin laughed, fully sensing Wang Xi’s resentment towards the elusive investor from her tone.

……

Two days later, a mix of rain and snow fell in Hengdian.

The snow was hardly visible—more like a fine drizzle that wet the roads and filled the air with moisture. It was a bit chilly and gloomy, but each breath felt refreshingly clean.

Inside the underwater photography studio, the semi-circular pool six meters deep was already filled with water. The pool had a constant temperature system, with the water around 25°C—not particularly warm, but much better than cold water.

The scene involved “Xiao Shitou”, newly arrived in the Ninth Heaven, being mocked and teased by the Wine Officer and celestial soldiers guarding the wine pond, accidentally falling into the Sweet Wine Pond. At the bottom of the pond was a small white dragon stripped of its scales. This dragon, originally a monster of the world, cultivated for a thousand years to ascend through tribulation to heaven. But white dragons are rare compared to the common black ones. So, on the day of its ascension, before it could rise to heaven, it was captured by a celestial general inspecting the sweet dandelion plantations and offered to the Emperor of the North. Deeming the white dragon useless, the Emperor was about to dispose of it when the Wine Officer requested it, arguing that the white dragon’s presence at the bottom of the pond would keep the wine pond from freezing in winter and drying out in summer, enhancing the wine’s flavor naturally compared to using magic to keep the Wine Palace spring-like all year. Thus, the white dragon was stripped of its scales and locked at the bottom of the pool.

As Xiao Shitou lost his footing and fell, the Wine Officer and the celestial soldiers believed he was certainly doomed. Due to the strict laws of the Ninth Heaven, they weren’t allowed to enter the wine pond, so they merely watched from the side, waiting for Xiao Shitou to vanish into thin air. Unexpectedly, when he reached the bottom of the pool, the white dragon transferred vital energy to him. Not only did he survive the great peril, but he also rescued the trapped white dragon. Riding on the back of the white dragon, he leapt out of the water’s surface and sped away like a swift wind.

At that moment, Ran Lin, dressed in rough cloth garments, stood at the edge of the pond, his hair unkempt and his face youthful. Opposite him were the Wine Officer in brocade clothes and the burly celestial soldiers.

With a click of the clapperboard, Ran Lin slowly lifted his gaze, his eyes no longer soft but filled with deep anger.

The Wine Officer sneered, “Foolish boy overestimating himself!”

As he finished speaking and turned with a flick of his sleeve, the celestial soldiers immediately stepped forward to pull him.

“Don’t touch me!” Ran Lin struggled fiercely.

The celestial soldiers, not known for being gentle, were rough and merciless.

Ran Lin stepped back, and suddenly, his footing gave way, and he fell backwards!

Splash—

The moment the water flooded over his eyes, ears, mouth, and nose, Ran Lin’s first sensation was fear.

He could swim, but he had never fallen into the water in this way before, and the fear was almost instinctive.

With fear came struggle, which was fortunate, as the script required him to struggle.

Ran Lin forced his eyes open, struggling helplessly on instinct while continuously exhaling the breath he had held before falling into the water, forming bubbles.

There was a large glass window below the pool to capture everything underwater, and every move he made was clearly recorded.

When he had struggled enough and almost ran out of breath, Ran Lin slowly stopped moving, relaxed his body, closed his eyes, and felt himself sinking deeper into the water.

Even though the water was only in the twenties degree Celsius, it felt very cold and icy to him.

In the script, the character “Xiao Shitou” loses consciousness after struggling in vain, eventually resting beside a white serpent.

In reality, Ran Lin was still conscious, but being conscious was more painful. His chest felt as if it was pressed by a huge stone, about to explode, yet he couldn’t move or swim up. He had to sink as much as possible, sinking until there was enough footage for post-production special effects and to position himself near a small white dragon at an appropriate spot.

Glug—

It seemed there was a muffled sound by his ear but Ran Lin couldn’t be sure.

He was out of air.

‘Director, I’m sorry. There’s only so much footage. Make do with editing,’ Ran Lin muttered in his heart, then immediately opened his eyes and prepared to swim upwards.

But as soon as he opened his eyes, he saw a handsome man. Before Ran Lin could react, his arm was seized, and he was quickly pulled to the surface.

“Whew—” As soon as Ran Lin surfaced, he gasped for air, but the handsome man didn’t let him stay in the water and immediately pulled him to the poolside, where the staff quickly dragged him ashore.

Finally feeling less discomfort in his lungs, Ran Lin remembered to look at the director, only to find himself surrounded by a circle of people, all looking worried and frightened.

Ran Lin was also startled and immediately asked, “What happened?”

“They thought you drowned, so I had to dive in to save you,” said the handsome man who had just pulled Ran Lin out, somewhat helplessly.

Only then did Ran Lin realize that the handsome man was the lifeguard assigned to the underwater studio. They had met before shooting began.

Ran Lin didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, saying to the concerned staff, “I’m fine. I knew what I was doing. He came down just as I was thinking about swimming up.”

“You don’t have to sink to the bottom. Just do enough!” Director Huang, who had walked over from behind the monitors at some point, spoke in a stern tone, obviously scared as well.

Ran Lin quickly leaned out, raised his hand, and expressed his apology to the director. “I was thinking of getting more footage by staying under longer. I’ll be more careful next time!”

Seeing that the actor was okay, the staff dispersed to prepare for the next scene. Ran Lin, drying his head with a towel handed to him, grinned at the director.

Director Huang, having lost his temper to the teasing, sighed and said, “Acting requires dedication, but you don’t need to risk your life.”

Ran Lin didn’t agree or disagree, just widened his eyes, reddened from the sting of the water, and asked, “How was the effect just now?”

Director Huang was speechless, realizing he was preaching to the choir*.

*Playing the lute to a cow (对牛弹琴) Idiom referring to a situation where someone is offering nuanced or sophisticated argument or opinion to an unappreciative or incapable audience.

Forget it, directors always hope for actors to be more dedicated, but he had never seen one discourage an actor from going too far. He shrugged it off and said irritably, “Perfect. If you ask me, you shouldn’t be playing Xiao Shitou, but the white dragon¹ trapped under the water!”

Ran Lin quipped, “Isn’t it supposed to be a jiao¹?”

¹Clarity: Ran Lin is making a joke here. White dragon is (小白龙). However, Ran Lin is referring to it as a jiao (蛟). It is also a type of dragon, but in Chinese legends, it’s actually not a “real dragon”. They have to cultivate and go through tribulations before actually ascending to become a “real dragon”. Ran Lin is referencing the story <Chronicles of Winter> where the white dragon is supposed to ascend to the heavens but failed because it was captured (thus, technically, it’s a jiao).

Director Huang realized that the longer the collaboration went on, the more his authority seemed to diminish. He wasn’t sure if it was just his inability to handle this type of actor or if his habit of occasionally throwing out a frog toy diminished his deterrence.

Suddenly, applause broke out.

Ran Lin and Director Huang turned to see a middle-aged man clapping with a slight smile.

The man looked to be in his early forties, wearing a brown biker-style leather jacket, dark jeans, and lace-up high-top leather shoes, looking like a street-fashion mature male celebrity.

“Director Huang,” the man spoke politely but was conversing with the director. “I just watched from the underwater window, and it was spectacular.”

Director Huang seemed to have met the man before, so he skipped the greetings and replied half-jokingly, half-seriously, “With an actor willing to commit, a director’s job is easier.”

“Ran Lin,” the man called out his name, clearly certain.

In a flash of insight, Ran Lin remembered what Wang Xi had said a few days ago about an investor visiting the set. The investor seemed to be the man before him.

“President Shi?” Ran Lin asked tentatively.

The man broke into a smile and said to the director, “See, Director Huang, I do have some reputation.”

Director Huang inwardly thought, ‘Of course, the investor would be memorable.’

But to be honest, he quite liked this investor since he gave the directors relatively more freedom and authority, especially regarding artistic creation, fully respecting the director’s vision. Overall, the collaboration was very pleasant.

Upon hearing this, Ran Lin understood he was right and quickly said, “Hello President Shi. I’m Ran Lin. Thank you very much for giving me this opportunity with the director…”

Mr. Shi waved it off, his smile warm. “No need for formalities. Your thanks are shown in your performance, which I’ve just seen.”

Ran Lin, halfway through speaking, felt warmth in his heart, and even his soaked body didn’t feel cold anymore.

“I’m just here to observe. Pretend I’m not here and carry on with your work. Don’t let me delay your progress,” Mr. Shi said before turning to sit in an inconspicuous corner of the set, legs crossed, truly looking like he was there for a casual visit.

Ran Lin hadn’t met many investors before. Lei Baishi was known for his drinking habits, Ding Kai had ulterior motives, and Peng Jing seemed more like a peer or a bad influence. Compared to them, President Shi was simply perfect.

---

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

Author: 颜凉雨 / Yan Liang Yu

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

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Chapter 74

Click.

Gu Jie, the first to enter, pressed the wall switch, and the entryway suddenly lit up.

The intertwined hands quietly separated.

The four of them changed their shoes in the entryway. The living room was still dark, with moonlight streaming through the window, mostly falling on the floor, with a few strands on the sofa, casting a cold light everywhere, like the frost of early winter.

“It’s warmer inside…” Xia Xinran was the first to change into slippers, fumbling in the dark along the wall to find the living room light switch.

“Warm? Just don’t complain about the cold tonight.” Gu Jie, the second to enter the living room, stepped forward and accurately turned on the pendant light. “Ran Lin is now wrapping himself in a blanket every day, even reading scripts wrapped up like a dumpling.”

The living room’s pendant light was an old-fashioned design, with three budding flowers, the petals formed by yellow-white frosted glass shades, and three light bulbs as the stamens. Although the bulbs were now energy-saving spiral ones, the white light through the frosted glass turned into a light with a hint of yellow, filled with a nostalgic sense of the times.

Ran Lin, the third to enter the living room, sighed at Gu Jie under the dim yellow light. “Why always use me as a bad example?”

“The example is too vivid. Can’t help it,” Gu Jie joked while picking up the remote to turn on the air conditioner. Soon, a slightly cool breeze accompanied by a humming noise blew out, gradually warming up.

“Wrapped in a blanket?” Lu Yiyao, who had entered without notice, now stood behind Ran Lin.

His voice was low and soft, not so much chatting with friends as murmuring to Ran Lin alone.

Ran Lin’s ears heated up, not turning back to address him but instead asking Xia Xinran directly. “Where do you want to sleep?”

During dinner, the two newcomers expressed their “eco-friendly” visit, so they didn’t book a hotel and decided to stay together. But how exactly they would fit wasn’t discussed in detail by Xia Xinran, who had given Ran Lin a knowing look. With Ran Lin feeling guilty, he didn’t dare to ask further. Lu Yiyao smiled and ate quietly, while Gu Jie didn’t even think it was an issue, nodding continuously. The floor was too cold, and the sofa wasn’t long enough. However, both bedrooms had large enough beds, so squeezing in wouldn’t be a problem.

But now the question of “how to sleep” was right before them, and Ran Lin decided to resolve it quickly.

Xia Xinran glanced at him with a teasing look, clearly saying, “You know the answer,” then, without waiting for a response, headed towards one of the bedrooms. In a moment, he leaned against the bedroom door frame with a considerate smile. “Of course, I’m staying with Gu Jie. I have so much to talk to him after such a long time.”

Ran Lin nodded, a flicker of gratitude in his eyes, but then a hint of helplessness. “If you want to chat with Gu Jie, why are you leaning on my bedroom door?”

Lu Yiyao, who was automatically heading towards Gu Jie’s bedroom, suddenly stopped, then nonchalantly turned around, pretending as if he hadn’t done anything.

Xia Xinran, embarrassed, hurriedly dashed towards Gu Jie’s bedroom and gave Lu Yiyao a look as they brushed past—Why didn’t you remind me I was going the wrong way!

Lu Yiyao raised an eyebrow—All the doors look the same. Who can keep track!

Xia Xinran—With that sense of direction, you shouldn’t even be allowed to date. Revoke your dating license!

Lu Yiyao—I’m dating, not driving¹. Why do I need a sense of direction!

Xia Xinran—Not driving? Are you sure?¹

¹Clarity: It’s referencing car which is a euphemism for sex/explicit content.

Lu Yiyao—…Goodnight.

Visually, Xia Xinran was like a whirlwind, disappearing into Gu Jie’s bedroom in the blink of an eye.

But inexplicably, Ran Lin felt as if in that brief moment of shoulder brushing and eye contact between Xia Xinran and Lu Yiyao, a lot of information was exchanged…

Was it just his imagination?

Ran Lin frowned in confusion, puzzled.

Suddenly, a weight landed on his shoulder, and before he could look up, he was pulled into Lu Yiyao’s embrace.

The man didn’t hold back at all, and Ran Lin felt himself tightly clasped with one arm, his body pressed against Lu Yiyao’s side, his neck and shoulder constricted by an arm.

But to Gu Jie, it looked like a standard brotherly back-slapping moment, especially since Lu Yiyao was smiling brightly at him, obviously conveying a clear message.

Gu Jie immediately nodded understandingly. “Got it, it’s rare for you guys to get together; you must have lots to talk about.” After tossing his coat on the sofa and nodding towards the bathroom, he announced, “Then I’m going to shower, okay?”

Only Gu Jie would call a December shower a “shower”. Intimidated by his boldness, Lu Yiyao involuntarily nodded. “Please.”

Gu Jie strode into the bathroom, then closed the door behind him with a moderate thud.

Two seconds later, Xia Xinran peeked out from Gu Jie’s bedroom, sighing softly to the remaining pair in the living room. “I feel a bit guilty deceiving such an honest guy. What should I do…”

Before Lu Yiyao and Ran Lin could respond, the bathroom door suddenly opened again. “Oh, Xia Xinran—”

Gu Jie thought Xia Xinran was inside, so he called out loudly, only to realize the man was leaning out from the doorway, looking utterly bewildered.

“What?” Xia Xinran finally regained his senses, looking over irritably.

Gu Jie smiled, a rare display of friendliness. “I didn’t bring my sit-up equipment this time. Though I can still do it without equipment, it just doesn’t feel as effective…”

“So?” Xia Xinran had a bad feeling.

“So later, can you help me hold my legs a bit?” Gu Jie requested. “Don’t worry, I won’t do much, just two sets, very quick!”

Xia Xinran: “Weren’t you going to take a shower?”

Gu Jie: “I’ll do it after.”

Xia Xinran: “Who exercises after a shower!”

Gu Jie: “Just two sets, like walking a few steps, barely any effort; won’t even sweat.”

Xia Xinran: “But why do you need to exercise right before bed?”

Gu Jie: “Warm-up before sleep.”

Xia Xinran: “…”

Xia Xinran’s guilt popped like a soap bubble, leaving only a sense of powerless ridicule that lingered like a shadow.

Ran Lin and Lu Yiyao’s heads turned back and forth with the conversation, finally resting on Xia Xinran’s inexplicable face.

For safety, Lu Yiyao decisively took Ran Lin back to his room.

As the door closed behind them, Ran Lin thought he heard Xia Xinran’s sincere plea for a reconsideration of room arrangements.

Ran Lin’s bedroom was unlit, with the curtains tightly drawn. Once the door was closed, blocking the light from the living room, the world turned dark again.

Ran Lin blinked a couple of times, but opening or closing his eyes made no difference; it was pitch black.

The room was very quiet, so quiet that only Lu Yiyao’s breathing could be heard next to him.

The arm slung around his neck was heavy, and Ran Lin said irritably, “Hey, you can loosen…umph!”

Before Ran Lin could finish speaking, he was pressed against the wall by a great force, and then a fervent kiss landed on him.

At first, Ran Lin wondered if Lu Yiyao had brought night vision contacts, as he precisely captured his lips. But such mood-killing thoughts vanished in an instant under Lu Yiyao’s overpowering assault.

Lu Yiyao kissed forcefully, almost biting off his lips. Ran Lin wanted to respond, but the others didn’t need or allow any space for it. Whether he resisted or cooperated, nothing he did could disrupt or hinder the person ravaging him.

Not knowing how long they kissed, Ran Lin felt like he was about to collapse, his strength seemingly drawn out, his legs growing weak. If not for Lu Yiyao pressing him, he might have slid down the wall like a puddle of jelly…

Suddenly, the world spun around.

Ran Lin felt like he was being carried, but before he could understand what was happening, he was on the bed with Lu Yiyao’s body pressing down on him.

He instinctively wanted to embrace the other, but suddenly one wrist was pinned above his head, followed by the other, both hands crossed and pressed above the pillow.

Ran Lin was slightly resentful.

Because the other could suppress his crossed hands with just one.

“Hey…” Ran Lin tried to protest but kept his voice down, fearing being heard outside, so it sounded utterly weak.

“Shh.” Lu Yiyao blew air close to his face. “No talking.”

Ran Lin struggled a bit, but his wrists were pressed tighter, and he muttered resentfully, “Why…”

In the slowly adapting darkness, Lu Yiyao’s peach blossom eyes glowed with ambiguous desire, and his voice was husky and sexy. “Because you like me.”

The articulate always have the upper hand.

Having given up struggling, Ran Lin seriously considered whether to buy a book on sweet talk after going back.

The room was cold, with no heating, and the air conditioner in the living room was blocked, leaving only the cold night breeze seeping in.

But the room was also very hot. Ran Lin almost bit his lip to keep from making any noise.

Sensing Ran Lin’s imminent surrender, Lu Yiyao no longer suppressed his wrists but covered his mouth.

Almost the moment his hand covered Ran Lin’s mouth, Lu Yiyao’s other hand ventured without hesitation…

Bang bang.

A loud knock on the door echoed.

Then Gu Jie’s voice penetrated through the door. “I’m done showering. You guys can go next—”

His voice cut through the chaos like a divine intervention, bringing clarity.

Lu Yiyao jolted.

Ran Lin’s passion froze.

“Okay—” Lu Yiyao’s voice, feigning naturalness, carried a slight hoarseness.

But to the oblivious Gu Jie, it was sufficient. Receiving the response, he turned and left, completely unaware of the tiny gap beneath the door in the pitch-black room, let alone the high-end question of “why are they still in the dark after so long?”

As the footsteps faded, Lu Yiyao sighed in relief and frustration.

Ran Lin took down the hand covering his mouth, gently kissed it, and teasingly asked, “Want to continue?”

Lu Yiyao slapped his forehead irritably. “Be brave and provoke me when it’s time for action next time…” His voice dipped low again, drawing close to Ran Lin with a mischievous tone. “I’ll be more excited…”

Feeling the danger about to return, Ran Lin wisely kept quiet.

Lu Yiyao disdainfully glanced at his lover in the darkness, intending to scold him for only being brave with words, but his affection got the better of him. Eventually, he leaned in for a light peck, devoid of any desire, just filled with the joy of reunion.

The physical heat slowly subsided, while the emotional warmth was safely tucked away by Lu Yiyao.

He truly wanted to touch Ran Lin freely, to make him moan and beg under him, but the more he thought about it, the less he wanted to rush.

At least, not here.

Even if Gu Jie hadn’t knocked on the door, he hadn’t intended to go all the way.

Their first time, and every time after, he wanted it to be warm and completely relaxed, without having to worry about someone knocking on the door or Ran Lin having to suppress his voice.

He wanted to give Ran Lin the best of everything.

Turning on the bedroom light finally, the sudden illumination made Ran Lin instinctively shield his eyes.

Lu Yiyao returned to his side, enveloping him in his embrace to shield him from the light.

Ran Lin’s head rested against Lu Yiyao’s chest, his heartbeat reverberating through his skull.

Ran Lin unconsciously curved his mouth into a smile.

Even though his lover turned into a seasoned rogue when it came to intimacy, the heartbeat couldn’t lie.

Even after all this time, with the light on, his heart was still racing—rapid and fierce.

Bang bang bang!

“Teacher Lu, Ran Lin, if you’re not showering, I’m going first—” This time it wasn’t Gu Jie, but Xia Xinran.

Lu Yiyao felt the two were doing it on purpose, always appearing just when the mood got better… Were they like warning bullets for high-energy scenes?

“Go ahead and shower.” Lu Yiyao, less polite to the insider, directly sent him off.

Outside, Xia Xinran was like a mischievous groundhog.

The sound of water from the bathroom reached them despite the distance, clear and continuous.

Lu Yiyao sighed helplessly. “There’s no soundproofing at all.”

“Just keep your voice down,” Ran Lin advised, experienced. “As long as we don’t speak loudly, they can only hear that we’re talking but not make out the words. Otherwise, with all the video calls we’ve had, we would have been caught long ago.”

“Actually… perhaps not.” Lu Yiyao’s mood was complex.

Ran Lin, thinking of Gu Jie’s earnest face, couldn’t help but agree with his lover. “Indeed.”

Misdeeds are always done under the cloak of darkness, but now with the lights brightly on and the room clear, the two of them lay quietly together, their hearts gradually settling and ceasing their restlessness.

“Didn’t I just hold you like this last time and fall asleep while talking?” Lu Yiyao suddenly remembered a painful memory.

Ran Lin couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” Lu Yiyao still resented the past.

Last time everything was perfect—mood, environment, soundproofing, bed, even the bedside table was stocked with considerate little items and props. They could have tried all sorts of things.

Instead, he fell asleep.

The memory still made him beat his chest in frustration!

“You were sleeping so soundly, I didn’t have the heart to,” Ran Lin murmured quietly.

Unprepared for such a response, Lu Yiyao’s heart softened, and he hugged Ran Lin a bit tighter.

Actually, that night, Ran Lin had secretly pinched Lu Yiyao twice, but the man just turned over and continued sleeping.

But he couldn’t tell Lu Yiyao that; it would make him seem too unreserved.

So, Ran Lin decided to maintain his “gentle and considerate” persona to the end.

“Did you ask Xia Xinran to come with you?” Suddenly, Ran Lin remembered a question that had been nagging at him.

At dinner, Xia Xinran had claimed they both spontaneously decided to visit the set, a story believable only to Gu Jie.

Sure enough, Lu Yiyao straightforwardly admitted, “Yeah, I just wanted to try asking him if he was free and willing, and he agreed immediately, seeming even more eager than me.”

Ran Lin could easily imagine it.

Xia Xinran was both someone who loved being in the thick of things and a truly loyal friend. While outsiders might only see his more prominent trait, as a friend, he had the right to speak.

“We should really thank him,” Ran Lin sincerely said.

“Don’t worry about him,” Lu Yiyao replied. “He had already negotiated his compensation before coming.”

Ran Lin was puzzled. “What compensation?”

Lu Yiyao: “Can’t say.”

Ran Lin: “…”

Why was there an ominous feeling that Lu Yiyao had agreed to an unfair treaty?

“Actually, even if he hadn’t agreed, I would have come by myself.” Lu Yiyao turned the person lying against him to face each other, looking deeply into Ran Lin’s eyes. “I couldn’t wait that long. Ever since I wrapped up my filming, I’ve been thinking about seeing you every day.”

“I missed you too.” Ran Lin’s eyes tinged with the ache of longing—those four words carried so much unspoken emotion.

Lu Yiyao gave back his own four words. “Didn’t look like it.”

Ran Lin was speechless, the rising warmth in his eyes forcefully pushed back.

Teacher Lu continued to complain, “When I was filming <Split Moon>, you didn’t even mention visiting the set. As time went on, we even talked less. I thought you had moved on.”

Ran Lin was incredulous. “Who would I move on to?”

Lu Yiyao had a ready blacklist. “Tang Xiaoyu.”

Ran Lin: “……”

Lu Yiyao: “You shot an advertisement for the <Sword of Fallen Flowers> game with him, and then you started interacting a lot on Weibo…”

Ran Lin: “Teacher Lu, are you sure you were fully invested in your film?”

Lu Yiyao: “Everyone needs a break now and then.”

Ran Lin: “So you spent your breaks stalking my Weibo?”

Lu Yiyao: “It’s ‘loving observation from the shadows’.”

Ran Lin: “……”

Clearly, during their long separation, his lover had accumulated endless grievances.

Ran Lin irritably took Lu Yiyao’s hand and brought it to his mouth. “Listen carefully…”

“I, Ran Lin, only like Lu Yiyao.”

After saying so, he pressed a kiss to Lu Yiyao’s hand.

Continuing—

“In my eyes, Lu Yiyao is narcissistic, repressed, over-imaginative, says too little, is always caught up in his inner drama, and even makes his own memes to the point of boredom…”

“Hold on!” Lu Yiyao swallowed, earnestly interrupting. “If there’s a ‘but’ coming, I’ll keep listening. If not, can I request we end this conversation early?”

Ran Lin drawled out, “But—”

Lu Yiyao’s heart finally settled.

“He’s serious…”

A kiss on the hand.

“He’s professional…”

Another kiss.

“He’s responsible to others and himself.”

“He may not be warm to everyone, but he’ll never kick someone when they’re down.”

“He might compromise with reality, but he always has his principles.”

With each phrase, Ran Lin kissed Lu Yiyao’s hand.

Finally, he pressed a gentle kiss on the other’s lips—

“He’s the best person I’ve ever met.”

……

Xia Xinran, who had just had a quick wash and was now sneakily eavesdropping at the door, was disappointed. He had expected a fiery encounter, but all he got was a quiet conversation with indistinct words.

Are you two here to discuss life?

Close the door and get on with it!

After enduring a few more minutes and seeing no end to their “night talk”, the frustrated single classmate Xia Xinran finally straightened his aching legs and begrudgingly returned to his room.

As for Ran Lin and Lu Yiyao, after exchanging long pent-up sweet nothings, they reluctantly parted to freshen up in turns.

Lu Yiyao was the first to shower and immediately dived into the bed, using his body heat to pre-warm the cold sheets.

By the time Ran Lin got back into bed, it was already warm.

He obediently lay down, clinging to Lu Yiyao like an octopus, turning the warmth into coziness.

Ran Lin was already feeling sleepy, but he didn’t want to waste their limited time together sleeping. Lu Yiyao was only here for three days, and the only time they had to themselves was at night.

Lu Yiyao, on the other hand, had far more complicated thoughts.

He had intended to ease his longing with some intimacy today, leaving the real matter for tomorrow. But now, in the stillness of the night, he suddenly couldn’t hide his words anymore.

The urge to pour out his heart came suddenly and fiercely, almost unable to wait another minute. He wanted to share all his thoughts with Ran Lin right then and there.

Suddenly, his frown was smoothed out by gentle fingers.

Lu Yiyao snapped back to reality to meet Ran Lin’s bemused face. “If you really don’t like me hugging you like this, I won’t do it. You don’t have to endure it as if you’re bearing a deep grudge.”

Lu Yiyao pulled the blanket tighter, cocooning Ran Lin more securely, before whispering, “I’m thinking about starting my own company.”

The topic suddenly became serious. Ran Lin, momentarily taken aback, moved aside from Lu Yiyao to allow for a better face-to-face conversation. “Don’t you already have your own studio?”

The blanket, disturbed by Ran Lin’s movement, let in a draft of cold air.

Lu Yiyao quickly closed the gap before explaining. “Not a studio. I mean an entertainment company. I’m thinking about becoming a boss.”

“……” The weight of this revelation hung in the air, leaving Ran Lin momentarily stunned.

Lu Yiyao pinched his lover’s cheek, finding Ran Lin’s bewildered look endlessly adorable.

“No more acting?” Ran Lin managed to pick out the most immediate question amidst his scattered thoughts.

“I don’t think so.” Lu Yiyao had thought it through clearly, so there was no hesitation.

“What about guest appearances?” Ran Lin asked, then immediately realized how trivial this question was in the grand scheme!

Lu Yiyao found the question refreshing, considering it seriously for the first time since deciding to change careers. After a while, he answered, “It depends on how deep the friendship is.”

Ran Lin didn’t expect him to actually ponder the question, giving a sense of reality to the notion of his lover switching careers. But the bigger question loomed. “Why don’t you want to be an actor anymore?”

“Isn’t being a boss good?” Lu Yiyao grinned. “Still in the entertainment industry, I’d say it’s a triple jump in class status.”

As Ran Lin’s thoughts began to order themselves, he understood that being a boss was naturally better, both in terms of profit and personal satisfaction. If the entertainment industry was a pyramid, then the bosses with capital and influence were certainly at the top.

But—

“Don’t you find it a waste? You’ve been acting for so long, to just give it up?” Ran Lin’s query was not out of skepticism or opposition but a personal reflection. If it were him, he would find it a regrettable loss.

“What if I tell you I don’t find it a waste, and I’m actually relieved to have finally found what I want to do?” Lu Yiyao asked, “Would you think I’m frivolous about my career?”

Lu Yiyao’s voice was calm and firm, but Ran Lin still detected a hint of apprehension.

It wasn’t apprehension about his new career path, but whether his partner could accept such a sudden change in direction.

But was it really a sudden change?

Ran Lin didn’t think so.

No one knew his boyfriend better than he did—Lu Yiyao was never one to make rash decisions. Everything he said and did was thoroughly considered beforehand, ensuring he could bear the responsibility.

“When did you decide?” Instead of answering Lu Yiyao’s question, Ran Lin asked another.

“Before shooting <Split Moon>,” Lu Yiyao candidly replied.

Ran Lin: “Have you talked to Hong Jie about it?”

“Yes, she’s stopped taking new contracts for me,” Lu Yiyao said. “I’ve also told my mom and sister; it’s all good. My family has always wanted me to go into business. I haven’t told my dad yet, but I think he’ll be singing Peking opera out of joy when he finds out.”

Ran Lin noted that Lu Yiyao always found a chance to sardonically mention his father.

“If this is truly what you want to do,” Ran Lin turned serious after a smile, “then I’m happy you’ve found it. I don’t think you’re being frivolous about your career. I believe you’ll do well, whether in acting or running a company…”

“But?” Lu Yiyao anticipated the turn in conversation.

Caught off guard by the accurate prediction, Ran Lin gave him a slight glare. “But there has to be a catalyst for such a change. You can’t tell me you just sat there one day, thought it over, and suddenly found the path you want to pursue, right?”

Lu Yiyao looked intently at him. “What if I said that catalyst was you?”

Ran Lin was taken aback, struggling to respond. “I can’t bear that responsibility…”

Lu Yiyao leaned in close, so close Ran Lin could see the flutter of his eyelashes. “I would have found this path eventually; you just helped me find it sooner. So, you don’t need to bear anything. It’s my life, my path. I’ll bear it myself.”

Ran Lin met his gaze, half convinced.

Lu Yiyao continued, “Don’t renew the contract when it’s up; sign with my company.”

“…?” From half-belief to complete doubt, Ran Lin frowned deeply. “So it’s still all for me.”

Lu Yiyao, unruffled, simply said, “What if I say that even without you, someday in the future, I would have found out on my own that what I really wanted wasn’t to be an actor in the entertainment industry, but to do business in it? How would you feel about that?”

Ran Lin: “……”

The question felt like a trap because the mere thought of it was quite unsettling!

If it were predestined for Lu Yiyao to change careers, then having himself as the catalyst seemed preferable, at least making him feel somewhat significant…

“You might indeed be naturally suited for business,” Ran Lin grumbled, glaring at Lu Yiyao. “You’re quite the smooth talker.”

Lu Yiyao’s heart settled, and his expression relaxed unconsciously. “Then let’s settle on that.”

Ran Lin blinked in confusion. “Settle on… what?”

Lu Yiyao: “Sign with my company when your contract expires.”

Ran Lin: “That’s a whole new topic!”

Lu Yiyao: “…”

His attempt to fish in troubled waters* failed, and Lu Yiyao sighed, barely audibly, but soon rallied himself.

*(浑水摸鱼) Idiom referring to someone taking advantage of a chaotic or confusing situation for personal gain.

Pulling Ran Lin back into his embrace, he switched to a gentler tactic. “Think about it. If I want to grow and strengthen my company, not only do I need to have a good eye for investment, ensuring that the projects I invest in have more gains and fewer losses, but I also need artists under my label who can stand firm and support themselves. Good projects and good artists are the two most important pillars of a successful entertainment company. I’ll take care of having a good eye; the risk lies with the artists. Of course, I want to sign someone whose background I know well and who has a promising future…”

Knowing full well that these were sugar-coated shells that he should avoid, Ran Lin found himself delightfully hit, body and soul, with only a sliver of rationality remaining in his brain, unable to even command a single finger.

“You don’t want to renew your contract with your current company either, right? Since you have to switch anyway, why not jump to your own place…”

“Once you come over to my side, no one will force you to take on roles you dislike anymore. Your future prospects, popularity, market response… none of that will be your concern. You just need to focus on acting well…”

“Plus, I prefer to independently produce dramas to create quality works. So in these projects, if there’s a suitable role for you or if you feel the urge to act, it will be yours. But just because you’re the boss’ wife, don’t slack off…”

“What?” Ran Lin, who had been quietly listening, suddenly spoke up. “What did you just say?”

Lu Yiyao was startled. His first thought was he misspoke, considering he had just rattled off a lot in a row. “…slack off?”

Ran Lin frowned. “Backtrack a bit.”

Lu Yiyao strained his memory. “No one else… it’s you?”

Ran Lin glared. “After that.”

With his brain nearly overheating, Lu Yiyao finally identified the suspect phrase tentatively. “Boss’ wife?”

Ran Lin suddenly grabbed the blanket, covered his face, and started rolling around the bed.

Exposed to the cold air unexpectedly, Lu Yiyao sneezed and then watched the “blanket ball” rolling around, feeling an almost uncontrollable urge to pounce on it…

Next time, he would find a place where they could freely indulge!

……

The next morning, Ran Lin woke up to a long-missed warmth and saw Lu Yiyao fiddling with his phone.

Ran Lin yawned sleepily. “Are you checking if I have any inappropriate same-sex relationships?”

Lu Yiyao didn’t even glance at him, still struggling with the phone, his voice tinged with irritation. “I’m turning off the insane eight alarms someone set.”

“Right, why didn’t the alarm go off?” Ran Lin finally sensed something amiss.

“Who says it didn’t?” Lu Yiyao finally turned off the last alarm, his eyes dark with circles. “I woke up at the first ring.”

Ran Lin: “And then you angrily turned off all the alarms as revenge?”

Lu Yiyao: “I wanted you to sleep a little longer.”

Ran Lin: “…”

Lu Yiyao: “If you don’t come and kiss me, it’s going to be a bit awkward.”

This was the first time he had seen someone take advantage of someone so openly.

Ran Lin rolled his eyes but gave his partner a morning kiss, adding a touch of flavor to the gesture.

They had talked late into the night, naturally resting as the conversation wound down. Lu Yiyao had been so preoccupied with discussing the career change and how to pull Ran Lin over to his side that he hadn’t considered the reverse problem.

Now, watching his lover put on clothes, he blurted out without warning. “What if my company doesn’t do well and, instead of elevating you, drags down your accumulated popularity? What then?”

Ran Lin put on his hoodie, fully dressed, and turned back, looking bemused at Lu Yiyao. “What else can be done? I’m the boss, so of course, I’ll share the company’s fate.”

Lu Yiyao frowned slightly. “If I’m not mistaken, it should be the boss’ wife, right…”

Ran Lin walked over, patted his still-confused partner’s shoulder, transferring the warmth of his palm. “Then you remembered wrong.”

Lu Yiyao watched the figure heading to the bathroom, both amused and exasperated.

Why run if you’re not guilty!

Meanwhile, Ran Lin in the bathroom was also restless.

Because Lu Yiyao’s question had given him a wake-up call—what if he ends up dragging down Lu Yiyao’s company?

Lu Yiyao wanted to protect him from the storm, but he wished even more to make Lu Yiyao proud.

So starting now, he had to work even harder, to be a sturdy, proud-standing, robust money tree!

“Do you have to be so intense about brushing your teeth?” Xia Xinran, also in the bathroom for his morning routine, was startled by Ran Lin’s vigor.

Ran Lin gurgled and spat out the water, shaking his head at his friend. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“How could I not?” Xia Xinran retorted, his mouth curling despite not getting the juicy details the night before. He could guess. “Isn’t it just that you got all fired up¹ and couldn’t go all the way?”

Ran Lin: “…”

What he had been thinking and what his friend said seemed to be on completely different wavelengths.

Ran Lin mused, somewhat unsure.

“What’s this ‘all fired up¹‘ about?” Gu Jie asked, who happened to pass by the bathroom.

Ran Lin froze.

Xia Xinran was momentarily speechless.

Gu Jie suddenly understood on his own. “Ah, reminiscing about that time in Sanya trying to start a fire, right? That episode was indeed a pit. Despite all the friction, no fire was seen¹.”

¹So Xia Xinran was using (擦出火) which literally means “create fire” but in the context, it was more like “You got all fired/worked up last night.” Gu Jie, being so oblivious, thought they were actually talking about creating fire instead metaphorically, which is why he responded like so (referring to the variety show where Lu Yiyao failed to light a fire..

Ran Lin: “…”

Xia Xinran: “…”

“What are you all chatting about here?” Lu Yiyao, coming out of the bedroom, curiously joined in.

“Good morning,” Gu Jie greeted him enthusiastically, “Talking about that ‘Drifting’ episode in Sanya.”

Lu Yiyao wondered, “Why suddenly talk about that?”

Gu Jie shrugged, looking towards Ran Lin and Xia Xinran. “You’d have to ask them.”

Lu Yiyao’s gaze turned quizzically to them.

Ran Lin: “It’s just…”

Xia Xinran: “On a whim!”

……

The three days flew by, and with the departure of the visiting friends, the days seemed to speed up even more.

Mid-December arrived in a blink, and Ran Lin needed to return to prepare for <Chronicles of Winter>. Gu Jie, without any appointments, decided to stay a bit longer.

Before leaving Wuhan, Ran Lin, Gu Jie, and Director He had a meal together. This time, Director He treated them to a banquet of authentic Wuhan cuisine in the city center.

Again, they opted for tea, but this time the conversation wasn’t limited to <Dyeing Fire>. They chatted about everything under the sun, and Director He even inadvertently revealed some industry secrets.

As the meal concluded, Ran Lin, substituting tea for wine, toasted Director He.

Director He rarely accepted such gestures, so he obliged and included Gu Jie in the toast.

The three teacups clinked together—

“See you in April!”

April was still far off, but January was just around the corner. Back in Beijing not long after, Ran Lin, having just transformed from a disheveled youth back into a clean and tidy male artist, began shooting the film version of <Chronicles of Winter>.

---

Kinky Thoughts:

I totally ship Gu Jie x Xia Xinran… Preferably with Gu Jie being the shou. I can imagine he’d be a great power bottom… though Xia Xinran could too TBH.

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