Author: 颜凉雨 / Yan Liang Yu

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

Chapter 81

An actor can make or break a show.

The crew had been halted for two days.

The producer and director were extremely anxious, while the rest of the staff and actors could only wait in confusion.

“So there’s no way we can wrap up by the end of July,” Ran Lin said to his agent on the phone, his voice carrying the same worry as the director’s. “Even if we find a replacement actress in these two days, we’ll probably have to shoot until mid-August.”

“It would be best to finish by mid-August,” Wang Xi replied. “Any later would be really difficult.”

Ran Lin was surprised. He was set to start filming <The Legend of Lantern Blossoms> on August 8^th, and per his contract, even a day’s delay would mean paying a fine. He was prepared for a severe reprimand, but all he got was this response?

As if reading his mind, Wang Xi continued, “I’ve already negotiated with the <The Legend of Lantern Blossoms> crew. They’ve agreed to postpone your scenes, but they can only wait for you until August 18^th. You must join them by then.”

“Xi Jie, you really are…” Ran Lin couldn’t find the right words to describe her. Wang Xi’s thoughtfulness and efficiency exceeded all praises he could think of.

Wang Xi waited for a description that never came, amused yet focused on the matter at hand. “Any leads on the actress?”

Ran Lin sighed. “Doesn’t seem like it.”

“Director He has high standards for quality. He won’t settle for less,” Wang Xi said, her voice filled with concern. “But good actors are always busy. It’s rare to find someone who can commit immediately.”

Ran Lin explained, “The last actress was recommended by an acquaintance, so the director hesitated so long before terminating the contract. Now we’re wary of recommendations. After being burned once, we insist the new actress must come to the set for a trial shoot before signing any contract.”

“Having been through such a disappointment, it’s understandable the crew is being cautious,” Wang Xi replied. “But this makes it even harder to find a suitable actress. They come to help out and have to audition first.”

“……” The more his agent spoke, the bleaker Ran Lin felt about the future.

“Don’t worry,” Wang Xi reassured, sensing her artist’s despair. “In the worst case, the crew can disband temporarily. In a few months, once they find a suitable actress and everyone’s schedules align, they can reassemble and continue shooting.”

Ran Lin was struck by a sense of déjà vu at her description. Then it dawned on him. “Didn’t Director He’s last project end up doing something similar?”

Wang Xi had mentioned it offhandedly; such occurrences, while not common in the entertainment industry, do happen. But reminded by Ran Lin, she realized that indeed, it seemed to be the same director…

A long, quiet moment passed.

Finally, Wang Xi sighed. “Pursuing art always requires some sacrifice.”

Ran Lin was left speechless, wishing he could just cry in frustration.

After hanging up with his agent, Ran Lin nervously checked the new message in the crew’s group chat, fearing the worst news like “the crew disbanding temporarily”.

Thankfully, that wasn’t the case—

[Dear crew members, we urgently need a female actress around 25 years old (not a strict requirement, apparent suitability is enough). Please help spread the word. Suitable candidates can immediately come for a screen test, and the payment will be generous.]

The message was from the assistant director, but naturally, it was at the director’s behest. Having been burned by a recommendation before, the director was probably at his wit’s end to issue such a notice. Everyone understood they were seeking a replacement for Jiang Xiaoxiao, so no further details were revealed in the notice.

Without hesitation, Ran Lin shared the notice in his WeChat moments, only to realize after posting that his feed was filled with the same call for actors, all copied and pasted by his fellow crew members.

After a moment’s thought, Ran Lin also reached out privately to two female artists he had good relations with. The private messages were less formal, starting with a casual “Hello, anyone there?” emoticon, followed by the main text—

[I’m currently filming Director He Guan’s <Dyeing Fire>, a realism-themed, suspenseful, and stark movie. The crew urgently needs a female actress for the only female role (a positive character) in the movie, which is roughly the third lead. Due to the tight schedule, we need someone who can join immediately. As for the payment, although the director says it’s generous, it might be negligible compared to your usual fees 😅. It’s a rescue mission like putting out a fire. If you’re interested or know someone suitable, please contact me or help spread the word🌹.]

Xi Ruohan was the first to reply.

Ran Lin messaged at 4 p.m., and she responded within an hour—[I can’t help with the role, as I’m starting a TV series next week, but I’ve shared your post in my moments 🤏.]

Ran Lin smiled and thanked her, only to be teased for being too formal with friends.

Jiang Yi replied after Xi Ruohan, around 6 p.m.—[How long is the shooting period?]

Having been turned down by Xi Ruohan, Ran Lin had almost given up hope. Jiang Yi, who had stopped doing TV series and was picky about film roles, especially after her recent high-budget film <Chronicles of Winter>, had her market value significantly increased. Although she had expressed interest in modern dramas, she had plenty of lead roles to choose from; there was no need to turn back for a supporting role.

Because he didn’t expect much, Ran Lin was pleasantly surprised by her reply and responded quickly—[About two months.]

After asking, he realized she might not be considering the role herself; she might just want clearer information to help spread the word.

People are like that; the closer to a surprise, the more they fear disappointment.

Fortunately, Jiang Yi didn’t leave him hanging too long—[I’d like to try for the role, but my schedule is only free until July 25^th, and I can’t commit after that.]

If she started filming immediately, it would mean she had less than fifty days available.

Ran Lin pursed his lips in thought before typing—[I’m not sure if 48 days is enough for the shooting. I need to ask the director. But are you sure you’ll take the role if the schedule works? Maybe you should discuss it with your agent first?]

Jiang Yi—[This is Director He! If my agent knew my first modern film is with Director He, she’d carry me around the world in circles 😭.]

Ran Lin—[But it’s a third lead, a supporting role.]

Jiang Yi—[Isn’t there only one female role in this film?]

Ran Lin—[Yes, a screen full of rough men, you’ll definitely stand out beautifully.]

Jiang Yi—[😏 Hurry up and ask the director for me, if 48 days is enough.]

Ran Lin—[48 days]

Jiang Yi—[If the director thinks I’m suitable, I can join the crew the day after tomorrow.]

Ran Lin—[Wonder Woman.jpg]

Exiting WeChat, Ran Lin immediately called Director He.

It seemed Director He was outside, as the call was filled with noisy street sounds. “Hello?”

“Director He, it’s Ran Lin.”

“Yes, what’s up?”

“I have a friend who wants to try out for Jiang Xiaoxiao, but she only has 48 days available. Is that enough time?”

“What films has your friend been in? Do I know any of them? Or what’s her appearance and temperament like, and how about her acting skills? Please give me an objective assessment. I can’t afford another Qi Luoluo situation; the producer would go mad.”

Director He’s frustration was palpable through the phone.

The production crew was halted, leaving the producer the most anxious as money drains away daily. The cause of this situation was an actor introduced by the director’s acquaintance, making the producer’s distress evident.

“She’s Jiang Yi, the lead actress I just finished <Chronicles of Winter> with. You should remember her; her last film <Broken Bridge> was a big hit.”

“I know Jiang Yi…” Director He pondered with hesitation.

Worried the director might misunderstand, Ran Lin quickly spoke for his friend. “Director He, rest assured, she’s not the diva the internet claims. We had a smooth collaboration, and her acting intuition is great…”

“It’s not her attitude I’m worried about.” Director He found a quieter corner as the background noise lessened. “Her reputation in the industry is quite good. I’d welcome her, but you know the budget constraints. The pay we can offer is just a fraction of her usual fee, and the role is a very minor one. Are you sure she’ll come?”

“The moment she heard it was your film, she didn’t even ask about the pay. If you think we can wrap up in 48 days, she’ll join the day after tomorrow,” Ran Lin said with a suppressed laugh. “Director, you underestimate your own charm.”

There was a long silence on the other end before a deep sigh. “Ran Lin, if Jiang Yi really comes, that would solve a huge problem for me.”

“If that’s the case, it’s because you gave me the chance to play Di Jiangtao,” Ran Lin sincerely replied.

“Then we should both thank Gu Jie,” Director He admitted. “Without his strong recommendation, we might not have had this opportunity.”

Ran Lin paused, then smiled knowingly. He always felt that Gu Jie had put in a good word for him to land a role in <Dyeing Fire>, yet Gu Jie merely claimed to have “connected” them, suggesting that the director, in his urgency to find actors, would consider anyone and the final decision lay with him, not related to Gu Jie at all.

The “strong recommendation” mentioned by Director He was never in Gu Jie’s narrative.

Yet, Ran Lin had always harbored doubts, and today the director confirmed them.

But now wasn’t the time for celebrating friendship. Ran Lin revisited the most pressing concern. “Director He, will 48 days be enough?”

Without hesitation, Director He replied, “If her acting is no issue, I can make it work in 38 days!”

Ran Lin: “……”

Director He: “Well, that might be a bit of an exaggeration.”

Ran Lin couldn’t help but chuckle. Director He was always so straightforward. “Okay, then I’ll go talk to Jiang Yi right away.”

“Right, I await your confirmation,” Director He said seriously.

Upon hearing that 48 days would suffice, Jiang Yi immediately contacted her agent. By just after 7:00 p.m., she had replied, asking Ran Lin to send her the address; she would be there the day after tomorrow.

Ran Lin wouldn’t let the “rescue heroine” find her own way; he quickly relayed the good news to the director and soon had the production life coordinator arrange a pickup vehicle.

Everything was settled by 8:00 p.m.

Looking at the date on his phone, Ran Lin mused that June 6^th, a date with double sixes, was indeed auspicious*.

*Clarity: In Chinese culture, the number 6 [liu] (六) is considered auspicious because its pronunciation is similar to the word to flow [liu] (流), which implies that everything will proceed smoothly.

Just as he was about to share the good news with Gu Jie, who seemed more worried than the director these days, the crew’s group chat suddenly buzzed with a new post—a link to a Weibo post: [Insider exposes Gu Jie bullying a new female actress in the crew… [from the Weibo of Entertainment Detective]]

Soon the group chat was flooded with exclamations and confusion. Ran Lin hurriedly clicked in to find that the post included five pictures: the first a screenshot of a notice in the <Dyeing Fire> WeChat group about needing a new actress for the role of Jiang Xiaoxiao, indicating a day’s halt in production. All potential identifiers were obscured, leaving only the group name and notice content; the second was a screenshot of Qi Luoluo’s Weibo, the third and fourth were photos of Gu Jie and Qi Luoluo, and the fifth a blurry photo of the crew at work, apparently taken surreptitiously.

In essence, aside from the notice confirming the replacement of the actress playing Jiang Xiaoxiao and Qi Luoluo’s “seemingly sentimental Weibo post”, there was no substantial evidence linking to the content of the post.

However, the sensationalism of the marketing account’s Weibo post painted a dramatic picture. The full article read like an in-depth report, alleging that Gu Jie had made life difficult for a female newcomer in the crew, causing her to be fired after only ten days on set to appease the leading actor. With no background to defend her, the actress had no choice but to swallow the injustice. Yet, the day the production announced a halt, she also posted a sad message on Weibo, seemingly meaningful when paired with the incident.

The sensational Weibo post by the marketing account referred to the actress as a “newcomer female actress” throughout, but the accompanying pictures already hinted at her identity to the netizens.

Ran Lin first visited Qi Luoluo’s Weibo, whose ID was “Actress Qi Luoluo”. The most popular post on her page was from the evening of June 4^th, the night the director spoke to her, posted at 11:30 p.m.—[A dream that ends. Can’t change the world, only learning to be strong.]

There were no pictures or emojis, just that sentence.

However, as the marketing account suggested, it was profoundly meaningful.

Opening the post, most comments were from sightseeing netizens and Gu Jie’s fans.

The general attitude of the sightseeing netizens ranged from curious to sympathetic—

[What could make a male star bully a newcomer female actress? Just curious, want to ask. 🤔]

[Signed a contract, joined the crew, started shooting, and then got fired. I feel sorry for you, but instead of posting these vague posts, why not speak out all your grievances?]

[This male actor bullying a female actress scenario is quite fresh. What exactly happened?]

[I feel there will be a plot twist. Not taking sides yet, just watching.]

[I’m a bit worried you’ll be blacklisted, but still hope you can speak up.]

Meanwhile, Gu Jie’s fans had a startlingly unified response, all saying—[If you slander, I’ll unfollow. Waiting!]

As Ran Lin scrolled down, the sheer number of similar comments was overwhelming.

When he finally checked Gu Jie’s Weibo homepage, he understood the power of role models.

Just half an hour before, despite the marketing account stirring up momentum, and even before the lighting assistant posted the link in the WeChat group, Gu Jie had already responded with a post on Weibo—

[Heard I bullied a female actress? Seeking evidence; recordings, photos, videos, chat histories are all acceptable. Provide evidence, and I’ll apologize! @Entertainment Detective @Entertainment Seven Princesses @Insider News @Domestic Sun Newspaper @Double Zero Dog Gossip Studio @Entertainment Super Informer @Melon Eating Association @Divine Entertainment Reporter]

Although most celebrity Weibos are half managed by their teams, especially during PR crises when the team takes over entirely, Ran Lin felt that the tone of the post and the determination to tag all the marketing accounts indicated it was Gu Jie himself.

No longer looking at the screen, Ran Lin, still in his slippers and holding his room card, went to knock on Gu Jie’s door.

“Coming—” A voice from inside responded.

Soon after, the door opened to reveal Gu Jie in gray sweatpants and a black tank top, his forehead glistening with sweat.

“Still working out… Achoo!” Ran Lin began, but before he could finish his sentence, he sneezed due to the spicy scent in the air.

“No, just eating instant noodles,” Gu Jie replied.

Ran Lin, noticing the half-eaten spicy noodles and the prominently labeled “Extra Spicy” packet, understood where all the sweat came from.

“Carry on, don’t mind me.” Ran Lin gestured towards the noodles, allowing Gu Jie to continue eating.

Gu Jie seemed about to resume eating but then looked up, sensing something amiss, and asked Ran Lin, “Did you come just to watch me eat noodles?”

“I came to comfort you.” Ran Lin rolled his eyes. “But seeing you’re still in the mood for noodles, you probably aren’t too affected.”

“How can I not be affected?” Gu Jie replied, frustrated and furrowing his brows. “I’ve done a hundred push-ups and eaten two packs of noodles. Sure, I’ve sweated it out, but here…” He tapped his chest. “It still feels tight.”

“You clearly haven’t been wronged much,” Ran Lin remarked as he settled into a single sofa chair by a small coffee table. “I was on the hot search a few days ago—you saw it. That was a real mess. Qi Luoluo’s tactics are nothing compared to Han Ze.”

“But she accused me of bullying women,” Gu Jie protested, both angry and aggrieved. “Doesn’t she know why she was fired? Instead of focusing on the right things, she spends her days plotting mischief. And when leaving, she throws dirt on others; what was she thinking!”

From his debut to now, Gu Jie had always maintained a low-profile and earnest approach, not overly cultivating a public persona or fan base, and never seriously involved in any public disputes. Suddenly being thrust into the fray, he felt out of place and uncomfortable; he would rather have a straightforward fight than deal with this.

“I saw your Weibo post,” Ran Lin offered some comfort. “It’s good. If you’re innocent, let those who talk bring out the evidence.”

Gu Jie nodded. “Qiang Ge wanted to act on it, but I stopped him. These baseless rumors aren’t worth our attention.”

Ran Lin paused. “Qiang…Ge?”

“My agent,” Gu Jie replied, finally picking up his fork to continue with the noodles.

Ran Lin had only met Gu Jie’s agent once during “Drifting Stories”, briefly and without much interaction or even knowing his name. Now hearing Gu Jie refer to him as “Qiang Ge” and recalling the robust middle-aged man, he seemed even more formidable.

As Gu Jie ate, Ran Lin shared Gu Jie’s Weibo post, simply forwarding it without additional comments but clearly taking a stand.

Perhaps due to his recent involvement in controversies, as soon as he reposted it, his comments flooded with dozens of concerned messages from fans—

[Male God, be careful. You just got out of a scandal, don’t attract more trouble…]

[Can’t we just stay low and peaceful? 🤲]

[I know you and Gu Jie are close, but maybe don’t pick sides in this kind of situation…]

[It seems to be a tough period; why do all my idol’s recent films have issues?]

Seeing his fans so worried softened Ran Lin’s expression.

He didn’t linger on the comments but returned to WeChat, where the work group had quieted down. Although everyone had their thoughts on the matter, aside from the initial shock, there was no further discussion.

“Oh right.” Ran Lin remembered as he saw Gu Jie finish his noodles. “We’ve found a replacement actress, Jiang Yi.”

Gu Jie, disposing of the noodle bowl, looked surprised. “The one you acted with in <Chronicles of Winter>?”

Ran Lin nodded. “She’ll join the day after tomorrow.”

Gu Jie asked, “Is the salary settled?”

Ran Lin replied, “She said the pay doesn’t matter, she just wants to act in a modern drama.”

Gu Jie remarked, “You must have quite the influence then…”

Ran Lin: “People came here specifically for Director He.”

They chatted casually until after ten. When both felt sleepy, they decided to rest.

Gu Jie’s gloom mainly stemmed from being slandered for no reason, but he wasn’t overly worried about the negative impact it might cause. Although there were marketing accounts stirring the pot, Qi Luoluo wasn’t Han Ze, who could have made the incident dominate the trending searches. At the height of the public’s attention in the evening, it was only ninth or tenth on the trending list. By the time Ran Lin checked Weibo before going to bed, it had fallen to the thirties. Given Gu Jie’s straightforward attitude and Qi Luoluo not speaking out, Ran Lin could almost foresee that by the next morning, the issue would have blown over.

After all, there are too many celebrities making statements every day, whether it’s real fights or fake hype, it’s only exciting when they are equally matched. For a minor figure like Qi Luoluo, unless a major scandal breaks out, it’s hard to sustain attention.

The next day, Ran Lin woke up naturally. When he opened his eyes, the sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains, casting a soft brightness in the room.

Jiang Yi wouldn’t arrive until tomorrow, so it was destined to be another day without work.

Bored, Ran Lin called Gu Jie to see if he wanted to go downtown for a stroll. Gu Jie, having nothing better to do, readily agreed.

So the two set out lightly dressed, wearing hats and sunglasses.

Wuhan is a city with a distinct flavor, carrying a sense of retro desolation with the pace of modern rapid change. Sitting in the car, watching the high-rise buildings and the mottled storefronts on both sides of the street, they felt a sense of traveling through the past and future.

Despite having spent months in Wuhan, they had never really explored it, so they thoroughly enjoyed their day out. If it weren’t for a call from Gu Jie’s agent, they might have even headed to the food street that evening.

As the call came in, the sky was darkening, and the streetlights were just coming on.

Standing by the bustling street, Ran Lin listened to his friend on the phone, aimlessly watching the passing vehicles. When he looked back, his friend’s face was even darker than the night.

Ran Lin didn’t hear what Gu Jie said, but he had a vague sense of foreboding. “What’s wrong?”

Gu Jie shook his head and said, “Let’s go back to the hotel and talk.”

Since they were just wandering, they hadn’t used the crew’s car and had been taking taxis. Now, conveniently by the roadside, they hailed a cab.

Curiosity held in check, Ran Lin thought since Gu Jie said to go back to the hotel, they’d wait and ask there. But on the way, Director He called Gu Jie, and as soon as they arrived at the hotel, Gu Jie rushed to Director He’s room.

Ran Lin’s unease grew stronger.

Back in his room, he first checked the work group on WeChat, but the last message was still from yesterday’s “shock”. The group had always been lively since its creation, with members joking around frequently, but the silence from yesterday to today was unsettling.

Exiting WeChat and pondering for a moment, Ran Lin was about to open Weibo when his phone rang. It was Wang Xi.

“Xi Jie?” Ran Lin knew his agent wouldn’t call without reason, and it was likely something urgent.

“What are you doing?” Instead of asking about the situation, the agent started with small talk.

“Just got back from outside…” The more circuitous the agent was, the more anxious Ran Lin became. “The crew stopped working, so I went out for a stroll.”

Wang Xi: “Alone?”

Ran Lin: “With Gu Jie.”

Wang Xi: “…”

Ran Lin: “Xi Jie, just tell me what’s going on. If it’s another problem, just say it. I’m used to it and can handle it.”

Wang Xi laughed briefly before getting to the point. “It’s not you, it’s Gu Jie. Who found that actress anyway, and why is she causing so much drama?”

The calls from Gu Jie’s agent, Director He, and his own agent connected the dots for Ran Lin. “Did Qi Luoluo respond?”

Wang Xi sighed: “Yes, and she responded with a bombshell.”

“What do you mean?” Ran Lin didn’t understand. “Isn’t it just about Gu Jie harassing her?”

Wang Xi explained, “That’s the apparent outcome. But why would Gu Jie bully her? The actress claims it was because Gu Jie harassed her, and she rejected him righteously, leading Gu Jie to retaliate during filming, which ultimately got her kicked out of the crew.”

Ran Lin had heard of fabricating stories, but this was far-fetched.

Furthermore, those who slander others seem to have something in common. Han Ze stole his drama <Chronicles of Winter>, then claimed Wang Xi was biased. Now Qi Luoluo was accused of harassing Gu Jie, but she was saying it’s the other way around. It seemed popular to accuse the accuser.

Ran Lin suppressed his rising emotions and asked his agent, “Do you believe Gu Jie harassed the actress?”

Wang Xi rolled her eyes, saying dismissively, “With his personality, it’s more like he’d be the one harassed.”

Ran Lin: “……”

His agent wasn’t just astute, but almost prophetic.

“But this kind of thing is troublesome.” Wang Xi’s voice grew serious. “Gu Jie can’t provide evidence of ‘I didn’t harass’ because such evidence doesn’t exist. Qi Luoluo might also lack evidence or might use fabricated chats or something as spurious proof. But either way, the public tends to believe the woman in these situations. Because it’s hard to clarify, and Qi Luoluo did get fired from the crew, any reason given now will seem like covering up for Gu Jie. Even if Gu Jie takes legal action or other measures to cool down the situation, his image will be severely damaged.”

Ran Lin was trembling with anger, more upset than when he was slandered. “So there’s no way to stop Qi Luoluo from spreading rumors?”

“There is,” Wang Xi said. “Start with Qi Luoluo, work behind the scenes to get her to clarify voluntarily, but it’s almost impossible.”

Ran Lin’s mood plummeted with his agent’s analysis. Getting Qi Luoluo to apologize, essentially admitting her wrongdoing, seemed less likely than hacking her account and making the apology seem to come from her.

Wang Xi understood Ran Lin’s feelings and knew that the suggestion she made was virtually pointless, falling silent as well.

After a while, Ran Lin realized he hadn’t yet informed his agent of the truth and immediately said, “Actually, it’s not Gu Jie who harassed her, but she harassed Gu Jie. The shooting schedule was severely delayed because of her, and the director had no choice but to terminate her contract, having already been more than fair to her.”

“Some people don’t think about what they’ve gained but only what they’ve lost,” Wang Xi said. “And by stirring up this drama, she’s made a name for herself too. It’s killing two birds with one stone, not a bad deal.”

Ran Lin asked, “Isn’t she afraid of offending Director He?”

“Even if she hadn’t done this, it’s unlikely she would ever deal with a director of Director He’s caliber in her lifetime. Besides, the entertainment industry is vast; Director He can’t cover the sky with one hand. There will always be crews willing to hire her. Put simply, an actor like her fears nothing but obscurity, so she’ll grasp at any opportunity that might make her famous. And…” Wang Xi paused for two seconds before continuing, “She definitely has a team behind her.”

Ran Lin frowned. “So this isn’t revenge but carefully planned hype?”

“There’s an element of revenge,” Wang Xi said, “But the way she posted that pitiful Weibo the day she was fired, let the marketing accounts lead with ‘bullying female actress’ yesterday, and waited until today to formally accuse harassment shows a too methodical approach. The steps are too clear.”

Ran Lin’s mind was in turmoil. He had only heard his agent’s account and hadn’t actually gone to Weibo to see the extent of the situation. But just from what Wang Xi described, he already felt helpless.

This was different from Han Ze slandering him over a role; they could counter with audition footage. But how do you counter an accusation of harassment from Qi Luoluo?

Ran Lin shook off his troubling thoughts, putting aside the question of “how to help Gu Jie” to think about something else. “Xi Jie, you didn’t call just to analyze the impact and strategy for this incident, did you?”

Of course not.

Although frustrated for Gu Jie, who has his own team to handle things, the first thing that came to Wang Xi’s mind when she saw the trending topic was the post Ran Lin shared yesterday. There were already mocking comments under that post, saying how quickly taking sides could backfire. But since the issue hadn’t escalated much yesterday, she didn’t say anything, knowing well the relationship between Ran Lin and Gu Jie.

But today was different. “The victim herself claiming harassment” and “marketing accounts ambiguously saying the actress was bullied” are two entirely different things. She feared Ran Lin, in a moment of passion, might support Gu Jie and attract unnecessary criticism.

However, as the conversation progressed, Ran Lin was eager to find a way to help Gu Jie throughout. Wang Xi could tell, so the typical advice of “don’t post anything and stay prudent” felt somewhat awkward to say.

On Weibo, everyone was watching, with no one daring to openly support Gu Jie yet. Maybe there were private messages or calls offering comfort, but publicly, no one wanted to get involved in the controversy.

But actually, a hundred private words of comfort don’t equate to one public post of support, especially at a time when public opinion is most fervent. Because the real battlefield is out in the open, anyone who steps forward is effectively shielding the involved party from the storm. Suddenly having someone stand by your side and put an arm around your shoulder feels entirely different from receiving a secret message of support.

“It’s okay. I just called to see how you were feeling.” Wang Xi finally didn’t mention her concerns.

Ran Lin might take a stand, or he might not, but as his agent and friend, she decided neither to encourage nor to stop him.

She had been warmed by Ran Lin’s popularity before; she knew how important it is to receive support when in need. If possible, she wanted to be the one guarding that warmth, not making her artist as calculating and detached as herself.

After hanging up with his agent, Ran Lin still felt something was off.

But without time to dwell on it, he quickly opened Weibo, where Gu Jie and Qi Luoluo had both topped the trending list.

Ran Lin went straight to Qi Luoluo’s Weibo to see her long-awaited response: a nearly two-thousand-word post titled “I Am Just a Minor Actress”.

It depicted her in the weakest light, detailing how happy she was to receive the invitation to the crew, how hard she worked after joining, and how she was harassed by Gu Jie, subtly refused him, and then was sabotaged, bullied, and eventually, the crew, having no other choice to protect the male lead, had to let her go—a tale more tragic than Qin Xianglian*.

*A character from Bao Zheng’s Trials of a Hundred Legal Cases, she was married to Chen Shimei, who’s a heartless and unfaithful man. Often portrayed in Peking opera, her tragic tale involves suffering from injustice. She is often portrayed as a symbol of enduring virtue and resilience, despite the extreme hardship she faces.

Most incriminating was the hotel surveillance footage she posted. The video was sped up, with clear dates and times, showing Gu Jie entering her room and leaving about twenty minutes later. The camera angle only showed half the corridor leading to Qi Luoluo’s room, not including Ran Lin’s side, and ended as Gu Jie closed the door, so any aftermath was omitted.

The entire video lacked context, making it seem like Gu Jie went to Qi Luoluo’s room on his own, stayed for twenty minutes, and then left.

Ran Lin knew what Gu Jie had done; if he remembered correctly, his friend said he went in to rehearse lines, and then Qi Luoluo started crying and throwing herself at him.

But the public didn’t know what really happened inside, and the surveillance footage, combined with Qi Luoluo’s lengthy post, seemed to confirm the harassment accusation.

Under Qi Luoluo’s post, there were no visible comments from Gu Jie’s fans or the usual onlookers; it was filled with sympathizers and justice warriors.

As Wang Xi said, Qi Luoluo’s post seemed professionally done, criticizing Gu Jie while subtly placing the crew and the director in a “misinformed” and “reluctantly accommodating the male lead” light, offending no one but Gu Jie.

It was Director He who decided to terminate her contract after discussing with Gu Jie, and Qi Luoluo must have anticipated that Gu Jie would mention her behavior to the director. Yet, she restrained herself to only target Gu Jie, not implicating Director He at all. Minor actors might be sensitive, but major directors are untouchable, at least openly. The careful balancing of stakes and precision in her accusations made Ran Lin skeptical that it was all Qi Luoluo’s doing.

Disturbed by Qi Luoluo’s post, Ran Lin turned to Gu Jie’s page, only to find that a few minutes ago, Gu Jie had updated his Weibo—

[I don’t look for trouble, but I am not afraid of it.]

A seemingly fragile statement that appeared as if it could be blown away with a gust of wind.

Without opening it, Ran Lin could imagine the mockery below because, without evidence or rebuttal, it was just an empty slogan.

Yet, Ran Lin felt as if he could hear his friend’s resolute and firm voice beside him—Gu Jie had pinned that post.

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

Author: 颜凉雨 / Yan Liang Yu

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

Chapter 80

The premiere press conference of <Chronicles of Winter> barely made any splash online because from the night of the press conference until June 3^rd, when the drama officially aired simultaneously on two satellite TV channels, the internet was flooded with the names of Han Ze, Cui Yanyan, and Xiao Tianyu.

Xiao Tianyu had been filming in the far northwest for the past year and had long been out of sight. It was said that the filming conditions there were very harsh, with daily wind and sand; it was also said that Xiao Tianyu was in a bad mood after learning about the incident, speaking little to those around him except for acting; and it was rumored that Xiao Tianyu sent a message privately the next day of the incident, unilaterally breaking up with Cui Yanyan. In short, countless rumors flew about, but Xiao Tianyu, as the cuckolded party, remained silent.

He probably hadn’t even logged onto Weibo because netizens could still find many of his low-key, cryptic, but love-filled posts, occasionally even referring to a “wife”, clearly headed toward marriage. Now, looking back, it made people feel even more sympathy.

The more they sympathized with Xiao Tianyu, naturally, the more they resented Cui Yanyan for cheating despite having a boyfriend and the indiscreet Han Ze.

More importantly, the video’s imagery was too impactful. Probably thinking they were in a blind spot of the underground parking lot’s surveillance, the two didn’t avoid much, with kissing and touching, entangling for several minutes before finally entering the elevator together.

However, the angle chosen by the paparazzo was very professional. Although the distance was somewhat far, all the actions of the two were clearly captured. The video even added subtitles explaining the filming date as two days ago and the location as Han Ze’s underground parking lot.

The two returning together to the man’s home late at night left little to the imagination, and the video didn’t need to spell it out, as dedicated paparazzi camped out all night and finally captured Cui Yanyan leaving Han Ze’s place in the early morning.

The evidence was complete, leaving no room for the parties involved to wriggle out of it.

Both Cui Yanyan’s and Han Ze’s social media became a massive scene of fans jumping ship.

The reason for Cui Yanyan’s fan loss was clear—while love is free, cheating is intolerable. Even without escalating it to a moral critique, just days ago, she was celebrating her boyfriend’s birthday on Weibo, and then she was caught kissing someone else, a stark contrast that made such a fickle idol hard to support.

The reasons for Han Ze’s fan loss were more diverse—firstly, if it was true love, it might be excusable to fight for love if both are single, but engaging in a heated affair knowing the other party hasn’t broken up with their boyfriend should be morally condemned; secondly, if it wasn’t true love but just a fling, it was even more shameful, leaving no room for redemption; thirdly, the sordid scene in the underground parking lot completely destroyed the warm man persona he had built up, and nothing hurts more than realizing you’ve been supporting a fake idol.

The waves of ridicule, fan abandonment, and mockery continued unabated, and like Xiao Tianyu, both Han Ze and Cui Yanyan remained silent.

It’s understandable that Han Ze wouldn’t respond, as his primary concern was his crumbling public image. Regardless of whether his relationship with Cui Yanyan was true love or whether Cui Yanyan had broken up with Xiao Tianyu, nothing could whitewash him now. But Cui Yanyan’s silence was intriguing.

Typically, she should have immediately issued a statement clarifying that she had already broken up with Xiao Tianyu. If they hadn’t coordinated privately and she was worried about being contradicted by Xiao Tianyu, then her management should have quietly smeared Xiao Tianyu, creating a narrative that he wasn’t such a good man either, diverting attention and blurring the original nature of the incident.

But Cui Yanyan made no move.

Perhaps she still had feelings for Xiao Tianyu and didn’t want to drag him down at this point, or maybe Xiao Tianyu had some leverage over her, and making a fuss would only make things worse.

In any case, the armchair analysts had a field day, while fellow artists of Han Ze and Cui Yanyan remained conspicuously silent on the matter—no one wanted to get burned at this point.

Only Han Ze’s official fan club posted on Weibo—[Please focus more on his works and keep away from his private life.]

But it was immediately countered with—[When you were promoting your daily life to build your persona and gather fans, why didn’t you say to keep away from private lives? Either you should have never sold your persona and always relied on your works to speak for you—there are many such talented artists in the entertainment industry. But you took shortcuts to gain fans, and when problems arise, you blame the fans for focusing too much on their personal lives and not on the works. That’s very double standard.]

Due to the heavy mockery, the fan club later deleted the post, replacing it with a still of Han Ze from <Chronicles of Winter> and a bland inspirational quote.

In fact, “no response” is also a public relations strategy. Although somewhat passive, in situations prone to “the more you explain, the worse it gets”, not responding often leads to the public’s frustrated feeling of punching cotton. Over time, the fervor dies down.

However, the effect of “no response” requires time to ferment, and neither Han Ze nor Cui Yanyan had that kind of time—as the buzz was just about to decline, the drama version of <Chronicles of Winter> officially premiered.

On June 3^rd, due to Qi Luoluo’s emotional breakdown after being NG’d repeatedly by the director, leading to tears on set, the director, feeling helpless, had to wrap up early.

Saying it was early, but by the time Ran Lin returned to the hotel, it was almost 8:30 p.m.—due to the serious delays in filming, wrapping up at midnight had become the default schedule.

The first thing Ran Lin did upon returning to his room was turn on the TV to the channel airing <Chronicles of Winter>.

The scandal in the underground parking lot was unexpected for Ran Lin, and it was only after asking Wang Xi that he learned it was likely a maneuver by the movie version’s backers.

The incident was a massive blow to Han Ze. If the drama version of <Chronicles of Winter> didn’t excel, then Han Ze might never recover.

When he switched to the channel, the first episode of <Chronicles of Winter> had just finished airing, and it was now in the only commercial break between the two episodes.

Catching the only commercial break by chance, Ran Lin didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He wondered if he and the drama version of <Chronicles of Winter> were simply not fated, as from the beginning to now, he had continuously missed it.

Having the drama version’s contract snatched away by Han Ze felt like a distant memory now, with so many other things happening afterward, like losing <Mint Green> to Zhang Beichen, getting the movie version of <Chronicles of Winter>, and even serendipitously landing <Dyeing Fire>. Now, even the movie version of <Chronicles of Winter> had finished filming, while the drama version, the original cause of all the fuss, had just started airing.

It felt like time had looped, with the end point returning to the beginning.

Honestly, Ran Lin was quite curious about the outcome of the drama version. Without any particular bias or emotion, he was simply curious, even if none of Han Ze’s messy incidents had occurred. He would have turned on the TV to see what the project he missed had turned into.

Finally, the commercial ended, and the theme song started.

The drama version’s opening was quite beautifully done, not using any songs but pure music with an ancient charm. Paired with the edited clips from the drama and attractive font design, the overall feel was naturally fresh and even a bit ethereal.

Finally, the words “Episode Two” appeared slowly with the ending notes of the theme song.

Then the screen shifted, and the main drama began.

“Xiao Shitou—”

A call, melodious and rich in emotion, full of innocence and liveliness. But the expression on the face of “Ah Jin” who appeared on the screen, was gentler than lively, causing a slight dissonance with the voice.

Ran Lin immediately recognized that it wasn’t Cui Yanyan’s original voice but was dubbed by a voice actor.

Before he could ponder further, the camera gradually zoomed out to show Ah Jin running excitedly towards the cave she and Xiao Shitou often played in, holding some sweet dandelions she had secretly plucked.

In the original novel, the surrounding mountains of the village should be listless under the scorching sun, with even the leaves curled from the heat. But the drama’s mountains, due to overly bright color correction, appeared lush and vibrant, quite the opposite of the intended depiction.

Soon, the scene switched inside the cave, where Han Ze’s Xiao Shitou was fiddling with the “sweet dandelions” he had previously plucked, exploring the secrets of the herb that the village had cultivated for generations. This was a secret activity between him and Ah Jin.

Although Han Ze’s appearance wasn’t exactly youthful, he was still handsome and proud, looking like someone who would contend with the heavens.

After watching the episode, although it was different from Ran Lin’s imagined <Chronicles of Winter>, besides the overly bright coloring and some crude special effects in larger scenes, it wasn’t too bad. Perhaps because he was thoroughly familiar with the original story, it didn’t strike him as stunning but merely adequate.

By the end of the closing song, Ran Lin scrolled through the comments on the episode on Weibo, finding them overwhelmingly critical.

Some critiques were specific to the drama—

[Mediocre script, acting, visuals, and cheap special effects = dropping the show.]

[If you’ve chosen actors around 25, don’t try to make them act like they’re 15. Trying to look younger is really awkward.]

[It has all the shortcomings typical of domestic fantasy dramas—not terrible, but somewhat boring, which is worse than being hilariously bad, as at least that could provide meme material.]

[I just want to ask the post-production team: What’s with the obsession with color correction? Can’t the visuals be fresh and elegant instead of garishly colorful?]

[Although I know the plot hasn’t unfolded in the first two episodes, is the pacing too slow? I really don’t feel like continuing.]

Others combined their comments with the previous negative impressions, sparing no mercy—

[Fans, don’t call for focusing on the work and staying away from personal lives when the work itself is not up to par!]

[How many people, like me, can’t continue watching Han Ze and Cui Yanyan pretend to be childhood sweethearts of pure innocence?]

[No, I just can’t. Every time they appear together, I’m reminded of the underground parking lot scandal.]

[There are actually people following this drama? I don’t even want to watch it.]

[Those pairing Xiao Shitou and Ah Jing as perfect; have you considered Xiao Tianyu’s feelings? 😔]

Whether it was specific critiques or overall reviews, the comments were mostly from casual viewers, with fans seemingly rare. It’s unclear if this was because most had already jumped ship or they were keeping a low profile during this controversial time, silently supporting.

Ran Lin exited Weibo, not quite sure what to feel; it was a mix of emotions, some complex, some reflective.

Staring blankly at the TV commercials, his stomach suddenly protested with a grumble.

Ran Lin came back to his senses, realizing he hadn’t eaten dinner yet.

These days, with the hectic schedule bringing him back to the hotel at midnight, his dinners usually consisted of quickly nibbling on some bread or, more often, skipping it altogether.

Today, with some rare free time and it being only 9:40 p.m., Ran Lin decided to go out for a proper hot meal.

Within minutes, Ran Lin was ready and leaving his room.

Just as he closed the door and turned around, he heard another door opening down the hallway. Instinctively looking over, he saw Gu Jie stepping out from a room, closing the door behind him.

From a distance, Ran Lin couldn’t make out Gu Jie’s expression, but the sound of the door closing wasn’t small; in the enclosed corridor, it was clearly audible and lingered for a while.

It wasn’t exactly a door slam, but it wasn’t a gentle close either—more of a slightly forceful shut.

Ran Lin stood frozen, unsure whether to call out to his friend, as the room Gu Jie had just exited was Qi Luoluo’s.

“Ran Lin?” Gu Jie was the first to notice him and immediately walked over.

As Gu Jie approached, Ran Lin could see he was dressed in casual shorts and a tank top, just the relaxed attire he usually wore after wrapping up for the day, but his mood seemed agitated, with a lingering trace of irritation between his brows.

Well, that settled any hesitation about greeting him. Ran Lin offered a sheepish smile. “Have you eaten yet?”

Gu Jie naturally nodded. “I ate when I got back.”

“Oh.” Ran Lin felt a bit disappointed. “I was planning to go out for something to eat and thought if you hadn’t, we could go together.”

“I’ve already eaten, but I can still go out for a snack,” Gu Jie said without hesitation, scratching his head. “I was actually thinking of going out for a walk anyway.”

Without waiting for Ran Lin to respond, he slung an arm around Ran Lin’s neck and casually strolled toward the elevator.

Although Ran Lin’s body followed his friend’s pace, his mind was somewhat in a whirl.

Gu Jie didn’t seem to be acting like a guilty thief; he didn’t even ask, “When did you come out?” which was in line with his typically straightforward nature. But the way he closed the door, not too gently nor too forcefully, along with his tone and demeanor at the moment, seemed to radiate an air of annoyance rather than one of being in a good mood.

As Gu Jie released him and pressed the elevator button, Ran Lin shook his head, telling himself not to overthink, and decided to directly ask Gu Jie what was going on once they got to a suitable place for conversation. He figured the answer might come faster that way.

But as clear as he was about this, his brain had other ideas. Watching the elevator numbers descend, Ran Lin couldn’t help but wonder what exactly was going on between Gu Jie and Qi Luoluo.

The past few days of filming had been the same, aside from Qi Luoluo’s consistent NGs as the queen of retakes. If there was anything different today, it was that the continuous days of shooting pressure had mounted on everyone, leading to today’s NGs. The director got a bit impatient, and Qi Luoluo even broke down in tears on the spot, but ultimately, the director didn’t lose his temper and just decided to wrap up early.

Was Gu Jie specifically going to comfort Qi Luoluo?

That didn’t seem like something Gu Jie would typically do.

And if it was indeed comfort, why did Gu Jie emerge looking annoyed? It didn’t make sense.

Unable to figure it out, Ran Lin felt frustrated. He had been too engrossed in the alternate world of Weibo lately, so much so that he was completely oblivious to the subtle changes happening in the real world around him.

As the elevator reached the ground floor and the doors slid open, Ran Lin finally shut down his “detective mode” and stopped his wild speculations.

It was nearly 10 p.m.—not too late but not too early either. The two found a small eatery nearby and ordered a few dishes. Ran Lin went for a bowl of noodles, and Gu Jie opted for a beer.

The eatery was small but bustling. Most customers chose to sit outside at the outdoor tables for their late-night meals, while Ran Lin and Gu Jie opted for the only private room available. After ordering, once the waiter left and the door closed behind him, turning on the air conditioning isolated all the heat and noise outside.

Soon, the temperature in the small room dropped to a comfortable coolness, but the atmosphere, much like the temperature, was slightly chilly.

Gu Jie stared at the empty table, seemingly lost in thought, and judging from his pursed lips, it probably wasn’t something pleasant.

Ran Lin, propping his chin with his hand, hesitated for a long time before gently speaking up. “I saw you coming out of Qi Luoluo’s room just now.”

Gu Jie looked up in surprise, asking reflexively. “You saw that?”

His friend’s question was too sincere, causing Ran Lin to doubt for a moment. He repeatedly recalled the scene before confirming he hadn’t mistaken, then looked back at his friend with disbelief. “When you looked up, wasn’t I right there? Of course, I saw it.”

Gu Jie exhaled a long sigh of relief, as if unloading a great burden. “I was worried about whether I should tell you. If I don’t, it feels suffocating, but talking about it feels like gossiping, which isn’t very manly.”

Desire for gossip is universal, but Gu Jie’s last half-sentence made Ran Lin slightly ashamed of his own curiosity.

Finally, getting serious, Ran Lin said, “If you want to tell it, I’ll keep quiet and listen, and I promise not to spread it. If you don’t want to talk about it, we’ll pretend it never happened.”

Gu Jie rolled his eyes. “After all that, you’re just going to leave me hanging? Are you trying to suffocate me to death?”

Ran Lin laughed, about to speak, when the waiter entered with their order, setting down the beer, noodles, and dishes in one go.

Gu Jie couldn’t be bothered to fetch a bottle opener and used his chopsticks to pry open the bottle cap, pouring himself a full glass and drinking half of it in one gulp, the cool liquid refreshing him.

Once the waiter had left and the door was closed again, Ran Lin slurped up a mouthful of noodles, then looked at Gu Jie with an “I’m all ears” expression.

Gu Jie put down his glass, not touching the food, furrowing his brow as if thinking about how to start.

Ran Lin continued eating his noodles, patiently waiting.

Gu Jie wasn’t particularly eloquent, especially compared to many other artists in the entertainment industry; he was more about blunt truths. Plus, his thoughts were simple, without too many twists and turns, so in his early years, he often fell into traps laid by journalists. Eventually, he learned to keep quiet when in doubt, gradually decreasing the frequency of his gaffes.

But with friends, Gu Jie had fewer reservations. The hesitation to speak now was purely because the matter at hand was somewhat delicate…

“She called me over,” Gu Jie finally began, “saying she wanted to go over some scenes from the day that couldn’t be shot due to NGs.”

“And you went?” Ran Lin couldn’t predict what happened next but had a bad feeling.

“She asked for help with rehearsing, and I couldn’t refuse,” Gu Jie stated matter-of-factly. “It’s just lending a hand, and if it helps her performance, leading to a successful shoot tomorrow, that’s good for the entire crew.”

Ran Lin sighed helplessly. “But did you consider how it would look to go to a female actor’s room late at night if someone saw you?”

“Of course, I considered it,” Gu Jie said. “Which is why I planned to keep the door open the entire time.”

Ran Lin frowned. “Then why did I hear the door closing?”

Gu Jie explained, “Because later in the rehearsal, she suddenly closed the door.”

“……” Ran Lin’s mind raced with all sorts of unsuitable-for-children scenarios.

Ignoring his friend’s ambiguous silence, Gu Jie massaged his aching head and continued, “After she closed the door, she started crying, saying how serious and hardworking she is in acting, how many of the NGs could have been okayed, and that the director’s demands were too harsh…”

Ran Lin guessed the gist. “So she was hoping you would talk to the director on her behalf?”

Gu Jie corrected him, “She was crying and trying to snuggle into my arms while saying all that.”

“……” Ran Lin had anticipated the ending, but not the process.

“If she was genuinely crying, really feeling unappreciated and unjust, I could have comforted her as a brother,” Gu Jie expressed his frustration. “But she wasn’t. She was crying, and at the same time…”

Ran Lin leaned in eagerly, his ears practically antennas.

Alas, his friend skipped over the details and concluded, “Anyway, I felt her intentions weren’t pure, so I just left.”

Ran Lin tilted his head in thought and said, “Strictly speaking, you were harassed, but at least you didn’t suffer much. Don’t be upset about it.”

“I’m not upset about that. I’m a grown man; what harm could I have suffered?” Gu Jie responded, “I’m frustrated because if she knows there’s a problem with her acting, she should work on it and overcome it through diligence, not resort to underhanded tactics.”

Ran Lin nodded, understanding Gu Jie’s feelings now. They were the ones who had the most scenes with Qi Luoluo, so they knew best what she was like.

After more than ten days of working together, Qi Luoluo’s constant NGs had been a stumbling block, and while she seemed receptive to criticism, she never seemed to improve. The director repeatedly pointed out the same issues, yet she would repeat the same mistakes in different scenes the next day, indicating a lack of effort on her part. If she had put in even a little effort, the difference would have been noticeable. Just as Gu Jie said, diligence can compensate for deficiencies.

With this new development and having to continue acting opposite her tomorrow, Gu Jie’s frustration was understandable.

“Let’s not think about it anymore.” Gu Jie finished his half cup of remaining beer and poured a second one, clinking it against Ran Lin’s bowl of noodles in a toast-like gesture before downing it in one gulp.

Seeing his usually carefree friend so troubled, Ran Lin couldn’t help but feel concerned.

The next day, on the set of <Dyeing Fire>, Ran Lin’s concerns were realized.

Qi Luoluo continued her streak of NGs, and today, Gu Jie joined her in the struggle.

Gu Jie’s personality was such that it was obvious when something was bothering him, and the excess thoughts also interfered with his performance. After the director called “cut” a few times, sensing something amiss, he pulled Gu Jie aside for a private talk outside the shooting area.

The crew, crammed in the rental house’s “living room”, looked at each other, puzzled at why the usually consistent Gu Jie was suddenly making as many mistakes as Qi Luoluo.

The makeup artist took the opportunity to touch up Qi Luoluo’s makeup, carefully blotting the sweat from her forehead before reapplying powder.

Ran Lin’s side was much simpler; a quick wipe of sweat was all he needed, as he was practically half in makeup.

As the crew enjoyed a rare break, chatting in small groups, Ran Lin headed to the “bedroom”, where a just-retouched Qi Luoluo was taking refuge from the heat in the air-conditioned room.

“It’s pretty hot today,” Ran Lin said as he entered, attempting to strike up a casual conversation.

“Yeah.” The girl smiled back at him, neither too intimately nor too distantly, just friendly.

Ran Lin finally realized what felt odd about Qi Luoluo from the night before. The Qi Luoluo he knew was always quite natural and comfortable, so the girl Gu Jie described didn’t seem to fit with the “Qi Luoluo” he knew.

But perhaps he hadn’t really understood her, Ran Lin thought, because ever since Qi Luoluo joined the crew, Han Ze’s side had been restless, so aside from focusing on acting, his remaining attention was diverted there, leaving no room for deeper interactions with Qi Luoluo.

“I’ve been holding back the progress of the crew.” Qi Luoluo suddenly spoke up in a low, disheartened voice. “Ran Ge, you must be mad at me too.”

Ran Lin involuntarily frowned. He wasn’t expecting Qi Luoluo to bring up this sensitive topic, and then there was…

“Why ‘too’?” He followed up on her wording.

Qi Luoluo looked up with a touch of sadness in her delicately arched brows. “Because Gu Ge is already mad at me, and today he deliberately NG’d.”

The word “deliberately” surprised Ran Lin, as Gu Jie was the least likely to do such a thing. But what intrigued him more was her use of the term “mad”.

She clearly knew why Gu Jie was upset but mentioning it to a “third party” like him seemed risky.

“Why would Gu Jie be mad at you?” Ran Lin still asked.

Qi Luoluo looked at him puzzledly, saying, “Didn’t I just say it? Because I’ve been holding back the progress of the crew.”

Ran Lin blinked, taken aback, before realizing Qi Luoluo wasn’t admitting to anything about harassing Gu Jie the previous night.

On one hand, he berated himself for jumping to conclusions, and on the other, he was amazed at Qi Luoluo’s composure. Perhaps she thought he and Gu Jie weren’t close enough for Gu Jie to tell him about the incident, so she was utterly composed now.

“Ran Ge?” Qi Luoluo blinked in confusion. “Why aren’t you saying anything?”

“Oh,” Ran Lin snapped back to reality and said, “I was thinking about the script.”

“You’re really good at acting,” Qi Luoluo said earnestly, then glanced cautiously towards the door as if ensuring it was safe, before whispering, “Actually, I’ve always thought you should be the male lead. Compared to your acting, Gu Ge is still lacking.”

“……” Ran Lin was at a loss for words.

“Don’t tell Gu Ge what I said, okay?” Qi Luoluo playfully stuck out her tongue, looking playful and cute.

But Ran Lin couldn’t appreciate her charm objectively anymore. His feelings were indescribably mixed.

After making an excuse to end the conversation, Ran Lin returned to the “living room” and buried himself in the script for a long time. Just as he was settling down, the director and Gu Jie returned, announcing a change in the shooting schedule. Due to Gu Jie’s poor condition, they wouldn’t shoot interior scenes today but would instead switch to exterior long shots, which required little dialogue or acting, just the presence of the actors.

When the decision was announced, Director He’s expression was unreadable, as usual.

But Ran Lin felt a storm brewing behind his eyes, unsure of what exactly had transpired between him and Gu Jie.

As for Gu Jie, he was visibly downcast, likely upset about his lack of focus. After all, he was someone who would rather work through the night than delay the progress of the crew.

As the director commanded, the crew had to move, so everyone headed to the outskirts of Wuhan to shoot some long shots and back views. However, none of these scenes required Jiang Xiaoxiao’s appearance, so when the crew headed out to the suburbs, the director asked Qi Luoluo to return to the hotel first.

By 7 p.m., Ran Lin followed the crew’s car back to the hotel and saw that Gu Jie was still in low spirits. He tried to take him out for dinner and drinks, but his friend declined.

“I don’t feel like going out today,” Gu Jie refused simply.

Ran Lin sighed and considerately asked, “So do you want to stay alone in the room, or would you like some company to chat with?” Implying he was fine with either, whether Gu Jie wanted to be alone or needed someone to talk to, he was ready to oblige.

Gu Jie chose neither but proposed option C instead.

So, ten minutes later, Ran Lin was timing him, watching how many push-ups he could do in a minute. It was more about Gu Jie venting his frustration than exercising, from yesterday’s “accident” to today’s NG. For someone who usually goes about life carefree, these setbacks were troubling.

After a round of push-ups, Gu Jie’s muscles seemed even more defined.

Ran Lin pondered whether he should also start working out more seriously while casually asking, “What did you and Director He talk about for so long, and why did it lead to changing to outdoor scenes?”

Gu Jie despairingly replied, “It wasn’t talking; it was more like intense interrogation.”

Ran Lin swallowed hard. “Did the director… hit you?”

“Almost,” Gu Jie said, defeated, wiping his face with the hem of his tank top, “if I didn’t tell the truth.”

Despite always finding Director He to be a good-tempered person, Ran Lin realized that perhaps the director was less polite with Gu Jie, possibly due to their familiarity and the director’s direct nature. If he was set on clarifying something, cornering Gu Jie and pressuring him was a possibility, especially given Gu Jie’s unusual behavior today.

The only actress had already been a letdown, and with the male lead acting out of character, the director was probably desperate to resolve the issues, preferring clarity over leaving things unsettled.

“So the director now knows about Qi Luoluo seeking you out?” Ran Lin didn’t really need to ask to confirm.

Sure enough, Gu Jie nodded helplessly.

They discussed what Gu Jie intended to do about it, as Qi Luoluo hadn’t really done anything offensive, and he had already rejected her. But he hadn’t expected to be so off today that the director noticed something was amiss.

“I know you’re feeling conflicted,” Ran Lin pointed out, “like you’ve snitched, right?”

Gu Jie looked up in surprise. “Exactly!”

Ran Lin sighed and analyzed, “The core issue is the serious delay in shooting progress. The director and the producer are worried about it. Even if it wasn’t for the issue between you and Qi Luoluo, her NGs would have eventually brought up other problems. The shooting can’t go on like this.”

Before Gu Jie could respond, his phone rang. After a brief “hello,” the conversation was mostly from the other side. It ended quickly, and Gu Jie hung up.

Ran Lin raised an eyebrow in silent inquiry.

Gu Jie straightforwardly replied, “Director He has called Qi Luoluo for a talk.”

Perhaps due to the shadow left by Gu Jie’s incident, Ran Lin’s first reaction was, “Called to his own room? Just the two of them?”

“No,” Gu Jie said. “Director He’s assistant was also there.”

Ran Lin realized belatedly that his worries were completely unnecessary.

After all, Director He had been in the entertainment industry for so many years. He wasn’t just any individual but a truly sage figure, having experienced more pitfalls than they had trodden paths. By now, he was well-guarded and invulnerable.

“Hold on.” Ran Lin suddenly remembered something. “Who called you?”

“My assistant,” Gu Jie said.

Ran Lin frowned. “Why would your assistant keep an eye on every move of Director He?”

“I asked him to,” Gu Jie replied, placing his phone back on the table. “I had a feeling that Director He would take some action today.”

Ran Lin prodded, “Then guess what Director He might say to Qi Luoluo.”

Gu Jie responded with a frustrated tone, “If I could read his mind, I would be the director…”

The two chatted desultorily until they were too tired to continue and didn’t come to any conclusive result, eventually going to sleep.

The next day, they both woke up to a notification—the crew was halting production for a day. The notice was sent to a WeChat group, meaning every crew member received it, and it wasn’t just a blunt announcement of a halt but rather a tactful explanation of the reason—the need to find a new actress to play Jiang Xiaoxiao.

This tactful approach didn’t outright say the crew had terminated the contract with Qi Luoluo but given the size of the crew and their awareness of the shooting conditions over the past few days, it wasn’t just about the delayed schedule. It was also about the quality of the scenes that barely made it through, which were not up to the director’s high standards. Everyone could see that even the scenes that were passed were reluctantly approved, and those that couldn’t pass were far from even being marginally acceptable. Director He was famous for his pursuit of quality, leading to private discussions about a potential change in cast. Now that it had happened, it wasn’t surprising.

However, the director didn’t have the power to directly fire the actress. Everyone had to adhere to the contract and terminating the contract with Qi Luoluo meant paying a penalty fee. Nevertheless, the director and producer decided to go through with it, likely seeing it as a lesser of two evils. They probably reasoned that finding a reliable new actress would only push back the wrap-up date by a month or so, which was preferable to facing an impossible situation at the end.

On June 5^th, all members of the <Dyeing Fire> crew were idly in the hotel, and most of them felt that the “one-day halt” was optimistic. If finding a suitable emergency replacement actress was that easy, the director wouldn’t have been so distressed initially, resorting to casting a newcomer recommended by an acquaintance.

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

Author: 颜凉雨 / Yan Liang Yu

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

Chapter 79

When he clicked on the video, it was quiet, with only a past version of himself holding a green frog plushie, motionless. If it weren’t for the progress bar moving forward, one might think someone had pressed the pause button.

“Bell!”

The sudden shout from the speakers startled Ran Lin.

He didn’t remember being so heart-wrenchingly loud at the time!

In the video, Ran Lin wasn’t disturbed by the outside world; he was like frozen in a moment belonging only to “Xiao Shitou”—no past or future, no distinction between in-character and out-of-character—only the present, only the “Bell” in his arms…

“Don’t leave me.”

His fair and handsome face slowly lifted with his choked words, tears rolling down his cheeks.

Initially, there was only one drop.

Then gradually, they flowed like a spring.

In the video, Ran Lin suddenly hugged the “green frog” tightly, crying intensely yet silently, the sorrow nearly spilling out of the screen.

The real Ran Lin, holding his phone, was moved by the performance, feeling bitter and sour, his eyes becoming hot again; he almost fell in love with that version of himself, completely immersed in the role.

Long after the video had ended, the warmth in Ran Lin’s eyes slowly subsided, and then he clicked on the video comments with great anticipation—

[Beishan’s Blue Cloud: Hahahahahahahahahahaha]

[Eggie18748: Hahahahahahahahahahaha]

[Shepherd Pointing to Putian Village: Hahahahahahahahahahaha]

[Aessle: Hahahahahahahahahahaha]

Holding the knife in his chest, Ran Lin bravely scrolled down, finally seeing a warm comment—

[First Nine Night Sleepless: How can you all laugh at such a touching scene! Doesn’t your conscience hurt? Have you considered Bell’s feelings… No, I can’t hold it in anymore hahahaha…]

Ran Lin felt like he was about to cough up blood.

This lesson taught him to read all comments before getting moved.

However, although every visitor or fan started with a dozen laughs, after the laughter, they still gave positive feedback, even many with surprise and admiration—

[Deputy Commissioner Yabe Kenzo: This is acting. I didn’t even laugh, and I felt a hint of sadness?]

[Yulin Bell: Why did the poster only give full marks? I want to give one hundred and one, the extra point is not for my idol to get proud! Lalala ❤️]

[NanaNANA: Am I the only one scared throughout that the plushie might be revived by ‘true love’s tears’? This acting is simply witchcraft!! 😨]

[Yaozhi Not Snow: I think it’s already difficult not to break character laughing, yet he managed to cry, and the crying was incredibly moving. I’d choose Ran Lin as a director too, no doubt. 👍]

[Lin’s Family Burning Noodles: At the first and second watch, I was laughing, but after the third and fourth watch, I was moved, my heart felt heavy 😔. I liked my idol from the variety show, fell deeply in love because of Fallen Flowers, and now I’m utterly addicted to his acting. Do you understand the feeling of thinking you’re picking up a silver ingot, but inside is gold, diamonds, jade, and emerald 😆. Finally, super looking forward to the movie’s release! Wishing it a blockbuster success!! 🧸 🧸]

[Love Yao For Life: Feelings too complex, don’t know what to say, just sneakily leave a like… 🏃‍♀️]

Nothing is more pleasing than having one’s skills affirmed, and by the end, Ran Lin was already full of energy and fighting spirit, inside and out. Looking back at those laughs, he couldn’t help but grin.

There were passersby enjoying the spectacle, fans spamming support, and analysts seeing through the phenomena—

[This Is a Water Army* User: Am I the only one who thinks releasing Ran Lin’s audition clip at this time is to slap Han Ze’s face? 🐶]

*It refers to a group of internet users who are paid to manipulate public opinion on social media platforms. This manipulation can include positing positive comments to boost the image of a product or person, creating artificial hype or buzz, or posting negative or defamatory content against a competitor.

[Don’t Make Pancakes Spicy: The drama version can hype itself. Why pull the movie version to take the fall, now getting counterblasted all around.]

[Chujiu Month Like Frost: This is Han Ze stirring up his own mess. The drama version’s official Weibo has been silent from the beginning and initially didn’t drag in <Chronicles of Winter> movie. It was all about Han Ze changing agents, then it escalated to the movie vs drama version, Han Ze’s fans claiming Ran Lin got the movie because of agent favoritism, and if not, Han Ze would have been the movie lead, resulting in the movie side being displeased. They first issued a statement, then leaked the audition clip, obviously countering Han Ze’s claims.]

[Iceberg’s White Lotus*: Agree with the analysis in the hot comments. If it was drama version hyping, only a fool would hype “Han Ze missing out on Chronicles of Winter movie”. That would imply the drama version is inferior, right? So, from beginning to end, it was Han Ze’s own doing. Drama version Chronicles of Winter took the hit, and Ran Lin was even more unlucky, stabbed in the back by a fellow company artist. The comments under his Weibo the past few days are unwatchable, all insults.]

*Refers to a person who appears innocent and pure but is actually deceitful and manipulative. This comes from the way the white lotus (on the surface) looks beautiful but is contrasted by the murky environment where its roots lie.

[Han Meimei_Childhood Memory: I just want to ask who is still looking forward to the drama version. I’m ready to wait directly for the movie version. Not to mention the hype, just for Ran Lin’s acting, it’s worth looking forward to. 😎]

[Domestic 001: The drama version’s investors must be crying at home. Out of all the people, they had to pick such a drama queen… 😥]

Exiting the hot searches and returning to his homepage, his private messages were overflowing again.

Although there were still many malicious messages from Han Ze’s fans, encouragement, confessions, and even apologies made up a significant portion.

The internet is the most direct and uninhibited platform. Typing a long message is just a few keystrokes, so people can express freely, whether they hate or praise. People’s emotions always fluctuate with the ever-changing events.

Just as he was about to log off Weibo, Ran Lin inadvertently saw a repost from Gu Jie—

[Instantly became a film emperor 🤣 //@Lu Yiyao: Tang Jingyu doesn’t want to talk and throws a flying knife at you 👋 //@Tang Xiaoyu: You all are late to know. I’ve already experienced the fear of being dominated by his crying scenes in Fallen Flowers. Once he cries, everyone cries 😓 //@Xia Xinran: Hahahahaha //@Xiaogua Watching Movies: <Chronicles of Winter> audition footage leaked. Ran Lin VS Bell, showcasing what true acting is! This crying scene is definitely top-notch, but all I want to do is 🤣 🤣 🤣 🤣 🤣 🤣 🤣 🤣 [Video link]]

Ran Lin watched the whole thing twice, from beginning to end, and felt that he wasn’t looking at a Weibo post but a sweet potato vine. A few digs into the soil, and he pulled out a string of sweet potatoes.

With such a clear direction pointed out, Ran Lin simply browsed the comments under the Weibo posts of these few friends.

Under Xia Xinran and Gu Jie’s posts, the theme was pretty much the same—laughing so unrestrainedly, they must be true friends!

Under Tang Xiaoyu and Lu Yiyao’s posts, the style was more diverse: some expressed admiration for their respective idols, some praised the drama “Falling Flowers”, others envied their friendship, and of course, there were those who were seeing the video for the first time due to their idols’ repost and were praising Ran Lin’s acting.

All in all, it was filled with positive and uplifting energy.

After hesitating for a moment, Ran Lin logged out of his main Weibo account and switched to his alternate account. In the vast sea of comments under Lu Yiyao’s post, he left a heart.

Suddenly, his phone dinged with a drop sound.

Ran Lin jumped, thinking he had been caught snooping with his alternate account, but it turned out to be a message from Lu Yiyao asking if he had finished work for the day.

It was already past eight in the evening.

Today was one of the rare days he had finished early; Ran Lin remembered it was just past six when he returned, and he was surprised that just a few scrolls on Weibo had passed two hours.

He replied, “Finished work. At the hotel,” and immediately, a video call invitation from his lover came through. Ran Lin, thinking he hadn’t eaten dinner yet, answered the call, and to Lu Yiyao, it appeared as if his lover was deep in thought with a serious expression.

“What’s wrong?” Lu Yiyao instinctively worried.

Ran Lin couldn’t very well say he was thinking about what to eat, so he simply said, “I was scrolling through Weibo just now.”

Lu Yiyao, a bit disappointed that he couldn’t be the bearer of good news, was more puzzled. “And you look like that after scrolling?”

“I was thinking…” Ran Lin drew out the word until he saw the curiosity in his lover’s eyes peak, then he let out the rest, “about how good my acting is.”

“…” Lu Yiyao felt incredibly naive for getting his hopes up.

Seeing Lu Yiyao’s exasperated expression, Ran Lin couldn’t help but laugh, finally composing himself to say, “I told you Xi Jie would have a way. I didn’t lie to you.”

“Mm,” Lu Yiyao responded softly.

Although he seemed a bit absent-minded, he was actually quite surprised at how quickly and impressively Wang Xi had turned the situation around.

It wasn’t just about silencing those questioning Ran Lin’s opportunity to star in the movie version; it also managed to boost Ran Lin’s acting credibility and likability, all the while dragging Han Ze into a murky mess. The drama version was set to air on June 3^rd, meaning it would start broadcasting in a little over a week. According to usual practice, widespread promotion was expected, and it was foreseeable how much ridicule Han Ze would face. His botched attempt at hype didn’t just affect him but implicated the entire drama crew. As for the movie version, releasing the audition clip showed a firm stance against Han Ze, and if the movie investors were the vindictive type, Han Ze might as well forget about working with them ever again.

It was killing three birds with one stone—not something every agent could pull off.

Lu Yiyao was mulling over this when he heard the voice from the screen say, “I also saw the Weibo you reposted.”

Lu Yiyao felt embarrassed. “You really did a thorough scroll.”

“Actually, I saw Gu Jie’s first,” Ran Lin confessed, “and then I saw the whole string of your reposts.”

“Yeah, once the video came out, we all helped to repost,” Lu Yiyao said with a hint of jealousy. “You’re quite the heartthrob.”

Ran Lin chuckled. “Are you jealous of friendship too?”

Lu Yiyao shrugged. “Who knows if it’s pure friendship between you guys.”

“The others are thousands of miles away from me. The only one I see every day is Gu Jie.” Ran Lin leaned closer to the screen. “Are you sure you want to question my friendship with Gu Jie?”

“…” Lu Yiyao let his imagination run wild for a moment, then realized it was still all blue skies and fresh air. “Okay, I apologize to him.”

Ran Lin, amused, eventually remembered to ask about his lover’s recent work. “Is filming going smoothly?”

“Pretty smooth,” Lu Yiyao said. “The actors are reliable, and the atmosphere in the crew is good.”

Ran Lin sighed faintly, barely audible. “That’s good.”

Although the sigh was soft, Lu Yiyao still caught it. “What’s wrong? Are things not going smoothly on your end?”

“It’s not exactly rough.” Ran Lin, sitting cross-legged on the bed, placed his phone aside, grabbed a bottle of mineral water from the bedside table, took a big gulp, and then said, “But you know, a new actress joined the crew a few days ago, right? She can’t seem to get a grip on her character, so whenever she’s in a scene, we end up shooting several takes. The director has to explain the scene over and over, and it barely passes, so the filming schedule has slowed down these past few days, and the director is quite anxious.”

Lu Yiyao hadn’t worked with He Guan but had heard of his high demands for actors, so he understood what Ran Lin was saying. Not getting the right feel for a scene meant multiple takes, not just settling for mediocrity like some directors might. But because it was He Guan, Lu Yiyao was puzzled. “How did such an actor join the crew? Didn’t she audition?”

“She did,” Ran Lin said. “But the audition was a bit rushed. The director wasn’t completely satisfied but didn’t find it terrible either, and it was a recommendation from someone they knew, so they probably thought it’d be fine. Plus, she was kind of a last-minute addition; the character was supposed to join at the beginning of the month.”

“I bet He Guan is regretting it now.” Lu Yiyao sighed. “That’s not saving the day, that’s adding chaos.”

“You can’t say that.” Ran Lin, putting aside the acting part, had a relatively positive impression of Qi Luoluo. “She’s not deliberately acting poorly. She’s also anxious with each NG, and her attitude has always been very good, almost apologetic from start to finish, which is quite pitiful.”

“It’s a job.” Lu Yiyao, not knowing Qi Luoluo or even what she looked like, could only look at the matter very calmly and objectively. “A good attitude doesn’t compensate for the loss caused by low work efficiency. If it were me, I’d rather choose an actor who’s difficult and temperamental but gets it right after the clapperboard hits once.”

Ran Lin immediately thought of a former co-star who fit the description. “Xi Ruohan, for instance?”

Lu Yiyao raised an eyebrow. “I mentioned actors, not actresses, so the fact that you immediately mentioned her name makes me think we need to discuss the deeper reasons.”

Ran Lin: “……”

Why are you jealous of a female actress in front of a gay guy!

The “lovers’ video time” that evening didn’t last too long because Ran Lin accidentally let slip that he hadn’t eaten dinner yet. As a result, the strict Teacher Lu ordered him to go eat immediately and ruthlessly ended the video call.

Ran Lin pouted at his suddenly blank phone screen, glanced at the time, and sadly realized it wasn’t even nine o’clock yet.

That meant they had only talked for just over half an hour!

Feeling unsatisfied but helpless, Ran Lin could only pocket his phone, get up, and put on his shoes. Fortunately, he hadn’t changed out of his clothes since he returned to the hotel and started browsing Weibo, so now he just put on his shoes, pulled out his room card, and went out to find something to eat.

……

While Ran Lin went out for dinner, Lu Yiyao picked up the script for tomorrow’s filming, and in the Dream Without Limits office building in Beijing, all areas were dark except for two still brightly lit—the publicity department and the president’s office.

Since the movie version of <Chronicles of Winter> crew’s announcement hit the hot searches at noon, Deng Minru had plunged into the publicity director’s office, discussing PR strategies. By evening, when the audition video was leaked, Wang Xi, who had been preparing to leave work, was summoned into the president’s office.

In fact, when the rumors about Han Ze missing out on the movie version started yesterday, Deng Minru and Wang Xi had both been “invited” for a “heart-to-heart” in the president’s office.

Wang Xi didn’t know what was discussed with Deng Minru, but according to the president, the “heart-to-heart” with Deng Minru involved her being heavily criticized.

While the president’s words might have been exaggerated, the criticism was definite. Regardless of how things had developed, the instigators were Deng Minru and Han Ze. The company might turn a blind eye to some extent, but there’s a limit to what’s acceptable. After all, both Han Ze and Ran Lin are the company’s artists, and they don’t want to lose any of them.

Yesterday, the president’s “heart-to-heart” with Wang Xi mainly focused on “soothing” and repeatedly emphasized taking care of Ran Lin’s emotions, not to let him openly tear into his fellow artists.

After the initial “dissatisfaction,” “injustice,” and “resentment,” Wang Xi was gradually “convinced” by the boss, so the latter half was all about being sensible with “yes, yes, yes” and “okay, okay, okay,” a model employee, to the president’s satisfaction. After letting her go, he focused on crisis PR in the publicity department, hoping to control the direction of public opinion as much as possible and prevent the subtle insinuation about Han Ze missing out on the movie from fermenting.

The effect was naturally limited.

But nothing could compare to today’s double whammy—announcement + audition video.

While Deng Minru was already frazzled in the publicity department, Wang Xi, who had just tidied up her desk to leave, was pulled into the president’s office for the second time.

When she saw the announcement at noon, Wang Xi was surprised by the speed of Shi Jiuting’s action. But when the audition video came out just now, she was genuinely impressed by his tactics.

Only directors typically have actors’ audition videos, and usually, once auditioned, it’s done; no one looks back. Wang Xi had never thought of using the release of the video to quell doubts about Ran Lin’s acting. Shi Jiuting not only thought of it but also managed to boost Ran Lin’s popularity and garner him more fans after successfully vindicating him.

She was impressed by this move. But amidst her surprise, she also anticipated that the president would want to speak with her.

Until yesterday, the development of the situation followed the pattern of “Han Ze hypes—public opinion ferments—fans concentrate their sympathy on the movie vs. drama version casting—viciously attack and slander Ran Lin—public opinion nearly uncontrollable.” So, apart from Deng Minru, who might suspect her involvement without proof, everyone else would see her and Ran Lin as victims.

The president thought the same, hence the talk about already having criticized Deng Minru and the directive to soothe Ran Lin’s feelings.

But with today’s double strike, the president might need to rethink. Suspicion was almost inevitable.

Because when Wang Xi walked into the office, her face was perfectly clueless and flawless.

The president’s expression was grim. As soon as the office door closed, he began accusatorily, “Didn’t I tell you yesterday that this matter should end here, and I’ve already spoken to Minru about it? What’s the meaning of releasing an announcement and a video today?”

Wang Xi looked genuinely bewildered and almost blurted out, “What announcement and video?”

“Don’t play dumb with me…” The president had already decided it was Wang Xi’s doing, as she was known for her resourcefulness. But upon seeing the woman’s genuinely puzzled face, he was slightly taken aback, and even though his words still carried force, they had lost some conviction.

Wang Xi sat down across the president’s desk, looking directly at him without evasion. “What’s going on? Can you please not speak in riddles?”

Dominance in a confrontation is like a game of tug-of-war; once one side gains the upper hand, it’s hard to reverse it.

“The movie version of <Chronicles of Winter> crew released an announcement at noon, stating that the casting was fair and considered, and just now, they released a video of Ran Lin’s audition, clearly targeting Han Ze.” The certainty in the president’s eyes turned to doubt. “You didn’t do it?”

Wang Xi blinked a few times, then, with an innocent sigh, said, “How could I have such influence to command an official production crew? You’re flattering me.” Then, as if realizing something, she mused aloud, “Could it be the movie side got angry because the public opinion wasn’t suppressed and made all these moves?”

The president narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing every slight expression on his employee’s face.

Wang Xi let him look, occasionally showing a flicker of hurt at not being trusted.

After a long while, the president leaned back in his chair and sighed with a headache. “Now that it’s become such a mess, how do we wrap it up?”

“Is it… very serious?” Wang Xi earnestly asked while pulling her phone from her pocket. “Since you instructed me yesterday to leave everything to the publicity department, I haven’t really scrolled through Weibo much. Otherwise, seeing those slandering Ran Lin would make me upset…”

Ultimately, for Ran Lin, this was an unwarranted disaster, so the president momentarily set aside her suspicions and waited patiently for Wang Xi to check for herself. Wang Xi browsed very conscientiously, searching almost every key term related to the issue.

The president observed carefully, gradually easing his doubts. Like Wang Xi said, Dream Without Limits and Ran Lin didn’t have such influence, and it seemed more likely that the movie version had lashed out today because it was dragged into the negative event and wanted to clarify things immediately.

Finally, Wang Xi put down her phone and looked up, but remained silent. The president had to break the silence. “Saw everything?”

Wang Xi sighed and nodded.

It seemed sighs were contagious; the president also sighed lightly and took a sip of her now lukewarm tea.

After pondering for a while, when Wang Xi finally spoke, her eyes were full of a complex mixture of emotions. “I might be speaking after the fact now, but if I were Deng Minru, I wouldn’t have used Ran Lin to stir things up from the start. Both Ran Lin and Han Ze are Dream Without Limits artists—hurting either doesn’t benefit the company. Stirring me up is one thing. I can’t take Han Ze away. It’s his freedom to change agents but involving Ran Lin—that’s just too much. Ran Lin has been diligently working for the company these past years—you know that. He never made any demands on the company, even after ‘Fallen Flowers’ made him popular. He might have been a bit whimsical in choosing scripts, but he still took <The Legend of Lantern Blossoms> because he knows the company made him what he is. He’s grateful…”

Perhaps the president was also tired from worrying over the past few days; he tiredly set down his cup and rarely agreed. “Ran Lin is indeed one of the more worry-free ones.”

“Sometimes I really feel sorry for him.” Wang Xi continued, “Take the instance of Han Ze’s set visit, for example. Ran Lin could have refused it. The movie version had such a big investment, and there was bound to be enough publicity, so there was no need for the actors to create stunts for hype. To put it bluntly, Han Ze’s visit was just to create a topic, to drag him along for the hype, but when I mentioned it, Ran Lin agreed right away because he saw Han Ze as one of his own, and of course, you help your own. But look at what Minru did with the drama version about to air. She brought up the change of agents for Han Ze and even claimed it was because of my partiality in allocating resources. You know my past relationship with Han Ze. Even if I were partial, whom do you think I would favor…”

“The release of the change of agents was explained to me by Minru already. Indeed, it wasn’t related to them,” the president interrupted Wang Xi. “But as the issue heated up, Minru thought instead of being passively hyped, better take charge themselves, even use the opportunity to promote the new drama. No one expected it to develop into this.”

“So, who has Ran Lin offended?” Wang Xi didn’t argue with the president about the origin of the issue; at this point, playing the victim was more effective than arguing over right and wrong. “He was just acting in the drama, and this came out of nowhere.”

Wang Xi’s words made the president feel sorry for Ran Lin as well, so he reiterated his command for Wang Xi to take good care of Ran Lin’s feelings.

It was supposed to be a reprimand, yet it turned into a session filled with guilt and comfort; the president himself couldn’t understand how it happened but felt it was natural. He rubbed his temples, ended the “lecture,” and allowed Wang Xi to leave work.

……

Ran Lin’s audition video circulated on Weibo for about two days, gradually cooling off, and as attention waned, the saga that started with “Han Ze changes agents” finally came to a widely welcomed conclusion after several reversals and face-slappings.

Han Ze’s post “Grateful for the past, looking forward to the unknown future” still hung on Weibo. It was now a sightseeing spot for “face-slapping tours”, with a mix of widespread mockery in the comments alongside those who still declared support and love for him, creating a somewhat absurd scene.

However, Han Ze ultimately couldn’t delete the post; doing so would be an admission of defeat, so he had no choice but to tough it out.

Fortunately, the uproar subsided on May 28^th. The drama version of <Chronicles of Winter> officially released posters and behind-the-scenes footage, sparking the actual pre-broadcast promotion.

Han Ze quickly reposted it, and within a couple of days, his homepage was almost entirely filled with promotional messages for the drama version of <Chronicles of Winter> with the previous implicating post now rarely seen.

With limited investment in the drama version, there wasn’t a grand premiere ceremony, just a launch press conference.

The press conference was in Beijing, but Deng Minru still went to Han Ze’s apartment, picked him up after the stylist had finished his makeup, and then rushed together to the press conference venue.

This was the first meeting between the two since Deng Minru returned to the company to handle the PR crisis with the publicity department.

Without having time to establish any rapport, they were thrown into this mess. Deng Minru was frustrated, especially seeing Han Ze dressed smartly and looking unaffected, which made her even more depressed.

Deng Minru and Wang Xi were quite different. If Wang Xi was openly assertive, then Deng Minru was like a needle hidden in cotton. At first glance, she seemed gentle as water but was actually meticulous and not necessarily easier to deal with than Wang Xi; her methods of showing anger were just different.

“You look good.” Deng Minru smiled at him, but a closer look would reveal that the smile didn’t reach her eyes.

Han Ze wasn’t overly sharp but wasn’t foolish either; a glance was enough to understand the implied meaning, so he returned it with a bitter smile. “For the first airing press conference, I can’t exactly show up looking gloomy.”

“Since you’ve learned your lesson this time, be obedient in the future,” Deng Minru said lightly. “I am your agent and won’t harm you.”

Han Ze lowered his eyes, pondered for a moment, then softly said, “Thank you, Minru Jie.”

Artists being this compliant was a relief for Deng Minru, but she still said, “It would’ve been better if it was like this from the start. The set visit was a good opportunity for publicity. It could’ve been hyped again these days, but now it’s no longer usable. I told you, risky publicity is prone to problems.”

“I’m sorry.” Han Ze wasn’t stingy with apologies.

Deng Minru sighed. “Let it be.”

She also made mistakes in this matter. She didn’t like Wang Xi’s arrogant demeanor, so even though Han Ze’s proposal was risky, she impulsively agreed, thinking it would be good for Wang Xi to face some hardship, but it ended up backfiring on her. Honestly, Wang Xi indeed had some skills.

But Deng Minru couldn’t think highly of an agent who was foolish enough to get romantically involved with their own artist. Moreover, this artist was an ingrate who turned around and told everything to her, implying that it was Wang Xi who pursued him aggressively, and he agreed out of helplessness. Then, once Ran Lin came along, Wang Xi shifted her attention to the new handsome guy.

Deng Minru really wanted to open up Wang Xi’s head to see if it was filled with tofu. However, as much of a scumbag Han Ze might be as a man, as an artist, he was pretty good—good-looking, ambitious, and, in some ways, quite gullible, making him relatively easy to manage.

While Deng Minru was pondering over Han Ze, he was also thinking about her. It wasn’t hard to guess Deng Minru’s feelings towards Wang Xi. His new agent clearly didn’t like Wang Xi, not because of personal or character issues but simply because there isn’t room for two tigers on one mountain. Deng Minru obviously wanted to be the head of the brokerage department, so even if Wang Xi were the embodiment of truth, goodness, and beauty, she wouldn’t like her.

He exploited this fact, so he brought up the publicity stunt proposal. Sabotaging Wang Xi was secondary; he wanted to sabotage Ran Lin. Just as Deng Minru disliked Wang Xi, he also disliked Ran Lin. A company can’t have two heads of the brokerage department, nor two top male stars.

The first airing press conference went smoothly. In the gaps of waiting for Han Ze, Deng Minru already had several whitewashing plans in mind, intending to minimize the negative impact of the previous publicity as quickly as possible.

Whitewashing essentially involves creating a likable public persona and works. This persona can be a warm man, quirky, a foodie, or a fashionista. With the right approach, they can subtly erase much of the previous negative impression, especially with the bonus of good works, doubling the effectiveness.

Creating a persona has many methods and isn’t hard; the challenge lies in finding good works. Without works to back up the persona, whitewashing can never be complete. Only excellent roles are the true foundation for an actor to gain a good reputation.

Deng Minru only hoped that the drama version of <Chronicles of Winter> could bring such a positive effect for Han Ze.

In the backstage lounge, while waiting for the press conference to end, Deng Minru thought about various things, occasionally scrolling through her phone to pass the time. Then, twenty minutes before the press conference was to end, she suddenly saw a combination of Han Ze and another female artist’s name—Han Ze + Cui Yanyan—in the real-time scrolling hot search keywords on Weibo!

Deng Minru’s first reaction wasn’t good. When she clicked directly into the search, her screen was filled with marketing accounts’ posts with exploded comments and share reposts—

[99 Entertainment: Han Ze’s late-night rendezvous with Cui Yanyan! Continuous passionate kissing in the underground parking lot! <Chronicles of Winter> hasn’t aired, but the lead actors have already put on a passionate drama! There are many fairy-tale couples in the entertainment industry that fell in love on set, but before sending blessings, netizens want to ask for the opinion of Cui Yanyan’s official boyfriend, Xiao Tianyu… [Video link] [Read full article]]

Deng Minru was initially petrified in front of her phone, then exploded in anger…

Han Ze had never mentioned such a thing to her. Fine, an artist’s private life is their own, but he should have the brains to know what to do and what not to do, or at least where to do it safely!!!

……

Wang Xi had just come out of the shower and cut up a bowl of cucumber slices for a bit of natural beauty treatment when her phone rang. It was Wu Xia.

“Xi Jie, there’s trouble!” As soon as the call connected, the young girl was frantic.

Wang Xi’s heart sank, and she carelessly put the bowl on the table. “Calm down, tell me slowly, what’s happened?”

Wu Xia: “Han Ze and Cui Yanyan were caught kissing passionately in a parking lot. It’s already trending!”

“…” Wang Xi thought something had happened to Ran Lin, but before she could breathe a sigh of relief, the mention of Cui Yanyan tensed her up again.

She was all too familiar with this female artist, so familiar that just hearing her name brought up the words “old hag” she had once seen in Han Ze’s WeChat. Among the women Han Ze had ambiguous relationships with, Cui Yanyan was the least courteous towards her.

“Xi Jie?” Wu Xia said, puzzled by the silence.

Wang Xi snapped back to reality. “What exactly happened?”

Wu Xia explained, “The video is spreading like wildfire, full of people condemning the dog and the bitch. Xiao Tianyu hasn’t responded yet, but he’s definitely wearing the green hat* now. But…”

*Idiom referring to a man has been cheated on by his wife or girlfriend (basically, he’s been cuckold).

Wang Xi: “But what?”

Wu Xia: “The timing of this video’s release is too coincidental. Today is the premiere press conference for the drama version of <Chronicles of Winter>. With the male and female leads caught in a cheating scandal, will anyone still watch this show?”

Wang Xi was silent for a moment, then asked, “Is there any mention of when the video was taken?”

Wu Xia: “The initial whistleblower’s Weibo post said it was two days ago. Xi Jie, do you think someone’s out to get him?”

“I’ll check Weibo to see what’s happening.” Wang Xi didn’t directly answer, only saying, “Since it’s unrelated to Ran Lin, we don’t have to do anything.”

Wu Xia: “Okay.”

Hanging up the phone, Wang Xi looked down at the bowl of fresh cucumber slices, lost in thought.

Many pieces of information jumbled in her mind, and after a lengthy process of recollection and selection, she recalled a sentence once said by Shi Jiuting—

[But now, foreseeing that the drama version will flop, there’s a strategy for flops just as there is for hits. I would rather it tank completely, making it easier for the movie version to shine by comparison and win acclaim.]

It had been just a week since he said that.

Those words were still ringing in her ears.

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

Author: 颜凉雨 / Yan Liang Yu

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

Chapter 78

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It wasn’t a question, but an affirmation.

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

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

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

Lu Yiyao confirmed, “Just now.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ending the video call, Ran Lin immediately opened Weibo.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Following closely was Han Ze’s Weibo post:

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

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

Han Ze’s post was made at 10:30 p.m.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You all?” Lu Yiyao repeated, puzzled.

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

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

Ran Lin didn’t have an answer.

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

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

“I’ll have Hong Jie…”

“No need.”

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

He said, “I’ll call Xi Jie.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ran Lin fell silent, long and wordless.

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

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

Neither spoke for a while, time ticking by silently.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

……

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

……

Beijing, Wang Xi’s apartment.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

……

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In short, the waters had become muddier.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shi Jiuting: “Yes is enough.”

Wang Xi: “……”

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

Wang Xi: “Yes.”

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

Wang Xi: “…Yes.”

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

Wang Xi: “Yes.”

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

Wang Xi: “…Yes.”

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

Wang Xi: “…”

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

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

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

Wang Xi was taken aback.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

……

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

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

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

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

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

His heart skipped a beat.

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

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

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

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

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

Author: 颜凉雨 / Yan Liang Yu

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

Chapter 77

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hold on.

Could this be the replacement for the female supporting role?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ran Lin understood.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ran Lin and Gu Jie almost simultaneously stood up.

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

Ran Lin immediately followed. “Hello.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

……

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

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

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

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

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

Ying Feng quickly returned with the beer, turning around.

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

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

“Cut, good take!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was when Liu Wanwan came over.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There was no other reason.

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

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

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

The following day was overcast with intermittent rain.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ran Lin was at a loss for words.

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

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

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

Qi Luoluo shrugged and followed swiftly.

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

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

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

Gu Jie, visibly frustrated, pushed him hard.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ran Lin complied, pushing harder.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Director He nodded approvingly. “I like it.”

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

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

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

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

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

Director He looked towards Ran Lin for confirmation.

Ran Lin gave a thumbs up and a resilient smile.

“Scene XX, <Dyeing Fire>, take 1…”

Click!

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

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

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

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

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

Tap, tap.

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

“Cut, pass—”

Gu Jie immediately let go and got off Ran Lin.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Click!

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

The two men inside maintained a baffled state.

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

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

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

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

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

“Cut—”

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

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

Ran Lin sat up, stretching his upper body.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gu Jie’s head drooped, disheartened.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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