Author: 颜凉雨 / Yan Liang Yu

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

Chapter 73

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As for the romantic aspect…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But something was off.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Weird, very weird…

“What are you looking at?”

A sudden, unfamiliar voice came from behind.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Di Jiangtao truly laughed this time. “I…”

Ding dong.

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

Ding dong.

Ding dong.

Ding dong.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ran Lin was impressed. “Impressive.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then, a rapid knock on the door sounded.

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

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

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

The knocking abruptly stopped.

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

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

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

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

Click.

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

“Surprise!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ran Lin: “……”

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

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

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

Lu Yiyao’s eyes twinkled—I missed you.

Ran Lin: “……”

Alright, he conceded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then why are you holding it so tight?”

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

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

“……”

“Your silence has wounded me.”

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

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

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

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

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

“How long will you stay?”

“Three days.”

“Didn’t get caught on the way here?”

“Xia Xinran got recognized, not me.”

“Normal. His face is too pretty.”

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

“……”

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

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

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

Ran Lin understood.

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

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

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

Lu Yiyao nodded and hurried away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Xia Xinran: “Eyeliner and foundation too?”

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

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

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

Gu Jie: “……”

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

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

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

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

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

Ran Lin retweeted with a laughing emoji.

Gu Jie retweeted with a clinking beer mugs emoji.

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

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

The initial comments were all about—

[Ahhh, Xia Xia is so beautiful!]

[Licking the screen!]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

……

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…steps.”

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

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

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

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

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

Author: 颜凉雨 / Yan Liang Yu

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

Chapter 72

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

The director hoped the two young actors could shed their star personas and immerse themselves in the environment, observing the people around to genuinely grasp the essence of everyday life in the city.

The final script of <Dyeing Fire> was set in an urban village in Wuhan.

The story centers on Xiao Gu, a cop who, after graduating from the police academy, was assigned to a police station serving this area and has been there for three years. Despite living in a big city like Wuhan, Xiao Gu’s world has seldom extended beyond this urban village. His perception of Wuhan is limited to its local delicacies like hot dry noodles, duck neck, and bean skin, the unintelligible local accent, and the cluttered village with its houses crammed together, haphazardly rigged electrical wires, and small stores sprouting up everywhere.

There are generally two types of people living here: the local landlords, who often own several properties, and the migrant workers, who are usually recent graduates, laborers, or other low-income individuals. These tenants chose the village for its affordable rent. To maximize profit, landlords often divide two or three-room apartments into as many as six rooms, or even merge and re-divide two adjacent apartments.

The more mixed the population, the more issues arise, keeping Xiao Gu busy all day. However, mediating petty neighborhood disputes isn’t what he yearns for. He dreams of being a detective and solving major cases, but even when criminal cases occur in the village, they’re always handed over to the detective squad, with Xiao Gu only assisting in gathering preliminary information.

Then, one ordinary day, a name appears on the list of individuals for the local police to monitor—Di Jiangtao.

Di Jiangtao, a 24-year-old unemployed youth recently released from prison after serving six years for robbery. While many ex-convicts successfully reintegrate into society, some fail or choose not to, often relapsing into criminal behavior. As a community officer, it’s Xiao Gu’s duty to discreetly monitor such individuals initially to prevent potential issues. Once they’re deemed to be living a normal, stable life, the surveillance discreetly ends.

But there’s something off about Di Jiangtao.

Precisely when Xiao Gu had categorized him as a typical aimless youth living off his parents with no major issues, Di Jiangtao exhibits unusual behavior—he’s been watching the owner of a small local store.

Xiao Gu doesn’t know what this pale, thin youth with a criminal past intends, but his instincts tell him something’s amiss.

So, Di Jiangtao watches the store owner, and Xiao Gu watches Di Jiangtao.

Eventually, Xiao Gu realizes that the store owner seems to be watching someone else—a seemingly ordinary local man in his fifties named Lao Zhang—divorced, childless, living alone but renting out two apartments. He spends his days collecting rent, playing cards, and strolling around—a seemingly affable fellow.

Thus begins a story of the mantis stalking the cicada, unaware of the oriole behind, which, in turn, is being watched by another pair of eyes.

The truth that eventually comes to light is beyond what Xiao Gu or Di Jiangtao could have ever expected…

When Ran Lin got the script that night, he read the story from beginning to end. As he closed the script, the layers of cold sweat that had formed during the reading had dissipated, leaving only a deep sigh in his heart.

He didn’t know what the earlier versions of the script that Director He insisted on revising were like, but at least the one he received was nothing short of brilliant.

Even setting aside the deep social themes the director wanted to convey—urbanization, the transformation of urban villages, the clash between inherent living habits and spiritual temperament, and the rapidly changing society—just the surface narrative alone was a tightly woven, outstanding crime thriller.

Any actor who truly loves acting would be thrilled to receive such a script.

Ran Lin even repeatedly read through the key scenes between his character, Gu Jie’s, and the store owner, sometimes getting so excited that he would inadvertently read the lines out loud.

But as soon as he spoke, the atmosphere of the script was broken—his voice lacked the gloom, irritability, hardship, and injustice of Di Jiangtao.

Di Jiangtao is someone who wants to integrate into society but doesn’t know how, who wants to reconcile with his family but doesn’t understand how to communicate properly, and who ultimately escapes to this place, adopting an attitude of “If you don’t care about me, I don’t care about you,” challenging his entire external environment.

Behind closed doors, he might hurt himself, regretting his past mistakes, but outside, he puts on an indifferent facade, his twisted pain eliciting sympathy.

Ran Lin had only mentioned to Lu Yiyao that he was going to experience life for the role; he hadn’t divulged much about the actual story of <Dyeing Fire>. However, towards the end of their video call, he suddenly remarked, “You’ve really lost a lot of weight.”

Lu Yiyao hadn’t expected the conversation to turn back to his appearance, but after half a day of video chatting, his looks were no secret, and he responded more openly, “You didn’t just notice now, did you?”

Ran Lin didn’t banter back but instead asked, “How did you lose weight?”

“Rushed work.” Lu Yiyao didn’t even want to recall that period. Focused and immersed, he didn’t feel much at the time, but in retrospect, it was full of struggle. “I was sleeping only two or three hours a day, spending the rest of the time working. And the roles were all about self-torture and struggle. You recognizing me on video now is a relief.”

“Oh…” Ran Lin listened carefully, pondering.

“Why are you asking this?” Lu Yiyao furrowed his brows, sensing something amiss. “Don’t tell me you’re thinking of losing weight.”

Suddenly, Ran Lin pinched his cheeks with the heels of his hands, pouting and mumbling, “Don’t you think my face is a bit round?”

Lu Yiyao rolled his eyes. “Whoever says your face is round, I’ll buy them a top-notch microscope.”

Ran Lin laughed and let go of his face, explaining, “It’s not that I’m fat, just that my current look doesn’t seem like someone who has suffered. Not a rich kid, but definitely middle-class. But the character in the script is a youth just released from prison, described as pale and thin, possibly even a bit haggard.”

“So you want to make yourself look haggard?”

“At least to appear closer to the character in terms of physical appearance.”

“Although I personally prefer you looking well-fed and clean, if you truly believe it’s necessary for the character, you can use some methods to make your appearance more fitting,” Lu Yiyao said, pausing briefly to look Ran Lin in the eyes with a serious tone. “But you must not harm your health. That’s a red line.”

Ran Lin looked at him for a while before nodding seriously. “Understood.”

Lu Yiyao was satisfied and was about to praise him for being “good” when he heard his lover add—

“I’ll wait until after <Chronicles of Winter> if I do decide to lose weight. Otherwise, how would a paper-thin Xiao Shitou lead his brothers to conquer the Nine Heavens?”

“…” Lu Yiyao wasn’t sure if it was just his imagination, but every time he heard Ran Lin talk about “conquering the Nine Heavens”, he seemed to sense a hint of excitement in his lover’s tone.

He just hoped the props department of <Chronicles of Winter> could withstand it.

By the end of the video call, Lu Yiyao didn’t bring up his thoughts about changing careers. It’s not that he wanted to keep it from Ran Lin; it’s just that this particular matter, he wanted to discuss in person.

It was his decision, but it involved both of them, and some things can only be clarified face-to-face. If they ended up arguing and Ran Lin just hung up, he would be left frustrated and helpless.

So, it’s better to discuss it in person. If they really can’t agree, maybe he can… exert some “physical dominance” first, then talk?

Lu Yiyao pondered the feasibility of this plan as he looked at his now dark phone screen, becoming increasingly absorbed in the thought.

……

Taking the high-speed train from Beijing to Wuhan only takes about five and a half hours, with the fastest train taking even less—just four and a half hours. Considering the time needed for airport security and the drive from the airport to the city center, the train often ends up being less hassle. So, when Gu Jie, his co-traveler, called to discuss the possibility of taking the train, Ran Lin readily agreed.

Early November in Beijing, the lowest temperatures was around 0°C, with highs of only about 11-12°C. Ran Lin wore a black hoodie with a casual black and white vest on top, both light and unlined, leaving him shivering in the cold as soon as he stepped off the train.

Fortunately, he soon entered the station, passed through security, and got into the waiting hall before queuing up for boarding.

In the bustling crowd, everyone focused on their own luggage and tickets, following the flow forward. No one noticed him, a young man in a hat and mask, until he entered the business class carriage and sat down, then finally took off his mask and breathed a sigh of relief.

Looking at the empty seat beside him, Ran Lin frowned unconsciously—Gu Jie hadn’t arrived yet.

The business class carriage was spacious, with seats not too close together. He and Gu Jie’s seats were on the side with two rows; he was by the window, Gu Jie by the aisle.

As most passengers settled down and the carriage quieted, Gu Jie was still nowhere to be seen. Just as Ran Lin was about to call him, hurried footsteps sounded from behind. Like everyone else in the carriage, Ran Lin looked back and saw his partner rushing in like a whirlwind.

Gu Jie, wearing only a T-shirt and a baseball cap and no mask, was sprinting so fast no one would be able to make out his face.

He stopped abruptly at Ran Lin’s row, quickly took his seat, and then gasped for breath as he took off his backpack.

“Did it have to be that dramatic?” Ran Lin didn’t know whether to praise or tease him. “Couldn’t you have come a few minutes earlier?”

“The driver mistakenly took me to the south station. Luckily, I realized in time and rushed back here; otherwise, you’d be traveling alone.” Gu Jie recounted his ordeal with a hint of tears.

Ran Lin, bemused at his sweaty friend, couldn’t help but feel a bit sympathetic.

But then—

“How did you end up going to the south station?”

“I got confused and told him that was where I needed to go.”

“……”

All that running seemed quite justified now!

Thankfully, with no further incidents, the train started moving, and the carriage grew quiet, with most early-risers beginning to doze off.

As the landscape outside transitioned from the city to the suburbs, the view expanded dramatically. Despite autumn’s arrival, there was vibrancy and vitality in the air.

Gu Jie cracked open a can of Red Bull for some much-needed energy.

Ran Lin gazed out the window in a daze, mind blank, just quietly observing, enjoying a rare moment of peace.

On reflection, over the past two years, he had been either rushing to schedules or holed up at home memorizing scripts. Even on his off days, he only strolled around near his apartment and seldom had the chance for pure leisure travel like this.

Even though it was called experiencing life, it was pretty much like traveling. Going to an unknown place, embarking on an unknown journey, uncertain of what lay ahead, but full of anticipation.

The scenery along the way was beautiful, and the five and a half hours almost flew by.

As soon as they stepped out of the station, Ran Lin took off his vest—it was noon and a sunny day, much warmer than in Beijing.

Wuhan Station was beautifully and grandly constructed, with a wave-like steel structure dome and an all-glass curtain wall, looking like an airport. It was filled with a modern vibe—a cosmopolitan modern vibe—which didn’t fit at all with the world in the script of <Dyeing Fire>.

But when the two of them took a taxi straight to the address Director He gave and got out, the feel changed instantly.

What appeared before them were rows of closely packed buildings, not tall, with mottled walls that looked old. The ground was asphalt, but due to lack of maintenance, it was pitted and uneven. A narrow stream of water flowed slowly down the curb into the drain, its color unclear, its origin unknown. The garbage cans at the corner of the road were overflowing, with bags of trash scattered around, emitting an unpleasant smell.

Shops lined both sides of the street, featuring unique snacks, supermarkets, jewelry stores, agencies, daily rental houses, and the like. Storefronts were tightly packed, each with its own distinctive sign, all aiming to be eye-catching, almost fulfilling every imaginable daily need.

Looking up, messy wires stretched between buildings. Many balconies were hung with clothes, but the proximity of the buildings made it feel like one could almost reach out and grab clothes from the opposite building. Looking straight ahead, the road was even narrower due to randomly parked vehicles.

Standing in the middle of the road under the noon sun was too conspicuous; people passing by would glance at them. After calling Director He, the two of them decided to wait between a small supermarket and a fruit stall on the side of the road, neither too noticeable nor obstructing business.

Director He didn’t make them wait long—just five or six minutes—but in that time, three groups of people came to the store.

The first group was two young girls, around seventeen or eighteen, who bought a pile of snacks.

The second was a young man buying cigarettes.

The third was an older lady buying soy sauce.

All three were locals, as they could clearly hear them speaking in the local accent to the shopkeeper.

Ran Lin paid special attention to the young man who shuffled in to buy cigarettes, maybe staring a bit too intensely, as he was met with a wary glare before the man left with his cigarette.

But Ran Lin was pleased; he could feel the character Di Jiangtao from the script slowly becoming clearer.

“You guys are pretty fast…” From five or six meters away, Director He’s loud voice reached them.

Director He looked the same as always, but with a longer beard and messier hair, making him look a bit rougher. “I’ll show you where you’ll be staying. Then we can put down your things and go eat.”

Ran Lin and Gu Jie had no objections.

Following Director He through twists and turns, they finally entered an unassuming five-story building.

While the exterior was chaotic, the interior was quite tidy, and the hallway was free of clutter. They smoothly made it to the fourth floor, and Director He unlocked the door. “Two bedrooms and a living room should be enough for you to live in, with all utilities, but no playing games all day long…”

As Director He instructed, the security door opened.

Ran Lin’s first sight was a simply decorated but tidy living room. Aside from a bit of a damp smell, everything was better than expected.

“Don’t worry, Director, we’ve come all the way here to experience life, not internet speed,” Gu Jie said, sensing Director He’s advice as a slight to his professionalism.

Director He, already familiar with Gu Jie, gave him a look. “It better be. The production budget is tight; it wasn’t easy to get the rent for these two months.”

It was Ran Lin’s first time seeing a director lament financial constraints to actors, which he found amusing.

Gu Jie was quick to action, changing shoes and sitting down on the sofa, then remembered to ask, “Director He, where are you guys staying?”

The “you guys” was referring to the poor scriptwriter still tweaking the script and the busy set crew.

“The white building next door,” Director He said. “You can see it from your window.”

Without getting up, Gu Jie turned and saw the white building through the living room window, nodding in acknowledgment.

Ran Lin had already toured both bedrooms. It was evident that the crew had been meticulous: the pillows and bedding were brand new, and the walls were freshly painted. Although the floor showed signs of age with some warping and corners curling, and the furniture screamed nineties décor, as a place to experience life, it was quite comfortable.

“How is it?” Director He asked directly after Ran Lin finished touring.

Ran Lin sincerely replied, “It’s much better than I imagined.”

“Experiencing life isn’t survival training.” Director He cranked his neck around, seemingly tired. “The main thing is for you to immerse yourself, observe, feel, then when it comes to shaping the character, you’ll know where to start.”

Ran Lin looked at the towering figure of Director He, feeling he could see through his rough exterior to the passionate heart for art within.

True to his promise, the first meal Director He took them for was hot dry noodles, just in a small restaurant downstairs.

Salty, spicy, rich, and with Ran Lin’s favorite sesame sauce, he finished a bowl in just a few mouthfuls.

Director He was pleased that the young actors weren’t picky or complaining, but he couldn’t help but feel nostalgic. “This area will be demolished next year. It will be increasingly difficult to find places like this.”

Ran Lin sensed Director He’s reluctance in his words.

Director He had a special affection for Wuhan, having filmed many scenes there over the past decade, witnessing its transformation.

“Urban village renovation is a good thing.” Gu Jie didn’t understand the director’s sentimentality. “Once new buildings are up, the neighborhood will be tidier and the environment more modern. Maybe it will become a bustling business district, and the original residents might get rich overnight with the compensation!”

Director He glanced at him, his face clearly saying, “We have different philosophies.”

Ran Lin tried to think from Director He’s perspective, somewhat understanding. “New buildings mean cleaner environments, which is good, but it also dilutes interpersonal relationships. There’s no longer that community feeling where if one child is scolded, the whole building knows. From an artistic perspective, you’d prefer a closer, more interactive environment…”

“You’ve hit the nail on the head!” Ran Lin’s words resonated deeply with Director He, lighting up his eyes.

Ran Lin felt a bit guilty because he admitted, “Director He, while I understand you, I still have to side with Gu Jie… After all, people hope for increasingly comfortable living environments, and we can’t just forgo improvement for the sake of art…”

Director He: “……”

Ran Lin looked at Director He’s dumbfounded expression, finding the director oddly endearing rather than intimidating.

After dinner, Director He went back to his own work.

Ran Lin and Gu Jie’s task for the trip was to “live”, so they decided to follow their hearts and rest after a morning of traveling by train. No matter how comfortable it was, it was still tiring.

Back at their accommodation, Gu Jie took a shower first.

Ran Lin took some photos of the room and sent them to Lu Yiyao, then texted—[I’ve arrived. This is the house rented by the production crew.]

Lu Yiyao replied promptly—[Looks pretty good.]

Ran Lin was surprised—[I thought you would have complaints.]

Lu Yiyao—[Since it’s about experiencing life, it should be as grounded as possible. Otherwise, what’s the point?]

Ran Lin—[Why do I feel like you’re schooling me. 😥]

Lu Yiyao—[Because you reminded me of my painful experiences living in the great desert. I wished for a simple shelter like this one. 😩]

Ran Lin 囧—[Pat pat, don’t cry. Be strong.]

Lu Yiyao—[……]

Lu Yiyao—[Gotta go, I’m about to drive [kissing.gif]]

The animated kiss startled Ran Lin, almost making him feel it on his own face.

But then—[Why are you driving yourself?]

Lu Yiyao—[Taking advantage of no work to visit my mom and sister.]

Ran Lin—[Send my regards to the beauties. 😏]

Lu Yiyao—[Sure, I’ll video call you when I get home so you can say it to them face to face.]

Ran Lin—[…I was just kidding!]

Lu Yiyao—[Tigger loves you.jpg]

Ran Lin, now realizing he’d been tricked, reflected on how Lu Yiyao seemed exactly the kind of person to make a boyfriend say hi to his mom… Wait, who would make a “Tigger loves you” meme?

Teacher Lu, how much free time do you have on your hands?

After a quick shower, Gu Jie emerged from the bathroom to find Ran Lin smiling foolishly at his phone.

“Who are you chatting with, sweet as honey?” Gu Jie teased.

Ran Lin hesitated for a few seconds, weighing his options between deflecting, fabricating a girlfriend, or telling the truth, and decided on: “Lu Yiyao.”

He wasn’t ready to reveal the whole truth to Gu Jie, but he didn’t want to lie to his friend either. He wanted to be as honest as possible with Gu Jie, perhaps fully opening up in the near future.

“Lu Yiyao? Did you tell him you’re here to experience life?” Gu Jie, oblivious to the suspicious nature of Ran Lin’s sweet smile in such a context, sat next to him, drying his hair.

“Yeah,” Ran Lin, cautious not to be too revealing, closely watched his friend’s expression. “We often chat on WeChat now, keeping in touch.”

“I get it,” Gu Jie, completely unsuspecting, said with a nonchalant air. “After working together on the reality show and the drama, you must be close.”

If Gu Jie had shown any suspicion, Ran Lin might have thought about how to navigate the conversation, but with Gu Jie’s trust, he felt needlessly curious about how oblivious his friend could be. “It’s not just about working together. We just get along really well and always have lots to talk about.”

“That must be you accommodating him.” Gu Jie, turning to face Ran Lin seriously, said, “Honestly, Lu Yiyao is a good guy, serious and responsible, doesn’t cut corners, a decent person, but he’s not easy to get close to. If only he could be a bit more like Xia Xinran. That guy is too overfriendly…”

Ran Lin, overwhelmed with how to respond, simply nodded. “I’ll make sure to pass that on.”

As soon as he finished speaking, Gu Jie unexpectedly draped an arm around Ran Lin’s neck, drawing him close in a buddy-buddy pose.

Startled, Ran Lin was about to react when Gu Jie suggested, “Let’s take a selfie and send it to Lu Yiyao. Since he knows we’re here together, it’d be rude not to show my face.”

Ran Lin: “…”

Suddenly, Ran Lin thought that even if one day he and Lu Yiyao stood hand in hand in front of Gu Jie, unless he explicitly said they were in a relationship, Gu Jie might never suspect a thing.

This guy wasn’t just straight.

He was diamond-grade straight.

……

Halfway through his drive, Lu Yiyao received the selfie from Ran Lin and Gu Jie, with a note specifically from Ran Lin—[Gu Jie wanted to send this.]

If Lu Yiyao didn’t know Gu Jie’s straight-man nature so well, he might have taken this as a challenge!

Unable to text while driving, Lu Yiyao didn’t reply until he got home and was immediately ambushed by his sister, leaving no chance for further messaging.

Lu Yiyao and Lu Yimeng had finished dinner and were watching TV in the living room, waiting for their mother, Fan Li, to come home.

As soon as Fan Li entered, she rushed to her son, fussing, “Let mom see if you’ve lost weight…”

And indeed, he had.

Fan Li’s face turned dark on the spot.

Lu Yimeng wisely stepped aside, making room for their mother. Fan Li sat down, clearly displeased. “What’s going on?”

“Just shooting,” Lu Yiyao replied nonchalantly, as if it was nothing out of the ordinary.

“Other stars shine bright and make it look easy, how come it’s always worry with you?” Fan Li was both angry and distressed.

Lu Yimeng thought her brother should have anticipated this reaction, so when she saw him return home in such a state, she wondered why he was seemingly asking to be scolded.

But her brother seemed unfazed, which made her very curious about what he was planning…

“From now on, you can relax,” Lu Yiyao suddenly said.

Fan Li was stunned, not expecting such a reply.

Lu Yimeng blinked, equally puzzled.

“How am I supposed to relax?” Fan Li was confused.

Lu Yiyao smiled. “I’m quitting being a star.”

Fan Li reached out to touch her son’s forehead. “Have you taken the wrong medicine, or are you just back to teasing me?”

“Neither.” Lu Yiyao laughed, taking his mother’s hand down, and seriously continued, “I’ve already spoken with my agent. I won’t accept any new contracts from now on. Once I’ve fulfilled my current ones, I’ll move behind the scenes.”

“Behind the scenes?” Lu Yimeng finally caught on. “Brother, are you planning to direct?”

“Am I cut out for that?” Lu Yiyao looked at his sister dismissively, then turned back to his mother. “I’m planning to start an entertainment company, invest in projects, and sign artists.”

Fan Li wanted to believe, but the news was so sudden she found it hard to digest. “…Are you serious?”

Lu Yiyao nodded without hesitation. “Absolutely.”

Fan Li: “Your motive?”

Lu Yiyao: “To make money.”

Fan Li: “…”

Lu Yimeng tugged at Lu Yiyao’s sleeve, whispering, “Brother, isn’t that reason a bit weak?”

Fan Li’s face turned thunderous.

Lu Yiyao quickly added, “Self-fulfillment.”

Lu Yimeng facepalmed, thinking the money motive was at least practical…

“I’ll ask again,” Fan Li said, word by word. “Are you serious?”

Lu Yiyao simply replied with an emphatic and powerful, “Yes.”

Fan Li didn’t care how much money her son could make as an actor or running an entertainment company. She was concerned about what he really wanted to do.

Taking a deep breath, she tried to sound calm and rational. “Our family has businesses. The Lu’s have a conglomerate. If you want to achieve something in business, I support you, but why reject both options to start your own? I don’t understand.”

“I like the entertainment industry,” Lu Yiyao confessed. “I enjoy studying the rules and the play of this circle. I want to use what I’ve accumulated over the years in my future career.”

Fan Li nodded. “You like it, huh. If you like it, why not continue being an actor? Why switch careers?”

Lu Yiyao: “Liking the entertainment industry doesn’t mean I like acting. I’m just… okay with acting. I think I prefer doing business, so starting an entertainment company is perfect for combining my interests with what I enjoy doing.”

Fan Li was frustrated. “Then why didn’t you choose business school to begin with!”

Lu Yiyao: “Because Dad wanted me to go to business school, and I didn’t want to make him happy!”

Fan Li: “…Oh.”

Lu Yimeng thought she misheard. “Oh? Mom, he joked about his future when choosing his major in college, and all you say is ‘oh’?!”

“What do you know?” Fan Li disdainfully looked at her daughter. “Just studying business doesn’t mean you understand it. Real businessmen are made through trials and tribulations in the business world. Practice brings true knowledge.”

Lu Yimeng: “But you still need theoretical knowledge to apply it practically!”

Fan Li: “Your brother is smart enough to self-study the theory. Now he’s about to start a company; he seems pretty confident.”

Lu Yimeng: “…”

Done. The moment her mom heard it was to oppose her dad, she unconditionally supported him.

No matter how shrewd in business she was, when it came to her ex-husband, the “Mr. Lu” she mentioned, her rationality goes out the window.

“Here’s the thing.” Fan Li finally calmed down, addressing her son. “I’m a bit sad about your previous efforts going to waste, but if you’ve decided and want to do it, I won’t argue. You don’t want to take over my business, but at least you’re willing to enter the business world, which is comforting…”

“Go ahead and strive, brother,” Lu Yimeng chimed in. “I’m here to handle Mom’s business.”

Fan Li rolled her eyes at her daughter. “You, maybe in ten years you’ll make it, if at all.”

Lu Yimeng glared. “Mom, that’s favoritism!”

Fan Li challenged. “Then start going to the office tomorrow.”

Lu Yimeng’s bravado deflated, and she fell silent.

Up to this point in the conversation, Fan Li realized that her son was serious, and she understood that his eagerness to return was specifically to discuss this matter. In fact, she would be thrilled to celebrate with fireworks if her son quit being a celebrity to go into business. However, she felt a bit resistant due to the suddenness of the change. Moreover, the thought of Lu Guoming, that despicable man who had always hoped her son would enter business, getting his wish fulfilled, made her feel tight-chested, short of breath, and unhappy.

But whatever.

When Fan Li looked at her handsome son and lively daughter, she felt that life was quite complete as it was.

The three of them chatted happily in the living room until late, and then Fan Li went upstairs to rest first, telling the children not to stay up too late.

Once she closed the door, Lu Yimeng gave a thumbs up quietly. “Brother, you’re amazing. Just by opposing Dad, you won Mom over.”

Lu Yiyao sighed. “It just came to that in the conversation.”

Lu Yimeng nodded but still puzzled. “When Mom asked why you didn’t choose business school and went for acting, why did you hold back and not say? She wouldn’t have blamed you, just like today, all clear and breezy.”

Lu Yiyao tilted his head, recalling that moment, and finally remembered. “Oh right, I thought that answer would make Mom happy, so I shouldn’t reveal it too easily, saving it for a crucial moment.”

Lu Yimeng: “…”

Lu Yiyao: “…”

Lu Yimeng: “Brother, you’re too strategic.”

Lu Yiyao: “I just realized that too…”

Ding dong.

The WeChat notification sounded.

Lu Yimeng initially thought the ringing phone was hers and instinctively turned to look, only to see her older brother quickly grab his phone.

This wouldn’t have been suspicious, except his swift action aroused Lu Yimeng’s suspicion. However, she didn’t show it.

Instead, she casually picked up her phone, pretending to flip through it while stealthily glancing at her brother. His face didn’t reveal anything unusual, still open and calm, but then he said, “It’s getting late, I’m going to sleep.”

Lu Yimeng didn’t show any reaction, obediently responding, “Okay, good night,” and watched her brother head upstairs with his phone. She then narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

After waiting about two minutes, she turned off the living room lights, leaving only the night light on, and quietly ascended the stairs like a shadow, silently approaching her brother’s bedroom like a phantom.

The bedroom door was tightly closed. Lu Yimeng pressed her ear against the solid wooden door, faintly hearing her brother speaking inside, but couldn’t make out the words clearly.

Her curiosity was killing her.

Even if her brother was usually very reserved and secretive, he was ultimately a novice in love. He might manage his expressions well, but his actions couldn’t deceive anyone. Rushing back to his room upon receiving a message and immediately getting in touch once inside—there was definitely something going on!

Growing impatient, Lu Yimeng looked around and noticed a very thin gap between the door and the floor. She happily lay down, sticking her ear to the gap.

The previously muffled voice became intermittently clearer, but she could only hear her brother’s voice. She wasn’t sure if he was on a call or in a video chat, but he was wearing headphones—

“Yeah… I know…”

“Hot dry noodles… duck neck… soup dumplings… rice cakes… tofu skin…”

“Wait, you’ve only been there half a day and you’ve eaten this much?”

“Oh… planning to eat over the next few days… But that’s not right either, are you there to experience life or are you on a culinary tour of China?”

Lu Yimeng swallowed her saliva, feeling hungry before she could catch any scandalous news.

“Okay, you’re always right…”

His voice suddenly softened, unfamiliar to Lu Yimeng.

“Gu Jie…”

“Yeah, I’m upset…”

“My hair is still wet…”

“Yeah, that works…”

“Not enough…”

“More…”

His voice got lower, huskier, and strangely suggestive…

Lu Yimeng frowned, pressing harder against the gap, then caught a very ambiguous murmur—

“I’ll come over and help you take it off.”

Lu Yimeng’s face flushed red with embarrassment.

She almost reflexively got up and stealthily returned to her room, using her last bit of reason.

Once back in her room, she dove into her bed, her feelings complex and mixed…

Her future sister-in-law was a foodie!

Her dear brother was a rascal!

She had just heard Gu Jie… Wait, Gu Jie? Gu Jie? Gu Jie?

Lu Yimeng sat up suddenly, trying to recall how this name came up.

It seemed to have been mentioned without any context, just called out.

Could it be… the name of her future sister-in-law?!

Lu Yimeng felt uneasy, her brain racing like never before.

Gu Jie, Gu Jie, were not problematic, but Gu Jie… She felt she had seen or heard this name before…

Her brother’s social circle was quite narrow. As his devoted fan, she constantly followed his updates. Apart from Huo Yuntao, she hadn’t seen him interact with other people outside the circle. So, whoever he knew must be from within the industry…

Unable to figure it out, Lu Yimeng resorted to searching each name on her phone.

Gu Jie, no clues related to the entertainment industry…

Gu Jie, still no clues…

Gu Jie…

[Gu Jie, a male actor from Mainland China… variety show <National First Love Drifting Story>…]

There it was—a clue closely related to her brother.

No wonder the name sounded familiar; she had followed her brother’s debut on this variety show religiously! More importantly, the cast seemed to get along well in the show, and her brother had mentioned enjoying the later episodes!

Clearly, Gu Jie was a friend of her brother’s…

Or was it more than just friendship?!

Her brother’s tender, murmuring voice echoed in her ears again.

Lu Yimeng laid back down in despair, holding her phone high.

What to do?! This Gu Jie looked even more masculine than her brother!!!

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

Author: 颜凉雨 / Yan Liang Yu

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

Chapter 71

When Yao Hong suddenly heard about Lu Yiyao’s decision to change careers, she was struck like a bolt from the blue. The moment the word “change careers” reached her ears, she could almost visualize herself, bewildered and unsure of whom to continue fighting alongside in her career.

The last time an artist she had worked with for years was taken away by Cupid, Yao Hong went through a prolonged low period until she met Lu Yiyao and regained her fighting spirit. Now facing a similar situation, she felt too old to bear it again.

But it seemed Lu Yiyao had read her mind, hitting the nail on the head—changing careers didn’t mean going separate ways. They were still going to work together, even more closely and on a higher level.

Although Yao Hong complained verbally, deep down, she was relieved. Over the years, Lu Yiyao had become more than just a collaborator to her, more like a younger family member or even a child she had nurtured. Who could bear to part with their child?

So if Lu Yiyao is determined not to be an artist anymore and starts an entertainment company instead, their continuing collaboration in a different way would be the most comforting ending for Yao Hong—but for now, she couldn’t be at peace yet. Although starting a company and investing in projects meant Lu Yiyao had essentially shifted from being a secondary party to a primary one, effectively elevating his status in the industry, and it was true he never had an insatiable love for acting, the thought that it was Ran Lin who made him realize his new direction still frustrated her…

Yao Hong was in a state where she couldn’t even bear to hear her prospective daughter-in-law’s name, like a stereotypical evil mother-in-law!

“Stop hiding and come out,” she called out to the little assistant lingering by the door frame. “He didn’t choose this time to tell me just to keep it from you. But since he trusts you so much, don’t let him down.”

“Rest assured, Hong Jie, Lu Ge.” Li Tong came running out, standing before them, and swearing to the heavens. “If I reveal what I heard today to a fourth person, then I will… stay single for life!”

Yao Hong couldn’t help but laugh.

Lu Yiyao held his forehead. “That’s a bit too harsh…”

Li Tong let go of his hand and returned to his usual jocular demeanor.

Yao Hong, amused by his carefree attitude, reminded him, “Although it’s early to talk about these things, you should start thinking about your future. If you want to continue in this industry, I can introduce you to other artists…”

“I’m not leaving,” Li Tong declared resolutely. “If Lu Ge is starting his own company, then there will be plenty of roles to fill. I want to continue working with him. If he doesn’t need an assistant, I’ll see what other positions are suitable, even a department head or deputy…”

“You wish!” Yao Hong would have hit his head if they weren’t seated at different levels.

Li Tong stuck out his tongue and laughed.

Lu Yiyao thought the suggestion was constructive, and he nodded in consideration.

Yao Hong felt she might be driven mad by these two sooner or later!

They couldn’t possibly cover all the aspects of such a significant life decision in one day, especially with Yao Hong still reeling from the shock. They would need time to cool down and think things through.

“Alright, rest well for the next few days,” Yao Hong said, standing up. “Once you’ve recuperated, we’ll plan further. We’ll also need to inform Pentium Times, as we originated from there. Although we’ve been virtually independent these last two years, we’re still technically under their umbrella. It’s only right to let them know.”

Lu Yiyao knew Yao Hong was now on his side, or rather, she had always been, no matter how whimsical his decisions were.

“I understand,” he replied, standing up sincerely. “Thank you, Hong Jie.”

“Just save me some worries,” Yao Hong said with a glance.

After seeing off Yao Hong and Li Tong, Lu Yiyao thoroughly soaked himself in a bath. But because it was too comfortable, he accidentally fell asleep in the middle of it. Fortunately, he was in the right position, with his arms resting on either side, his head and neck on the bathtub’s rim, and his legs against the end of the tub. He was a stable sleeper, so other than waking up to slightly cooler water, he didn’t slide into the tub and wake up choking—a tragic incident avoided.

However, the life-loving Teacher Lu was still a bit frightened afterward and vowed to set a safety alarm for his next bath.

After drying his hair, Lu Yiyao looked at himself in the mirror and sighed. His cheeks were slightly hollow, his dark circles apparent, and his stubble uneven—a look the director insisted on for an unkempt effect, coupled with his somewhat overgrown hair, really made him feel distressed.

After hesitating for a while, Lu Yiyao still squeezed some shaving foam into his hand, evenly applied it to his chin, and then picked up the razor blade, deciding to start the first step in restoring his once glorious appearance—from the chin.

Just as he made the first stroke, the phone on the washstand rang, displaying “Huo Yuntao” dancing happily across the caller ID. Lu Yiyao didn’t move the phone; he just slid to answer, hit the speakerphone, said “Hello,” and continued his task.

“Hey, are you home?” Huo Yuntao knew the time of his flight back today, so he timed his call to check on him.

“I am,” Lu Yiyao replied, trying not to move his mouth too much, making his speech a bit muffled. As the phone was also not near his mouth, his voice sounded even more vague and distant to Huo Yuntao.

“What are you doing?” Huo Yuntao asked, puzzled. Lu Yiyao, realizing he couldn’t avoid explaining, sighed, put down the razor, and with his chin still covered in foam, picked up the phone and said, “Scratch card¹.”

“Scratch card¹? Lottery?” Huo Yuntao was confused.

Lu Yiyao rolled his eyes. “Shaving. The cleaner the shave, the happier I feel. Happy shaving¹.”

¹Clarity: The word he’s using is (刮刮乐) which means scratch-off cards. Broken down, though, it means shave shave happy, so he’s kind of making a little pun.

“…” Huo Yuntao didn’t want to comment on his old friend’s odd metaphor but was more concerned about, “After months of sleep deprivation and hard work, your first thing after wrapping up is not to sleep but to shave?!”

“It’s my first sleep at home. I can’t just go to bed like this.” Lu Yiyao had his principles. “It doesn’t fit my aesthetic.”

“So, what? You plan to shave, then do your hair?”

“I can’t. I only have enough energy left for shaving.”

“Thank goodness.”

After teasing him, Huo Yuntao added with a smirk, “Ran Lin surely doesn’t know you’ve reached the peak in the field of narcissism.”

“He seems to know a bit…” Lu Yiyao, reminiscing about their interactions, always felt that Ran Lin had seen through some of the truth. “But probably not as clearly as you do.”

“Definitely not as clearly as me,” Huo Yuntao said. “Otherwise, he wouldn’t have fallen for you.”

Lu Yiyao: “…”

Huo Yuntao: “Speechless, huh?”

Lu Yiyao savored Huo Yuntao’s teasing, finding it more and more pleasant. “Hearing from someone else that he loves me feels quite wonderful…”

“Stay home tomorrow and wait for me. I’ve got some materials that should be helpful. See you!!!” With an authoritative tone, Huo Yuntao ended the call, leaving Lu Yiyao figuratively upending a bowl of dog food.

Lu Yiyao, in a cheerful mood, finished shaving and looked at the mirror, quite satisfied with the three parts of his charm that had returned. Finally, holding his phone, he plunged into the soft, big bed, entered WeChat, and his gaze gradually softened— [I’m back.]

After sending the message, he felt completely settled and peacefully fell asleep in the long-missed, familiar-smelling bed of his own home.

……

Ran Lin went back home in October.

The shooting of <Chronicles of Winter> was three months, mostly concentrated in a green studio due to extensive post-production work, so the actual shooting period was shorter than expected. However, aiming for a release on the first day of the lunar new year the year after next meant a tight schedule to allow ample time for post-production, with no breaks during the holiday season.

After <Chronicles of Winter> Ran Lin was to join the crew of <Dyeing Fire> without a break, so any visits home would have to wait until later in the year. Therefore, taking advantage of the current opportunity, he decided to spend a week at home.

Nothing had changed at home. The bun shop was still the same, the old neighbors were still around, and his mother was still hard working and capable, while his father was still semi-busy. Besides the payment for <Sword of Fallen Flowers> he had given half of his subsequent earnings from ads and press to his family. Although he meant it as savings, he hoped to improve his family’s living conditions and felt somewhat helpless whenever he heard they hadn’t used his money, unsure how to ease his parents’ burdens.

But when he actually got home, seeing everything as it always was and his parents’ healthy, happy faces, he felt that perhaps things were just fine as they were. A life of comfort was all that mattered, and this was the most comfortable life for his parents, with their own business and a son they were proud of.

And it wasn’t like nothing had changed.

In the past, when he returned home, his parents would worry about his future, carefully saving money for him, gathering a dowry. But this time, he could distinctly feel his parents’ relief, a burden lifted from their hearts, an ease that came from within. They no longer needed to worry about their son; instead, they could bask in his reflected glory.

There’s no need to go into detail about him being paraded around to the neighbors; since his return, he’s already made several appearances at the shop, meeting with familiar and unfamiliar folks who all came to see him.

Though it was a bit embarrassing, being his parents’ pride was the most gratifying thing in Ran Lin’s life.

The hometown that seemed to never change was Ran Lin’s charging station. Once back in Beijing, he was full of energy.

Wang Xi probably anticipated his excellent spirits, so the day after he arrived in Beijing, she sent him the script for the project after <Dyeing Fire>—

“<The Legend of Lantern Blossoms>?” Ran Lin looked at the characters on the script’s cover and immediately imagined an oil lamp flickering before a mottled window, creating a crackling of light.

Wang Xi watched him worriedly, not missing any slight expression on his artist’s face. “Can you still handle it?”

Ran Lin looked back at his agent with difficulty. “Depends on how many episodes there are.”

Wang Xi couldn’t help but laugh and point to the boldface at the top of the script’s cover. “Doesn’t it say here? It’s a 60-episode ancient mythology TV drama.”

“That’s okay then…” Ran Lin’s tense nerves relaxed. “I thought it would be eighty or ninety episodes.”

“Eighty days.” Wang Xi patted his shoulder. “Just endure it, and it’ll be over.”

Ran Lin was stunned. “The shooting period is less than three months?”

“That’s how these fast-food dramas are—a bunch of such crews in Hengdian.” Wang Xi also felt helpless. “This is one of the better scripts I’ve seen, with a quite delicate love line. If you perform well, maybe you’ll be the brightest star amidst the roaring thunder.”

“That doesn’t sound very tempting…” Ran Lin couldn’t laugh or cry, gently brushing over the script cover, almost with a sense of reverence.

Wang Xi saw his disheartened look and suddenly asked without warning, “Your contract expires at the end of June, the year after next. Have you thought about the future?”

Ran Lin was still immersed in the world of the magical lantern battles and didn’t react immediately to Wang Xi’s words.

After a moment, he honestly said, “Not yet.”

When his contract expired in two years, he indeed thought about switching careers after it was up. But then he met Lu Yiyao at the airport, and in the next two years, his entire career trajectory was like switching from a merry-go-round to a rapid ride. Caught up in the whirlwind, he was just focusing on doing well in the present, completing his roles and schedules, without thinking much about the distant future.

However, now that Wang Xi mentioned it, Ran Lin realized it wasn’t far off. His six-year contract had only one year and eight months left.

“Do you want to renew with Dream Without Limits?” Wang Xi asked again.

Ran Lin paused, unsure. “Xi Jie, is the company asking you to ask me this?”

“No.” Wang Xi looked at him calmly. “I’m asking you personally.”

Ran Lin looked down. To tell the truth, he was still somewhat wary of Wang Xi, especially after the incident with the drama version of <Chronicles of Winter> and since Wang Xi managed more artists than just him, he really couldn’t be sure if he could be completely honest about his feelings with her…

“I only manage you now,” Wang Xi suddenly said. “Your decision will also affect my future.”

Ran Lin looked up in surprise, or more accurately, shock. “Only me… what do you mean?”

Wang Xi revealed a relaxed smile. “I’ve handed Han Ze over to a new colleague.”

Wang Xi’s features were rather sharp, so when she was serious, she exuded an intimidating aura. But the more so, the gentler and more charming she seemed when she did smile.

“Why change agents?”

Ran Lin didn’t expect Wang Xi to reveal the whole truth. He knew that changing agents usually meant irreconcilable differences or some unrectifiable situation, as both were typically invested in a mutually beneficial relationship, deeply aware of each other’s strengths and weaknesses after years of collaboration. The cost of changing was too high. Thus, while he asked, he had already imagined various scenarios in his mind.

Unexpectedly, Wang Xi replied, “He doesn’t want me anymore, and insisted on changing. I can’t just cling on, can I?”

Ran Lin gasped inwardly. The phrase “doesn’t want me anymore” was too ambiguous. Was Wang Xi really thinking he wouldn’t read too much into it, or did she simply not care if he did?

Ran Lin couldn’t determine the truth, but he clearly saw a fleeting hurt in Wang Xi’s eyes. Suddenly, he felt that whatever the truth was, it didn’t matter. The past was past, and everyone needed to look forward. Moreover, without Wang Xi, if he was still under Kang Hui, he probably wouldn’t even be able to get roles like <The Legend of Lantern Blossoms>…

“I want you,” Ran Lin said calmly, yet firmly. “He lacks vision, but not me. I have an eye for quality.”

As Ran Lin’s words faded, the air in the small apartment slowly quieted down.

For a long time, neither spoke, just looking at each other.

Finally, a noticeable tremor shook Wang Xi’s forced calm, exposing deep-seated emotions. “You’re not my type…”

Ran Lin: “…You could give me everything, and I still couldn’t handle it!”

After a half-hearted complaint, Ran Lin chuckled, then added seriously, “Just give me the ‘warrior woman’ part. You lead in front, and I’ll support from behind.”

Wang Xi was speechless at such a “reasonable” arrangement.

Indeed, the “deep partnership” script didn’t suit her. Wang Xi used to think that the kind of rapport Yao Hong had with her artists, akin to kinship, required a secret manual to cultivate. Now she realized that no manual would help; it was a matter of innate talent.

“I hadn’t really thought about renewing the contract before,” Ran Lin steered the conversation back, “but if you ask me now, I might lean towards… no.”

How much trust does it take to talk about not renewing the contract with an agent who’s not personally signed with him, but with the company, and when there’s still more than a year left?

Wang Xi thought she would at least need to confess everything about Han Ze before Ran Lin would trust her this much.

Because if she turned around and told the company, it might mean no new work for Ran Lin from now on, being shelved after <The Legend of Lantern Blossoms>; or perhaps he’d be called back to the company for a talk, to be persuaded with reason and emotion, essentially a brainwashing marathon.

But Ran Lin just said it sincerely and openly, making his earlier “I want you” echo as a complete circle.

“Are you planning to start your own agency or switch to another?” Despite the emotional turmoil inside, Wang Xi’s words came out dry and business-like, making her want to scold herself.

Ran Lin, not sensing anything amiss, naturally replied, “I haven’t thought it through. Xi Jie, since you’re asking me this, do you already have some ideas for me?”

Wang Xi suppressed her turbulent emotions and analyzed calmly. “If you continue acting methodically for the next two years and everything goes smoothly, by the time your contract is up for renewal… No, just before it’s up, many companies will definitely contact you, offering you deals. Signing with a company means broader resources; after all, it’s good to lean on a big tree for shade. But conversely, no matter how big or good the company is, you’ll inevitably face the same issues you’re facing now; that sometimes the company’s will might override yours, giving you only relative, not absolute, autonomy.”

Watching Ran Lin fall into deep thought, Wang Xi suddenly thought of another possibility. “Or, if your drama becomes a massive hit, you rapidly rise to fame, or a company specifically targets you, wanting to poach you, even willing to pay the penalty for breach of contract.”

The last possibility, though delightful to imagine, is just that, a pleasant fantasy. But when it comes down to reality, Ran Lin still wants to honor the contract. “Even if I don’t renew, I want to leave on good terms. After all, it was Dream Without Limits that brought me into the entertainment industry.”

Wang Xi nodded, saying no more.

She was relieved by Ran Lin’s gratitude and sense of obligation, but knew better than him that a harmonious departure in a world driven by profit is quite difficult.

But Ran Lin didn’t need to worry about that. She just needed to know his stance. The rest, she would handle.

With this thought, Wang Xi exhaled softly and looked up. “You probably don’t need me to remind you…”

“Keep today’s conversation confidential.” Ran Lin finished for her.

Wang Xi frowned and gave him a look. “Don’t answer for me in the future.”

Ran Lin blinked, innocently.

As she was leaving, Wang Xi suddenly remembered to ask, “Have you packed everything?”

Ran Lin nodded.

Wang Xi, still concerned, asked, “Are you sure you don’t need Wenwen to follow?”

Ran Lin grinned. “Really not necessary. I’m just going to experience life. Have you ever seen a newly released unemployed youth carrying an assistant?”

Wang Xi was left speechless, finally managing to say, “Alright then, be safe.”

……

After seeing off Wang Xi, Ran Lin wanted to browse Weibo on his phone but couldn’t find it anywhere. He finally discovered it on the nightstand in his bedroom, not remembering when he had casually placed it there.

Picking up his phone, Ran Lin saw a message from Lu Yiyao.

[Welcome back.]—Ran Lin’s restless emotions contrasted sharply with the calm reply. It had been months since they last saw each other, and now he especially wanted to run straight to Lu Yiyao’s doorstep.

At times like this, Ran Lin would whimsically wish he wasn’t an artist but a paparazzo instead, able to stick to Lu Yiyao every day, not only inseparably but also legitimately.

Lu Yiyao didn’t reply, and Ran Lin thought he might be resting, so he didn’t disturb him and started devouring the script for <The Legend of Lantern Blossoms>.

All afternoon, Ran Lin lay in bed reading the script, his entire being immersed in a world filled with demons and spirits. The story wasn’t as ridiculous as he imagined, with a light, juvenile tone, focusing primarily on the romantic plot between the male and female leads, coupled with a grand demons’ brawl—all merry and boisterous.

The story actually began with a scholar painfully studying by the light of an oil lamp night after night for ten years, failing to pass the exams but inadvertently turning the lamp into a spirit, which developed human-like desires, ultimately leading to an epic love story. However, the scholar didn’t pursue officialdom afterwards but, after a life-and-death ordeal, gained strength and transformed from a weak scholar needing protection from the heroine into a true hero capable of protecting his woman.

When his phone’s notification sound pulled him out from this world of gods and demons, what Ran Lin actually thought was that the story was quite inspiring…

Lu Yiyao—[Just woke up and saw your message. Where are you?]

Ran Lin understood right away. Lu Yiyao was at home, asking where he was to determine if it was convenient for a more direct contact.

Without replying, Ran Lin made his move—sending a video call invitation.

Two seconds later—[The other party has declined.]

Ran Lin was taken aback and immediately typed—[Not at home?]

Lu Yiyao—[At home.]

Ran Lin—[Is there someone else there?]

Lu Yiyao—[No.]

Ran Lin frowned—[Then why not accept the video call?]

Lu Yiyao—[I don’t look good.]

Ran Lin—[What?]

Lu Yiyao—[Too haggard, not good-looking.]

Ran Lin choked back frustration.

What do you do when you’ve got a narcissistic peacock? Of course, you continue to love him!

Taking a deep breath, Ran Lin typed with all the love he could muster—[I like you no matter what you look like.]

The reply came quickly—[No, I have to be in my best state when I see you.]

Ran Lin took another deep breath and continued—[I love your soul.]

Lu Yiyao—[But appearance is also important.]

Ran Lin—[Accept the video call!!!]

Lu Yiyao—[Nodding like pounding garlic.jpg]

It would have been over if he had been like this, instead of forcing him to play tough.

Rolling his eyes internally, Ran Lin sent the video invite again, and this time it was almost instantly accepted, so fast that Ran Lin hadn’t even rolled his eyes back…

“How much do you despise me…” Lu Yiyao said, seeing his lover’s eye roll and thinking he really shouldn’t have video called.

Ran Lin had no time to explain, focusing all his attention on Lu Yiyao’s face, inspecting it up and down, left and right, as if Lu Yiyao’s face was a navigational chart and he was the captain who had to scrutinize every detail without missing anything.

Lu Yiyao, feeling awkward under the intense scrutiny, tried to persuade him. “Give it up. The dashing man of your memory has already been written off by the <Split Moon> crew. No amount of looking will bring him back.”

Ran Lin sighed and negotiated with his lover, “Since it’s the man of my memory, shouldn’t I be the one to add the adjectives?”

Lu Yiyao was very accommodating. “Then just remove ‘dashing.'”

Ran Lin deadpanned. “So ‘handsome’ is untouchable, right?”

Lu Yiyao leaned closer to the screen. “Mwah.”

Ran Lin covered his wildly beating heart, unseen by the video, gritting his teeth. “You’re cheating.”

Lu Yiyao’s lips curled up. “No, this is surpassing the master.”

“Oh right,” Lu Yiyao suddenly remembered something, becoming serious. “The three paparazzi who follow me every time I come back are gone.”

“They gave up on you, having followed for so long without any juicy scoop.” Ran Lin felt pity for the paparazzi for picking such a strict and self-disciplined subject.

“If all the paparazzi stopped photographing me, that would be great,” Lu Yiyao said indifferently. “Then you can come over to my place whenever you want.”

Ran Lin realized he shouldn’t feel sorry for the paparazzi. After all, they at least had staked out Lu Yiyao’s place, while he, the legitimate boyfriend, hadn’t even seen what Lu Yiyao’s apartment building looked like!

Sighing, Ran Lin suppressed his bitterness and said rationally, “There’s no ‘if’. You’re just that famous; if not you, then who else?”

Lu Yiyao said, “You’ll be even more famous than me in the future.”

Ran Lin instinctively wanted to say, “I hope so,” but then thought, if both of them became incredibly famous, wouldn’t meeting up become even more difficult?

As he was idly pondering, he heard Lu Yiyao ask, “Are you still leaving tomorrow?”

Ran Lin came back to reality and nodded reluctantly. “Yeah, so I probably won’t be able to see you.”

Lu Yiyao seemed unconcerned. “With the way I look now, even if you came to see me, I wouldn’t want to meet you.”

Ran Lin: “Hey—”

Suddenly, Lu Yiyao’s tone darkened, his voice husky. “Otherwise, I won’t be able to resist pouncing on you.”

Ran Lin suddenly covered the camera, then turned over, lying on his back in a starfish position, exhaling towards the ceiling as if that would dissipate the heat coursing through his body.

Lu Yiyao, on the other end of the phone, was about to lose it. “Covering the camera and turning it completely black when we get to the important part is cheating!”

By the time Ran Lin moved his finger away from the camera, the romantic atmosphere that Lu Yiyao had created was completely disrupted.

Lu Yiyao looked at him annoyedly, his teeth itching. “If you have the guts, don’t fall into my hands.”

“The one who can’t handle three drinks doesn’t have any threatening power.” Who’s afraid of who across the screen?

Lu Yiyao nodded, seemingly approving but actually thinking to himself, ‘Let’s see how long you can keep this up.’

Teasing one’s lover is part of the charm when done in small doses, but if it really makes the other angry, the one who suffers is still oneself. So, Ran Lin knew when to stop and started talking about serious matters. “The company has taken on another TV drama for me, so my schedule is packed until the end of next November.”

In other words, this pair of star-crossed lovers would only be able to meet if they could find a sliver of time.

Lu Yiyao knew that Ran Lin was leaving for Wuhan tomorrow to experience life for <Dyeing Fire> and that after returning in December, he’d need about ten days to recuperate before joining the crew of <Chronicles of Winter>. But that <Dyeing Fire> was followed by another drama was beyond his expectation.

“What drama? Does the schedule have to be so tight?” A good show is worth continuous work, but that’s from a career perspective. From a personal perspective, Lu Yiyao was worried about Ran Lin’s health.

But when he threw the question over, there was a long silence from the other end.

Lu Yiyao frowned in confusion. “What’s wrong? Did you sign a confidentiality agreement and can’t reveal the drama name yet?”

“No…” Ran Lin thought how there wouldn’t be any confidentiality agreement for such a drama; it was just a bit hard to say.

Hesitating, his eyes suddenly caught the script next to his pillow, so Ran Lin simply picked it up and showed it to Lu Yiyao through the camera.

Lu Yiyao saw <The Legend of Lantern Blossoms> at first glance, his feelings turning complex at the sight of the “60-episode ancient mythology TV drama” above it.

“Do you… like this script?” Lu Yiyao still held a glimmer of hope. “What’s it about? Tell me.”

“You won’t want to hear it.” Ran Lin knew Lu Yiyao’s attention was on him taking on another new project and hadn’t really listened to what he had just said, so he repeated, “The company took it on for me.”

Lu Yiyao heard clearly this time and basically understood.

“No room for negotiation?” he asked.

Ran Lin shook his head. “No room for negotiation. I have to take it. I already turned down an 80-episode drama with high pay for <Dyeing Fire>, if I refuse again, I’ll just be waiting to be shelved.”

Lu Yiyao pondered for a moment. “When does your contract expire next year?”

Ran Lin wondered if today was a special day since everyone seemed to be discussing contracts with him.

“June 30^th.” Ran Lin had it memorized.

Lu Yiyao stared at him. “Are you thinking of renewing it after it expires?”

Ran Lin laughed. “Did you and Xi Jie coordinate this?”

Lu Yiyao was puzzled. “Hmm?”

“She came over at noon,” Ran Lin said. “Brought me this script, and we talked about future plans.”

Lu Yiyao tensed up. “What did you say?”

Ran Lin replied, “The truth. I don’t want to renew.”

Lu Yiyao’s first reaction was disbelief, but then, thinking it over, he knew Ran Lin wasn’t one to act foolishly. He suppressed his sarcasm and cautiously said, “Aren’t you afraid she’ll go back and tell the company?”

Ran Lin shook his head. “I don’t think she will.”

Lu Yiyao rested his forehead in his hand. “If ‘thinking’ were reliable, courts wouldn’t need evidence to make decisions.”

Ran Lin’s eyes widened as he looked at the screen. “The first time I saw you, I thought you were especially handsome.”

Lu Yiyao: “…Sometimes ‘thinking’ is reliable.”

Ran Lin: “What about your principles?”

Lu Yiyao reflected on not speaking too absolutely as he backpedaled, learning a deep lesson.

Ran Lin, suppressing a laugh, revealed, “Han Ze has been handed over to someone else. Now Xi Jie only manages me.”

Lu Yiyao was surprised. “Really?”

Ran Lin nodded.

“What happened between them?”

“I didn’t ask, but I feel Xi Jie is quite sad.”

“…”

Lu Yiyao fell silent, deep in thought.

Ran Lin, thinking he was still concerned about Wang Xi, said: “When she took on <Dyeing Fire> for me, she convinced the company to drop the high-paying TV drama. I know she must have faced a lot of pressure and did a lot for me, so I trust her. But don’t worry, I won’t tell her about us two, especially since this matter is special…”

“I’m not worried about myself, I’m worried about you,” Lu Yiyao sighed. “You always think too well of people. I’m afraid you’ll suffer for it.”

“In fact, I am indeed surrounded by good people,” Ran Lin grinned proudly.

Lu Yiyao loved seeing Ran Lin smile, as if the whole world lit up with him.

“So, when you said you didn’t want to renew, what was Wang Xi’s reaction?” Lu Yiyao steered the conversation back.

Ran Lin said, “She analyzed the pros and cons of finding another company or going independent for me, but we didn’t talk much. After all, I still have several dramas to shoot, and the contract isn’t urgent. But she instructed me to keep our conversation confidential.”

Lu Yiyao: “And then you turned around and told me?”

Ran Lin: “You’re not just anyone.”

Lu Yiyao: “…”

Watching Lu Yiyao suddenly freeze, adorably stunned, Ran Lin sweetly awaited what was next, but unexpectedly, the screen suddenly went black.

Ran Lin blinked in confusion, then realized—

“Enough! First, you learned from my kisses, and now you’re copying me by covering the camera. Can’t you absorb some positive energy from me!”

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

Author: 颜凉雨 / Yan Liang Yu

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

Chapter 70

The signing of <Chronicles of Winter> proceeded without any hitches. Both parties sat down and signed the contract steadily, with everything written in black and white and stamped with a red seal.

Back in the nanny van, Wang Xi turned around, rhythmically tapping the back of the seat in front of Ran Lin and Liu Wanwan as they spoke, reminiscent of a teacher tapping on the blackboard to remind the students to “take notes on the key points”.

Ran Lin and Liu Wanwan paused their conversation and looked up together.

Wang Xi looked at her artist, pride evident in her deliberate words. “From now on, your value has doubled.”

Ran Lin was surprised at the direct impact of a single contract. “Double now?”

Wang Xi noticed her artist’s surprise, not at the doubling but at the timing, and chuckled. “So, when would you like it to double?”

“The sooner, the better.” Ran Lin laughed. “But I thought we have to wait until <Chronicles of Winter> is released.”

Wang Xi grew fonder of her charge by the moment, even their worldly talk of money seemed charmingly vulgar, cheeky, and refreshingly unconventional.

“Everyone in the circle is sharp,” Wang Xi said. “Tomorrow, the news of your signing <Chronicles of Winter> will spread, and with the popularity you’ve gained from <Sword of Fallen Flowers> anyone with a bit of sense will see you’re set to rise next year. Wait until <Chronicles of Winter> is released to come looking for you? By then, even money won’t buy availability, and the opportunity will have gone cold.”

Seeing Ran Lin pensive, Wang Xi continued, “In the future, if you go public with a relationship, especially if your other half is also a female artist, you’ll be inundated with a couple variety show offers. If you’re planning to get married, even before the wedding, you’ll be approached with ads for all sorts of home goods because they’ve already seen your future public image—like the sweet boyfriend or the ideal domestic man. In short, investors and brands are always the quickest to sniff out potential.”

Wang Xi was just using these examples to help Ran Lin understand why signing a contract could immediately increase their worth, even before filming. But when Ran Lin heard “romance” and “marriage”, a flicker of something crossed his heart.

That flicker showed on his face—the most direct and genuine reaction, unguarded. Even though he quickly covered it, Wang Xi noticed something was off.

“What’s wrong?” Wang Xi asked, puzzled.

“Nothing.” Ran Lin forced a smile and half-seriously responded, “Just that love and marriage seem a bit far off.”

“Not far off at all.” Wang Xi, thinking her artist was facing some unknown emotional turmoil, responded with unneeded worry, “Don’t think there’s no rush because you’re young. Once you get busy, you’ll see how fast time flies. Before you know it, you’ll be thirty. Are you going to not date till then?”

Wang Xi’s teasing gaze clearly showed, “Don’t pretend to be an innocent boy with me.”

Ran Lin managed a faint smile, more to himself than agreeing with Wang Xi. “Yeah, dating is still necessary.”

“Date if you must,” Wang Xi leaned forward, earnestly advising, “but you have to let me know, or else if you’re spotted, we’ll be very passive… Ah!”

Suddenly, the driver hit the brakes hard.

Wang Xi, half-turned from the front passenger seat to the back to talk, was jostled around, nearly hitting her head.

It turned out the car in front had rear-ended the one before it, and thankfully the driver braked in time, avoiding a chain collision.

After the brief scare, the driver maneuvered around the accident and soon returned to a smooth drive.

Wang Xi quickly forgot the previous “prevention is better than cure” topic, sitting upright and buckling up, no longer daring to be flippant.

Ran Lin lowered their eyes, exhaling softly.

The next morning, Ran Lin checked the time on his phone upon waking and noticed a WeChat message from Lu Yiyao sent at three in the morning—[Congratulations on signing 👏, but I remember someone said they wouldn’t let me find out about their affairs from others. If it happens again, get ready to lay flat and surrender? 🤔]

Ran Lin typed back with a smirk—[I’m already lying flat like a pancake, warm and ready. When will you come? If you don’t come soon, I’ll cool down 😳]

Almost immediately, he received a reply—[😠]

This emoji was almost exclusively used by Xia Xinran, and suddenly seeing it from Lu Yiyao, Ran Lin couldn’t help but burst into laughter, unable to imagine his expression—[You can’t blame me if you miss out 🤷]

After a while, the other side replied—[I like your current tone. Try to keep it until I finish my shoot and come back 😊】

Ran Lin paused, instinctively asking—[What tone?]

Lu Yiyao—[Flirty.]

Ran Lin’s face nearly burst into flames.

He realized that not only was he improving, but Lu Yiyao was also leveling up. At this rate, he would never have a day to turn things around!

Lu Yiyao—[I’ve arrived at the set, can’t talk much now.]

Ran Lin was surprised and looked at the time; it was only 6:30 a.m.—[You’re starting work this early? You’ve only slept for three hours!]

Lu Yiyao—[The filming schedule is quite tight these days.]

Ran Lin—[I’ll wait for your successful wrap-up.]

Lu Yiyao—[Next time I definitely won’t drink!]

Ran Lin chuckled, feeling a small surge of excited anticipation mixed with a touch of longing.

August ended with the signing of <Chronicles of Winter>.

In September, the weather gradually cooled, and although the midday sun was still fierce, the mornings and evenings became much more pleasant.

Just as Wang Xi said, the signing of <Chronicles of Winter> gave other financiers and brands confidence, directly boosting his worth. The most immediate change was the increase in advertisements and scripts coming his way.

However, most of these eager parties were looking for quick profits, so the quality of brands and scripts varied greatly. Wang Xi spent a long time selecting and finalized an advertisement for a drink and a men’s skincare product. As for scripts, she initially filtered them before passing the decent ones to him.

When Gu Jie called, Ran Lin was looking at a TV drama script titled <Song Dingbo Catching Demons>.

It was actually <Song Dingbo Exorcising Ghosts>, but due to censorship, “ghosts” were changed to “demons”. The script added characters and expanded on the original story, adopting a style of fantasy and light comedy, with eighty episodes planned. Honestly, the screenwriter’s adaptation was quite cute. Despite the name suggesting a cheesy drama, the storyline was smooth and logical. The script could pass with more than a passing grade, and if well executed, it might become a summer hit.

However, from an actor’s perspective, Ran Lin was somewhat apprehensive about this kind of unrestrained fantasy comedy.

The characters and storylines were exaggerated and wild, seeking to entertain with bizarre and spirited antics. If done well, it could dominate the summer and bring laughter to the audience. But more often than not, poorly executed ones ended up as cringe-worthy disasters.

Wang Xi could guess what her artist was thinking just by looking at Ran Lin’s expression while flipping through the script.

She had mixed feelings about the script too, but ultimately, she presented it to Ran Lin. The script wasn’t solicited by her but was sent directly to Dreams Without Limits, initiated by a friend of the boss, effectively a high-level communication. When the discussions were nearly finalized, the boss approached Wang Xi, suggesting she consider the project for Ran Lin, somewhat pushing him into it.

What was so good about it?

Of course, the pay was attractive.

With an eighty-episode length, the planned filming schedule was only a month longer than <Chronicles of Winter> but the pay was several times higher. For the same few months of work, the company naturally preferred such deals.

Of course, commercial blockbusters like <Chronicles of Winter> that elevated an artist’s fame and value were needed too. So, this script didn’t clash with the <Chronicles of Winter> schedule, with the start date set for next April…

“Xi Jie.” Ran Lin closed the script, shaking his head solemnly at his agent. “I can’t do this.”

Wang Xi broke off her thoughts, looking at Ran Lin, not surprised by his response. “I know you don’t really want to do this kind of show, but from the company’s perspective…”

“It’s not just about the show, but the schedule too,” Ran Lin said. “It clashes with the filming of <Dyeing Fire>.”

Since that dinner party, there had been no follow-up on <Dyeing Fire>, and Wang Xi thought the project had fallen through. Surprised to hear Ran Lin mention it again, she asked, “<Dyeing Fire>… isn’t off?”

Ran Lin didn’t understand why his agent would think so. “Didn’t I tell you after I returned that day? Director He was very satisfied with me, but he said we need to wait for the script to be rewritten before signing anything. Otherwise, actors won’t even know what they’re playing, which can lead to problems.”

Last month’s report did indeed say so, but Wang Xi thought these were just polite rejections, common in the industry where many projects fizzle out with a gentle letdown. Usually, the quicker the response to wait, the more likely it’s a stalling tactic. “So it’s not a gentle rejection, but actually waiting for the script?”

Ran Lin couldn’t help but smile. “Really waiting. If you had dinner with Director He, you’d understand. He’s not the kind of person who beats around the bush. He’s very straightforward.”

Wang Xi pondered for a moment and asked, “With <Dyeing Fire> being delayed and rescheduled, can you be sure it will definitely start this April?”

Ran Lin fell silent for a moment, hesitating before saying, “I can’t. Even if it starts in May or June, the schedules still clash.”

“What if it starts in August? Then the schedules wouldn’t overlap,” Wang Xi recalled Director He’s “dark history” and felt it was a possibility.

Ran Lin gave a wry smile. “Xi Jie, you said it’s ‘what if,’ which means there’s a 9,999 out of 10,000 chance that the schedules will clash. I can’t take that risk.”

“Do you really want to act in this movie that much?” Wang Xi asked calmly, not trying to persuade but offering a perspective from her own experience. “Maybe the film will win awards, but it’s not a big-budget production, and its niche style means a limited audience, which won’t help much in expanding your popularity.”

“I’ve thought it through, Xi Jie.” Ran Lin looked at his agent firmly. “If I just wanted to be famous and have tens of millions of fans, this movie could be optional. But if I want to be a good actor. This is a very rare opportunity. If I miss it, there might not be a second chance.”

Wang Xi’s lips moved slightly, but she remained silent, as if she had more to say but was unsure whether to proceed.

Ran Lin, growing impatient, chuckled and teased, “Xi Jie, just say what you’re thinking. You’re not usually one to hold back.”

Wang Xi rolled her eyes at him. “Do you realize how many opportunities you’ll lose if you wait for several months?”

“I have no choice.” Ran Lin shrugged innocently. “I’ve already promised Gu Jie that I’d do it, and that was after he confirmed with me multiple times. I can’t go back on my word.”

Wang Xi sighed. “You’re really committed.”

Ran Lin said truthfully, “Mostly because I’m afraid he’d beat me up. With his build, he’d be a hero in ancient times.”

Wang Xi couldn’t help but laugh at her artist’s unseriousness but was interrupted by Ran Lin’s ringing phone.

Before she could see who was calling, Ran Lin had already picked up the phone from the coffee table. “Hello…”

Wang Xi, seeing that Ran Lin didn’t move away or signal her to leave, leaned back into the sofa and waited patiently. However, as she listened, she realized something was off… Actually, she didn’t even need to listen; just seeing the animated expression on Ran Lin’s face told her this call was unusual.

“Really? That’s great… Don’t worry, no problem… I know… Right, if I go back on my word, we’ll cut ties…”

Wang Xi had just taken a sip of water and almost choked on the last part of his sentence.

Cut ties… Are you in kindergarten?!

After hanging up, Ran Lin, oblivious to his agent’s expression, immediately reported, “That was Gu Jie. The script for <Dyeing Fire> is out, and the start date is set for April 3^rd!”

Wang Xi had guessed as much, but she was more curious. “It’s not Gu Jie’s movie. Even if you stood him up, you’d be standing up the director. Why would he cut ties with you?”

Ran Lin explained, “Because he introduced me to Director He and vouched for me, saying he knows my character well and that I wouldn’t go back on my word.”

“……” Wang Xi, having seen too many instances where verbal promises mean nothing in the face of interests, felt a surge of respect for these two artists, almost wanting to award them a “Righteous Duo” banner.

“When are you signing the contract?”

“They want to sign as soon as possible, probably sending the contract this week.”

“Alright.” Wang Xi picked up the <Song Dingbo Catches Demons> script. “I’ll help you decline this one with the company.”

“Thanks.” Ran Lin nodded vigorously, half joking to help his agent strategize. “Just tell the boss that I might become an award-winning actor after <Dyeing Fire> with a golden future ahead!”

“You just focus on doing well in <Chronicles of Winter> first!”

Unable to bear it anymore, Wang Xi tapped him on the head and got up to leave, no longer lingering.

After sending Wang Xi off, Ran Lin held his phone and grinned stupidly for a while. After his laughter subsided, he immediately sent a message—[Guess who’s in Director He’s new film <Dyeing Fire>? Double male leads. One is Gu Jie, and you’ll never guess who the other is!]

Lu Yiyao, who was eating lunch, looked at the message on his phone and felt like his intelligence was being insulted.

……

At the same time, Wang Xi left Ran Lin’s apartment and went straight back to the company.

In front of Ran Lin, she had appeared “so easy”, but only she knew that the upcoming refusal would be a fierce battle—rejecting one offer and accepting <Dyeing Fire> meant the company would lose nearly ten million.

Other agencies with numerous well-known artists under their wings might not care about this sum and might even arrange for their idols to appear in prestigious films for no fee just to maintain their presence. But for Dream Without Limits, which in recent years had only really promoted one artist, Han Ze, nothing was more concrete than cold, hard cash. Even Han Ze, at the beginning of his rise to fame, had taken on some high-paying but low-quality projects.

The company’s logic was simple: if they made you a star, you needed to reciprocate.

However, artists always seek better development and plans more beneficial to their careers, leading to frequent disputes between them and their agencies, especially those who suddenly rise to fame.

Such disputes can be detrimental to young artists. The newly famous are not yet firmly established; their popularity can wane as quickly as it rose. If the company decides to drag things out, they can effectively quash an artist’s momentum.

Wang Xi didn’t want Ran Lin to fall into this mire. She might not manage Ran Lin forever, but at least for now, she wanted to do everything possible to help him navigate a balance between personal development and company demands.

En route to the company, Wang Xi mulled over her arguments. Once at the office, she dropped off her bag, took a brief rest, and then called her assistant to check if the boss was in.

To her surprise, the assistant said the boss was indeed in and wanted to see her.

Wondering what was going on, Wang Xi headed to the boss’s office and discovered another person there, chatting amiably with the boss. She recognized the person from her time at Pentium Times, where they had worked together for a few years before losing touch.

Wang Xi suspected the boss had a particular fixation on Pentium Times. Otherwise, it made no sense to always recruit from there.

“No need for introductions. You two are old acquaintances,” the boss said warmly, a rare amiability in his tone.

“Long time no see.” Wang Xi extended her hand first.

Deng Minru, five or six years her junior, stood up and courteously responded, “Xi Jie, please guide me in the future.”

The little girl from her memories had become a formidable figure. Even though Deng Minru tried to appear unassuming, Wang Xi could feel the other’s aura—familiar because they were similar.

“The future of Dream Without Limits’ brokerage department is in your hands,” the boss said with earnest hope. “I expect you to lead us to new heights!”

The boss was skilled at weaving personal agendas into seemingly routine encouragement—clearly, Deng Minru was being positioned to have equal standing with her.

Wang Xi hid her thoughts behind a smile, ready to express her loyalty with something like “I will not let the company down,” but the boss skipped the formalities and got straight to the point. “Since you’re both here today, go back to your office and hand over Han Ze’s information and situation to Minru. She’s already visited the set and communicated directly, so there should be no issues.”

Wang Xi was slightly irked by Deng Minru’s quick action but let the feeling pass quickly, replaced by a sense of relief at finally severing ties with Han Ze.

“Minru,” Wang Xi began gently. “Could you wait in my office for a bit? I need to discuss something with the boss…”

Deng Minru, sharp as ever, understood immediately. “No problem. I’m not in a hurry. I’ll head over first.”

After the “new colleague” left and the door closed again, the boss’s demeanor darkened. “Why make her wait in your office? Are you showing dominance?”

Wang Xi felt the trust the company had in her waning due to Han Ze’s recent downturns. As a result, the boss was less cordial and more authoritative with her than in previous years.

In the past, Wang Xi would have bristled at such treatment, but now she knew better than to react. Keeping a low profile and focusing on her goals was more important than temporary satisfaction.

With this in mind, Wang Xi offered a resigned smile. “I actually need to discuss something important with you.”

The boss raised an eyebrow at her. “What’s the matter?”

“You know the script you gave me…” Wang Xi carefully began. “Ran Lin might not be able to take it.”

The boss didn’t explode but asked in a deep voice, “Does he dislike the script?”

“No, no.” Wang Xi immediately shook her head. “The script is appealing, and the payment is very tempting, but he has already promised Director He to shoot his new film.”

The boss frowned slightly. “Which Director He?”

Wang Xi replied, “He Guan.”

The boss tapped his fingertips on the desk, pondered for a moment, then said, “Push it.”

Wang Xi raised her voice slightly, her tone seemingly surprised. “That’s exactly what I thought too! I said the same to him!”

The boss was taken aback, assuming Wang Xi was going to argue on behalf of the artist.

Wang Xi continued, “I explained it thoroughly to him. I told him that Director He’s films have a narrow audience and won’t help much with popularity. Plus, the payment is low, and the shooting often lacks a fixed wrap date. Who likes to shoot Director He’s films? Either newcomers or even amateurs happy to be on the big screen, or big stars who don’t care about fame or money and just want to boost their credentials and improve their acting skills. For someone like him, who’s on the rise but not yet firmly established, it’s critical to strike while the iron is hot and increase visibility as much as possible. It’s foolish to spend half a year or even a year on one film.”

The boss liked what he heard and even thought that Wang Xi’s persuasion was probably better than if he had done it himself. He nodded in agreement. “Exactly. The choice is clear, isn’t it?”

“But…” Wang Xi feigned difficulty. “There’s one thing he mentioned that got me thinking.”

The boss’s curiosity was piqued. “What is it?”

“He said that during dinner, Director He personally revealed to him,” Wang Xi leaned in closer and whispered, “that this film has been in preparation for several years and is guaranteed to sweep domestic film festivals once completed, if not international ones.”

“Everyone boasts over drinks; that’s what drinking is for,” the boss scoffed. “You believe that?”

“If it were someone else, I wouldn’t, but this is He Guan we’re talking about,” Wang Xi argued. “You know his reputation in the country and the quality and acclaim of his films. Even if he can’t compare to his peak, he can easily outdo the current mass-produced films domestically.”

“Imagine if Ran Lin really wins Best Actor for this film, even just domestically. Among his peers, he would be breaking out.” Wang Xi pressed on, “Not only would his fee increase, but the caliber of endorsements would skyrocket. Just from the endorsement fees, the company would make a fortune.”

The boss frowned, pondering the credibility of this bright future.

“Although it’s a bit like undermining our own brand,” Wang Xi pressed further. “I’ve managed Han Ze for years and never really secured an opportunity for him to work with a top director as the lead. This time luck has fallen on Ran Lin’s lap. It’s not just his luck, but our company’s fortune. If he misses this, it’s a small thing to lose an opportunity, but if it damages our momentum, it’s a big loss.”

Many businessmen believe in feng shui and destiny, and the boss was no exception.

While he had been hesitant initially, the mention of potentially damaging the company’s fortune made him unsettled. Logically, he knew Wang Xi was manipulating, but psychologically, doubts crept in.

“How much is Director He offering?” he asked, still concerned about the financial aspect.

Wang Xi hesitated before revealing a number.

The boss’s face darkened, and Wang Xi quickly continued before he could scold her. “Ran Lin also knows this will cause a loss for the company, so he proposed that after shooting Director He’s film, he’d take on a high-paying TV drama. If not high-paying, then one with more episodes, but either way, he is determined to make up for the company’s investment and loss.”

The boss seemed somewhat appeased. “Did he really say that?”

“Why would I make up lies for him? I’m signed with Dream Without Limits, not Ran Lin,” Wang Xi said convincingly, then added, “But to be honest, the kid really is quite considerate.”

The boss nodded, somewhat moved. “It’s rare to find someone who’s grateful these days.”

He leaned back in his chair and asked, “When is the contract with Director He’s film being signed?”

Wang Xi answered, “As soon as this week, at the latest next week.”

“Alright then,” the boss concluded. “Make sure to avoid clashing schedules for this film. Look for a suitable TV drama and sign it as soon as possible to fill the gap for next year’s latter half. Don’t worry about the rest; once <Chronicles of Winter> hits theaters next year, his fee will increase again.”

……

Back in the office, Wang Xi and Deng Minru handled the handover regarding Han Ze. Despite the changes, Wang Xi provided Deng Minru with the most comprehensive information, including her understanding of and plans for Han Ze. Whether or not the new partnership adopted these strategies was now their concern.

By the time Deng Minru left, it was nearly 4 p.m.

Wang Xi stood up, looking out at the skyscrapers, suddenly feeling a bit tired.

After leaving Pentium Times, she joined Dream Without Limits, once believing her career would be tied to the company for the latter half of her life. She had even envisioned turning this modest company into an industry leader.

However, reality proved that she had overestimated both herself and Dream Without Limits.

After drinking half a cup of coffee, Wang Xi called Ran Lin. She skipped the details and just reported the outcome. “We’ve declined <Song Dingbo Catches Demons>, and <Dyeing Fire> can be signed, but afterward, you must sign a TV drama to help the company make money. You can’t be too picky.”

There was a long silence on the other end of the phone, so long that Wang Xi thought Ran Lin was brewing a storm of protest.

Finally, a voice came through. “You’ve worked hard, Xi Jie.”

Wang Xi suspected her slightly heavy and tired tone gave away her feelings, or perhaps her clever artist had anticipated the possible consequences of rejecting the TV drama. Either way, his simple words brought a breeze of relief to her heart, cool and soothing.

“It’s not hard,” Wang Xi found herself saying. “Just do well in your roles and don’t waste any opportunities.”

There was a pause on the other end before Ran Lin assured, “I promise.”

……

By the end of October, <Split Moon> had wrapped up.

This film didn’t require Lu Yiyao to lose weight, but by the end, he had lost several pounds and looked worn and pale, matching the troubled character he portrayed in the film.

Yao Hong, who had returned to Beijing two months earlier, personally went to the capital airport to pick him up. Seeing him in person almost broke her heart. Once they managed to get through the crowd of fans and into the nanny van, Yao Hong shot a few deadly glares at Li Tong.

Yao Hong rarely glared at anyone, but when she did, it was lethal.

Li Tong felt wronged and was about to complain when Lu Yiyao noticed and chuckled. “Hong Jie, Li Tong has been very diligent and responsible. If you want to avenge my lost good looks, go find the director.”

Yao Hong gave him a look and affectionately pinched his face. “No worries, we’ll eat back what was lost.”

Lu Yiyao’s face, typically that of a mature city man, had become more angular and rugged with the weight loss, adding a certain hardness to his worn look. Still, he preferred his former self.

He decided to rest and recuperate for a few days to regain his vitality before reuniting with his lover.

The temperature in Beijing was much lower than in Xiamen. By the end of October, the streets had the early signs of autumn. Lu Yiyao rolled down the car window slightly, letting the crisp air refresh him and blow away months of accumulated stress from his role.

When they reached the underground parking of his apartment, Lu Yiyao felt a real sense of return, not just physically but mentally.

“Get some good sleep,” Yao Hong instructed worriedly.

Lu Yiyao nodded and got out of the car.

Li Tong had already gotten out and was handling the luggage, but Lu Yiyao bypassed him and tapped on the passenger window where Yao Hong was sitting.

Confused, Yao Hong lowered the window. “What’s up?”

Lu Yiyao said, “Come up with me. There’s something I need to talk to you about.”

Yao Hong’s brows furrowed slightly, sensing something serious. “Something… serious?”

“Mm,” Lu Yiyao admitted a bit resignedly. “It’s very important, and I need to talk to you about it.”

Sensing the urgency and importance of the matter, Yao Hong knew she couldn’t just avoid it. So she got out of the car, told the driver it might be a while, and all three headed up to Lu Yiyao’s place.

Once inside, Li Tong conscientiously took the luggage to the guest room to start unpacking for his boss, while Lu Yiyao led Yao Hong to the living room couch.

Yao Hong, not eager to dive into what seemed to be a heavy conversation, asked, “Don’t you want to change your clothes first?”

Lu Yiyao shook his head, took a deep breath as if making a significant decision, and said, “Hong Jie, I don’t want to take on any new gigs starting now.”

Yao Hong was shocked, but her face remained composed, only her trembling voice revealing her emotions. “Why?”

Lu Yiyao took Yao Hong’s right hand into his, holding it gently as a gesture of both comfort and apology. “I want to change my career.”

Yao Hong looked at him incredulously. “Leave the industry?”

“No,” Lu Yiyao clarified. “Not leaving the industry but changing careers.”

“No longer an artist?”

“Right,” Lu Yiyao affirmed, holding the agent’s hand firmly. “I want to become a boss.”

Yao Hong looked at him.

He looked back at her.

Suddenly, the agent pulled her hand away and pinched his face hard. “You think you’re capable now, huh? Now you want to be a boss, why don’t you just shoot for the moon!”

Lu Yiyao was taken aback and barely managed to dodge her, laughing while trying to calm her down. “Hong Jie, calm down, listen to me—”

Yao Hong couldn’t calm down!

She had been an agent for over twenty years, and the two artists she was most proud of were one who gave up her career for family and one who had given up literature to go into business. Moreover, compared to her predecessor, who retired swiftly after winning Best Actress, Lu Yiyao was even more regrettable. She had hoped to push Lu Yiyao to the pinnacle of success!

Li Tong, hesitating at the door of the guest room, wondered whether to intervene and, if so, whose side to take. Life’s choices are indeed difficult!

Yao Hong didn’t actually intend to beat Lu Yiyao up; she was just feeling frustrated. After letting out her frustration, she managed to breathe easier and then demanded, “Give me a reason.”

Lu Yiyao articulated every word. “I want to be with Ran Lin, truly and for the long term.”

“……” Yao Hong covered her chest, wanting to hit him again.

“It’s not just that,” Lu Yiyao quickly added, seeing her reaction. “I’m also genuinely interested in this field. And if I own an entertainment company, when Ran Lin’s contract is up, he can sign with me…”

Lu Yiyao swallowed the last word as he noticed the agent’s less than pleased expression.

Yao Hong knew it; it was all because of love!

She’d encountered not just one, but two love-struck individuals!

Seeing the agent reluctantly release her grip on the teacup, Lu Yiyao felt especially sorry.

He had wanted to talk to Yao Hong about this for a long time, but due to his filming schedule and her personal matters, the conversation had been delayed until now.

Today, he didn’t want to delay any further and had intentionally called her up for an honest, face-to-face discussion.

“Hong Jie,” Lu Yiyao said softly. “If you don’t mind, when my company is set up, would you continue to help me?”

Yao Hong, devoid of any enthusiasm, looked up at him. “You’re not even an artist anymore. What do you need me for?”

“I might not be an artist, but my company will sign artists… Hong Jie, please stop glaring at me…” Lu Yiyao felt as if his “beauty without ambition” label was definitely cemented in his agent’s mind.

Despairingly, Yao Hong massaged her temples. “I know you’re going to sign him. No need to repeat; just hearing his name gives me a headache.”

She actually had no issue with Ran Lin, but ever since he entered into the relationship, her own artist had been like a soul lost, and now he was even planning a drastic career shift. She was struggling to accept it all at once.

“Hong Jie, it’s not a decision I made on a whim,” Lu Yiyao said earnestly. “In the future, my entertainment company will sign multiple artists and invest in projects. I need someone trustworthy to help me manage it.”

Yao Hong’s voice was muffled, clearly still upset. “I don’t understand projects.”

But Lu Yiyao knew she was relenting. “But you understand artists. You could manage the entire artist department. You’ve brought me this far with little ambition on my part; I’m sure you could lead some promising talents to success.”

Yao Hong looked at him sideways. “You just keep flattering me.”

Lu Yiyao was serious. “I’m speaking the truth.”

The most terrifying flattery is the truth.

Yao Hong sighed, resigning as a pragmatist. “When does his contract expire?”

Lu Yiyao, barely concealing a smile, replied, “There are still two years left, but I haven’t asked about the exact month of expiry next year.”

Yao Hong was surprised. “You’re planning to open a company for him, and he hasn’t even told you when his contract ends?”

Lu Yiyao looked steadily at his agent. “I haven’t talked to him about this yet. Hong Jie, you know before he does.”

Yao Hong: “…So should I be happy about this?”

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