Author: 颜凉雨 / Yan Liang Yu

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

Chapter 91

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

Ran Lin felt a bit guilty accepting the red packet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ran Lin was speechless; he indeed had no solution.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ran Lin looked at her speechlessly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Fourth…]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

……

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As the lights dimmed and the movie started…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

At least Ran Lin enjoyed it.

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

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

……

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Now, some fans finally had the chance to vent—

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

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

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

[Fans of “Green Forest” are trembling…]

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

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

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

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

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

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

As expected, his friend quickly replied—[Hahahahahahahahahahahaha]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ran Lin—[……]

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

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

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

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

Xia Xinran—[No. Find the fated one.]

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

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

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

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

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

Liu Wanwan pursed her lips tightly and nodded.

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

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

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

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

……

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Comments from the netizens were surprisingly harmonious—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lu Yiyao—[Where are you?]

Ran Lin—[At home.]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ran Lin: “……”

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

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

Author: 颜凉雨 / Yan Liang Yu

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

Chapter 90

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The other end shouted back, “What—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…” Is this my mother or the agency!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mom…” Ran Lin called out softly.

“Hmm?” Lu Qing paused.

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

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

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

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

Ran Lin: “……”

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

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

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

Ran Lin chuckled. “Dad…”

Ran Yimin: “Mm…”

Ran Lin: “……”

Ran Yimin: “……”

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

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

Ran Lin: “……”

Ran Yimin: “……”

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

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

Jiang Yi was still chatting on the phone.

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

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

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

……

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ding dong.

The crisp notification sound echoed in the quiet living room.

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

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

Ran Lin —[😭.jpg]

Lu Yiyao—[Can you do a video call?]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ran Lin was taken aback.

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

“Don’t blink…”

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

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

Fizzle, fizzle, fizzle—

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

His heart thumped in anticipation.

Fizzle, fizzle, fizzle—

The sky remained unchanged.

Fizzle, fizzle, fizzle—

No fireworks burst in the sky.

The silent sky at that moment seemed a bit awkward.

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

Well, more like a “Christmas sapling”.

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

Ran Lin asked, “What happened?”

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

Clearly, he was unsure what had gone wrong.

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

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

It was beautiful and cute.

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

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

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

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

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

Thunder Top, Fairy Tree, Little Duck…

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

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

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

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

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

Lu Yiyao: “Completely understood.”

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

Lu Yiyao nodded solemnly.

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

Without hesitation, Ran Lin replied, “Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

……

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

<Mint Green> has accumulated 146 million.

<Chronicles of Winter> has accumulated 137 million.

<XXX> has accumulated 92.14 million.

<XXXX> has accumulated 73.35 million…

<XXXXX> has accumulated 40.22 million…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Both the drama and the film version came up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

¹Bottom/uke
²Top/seme

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

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

He slept until Liu Wanwan came knocking with breakfast.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ran Lin: “What was the reason?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ran Lin was puzzled. “How long?”

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

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

Author: 颜凉雨 / Yan Liang Yu

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

Chapter 89

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ran Lin could understand Lu Yiyao’s low profile.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He found Lu Yiyao familiar.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The other bosses also fell silent, curiously looking over.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The room erupted in laughter, choking on their tea.

Lu Yiyao’s emotions were mixed.

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

……

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lu Yiyao sighed. “One word, busy.”

Huo Yuntao: “Busier than being a star?”

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

Huo Yuntao: “Regretting it?”

Lu Yiyao: “Busy but exhilarating.”

Huo Yuntao: “You’re a masochist…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Knock knock.

Someone knocked on the office door.

Lu Yiyao directly said, “Come in.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ran Lin: “I can’t say that…”

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

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

Laughter filled the room, both on and off stage.

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

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

……

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Zhang Beichen is Li Yu. No arguments!]

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

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

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

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

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

……

February 4^th, New Year’s Eve.

Having spent two days with his mother and sister, Lu Yiyao returned to his father’s side, carrying both things he bought, and some brought from his mother and sister.

When Lu Yiyao entered, it was already evening, with the auntie preparing the New Year’s Eve dinner in the kitchen and Lu Guoming watching TV in the living room.

Lu Yiyao put down the things and approached, saying, “Dad, I’m back.”

Lu Guoming glanced at him and merely responded, “Mm.”

Usually, that would be the extent of their interaction, followed by everyone quietly doing their own thing in an atmosphere pretending nothing was amiss, but everyone knew it was hard to bear.

Perhaps because Lu Yiyao was intent on communicating, wanting to take this opportunity to share his career change with his father, he didn’t leave but instead sat down on the sofa next to him.

Lu Guoming glanced over, his eyebrows twitching slightly.

Lu Yiyao could tell his father was somewhat surprised.

They had spent many Spring Festivals in such distant, indifferent ways. Suddenly switching to a more familial mode made Lu Yiyao somewhat nervous too.

“I heard you’re changing careers?”

Before Lu Yiyao could speak, Lu Guoming spoke first. Although his tone was steady, the abruptness of the topic still took Lu Yiyao aback.

A conversation between father and son after months apart should have had some preamble…

“Yes, I’m not acting anymore.” As soon as he said it, Lu Yiyao realized he was indeed his father’s son.

Lu Guoming slightly furrowed his brow, lightly indicating his mood was still okay but somewhat dissatisfied. “If you’re quitting acting, why do you want to stay in the entertainment industry?”

“I like this industry,” Lu Yiyao replied without hesitation.

Lu Guoming snorted coldly, the usual disdain.

If this had been the past, the conversation would have broken down here, but perhaps because of the festive atmosphere or because Lu Yiyao had grown more resilient over the years, he felt the atmosphere was still manageable, conducive to continuing the conversation, thus he sighed. “You dislike the entertainment industry so much, it’s hard for Lao Chen to still be your friend.”

Lu Guoming’s face changed slightly, as if the fortress-like dignity of a father had suddenly been breached by his son. “Lao Chen is what you call him? No manners.”

“Alright, Uncle Chen.” Lu Yiyao quickly corrected, then curiously asked his father, “What did he say about me to you?”

Since his mother and sister already knew about the matter, it was unlikely that the information leaked from them. The only source left was the kind-hearted Mr. Chen. Lu Yiyao could almost imagine Mr. Chen calling his father, likely starting with praises like “You have a good son,” then lamenting “You never mentioned your son is in the industry; I could have looked out for him,” and finally reverting to the usual “You really should consider investing in some projects in the industry.”

But what he anticipated and what he heard from his father would feel entirely different.

Lu Yiyao had never heard any praise from his father’s mouth.

“Lao Chen didn’t say much.” It took a while before Lu Guoming finally gave such a dry response.

Lu Yiyao, resigned to his fate, replied, “At least he must have mentioned I’m changing careers. Otherwise, how would you know?”

Lu Guoming frowned; his face now truly marked with lines. “If I know, why ask.”

Lu Yiyao didn’t find his father as hard to communicate with as before; instead, he found it interesting, as he seemed to have captured his father’s logical pattern—in his father’s eyes, a father must maintain an authoritative and infallible image. Any hint of personal softness or imperfection, like how he behaves among friends, must not be revealed to his son. Once it appears or is glimpsed, it makes his father feel insecure.

So, as a child, whenever his parents argued, his father would first send him and his sister back to their rooms. His mother wouldn’t leave any face for him, and more unfortunately for him, Mrs. Fan was often the victor, always walking into the room with a smile to bring them out after the quarrels.

Lu Yiyao, who was once fearful of such a stern father, turned rebellious during his teenage years. Now, neither fearful nor rebellious, sitting down and reevaluating his father, he made new discoveries.

“Dinner’s ready—”

The auntie’s voice wafted over, along with the fragrance of the dishes.

Lu Yiyao stood up first, saying, “Just the smell is making me hungry—”

Having reached the dining table, Lu Yiyao gave the auntie a big hug, then washed his hands and took his seat.

It took a good while longer for Lu Guoming to slowly make his way over and sit down without any intention to speak, just picking up his chopsticks to eat. But just as he put a piece of fish into his mouth, he heard his son say—

“By the way, Uncle Chen is impressive. He didn’t know my name or recognize me, but he identified me based on my looks alone, saying I’m a spitting image of you.”

Lu Guoming, perplexed, replied without thinking, “What kind of eyesight does Lao Chen have? If you looked like me, could you be a star? Your eyebrows, nose, eyes are all… cough cough cough—”

Lu Yiyao, initially in good spirits, was startled by his father’s sudden coughing and hurriedly got up to pat his back.

Finally, the coughing ceased, and Lu Yiyao quickly handed his father the water passed by the auntie. Lu Guoming took a sip and waved it off.

Seeing his father still furrowing his brows in discomfort, Lu Yiyao asked worriedly, “Dad, are you okay? Nothing serious?”

Lu Guoming finally looked up with a pained expression and pointed to his throat after a long struggle. “Stuck… fish bone…”

A rare “family moment” for the Lu father and son on the eve of the Lunar New Year ended abruptly due to a fish bone.

……

Getting a fish bone stuck is easy; just one bite of fish does it. Removing it is also easy; a doctor just presses down your tongue with a small stick, shines a light, uses tweezers, and in a couple of seconds, it’s out. But for some reason, almost everyone tries swallowing rice, steamed buns, or vinegar as miraculous solutions before seeking a doctor’s help.

Some fish bones, not too thick or hard, might indeed dislodge with such maneuvers, but for the more stubborn ones, it only increases the pain—like for Lu Guoming.

In the end, he had to concede that the fish bone was more resilient than him and agreed to let Lu Yiyao call the family doctor. In fact, Lu Yiyao had already secretly called Dr. Meng.

It was quite a thing to call someone over during the New Year’s festivities, and although it was a long-standing relationship, Lu Guoming felt quite sorry. Dr. Meng, embodying the compassionate spirit of a doctor, not only didn’t complain but also gently reminded him to eat fish more carefully next time and watch for bones.

While Lu Guoming, relieved of the fish bone pain, went to the bathroom, Dr. Meng pulled Lu Yiyao aside to tell him about his father’s not-so-good heart condition over the past year, mainly due to persistent fatigue without rest and his temperamental nature, which also affects the liver and overall health. He urged Lu Yiyao to advise his father to take it easier with age.

Lu Yiyao thanked Dr. Meng profusely and offered New Year’s greetings, intending to personally escort him back, but Dr. Meng declined, having driven himself.

After sending off Dr. Meng, who was called away from his peaceful New Year’s Eve, Lu Yiyao returned to find Lu Guoming back at the dining table. For the first time, he noticed that the authoritative figure he remembered from his childhood had aged, and he hadn’t even realized when it had happened.

The food had cooled down, and the auntie was ready to reheat it. Using helping the auntie as a pretext, Lu Yiyao silently took away the plate of fish, but just as he reached the kitchen and before he could tell the auntie it didn’t need reheating, he heard his father’s loud voice—

“Reheat the fish first; I haven’t finished eating it yet—”

Lu Yiyao finally understood where his unyielding persistence came from.

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

Author: 颜凉雨 / Yan Liang Yu

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

Chapter 88

When the second round of videos was released, Lu Yiyao was on his way back to the hotel after finishing a recording. The car’s air conditioner was on, providing cool relief, but the enclosed space still felt somewhat stuffy and oppressive. The weather forecast had predicted a thunderstorm for Beijing today, but messages from his lover indicated it hadn’t started yet—only that there had been strong, ominous winds all day.

“Okay, thank you,” Yao Hong said, putting down her phone after a few minutes of conversation. She handed a bottle of water to Lu Yiyao in the back seat and said, “It’s all sorted out. That ‘Reality Gossip Lane’ is a subsidiary account of Dahlia Studio. XX Magazine is quite unhappy and has already started pressuring them. The heat should die down soon, and it won’t escalate further.”

“Dahlia Studio?” Lu Yiyao was surprised. That was a studio known for its reputable entertainment reporting, deeply rooted in the industry with a good reputation, and was among the few media invited to the party. “They’re doing paparazzi shots now?”

“Legitimate news isn’t profitable anymore. Now it’s the era of sensationalism, extortion, and paid hype,” Yao Hong said, her mouth twisting wryly at the state of affairs, a mix of helplessness and resignation. “But they’ve bitten off more than they can chew this time. Everyone at the party is somewhat connected. Taking unauthorized photos there is like slapping the face of the organizers. Not just XX Magazine but also people from Zhang Beichen’s side have applied pressure, and even more swiftly. If nothing unexpected happens, the second wave of videos will be deleted soon.”

Lu Yiyao was stunned. “Hong Jie, you mean this wasn’t a setup by Zhang Beichen?”

Lu Yiyao had assumed it was at least a cooperative effort with the entertainment studio.

“It shouldn’t be,” Yao Hong replied. “If it were his setup, there’d be no need to involve himself. Plus, that would mean he’s in cahoots with the studio, no need for him to then pressure them using public relations.”

“Why would he deliberately provoke me then?” Lu Yiyao had been baffled by this aspect, especially after calming down and thinking about it. Every word Zhang Beichen said seemed designed to incite him to violence.

“Consider it from another angle,” Yao Hong suggested, lacking the ability to read minds and only able to help Lu Yiyao analyze. “If you hadn’t controlled yourself and hit him, what would the outcome be?”

Lu Yiyao didn’t need to think hard. “I’d be the headline.”

Yao Hong: “And then what?”

“Then…” Lu Yiyao tried to foresee the potential progression, gradually grasping his agent’s point. “Everyone would discuss why I hit him.”

“Right,” Yao Hong finally nodded. “It takes two to tango. If you hit him, you must have had your reasons. Considering your generally positive public image, people will wonder what could have pushed you, Lu Yiyao, to lose control. If it were up to me to handle the PR, I would focus on that angle. Even if I couldn’t completely clear your name, Zhang Beichen wouldn’t come out unscathed either.”

Seeing Lu Yiyao listening attentively, Yao Hong paused before continuing, “You’re both male actors, and the public doesn’t initially take a biased sympathetic stance. They’re more interested in ‘right or wrong’ than the fight itself. The narrative could easily shift to ‘you hit him out of necessity; he had it coming.’ Why would he create trouble for himself?”

“That leaves us with an unsolvable question,” Lu Yiyao noted. “Knowingly provoking me would do him no good. Why still do it? It’s out of character for him.”

No, Lu Yiyao suddenly realized, actually, everything about Zhang Beichen last night was strange.

In Lu Yiyao’s understanding, Zhang Beichen was the kind who could keep a straight face no matter what he did behind the scenes. Many like him in the industry had become predictable to Lu Yiyao. He hadn’t thought much of it in his anger yesterday, but now, he realized that the awful things Zhang Beichen said about Ran Lin actually fit the mindset of “Why do I have to struggle for what you get easily?” It’s a fundamentally twisted logic where one only sees their own struggles and others’ rewards, never acknowledging their own gains or others’ efforts, perpetuating a belief of being the most aggrieved.

Without self-awareness of this flawed perspective, no one can help change it, and Lu Yiyao had no intention of trying. He was more concerned about what had happened to Zhang Beichen to make him so different last night from the person he remembered.

In the past two years, nothing significant seemed to have happened to Zhang Beichen, and his acting career proceeded as usual. If there was anything unusual, it might be what he unexpectedly heard from his lover about “Mr. Qin”…

[Not just XX Magazine but also people from Zhang Beichen’s side have applied pressure, and even more swiftly.]

His agent’s earlier words echoed in his mind, giving Lu Yiyao pause.

Yao Hong, unaware her artist was deep in thought, was still contemplating the question of “why provoke me if it does no good?” While Lu Yiyao was delving deeper, Yao Hong was being more direct. “Didn’t you say his entire demeanor was off yesterday, and he seemed emotionally unstable? If that’s true, then his behavior might not follow any logic, and acting out of control wouldn’t be surprising…”

“Hong Jie,” Lu Yiyao suddenly asked, feeling like he was on the verge of understanding something. “Who exactly pressured the studio on Zhang Beichen’s behalf?”

The question caught Yao Hong off guard, but she replied after a moment, “I’m not sure. I only heard it from XX Magazine. Not only was the action swift, but it was also forceful. Even if the magazine hadn’t contacted them, the second round of videos would have been deleted.”

Lu Yiyao looked at his agent and said, “Is it possible it was Mr. Qin…”

“The same Mr. Qin you asked me to investigate?” Yao Hong was surprised and quickly caught on. “You mean he’s involved with Zhang Beichen?”

Lu Yiyao had only mentioned Mr. Qin when asking his agent to investigate and didn’t hide anything now, simply nodding in confirmation.

Yao Hong thought for a moment and said, “If it is him, it wouldn’t be surprising that he has the clout. However…” she frowned, asking Lu Yiyao, “Even if we find out about him and Zhang Beichen, what then? You’re not planning to leak it, are you?”

“I’m not that idle,” Lu Yiyao said with a bitter smile, speaking honestly. “I just want to understand the situation for peace of mind.”

Yao Hong nodded, understanding.

They were all in the same industry; chances were they would meet again. Knowing both sides would help maintain an equilibrium.

After finishing the conversation with his agent, Lu Yiyao looked back at Weibo, only to find, to his surprise, that the trending topics had changed.

“Hong Jie,” Lu Yiyao called his agent, somewhat bewildered. “Tang Xiaoyu and Shen Ying just announced their relationship.”

Yao Hong turned around in surprise. “Now?”

Lu Yiyao swallowed and nodded.

Yao Hong asked, “Is it trending?”

Lu Yiyao confirmed, “It’s all over the trending searches. My issue has been completely squeezed out.”

Yao Hong seemed a bit dazed. “That timing is just too perfect.”

Lu Yiyao had settled from his initial shock and shook his head. “It’s not a coincidence. They chose this moment to divert attention from me and Ran Lin.”

Yao Hong asked, “Did you guys coordinate this beforehand?”

“No, it was entirely his unilateral surprise attack,” Lu Yiyao replied.

Yao Hong was at a loss for words, with mixed feelings swirling within her. She wanted to tap their foreheads one by one with her fingers in frustration at these unpredictable youths.

“Wait a minute,” Yao Hong finally realized. “Who is Tang Xiaoyu with?”

“Shen Ying,” Lu Yiyao replied.

Yao Hong was baffled. “When did they get together?”

“Since kindergarten,” Lu Yiyao answered.

Yao Hong was speechless.

……

“If I had known Tang Xiaoyu was going to steal the spotlight, there would’ve been no need for Mr. Qin to intervene,” Wu Xuefeng said, tossing his phone onto the coffee table in annoyance. “Now I owe another favor.”

Zhang Beichen, sitting on the carpet leaning against the sofa, glanced up at his agent with a trace of mockery. “It’s not like you have to pay it back. Why the frustration?”

“Don’t get too full of yourself,” Wu Xuefeng scolded him, seeing his carefree demeanor but then softened his tone, unusually earnest. “Face is a consumable. Each time you use it, there’s less left. Even if you’ve ended up in bed with him, your standing in his eyes is just a bit more than others, but it’s still limited. Of course, it should be used where it’s worth it.”

“I’ve always wondered.” Zhang Beichen looked at Wu Xuefeng with a rising tone of interest. “They say a broad heart leads to a hefty body. With all the pettiness in your heart, why aren’t you thin?”

Wu Xuefeng thought his artist was about to discuss something serious, only to be met with sarcastic ridicule.

However, he was used to it. Over the past year, Zhang Beichen had become increasingly sardonic. The more seriously you take him, the more he enjoys it, so Wu Xuefeng’s principle was now “ignore him”. He couldn’t provoke him, but he could always avoid him. Zhang Beichen’s whims didn’t hinder his acting or attending events. As long as the money tree kept dropping cash, everything was not a problem.

His agent’s silence made Zhang Beichen lose interest, and he lowered his head to scroll through his phone again.

Wu Xuefeng, sitting on the sofa, could see Zhang Beichen’s phone screen.

He was still looking at the headline about Tang Xiaoyu’s relationship announcement. Understandable, given how sudden and unexpected it was. The internet had gone wild, digging up everything about Tang Xiaoyu and Shen Ying’s past and present. The contents compiled could almost make up a “Memoir of Performing Careers”.

Suddenly, a familiar name popped up on Zhang Beichen’s phone, cutting off the photo he was fixated on.

Zhang Beichen remained in his previous posture, staring at the phone but not picking up.

“What are you doing? Answer the phone—” Wu Xuefeng prompted his client.

But Zhang Beichen was unresponsive.

Out of options, Wu Xuefeng snatched the phone from his hand, swiftly answered, and said with a voice full of deference, “Mr. Qin, it’s me…”

……

Ran Lin, feeling overwhelmed by Tang Xiaoyu’s news, decided to seek comfort from his lover.

Just as he was about to message, a new message came in first—[Are you and Lu Yiyao together?]

Ran Lin stiffened.

He didn’t know if the person deduced this from the video or had some other source of information, but either way, it chilled him to the bone, making even his fingertips cold in the middle of August.

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Ran Lin responded with a symbol—[?]

Perhaps to avoid being recorded over the phone or leaving a voice print, the person had been texting all along.

Ran Lin thought he should learn from the person’s cautiousness.

1111:—[I won’t tell anyone. Just tell me yes or no.]

Ran Lin—[No.]

1111—[Aren’t you denying it too quickly?]

Ran Lin—[If I replied slowly, wouldn’t you think I’m being evasive?]

1111—[I told you I won’t tell anyone, and I mean it.]

Ran Lin—[But you can’t force me to confess to something that’s not true.]

1111—[I don’t know whether to say you’re stubborn or loyal.]

1111—[Listen to me, don’t date within the industry. Always walking by the river, one day you’ll get your shoes wet, and it’ll ruin both of you.]

Ran Lin was puzzled. Ding Kai didn’t seem to be probing or threatening, more like genuinely trying to warn him…

1111—[Also, avoid Zhang Beichen if you see him again; he’s got problems now.]

Ran Lin—[What do you mean?]

1111—[Exactly what it says.]

Ding Kai put down his phone, relieved that Ran Lin had been called away by that phone call at the venue. Otherwise, in the heat of the moment, he might have revealed Lao Qin’s affair.

Now, thinking about it, he felt he had done enough by warning Ran Lin. After all, it’s personal privacy. If Ran Lin were to spread it further, Lao Qin would be furious.

While Ding Kai was unwilling to elaborate further, Ran Lin didn’t pursue the matter either. And as if Lu Yiyao had timed it, he sent over a video call, knowing his partner would be resting at home, preparing for the next day’s shoot.

As soon as the video connected, Ran Lin promptly reported his chat with Ding Kai, including the vague warning at the end.

“I’ve already asked Hong Jie to help investigate,” Lu Yiyao said. “I’ll tell you as soon as I get any results.”

Ran Lin was surprised at how quick his lover acted and was just about to express his admiration when he heard Lu Yiyao say, “Let’s discuss the ‘always walking by the river; one day you’ll get your shoes wet’ issue.”

Ran Lin, seeing his lover’s displeased face on the screen, smiled and leaned closer to the camera, whispering, “You know how hard I resisted not saying, ‘I’ve got a big boss boyfriend now. I’m taken care of. You don’t need to worry.'”

Lu Yiyao, whose jealousy had been stirred up, was immediately pacified by a can of sweet words. “The company registration has been moved up. It should be done by October. Then I’ll transfer some of the studio’s business there and get the company up and running.”

“So soon?” Although Ran Lin knew Lu Yiyao was working on it, the reality of it happening soon feels surreal.

“It has to be. If it’s any later, Lao Huo won’t have time to be my helper; he’s getting married next May,” Lu Yiyao said with a smile.

Ran Lin was surprised and then nostalgic. “Finally getting married.”

Lu Yiyao laughed. “You sound just like his mom.”

Ran Lin: “…Neither Huo Yuntao nor Mrs. Huo would appreciate that comparison.”

“After Lao Huo’s wedding, once your contract situation is sorted out…” Lu Yiyao’s voice suddenly dropped almost to a whisper, intimate through the speaker. “I want to introduce you to my family.”

Ran Lin’s heart fluttered, deeply moved, yet he asked, “Will I get beaten up?”

Lu Yiyao thought seriously for a moment. “Probably not, because the first stop is my mother and sister. Even if they’re angry, they won’t hit you. Maybe just scratch a little.”

Ran Lin: “…So I’ll go meet your dad with a scratched face?”

Lu Yiyao raised an eyebrow. “Scared?”

Ran Lin sighed. “I’m worried for your dad.”

Looking at his partner’s beaming eyes, Ran Lin suddenly felt that all the hesitations, conflicts, and pressures about understanding his own sexual orientation were unnecessary. When you have that someone you want to walk with, even if the path is on the edge of a cliff and only ten centimeters wide, you both can stick to the cliff and cross it.

“After visiting your family, if I still have breath.” Ran Lin quietly watched Lu Yiyao. “I’ll take you straight to meet my family.”

Lu Yiyao nodded. “Your parents will definitely like me.”

Ran Lin looked at him sideways. “Who gave you that confidence?”

Lu Yiyao: “My face.”

Ran Lin: “…The standard answer should be me!”

……

The next day, Ran Lin headed off to the set.

If Weibo felt like an alternate world, then the set felt like a utopia. Once immersed in filming, there was no need to worry about the outside world. He focused on building his character and ensuring the shooting schedule, ignoring all external turmoil.

But from late August to the end of November, the entertainment circle remained remarkably quiet. Except for the variety show featuring Tang Xiaoyu and Shen Ying after their relationship announcement, no other news created much buzz. Even the summer dramas and movies were lackluster, failing to ignite much interest in discussions.

On the day of the wrap for <The Legend of Lantern Blossoms>, coinciding with the male lead’s birthday, the wrap party turned into a birthday celebration, and the whole crew had a blast.

Truthfully, Ran Lin wasn’t very optimistic about the show’s prospects. The director had insisted on a flamboyant and joyful approach throughout the shooting, coupled with a lackluster script. He anticipated it to be a filler drama, not requiring much thought for logic or plot, just something to watch for fun.

However, looking back at the three months spent on the set without considering the script’s quality, it had been a happy time. Maybe because of the script’s lighthearted nature, the atmosphere was always cheerful, and everyone was carefree both on and off the camera. These three months felt like an extended summer camp.

When he left Beijing, it was the end of summer. When he returned, the trees were tinged with yellow and the leaves were dangling, as if waiting for an autumn wind to let them fall and become nourishment for next year’s growth.

The day after Ran Lin returned home, the company’s boss called him to discuss the contract, just as Wang Xi had predicted. The boss presented a new contract for him to consider, promising room for negotiation if he finds any terms unsatisfactory.

Although the new contract offered some improvements, they were limited and lacked sincerity. Ran Lin had no intention of renewing and didn’t say much, just mentioning he needed more time to consider, following Wang Xi’s advice.

The boss seemed more anxious, hoping to finalize the contract as soon as possible.

“Because once your two films are released next year, your worth will change,” Wang Xi explained back in her office.

Ran Lin understood, ready to leave and discuss further with Wang Xi, but Liu Wanwan interrupted, whispering, “Wang Xi, Deng Minru just entered the boss’s office with a handsome guy.”

Wang Xi nodded, acknowledging the information.

But Ran Lin was confused, looking at Liu Wanwan. “What handsome guy?”

Deng Minru was promoted to head of the brokerage department last month. Now, Dream Without Limits agency department effectively had two heads, but the company’s official statement reasoned it out well—due to the need for business structural adjustment, Wang Xi would now manage brokerage operations while Deng Minru would oversee brokerage development. In other words, one manages internal affairs while the other focuses on external growth. Clearly, one role is more significant than the other.

But Ran Lin, busy with his filming schedule, only knew this much, and the rest he heard from the gossip Liu Wanwan relayed from Wang Xi.

“Ran Ge, don’t look at me,” Liu Wanwan, who had just returned from the set with Ran Lin, said with a shrug. “Xi Jie just had me keep an eye out, so I did.”

Ran Lin turned to his agent for a clearer picture.

Wang Xi didn’t hold back and shared openly. “I heard she’s been scouting for new talents for the company. She might bring someone to the boss today, so I had Wanwan stay alert.”

“New talent?” Ran Lin was surprised. “What about Han Ze?”

“Han Ze hardly gets any new gigs now. I’ve heard even previous commitments are being canceled.” Liu Wanwan, unaware of the company’s new talent hunt, had heard quite a bit about Han Ze from internal company chats. “The whole thing with Cui Yanyan has damaged his image severely. It seems Deng Minru doesn’t want to clean up his mess, so he’s pretty much been left to fend for himself.”

Ran Lin looked at Wang Xi for confirmation.

She nodded slightly and added, “If Deng Minru’s hunt for new talents goes well, the company might shift Han Ze to Kang Hui’s management. This way, Deng Minru can focus entirely on the new talent.”

Ran Lin was stunned. Would Han Ze agree to such a move?

But then, what if he doesn’t? With his declining popularity and the recent controversy, not to mention the lackluster performance of <Chronicles of Winter>, turning his career around seemed like a tall order. The entertainment industry moves fast, and Dream Without Limits clearly wouldn’t fret over his departure.

Once a golden duo, Wang Xi and Han Ze now seemed like remnants of the past. Having followed Wang Xi for three years, Ran Lin felt like time had just zipped by. Yet, looking back, so much had changed.

Leaving the company, Ran Lin felt a breeze.

He tightened his coat and got into the company car to head home. On the way, he sent a message to a friend—[I remember someone saying they could consult on buying a car?]

Before a reply could come, a call buzzed through. It was Gu Jie, sounding as loud and cheerful as when they first met. “Back in Beijing?”

“Yeah,” Ran Lin replied, feeling grounded. “I wrapped up yesterday.”

Gu Jie: “Perfect timing. I’m free these days. Whenever you want to go, just tell me.”

Ran Lin smiled. “I’ll call you once it’s set.”

Gu Jie: “Can’t set it now?”

Ran Lin: “I need to ask Teacher Lu first.”

Gu Jie: “Don’t trust my eye?”

Ran Lin: “I miss Teacher Lu.”

Gu Jie: “Alright, I know you two are close. I’ll check with Boss Xia.”

Ran Lin: “Boss Xia?”

Gu Jie: “His studio officially launched last week. Now he’s his own boss.”

Ran Lin: “We should celebrate for him, then.”

Gu Jie: “A car party. How about it?”

Ran Lin: “……”

Feeling somewhat out of his depth with such a trendy plan, Ran Lin left arranging the celebration for Xia Xinran to Gu Jie, while he took on arranging a meeting with Lu Yiyao.

Lu Yiyao’s company had launched last month, and he was knee-deep in getting everything off the ground. Not just the operations, but the first project of the company demanded his direct attention. He had even formed a team to scout for promising scripts. Amidst all this, he was toggling between overwhelming company affairs and an ocean of scripts.

After getting home, Ran Lin called Lu Yiyao, but the call rang several times before being answered by Li Tong. “Ran Ge?”

Understanding immediately, Ran Lin asked, “Busy?”

Li Tong replied, “He’s in a meeting.”

Ran Lin chuckled internally, feeling like he’s truly dealing with a busy executive. “Tell him I called when it’s over.”

“Sure thing, Ran Ge,” Li Tong assured before hanging up.

Ran Lin settled back into his couch. Despite just returning from the tiring filming, he felt secure. Many things and people change, but just as many stay the same or even get better…

Ran Lin didn’t realize he had dozed off until a video call alert jolted him awake. The room was still bright, and he couldn’t tell the time.

To Lu Yiyao’s surprise, the call connected to a groggy Ran Lin, causing him to pause momentarily before his tension from the day’s troubles melted away at the sight.

As Ran Lin’s focus returned fully from his nap, his eyes finally cleared. “Why aren’t you talking?”

Because staying silent means getting to watch you in that adorable dazed state for a little longer.

But Lu Yiyao couldn’t say that. Instead, he thought of a future where they could live together, where he could wake up a few minutes earlier every day just to watch Ran Lin, in all sorts of ways, to his heart’s content…

Ran Lin, sensing something off in his lover’s gaze, decided to cut in. “I called earlier. Li Tong said you were in a meeting.”

“Yes, the company is just starting, so there’s a lot to do. I’ve been tied up with schedules these past few days, so everything piled up today.” Lu Yiyao explained, then added, “I was planning to visit you in a few days to let you rest, but I guess you missed me too much.”

“Indeed, I particularly missed…” Ran Lin, eyes fixed on the screen and the bright face of Lu Yiyao from his “confession”, finished with a mischievous smile. “Buying a car.”

Lu Yiyao’s heart, which hadn’t even started soaring, crashed down.

“Buying a car?”

“Yes, I’ve been thinking about it for a while but never had the time.”

“So you want my help to pick one?”

“The car selection I’ve left to Gu Jie.”

Ran Lin: “He said to call Xia Xinran for a car party, as a celebration of Xia Xinran’s studio setup.”

“…” Great, he’s ranked third now.

Sighing, Lu Yiyao complained in a low voice, “He’s starting a studio, but I’ve also established a company.”

“Let’s celebrate both.” Ran Lin leaned closer to the screen, seriously asking, “Do you like car parties?”

Lu Yiyao thought about it seriously and shook his head. Racing to the sixth ring road and beyond was enough for a lifetime.

However, the car party ended up missing one person, as Lu Yiyao was called back to the company on his way there—the head of Pentium Times happened to be near his company and decided to visit.

Lu Yiyao started his career at Pentium Times and continued to be affiliated with them even after establishing his studio. Essentially, he had always been under Pentium Times’ care. When he mentioned wanting to establish his own company, the head of Pentium Times was quite supportive. Lu Yiyao remembered this favor, so he couldn’t neglect the rare visit.

Despite the absence, a car was still bought—a black SUV. Although Xia Xinran thought black wasn’t flashy enough, Ran Lin found the low-profile practicality perfect, ideally blending into the flow of traffic.

Unfortunately, the car didn’t see much use after the purchase, as Ran Lin got busy again from late December, first with post-production dubbing for <The Legend of Lantern Blossoms>, then with various promotional shoots for <Chronicles of Winter>, and the kickoff for <Dyeing Fire>. Although <Dyeing Fire> couldn’t make the Spring Festival slot, the production still aimed for late February or early March to catch the tail of the holiday movie surge.

One thing led to another, and not only was seeing Lu Yiyao unlikely, even returning home for the New Year seemed impossible. With <Chronicles of Winter> premiering on the first day of the lunar new year, promotional activities would span from before and continue after the festival, so Ran Lin had to spend a few days with his parents in January as an early celebration.

Returning to Beijing from home, the official Weibo for <Chronicles of Winter> released the first teaser trailer that evening.

[Mystical fog envelops the nine heavens! <Chronicles of Winter> teaser trailer first drop is here to shock and awe! [Video link]]

The one-minute teaser was watched back and forth several times by Ran Lin until every frame was etched into his mind. Not until then did he stop replaying it, sitting with a stillness in his heart…

The production team had indeed invested in post-production!

Despite acting in every scene, the replacement of green screens and addition of special effects made everything seem completely new. So new that at certain scenes, Ran Lin wondered if he had actually acted them.

What was more commendable was the one-minute teaser, mainly showcasing the beautiful scenery seen by a character upon ascending to the nine heavens, already exuded a strong sense of Eastern charm. This was evident in the comments under the official Weibo post—

[The effects style is unique and doesn’t remind me of Western fantasy or 3D MMORPGs, which is so rare… 😭]

[Finally, a special effects team that understands Eastern charm. The beauty of Chinese landscape paintings lies in the art of leaving blank spaces—so hard to find in a world of overly busy effects… 😔]

[Left wanting more, which is good. Hoping the full movie maintains this standard.]

[Beautiful and ethereal.]

[As a reader of the original novel, I must say, as beautiful as it is, this is the domain of the villain, which will eventually be destroyed by the male lead. 😂]

Alongside the praise for the effects were compliments for the actors. Because the teaser had limited conflict scenes and was mostly a showcase of the actors, the positive comments were largely attributed to the stylists, who flawlessly highlighted each actor’s peak appearance—

[This is the first time I’ve truly gotten Ran Lin’s appeal; before, I just thought he was delicate. 🫣]

[Ran Lin’s face is really full of collagen, making him perfectly fit the role of a teenager 😣]

[Am I the only one obsessed with the Wine Officer… Lao Wang, my idol!]

[Obsessed with Lao Wang, take me with you! I’ve liked him since his role in <Reluctant Bridge> [Crazy call.jpg]]

[No one wants the Emperor of the North? I’ll take him.]

[The female lead only has two shots, but she’s stunning!]

With praises, admirations, cautious speculations, and light criticism, some even remembered the failed drama adaptation—

[Given the drama version… um, I think I’ll wait for the reviews before deciding whether to watch.]

[The visual is already leagues beyond the drama. Just hope all the essence isn’t just in the trailer.]

With the production willing to invest in promotion, the trailer was quickly picked up by marketing accounts and comments flooded in, climbing up the trending topics fast. When Ran Lin opened the trending list to see how high it had risen, he unexpectedly saw the word <Split Moon> ranking second.

Upon clicking, he discovered that <Split Moon>, starring Lu Yiyao and not yet released domestically, had become the only Chinese film to enter the main competition at a prestigious international film festival this year!

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

Author: 颜凉雨 / Yan Liang Yu

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

Chapter 87

Ran Lin made a round to the restroom and returned to the venue, immediately spotting Lu Yiyao amidst the crowd. Standing with a drink in hand, Lu Yiyao was conversing in the middle of the room where others were mingling. He looked perfectly at ease there, but the person he was speaking with was Zhang Beichen.

From where Ran Lin stood, he couldn’t hear their conversation or see Zhang Beichen’s expression, as he was mostly turned away. All Ran Lin could see was Lu Yiyao’s face, which held a calm and detached demeanor, lacking even his usual polite smile but also free of any frowns or distaste.

As if sensing something, Lu Yiyao looked up, and their eyes met. The next second, Lu Yiyao gave a slight shake of his head. It was a subtle movement that Ran Lin might have missed if he wasn’t intently watching. Ran Lin understood; Lu Yiyao was signaling him not to come over at that moment. It might not be strange for Ran Lin to approach and greet Lu Yiyao in Zhang Beichen’s presence, but it was better to avoid unnecessary interactions and the ensuing forced pleasantries.

Sighing, Ran Lin wished he could tell Lu Yiyao that he’d already exchanged pleasantries with Zhang Beichen and that any unpleasantness had already occurred. Learning about Zhang Beichen’s involvement with someone like Mr. Qin from Ding Kai left Ran Lin feeling uneasy, even though it was Zhang Beichen’s own choice and perhaps none of their business, but they were friends once…

“Ran Lin—” Zhang Beichen, noticing Lu Yiyao’s subtle cues, turned and called out to Ran Lin with a wave.

His voice was loud, standing out in the subdued atmosphere of the party, where everyone was whispering and breaking through the relaxed background music. Thankfully, he only shouted twice and didn’t escalate further.

Ran Lin quickly smiled apologetically at the other guests and hastened over to avoid any further scenes. Lu Yiyao’s brow furrowed almost imperceptibly, clearly displeased with Zhang Beichen’s impulsive act, but the emotion was fleeting. By the time Ran Lin approached, Lu Yiyao had already composed himself and said naturally, “He said you were here too. I’ve been looking all over and couldn’t find you.”

“I just went to the restroom,” Ran Lin replied in a familiar tone, not pretending to be distant with Lu Yiyao. “Weren’t you recording a show in Shanghai?”

“I was invited and had to make the time to come, even if it meant being busy.” Lu Yiyao sighed. “Pity I still arrived late and missed the opening.”

Zhang Beichen’s lips twisted into a smirk, his words carrying an ambiguous tone of either teasing or mocking. “No wonder you’re such good friends, gathering every other day. You even know Teacher Lu’s schedule so well.”

Lu Yiyao didn’t respond but scrutinized Zhang Beichen. Ever since their conversation hadn’t been two minutes long, he had sensed something off about Zhang Beichen, who usually maintained a veneer of civility regardless of his inner feelings. However, today, his words seemed pointed and provocative, and Lu Yiyao couldn’t figure out what he was up to.

Ran Lin could detect the mockery in Zhang Beichen’s tone, but it also seemed simply bitter, without doubting his relationship with Lu Yiyao. After all, their recent gathering was well-known, and pretending to be long-lost friends with Lu Yiyao at this point would be odd.

With this in mind, Ran Lin added a few more words for clarity. “Before you arrived, we were chatting over there.”

This “we” naturally referred to himself and Zhang Beichen, which Lu Yiyao understood. He was about to steer the conversation towards lighter topics, but Zhang Beichen interjected first.

“And President Ding Kai,” Zhang Beichen added, nodding toward Ding Kai sitting in the distance. “The three of us had a long chat. President Ding appreciates Ran Lin a lot.”

The emphasis Zhang placed on “three” and “a lot” loaded the statement with implications.

Lu Yiyao’s good mood, which had lasted the entire evening, finally evaporated at that moment. No longer interested in pleasantries, Li Yiyao glanced at a quiet place in the corner and said, “Let’s go over there. It’s quiet, and we can have a good chat.”

Ran Lin couldn’t fathom why Zhang Beichen was acting so erratically today, or if perhaps being confronted about his relationship with Mr. Qin by Ding Kai had infuriated him. Regardless, Zhang Beichen seemed intent on ensuring no one else was comfortable if he wasn’t.

Lu Yiyao seemed to have caught on as well, hence his intention to move away from the conspicuous center of the venue to a more discreet location.

Today might be a good day for heart-to-hearts and to clear the air, Ran Lin thought.

Without waiting for a response, Lu Yiyao walked towards the secluded corner. After a brief pause, Zhang Beichen shrugged indifferently and followed. Ran Lin, with mixed feelings, trailed behind.

To an outsider, they might appear as old friends who happened upon each other at the party and decided to find a corner for a private chat. Only they knew the complexity of emotions involved.

On the way, Ran Lin picked up three glasses of champagne. The clear, bubbling drink filled the elegant flutes, a sight pleasing to the eye.

Once seated, he placed the three glasses on the low table, one in front of each person. Champagne is often associated with celebrations and festive times, as if drinking it signifies joyous moments. Ran Lin didn’t know how their relationship with Zhang Beichen would change after today, but deep down, he hoped they could still toast to a friendly parting.

“Thanks.” Zhang Beichen was the first to pick up his glass, taking a light sip and looking at Ran Lin with a faint smile. “That’s the best thing about you. No matter the time, no matter what happens, no matter who you’re facing, you always maintain a good posture. You don’t embarrass yourself, nor do you embarrass others…”

“But,” Zhang Beichen set down his glass, the base clinking crisply against the firestone tabletop, “being too overdone is just hypocrisy.”

Ran Lin, adept at navigating investors’ banquets, found himself at a loss against such sharp and biting remarks. He sensed a fundamental misunderstanding between himself and Zhang Beichen but couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was.

Zhang Beichen disliked the innocent look on Ran Lin’s face; it made him feel even more villainous. This secluded, quiet spot with dim lighting was perfect for unpleasant truths. “Ding Kai must have told you everything about Lao Qin. You can look down on me, mock or ridicule me, I’ll take it. Any reaction is better than this pretense of ignorance you’re showing right now.”

Ran Lin was speechless. When the perception gap between two people on the same matter is too wide, it seems there’s no way to start a conversation.

Lu Yiyao realized that Zhang Beichen wasn’t intending to maintain even a shred of dignity in their relationship. Ignoring the absurd accusations of Ran Lin’s hypocrisy, he asked, “Who is Lao Qin?”

The introduction of a fourth name into the conversation confused him. Ran Lin, not sure how to explain in front of Zhang Beichen, simply said, “It’s not important.”

Lu Yiyao was frustrated. How could it not be important if it’s causing Zhang Beichen to be this distressed?

But Zhang Beichen’s words were like a floodgate opening, unable to be stopped. “You’ve been holding a grudge about <Mint Green>, haven’t you? Snatched away on the signing day, and you could still be friends with me? No, we were no longer friends. You got <Sword of Fallen Flowers> and were so happy, you even messaged me to show off. Yes, I was foolish, not waiting and signing another drama. If you knew how you got that role by taking advantage of the situation, you should’ve kept quiet. Why message me? Wanting congratulations? Fine, I congratulate you. You can go shoot with a clear conscience. Isn’t that considerate of me as a friend?”

After a barrage of accusations, Zhang Beichen paused to catch his breath, a cold smile ready to continue, only to be interrupted by Lu Yiyao—

“If you really considered Ran Lin a friend, you wouldn’t have used him as a shield when your gay photos were leaked.”

Lu Yiyao specifically said “him”, not “us”, leaving Zhang Beichen momentarily stunned before narrowing his eyes. “You knew?”

Zhang Beichen’s question was abrupt, but Lu Yiyao answered clearly, “We knew at the time. You and your agent made it too obvious, not sophisticated enough.”

Zhang Beichen looked at Ran Lin, raising an eyebrow. “You knew too?”

Ran Lin’s silence was a tacit admission.

Zhang Beichen laughed bitterly. “See, this is what I mean. You all know everything yet pretend to be oblivious.” He turned to Ran Lin, mockingly asking, “Enjoy watching me make a fool of myself, do you?”

Finally, Ran Lin spoke, his voice unexpectedly hoarse. “I’ve always been waiting for you to explain, even just a simple apology.”

“Why should I apologize?” Zhang Beichen looked genuinely puzzled, not feigning ignorance. “Stop acting like you’re so wrong and I’m so ungrateful. Don’t you know what you’ve been up to? How much cleaner are you than me?”

“Zhang Beichen.” Lu Yiyao called his name sternly, low but serious. “That’s enough.”

“Are you stupid, Teacher Lu?” Zhang Beichen looked bewilderedly at Lu Yiyao, who was trying so hard to defend Ran Lin. This question had been nagging him since the “Drifting” series. “How did Ran Lin suddenly become famous, getting on “Drifting Story”? He was riding on your popularity. Don’t tell me you didn’t notice?”

Lu Yiyao didn’t bite; he just gazed directly at Zhang Beichen and piercingly asked, “Does it matter to you?”

Zhang Beichen was taken aback, laughing after a moment. “Right, it doesn’t concern me…” He then turned his intense gaze back on Lu Yiyao. “But it concerns you. Do you know he’s gay?”

Lu Yiyao’s eyes narrowed sharply, dangerously quick. Ran Lin’s face changed color; he hadn’t expected Zhang Beichen to bring this up in such a setting. Without even admitting his sexuality to Zhang Beichen, let alone discussing it publicly, was Zhang Beichen not afraid of backlash if Ran Lin retaliated with the whole Mr. Qin’s affair? What good would airing this do for either of them?

Or had Zhang Beichen gone beyond embarrassment to sheer recklessness?

Zhang Beichen caught the emotional shift in both men. Ran Lin’s being normal, but Lu Yiyao’s was fleeting yet surprising. “Don’t tell me you’ve known all along…”

“I don’t understand what you’re saying.” Lu Yiyao remained calm, unshaken. “Instead of slandering others, you should focus on improving yourself.”

“I really admire him, no, I envy him.” Zhang Beichen sighed leisurely. “To turn riding on someone’s coattails into real emotions. That’s worth teaching a class on.”

Lu Yiyao stood up, not wanting to stay another moment. Zhang Beichen was clearly not in a rational state, and although Lu Yiyao didn’t know what exactly was wrong, his instinct told him to keep a distance. If he stayed, even if Zhang Beichen didn’t do anything further, Lu Yiyao wasn’t sure he could keep his temper in check.

But as Lu Yiyao stood up, so did Zhang Beichen, hurriedly speaking as if he knew any later and Lu Yiyao would leave. “Before you came, Ding Kai had already taken him around to meet all the bigwigs here. You’re naively thinking he’s been struggling on his own, but who knows how many times Ding Kai has fucked him.”

Lu Yiyao had warned himself not to get provoked, as every word from Zhang Beichen was a deliberate provocation, almost as if he wouldn’t be satisfied without a fight. But the offensive words were indeed more hurtful than knives, and while his rational mind knew better, his instincts were hard to suppress. His fist almost autonomously moved towards Zhang Beichen…

But he never reached him. Not even halfway, as Ran Lin firmly grabbed him and began pulling him away. “Let’s go.”

Lu Yiyao took several deep breaths before he could calm down slightly, following Ran Lin as they left.

Zhang Beichen didn’t stop them or make any more rude remarks. Instead, he sat back down, staring quietly at the three glasses of champagne on the table, seemingly lost in thought, or perhaps his mind was somewhere far away.

Once they reached a quieter corner away from the guests, Lu Yiyao finally settled down, becoming increasingly convinced that Zhang Beichen had been deliberately trying to provoke him.

“I don’t understand,” he muttered with a deep frown. “How does provoking us into a fight benefit him in any way?”

Ran Lin couldn’t figure it out either, but considering Zhang Beichen’s behavior from start to finish, he felt maybe everything that happened today lacked any logic, purely driven by impulse. “I always feel like his mood today was unstable. Normally, even if he didn’t ask me to keep Mr. Qin’s matter a secret, he wouldn’t have brought it up himself. If I really got angry and exposed everything, it wouldn’t benefit him even if Mr. Qin could suppress it.”

The venue’s background music had changed at some point to a distinct Spanish dance track, its brisk rhythm making it even harder for Lu Yiyao to concentrate and increasingly perplexed. “Who exactly is this Mr. Qin?”

Realizing he hadn’t yet explained it to his partner, Ran Lin glanced around to ensure no one was eavesdropping before whispering, “The one who helped him secure <Mint Green>.”

The implications were clear without being explicitly stated.

Surprised, Lu Yiyao quickly grasped the situation. “Since then till now?”

“Probably even earlier,” Ran Lin added. “Ding Kai said it’s been two years, probably around when he auditioned for <Sword of Fallen Flowers>.”

“Ding Kai… said?” Lu Yiyao felt like he was forgetting something but remembered as Ran Lin reminded him.

Ran Lin quickly recounted everything from the beginning of the party, how Ding Kai had introduced him and Wang Xi to the brand executives, to the point of revealing Mr. Qin’s involvement, all to Lu Yiyao.

Understanding the situation, Lu Yiyao’s concern turned to annoyance at Ding Kai’s apparent ulterior motives.

Just as Ran Lin was about to clarify Zhang Beichen’s accusations, Lu Yiyao sighed. “It’s troublesome having such a keen eye. I have to be on guard every day.”

Ran Lin laughed at the comment, assuring, “Don’t worry, I come with a built-in firewall and antivirus system.”

Lu Yiyao liked this metaphor. He imagined directly reformatting Ding Kai…

“After searching for so long, so you two were hiding here,” Wang Xi’s voice suddenly came from the side. Both men looked up to see Wang Xi and Yao Hong shoulder-to-shoulder approaching them. Wang Xi appeared refreshed and clearly had been successfully networking at the party, while Yao Hong maintained her gentle and calm demeanor, albeit slightly complicated given the oblivious Wang Xi and the troublesome Ran Lin and Lu Yiyao.

“Xi Jie, Hong Jie.” Ran Lin immediately stood up, politely greeting. “Sit here.”

“No, thanks.” Wang Xi shook her head. “I just ran into a couple of people I know well over there and wanted to introduce you.”

Ran Lin instinctively glanced at Lu Yiyao, who already spoke up. “Then you should go over.”

After a couple more looks at Lu Yiyao, Ran Lin reluctantly turned away, following Wang Xi. Wang Xi, unaware of any undercurrents, knew about Ran Lin and Lu Yiyao’s close relationship and naturally understood they’d prefer each other’s company over socializing.

Once the pair had walked away, Yao Hong, now sitting down, couldn’t help but smile helplessly. “Alright, if you keep looking, you might lose your eyes, and I won’t pick them up for you.”

“Can’t you just sympathize with the plight of us cowherd and weaver* a bit?” Lu Yiyao responded with a wry smile.

*The Cowherd and the Weaver Girl. A Chinese folk tale that tells the romance between a cowherd and weaver girl. Their romance was forbidden and were banished to opposite sides of the heavenly river (the milky way). Once a year, a flock of magpies form a bridge to reunite the lovers for a single day.

Yao Hong chuckled. “You’re exaggerating.”

“Almost there,” Lu Yiyao said. “They meet once a year; we might double that at most.”

Yao Hong felt a bit sorry and comforted. “It’ll be better next year.” Then she remembered something. “Right, Wang Xi doesn’t seem to know about Ran Lin joining your company. Hasn’t he told her?”

“No,” Lu Yiyao replied. “Even without bringing up our relationship, mentioning he’ll join my company would inevitably lead to discussing my career shift. He thinks it’s a bit early and wants to wait until things are more settled on my end to avoid unnecessary complications.”

“That’s very considerate of him,” Yao Hong commented.

Lu Yiyao nodded. “Not just considerate, but also very smart, and…”

“Enough.” Yao Hong raised her hand to signal her artist to stop the endless praise of Ran Lin, having already heard enough to form a mental image.

However, Lu Yiyao, struck by a sudden thought, asked, “Hong Jie, do you know Mr. Qin?”

Yao Hong asked reflexively, “Which Mr. Qin?”

Lu Yiyao explained, “I don’t know his name, but he’s a boss in our circle, supposedly with significant influence, and… known for keeping male stars.”

Yao Hong paused, unsure. “The Mr. Qin you’re referring to is also a man?”

Lu Yiyao nodded.

After thinking for a while, Yao Hong cautiously said, “I might know one who fits the description, but I can’t confirm the habits you mentioned. Do you want me to inquire?”

“If it’s not too much trouble,” Lu Yiyao expressed his curiosity, not just about Mr. Qin but about Zhang Beichen’s behavior and how it might concern Ran Lin even more.

“Sure,” Yao Hong agreed without further questions, understanding her artist wouldn’t ask without a good reason.

After discussing Zhang Beichen, Lu Yiyao recalled the harmonious scene of Yao Hong and Wang Xi arriving together and asked curiously, “Have you and Wang Xi patched things up?”

“Not really,” the agent replied.

Confused, Lu Yiyao queried, “But you were chatting together just now…”

“Let bygones be bygones. There’s no need to dig up the past and assign blame. Now that everyone’s getting along comfortably, it’s better to look forward together,” Yao Hong said and added, “Besides, Wang Xi has changed quite a bit; she’s not as sharp as before.”

Lu Yiyao felt a bit awkward, sensing that if Wang Xi heard this, their recently mended friendship might start leaking again. But it wasn’t just Wang Xi who had changed; the Yao Hong he met at the beginning of his career and the one before him now also differed significantly. It’s just that, people are clearer about others than themselves.

……

A pleasant surprise turned sour due to Zhang Beichen, leaving many lingering doubts. After the party, Lu Yiyao had to rush to the airport for the earliest flight back to Shanghai, while Ran Lin returned home with Wang Xi.

Reaching home by dawn, Ran Lin tossed and turned before finally falling into a restless sleep filled with dreams. In these dreams, he was alternately on the set of “Drifting Story” and auditioning for <Sword of Fallen Flowers>. In the dream version of “Drifting Story”, he and Zhang Beichen clashed, with the internet overwhelmingly supporting Zhang Beichen and criticizing him. During the audition for <Sword of Fallen Flowers>, he wasn’t auditioning for Xu Chongfei but for Fang Xian, and without Yu Dong, he directly outperformed Zhang Beichen. Waiting for the results outside the audition room, they both sat together until he jubilantly hugged Zhang Beichen after hearing the results, only to be pushed away. Dream Zhang Beichen questioned him, “You beat me, and yet you want me to be happy for you?”

The subsequent dream sequences were fragmented and illogical, with only a profound sense of sadness remaining, sour and oppressive.

Waking up after 10 a.m., the weather was overcast and windy, with occasional rumbling of thunder. These past few days hadn’t been very hot, so Ran Lin had left the window open instead of using the air conditioner, causing the wind to whistle through the screen.

Ding-dong—

The doorbell snapped Ran Lin out of his daze. Groggily, he headed to the door, intending to peek through the peephole, only to hear the energetic voice of Liu Wanwan. “Ran Ge, time to get up—”

Ran Lin couldn’t help but smile, remembering that he was supposed to start with the Lantern Blossoms crew tomorrow, and today Liu Wanwan was coming over to help him pack.

“Morning,” Ran Lin greeted as he opened the door and let his assistant in. Liu Wanwan, accustomed to Ran Lin’s habit of saying “morning” at any time of the day, entered and shut the door behind her, commenting on the dimness due to the cloudy weather. “Why don’t you turn on the lights?”

No sooner had she said it than she turned on the lights herself. The entryway brightened, illuminating Ran Lin’s face.

Liu Wanwan paused in the middle of changing her shoes, frowning. “Ran Ge, did you not rest well? Why are your dark circles so severe?”

Ran Lin scratched his head, not offering any explanation, simply saying, “Maybe I didn’t sleep very well.”

Liu Wanwan hurriedly changed her shoes and said, “Then you should go back to sleep. I can handle the packing.”

“It’s okay.” Ran Lin, knowing he wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway, suggested, “I’ll wash my face, and then we can pack together.”

Ran Lin never brought much luggage when joining a crew, as most of the time, he’d be wearing costumes. However, since the shoot would last until the end of November and the weather would get colder, he needed to pack more bulky clothing.

With plenty of time, they packed while chatting leisurely, and before they knew it, it was noon. Liu Wanwan finally closed the suitcase, her task completed.

To reward his assistant, Ran Lin suggested, “Let’s go out for lunch. What do you want to eat?”

Liu Wanwan, never shy with her boss, quickly browsed through her mental map of delicacies, torn between Chinese, Japanese, barbecue, and other cuisines. Before she could decide, her phone rang.

She answered promptly, “Xi Jie.”

Wang Xi: “Are you with Ran Lin?”

Hearing the urgency in Wang Xi’s tone, Liu Wanwan sensed something was wrong. “Yes, we’ve just finished packing for tomorrow’s shoot.”

Wang Xi immediately said, “Hand him the phone.”

Taking Liu Wanwan’s phone, Ran Lin suddenly realized his own phone was on silent, left by his pillow in the bedroom. Presumably, Wang Xi had called it first and then contacted Liu Wanwan when no one answered.

“Xi Jie,” Ran Lin naturally greeted, expecting something about tomorrow’s shoot.

However, Wang Xi bluntly asked, “What exactly happened between you, Lu Yiyao, and Zhang Beichen at yesterday’s party?”

Ran Lin’s heart skipped a beat, almost reflexively asking, “Was it caught on camera?”

He had been cautious during their conversation the previous day, nearly certain no one within earshot could overhear them. Moreover, that kind of party wasn’t easily accessible, so how could…

“Yes.” Wang Xi’s simple confirmation extinguished any hope Ran Lin might have had.

For a moment, Ran Lin blanked out, unable to remember if they had said anything inappropriate the day before.

“But it’s only a video, and not clear at that. The conversation itself wasn’t captured.” Wang Xi continued, “The person who filmed it was quite far away.”

Ran Lin: “…Xi Jie, can you give me such crucial information first next time?”

He was almost undone by Gu Jie’s earlier scare, and now the agent’s news was giving him heart palpitations!

Wang Xi’s voice remained serious. “It’s not time for jokes yet. What exactly did you guys talk about?”

Ran Lin pondered for a moment before replying, “About that time in Hengdian, to deflect attention from his gay photos, they tried to frame me and Lu Yiyao.”

“All these old issues are being brought up now?” The agent on the phone clearly sounded incredulous.

“We never had a chance to clear the air before, and this time it just came up.” Aside from the messy details about Mr. Qin and Ding Kai, that was essentially it. Maybe it was just a bunch of old, trivial matters, but accumulated over time, they eroded relationships.

Wang Xi: “So you almost came to blows over it?”

Ran Lin paused, hurriedly clarifying, “No, not at all…”

“That’s because you’re quick-witted,” Wang Xi replied tersely, “and lucky that Lu Yiyao didn’t really lose his cool. Otherwise, no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t have stopped him.”

Ran Lin was shocked, almost suspecting the agent had been spying on them at the scene to know so much.

“The video has been posted on Weibo,” Wang Xi added, as if anticipating his thoughts, “saying you guys had a disagreement.”

“Is it serious?” Ran Lin asked because he felt that even if it was captured, as Wang Xi said, without audio, it wouldn’t matter. They were just three people sitting and chatting together, and even if they all stood up in the end, so what? Standing up doesn’t necessarily mean a disagreement; couldn’t it be an emotional moment?

As expected, Wang Xi calmly responded, “It’s okay. After all, there wasn’t a fight in the end, and it wasn’t obvious in the video. It could be interpreted as either a tense atmosphere before a fight or an animated conversation that led you to stand up. I called to remind you to follow up with any explanations from Zhang Beichen or Lu Yiyao. Also, I wanted to confirm if anything else happened that could be dangerous if another video is released, catching us off guard.”

“There’s nothing else,” Ran Lin affirmed. “After I pulled Lu Yiyao away, you and Hong Jie came over, and I was with you for the rest of the time.”

“Ok,” Wang Xi said, feeling reassured. “Go ahead and pack your luggage.”

After hanging up, Ran Lin felt conflicted. How could he be at ease? Though the agent made it sound simple, it was still negative gossip that, while not damaging at the core, affected his mood.

By the time Ran Lin realized what he was doing, he had already opened Weibo.

Whether due to the daytime traffic on Weibo being less aggressive than at night or not, the keyword “Drifters Discord” ranked fourth on the trending list but didn’t have an overwhelming number of reposts. It was just a few marketing accounts jumping around—

[Reality Gossip Lane: Drifters Discord, brotherhood broken?! Yesterday someone caught Lu Yiyao, Zhang Beichen, and Ran Lin at a gathering. The three appeared to be arguing, with Lu Yiyao almost coming to blows 🤯. Fortunately, Ran Lin intervened, and in the end, they left on bad terms 😨. Although the National First Love Drifters has been over for two years, the Drifters occasionally reunite. Some netizens question the authenticity, wondering if this conflict is a long-standing resentment erupting or a mere accidental event… [Video link] [Read more]]

The narrative was too obvious, just like the blurry video linked, leaving one speechless. If not personally involved, one might not even discern what happened in the video, let alone identify the individuals involved. It’s impressive how the paparazzi managed to narrate the event so vividly.

The person who filmed it must have seen the situation clearly, so their explanation almost represents the truth. However, the video was too poorly shot, which explains Wang Xi’s lack of urgency. Such “evidence” lacks both persuasiveness and impact.

As expected, the comments were mostly mocking:

[With this quality, please don’t bother posting 😔]

[I just want to say, at a friends’ gathering, can’t we stand up? Do we have to sit quietly and chat? 🐶]

[Are you sure Lu Yiyao standing up wasn’t just about giving Zhang Beichen a manly hug? 🤷]

[Are you running out of actual news to dig up, just creating issues where there are none. Next topic.]

Ran Lin meticulously examined all the trend-setting marketing accounts, confirming they were self-promoting and didn’t delve into any deeper conspiracies.

After all, this news benefits none of the three involved. Lu Yiyao certainly wouldn’t do such a thing, but neither would Zhang Beichen, as the news is negative for him too. If he really wanted to cause harm, he could’ve arranged for a clearer video or even recorded their conversation and manipulated it.

The only explanation was that they were all unlucky to have a confrontation during a rare opportunity for airing grievances and just happened to encounter paparazzi.

Ran Lin regretted not being more cautious, managing to block the audio but not the visual.

Seeing that the video hadn’t stirred up much trouble, Ran Lin logged out of Weibo and took Liu Wanwan out for a meal. After lunch, he sent Liu Wanwan home to rest and returned to his apartment to read the script for <The Legend of Lantern Blossoms>.

By the time he looked up again, it was already dark outside, and the wind had picked up, though the rain had yet to fall. Ran Lin set down the script, pondering what to have for dinner when Xia Xinran sent a message—[What’s going on with you, Lu Yiyao, and Zhang Beichen?]

Knowing it was a friend inquiring after seeing the Weibo post, Ran Lin quickly replied—[It’s nothing. I saw the video at noon. The quality is so bad you can’t even see faces.]

Xia Xinran sent a voice message. “Haven’t you heard of ‘Three men make a tiger*’? You saw it at noon, right? Well, you better look again now. Public opinion has fermented. There hasn’t been much news in the circle lately, and now that it’s related to Lu Yiyao, do you think it will just blow over if you ignore it?”

*Refers to the idea that if a lie is repeated often enough by enough people, it will be believed as the truth. The proverb comes from a story where a man asks a ruler if he would believe that a tiger roamed the streets if one person said it, to which the ruler said no. Then he asked if the ruler would believe it if two people said it, and the ruler was unsure. Finally, he asked if the ruler would believe it if three people claimed a tiger was in the streets, and the ruler admitted he would. This is also known as the Woozle effect.

Ran Lin frowned, slightly uneasy at Xia Xinran’s words, but he wasn’t completely disheartened. If things had truly spiraled out of control, Xia Xinran wouldn’t be calmly messaging him; he’d be calling or even video-calling.

Without continuing the conversation with Xia Xinran, Ran Lin logged out of WeChat and reopened Weibo. “Drifters Discord” was hanging right in the search box, having climbed to the top of the trending list since he last checked.

Ran Lin opened the trending topic to find that, as expected, the marketing accounts had sprung into action. In addition to the ones he saw during the day, many more had joined in, thanks to the increased traffic in the evening, boosting comments and reposts.

Ran Lin clicked on a comment to understand why Xia Xinran mentioned the proverb “Three men make a tiger.” While most comments during the day were mocking, now many were eagerly discussing what could have been said to make the usually mild-mannered Lu Yiyao nearly come to blows.

The speculation allowed for a lot of imagination, with discussions ranging from potential love triangles to outright brawls.

Overall, the tone was still one of enjoying the drama—just as he had thought earlier, without an actual fight, there was no emotional resonance; it was all just gossip and speculation. If the video had captured Lu Yiyao landing a punch on Zhang Beichen, the uproar would have been real, with fans going crazy and bystanders getting a thrill.

After spending some time reading comments and refreshing the page, the marketing accounts’ posts in the trending topic suddenly changed. Among the uniform “Drifters Discord” posts, there appeared “Zhang Beichen Responds”.

And just ten minutes after he had last cleared them, his “@mentions” notification was again filled with hundreds of new messages.

Ran Lin clicked in to find most of them were Zhang Beichen’s fans forwarding a tweet from him, and in that tweet posted just seven or eight minutes ago, he had tagged both him and Lu Yiyao:

[Seems like we can’t even have an exciting chat amongst brothers anymore without someone saying we’re about to fight 😂 @Lu Yiyao @Ran Lin】

Zhang Beichen’s response was typical of clarifying rumors, further confirming Ran Lin’s thought that the paparazzi incident was unrelated to Zhang Beichen and purely accidental. Most comments under Zhang Beichen’s post were his fans denouncing the marketing accounts for spreading rumors, though some were questioning why, out of the three men captured, only he had responded.

Of course, it wasn’t just Zhang Beichen who should respond. Even if Zhang Beichen hadn’t tagged them, facing such news, a unified response was most convincing, which was why Wang Xi had instructed him to watch for responses from the others at noon.

After a moment’s thought, Ran Lin retweeted Zhang Beichen’s post: [Guess we can’t drink either, alcohol is a deadly poison 😆//@ZhangBeichen: Seems like we can’t even have an exciting chat amongst brothers anymore without someone saying we’re about to fight 😂 @Lu Yiyao @Ran Lin]

In less than three minutes, Lu Yiyao retweeted his post. [How do you expect me to follow up with that…//@RanLin: Guess we can’t drink either, alcohol is a deadly poison 😆//@ZhangBeichen: Seems like we can’t even have an exciting chat amongst brothers anymore without someone saying we’re about to fight 😂 @Lu Yiyao @Ran Lin]

The tone of the conversation started to shift with Ran Lin’s retweet, and while there were still serious discussions about whether they really had a fight, Lu Yiyao’s followers turned the mood light with their comments:

[We can finish that sentence for you, love is like a knife that scrapes the bone*!]

*This is a line from the poem Song of Wine, Sex, and Wealth.

[Love is like a knife that scrapes the bone!]

[Love!]

[is!]

[like!]

[a!]

[knife!]

Impressed by Lu Yiyao’s fans’ ability to form such unique patterns in the fierce competition of comments, Ran Lin could almost picture Lu Yiyao’s face when seeing these comments.

About an hour after the three involved had responded, the other two members of the Drifters group also chimed in—

[Xia Xinran: What’s the meaning of having a gathering without me? 😠//@LuYiYao: …]

[Gu Jie: Lucky I wasn’t there. I’m scary when I’m drunk 😨.jpg//@XiaXinran: …]

The complete gathering of the Drifters group made the previous discord rumors seem more like mere gossip. But at 8 p.m., when Weibo’s traffic peaked, the original account “Reality Gossip Lane” that first broke the news released another video. Though still a bit distant, it was clearer than the previous one, clearly showing Lu Yiyao getting up angrily and Ran Lin grabbing his arm.

Many bystanders were astonished. Just when the mood was harmonizing, the wind changed direction again, and “Reality Gossip Lane” even began driving the narrative harder than during the day.

Suddenly, “Tang Xiaoyu and Shen Ying Announce Relationship” dropped into the trending searches.

Ran Lin was first startled to see his friend’s name, then doubly so at seeing his friend’s girlfriend’s name. Shen Ying, one of the rising stars, had significantly higher popularity than Tang Xiaoyu. However, Tang Xiaoyu was currently starring in a popular TV drama with excellent reviews and ratings, and his popularity was set to rise after the show’s conclusion. The pair were certainly a match of talent and beauty, sweet and pleasing to the eye.

Before this, there had been no sign of a relationship between the two—hardly any interaction. Shen Ying’s fans were shocked, and Tang Xiaoyu’s fans were baffled.

But before the fans could start fighting, the “Win by Lying Down CP*” spilled all the details of their relationship—they had been childhood friends, attending the same kindergarten, primary school, and even the same grade in junior high. They went to different universities for performing arts, one in Beijing and the other in Shanghai, but their love, founded on shared dreams, blossomed even more beautifully.

*Tang (唐) Xiaoyu and Shen Ying (滢). The CP takes Tang (躺), which means to lie down, and Ying (赢), which means to win, since they sound similar.

With that, there was no more room for disagreement among the fans. What were notions of mismatch when fate had destined them for each other? Who would dare break them apart?

The news exploded, along with various related keywords like “Tang Xiaoyu,” “Shen Ying,” and “childhood sweethearts,” pushing the Drifters’ trivial rumors out of the spotlight.

Ran Lin had almost forgotten he was recently trending too, now engrossed in a well-known influencer’s poetic long post on the beautiful relationship of the couple. [The most beautiful love isn’t about winning at the starting line but about having ‘won’ even before the race begins…]

Influencers indeed knew how to captivate hearts with their words.

But—

Is the love they’re talking about the same as the one his friend Tang Xiaoyu experienced during the filming of <Sword of Fallen Flowers> often staying out all night? One is like swinging under a spring shower, the other speeding on Central Ring Road—the gap between the text and memory is rather vast…

Ding-dong.

Ran Lin’s phone notification showed a message from Tang Xiaoyu, clicking in to see three big laughing faces. [Sorry for stealing your spotlight 😬😬😬]

Ran Lin’s lips twitched into a smile he couldn’t suppress.

It wasn’t an apology; Tang Xiaoyu had clearly done it deliberately. Announcing their relationship not earlier or later, but precisely when the video of the supposed discord surfaced, probably left “Reality Gossip Lane” in tears.

Ran Lin—[Thanks, Third Brother, for the timely rain 🙏]

Tang Xiaoyu—[No need to be polite. My sister said we were going public anyway, and helping out with the rain was just a side task 🌹]

Ran Lin gazed at the vibrant rose, perplexed as to why, despite being in a relationship himself, he felt a bittersweet pang of being force-fed dog food.

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