Author: 颜凉雨 / Yan Liang Yu

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

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Chapter 76

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Finally, with a splash, their actor resurfaced.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A scroll?

A cane?

A sword?

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

He only smiled and nodded slightly.

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

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

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

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

“Of course,” Shi Jiuting replied.

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

A traditional oil-paper umbrella.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ran Lin nodded, not suspecting anything amiss.

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

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

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

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

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

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

……

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No problem,” Deng Minru responded, understandingly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Naturally, comparisons between the two versions were inevitable—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ran Lin: “Now we can rest easy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Han Ze visited your set?]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

……

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Busy?” Ran Lin asked.

“No, just fell asleep.”

“Sleeping in the middle of the day?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gu Jie: “No way!”

Ran Lin: “Huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ran Lin: “Each time louder?”

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

Ran Lin: “…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gu Jie frowned. “Isn’t that tiring?”

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

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

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

……

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

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

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

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

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

*Clarity: Chinese Valentine’s Day.

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

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

Lu Yiyao didn’t respond, obviously busy.

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

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

Author: 颜凉雨 / Yan Liang Yu

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

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Chapter 75

Hengdian, January.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The two agreed happily.

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

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

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

……

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Han Ze is coming to visit the set.”

Ran Lin nearly spilled the hot tea at this news.

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

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

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

“He wrapped up in December.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Unexpectedly, Wang Xi said, “Wish granted.”

Ran Lin was puzzled. “Huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

……

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Splash—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Glug—

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

He was out of air.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Suddenly, applause broke out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“President Shi?” Ran Lin asked tentatively.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

Author: 颜凉雨 / Yan Liang Yu

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

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Chapter 74

Click.

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

The intertwined hands quietly separated.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Xia Xinran—Not driving? Are you sure?¹

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

Lu Yiyao—…Goodnight.

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

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

Was it just his imagination?

Ran Lin frowned in confusion, puzzled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So?” Xia Xinran had a bad feeling.

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

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

Gu Jie: “I’ll do it after.”

Xia Xinran: “Who exercises after a shower!”

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

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

Gu Jie: “Warm-up before sleep.”

Xia Xinran: “…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Suddenly, the world spun around.

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

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

Ran Lin was slightly resentful.

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

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

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

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

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

The articulate always have the upper hand.

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

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

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

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

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

Bang bang.

A loud knock on the door echoed.

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

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

Lu Yiyao jolted.

Ran Lin’s passion froze.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

At least, not here.

Even if Gu Jie hadn’t knocked on the door, he hadn’t intended to go all the way.

Their first time, and every time after, he wanted it to be warm and completely relaxed, without having to worry about someone knocking on the door or Ran Lin having to suppress his voice.

He wanted to give Ran Lin the best of everything.

Turning on the bedroom light finally, the sudden illumination made Ran Lin instinctively shield his eyes.

Lu Yiyao returned to his side, enveloping him in his embrace to shield him from the light.

Ran Lin’s head rested against Lu Yiyao’s chest, his heartbeat reverberating through his skull.

Ran Lin unconsciously curved his mouth into a smile.

Even though his lover turned into a seasoned rogue when it came to intimacy, the heartbeat couldn’t lie.

Even after all this time, with the light on, his heart was still racing—rapid and fierce.

Bang bang bang!

“Teacher Lu, Ran Lin, if you’re not showering, I’m going first—” This time it wasn’t Gu Jie, but Xia Xinran.

Lu Yiyao felt the two were doing it on purpose, always appearing just when the mood got better… Were they like warning bullets for high-energy scenes?

“Go ahead and shower.” Lu Yiyao, less polite to the insider, directly sent him off.

Outside, Xia Xinran was like a mischievous groundhog.

The sound of water from the bathroom reached them despite the distance, clear and continuous.

Lu Yiyao sighed helplessly. “There’s no soundproofing at all.”

“Just keep your voice down,” Ran Lin advised, experienced. “As long as we don’t speak loudly, they can only hear that we’re talking but not make out the words. Otherwise, with all the video calls we’ve had, we would have been caught long ago.”

“Actually… perhaps not.” Lu Yiyao’s mood was complex.

Ran Lin, thinking of Gu Jie’s earnest face, couldn’t help but agree with his lover. “Indeed.”

Misdeeds are always done under the cloak of darkness, but now with the lights brightly on and the room clear, the two of them lay quietly together, their hearts gradually settling and ceasing their restlessness.

“Didn’t I just hold you like this last time and fall asleep while talking?” Lu Yiyao suddenly remembered a painful memory.

Ran Lin couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” Lu Yiyao still resented the past.

Last time everything was perfect—mood, environment, soundproofing, bed, even the bedside table was stocked with considerate little items and props. They could have tried all sorts of things.

Instead, he fell asleep.

The memory still made him beat his chest in frustration!

“You were sleeping so soundly, I didn’t have the heart to,” Ran Lin murmured quietly.

Unprepared for such a response, Lu Yiyao’s heart softened, and he hugged Ran Lin a bit tighter.

Actually, that night, Ran Lin had secretly pinched Lu Yiyao twice, but the man just turned over and continued sleeping.

But he couldn’t tell Lu Yiyao that; it would make him seem too unreserved.

So, Ran Lin decided to maintain his “gentle and considerate” persona to the end.

“Did you ask Xia Xinran to come with you?” Suddenly, Ran Lin remembered a question that had been nagging at him.

At dinner, Xia Xinran had claimed they both spontaneously decided to visit the set, a story believable only to Gu Jie.

Sure enough, Lu Yiyao straightforwardly admitted, “Yeah, I just wanted to try asking him if he was free and willing, and he agreed immediately, seeming even more eager than me.”

Ran Lin could easily imagine it.

Xia Xinran was both someone who loved being in the thick of things and a truly loyal friend. While outsiders might only see his more prominent trait, as a friend, he had the right to speak.

“We should really thank him,” Ran Lin sincerely said.

“Don’t worry about him,” Lu Yiyao replied. “He had already negotiated his compensation before coming.”

Ran Lin was puzzled. “What compensation?”

Lu Yiyao: “Can’t say.”

Ran Lin: “…”

Why was there an ominous feeling that Lu Yiyao had agreed to an unfair treaty?

“Actually, even if he hadn’t agreed, I would have come by myself.” Lu Yiyao turned the person lying against him to face each other, looking deeply into Ran Lin’s eyes. “I couldn’t wait that long. Ever since I wrapped up my filming, I’ve been thinking about seeing you every day.”

“I missed you too.” Ran Lin’s eyes tinged with the ache of longing—those four words carried so much unspoken emotion.

Lu Yiyao gave back his own four words. “Didn’t look like it.”

Ran Lin was speechless, the rising warmth in his eyes forcefully pushed back.

Teacher Lu continued to complain, “When I was filming <Split Moon>, you didn’t even mention visiting the set. As time went on, we even talked less. I thought you had moved on.”

Ran Lin was incredulous. “Who would I move on to?”

Lu Yiyao had a ready blacklist. “Tang Xiaoyu.”

Ran Lin: “……”

Lu Yiyao: “You shot an advertisement for the <Sword of Fallen Flowers> game with him, and then you started interacting a lot on Weibo…”

Ran Lin: “Teacher Lu, are you sure you were fully invested in your film?”

Lu Yiyao: “Everyone needs a break now and then.”

Ran Lin: “So you spent your breaks stalking my Weibo?”

Lu Yiyao: “It’s ‘loving observation from the shadows’.”

Ran Lin: “……”

Clearly, during their long separation, his lover had accumulated endless grievances.

Ran Lin irritably took Lu Yiyao’s hand and brought it to his mouth. “Listen carefully…”

“I, Ran Lin, only like Lu Yiyao.”

After saying so, he pressed a kiss to Lu Yiyao’s hand.

Continuing—

“In my eyes, Lu Yiyao is narcissistic, repressed, over-imaginative, says too little, is always caught up in his inner drama, and even makes his own memes to the point of boredom…”

“Hold on!” Lu Yiyao swallowed, earnestly interrupting. “If there’s a ‘but’ coming, I’ll keep listening. If not, can I request we end this conversation early?”

Ran Lin drawled out, “But—”

Lu Yiyao’s heart finally settled.

“He’s serious…”

A kiss on the hand.

“He’s professional…”

Another kiss.

“He’s responsible to others and himself.”

“He may not be warm to everyone, but he’ll never kick someone when they’re down.”

“He might compromise with reality, but he always has his principles.”

With each phrase, Ran Lin kissed Lu Yiyao’s hand.

Finally, he pressed a gentle kiss on the other’s lips—

“He’s the best person I’ve ever met.”

……

Xia Xinran, who had just had a quick wash and was now sneakily eavesdropping at the door, was disappointed. He had expected a fiery encounter, but all he got was a quiet conversation with indistinct words.

Are you two here to discuss life?

Close the door and get on with it!

After enduring a few more minutes and seeing no end to their “night talk”, the frustrated single classmate Xia Xinran finally straightened his aching legs and begrudgingly returned to his room.

As for Ran Lin and Lu Yiyao, after exchanging long pent-up sweet nothings, they reluctantly parted to freshen up in turns.

Lu Yiyao was the first to shower and immediately dived into the bed, using his body heat to pre-warm the cold sheets.

By the time Ran Lin got back into bed, it was already warm.

He obediently lay down, clinging to Lu Yiyao like an octopus, turning the warmth into coziness.

Ran Lin was already feeling sleepy, but he didn’t want to waste their limited time together sleeping. Lu Yiyao was only here for three days, and the only time they had to themselves was at night.

Lu Yiyao, on the other hand, had far more complicated thoughts.

He had intended to ease his longing with some intimacy today, leaving the real matter for tomorrow. But now, in the stillness of the night, he suddenly couldn’t hide his words anymore.

The urge to pour out his heart came suddenly and fiercely, almost unable to wait another minute. He wanted to share all his thoughts with Ran Lin right then and there.

Suddenly, his frown was smoothed out by gentle fingers.

Lu Yiyao snapped back to reality to meet Ran Lin’s bemused face. “If you really don’t like me hugging you like this, I won’t do it. You don’t have to endure it as if you’re bearing a deep grudge.”

Lu Yiyao pulled the blanket tighter, cocooning Ran Lin more securely, before whispering, “I’m thinking about starting my own company.”

The topic suddenly became serious. Ran Lin, momentarily taken aback, moved aside from Lu Yiyao to allow for a better face-to-face conversation. “Don’t you already have your own studio?”

The blanket, disturbed by Ran Lin’s movement, let in a draft of cold air.

Lu Yiyao quickly closed the gap before explaining. “Not a studio. I mean an entertainment company. I’m thinking about becoming a boss.”

“……” The weight of this revelation hung in the air, leaving Ran Lin momentarily stunned.

Lu Yiyao pinched his lover’s cheek, finding Ran Lin’s bewildered look endlessly adorable.

“No more acting?” Ran Lin managed to pick out the most immediate question amidst his scattered thoughts.

“I don’t think so.” Lu Yiyao had thought it through clearly, so there was no hesitation.

“What about guest appearances?” Ran Lin asked, then immediately realized how trivial this question was in the grand scheme!

Lu Yiyao found the question refreshing, considering it seriously for the first time since deciding to change careers. After a while, he answered, “It depends on how deep the friendship is.”

Ran Lin didn’t expect him to actually ponder the question, giving a sense of reality to the notion of his lover switching careers. But the bigger question loomed. “Why don’t you want to be an actor anymore?”

“Isn’t being a boss good?” Lu Yiyao grinned. “Still in the entertainment industry, I’d say it’s a triple jump in class status.”

As Ran Lin’s thoughts began to order themselves, he understood that being a boss was naturally better, both in terms of profit and personal satisfaction. If the entertainment industry was a pyramid, then the bosses with capital and influence were certainly at the top.

But—

“Don’t you find it a waste? You’ve been acting for so long, to just give it up?” Ran Lin’s query was not out of skepticism or opposition but a personal reflection. If it were him, he would find it a regrettable loss.

“What if I tell you I don’t find it a waste, and I’m actually relieved to have finally found what I want to do?” Lu Yiyao asked, “Would you think I’m frivolous about my career?”

Lu Yiyao’s voice was calm and firm, but Ran Lin still detected a hint of apprehension.

It wasn’t apprehension about his new career path, but whether his partner could accept such a sudden change in direction.

But was it really a sudden change?

Ran Lin didn’t think so.

No one knew his boyfriend better than he did—Lu Yiyao was never one to make rash decisions. Everything he said and did was thoroughly considered beforehand, ensuring he could bear the responsibility.

“When did you decide?” Instead of answering Lu Yiyao’s question, Ran Lin asked another.

“Before shooting <Split Moon>,” Lu Yiyao candidly replied.

Ran Lin: “Have you talked to Hong Jie about it?”

“Yes, she’s stopped taking new contracts for me,” Lu Yiyao said. “I’ve also told my mom and sister; it’s all good. My family has always wanted me to go into business. I haven’t told my dad yet, but I think he’ll be singing Peking opera out of joy when he finds out.”

Ran Lin noted that Lu Yiyao always found a chance to sardonically mention his father.

“If this is truly what you want to do,” Ran Lin turned serious after a smile, “then I’m happy you’ve found it. I don’t think you’re being frivolous about your career. I believe you’ll do well, whether in acting or running a company…”

“But?” Lu Yiyao anticipated the turn in conversation.

Caught off guard by the accurate prediction, Ran Lin gave him a slight glare. “But there has to be a catalyst for such a change. You can’t tell me you just sat there one day, thought it over, and suddenly found the path you want to pursue, right?”

Lu Yiyao looked intently at him. “What if I said that catalyst was you?”

Ran Lin was taken aback, struggling to respond. “I can’t bear that responsibility…”

Lu Yiyao leaned in close, so close Ran Lin could see the flutter of his eyelashes. “I would have found this path eventually; you just helped me find it sooner. So, you don’t need to bear anything. It’s my life, my path. I’ll bear it myself.”

Ran Lin met his gaze, half convinced.

Lu Yiyao continued, “Don’t renew the contract when it’s up; sign with my company.”

“…?” From half-belief to complete doubt, Ran Lin frowned deeply. “So it’s still all for me.”

Lu Yiyao, unruffled, simply said, “What if I say that even without you, someday in the future, I would have found out on my own that what I really wanted wasn’t to be an actor in the entertainment industry, but to do business in it? How would you feel about that?”

Ran Lin: “……”

The question felt like a trap because the mere thought of it was quite unsettling!

If it were predestined for Lu Yiyao to change careers, then having himself as the catalyst seemed preferable, at least making him feel somewhat significant…

“You might indeed be naturally suited for business,” Ran Lin grumbled, glaring at Lu Yiyao. “You’re quite the smooth talker.”

Lu Yiyao’s heart settled, and his expression relaxed unconsciously. “Then let’s settle on that.”

Ran Lin blinked in confusion. “Settle on… what?”

Lu Yiyao: “Sign with my company when your contract expires.”

Ran Lin: “That’s a whole new topic!”

Lu Yiyao: “…”

His attempt to fish in troubled waters* failed, and Lu Yiyao sighed, barely audibly, but soon rallied himself.

*(浑水摸鱼) Idiom referring to someone taking advantage of a chaotic or confusing situation for personal gain.

Pulling Ran Lin back into his embrace, he switched to a gentler tactic. “Think about it. If I want to grow and strengthen my company, not only do I need to have a good eye for investment, ensuring that the projects I invest in have more gains and fewer losses, but I also need artists under my label who can stand firm and support themselves. Good projects and good artists are the two most important pillars of a successful entertainment company. I’ll take care of having a good eye; the risk lies with the artists. Of course, I want to sign someone whose background I know well and who has a promising future…”

Knowing full well that these were sugar-coated shells that he should avoid, Ran Lin found himself delightfully hit, body and soul, with only a sliver of rationality remaining in his brain, unable to even command a single finger.

“You don’t want to renew your contract with your current company either, right? Since you have to switch anyway, why not jump to your own place…”

“Once you come over to my side, no one will force you to take on roles you dislike anymore. Your future prospects, popularity, market response… none of that will be your concern. You just need to focus on acting well…”

“Plus, I prefer to independently produce dramas to create quality works. So in these projects, if there’s a suitable role for you or if you feel the urge to act, it will be yours. But just because you’re the boss’ wife, don’t slack off…”

“What?” Ran Lin, who had been quietly listening, suddenly spoke up. “What did you just say?”

Lu Yiyao was startled. His first thought was he misspoke, considering he had just rattled off a lot in a row. “…slack off?”

Ran Lin frowned. “Backtrack a bit.”

Lu Yiyao strained his memory. “No one else… it’s you?”

Ran Lin glared. “After that.”

With his brain nearly overheating, Lu Yiyao finally identified the suspect phrase tentatively. “Boss’ wife?”

Ran Lin suddenly grabbed the blanket, covered his face, and started rolling around the bed.

Exposed to the cold air unexpectedly, Lu Yiyao sneezed and then watched the “blanket ball” rolling around, feeling an almost uncontrollable urge to pounce on it…

Next time, he would find a place where they could freely indulge!

……

The next morning, Ran Lin woke up to a long-missed warmth and saw Lu Yiyao fiddling with his phone.

Ran Lin yawned sleepily. “Are you checking if I have any inappropriate same-sex relationships?”

Lu Yiyao didn’t even glance at him, still struggling with the phone, his voice tinged with irritation. “I’m turning off the insane eight alarms someone set.”

“Right, why didn’t the alarm go off?” Ran Lin finally sensed something amiss.

“Who says it didn’t?” Lu Yiyao finally turned off the last alarm, his eyes dark with circles. “I woke up at the first ring.”

Ran Lin: “And then you angrily turned off all the alarms as revenge?”

Lu Yiyao: “I wanted you to sleep a little longer.”

Ran Lin: “…”

Lu Yiyao: “If you don’t come and kiss me, it’s going to be a bit awkward.”

This was the first time he had seen someone take advantage of someone so openly.

Ran Lin rolled his eyes but gave his partner a morning kiss, adding a touch of flavor to the gesture.

They had talked late into the night, naturally resting as the conversation wound down. Lu Yiyao had been so preoccupied with discussing the career change and how to pull Ran Lin over to his side that he hadn’t considered the reverse problem.

Now, watching his lover put on clothes, he blurted out without warning. “What if my company doesn’t do well and, instead of elevating you, drags down your accumulated popularity? What then?”

Ran Lin put on his hoodie, fully dressed, and turned back, looking bemused at Lu Yiyao. “What else can be done? I’m the boss, so of course, I’ll share the company’s fate.”

Lu Yiyao frowned slightly. “If I’m not mistaken, it should be the boss’ wife, right…”

Ran Lin walked over, patted his still-confused partner’s shoulder, transferring the warmth of his palm. “Then you remembered wrong.”

Lu Yiyao watched the figure heading to the bathroom, both amused and exasperated.

Why run if you’re not guilty!

Meanwhile, Ran Lin in the bathroom was also restless.

Because Lu Yiyao’s question had given him a wake-up call—what if he ends up dragging down Lu Yiyao’s company?

Lu Yiyao wanted to protect him from the storm, but he wished even more to make Lu Yiyao proud.

So starting now, he had to work even harder, to be a sturdy, proud-standing, robust money tree!

“Do you have to be so intense about brushing your teeth?” Xia Xinran, also in the bathroom for his morning routine, was startled by Ran Lin’s vigor.

Ran Lin gurgled and spat out the water, shaking his head at his friend. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“How could I not?” Xia Xinran retorted, his mouth curling despite not getting the juicy details the night before. He could guess. “Isn’t it just that you got all fired up¹ and couldn’t go all the way?”

Ran Lin: “…”

What he had been thinking and what his friend said seemed to be on completely different wavelengths.

Ran Lin mused, somewhat unsure.

“What’s this ‘all fired up¹‘ about?” Gu Jie asked, who happened to pass by the bathroom.

Ran Lin froze.

Xia Xinran was momentarily speechless.

Gu Jie suddenly understood on his own. “Ah, reminiscing about that time in Sanya trying to start a fire, right? That episode was indeed a pit. Despite all the friction, no fire was seen¹.”

¹So Xia Xinran was using (擦出火) which literally means “create fire” but in the context, it was more like “You got all fired/worked up last night.” Gu Jie, being so oblivious, thought they were actually talking about creating fire instead metaphorically, which is why he responded like so (referring to the variety show where Lu Yiyao failed to light a fire..

Ran Lin: “…”

Xia Xinran: “…”

“What are you all chatting about here?” Lu Yiyao, coming out of the bedroom, curiously joined in.

“Good morning,” Gu Jie greeted him enthusiastically, “Talking about that ‘Drifting’ episode in Sanya.”

Lu Yiyao wondered, “Why suddenly talk about that?”

Gu Jie shrugged, looking towards Ran Lin and Xia Xinran. “You’d have to ask them.”

Lu Yiyao’s gaze turned quizzically to them.

Ran Lin: “It’s just…”

Xia Xinran: “On a whim!”

……

The three days flew by, and with the departure of the visiting friends, the days seemed to speed up even more.

Mid-December arrived in a blink, and Ran Lin needed to return to prepare for <Chronicles of Winter>. Gu Jie, without any appointments, decided to stay a bit longer.

Before leaving Wuhan, Ran Lin, Gu Jie, and Director He had a meal together. This time, Director He treated them to a banquet of authentic Wuhan cuisine in the city center.

Again, they opted for tea, but this time the conversation wasn’t limited to <Dyeing Fire>. They chatted about everything under the sun, and Director He even inadvertently revealed some industry secrets.

As the meal concluded, Ran Lin, substituting tea for wine, toasted Director He.

Director He rarely accepted such gestures, so he obliged and included Gu Jie in the toast.

The three teacups clinked together—

“See you in April!”

April was still far off, but January was just around the corner. Back in Beijing not long after, Ran Lin, having just transformed from a disheveled youth back into a clean and tidy male artist, began shooting the film version of <Chronicles of Winter>.

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Kinky Thoughts:

I totally ship Gu Jie x Xia Xinran… Preferably with Gu Jie being the shou. I can imagine he’d be a great power bottom… though Xia Xinran could too TBH.

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

Author: 颜凉雨 / Yan Liang Yu

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

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Chapter 73

Wuhan in December was a couple of degrees warmer than Beijing in early November.

But that was just a comparison of temperature readings. In reality, Wuhan felt colder, especially when sitting still indoors, where the damp chill was more pronounced.

The room rented by the film crew lacked heating equipment, featuring only an air unit in the living room. Even running all day, its heating effectiveness was limited and made the air extremely dry. However, without it, Ran Lin found himself needing to pace around the room periodically to ward off the cold that seemed to freeze his limbs.

In contrast, Gu Jie was faring much better. While Ran Lin was wrapped in a blanket on the sofa reading the script, Gu Jie would be working out on the spot with his own equipment, doing dumbbell exercises or push-ups on stands—these were just the basics. He also had various other equipment that Ran Lin couldn’t name, and it seemed Gu Jie could effortlessly add more complex routines like balancing on balls or practicing with aerial silk.

Finally breaking a sweat, Gu Jie stood up and grabbed a towel to wipe his face, casting a dissatisfied glance at his companion cocooned on the sofa. “You should exercise too,” he said. “That’s how the body works: the more you move, the more your blood flows; the more your blood flows, the less cold you feel.”

Ran Lin thoughtfully put down his script and asked, “If it were Di Jiangtao, what would he do at home in such a winter?”

“Order takeout, watch TV, daydream, or wallow in self-pity…” Gu Jie grimaced, slinging the towel over his shoulder. “Definitely not exercising to strengthen his body.”

“So…” Ran Lin picked up the script and showed it to Gu Jie. “I am making progress, aren’t I?”

“Why don’t you read the <Dyeing Fire> script instead?” Gu Jie came over, exasperated, and flipped through the pages of the script in Ran Lin’s hands, frowning. “<The Legend of Lantern Blossoms>… What were you thinking when you took this role?”

“The pay is high,” Ran Lin replied honestly.

Gu Jie looked at him incredulously. “So you plan to make up for the lost salary from <Dyeing Fire> with this drama?”

Sighing, Ran Lin shrugged. “It’s not what I planned. It’s what the company plans.”

“You should start your own studio,” Gu Jie casually suggested as he handed the script back to Ran Lin. “Many are doing it nowadays. Be your own boss, no one to manage you, and no commissions taken away.”

“Why don’t you start one?” Ran Lin asked, puzzled, remembering that Gu Jie was still under a management company.

“I’m basically doing the same as owning a studio,” Gu Jie said. “My agent is the boss himself, so he usually gives me professional advice, but whether I take it or not is my decision. If I have ideas, I directly discuss them with him, and he tries his best to support me. We have a pleasant cooperation with no reason to change. Plus, running a studio involves a lot of headaches. Just thinking about it makes my head hurt.”

Ran Lin slumped back onto the sofa, covered in his blanket, and sighed lightly. “I don’t want to deal with all that hassle either. I just want to focus on acting.”

“Speaking of which.” Gu Jie seemed to remember something and moved to the end of the sofa, pushing Ran Lin’s blanket-covered feet inward before sitting down. “We haven’t really practiced acting together, have we?”

It took Ran Lin a great deal of effort to extract his legs, wrapped in the blanket, from the tight space between Gu Jie’s back and the sofa. Sitting up, he said, “It seems we really haven’t…”

The decision to cast him as Di Jiangtao was made over a meal without any audition process. So, he and Gu Jie hadn’t really had a formal acting confrontation.

“Want to give it a try?” Gu Jie’s eyes sparkled with excitement.

Ran Lin swallowed nervously. “Then… let’s give it a try?”

Despite the seemingly unserious phrasing of the suggestion, they were both earnest and professional young men. Besides professionalism, there was also a curiosity about each other’s acting abilities.

Having lived together for a month, Ran Lin and Gu Jie’s friendship had evolved from the pleasant interactions on the Drifting Stories to a deeper understanding of each other. Gu Jie knew Ran Lin needed eight alarms to wake up, as he was tormented by them through the wall every morning. Ran Lin knew Gu Jie needed to exercise morning and evening, sometimes even adding a midday session. Their camaraderie, except for not discussing each other’s romantic lives, left no stone unturned.

As for the romantic aspect…

Ran Lin didn’t know if Gu Jie had a girlfriend—although he tended to think not, lately Gu Jie had indeed been on his phone quite frequently.

Gu Jie didn’t know if Ran Lin had a significant other—although he leaned towards yes, except for the faint talking sounds from next door at night, which Ran Lin deliberately kept low, making it unclear who he was talking to or whether it was sweet nothings.

Fortunately, neither was particularly curious about this aspect of the other’s life. What was more pressing was that they hadn’t really acted together, which was quite unusual.

As soon as he said it, Ran Lin threw off his blanket and ran back to his bedroom to fetch the <Dyeing Fire> script, with Gu Jie doing the same. Eventually, they met in the living room, choosing a scene from the beginning of the story where Xiao Gu suspects Di Jiangtao of surveilling a snack shop owner and visits under the pretext of surveying the neighborhood.

For about half an hour, the living room was silent.

No one spoke. Each occupied a corner, pondering their parts, memorizing their lines.

The scene was set in summer, with humid and stifling air. As he read, Ran Lin miraculously stopped feeling cold and instead felt sticky all over, as if he were indeed blocked by unevaporable sweat in every pore.

Knowing his lines by heart, Ran Lin put down the script and unconsciously stood up, drifting to the window. Through the thick layer of dust on the glass, he couldn’t see anything clearly.

He naturally opened the window. Cold air rushed onto his face, but he felt nothing. Instead, he leaned his forearms on the windowsill, relaxed his shoulders, and let his upper body rest on the ledge—the posture of someone peering out the window.

But he wasn’t looking at the sky; he was looking down at the street.

Without the blurry interference of dusty glass, his view was clear, and he could see everything below.

The seemingly kind and approachable snack shop owner seemed odd in Di Jiangtao’s eyes. He chatted warmly with everyone who came into the shop, whether old residents or new tenants, seemingly as amiable as a community elder.

But something was off.

The snack shop owner was only around thirty, and though his unkempt appearance made him look older than his years, his eyes were those of a young man. They were warm on the surface but held a coldness underneath, and behind his mundane façade was a persistent gaze.

Having seen too many eyes in prison, Di Jiangtao learned to gauge whether a person was approachable or to be avoided just by looking into their eyes. This insight saved him from a lot of trouble.

Now, the snack shop owner’s eyes reminded him of the most ruthless criminals he had seen in prison. Di Jiangtao knew it sounded crazy, so he didn’t intend to convict someone just on a pair of eyes or a gut feeling.

He wasn’t keen on dealing with the police again. He was just intrigued by something interesting amidst his otherwise bleak and hopeless days, and he wanted to follow it through to some conclusion.

The outcome might be right or wrong, end in nothing, or be shockingly unconventional—it didn’t matter.

He needed something to distract himself, to pass the time, and to momentarily forget the estrangement with his family and his alienation from society.

That Lao Zhang came to buy cigarettes again. He was a regular resident who purchased a pack every other day and occasionally some liquor. His life was mundane and predictable.

But the snack shop owner would always step out after he left, pacing casually in front of the shop, seemingly uninterestedly watching his departing figure. If Lao Zhang walked slowly, the shop owner might even manage to watch his back disappear into the distance.

Weird, very weird…

“What are you looking at?”

A sudden, unfamiliar voice came from behind.

Di Jiangtao turned around in shock, meeting the face of Xiao Gu, who was standing at the door in a police uniform.

Di Jiangtao knew this young cop, about the same age as himself, who clumsily bustled around the urban villages…

“How did you open the door?” Di Jiangtao asked with a hostile tone.

Xiao Gu stood immobile at the doorway, not stepping past the threshold, showing a smile typical of a community officer.

“Your door was open. I saw it as I passed and thought to remind you.”

Di Jiangtao relaxed a bit but still felt uneasy. “Is… something wrong in the building?”

He reasoned that the police wouldn’t show up without cause. If they appeared, something must have happened. Xiao Gu was ready with an answer. “There’s been an incident, so I wanted to check with the residents. May I come in and talk?”

“Of course,” Di Jiangtao replied readily, but he didn’t move any closer, still standing by the window as if the distance gave him a sense of security. “Please come in.”

When Gu Jie started speaking his lines, he often felt out of character, but when Ran Lin, who was leaning against the windowsill, turned around, his face seemed to transform in the dim light. It no longer belonged to Ran Lin but to a gloomy, suspicious youth just out of prison, and Gu Jie slowly got into the feeling.

By the time he walked into the living room, he was fully the ambitious young cop, Xiao Gu.

“Do you like to watch outside from the window?” he asked, sitting on the sofa, pulling out a pen and notebook, looking all business.

“Bored, just looking.” Di Jiangtao pulled a smile, a cold one.

Xiao Gu nodded casually. “What did you see then?”

Di Jiangtao didn’t sit but stood by the sofa, leaning on its backrest. His voice was tired and somewhat defiant. “Uncle Officer…” he deliberately emphasized the word ‘officer’. “Which day are you asking about?”

Xiao Gu raised an eyebrow, sizing him up. “From what you say, it sounds like you see something exciting every day?”

Di Jiangtao truly laughed this time. “I…”

Ding dong.

Ran Lin’s line was abruptly cut off by the notification tone of a phone.

Ding dong.

Ding dong.

Ding dong.

The high-frequency ringtone obviously wasn’t going to let him continue.

Ran Lin sighed and glanced at Gu Jie’s phone on the coffee table. Just as his eyes swept over the lit screen, the phone was swiftly snatched away.

Ran Lin was startled by Gu Jie’s action. He hadn’t intended to pry into who was breaking the atmosphere; after all, it was Gu Jie’s phone, so that was his private matter. But Gu Jie’s haste seemed all too telling.

“Girlfriend?” Ran Lin was already out of character. He was no longer the dejected youth Di Jiangtao but the gossiping young Ran Lin.

Gu Jie almost reflexively rolled his eyes. “How could that be.”

Ran Lin frowned. Gu Jie wasn’t good at lying, so his reaction seemed genuine, but that made it all the more suspicious. “Then why are you so nervous?”

Gu Jie hesitated, looking at him for a long while as if searching for the right words, wanting to give a convincing yet elegant explanation…

Ran Lin waited, beginning to feel anxious for Gu Jie, thinking he should just say something, anything, as it would be seen through anyway…

“People,” Gu Jie finally said, “need to have their little secrets, right?”

“…” The most advanced defense in the world is the truth.

In the face of such an honest defense, Ran Lin suddenly felt ashamed of his underhanded curiosity against his partner’s upright aura.

“Fine, keep your little secrets.” Ran Lin went back to his room to put on a jacket and then to the entrance to change his shoes. “I’m going to buy some lunch. What do you want?”

Gu Jie looked at his phone; it was indeed lunchtime. Although he felt a bit guilty for “hiding” something, he was relieved his partner didn’t press further, sparing him from more fabrications.

“Anything’s fine.” Gu Jie wasn’t picky about food.

Ran Lin nodded, slipped on rubber-soled slippers, and left the apartment.

His first stop was the snack shop. From their apartment, one could only see the bicycle shed below. One had to exit the building and turn the corner to see the snack shop.

And the snack shop owner wasn’t the thirty-year-old man from <Dyeing Fire> but an actual kind and friendly aunt.

“Still two bottles of mineral water?” The auntie had already figured out the young man’s routine. He’d come around every day and just buy two bottles of water, which was quite memorable.

Ran Lin, caught off guard by the auntie’s prompt response, deliberately held up four fingers. “Today, I’ll take four.”

The auntie could tell from his accent that the young man was from out of town, but he looked clean and handsome with a polite demeanor, so she quite liked him.

As the auntie fetched the water, Ran Lin looked around the small store. Despite the dim lighting, cramped space, and dusty shelves, the shop was well stocked with an assortment of snacks, groceries, and daily necessities.

Just as the auntie returned with the water, two teenage boys, around seventeen or eighteen, entered. With dyed hair and delicate features, one bought a drink and the other cigarettes.

They didn’t recognize Ran Lin, but he recognized them—they were apprentices from the nearby “Listine Beauty Salon”. Despite its fancy foreign name, it was just a typical, down-to-earth barbershop.

Ran Lin had become thoroughly familiar with this urban village, knowing details as specific as which sewer wells were clear and which were perennially blocked. Perhaps due to his unkempt appearance or lower-than-expected fame, during his month-long stay, no one recognized him. Only once, while buying duck necks, a girl remarked that he looked somewhat like a celebrity… What was his name again?

Ran Lin seriously helped her recall, suggesting, “Lu Yiyao?”

The girl immediately shook her head, declaring that “God Lu” was much handsomer than him!

Recognizing “God Lu” as an insider term, Ran Lin quickly grabbed his duck neck and left before being identified as the one “leeching off the fame”.

After purchasing the mineral water, Ran Lin entered a small restaurant, ordering a vegetarian dish, a braised Wuchang fish, and three servings of rice. The midday sun was warm, even warmer outside than inside. But as soon as he entered the building, the chilly air hit him. The close proximity of the buildings meant the hallways were permanently deprived of sunlight. The fourth floor, where they lived, wasn’t much better. Apart from the living room, where one could peer out, the windows in both bedrooms only offered a view of the neighboring building’s balcony railings—so close one could reach out and touch the steel bars and see everything on the other balcony. Thus, he rarely dared to open the curtains, maintaining a semblance of privacy between neighbors.

Arriving at the fourth-floor security door, Ran Lin knocked, not having brought his keys. Gu Jie opened the door swiftly, convincing Ran Lin he’d already dealt with his “private matter”.

The TV was on in the living room. As Ran Lin entered, he initially paid no attention to it until he heard a very familiar line.

“From now on, you and I will have such swords together.”

Ran Lin felt embarrassed as he handed the bag of takeout to Gu Jie, while taking off his cotton slippers and switching to indoor ones. “Why are you watching <Sword of Fallen Flowers>?”

“It was on when I flipped through channels,” Gu Jie replied as he arranged the food on the coffee table. “Actually, I haven’t watched it yet.”

Ran Lin understood. He usually didn’t watch much TV either, unless studying performances by seasoned actors. Otherwise, he preferred classic films, especially considering the limited free time artists have.

Seeing that Gu Jie hadn’t watched it before, Ran Lin immediately offered, “Do you want a brief introduction to the backstory?”

Without hesitation, Gu Jie shook his head. “I can follow along and understand the plot instantly.”

Ran Lin was impressed. “Impressive.”

Gu Jie looked at him seriously, stating, “It’s because you all performed well.”

Ran Lin was taken aback, the praise coming so unexpectedly that he was completely unguarded, and his heart immediately began to dance with joy.

Gu Jie actually wanted to compliment him further, as the characters Fang Xian and Di Jiangtao felt entirely different to him, and he couldn’t reconcile them as the same person despite them having the same face. But seeing Ran Lin’s reaction, he worried that more praise might make his friend overly elated, so he swallowed the rest of his words.

So, the two of them finished their lunch while watching <Sword of Fallen Flowers>. They had a silent understanding of each other’s preferences—Ran Lin ate one portion of rice, while Gu Jie ate two, a harmony developed over their time living together.

After lunch, they wandered around the apartment to digest their meal. When they felt ready, they picked up their earlier interrupted scene and went through it again.

This time, no interruptions occurred, and the two got more and more into the act, continuing until dusk fell and the lights came on.

Then, a rapid knock on the door sounded.

The first knock came just as Ran Lin was in the midst of a roar. In the scene, Xiao Gu and Di Jiangtao had temporarily allied, agreeing to suspect the snack shop owner. Di Jiangtao would act as a grassroots informant, reporting the owner’s activities. But they had barely begun collaborating when a fierce argument erupted.

Just as Ran Lin was halfway through his line, the knocking started, but he couldn’t stop mid-sentence and had to finish, causing the knocking to grow more urgent, matching the argumentative atmosphere inside.

Unable to detach from Di Jiangtao’s emotions, Ran Lin instinctively yelled, “Who is it—”

The knocking abruptly stopped.

Ran Lin startled himself, initially annoyed because the visitor could only be the director. But instead of being polite, he yelled…

The knocking turned into banging, becoming increasingly intense as if challenging him to shout again.

Ran Lin, frustrated and seeing Gu Jie frozen in place, went to open the door himself.

“I’m coming, I’m coming…” His tone softened, despite his internal complaints, out of respect for the director.

Click.

The lock clicked open, and Ran Lin pushed the door ajar. Suddenly, a hand reached in and yanked it open, and before Ran Lin could see clearly, a dark figure pounced on him—

“Surprise!”

Ran Lin staggered backward, nearly losing his balance, but was caught by someone’s arm, stabilizing him. Then, holding onto Xia Xinran, he looked over the beauty’s shoulder to meet eyes with the “arm’s owner” standing behind him.

Lu Yiyao wore a gray jacket, his hair unstyled with a bit of a disheveled fringe, which, along with the weight he hadn’t fully regained, left his face looking thinner. This made him lack the usual dashing “God Lu” persona. If he intentionally kept his head down, using his fringe to cover his eyes, even on the street, only his true fans would recognize him.

Clearly, to come here inconspicuously, the typically appearance-conscious lover had thrown caution to the wind. But to Ran Lin, it didn’t matter. Whether Lu Yiyao was fat or thin, energetic or gloomy, he liked him all the same and thought he was chaotically handsome…

“I know what you’re thinking.” Xia Xinran lifted his head from his friend’s embrace with a pitiable look. “But for the sake of my enthusiasm, shouldn’t you at least reward me with a glance?”

“I’ve told you before.” Gu Jie, who was slow to react, sauntered to the entryway and sighed at Xia Xinran. “That your kind of enthusiasm doesn’t fit our reserved Eastern culture.”

Ran Lin was surprised by Gu Jie’s reaction, barely managing to pull back a bit of sense from the shock of seeing his lover. Just as he was about to turn and ask, he heard Gu Jie greeting Lu Yiyao. “Long time no see.”

Lu Yiyao also smiled back at Gu Jie. “All well, I hope.”

Ran Lin, embracing the friend hanging on him, was utterly baffled. Why did everyone seem so natural, and he was the only one out of the loop?

Before Ran Lin could ask, Lu Yiyao grabbed Xia Xinran first, prying him off Ran Lin’s body. “That’s enough of that.”

Xia Xinran pouted, clearly reluctant, but considering it was in front of the actual partner, he refrained from making a fuss.

Feeling the sudden weight reduction, Ran Lin finally found the opportunity to speak. “What brings you guys here?”

Xia Xinran obediently stepped aside, gesturing with his eyes to Lu Yiyao—Your turn to perform.

But Lu Yiyao simply smiled and passed the look to Gu Jie—Good brother.

Gu Jie, ever the loyal friend, promptly clapped Ran Lin’s shoulder. “Surprise visit, isn’t it obvious?”

Ran Lin, unsure, looked at Gu Jie. “So you knew all along?”

He suddenly realized, “Was that daytime WeChat from Xia Xinran?”

The frequency of the “ding-dong” messages, sending several in a row, was unmistakably “The Xia’s family style”.

“I know you guys are close,” Gu Jie admitted freely, “so when Xia Xinran said Lu Yiyao wanted to surprise you, as a friend, of course, I had to help.”

Ran Lin swallowed hard, cautiously confirming. “Xia Xinran told you, this is a surprise from Lu Yiyao for me?”

“Actually, even if he hadn’t said, I would have known,” Gu Jie said with a face full of “you can’t hide anything from me” confidence. “Dressing up and making a special trip here for a surprise visit is something only hardworking Teacher Lu would do. This is a real friendship, quite rare indeed!”

Ran Lin: “……”

Looking at the innocent-faced Gu Jie, Ran Lin really wanted to pat his friend’s shoulder and respond with an affirmative, “You’re quite something, too.”

With mixed feelings, he redirected his gaze back to Lu Yiyao and Xia Xinran—You guys aren’t feeling guilty for deceiving Gu Jie like this!

Xia Xinran raised an eyebrow—We’re not deceiving. It’s indeed a surprise from Lu Yiyao.

Lu Yiyao’s eyes twinkled—I missed you.

Ran Lin: “……”

Alright, he conceded.

“Don’t all stand here. Come on in—” Gu Jie, not understanding why the conversation had halted, quickly ushered them.

Ran Lin looked at Gu Jie, vowing to be even kinder to his friend from now on.

Since entering, Lu Yiyao’s eyes hadn’t left Ran Lin. It had been too long since he’d seen Ran Lin in three dimensions, as he was used to the flatness of video calls. Now he couldn’t bear to look away, not for a second.

“Already diving into the script?” Xia Xinran noticed the script on the coffee table.

Gu Jie, while collecting both scripts, replied, “We were practicing lines.”

Xia Xinran wasn’t concerned about the “practicing” or “memorizing”, but he felt mixed about Gu Jie’s actions. “Are you that afraid of me seeing the script?”

Gu Jie had a solid reason. “The director said the script must absolutely not be leaked.”

Xia Xinran objected, “I’m not going to tell anyone. Can’t I even take a look?”

“If you really won’t tell anyone, actually, you could look.”

“Then why are you holding it so tight?”

“Because the actual situation doesn’t fit the ‘if’.”

“Do I look like I have a big mouth to you?”

“……”

“Your silence has wounded me.”

Xia Xinran and Gu Jie’s friendship always grew amidst their banter upon meeting, and Ran Lin was used to it by now.

As for Lu Yiyao, he hadn’t even heard the other two bickering…

“My confidentiality work isn’t too bad, right?” This was something Lu Yiyao was particularly proud of, especially recalling Ran Lin’s bewildered face when he first opened the door. He could savor that moment for a year.

Ran Lin looked at the person he’d been thinking of day and night, filled with surprise, yet his mouth couldn’t help but tease, “Was this a spontaneous idea, or did you plan it meticulously?”

“First spontaneous, then meticulously planned.” Lu Yiyao’s mouth curved upwards uncontrollably. “And you always said there’s a lot of good food here—better to taste it yourself.”

“How long will you stay?”

“Three days.”

“Didn’t get caught on the way here?”

“Xia Xinran got recognized, not me.”

“Normal. His face is too pretty.”

“While waiting for a taxi, he was ranting next to a hospital billboard with his face on it, complaining about infringement of his portrait rights, attracting onlookers.”

“……”

Having wrapped up his “courtesy” exchange with Gu Jie, Xia Xinran rolled his eyes massively in their direction. “Can’t you guys have a decent conversation when you meet? Don’t drag innocent bystanders into this.”

“Who’s innocent?” Ran Lin imagined the scene and felt a headache brewing. “Maybe tonight Weibo will have posts about you and an unidentified man out together.”

“Then we should strike first,” Xia Xinran suggested, pulling out his phone. “Time for a reunion photo of the Drifting Group!”

Ran Lin understood.

That was indeed a good strategy—nothing more positive than a gathering of four old friends.

Just as he was about to join Xia Xinran, Lu Yiyao said, “Wait a moment. I need to use the bathroom.”

After finishing speaking, his lover stood up from the sofa. Ran Lin quickly pointed in the direction. “It’s over there.”

Lu Yiyao nodded and hurried away.

“Why can’t you just take the photo and then go? How long does it take to snap a picture…” Xia Xinran grumbled but still took out a selfie stick from his bag, set up his phone, and started adjusting the angles on himself.

Five minutes later, everything was ready. Ran Lin, Xia Xinran, and Gu Jie squeezed together on the sofa, shoulder to shoulder, head against head, smiling at the camera above…

“I can’t anymore. My arm’s aching.” Xia Xinran could no longer hold up the selfie stick and put it down, turning his head towards the bathroom and shouting, “Teacher Lu, did you travel through time?”

Xia Xinran’s call seemed to work; before the echo faded, Lu Yiyao had already emerged from the bathroom. Then, Xia Xinran was stunned. “Holy…”

Ran Lin and Gu Jie, not understanding the reason, also turned their heads to look in the direction of the bathroom. Then, they were stunned. “What the…”

Lu Yiyao’s fringe had been combed back, revealing a clean forehead, making his whole face instantly bright and handsome. His hairstyle was neatly arranged with mousse, tidy yet dashing. His peach blossom eyes seemed more spirited than before, slightly squinting, enough to electrify the room. Even his somewhat thin cheeks no longer looked haggard but rather sharply defined and masculine.

In short, the man standing at the bathroom door was completely different from the one who had entered. Now, he shone like the brightest star, not even a backdrop of roses could distract from his dazzling presence…

“Is there mousse in the bathroom?” Gu Jie had a ton of questions, but the most pressing was this. After all, he and Ran Lin had been going barefaced, fully immersed in their characters. Aside from essential daily items, the bathroom only had toilet paper.

“No.” Lu Yiyao shook his head readily, ending with a smile. “I brought my own.”

Xia Xinran: “Eyeliner and foundation too?”

Lu Yiyao: “Absolutely not. I just washed my face.”

Gu Jie still couldn’t understand. “So why suddenly get all dolled up…”

Ran Lin patted Xia Xinran’s shoulder, crossing over him. “Idol’s burden. Try to understand.”

Gu Jie: “……”

At Xia Xinran’s “one, two, three,” all four smiled at the camera. Lu Yiyao, right next to Ran Lin, had the most charming smile, as if his eyes carried eight hundred million volts of electricity.

In the moment the photo was taken, Gu Jie finally accepted Ran Lin’s explanation. After all, Lu Yiyao was a popular star; a little idol’s burden was normal… but Lu Yiyao had gone to the bathroom, not a makeup room. How did he manage to completely refresh his appearance and aura in just a few minutes?

This wasn’t just washing his face; it was a complete makeover!

While Gu Jie was still shocked by Teacher Lu’s extraordinary skills, Xia Xinran had already posted the group photo on Weibo—[Winter gathering~~ 🐰]

He didn’t tag anyone, but the four faces in the photo were unmistakable.

Ran Lin retweeted with a laughing emoji.

Gu Jie retweeted with a clinking beer mugs emoji.

Lu Yiyao didn’t retweet but liked all three people’s posts.

Comments flooded in, especially under Xia Xinran’s post, where the conversation was most lively, with new comments popping up every few seconds.

The initial comments were all about—

[Ahhh, Xia Xia is so beautiful!]

[Licking the screen!]

[Who’s my husband? It’s so hard to choose…]

Until a sharp-eyed netizen noticed the truth—[Is it just me, or does it seem like only God Lu is wearing makeup and the others are barefaced?]

Immediately, God Lu’s fans came to reply, posting a photo of Lu Yiyao’s other barefaced selfies for comparison—[This is what God Lu looks like barefaced [photo]]

Then a veteran God Lu fan came to explain—[No matter the occasion or what photo he’s taking, God Lu is always serious. He always wants to present his best. It’s his obsession 😭.]

When Ran Lin scrolled to this comment, he felt like giving that fan a high five.

The three didn’t browse Weibo for too long before they set out into the night to find good food. Ran Lin led the way, Gu Jie acted as a bodyguard, and Lu Yiyao and Xia Xinran followed obediently like two tourists.

They were unaware that while they were out eating, the direction of the conversation on Weibo had shifted briefly.

It started with just a few people asking—[The Drifting Group reunited, but why isn’t Zhang Beichen there?]

Then Zhang Beichen’s fans explained—[He entered a new drama set for <Mint Green> a week ago.]

Just as the discussion was about to heat up, Zhang Beichen retweeted Xia Xinran’s post from Gu Jie—[Missing one 😭]

Thus, the voices questioning why Zhang Beichen wasn’t included died down. Even though some questioned why the other four didn’t respond to him, since they hadn’t interacted much after the initial retweets and likes, these questions never really made a big impact.

They also didn’t know that in a villa in the capital, a girl who had seen her brother’s liked Weibo post was now meticulously studying the group photo—

In the photo, her brother and Gu Jie were on opposite ends, with Ran Lin and Xia Xinran in between. The farther apart they were, the more suspicious it seemed. Truly innocent relationships, like her brother’s and Ran Lin’s, would be close together, with no avoidance.

More importantly, some girls commented that they had seen Xia Xinran waiting for a taxi in Wuhan that day, deducing that the gathering was in Wuhan. Fans also provided information that neither Lu Yiyao nor Xia Xinran had recent activities scheduled in Wuhan. Instead, it was Gu Jie and Ran Lin who were supposedly experiencing life in Wuhan for their upcoming movie <Dyeing Fire>.

Putting all the clues together led to the conclusion—her brother had specially gone to visit the set. Knowing him for many years, she had never seen him make such an effort to visit a colleague’s set. Saying there was nothing unusual between him and Gu Jie, who would believe that!

Although Lu Yimeng had long suspected that her brother’s many years of not having a serious girlfriend might not be for a simple reason, when the suspicion became a reality, her feelings were quite complex.

Haa, being too accurate with her sixth sense was quite sorrowful indeed.

……

Whether it’s the undercurrents in the online world or the worries of a sister in a capital villa, the “Foodie Four” were oblivious.

Ran Lin led the “newcomers” through an entire street of delicacies, and by the time they returned to their residence, all four felt a bit heavier in body.

The hallway light had been broken for a long time, unrepaired, so at night it was pitch black.

“Gu Jie, walk slower…” Xia Xinran cautiously illuminated the path with his phone’s flashlight, stepping carefully up each stair, feeling an eerie chill from unknown corners.

Ran Lin followed behind Xia Xinran, quite relaxed, as he had become accustomed to it after living there for over a month. However, Lu Yiyao at the back might not have been so at ease. Considering this, Ran Lin looked back and said, “Watch your…”

His words were halted mid-sentence by the warmth transmitted through their hands.

“…steps.”

Ran Lin finally finished his sentence, then pursed his lips and fell silent, but his hand moved, changing from being held to intertwining fingers.

The moment their fingers locked, Lu Yiyao gripped tightly. Ran Lin felt a bit of pain from the grip, but along with the pain, there seemed to be something else.

In the pitch-black hallway, no one could see each other’s faces. But the strength and warmth of the hand were very real.

It was less like holding hands and more like an embrace, a kiss—everything lovers could do. The long-suppressed longing, once released, was like this—first a slight pain, then slowly, it became sweet.

---

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

Author: 颜凉雨 / Yan Liang Yu

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

---

Chapter 72

The need for the actors of <Dyeing Fire> to experience life at the actual filming location, a certain urban village in Wuhan, was mentioned by the director during a meal of lamb legs, but it was finalized when signing the contract for <Dyeing Fire>.

The director hoped the two young actors could shed their star personas and immerse themselves in the environment, observing the people around to genuinely grasp the essence of everyday life in the city.

The final script of <Dyeing Fire> was set in an urban village in Wuhan.

The story centers on Xiao Gu, a cop who, after graduating from the police academy, was assigned to a police station serving this area and has been there for three years. Despite living in a big city like Wuhan, Xiao Gu’s world has seldom extended beyond this urban village. His perception of Wuhan is limited to its local delicacies like hot dry noodles, duck neck, and bean skin, the unintelligible local accent, and the cluttered village with its houses crammed together, haphazardly rigged electrical wires, and small stores sprouting up everywhere.

There are generally two types of people living here: the local landlords, who often own several properties, and the migrant workers, who are usually recent graduates, laborers, or other low-income individuals. These tenants chose the village for its affordable rent. To maximize profit, landlords often divide two or three-room apartments into as many as six rooms, or even merge and re-divide two adjacent apartments.

The more mixed the population, the more issues arise, keeping Xiao Gu busy all day. However, mediating petty neighborhood disputes isn’t what he yearns for. He dreams of being a detective and solving major cases, but even when criminal cases occur in the village, they’re always handed over to the detective squad, with Xiao Gu only assisting in gathering preliminary information.

Then, one ordinary day, a name appears on the list of individuals for the local police to monitor—Di Jiangtao.

Di Jiangtao, a 24-year-old unemployed youth recently released from prison after serving six years for robbery. While many ex-convicts successfully reintegrate into society, some fail or choose not to, often relapsing into criminal behavior. As a community officer, it’s Xiao Gu’s duty to discreetly monitor such individuals initially to prevent potential issues. Once they’re deemed to be living a normal, stable life, the surveillance discreetly ends.

But there’s something off about Di Jiangtao.

Precisely when Xiao Gu had categorized him as a typical aimless youth living off his parents with no major issues, Di Jiangtao exhibits unusual behavior—he’s been watching the owner of a small local store.

Xiao Gu doesn’t know what this pale, thin youth with a criminal past intends, but his instincts tell him something’s amiss.

So, Di Jiangtao watches the store owner, and Xiao Gu watches Di Jiangtao.

Eventually, Xiao Gu realizes that the store owner seems to be watching someone else—a seemingly ordinary local man in his fifties named Lao Zhang—divorced, childless, living alone but renting out two apartments. He spends his days collecting rent, playing cards, and strolling around—a seemingly affable fellow.

Thus begins a story of the mantis stalking the cicada, unaware of the oriole behind, which, in turn, is being watched by another pair of eyes.

The truth that eventually comes to light is beyond what Xiao Gu or Di Jiangtao could have ever expected…

When Ran Lin got the script that night, he read the story from beginning to end. As he closed the script, the layers of cold sweat that had formed during the reading had dissipated, leaving only a deep sigh in his heart.

He didn’t know what the earlier versions of the script that Director He insisted on revising were like, but at least the one he received was nothing short of brilliant.

Even setting aside the deep social themes the director wanted to convey—urbanization, the transformation of urban villages, the clash between inherent living habits and spiritual temperament, and the rapidly changing society—just the surface narrative alone was a tightly woven, outstanding crime thriller.

Any actor who truly loves acting would be thrilled to receive such a script.

Ran Lin even repeatedly read through the key scenes between his character, Gu Jie’s, and the store owner, sometimes getting so excited that he would inadvertently read the lines out loud.

But as soon as he spoke, the atmosphere of the script was broken—his voice lacked the gloom, irritability, hardship, and injustice of Di Jiangtao.

Di Jiangtao is someone who wants to integrate into society but doesn’t know how, who wants to reconcile with his family but doesn’t understand how to communicate properly, and who ultimately escapes to this place, adopting an attitude of “If you don’t care about me, I don’t care about you,” challenging his entire external environment.

Behind closed doors, he might hurt himself, regretting his past mistakes, but outside, he puts on an indifferent facade, his twisted pain eliciting sympathy.

Ran Lin had only mentioned to Lu Yiyao that he was going to experience life for the role; he hadn’t divulged much about the actual story of <Dyeing Fire>. However, towards the end of their video call, he suddenly remarked, “You’ve really lost a lot of weight.”

Lu Yiyao hadn’t expected the conversation to turn back to his appearance, but after half a day of video chatting, his looks were no secret, and he responded more openly, “You didn’t just notice now, did you?”

Ran Lin didn’t banter back but instead asked, “How did you lose weight?”

“Rushed work.” Lu Yiyao didn’t even want to recall that period. Focused and immersed, he didn’t feel much at the time, but in retrospect, it was full of struggle. “I was sleeping only two or three hours a day, spending the rest of the time working. And the roles were all about self-torture and struggle. You recognizing me on video now is a relief.”

“Oh…” Ran Lin listened carefully, pondering.

“Why are you asking this?” Lu Yiyao furrowed his brows, sensing something amiss. “Don’t tell me you’re thinking of losing weight.”

Suddenly, Ran Lin pinched his cheeks with the heels of his hands, pouting and mumbling, “Don’t you think my face is a bit round?”

Lu Yiyao rolled his eyes. “Whoever says your face is round, I’ll buy them a top-notch microscope.”

Ran Lin laughed and let go of his face, explaining, “It’s not that I’m fat, just that my current look doesn’t seem like someone who has suffered. Not a rich kid, but definitely middle-class. But the character in the script is a youth just released from prison, described as pale and thin, possibly even a bit haggard.”

“So you want to make yourself look haggard?”

“At least to appear closer to the character in terms of physical appearance.”

“Although I personally prefer you looking well-fed and clean, if you truly believe it’s necessary for the character, you can use some methods to make your appearance more fitting,” Lu Yiyao said, pausing briefly to look Ran Lin in the eyes with a serious tone. “But you must not harm your health. That’s a red line.”

Ran Lin looked at him for a while before nodding seriously. “Understood.”

Lu Yiyao was satisfied and was about to praise him for being “good” when he heard his lover add—

“I’ll wait until after <Chronicles of Winter> if I do decide to lose weight. Otherwise, how would a paper-thin Xiao Shitou lead his brothers to conquer the Nine Heavens?”

“…” Lu Yiyao wasn’t sure if it was just his imagination, but every time he heard Ran Lin talk about “conquering the Nine Heavens”, he seemed to sense a hint of excitement in his lover’s tone.

He just hoped the props department of <Chronicles of Winter> could withstand it.

By the end of the video call, Lu Yiyao didn’t bring up his thoughts about changing careers. It’s not that he wanted to keep it from Ran Lin; it’s just that this particular matter, he wanted to discuss in person.

It was his decision, but it involved both of them, and some things can only be clarified face-to-face. If they ended up arguing and Ran Lin just hung up, he would be left frustrated and helpless.

So, it’s better to discuss it in person. If they really can’t agree, maybe he can… exert some “physical dominance” first, then talk?

Lu Yiyao pondered the feasibility of this plan as he looked at his now dark phone screen, becoming increasingly absorbed in the thought.

……

Taking the high-speed train from Beijing to Wuhan only takes about five and a half hours, with the fastest train taking even less—just four and a half hours. Considering the time needed for airport security and the drive from the airport to the city center, the train often ends up being less hassle. So, when Gu Jie, his co-traveler, called to discuss the possibility of taking the train, Ran Lin readily agreed.

Early November in Beijing, the lowest temperatures was around 0°C, with highs of only about 11-12°C. Ran Lin wore a black hoodie with a casual black and white vest on top, both light and unlined, leaving him shivering in the cold as soon as he stepped off the train.

Fortunately, he soon entered the station, passed through security, and got into the waiting hall before queuing up for boarding.

In the bustling crowd, everyone focused on their own luggage and tickets, following the flow forward. No one noticed him, a young man in a hat and mask, until he entered the business class carriage and sat down, then finally took off his mask and breathed a sigh of relief.

Looking at the empty seat beside him, Ran Lin frowned unconsciously—Gu Jie hadn’t arrived yet.

The business class carriage was spacious, with seats not too close together. He and Gu Jie’s seats were on the side with two rows; he was by the window, Gu Jie by the aisle.

As most passengers settled down and the carriage quieted, Gu Jie was still nowhere to be seen. Just as Ran Lin was about to call him, hurried footsteps sounded from behind. Like everyone else in the carriage, Ran Lin looked back and saw his partner rushing in like a whirlwind.

Gu Jie, wearing only a T-shirt and a baseball cap and no mask, was sprinting so fast no one would be able to make out his face.

He stopped abruptly at Ran Lin’s row, quickly took his seat, and then gasped for breath as he took off his backpack.

“Did it have to be that dramatic?” Ran Lin didn’t know whether to praise or tease him. “Couldn’t you have come a few minutes earlier?”

“The driver mistakenly took me to the south station. Luckily, I realized in time and rushed back here; otherwise, you’d be traveling alone.” Gu Jie recounted his ordeal with a hint of tears.

Ran Lin, bemused at his sweaty friend, couldn’t help but feel a bit sympathetic.

But then—

“How did you end up going to the south station?”

“I got confused and told him that was where I needed to go.”

“……”

All that running seemed quite justified now!

Thankfully, with no further incidents, the train started moving, and the carriage grew quiet, with most early-risers beginning to doze off.

As the landscape outside transitioned from the city to the suburbs, the view expanded dramatically. Despite autumn’s arrival, there was vibrancy and vitality in the air.

Gu Jie cracked open a can of Red Bull for some much-needed energy.

Ran Lin gazed out the window in a daze, mind blank, just quietly observing, enjoying a rare moment of peace.

On reflection, over the past two years, he had been either rushing to schedules or holed up at home memorizing scripts. Even on his off days, he only strolled around near his apartment and seldom had the chance for pure leisure travel like this.

Even though it was called experiencing life, it was pretty much like traveling. Going to an unknown place, embarking on an unknown journey, uncertain of what lay ahead, but full of anticipation.

The scenery along the way was beautiful, and the five and a half hours almost flew by.

As soon as they stepped out of the station, Ran Lin took off his vest—it was noon and a sunny day, much warmer than in Beijing.

Wuhan Station was beautifully and grandly constructed, with a wave-like steel structure dome and an all-glass curtain wall, looking like an airport. It was filled with a modern vibe—a cosmopolitan modern vibe—which didn’t fit at all with the world in the script of <Dyeing Fire>.

But when the two of them took a taxi straight to the address Director He gave and got out, the feel changed instantly.

What appeared before them were rows of closely packed buildings, not tall, with mottled walls that looked old. The ground was asphalt, but due to lack of maintenance, it was pitted and uneven. A narrow stream of water flowed slowly down the curb into the drain, its color unclear, its origin unknown. The garbage cans at the corner of the road were overflowing, with bags of trash scattered around, emitting an unpleasant smell.

Shops lined both sides of the street, featuring unique snacks, supermarkets, jewelry stores, agencies, daily rental houses, and the like. Storefronts were tightly packed, each with its own distinctive sign, all aiming to be eye-catching, almost fulfilling every imaginable daily need.

Looking up, messy wires stretched between buildings. Many balconies were hung with clothes, but the proximity of the buildings made it feel like one could almost reach out and grab clothes from the opposite building. Looking straight ahead, the road was even narrower due to randomly parked vehicles.

Standing in the middle of the road under the noon sun was too conspicuous; people passing by would glance at them. After calling Director He, the two of them decided to wait between a small supermarket and a fruit stall on the side of the road, neither too noticeable nor obstructing business.

Director He didn’t make them wait long—just five or six minutes—but in that time, three groups of people came to the store.

The first group was two young girls, around seventeen or eighteen, who bought a pile of snacks.

The second was a young man buying cigarettes.

The third was an older lady buying soy sauce.

All three were locals, as they could clearly hear them speaking in the local accent to the shopkeeper.

Ran Lin paid special attention to the young man who shuffled in to buy cigarettes, maybe staring a bit too intensely, as he was met with a wary glare before the man left with his cigarette.

But Ran Lin was pleased; he could feel the character Di Jiangtao from the script slowly becoming clearer.

“You guys are pretty fast…” From five or six meters away, Director He’s loud voice reached them.

Director He looked the same as always, but with a longer beard and messier hair, making him look a bit rougher. “I’ll show you where you’ll be staying. Then we can put down your things and go eat.”

Ran Lin and Gu Jie had no objections.

Following Director He through twists and turns, they finally entered an unassuming five-story building.

While the exterior was chaotic, the interior was quite tidy, and the hallway was free of clutter. They smoothly made it to the fourth floor, and Director He unlocked the door. “Two bedrooms and a living room should be enough for you to live in, with all utilities, but no playing games all day long…”

As Director He instructed, the security door opened.

Ran Lin’s first sight was a simply decorated but tidy living room. Aside from a bit of a damp smell, everything was better than expected.

“Don’t worry, Director, we’ve come all the way here to experience life, not internet speed,” Gu Jie said, sensing Director He’s advice as a slight to his professionalism.

Director He, already familiar with Gu Jie, gave him a look. “It better be. The production budget is tight; it wasn’t easy to get the rent for these two months.”

It was Ran Lin’s first time seeing a director lament financial constraints to actors, which he found amusing.

Gu Jie was quick to action, changing shoes and sitting down on the sofa, then remembered to ask, “Director He, where are you guys staying?”

The “you guys” was referring to the poor scriptwriter still tweaking the script and the busy set crew.

“The white building next door,” Director He said. “You can see it from your window.”

Without getting up, Gu Jie turned and saw the white building through the living room window, nodding in acknowledgment.

Ran Lin had already toured both bedrooms. It was evident that the crew had been meticulous: the pillows and bedding were brand new, and the walls were freshly painted. Although the floor showed signs of age with some warping and corners curling, and the furniture screamed nineties décor, as a place to experience life, it was quite comfortable.

“How is it?” Director He asked directly after Ran Lin finished touring.

Ran Lin sincerely replied, “It’s much better than I imagined.”

“Experiencing life isn’t survival training.” Director He cranked his neck around, seemingly tired. “The main thing is for you to immerse yourself, observe, feel, then when it comes to shaping the character, you’ll know where to start.”

Ran Lin looked at the towering figure of Director He, feeling he could see through his rough exterior to the passionate heart for art within.

True to his promise, the first meal Director He took them for was hot dry noodles, just in a small restaurant downstairs.

Salty, spicy, rich, and with Ran Lin’s favorite sesame sauce, he finished a bowl in just a few mouthfuls.

Director He was pleased that the young actors weren’t picky or complaining, but he couldn’t help but feel nostalgic. “This area will be demolished next year. It will be increasingly difficult to find places like this.”

Ran Lin sensed Director He’s reluctance in his words.

Director He had a special affection for Wuhan, having filmed many scenes there over the past decade, witnessing its transformation.

“Urban village renovation is a good thing.” Gu Jie didn’t understand the director’s sentimentality. “Once new buildings are up, the neighborhood will be tidier and the environment more modern. Maybe it will become a bustling business district, and the original residents might get rich overnight with the compensation!”

Director He glanced at him, his face clearly saying, “We have different philosophies.”

Ran Lin tried to think from Director He’s perspective, somewhat understanding. “New buildings mean cleaner environments, which is good, but it also dilutes interpersonal relationships. There’s no longer that community feeling where if one child is scolded, the whole building knows. From an artistic perspective, you’d prefer a closer, more interactive environment…”

“You’ve hit the nail on the head!” Ran Lin’s words resonated deeply with Director He, lighting up his eyes.

Ran Lin felt a bit guilty because he admitted, “Director He, while I understand you, I still have to side with Gu Jie… After all, people hope for increasingly comfortable living environments, and we can’t just forgo improvement for the sake of art…”

Director He: “……”

Ran Lin looked at Director He’s dumbfounded expression, finding the director oddly endearing rather than intimidating.

After dinner, Director He went back to his own work.

Ran Lin and Gu Jie’s task for the trip was to “live”, so they decided to follow their hearts and rest after a morning of traveling by train. No matter how comfortable it was, it was still tiring.

Back at their accommodation, Gu Jie took a shower first.

Ran Lin took some photos of the room and sent them to Lu Yiyao, then texted—[I’ve arrived. This is the house rented by the production crew.]

Lu Yiyao replied promptly—[Looks pretty good.]

Ran Lin was surprised—[I thought you would have complaints.]

Lu Yiyao—[Since it’s about experiencing life, it should be as grounded as possible. Otherwise, what’s the point?]

Ran Lin—[Why do I feel like you’re schooling me. 😥]

Lu Yiyao—[Because you reminded me of my painful experiences living in the great desert. I wished for a simple shelter like this one. 😩]

Ran Lin 囧—[Pat pat, don’t cry. Be strong.]

Lu Yiyao—[……]

Lu Yiyao—[Gotta go, I’m about to drive [kissing.gif]]

The animated kiss startled Ran Lin, almost making him feel it on his own face.

But then—[Why are you driving yourself?]

Lu Yiyao—[Taking advantage of no work to visit my mom and sister.]

Ran Lin—[Send my regards to the beauties. 😏]

Lu Yiyao—[Sure, I’ll video call you when I get home so you can say it to them face to face.]

Ran Lin—[…I was just kidding!]

Lu Yiyao—[Tigger loves you.jpg]

Ran Lin, now realizing he’d been tricked, reflected on how Lu Yiyao seemed exactly the kind of person to make a boyfriend say hi to his mom… Wait, who would make a “Tigger loves you” meme?

Teacher Lu, how much free time do you have on your hands?

After a quick shower, Gu Jie emerged from the bathroom to find Ran Lin smiling foolishly at his phone.

“Who are you chatting with, sweet as honey?” Gu Jie teased.

Ran Lin hesitated for a few seconds, weighing his options between deflecting, fabricating a girlfriend, or telling the truth, and decided on: “Lu Yiyao.”

He wasn’t ready to reveal the whole truth to Gu Jie, but he didn’t want to lie to his friend either. He wanted to be as honest as possible with Gu Jie, perhaps fully opening up in the near future.

“Lu Yiyao? Did you tell him you’re here to experience life?” Gu Jie, oblivious to the suspicious nature of Ran Lin’s sweet smile in such a context, sat next to him, drying his hair.

“Yeah,” Ran Lin, cautious not to be too revealing, closely watched his friend’s expression. “We often chat on WeChat now, keeping in touch.”

“I get it,” Gu Jie, completely unsuspecting, said with a nonchalant air. “After working together on the reality show and the drama, you must be close.”

If Gu Jie had shown any suspicion, Ran Lin might have thought about how to navigate the conversation, but with Gu Jie’s trust, he felt needlessly curious about how oblivious his friend could be. “It’s not just about working together. We just get along really well and always have lots to talk about.”

“That must be you accommodating him.” Gu Jie, turning to face Ran Lin seriously, said, “Honestly, Lu Yiyao is a good guy, serious and responsible, doesn’t cut corners, a decent person, but he’s not easy to get close to. If only he could be a bit more like Xia Xinran. That guy is too overfriendly…”

Ran Lin, overwhelmed with how to respond, simply nodded. “I’ll make sure to pass that on.”

As soon as he finished speaking, Gu Jie unexpectedly draped an arm around Ran Lin’s neck, drawing him close in a buddy-buddy pose.

Startled, Ran Lin was about to react when Gu Jie suggested, “Let’s take a selfie and send it to Lu Yiyao. Since he knows we’re here together, it’d be rude not to show my face.”

Ran Lin: “…”

Suddenly, Ran Lin thought that even if one day he and Lu Yiyao stood hand in hand in front of Gu Jie, unless he explicitly said they were in a relationship, Gu Jie might never suspect a thing.

This guy wasn’t just straight.

He was diamond-grade straight.

……

Halfway through his drive, Lu Yiyao received the selfie from Ran Lin and Gu Jie, with a note specifically from Ran Lin—[Gu Jie wanted to send this.]

If Lu Yiyao didn’t know Gu Jie’s straight-man nature so well, he might have taken this as a challenge!

Unable to text while driving, Lu Yiyao didn’t reply until he got home and was immediately ambushed by his sister, leaving no chance for further messaging.

Lu Yiyao and Lu Yimeng had finished dinner and were watching TV in the living room, waiting for their mother, Fan Li, to come home.

As soon as Fan Li entered, she rushed to her son, fussing, “Let mom see if you’ve lost weight…”

And indeed, he had.

Fan Li’s face turned dark on the spot.

Lu Yimeng wisely stepped aside, making room for their mother. Fan Li sat down, clearly displeased. “What’s going on?”

“Just shooting,” Lu Yiyao replied nonchalantly, as if it was nothing out of the ordinary.

“Other stars shine bright and make it look easy, how come it’s always worry with you?” Fan Li was both angry and distressed.

Lu Yimeng thought her brother should have anticipated this reaction, so when she saw him return home in such a state, she wondered why he was seemingly asking to be scolded.

But her brother seemed unfazed, which made her very curious about what he was planning…

“From now on, you can relax,” Lu Yiyao suddenly said.

Fan Li was stunned, not expecting such a reply.

Lu Yimeng blinked, equally puzzled.

“How am I supposed to relax?” Fan Li was confused.

Lu Yiyao smiled. “I’m quitting being a star.”

Fan Li reached out to touch her son’s forehead. “Have you taken the wrong medicine, or are you just back to teasing me?”

“Neither.” Lu Yiyao laughed, taking his mother’s hand down, and seriously continued, “I’ve already spoken with my agent. I won’t accept any new contracts from now on. Once I’ve fulfilled my current ones, I’ll move behind the scenes.”

“Behind the scenes?” Lu Yimeng finally caught on. “Brother, are you planning to direct?”

“Am I cut out for that?” Lu Yiyao looked at his sister dismissively, then turned back to his mother. “I’m planning to start an entertainment company, invest in projects, and sign artists.”

Fan Li wanted to believe, but the news was so sudden she found it hard to digest. “…Are you serious?”

Lu Yiyao nodded without hesitation. “Absolutely.”

Fan Li: “Your motive?”

Lu Yiyao: “To make money.”

Fan Li: “…”

Lu Yimeng tugged at Lu Yiyao’s sleeve, whispering, “Brother, isn’t that reason a bit weak?”

Fan Li’s face turned thunderous.

Lu Yiyao quickly added, “Self-fulfillment.”

Lu Yimeng facepalmed, thinking the money motive was at least practical…

“I’ll ask again,” Fan Li said, word by word. “Are you serious?”

Lu Yiyao simply replied with an emphatic and powerful, “Yes.”

Fan Li didn’t care how much money her son could make as an actor or running an entertainment company. She was concerned about what he really wanted to do.

Taking a deep breath, she tried to sound calm and rational. “Our family has businesses. The Lu’s have a conglomerate. If you want to achieve something in business, I support you, but why reject both options to start your own? I don’t understand.”

“I like the entertainment industry,” Lu Yiyao confessed. “I enjoy studying the rules and the play of this circle. I want to use what I’ve accumulated over the years in my future career.”

Fan Li nodded. “You like it, huh. If you like it, why not continue being an actor? Why switch careers?”

Lu Yiyao: “Liking the entertainment industry doesn’t mean I like acting. I’m just… okay with acting. I think I prefer doing business, so starting an entertainment company is perfect for combining my interests with what I enjoy doing.”

Fan Li was frustrated. “Then why didn’t you choose business school to begin with!”

Lu Yiyao: “Because Dad wanted me to go to business school, and I didn’t want to make him happy!”

Fan Li: “…Oh.”

Lu Yimeng thought she misheard. “Oh? Mom, he joked about his future when choosing his major in college, and all you say is ‘oh’?!”

“What do you know?” Fan Li disdainfully looked at her daughter. “Just studying business doesn’t mean you understand it. Real businessmen are made through trials and tribulations in the business world. Practice brings true knowledge.”

Lu Yimeng: “But you still need theoretical knowledge to apply it practically!”

Fan Li: “Your brother is smart enough to self-study the theory. Now he’s about to start a company; he seems pretty confident.”

Lu Yimeng: “…”

Done. The moment her mom heard it was to oppose her dad, she unconditionally supported him.

No matter how shrewd in business she was, when it came to her ex-husband, the “Mr. Lu” she mentioned, her rationality goes out the window.

“Here’s the thing.” Fan Li finally calmed down, addressing her son. “I’m a bit sad about your previous efforts going to waste, but if you’ve decided and want to do it, I won’t argue. You don’t want to take over my business, but at least you’re willing to enter the business world, which is comforting…”

“Go ahead and strive, brother,” Lu Yimeng chimed in. “I’m here to handle Mom’s business.”

Fan Li rolled her eyes at her daughter. “You, maybe in ten years you’ll make it, if at all.”

Lu Yimeng glared. “Mom, that’s favoritism!”

Fan Li challenged. “Then start going to the office tomorrow.”

Lu Yimeng’s bravado deflated, and she fell silent.

Up to this point in the conversation, Fan Li realized that her son was serious, and she understood that his eagerness to return was specifically to discuss this matter. In fact, she would be thrilled to celebrate with fireworks if her son quit being a celebrity to go into business. However, she felt a bit resistant due to the suddenness of the change. Moreover, the thought of Lu Guoming, that despicable man who had always hoped her son would enter business, getting his wish fulfilled, made her feel tight-chested, short of breath, and unhappy.

But whatever.

When Fan Li looked at her handsome son and lively daughter, she felt that life was quite complete as it was.

The three of them chatted happily in the living room until late, and then Fan Li went upstairs to rest first, telling the children not to stay up too late.

Once she closed the door, Lu Yimeng gave a thumbs up quietly. “Brother, you’re amazing. Just by opposing Dad, you won Mom over.”

Lu Yiyao sighed. “It just came to that in the conversation.”

Lu Yimeng nodded but still puzzled. “When Mom asked why you didn’t choose business school and went for acting, why did you hold back and not say? She wouldn’t have blamed you, just like today, all clear and breezy.”

Lu Yiyao tilted his head, recalling that moment, and finally remembered. “Oh right, I thought that answer would make Mom happy, so I shouldn’t reveal it too easily, saving it for a crucial moment.”

Lu Yimeng: “…”

Lu Yiyao: “…”

Lu Yimeng: “Brother, you’re too strategic.”

Lu Yiyao: “I just realized that too…”

Ding dong.

The WeChat notification sounded.

Lu Yimeng initially thought the ringing phone was hers and instinctively turned to look, only to see her older brother quickly grab his phone.

This wouldn’t have been suspicious, except his swift action aroused Lu Yimeng’s suspicion. However, she didn’t show it.

Instead, she casually picked up her phone, pretending to flip through it while stealthily glancing at her brother. His face didn’t reveal anything unusual, still open and calm, but then he said, “It’s getting late, I’m going to sleep.”

Lu Yimeng didn’t show any reaction, obediently responding, “Okay, good night,” and watched her brother head upstairs with his phone. She then narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

After waiting about two minutes, she turned off the living room lights, leaving only the night light on, and quietly ascended the stairs like a shadow, silently approaching her brother’s bedroom like a phantom.

The bedroom door was tightly closed. Lu Yimeng pressed her ear against the solid wooden door, faintly hearing her brother speaking inside, but couldn’t make out the words clearly.

Her curiosity was killing her.

Even if her brother was usually very reserved and secretive, he was ultimately a novice in love. He might manage his expressions well, but his actions couldn’t deceive anyone. Rushing back to his room upon receiving a message and immediately getting in touch once inside—there was definitely something going on!

Growing impatient, Lu Yimeng looked around and noticed a very thin gap between the door and the floor. She happily lay down, sticking her ear to the gap.

The previously muffled voice became intermittently clearer, but she could only hear her brother’s voice. She wasn’t sure if he was on a call or in a video chat, but he was wearing headphones—

“Yeah… I know…”

“Hot dry noodles… duck neck… soup dumplings… rice cakes… tofu skin…”

“Wait, you’ve only been there half a day and you’ve eaten this much?”

“Oh… planning to eat over the next few days… But that’s not right either, are you there to experience life or are you on a culinary tour of China?”

Lu Yimeng swallowed her saliva, feeling hungry before she could catch any scandalous news.

“Okay, you’re always right…”

His voice suddenly softened, unfamiliar to Lu Yimeng.

“Gu Jie…”

“Yeah, I’m upset…”

“My hair is still wet…”

“Yeah, that works…”

“Not enough…”

“More…”

His voice got lower, huskier, and strangely suggestive…

Lu Yimeng frowned, pressing harder against the gap, then caught a very ambiguous murmur—

“I’ll come over and help you take it off.”

Lu Yimeng’s face flushed red with embarrassment.

She almost reflexively got up and stealthily returned to her room, using her last bit of reason.

Once back in her room, she dove into her bed, her feelings complex and mixed…

Her future sister-in-law was a foodie!

Her dear brother was a rascal!

She had just heard Gu Jie… Wait, Gu Jie? Gu Jie? Gu Jie?

Lu Yimeng sat up suddenly, trying to recall how this name came up.

It seemed to have been mentioned without any context, just called out.

Could it be… the name of her future sister-in-law?!

Lu Yimeng felt uneasy, her brain racing like never before.

Gu Jie, Gu Jie, were not problematic, but Gu Jie… She felt she had seen or heard this name before…

Her brother’s social circle was quite narrow. As his devoted fan, she constantly followed his updates. Apart from Huo Yuntao, she hadn’t seen him interact with other people outside the circle. So, whoever he knew must be from within the industry…

Unable to figure it out, Lu Yimeng resorted to searching each name on her phone.

Gu Jie, no clues related to the entertainment industry…

Gu Jie, still no clues…

Gu Jie…

[Gu Jie, a male actor from Mainland China… variety show <National First Love Drifting Story>…]

There it was—a clue closely related to her brother.

No wonder the name sounded familiar; she had followed her brother’s debut on this variety show religiously! More importantly, the cast seemed to get along well in the show, and her brother had mentioned enjoying the later episodes!

Clearly, Gu Jie was a friend of her brother’s…

Or was it more than just friendship?!

Her brother’s tender, murmuring voice echoed in her ears again.

Lu Yimeng laid back down in despair, holding her phone high.

What to do?! This Gu Jie looked even more masculine than her brother!!!

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