Author: 颜凉雨 / Yan Liang Yu

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

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Chapter 65

Gu Jie carefully read the full text of the Weibo post.

Although from start to finish it only discussed the possibility of Zhang Beichen playing the leading role in <Mint Green>, the implication throughout was that Zhang Beichen was the most suitable choice. It even juxtaposed a few actors who evidently didn’t fit the “Li Yi” character, clearly to make Zhang Beichen’s claim seem more deserved.

Gu Jie suspected that these so-called “competitors” were probably just pulled in for comparison to attract attention, as he couldn’t imagine any producer or director would consider such a wide range of actors for the same role. Apart from Zhang Beichen, who had a youthful and sunny disposition, the rest mentioned in the post, ranging from tough guys to bearded artistic men, seemed off for the “quiet and perplexed” role, being more fit for a rebel than the <Mint Green> character.

Checking the comments below the Weibo post, as expected, it was full of mockery.

Not that Zhang Beichen was unsuitable, but the other listed potential actors were being ridiculed for being far-fetched, like they were from different worlds.

The post was either a marketing ploy for attention or perhaps instigated by Zhang Beichen’s management team to set the trend, but either way, Gu Jie wasn’t concerned, as such tactics are all too common in the entertainment industry. Just as he was about to move on from this post to look at others, a particular comment caught his eye—

[Considering the hot comment with over two thousand likes was deleted, I’ll have to post it again. This is a Weibo post Ran Lin made two days ago, now deleted. I’m not taking sides, just a screenshot mover. 🤷 [see image]]

What drew his attention to this comment was the mention of another buddy’s name. Gu Jie scanned it and froze.

The screenshot was of a Weibo post Ran Lin made the day before, accompanied by a photo of Ran Lin sitting in a simple armchair, reading a book, with the sunlight from a floor-to-ceiling window casting beautiful light and shadow contours on him, serene and scholarly.

The text of the Weibo post was—[Those years we once disregarded and squandered, when looked back upon, are as beautiful as the stars.]

Posting a few photos with deep, artistic, or motivational texts is a daily routine for many celebrities, and often these posts aren’t even made by the stars themselves but by their teams who prepare the images and copy before posting. So, Gu Jie couldn’t see what was unusual about this post or why Ran Lin deleted it?

Perhaps, as the comment suggested, the originally trending comment had been deleted. When Gu Jie saw this comment, it was just one of many, barely noticeable, only perhaps more recent, which was why he spotted it. At that moment, the comment had only four likes and no replies or discussions beneath it.

It reminded Gu Jie of middle school language classes, where the teacher always picked out a sentence from the text for everyone to interpret.

Who knows what those authors were thinking!

Finding no more useful information in the comments, Gu Jie scrolled through a few more hot Weibo posts with numerous reposts and comments, mostly discussing Zhang Beichen and <Mint Green>, some following the trend while others showed clear signs of orchestrated promotion. All were posted today, with the earliest one he found being at 7:02 AM.

Whether <Mint Green> had finalized Zhang Beichen or not was uncertain to Gu Jie, but it was clear that Zhang Beichen’s team was working to create a buzz for “Zhang Beichen as Li Yi”.

Gu Jie himself didn’t favor such speculative promotion tactics. He preferred straightforwardness; if something’s confirmed, it’s confirmed; if not, then it’s not. He disliked guessing games and expected his team to avoid making fans and the public speculate unnecessarily.

But Zhang Beichen’s team’s approach, while not commendable, was a well-established strategy in the entertainment industry. Without further leads, Gu Jie decided to check Ran Lin’s Weibo and, as expected, couldn’t find the post mentioned in the screenshot.

Settling down for a rare moment of contemplation, Gu Jie considered that the marketing post never mentioned Ran Lin, focusing instead on Zhang Beichen, Li Yi, and <Mint Green>. Then there was the comment about the deleted and re-posted screenshot, which was a seemingly ordinary Weibo post by Ran Lin, now removed.

Linking these points together…

Without further hesitation, Gu Jie typed “Ran Lin + Mint Green” into the search bar. The top result from the keywords was also a marketing Weibo post—[<Mint Green> deal falls through. Ran Lin angrily deletes post! …[Read the full text]]

At first glance, Gu Jie frowned instinctively.

Such sensational headlines that could easily invite negative attention to an artist were definitely just clickbait tactics by marketing accounts, as any producer or bystander would diminish their perception of the artist upon seeing such headlines. Producers might think the artist is immature, and bystanders might perceive the artist as sore losers without grace. No professional PR team would issue such a narrative.

Upon reading the full text, it was all pure gossip, even slightly mocking Ran Lin. However, the deleted post in question was mentioned here—the text accompanying the post wasn’t crafted by Ran Lin’s team but excerpted from <Mint Green>.

Although subtle, such indicative posts at least show that, at the time, Ran Lin or his team had hopes for <Mint Green>, perhaps even confidence. Otherwise, no one would set such an easily disprovable flag.

What the entertainment industry dreads most in friendships is the “fight over resources”. Even the best of friends can become wary of each other after competing for a role, and some might even break ties. Although Gu Jie always felt there was no need for such fragility, as the resources are limited and it’s inevitable to cross paths in the same circle, the rapid sequence of events—Ran Lin deleting his post and the widespread trend-setting for Zhang Beichen—all seemed quite intriguing.

Gu Jie’s mood sank. He hoped it wasn’t as he suspected; otherwise, the friendship might really be beyond salvage…

“Gu Ge,” The assistant hesitated to disturb his boss deep in thought, but they had arrived. “We’re home.”

Gu Jie looked up, and indeed, they were already in his apartment’s underground parking lot. He had been so engrossed in his thoughts that he hadn’t even noticed entering.

“You don’t need to come up with me. Go home and rest.” Gu Jie declined the assistant’s offer to accompany him upstairs and took the elevator home alone.

Gu Jie’s apartment was spacious, with four bedrooms and two living areas. He had converted one room into a gym, where he usually did thirty push-ups as the first order of business upon returning home. But today, he skipped his routine and went straight to the dining table, poured a glass of water, drank it in one go, then sat down, staring at the empty glass as he called his agent.

“What’s up? Why are you calling me so late?” His agent, Geng Yiqiang, answered with a robust voice.

Geng Yiqiang, Gu Jie’s agent, was a 43-year-old ex-military officer who later ventured into business and then, somehow, entered the entertainment industry. With a flexible mind and a generous nature, he had built up considerable connections and established his own management company. Although small, the company had several well-managed artists under its banner. Gu Jie had been referred to him upon entering the industry and had just renewed their contract earlier this year after six years of increasingly smooth collaboration. Both having similar temperaments—they would occasionally spar together, making them not only partners but also good friends.

“It’s nothing urgent. Just wanted to inquire about something.” Gu Jie realized the inappropriateness of the late hour and added, “You haven’t gone to bed, have you, Qiang Ge?”

“No, go ahead.” Geng Yiqiang knew Gu Jie well enough to know he wouldn’t call late without reason.

“Do you know about the movie remake of <Mint Green>?” Gu Jie tested the waters, unsure of his agent’s knowledge level.

Geng Yiqiang was straightforward. “I know, but it’s not a good fit for you. It’s not a juvenile delinquent school film, and it conflicts with your schedule. You’d have to juggle roles.”

“…….”

Gu Jie chuckled internally at the “juvenile delinquent school film” description. It was a bit too on-the-nose.

“I’m not looking to act in it. Just wondering if the male lead is settled and who it ended up being.” Gu Jie explained, “Two of my friends seem to be vying for the role.”

“Zhang Beichen and Ran Lin?” Geng Yiqiang guessed swiftly.

Gu Jie was impressed. “Qiang Ge, you’re spot on.”

“It’s just that your circle of friends is quite obvious.” Geng Yiqiang laughed, then searched his mind. “I heard it was going to be Ran Lin a while back, but I haven’t paid much attention recently. Not sure if it’s confirmed.”

Gu Jie frowned and asked directly, “Qiang Ge, you have a wide network. Can you help me find out who it ended up being? And how was it decided—whether it was through auditions or some other situation?”

Gu Jie was a man who seldom asked others for help. In his years in the entertainment industry, he’d been low-key and hardworking, never complaining or causing trouble. His direct and straightforward nature meant that Geng Yiqiang sometimes felt his talents were underutilized.

Now, with Gu Jie asking a favor, even if it was just to gather some gossip, Geng Yiqiang would go all out… unless it was for the youthful role like in <Mint Green>, he mused, that just wouldn’t suit.

“I’ll give you a call within half an hour,” Geng Yiqiang promised and ended the call.

Gu Jie appreciated his agent’s efficiency and knew that if he said half an hour, it would usually take only twenty minutes. Feeling a bit hungry, he glanced at the clock. It was already 11:40 p.m.; eating now was… perfectly timed.

Geng Yiqiang was even quicker than Gu Jie anticipated, calling back in fifteen minutes. Gu Jie was mid-bite into a whole wheat sandwich when the phone rang.

“It’s Zhang Beichen. If nothing unexpected happens, it’ll be announced in a couple of days.” Geng Yiqiang got straight to the point.

Gu Jie, with the sandwich half in his mouth, knitted his brows in thought, accidentally dropping the sandwich onto his lap in his distraction.

Picking up the sandwich, grateful for not adding peanut butter due to the late hour, he asked what he had been meaning to. “What about Ran Lin?”

“He seems to have been outmaneuvered.” Geng Yiqiang was about to elaborate. Being outmaneuvered meant that the role was almost secured and then snatched away at the last moment, a totally different impact from losing a competition outright.

“So it was initially Ran Lin?”

“Right, both he and Zhang Beichen auditioned, and it was finally decided on him. They were even supposed to sign the contract today, but the financier canceled at the last minute.”

“They were about to sign the contract?” Gu Jie asked for clarification.

“Yes. Not sure what Zhang Beichen’s team did, but at the last minute, they snatched the role.”

“Ran Lin must be frustrated.” Gu Jie could almost picture the disappointment of having the deal slip through one’s fingers.

“Competition is like that. Nothing’s final until it’s in ink,” Geng Yiqiang remarked. “Like in soccer, you can’t say you’ve won until the final whistle blows.”

“That’s true.” Gu Jie sighed. “But as a friend, it’s an underhanded move.”

“It is,” Geng Yiqiang agreed, the voice of both an agent and a man of principle. “But then again, maybe they’re not friends anymore.”

Gu Jie was puzzled. “What do you mean?”

“Last year, when Ran Lin was filming <Sword of Fallen Flowers>, there were rumors he and Lu Yiyao were in a scandal.” Geng Yiqiang recalled the old news. “Back then, there were rumors it was Zhang Beichen’s team behind it, especially since Zhang Beichen had just been exposed in a same-sex photo scandal the day before. As soon as the rumors about Ran Lin and Lu Yiyao came out, his issue was overshadowed.”

The news was overwhelming, and Gu Jie wondered if he had been living under a rock.

“Last year?”

“Yes, when you were filming in Dalian.”

“……”

“You’re better off focusing on your own path. The industry is full of drama, rarely anything substantial. Don’t worry about it too much.”

Gu Jie’s voice lowered, seriously asking again, “Can we be sure it was Zhang Beichen behind this?”

“The timing is too coincidental, the orchestration too apparent, and that Wu Xuefeng… Tsk.” Geng Yiqiang’s disdain nearly sprayed through the phone. “Anyway, I think it’s very likely.”

Gu Jie fell silent, not saying another word. If snatching a role could still be chalked up to fierce competition and showing one’s mettle, then slinging mud was crossing the line. And both times, it was Ran Lin… At least switch up the target a bit.

“I won’t comment on Zhang Beichen, but I suggest you might want to reach out to Ran Lin if you really consider him a friend.” Geng Yiqiang spoke like a brother to Gu Jie. “<Sword of Fallen Flowers> has finished airing, and his popularity will only decline from here. Opportunities like <Mint Green> are hard to come by again. This must have hit him hard.”

Gu Jie felt complex emotions swirling within him. He realized he was indeed not suited for gossip, especially when it involved friends. Every time he tried to delve into it, it just left a sour taste. The last time two of his friends fell out, he tried to inquire about the situation from others, only to uncover a mess, with both friends expecting him and others to take sides.

In the end, he sided with neither, resulting in a cooling of friendships on both sides. Remembering it brought a sense of melancholy, feeling like he was the biggest victim in that situation.

While Geng Yiqiang could help Gu Jie gather information, he couldn’t sort out his circle of friends. Ultimately, how and with whom Gu Jie chose to associate was his own decision. As long as it wasn’t too outrageous and remained within normal bounds, Geng Yiqiang had no right to interfere. So, after concluding the business talk and sensing Gu Jie’s disinterest in further conversation, he briefly concluded the night talk.

Gu Jie, after hanging up, ran on the treadmill in his gym for an hour without thinking about anything until he was utterly exhausted. Then, he took a shower, went to bed, and fell into a dreamless sleep almost immediately.

A week later, the official Weibo of <Mint Green> announced that Zhang Beichen would be playing Li Yi, along with confirming the female lead, second male lead, and other important roles. There was no movement from Ran Lin’s side, and since his team had always been relatively low-key, aside from some of his fans, no one else paid attention to whether he had lost the role. The majority of the discussions were focused on fan wars between book fans and actor fans.

Over the past few days, Gu Jie indeed turned into a bit of a phone addict, constantly checking for updates until today, when the final outcome was posted.

After a recent rain, the weather was damp and muggy. Gu Jie sat motionless on the sofa, reading a script, sweating profusely. After a shower, closing the windows, and turning on the air conditioning, he finally felt comfortable. Then, casually scrolling through Weibo, he came across the announcement.

Geng Yiqiang had said that until the final moment, anything could change, and that’s what Gu Jie had been waiting for—the final whistle. Now that it had sounded, he messaged Xia Xinran—[What’s up?]

Xia Xinran didn’t reply immediately, and Gu Jie wasn’t in a hurry, continuing with his script. Two hours later, in the midst of an emotionally intense scene, his phone vibrated.

Xia Xinran—[Just got to the airport. Didn’t hear it in the car.]

Gu Jie—[About to board?]

Xia Xinran—[I can still talk to you for forty minutes.]

Gu Jie:—[That’s enough.]

Xia Xinran—[Took you a week to realize?]

Gu Jie—[Zhang Beichen snatched <Mint Green>.]

Xia Xinran—[🌹]

Gu Jie—[How did he snatch it?]

Xia Xinran—[Keep realizing.]

Gu Jie—[… I can’t realize that!]

Xia Xinran—[It doesn’t matter now. Anyway, he snatched it. I support Ran Lin. But it’s none of your business. You don’t need to take sides. Just don’t mindlessly invite us to hang out together in the future. You can be sworn brothers with whoever you want separately.]

Gu Jie—[……]

Gu Jie—[How’s Ran Lin?]

Xia Xinran stopped typing and sent a voice message instead.

“He says he’s fine, but how could he be? Obviously, he’s down. And who knows if it’s bad luck or something else? <Sword of Fallen Flowers> was a hit, but all the scripts coming his way are period dramas, either martial arts imitating <Sword of Fallen Flowers> or fantasy period dramas with cringy titles. It couldn’t be more tragic.”

Gu Jie—[Have you been in touch with Zhang Beichen?]

There was a pause on the other end before typing resumed—[No need.]

Gu Jie—[He didn’t message you or Ran Lin after the group disbanded?]

Xia Xinran—[No.]

Xia Xinran—[Alright, your brain isn’t meant for analyzing these things. Focus on preparing for your new movie.]

Gu Jie:—[……]

Xia Xinran—[Director He only makes realistic films aimed at awards. I’m envious! When do you start filming?]

Gu Jie—[Not sure yet.]

Xia Xinran—[Ah?]

Gu Jie—[Waiting for a cue. The script needs more changes.]

Xia Xinran—[Typical of a famous director 😰]

Gu Jie—[But it’s worth the wait. Just wish me an extraordinary performance and the Best Actor award 😀]

Xia Xinran—[👋]

……

Wang Xi had a hectic week trying to connect with every possible contact to find resources for Ran Lin, to no avail. The scripts that came to him were of low quality, and she even began considering letting Ran Lin take on a similar martial arts drama just to maintain his popularity.

Today, finally finding time to visit the set of <Chronicles of Winter>, which had just started filming a couple of days ago, she wanted to ensure everything was going smoothly for Han Ze. However, when discussing the week’s hardships on the way back to the hotel, Han Ze’s first words were:

“He’s not meant for stardom. You’re wasting your efforts. Even picking up <Sword of Fallen Flowers> was bullshit dumb luck.”

Wang Xi had heard many harsh words elsewhere, but none struck as hard as Han Ze’s. The blow wasn’t just to her but to the “Han Ze” she had always held in her heart.

That Han Ze was usually cheerful, loving, gentle, and handsome, presented himself as a sunny youth in public, and would suddenly become especially childish around her.

But now, the Han Ze speaking these harsh words, had a cold smile and a look of schadenfreude in his eyes. His face was still handsome, but suddenly, Wang Xi felt he was a stranger.

She realized she had idealistically frozen Han Ze in time as the boy he was when he first entered the industry, but in reality, he was no longer the boy who would blush in front of the camera. The change had already occurred, but she had pretended not to see it until now, at her most tired, vulnerable, and needing comfort when even a simple “it’s okay” would suffice. He had coldly shattered the last false image she held dear in her heart.

Moreover, his indifferent attitude made Wang Xi feel foolishly sentimental, almost to the point of wanting to hit a wall.

A week earlier, the boss had talked to them, directly asking about their relationship. Before she could speak, Han Ze asserted that they had no relationship beyond that of an agent and artist. The boss had said, “Even if it’s true, it doesn’t matter, but it must not affect your work,” implying that she shouldn’t favor Han Ze with resources and should manage Ran Lin well. She knew then that the boss had figured out her relationship with Han Ze, and the talk was a reminder, not a confirmation.

Fortunately, Han Ze had insisted they were just agent and artist, even with the boss’s explicit words. Wang Xi wasn’t sure whether to call him heartless or foolish.

“Why aren’t you speaking?” Han Ze, not the dullest, sensed something off in Wang Xi’s mood and quickly asked.

Wang Xi came back to her senses, shook her head, and simply said, “I’m a bit tired.”

Han Ze sighed ostentatiously. “If you only managed me, you wouldn’t be so tired. I’m so much less trouble.”

Wang Xi, tired of hearing this, closed her eyes and disengaged from the conversation.

The car continued to the hotel arranged for the actors by the production team. Wang Xi followed Han Ze back to his room. They had an unspoken understanding, so as soon as they entered, Han Ze went to shower.

Wang Xi sat on the chair, deep in thought. After a few minutes, her gaze inadvertently fell on Han Ze’s phone lying on the bed. The sound of water echoed from the bathroom.

Wang Xi pursed her lips, hesitated for a moment, then stood up and picked up the phone, lighting up the screen and entering a four-digit password. The password was incorrect.

Wang Xi narrowed her eyes, her heart slowly settling back down. When Han Ze changed passwords, it usually meant he was involved with another female artist.

Every time it was the same, even the tactics didn’t change, and Wang Xi felt robbed of even the chance for a battle of wits.

She put down the phone, walked to the window, and called Han Ze’s assistant. This assistant was hired a year ago after Han Ze complained about the previous one. Wang Xi had personally interviewed and hired this one. The new assistant was smart and clearly understood who to prioritize.

“Xi Jie,” the assistant, whose room was just one floor below, knew Wang Xi was visiting today, so he had returned to the hotel independently after the day’s wrap.

“What’s the situation with Han Ze and Cui Yanyan?” Wang Xi asked bluntly.

The assistant understood immediately and reported, “Their relationship on set is quite good, nothing inappropriate, but Han Ge doesn’t let me follow them off set, so I can’t be sure.”

“Got it,” Wang Xi nodded. “What’s the phone password?”

Assistant: “7481.”

Wang Xi: “Okay, you rest.”

After hanging up, the sound of water still filled the bathroom. Wang Xi felt a bit like she was bullying Han Ze; with her experience, she could easily make him look foolish, but she hadn’t made a move, and he had already started playing his own games.

Entering the password, the phone easily accessed the home screen. Wang Xi tapped into WeChat, greeted by a new message—[When is that old hag leaving? 😠😠😠]

The slight sting in her heart was brief, as the harsh reality was indeed true, and she found it amusing more than painful.

Knowing she was there and still sending such messages, this girl must either be truly in love with Han Ze or intentionally setting him up. If the former, she was even more foolish than Han Ze; if the latter, then she was much craftier and more malicious.

But it didn’t matter to her anymore. Wang Xi didn’t go into the chat; she had seen the message from the chat list, so the red notification still hung on the WeChat icon, untouched.

Wang Xi turned off the phone, put it back in place, then turned on the TV and sat far away to watch the evening news.

When Han Ze emerged from the shower in a robe, he casually walked to the bed, drying his hair while picking up his phone, appearing as natural as possible.

Wang Xi was sure he must have remembered the phone while showering but dared not ask her to bring it in, as that would be too revealing.

“Something urgent came up at the company,” Wang Xi suddenly said, feigning regret. “I have to go back right away.”

Han Ze looked up in surprise, a fleeting glimmer of relief quickly replaced by reluctance. “Do you really have to go back…”

Unfortunately for him, Wang Xi had seen through too many people. Han Ze still had a lot to learn.

“Yeah, can’t help it,” she said, standing up, seemingly reluctant to leave.

Han Ze sighed softly, his eyes filled with longing. “When will you come visit the set again?”

Wang Xi was pleased. At least her artist was a good actor. “We’ll see. You know how it is with Ran Lin recently…”

“Just send him back to that Kang guy,” Han Ze interrupted with a frown.

Wang Xi laughed, not sure how to feel. Perhaps she had indulged Han Ze too much, leading him to believe he could freely express his opinions and she would always accept them. Before, she just felt troubled and down by Han Ze’s requests; now, stepping back, it seemed almost naïvely adorable.

“Rest well,” Wang Xi said indifferently, picking up her bag and leaving.

After Wang Xi left, Han Ze pondered for a moment, not sensing anything amiss. He turned back to WeChat and breathed a sigh of relief, grateful for having set it to silent and that Wang Xi had been far away watching TV, or else he’d have to come up with more lies to cover up.

Shaking his head, Han Ze started replying to messages, his mood lifting—[I told you not to message me. Can’t you behave? But anyway, the old hag is gone 😃.]

……

Not until the taxi was on the airport expressway did Wang Xi’s heart finally calm down. There were no sudden bursts of laughter or heart-wrenching cries—just a sense of emptiness, yet peaceful.

She had known from the beginning that there would be no future with Han Ze, but sometimes, when you’re alone for too long, you yearn for companionship, even if it’s doomed.

Fortunately, after all the twists and turns, she came out unscathed. In fact, as an “old hag”, she felt she had even gotten the better end of the deal. So she had no intention of taking revenge against Han Ze, lacking both the impulse and the justification.

Work is always more reliable than men. This was what the twenty-year-old Wang Xi had always believed. Now at her current age, she thought her younger self was indeed wise.

Saying she had to return to Beijing wasn’t exactly lying to Han Ze, as she had indeed just received a message. It was the only news that had made her happy recently.

The driver stopped the car in front of the terminal. Wang Xi paid, got out, and pulled her suitcase inside. The airport at 8:30 p.m. was still bustling. Wang Xi, wearing a sleeveless T-shirt that showed her toned arms and slim-fitting cropped pants that highlighted her slender legs, clicked along in her high heels.

Except for the fine lines around her eyes, visible up close, nothing else betrayed her age.

After purchasing the last flight back to Beijing, Wang Xi entered the VIP lounge with her luggage. Finding a quiet corner, she finally sat down to call Ran Lin.

The phone rang three times before he picked up. “Xi Jie?”

The background noise made Wang Xi frown. “Are you outside?”

Ran Lin: “Yeah, I’m playing with the hoverboard.”

Wang Xi was surprised. “But <Mint Green> has already…”

Ran Lin interrupted nonchalantly, “Announced the lead actor. I saw the Weibo post.”

Wang Xi couldn’t detect anything but calm in his voice and asked with a hint of confusion, “So you’re playing with the hoverboard because…”

Ran Lin laughed. “Exercising. I paid two thousand yuan for it; I have to make the most of it and recoup my losses.”

Wang Xi chuckled. “Is this your way of subtly telling me you’re broke?”

Ran Lin: “Will crying broke change the contract’s commission?”

Wang Xi firmly. “No.”

Ran Lin seemed amused, though Wang Xi couldn’t quite tell. The voice over the phone soon turned serious. “Xi Jie, weren’t you supposed to visit the set today?”

Wang Xi’s smile faded, and she said softly, “I did. Now I’m at the airport, about to head back.”

Ran Lin was surprised. “That’s so sudden. You must be exhausted.”

It was a rather ordinary comment, perhaps just politeness from Ran Lin, but Wang Xi felt a comforting warmth. It was the most pleasant thing she had heard all night.

“I have to rush,” Wang Xi said, her voice unintentionally cheerful. “What if it gets snatched away again?”

Ran Lin: “…”

Bang!

A loud noise from the other end startled Wang Xi. “What happened?”

Ran Lin’s voice, taking a sharp intake of breath, sounded like he was wincing in pain. “Hit a trash can.”

Wang Xi didn’t know whether to be angry or amused. “Aren’t you the ‘Chaoyang District’s King of Hoverboards’?”

Ran Lin sheepishly replied, “Even kings have fender benders.”

Wang Xi: “Did you hurt yourself?”

Ran Lin: “Don’t worry. I’m wearing protective gear. I value my life.”

Wang Xi couldn’t help but chuckle, feeling the negativity of the entire night dissipate, like encountering a small sun.

“Xi Jie.” Ran Lin’s voice carried a tentative hope. “When you said about someone snatching it away… does that mean there’s a new opportunity?”

Ran Lin knew Wang Xi had been desperately looking for his next opportunity since the <Mint Green> debacle. As the heat from the TV series dwindled, her stress was even greater than his. Even though she tried to hide it, the anxiety was palpable in her words. At the start of the call, Ran Lin had detected a subtle change in Wang Xi’s demeanor: anxiety replaced by composure, and then her hint, leading him to suspect good news.

But recently, Ran Lin had had too many false hopes.

“The script will be given in three days; audition in half a month.” Wang Xi knew he could guess it was an opportunity, but not which one. “The film version of <Chronicles of Winter>.”

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

Author: 颜凉雨 / Yan Liang Yu

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

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Chapter 64

Ding Kai didn’t really persist in bothering him. After discussing ideals, there was no more response from the other end.

Ran Lin wasn’t sure if he was either too embarrassed to continue the pointless conversation or truly took the pep talk to heart and decided to reflect on it, or perhaps he didn’t think much of the whole thing and forgot about it once he got distracted with more important matters.

Whichever it was, Ran Lin was relieved.

Different people are nourished by the same world; some, like Ding Kai, would hide deep meanings in every word, expecting others to decipher, while others, like Lu Yiyao, are straightforward, making sure you understand them, even providing translations and notes.

People like Ding Kai are common because they make things comfortable for themselves and troublesome for others.

People like Lu Yiyao are rare because they do the opposite.

Finally, feeling at ease typing in the chat box of “Teacher from Sanya”, Ran Lin tapped away, feeling the small sapling of pride growing in his heart. By the time he finished his sentences, the sapling had turned into a towering tree, with each leaf bearing a little Ran Lin standing proudly with hands on hips—not everyone could see how good Lu Yiyao was, but he not only discovered it but also pocketed it for himself. He was immensely proud.

[<Mint Green> didn’t go through. They changed actors at the last minute, but it’s okay. Xi Jie recently received a lot of scripts. I can pick another one 😎.]

……

While Ran Lin was matching wits with Ding Kai, Lu Yiyao was having afternoon tea with Huo Yuntao.

Today was the only free day before he joined the film crew, but he still had a fashion party to attend in the evening, so he could only meet with Huo Yuntao until four in the afternoon.

Huo Yuntao, an old friend, was used to his hectic schedule and just squeezing in time to meet, so after a phone call, they met at a tearoom, and naturally, his hotel checkout was handled after he left.

Huo Yuntao, when serious, was both capable and considerate, and Lu Yiyao always wished that side of him would last forever.

Huo Yuntao had chosen a private British tearoom called “L.T.” The owner was a Norwegian friend he had met in the UK—an international friend who was fascinated by Chinese culture and loved British tea culture. He had a lofty ideal—to bring authentic British afternoon tea to the feet of the Eastern dragon.

Huo Yuntao had always been supportive and approving of such unique ideals, and with his help, his friend really did come to Beijing and opened this tearoom. The place wasn’t big, but it was exquisitely decorated with a full British flair. After overcoming initial challenges, it now operates well. While not making a fortune, the owner didn’t aim for that and found joy in his pursuit.

It was quiet, private, and familiar, which was why Huo Yuntao chose it.

Moreover, although located in Beijing, the tea room’s clientele was mostly foreigners, with few knowing who Lu Yiyao was. The tea room’s semi-enclosed and semi-open layout felt more like a living room with a homey atmosphere than a restaurant. Each table was semi-privately arranged with bookcases, green plants, and other decorations. There were even two completely private rooms, ensuring minimal disturbance among customers as long as they didn’t make too much noise.

Like now, they were in one of the private rooms. Two single sofas on a vintage-patterned carpet, a low table in between, and a delicate three-tiered afternoon tea tray filled with an assortment of savory to sweet snacks in the traditional order. The typical eating sequence is savory before sweet, but when Huo Yuntao and Lu Yiyao were together, it became sweet for Huo and savory for Lu.

No one remembered how this habit started or discussed it; it was as natural as having the sun in the day and the moon at night.

So when the snacks were served, Huo Yuntao directly went for the sweet scones on the second tier, while Lu Yiyao naturally took a ham sandwich from the bottom layer.

Huo Yuntao, noticing his friend’s quick consumption of the sandwich, realized after the fact. “Didn’t you have lunch?”

Lu Yiyao took a sip of hot tea, finally feeling comfortable. “I came over right after your call. No time for lunch.”

“What were you doing all morning? Don’t tell me you were on the phone with your agent the whole time.” Huo Yuntao had called Lu Yiyao twice; the first was in the morning around nine to check up on last night’s developments, but they were interrupted when Lu Yiyao had to take a call from his agent. Huo Yuntao was busy with other things until Lu Yiyao called back, saying he was ready to leave, which was almost noon. He had thought Lu Yiyao would have eaten by then, so they directly arranged for afternoon tea.

His friend’s question was casual, not sharp.

But Lu Yiyao, feeling guilty, got defensive—how could he admit he’d been wallowing in sorrow about “the meat flying away from his mouth” all morning?

“Uh… yeah, Hong Jie was discussing work with me. I couldn’t just not listen.” Lu Yiyao looked forthright and grabbed another small piece of cheese sandwich to nibble on.

Huo Yuntao scrutinized his old friend with a skeptical gaze, sensing something off but couldn’t pinpoint what exactly, attributing it to the usual shyness of first-time experiences.

To be considerate, Huo Yuntao didn’t pry further and changed the topic to something more straightforward. “Wasn’t the <Mint Candy> contract supposed to be signed this morning? How did it go?”

“…” Lu Yiyao noticed that those who like sweets tend to see everything as sweet. “It’s <Mint Green>, and I don’t know how it went. He hasn’t told me yet.”

“If he hasn’t told you, just ask,” Huo Yuntao said matter-of-factly. “It’s the afternoon already. The signing must be done.”

“No need.” Lu Yiyao lifted his teacup and took a sip with a face full of proud confidence. “He’ll tell me when there’s a result.”

Huo Yuntao was mid-chew on his pastry when he got a face full of unexpected show of affection. Continuing to eat, the pastry started to taste off, almost like dog food*.

*Clarity: It’s a metaphor for when couples show affection in front of someone who is witnessing it all, so the witness feels like they are being fed “dog food”.

Lu Yiyao’s phone vibrated on the low table, the sound transmitting from the phone to the wooden surface, creating a dense, muted rumbling. The screen lit up; from Huo Yuntao’s angle, it seemed like a message, but before he could see clearly, Lu Yiyao had already picked up the phone to check.

Quickly, the old friend’s face darkened, his thumb typing rapidly.

Huo Yuntao knew something was up just by looking and patiently waited until Lu Yiyao finished sending the message before asking, “What’s wrong?”

Lu Yiyao looked up from his phone, his brows furrowed. “<Mint Green> didn’t get signed. They went with someone else.”

Huo Yuntao’s brows also furrowed. “Who did they change to?”

Lu Yiyao shook his head. “He didn’t say. I’ve asked.”

Huo Yuntao was speechless. “Then why text? Just send a voice message.”

Lu Yiyao sighed, saying softly, “Voice messages also need to confirm if it’s convenient on their end first.”

Huo Yuntao had an epiphany but also felt a bit sorry for his friend—when being cautious becomes the first rule in all actions, any fun and happiness are diminished. Why choose such a path?

While lost in thought, Ran Lin’s voice invitation came through. Clearly Lu Yiyao had just confirmed it was convenient on his side.

Without avoiding Huo Yuntao, Lu Yiyao answered directly. Even in a private public setting, it was still a public place, so he used the earpiece, not speaker.

“Did they give a reason?” As soon as the call connected, Ran Lin mentioned the final decision of Zhang Beichen, so Lu Yiyao got straight to the point.

Huo Yuntao stuffed the last half of his pastry into his mouth, ears perked up to listen.

On the other end, Ran Lin laid it all out. “The financiers didn’t contact Wang Xi directly. They probably went through a middleman, saying after repeated viewing of the audition tapes, they still felt Zhang Beichen was more suitable.”

“That’s impossible. If that was the case, they would have told you it wasn’t final to begin with, not after they had already decided on you.” Lu Yiyao, without a second thought, refuted. “There must be some method they used, and it’s something they can’t disclose to you.”

After speaking, Lu Yiyao also felt frustrated, thinking of asking Yao Hong later if she could find out some inside information. While trying to make Ran Lin feel better, he changed the topic. “Don’t think too much about it. Whatever the real situation is, it doesn’t matter. Their loss for not using you. You’ll definitely get better scripts.”

Towards the end, Lu Yiyao suddenly felt a bitter taste in his heart.

<Sword of Fallen Flowers> was concluding tonight. No one knew how long the popularity would last. The longer Ran Lin’s next work was delayed, the higher the cost would be to make an impact, like if a new work was launched by the end of this year, maybe a score of 6 would be enough to continue the momentum, but if it was next year, the work would have to be an 8 or even 9 to reignite the passion viewers had during <Sword of Fallen Flowers>.

And such encouragement as “you’ll definitely do this or that” was nothing but hollow.

He wanted to give the best to Ran Lin, but when faced with difficulties, all he could offer were these insipid words.

“Let me finish.” The person on the phone, seemingly seizing the opportunity to speak, said irritably, “Wang Xi didn’t get the real reason, but I did. Ding Kai added me on WeChat and told me himself.”

Lu Yiyao, internally beating up a figment of himself, was stunned, involuntarily raising his voice. “He added you on WeChat?!”

Huo Yuntao was about to drink tea when he heard the sudden octave jump, startling him into scalding his mouth.

After a momentary lapse, Lu Yiyao calmed down, though his voice still held a biting edge. “What does he want?”

Ran Lin, fearing misunderstanding, simply sent the entire chat screenshot.

Lu Yiyao narrowed his eyes, reading from start to finish. His inner “God Lu Figurine” now transformed into a “Ding Kai Strawman”, with the little figurine kicking, punching, and gnawing at the strawman, enjoying every moment of vengeance, even plucking a few strands of hair when needed, until the strawman was beaten back into a pile of straw, finally calming his restless heart.

After sending the screenshot, Ran Lin waited anxiously. Although he was upright and unafraid, Ding Kai had a history, and if by any chance Lu Yiyao misunderstood that he had given Ding Kai some hint, causing the latter to approach him again…

“You shouldn’t have responded to him like that.”

After a long silence, Lu Yiyao’s voice came through the phone.

Ran Lin was stunned, his heart unwittingly lifting.

“You responded so well—what if he really falls for you.”

His heart fluttered with joy.

Ran Lin held back the corners of his lips that wanted to curl up. “Have you ever seen any sentimental man that starts off with ‘I want to sponsor you’ that can be swayed by one or two sentences?”

Lu Yiyao thought about it, and it seemed to make sense.

Clearing the scattered straw from his heart, finally feeling light and clear-headed, his thoughts also became orderly. “Has the contract been signed on their side?”

“Zhang Beichen?”

“Yeah.”

“Probably not yet. You see in the WeChat it was a last-minute change yesterday evening. They have to redo the contract and send it over to Zhang Beichen’s side. All of this takes time.”

“……”

“Wait.” Ran Lin heard something in Lu Yiyao’s tone. “Do you have a plan?”

Lu Yiyao indeed had a plan, but only in its initial stages, uncertain whether it would work, so he didn’t want to say too much to Ran Lin.

Yet Ran Lin seemed to glimpse his thoughts. “Whatever you plan, you need to tell me.” After a half-second pause, the voice on the phone softened, slightly coquettish, slightly affectionate. “Don’t let me be the last to know.”

Lu Yiyao was inevitably defeated.

“I want to explore what exactly they did on their end and who that so-called important friend is. The circle is only so big. If they can find someone, so can we. It’s just a matter of who has better connections…” Lu Yiyao spoke all in one breath, took a deep breath, and then softly said, “I want to help you snatch the role back.”

It wasn’t just “want”, it was “must”, but without full certainty, Lu Yiyao couldn’t say it like that.

But Ran Lin heard it. He had practically etched all of Lu Yiyao’s emotions and tones into his mind. Hearing the voice, he could feel the determination in the words, even if it was cloaked in gentleness and nonchalance.

“Mwah.”

A sudden, indistinct sound came through the earpiece.

Lu Yiyao, who had been frowning, expressed confusion. “Hmm?”

On the other end, Ran Lin muttered softly, “Kissing you.”

Suddenly, Lu Yiyao felt as if he could feel the warmth and softness of lips on his cheek, a pity that the peck was fleeting and left irresponsibly.

“No more,” declared Ran Lin who had just kissed, suddenly speaking up with a hint of cheerful resignation.

Lu Yiyao snapped out of the sweetness of the virtual kiss, his heart sinking slightly. “Afraid I can’t help you snatch the role back?”

“Of course not.” Ran Lin almost immediately denied, even sounding a bit indignant at the misunderstanding. “My Teacher Lu can pluck stars from the sky and catch dragons from the sea!”

Lu Yiyao chuckled. “I’m not that powerful…”

Huo Yuntao, who was half-understanding the conversation, didn’t understand why his old friend’s mood suddenly changed from gloomy to bright, from determined to sweet, and now this shy modesty was beyond him!

“I believe you can snatch it back for me, but I don’t want this role anymore, and I don’t want you to use methods you dislike for my sake.” Ran Lin had called Lu Yiyao just to inform him of the situation as soon as possible, but Lu Yiyao’s reaction had given him more courage. Courage wasn’t only about daring to strive but also about being able to give up gracefully. “I like that you have principles, righteousness, perseverance, and know what to do and what not to…”

“If you keep praising me, I really won’t be able to resist coming over and pouncing on you.”

Ran Lin instantly shut up, but his eyes and corners of his mouth curled up. After a quiet two seconds, he asked, “Are you going to ignore your schedule?”

Lu Yiyao replied righteously, “What’s that?”

The last bit of gloom in his heart dispersed. Ran Lin especially regretted not calling Lu Yiyao immediately after leaving the company; then he could have been cheerful an hour earlier. “Do you think, if I really got the role, Ding Kai would come to ‘chat’ with me every other day?”

“……” Lu Yiyao froze, having never considered this aspect, and now the thought was unbearable!

“So, I don’t want this role. When <Chronicles of Winter> was snatched away, you said <Sword of Fallen Flowers> would be a hit, and it was. Now you say I’ll encounter better scripts, so I definitely will. Who gave me this confidence? You.”

Lu Yiyao found himself utterly disarmed by Ran Lin. “Stealing my lines, have you paid the copyright fee?”

Ran Lin: “Mwah.”

Lu Yiyao: “Got any fresh ones?”

Ran Lin: “Mwah mwah.”

Well, that’s satisfactory.

Finally content, Lu Yiyao leaned back into the sofa, initially with a lingering smile on his face, which gradually faded to a thoughtful expression.

Seeing his old friend so serious, Huo Yuntao dared not disturb him, pressing down his curiosity, waiting for him to finish thinking, to take the initiative to speak.

But the wait turned into half an hour.

By the time Huo Yuntao had finished all the snacks on the tray, Lu Yiyao finally snapped back to reality, looking up at his friend seriously. “Lao Huo, this can’t go on.”

Huo Yuntao was startled, cautiously asking, “You’re not thinking about breaking up with him after just getting together, are you?”

Although he believed Lu Yiyao had invested more in the relationship, breaking up right after getting together seemed too cruel!

“I’m talking about career!” Lu Yiyao really wanted to open up Huo Yuntao’s head to see what dark image he had of him in his friend’s mind.

“Career?” Huo Yuntao leaned forward to hand Lu Yiyao his teacup. “Have a sip of tea. Take your time.”

Lu Yiyao held the cup but didn’t drink, his mind still on the life decisions he’d been pondering. “Being a celebrity is too restrictive. Countless eyes are watching you. Anything you want to do feels constrained.”

Huo Yuntao retorted, “Then what were you thinking when you entered the industry?”

Lu Yiyao shook his head lightly. “When I entered, I was alone, so it didn’t matter, but now I’m not alone anymore, and this profession has become troublesome.”

Huo Yuntao understood but didn’t agree. “Changing the direction of a career you’ve been fighting for because of love, isn’t that too rash?”

Lu Yiyao asked, “Do you remember why I chose this path in the first place?”

Huo Yuntao searched his memory and found it. “To go against your dad.”

Lu Yiyao smiled. “So…”

Huo Yuntao rolled his eyes and nodded. “You’ve always been rash.”

“But then again,” Huo Yuntao continued, “it’s also good if you leave the industry. Your dad’s and your mom’s big businesses can’t all be shouldered by your sister alone.”

“She likes doing business; she should be able to handle it.”

“…” Huo Yuntao was exasperated. “What are you implying?”

Finally, Lu Yiyao took a sip of tea, which had already gone lukewarm; its fragrance had slightly faded. After setting down the cup, he shared everything from the phone call with Huo Yuntao.

Having heard it all, Huo Yuntao understood his old friend’s thoughts. “You want to enter the entertainment industry?”

Lu Yiyao nodded slightly.

Huo Yuntao: “Just for Ran Lin?”

“Half and half,” Lu Yiyao confessed. “I’m also quite interested in figuring out this circle.”

Huo Yuntao, recalling the WeChat screenshots of Ran Lin and Ding Kai that his old friend showed him, felt complicated. “Ran Lin’s dream is to act, to act well. Your dream is because you like Ran Lin, and coincidentally, you’re somewhat interested in this circle, so you want to transition from being a celebrity to a businessman. If you wanted to go into business, why didn’t you do it earlier, like going directly to business school? By now, you might have already become ‘President Lu’.”

Lu Yiyao asked, “What’s your point?”

Huo Yuntao looked steadily at him. “I’m saying, Ran Lin’s dream has nothing to do with you. No matter who he’s with, it doesn’t affect his pursuit. How come when it comes to you, dreams and love are suddenly linked? Your career is your own; it shouldn’t be swayed or disturbed by anyone but yourself. If a man can easily give up or waver in his career for love, then I would despise him.”

“That makes sense.” Lu Yiyao nodded, conceding gracefully. “Lao Huo, I despise you.”

Huo Yuntao doubted he heard correctly. “Huh?”

“Didn’t you swear never to return to China, claiming your dream wasn’t to inherit the family business? Yet, once Lin Panxi said, ‘I won’t go abroad,’ you obediently came back.” Lu Yiyao felt his logic was sound. “So, listening to you, I despise you.”

Huo Yuntao: “……”

Suddenly losing his moral high ground, Young Master Huo felt extremely conflicted.

Lu Yiyao laughed, shrugging without pressing further. “Actually, so-called dreams are just things you want to do. It doesn’t matter if the ‘want’ originates from yourself or someone else, from struggle or love, from a sense of honor or happiness. As long as the final direction is ‘I want to do it,’ then you should go for it.”

“Lao Huo,” Lu Yiyao looked earnestly into his friend’s eyes, saying word by word with emphasis, “for the first time, I’ve found something I truly want to do.”

Huo Yuntao had nothing more to say.

Because from Lu Yiyao’s tone, he unexpectedly heard a hint of joy.

He thought this path would bring Lu Yiyao endless pressure, but unexpectedly, his old friend was joyfully cutting through the brambles, almost regretting not having ventured down this path earlier.

……

That evening, as the elegant Lu Yiyao was mingling at a reception, Ran Lin was sitting in front of the TV in his apartment, watching the grand finale of <Sword of Fallen Flowers>.

Unsurprisingly, the viewership soared to its highest point.

Halfway through the last episode, “Xu Chongfei Dies Blocking the Sword” started trending.

Although the wording wasn’t elegant enough. Many viewers suggested “Noble Sacrifice” as a better choice! But in reality, most tearful fans chose the most direct way to spoil the plot, reasoning that they shouldn’t be the only ones crying.

As Xu Chongfei died blocking a sword for Tang Jingyu, killed by Fang Xian, the original “Support Fang” and “Anti-Tang” factions gradually shifted stance, ultimately siding with “Support Tang”.

The reason was simple: Tang Jingyu’s final choice was “provoking Fang Xian to kill him”, meaning he was ready to die as atonement, but Fang Xian stubbornly went ahead and caused Xu Chongfei’s death. Compared side by side, the audience naturally redirected their affection toward Tang Jingyu.

However, when the show was two-thirds done and Fang Xian was alone in front of Xu Chongfei’s grave, drinking and reminiscing, the audience’s hearts softened again. The most shared post came from a big vlogger with a million followers. She was a usual joker, but today, she was just a quiet viewer—

[My heart of stone was softened by Fang Xian’s tears; Ran Lin’s crying scene is top-notch 😔.]

When they met again in the plum garden, looking at each other across the falling petals, silent and speechless, the discussion on Weibo completely exploded.

“Should Fang Xian forgive Tang Jingyu?” and the almost trademark “Fang Xian crying” trended throughout the night.

Ran Lin’s Weibo saw wave after wave of visitors, all expressing their views on Fang Xian with praises, criticisms, and tears. Those who praised generally became his Weibo followers, watching as his follower count neared 9 million. Critics were mostly fans of Tang Jingyu or Lu Yiyao, who, due to different perspectives, critiqued Fang Xian or him, dissecting everything from his dark past to the present.

Ran Lin was accustomed to being criticized; compared to before, he was practically blissful now. But seeing so many actual fans of Lu Yiyao, who clearly adored Lu Yiyao so much yet despised him to the point of wishing he’d disappear from the entertainment industry, was still quite upsetting.

Even though Ran Lin kept telling himself that they didn’t know about his relationship with Lu Yiyao, he couldn’t help feeling a subtle sense of “not being accepted by the other’s friends and family”.

A subtle sourness, a subtle sense of loss.

Ding-dong.

While browsing Weibo, a new message from Lu Yiyao popped up on WeChat—[Repost my Weibo.]

Ran Lin was puzzled; instead of refreshing the homepage, he clicked directly into Lu Yiyao’s Weibo via the comments section, where fans had tagged him. The latest post was from just a minute ago, with a picture of the three meeting in Liuma Town’s rundown temple from early in the series. The scene was cold at night, and the three only had one tattered blanket for warmth. The photo was full of comical warmth but also brotherly affection.

The text of the Weibo post read—[Good brothers, one blanket. @Ran Lin @Tang Xiaoyu]

In the photo, “Fang Xian” looked disgusted, but Ran Lin clearly remembered the secret joy he felt during the shooting, that sneaky delight of being close to his crush.

Ran Lin obediently reposted—[Fallen Flowers Iron Triangle 😆//@Lu Yiyao: Good brothers, one blanket. @Ran Lin @Tang Xiaoyu]

Half an hour later, the belated Tang Xiaoyu reposted—[Tang Xiaoyu: When three people walk together, there’s always a third wheel 🐕//@Ran Lin: Fallen Flowers Iron Triangle 😆 //@LuYiyao: Good brothers, one blanket. @Ran Lin @Tang Xiaoyu】

When Tang Xiaoyu’s repost appeared, the comments below were filled with “Stop looking at others. You’re the one!” chants.

Ran Lin found it all too amusing.

Before he could close his mouth, another new message came on WeChat, not from Lu Yiyao but Xia Xinran—[I watched the finale, the scriptwriter is a bastard! 😭 😭 😭 😭 😭 😭]

Ran Lin checked the time; it was almost 10 PM. Xia Xinran should have finished work by now, but—[Aren’t you on set? Still have time to follow the series?]

Xia Xinran—[I just watched the last two episodes from yesterday and today’s finale, but I had my assistant narrate the content of the first thirty-seven episodes to me [😭 😭 😭 😭 😭 😭]

Xia Xinran—[I’m a die-hard fan of Xu Chongfei. You’re too cruel!!]

Ran Lin wanted to offer comfort, but his fingers typed rebelliously—[It ended at 8:30, and you’re coming to me now. It’s expired!]

Xia Xinran—[I only got back at 9 and watched the replay on TV!]

Ran Lin—[…Okay. 🤗]

Xia Xinran—[Are you two being lovey-dovey together again?]

Ran Lin—[?]

Xia Xinran—[Didn’t he just post a Weibo to take the bullets for you?]

Ran Lin—[We’re not together. He has an event tonight.]

Xia Xinran—[Then he must have been scrolling through your Weibo comments, or else he wouldn’t have just posted that one tweet.]

Ran Lin:—[ 👉👈 ]

Xia Xinran:—[You guessed it already, right!]

Ran Lin—[Wait, how do you know there are God Lu’s fans coming to scold in my Weibo comments?]

Xia Xinran—[By the way, Gu Jie hasn’t popped up in the group for a long time.]

Ran Lin—[……]

Xia Xinran—[Okay, I actually just wanted to see if there was anyone else defending Xu Chongfei like me…]

Ran Lin—[How free are you!]

Xia Xinran—[It shows how much I truly love your show!]

Xia Xinran—[By the way, next time we meet, teach me how to cry. Every time I try, the director cuts before the tears come out, saying my expression is too distorted nine times out of ten!]   

Ran Lin—[At least you passed once, pat pat.]

Xia Xinran—[No, the remaining one was ‘ferocious’.]

Ran Lin—[……]

Thinking about it, Ran Lin realized he’d never actually seen Xia Xinran shed tears on screen; at most his eyes would get red, already distressing enough.

But when it comes to crying beautifully, Ran Lin thought Lu Yiyao would be the authority.

While daydreaming, suddenly, WeChat notified Ran Lin that he was removed from the “Chen Sheng Wu Guang” group.

Ran Lin was baffled and sent a voice message directly to Xia Xinran. “What happened?”

After a while, the reply came, also in voice message. “I dissolved the group.”

Ran Lin was stunned, and before he could speak, Xia Xinran sent another message. “Anyway, no one has spoken in there for a long time, so I dissolved it. You, me, and Teacher Lu understand. Zhang Beichen must have an idea too, so he won’t be so foolish to come asking.”

Ran Lin: “Did you forget someone?”

Xia Xinran: “……”

……

Gu Jie had just attended the premiere of a movie. He hadn’t starred in it, but the lead actor was his friend, so he came to show support. For some reason, whether it was the organizer’s fault or something else, the entire event was a mess. Except for the peaceful hundred minutes of watching the film, everything else was chaotic. The start was rushed, the end was abrupt, his friend was surrounded by reporters, and Gu Jie had no chance to talk before leaving.

As soon as he met his waiting assistant outside, the assistant handed him his phone. “Gu Ge, you were kicked out of ‘Chen Sheng Wu Guang’.”

Gu Jie, a man without secrets, never set a password for his phone. Whenever he was busy with schedules, he’d leave his phone with his assistant, who would report first thing after the event about who had been in touch or what messages he received, filtering out the junk and saving Gu Jie a lot of time while noting down important things to plan and remind.

Moreover, his assistant, who had been with him since his debut, was tight-lipped and attentive, never giving his unlocked phone to anyone else or divulging any of Gu Jie’s privacy—though Gu Jie felt there was nothing to hide, standing upright and walking straight.

With his assistant, Gu Jie was as close as brothers.

“Kicked me out?” Gu Jie perplexedly took the phone. “Did they say anything before kicking?”

The assistant said, “Nothing before, but after you were kicked, Xia Xinran sent a message saying he dissolved the group. It’s not about you specifically, and he didn’t want to elaborate, saying you should realize it on your own.”

Gu Jie: “……”

After a whole night at the premiere without breaking a sweat, hearing his assistant relay Xia Xinran’s message made him sweat.

As he sat in the van, he kept studying the message over and over, eventually turning to ask his assistant, “What do you think the reason could be?”

The assistant cut straight to the point. “Gu Ge, do you think he really dissolved the group, or did he just kick you out and use dissolution as an excuse?”

“Definitely dissolved. Otherwise, he could have just made a new group of four, unnoticed, without having to kick me out and then explain.”

Assistant: “But you haven’t been active in the group lately either…”

Gu Jie: “Yeah, lately I’ve been attending events, working out, reading scripts, and you know I don’t like being glued to my phone all day.”

Assistant: “Did the group have a rule about being kicked out if you don’t speak for a few days?”

Gu Jie: “Shouldn’t… I don’t think so…”

Assistant: “Then there’s only one reason. The others in the group had a conflict, and relations can’t go back to how they were, so the group was dissolved.”

Gu Jie: “What kind of conflict can five straight guys have?”

Assistant: “…I can’t say. Why not realize it yourself, Gu Ge.”

Gu Jie hated guessing games his whole life. Why not just speak directly, or at worst, settle it with a fight, instead of these exhausting palace intrigues.

But Xia Xinran always did what he said, telling him to realize it himself meant unless Gu Jie figured it out, he’d be left in the dark. Such steadfast will, used in the most unreasonable places.

However, Gu Jie also knew Xia Xinran was sensible, not doing things without reason. Whatever he did, no matter how outlandish it seemed, there was always a cause. This group, formed during a show by Xia Xinran, now dissolved by him, formed because everyone got along, now dissolved, surely meant relationships went sour.

Sighing at the top spot in his WeChat list, where four groups used to be, and now one was missing, Gu Jie felt the absence keenly.

As the car sped through the night, the cool air from the AC made it slightly chilly inside. Gu Jie frowned in deep thought, finally giving up on guessing and opening Weibo to search for recent updates of his buddies.

The assistant watched Gu Jie determinedly searching, unsurprised.

Facing challenges head-on was their boss’ way. The more difficult the mountain, the more he wanted to climb; the tougher the bone, the more he wanted to chew. In front of the words “you go realize”, he could keep realizing until the end of time.

The first person Gu Jie searched for was Xia Xinran, but after a long search, he found nothing unusual. Xia Xinran had been quiet, busily shooting on set.

Considering that Lu Yiyao wasn’t very talkative in the group and didn’t seem close, Gu Jie felt it unlikely he was the problem. Xia Xinran had always been indifferent to him, while his attitude towards Zhang Beichen and Ran Lin was more apparent—dislike for the former, fondness for the latter.

Gu Jie always felt relationships should be natural, like who you like, no need to force it if you don’t. So he thought Xia Xinran’s attitude towards Zhang Beichen was just a simple mismatch of personalities. He wouldn’t alienate Zhang Beichen just because Xia Xinran did, nor would he take sides because of it. Everyone’s an adult, be true to yourself and clear of conscience.

But now, with the group gone and feeling it was “somewhat regrettable”, he wanted to find out the reason. He could be easygoing, but not clueless. Clearly, there was a problem, and he needed to understand it.

It was unlikely Ran Lin would conflict with anyone, so the most probable cause seemed to be a feud between Xia Xinran and Zhang Beichen.

With this in mind, Gu Jie switched the search bar from Xia Xinran to Zhang Beichen.

The first result was from a marketing account, clearly stirring things up—[Zhang Beichen rumored to star in <Mint Green>? Who is your ideal Li Yi? …[Read the full text]]

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

Author: 颜凉雨 / Yan Liang Yu

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

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Chapter 63

When Lu Yiyao woke up, his head ached a bit. He remembered only drinking a few glasses the previous night, and, despite his low tolerance, that shouldn’t have knocked him out. The only explanation must be the so-called special cocktail recommended by Huo Yuntao, which, despite its sweet taste, packed a surprisingly strong punch.

The “person” in his arms was soft and plushy, not quite warm enough, leaving him with a sensation of holding more than enough but without the desired warmth…

Huh?

Lu Yiyao felt something amiss and slowly opened his half-closed, peach blossom eyes. The expected clean face vanished like an illusion, leaving him embracing a clean… blanket.

Maintaining his side-lying position atop the blanket, it took him two minutes to piece together last night’s memories. A few drinks shouldn’t have made him black out, so he vividly remembered being carried away by Huo Yuntao—which was half-true. He was indeed tipsy, but not so drunk that he couldn’t walk. But Huo Yuntao claimed that only if he was drunk could Ran Lin come to the room to take care of him, setting the stage for what was to follow. He had vehemently criticized his friend’s devious plan, then decided to fully cooperate.

So when Ran Lin came in, he was awake—in fact, waiting for that moment.

But how did it go from a storm to a gentle breeze?

After thinking it over, Lu Yiyao still felt Ran Lin should take the blame—because holding him quietly was just too comfortable.

Comfortable enough to make one relax completely, lower all defenses, willing to share everything, open up entirely, and just quietly hold him and talk until the end of time… which, unfortunately, didn’t happen!

Lu Yiyao hugged the corner of the blanket and rolled back and forth, still unsatisfied, eventually grabbing the blanket over his head and letting out a muffled but forceful roar—

“Lu Yiyao, you’re useless!!!”

When Huo Yuntao called, Teacher Lu had calmed down and was despondently brushing his teeth in the bathroom.

The man in the mirror looked lifeless, his complexion ashen, and the toothbrush moved lifelessly over his teeth. The white toothpaste foam was the only vibrant part of the scene, bubbling up as if dancing on his teeth.

“Uh…”

The first sound through the phone startled Huo Yuntao.

He knew Ran Lin had work in the morning, so he figured only his old friend would be left in the room, still immersed in the aftermath, ready to call and gossip + take credit.

But the voice on the other end didn’t sound like a man who had just enjoyed a passionate night.

“Not awake yet?” Huo Yuntao could only think of this reason.

Lu Yiyao spat out the toothpaste foam, rinsed his mouth, then spoke to the phone on speaker placed beside him, lifelessly. “Brushing my teeth.”

Huo Yuntao, sensing something off in his friend’s voice and believing he understood the truth, immediately teased, “You’re not up for it, huh? One night and you’re already spent?”

Lu Yiyao froze as if he heard a “thud”, the sound of a knife plunging into his heart.

“How could that be?” Lu Yiyao put down the cup and picked up the phone, shaking off his earlier dismay. “I was thinking about things.”

“Stop pretending.” Huo Yuntao’s scoff came through the phone. “Just admit you’re reminiscing.”

Thud, thud.

Two more stabs.

Lu Yiyao pretended not to hear the sound of his breaking heart. “Anything else?”

“Hey, is this how you treat a brother who’s worried sick about you?” Huo Yuntao sounded incredulously hurt. “There’s no true friendship in this world anymore…”

“I’m sorry.” Lu Yiyao rarely apologized to Huo Yuntao, but willing to sacrifice for a quick end to the call. “You arranged everything very thoughtfully, considerately, and touchingly.”

Huo Yuntao chuckled, triumphant, like a flag fluttering in the wind. “Of course. My buddy’s finally growing up. I had to make sure everything was perfect; even then, I was worried you wouldn’t make it. My heart hung all night. Finally it can rest.”

Thud, thud, thud, thud—

“Huh? Hong Jie’s calling me. Might be something important. Gotta go.”

“Wait, wait, when you leave, I need to go help you check out…”

Click.

The phone screen returned to the home screen.

Lu Yiyao sighed deeply, silently pulling out the imaginary knives from his chest and applying countless band-aids, barely stopping the bleeding.

Life, indeed, is too hard.

……

Ran Lin returned to his apartment before dawn.

He took a shower and then went to bed for a brief sleep until the alarm he set went off, then quickly got up, washed his face, brushed his teeth, and changed into clean clothes.

While brushing his teeth, Ran Lin carefully observed himself in the mirror, initially worried about signs of a sleepless night, but later, realizing that apart from mild dark circles, nothing else was noticeable, his thoughts drifted to Lu Yiyao, left alone in the hotel.

Imagining Lu Yiyao’s state upon waking up, Ran Lin thought he would probably be clutching the blanket in frustration.

Looking at his own reflection covered in toothpaste foam, Ran Lin playfully thought, perhaps at this very moment, Lu Yiyao was also morosely brushing his teeth in front of a mirror?

In late June, the sun hangs early in the sky, already showing signs of scorching heat, but the mornings and evenings are still cool. As soon as Ran Lin left his apartment, he was recognized by several young women who also got up early for work. They surrounded him for autographs and photos.

With a bare face, Ran Lin was actually a bit nervous about the photos, but after the young women took them, they kindly showed him, which dispelled his worries. The photos, all more or less beautified, showed him with delicate skin and bright, large eyes, looking even better than if he had put on makeup.

Finding a taxi during the early morning hours was difficult, especially since Ran Lin purposely avoided crowded areas. So, after finally catching one, he began seriously considering buying his own car.

Last night, when they parted, Wang Xi had asked Liu Wanwan to pick him up in the morning, but he was worried about any special circumstances with Lu Yiyao and not having time to return home, thinking he might have to go directly from the hotel to the company early in the morning. This would surely give things away if Liu Wanwan came to pick him up, so he found an excuse not to arrange it that way.

Unexpectedly, he not only made it home but also had time for some extra sleep, which gave him really mixed feelings.

“Ran Ge!”

As soon as he entered the company, Ran Lin saw Liu Wanwan waiting at the reception, thoughtfully holding buns and soy milk in her hands.

“Good morning.” Ran Lin took the breakfast from her with a smile.

Liu Wanwan tilted her head, looking puzzled at him for a while, and asked, “Ran Ge, did you stay out late with friends yesterday?”

Ran Lin instinctively curved his index finger, touching just below his eyes. “Are my dark circles very noticeable?”

“A little.” Liu Wanwan nodded, but quickly changed the subject. “No worries, Ran Ge. Just go to the makeup room. I’ll let Xi Jie know you’ve arrived. Once you’re made up, she won’t notice a thing.”

“Clever girl,” Ran Lin praised, giving his assistant a nod, though he still felt it wasn’t quite right. “I should still go and greet Xi Jie. Now that I’m at the company, it wouldn’t be right not to see her, in case she has something to instruct.”

“No need,” Liu Wanwan said. “Han Ze is here today too. Xi Jie and him are both in the boss’ office, so she probably won’t come out for a while.”

“Han Ze?” Ran Lin frowned instinctively, feeling that nothing good ever came when this colleague’s name was mentioned. The filming for <Chronicles of Winter> was starting at the end of June, and Han Ze should be in the last stages of preparation. Ran Lin couldn’t think of anything that would require his attention at this time.

“And they’re in the boss’ office?” Ran Lin finally caught the main point.

“Yep. They’ve been in there since early this morning and haven’t come out yet,” Liu Wanwan said with a curious look.

Without saying more, Ran Lin had only a vague guess but nothing concrete. Being called in by the boss early in the morning could mean a significant issue like contracts or a tricky problem that needed direct consolation from the boss.

Thinking all this, before he realized, Ran Lin had followed Liu Wanwan into the makeup room. Shaking off his thoughts, he decided not to overthink and took a quick nap while the stylist worked.

The company recently hired a new executive director who initiated several comfort improvements for the staff, resulting in more plants and flowers around, including in the makeup room with lilies in a glass vase, which gave off a refreshing fragrance.

In this gentle scent, Ran Lin dreamed.

He was back at last night’s hotel, where after Li Yiyao told him about the estrangement with his father, he was turned over and pressed down. They tussled through the night until the morning sun came up with Lu Yiyao still holding him, insisting on canceling all his schedules…

Then, Ran Lin woke up startled, making the stylist quickly pull away the curling iron to avoid his face. He felt a surge of guilt seeing himself with half straight, half curly-haired in the mirror. He felt he had no conscience, dream worrying while thinking about delaying work.

“What dream did you have?” teased the stylist. As Ran Lin was about to speak, the makeup room door opened, and Wang Xi entered.

The agent, dressed in a professional yet charming skirt suit, was obviously well-prepared for the day’s signing. But her expression was strained. There was a forced smile on her face, especially her eyes, which lacked their usual brightness.

“Xi Jie,” Ran Lin greeted softly.

Wang Xi looked up, their eyes meeting in the mirror. Her voice feigned cheerfulness. “Good, it seems you didn’t overdo it last night.”

Ran Lin’s makeup hid his dark circles, but he was still concerned, previously about being called out and now about Wang Xi’s well-being.

Wang Xi, however, didn’t notice his concerned look, focusing instead on his styling. Once satisfied, she said, “Once you’re ready, come to my office, and we’ll go together.”

“Going together” meant she would accompany him to the client for the signing. Being able to give such instructions meant the earlier conversation hadn’t impacted Wang Xi’s workflow. Either the conversation wasn’t as serious as he thought, or Wang Xi was indeed very professional.

“Okay.” Ran Lin reminded himself not to overthink or ask too much, focusing on securing the day’s contract.

Wang Xi nodded in satisfaction and left. Once the door closed, Liu Wanwan quietly asked, “Ran Ge, don’t you think something’s off with Xi Jie?”

Ran Lin glanced at the stylist through the mirror and didn’t reply. Liu Wanwan got the hint and kept quiet.

After another half-hour, the styling was complete. Ran Lin, transformed from a plain-faced boy to a dashing young man, donned a fresh summer outfit and left for Wang Xi’s office.

However, before he reached the office, he encountered Han Ze in the corridor.

The other person’s spirit and energy seemed quite good, in stark contrast to Wang Xi. Upon seeing Ran Lin, he even offered a smile. “Morning.”

Ran Lin muttered to himself, both being called to the office. It made no sense for Wang Xi’s face to spell bad news while Han Ze’s spelled good; it was unscientific.

But Han Ze’s cheerful demeanor was unmistakably apparent.

“Morning,” Ran Lin responded, as one doesn’t slap a smiling face.

He thought they would just exchange greetings and pass by, but then Han Ze added, “Looking good there.”

It seemed like he was in the mood for a chat but Ran Lin couldn’t think of anything to talk about, so he ended up responding dryly, “You look good, too.”

“Going to sign a contract later?”

Han Ze kept the conversation going, but Ran Lin decided to cut it short. “Yeah, Xi Jie is waiting for me, so I’ll head over first.”

Han Ze surprisingly stepped aside, making way for Ran Lin, who was puzzled but keen on not lingering. Just as he took a couple of steps forward, he heard Han Ze wish from behind, “Good luck with the signing.”

“Thanks,” Ran Lin turned and smiled, then quickly walked towards Wang Xi’s office, full of suspicion.

He knocked twice on the door but got no response, although he could clearly hear Wang Xi’s voice inside, sounding agitated as if she was on a phone call. Knowing they didn’t have much formality between them, Ran Lin naturally pushed the door open, only to hear Wang Xi’s voice, suppressed with anger—

“I need a reason!”

Liu Wanwan, who followed, quickly closed the door and ushered a stunned Ran Lin to sit on a couch in the corner.

Unlike her forced spirits before, Wang Xi was now fully combative, her elaborate makeup making her look even more striking and forceful.

“Are they thinking Ran Lin is stupid, or do they think I am stupid? Can you believe such reasons… Yes, I know the contract isn’t signed yet, but nobody gets stood up on the day of signing…”

Hearing his name, Ran Lin had a bad feeling. Listening further, his heart sank. Liu Wanwan also sensed something was off and kept quiet, praying nothing drastic had happened.

It was clear the person on the other end of the phone wasn’t the client but a mediator conveying a message, which allowed Wang Xi to vent some frustration. But anger wouldn’t change the outcome; the person on the phone likely knew their role as a buffer and seemed to be trying to soothe Wang Xi with polite words.

Finally, Wang Xi’s anger subsided, ending in a helpless sigh. “I understand, but this is too much. But like you said, without a signed contract, we can only take the loss… Don’t worry, I know the rules. I’m just venting to you. Okay, let’s stop here. I still need to console my artist. Let’s have dinner sometime and talk.”

After hanging up, Wang Xi turned to Ran Lin, seated on the couch, with a wry smile. Ran Lin had a guess but still clung to a sliver of hope, asking, “What happened?”

Wang Xi didn’t respond but instead walked over and filled a cup of water from the cooler, handing it to Ran Lin. The chill from the cup was a small comfort in the summer heat.

Standing still, Wang Xi looked down at Ran Lin and said, “<Mint Green> has decided on Zhang Beichen.”

Her tone had shifted from the fierce one on the phone to a more soothing and gentle manner.

Ran Lin had suspected something was up with <Mint Green> but hadn’t considered Zhang Beichen as a competitor. Hearing the name from Wang Xi made him freeze.

“They say after reviewing the audition tapes repeatedly, the director still prefers Zhang Beichen’s performance,” relayed Wang Xi, her voice carrying a hint of mocking humor.

Ran Lin couldn’t laugh. After losing a role in <Chronicles of Winter> and now <Mint Green>, he felt like the saying “lucky in love, unlucky in gambling” might be true for him. If gambling represented his career, then he was indeed in a dire state.

“Xi Jie.” Ran Lin looked up at his agent. “What do you think the real reason is?”

It was important for him to understand the truth behind losing the role.

Wang Xi, silhouetted against the light, was indistinct except for the disdain in her tone. “What else could it be? How did a sure thing turn into a competition for you, and how did he swoop in at the last minute?”

“Are you suggesting he got involved with Ding Kai?!”

Ran Lin knew Zhang Beichen was gay, so with Wang Xi’s insinuation, he couldn’t imagine any other scenario. He felt a sudden desolation, knowing he had no right to pity anyone, as they were doing far better than him. This sadness even overshadowed the bitterness of losing the role.

After all, they were friends once, Ran Lin thought, so he still couldn’t treat the other party as an indifferent stranger.

“I can’t be sure.” Wang Xi, surprisingly, didn’t confirm Ran Lin’s suspicion. “But I can’t think of any other reason that would make the financiers change their minds the day before signing.”

Ran Lin understood her point. If Zhang Beichen had secured the role earlier, it wouldn’t have even reached Ran Lin, or he might have just received a rejection from the audition. The most plausible scenario was that Zhang Beichen had worked his way in after failing the audition, just in time before the signing.

Remembering Ding Kai’s previous “invitation”, it was hard not to suspect foul play.

“Alright.” Wang Xi clapped her hands, breaking the somber mood. “Buck up. Without <Mint Green>, there are other scripts. My phone’s been blowing up recently. Do you know how popular you are now, my dear little prince?”

As she spoke, Wang Xi went back to her desk and began searching through a pile of documents. Ran Lin got up from the corner and sat down across the desk, basking in the sunlight.

“Really… are there other scripts?” Ran Lin wasn’t doubting her, but it was hard to believe as Wang Xi searched without success.

Fortunately, the agent wasn’t bluffing and eventually pulled one out, passing it over.

“The schedule clashes with <Mint Green>, so I declined it, but they haven’t finalized it yet. There’s still a chance.”

It was a TV drama script, and seeing the title made Ran Lin’s feelings complex—<Eight Immortals Crossing the Sea²: The Legend of Han Xiangzi¹ >.

¹Chinese mythological figure and one of the Eight Immortals in the Taoist pantheon. He studied Taoist magical arts under the tutelage of Lü Dongbin, another of the Eight Immortals. Han Xiangzi is often depicted carrying a dizi (Chinese flute), so he is also regarded as the patron deity of flutists.
²A group of legendary immortals in Chinese mythology. Each immortal’s power can be transferred to a vessel that can bestow life or destroy evil. Together, these eight vessels are called the “Covert Eight Immortals”.

Wang Xi looked at Ran Lin’s indescribable expression and felt a pang of pity. “Or… wait for other scripts?”

“Yeah!” Ran Lin answered almost instantly.

Wang Xi smiled wryly. She didn’t really want Ran Lin to take that role; after all, starting from a good point with <Sword of Fallen Flowers> it wouldn’t make sense to go back to a low-quality drama. She just wanted to make sure Ran Lin wasn’t too defeated by losing <Mint Green>, especially since it was his first shot at being a male lead in a hot IP with a top production team. She couldn’t stand there and ask Ran Lin to take it lightly, as she couldn’t herself, particularly after the recent debacle with <Chronicles of Winter>…

With mixed feelings, Wang Xi blurted out impulsively, “I’ll make sure you play the male lead in a big-screen movie, and it must be with a top team!”

Ran Lin thought Wang Xi was just comforting him and was about to make a joke but swallowed it upon seeing the seriousness in her eyes.

After a while, he put the now-warm paper cup on the desk, looked up at Wang Xi seriously, and said, “Xi Jie, I want to act, to produce good works, big screen or small screen doesn’t matter, as long as you think the project is good and worth the passion and effort.”

Wang Xi watched him for a moment, then sighed softly. “I want you to be famous.”

Ran Lin said, “I hope to have roles to play all my life.”

Wang Xi’s lips curled into a rare smile—her first of the day. “Being famous is how you’ll always have roles to play. Our goals align, no problem there.”

…….

On the way back to his apartment, Ran Lin saw a construction site enclosed by blue barriers with a sign that read, “Come to work happy, go home safe.” He thought it aptly described his day—

Went to work with joy, went home sighing.

After fussing all morning, the sun had now risen to its highest point, starting to show its might, making everywhere too glaring to open one’s eyes. It was dry and hot and even the leaves on the roadside trees were drooping down, as if by hanging listlessly they could avoid some of the scorching sun.

Thinking back on Han Ze’s unusual behavior, it didn’t seem strange now—rather, it seemed perfectly normal. The place where he encountered Han Ze was precisely on the way to and from Wang Xi’s office. Probably, after leaving the boss’ office, they returned to Wang Xi’s, where she received the mediator’s call, prompting Han Ze to leave first. And Han Ze, having likely heard the beginning of the call, could easily guess its content.

“Good luck with the signing.”

Reflecting on those words now, they seemed to carry a schadenfreude tone.

Back home, Ran Lin washed off his makeup, switched to a T-shirt and shorts, and settled comfortably on the couch with half a watermelon, spooning out the sweet center.

With the TV droning in the background, he pondered Zhang Beichen and Ding Kai’s situation.

If these two get together, who will dominate who?

Physically, Zhang Beichen was taller, but Ding Kai was more robust. Personality-wise, both were assertive, though the former was more extroverted and the latter more profound…

Ran Lin entertained countless imaginary bouts between the two unrelated individuals in his head until a shopping ad on TV snapped him back to reality, realizing the absurdity of his boredom.

The gossip was like an addictive poison; once started, it was hard to stop, providing a vengeful pleasure against the backdrop of his ruined morning.

Ding-dong.

The WeChat notification broke through the ad’s chatter.

It was from Xia Xinran: [Congratulations!]

Confused, Ran Lin replied: [Congratulations for what?]

The other end must have been displeased, as a voice message quickly followed. “Don’t play dumb. You’re signing the male lead for <Mint Green> today, right?”

The sour feelings Ran Lin had suppressed with his gossiping resurfaced. But he couldn’t be angry with Xia Xinran, as his tone indicated genuine happiness for him.

[Blown it.]—Typing those two words felt like bleeding from the heart.

He didn’t have the vastness of the ocean; he was just an ordinary actor and losing such an opportunity in <Mint Green> made him want to rage and despair.

He didn’t want to add to Wang Xi’s burden, bring down Liu Wanwan further, or appear more pitiful to himself. But to Xia Xinran…

[Someone cut in line!!!!!!]—Sending that message felt like a release, sweeter than any watermelon.

Almost immediately, a voice call invitation popped up.

As soon as Ran Lin answered, Xia Xinran exclaimed, “Who’s the bastard?!”

The mass of gloomy air in Ran Lin’s heart suddenly exploded, turning into white smoke, hissing out of his every orifice, so much so that Ran Lin could even hear it. But miraculously, the more it released, the lighter and brighter his heart felt, as if he was a stalled steam train that had just fixed its problems, and now, with the whistle blowing “toot toot”, it was ready to “munch and stroll” forward again.

“Aren’t you at the film set?” Wary of further agitating Xia Xinran, knowing his beautiful friend could easily erupt, Ran Lin started off gently, asking someone beside him.

“I am, but it’s lunchtime now. I just happened to hear someone mention that <Mint Green> signed you, so I came right over to congratulate you. I was planning to scold you for such a big piece of news I had to hear from someone else, but you preempted me.”

Ran Lin could imagine Xia Xinran furiously typing the words “congratulations”, “You can still scold me now, regardless of whether the news is blown out of proportion, I haven’t told you either way.”

“Stop joking, let’s talk serious.” Xia Xinran seemed to have moved to a quieter place, the background noise much reduced. “Who took your role?”

Ran Lin hesitated for a moment and said, “I can tell you, but you must keep it a secret.”

Xia Xinran was puzzled. “Brother, once the production company announces it, the whole world will know. What’s there to keep secret?”

“It’s not about keeping the actor secret.” Ran Lin paused for a few seconds before continuing, “It’s about keeping the gossip secret.”

There was silence on the other end of the phone.

After a while, Ran Lin heard Xia Xinran say, “Swallowing the gossip without spreading it a second time is really hard…”

Ran Lin rolled his eyes, regretting he let this slip to his friend.

“Alright, alright.” It seemed like a major decision was made on the other end, and with gritted teeth. “I’ll keep it secret!”

Ran Lin smirked.

From the incident with Zhang Beichen and his friend, Ran Lin realized that although Xia Xinran usually can’t keep things to himself, if he’s determined to hide something, unless he wants to tell, you couldn’t dig it out even if you tried.

“The lead male role is confirmed for Zhang Beichen.” Relieved, Ran Lin didn’t keep it a mystery and told the truth.

Ran Lin expected Xia Xinran to explode, but on the contrary, after a long silence, he asked in a deep voice, “What’s the inside story?”

Ran Lin was surprised but then thought it made sense for Xia Xinran to ask this. He had emphasized keeping it secret, which must mean there were some juicy details behind it. Xia Xinran was clever.

“One of the most important investors of this drama is Armor City Pictures. Before the audition, the boss of Armor City Pictures, Ding Kai, approached me, and I didn’t agree.”

“So you suspect he agreed?”

“I have no evidence, and I can’t make unfounded claims, but initially, I was the one decided upon after the audition, until just before signing today, when things changed. They must have done something on their end. I’m telling you this not to discuss what methods Zhang Beichen might have used, but to warn you that if you encounter any projects invested by Ding Kai in the future, if you can avoid it, do so.”

Xia Xinran didn’t expect that Ran Lin wasn’t really looking to gossip but rather, through gossip, was providing him a protective layer. If it weren’t for the warning, Ran Lin probably wouldn’t have mentioned anything about Ding Kai. No, Xia Xinran was sure of it; Ran Lin never liked to speak ill of others and would rather keep things to himself.

“Don’t worry.” Xia Xinran felt warmed but still thought Ran Lin needn’t worry about him. “This is just one of the many solicitations I get daily. I’m well-seasoned by now.”

The unexpected response left Ran Lin both amused and reassured, but thinking about Xia Xinran, it made sense.

“Alright, as long as you’re not upset, don’t worry about me,” Xia Xinran said. “It’s normal to have roles snatched away. Many people start shooting only to be replaced. In front of investors, we’re always the weaker party and can only suffer in silence.”

“Understood.”

“Oh, and remember to remind your team, don’t post any vaguely accusatory Weibo posts or press releases,” Xia Xinran suddenly reminded. “You might lose this opportunity, but if the investors feel bad, they might consider you again. But if you make a scene, you’ll be labeled ‘difficult’, and then no investor will want you.”

Xia Xinran’s advice was identical to another friend’s, but Xia Xinran knew Ran Lin wouldn’t act rashly, so his reminder was more about ensuring his team remained calm, while the other friend’s advice was more personal.

The conversation added an interesting layer to the advice, rounding it out nicely.

“Can’t talk more. I haven’t finished my lunch,” Xia Xinran said, ready to hang up.

Ran Lin nodded. “Go eat. I’ve settled things with Lu Yiyao.”

Xia Xinran: “Alright, bye—wait, what?!”

Ran Lin moved the phone slightly away from his ear, smirking. “Nothing.”

“You, stop, now!” Now Xia Xinran could skip dinner too. “Come clean!”

Ran Lin had intended to inform since the call connected. After all, Xia Xinran was an informed party, patiently listening and advising at the party. It wouldn’t make sense to keep the outcome from him now.

And if Xia Xinran found out he was kept in the dark about <Mint Green>, he’d probably come after Ran Lin himself.

Once sure Xia Xinran was in a completely safe place, Ran Lin told him the truth. Given Xia Xinran’s limited lunch break, he didn’t go into too much detail, just the main points.

Only after listening did Xia Xinran hum. “You’re timely in reporting.”

Ran Lin breathed a sigh of relief, almost wanting to wipe sweat from his brow. “So, actually, this is what you really need to keep secret.”

“Don’t worry,” Xia Xinran said without hesitation. “Even if it means telling my girlfriend, I won’t betray a brother.”

Ran Lin: “You have a girlfriend now?!”

Xia Xinran: “Not yet.”

Ran Lin: “Then hurry up and find one, so I have an extra umbrella of protection.”

Xia Xinran: “Goodbye!”

Staring at the already hung-up chat, Ran Lin grinned for another two minutes. When he came back to reality and looked at the glaring sunlight outside. The summer sun didn’t seem so harsh anymore.

Exiting the chat with Xia Xinran and returning to the WeChat list, Ran Lin was about to message Lu Yiyao about the <Mint Green> change when he noticed a new message alert from a contact.

He clicked in and found it was a new number adding him.

The profile picture was of crystal-clear blue sea and sky, somewhere unknown. The image was frozen as the wind whipped up a wave, very high, seemingly with someone surfing in it, but too small to make out, just a dark figure against the high wall-like wave, seemingly translucent in the sunlight, casting an enchanting glow.

The ID of the profile was 1111.

Ran Lin felt something was off. It seemed like a scam number, but oddly enough, the person sent a friend request with the message, “Hello Ran Lin.”

Ran Lin’s WeChat ID and nickname weren’t his real name. Obviously, this was someone who knew him, or at least they had mutual friends. Lately, he’s been getting many such requests, especially after the success of <Sword of Fallen Flowers>; some for work, others from colleagues just wanting to make friends.

In the entertainment industry, it’s not about having too many acquaintances, but rather not having enough, so Ran Lin accepted all friend requests, even though some added never exchanged more than a few words with him.

He clicked to accept the request and then exited his contacts, ready to continue his conversation with Lu Yiyao about the “sniped tragedy”, only to receive a message from “1111”—

[I’m Ding.]

Looking at these words, Ran Lin felt a toothache coming on. It was a kind of nervous pain, often experienced in moments of “extreme regret” or “extreme annoyance”, and right now, he had both.

He knew he should’ve been cautious with such IDs!

The only Ding he knew was directly related to the day’s events, and it was hard to believe that this add was just a coincidence.

Taking advantage of the situation?

These words came to mind first, but Ran Lin quickly dismissed them. If Ding Kai hadn’t given up after being rejected, he could have used other means much earlier; there was no need to go through a fair competition and then suddenly break the contract, making things so complicated.

Explaining the last-minute contract break?

Even less likely. Even Wang Xi could only get a barely plausible “official statement” from intermediaries. Would Ding Kai add him on WeChat just to explain?

[Zhang Beichen was recommended by a very important friend of mine. There were no signs before, and it was only last night that they suddenly insisted on him, sorry.]

He actually… explained.

Ran Lin looked at the message, somewhat stunned. Both the content of the explanation and the final “sorry” made him feel like he was talking to an imposter Ding Kai.

Unable to contain his doubt, Ran Lin still tapped out two words to confirm—[Mr. Ding?]

The response was an “eye-rolling sweating” emoji, oozing disdain and speechlessness, clearly affirmative.

But Ran Lin couldn’t reconcile this down-to-earth emoji with the aloof Ding Kai he had met at the dinner.

However, since the other party had already started talking, Ran Lin felt that if he didn’t ask now, he might never get the chance to know the truth. After all, it’s just WeChat—

[Can you tell me which friend of yours it is?]

1111—[Inconvenient.]

Ran Lin was exasperated, but before he could continue his internal rant, another message came—[Both you and Zhang Beichen auditioned well. The director felt either of you could fit, but in the end, I recommended you. However, now that my friend has spoken, you’re not important enough for me to snub my friend’s face for your sake.]

Ran Lin frowned slightly, starting to get the gist of it. Ding Kai’s message seemed like an “explanation”, but it was more like a “hint” to him. And he was unusually humble about it.

Ran Lin didn’t know whether to praise him for his persistence or scold him for being shameless.

[Mr. Ding, I understand. Regardless, thank you for giving me this opportunity. Even if I can’t play the part in the end, I’ve learned a lot.]— Politeness was easy for Ran Lin to muster. He could serve eight sentences for a penny.

1111—[Do you really understand?]

Ran Lin—[I do. If I can’t play the part, it’s just that I’m not destined for the role as Li Yi.]

The phone went quiet, and 1111 didn’t reply for a while.

Ran Lin knew that the other side probably understood. Understood that he got the hint and understood that he was politely declining.

About two minutes later, the other side sent a seemingly unrelated question.

1111—[I remember you said that acting, and acting well, is your ideal?]

This was something Ran Lin had said at the dinner, and he hadn’t expected Ding Kai to remember it, so naturally, he couldn’t deny it—[Yes.]

1111—[It seems you’re not persistent enough about your ideal.]

Ran Lin—[If all ideals are realized, what’s left to strive for in life?]

1111—[Isn’t it painful always seeing but never reaching?]

Ran Lin looked at this sentence for a long time, and then finally, his lips curled up.

Ran Lin—[The beauty of ideals lies in their perpetual shine, no matter when you look up at them.]

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