Author: 颜凉雨 / Yan Liang Yu

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

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Chapter 49

“Cut—”

Director Chen’s command was like the chime at midnight in a fairy tale, where the magic disappears, and everything returns to reality. All the tension held by everyone relaxed instantly after that word, and even the heavy air in the hall started flowing again.

Crew members immediately came over to untie Lu Yiyao—after the scene of breaking the sword and renouncing brotherhood, Fang Xian had ordered Tang Jingyu to be locked up just like Abbot Haikong, and Tang Jingyu didn’t resist at all, surrendering without a fight.

Strictly speaking, this wasn’t just a scene; the multi-angle, multi-position shooting would make the future editing present this as a series of tightly interwoven shots, showcasing both the grand panorama of the Martial Arts Assembly and the close-up intense emotions of brotherly betrayal. But for the sake of the actors’ emotional continuity, Director Chen minimized the breaks in between, leading from Abbot Haikong provoking Fang Huanzhi to Abbot Haikong framing Tang Jingyu, then to Fang Xian confronting Tang Jingyu, and finally to the decisive break between them, creating a crescendo of emotions and tension until the final explosive climax.

Everyone in the crew was drawn into the performance.

Especially the actors involved.

Even though he was untied, Lu Yiyao still couldn’t snap back to reality for a long time, standing there dazed with tears still in his eyes. The crew members, without saying much, quietly left with the props rope. Li Tong wanted to bring water over but seeing how invested and moved his boss was, he too stopped a few steps away, not wanting to disturb.

Behind the monitor, Song Mang was already in tears. Without the director’s call, he dared not speak up. Now that the shooting was over, he finally removed his glasses, wiping them while sobbing. “They both cared and valued each other so much. How could they end up breaking apart? It’s too tragic…”

Director Chen rolled his eyes. “Who are you asking?”

His partner always believed in the power of emotional expression, thinking that only by moving himself to tears first could he move the audience.

Song Mang sniffled hard, feeling his emotions relieved, and finally put his glasses back on, patting his partner’s back and said in a nasal voice, “They both were amazing. How did we ever choose them for these roles? Divine foresight…”

Chen Qizheng sighed and took a sip of tea, staying silent. In their partnership, one self-congratulator was enough. If both started praising each other, they might get carried away.

Ran Lin was the first to pull away from the scene.

Despite the lingering bittersweet feeling, perhaps it was because of the cathartic cry, he felt surprisingly refreshed and light.

Crying, indeed, is a great stress reliever, especially when one doesn’t need to worry about explaining the reason—uninhibited, liberating. When he came back to his senses, he had stepped out from Fang Xian and the steamy bathroom scene from last night. 

Ran Lin thought to himself, ‘It’s great to be able to act.’

But Lu Yiyao might not think so.

Ran Lin leisurely observed his partner, feeling that Lu Yiyao at the moment was like a dog who had accidentally stuck its paw into an electrical socket, stunned by the sudden shock, standing still, forgetting who he is, where he is, and what he was about to do.

He looked too dazed, wasting a handsome face, especially with those tear streaks on it. 

A teasing smile crept onto his face. Ran Lin was about to remind him that they were done, and it was time to snap back to reality, but someone patted his shoulder first.

He turned around to see Zhong Jiakun, who played Fang Huanzhi.

Ran Lin quickly turned around and greeted politely. “Teacher Zhong.”

Zhong Jiakun might not be well-known to the younger generation, but thirty years back, he was an icon, and with a lifetime of acting, his prestige in the circle was immense. Even Chen Qizheng would have to respectfully address him as a senior.

And now, as if feeling that wasn’t enough, Zhong Jiakun, after Ran Lin turned around, patted his arm twice more, nodding in approval. “Good job, kid. Your acting is solid.”

Ran Lin was pleasantly surprised. Usually, Zhong Jiakun liked to jest with young actors like a playful old man, but once it came to acting, he was incredibly serious. He wouldn’t give direct feedback on someone’s performance—that was the director’s job—but he had his own standards. You could tell if he was excited or not by his demeanor. If his partner was good, he’d be particularly thrilled; if not, he’d still deliver high-quality performance, but the difference in his engagement was subtle.

Yet, whether his partner was good or not, Ran Lin had never seen him so openly compliment another actor from the same production. It felt like a big sweet date had fallen from the sky, thumping right on his head.

“Thank you, Teacher…” If he needed to be polite, Ran Lin could come up with a truckload of compliments, but when he was genuinely happy, he could only muster a simple and dry thank you.

Zhong Jiakun didn’t mind and leaned in a bit.

Ran Lin quickly got the hint that the veteran had some quiet advice to offer and leaned in closer.

Sure enough, Zhong Jiakun whispered, “Voice like a bell, energy like a rainbow. The audience shouldn’t see your effort, but every word should be emphatic, striking right to the heart… You need to practice your lines, try reciting when you have time.”

Ran Lin felt a surge of inspiration, as if he was groping for a path in the dark and suddenly a light shone in the distance, showing the way.

“Thank you for your guidance, Teacher Zhong.” Ran Lin sincerely thanked him.

Zhong Jiakun just smiled, didn’t continue, and patted him twice more before walking away. The old man was indeed robust; Ran Lin thought, feeling the lingering soreness from the pats on his arm.

Turning back around, Tang Xiaoyu, Xi Ruohan, and the actress playing Li’er were huddled not far off, looking at him and Lu Yiyao whispering together. No, Ran Lin felt they were mainly looking at Lu Yiyao because, as the crew members began to bustle about, preparing for the next scene, the stoic standing Lu Yiyao was rather out of sync.

But compared to the previous electrified daze, Lu Yiyao, though still standing, had a noticeable change in his eyes. Before it was a blank stare following confusion; now it was deep contemplation as if he was pondering the ultimate questions of the universe and humanity.

“Teacher Lu…” Ran Lin felt that if he didn’t speak up, Lu Yiyao might truly become too immersed in the character and unable to pull back. Just as he spoke out, Lu Yiyao suddenly interrupted him.

He said, “Can you hug me again?”

As he spoke, his previously distant gaze firmly fixed on Ran Lin. Their eyes met, and even with all his defenses up, Ran Lin’s heart skipped a beat.

Such deep eyes should be illegal!

And then—

“What did you say?” Ran Lin swore what he had just heard couldn’t be right.

Lu Yiyao understood Ran Lin’s reaction; if he were in his place, he’d also find the request bizarre. But he genuinely wanted to feel that embrace again.

Over the years, he had acted in many roles and had always been told by directors to immerse himself in the character. He believed that being “in character” meant concentrating fully, bringing the script’s lines and emotions to life, faithfully delivering the actions and even facial expressions the director wanted. Until he kept being called out for NG, he didn’t think there was anything wrong with his method. But as one NG led to another, he began to feel anxious. 

Director Chen’s attitude made him realize there was indeed an issue, but no matter how much Chen Qizheng explained, he couldn’t grasp where the problem lay.

Until Ran Lin’s embrace.

At that moment, he was pulled into the world of <Sword of Fallen Flowers>. He didn’t need to try hard to “act” anymore; he had become Tang Jingyu, completely forgetting Lu Yiyao. And he finally understood that being in character wasn’t about “concentration” but about “losing oneself”.

The turning point was Ran Lin’s hug. After being embraced and hearing “Don’t think about anything else,” he really stopped thinking and focused solely on Ran Lin. He listened to someone so obediently for the first time, as if brainwashed or hypnotized. So he needed to experience it again to confirm.

“Can you hug me again?” Lu Yiyao, seeing Ran Lin’s baffled face, repeated his request and, anticipating further confusion, added, “Just like when we had to NG earlier. Just a hug.”

This time, Ran Lin heard clearly. He blinked innocently and said, “No.”

Lu Yiyao was taken aback, feeling almost wronged by the rejection. “Why?”

Ran Lin stared at him for a while, then slowly grinned, revealing a teasing smile. “That’s a big move, only to be used at crucial moments.”

Lu Yiyao was flustered and just as he was about to persist, the trio of whisperers approached.

They hadn’t come up earlier because Lu Yiyao seemed too off, but seeing him now chatting with Ran Lin, they immediately joined in. However, as they approached, they split off, with Xi Ruohan and Li’er heading straight for Ran Lin, leaving only Tang Xiaoyu still thinking about his “Elder brother”.

Lu Yiyao watched as Ran Lin was led away by the two ladies for a discussion on acting insights, feeling a sense of loss. But Ran Lin had already clearly said no, so he couldn’t just forcibly hug him…

“Brother, stop staring,” Tang Xiaoyu comforted, patting Lu Yiyao’s shoulder. “Traditionally, the male lead drives the plot, but it’s the second male lead who’s meant to be loved.”

Lu Yiyao paused, asking reflexively, “Have they fallen for him?”

Tang Xiaoyu had initially just made a casual remark, not expecting Lu Yiyao to take it so seriously, but upon reconsideration, it didn’t seem entirely like a joke. “You might not notice acting opposite him, but we were all shaken by his performance. He was truly amazing. If I were a girl, I’d become a fan… Of course, you were great too.” Worried about Lu Yiyao’s feelings, Tang Xiaoyu quickly added, “But Tang Jingyu is not as pitiable as Fang Xian, right? Doesn’t stir up girls’ protective instincts.”

Lu Yiyao chuckled, took a deep breath, and finally felt completely detached from Tang Jingyu. “This is the first time I’ve felt so passionate while acting.”

Tang Xiaoyu understood completely. “I hardly have any lines, and just watching you two, I couldn’t relax for a second, feeling like I was about to explode along with your confrontation.”

Lu Yiyao fell silent, just quietly watching Ran Lin being pulled away.

Following his gaze, Tang Xiaoyu sighed after a while. “It’s a wonder he hasn’t risen to stardom with his talent. Compared to him, I’m really lucky.”

Ran Lin, being interrogated by the two ladies, looked utterly dejected. Yet even so, his features remained delicate, and his profile was still attractive. Lu Yiyao unconsciously smiled, as if answering Tang Xiaoyu or reassuring himself. “When this drama airs, he’ll be a hit.”

Tang Xiaoyu looked curiously at Lu Yiyao’s eyes, which were flashing with an unreadable light. At first glance, it seemed like admiration, but it was too fervent.

……

The subsequent shooting went smoothly, wrapping up at 8 p.m., marking the earliest end to a day’s work in recent times. Lu Yiyao rarely felt this lingering excitement after wrapping up, as if every fiber of his being was activated. He didn’t want to stop, eager to extend this enthusiasm with his friends.

“Eating together? No problem,” Tang Xiaoyu agreed readily. His mysterious girlfriend who had visited the set had already left, and now he was a free little fish again.

Lu Yiyao was pleased, slowly watching Tang Jingyu in the mirror morph back into Lu Yiyao, while planning to extend the same invitation to Ran Lin once he came in to remove his makeup.

However, left waiting and waiting, Ran Lin didn’t show up.

Tang Xiaoyu was already done with his makeup, waiting for the generous mainland star to finish so they could leave together.

Unable to calm down anymore, Lu Yiyao decided to call Ran Lin.

The phone rang until it naturally cut off, and Lu Yiyao’s mood shifted from anticipation to confusion and then to a slight melancholy, aggravated by the soulless “The number you have dialed is currently unavailable. Please try again later” repeating in the earpiece.

“What’s wrong?” Tang Xiaoyu noticed Lu Yiyao’s downturn. “Second Brother didn’t pick up?”

Lu Yiyao nodded. “Yeah.”

Tang Xiaoyu frowned in confusion. “What’s he busy with? Not picking up the phone, not coming to remove makeup.”

A sudden worry hit Lu Yiyao. “What if something happened?”

Tang Xiaoyu looked bemused, feeling his elder brother was being overly anxious. “We’re on a film set, not a battlefield.”

Before Tang Xiaoyu could finish speaking, the phone Lu Yiyao was holding rang. Dramatically, Tang Xiaoyu witnessed a metaphorical spotlight illuminate Lu Yiyao’s face as he saw the caller ID.

“Hello, where are you?” Lu Yiyao’s voice sounded almost ready to burst into song.

“So come over quickly once you’re done talking. Xiaoyu and I have already finished removing our makeup.”

“Oh, is that so? I wanted to talk to you more…”

“Oh, I see…”

“Yeah, it’s okay…”

“Alright, see you tomorrow.”

Tang Xiaoyu observed the entire conversation, experiencing firsthand what was called a rollercoaster of emotions. He watched as Lu Yiyao’s demeanor went from bright to dim to forlorn, and even as a bystander, he felt a pang of sympathy.

Clearly, Lu Yiyao was turned down, but the call was too brief to speculate much. Tang Xiaoyu gently asked, “What’s wrong?”

“He was discussing the upcoming scenes with Screenwriter Song, which is why he didn’t come to remove his makeup earlier.”

“And then?”

“He said the discussion was very enlightening and he needs to head back to the hotel right away to delve into it.”

“So our dinner is canceled?”

“I invited you; how can I go back on my word?”

Tang Xiaoyu looked at Lu Yiyao’s earnest face and felt a surge of warmth. He knew Lu Yiyao valued his relationship with Ran Lin, and he was just an add-on. At this moment, Lu Yiyao’s insistence made him feel appreciated. Of course, after enduring an awkward dinner with Lu Yiyao later, Tang Xiaoyu would vow never to dine alone with him again, but that’s a story for another time.

Meanwhile, in a hidden corner of the filming location.

Liu Wanwan approached the suave and solitary Fang Xian. “Ran Ge, you’ve been hiding here for half an hour. If you don’t go remove your makeup soon, the makeup artist will leave.”

Ran Lin frowned in disagreement. “How is it hiding? I’m reflecting…”

Liu Wanwan: “On God Lu’s phone number?”

Ran Lin: “On the scene we just shot!”

Sighing, Liu Wanwan tried to coax him. “Ran Ge, I’m your assistant, one of your own. If you even try to fool me, soon you’ll have no one close to confide in.”

Ran Lin met his assistant’s gaze unflinchingly, and after a few seconds, caved in. “Can you check if Lu Yiyao has left?”

Liu Wanwan’s “I knew it” expression said it all, but she made a quick call instead of moving.

Ran Lin heard her say, “We’re running late on our side. Haven’t gone for makeup removal yet… Oh, you’ve already finished and left? Oh, in the car already?”

The call lasted less than a minute.

Efficiently hanging up, Liu Wanwan smiled. “God Lu has already left in the car.”

Ran Lin swallowed hard, asking, “Who did you call?”

Liu Wanwan casually pocketed her phone. “Li Tong, God Lu’s assistant.”

“When did you two get so close?” Ran Lin was surprised, immediately picturing the lively and clever assistant.

Liu Wanwan smiled ambiguously. “When you and God Lu got close, we followed suit, moving with you guys.”

Ran Lin felt exposed and clamped his lips shut, wary of saying something that might give Liu Wanwan more ammunition. You can keep things from the company or the manager, but trying to fool an assistant is a Herculean task.

Liu Wanwan didn’t really suspect anything; she’d witnessed the two from awkwardness to natural camaraderie to friendly chats. She genuinely found their relationship precious. So, seeing Ran Lin avoiding Lu Yiyao today, she felt a bit off. 

When the area cleared, Liu Wanwan decided to be honest. “Ran Ge, I know you’re worried about being seen with God Lu all the time, getting photographed, and the rumors making things awkward for both of you. But since God Lu doesn’t seem to mind these things, and you don’t have any fans to lose, why are you the one avoiding first?”

Ran Lin pondered for a while, then beckoned Liu Wanwan closer.

The girl immediately leaned in. “What?”

Ran Lin narrowed his eyes slowly. “What do you mean by I don’t have any fans to lose?”

Educated along the way, Liu Wanwan finally realized that even an 18^th-tier celebrity has dignity.

As Ran Lin finally stepped into the makeup room, seeing supporting actors but not the lead, he finally felt at ease.

From the moment the director called wrap, he knew there would be a dinner invitation from Lu Yiyao. It wasn’t a magical premonition; after months of working together, he had grown very familiar with Lu Yiyao. A flicker in his eyes and Ran Lin would know whether he wanted to discuss the scene or grab a meal. Perhaps it’s because Lu Yiyao never concealed his thoughts, quite unlike Tang Jingyu in the drama but more like Xu Chongfei.

Ran Lin thought to himself that he was the real Tang Jingyu, harboring a multitude of thoughts, suffering silently, never revealing a thing.

However, unlike in the drama, where Tang Jingyu and Fang Xian have a dramatic and soul-stirring split, in real life, he and Lu Yiyao could just let any ambiguous distance between them gradually fade.

Lu Yiyao might think a hint is enough, and the sun will rise as usual the next day. Indeed, the sun did rise, but Ran Lin needed a bit more time before he could bask in it carelessly again. If Lu Yiyao wasn’t giving him that time, he’d have to sneak it bit by bit. 

Fortunately, Lu Yiyao was easy to deceive.

……

History has proven that you can tease the naive and innocent, but you shouldn’t push them too hard. Ran Lin underestimated Lu Yiyao’s intuition, and Lu Yiyao underestimated Ran Lin’s determination.

Finally, on another winter night of being politely refused, Lu Yiyao realized he couldn’t secure this dinner! For two whole weeks, he tried to invite him every other day, but even as several important supporting actors wrapped up their scenes, he hadn’t secured a single dinner. With an array of reasons like needing to study the script, preparing for the next day, needing early rest, and so on, the clever Lu Yiyao saw through it all—Ran Lin was avoiding him.

What was frustrating was that Ran Lin’s avoidance tactics were highly sophisticated. He wouldn’t just turn and run upon seeing you but would engage in any other topic with you. He’d discuss the weather or dance at the crow of a rooster but just wait until you invited him out. Then he’d look at you with a pained expression, earnestly throwing out those irritating excuses, and then look at you with those big, sincere eyes as if to say, “Everything I’m saying is true. Look into my honest eyes.” It made you want to call him out, but you couldn’t bear to.

Even Tang Xiaoyu noticed something was off and asked privately, “Brother, did you do something to upset Second Brother?” Every time this came up, Lu Yiyao was noncommittal—as if he really had done something and lacked the confidence to shake his head.

On the way back, Liu Wanwan pondered and then cautiously suggested, “Ran Ge, you’ve been avoiding too obviously recently, God Lu must have noticed.”

“Let him notice,” Ran Lin replied, putting the script over his face as if he didn’t want to continue the conversation.

Liu Wanwan, slightly anxious, advised, “Brother, more friends mean more paths. I’m not saying you should stick with God Lu because he’s popular; I think it’s a pity if you two, having hit it off so well, let the relationship cool down.”

The car jostled, and the script fell from Ran Lin’s face.

He picked it up, patted it, and covered his face again.

Liu Wanwan suddenly felt sympathy for Wang Xi. It’s not easy being an agent, especially when your artist is so uncooperatively silent. Ran Lin actually felt quite guilty; he knew Liu Wanwan cared about him. Otherwise, she would just do her job as an assistant and collect her salary. Why bother with all the extra care? But the questions she asked, he really couldn’t answer.

He couldn’t tell her that he hadn’t planned it this way. His original intention was to keep things purely platonic with Lu Yiyao. But later he realized it wouldn’t work. Whenever he was around Lu Yiyao, unless he was engrossed in acting, he couldn’t maintain a casual demeanor at any other time. All those apparent easy-going conversations were the result of his painstaking efforts. He lacked the confidence that he could maintain his composure during a dinner alone at night, facing a friend eager for a heart-to-heart conversation.

Just agreeing to dinner would inevitably lead to Lu Yiyao wanting to “share feelings”. The old Ran Lin would have found this a precious quality, but now just the thought of Lu Yiyao possibly saying, “I really want to be friends with you, heart to heart,” made him want to kick the mainland star.

It wasn’t Lu Yiyao’s issue; it was his—having developed feelings, he couldn’t expect pure friendship anymore, even if it was offered on a silver platter.

Liu Wanwan saying “it’s a pity to let it cool” resonated with him, and he knew it. That’s exactly why it was even more bitter. 

He had often thought, if only he hadn’t fallen for him in the first place.

……

When Huo Yuntao received a video call invitation from his old friend while he was at his countryside villa in front of the fireplace, flipping through his phone and waiting for the delightful “ding” from the oven indicating the completion of his creation—a Huo-style gingerbread house—he was startled. 

Two months ago, he had promised Lin Panxi to make the most beautiful gingerbread house in the UK for his girlfriend to admire from afar. Now, after New Year’s Day, the gingerbread house was still an uncertainty in the oven.

The video call from Lu Yiyao popped up unexpectedly, startling him enough to nearly toss his phone into the fireplace.

Clicking accept, his old friend’s face appeared on the screen. Oddly enough, when on camera, Lu Yiyao’s face was always perfectly handsome from every angle, but during video calls, he always managed to fill the entire screen with his face, leaving no room to even glimpse the background wall.

Checking the time, it must be past midnight in China.

“Just finished working?” It had been a while since they last talked, and Huo Yuntao vaguely remembered Lu Yiyao saying they were wrapping up at the end of the month, so they must be working overtime now.

“No, just finished showering.” Lu Yiyao’s deep voice came from the video.

Huo Yuntao felt bewildered. “Then could you move back a bit and show your hair? I really can’t judge your state just by your face.”

Lu Yiyao: “Can you judge my mood then?”

Huo Yuntao squinted his eyes, sensing the words ‘no good intentions’. Typically, when Lu Yiyao wanted to pick a fight or argue, this was his approach.

“Ahem,” Huo Yuntao cleared his throat and sat up straight, uncharacteristically solemn. “Before making any judgments, I need to hear the backstory first.”

The image on the screen started to shake. Huo Yuntao, feeling dizzy, was about to complain when the image finally stabilized. Apparently, Lu Yiyao had been lying down and now sat up.

Thus, two old friends, spanning continents, sat opposite each other, somewhat resembling a scholarly debate.

“The backstory starts with that bad advice you gave me…” Lu Yiyao went straight to the point without any hesitation.

Huo Yuntao raised his eyebrows in surprise, interrupting, “Wait, that matter… It’s not over yet?”

“It isn’t.”

“I thought there was no follow-up?”

“I never said that.”

“But you haven’t contacted me since.”

“Am I not contacting you now?”

“……”

Ding—

“What’s that sound?”

“The oven.”

“Aren’t you going to check?”

“It’s okay. Whatever I made will serve as a Valentine’s Day gift as well. Come on, continue with the story!”

Lu Yiyao looked at the strange glow on his old friend’s face on the screen and suddenly thought that perhaps consulting the same “strategist” twice might not have been the best idea. Moreover, he had come to accuse, so how did it turn into sharing gossip updates?!

Ten minutes later.

Huo Yuntao: “So, after you hinted at rejection, he started avoiding you?”

Lu Yiyao: “Not exactly avoiding. Everything’s normal during the day—filming, resting, chatting, no issues. It’s just that I can’t get him to agree to a meal anymore.”

Huo Yuntao: “…”

Lu Yiyao, growing impatient for a response, pressed, “What are you thinking?”

After another moment of contemplation, Huo Yuntao rolled his eyes. “Why did you spend eight minutes telling me how good his acting is?”

Lu Yiyao blinked, genuinely perplexed. “Did I?”

Huo Yuntao: “You did.”

Lu Yiyao: “For that long?”

Huo Yuntao: “And you were beaming.”

Lu Yiyao: “…”

“Let’s talk seriously.” Huo Yuntao swiftly changed the subject, knowing well that if they started bickering, it would never end. “If he’s avoiding you, it means he got your hint and is restraining himself.”

Lu Yiyao didn’t quite like the sound of that, as if implying Ran Lin had done something excessive. He instinctively refuted, “There’s nothing about his behavior that needs to be restrained.”

Huo Yuntao massaged his forehead. “You’re questioning if he’s gay, isn’t that a problem?”

This was one of Lu Yiyao’s biggest conundrums. “So is he gay or not?”

Huo Yuntao pondered for a moment. Unlike last time when he was ambivalent, this time he gave a definite answer. “I think he is.”

Lu Yiyao fell silent.

He had had these suspicions and Ran Lin’s avoidance only amplified them. He had always harbored a hope that Ran Lin wasn’t gay because if not, their issues would be much simpler.

“What’s with that expression?” Huo Yuntao saw his friend’s furrowed brows after his answer, resembling a craggy landscape. “Didn’t we analyze this last time? If he is gay and has picked up on your hint, his behavior and psychology towards you would change. Isn’t that the result we wanted?”

“That’s not the result I wanted,” Lu Yiyao blurted out. “He’s avoiding me now. How can we continue being friends?”

“Why can’t you be friends if he’s avoiding you?” Huo Yuntao was baffled. “You just said everything is normal during the day—filming, resting, chatting. It’s just dinner he’s avoiding. No big deal. He’s been rejected and still goes out to eat with you? Either he has a masochistic streak, or he hasn’t given up.”

Lu Yiyao looked like he had more to say but ultimately remained silent.

Huo Yuntao rarely saw Lu Yiyao like this. Their relationship was such that even if one was bereft of logic, they’d still dig up some illogical argument to continue the banter. This speechless Lu Yiyao unnerved him.

“What kind of friend do you actually want to be with him?” Huo Yuntao asked, suddenly having a bad feeling, instinctively adding, “Like us?”

Lu Yiyao stared blankly through the screen. “Why not?”

The premonition came true.

Huo Yuntao’s heart sank. “It’s not that it’s impossible, it’s that it’s unlikely.”

Lu Yiyao’s eyes narrowed slowly.

“Glaring at me won’t help.” Huo Yuntao rolled his eyes. “Our friendship is tight; we can share clothes. Ask him if he wants to share clothes with you. He’d probably rather strip you of yours.”

Lu Yiyao knew nothing good would follow Huo Yuntao’s statement. What karma did he accumulate in his last life to end up with a friend like this, so despairing? Just when he finally wanted to make a second friend, it turned out to be complicated…

No, Lu Yiyao realized something was off. He never really cared whether Ran Lin was gay or straight. Even if Ran Lin liked both men and women, he would completely respect it and wouldn’t let it be an obstacle in their relationship. What had been troubling him all these days was only one thing—the person Ran Lin likes might be him.

“Trust me.” Huo Yuntao sighed, turning into a rare voice of reason. “If you really consider him a friend and want what’s best for him, stop emphasizing wanting to be friends. Let’s pretend nothing happened. The fact that he can interact normally with you during filming and chatting is already a win. If you don’t want to push him further away, just let things take their course.”

“So he really likes me,” Lu Yiyao suddenly said.

Huo Yuntao’s reflexive cynicism toward his friend’s narcissism kicked in, and without thinking, he retorted, “Maybe not. Maybe he doesn’t like you at all, and you misinterpreted his intentions and rejected him. It’s embarrassing and irritating for him, of course he’s avoiding you.”

“No, he likes me.” Lu Yiyao suddenly had a flash of insight, recalling a specific memory with vivid details. “Once we were eating with another person, and I felt that person’s behavior towards him was ambiguous. I warned him to be careful. I said men are generally insensitive to these things, don’t be fooled and taken advantage of…”

“Why didn’t you mention this earlier.” Huo Yuntao perked up. “What was his response then?”

Lu Yiyao hesitated.

Huo Yuntao’s eyes widened. “Well?”

Lu Yiyao bit the bullet. “He held my hand and said, ‘Let’s encourage each other.'”

Huo Yuntao: “…”

Lu Yiyao: “He must like me. That sentence was hinting at me.”

Huo Yuntao: “So you didn’t react at all then!”

Lu Yiyao: “I didn’t think much of it.”

Huo Yuntao: “I need to test the IQ of my friends before making friends in the future…”

Now recalling that incident, it does sound quite awkward, but having admitted the most embarrassing parts to his friend, Lu Yiyao stubbornly persisted, “Now you have to believe me.”

Huo Yuntao frowned. His friend was quite narcissistic, but he never used other people’s affection to boost his image because Lu Yiyao found exploiting someone’s genuine feelings for self-aggrandizement distasteful. But now, his friend was dredging up old incidents to prove that Ran Lin indeed liked him.

This wasn’t a good sign.

“Why aren’t you moving? Is there a delay?” Lu Yiyao mistook Huo Yuntao’s silence for a frozen screen, thinking the video had lagged.

“I’m here; stop shaking. I’m getting dizzy,” Huo Yuntao said irritably.

Lu Yiyao stopped his shaking hand and was about to speak when he heard the other side ask seriously, “Bud, do you like that Ran Lin?”

Lu Yiyao paused. “In what way?”

Huo Yuntao was exasperated. “How many aspects of him do you like?”

Lu Yiyao chuckled. “Acting, character, personality, looks, voice, skin—I like all of it. Oh, and I’m particularly envious of the last one.”

Huo Yuntao looked at him, ready to explode. “Love, I’m asking if you’ve fallen in love with him!”

Lu Yiyao’s laughter subsided, and he sighed tiredly. “If I could fall in love with him, would I still be discussing this back and forth with you?”

“That settles it.” Huo Yuntao leaned into the screen, intently looking at his old friend as if trying to blow some serious advice onto him. “Since you don’t want to develop feelings for him, does it matter whether he likes you or not?”

---

Kinky Thoughts:

I need a friend like Huo Yuntao.

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Author: 颜凉雨 / Yan Liang Yu

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

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Chapter 48

When Lu Yiyao’s “implicit rejection” system was activated, the “secret observation” mode was also restarted. However, Ran Lin left quickly, and with the last scene being rushed, the only chance Lu Yiyao had to observe him was during the few short seconds of the late-night snack invitation.

But Ran Lin declined very naturally, and his reasons were legitimate. His tone, voice, expressions, and actions didn’t raise any suspicions.

Lu Yiyao felt his brain was split into two parts. One part, scientific and rational, concluded from observation that “Ran Lin is normal, obviously not interested in you in the way you think.” The other part, relying solely on intuition, stubbornly insisted, “Ran Lin is just pretending to be strong. He does like you and has already received your rejection signal.”

It was only when Ran Lin’s words activated the system that Lu Yiyao realized he had been waiting for a chance to apply the theories discussed with Huo Yuntao over the past two months.

But he never imagined that when his wish finally came true, it didn’t solve any problems and broke the peace he had returned to.

Did Ran Lin get the hint?

Is Ran Lin actually gay?

Does Ran Lin really like him?

None of these questions were resolved.

The situation was more chaotic than that night two months ago.

Huo Yuntao, you troublemaker!

After half a night of restless thoughts, Lu Yiyao finally fell asleep. In his dream, he was back in his high school days at the boarding school for boys. As soon as the class bell rang, he ran to Huo Yuntao’s classroom to drag him out for a beating.

Back then, he and Huo Yuntao hadn’t fully grown yet, appearing like bean sprouts among their rapidly developing Western classmates. But even bean sprouts can have fiery fights. In the end, Huo Yuntao couldn’t take it anymore and climbed onto the roof, yelling down at him, “Lao Lu, you prioritize love over friendship!”

After the tirade, the alarm clock rang.

Waking up, Lu Yiyao had a splitting headache and felt heavy with guilt—guilt not only towards Ran Lin from last night but now also towards Huo Yuntao.

Why did he feel guilty even for beating up a friend in a dream?

Lu Yiyao sat on the hotel bed, puzzled. Suddenly, he remembered what Lu Yimeng used to say when he advised her to reflect more on her actions.

She said, “Brother, you have a halo over your head.”

With a haloed head, the mainland star thought he would see the same natural Ran Lin on set today and had convinced himself to stop overthinking and focus on acting. But from the start of makeup, the second male lead kept glancing at him intermittently, his eyes filled with… pain and hatred?

Tang Xiaoyu, who was also getting makeup done, noticed something was off but didn’t dare to speak out.

Until the first male lead’s seeking gaze turned to him.

Their eyes met, exchanging silent, intense looks—

[Lu Yiyao: What’s going on?]

[Tang Xiaoyu: 🤷]

[Lu Yiyao: Could it be the effect of last night’s hint delayed until now?]

[Tang Xiaoyu: Hint?]

[Lu Yiyao: Bye.]

[Tang Xiaoyu: …You can’t just leave after half a sentence. Look at me again!!!]

As makeup neared completion, Ran Lin’s narrowed eyes became sharper, and his chest heaved with apparent anger, ready to burst at any moment!

Unable to bear it any longer, Lu Yiyao spoke up. “Actually, last night…”

“Shut up!” Ran Lin cut him off harshly; his voice was colder than ever. “There’s no need to explain. Nothing justifies you deceiving and using me!”

Tang Xiaoyu gasped, eyes wide, thinking, ‘Are the first and second male leads about to enact “Pretend Play Turns Real: Tyrannical Brothers Fall for Me” before the shoot wraps up?!’ But this was the makeup room—even if their love was deeper than the sea, they should consider public impact! Don’t they want to work in the industry anymore?!

“Um, Second Brother, I think…”

“Shut up, you too!” Ran Lin suddenly turned, his voice deep and serious. “If you dare speak up for him, we can’t be brothers anymore.”

Tang Xiaoyu blinked in confusion, feeling the words strangely familiar, as if he could naturally follow up with the next line—

“If my brothers are at sword’s point and I can still watch calmly, what difference does it make whether we’re brothers or not!”

Ran Lin was dumbfounded, panting heavily for a while before calming down slightly, then said with a hint of disbelief, “Xiaoyu, your emotional delivery just now was really good.”

Tang Xiaoyu smiled shyly, modestly responding, “Not really, you led me… Wait a minute.” His expression turned serious. “It’s fine to improvise, but at least give me a signal!”

Ran Lin blinked, tilting his head. “You caught on even without a signal, and quite well too. You didn’t even need to build up the emotion. It was just there.”

Tang Xiaoyu smiled, blushing modestly. “You might think I’m always joking around, but I’ve been really trying to understand Xu Chongfei…”

The makeup artist working on the third male lead sighed internally while fixing the eyebrow that had been smeared due to Tang Xiaoyu’s sudden, intense line delivery. He marveled at the director’s keen casting choice—someone so easily flattered and quick to laugh, perfect for Xu Chongfei. If he had played Fang Xian, he’d be completely deceived by Tang Jingyu; if he were Tang Jingyu, well, he probably wouldn’t even uncover his family’s enemies in this lifetime.

As the makeup artist internally commented, Ran Lin teased Lu Yiyao, “Teacher Lu, were you distracted just now? There’s no way you wouldn’t react to the lines I threw at you. Even Xiaoyu caught them.”

Tang Xiaoyu was brought back from cloud nine. “I don’t really like the way you say ‘even Xiaoyu’…”

Lu Yiyao, still looking at Ran Lin’s eyes that were “three parts inquiry, seven parts jest”, suddenly felt a bit aggrieved, wanting to complain like Tang Xiaoyu—I’ve been troubled about your matter from last night to this morning, from darkness to dawn, and without a word, you start acting. Where’s the humanitarian care?!

“Teacher Lu.” The makeup artist’s timid call interrupted Lu Yiyao’s tumultuous thoughts. “Can you stop frowning for a moment? It’s hard to apply makeup…”

Lu Yiyao took a deep breath, his brows relaxed, and he slowly revealed a polite smile.

Ran Lin struggled to pull down the corners of his mouth, afraid to smile too obviously—he was certain that Lu Yiyao was roaring inside, but that’s how he was: even when furious, he maintained the demeanor of a gentle and elegant nobleman.

The façade he put on, no matter how internally painful, had to be endured.

Ran Lin lowered his eyes and realized the truth in the saying, “Heartbreak leads to growth.” Overnight, he had turned wicked, sliding further down the path of villainy.

Strangely, villains really do seem tougher than good guys. At least now, facing Lu Yiyao, he felt as comfortable as before he realized his own feelings, if not more so.

Back then, Ran Lin hadn’t fallen for Lu Yiyao, but he still felt guilty about hyping up their CP for publicity.

Now, Ran Lin was just Lu Yiyao’s friend, having moved past his affection and guilt, enjoying an equal and comfortable relationship.

The dinner they had over two months ago still counted.

Lu Yiyao had said not to worry about popularity, fans, or public opinion and to interact in whatever way felt comfortable.

Although late, Ran Lin decided to start listening to Teacher Lu’s advice.

“Are you brewing emotions again…” Lu Yiyao watched as Ran Lin went from holding back laughter, to a fading smile, then to a serious expression, and finally to a look filled with hatred, inexplicably feeling a chill.

Ran Lin’s hatred was fierce, filled with intense and decisive rage.

Even though it was just acting, Lu Yiyao couldn’t bear it. And this was just him as himself; if he became Tang Jingyu, the character he played, and immersed himself in that emotion, Ran Lin’s—or rather, Fang Xian’s—gaze would drown him in guilt.

“I must brew emotions.” Ran Lin sighed, blinking hard to relax his eyes and dissipate the heat that had almost welled up. “Today’s scene is crucial, and I can’t afford any mistakes.”

Putting aside all other thoughts, Ran Lin spoke the truth, and this was also why he could pull himself together today—not because he wanted to, but because he had to.

Whether in love or heartbroken, it was all just part of life. He couldn’t let his personal emotions ruin the efforts of the crew over the past four months. That would be unfair to the investors, director, and writer who trusted him, and to the part of himself that loved acting.

Lu Yiyao watched the seriousness and determination in Ran Lin’s eyes and, for the first time, questioned his own notion of “professionalism”.

He never thought his acting or insight was exceptional, but he was always extremely confident in his “serious approach to work”.

He wouldn’t compare himself with the true artists who lived for their craft, but even among his peers of similar age and status, Lu Yiyao felt he deserved a “Youth Role Model” medal.

But now he realized he might have been too arrogant.

Yao Hong once made a comparison. She said that they were like two buckets of water at different levels, connected by a tube, with his water always flowing towards the other.

Lu Yiyao now wanted to use this analogy but substituting “fame” with “professionalism (including passion for the job)”. In that case, it would definitely be Ran Lin’s water flowing towards his.

Ran Lin wasn’t just more serious; he also had that extra bit of passion.

“You don’t have to look at me like that. Even if your gaze burns holes in me, I won’t regret doing this,” Lu Yiyao heard himself say solemnly, not a line from the script but the inner voice of Tang Jingyu.

Ran Lin hadn’t expected Lu Yiyao to immerse himself in the role so suddenly. His blood, which had just cooled, started boiling again, every cell shouting—confront him!

“I treated you like my closest brother, gave up the girl I loved for you, and would even choose you without hesitation over Zhao Buyao if forced to…” Ran Lin couldn’t continue. He took a deep breath and slowly exhaled, feeling a suffocating pain in his chest. “And your response? To deceive me, use me, and ultimately cause my father’s death?”

“Your father destroyed my entire family.”

“And me? Have I ever wronged you in the slightest?”

“No, it’s me who wronged you.”

“You never thought of me when you did those things. It’s too late to feel sorry now.”

“……”

Tang Xiaoyu watched silently as the two main actors immersed themselves in their roles, their performance intense. His heart was rising and falling with the scene.

Finally, with no more words between them, only a heavy silence spread. He turned to his makeup artist with moist eyes. “See, sister. Playing this third male lead isn’t easy…”

“I understand.” The makeup artist nodded, adjusting his head. “Stay still, I’ve been drawing this eyebrow for half an hour.”

While the main actors were getting ready and emotionally preparing, the filming set was being busily arranged.

Ran Lin was right about today’s scene being crucial—indeed, it was an understatement. To be exact, today’s scene was the most important in the entire drama—the Martial Arts Assembly, the death of Fang Huanzhi, the revelation of the Tang Clan massacre, the false accusation against Tang Jingyu by Abbot Haikong, and the rift between Tang Jingyu and Fang Xian.

If the drama was a rollercoaster of conspiracies and brotherly strife, then today was the climax with a 360° roll and a 720° twist.

The vast indoor space was transformed into the Fang Clan’s martial hall, the site of the Martial Arts Assembly. Tables and chairs connected, cups and plates scattered about—it looked more like a jovial banquet of various sects than a martial assembly.

Fang Huan’s seat was the main one, not elevated above the others, highlighting the host’s status while respecting the esteemed seniors of the martial world.

Extras were mostly in place, though not entirely settled, creating a slightly chaotic atmosphere.

The rocker was still swinging in mid-air, searching for angles, while the sound and lighting technicians, though ready, vigilantly monitored the set, prepared for any changes.

Some supporting actors had already arrived earlier, particularly Zhong Jiakun, who played Fang Huanzhi, rehearsing and positioning with the actor playing Abbot Haikong, his old friend.

This big scene, with its ensemble cast and climactic plot, was crucial—whether the most splendid part of the play would shine depended on this moment!

Finally, the five young actors, fully made-up, entered the scene.

Tang Jingyu, Fang Xian, Xu Chongfei, Zhao Buyao, and Li’er.

Regardless of how their acting skills compared to their seniors, there was no doubt that they were the top group of this drama. The quality of the drama depended on them.

With their arrival, the cast was complete.

Everyone on set felt a subtle shift in the atmosphere, and even the extras instinctively quieted down.

Behind the monitor, Chen Qizheng looked at his nearly suffocating partner and sighed helplessly. “Do you have to be more nervous than the actors?”

Song Mang, clutching his chest, his fingers twisting his bright yellow clothes into a knot, said, “I can’t help it. The excitement is uncontrollable, trembling from the soul…”

This wasn’t the first time Director Chen had seen his partner like this, but he couldn’t help but complain about the same thing every time. “You wrote the script. What’s there to be so excited and trembling about?”

Song Mang’s answer was the same as always. “Because I wrote it, I can’t help but be emotional. I have to see the words turned into scenes with my own eyes to be at peace.”

Director Chen wasn’t one to argue, but he couldn’t stand his professionalism being insulted. “When have I ever made a scene that completely distorted your script?”

Song Mang had confidence in his partner but also remembered the objective laws of development. “There are always accidents. I must keep the risk to a minimum.”

Chen Qizheng knew he would never perfectly sync with his partner in this lifetime. They were like two mismatched gears, grinding awkwardly on the artistic path.

“Let’s set some ground rules. You’re here to observe, not to direct. You can’t interrupt and ask me to stop the scene midway again.”

Chen Qizheng had learned from past experiences. During a climax scene in a previous movie, the two had a public argument on set over an actor’s ad-lib, which Chen Qizheng thought was fine, but Song Mang exploded over. In the heat of the moment, they staged a shameful director-screenwriter quarrel in front of all the crew.

“Okay.” Song Mang knew what Chen Qizheng was referring to. He regretted it afterwards. It’s fine for two people passionate about art to clash, but not in public, as it undermines the director’s authority. “That’s the first rule, what about the other two?”

“There aren’t any.”

“Isn’t it three rules?”

“One important rule is worth three.”

“……”

When they turned back to the monitor, all actors were already in place. Chen Qizheng took a deep breath, his heart slowly calming, and he picked up the megaphone, speaking slowly and powerfully, “Attention all units, let’s walk through the scene first—”

A walk-through meant rehearsing complex scenes and setups without filming, allowing actors to perform while the director interrupted to confirm and adjust camera angles, actors’ positions, and even their actions and expressions, aiming for a smooth shoot when filming officially began.

They walked through the scene three times.

By the end of the third walk-through, Ran Lin felt like his chest was about to explode with accumulated emotions.

Lu Yiyao didn’t say any words beyond his lines to Ran Lin. He couldn’t immerse himself as deeply as Ran Lin, whose soul seemed to be possessed by his character, but he didn’t want to disturb such a fully engaged, radiant actor.

Not just Lu Yiyao, but Tang Xiaoyu, Xi Ruohan, and the actress playing Li’er, also refrained from engaging Ran Lin in superfluous conversation.

It was clear to everyone that he wasn’t Ran Lin at the moment, but Fang Xian, and today’s Fang Xian was crazed, tragic, on the verge of collapse—

After learning from Abbot Haikong that the “Sword of Fallen Flowers Manual” was in the Fang Clan, Tang Jingyu agreed to bring Abbot Haikong into the Fang household, aiming to find the manual before the Martial Arts Assembly and expose Fang Huan’s conspiracy.

As Young Master Yu, he brought Abbot Haikong, disguised as an old man, boldly roaming through every corner of the Fang house—kitchen, armory, woodshed, bedroom, treasure vault, and the like. Finally, in a secret compartment in Fang Xian’s study, they discovered the Sword of Fallen Flowers Manual.

As Abbot Haikong had said, the news about the manual appearing in Liuma Town was just a ruse by Fang Huanzhi to eliminate opposing sects and smoothly become the leader at the Martial Arts Assembly.

Haikong instructed Tang Jingyu to safeguard the manual, planning to expose Fang Huanzhi’s conspiracy at the assembly. Tang Jingyu agreed, but unforeseen events unfolded at the assembly. Fang Huanzhi was critically injured and on the brink of death, and Fang Xian finally realized all that Tang Jingyu had done behind his back.

“Scene 835, Take 1…”

Click!

“I would like to experience Master Fang’s Ruogu Sword Technique if you would be so kind to instruct me.”

The veteran actor playing Abbot Haikong stood up. His silver eyebrows and long beard, his face kind and benevolent, his voice smooth yet forceful, echoed in the vast martial hall. Instantly, everyone, whether drinking, chatting, or laughing, fell silent, and the entire hall was as quiet as a tomb.

Zhong Jiakun, playing Fang Huanzhi, smiled upon hearing this, put down his cup, and stood up unhurriedly, declaring, “Abbot Haikong overestimates me. It is I who should be learning from you.”

A sly fox facing a deep strategist, their eyes locked in a tense standoff.

Not only was the Bodhi Temple dissatisfied with Fang Huanzhi as the martial leader, but Abbot Haikong was the only one bold enough to challenge him.

Sitting not far away, Ran Lin had lost the intense emotion from the rehearsal. He now stared blankly at his “father” and the respected Abbot Haikong. His expression was calm, his eyes vacant, completely in the dark about what was happening.

Lu Yiyao sat next to Ran Lin, and according to the script, he squinted subtly, quietly holding his breath and watching, waiting to see how things would unfold.

Fang Huanzhi stepped away from the table and approached the center of the martial hall, respectfully bowing to Abbot Haikong, then slowly unsheathing his sword.

Abbot Haikong nodded slightly, his staff slightly lifting, then rapidly descending, thudding against the ground. A dull, suppressed sound reverberated.

“Abbot, please forgive any offense.”

As soon as Fang Huanzhi spoke, his sword flew up into the air…

“Ugh!”

Before the sword could strike, Fang Huanzhi suddenly bent over, clutching his chest in pain.

“Cut! Blood bag—”

At the director’s command, a blood bag was quickly brought over. Zhong Jiakun put it in his mouth and resumed his painful posture of clutching his chest. In the blink of an eye, everyone on set, both actors and crew, remained frozen in their positions and silent, afraid to cause any discrepancies that would be noticeable once filming resumed.

The shooting continued as if the brief interruption had never happened.

As Zhong Jiakun bit into the blood bag, a burst of blood spewed out. Ran Lin leaped up, pushing through the tables and rushing to the center of the scene—

“Father!”

In the scene, Fang Xian supported Fang Huanzhi, his face filled with urgent concern.

Behind the monitor, Chen Qizheng and Song Mang held their breath, fixated on the screen.

Fang Huanzhi, trembling, raised a hand and pointed at Abbot Haikong, three meters away, struggling to speak. “You… poisoned me…”

Abbot Haikong stood still, not even lifting his staff, his eyes full of surprise, as if completely unaware of what was happening. “What are you saying, Master Fang? I only wished to learn the Ruogu Sword Technique of the Fang Clan. How did this turn into me poisoning you? Amitabha, I haven’t even been near you.”

The divine doctor of Baichuan Valley came forward to check Fang Huanzhi’s pulse. Soon, he shook his head regretfully at Fang Xian. “Mie Zhen powder. Once poisoned, if the victim uses inner force, the poison activates, and there’s no cure. From the pulse, it seems the alliance leader has been poisoned for more than three days.”

“Someone!” Fang Xian shouted outside the hall. “Detain Abbot Haikong!”

The situation was unclear, and Abbot Haikong couldn’t be ruled out, but the fact that Fang Xian used the word “detain” showed he had become more cautious and mature than before.

Abbot Haikong looked wronged, chanting, “My Buddha is merciful, Amitabha.”

Before Fang Xian could speak, someone in the crowd shouted, “Young Master Yu entered the kitchen three days ago!”

Fang Xian was stunned, incredulously looking at his best friend, his voice tight and trembling. “What were you doing in the kitchen?”

Tang Jingyu always disliked the smell of the kitchen. When they were young and sneaking food, it was always Fang Xian who went in while he kept watch.

Tang Jingyu stood up calmly, his emotions seemingly at peace. This wasn’t the scene he and Abbot Haikong had planned, but when Fang Huanzhi coughed up blood, he knew he had been trapped.

He just wanted to expose Fang Huanzhi’s conspiracy, not to kill him for revenge—that wasn’t even part of the plan.

Good, Abbot Haikong did it for him, and to show sincerity, he should take the blame for Abbot Haikong.

But he didn’t want to.

In the silence where even a pin drop could be heard, Tang Jingyu’s voice rang clear. “The kitchen, yes, I entered, but the poison, I did not administer.”

Fang Xian’s lips trembled, partly expecting, partly in disbelief, his voice hoarse. “That’s why I’m asking, what were you doing in the kitchen…”

“To find the Sword of Fallen Flowers Manual.” Tang Jingyu revealed without any more secrets.

Fang Xian’s eyes widened, shocked. “The Sword of Fallen Flowers Manual… is in my house?”

Tang Jingyu looked at him steadily, then slowly pulled out the sword manual from his clothes. “Yes, I found it.”

Fang Xian, unable to believe it, shook his head.

Tang Jingyu hardened his heart and declared, “It was in the secret compartment of your study.”

Fang Xian’s mind went blank.

Fang Huanzhi suddenly grabbed his hand with effort, his voice strained and breaking. “Don’t… cough, listen to him…”

Fang Xian’s gaze shifted between his father and brother, suddenly unsure whom to believe.

Tang Jingyu scoffed loudly. “Why shouldn’t Fang Xian listen to me? Are you afraid I’ll expose all your dirty deeds? The reappearance of the Sword of Fallen Flowers Manual in Liuma Town was your plot to annihilate the sects opposing you, just like the massacre of the Tang Clan thirteen years ago! You can’t forget the Tang Clan, right? Thirty-seven lives, top to bottom… No, you can’t forget. You brought me back, shattered my meridians, and raised me like a dog—this remnant of the Tang Clan, listening to me call you ‘father’…”

“Tang Jingyu!” Fang Xian interrupted him harshly, but after doing so, his voice faltered, trembling. “What exactly are you saying…”

Tang Jingyu was filled with hatred, ready to curse Fang Huanzhi endlessly, but facing Fang Xian’s eyes, the harsh words suddenly wouldn’t come out.

Fang Huanzhi died in Fang Xian’s arms.

To the end, he never admitted anything, neither the massacre of the Tang Clan nor the plot surrounding the Sword of Fallen Flowers Manual.

Fang Xian slowly stood up, straightening his back, surveying the room.

Most in the hall were waiting to see the Fang Clan’s downfall. His usually arrogant and domineering brothers hid below, no one stepping up for justice.

Then he would do it.

The Tang Jingyu before him still looked cold, but his eyes were dark and bottomless.

When did it start?

Fang Xian didn’t know.

Perhaps, as Zhao Buyao said, he was too naive, thinking everyone was like him, unchanging.

One step, two steps, three steps.

Fang Xian finally approached Tang Jingyu, naturally shorter as the younger brother, once willing to look up to him.

Now, he realized how uncomfortable it was to look up at someone.

After a long, silent stare, he finally heard his own voice. “Was it you who poisoned him?”

Tang Jingyu thought he was prepared for this moment, but facing Fang Xian’s eyes, he found he couldn’t be frank. “No…”

“Cut!”

The director’s interruption broke the rhythm.

All actors had been immersed in the intense emotional confrontation, with Fang Xian’s emotions like a pre-erupting volcano—the intense heat palpable even to onlookers.

The crew was on edge; a cut meant starting over, meaning all their previous work was in vain!

Lu Yiyao hadn’t expected the cut to be for him; his first reaction was to look at the crew, their faces showing disappointment.

“Lu Yiyao…” For the first time, the director called out his name. This only happened during critical scenes. After calling out, the director even stepped out from behind the monitor and approached Lu Yiyao in the middle of the set, explaining face-to-face. “Your emotion is right, but the intensity isn’t enough. Ran Lin just now was brimming with tension. You could feel the power accumulating in his body, ready to explode. But your delivery wasn’t strong enough; it dissipated the tense atmosphere he had created. Do you understand? In this scene, you and Ran Lin need to influence each other…”

The director wasn’t satisfied with just explaining; he started gesturing. “It’s like you two are competing in rock climbing. He climbs higher than you, and then you have to climb even better. The audience’s emotions will climb with your lines, step by step to the highest point, and then boom! Explode—”

“Director Chen, I understand your point.”

Lu Yiyao didn’t want to waste time and hinder the progress. He understood what Chen Qizheng was saying; what mattered now was how to put it into practice…

“Cut! No, do it again!”

“Cut! No, do it again!”

“Cut—”

Lu Yiyao was mentally and physically exhausted.

The entire set was on the verge of collapse.

The only consolation was that after each cut, they didn’t start from the beginning but from the part where “Fang Xian was already standing in front of Tang Jingyu”. So, the previous efforts weren’t wasted. The duel between Fang Huanzhi and Abbot Haikong, Fang Huanzhi’s death—none of it needed to be repeated. But frequent NGs halted the progress at the “brothers on the brink of a breakup.”

Chen Qizheng was also tired, no longer having the energy to walk up to Lu Yiyao. He knew Lu Yiyao was improving with each take, but it still wasn’t right, especially in contrast to Fang Xian’s full emotions, Tang Jingyu seemed to lack strength.

“Tang Jingyu is reserved, but his inner conflict is intense when faced with Fang Xian’s questioning. Your emotions need to rise with Fang Xian’s…”

Chen Qizheng couldn’t think of a fresher way to put it, tired of repeating the same point. Lu Yiyao was also frustrated; if the same advice was effective, he wouldn’t keep making mistakes.

“Well, Teacher Lu…”

Suddenly, Screenwriter Song Mang’s voice came through the megaphone.

Everyone looked puzzledly, and indeed, Song Mang had somehow taken the megaphone from Chen Qizheng at some point.

“Teacher Lu,” Song Mang said. “Forget about emotions, strength, loud or soft voice. Just focus all your attention on Fang Xian. Don’t get distracted, don’t look at Haikong, Zhao Buyao, Xu Chongfei, or anyone else. Forget this is a Martial Arts Assembly and pretend it’s only you two left in this world. Can you do that?”

Lu Yiyao frowned slightly, glancing around the set. He thought Song Mang was being unrealistic. He would like to pretend it was just him and Ran Lin, but there were extras, supporting actors, lights, cameras, crew, script supervisors, sound recordists…

Suddenly, a shadow pounced at him.

Before Lu Yiyao could react, he was enveloped in an unexpected embrace.

A close, firm, forceful, passionate embrace, without any ambiguity.

Lu Yiyao forgot to breathe.

Eventually, Ran Lin gently let go of him and returned to a face-to-face position, but very close.

Eye to eye, nose to nose, Ran Lin’s gaze was intense, as if it could suck one’s soul in.

“Don’t think about anything else. Just look at me. The one you owe the most, the one you can’t face, is me. But I’m also the only one you must confront. You don’t have to explain yourself to anyone else, understand?”

Lu Yiyao heard Ran Lin say this.

Every word was clear, as if his voice was the only one left in the world.

Compelled, he nodded slightly.

Who called for action, whether the clapperboard was used again, Lu Yiyao couldn’t hear. The vast set evaporated from his vision, leaving only Ran Lin, or rather, Fang Xian, talking to him.

The person questioned, “Was the poison yours?”

“No.” He felt countless voices in his body screaming, bursting, but his spoken words were calm as still water.

“What were you doing in the kitchen?”

“Looking for the Sword of Fallen Flowers Manual.”

“Alone?”

“With Abbot Haikong.”

“You conspired?”

“No, he used me.”

The old monk looked shocked and hurt. “Tang Jingyu, how can you slander me so? It’s your right to avenge your family, but you shouldn’t tarnish the Bodhi Temple.”

The crowd echoed—

“Yes…”

“Unbelievable…”

“Abbot Haikong is highly respected…”

These voices didn’t reach Tang Jingyu’s ears.

But Fang Xian heard them.

“Shut up!” he roared. “Lock up Abbot Haikong!”

At his command, the Fang Clan’s experts tied up Abbot Haikong, changing “detain” to “lock”.

Abbot Haikong, unable to pretend calmness, angrily shouted, “Tang Jingyu is framing me. Young Master must not believe it…”

“Go to hell, bald donkey! He’s my elder brother! Who should I believe if not him!”

Fang Xian’s uncouth curse seemed like the reckless young master of the Fang Clan, inexperienced, insensitive, but also naive and carefree.

When did the wayward young master become the sensible and upright young hero?

The words “Elder Brother” made Tang Jingyu’s eyes sore.

But he knew he wouldn’t cry. After the Tang Clan was wiped out, he would never cry again.

“Second Brother…”

“Don’t call me that!”

Fang Xian interrupted him hoarsely, almost on the verge of collapse.

Tang Jingyu’s eyes turned red.

Fan Xian’s eyes were filled with tears.

“Did you know about Haikong poisoning?”

“No.”

“Was my father really the one who massacred your Tang family?”

“Yes.”

“When did you know?”

“……”

“Answer me!”

“The night before the three of us became sworn brothers.”

Fang Xian uncontrollably stepped back, clenching his fists, before steadying himself.

It was that early.

“Then why did you agree to become sworn brothers… knowing I am the son of your family’s enemy, why did you still become my brother?”

Tang Jingyu’s voice choked. “We grew up together since childhood. Does it make a difference whether we became sworn brothers or not…”

“It does!” Fang Xian’s voice uncontrollably rose, filled with heart-wrenching pain. “We knelt and swore loyalty to each other, to trust each other in life and death, share fortunes and misfortunes, rescue each other from danger, support each other in adversity, with heaven and earth as our witnesses, mountains and rivers as our alliance, to uphold it for life, and never betray our oath!”

Tang Jingyu closed his eyes, unwilling and unable to speak.

The enemy was dead, but he felt no pleasure in avenging his family.

“Second brother.” Xu Chongfei couldn’t hold back any longer, rushing between them. “There must be a misunderstanding!”

Fang Xian shook his head, showing a bitter smile. “There is no misunderstanding.”

Taking a deep breath, Fang Xian no longer hesitated, quickly walking to his original table, taking his sword, and standing firmly in front of them. The sword unsheathed, emitting a cold light.

Clang.

The scabbard hit the ground.

Fang Xian raised the sword horizontally to his chest, holding the hilt in one hand and the blade in the other, gripping it tightly as if the blade wasn’t sharp, heedless of holding it in his palm.

But the sword was extremely sharp.

Fang Xian seemed not to feel it, gradually bending the blade until it snapped with a crisp sound.

Fang Xian threw the broken sword on the ground, right at Tang Jingyu’s feet.

He said, “From now on, you and I are like this sword.”

When the director called cut or resumed, Lu Yiyao couldn’t hear. He blankly watched the makeup artist come and go. When he came to his senses, Fang Xian’s hanging palm was dripping with blood.

That wasn’t just Fang Xian’s hand; it was his heart.

The brother who resented calling him “Elder Brother” would never return.

Suddenly, warmth spread across his face.

Tang Jingyu, who had forgotten how to cry since the massacre of his family, now wept like rain.

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

Author: 颜凉雨 / Yan Liang Yu

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

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Chapter 47

Lu Yiyao just wanted a simple explanation, but Huo Yuntao wanted to hear the whole story.

How could a big star in mainland China have time to sort out every detail of his relationship with Ran Lin for this gossipmonger? Besides, there wasn’t much to say; even looking back now, their friendship seemed normal and natural. It wouldn’t have crossed his mind if Ran Lin hadn’t seemed so odd tonight.

With this thought, Lu Yiyao briefly introduced how they met and their current relationship as like-minded friends and enjoyable collaborators. He focused more on the incident with Zhang Beichen, as that was the root cause of everything. Without it, he wouldn’t have formally discussed with Ran Lin the nature of friendship or how to deal with fame, fans, and public opinion, which led to Ran Lin’s significant comment.

Huo Yuntao listened quietly throughout, a rarity for him. At the end, when Lu Yiyao paused, Huo asked, “Is that all?”

Lu Yiyao took a sip of bottled water and replied, “Yes, that’s it.”

The friend on the other end of the phone was silent, but heavy breathing was audible, suggesting a buildup of emotion.

Lu Yiyao frowned slightly and asked in confusion, “Hello?”

“What the f…” The person on the other end barely swallowed his last word, but his voice was still furious. “Those rumors are just despicable!”

“……”

Lu Yiyao couldn’t help but want to smack his forehead. He wanted to highlight the main points for his friend with a fluorescent pen.

“This incident is over; I was asking about that sentence, thank you.”

“You really have a big heart, able to host a yacht inside,” Huo Yuntao said irritably, clearly still upset on his friend’s behalf.

Lu Yiyao regretted consulting Huo Yuntao and thought Li Tong would have been more efficient.

“Just forget I asked, goodnight.”

“Wait, wait, you’re generous, and I’m proud of you!” Huo Yuntao quickly praised his old friend to avoid getting cut off. “Goodnight? It’s only afternoon here…”

Lu Yiyao snorted.

Huo Yuntao didn’t digress further but shared his opinion. “Based on what you said, he added a sentence, right? Together, it’s like, ‘I don’t just see you as a friend, but as a very good friend.’ It’s a bit awkward, but not implausible. You just told him not to mind fame or public opinion. If I were him, I’d be touched too and want to respond, so emphasizing ‘not just a friend but a very good friend’ isn’t strange.”

Lu Yiyao lay in bed, pondering his friend’s logic. It seemed reasonable. “So, am I overthinking?”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Huo Yuntao said. “You two have known each other for a long time and got along especially well recently. If he’s gay, it’s not strange to think more.”

“Do you think he could be?”

“…You’re asking me?!” Huo Yuntao nearly wanted to open his friend’s head to see if it short-circuited. He didn’t even know if Ran Lin was straight or gay, let alone deduce his sexual orientation from across continents.

Lu Yiyao realized his question was challenging, but he had no one else to discuss it with, so Huo Yuntao was his best bet, even if he had to speculate wildly. “Just based on what I told you, what do you think?”

“I never take responsibility for what I say,” Huo Yuntao joked, but seriously reconsidered the warming friendship he heard about. After thinking about it for a while, he, in a rare moment, spoke cautiously. “I can only say it’s suspicious, but no conclusive.”

After waiting so long for the fireworks, there was a tingling sound, and a match was lit.

Lu Yiyao felt he had been greatly emotionally deceived.

“So you basically said nothing…” He regretted not keeping his empathetic assistant.

Huo Yuntao, usually not this serious in case analysis, replied, “All possibilities are still open, which means the problem isn’t unsolvable. On the contrary, you can prepare for both outcomes, so you’ll be unfazed no matter what happens.”

Lu Yiyao raised an eyebrow, finally seeing some substance in this conversation.

Huo Yuntao went into problem-solving mode: “There are three possible outcomes. First, he’s gay but never confesses to you; second, he’s gay and does confess; third, he’s not gay, and you’ve misinterpreted. It’s not difficult to deal with these three situations, as long as you understand two premises…”

“I’m straight, and I still want to be friends?” Lu Yiyao summarized clearly.

Huo Yuntao wasn’t at all surprised by his old friend’s quick response. In fact, Lu Yiyao was quite suited for business, with his clear insight, accurate problem identification, and straightforward, decisive problem-solving. Unfortunately, his strong aversion was too great, and he was dead set against fulfilling his father’s wishes.

“So, your answer?”

“Straight, and yes.” Lu Yiyao had no doubts about either.

Huo Yuntao appreciated Lu Yiyao’s straightforwardness. It made his own life and those around him more comfortable.

However—

“I never doubted your orientation. Just at the University of Manchester, the guys you rejected for the past two years could form a UN rowing team. But I remember not many remaining friends after being rejected. International friends are sensitive, and we Eastern dragons are reserved and subtle…”

“Can you change that nickname?”

“Little Eastern Dragon?”

“If it makes you happy…”

Lu Yiyao decided to give Li Tong a raise the next day.

Birds of a feather flock together; Huo Yuntao’s treatment of him now was probably how he used to treat his assistants. Self-reflection and compensation were necessary!

“In essence, you want to reject his feelings without hurting him and still expect him to be as close as before. This three-in-one wish is like…”

“Beast.”

Huo Yuntao was embarrassed and quickly stopped his morally outraged friend. “It’s not that serious. It’s just that the probability is quite low, and the hope is slim.”

Lu Yiyao fell silent, deep in thought.

Huo Yuntao, listening to the silence on the phone, suddenly realized that their conversation had blown things out of proportion. It was just a sentence, but they had discussed it as if Ran Lin had already confessed. “You can worry about it later. Whether he’s gay or not is still uncertain. I think the most likely scenario is the third one, where you’re just showing off.”

Lu Yiyao snapped back to reality and instinctively rebutted the label his friend had given him. “I don’t show off without reason.”

“Your feathers are always spread.” Huo Yuntao felt his friend lacked self-awareness. “I’ve known you for so many years, and your peacock display has been going on for just as long.”

“…” Every time Lu Yiyao talked to Huo Yuntao for more than ten minutes, he would feel despair about their friendship.

Huo Yuntao, however, was quite comfortable. He had heard the gossip and vented, so to show sincerity, he also offered some practical advice. “In summary, if he clearly confesses to you, no matter how you reject him, it will be hard to go back to how things were. You should be mentally prepared for that. But if it’s just a hint, then regardless of whether he means it or not, you can respond with a hint. If he has feelings, he’ll understand and back off, and you can still be friends. If he doesn’t, even better.”

“So, right now…”

“Especially don’t try to test him. Otherwise, if he didn’t mean it, you might lead him to have wild thoughts. Or, if he wasn’t planning to confess, your probing might make him think there’s a chance, and he might just go for it.” Huo Yuntao, who had roamed the world for many years while maintaining his integrity, relied on early warning and effective shielding against pursuers. “There are only two things you can do now. First, regulate your behavior. Don’t do anything that can be easily misunderstood or misinterpreted; and second…”

Lu Yiyao held his breath in anticipation, waiting so long that the tail end of the “second” almost dissipated, before finally hearing a deep voice from the phone saying two words—

“Observe secretly.”

Lu Yiyao shuddered, his hair standing on end instinctively, feeling as if a pair of prying eyes was blinking in a dark corner of the room.

……

Lu Yiyao found out.

Lu Yiyao didn’t find out.

Lu Yiyao found out…

Ran Lin squatted in front of a decorative floor vase in his room, counting the artificial silk flowers inside one by one, eventually stopping in despair on an odd number.

He knew something would go wrong dining alone with Lu Yiyao!

What if Lu Yiyao asked about it? What if Lu Yiyao was disgusted? What if Lu Yiyao was also gay and liked him… No, the probability of that happening was even lower than Zhao Buyao falling for Fang Xian.

Ran Lin was torn all night.

He did fall asleep, but the worries before sleep continued into his dreams, evolving into a romance simulation game with multiple storylines, plots, and endings. In his dream, he tried every choice at each branching point, but without exception, all outcomes led to a broken relationship, differing only in whether the break was gentle or harsh.

In the representative ending of the former—Lu Yiyao was scared off by his confession and started avoiding him, eventually drifting apart.

In the representative ending of the latter—Lu Yiyao sternly rejected his advances and swore never to associate with him again.

The next morning, Ran Lin woke up unusually before the alarm.

His uneasy mood continued into the makeup room, so much so that when Tang Xiaoyu asked how dinner went, he immediately went on the defensive. “Why do you ask that?”

Tang Xiaoyu looked baffled, blinking uncertainly. “Just making conversation… Do I need a reason?”

Ran Lin was embarrassed, realizing his overreaction, and quickly composed himself, compensating by giving Tang Xiaoyu a sunny smile. “It was good. You really missed out not coming. The food at that restaurant was delicious.”

Tang Xiaoyu swallowed hard, suddenly feeling wise for not going.

“Good morning.” Lu Yiyao walked in, the standard leading man entrance, as friendly as ever.

The first scene today was between Tang Jingyu and Fang Xian, so the car picking up Lu Yiyao also arrived at this time.

Tang Xiaoyu hadn’t even sat down to start makeup when he immediately turned to greet him. “Morning.”

Ran Lin, upon hearing the voice, mentally urged himself to act natural, repeating it several times, almost hypnotizing himself, before turning to face the leading man and saying loudly, “Morning. I was just telling Tang Xiaoyu about last night’s dinner.”

Lu Yiyao looked steadily at Ran Lin, but naturally followed up with. “What about it?”

Ran Lin said, “I was saying the food at the restaurant was really good, and he missed out.”

Lu Yiyao smiled. “Then I’ll treat you again sometime to make it up for it Third Brother.”

Tang Xiaoyu was touched but kept a very serious expression, deliberately lowering his voice. “That’s a very reasonable suggestion.”

Ran Lin was amused.

Lu Yiyao also laughed but kept glancing at Ran Lin, steadfastly following the “observe secretly” strategy.

Lu Yiyao’s actions were natural, and Ran Lin didn’t notice anything odd, only immensely relieved that his worries from the previous night were just his imagination. Lu Yiyao was still the same, and there could be no better outcome than that.

While Ran Lin was reassured on one side, Lu Yiyao became more confused on the other.

He didn’t think of himself as someone who imagined things, but now Ran Lin seemed entirely natural, and the subtle oddity of last night was nowhere to be found. Was he really overthinking?

When the reflection of Ran Lin in the mirror turned into Fang Xian, everything about Lu Yiyao, the dinner, and any ambiguity ceased to exist.

Ran Lin took a deep breath, slowly exhaled, and went over his lines in his mind again.

This scene was Fang Xian opening his heart to Tang Jingyu—he liked Zhao Buyao but was willing to let her be with his best brother.

However, the focus of this scene was on Tang Jingyu, because at this point, unbeknownst to Fang Xian, she was plotting with Abbot Haikong of Bodhi Temple on how to expose Fang Huanzhi’s conspiracy at the upcoming martial arts conference at the Fang Clan’s place—the “Sword of Fallen Flowers Manual” had always been with the Fang Clan, and Fang Huanzhi’s fake news was meant to cover up his bloodbath of the opposing sects.

Tang Jingyu once wanted to tell Fang Xian part of the truth, that is, to hide the fact that Fang Huanzhi annihilated the Tang Clan and only mention that Fang Huanzhi used the Sword of Fallen Flowers Manual to scheme, willing to bloodily eliminate opposing sects to become the martial arts alliance leader. But in the end, he didn’t tell Fang Xian either of these things.

Tang Jingyu couldn’t quite articulate his concerns.

Perhaps, he still prioritized revenge, or maybe he realized that once these things were revealed, he and Fang Xian could no longer be brothers. So, he always hoped that the day of their falling out would come later, much later.

“<Sword of Fallen Flowers> Episode…”

Click!

The autumn wind was bleak, with leaves littering the path.

Tang Jingyu, unusually dressed in light-colored clothing, appeared gentle and simple amidst the yellow leaves.

Fang Xian, having shed his extravagant clothes, was dressed simply and neatly, with no accessories around his waist. The only decoration he had was the beautiful sword in his hand.

The change in their attire and accessories also symbolized their growth—from a pampered young master to a man who understands love and self-sacrifice.

The wind rustled through the fallen leaves, creating a soft sound.

The two sat under a tree, enjoying a rare moment of peace and tranquility.

“I always thought life was as plain as water, extremely dull,” Fang Xian said, looking at the clouds and laughing self-deprecatingly. “After experiencing so much, I kind of miss the old days.”

Tang Jingyu also looked at the sky, but his eyes held much more. “The martial world was never as plain as water.”

Fang Xian smiled, agreeing for once. “Right, it was just me, foolishly indulging in pleasures.”

Tang Jingyu smiled lightly, a smile reaching the depths of his eyes.

“She is the woman I love the most,” Fang Xian suddenly said, out of the blue yet naturally. “You are my best brother. I’m at ease giving her to you.”

There was no regret in Fang Xian’s voice, only a sense of resolution after self-sacrifice.

Tang Jingyu didn’t know what to say, his thoughts tumultuous.

“No, who she likes is her freedom. I don’t have the right to say I’m giving her to you.” Fang Xian, not noticing his brother’s discomfort, withdrew his gaze, turned, and looked contentedly at Tang Jingyu’s profile in the sunlight. “I should say… it’s good that she fell in love with you.”

Tang Jingyu slowly turned his head to meet Fang Xian’s gaze, his eyes seemingly filled with a thousand words…

“Cut!” Director Chen couldn’t hold back anymore. “Tang Jingyu’s expression is good. You can feel the complexity in it. But when you hear Fang Xian saying these words, the main emotion should be the conflict and pain of betraying your brother, which should be visible in your eyes. I can feel the conflict, but there’s no pain, only confusion. I don’t know what you’re confused about?”

Lu Yiyao pondered for a long time but didn’t respond, just saying, “Sorry, director, I understand. It’ll be fine next time.”

Director Chen shrugged, not needing to understand the thousands of whys in Lu Yiyao’s eyes, only hoping the actor would find the right feeling next time.

“<Sword of Fallen Flowers> Take… two…”

Click!

……

“How did it go? Did you observe any results?”

Lu Yiyao suspected Huo Yuntao had planted a spy around him; otherwise, it made no sense that he’d call just as he returned to his hotel room.

“No results.” Lu Yiyao sighed. It was all this guy’s fault for suggesting “observe secretly”. Today, his expressions were all off, leading the director to finally ask, “If you don’t understand something, just tell me. Don’t figure it out alone.”

“What do you mean no results?” Huo Yuntao was puzzled.

Lu Yiyao said in frustration, “Everything was normal—normal conversation, normal shooting.”

Huo Yuntao’s anticipation, like a hot air balloon running out of fuel, slowly descended to the ground. “So it was you overthinking.”

Lu Yiyao thought it was a good thing. “It’s rare to find a good friend in the industry. It would be a pity to drift apart over something like this.”

Huo Yuntao jealously retorted, “Aren’t I enough for you?”

Lu Yiyao sarcastically replied, “Do you understand the industry? Can you discuss scripts with me? Rehearse lines? Study the entertainment industry structure, star positioning, fan ecology, public image packaging…”

“Lao Lu,” Huo Yuntao interrupted him, seriously saying, “I don’t think he necessarily loves talking about that with you…”

……

Although he gave Huo Yuntao an explanation, successfully quelling his friend’s gossiping spirit, Lu Yiyao continued his “secret observation” for a while. Eventually, finding nothing suspicious, and with the increasing pace of shooting, he slowly forgot about it.

In early January, with over twenty days left until the planned wrap-up at the end of the month, the progress barely kept up with the plan due to the director’s high standards and strict demands. To avoid delays, shooting times were extended daily, typically ending after 11 at night.

The weather in Hengdian grew colder. The director and crew donned thick clothing, but the actors, for the sake of looking good on camera, couldn’t wear too many layers, so as soon as the director called cut, assistants would immediately bring coats for warmth.

The day Wang Xi arrived, Hengdian had just experienced a mix of rain and snow.

The weather report said rain mixed with snow, but it felt more like a drizzle, with no sign of snowflakes, quietly falling for half a day before stopping, leaving only dampness and a sudden drop in temperature.

When she arrived in the evening, the scene was lit brightly, bringing daylight-like brightness to the darkened world.

“Why have you become like this?” Seeing the limping second male lead approaching, Wang Xi felt sorry for him but wanted to laugh.

It was hard not to; Ran Lin’s costume was so dashing, and during the shoot, his moves were graceful and effortless. But as soon as the director called cut, he started hobbling towards her, clutching his lower back—the contrast was just too great and comical.

“I’ve been focusing on martial arts scenes lately.” Ran Lin and Wang Xi walked to the side with pitiful eyes. “You’re laughing but try hanging there for more than ten hours a day.”

Ran Lin was telling the truth.

Previously, being hoisted up occasionally for wire work, he felt like his legs were no longer his. But now, being hoisted daily, it felt like every part of his body was alien to him.

“Your face looks thinner.” Wang Xi observed him for a while and suddenly commented.

Ran Lin sighed in misery. “Now you know how hard it is for me.”

Wang Xi nodded empathetically. “A thinner face does look better on camera.”

Ran Lin was annoyed. “…Stepmother.”

Wang Xi had her laugh and stopped teasing. She looked around, asking curiously, “Where’s Wanwan?”

“Oh,” Ran Lin said, “I sent her to buy red bean soup.”

Wang Xi frowned at her artist. “For you to drink?”

Ran Lin explained, “It’s for the entire crew. It’s cold, and everyone’s working hard.”

Wang Xi nodded approvingly. “That’s thoughtful of you.”

Before Ran Lin could respond, the next scene was called, and he hurried back to set.

Lu Yiyao was also with the martial arts unit today, but he stayed hidden behind a fake rock, watching his junior brothers fly through the air, occasionally throwing hidden weapons and shooting cold arrows, utterly relaxed.

Most of the fight scenes involved a group, with some skilled actors and some extras flailing about, making the coordination time-consuming. Plus, the second and third male leads required hands-on instruction from the martial arts director, so not many scenes were shot that day.

Thankfully, a significant and challenging fight scene was just completed, bringing relief to everyone. It was at this moment that the hot red bean soup arrived. The production assistant distributed it, and whether it was handed to actors or crew, they were told it was a treat from Teacher Ran.

In the whole crew, there was only one classmate Ran.

The red bean soup was served in insulated disposable paper bowls, bearing the logo of a famous chain dessert shop known for its red bean soup, also called red bean paste. It was mildly sweet, not cloying, warm upon entry, and had a rich aftertaste.

Lu Yiyao, holding a bowl of red bean soup, found Ran Lin and Tang Xiaoyu exchanging experiences in a shady corner of the recently filmed garden. He raised the paper bowl. “Thanks.”

Ran Lin smiled, about to say there was no need for formalities between them, but Tang Xiaoyu interjected first. “What’s that?”

Lu Yiyao honestly replied, “Red bean soup, for everyone.”

Tang Xiaoyu felt left out. “Why didn’t anyone give me one!”

Ran Lin realized their secluded spot had been overlooked and quickly reassured, “Don’t worry. They wouldn’t forget you. Let me find Wanwan…”

“No need. I haven’t drunk mine yet,” Lu Yiyao said, offering his bowl to Tang Xiaoyu. “You can have this first.”

“This doesn’t seem right…” Tang Xiaoyu hesitated, but his actions of taking the dessert contradicted his words.

Lu Yiyao felt defeated by his reaction.

Ran Lin couldn’t help but chuckle.

Tang Xiaoyu, feeling the warmth from the bowl’s heat, took a couple of big sips, feeling relaxed. “Feng Ge is really thoughtful.”

The crew’s food and lodging were managed by Feng Ge, the production assistant, including tea and snacks.

Lu Yiyao knew he was mistaken and corrected, “It’s not Feng Ge, it’s your Ran Ge.”

Tang Xiaoyu, with red bean paste on his lips, looked up from the bowl, only now understanding the meaning behind Lu Yiyao’s earlier “thanks” and Ran Lin’s “don’t worry, they won’t forget you.”

“You treated us?” Tang Xiaoyu sincerely exclaimed, “You’re really thoughtful…”

Ran Lin smiled, half-seriously asking, “Are you falling in love with me?”

Tang Xiaoyu shook his head, slowly saying, “No, I’ve already fallen for you.”

Ran Lin patted his shoulder, sighing. “Your love comes too cheap.”

Tang Xiaoyu, feeling slighted, stopped talking to his second brother and continued sipping his dessert.

Lu Yiyao watched with interest.

Ran Lin turned back, meeting Lu Yiyao’s smiling eyes, and jokingly said, “What about you? Have you fallen for me too?”

Lu Yiyao was stunned.

The crisis management system he thought he had uninstalled months ago, with Huo Yuntao’s help, seemed only to be in hibernation. Now, triggered by a keyword, it rebooted.

“We are brothers whose heads have knocked on the ground together.” Lu Yiyao heard himself reply.

Ran Lin stiffened for a moment, not grasping the dissonance in that response. Before he could ponder it, Tang Xiaoyu, engrossed in his dessert, interjected teasingly, “Brothers into lovers, how nice. It’s all the rage now…”

“Drink your red bean soup,” Lu Yiyao said, lightly tapping the back of his head in a playful manner.

Ran Lin suddenly understood.

Whether it was Lu Yiyao’s words or actions, nothing was explicitly clear, but Ran Lin just got it. He even recalled a conversation from two months ago and Lu Yiyao’s subtle reaction.

Perhaps, when you dwell on something for a long time, even a look or a word related to it can bring clarity, like achieving a breakthrough in a martial arts novel.

“Ran Lin?” Tang Xiaoyu, having finished his bowl, wanted to express his gratitude again but noticed his second brother in a daze. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh, nothing.” Ran Lin shook his head. “I’m going to find Wanwan and get another bowl for you.”

He said the latter half to Lu Yiyao, but without looking at him, quickly left the garden, his strides swift, oblivious to any aches or pains.

“He’s really worried about you not getting enough,” Tang Xiaoyu commented, watching Ran Lin’s retreating figure enviously.

Lu Yiyao didn’t quite catch his words, just stared in the direction Ran Lin had gone, suddenly feeling uncertain.

The last scene of the day was filmed very late, and it was past midnight by the time they wrapped up. Lu Yiyao, for some reason, stopped Ran Lin, who had just removed his makeup, and asked, “Do you want to go for a late-night snack?”

Ran Lin stared at him for a long time, then burst into laughter, saying, “At least let me sleep for a few hours.”

Lu Yiyao knew his invitation was odd, but it felt like he needed some pretext to talk to Ran Lin to be at ease.

Liu Wanwan, having called the driver, came over to inform. “Ran Ge, the car’s here.”

Ran Lin smiled at Lu Yiyao. “Then I’ll be going. See you tomorrow.”

Lu Yiyao nodded and stepped aside to let him pass.

Ran Lin quickly followed his assistant, leaving the set.

Lu Yiyao suddenly felt like something would be different tomorrow.

Wang Xi had already returned to the hotel earlier, leaving only Ran Lin and Liu Wanwan in the car. Liu Wanwan, sensing Ran Lin’s low spirits, asked, “Ran Ge, what’s wrong?”

Ran Lin slowly shook his head. “Nothing, just tired.”

Liu Wanwan understood; she found it exhausting just watching on set, let alone Ran Lin, who had to perform physically demanding scenes. “The shoot wraps up at the end of the month, Ran Ge. I believe in you. Hang in there until the end!”

Ran Lin looked at his assistant for a while, then smiled faintly, showing a hint of tiredness. “Yeah, it wraps up at the end of the month.”

For some reason, Liu Wanwan felt that Ran Lin’s low voice held a sense of reluctance and perhaps… relief.

……

Water continuously poured from the shower, filling the bathroom with steam.

Ran Lin stood under the shower, eyes closed, face upturned, letting the water drench him thoroughly.

Ever since that night he misspoke, Ran Lin knew this day would come—being seen through by Lu Yiyao, rejected, or even despised and distanced. But he had romanticized his unrequited love, thinking that even if rejected, it would be on a special day, in a special setting, perhaps even with special events.

But life doesn’t always have so many special moments. It was just an ordinary workday, a regular break, a casual joke. And then, the time bomb he had always feared was triggered. He thought it would be earth-shattering, but it was just a tick of the stopwatch, not even affecting Tang Xiaoyu’s enjoyment of the red bean soup.

Another miscalculation was his feelings for Lu Yiyao—they were much deeper than he had realized.

Ran Lin slowly squatted down, hugging his knees, breathing deeply as if lacking oxygen, or like a silent scream. He didn’t know why he did this, only that it felt comfortable. Each deep breath seemed to release some of the pent-up emotions in his heart, making him feel increasingly light.

The water hit his back, the force causing it to splash wildly upon impact.

The past four months felt like a dream. Because of the ambiguity and uncertainty, whether he was cautiously hiding his feelings or impulsively probing, everything was exceptionally sweet.

But now the dream was over. The other party had clearly indicated they didn’t like being part of your dreams, and they did so in a very gentle and tactful way, leaving enough dignity and steps to descend. Any further fantasies would be inappropriate. So, it was good.

……

After the shower, Ran Lin observed himself in the mirror for a long time, ensuring there was no risk of red or swollen eyes, then heaved a sigh of relief and flopped into bed.

Tomorrow was an important day—the day the fanciful, lovesick Ran Lin would go offline and the serious, professional actor Ran Lin would energetically take the stage!

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