Author: 颜凉雨 / Yan Liang Yu

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

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Chapter 33

Ran Lin didn’t see the reply until the second day and, after some thought, ultimately chose not to respond. In case he started talking to Lu Yiyao again, the feelings he had finally suppressed would definitely reignite. He would be the one suffering in the end, with no one to turn to.

Besides, a night had already passed. Whether he replied or not, he guessed the other person wouldn’t care much.

With this thought, Ran Lin felt refreshed and picked up the script again, immersing himself in the troubled inner world of Xu Chongfei.

Ran Lin secluded himself for three days. When Wang Xi came to pick him up, she was startled by Ran Lin’s dark circles and almost wanted to scold him.

“Lucky I came two hours early. If I had let you go like this, you should just play a corpse instead of a hero!”

In the nanny van, Ran Lin sat still for the makeup artist to work on him while obediently listening to his agent’s scolding.

The makeup artist, following Wang Xi’s instructions, applied light makeup, mainly to cover the dark circles, aiming for a natural look. As the makeup artist was finishing and Wang Xi’s rant was coming to an end, she finally calmed down and asked about the main issue. “How well have you grasped the character?”

“Don’t worry, Xi Jie,” Ran Lin confidently responded.

Wang Xi, rarely seeing Ran Lin so confident, asked with a hint of surprise, “Do you have a secret weapon?”

Ran Lin innocently looked at her. “What?”

Wang Xi, frustrated, asked, “Where’s your confidence coming from?”

“Didn’t you say to give 200% even if there’s only a 1% chance? I can’t control the probability of the opportunity, but 200%…” Ran Lin blinked slightly. “I think I can do it.”

Wang Xi narrowed her eyes, suddenly feeling that today’s Ran Lin seemed a bit unfamiliar, especially his eyes, which shone with unprecedented handsomeness.

Shaking her head to dispel the unrealistic illusion, Wang Xi thought it must be because she was too hopeful for Ran Lin to perform well today, unconsciously viewing him through an agent’s lens.

The audition was in a conference room of a star-rated hotel near the North Third Ring. According to Wang Xi, the main filming base in Hengdian had started setting up. Director Chen was very strict and supervised everything. He had specially taken a week off to return to Beijing to see the last group of actors audition. This round of auditions would decide everything, as per the investors’ strict rule for the director.

Wang Xi had her sources of information, and Ran Lin just needed to listen and remember.

“Oh right, you might meet Zhang Beichen later,” Wang Xi suddenly said on the way to the hotel.

Ran Lin, unprepared, asked foolishly, “Is he also auditioning for the third male lead?”

Wang Xi looked at him disdainfully. “What are you thinking? Of course, he’s the male lead. Have you ever seen someone who has played several leading roles go back to playing a third male lead?”

Ran Lin’s heart finally settled. Healthy competition, relying on one’s own abilities, he wasn’t afraid, but if possible, he still didn’t want to compete with friends.

But…

“Do the lead roles also need to audition for this drama?” Ran Lin was a bit surprised. Usually, for big productions, the male lead is chosen after considering various factors, and auditions aren’t that important—even the director has to consider the wishes of investors and the market.

Wang Xi explained. “Tang Jingyu doesn’t need to audition. The production team will decide personally. There’s still room for discussion for Fang Xian, so many people want to compete for it.”

As expected.

Ran Lin steadied himself, went through the audition script he knew by heart in his mind, and then realized that the third scene was a confrontation between Xu Chongfei and Fang Xian. He asked again, “Will Zhang Beichen act with me?”

Seeing Ran Lin finally catch on, Wang Xi didn’t hide it. “Possibly.”

Ran Lin complained a bit, “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

“If I wasn’t afraid you’d be too surprised later and make a mistake, I wouldn’t have told you now,” Wang Xi said in a low voice, looking deeply into Ran Lin’s eyes. “Remember, what you need to do is focus on performing well, regardless of who you act with.”

Ran Lin calmed down oddly and nodded firmly.

Wang Xi sat back down and asked the driver, “How much longer?”

“About ten minutes,” the driver replied.

Wang Xi nodded, thought for a moment, then turned back to Ran Lin. “Since we still have time, tell me about your understanding of the character. The director will probably ask later.”

Ran Lin swallowed and, after a long pause, slowly shook his head.

Wang Xi was surprised. “Can’t do it?”

Ran Lin honestly confessed. “Yeah, can’t do it. If I talk about it, I’ll definitely cry, and the makeup will be ruined.”

Wang Xi had read the script and knew Xu Chongfei was indeed tragic, but she wondered. “Aren’t you getting into character too fast?”

Ran Lin lowered his eyes and, after a moment, looked up again with a burning gaze, as if it was no longer the semi-famous Ran Lin in his body but the noble and righteous young master of the Hidden Sword Tower. “I haven’t come out of it for these three days.”

Ran Lin was crazy.

Wang Xi didn’t know if this was good or bad, as she had never managed an actor so absorbed in their role. Liu Wanwan, however, was fascinated. The immersed Ran Lin’s handsomeness soared.

The car stopped at the hotel’s entrance. Ran Lin got out first, followed by Wang Xi and Liu Wanwan.

Today, Ran Lin wore a light camel-colored wool coat, looking clean, fresh, and maturely steady. Wang Xi dressed more soberly than usual, abandoning her favorite red, opting for black and white—sharp but not too eye-catching. Liu Wanwan was as plain as ever, following behind, carrying things.

The hotel corridor was carpeted and quiet. Approaching the conference room, they could faintly hear the sound of lines being recited inside.

Wang Xi stopped two meters away from the conference room door, signaling Ran Lin and Liu Wanwan to stop as well, and then took out her phone to make a call.

Soon, a girl in her late twenties appeared from inside. She had short hair, glasses, a sweatshirt, and jeans, and held a somewhat crumpled A4 paper that seemed to have a list printed on it.

The girl smiled upon seeing Wang Xi and then spoke in a low voice. “Are you here for the audition?”

Wang Xi nodded and whispered, “Ran Lin, scheduled for 10:30.”

The girl checked the list, quickly found Ran Lin’s name, and told Wang Xi. “Wait at the door for a while. I’ll call you when it’s over inside.”

Wang Xi nodded politely and watched the girl return to the conference room.

The heavy solid wood door closed again, and Wang Xi made a playful face at Ran Lin. Wang Xi rarely made such an expression, usually meaning she was helplessly amused and couldn’t get angry.

Ran Lin smiled, not minding it. Why does everyone in the circle want to be famous? Because fame means you might not need to audition, or even if you do, you don’t have to wait. Fame is like a green light in the industry. Take this movie, for example; there are people like him who desperately fight for a chance to audition, and there are those who sit at home and get handpicked by investors to be the lead.

Ran Lin envied this but was calm about it. Two months ago, he didn’t even have the chance to audition.

After waiting for about twenty minutes, the conference room door opened again. An actor about Ran Lin’s age came out with his agent. Ran Lin didn’t recognize him but had seen him on TV. However, he didn’t look as good in person as on TV, and his dejected expression now made him even less impressive.

Wang Xi and the other agent weren’t familiar, they just nodded to each other, and then the agent led his actor away. Before they got far, the girl from before stuck her head out of the door and said softly, “You can go in now.”

Wang Xi asked Liu Wanwan to wait at the door and patted Ran Lin on the shoulder, leading him into the conference room.

The conference room was large, and the table had been moved aside, leaving only a camera set up in the middle of the cleared space, apparently to record the auditions of all the actors.

Chen Qizheng, Song Mang, and a few others Ran Lin didn’t recognize sat in a row behind the table. From the moment Ran Lin entered, their gaze was fixed on him.

Director Chen Qizheng was around forty. He had a square face, a crew cut, and an unremarkable appearance. He wore a drab gray coat and sat in the middle of the row, inconspicuous, but if you looked into his eyes, you’d feel pressured.

By contrast, the screenwriter Song Mang was much more approachable. Probably because he was younger, around thirty, wearing black-framed glasses. Among the group, he was the most brightly dressed yet tastefully so, both stylish and energetic.

Song Mang’s world of martial arts in his scripts had the vitality of youth but also the depth of traditional martial arts. Ran Lin could see the vitality, but it was hard to associate the depth with such a person.

Perhaps this is the magic of screenwriters.

Wang Xi looked at Ran Lin, who was lost in thought, and helplessly pinched him from behind. Ran Lin reacted to the pain and immediately went forward to greet respectfully. “Hello, Director Chen, Screenwriter Song. I am Ran Lin, auditioning for the role of Xu Chongfei.”

Wang Xi sighed. Couldn’t you say a few flattering words?

Director Chen Qizheng had no expression, as if Ran Lin’s enthusiasm or lack thereof wouldn’t affect his stern face.

Song Mang still politely smiled, then said, “We have limited time. Let’s start.”

Wang Xi began to feel nervous. She had taken artists to auditions before, and usually, directors would give some face and make small talk. She had never encountered someone as stern as Chen Qizheng. Overall, she had a bad feeling.

Ran Lin saw Wang Xi step aside, clearing the middle space, and without wasting words, took off his woolen coat, wearing only the white knitted shirt inside. The white was strange—not pure white but tinged with a bit of blue. In terms of color, it was quite refreshing, but the style was really not outstanding—not ugly, but not particularly good-looking either.

Wang Xi, sitting in a corner chair, regretted not having Ran Lin change his shirt. Ran Lin, standing in the center, faced the director and screenwriter, but his eyes were not on them. Instead, he stared at the empty space in front of him as if a true brother was standing there.

Time passed by. The conference room was silent, except for the camera on the tripod. Ran Lin didn’t make any movement, just stared at the “brother” in front of him, his eyes slowly reddening.

“Tang Jingyu.” Ran Lin finally spoke, his voice suppressed with almost unbearable pain. “Fang Xian is our brother. We’ve exchanged hearts and lives. Didn’t you feel even a bit of hesitation when you used him?”

In the large conference room, no one responded, but the air seemed to turn bitter with “Xu Chongfei’s” questioning.

But Ran Lin could see and hear. He could see the wavering in the eyes of the “Tang Jingyu” opposite him, but he could also hear his cold words: No. It’s a blood feud, irreconcilable.

As soon as those words fell, Ran Lin raised his voice. “What does that have to do with Fang Xian? He always treated you as a brother!”

Tang Jing Yu: He is the son of Fang Huanzhi, so he is related.

“Tang Jingyu, you’re crazy. You are obsessed now; do you know that? Fine, if you want to kill Fang Xian, then kill me first!”

“Stop—” Director Chen Qizheng, who hadn’t said a word since entering, suddenly called cut.

Ran Lin’s chest heaved wildly, still not out of the intense emotions, and looked at the director with unsteady breathing and confusion. Song Mang also seemed puzzled, but his face didn’t show it.

Chen Qizheng didn’t explain. Just wrote a few words on some paper, then directly said to Ran Lin, “Next scene.”

The next scene was about being hurt by love. Completely different emotions from angrily questioning Tang Jingyu.

Ran Lin turned his back, breathing deeply, trying to adjust while comforting the tragic character Xu Chongfei in his mind.

Turning back to face the director, no, his partner, Ran Lin watched as “Tang Jingyu” slowly disappeared, and in a daze, a quirky, smiling girl, “Li’er”, a cute little thief he admired, became clear. She was the girl he liked.

Now, that girl put on an unfeeling face, wanting him to give up, so she said the cruelest things. She said: Xu Chongfei, I don’t like you. I already have someone I love.

Ran Lin looked blank, his lips slightly moving, as if he had something to say but didn’t know how to start. After a long time, he slowly said, “Tell me his name. Tell me, and I will give up.”

There was no resentment, no anger—only a magnanimous calmness, but a barely restrained hint of sadness.

Li’er: I can’t tell you, nor will I let you find him.

“Xu Chongfei” gave a bitter smile, his confusion turning into helplessness, and the atmosphere of sadness surged suddenly. “What kind of person do you think I am? If you really like him and think being with him makes you happier, I am willing to let you go.”

Li’er: You’re lying.

“Xu Chongfei” still smiled, but in his smile, in his eyes, there was an indissoluble love and sorrow. “I’m not lying to you, Li’er. I never knew what liking someone was from a young age. It was you who taught me that feeling. So now I also tell you, what I, Xu Chongfei, love is for your happiness. I will do anything that makes you happy, including letting you go.”

Li’er: So you’re really letting me go?

“Xu Chongfei” took a deep breath, gazing at the stars in the sky, as if his beloved girl was about to become one of those twinkling, yet distant stars.

Li’er didn’t speak and turned to leave.

“Xu Chongfei” suddenly called out to her. “Can I ask one last question?”

Li’er stopped, and after a long time, slowly turned halfway around.

“Xu Chongfei”, looking at her from a distance, spoke under the starry sky in a clear and bright voice. “You always tell me to let you go, but I have never restrained you. Have you ever thought, the one who really doesn’t want to let go of you, is not me, but your own heart?”

“Stop—”

Director Chen Qizheng spoke again, but this time, he waited until Ran Lin had finished all the lines of the scene.

Ran Lin stood in the middle, not looking at the director, only lowering his head, reorganizing his emotions. The next scene was the last words before death, without the anger of the first scene, without the deep affection of the second, only carrying the calmness in the face of death and good wishes for his brother.

Ah, this character is a saint.

“Let him come in,” Director Chen Qizheng suddenly said something seemingly unrelated.

Ran Lin looked up in confusion and saw Chen Qizheng speaking to the young girl who had notified them to come in. The girl, upon receiving the order, quickly went out and soon brought in someone who was supposed to audition half an hour later.

First came Agent Wu Xuefeng. Ran Lin always felt he had gained more weight. Then came Zhang Beichen.

Their eyes met, Ran Lin felt a bit awkward, but Zhang Bei Chen smiled naturally at him, obviously knowing he was auditioning. Zhang Beichen’s smile made Ran Lin’s awkwardness disappear, as if they were back to the times of shooting reality shows, naturally returning a smile to his partner.

Zhang Beichen and Wu Xuefeng also politely greeted the director and screenwriter. The screenwriter was as amiable as ever, the director as cold-faced as always.

‘So it’s not about fame,’ Ran Lin thought. ‘The lack of smiles must be Director Chen’s personal style.’

“Ran Lin… right,” Director Chen Qi Zheng suddenly said.

Ran Lin quickly nodded. “Yes, Director Chen, what can I do for you?”

Director Chen Qizheng glanced at him briefly, then looked back down at the script and said, “For the third scene, try it with Zhang Beichen. He’s playing Fang Xian.”

Ran Lin blinked in surprise and then softly agreed. “Okay.”

Zhang Beichen, without a word, took off his coat and decisively joined in.

Zhang Beichen wore a well-tailored shirt under his coat, with rolled-up sleeves, clean-cut, and handsome, with less youthful naivety and more of an elite vibe.

Ran Lin glanced at him.

Zhang Beichen understood, immediately knelt on one knee, extending his arm.

Ran Lin hesitated no longer and fell into the “friend’s” arms with a slap.

When two familiar people act together, it’s easy to break into laughter, especially in such a life-and-death parting. Ran Lin looked up into Zhang Beichen’s eyes and always felt there was a hint of laughter in them. Maybe Zhang Beichen wasn’t really smiling—it was just his own overthinking. But Ran Lin couldn’t control it.

Taking a deep breath, Ran Lin moved his gaze from Zhang Beichen’s eyes to the tip of his nose. From the perspective of others, even on camera, it would seem he was staring into the other’s eyes. So as long as his emotions were in place, there shouldn’t be any problem.

“Chongfei—” Zhang Beichen hugged him, suddenly shouting, his voice full of the sorrow of a friend’s impending departure.

The dying person, Ran Lin, made his voice weak and breathless. “I, I’m fine…”

“Stop!”

Zhang Beichen’s body shook, and the arm holding Ran Lin trembled.

Ran Lin quickly propped himself up with one hand.

Both of them stood up and looked at the director nervously, like two elementary school students facing their teacher.

Director Chen Qizheng stared at Ran Lin and said, “Xu Chongfei, I’ll give you one last chance. If you can’t look directly into Fang Xian’s eyes, then there’s no need to perform this scene. Do you understand?”

Director Chen Qizheng’s voice wasn’t loud, but the pressure was overwhelming.

Ran Lin gritted his teeth, held on, not avoiding his gaze, and nodded slowly and firmly.

Director Chen Qizheng threw his pen onto the table with a snap. “Again.”

Lying back in Zhang Beichen’s arms, Ran Lin closed his eyes, quickly discarded all distractions, and when he opened them again, the face above him was still Zhang Beichen, but the image in his mind was Fang Xian…

This time the director didn’t interrupt, watching coldly until the end, then said, “Okay.”

He then stopped looking at them, picked up his pen, and started scribbling on paper again.

Ran Lin was curious about what he was writing, but from his bold and commanding penmanship, he felt that even if he saw it, he might not understand it.

Ran Lin had tried three scenes, but Zhang Beichen only one. Now both stood in the middle, the atmosphere cooling down with the end of the performance. The director, furiously writing, showed no sign of looking up, making the air somewhat awkward.

Screenwriter Song Mang smiled at them and suddenly asked, “Can you talk about your understanding of the characters?”

Ran Lin and Zhang Beichen looked at each other; the latter whispered, “You go first.”

Whether speaking first or last, both had to speak, so Ran Lin didn’t refuse, took a deep breath, raised his head, and said, “Xu Chongfei is a saint.”

Song Mang was stunned.

Wang Xi was dumbfounded.

Even Director Chen Qizheng looked up, his usually deep eyes finally showing a bit of amusement.

Ran Lin continued, “But in the martial world, we need such a saint. He’s filial to his parents, loyal to his friends, and deeply loving to his lover. He, as a person, is the charm of the martial world. His upbringing as the young master of the Hidden Sword Tower has made his soul pure. He doesn’t have Tang Jingyu’s deep-seated hatred, doesn’t have Fang Xian’s inferiority of living in his brother’s shadow. He lives freely, easily, sincerely, and purely. Even when facing deceit and hurt, he can forgive with the greatest tolerance, but he’s not a blind good person. At critical moments, he has clear stances and will protect what he cherishes most with his life…”

“What do you think is the most cherished thing to him?” Song Mang narrowed his eyes, staring intently at Ran Lin.

“Loyalty and righteousness,” Ran Lin answered Song Mang. “Tang Jingyu and Fang Xian also value loyalty, but what they value is the loyalty among brothers and friends. Only Xu Chongfei values the greater righteousness of the world. He is the only one in this martial world who is willing to die for loyalty and righteousness. Therefore, his death can bring about reconciliation between Tang Jingyu and Fang Xian.”

Song Mang quietly looked at him, not speaking, with a smile that seemed to be thinking about something, or perhaps just finding it interesting.

“Uh…” Zhang Beichen hesitated to speak.

Song Mang turned his attention to him and nodded. “Go ahead.”

Zhang Bei Chen cleared his throat. “Fang Xian, in my view, is the most contradictory and pained character in this drama…”

……

After Zhang Beichen finished speaking, Song Mang didn’t ask further, and the director asked Ran Lin and Wang Xi to leave first. Ran Lin didn’t know if Zhang Beichen would have to act against the air like he did, just as he couldn’t see through the director’s cold expression whether it was usual or a sign of rejection.

“Xi Jie, do you think I stand a chance?” On the way back, Ran Lin, increasingly unsure, directly asked Wang Xi.

Unexpectedly, Wang Xi also couldn’t figure it out. “This director is famously idiosyncratic. Who knows what he’s thinking. But—” Wang Xi patted Ran Lin’s head, giving a rare praise. “You performed very well today. You impressed me.”

Ran Lin always felt Wang Xi’s pat on his head was like petting a dog, but hearing the praise, he didn’t mind. “Really? You really think I did well?”

Wang Xi looked at him with a mix of wonder and amusement, uncertain if she was mistaken. “Why are you so different on and off stage? When you act, you really have charm, but as soon as you’re off stage, you become timid again.”

Ran Lin laughed, playfully asking, “So do you like me being bold and imposing on stage, or do you like me being timid like this?”

Wang Xi narrowed her eyes, sizing him up, and corrected unceremoniously, “You weren’t bold and imposing on stage either!”

Ran Lin laughed out loud.

Wang Xi calmed down, thinking that perhaps she should plan Ran Lin’s acting career more seriously.

Liu Wanwan, listening to their conversation, felt a surge of sadness—she had eavesdropped on the whole process from outside, struggling with the door that wouldn’t open a crack. She was the most eager fan to see Ran Lin act!

……

Wang Xi received an “inside” call a month later, right on Labor Day.

“Xu Chongfei is preliminarily set to be Ran Lin. The list will be reported to the investors and the lead male actor this week. If both sides have no issues, it’s settled.”

This “inside” source was developed by Wang Xi through various connections after the audition. They didn’t have the power to make final decisions but could gather some intelligence.

“Really? Out of so many people, they chose Ran Lin?” Despite her expectations, Wang Xi was still incredulous.

“Yes, out of so many, the director chose two for the screenwriter to pick one, and the screenwriter chose Ran Lin.”

“Did they give a reason? Like phenomenal acting or something?”

“Sister, you’re thinking too much. There aren’t that many phenomenal performances.” The voice on the phone chuckled, adding, “But I think I heard him and the director mention something about Xu Chongfei’s favorite clothing color being moonlight white, as written in the script.”

Moonlight white?

Wang Xi couldn’t figure out the significance, and seeing the other side wanting to hang up, she quickly asked another question, “Is the lead male still Lu Yiyao?”

“Yes, it’s been settled for a long time. Unless he changes his mind in the next few days, the contract will be signed soon.”

“Why wait until now to sign the contract?”

“Probably want to see who the other actors are. Even the best scripts, without a solid cast, don’t have much persuasive power.”

“Alright, thank you.”

“Sister, don’t be so formal with me. We’re all on the same team. We’ll talk later.”

“Okay, I’ll treat you to a meal sometime.”

After hanging up, Wang Xi thought for a while, still unsure whether to let Yao Hong know in advance.

It was fine whether it worked out or not, but now it was just one step away from success. If the investors, director, and screenwriter all approved, but the lead male actor vetoed it, she would be frustrated.

Lu Yiyao…

From Wang Xi’s observation, his relationship with Ran Lin seemed quite good after the reality show, but she couldn’t rule out that he and Yao Hong might overthink upon knowing Ran Lin was a candidate for the third male lead. With a history of riding on popularity, if they believed Ran Lin was targeting Lu Yiyao this time too, then Ran Lin would definitely have no chance.

Wang Xi rarely regretted things she had done.

Using Lu Yiyao for hype was one such regret.

Should she let Ran Lin talk to Lu Yiyao? Play the sentiment card?

No, if that kid got impulsive and refused to act just to clear his name, she’d go crazy.

Wang Xi used to have confidence in controlling Ran Lin, but ever since the hotel drama, she began to reassess this artist, feeling that any day, Ran Lin might silently do something earth-shattering.

After much deliberation without a conclusion, Wang Xi, troubled, remembered the moonlight white reference.

Not only did she not understand the screenwriter’s intention, but she also didn’t even recognize the color.

Searching “moonlight white” on her phone, the answer was—a color between blue and white, not light blue, but white with a hint of pale blue.

The knitted shirt Ran Lin wore that day!

Wang Xi realized in her memory.

That shirt really wasn’t particularly attractive, but according to Screenwriter Song Mang, it was the favorite color of the character Ran Lin played—Xu Chongfei.

Opening the phone gallery, she carefully went through the audition scripts from a month ago, scrutinizing until her eyes hurt. Finally, in the character bio, Wang Xi saw that inconspicuous line—

Favoring clothes in moonlight white, just like himself, calm and clear.

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

Author: 颜凉雨 / Yan Liang Yu

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

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Chapter 32

Huo Yuntao’s return to China was a big deal for Lu Yiyao, even though it wasn’t happening until next year. Lu Yiyao immediately sent a video call request—a face-to-face talk was needed.

In the video, Huo Yuntao was in the living room of his quaint English countryside holiday home, the familiar fireplace visible in the background. Huo Yuntao had the look of a carefree playboy: a straight nose, thin lips, and charming eyes. He appeared to have just taken a bath, wrapped in a luxurious and thick dark blue bathrobe, his hair half-dry, epitomizing the image of a pampered young master.

Lu Yiyao was accustomed to his friend’s perpetual vacation lifestyle. However, his friend frowned and asked, “Did you add more movie stills to your wall?”

Lu Yiyao glanced at the wall behind him, feeling indifferent. “It’s alright, I guess.”

Huo Yuntao was incredulous. “Definitely more. You narcissist.”

Lu Yiyao didn’t dwell on this old topic and got to the point. “Why have you suddenly decided to come back?”

Huo Yuntao looked nonchalant. “Oh, I’m getting married.”

Lu Yiyao was stunned, taking a while to process this bombshell. “You, are, getting, married?!”

“What’s with that expression?” Huo Yuntao looked at the shock in his friend’s eyes speechlessly, as if he had announced he was becoming a monk instead of getting married. “You know I’ve been with Panxi for years. What’s so strange about getting married?”

“It’s not strange for you to marry Panxi, but I thought someone as fun-loving as you wouldn’t consider it until at least thirty…” Lu Yiyao narrowed his eyes skeptically, examining his friend’s frivolous face, then had a sudden realization. “You’re not, are you?”

Huo Yuntao paused, then, understanding his friend’s insinuation, responded in despair. “Drop your wild guesses. Our relationship is pure and profound!”

Lu Yiyao tilted his head in confusion. “Being a father is good news; you don’t need to be secretive about it.”

Huo Yuntao admitted, getting serious. “Her family started arranging blind dates for her because they saw I had no intention of returning. Could I allow that? If I don’t return soon, I’ll lose my wife!”

“Wait.” Lu Yiyao suddenly remembered today was April 1^st and became more cautious. “You’re not fooling me, right?”

Huo Yuntao was serious. “Would I joke about something like this?”

Lu Yiyao stared at him for a long moment, then nodded, indicating he believed him.

Huo Yuntao, feeling scrutinized and even more frustrated since he had to initiate the wedding announcement after waiting three days for a response, lamented, “You’re my best friend, yet you’re the last to know I’m getting married. It’s heartbreaking.”

“I found out a year in advance, and I’m the last one?” Lu Yiyao felt his friend misunderstood the term ‘advance notice’. But then he realized, “How would I know if you don’t tell me? Did you inform everyone else before me?”

“Of course not,” Huo Yuntao declared righteously. “You’re the only one I notified personally!”

“Then I should be the first to know.”

“I posted on Moments three days ago.”

“……”

“Any questions?”

“You win.”

Huo Yuntao held his phone in one hand, gesturing innocently with the other. “It wasn’t April Fool’s Day three days ago, so it can’t be a prank.”

Lu Yiyao nodded, accepting the suddenness of the news, but after thinking it through, he knew his friend never joked about relationships. “But didn’t Panxi consider moving to England before?”

Huo Yuntao sighed sadly. “She’s decided now. She prefers living in China.”

Lu Yiyao smiled gloatingly. “So even you, the infatuated idiot, have to return for career development?”

“What choice do I have? My wife is important.” Huo Yuntao languidly ruffled his hair, then suddenly cried out passionately. “Ah, my surfing, my yacht, my racing car—”

Lu Yiyao laughed until he was out of breath, then found his voice. “It’s not that bad. We have all these in China too.”

“It’s not about the hardware…” Huo Yuntao lamented after his outcry.

Lu Yiyao understood. “Your dad wants you to take over the company?”

Huo Yuntao said, “Being far away meant freedom, but returning under his watchful eye means training for sure.”

Lu Yiyao was silent, offering silent sympathy.

“So, you see,” Huo Yuntao suddenly said, “compared to your dad, he’s actually not bad. Even though he scolds you every time, he still lets you be. If your dad really wanted to stop you, even with my help, your dream of stardom would have been over.”

Lu Yiyao was silent; Huo Yuntao’s blunt truths left no room for argument. Like when Lu Yiyao secretly switched to drama school against his father’s wishes for him to attend Manchester Business School. Besides cutting off his finances, his dad didn’t do much else. In fact, his dad had a hundred ways to stop him, but in the end, he still didn’t finish school, unsure who won that battle.

“What are you thinking about?” Huo Yuntao knew his friend was deep in thought. His friend, aside from being narcissistic, was always full of inner drama.

“It’s strange. Now that I’m somewhat of a star, why don’t I feel like my dreams have come true?” Lu Yiyao had been pondering this question recently but had no one to confide in, until today when Huo Yuntao appeared, giving him a chance to finally talk about it. “Recently, I’ve been so busy that I fainted, completely losing consciousness. It was the first time in my life I had ever fainted, and it really scared me. Waking up in the hospital bed, I wondered, who am I working so hard for? What do I really want, and what am I aiming for?”

Huo Yuntao furrowed his brow, thinking hard before concluding, “You just take life too seriously. Who said people must have a dream? I just live each day happily, not dwelling on the past or future. Is that illegal?”

“You underestimate yourself.” Lu Yiyao looked at his friend with rare admiration. “You’re the one among everyone I know with the clearest and most steadfast goals.”

“What goal? How come I didn’t know about this?”

“To marry Lin Panxi.”

“…Well, that indeed is my dream.”

“And it’s been since elementary school.”

“I can’t be blamed for that; she sat right in front of me, swinging her ponytail in my face every day. You watch that for six years, you’d be hypnotized too.”

Lu Yiyao laughed and teasingly said, “But you’ve been in England for over ten years now. She’s long stopped swinging that ponytail. Why haven’t you let go?”

Huo Yuntao showed a roguish, domineering smirk, lifting his chin. “Too late. She’s swayed my heart.”

Lu Yiyao looked at his friend, apparently carefree but deeply in love, and genuinely remarked, “You’re the one who should be acting, with such rich emotions.”

“No, thanks. I don’t want to fall in love and have an underground affair.” Huo Yuntao firmly refused, and then brought the phone closer, warning with widened eyes. “Alright, I’ve informed you. Remember to prepare a wedding gift. You have a year, and if it’s not something decent, we can’t be friends!”

“I got it. I got it—” Lu Yiyao quickly agreed, not giving his friend a chance to make more unreasonable demands and ended the video call.

After the call with his mischievous friend, Lu Yiyao finally realized that he had forgotten to say congratulations.

Huo Yuntao seemed indifferent, but his joy seemed ready to burst through the screen, and Lu Yiyao could feel it. His friend might be playful and noisy, seemingly not serious about anything, but his love for Lin Panxi was unwavering.

Lu Yiyao had never seen anyone maintain a romance from elementary school into adulthood, enduring over a decade of long-distance relationship, and still end up together.

Huo Yuntao and Lin Panxi did just that.

Their families were close, and their match was suitable, so their relationship didn’t face much opposition. Huo Yuntao’s comment about the Lin Family arranging blind dates was probably just to force him back to China.

Childhood sweethearts, golden boy and jade girl*, perfect harmony, culminating in marriage.

*(金童玉女) Idiom referring to a handsome young man and a beautiful young woman, often with the undertone that they are a perfect match.

Even idol dramas aren’t this sweet.

Lu Yiyao didn’t often check Moments, so missing Huo Yuntao’s post wasn’t surprising. If his friend hadn’t directly informed him today, he probably wouldn’t have known until next year’s wedding.

Exiting the private chat, he went into Moments, not seeing Huo Yuntao’s post first but Ran Lin’s.

The person in the photo was paler and more delicate than he remembered, and perhaps due to the hairstyle, seemed particularly gentle and obedient.

Lu Yiyao resisted the urge to comment and scrolled down to find Huo Yuntao.

Lu Yiyao had many WeChat friends, mostly from the industry. People wanted to add him, and he couldn’t refuse, but after adding them, he usually set up a block due to the somewhat awkward relationships. They could see his Moments, but he wouldn’t see theirs.

As a result, the updates in his Moments were quite limited. After scrolling a bit, he found the short video posted by Huo Yuntao.

The video was brief, but it captured the most exciting moment of Lin Panxi accepting his proposal.

It was unclear from the video whether he had made a quick trip back to China or if she had gone to England, but the man in the video was laughing foolishly, and the woman was tearfully joyful.

Lu Yiyao typed a comment below the video: [Congratulations. Wait for my big gift!]

Having finally sent his well wishes, Lu Yiyao returned to the top of Moments and opened Ran Lin’s photo in full screen.

With the colors more vibrant and the features clearer, Ran Lin’s youthful beauty was more apparent. The natural hair, the distant look in his eyes, created a likable and dazed charm.

Reading the comments, mostly from Xia Xinran, Lu Yiyao smiled upon seeing Leo’s name.

Leo was a well-known stylist in the industry, a nice guy, quite open. Though not officially out, he was almost there and occasionally flirted with male celebrities he liked.

It seemed Xia Xinran wasn’t keen on this.

Lu Yiyao didn’t mind much. He had been pursued by the same sex during his studies in England, but after making clear his straight orientation, the pursuer backed off. So, as long as the other party didn’t cross boundaries, Lu Yiyao respected all orientations.

Xia Xinran was only concerned about the makeup, but Lu Yiyao was curious about the content. The photo clearly showed a makeup room, but he hadn’t heard Ran Lin mentioning any new work recently.

Actually, he had been so busy catching up with previous engagements and worrying about going home that he hadn’t really chatted with these friends lately.

Thinking this, Lu Yiyao straightforwardly asked in the comments: [A new gig?]

Comments in Moments don’t get immediate responses like private chats, and Lu Yiyao didn’t expect an instant reply. Instead, he reopened the photo, appreciating it objectively.

Leo indeed had skills.

During the reality show, everyone was usually disheveled, and Lu Yiyao never thought Ran Lin could be associated with “beautiful”. That word suited Xia Xinran more. As for Ran Lin, he was more about freshness and handsomeness, but if it really came to handsomeness, he couldn’t beat Zhang Beichen, so he could only uniquely claim freshness.

Admittedly, in the male artist circle, truly owning the “fresh and young” charm was rare and Ran Lin’s temperament was indeed unique. But the appeal of “freshness” is limited, and it’s unlikely to be overwhelmingly popular.

However, under Leo’s touch, Ran Lin looked beautiful.

The kind of fresh and clean beauty, even more rare, wasn’t effeminate but rather intelligent and scholarly. In ancient times, he would be a talented scholar or a graceful strategist; in modern times, definitely the school heartthrob and top student.

Lu Yiyao wondered if Leo flirted with Ran Lin.

He didn’t know why he suddenly thought of this, but once he did, he couldn’t stop imagining Ran Lin just smiling it off.

Just a smile and nothing more.

Lu Yiyao was confident in his imagination, as in his experience, Ran Lin almost never lost his temper.

Come to think of it, what would Ran Lin look like when angry? He was genuinely curious…

After a series of random thoughts, he still hadn’t received a reply to his comment.

Lu Yiyao regretted not sending a private message instead, but then thought it would seem strange to suddenly ask about a Moments post after not talking for days.

Lu Yiyao got up and reset the needle on the record player, surrounding the home theater with lazy tunes again.

Settling back into the sofa, he decided to wait patiently.

……

When Ran Lin got home at nine p.m., it was even earlier than when Lu Yiyao got home. At that time, Lu Yiyao hadn’t yet video called Huo Yuntao, nor had he seen the Moments.

Ran Lin was oblivious to all of this.

The only thing he knew was that Wang Xi hadn’t returned to her own home but came to his small apartment instead, along with Liu Wanwan.

Ran Lin didn’t ask, and Liu Wanwan, curious to death, could only follow along.

Finally, the three of them entered Ran Lin’s small living room. Wang Xi asked Liu Wanwan to pour some water and then leisurely sat down on the sofa, patting the space next to her to signal Ran Lin to sit.

Ran Lin said, “I’d rather stand. It feels safer.”

Wang Xi rolled her eyes at him. “Good news!”

Ran Lin sat down next to her, half-believing, half-doubtful.

As soon as he sat down, Wang Xi took out a stack of A4 papers bound together from her bag.

Ran Lin’s eyes brightened immediately, and he blurted out without thinking. “A script?!”

Wang Xi handed the papers to him, correcting him, “To be exact, it’s a script for an audition.”

Reminded by this, Ran Lin realized that the booklet in his hand was quite thin compared to a full script.

But the title on the cover was striking—<Sword of Fallen Flowers>.

Ran Lin couldn’t wait to flip through the script, starting with the plot summary, then quickly moving to the character introductions, and finally, to the actual script. It wasn’t a typical episodic script but rather just three scenes printed out—obviously the content he needed for the audition.

“A wuxia¹ drama?” Even without reading the plot summary in detail, Ran Lin had a good guess. He looked at Wang Xi, not questioning her choice of scripts, just a bit surprised because, in recent years, wuxia dramas hadn’t been very popular, with more investors favoring palace intrigue and xianxia².

¹Genre of Chinese fiction concerning the adventures of martial artists in ancient China.
²A genre of Chinese fantasy heavily inspired by Chinese mythology and influenced by philosophies of Taoism, Chan Buddhism, Chinese martial arts, traditional Chinese medicine, Chinese folk religion, Chinese alchemy, other traditional elements of Chinese culture, and the wuxia genre.

“Any problems?” Seeing his concern, Wang Xi didn’t answer directly but simply raised her eyebrows in question.

Ran Lin quickly shook his head. “Not at all.”

This was the truth. Whether the play was popular or not was the investors’ concern. He was just happy to have a script to work on and wasn’t in a position to be picky.

“This is a rare double male lead drama, a precious opportunity,” Wang Xi said earnestly.

Ran Lin was even more excited and stopped looking at the script, directly asking his manager, “Which role am I auditioning for?”

Wang Xi replied, “The third male lead.”

Ran Lin: “…”

Then why mention the double leads!

Ran Lin’s excitement turned into dismay, having thought he had a stroke of luck landing a lead role.

“Forget the leads.” Wang Xi ruthlessly shattered his illusions, pausing for a moment before adding, “Just focus on doing well in the audition. The outcome isn’t for you to worry about.”

Ran Lin pursed his lips, sensing there was more to her words.

Given his history of unsuccessful auditions, he tentatively asked, “Is this another ‘just for show’ audition?”

Wang Xi was silent for a while before cautiously saying, “The production hasn’t finalized the cast yet. There are a few potential candidates, but nothing is certain. Filming starts in September, and it’s already April; they’re in a hurry. The director hasn’t given the green light yet and wants more auditions, so—” Wang Xi said, fixing her gaze on Ran Lin, “you only have three days. This opportunity is very rare. Even if there’s only a 1% chance, you need to give 200%.”

When Wang Xi emphasized something so seriously, it meant it was very important.

She had said before that if there were more “for show” auditions already decided, they wouldn’t waste time on them. Now, although this role wasn’t predetermined, the chances were slim, yet she still took it so seriously. That only meant one thing—the drama had a bright future and was one of those highly sought-after projects.

Closing the script, Ran Lin looked at the cover again, noticing the small print under the title—

Director: Chen Qizheng

Screenwriter: Song Mang

Ran Lin was shocked.

Chen Qizheng and Song Mang were a golden duo in the film industry. Their wuxia films in recent years had carved out a unique path in the market, each one achieving both box office success and critical acclaim, revitalizing the somewhat stagnant wuxia genre.

Their movies inherited the traditional charm of wuxia but weren’t constrained by it, cleverly incorporating innovation, appealing to the new generation with their blend of poetic style and engaging content, full of swordplay and passionate heroism.

“Is it really Director Chen?” Ran Lin still found it hard to believe. It wasn’t unheard of for famous film directors to turn to TV dramas, but it was rare.

“The investors are going big, so they can even coax gods to descend,” Wang Xi said, taking a big gulp of the water Liu Wanwan had given her, obviously thirsty from the journey.

Liu Wanwan passed the other cup to Ran Lin, who took it but was still immersed in disbelief.

After quenching her thirst, Wang Xi continued, “So, it doesn’t matter if you don’t get selected. Just try to leave an impression on Director Chen; that would be beneficial.”

Ran Lin nodded, taking the advice to heart, then curiously asked his manager, “Are the double leads confirmed?”

Wang Xi frowned, displeased. “You’re not even sure about your role yet, why worry about the leads?”

Ran Lin clammed up, not saying another word.

“Focus on the script for the next three days. Contact me with any questions, got it?”

“Got it.”

Wang Xi nodded, satisfied, and then looked at Liu Wanwan.

The girl quickly and smartly responded, “I’m on call 24/7, ready anytime.”

Wang Xi looked at her for a long moment and sighed. “I should have just gotten a male assistant in the first place. You could have lived together, making it more convenient for care.”

Liu Wanwan was taken aback, almost blurting out “I can live here too,” but fortunately held back at the last moment.

Ran Lin also felt relieved, thinking how troublesome it would be if it were a young male assistant instead.

After much discussion and finally sending Wang Xi and Liu Wanwan away, Ran Lin immediately returned to the living room and started reading the script without delay.

The plot summary of <Sword of Fallen Flowers> wasn’t complicated.

The two male leads, Tang Jingyu and Fang Xian, had very different backgrounds. The former was orphaned at a young age and adopted by the martial arts Fang Clan. The latter was the young master of the Fang Clan. The two, close in age, grew up practicing martial arts together, as close as brothers and partners in mischief.

The “Sword of Fallen Flowers” was the legendary number one sword, with its manual lost twenty years ago and now resurfacing in the martial world. Various forces in the martial world were stirring, sending out people to investigate in Liuma Town, where the manual was rumored to have appeared. The Fang Clan sent their adopted son Tang Jingyu, while Fang Xian volunteered to accompany him.

Throughout their journey, they made friends and enemies. Upon arriving in Liuma Town, a shocking conspiracy that could overturn the martial arts world began to unfold…

The synopsis was always sketched out in the simplest and most direct language.

Even the best writers couldn’t add flourish to a synopsis.

But reading the character profiles made the emotional dimensions of the story clearer—

Tang Jingyu: Orphaned at a young age, he was adopted by the Fang Clan. He regarded Fang Xianqing as a brother, only to later discover their foster father, Fang Huanzhi, was the enemy who had annihilated his family. Seeking revenge, the brothers turned against each other, hurting the ones they loved, until Tang Jingyu had a sudden realization.

Fang Xian: The young master of the Fang Clan, as close as siblings with Tang Jingyu. He stepped back upon learning of Tang Jingyu’s affection for Zhao Buyao. Later, he discovered his biological father was the perpetrator of the Tang Clan massacre, caught between familial love and moral duty.

Zhao Buyao: Daughter of the leader of Liuhua Palace who’s in love with Tang Jingyu. She sees Fang Xian as a brother and is willing to risk everything for love.

Xu Chongfei: Young master of the Jiangnan Hidden Sword Tower. In Liuma Town, during the search for the Sword of Fallen Flowers Manual, he became friends with Tang, Fang, and Zhao after a fight. Caught in the middle of Tang and Fang’s feud, Xu Chongfei sacrificed his life for their enlightenment.

Ran Lin was auditioning for Xu Chongfei.

Just from the character profiles, a sense of tragedy was palpable. Reading the detailed biographies and the three scenes, Ran Lin’s eyes had teared up.

He read the few pages over and over for more than two hours. Finally overwhelmed, he lay back on the sofa, sighing at the ceiling. “Does it have to be so pitiful?”

Three scenes: a brotherly fallout, love-induced pain, and dying words; a relentless torment of the character.

Getting up to wash his face in the bathroom, Ran Lin looked at himself in the mirror and suddenly felt that the delicate-looking young man in the reflection couldn’t bear the weighty character of Xu Chongfei, known for his deep sense of loyalty and righteousness.

He appeared too frail, not resembling the self-sacrificing Xu Chongfei but rather like a pampered and indulged young noble. Xu Chongfei was about loyalty and friendship, not about an intimidating appearance or sharp eyes.

Slap, slap—

Ran Lin forcefully slapped his face twice, squinting his eyes slightly, attempting to make his gaze sharper.

No, that’s not right.

Ran Lin shook his head, clearing his vision.

Xu Chongfei, as a character, valued loyalty and friendship. His heroism wasn’t in a fierce appearance or a sharp gaze, but in his profound affection for friends.

Taking a deep breath, Ran Lin paused for a moment, then looked back at the mirror, imagining the person reflected not as himself but as that young master of the Hidden Sword Tower…Fifteen minutes later, Ran Lin left the bathroom, his eyes sore and twitching.

Staring intensely for so long was indeed unhealthy.

Glancing at the clock, it was already past eleven at night.

It had been Ran Lin’s most fulfilling April Fool’s Day: shooting an ad all day and pondering the script all night.

Ran Lin rubbed his still-twitching eyelids and decided to rest first, reminding himself that things must be done step by step, and haste doesn’t bring success.

Returning to the bathroom, Ran Lin quickly showered and then, with his phone in hand, crawled into his still-cold bed.

The breathing light on his phone had been on for who knows how long. Ran Lin checked it and saw, indeed, a red “1” on the upper right corner of the WeChat icon.

It was a private chat from Liu Wanwan sent two hours ago: [You can do it*, Ran Ge!]

*Add Oil expression used as an encouragement and support to a person. It derives from [Jiayou] which is an ubiquitous term for cheering on someone. There’s really no direct translation.

She must have sent it right after leaving.

Ran Lin’s lips curled into a smile as he replied with a cool smoking emoji.

Exiting the private chat, he noticed several new notifications in his friends’ circle.

Ran Lin instinctively thought someone had liked his photos, and indeed, upon checking, found six new notifications—five likes and one comment from Lu Yiyao asking, “A new gig?”

The timing was close to Liu Wanwan’s message. He wondered if the two had planned it.

With no further reply from Liu Wanwan—she was probably asleep—and likely so was Lu Yiyao.

Feeling a bit unclearly disappointed, Ran Lin replied: [Yeah, a shampoo advertisement.]

The response came instantly.

Almost as soon as Ran Lin exited the friends’ circle, a notification appeared.

Ran Lin was startled.

It was unexpected and a bit nerve-wracking.

He hesitantly opened the new message, replying with just one word: [Oh.]

Oh, your head!

Anyone who flirts in the middle of the night and then abruptly stops is bad news!

Without another reply, Ran Lin decisively turned off his phone, huffily turned off the lights, closed his eyes, and banished the disturbing thoughts of the surnamed Lu from his mind, kicking him out of his thoughts entirely!

What Ran Lin didn’t know was that at the same moment he turned off his phone, a new reply appeared in his friends’ circle: [What brand is it? I’ll try it too and see if I can get hair as flowing as yours. 😏]

…..

Lu Yiyao stared at his two replies, having waited for five minutes.

No new activity appeared.

Had Ran Lin fallen asleep?

It seemed unlikely. With his personality, even if he was dead tired, he’d say “Goodnight” before logging off.

But this was a friends’ circle comment, not a private chat, so maybe a “Goodnight” wasn’t necessary.

He decided to wait a bit longer.

Lu Yiyao comforted himself, thinking maybe Ran Lin was typing a long message, hence the slow response.

He should learn to do the same—send an “Oh” or “Mm” to let the other person know he was still there, then say the specific content…

Lu Yiyao lay on the couch in the audio-visual room, waiting for an hour.

He fell asleep with his phone in his arms, not receiving a reply from Ran Lin.

---

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

Author: 颜凉雨 / Yan Liang Yu

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

---

Chapter 31

The fear of both gaining and losing comes from the desire to obtain something. You fear not getting it, and once you get it, you fear losing it. But if the premise of “wanting to have” disappears, so does this feeling.

More than a week had passed since returning from Iceland, and the Chen Sheng Wu Guang group chat was becoming increasingly quiet. Everyone was busily diving into new work; even Ran Lin, who usually had the least scheduled appearances, received an advertisement script for a shampoo brand and started focusing on it. By the time he snapped back to reality and thought of Lu Yiyao, he felt an unfamiliar sense of calm.

Perhaps Lu Yiyao played a role in this—since the reality show ended, he hadn’t initiated any private chats, and even in the group chats, he rarely appeared, seemingly back in his workaholic mode. Once, when Lu Yiyao did appear briefly, Ran Lin wanted to remind him not to overwork and faint, which was scary enough. But before he could finish typing, Lu Yiyao disappeared again. Ran Lin hesitated, then deleted the message he had typed.

Lu Yiyao had his agent, family, friends, and assistants; it wasn’t Ran Lin’s place to worry.

<National First Love Drifting Story> had been reversing its misfortune since the fourth episode, with ratings and reputation rising. Although it didn’t explode in popularity as Lu Yiyao had predicted, by the time the seventh episode aired, it was among the top-rated and most talked-about variety shows.

Han Ze had hit the jackpot with perfect timing. His “Black Hole” trait led the seventh episode to the highest single-episode ratings since the show’s launch, particularly after he hilariously sabotaged his teammates in two consecutive games.

Han Ze’s “sabotage” wasn’t stupidity or ineptitude, but a natural, endearing clumsiness. On camera, he looked like he was trying hard to accomplish the tasks, but inevitably, something would go wrong. The audience laughed but didn’t dislike him; instead, they found him adorable.

Even Lu Yiyao’s fans showed the utmost goodwill towards this stand-in guest. Faced with comments like “Han Ze should be a permanent guest,” they remained incredibly restrained, avoiding any major fan wars. Perhaps it was because their energy was focused on worrying about Lu Yiyao—on the night the seventh episode aired, Lu Yiyao’s team released a photo of him weakly hooked up to an IV in the hospital, successfully drawing attention to his absence.

Ran Lin wasn’t too clear about all these details; he hadn’t been checking Weibo much in the past week, busy preparing for the commercial shoot. The brand wanted to capitalize on the reality show’s popularity.

Since selecting Ran Lin as the endorser, the campaign had been in simultaneous planning. They managed to start shooting on April 1^st, just before the last episode of the reality show aired.

“Good thing I got the script and shooting schedule in advance. If they told me today, I definitely wouldn’t believe it.” On the way to the studio, Ran Lin joked with Wang Xi in the car.

Wang Xi looked at him without amusement. “Still thinking about April Fool’s Day? Your work really isn’t demanding enough.”

Ran Lin took a sip of warm soy milk from the cup holder in the door, put down the cup, and sighed almost inaudibly.

Wang Xi frowned and suddenly ruffled his hair with no tenderness in her actions. After messing it up, she looked at her handiwork, satisfied, reveling in the witch-like pleasure of teasing her much younger nephew.

Ran Lin was embarrassed, turning to look out the window. The car’s reflection showed a bird’s nest hairstyle.

“Xi Jie, do you think my hair isn’t messy enough?”

Seeing the lively look in his eyes, Wang Xi was quite pleased. Shrugging indifferently, her makeup-perfect face showed a faint smile. “Doesn’t matter. You’ll have to wash and style it anyway.”

When they arrived at the studio, the brand’s marketing director hadn’t yet arrived. Not all brands send their director to oversee an advertisement shoot; sometimes they send a manager. But this being the first ad collaboration with Ran Lin, it was clear the brand took it seriously.

Since it was a shampoo advertisement, the focus was, of course, on the hair, so as soon as Ran Lin entered the makeup room, his head was no longer his own. Halfway through the styling, the director arrived and headed straight to the makeup room.

The stylist didn’t stop working, so Ran Lin didn’t dare move, only watching through the mirror as Wang Xi greeted the director.

“It’s a surprise to see you here, Mr. He,” Wang Xi said politely to the client.

The marketing director was a man in his forties. He wasn’t tall, had a round face, and dressed in a well-tailored suit and a stylish yet tasteful shirt. He looked younger than his age, with a friendly smile that made his otherwise non-threatening features more approachable. But a closer look at his eyes revealed shrewdness and sharpness, regardless of his facial expression.

As soon as he entered, Ran Lin locked eyes with him in the mirror and caught a fleeting frown.

“No need for formalities. We are all here to work,” he said, shaking hands with Wang Xi, speaking softly but directly, his attention on Ran Lin the whole time. “How’s the progress?”

Without being named, the stylist knew the question was for him and hurriedly answered, “Another twenty minutes.”

Ran Lin doubted this because the stylist had already spent forty minutes on his hair and had only curled half of it.

Ran Lin had thick, medium-textured hair. During the reality show, he kept it about an inch long, styling it with mousse for a sleek look but not too harsh. Left natural, it gave him a fresh, sunny appearance that wasn’t too effeminate. But today, the stylist hadn’t chosen either style, opting instead for a curling iron.

The stylist didn’t use any chemical treatments, just a one-time styling. He wasn’t actually curling the hair but creating some texture and layers with a curling iron. Ran Lin rarely tried such styles, which made him look less like a student and more like a trendy hip-hop artist.

“No need for twenty minutes.” Mr. He walked behind Ran Lin, looking at him and the stylist in the mirror, his smile fading. “Wash all this off now. Forget all your creativity and just blow-dry it. The messier and frizzier, the better, OK?”

The stylist, a slender man in his late twenties with an enchanting figure and a soft, melodious voice, had almost been categorized by Ran Lin as gentle. But upon hearing that everything had to be redone, his face darkened, his chest heaving with anger before he managed to grit out, “O, K.”

His deep, masculine voice was so unexpected that Ran Lin thought he had been dubbed.

Mr. He, seemingly used to being resented, stood by with his arms crossed, calm and composed.

The frustrated stylist put down the curling iron and lightly patted Ran Lin’s shoulder.

Ran Lin got the hint and immediately went to wash his hair again, letting the texture and curls disappear with the water.

The client is king, so Wang Xi couldn’t object. She simply sat in a corner, becoming practically invisible.

After washing his hair again, Ran Lin returned to his student days. The stylist blow-dried his hair halfway, styled his bangs, and reapplied a light makeup. Once the makeup was nearly complete, the hair was let down and blow-dried again, this time according to Mr. He’s instructions: the highest setting, as messy and frizzy as possible. Ran Lin, with his eyes closed, felt like his head was in the hands of a tumble dryer.

When Mr. He finally nodded in satisfaction, exactly twenty minutes had passed.

The hairstyle had gone through several changes, and so did the shooting process.

The ad script was simple: college nerd Ran Lin confesses to a girl he likes, gets instantly rejected, then resolves to transform himself—of course, the focus is on washing his hair. In the end, with persistent determination and a completely new hairstyle—mainly the hairstyle—he wins the girl’s heart.

The shooting environment wasn’t challenging either: a studio and a bathroom, both easy to manage.

The female actress, a model, was very beautiful but lacked acting skills. Despite most shots focusing on Ran Lin, every two minutes the director would shout—

“Cut! Campus beauty, you’re rejecting him, not scared of him. Don’t keep dodging your eyes!”

“Cut! Campus beauty, why are you blushing if you don’t like him?”

“Cut! Campus beauty, you’re blocking the shot with your positioning!”

“Cut!”

“Cut!”

“Cut!”

Countless NGs left the director exhausted. Mr. He, sitting beside him and staring at the monitor, looked like a storm cloud.

Ran Lin was tired too, but seeing the female model close to tears, he couldn’t help but feel sympathy. She probably wouldn’t want to hear the words “campus beauty” for a few years.

After much difficulty, the first half of the shoot was completed, and the model could rest. She darted into the makeup room and stayed there for a long time.

Ran Lin continued with the determined transformation part—washing his hair. All close-ups focused on his foam-covered head, and in the final scene, he closed his eyes under the shower, immersed in the joy of rebirth.

“Cut!” As the director called out, he looked eagerly at Mr. He.

For Ran Lin and Wang Xi, the brand was the financier, and for the director, it was the same.

Mr. He looked serious, pondering so long that the director almost called for another take before he finally nodded slightly.

The director exhaled in relief and lifted his head from the monitor. “Good! Prepare for the next scene.”

Ran Lin, with his hair redone, looked completely different from before. His hair was smooth and natural, light as air, and his makeup had been transformed from deliberately ugly to bright and clear. His skin glowed under the intense lighting.

“You’re wasting your talent in a shampoo ad; you should be doing skin care commercials,” the stylist commented, his initial anger dissipated in the slow shooting process. He had probably forgotten about Mr. He by now and chatted affectionately with Ran Lin.

Ran Lin felt the stylist’s flirtatious eyes seemed to have seen through his “fellow-minded person”, but as the other party didn’t mention it, he played along. “I’ll definitely keep up the skincare routine when I go back.”

“Ah, your hair is so good too.” The stylist didn’t hide his envy, looking at Ran Lin in the mirror with a wistful pout. “Not like me. I lose a handful every time I wash my hair.”

Ran Lin, seeing his buzz cut in the mirror, was amused by the comment. “How do you lose a handful with that length?”

“I’m talking about before.” The stylist sighed with a nostalgic look in his eyes. “I used to have really long hair. It looked amazing, but it fell out so badly I had to cut it.”

Ran Lin almost believed him and sincerely consoled, “They say that after cutting your hair very short, the new growth will be healthier than before, so don’t worry.”

The stylist’s eyes widened in surprise. “Really?”

Ran Lin nodded, then added, “But you shouldn’t eat too much oily food. Something lighter and healthier is better for your scalp.”

The stylist declared resolutely, “I’ll start eating vegetarian tomorrow!”

Ran Lin laughed. “Good luck.”

The stylist quieted down and looked at Ran Lin in the mirror for a while before saying, “You’re really nice, good-natured, and kind-hearted.”

Ran Lin felt a bit embarrassed by the high praise, unsure how he’d earned it, and quickly retorted, “Eating vegetarian might not stop hair loss…”

“That’s not what I meant!” The stylist glared at him irritably, looked around to make sure there were no eavesdroppers, or if there were, they couldn’t hear, then lowered his voice and said, “That Fatty He is notoriously demanding. I’ve worked with his company many times and have rarely seen a celebrity who can meet his bizarre demands without getting upset. You hear the director calling so many cuts, most of them are for him. Last month, he even made Xue… a female celebrity so angry that she walked off the set.”

The stylist seemed to think better of saying the full name and swallowed the rest of it. But in such a small circle, just a surname is enough to make a pretty accurate guess.

“What happened then? Did they continue shooting?”

“Of course, Fatty He personally coaxed the person back.”

In fact, Director He wasn’t fat. It was just his round face put him at a disadvantage. However, Ran Lin was more surprised to learn, “He’s from the brand side, and he personally went to coax someone?”

The stylist’s expression became ambiguous, and his voice grew lower. “The relationship between that female celebrity and the brand’s CEO is extraordinary. It was a directive from the higher-ups. Otherwise, who do you think dares to just strike like that? Most bear it with gritted teeth and a grimace, but still push through.”

Ran Lin had an epiphany.

The stylist patted him on the shoulder and stepped back. “Alright, handsome. It’s your turn to go on stage!”

When Ran Lin reappeared in front of the camera, he was brimming with youth and warm eyes. Holding a guitar, he stood under a garden villa-like backdrop, pouring his heart out to a girl on the balcony.

The wind machine continuously blew gentle breezes, making his hair look suave and flowing.

This segment was to be dubbed and have music added in post-production, so in principle, Ran Lin only needed to strum randomly and howl a few lines.

Holding the guitar, Ran Lin plucked a string and suddenly felt a long-lost nostalgia.

As the crew clapped the slate, the shooting began.

Ran Lin raised his head, looking at the face of his beloved girl, and as he gently strummed his fingers, gentle guitar notes spilled out, forming a heartwarming melody…

The shooting site fell silent, and all the crew members, who were waiting to be tormented by terrible music or at least a cacophony, didn’t expect Ran Lin could actually play the guitar!

As the intro music gradually faded, Ran Lin, smiling softly at the female model, began to sing with half-hummed, half-sung lyrics—

“Recently you’ve become so cold~~ leaving me somewhat at a loss~~ I never expected much~~ but wish you could love me like before~~”

“I’m eating fried chicken in People’s Square~~ wondering where you are at this moment~~ Though you might be deceiving~~ my fatigue makes me too lazy to suspect…”

Ran Lin’s singing voice was slightly huskier than his speaking voice, adding a lazy, enticing quality to the playful melody.

The entire set seemed to freeze, with only him singing and playing.

“Cut—”

Ran Lin was singing passionately, swaying lightly with the rhythm and feeling quite handsome, when his confidence was abruptly shattered.

Before he could react, the director was already on the verge of a breakdown. “Beauty, at least react!!!”

The model, mesmerized by the song, came back to her senses, her embarrassment from being yelled at all day finally erupting. “How can I react if he doesn’t finish singing!”

No one dared to offend the client, but there was always room for contention between others.

The director took a deep breath, looking at the time, which was obviously later than planned, and muttered to himself about not fighting with women, aiming to finish early and wrap up. He then spoke gently to the female model. “You don’t have to wait for him to finish. Just react and show emotion during the song… okay?”

His last words were gentle and prolonged, paired with a strained smile from the director.

The female model pursed her lips in grievance but eventually nodded in agreement, giving face.

Ran Lin, having been tormented all day and now feeling the weight of the wooden guitar, gathered his energy for the final scene.

The wind machine continued to blow, the lights kept shining, and Ran Lin, with a loving gaze towards the female model above, strummed and sang again.

This time, the female model reacted splendidly, showing surprise, shyness, and various emotions, even including a scene where she runs downstairs to face the suitor, all passed in one take.

With Ran Lin raising the shampoo bottle towards the camera and reciting the ad, the tumultuous day of shooting finally came to an end.

Ran Lin went to the dressing room to change clothes. Wang Xi, who had been like air all day, was about to follow, but then saw Director He approaching her corner.

Wang Xi immediately changed direction and greeted him enthusiastically. “Director He, were you satisfied with our performance today?”

Director He nodded, seriously commenting, “Good temperament.”

Wang Xi, half-joking, replied, “You always care about things others don’t.”

If Ran Lin had come over at that moment, he would have realized the relationship between Wang Xi and Director He was closer than he imagined.

But work is work, and personal relationships are separate. Initially, Wang Xi didn’t try to curry favor, and the other party was strictly professional. Now that the shoot was over, they could catch up.

“You always have a way with people, and your eye for talent is accurate,” Director He said, looking at the closed makeup room door. “I think he’ll become famous.”

Wang Xi saw through the old friend’s flattery. “Of course, if he becomes famous, you’ll make a fortune.”

Director He raised an eyebrow. “Why do I feel like you’re implying our offer wasn’t generous?”

Wang Xi shook her head. “Not implying, stating it plainly.”

Director He couldn’t maintain his aloofness, rolling his eyes in exasperation. “You’re just the contractor. If you were the client, you could swallow people whole.”

“Alright, I need to check how our kid fared after your torment. We’ll talk on the phone later,” Wang Xi said, then hurried into the makeup room.

Director He watched her leave, shaking his head helplessly.

The two had known each other for many years, meeting when he was just a publicist and Wang Xi a mere assistant to an agent. Now, in a blink, they were both forty. They had no unspeakable relationship, but they did share a friendship. The choice of the spokesperson for this ad had several options, but the final decision on Ran Lin was influenced not only by Wang Xi’s efforts but also by Director He’s input.

Capability, financial resources, relationships, and favors—in this industry, anything that can be of use is considered a resource.

“Xi Jie, how do you think I did today?” On the way back, Ran Lin, not hearing Wang Xi speak for a long time, had to ask.

Wang Xi turned to look at the expectation in his eyes, smiling lightly. “Why, starting to fish for compliments?”

Ran Lin looked pleadingly at his manager. “Xi Jie, I got cut by the director countless times today. Can’t you give me some comfort and encouragement.”

“It wasn’t you being cut.” Wang Xi finally praised, “You did well today.”

Ran Lin smiled sheepishly.

“But,” Wang Xi glanced at him lightly, “if I find out you’re hiding any more talents from me…”

Ran Lin swallowed hard, looking pitiful. “Xi Jie, leaving words half unsaid and letting people guess is really terrifying…”

Wang Xi was amused, wanting to ruffle his hair, but restrained herself.

Ran Lin was still in his rising phase; being too lenient with him now would make it difficult to control him in the future.

Wang Xi didn’t like the feeling of not being in control. One uncontrollable element was already enough for her to handle.

Ding—

A WeChat notification sound.

Ran Lin took out his phone to look, and the next second, he couldn’t help but laugh and look towards Liu Wanwan, who was sitting in the front row, turning back with a beaming smile.

The young girl had sent Ran Lin a candid photo of himself. At that time, Ran Lin had just finished his makeup and had his hair smoothly styled. Lost in thought about the script or something else, his gaze seemed a bit distant, making him look exceptionally soft and adorable.

“Not bad, right?” Liu Wanwan imitated Ran Lin’s earlier expression of seeking praise and also spoke to take credit.

Ran Lin was much more generous with his praise than Wang Xi. “Yes, professional level.”

His compliment was partly genuine, not entirely flattery. Liu Wanwan had chosen a particularly good angle for the photo. It wasn’t taken directly in front of Ran Lin but slightly to the side, capturing his most photogenic angle. Moreover, the lights of the makeup table created a halo effect in the photo, making the entire picture seem more mysterious and blending seamlessly with Ran Lin’s expression.

“It looks good.” Wang Xi leaned over to take a look and said directly, “Post it on Weibo.”

Ran Lin understood what she meant. After all, posting selfies had been a major part of his work during his long career as an unknown artist.

He uploaded the picture, didn’t say much, just added an emoji, and clicked send.

The Weibo post was instantly liked. The first to arrive were his female fans, commenting uniformly with “Ran Lin is the handsomest”. Then, a variety of comments followed. There were ones adoring him, calling him “husband”, complaining about heavy beauty filters, and all sorts.

Now, Ran Lin just found Weibo lively and didn’t take it as seriously as he did at the beginning. After scrolling for a while, he exited the app.

At 8 p.m., Beijing was still congested with traffic, and getting home seemed far away.

Ran Lin squinted for a while, unable to sleep, and then, on a whim, took out his phone and opened WeChat to post the same photo on his Moments.

There weren’t many people in Ran Lin’s Moments who could truly be called friends. He posted there mostly to reassure his mother, letting her know what her son was doing every day.

As soon as the photo was posted, he received a new message.

Ran Lin curiously clicked on it, wondering when his mother became so quick. To his surprise, it was Xia Xinran.

And just as he clicked on it, Xia Xinran, who had just liked the post, quickly left a comment: [This makeup looks good! Who is the stylist?]

Luckily, he had asked the makeup artist what his name was earlier.

Ran Lin replied to the comment: [Leo.]

Xia Xinran replied again: [💦]

Ran Lin narrowed his eyes, intuitively feeling that Xia Xinran knew this Leo and that there might be some untold story.

He imagined some unkind scenarios, but Xia Xinran didn’t reply anymore, obviously not wanting to talk about the makeup artist. Ran Lin smiled and didn’t ask further.

……

In Beijing’s Dongcheng District, in front of a certain detached villa, a matte silver sedan reflected a charming light under the moonlight.

It was Lu Yiyao’s beloved car, rarely driven by himself, but today he had the chance, although he couldn’t lift his spirits.

The dinner with his father was, as expected, hard to digest.

But still necessary.

Just like his father knew that lecturing him was useless, but still did it every time they met.

The result was him excusing himself for a schedule tomorrow, hastily leaving the table. His father knew it was an excuse but didn’t expose it, because his workaholic father probably had a busier schedule than his.

Tragic movies don’t become less sad because you know the spoilers in advance.

Similarly, knowing in advance that a dinner would end unhappily, it still ended in “unhappiness”.

He had been sitting in the car, letting the wind blow for ten minutes.

The early April night wind was still piercingly cold, gradually dispelling the suffocation in his heart.

Just as he was about to close the window and start the car, his phone rang. Lu Yiyao saw it was his sister and had an idea what it was about.

“Brother—” Lu Yimeng’s sweet, lingering voice usually only existed in the moment when the call was first connected.

Lu Yiyao’s expression softened unconsciously. “Yeah, just finished eating. About to head home.”

Lu Yimeng sounded surprised. “Just finished? I thought you were already home.”

Lu Yiyao shrugged helplessly. “Dad was on form today, making many tangential points, so it took longer than usual.”

“It’s your temper that’s improved.” Lu Yimeng could guess the situation. “If you had talked back, he would have let you leave right away.”

“I’d rather not. Auntie Zhou would have to clean up for half a day.” Lu Yiyao sighed lightly, rubbing his temples. “Anything else? If not, I’m hanging up. I need to drive.”

“Brother, you don’t love me—”

“I love you to the ends of the earth, but it’s better not to talk on the phone while driving. You too, always remember to drive safely.”

“Can’t you separate your confession to me from the traffic police’s advice!”

Lu Yiyao laughed out loud, fully imagining Lu Yimeng’s angry, hands-on-hips expression, like an infuriated Queen of Hearts.

“Alright, I forgive you.” Lu Yimeng got back to the point. “Don’t forget to come back tomorrow.”

Lu Yiyao sighed. “I dare not forget. I have a way or two to deal with Dad, but against you and Mom, I can only surrender.”

“That’s good to know. Alright, drive now. Love you.” Lu Yimeng was finally satisfied, sending a virtual kiss.

Lu Yiyao subconsciously touched his face, feeling as if the saliva from his sister’s childhood kisses still lingered there.

He was two years older than his sister. Since he could remember, their parents were always busy, and they were mainly raised by the family nanny, Auntie Zhou. Lu Yimeng used to follow him around, or more accurately, cling to him, kissing him eight times a day, leaving him with a psychological shadow for a long time, always feeling his face was wet.

But then their parents divorced, and at twelve, he was sent directly to a boarding school in England, losing the opportunity for his sister’s kisses.

Suddenly, a gust of wind blew.

The cold air stream rushed in through the window, catching Lu Yiyao off guard.

After several sneezes, Lu Yiyao hurriedly closed the window and drove back to his apartment.

When he got home, it was already past nine in the evening. The lights in the living room were off, and Li Tong was sitting on the sofa, deeply engrossed in a movie, not even noticing his entrance.

Lu Yiyao had to reach out to turn on the light, and instantly, the living room lit up brightly.

Li Tong was startled, turned around to see him, and immediately stood up. “Lu Ge, you’re back.”

Seeing Li Tong coming to greet him, Lu Yiyao quickly said, “Don’t worry about me. Keep watching your movie.”

Li Tong verbally agreed but still took his keys and bag, placing them where they belonged. He then turned around and brought over a cup of water. However, he didn’t hand it to Lu Yiyao but placed it on the table instead.

Lu Yiyao was puzzled.

Li Tong explained, “Hong Jie said that when it’s cold, you shouldn’t drink water immediately after coming in from outside. The stomach is filled with cold air, and it needs to be warmed up gradually.”

For the first time, Lu Yiyao realized Li Tong had a magical similarity with Yao Hong in terms of attentiveness.

“Why don’t you watch movies in the home theater?” Lu Yiyao asked, seeing the paused TV in the living room and thinking Li Tong was still too reserved, so he straightforwardly said, “From now on, if you want to watch something, just go to the home theater. The experience is better there.”

Li Tong glanced up at the ceiling, projecting images of “home theater horror scenes” from his memory onto the white space, as if they were flashing by on a screen. Eventually, he looked at Lu Yiyao and firmly shook his head. “No need. The living room is fine.”

Lu Yiyao nodded, assuming it was just a personal preference, and didn’t insist.

After a quick shower and changing into home clothes, Lu Yiyao entered the home theater. This time, he didn’t watch a movie but played a vinyl record.

With the lights dimmed, blues music poured out from the record player, immersing the entire home theater in a nostalgic and romantic atmosphere.

Lu Yiyao lay on the sofa, gazing at his own movie stills, slowly zoning out. His head, which had been aching all evening, finally relaxed…

Ding!

The urgent sound of a WeChat notification, amidst the tranquil blues notes, seemed very out of place.

Lu Yiyao frowned, picked up the phone from the small table beside the sofa, wondering who was ruining the mood. But when he checked, it turned out to be Huo Yuntao.

“What’s up?”

Considering the time difference, it should be just past noon in the UK.

Lu Yiyao couldn’t think of any reason why his friend, who was notoriously fond of napping at noon, would choose this time to disturb him.

“Zoning out.”

Lu Yiyao told the truth.

“Back home?”

Huo Yuntao knew about his family situation and that every time he saw his father, he needed to zone out to stabilize his emotions.

“Yeah. Stop beating around the bush. What’s up?”

With his old friend, Lu Yiyao didn’t bother with niceties or elegance. They had seen each other at their worst, and any pretense would be ridiculed.

There was silence on the other end for a while before a voice message came through. “I’m coming back to China.”

Lu Yiyao sat up suddenly, his voice involuntarily rising, mixed with surprise and joy. “When are you coming back?”

Huo Yuntao: “Next May!”

Lu Yiyao: “…It’s not even this May yet!!!”

Having one true friend in life is enough.

Any more, and you might really be driven to madness.

---

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

Author: 颜凉雨 / Yan Liang Yu

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

---

Chapter 30

“The trip to Thailand for all you First Love male gods is about to conclude on the beautiful beaches of Pattaya. Who will be today’s Curry First Love? Some of you might still be struggling with this decision. Don’t worry. The production team has prepared a lavish dinner for you. While enjoying Thai delicacies, our male gods can ponder over whom to cast that sacred vote for. Now, let the feast begin!”

Five guests were seated in a row, each with a small dining table in front of them. At the director’s signal, a long dining cart was rolled in, bearing four dishes covered with half-spherical, shiny stainless steel covers. The true appearance of the food was hidden, but the production team thoughtfully placed name tags beside each dish—

Tom Yum Soup.

Thai Curry Shrimp.

Coconut Chicken Soup.

Basil Chicken.

Five people, four dishes—the palpable malice was unmistakable.

But having been hungry all day, they started salivating at the mere mention of the dishes.

The director, off-camera, chuckled benevolently. “No need for me to introduce further. Everyone has seen the names of the dishes. So, as usual, one person will team up with our new member, Han Ze, and the remaining three will each be in their own group. After forming groups, you can choose your desired dish… But this time, we won’t draw lots for groups. Instead, our new member will choose his own partner!”

As soon as the director finished speaking, four pairs of eyes nervously fixed on Han Ze.

Han Ze was on the verge of tears. “You don’t have to be so obviously repulsed…”

More than obvious, Gu Jie had already raised an empty plate from his small dining table as a shield, as if to ward off the black hole vibes from Han Ze.

Han Ze, calm and composed, glanced left and right at his companions’ faces, each looking like death.

With a smile, Han Ze finally chose the only one who didn’t avoid his gaze. “Ran Lin.”

Their eyes met, and Ran Lin knew he couldn’t escape. Besides, after three days, he was the only one who hadn’t been paired with Han Ze, so it seemed fair for Han Ze to choose him.

The remaining three breathed sighs of relief, as if they had narrowly escaped death.

Based on previous results, Zhang Beichen got first pick, followed by Gu Jie and Ran Lin. Xia Xinran, who had been paired with Han Ze the most over the three days, came in last and had to accept whatever dish was left.

All four dishes sounded tempting, but after seven episodes, they knew there had to be a catch.

After pondering, Zhang Beichen cautiously made his choice. “Coconut Chicken Soup.”

Gu Jie didn’t understand his logic. “Can you get full on soup?”

Zhang Beichen shook his head slowly as if to say, “You don’t understand”. “Just something to fill the stomach. Dishes that sound light like this actually offer a sense of security.”

Gu Jie: “……” That made so much sense that he couldn’t argue!

The cover was removed, revealing the coconut chicken soup. The large, transparent glass container, wide at the top and deep at the bottom, was filled to the brim with fragrant, milky white broth brimming with chicken.

“Is this coconut soup or coconut chicken?”

The others, enviously watching Zhang Beichen happily receive the soup bowl, felt a mix of envy and resentment.

It was Gu Jie’s turn.

After much thought, Tom Yum Soup was too famous and risky, and Thai Curry Shrimp was too tempting and alarming. So, he went for the seemingly humble Basil Chicken.

“That’s my pick—Basil Chicken!”

The cover was lifted to reveal a decently presented dish of Basil Chicken with white rice.

Simple in appearance yet tantalizing in aroma.

As soon as the dish was served, Gu Jie devoured it like a storm, as if his insides were singing with joy.

Now it was Ran Lin and Han Ze’s turn.

Ran Lin eyed the remaining two dishes, swallowing hard, and sought his teammate’s opinion. “Which one do you want to eat?”

Han Ze rubbed his chin thoughtfully, then decisively said, “Tom Yum Soup.”

Ran Lin, looking into his colleague’s deep eyes, negotiated softly. “How about we choose Thai Curry Shrimp?”

Han Ze’s hand slipped, nearly banging his chin on the table, then sat back up resignedly, nodding deeply. “Okay, I understand.”

Ran Lin announced loudly, “Thai Curry Shrimp!”

The stainless steel cover was lifted, revealing a large, pristine white circular porcelain plate containing… a single shrimp.

Zhang Beichen spat out a mouthful of soup.

Gu Jie nearly choked on his rice with laughter.

Xia Xinran, not to be outdone, laughed uproariously, pounding the table, his laughter echoing across half the beach.

Meanwhile, Xia Xinran’s Tom Yum Soup was unveiled—just as grand as Zhang Beichen’s coconut chicken soup and generously filled with shrimp, clams, and mushrooms.

Ran Lin slumped onto the table in despair.

Han Ze patted his shoulder consolingly. “Actually, think about it, you should be happy.”

Ran Lin looked up wearily at his teammate. “Where’s the happiness?”

Han Ze smiled: “I’m not a regular guest.”

Ran Lin: “……”

Not just Ran Lin, all the companions were suddenly enveloped in a sense of unexpected joy, tears welling up in their eyes.

Lu Yiyao, we miss you—

At the same time, Lu Yiyao, who was studying the performances of actors from past classic costume dramas in his apartment’s media room, shuddered, instinctively looking around, feeling as if someone was calling him.

But in the dark media room, except for the wooden frames on the wall reflecting faint light in the screen’s glow, there was nothing else.

Lu Yiyao pondered for a moment, paused the TV drama, and got up to turn on the light.

The room lit up, revealing its layout clearly.

It was a guest room converted into a media room. It wasn’t very large, with a 98-inch LCD TV almost covering one wall. On the remaining walls, one had a wooden-colored film rack and a vinyl record player, and the other two were adorned with framed photos—of Lu Yiyao in various roles: ancient, modern, contemporary, a refined swordsman, a noble young man from the Republic of China, a youthful and sunny boy, some aloof and cool, others gentle and kind. Different roles, different styles, but all had one thing in common—they were incredibly handsome.

Lu Yiyao was very pleased with the decor of the room and decided to keep updating the drama photos regularly.

The room was soundproofed, and the surround sound system installed ensured an immersive experience without disturbing the neighbors.

The room had no tables or chairs, just a double-seater English sofa in the center, with a small side table next to it for water cups or mobile phones.

The item Lu Yiyao went to grab when he turned on the light was his phone.

[The filming must have ended by now. I guess you all voted for Han Ze. 😂]

The last time he chatted with his friends was the day before yesterday, and considering today was the third day of filming, they should have wrapped up by now.

Lu Yiyao wasn’t sure if he was just bored or actually missing his friends, to the point where he had an auditory hallucination of being called, and couldn’t settle down, starting to wonder, ‘How did their filming go?’ He decided to grab his phone and ask.

After a while, the response came—

[Of course, it’s what the people want. 😏]

The reply was from Ran Lin, which made Lu Yiyao a bit happy but also surprised. Normally, the first to respond was usually Xia… Wait a minute.

Lu Yiyao’s eyebrows furrowed slightly, and he looked closely. His message wasn’t sent in the Chen Sheng Wu Guang group but in a private chat with Ran Lin.

The two chats were right next to each other, and he hadn’t realized which one he had entered. No wonder it took so long to get a reply—Ran Lin usually replied slower and having Xia Xinran’s chatter as a comparison made it more noticeable.

Since he got a reply, it wouldn’t be right to say he meant to send it to the group. Besides, Lu Yiyao also liked chatting with Ran Lin, so he decided to go with the flow and continued the conversation.

As night deepened, the VIP lounge at Bangkok’s Suvarnabhumi Airport, initially bustling, gradually became quiet.

Zhang Beichen and Xia Xinran, each with their agents, were sitting on sofas by the windows, but the sofas were far apart, almost from one end of the lounge to the other. Zhang Beichen was staring out the window at a landing airplane, lost in thought, while Xia Xinran was sprawled asleep, occasionally grabbing at something, as if still fighting in his dreams.

Gu Jie, who had filmed alone this time without his manager, had a few drinks at the bar and was now dozing off there.

Ran Lin, Han Ze, and Wang Xi sat together in another corner.

Wang Xi was curled up on a single-seater sofa, listening to soft music with earplugs, already asleep. She seemed tanner than when they arrived, especially with the white earphone wire contrasting against her cheeks, making the change in skin tone more apparent. She probably sneaked off to the beach while they were filming.

Next to her, Han Ze leaned back on the sofa, his head slightly tilted back, and his eyes closed.

Ran Lin couldn’t tell if he was dozing or sleeping, and as he was pondering this, Lu Yiyao sent a WeChat message.

After that, he was too engrossed in replying to pay attention to Han Ze, typing away.

The conversation with Lu Yiyao wasn’t long. The latter was just inquiring about the filming and some interesting tidbits. Ran Lin kept his replies short and sweet, and Lu Yiyao listened sporadically.

Seeing the conversation cooling down, Ran Lin took the initiative to say goodnight.

Lu Yiyao, as usual, quickly replied with the same.

Exiting WeChat, Ran Lin suddenly missed hearing Lu Yiyao’s voice.

“Do you have a good relationship with Lu Yiyao?”

The sudden voice startled Ran Lin, and his phone slipped onto his lap.

Han Ze picked up the phone and handed it back to him with an apologetic smile. “Sorry, I inadvertently saw your chat.”

Han Ze’s gaze was deep, seemingly encompassing everything, but devoid of the apology he expressed.

Ran Lin forced a smile and took back his phone. “It’s okay.”

Han Ze continued to look at him, seemingly casual, but his gaze was firmly on Ran Lin’s face. Then Ran Lin heard him say softly, “You haven’t answered my question.”

Ran Lin frowned slightly. The Han Ze in front of him, with a faint, gentle smile, inexplicably exerted a kind of pressure. This was a stark contrast to the Han Ze from the past three days of filming, overlapping with the always cold-faced First Brother* in Ran Lin’s memory.

*Refers to the (male) face of the company and who they spend the most resources and money on.

“Hmm?” Han Ze’s smile broadened, and his voice was almost a whisper.

Ran Lin was unnerved by his imagination, comparing it to the hissing of a snake. He broke into a cold sweat at his own thoughts, and Han Ze, who had dropped that unsettling smile, looked at him puzzled.

“Not really close.” Ran Lin shook off his jumbled thoughts and cautiously replied, “Just got along well after filming so many episodes together.”

He hadn’t discussed anything strange with Lu Yiyao, so whatever Han Ze saw was safe. Ran Lin didn’t want to make their work relationship awkward over a seemingly casual question, especially with Wang Xi involved.

“Rare.” Perhaps because Ran Lin’s answer matched what he had seen in the chat, Han Ze didn’t doubt it much. After commenting, he tilted his head to look at Ran Lin, then narrowed his eyes meaningfully and chuckled. “I thought Lu Yiyao would blacklist you after the way Wang Xi promoted you.”

Ran Lin avoided Han Ze’s gaze, instinctively picking up a water bottle in front of him and taking a sip.

Han Ze watched him calmly, silent with a smile.

Ran Lin put down the water bottle, still staring at the label, and said vaguely, “It’s a long story…”

“Then let’s not talk about it. You seem troubled just thinking about it.” Han Ze also opened his water bottle and took a small sip.

Ran Lin felt a bit flustered but was mostly relieved.

His interaction with Han Ze was different from that with Zhang Beichen. Facing an abnormal Zhang Beichen, although nervous, he knew the latter was just flirting, so his tension was about how to minimize the impact of rejection; but facing an abnormal Han Ze, his nervousness stemmed from not knowing Han Ze’s intentions, unsure if it was just casual conversation or something more.

More importantly, Han Ze, at this moment, had an almost undisguisedly condescending attitude towards him.

Ran Lin knew this feeling all too well. As an extra, he had often seen this kind of look from lead actors in the crew towards someone of his minor status. The only difference was that those people didn’t even bother to feign a smile.

“This industry is quite strange,” Han Ze said, crossing his legs and leaning comfortably back into the sofa. “Sometimes, no matter how hard you try, fame doesn’t come. Other times, an accident happens, and you’re suddenly famous.”

“Yeah…” What else could Ran Lin say? He was that “accident”.

“The drama that made me famous was like that. I wasn’t the original lead. Someone else was, but he dropped out, and it fell to me. One show, and I was up there,” Han Ze said, looking at Ran Lin with a barely there smirk. “But you’re luckier than me. Just standing at the airport, and opportunity knocked at your door.”

Ran Lin finally understood the discomfort that had been bothering him.

It was mockery.

And it was condescending mockery.

“Wang Xi said she sees potential in you and that fame is just a matter of time for you.” Han Ze shrugged with a faint smile on his face, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I have mixed feelings about that.”

Apart from mockery, there was hostility.

“If Wang Xi’s optimism could make me famous, I wouldn’t be waiting until now.” Ran Lin wasn’t as optimistic as Wang Xi, nor did he think he was a threat to Han Ze.

“She’s more optimistic than you are. These days, I’ve been rushing around to appointments on my own. Whenever I ask, she’s with you.”

Han Ze said it lightly, but it gave Ran Lin a splitting headache.

“I don’t understand a lot of things. Maybe Wang Xi is afraid I’ll mess up if she’s not with me.”

Han Ze looked at him, amused. “You won’t. You know exactly what you’re doing.”

With that, Han Ze suddenly extended a hand towards Ran Lin in a gesture of friendship. “We’ll probably be seeing a lot of each other in the future. Let’s learn from each other.”

Ran Lin hesitated before shaking his hand.

Han Ze’s fingers were long and pale, like those of a pianist, exceptionally beautiful.

But the palm was cold.

Ran Lin suddenly realized that what was abnormal was the “Game Black Hole” during filming—the new guest who got along well with everyone.

This person in front of him was the real Han Ze, the First Brother of Dream Without Limits.

……

The fifth trip to Dubai for “National First Love Drifting Story” sparked a second wave of high ratings and good reviews.

The increasingly in-tune five guests in Dubai, the city built on a desert, experienced the mysterious charm of a foreign land and the unique blend of ancient and modern. The audience also enjoyed a splendid journey abroad with them.

Ran Lin’s Weibo followers continued to grow rapidly, and the comments increased day by day.

Wang Xi, watching this, was quite satisfied. Although her usual attitude was more suppressive to prevent him from becoming conceited, she occasionally relaxed and envisioned a bright future for him.

Ran Lin didn’t mention what Han Ze said at the airport to Wang Xi. For one, it was difficult to bring up, as they shared a manager, and despite their different statuses, there was inevitable resource sharing and competition. Secondly, he didn’t think Wang Xi needed his hint. If he, as Han Ze said, was clear-headed, then Wang Xi was even more astute, surely aware of Han Ze’s subtle attitude.

Once interests were involved, unless one party withdrew, the conflict couldn’t be resolved.

All he could do was work hard, be kind to others, and true to himself.

The final episode of “National First Love Drifting Story” was set in Iceland. When Ran Lin saw Lu Yiyao at the airport, he wasn’t as excited as he expected, but his expression was more uncontrollable, his lips curving into a smile.

“Safe and sound, and in good shape.” Xia Xinran circled Lu Yiyao, giving his appraisal.

Lu Yiyao didn’t think any of those words were complimentary.

Ran Lin, Zhang Beichen, and Gu Jie stood together, restraining their desire to get closer.

That’s how people are. When you don’t care, it’s natural to get close. When you do care, you’re always afraid of making a mistake.

Lu Yiyao thought Ran Lin would give him a hug, or at least a couple of pats like Xia Xinran, checking in warmly. But Ran Lin just stood two steps away, smiling at him.

Ran Lin’s teeth were neat and white, his smile bright and sunny.

Lu Yiyao decided to walk over to him, for the sake of that smile. But before he could move, Yao Hong called with reminders—Yao Hong didn’t accompany him this time, staying back to handle affairs. By the time Yao Hong finished, it was time to board.

During the flight, Ran Lin and Xia Xinran competed in sleeping, as if vying for the title “Best Sleeper”. Gu Jie and Zhang Beichen excitedly discussed Iceland’s scenery, but Lu Yiyao, listening in, didn’t absorb a word.

Upon landing and stepping out of the airport, they were greeted by a snowy landscape.

Summer is the peak tourist season in Iceland, known for its beautiful and vivid scenery. In contrast, Iceland’s winter is more monochromatic but gives a more authentic feel.

Perhaps because it was the last episode, the production team finally showed some conscience, setting more enjoyable tasks and fewer hardships. Everyone had fun, like it was their last school trip.

But the legendary Northern Lights never appeared.

Until the third afternoon, during their last activity, ice cave exploration.

Ice caves are cavities formed inside glaciers. They grow and disappear as glaciers ebb and flow. Only in winter, when glaciers are stable, can one enter to witness that dreamlike world.

The production team brought in a local guide. The moment they entered the cave, everyone was stunned.

An incredible, massive glacier below, a kingdom of ice blue.

As if that wasn’t enough, when dusk fell and they emerged from the cave, still mesmerized by the enchanting blue, the sky was sprinkled with the Northern Lights.

The camera crew reacted first, setting up their equipment to capture the scene.

The five stood at the cave entrance, gazing in awe.

After a while, the production team prepared a spot for them to sit and enjoy the view.

A camera circled behind them, capturing both the Northern Lights and their silhouettes, like in a drama.

They weren’t sitting in a row, but in a staggered circle. Ran Lin sat towards the back, with Lu Yiyao in front of him at an angle, gazing into the distance. From Ran Lin’s angle, only Lu Yiyao’s profile was visible.

His nose was quite prominent, and from the side, he appeared less gentle and more angular.

Suddenly, Lu Yiyao turned his head.

Ran Lin couldn’t avoid his gaze in time, and their eyes met directly.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Lu Yiyao, thinking he was admiring the Northern Lights, asked with a smile.

Ran Lin didn’t know where he got the courage from, but he nodded vigorously. “Yes, very handsome.”

Lu Yiyao tilted his head to look at him, then turned his gaze back to the distant view.

Ran Lin pulled his scarf up to cover half of his face, trapping the warm breath inside, heating his neck, and warming his heart.

He liked Lu Yiyao.

Yes, he had fallen for him, which explained the push and pull, the anxiety of gain and loss.

Initially, the Northern Lights spread across the sky, but at some point, they split into several bands.

Ran Lin counted the bands one by one, and with each count, he silently wished in his heart, ‘Bent, straight, bent, straight…’

The bands were even in number, ending on straight.

Ran Lin was startled when he realized this.

Not by the result, but by himself.

He had actually fantasized about Lu Yiyao being gay. And then what? Even if he were, what could he do?

In the mainland entertainment industry, there were no openly gay popular stars. Even a hint of a same-sex scandal, if not handled well, could ruin a career.

Moreover, Lu Yiyao had never shown any signs of being gay; all the ambiguity was in his own imagination.

The man saw him as a friend.

Was he fantasizing about him here?

If Lu Yiyao knew, he would probably run a mile in the opposite direction.

The colorful bands of light illuminated the sky and the surrounding ice and snow. Ran Lin reached out and grabbed some snow outside the mat. The snow slowly melted in his palm, first bone-chillingly cold, then gradually numb, leaving only a faint coolness.

[It’s the last episode. I feel a bit reluctant to let go.]—This was a casual message Ran Lin sent to Lu Yiyao on WeChat before gathering in Iceland.

Lu Yiyao had replied—[The show is ending, but our friendship isn’t. When I have time, I’ll definitely find you to hang out.]

That was the first suggestive message between Ran Lin and Lu Yiyao in all their private chats.

And the last one.

The first time seeing such beautiful Northern Lights.

The first time liking such a wonderful person.

The first time giving up on a confession, accepting an unrequited love.

……

In a makeshift hut, there was only Lu Yiyao, the director, and a staff member present, with the camera fixed on a stand, capturing the guests’ most subtle expressions.

Lu Yiyao picked up a piece of paper with questions from the table in front of the director. There were only two questions: 1. Please share your most genuine feelings about this season. 2. Give a one-sentence comment about each companion.

Lu Yiyao sat in the chair, recalling each episode from the initial awkwardness to later harmony, his serious expression slowly turning into a smile.

He said, “The biggest feeling from this whole season is that interpersonal relationships are a fascinating thing. Usually, because of busy work, it’s hard to spend so much time with the same group of people. So often, interactions with people stay at first impressions. But first impressions are rarely accurate. As you get to know people better, you discover they’re not what you thought. Like our Drifting Team, from the initial awkwardness to now being like brothers, it’s a great feeling. I’m also grateful to the production team for letting me meet these companions.”

“One sentence for each person… Xia Xinran is like a little sun, always burning brightly, enjoying himself and warming others; Zhang Beichen, youthful and vibrant, I think he’s the most like a campus first love among us; Gu Jie, a tough guy, it’s a pity this season didn’t have real-life CS or tactical-style games; otherwise, he would have been unbeatable; Ran Lin…”

Lu Yiyao thought hard before looking up at the camera. “He’s someone who makes you feel comfortable being around. His care and consideration for friends are instinctive, a natural reaction without much thought, a rare and precious quality…”

Lu Yiyao praised him for three minutes in front of the camera.

Then he asked the director, “Is that enough?”

The director nodded in satisfaction and signaled the staff member to call in the next guest.

Gu Jie was the second to enter. The director patiently waited for him to read the question paper and reminded, “For the one-sentence comment, one sentence is enough.”

Gu Jie was bewildered.

He was struggling to come up with one sentence, let alone more!

……

When the group arrived at the Capital Airport, fans who had received the news had already crowded the exit. Lu Yiyao and Xia Xinran’s fans were the most numerous, followed by Zhang Beichen, then Gu Jie and Ran Lin. Gu Jie, having become more low-key after gaining fame and shifting towards movies, didn’t cultivate a fan base or chase trends, and Ran Lin simply didn’t have many devoted fans.

The five of them were scattered upon emerging, with Lu Yiyao and Xia Xinran looking like they were in for a long haul. Zhang Beichen wasn’t in a rush either, signing autographs in the crowd, while the security guards protecting him were so anxious they almost wanted to carry him away.

Ran Lin and Gu Jie, shoulder to shoulder, finally made it to the edge of the crowd. Most fans who got their autographs turned back to surround Lu Yiyao and Xia Xinran.

“The advantage of not being too popular is evident now,” Gu Jie said, out of breath but radiating genuine happiness.

Ran Lin glanced at the harried Lu Yiyao in the distance and suddenly felt a sense of déjà vu. “The first time Lu Yiyao mistook me for a fan was here.”

Gu Jie also glanced over and joked, “Back then, you were the only one holding a light board. It’s not his fault for mistaking you. Try it now. He probably can’t even see you in the crowd.”

Ran Lin quietly withdrew his gaze and smiled faintly. “Yeah.”

The two teams walked away, while three remained behind. The distance between them grew, one side increasingly crowded, the other increasingly quiet, like two different worlds.

<National First Love Drifting Story> had wrapped up.

---

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

Author: 颜凉雨 / Yan Liang Yu

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

---

Chapter 29

The filming of the behind-the-scenes footage was completed, and each guest returned to their respective rooms. The trio from Dream Without Limits finally had a chance to sit down for an internal meeting.

With the assistants sent away, only Wang Xi, Ran Lin, and Han Ze were left in Wang Xi’s room.

Wang Xi wore a Bohemian-style beach vacation dress today, elegant and romantic, softening her usually sharp and efficient demeanor into that of a pretty, petite woman.

Ran Lin quite liked this version of Wang Xi, approachable and neighborly, almost making one forget her usual oppressive aura.

However, as soon as she spoke, she was back to being the straightforward agent, focusing on the essentials. “The production team wanted to capture your spontaneous reactions, so I had to keep it from you.”

“It’s not that you had to tell everything, but you could’ve given some hints,” Ran Lin said, still shaken. “When I opened the door, I thought I had time-traveled back to Dream Without Limits.”

“The chances of you seeing me as soon as you open the door in Dream Without Limits are also not high, right?” teased Han Ze, lifting his eyebrow playfully.

Ran Lin was surprised, as his impression of Han Ze was always of someone with a cold face, boasting an attitude of “I’m more famous than you.” Even in fleeting encounters at Dream Without Limits, Han Ze never spared him a glance. But now, communicating directly, Han Ze turned out to be unexpectedly natural and humorous.

“I was just joking with you. Don’t be angry,” Han Ze quickly explained, seeing Ran Lin not responding.

Wang Xi gave him a look. “Are you familiar enough with him to joke like that?”

Han Ze obediently raised his hand as if to acknowledge his mistake. “I’m sorry. I’ll be more careful next time.”

Seeing the popular Han Ze so obediently managed by Wang Xi was quite a peculiar sight. The comforting feeling of “So I’m not the only one who’s timid” was incredibly healing.

“I’m not angry.” Ran Lin finally found a chance to speak, not wanting the agent and colleague to misunderstand. “It was just too unexpected, and I need some time to digest it.”

“There was no other way.” Wang Xi shrugged. “It was sudden, and Han Ze was just coming to save the day.”

Ran Lin’s heart skipped a beat, eager to know more but afraid of exposing any flaws to Wang Xi. After a long deliberation, he cautiously repeated her words with a questioning tone. “It was sudden?”

Wang Xi didn’t think much of it and casually explained, “Yes, it seems like it was only two days ago that there was an urgent leave request from the production team. The artist coordination team was in chaos, looking everywhere for someone to fill in. They contacted me yesterday, and Han Ze just happened to have wrapped up his drama shoot, so he flew over immediately. If it had been a day earlier, we wouldn’t have been able to make it.”

Ran Lin’s heart was already anxious when he heard about the emergency leave. He bravely waited until Wang Xi finished speaking, then immediately asked, “Did something happen with Lu Yiyao?”

Wang Xi looked at him strangely. “You’re not really a fan of his, are you? Look how worried you are.”

“We’ve recorded several episodes together.” Ran Lin forced a strained smile.

Wang Xi shrugged, not thinking much of it, treating her artist like a personified angel. “The artist coordination side hasn’t leaked any information, so I’m not clear on the details. But these sudden leaves are mostly due to unexpected events disrupting the schedule. There’s a small chance it’s due to the artist’s own reasons, like throwing a tantrum or acting like a diva.”

“I don’t think Lu Yiyao is the type to lose his temper.” Han Ze interjected casually, guessing, “It must be something urgent.”

Wang Xi raised an eyebrow mockingly. “Are you that familiar with him?”

Han Ze spread his hands in a serious tone. “I don’t have to interact directly. I can observe from the sidelines.”

Wang Xi rolled her eyes angrily.

Han Ze, unfazed, shared a knowing look with Ran Lin, as if saying, “You understand my struggle.”

Ran Lin could clearly feel a more relaxed and comfortable atmosphere between Wang Xi and Han Ze. Wang Xi was still the same, but Han Ze was measured in his approach, knowing when to be humble and when to joke, very accurately gauging the agent’s mood. This was a rapport formed from long-term cooperation, something Ran Lin envied but also knew couldn’t be rushed.

Returning Han Ze’s “I understand you” look of shared empathy, Ran Lin didn’t pry further. The conversation slowly shifted towards the senior Ran Lin sharing his experience on the show with his junior.

Han Ze listened intently, and Ran Lin spoke in detail, pointing out all potential pitfalls to Han Ze, not wanting him to be tormented into questioning his life choices. However, Ran Lin’s mind occasionally drifted, especially when thinking about Lu Yiyao, until Han Ze’s questions or reminders brought him back.

Fortunately, Han Ze and Wang Xi, fully focused on the next day’s recording, noticed nothing.

What exactly happened to Lu Yiyao? This question kept Ran Lin tossing and turning all night, leading to a sleepless night. Chen Sheng and Wu Guang brothers didn’t have such concerns; Xia Xinran directly called out to Lu Yiyao in the group chat, and later Gu Jie also chimed in, but until dawn, there was no response from Lu Yiyao.

The next morning, as the recording began, they finally got a reliable update—

“Lu Yiyao couldn’t join this episode’s recording due to health reasons, but his heart is with the Drifting Team,” the director said, unusually straightforward. “So he especially recorded a video to cheer everyone up…”

As the director stepped back, the big screen on the set showed Lu Yiyao’s face. The mobile-shot footage was a bit shaky, with a white wall in the background, and the person on screen looked a bit haggard, but his peach-blossom eyes still sparkled.

“Hello, my Drifting Team buddies. I’m sorry I can’t fight alongside you this time, but my spirit is with you! So don’t miss me too much. I’ll be back next episode… and welcome Han Ze to the Drifting Team. I’m sure you’ll love this mysterious journey, and I have high hopes for you winning the Curry First Love!”

The video was short, and before Ran Lin could react, it was over. The friends expressed their alternative concern through teasing comments like “Who would miss you” and “Don’t flatter yourself,” while the director announced the next task.

But Ran Lin’s thoughts were still on the video.

Lu Yiyao welcomed Han Ze, and Wang Xi said Han Ze was confirmed to fill in only yesterday, meaning the video was recorded after Han Ze’s confirmation. The director mentioned Lu Yiyao couldn’t come due to health reasons, so if he was able to record such a clip yesterday, did that mean his situation wasn’t too serious?

Ran Lin regretted not messaging Lu Yiyao yesterday. If he had known earlier, he would have sent a video invitation right away, no matter how abrupt.

……

Ever since the fourth episode aired, Lu Yiyao felt he was shrouded in bad luck.

First, his sister called to relay their mother’s imperial command. Then, his father called to issue a direct decree.

While he racked his brains to find two days to visit the two supreme elders in the east and west of the city, the investor of a script he was recently interested in specifically asked to meet him.

Usually, investors only care about returns unless they’re specifically funding a passion project. But occasionally, some dedicated investors like to oversee the main cast for the director, purely out of love for the arts. Not wanting to offend a potential investor, Lu Yiyao had to put his parents’ ultimatum on hold and squeezed the two days’ worth of schedule into one and a half days to meet with the investor.

The investor seemed quite satisfied with him. The dinner lasted from noon until evening, accompanied by the director, producer, and several others whose roles in the project Lu Yiyao couldn’t remember. He only recalled their constant flattery toward the investor.

The investor, immodestly, first critiqued the entire entertainment industry and then elaborated on industry development and major IPs, almost as if he could revolutionize the Chinese entertainment industry’s model right at the dinner table.

The investor’s money made him the boss, an unchanging truth. Compared to him, the director seemed more principled, offering compliments sparingly and insightfully, which pleased the investor and further affirmed his professional skills—although the two weren’t directly related.

Lu Yiyao, sitting next to the director, seized opportunities to discuss the script, sparking the director’s interest. The two hit it off, chatting enjoyably.

The meal lasted from afternoon until late at night. Exhausted, Lu Yiyao staggered into his nanny car and then passed out. Yao Hong, his manager, was nearly frightened to death and immediately directed the driver to the nearest hospital, where his assistant carried him into the emergency room.

The emergency doctor, a calm thirty-something, carefully examined the unconscious Lu Yiyao while asking Yao Hong about the circumstances and any medical history. Recognizing Lu Yiyao and considering the recent schedule reported by Yao Hong, the doctor preliminarily diagnosed overexertion and lack of sleep but insisted on close observation until he woke up.

Thus, Lu Yiyao was hospitalized, unconscious. He woke up the next day, and Yao Hong had already requested leave from the program on his behalf.

Apart from exhaustion and lack of sleep, Lu Yiyao also had a fever. He thought he could recover in two days for the three-day shoot, but Yao Hong sternly refused, leaving no room for discussion. Lu Yiyao didn’t insist, acknowledging he had indeed been overworking.

Lu Yiyao spent three days in the hospital and was discharged on the third night. As Ran Lin guessed, the video was recorded the day before the shoot in the hospital, deliberately in front of a plain white wall to avoid revealing the hospital setting.

During his three-day complete break, Yao Hong forbade him from all forms of entertainment, including his phone. According to her, his sudden phone addiction was one of the reasons for his collapse. Lu Yiyao had no choice but to obey.

He didn’t touch his phone again until the night he was discharged. Yao Hong had rearranged his recent schedule, postponing what could be and spacing out the rest to ensure he had ample rest. She also arranged for Li Tong to stay at his house, on call 24 hours a day, in case of any further health issues.

Li Tong knew many assistants who often complained about their jobs. Celebrities were difficult to serve, had big tempers, and were always busy, so assistants had to be submissive, attentive, and forget about having personal time.

Lu Yiyao was the first celebrity Li Tong worked for, and his experience was different from others. Except for the “busy” part, he hadn’t encountered the rest. If some celebrities treated their assistants like employers to nannies, or worse, like masters to servants, Lu Yiyao’s relationship with him was more like a corporate hierarchy—Lu Yiyao made requests, and Li Tong fulfilled them without any arrogance or subservience.

More importantly, Lu Yiyao cared about his personal space. Not just his assistant, even Yao Hong rarely entered his apartment, often waiting downstairs with the nanny car. Lu Yiyao usually came down quickly.

Other assistants might be used to their celebrities, but Li Tong always maintained a “gossip enthusiasm” towards Lu Yiyao. Hearing that he could “live together” with him, he was so excited that he didn’t even need Yao Hong to mention overtime pay; he happily packed his bags and followed.

Knowing Yao Hong was worried about him, Lu Yiyao hesitated but eventually relented, agreeing to have the assistant closely monitor him to ease his agent’s mind.

Yao Hong had her family, husband, and son to worry about. Balancing family and career wasn’t easy, and Lu Yiyao didn’t want to add to her troubles.

Thus, on the night the first day of filming for “National First Love Drifting Story” ended, Lu Yiyao left the hospital and went home with his assistant.

As the saying goes, misfortune may be a blessing in disguise. His collapse and hospitalization, though unfortunate, loosened his otherwise relentless schedule, meaning he didn’t have to worry about finding time to visit the two supreme elders.

Dealing with his mother and sister was easy; if he really couldn’t visit, a soft apology or a little fib over the phone would suffice, as women tend to be soft-hearted. But defying his father was another matter—no, Lu Yiyao admitted he didn’t dare.

Therefore, he suspected that, besides physical exhaustion and lack of sleep, “psychological pressure” also contributed to his collapse.

“Lu Ge, your house is so big…” Li Tong, lacking grandiose words to express his feelings, simply stated his impression plainly.

Lu Yiyao smiled and gave his assistant a brief tour. “That’s the bathroom, this is the walk-in closet… Here’s the study. Next to it is my bedroom, and your guest room is over there…”

Li Tong followed Lu Yiyao around the apartment, feeling an urge to stay permanently.

“I’m going to take a shower. You can watch TV,” Lu Yiyao said, eager to wash off the hospital smell.

“Okay.” Li Tong nodded obediently. “Be careful, Lu Ge. Call me if you need anything.”

Lu Yiyao, amused but appreciative of his assistant’s sincere concern, replied, “I’ll be careful not to slip or bump into the bathtub.”

Mid-March in Beijing still carried the chill of late winter, but the apartment was comfortably warm and stable, neither too hot nor too cold.

Li Tong flipped through channels, finding nothing of interest, so he settled on watching <National First Love Drifting Story> on the streaming service, starting with the latest episode.

When Lu Yiyao came out of the shower, he saw Ran Lin on TV asking his on-screen self, “So you don’t like the world of Pooh, but this kind of experience?”

TV Lu Yiyao coughed lightly and said, “I like Pooh, and I also like this experience.”

“This kind of ride is common. You can find it in any children’s park. What exactly do you love about it?”

“Stability,” his TV self-replied, sounding full of pretense.

Li Tong, curled up on the sofa, chuckled to himself, unaware that Lu Yiyao was standing right behind him. When Lu Yiyao tried to make a comment, he too got absorbed in the show. He stood there for a long time until Li Tong, shifting his position, caught sight of him and nearly fell off the sofa in shock.

“You scared me to death, Lu Ge!” Li Tong exclaimed, clutching his chest.

“I got too absorbed.” Lu Yiyao apologized, walking around to sit at a distance from Li Tong.

Li Tong asked funnily, “You recorded the program but are still so absorbed in watching the replay?”

Lu Yiyao shook his head, still watching the screen. “It feels different watching it than recording it.”

Li Tong, having never recorded a show, couldn’t comment, but seeing Lu Yiyao enjoying himself, he sparked up his gossiping spirit. “Lu Ge, you seem to get along well with those stars. What are they like?”

Lu Yiyao suddenly asked, “Who’s your favorite among them?”

Li Tong, thinking it was a test from his boss, replied without hesitation, “Definitely you, Lu Ge!”

Lu Yiyao laughed, adding a condition. “Besides me.”

After some thought, Li Tong answered, “Gu Jie.”

Lu Yiyao was surprised. “Why?”

“He’s cool.” Li Tong’s eyes shone. “That physique, that presence—he’s the epitome of a real man!”

Lu Yiyao, inexplicably triggered, asked, “Do you like Iron Man?”

Li Tong, confused by the topic shift, pondered seriously. “I like the Hulk.”

“Lu Ge, you haven’t answered yet. What are they like?” Li Tong brought back his original question.

Lu Yiyao opened WeChat, smiling at the group chat. “They’re all pretty good.”

His vague answer left Li Tong unsatisfied, but he returned to watching TV. Lu Yiyao typed and deleted messages, finally changing “Do you miss me?” to “Good evening, buddies.”

When the group received Lu Yiyao’s message, Xia Xinran was applying a face mask, Gu Jie was lifting dumbbells, Zhang Bei Chen was browsing Weibo, and Ran Lin was reading <Beihai Tree>. Except for Gu Jie, everyone immediately checked the message.

Then, Xia Xinran burst out laughing:

Xia Xin Ran—[Good evening? Are you on an official visit or something?]

Just after he finished complaining, his “pig teammate” undermined him:

Ran Lin—[Good evening. 😊]

Xia Xinran was so speechless that even his face mask wrinkled.

Zhang Beichen—[How’s your health? Are you okay now?]

Alright, they’re all gentlemen, except for him, the mischievous youth.

Xia Xinran sighed, took off his mask, and joined the comfort brigade.

Xia Xinran—[You looked as pale as a ghost in the video. What’s actually going on with you?]

Lu Yiyao—[Lack of sleep.]

Xia Xinran—[……]

Zhang Beichen—[💦]

Ran Lin—[Have you caught up on sleep now?]

Lu Yiyao—[I’m full of energy. 😎]

Lu Yiyao—[How was the first day of filming? Was it fun?]

When Gu Jie got to his phone, this was the first thing he saw, almost bringing him to tears—

Gu Jie—[Can I refuse to answer that question…]

Xia Xinran—[Hahahaha]

Lu Yiyao—[?]

Zhang Beichen—[He got sick from eating too much durian today.]

Lu Yiyao—[A task?]

Gu Jie—[A game, one so insane you’d be thankful you weren’t there…]

Xia Xinran—[Hahahaha]

Gu Jie—[Keep laughing, and I’ll ask the director to swap Han Ze in for you tomorrow!]

Xia Xinran—[I was wrong. 💦]

Lu Yiyao raised an eyebrow. Han Ze had such capability that he could intimidate Xia Xinran, who was normally fearless?

As if he heard his thoughts—

Xia Xinran—[Lu Yiyao, you’re definitely coming back next episode, right? Han Ze is like a black hole in games. He was a special guest today, so we drew lots to decide which regular guest would play with him. Today it was Gu Jie, and we don’t know who it will be tomorrow. Now everyone’s scared to be in the same group as him. It’s every man for himself!]

Lu Yiyao laughed out loud.

But typing it out automatically muted the onomatopoeia—

Lu Yiyao—[Don’t worry. I’ll definitely be back next episode.]

It seemed the new guest’s chemistry wasn’t bad. The variety show didn’t lack all-rounders, but they love to play black holes. The sparkle effect would be crackling when edited later.

After chatting for a while, Lu Yiyao suddenly realized that from beginning to end, Ran Lin had only sent one message, asking if he had caught up on sleep, and then remained silent throughout, not knowing if he was busy with something else or still peeking at the screen.

The chat in the group was heating up, already reminiscing about the day’s thrilling events. Lu Yiyao couldn’t quite explain it, but his thoughts kept drifting, mostly to the silent Ran Lin.

He thought the other party would at least ask a few more questions about his health.

Although this “thought” had no scientific basis.

Finding it too abrupt to interrupt the group chat, Lu Yiyao simply switched out to find Ran Lin’s private chat—[Are you there?]

Ran Lin was certainly there.

From the moment Lu Yiyao sent the first WeChat message, Ran Lin hadn’t changed his posture, holding his phone the entire time.

Lu Yiyao casually attributed his absence to “lack of sleep”, but Ran Lin understood at a glance that it was due to overworking and excessive stress. This was a common situation in the entertainment industry, affecting both male and female artists.

However, from Lu Yiyao’s messages, it seemed he had recovered and wasn’t in any serious trouble.

So, Ran Lin relaxed and watched his friends chat animatedly, his smile turning into a silly grin.

His mood, which had been down all day, brightened with Lu Yiyao’s appearance.

He didn’t need to talk one-on-one with Lu Yiyao; just watching him interact with friends in the group was enough to make him happy.

Ran Lin was used to his mood lifting as easily as it had fallen, unable to control his feelings but trying his best not to reveal them.

Then Lu Yiyao knocked on his virtual door—[Are you there?]

Ran Lin didn’t want to reply, but his fingers betrayed him—[Yeah, here.]

[Why aren’t you talking in the group?]

[Applying a face mask.]

[On your hands too?]

[Yeah, hand mask.]

[……]

[Just finished it 🤭. How’s your rest going?]

[Very leisurely. Almost don’t feel like working again.]

[Your fans would cry.]

[My manager would beat me up first.]

[😆 But seriously, there’s never an end to schedules, but your body is your own.]

[Yeah, I’ve started adjusting.]

[That’s good.]

[Any spoilers for tomorrow’s task?]

[What do you think 💀?]

[Why do I feel like I dodged a bullet by not being there for the filming?]

[You’re overthinking. The director said the most exciting part is saved for the last episode. Can’t let you down.]

[Is that last part from the director or you?]

[[A polite and cute smile.jpg]]

[Can’t you find a corresponding emoticon. Always using text versions…]

[gif animation]

[Sorry, I shouldn’t have made such an unreasonable request.]

Lu Yiyao looked at the gif of a politely smiling, slightly eerie figure sent by Ran Lin, speechless.

While he was speechless, Ran Lin sent another message—[Are you outside?]

Lu Yiyao was startled, quickly replying—[At home. Why do you ask?]

[Oh, nothing, just asking.]

Lu Yiyao frowned slightly, thought for a moment, and then understood—[Because I didn’t send any voice messages today?]

After a while, the other side replied—[Are you a mind-reading detective 💦?]

Lu Yiyao smiled proudly, glanced at his assistant nearby, and then replied to his friend—[My assistant is also at my place, monitoring my health 24/7 for the next few days.]

[Yeah, these days, it’s still important to pay more attention to your health.]

Ran Lin clicked send, then pondered perplexedly—What’s the inevitable connection between having the assistant at home and not sending voice messages? They weren’t discussing anything secretive, were they?

Equally baffled was Li Tong—Lu Yiyao was just chatting with his co-stars in a group chat. He had even heard Xia Xinran’s voice messages through the speaker, so why did he suddenly start glancing at him suspiciously from time to time?

Li Tong had no interest in gossip about friendships between male stars. Was Lu Ge being too cautious?

Finally, after chatting with Ran Lin and catching the tail end of the heated discussion in the group, Lu Yiyao contributed a few words here and there. As it was getting late, everyone gradually dispersed.

Lu Yiyao felt satisfied and began to look forward to the last episode’s filming.

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