Suddenly Trending Ch82

Author: 颜凉雨 / Yan Liang Yu

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


Chapter 82

“The young man under the sun~~ Has your dream come true~~ In this cold world~~ Have you changed~”

Ran Lin had just clicked to share Gu Jie’s post and hadn’t yet managed to send it when his phone rang.

These days, since he wasn’t working, his phone was always in his hand, giving his lover a rare opportunity to call him directly without needing to send a probing text first.

“Hello?” Ran Lin’s voice echoed in the room, closed off and air-conditioned, as if it had a built-in reverb effect.

“Back at the hotel from your outing?” Lu Yiyao could tell from his voice.

Ran Lin had spoken to Lu Yiyao that morning, telling him he was planning to embrace the city with Gu Jie. His lover, well-versed in the art of disguise, had instructed him on various tricks to avoid being recognized without looking like a wrapped-up dumpling. Ran Lin didn’t find many of the tips practical but was sympathetic to his lover’s years of coping with fame.

“I had planned to go to the food street,” Ran Lin said, lying back in bed, sounding resigned. “But a call from the director brought us back.”

“Video call me.” As soon as Lu Yiyao said this, he hung up without waiting for a response.

Ran Lin, a bit flustered, had just exited to the home screen when a video call invitation popped up, filling the screen with a face. By now, he was used to his lover’s haphazard selfie angles.

“Did the director call you back?” Lu Yiyao picked up where they left off.

“More accurately, he called Gu Jie back.” Ran Lin sighed softly.

“Because of Qi Luoluo’s long post?”

“You saw it?”

“Yeah.”

Ran Lin looked at his lover on the screen with a mixture of feelings. “It seems like your crew really isn’t that busy…”

Lu Yiyao pulled back the phone, apparently placing it on a table, and said casually, “The actors are efficient, and the whole crew works well together, so we have plenty of time. We might even wrap up early.”

Ran Lin narrowed his eyes at him. “If you keep rubbing it in, we can’t keep dating.”

Lu Yiyao laughed, then asked with concern, “How is Gu Jie?”

Ran Lin shook his head. “He’s been with the director since he came back. I don’t know what’s happening.”

Lu Yiyao fell silent, his brow slightly furrowed in thought.

“I just got off the phone with Xi Jie,” Ran Lin continued, the frustration rising in his voice. “She says it’s hard to clear up this kind of murky situation. I don’t understand why it’s always the honest people who get screwed. Gu Jie is the most patient lead actor I’ve ever seen. You didn’t see Qi Luoluo at the set. When she NG’d, even the lighting and photography crew were exasperated, the director was about to lose it, but Gu Jie was still patient with her, doing it over and over…”

“Right.” Ran Lin’s eyes suddenly lit up. “We can release the NG footage. It’ll be clear whether Gu Jie bullied her!”

Lu Yiyao looked up and slowly shook his head. “What you can think of, her team has already considered. She never intended to go after Gu Jie for bullying her in the first place. The set is a public environment; if she was truly bullied, everyone would see it. Just one behind-the-scenes blooper reel from the director would debunk her claim. But if she insists Gu Jie harassed her, then even if the crew releases NG footage, she can claim it’s the crew whitewashing Gu Jie and the film. Plus, she can argue that the NG footage shows how Gu Jie was before he harassed her, being nice to her precisely so he could harass her later.”

“And she doesn’t even have to say that. 99% of the NG footage is from before she and Gu Jie acted together, because right after they started, it was Gu Jie who kept NG’ing, and then we went on location shooting. That night, Director He talked to her and terminated her contract.” Ran Lin felt disheartened again. “I thought we had found evidence to refute her.”

Lu Yiyao pondered for a moment, then suddenly asked, “Has Gu Jie told you in detail about what happened the night of the alleged harassment?”

“Actually, he did,” Ran Lin replied without hesitation. “He came out of Qi Luoluo’s room just as I was leaving mine. We met in the hallway and then went to dinner together. He poured out all his troubles to me.”

Lu Yiyao touched his fingers thoughtfully, then said, “Then tell me everything in detail.”

Ran Lin had complained to his lover about Qi Luoluo harassing Gu Jie as soon as it happened, but at that time, they didn’t anticipate the situation escalating to this level, so it was a brief mention.

Now that Lu Yiyao requested the full version, Ran Lin, although puzzled, knew his lover must have his reasons. Without hesitation, he recounted in detail what Gu Jie had told him that night, almost not missing any detail.

The night outside the window was inky black, and the room was lit only by a bedside lamp casting a limited glow.

Ran Lin got up, turned on all the lights in the room, and then sat cross-legged on the bed to tell the whole story to his lover.

Lu Yiyao listened intently, and by the end, he sat up straight in a serious and attentive posture.

“…That’s what happened.” Ran Lin’s throat was dry from talking, so he got up, placed his phone against the lamp, like Lu Yiyao, and opened a bottle of mineral water to drink.

“You said earlier,” Lu Yiyao watched his lover intently, “that Gu Jie didn’t close the door after entering?”

Ran Lin paused drinking, swallowed quickly, and nodded vigorously. “Right, Gu Jie felt it wasn’t appropriate to close the door when alone with her, so he left it open. It was only later, during the scene, that Qi Luoluo closed it herself.”

Lu Yiyao frowned. “But the hotel surveillance footage they released doesn’t show the door.”

Ran Lin rolled his eyes. “That’s because of the angle of the camera. It didn’t even show me, but actually, I came out before Gu Jie. I closed my door, then Gu Jie came out.”

Lu Yiyao: “How many cameras are there in the hallway?”

Ran Lin was stumped. “I didn’t notice…”

Before Lu Yiyao could respond, Ran Lin was already up. “I’ll go check right now!”

Sounds of hurried door opening and closing followed, and in a blink, Ran Lin was back in the video, his face alight with excitement. “Three, one at each end of the hallway and one in the middle.”

Lu Yiyao nodded, understanding what he had suspected.

The video released by Qi Luoluo showed the surveillance camera positioned near the elevator, capturing only sections of the corridor to the left and right. Thus, in its range, it could capture Qi Luoluo’s room on the left side but not Ran Lin’s room on the right side, which was further away and closer to the end of the corridor.

This indicated that the camera was closer to the middle of the corridor. If there were no blind spots intended, there should be cameras at both ends of the corridor as well.

The camera near Ran Lin’s room was irrelevant to the situation—even if it captured him leaving at the same time and eventually joining Gu Jie for a meal, it would be meaningless for the case.

However, the camera at the end of the corridor near Qi Luoluo’s room was different.

In the video released by Qi Luoluo, her room was already at the edge of the camera’s view. Due to distance and angle, plus the intentionally sped-up video, it was hard to notice if the door was closed or not. But if it was another camera at the end of the corridor, it would have a closer view of Qi Luoluo’s room and could capture clearer details.

Ran Lin realized Lu Yiyao’s intent upon seeing the three cameras. “Although NG videos can’t fundamentally solve the problem, if the hotel surveillance clearly shows that Gu Jie didn’t close the door, coupled with the NG footage, it could at least prevent public opinion from being completely one-sided.”

“Yes,” Lu Yiyao said. “And if Gu Jie’s agent can gather more evidence or manage the PR well, this crisis might not be insurmountable.”

It hadn’t been long since the incident occurred and Ran Lin hadn’t had time to think through these aspects. It was likely that the director and Gu Jie were also still in shock. Now reminded by Lu Yiyao, Ran Lin immediately stood up. “I’ll go to the hotel for the surveillance footage right now.”

Before Lu Yiyao could respond, Ran Lin suddenly sat back down. “Almost forgot, I should repost first. Otherwise, I’ll forget once I get busy.”

“Repost Gu Jie’s Weibo?” Lu Yiyao asked, his voice lifting subtly with emotion.

Ran Lin initially planned to inform Lu Yiyao and then end the video to repost on Weibo. His question made Ran Lin reflexively wary. “Do you think it’s rash for me to repost his Weibo and take a stand in this storm?”

“What do you want in your heart? Do you want to publicly support him?” Lu Yiyao counter-asked, his voice still calm and collected.

Ran Lin took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly, firmly saying, “I don’t want to just publicly support him. I want to jump in and fight for him!”

Lu Yiyao’s eyebrows rose in surprise at the first part of the statement, but he smiled when he heard the rest.

“Then go for it. Public support or fighting, follow your heart.”

“Xi Jie will kill me.” Ran Lin could almost imagine the future scolding. “And if Gu Jie can’t be fully vindicated, I guess I’ll get dragged down with him.”

Lu Yiyao’s eyes shone with a soft smile. “Even if you flop, I’ll be there to catch you.”

Ran Lin was half amused, half exasperated. “Then we’ll both flop.”

Lu Yiyao looked at him steadily. “Then I’ll just have to lift you back up again.”

It was an uncertain matter, but coming from his lover, it was filled with certainty.

Ran Lin held back his laughter. “Does that mean I can strut around the entertainment industry?”

Without hesitation, Lu Yiyao nodded. “You can even dance in the square if you want.”

Ending the video call, Ran Lin felt no more hesitation, only a sense of solidity.

With a press of his thumb, he sent the repost. Gu Jie’s pinned post. “I don’t look for trouble, but I am not afraid of it,” was now on Ran Lin’s Weibo homepage, echoing his own sentiments.

After reposting, Ran Lin searched through Weibo. His colleagues were all silent.

Gu Jie had been in the industry longer and had a smooth career. Although he was low-key, he surely had friends, but now, not one was speaking out.

That was understandable.

After all, the truth wasn’t clear yet, and the issue involved the sensitive topic of harassing a female actress. Even if people contacted him privately to offer comfort, it was best to stay cautious in public.

But Ran Lin couldn’t do that.

He knew the truth, and he couldn’t pretend ignorance.

After a round of searching, he returned to his own Weibo to find it a storm of comments—

[The World is so Big I Want To Go Slap-Slap: Not looking for trouble won’t get you in trouble 🐶]

[Crystal Palace: In society, I’m like Ran Ge, fierce and concise. One repost and it’s a storm, bound to crash eventually. 🤷]

[Calculus Flyby: Standing by someone at this time, how low can your IQ be…]

[Rich Fur Village: Of course, he’ll help his “good brother” from the same crew 😏]

[Die Straight-Male Cancer: Not looking for trouble but not afraid of it, so are you two preparing to team up and bash Qi Luoluo?]

[Lily Nijiang Sauce: I think it’s good. Saves the hesitation. Let’s just pack up and go to the dark side together 👋]

Whether it was because he had just been torn apart by Han Ze’s fans and had developed antibodies, or because Lu Yiyao’s words were energizing, Ran Lin looked at these negative comments with an oddly calm heart.

Even if no one else stood up for Gu Jie, he would, because that was his friend.

Even if everyone criticized him for taking sides at this time, he wasn’t afraid because there was always one person who would forever support him; he just had to look back to see that “blindly confident” handsome face.

And…

Ran Lin, seeing the many supportive comments from his fans and the scattered Gu Jie fans among the negative ones, felt he didn’t need to make himself out to be a tragic hero. In his fanbase, there were still more supporters, moved followers, and those who teased overtly but cared covertly—

[Peppy Shrimp Let’s Go: Idol, do you want the company to buy you a trending spot instead of rocketing yourself up there? [I might have become a fan of an idiot.jpg]]

[White Dragon’s Reverse Scale: Thought you and Gu Jie were just close friends; turns out it’s deeper than that 🫠.]

[Professional Nunchucks Level 2: I’m a fan of Gu Jie. Thank you for being willing to stand by him at this time, he’s really wronged 😭.]

[Lin’s Family Burning Noodles: Firmly helping to repost.]

[Idle Sword of Fallen Flowers: Don’t know why, but I just feel so fired up. This is what brotherhood is about!]

[Burning Noodles Fan Club: Why should Qi Luoluo get to say anything with just a crappy surveillance shot, while an actor who knows the situation best can’t speak up? Anyway, I’m with Ran Lin this round. Okay, I’ve been a fan since ‘Drifting Stories’ so I’m an old Burning Noodles, rolling on the floor begging for a mention! 🤪 🤪]

[Yao Love For Life: Not kicking someone when they’re down is kindness; daring to provide coal in snow* is a warrior’s deed.]

*Idiom referring to the act of offering help or support to someone in their time of need.

As Ran Lin read, he pondered how he should release the video once he got it from the hotel. He wondered if he should also prepare a lengthy Weibo post detailing all the specifics, making the video and evidence fit together more cohesively and convincingly. And he couldn’t just post it himself; having Xi Jie find some marketing accounts to lead the charge might seem more credible…

As he was lost in thought, he refreshed the page, and a slew of new comments had already flooded in, with the top one being—

[Passion Burns Summer: Xia Xinran and Lu Yiyao liked both Gu Jie and Ran Lin’s Weibo posts. The Drifting Team’s bond is indeed not plastic. [Shows a smile of a proud mother.jpg] [screenshot.jpg]]

Ran Lin froze, clicked on the screenshot, and sure enough, his lover and friend had liked the posts just minutes after he had made them.

These days, liking a post is akin to making a statement. While it’s not as overt as reposting, it certainly indicates taking a side.

Those two…

Knock, knock.

The sudden knock on the door interrupted Ran Lin’s train of thought.

Puzzled, he put down his phone and walked towards the door, asking cautiously, “Who is it?”

“Gu Jie—” The reply came straightforwardly.

Ran Lin quickly moved to open the door, seeing Gu Jie still dressed as he was when he returned, seemingly just finished talking with the director. His expression wasn’t overly somber, though his brow was furrowed, and his aura was as strong as usual.

“Finished talking with the director?” Ran Lin let his friend in.

“Yes, now it’s up to Qiang Ge to communicate with him. I’m just waiting.” Gu Jie walked into the room, continuing, “Do we have a plan now?”

Gu Jie was surprised. “You can tell?”

Ran Lin: “…It’s really not hard at all.”

Gu Jie’s thoughts were all too easy to guess. No, there wasn’t even a need to guess; it was all written on his face.

“The director is too cunning.” Gu Jie couldn’t hold back his mixed feelings. “When he was talking to Qi Luoluo, not only did he have an assistant present, but he also recorded everything with a hidden camera.”

Ran Lin was astonished; he hadn’t expected the seemingly straightforward director to pull such a trick.

He thought having an assistant present during the conversation was already being cautious, but it turned out the director not only took precautions but also secured a trump card.

“Did Qi Luoluo confess to harassing you during that conversation?” Ran Lin asked, sensing something amiss.

“Of course, she wasn’t that foolish. At first, she kept saying I was deliberately making things difficult for her, insisting it was me who attempted to harass her. But later, it seems the director used some method to make her fall into her own trap.” Gu Jie scratched his head. “I’m not exactly sure myself. We’ll know when the video comes out.”

“……” Ran Lin knew he wouldn’t get any substantial details from Gu Jie.

“I came here to tell you this,” Gu Jie continued. “You don’t need to worry about me. Qiang Ge said that with the video the director took, I can not only clear my name but also help boost the attention for <Dyeing Fire>. The director has always been worried about his film being critically acclaimed but not a box office hit…”

Ran Lin understood. “So now the two of them are in cahoots.”

Gu Jie recalled the scene of his agent and the director’s video call and shook his head. “Not just in cahoots, they’re almost sworn brothers now.”

Ran Lin didn’t know how to comment on this twist of events, but he was extremely curious about the video content.

“You reposted my Weibo?!” Gu Jie, casually scrolling through Weibo, exclaimed in surprise.

Ran Lin blinked, feeling oddly like he’d been caught doing something naughty and managed a “Mm.”

Gu Jie flopped down in a chair, looking resigned. “What were you thinking? Did you guess the director had a hidden recording?”

Ran Lin protested, “If I had that kind of imagination, I’d be writing sci-fi novels!”

“So why did you repost it?” Gu Jie’s tone was genuinely disapproving. “If I can’t clear my name, wouldn’t that drag you down too? It’s unnecessary.”

“I stand by my friends. Why do I need a reason?” His agent didn’t criticize, his lover didn’t criticize, but being criticized by the involved party left Ran Lin unsure whether to laugh or cry. “And this is just step one. I plan to write a long Weibo post recreating the scene.”

Gu Jie stared dumbfounded for a long time, then let out a sigh of relief. “Lucky I came to you first.”

Ran Lin gave him a look. “If not for you, I wouldn’t even have this movie. One Weibo post for a leading role in a famous director’s film—I’m making a fortune.”

Gu Jie looked at Ran Lin, emotions churning in his chest, but in the end, he just stood up, patted Ran Lin’s shoulder firmly, and squeezed it, all without a word.

Ran Lin stared back fiercely amid the excruciating pain on his shoulders, deciding if Gu Jie didn’t let go within three seconds, he’d yell for release.

Fortunately, Gu Jie didn’t keep on squeezing and let go before Ran Lin had to scream.

Ran Lin’s shoulder slumped, he breathed deeply several times, moved his arm around to make sure it was still functional, and confirmed, yep, it’s not wasted, still usable.

“Oh right.” Just as he was moving his arms, Ran Lin remembered the conversation with Lu Yiyao and quickly said, “There are three cameras in the corridor. Qi Luoluo released footage from the middle one, which didn’t capture the door clearly. Another camera should have a clear view of you not closing the door after entering. We can ask the hotel for it.”

Although Director He had a killer piece of evidence, more evidence was always better.

But Gu Jie said, “Director He already asked for it this afternoon when Qi Luoluo released her post. The hotel has been reluctant to give it, saying it’s only available for police investigations or similar incidents.”

Ran Lin was speechless. “Then how did Qi Luoluo get the footage?”

Gu Jie shrugged, unclear as well.

The footage from Qi Luoluo must have also come from the hotel, but not necessarily through official channels. The hotel would naturally prefer to avoid trouble, especially as it’s frequented by celebrities. If they started releasing surveillance footage left and right, it would make many feel their privacy wasn’t respected. However, if the production team insisted and it wasn’t the hotel itself in trouble, they might still provide it.

But if Director He has the conversation on video, then whether they have the surveillance footage or not doesn’t really matter. With time being of the essence, the director probably can’t be bothered to negotiate further.

“Lu Yiyao also liked it?” Gu Jie found something new upon refreshing Weibo.

Ran Lin laughed at his expression of discovery. “Xia Xinran did too.”

Gu Jie froze, his phone scrolling slowing, then stopping completely, falling into silence.

Ran Lin watched his friend’s expression turn pensive, his eyes burning with intensity, uncertain of his mood.

Suddenly, Gu Jie looked up.

Ran Lin was startled by his intense gaze, scooting back on the bed reflexively, only to hear his friend’s resounding voice—

“Let’s find time for the four of us to become sworn brothers!”

Ran Lin considered the suggestion seriously and finally said cautiously, “How about… we first ask Teacher Lu and Xia Xinran what they think?”

……

While the crew in Wuhan remained unsettled, two agents in Beijing were closely monitoring the situation.

At 9:30 p.m., in the office on the second floor of Lu Yiyao’s studio, Yao Hong was multitasking between her laptop and phone’s speaker, issuing tasks to the publicity staff who were pulled into overtime work, and communicating with her artist. “Where did the video come from?”

Lu Yiyao replied, “From the hotel, of course.”

Yao Hong was exasperated. “You’re in Tianjin with your crew, and you’re sending me surveillance footage from a Wuhan hotel. Don’t tell me you teleported there to get it.”

“It doesn’t matter how it was obtained, as long as the surveillance is real,” Lu Yiyao said. “Hong Jie, get someone to edit the video. Highlight the parts where Gu Jie didn’t close the door and where Qi Luoluo closed it herself. Oh, and the timeline, make sure it matches with Qi Luoluo’s video, preferably do a side-by-side comparison…”

Yao Hong interjected, “Why don’t you come and do it?”

Lu Yiyao: “…”

“You could’ve been an idol, but instead, you worry like a manager,” Yao Hong said with a laugh. “Alright, I know what to do. Video editing, marketing account reposts, hired guns to lead the charge, and stirring up the crowd—one-stop service. I’ll ensure your boyfriend’s show of support turns into an act of valor, bravery, and selflessness.”

Lu Yiyao: “Well, it’s not entirely for Ran Lin. Gu Jie is also my friend.”

Yao Hong: “Oh.”

Lu Yiyao: “…Hong Jie, sorry for the trouble.”

After hanging up, Lu Yiyao chewed on the Tianjin twist pastry sent by fans while contemplating how fortunate Gu Jie was to have such a cunning director.

Two hours earlier, his lover informed him not to worry anymore; the director had evidence to turn the tables and was working on it. As for the surveillance video, since the hotel was reluctant and it wasn’t decisive evidence, they decided not to pursue it.

He had initially sent someone to get the video from the hotel, intending to let Hong Jie help with leading the charge. The plan was to muddy the waters if a turnaround was challenging, but unexpectedly, good news came from heaven. So, once the video was actually obtained, the strategy shifted from “muddying the waters” to “corroborating evidence”.

Now, they were just waiting for updates from Geng Yiqiang and the director, likely a joint statement from Gu Jie’s team and the production crew.

Once Yao Hong’s video added fuel to the fire, the “truth” would blaze even brighter.

Meanwhile, at Wang Xi’s home, which had turned into an office.

Wu Xia sent the last message on QQ and turned to report to Wang Xi. “Everything’s ready. Just waiting for the crew to make a statement. As soon as they do, we’ll make it go viral.”

Wang Xi nodded. “It’s best if it comes out before 10:30—that’s when there’s high traffic.”

“Why didn’t you stop Ran Ge? If he hadn’t reposted Gu Jie’s Weibo, it would’ve been fine.” Wu Xia, who had been summoned by Wang Xi after dinner to help manage and control the situation for Ran Lin, was puzzled. She had been brought in mainly to put out fires for Ran Lin, who had publicly sided on the still unclear “Gu Jie harassing female actress” issue.

But as they were managing the situation, Ran Lin called to first acknowledge his impulsiveness and then confidently said there was no need to worry and that everything would turn around by evening. So, Wu Xia put down the fire extinguisher and picked up the accelerant, waiting for the turnaround to help boost the heat.

However, when Ran Lin reposted, there was no sign of a turnaround yet, so Wu Xia didn’t understand why he insisted on reposting under such circumstances.

Wang Xi didn’t explain but merely asked, “How many in the entertainment industry, among all the stars big and small, dare to do this?”

Wu Xia frowned, pondering for a moment. “Very few, I guess.”

Wang Xi smiled. “So, for such rare animals, we need to protect them.”

……

Gu Jie stayed in Ran Lin’s room until 10:45 when Geng Yiqiang called to say everything was sorted. The two of them, who were playing online games, hurriedly exited and logged onto Weibo. By then, keywords like “Dyeing Fire crew releases clarifying video,” “Gu Jie responds,” “Ran Lin’s righteous stand,” “Qi Luoluo harassment incident turns around,” “Qi Luoluo hotel surveillance,” and others were trending on the hot search list. The Dyeing Fire crew’s clarification was at the top, followed by several related keywords in the top ten, with even “Lu Yiyao likes” and “Xia Xinran likes” making it into the top twenty.

Ran Lin didn’t click on the hot searches but went directly to the <Dyeing Fire> official Weibo. The top post was the clarifying Weibo, posted at 10:25. Probably Geng Yiqiang observed the situation after posting and felt it was stable before informing Gu Jie.

The clarifying video was posted by the Dyeing Fire official Weibo, but it was clearly the work of a professional publicity team. Dyeing Fire hadn’t reached the actual publicity stage yet, and the publicity team was almost unorganized, so it must have been Geng Yiqiang’s doing.

The entire Weibo was written succinctly, clearly expressing the sequence of events using the most lucid words. It didn’t sensationalize, play the victim, or lead the narrative but merely restored the facts themselves. It laid out the sequence of events as “Qi Luoluo’s inability to immerse in her role—frequent NG causing significant delays for the crew—Gu Jie as the male lead being extremely professional and patient in reshooting—Qi Luoluo’s unsuccessful harassment turned accusation—crew learning the truth and terminating the contract with her.” The post methodically and clearly untangled the whole affair.

More importantly, the crew provided evidence for each point.

For Qi Luoluo’s inability to immerse—there was a large compilation of NG clips. Though outsiders saw it as entertainment, Ran Lin, as someone who had experienced it, could tell these NGs were carefully selected. Each clip started with Qi Luoluo’s performance and ended with the director calling NG, not showing any aftertalk or other scenes. Each one clearly indicated that it was Qi Luoluo’s fault for the NG, especially the first few clips, which were almost the most awkward NG scenes of Qi Luoluo.

For frequent NG causing significant delays—there were behind-the-scenes clips. Who knows who chose them, but they picked a scene with the most NGs, and it was a complex scene to coordinate. So one could clearly hear the crew’s sighs becoming more and more pronounced with each NG, eventually leaving little face for Qi Luoluo.

For Gu Jie being extremely professional and patient—there was a large compilation of NG clips. But this compilation wasn’t about how Qi Luoluo NG’d but how Gu Jie patiently reshot with her time and again, occasionally encouraging her, truly the epitome of a warm man.

The video that depicted Qi Luoluo’s attempted harassment and subsequent accusation against Gu Jie, followed by the crew’s termination of her contract, utilized the director’s trump card—the conversation video.

The camera was placed perfectly, avoiding the sleazy feel of a spy cam while not appearing too staged like an interview. It was clear it was hidden, yet the perspective and feel were surprisingly comfortable. Ran Lin suspected the director had enlisted the crew’s cinematographer to position the camera.

The video was edited down to nine minutes, yet it encapsulated all the essentials.

It began with Qi Luoluo crying, more convincingly than in any of her scenes, then immediately playing the victim, telling the director that Gu Jie was deliberately making things difficult for her that day because he had attempted to harass her the night before. The director straightforwardly countered that Gu Jie had already explained it was she who harassed him. Qi Luoluo’s shocked expression was award-worthy. Quickly realizing that her tears weren’t working, she directly threatened the director, saying if the crew terminated her contract, she would expose Gu Jie’s alleged harassment.

Up to this point, Qi Luoluo firmly maintained that Gu Jie harassed her.

Then something incredible happened. Ran Lin could hardly see the editing, but he knew it was there because the next second, the director earnestly said, “Tell me the truth. There’s still room for discussion if you do.”

Before Qi Luoluo could respond, the director’s assistant excused himself, leaving only the director and Qi Luoluo in the room—a quiet atmosphere for a “private heart-to-heart”.

Perhaps the assistant’s departure emboldened Qi Luoluo, or maybe she thought her threat had worked and the goddess of fortune was beckoning. Suddenly, with her eyes lifted, she grabbed the director’s hand and said, “Director He, I really want to act in this film!”

Director He subtly withdrew his hand, responding sincerely and kindly, “I really want to give you another chance too, because our schedule is already severely delayed. Although you still have many unresolved issues in your acting, we’ve already shot for over ten days. Replacing you and reshooting would be too costly. But you’re not focusing on acting, resorting to underhanded tactics instead. Now Gu Jie is too disturbed by your interference to adjust properly. Even if I let you continue, you two can’t work together.”

“I’ll apologize to him!” Qi Luoluo quickly interjected, her tone genuine. “I was just impulsive, and besides, I didn’t really do anything. I hadn’t even touched him before he ran off, and I’m a woman. What harm could I do him!”

That was enough for the video.

The rest was probably to make the video seem complete and not end abruptly.

But certainly, the video wasn’t the whole story. At least, none of Director He’s masterful maneuvers were included. What exactly he said to make Qi Luoluo soften and gradually fall into her own trap is known only to him and maybe God.

Suddenly, Ran Lin remembered the director he’d shared a lamb leg with—that all an act! He’s a cunning old fox!

The comments section exploded—

[Damn damn damn, nowadays you can’t live without a camera in the room. The director is so wise!!!]

[I just want to know how many actresses like Qi Luoluo have tricked Director He before for him to have such masterful evasion skills 🤣.]

[Ahhh I’m so mad! Support Gu Jie suing her. Click the upper right corner to boost me up! 😡 😡 😡]

[How can there be such a wicked person. Gu Jie’s cooperation with her was a curse for eight lifetimes!!!]

[Damn, seeing her repeatedly NG and Gu Jie still encouraging her, I’m crying. 😭 😭 😭 ]

[Gu Jie really got the short end of the stick this time. If not for the director having a backup plan, he would have been blackened beyond redemption! Damn, the male lead and the whole crew treated you like a princess, and you turn around and mow them down with a machine gun, well done.]

[Gu Jie’s plight reminds me of a saying, arsonists get medals, but good deeds go unrecorded 👋.]

[I don’t want to talk, just waiting for the movie release. I’ll book the whole theater! PS. She’s definitely not acting in it now, right?]

[Hotel video sequel out , you can clearly see Gu Jie didn’t close the door, which matches what he said on his Weibo! I had bashed Gu Jie before. I’ll go die now 😭.]

Sequel?

Ran Lin curiously clicked on the video; indeed, it was the surveillance footage Gu Jie mentioned the director had attempted to get from the hotel. The video not only showed Gu Jie not closing the door but also vaguely captured Qi Luoluo coming to close it!

Although the footage was blurry, the video maker was considerate enough to add subtitles and circled out some easily overlooked details, making annotations. Most importantly, in the last ten seconds, they added a split-screen comparison from two angles, almost eliminating any doubt of “video fabrication”.

Ran Lin searched for the video’s origin, finding it came from a cluster of marketing accounts, released right after the crew and Gu Jie’s responses, as if meant to further bolster the crew’s clarification.

The hotel was reluctant to give the footage to the crew but quickly and efficiently leaked it to marketing accounts. Ran Lin couldn’t comprehend this logic.

But he didn’t have time to ponder further. With this explosion of information, he had plenty of places to visit. Exiting the marketing account’s Weibo that released the surveillance video, Ran Lin immediately went to Gu Jie’s homepage.

Gu Jie’s pinned Weibo post was no longer just a sentence but a long post, clearly a response to Qi Luoluo—[No actor is too small, act with conscience.]

Ran Lin opened the long post. It wasn’t as lengthy as Qi Luoluo’s, just a few hundred words, but it succinctly clarified the situation, mirroring the style of the Dyeing Fire crew’s official Weibo. It didn’t sensationalize, play the victim, or accuse; it was just dignified and calm, at peace with himself.

The comments were, as expected, filled with apologies, support, and calls to action.

And many, evident from their avatars and IDs, were male fans. Ran Lin’s fans were mostly female, and he now realized that male fans can be even more fervent.

Leaving Gu Jie’s Weibo, Ran Lin went to the trending list and found “Ran Lin’s Righteous Stand” had surged to the third spot on the hot search list. Clicking in, it was all marketing accounts praising him, and the comments were similar to those under Gu Jie’s post: apologies from those who had previously criticized, likes from those who had been watching, many converting to fans or solidifying their fanhood. The only difference was that there weren’t as many males wanting to work out with their idol as there were under Gu Jie’s comments.

His own fan base also saw a significant surge.

Although Ran Lin suspected that his agent had capitalized on the situation, the main force was undoubtedly Geng Yiqiang. After coordinating with Director He and releasing the clarifying statement, as well as the subsequent momentum building, they nearly monopolized the evening’s trending topics. Not only did they clear Gu Jie’s name and turned public opinion against Qi Luoluo entirely, but they also gold-plated his peripheral involvement in the matter—a classic counterstrike.

“Your Qiang Ge is impressive.” Ran Lin lifted his head, expressing admiration to Gu Jie.

He and his friend had been together the whole time, even playing mobile games. Naturally, the long Weibo post came from Gu Jie’s agent’s effort.

Moreover, letting the crew’s official Weibo handle the slap-back while he just rode the breeze, stating the facts—the posture couldn’t be cooler.

Gu Jie, who had first checked his long Weibo, had just finished watching the crew’s clarification post with its compilations and videos, looked up in disbelief. “How many people would it take to pick those NGs and do the editing? If <Dyeing Fire> post-production had this speed, our movie could be released by the end of the year!”

Ran Lin was exasperated. “Can you focus on what’s important…”

Gu Jie put down his phone. “I was already excited when Director He told me there was no problem. Now I don’t feel much.”

Ran Lin didn’t know what to say. After a while, he remarked, “Qi Luoluo would die of anger hearing you say that.”

Instead of reveling in the aftermath of revenge, Gu Jie sighed deeply, seriously saying, “In the future, I absolutely will not go to a female actress’s room alone, not even if I die.”

Ran Lin rolled his eyes. “You should have thought that way earlier.”

Gu Jie tugged at the corner of his mouth helplessly. “Why can’t people just be straightforward and simple in their interactions? If you like someone, spend more time with them; if not, avoid them. Why make it all so complicated and scheming. I always thought palace dramas were all made up and everyone in them is paranoid.”

Ran Lin raised an eyebrow. “And now?”

Gu Jie spread his hands. “I admit I wouldn’t last one episode in them.”

Ran Lin laughed heartily, then sighed lightly. “This was actually quite risky. If Director He had just had a normal conversation without cunningly leading Qi Luoluo into admitting, even if he released the video, it wouldn’t have been useful.”

Gu Jie clearly agreed with his friend’s opinion, determined never to have such a second encounter.

Ran Lin suddenly found himself puzzled by his own earlier reflection and asked Gu Jie, “Did Director He anticipate Qi Luoluo would frame you from the beginning? Otherwise, why go to such lengths to make her admit you didn’t harass her?”

Gu Jie explained, “He got tricked by an actress in a similar way early in his career, saying he had unwritten rules with her. It was a tough fight to clear that up. Since then, he’s been particularly sensitive to these matters, guarding against them rigorously, now almost unassailable in defense.”

Ran Lin was thoroughly impressed; it wasn’t just guarding but offense and defense combined.

But through this incident, he also realized…

“Director He really considers you a friend,” Ran Lin mused. “Otherwise, he could have just protected himself. He didn’t need to prevent future problems for you. That video wasn’t fully edited; who knows how much effort it took to make Qi Luoluo admit the truth.”

“It’s not what you think…” Gu Jie muttered, unusually silent.

Ran Lin had expected Gu Jie to agree or share more about their brotherhood history with Director He but didn’t expect such a response.

After a long moment of contemplation, Ran Lin spoke again. “You don’t think Director He did all this just for the film, do you? Sure, the film must be considered, but I truly believe he sees you as a friend; otherwise, he wouldn’t have gone to such lengths…”

“I’m not saying he did it for the film,” Gu Jie interrupted his friend helplessly. “I’m saying he and I aren’t what you think, we’re not buddies.”

Ran Lin was taken aback.

The awkwardness and hesitance on Gu Jie’s face suddenly made the room’s atmosphere tense.

Ran Lin, stunned by the sudden revelation, swallowed hard and finally asked in a trembling voice, “So… what is your relationship?”

Gu Jie looked at his friend for a long time, then slammed his phone down on the table in resignation. “He’s my second maternal aunt’s husband’s third sister’s husband.”


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

Suddenly Trending Ch81

Author: 颜凉雨 / Yan Liang Yu

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


Chapter 81

An actor can make or break a show.

The crew had been halted for two days.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A long, quiet moment passed.

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

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

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

Thankfully, that wasn’t the case—

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

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

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

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

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

Xi Ruohan was the first to reply.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ran Lin—[48 days]

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

Ran Lin—[Wonder Woman.jpg]

Exiting WeChat, Ran Lin immediately called Director He.

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

“Director He, it’s Ran Lin.”

“Yes, what’s up?”

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

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

Director He’s frustration was palpable through the phone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ran Lin: “……”

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

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

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

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

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

Everything was settled by 8:00 p.m.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There were no pictures or emojis, just that sentence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Coming—” A voice from inside responded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ran Lin paused. “Qiang…Ge?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gu Jie asked, “Is the salary settled?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ran Lin’s unease grew stronger.

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

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

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

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

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

Wang Xi: “Alone?”

Ran Lin: “With Gu Jie.”

Wang Xi: “…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ran Lin: “……”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Of course not.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

Suddenly Trending Ch80

Author: 颜凉雨 / Yan Liang Yu

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


Chapter 80

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But Cui Yanyan made no move.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then the screen shifted, and the main drama began.

“Xiao Shitou—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Some critiques were specific to the drama—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Was Gu Jie specifically going to comfort Qi Luoluo?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ran Lin continued eating his noodles, patiently waiting.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ran Lin leaned in eagerly, his ears practically antennas.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“……” Ran Lin was at a loss for words.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gu Jie chose neither but proposed option C instead.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sure enough, Gu Jie nodded helplessly.

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

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

Gu Jie looked up in surprise. “Exactly!”

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

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

Ran Lin raised an eyebrow in silent inquiry.

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

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

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

Ran Lin realized belatedly that his worries were completely unnecessary.

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

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

“My assistant,” Gu Jie said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

Suddenly Trending Ch79

Author: 颜凉雨 / Yan Liang Yu

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


Chapter 79

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

“Bell!”

The sudden shout from the speakers startled Ran Lin.

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

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

“Don’t leave me.”

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

Initially, there was only one drop.

Then gradually, they flowed like a spring.

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

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

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

[Beishan’s Blue Cloud: Hahahahahahahahahahaha]

[Eggie18748: Hahahahahahahahahahaha]

[Shepherd Pointing to Putian Village: Hahahahahahahahahahaha]

[Aessle: Hahahahahahahahahahaha]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Suddenly, his phone dinged with a drop sound.

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

It was already past eight in the evening.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mm,” Lu Yiyao responded softly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ran Lin: “……”

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

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

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

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

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

……

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The effect was naturally limited.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wang Xi sighed and nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

……

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Deng Minru sighed. “Let it be.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

……

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wang Xi: “But what?”

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

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

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

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

Wu Xia: “Okay.”

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

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

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

It had been just a week since he said that.

Those words were still ringing in her ears.


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

Suddenly Trending Ch78

Author: 颜凉雨 / Yan Liang Yu

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


Chapter 78

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It wasn’t a question, but an affirmation.

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

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

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

Lu Yiyao confirmed, “Just now.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ending the video call, Ran Lin immediately opened Weibo.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Following closely was Han Ze’s Weibo post:

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

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

Han Ze’s post was made at 10:30 p.m.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You all?” Lu Yiyao repeated, puzzled.

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

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

Ran Lin didn’t have an answer.

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

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

“I’ll have Hong Jie…”

“No need.”

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

He said, “I’ll call Xi Jie.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ran Lin fell silent, long and wordless.

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

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

Neither spoke for a while, time ticking by silently.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

……

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

……

Beijing, Wang Xi’s apartment.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

……

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In short, the waters had become muddier.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shi Jiuting: “Yes is enough.”

Wang Xi: “……”

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

Wang Xi: “Yes.”

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

Wang Xi: “…Yes.”

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

Wang Xi: “Yes.”

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

Wang Xi: “…Yes.”

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

Wang Xi: “…”

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

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

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

Wang Xi was taken aback.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

……

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

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

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

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

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

His heart skipped a beat.

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

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

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

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


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

Suddenly Trending Ch77

Author: 颜凉雨 / Yan Liang Yu

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


Chapter 77

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hold on.

Could this be the replacement for the female supporting role?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ran Lin understood.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ran Lin and Gu Jie almost simultaneously stood up.

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

Ran Lin immediately followed. “Hello.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

……

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

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

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

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

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

Ying Feng quickly returned with the beer, turning around.

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

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

“Cut, good take!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was when Liu Wanwan came over.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There was no other reason.

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

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

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

The following day was overcast with intermittent rain.

When Ran Lin arrived at the set, it hadn’t started raining, but the sun was hidden. A wind rising under the cloud cover brought a hint of coolness. All of the day’s scenes were to be shot inside a “rental house”. By the time Ran Lin, with makeup done, reached the set, Qi Luoluo, already styled, was waiting there.

Transformed by the stylist’s skill, she shed her usual glamor for a girl-next-door look. Wearing jeans and a white T-shirt printed with black letters, her hair simply tied into a ponytail. The stylist also toned down her bright complexion with a slightly darker foundation, so as not to clash with the film’s color palette or the male lead’s skin tone.

“Ran Ge, good morning.” Qi Luoluo greeted him respectfully as soon as she saw him.

Ran Lin was a bit overwhelmed but accepted the respectful address since she insisted on using it, replying as a “senior” might. “Good morning. How are you feeling about today?”

“A bit nervous,” Qi Luoluo admitted, sticking out her tongue.

“No problem,” Ran Lin reassured her. “The director is easygoing. As long as you’re serious and put your heart into it, it’ll be fine.”

Ran Lin didn’t actually know how good this Qi girl’s acting was and could only offer polite words.

They stood in the “bedroom” set while the crew was busy preparing in the “living room” outside, adjusting lights, and finding the right angles for shooting. The space was limited, and it was going to be a physical scene with Ran Lin and Gu Jie grappling, followed by Qi Luoluo joining in, which made it easy to slip up.

“What are you chatting about?” Gu Jie entered, still looking dashing in casual clothes.

Before Ran Lin could speak, Qi Luoluo replied, “I get chatty when I’m nervous, and unfortunately, Ran Ge was caught by me.”

“You picked the right person,” Gu Jie teased. “He’s the most considerate and attentive of all the male actors here.”

Ran Lin was surprised. “So I have such a high reputation in your heart?”

Gu Jie looked at him seriously. “If you’d help me stretch or do sit-ups, your reputation would be even higher.”

Ran Lin was unamused and refused without a second thought, “No way.”

Ever since the last time he almost got flipped over by Gu Jie’s leg, he’d stayed away from such perilous acts of kindness.

“What stretching? Can I help?” Qi Luoluo asked, eyes wide.

Ran Lin was at a loss for words.

Gu Jie felt a bit awkward. He could joke around with Ran Lin, but it was different with a female actor he wasn’t close to, so he instinctively looked towards the “living room”, hoping they’d finish setting up soon.

Perhaps the crew heard Gu Jie’s silent plea as a staff member peeked through the doorframe, announcing that shooting was about to begin.

Ran Lin and Gu Jie breathed a sigh of relief and quickly headed out.

Qi Luoluo shrugged and followed swiftly.

The first scene didn’t include Qi Luoluo—just Ran Lin and Gu Jie in the room. The scene was about Xiao Gu, having a rare day off, visiting “Informant Di” on set, leading to a fight when words failed. Specifically, Di Jiangtao, known for his temper, strikes first, and Xiao Gu, initially dodging, eventually restrains him when Di Jiangtao seems out of control.

Gu Jie, skilled in combat, and Di Jiangtao, a brawler, made for a scene that didn’t require martial arts choreography. The more realistic and grounded, the better. So, the director let them improvise after a couple of run-throughs.

Ran Lin, who hadn’t really fought much in his life, found this improvisation challenging. His limbs felt foreign as he moved awkwardly, unsure how to approach Gu Jie.

Gu Jie, visibly frustrated, pushed him hard.

Ran Lin, concentrating on mimicking the motions, stumbled back against the wall, wincing at the pain but managing to stay upright.

“What the…” Ran Lin’s first word came out almost as a yell, but realizing where he was, he subdued his anger. “What are you doing?”

“Fighting,” Gu Jie retorted with a glance. “What else? You expect a hug?”

Gu Jie’s demeanor was cold… No, not Gu Jie, but Xiao Gu, the character disdainful of Di Jiangtao.

Ran Lin lowered his eyes, brewing a moment, then suddenly lunged forward, pushing Gu Jie hard!

His move mirrored Gu Jie’s earlier action—an eye for an eye.

Gu Jie, with a sturdier stance, only stepped back half a step before smiling broadly, teeth gleaming, “Keep going.”

Ran Lin complied, pushing harder.

This time, Gu Jie didn’t retreat but instead grabbed Ran Lin’s wrist, pulling him into an arm lock in a swift motion.

The intense twist caused sharp pain in Ran Lin’s shoulder. He instinctively struggled, but Gu Jie held firm. In desperation, Ran Lin elbowed backward.

Gu Jie dodged too late, the blow landing partially, loosening his grip. Ran Lin broke free, putting some distance between them, both panting and facing off.

Gu Jie watched him with a scornful sneer, then silently mouthed his lips.

Ran Lin’s eyes widened in disbelief. Was this guy cursing him?!

Though he knew it was just a rehearsal, his emotions flared. Ran Lin charged again, embroiled in a messy scuffle.

Eventually, they ended up on the ground. Ran Lin was caught off-balance and tumbled down.

Gu Jie, still holding his arm, cushioned the fall, then mounted his lower back, pinning both arms and stopping any further resistance.

As his shoulders ached increasingly, Gu Jie finally got off, looking expectantly at the director. “Director He, how was it?”

Director He nodded approvingly. “I like it.”

Ran Lin, sore all over, couldn’t muster the energy to comment on their “routine”. Was this some kind of exercise?

“Another round?” Gu Jie flexed his shoulders, eager as if the previous bout was just a warm-up.

Ran Lin shook his head like a rattle drum. “I think we’re ready to shoot for real.”

Another round, and he might not be able to get up.

“Alright,” Gu Jie said, looking slightly disappointed, before turning to the director. “We’re ready.”

Director He looked towards Ran Lin for confirmation.

Ran Lin gave a thumbs up and a resilient smile.

“Scene XX, <Dyeing Fire>, take 1…”

Click!

The clapperboard sounded the start. Di Jiangtao, standing in front of the window, turned and pushed Xiao Gu forcefully!

It was a repeat of the previous rehearsal, in the cramped room filled with the dull sound of grappling, representing a restrained policeman and a frenzied youth.

Finally, when Xiao Gu got Di Jiangtao pinned down, twisting his arms behind his back, Di Jiangtao desperately turned and shouted, “Let go of me! What right do you have to arrest me?”

He had turned with all his might, but in reality, he couldn’t see Xiao Gu behind him, only shouting towards the dimly perceived shadow and the air.

Xiao Gu frowned, about to give a lecture, when suddenly a knocking sound echoed from the entrance hall.

Tap, tap.

The casual rapping made the metal security door resonate, startling both men inside, who instinctively looked towards the entrance.

“Cut, pass—”

Gu Jie immediately let go and got off Ran Lin.

But Ran Lin lay there, unable to move for a while—Gu Jie had been too forceful, nearly causing dislocation with any weaker resistance.

“Are you okay?” The director walked over, squatting down to pat Ran Lin’s back gently.

“I’m fine.” Ran Lin gave another strong smile, then justified his inaction. “Isn’t there another take right after? I just stayed put to keep the position consistent to avoid continuity errors.”

Director He, not only good-tempered but also expressive, nodded in approval. “Good, you’ve got spirit!”

Watching the director walk back to the monitor, Ran Lin suddenly felt the aches and pains were worth it.

The set and decor remained unchanged, so the director, not wanting to waste time, sat back down at the monitor to continue.

Gu Jie remounted him, repositioning his arms behind his back with much less force than before, and Ran Lin tensed his body, portraying a sense of subdued indignation…

Click!

As the clapperboard sounded again, the voice of the landlord’s daughter, Jiang Xiaoxiao, rang from outside. “Don’t pretend you’re not home. I heard you!”

The two men inside maintained a baffled state.

Suddenly, the sound of keys in the door followed, and quickly, the security door opened with Jiang Xiaoxiao entering the hallway, grumbling, “I’m not as easily fooled as my mom. You haven’t paid your rent and…”

Her complaint stopped abruptly as she took in the scene in the living room.

A woman at the entrance, two men in the living room, a few meters apart, still in an awkward position.

Xiao Gu, in casual clothes, didn’t immediately signal to Jiang Xiaoxiao that he was a policeman. All she saw upon entering was one young man pinning another to the floor.

“Um…” Jiang Xiaoxiao swallowed, her mouth twitching slightly. “What are you doing?”

“Cut—”

Director He called for a cut, but it wasn’t satisfactory.

Nevertheless, Gu Jie quickly got off Ran Lin to prevent exerting too much pressure for too long, considering his own weight.

Ran Lin sat up, stretching his upper body.

The scene was short, with Jiang Xiaoxiao entering to demand rent, puzzled by the sight, meant to bring a touch of humor to the awkward moment. Therefore, the delivery needed to be precise.

Clearly, her performance hadn’t been quite up to par.

Not only the director, but even Ran Lin felt her delivery was a bit stiff and unnatural.

Since the movie mostly used live sound, with dubbing reserved for scenes with excessive background noise or other issues, the director was particularly meticulous about the tone and feel of the dialogue.

After the cut, Qi Luoluo immediately ran to the monitor to listen to the director’s guidance.

It was understandable for her to be slow getting into character on the first day, and her attitude was commendably proactive.

However, after seven or eight takes without success, even Ran Lin was feeling the strain.

It wasn’t mental fatigue but physical exhaustion; the contorted posture was taxing, and even without Gu Jie applying any force, the twisted position was torture on the joints.

Though Gu Jie wasn’t experiencing the same physical discomfort, retaking the scene numerous times was also trying for him.

Sensing that continuing this way was futile and unwilling to settle for any of the previous takes, the director decided to skip this scene and move on to the next.

However, perhaps influenced by the difficulties of this scene, Qi Luoluo’s performance in the subsequent ones wasn’t up to par either. By the time they wrapped up for the night at 10 p.m., they had barely managed to shoot the planned scenes, leaving two, including the rent collection and a later confrontation, for the next day.

Even with the director’s patience, the delayed progress was disheartening. The usual cheerful atmosphere was gone, leaving him brooding silently behind the monitor.

Qi Luoluo apologized repeatedly throughout the day, clearly anxious and feeling terribly guilty with each NG. But mere regret wasn’t enough to improve the performance, leaving everyone in a quandary.

After removing his makeup, Ran Lin and Gu Jie shared a ride back to the hotel. As the car started moving, Gu Jie rolled down the window and sighed into the night air.

“I should be the one sighing.” Ran Lin massaged his shoulders, despairing. “I can hardly feel my arms.”

Gu Jie turned from the night view to Ran Lin, asking seriously, “Do you think she’ll suddenly get it tomorrow, and everything will go smoothly?”

Ran Lin pondered carefully before responding, “It seems unlikely.”

Gu Jie’s head drooped, disheartened.

Ran Lin now understood Gu Jie’s earlier comment—the director wasn’t pleased with the new actress.

This “wasn’t” was probably about to escalate to “wasn’t very”.

From what Ran Lin knew of the director, even with tight schedules, he wouldn’t completely lower his standards. They must have auditioned, and Qi Luoluo’s performance then was probably just passable, enough to proceed given the time constraints.

Yet auditions and actual shooting were different, and with the added pressure of the first day, it was likely Qi Luoluo was more nervous, leading to a day’s work that left much to be desired.

With a hope that “tomorrow will be better”, Ran Lin returned to the hotel.

Thoroughly showering away the fatigue, he dried his hair and went to bed by 11:30 p.m. Fortunately, he had cut his hair shorter to fit the timeline of about half a year after release from prison. Simple drying sufficed for now—by July, when they would shoot scenes right after his release, his hair would be cropped very short, so he cherished these moments with longer hair.

Settling into bed, Ran Lin reached for his phone on the pillow to message his lover, only to find a new message waiting in WeChat, sent while he was showering, from Lu Yiyao—

[About Han Ze’s situation, don’t respond.]


<<< || Table of Contents || >>>

Suddenly Trending Ch76

Author: 颜凉雨 / Yan Liang Yu

Translator: Kinky || https://kinkytranslations.com/


Chapter 76

From the moment Shi Jiuting entered the set, Wang Xi recognized him, but since he headed straight towards the male lead without looking around, she didn’t find it appropriate to forcefully approach him.

Only when Shi Jiuting retreated to the side of the set, casually observing, did Wang Xi approach and politely greeted, “President Shi, hello.”

Shi Jiuting tilted his head slightly, eyeing the competent woman who appeared out of nowhere, but still politely rose and asked, “You are…?”

“Dream Without Limits, Wang Xi. We’ve spoken on the phone,” Wang Xi said, taking out her business card and handing it to him.

Shi Jiuting took the card, glanced at it briefly, and remembered, “Ms.1 Wang?”

“Not at all,” Wang Xi hurriedly replied. “You can call me Xiao Wang or Wang Xi1.”

1Clarity: He’s using (总) to address her here, which can be like “President, Chief, Director, ect.”. Wang Xi is showing humility by “lowering” her status and basically saying, “I don’t dare accept such honor of being referred to that kind of address.”

Shi Jiuting glanced at the agent, who seemed to be around his age or perhaps a year or two older and found it difficult to address her as “Xiao Wang”. So, he vaguely responded with a noncommittal “Mm, okay.”

Wang Xi didn’t dwell on the formality and went straight to the point. “I’ve been wanting to invite you to dinner to thank you in person for giving Ran Lin this opportunity.”

Shi Jiuting smiled, not denying his role in providing the opportunity for Ran Lin, and simply stated, “Opportunities come, but it takes real skill to seize them.”

Shi Jiuting always gave this impression over the phone: no pleasantries, no insincerity, direct and clear in just a few words, avoiding unnecessary flattery. As an agent, Wang Xi preferred dealing with such straightforward investors; it was less tiring.

“Since you’re here, President Shi, Ran Lin, and I would like to invite you to dinner tonight…”

Before Wang Xi could finish, Shi Jiuting politely gestured with his hand to stop her.

“Filming is already exhausting, and I shouldn’t deprive actors of their precious rest time. If entertaining me affects tomorrow’s work, then my visit here would really be more trouble than it’s worth.”

His refusal was both irrefutable and soothing to hear—a sign of his adeptness.

Wang Xi didn’t press further. She had mentioned it several times over the phone and now again in person; her sincerity was clear. If he genuinely didn’t want to dine, then she would not insist.

As they spoke, the set was ready for the next scene.

Shi Jiuting settled back down, and Wang Xi chose a nearby chair to sit, so as not to walk back and forth and disturb the shooting.

The second scene is still underwater, but this time it involves Ran Lin, who has sunk to the bottom, receiving vital energy from the little white jiao* and then, in turn, helping the white jiao escape its plight. Thus, Ran Lin needs to “break the chains and shackles binding the white jiao” while underwater.

*Clarity: The author has switched to using jiao instead of dragon.

As the clapperboard sounded, Ran Lin dove back into the water without hesitation.

From Wang Xi and Shi Jiuting’s perspective, they could only see the rippling water surface. In other words, except for the photographer shooting from the underwater window, everyone in the studio could only see the surface and not the actor—except for the director.

The monitor vividly displayed Ran Lin’s underwater performance, with Director Huang watching intently, not missing a single frame.

Even though the lifeguard was ready by the pool, Wang Xi couldn’t help but clench her fists.

Time seemed to stretch on, and what was less than a minute felt like an eternity.

Finally, with a splash, their actor resurfaced.

Wang Xi exhaled a breath of relief as if she had been the one holding her breath underwater.

Another successful take The director was satisfied, and Ran Lin was helped ashore and wrapped in a towel as the set buzzed back to life.

“You’re more nervous than the actors.” A teasing voice came from beside her.

Wang Xi looked towards Shi Jiuting and replied with a bitter smile, “He knows what he’s doing. I don’t, and those who don’t know are naturally more anxious than those who do.”

“That makes sense.” Shi Jiuting not only agreed but nodded seriously. “No wonder when I heard you mention Han Ze was coming to visit, no matter how busy I was, I had to come and take a look because you’re familiar with the situation and Han Ze, but I’m not.”

Wang Xi understood his point and didn’t play dumb. “Now that you’ve seen the set, the only uncertain factor left is Han Ze.”

“I’m giving face to Dream Without Limits, you, and Ran Lin,” Shi Jiuting said with a meaningful look at Wang Xi. “Don’t make me regret that doing less is better than doing more.”

Wang Xi braved a smile, knowing there was no turning back now. She couldn’t very well say, “Perhaps you should reconsider. Don’t do this for our sake to accommodate Han Ze,” especially since Han Ze and Ran Lin were both under Dream Without Limits. It was a shared fate of glory or downfall.

However, upon further thought, Han Ze at most would be self-promoting, unlikely foolish enough to harm the movie version since it would bring no real benefit to him, or the drama series already aired and would only create enemies.

Shi Jiuting left the topic at that, avoiding further discussion on the slightly awkward subject, and instead reached for a slender, long box leaning against the chair and handed it to Wang Xi. “I need to trouble you with this.”

The box was only half a palm wide but about sixty to seventy centimeters long, unmarked but entirely painted with a traditional landscape, overly elaborate for mere packaging.

A scroll?

A cane?

A sword?

The box, light but with some weight, left Wang Xi guessing its contents based on its shape, leading to more and more outrageous assumptions. She looked up, puzzled, at Shi Jiuting.

He only smiled and nodded slightly.

Wang Xi internally rolled her eyes. She wasn’t a mind reader. She didn’t know whether this person’s nod meant, “You guessed right,” “You may open it,” or “Just accept it without worry.” Surely, some narration was needed for such a mysterious box!

With no other option, Wang Xi asked, “What you just mentioned troubling me with is…”

“I hope you’ll have it signed by Ran Lin,” Shi Jiuting said, touching his nose, seemingly a bit embarrassed. “And then trouble you to return it to me.”

Wang Xi, caught off guard, held the slender box. “May I open it to see?”

“Of course,” Shi Jiuting replied.

The box didn’t open at either end but was capped all around, so Wang Xi held the ends between her palms, lifted the box slightly, then gently shook it down, separating the lid from the box. Once the lid was entirely removed, Wang Xi finally saw the contents inside—

A traditional oil-paper umbrella.

In the past, when Wang Xi managed Han Ze, she also helped obtain his autograph on various items for VIP fans—photos, T-shirts, basketballs, and more. However, all these items paled in comparison to the oil-paper umbrella before her.

With the box open, Wang Xi didn’t hesitate and took out the umbrella, gently untied the silk cord, and slowly opened it. The surface of the umbrella featured a painting of proud red plum blossoms braving the snow, accompanied by a small poem with elegant script—Three knocks form a golden orchid friendship, a single sword observes the falling flowers.

Wang Xi finally understood that this was merchandise from <Sword of Fallen Flowers>.

Suppressing her urge to comment, Wang Xi carefully closed the umbrella back up. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure Ran Lin signs it beautifully.”

Shi Jiuting seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, albeit subtly, as he watched Wang Xi close the box, smiling helplessly. “It’s my daughter’s request; I have no choice but to comply.”

Wang Xi was taken aback, as the information she had previously obtained had always indicated that Shi Jiuting was a fan of <Sword of Fallen Flowers>, particularly of the character Fang Xian, leading to his desire for Ran Lin to star in <Chronicles of Winter>. It seemed the intelligence was inaccurate.

Shi Jiuting always protected his family privacy well, so all that was known was that his daughter was about junior high school age.

Being a “good father” definitely scored points in his favor, so Wang Xi viewed Shi Jiuting more favorably and spoke with less formality and more warmth. “You can count on us.”

When Ran Lin wrapped up for lunch, Shi Jiuting had already left, leaving only an assistant to wait.

So, before Ran Lin could even eat his meal, he was pulled aside by his agent to a quiet spot—to sign the umbrella.

It was the first time Ran Lin had been asked to sign an umbrella, and he curiously admired it for a while before finding a spot that wouldn’t detract from its overall beauty and signing his name.

Afterward, as if remembering something, he asked his agent, “Xi Jie, did President Shi just come to visit? Did he say anything?”

Of course, Shi Jiuting had given a clear reminder not to let Han Ze’s visit become a nuisance, but these were things for her, the agent, to handle and not relevant to Ran Lin, so ultimately Wang Xi shook her head. “He didn’t say much. Just told you to focus on your acting.”

Ran Lin nodded, not suspecting anything amiss.

But looking at the umbrella again, he still felt a sense of dissonance. Shi Jiuting, dressed in a stylish biker jacket, exuded a cool, distinct aura, yet he had asked for an autograph on a gentle Jiangnan-style oil-paper umbrella, which seemed oddly mismatched.

“We all misunderstood,” Wang Xi said, noticing her artist’s perplexed expression and deciding to clarify. “It’s his daughter who is your real fan. Probably part of his motive for having you act in <Chronicles of Winter> was to please her.”

“That’s quite an investment…” Ran Lin was taken aback by the depth of fatherly love, considering the substantial investment in <Chronicles of Winter>.

“He’s not foolish,” Wang Xi said. “He also had the director and producer oversee things. Of course, it’s great if you can do it, but if you really can’t, he wouldn’t joke around with real money.”

Ran Lin pondered this and still felt impressed. “If all my fans were of this caliber, I could struggle twenty years less.”

Wang Xi packed up the umbrella and retied the ribbon, laughing off any further dreaming. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. Focus on hard work and earning your keep.”

……

Two days after Shi Jiuting’s visit, Han Ze arrived.

He seemed to have precisely timed his visit, possibly coordinating with the unit manager, as he arrived with the lunch delivery. Along with the meals, he brought hot drinks and pre-cut boxed fruits.

In the cold of winter, a hot drink was quite comforting, and a bit of fruit after the meal was delightful.

The crew welcomed this practical and straightforward form of support, and the atmosphere was jovial, with Han Ze’s visit almost taking on the air of the male lead.

Ran Lin and Wang Xi watched from the sidelines, unable to lend a hand, unsure if Han Ze was there to visit them or the crew.

But they didn’t mind. Han Ze’s presence brought prestige to Dream Without Limits, which in turn reflected well on Ran Lin. If he could maintain this positive impression consistently, it would be beneficial.

Finally, when the hustle settled down, Han Ze found a moment to greet Ran Lin and Wang Xi, accompanied by his new agent, Deng Minru.

“You’ve worked hard,” Han Ze said, giving Ran Lin a brotherly pat on the shoulder.

Ran Lin shook his head. “Not at all. Thank you for visiting.”

“As fellow apprentices, no need for formalities,” Han Ze replied.

Wang Xi felt that further pleasantries might lead to awkwardness, as there wasn’t much else to say, so she cut straight to the point. “Since media visits for the film aren’t open yet, interviews will need to be conducted nearby.”

“No problem,” Deng Minru responded, understandingly.

Wang Xi nodded, got a crew member to help, and the group moved to a nearby area that wouldn’t interfere with the set.

The so-called interview was actually prearranged by both parties, consisting of formalities and pleasantries. For example, the reasons for Han Ze’s visit were discussed, such as the rarity of actors from the same company playing roles from the same original work, coupled with their good relationship, making his support a necessity. Additionally, both sides would discuss their expectations for the future product from their respective roles in the performance. Of course, the conversation would inevitably lead to revealing that the drama version of <Chronicles of Winter> was set to air in June, followed by both individuals naturally offering blessings for each other’s versions.

The entire set visit lasted only about an hour, all during lunch break, without affecting the shooting schedule. The process and interview were standard procedure, and Han Ze didn’t cause any disruptions. When the time came to bid farewell to this “colleague”, both Ran Lin and Wang Xi simultaneously breathed a sigh of relief.

But the calmer the visit seemed, the more unsettling it was upon reflection.

“Everything’s okay, right?” Ran Lin asked his agent apprehensively.

“It should be fine,” Wang Xi replied, then thought for a moment and added, “Let’s see what his press release says in the next day or two.”

Wang Xi underestimated Deng Minru’s efficiency. It wasn’t until early March, after Ran Lin had completed shooting in Hengdian and Xinjiang and moved to the second location in Guangdong, that the press release finally arrived.

[Chronicles of Winter: One Story, Two Stellar Roles, Xiao Shitou Visits Xiao Shitou!]

Despite being a bit late, the press release spread like wildfire across the internet, making “Han Ze’s Chronicles of Winter” a trending topic. Opening the trend revealed the set visit’s press release and videos. Additionally, “Chronicles of Winter airing in June” also became a hot topic.

In the trending topics and discussions about <Chronicles of Winter>, no one specifically emphasized whether it was the film or the drama version, but the information was mostly focused on the drama version.

This was natural, as Han Ze’s visit was primarily intended to generate buzz for himself and the drama version, something Wang Xi and the film’s team were well aware of before the visit. Moreover, the final interview didn’t cut out any information related to Ran Lin and the film version, including Han Ze’s wishes for the film’s success. Thus, while the buzz was more drama-focused, it also provided some free publicity for the film version.

Naturally, comparisons between the two versions were inevitable—

[Smoking Blue Cloud: Personally, Han Ze fits my image of Xiao Shitou more.]

[If I Can’t Write Calligraphy, I’m a Loser: I prefer Ran Lin; he feels more youthful.]

Fans of both versions and most neutral observers preferred to spread positive vibes—

[Ze_520: Both versions of Xiao Shitou have their merits. Let’s not start any fan wars.]

[Blazing Flame of Bear: Wishing both the drama and film versions success!]

[Yao Isn’t Far Away: As a neutral party, I love seeing harmony and joy, especially since it’s about brothers visiting each other’s sets and blessing each other. Please, some people, don’t be too dramatic and incite conflicts.]

Of course, Han Ze’s visit was intended for publicity, and many netizens’ comments confirmed the necessity of it—

[Respect for Filial Piety: Is <Chronicles of Winter> novel any good? Should I catch up before the drama airs?]

[I’m Already a Couch Potato: Read the novel. Almost forgot the plot, but remember it being quite good. Looking forward to the drama!]

[Little Yellow Duck Dada: Book fan here. Please don’t ruin the original!]

[Outsider of Snow Mountain Flying Fox: Airing in June, that’s a long wait…]

[Alicia: When will the teaser be released? Even stills would do! 🤩 🤩 ❤️ ❤️]

By this time, Wang Xi had already returned to Beijing, and Ran Lin had logged off Weibo, sending a voice message to his agent, “Xi Jie, did you see Han Ze’s trending topic? Seems like no issues.”

His agent replied swiftly, “Yeah, he kept it clean.”

Ran Lin chuckled. “Are you also browsing Weibo?”

Wang Xi: “Of course, I’ve made a promise to Shi Jiuting’s side; if anything goes wrong, I’m the first one responsible.”

Ran Lin: “Now we can rest easy.”

Wang Xi: “Wrong, it’s normal for me to worry. What are you worrying about? You should spend your time on the script instead of browsing Weibo.”

Ran Lin: “The script is already etched in my brain. I’m even dreaming of beating up the Northern Emperor.”

Wang Xi’s voice message carried laughter. “Good, keep it up.”

After finishing the conversation, Ran Lin took a quick shower.

The temperature in Guangdong at the end of February was almost like April in Beijing, slightly cool but overall comfortable.

After showering, Ran Lin felt refreshed and lay on the bed, scrolling through the photos Liu Wanwan took for him during the day. He selected a satisfying one, about to send it to Lu Yiyao, but received a message from him first—

[Han Ze visited your set?]

Lu Yiyao had started shooting a comedy film after the new year, a contract that was signed long ago with the intention of exploring Lu Yiyao’s comedic talent and possibly broadening his acting range. The director was known for making hit comedy films in recent years.

But now, it seemed like this would be Lu Yiyao’s last movie.

However, as it was his last, Lu Yiyao was especially serious, wanting to end his acting career on a high note. Ran Lin could sense his dedication and thus always shared good news, avoiding any distractions for his partner.

He didn’t mention Han Ze’s set visit, something that would fall under “distractions”.

[He came last month. Just made a brief appearance, nothing much.]—Ran Lin replied truthfully.

After sending the message, Ran Lin quickly shared the selected photo as well.

In the endlessly golden rapeseed fields, his character, Xiao Shitou, was running innocently and joyfully with Jiang Yi’s character, Ah Jin.

Indeed, compared to the uneventful visit from Han Ze, this photo had more impact.

Teacher Lu sent a voice message. “Are you showing off your love with the female lead in front of me?”

The intonation at the end of “showing off love” had a dangerous rise.

Ran Lin, flustered, replied via voice message, “Please ignore the female lead. Focus on me and the rapeseed field!”

The voice message from the other end carried a suppressed chuckle. “What scene is this?”

Ran Lin, realizing they hadn’t switched to video call yet, understood that Lu Yiyao was probably still on set or somewhere else inconvenient for video, likely hiding in a quiet corner with his earphones on, so he continued typing—[It’s the sweet clover field in the village.]

Without speaking, Lu Yiyao sent another voice message—[Looks good.]

Ran Lin—[Of course it looks good. I heard the crew looked at several locations before choosing this one.]

Lu Yiyao, amused by his lover’s response, felt Ran Lin looked stunning standing amidst the brilliant rapeseed fields.

But as much as he thought it, he didn’t correct it.

If counted from the confession at last year’s Republic party, it had been exactly one year. He felt he had used up all his romantic words in that year, especially at the beginning of their relationship, when the desire to express his feelings seemed to surge from the depths of his soul. He had never considered himself particularly eloquent, but it came naturally then. And he always felt that if you love someone, you should express it repeatedly.

But now, compared to sweet nothings, he preferred to do something tangible—to work towards their future.

No matter how many sweet words are said, or love expressed, without practical support, it’s all fleeting and illusory.

The crew called Lu Yiyao, and he quickly sent one last message—[Back to work. Can’t talk now. Rest early.]

The reply was a picture goodnight—Tigger wearing a sleeping cap.

……

Throughout March, Ran Lin traveled with the production team across Guangdong, Zhangjiajie, and Yunnan to complete all the exterior shots for <Chronicles of Winter>. On March 30th, the filming wrapped up.

At the wrap party, Jiang Yi insisted on a BFF selfie with him, and somehow Ran Lin got labeled with that attribute. Their photo ended up as one of the nine squares on Jiang Yi’s Weibo, surrounded by other group shots and images from the party, culminating in a wrap-up post.

Ran Lin retweeted it, thanking the crew for months of hard work and expressing anticipation for the movie’s release next year.

Almost immediately after the wrap party, Ran Lin took barely any rest, staying in Beijing for just a day before rushing to the set of <Dyeing Fire>.

<Dyeing Fire> began shooting on April 3rd, but Ran Lin arrived on the afternoon of April 1st.

Unlike his previous life experience journey, this was the real deal, and naturally, the production had arranged hotel accommodations for the actors. Still, Ran Lin opted for the high-speed train, accompanied only by Liu Wanwan, and hopped onto the production team’s vehicle upon arrival.

It was a drizzly day with slightly overcast skies. It wasn’t too gloomy, with the tender leaves on trees along the road still distinctly visible. Compared to the bleakness when he left, Wuhan in the spring rain was brimming with vitality.

It was said that Gu Jie had stayed in the area without leaving, just moving into the hotel after his short-term rental expired. Unable to wait to surprise his friend, Ran Lin immediately called Gu Jie.

The phone rang for a while before being answered, “Hello?”

“Busy?” Ran Lin asked.

“No, just fell asleep.”

“Sleeping in the middle of the day?”

“Have you never heard? Rainy days and napping are the perfect match.”

“……” Ran Lin felt sure that Gu Jie had invented that saying himself.

But considering that Gu Jie had been here for half a year, whether experiencing life or memorizing scripts, he should have done all the necessary preparations. Taking an afternoon nap to rejuvenate before the shoot starts seemed quite sensible.

With that in mind, Ran Lin decided not to tease anymore and simply stated, “I’m here.”

It took a moment for the other end to process before asking, “Here where?”

“In Wuhan,” Ran Lin said exasperatedly. “Almost at the hotel.”

Gu Jie: “Didn’t you just wrap up the day before yesterday?”

Ran Lin: “Yeah, rested yesterday, and came over today.”

Gu Jie: “No way!”

Ran Lin: “Huh?”

Gu Jie: “You’re trying to fool me, right? Look, I’m telling you, I won’t fall for it again. It’s raining in Wuhan right now, so don’t expect me to foolishly wait for you in the rain!”

Gu Jie sounded genuinely indignant, his earnestness not seeming like a joke, especially considering it was Gu Jie, a man not known for joking.

Ran Lin widened his eyes in realization—today was April Fool’s Day!

No wonder Gu Jie said he wouldn’t fall for it again… Wait, again?

“Who was the last villain?” To coax out the truth, Ran Lin decided to play along with the “deceiver” role.

After a brief silence, Gu Jie said, “I refuse to recall…”

Ran Lin thought for a moment and guessed, “Xia Xinran?”

“……” The complete silence on the other end confirmed his suspicion.

“He fooled you into waiting for him in the rain?” Ran Lin pressed on.

Finally, Gu Jie couldn’t contain his frustration. “He called saying he was visiting the set and was already below my hotel window. He told me to open the window and look for him. I did and saw no one there. He said the rain might be obscuring my view and asked me to shout his name because he couldn’t see my window either. So, I ended up shouting ‘Xia Xinran’ several times…”

Ran Lin: “Each time louder?”

Gu Jie: “Until the security guard came out, standing below asking if I needed help.”

Ran Lin: “…”

Gu Jie sighed, clearly hurt. “I thought you guys were different.”

“Thanks, Ping Ge.” Ran Lin thanked the life director he had just met, then got out of the car, holding the phone in one hand and his luggage in the other under the umbrella Liu Wanwan was holding. He looked up at the dense hotel windows, feeling equally aggrieved. “I’m actually under your hotel right now, but you probably don’t believe me…”

After handing over the room card instructions to Liu Wanwan, the life director left. Ran Lin looked up and was about to enter the hotel with Liu Wanwan when he heard, “Is that little yellow umbrella yours?”

Ran Lin, not being able to discern which window was open, replied exasperatedly, “The little yellow umbrella is my assistant’s. Do you really think I’d carry a little yellow duck one?”

“You really arrived this early!” Gu Jie’s tone shifted from skepticism to surprise. “I knew you were different from Xia Xinran; you wouldn’t just join in the April Fool’s joke.”

Ran Lin frowned. ‘Had Gu Jie ever said that?’

The rain seemed to have stopped, as Ran Lin couldn’t hear the sound of raindrops on the umbrella anymore, but he still entered the hotel lobby with the umbrella up, walking with Liu Wanwan to the seventh floor.

As the elevator doors slowly opened with a ding, Ran Lin swallowed and hesitated to step out.

Gu Jie, blocking the elevator doors with open arms in a welcoming gesture, looked puzzled. “I came especially to meet you, and you give me that look?”

“If you hadn’t said you were coming to meet me, I might have thought you were here to collect protection money.” Ran Lin teased as he stepped out of the elevator, pulling his suitcase, and finally gave Gu Jie a hug.

Gu Jie was slightly displeased at not being hugged immediately but accepted it nonetheless.

Liu Wanwan, observing the two friends’ playful banter, decided to leave them to their reunion and took Ran Lin’s luggage. “Ran Ge, I’ll take this to your room.”

Ran Lin, dressed casually with no intention of changing, handed over his luggage to Liu Wanwan and went straight to Gu Jie’s room with him.

Gu Jie’s room was surprisingly neat, without clothes or clutter thrown everywhere. There was just a suitcase in the corner and a few simple exercise equipment against another wall.

“Time flies too fast,” Ran Lin said, opening the window as the rain had almost stopped. The air was still cloudy and cool, but the breeze was refreshing and comfortable. “It feels like I just left and now I’m back.”

“That’s because you’ve been busy,” Gu Jie offered Ran Lin a Red Bull. “I’ve been vacationing here. I even went home for a month during New Year’s. It feels like I’ve made up for all the holidays I’ve missed in the past half-year.”

Ran Lin envied him but teased, “Sounds like you’re ready to retire from acting.”

“Not that fortunate. It’s just <Dyeing Fire’s> shooting schedule kept changing. I didn’t want to commit to other contracts and cause scheduling conflicts. Now that it’s confirmed to start in April and wrap up by the end of July, at worst, it’ll stretch into August. I’ve already had my agent fill up my schedule from September to the end of the year.”

“What about next year?” Ran Lin was curious.

Gu Jie shrugged. “I’ll see next year. I don’t like to fill up my schedule too much in advance. It’s too frustrating if a good project comes up and I don’t have the availability.”

Ran Lin sat in a chair by the window, enjoying the breeze and looking at Gu Jie. He felt the hectic pace he’d gotten used to during the shooting of <Chronicles of Winter> was slowly relaxing, much like the city around him and the friend before him, all unfolding leisurely in the spring rain.

“How did the shooting of <Chronicles of Winter> go?” Gu Jie asked, opening his Red Bull and taking a sip, lazily inquiring about his friend’s recent work.

“Pretty good,” Ran Lin said truthfully. “If the post-production doesn’t mess it up, it should be fine.”

Gu Jie sat cross-legged on the bed, one hand holding the Red Bull, the other massaging his neck. “What counts as not messing it up?”

Ran Lin listed on his fingers, “Cheap special effects, online game-like visuals, or outsourcing it to a foreign special effects team who just use some ready-made elements from their library. Especially if it’s supposed to be an Eastern fantasy but ends up looking like a Western fantasy with castles, glaciers, dragons, and especially if the dragons have wings, then all the money spent on special effects is wasted.”

Gu Jie initially wanted to suggest that Ran Lin might be expecting too much from domestic special effects films, but as Ran Lin continued, he understood the underlying disappointment. If a so-called domestic fantasy film, touted as Eastern fantasy, features Western-style dragons, that would be quite disheartening.

So, what he ended up saying was, “Aren’t you a bit too pessimistic about the quality of domestic special effects films?”

Deep down, Ran Lin hoped <Chronicles of Winter> would break new ground for domestic fantasy films, but the past disappointments made it hard to be optimistic about the future.

Facing Gu Jie, Ran Lin spoke his mind. “The best outcome would be to produce a real blockbuster. If that’s not possible, I hope it’s at least not too embarrassing. Otherwise, if the film version is compared to the drama version and gets completely overshadowed, Han Ze will definitely take the opportunity to gloat in front of me.”

Gu Jie paused, recalling that Han Ze had visited Ran Lin’s set, which made the hot search and stayed a trending topic for days. He had assumed the two were on good terms but Ran Lin’s tone suggested otherwise. “You two don’t get along?”

Ran Lin thought about his relationship with Han Ze, which had been complicated from the start. “At first, he was hostile to me, and now I’ve gotten competitive too. I don’t want to lose to him.”

Gu Jie didn’t understand. “Then why did he visit your set?”

Ran Lin explained, “For publicity. His TV series airs in June, so he’s warming it up.”

Gu Jie frowned. “Isn’t that tiring?”

It was only an hour-long visit, not physically exhausting, but Ran Lin knew Gu Jie was referring to the mental fatigue of constantly scheming for publicity. Of course, it’s tiring.

But for Han Ze, who had been struggling for the past two years and was eager to make a comeback with <Chronicles of Winter>, a little scheming was nothing.

Ran Lin shared these thoughts with Gu Jie, and they didn’t dwell much on the subject afterward, moving on to talk about <Dyeing Fire>.

……

<Dyeing Fire> was scheduled to shoot over four months, starting on April 3rd and wrapping up on July 30th.

The original actress for the supporting role had to drop out due to the repeatedly delayed shooting schedule, only informing the production in late March. The director, in a panic, tried several other actresses, none of whom fit the role, and had to adjust the shooting schedule hastily, prioritizing the male actors’ scenes.

So, for all of April and the first half of May, Ran Lin was busy shooting scenes with Gu Jie.

With the rapport built from their previous life experience together, the two synced well, and the shooting went smoothly. Before they knew it, it was late May.

May 20th, a prime time for confessions*.

*Clarity: Chinese Valentine’s Day.

Just after midnight, Lu Yiyao sent a homemade sticker featuring a husky kissing a cat, with shiny text around it crafted by Teacher Lu himself—“One kiss and you’re mine.”

Knowing it was Teacher Lu’s creation because of the little dog paw watermark he loved to include in his own stickers, Ran Lin received it in the morning and replied with a sticker—[Daydreaming.jpg]

Lu Yiyao didn’t respond, obviously busy.

Ran Lin didn’t waste any time, put down his phone and quickly washed up. Then when Liu Wanwan came over and knocked on the door, he quickly followed his assistant downstairs to the set.


<<< || Table of Contents || >>>

Suddenly Trending Ch75

Author: 颜凉雨 / Yan Liang Yu

Translator: Kinky || https://kinkytranslations.com/


Chapter 75

Hengdian, January.

It was exactly one year since Ran Lin left after wrapping up <Sword of Fallen Petals>. Now he had returned for <Chronicles of Winter>, completing a full year’s cycle.

Hengdian remained the bustling hub it always was, filled with busy production crews, hustling extras, and small-time merchants. This winter had yet to see snow, so the bluestone paths remained unchanged, as did the black tile roofs. It felt as if he had only left yesterday, and now, as the sun melted the snow, he was back again.

However, most of the filming for the previous <Sword of Fallen Flowers> took place on built sets within the film base, featuring various pavilions, corridors, and waterside gazebos, all constructed to bring the ancient martial arts world to life.

But <Chronicles of Winter> relied heavily on post-production for many of its scenes, meaning less on-site and more studio filming. Additionally, much of the location shooting wasn’t in Hengdian but was planned in various other locations, including Guangdong, Zhangjiajie, and Xinjiang, after completing the Hengdian portions.

The studios in Hengdian were well-equipped to simulate forests, caves, underwater scenes, or any special designs like celestial realms, palaces, and ancient tombs, with green screens surrounding the sets.

Ran Lin’s first day on set for <Chronicles of Winter> involved a scene where Xiao Shitou and Ah Jin rescue a scholar at the bottom of a high cliff.

The girl playing Ah Jin was Jiang Yi, a rising star in the industry. Even as a student at the Film Academy, she had been involved in many TV dramas, gaining considerable popularity. Her first post-graduation role in a critically and commercially successful film as the second female lead solidified her entrance into the cinema, thereafter focusing on movies and becoming a rare newcomer with popularity, box office draw, and acting skills.

<Chronicles of Winter> was Jiang Yi’s fifth film and her second as the leading actress.

Ran Lin had never interacted with her before but had looked up information when he learned she would be his co-star. Aside from the usual promotional materials, there were some negative rumors about her being difficult and unprofessional. These rumors never solidified into a firm public image, and Jiang Yi’s team never issued any denials, leaving them to circulate occasionally among anti-fans and gossipers.

Ran Lin never judge people based on internet chatter, especially those he was about to work closely with. He preferred to trust his own eyes.

Their first meeting at the opening ceremony was brief, so today’s filming was their real introduction.

Arriving half an hour early at the studio, Ran Lin, after getting makeup done, saw that the green screens were already set up, props were in place, and the lighting and camera crew were making final adjustments.

Spotting the director, Ran Lin immediately went over to greet him. “Director Huang, good morning.”

The director briefly assessed his look, then nodded in satisfaction. “Morning. Go rest over there for now. We’ll start shooting in half an hour.”

Nodding, Ran Lin didn’t want to disturb the director further and headed towards the actors’ resting area. Before he got there, he noticed a petite figure sitting alone, engrossed in the script, without even her assistant nearby.

“Good morning,” Ran Lin greeted first. The actress looked up from her script, squinting slightly until he approached, then stood up, letting go of the script with a bright smile. “Hello, Xiao Shitou.”

Jiang Yi in person was as stunning as on screen, if not more so. Her oval face looked even more delicate due to her slender frame, with naturally blended features and a soft makeup look that enhanced her fresh and elegant beauty.

The slight awkwardness melted away with Jiang Yi’s casual address. Smiling, Ran Lin responded, “Let’s start over. Good morning, Ah Jin. I look forward to working with you from today onwards.”

With a handshake and a friendly exchange, the two actors found comfort in each other’s professional ease.

Liu Wanwan chose a spot to sit where she wouldn’t interrupt her boss’ conversation with the co-star, occasionally stealing glances at Jiang Yi to compare her real-life demeanor with her online persona, which was notably different. The internet depicted her as temperamental and hard to work with, yet in just the few minutes of conversation with Ran Lin, her smile hadn’t faded once, portraying her as someone quite pleasant to be around.

“Why are you here so early?” Ran Lin asked, noting that he was already half an hour early, and Jiang Yi seemed to have arrived even earlier.

“Getting familiar with the environment,” Jiang Yi explained, “especially since we’ll be ‘playing’ at the bottom of a cliff later, in a dangerous area. It’s best to be prepared.”

Ran Lin chuckled, looking at the rock props nearby. “Aren’t those made of foam?”

“You’re too naïve.” Jiang Yi sighed, perhaps recalling some harsh experiences. “Once you’re suspended by wires and the wind machines start, you’ll lose control. Being battered around by the wind and getting bruised is the least of your worries. I got hit by a falling rock once.”

Ran Lin’s eyes widened. “What happened then? Were you okay?”

“I was fine,” Jiang Yi reassured. “It was just cardboard; didn’t hurt, just scared me.”

Ran Lin, recalling Jiang Yi’s filmography filled with ancient settings, teased, “Maybe next time you could try a down-to-earth romance. Keep your feet on the ground.”

“Hopefully,” she sighed, her voice soon becoming chipper as she looked around. “Why hasn’t Xiao Ma Ge arrived yet? Did you see him when you were getting makeup done?”

Ran Lin always felt a momentary drop in the other’s spirits when they said, “Hopefully.”

Suddenly, he remembered that when he was looking up information about the other person online, he had read an interview with Jiang Yi. One of the questions was, “Many audiences say you can only act in ancient costume dramas. What do you think about this?” Jiang Yi’s response was sincere and somewhat helpless. She said she really wanted to act in modern dramas, but since her debut, almost all the scripts offered to her were for ancient dramas. In the early TV series she filmed, there were occasionally modern dramas, but none were as well-known as her ancient dramas. After graduating, she started filming movies and got completely immersed in ancient costume roles. At the end of her response, she expressed hope that the interview program could help appeal to directors to consider her for modern dramas as well.

The interview was one and a half years ago, and it seemed that the appeal didn’t have much effect.

Ran Lin could understand her feelings because, after <Sword of Fallen Flowers>. 90% of the new scripts offered to him were wuxia, and the roles were similar to Fang Xian. He knew it would be very difficult to surpass Fang Xian because the success of that character was the result of a collaboration between a great script, director, crew, and co-actors. But rejecting these roles meant losing 90% of the opportunities. So he persevered, and nearly a year passed without any roles until he signed <Chronicles of Winter>. After that, he started getting more offers, and now his schedule for the year—no, it was already January, so this year—was fully booked.

However, Jiang Yi still had more scripts to choose from than he did, so even without leaving the ancient costume genre, every movie character she played was distinctly different. There were roles that were cute and charming, dark and sharp, gentle and demure, or straightforward and carefree, ensuring that the audience wouldn’t feel like “the actor is always repeating herself”.

The “Xiao Ma Ge” Jiang Yi had just asked about was Ma Bin, the male supporting actor playing the scholar. They had worked together in a movie before and were alumni from the same acting department, so their relationship had been good since their last collaboration, often interacting on Weibo. However, because their interactions were so open and Ma Bin was known for his jokes and lively online presence, no rumors started between him and Jiang Yi, much to many fans’ hopes.

“He’s still getting his makeup done,” Ran Lin recalled seeing Ma Bin’s forlorn face in the makeup room and laughed unkindly. “Poor Mr. Ma, he must look utterly pitiful and breathless.”

“From what you’re saying…” Jiang Yi sighed and then slowly grinned. “I’m even more looking forward to it.”

Twenty minutes later, the poor, downtrodden scholar arrived. Ma Bin, usually with a clear and scholarly demeanor, now appeared in tattered clothes and several bloody scrapes across his face from rocks, creating a truly pitiful sight.

Jiang Yi skipped the pleasantries and burst into laughter. Ma Bin gave her a disdainful look, too lazy to bother with his heartless junior, but extended a hand of friendship to Ran Lin instead. “Hello.”

Ran Lin had already stood up by the time Ma Bin approached and immediately returned the greeting. “Hello, I’m Ran Lin.”

Ma Bin had only arrived at Hengdian the previous night and hadn’t attended the opening ceremony, so this was the first time he and Ran Lin had met face to face.

“I’ve seen your <Sword of Fallen Flowers>,” Ma Bin said. “It was fantastic.”

“I’ve also seen your <Emerald Mountains and Green Rain>,” Ran Lin replied courteously. “It was beautifully shot.”

“Can we skip the mutual flattery?” Jiang Yi interjected, laughing. She picked up the script she was reading before and suggested to the two actors. “Why don’t we rehearse our lines before we start filming?”

The two agreed happily.

Actually, for today’s scenes, all three had already memorized their lines, so when they actually started rehearsing, they didn’t even need the script. Everything went smoothly, and with no physical positioning or actions required, they conveyed all the emotions as they would in a real performance, with no one breaking character, not even Ma Bin, who was especially serious and “breathlessly pitiable”.

When the director’s assistant came to notify them that it was time to start filming, the trio had already rehearsed up to the second scene.

As Ma Bin doused himself with a bucket of water and lay down in the artificial stream, the filming of <Chronicles of Winter> officially began.

……

Throughout the entire January, Ran Lin spent his time in the green studio. His co-stars ranged from Jiang Yi and Ma Bin to green-suited stand-ins and various others, changing constantly.

Many of the scenes required post-production computer graphics, so Ran Lin had to imagine all sorts of mountain spirits and demons, sometimes even creating his own conceptual drawings to help get into character during scenes.

Jiang Yi was a simple and lively girl, nothing like the diva or foul-tempered personality some online rumors suggested. She took her acting very seriously and was highly professional, whether it meant hanging from wires or wearing thin clothes in water. Unless a stunt was too difficult and required a professional double, she would always do it herself without complaint.

Ma Bin, on the other hand, was the mood-maker of the crew—a thirty-year-old with the heart of a three-year-old. At the director’s call, he would immediately transform into the wise and clear-headed scholar, but once the director yelled cut, his playful nature would return.

Unfortunately, his role wasn’t large, and after about twenty days, he finished his part. After he left, various celestial beings and deities entered the set, and the filming moved from the ground to the heavens. As a result, Ran Lin spent most of his time against a green screen, suspended on wires, becoming quite accustomed to performing various stunts mid-air, from flying amidst clouds to fierce combat.

On the day Wang Xi visited the set, Ran Lin was demolishing the “Sweet Wine Pond” in the Nine Heavens as part of his scene.

As the director yelled “cut”, he immediately stopped, though his chest still heaved from the intensity of the scene. It wasn’t until Liu Wanwan draped a warm coat over his shoulders that he began to calm down.

The cold was pressing in Hengdian by the end of January. Wang Xi arrived in a beige cashmere coat and tall, high-heeled boots, exuding both efficiency and femininity.

“Xi Jie, how come you’re here?” Ran Lin hadn’t received any calls beforehand, so he was surprised to see Wang Xi, who should be busy in her Beijing office, appear on the set.

“I came to see how you’re doing,” Wang Xi said. “Is everything going smoothly?”

“Pretty smoothly,” Ran Lin replied. “If nothing unexpected happens, we’ll go shoot on location in mid-February, probably starting in Xinjiang.”

Wang Xi nodded and looked around the still busy studio. “How many scenes left?”

It was six in the evening by then, and Ran Lin knew that what Wang Xi really wanted to know was when they would wrap up for the day, so he said, “Just one scene left. It’ll be quick.”

“Okay,” Wang Xi replied. “Let’s have dinner together after wrap-up.”

Ran Lin felt something was off and sensed that Wang Xi had something on her mind—that her visit wasn’t just a simple set visit. But before he could ask, the next scene was ready to be shot, and Ran Lin had to put aside his questions, clear his mind, and re-enter the world of his character.

Finally, when they wrapped up, the three of them headed to a homely restaurant in the evening light and settled into a private room. After ordering, the waiter left, and Ran Lin stood up to pour tea for the two ladies.

Wang Xi, preoccupied with her thoughts, didn’t notice, but Liu Wanwan quickly stood up, reaching for the teapot. “Let me do it, Ran Ge—”

Ran Lin, startled by his assistant’s eagerness, quickly moved away with the pot, laughing. “It’s freshly boiled water. You could get scalded.”

“I can’t let you pour water for me,” she replied. Despite their good relationship, she was the assistant, and it didn’t seem right to let her boss serve her.

“Don’t be so formal with me,” Ran Lin said sincerely. “You’ve been taking care of everything while I’m busy filming. If you still make a fuss about who pours the water, I’ll really be upset.”

“Thanks, Ran Ge,” Liu Wanwan replied with a giggle, her cheeks flushing.

Wang Xi snapped back from her thoughts and envied the carefree artist and assistant before her. But the news she had to deliver next would likely dampen their spirits—

“Han Ze is coming to visit the set.”

Ran Lin nearly spilled the hot tea at this news.

“What did you say, Xi Jie?” he asked, placing the teapot back down, wondering if he had misheard.

“Han Ze is coming for a set visit,” Wang Xi repeated with a shrug.

Ran Lin was completely baffled, a whirlwind of questions in his mind, but he picked the simplest one. “Has he wrapped up his part?”

“He wrapped up in December.”

“But he’s the lead in the drama version, and visiting the film version’s set—won’t that be awkward?”

“It depends on how you look at it,” Wang Xi analyzed. “The drama version is set to air in June, and the film won’t be out until February next year, so there’s no direct competition between the two. On the contrary, if the drama does well, it could have a positive effect on the film, attracting viewers who liked the drama version to see the film. The film’s producers also don’t want any hostility or disparagement between the two versions, as it would only hurt both.”

Set visits need the consent of the visited crew. It’s not just a matter of showing up unannounced. So with Wang Xi’s words, Ran Lin began to understand. “Has Han Ze already communicated with the crew here?”

“Yes,” Wang Xi sighed. “The film crew thinks it would be beneficial to have a harmonious public image of both versions—a win-win situation. Plus, to be honest, they’re not very concerned about the drama version; the real competition for the film <Chronicles of Winter> is with other films releasing around the same time. All promotional resources and competitive tactics are reserved for then.”

“If they think it’s a good idea and it’s not a big deal…” Ran Lin looked puzzledly at his agent. “Why do you look so down, Xi Jie?”

“Because the company wants me to spearhead this.” Wang Xi grimaced.

If Han Ze wanted to visit the set, it was necessary for someone to communicate with the film version’s crew, so it made sense for the company to assign this task to Wang Xi. After all, as the lead actor in the film version, his agent would naturally have a way with the film’s crew and producers.

Moreover, if he remembered correctly, Wang Xi just mentioned that the film side had already agreed, which proved that she had successfully facilitated the arrangement.

“Didn’t you say it’s settled?” Ran Lin asked, not understanding her frustration.

“That’s exactly why I’m worried,” Wang Xi replied, reaching for her teacup only to find it still too hot and reluctantly putting it back down. “I was hoping they wouldn’t agree.”

“Why?” Ran Lin didn’t have a good impression of Han Ze, and the falling out between Wang Xi and Han Ze likely hadn’t ended pleasantly. But if Han Ze’s visit was truly beneficial to both sides without any harm, then from a professional standpoint, Wang Xi’s reaction didn’t make sense.

Wang Xi pondered for a moment and said, “As I mentioned earlier, the film version will be released later, so if the drama version has a positive impact, it will benefit the film version. But have you considered that when the drama version is airing, the film version won’t have any updates or movements, making it almost impossible to reciprocate the favor to the drama version? So why would Han Ze specifically want to visit the set?”

Ran Lin thought hard and finally understood, “He’s not visiting the film. He’s visiting me.”

“Right.” Wang Xi frowned. “I can imagine how the press release will go after his visit. A novel branching into both a film and drama version, both starring artists from the same company, and then the drama’s lead actor visiting the film’s lead actor, making a seemingly harmonious story in the competitive entertainment industry. If the film <Chronicles of Winter> becomes a hit, they can reuse this publicity, rekindling interest.”

“For the first time in my life, I’m being used for clout…” Ran Lin mused. “It’s quite novel.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Wang Xi retorted. “What clout do you have for someone to leech off? At most, you’re being dragged along for the hype.”

“You just said, if the film becomes a hit and he brings up old news for hype, he’d be riding on my popularity.”

“Well, that’s only if your film actually becomes a hit…”

Ran Lin sighed pitifully. “I’ve been ‘waiting on set, while the hype comes from above,’ can’t you say something supportive?”

Wang Xi couldn’t help but smile, but she still grumbled, “I’m not in a good mood right now. I can’t say anything nice.”

“Can’t the film crew see his visit is just a personal PR stunt?” Ran Lin felt that if Wang Xi could see through it, the film crew should be able to as well.

“Of course, they can see it. It’s not some clever tactic. But the hype is about you, and for the movie, the best-case scenario is that Han Ze, while promoting himself and the drama version, also inadvertently boosts the film’s popularity. The worst-case scenario is that he only promotes himself and the drama, leaving no impact on the film. In either case, there’s no reason for the film crew to deliberately make things difficult for him or Dreams Without Limits.”

Clearly, Wang Xi wasn’t happy about the situation from the beginning. The company must have put a lot of pressure on her to facilitate Han Ze’s set visit.

“Alright, Xi Jie. I don’t mind anymore, so you shouldn’t be upset either,” Ran Lin tried to console her. “Like you said, if his PR visit actually increases exposure for the film, that’s a good thing.”

“But just thinking about how you have to smile on the outside while despising it on the inside makes me feel so frustrated.” Wang Xi nearly furrowed her brow into deep lines. “I only manage you as my artist right now, you’re my treasure, you know. I’m looking forward to the day you shine. And here they are, wanting to use you for some quick hype. Why should they? Who’s responsible if it gets messed up!”

Ran Lin was touched, rarely complaining about Dreams Without Limits, with a mix of grievance and coquettishness. “Too bad the company’s leaders don’t treasure me like you do.”

Wang Xi looked at her artist and sighed lightly. “I’ve only just learned how to recognize true talent. But Dream Without Limits, I guess, will never learn in this lifetime.”

Listening to his agent’s words and understanding their tone, like discerning music from the sound of drums and gongs, suddenly reminded Ran Lin of their previous discussion about not renewing the contract. It was apparent that Wang Xi was no longer avoiding the implication of an eventual complete separation from Dream Without Limits.

At that time, although he knew he didn’t want to renew the contract, he hadn’t thought about where he would go after the termination. However, things were different now; Lu Yiyao had brought their futures together. Should he also inform Wang Xi about this?

But nothing was confirmed yet, and it also involved Lu Yiyao. If he spoke too soon and things changed…

“Actually, when I communicated with the crew about Han Ze’s visit, they did check with the investors,” Wang Xi continued, not noticing Ran Lin’s preoccupation. “After all, a TV drama and a movie are closely related, but the investors agreed immediately upon hearing it’s from the same company. They thought rejecting it might make things difficult for you within the company. So in this regard, they were actually looking out for you.”

Hearing this, Ran Lin’s thoughts were pulled back to the present. “Hearing you say that, I’m even more curious about the investor.”

From pre-production to the start of filming, the investor had never shown up, though Wang Xi had tried to arrange a meeting. But the person was genuinely busy and had never been available.

Ran Lin was just speaking offhandedly, considering the shooting schedule was already one-third complete and would wrap up in another two months. He hadn’t seen the investor so far and wasn’t really expecting to.

Unexpectedly, Wang Xi said, “Wish granted.”

Ran Lin was puzzled. “Huh?”

“In the next day or two, they might come for a set visit,” Wang Xi smiled. “They said they want to check things out before the drama’s lead actor arrives, to get a sense of the situation.”

Ran Lin was bemused. “Then I should thank Han Ze for this.”

Without Han Ze’s commotion, he might not have had the chance to meet the investor before the filming ended.

“That’s procrastination for you,” Wang Xi teased. “Always thinking it’s not urgent, no worries, it’s fine. But when outsiders are coming, they rush over to check things out.”

Ran Lin laughed, fully sensing Wang Xi’s resentment towards the elusive investor from her tone.

……

Two days later, a mix of rain and snow fell in Hengdian.

The snow was hardly visible—more like a fine drizzle that wet the roads and filled the air with moisture. It was a bit chilly and gloomy, but each breath felt refreshingly clean.

Inside the underwater photography studio, the semi-circular pool six meters deep was already filled with water. The pool had a constant temperature system, with the water around 25°C—not particularly warm, but much better than cold water.

The scene involved “Xiao Shitou”, newly arrived in the Ninth Heaven, being mocked and teased by the Wine Officer and celestial soldiers guarding the wine pond, accidentally falling into the Sweet Wine Pond. At the bottom of the pond was a small white dragon stripped of its scales. This dragon, originally a monster of the world, cultivated for a thousand years to ascend through tribulation to heaven. But white dragons are rare compared to the common black ones. So, on the day of its ascension, before it could rise to heaven, it was captured by a celestial general inspecting the sweet dandelion plantations and offered to the Emperor of the North. Deeming the white dragon useless, the Emperor was about to dispose of it when the Wine Officer requested it, arguing that the white dragon’s presence at the bottom of the pond would keep the wine pond from freezing in winter and drying out in summer, enhancing the wine’s flavor naturally compared to using magic to keep the Wine Palace spring-like all year. Thus, the white dragon was stripped of its scales and locked at the bottom of the pool.

As Xiao Shitou lost his footing and fell, the Wine Officer and the celestial soldiers believed he was certainly doomed. Due to the strict laws of the Ninth Heaven, they weren’t allowed to enter the wine pond, so they merely watched from the side, waiting for Xiao Shitou to vanish into thin air. Unexpectedly, when he reached the bottom of the pool, the white dragon transferred vital energy to him. Not only did he survive the great peril, but he also rescued the trapped white dragon. Riding on the back of the white dragon, he leapt out of the water’s surface and sped away like a swift wind.

At that moment, Ran Lin, dressed in rough cloth garments, stood at the edge of the pond, his hair unkempt and his face youthful. Opposite him were the Wine Officer in brocade clothes and the burly celestial soldiers.

With a click of the clapperboard, Ran Lin slowly lifted his gaze, his eyes no longer soft but filled with deep anger.

The Wine Officer sneered, “Foolish boy overestimating himself!”

As he finished speaking and turned with a flick of his sleeve, the celestial soldiers immediately stepped forward to pull him.

“Don’t touch me!” Ran Lin struggled fiercely.

The celestial soldiers, not known for being gentle, were rough and merciless.

Ran Lin stepped back, and suddenly, his footing gave way, and he fell backwards!

Splash—

The moment the water flooded over his eyes, ears, mouth, and nose, Ran Lin’s first sensation was fear.

He could swim, but he had never fallen into the water in this way before, and the fear was almost instinctive.

With fear came struggle, which was fortunate, as the script required him to struggle.

Ran Lin forced his eyes open, struggling helplessly on instinct while continuously exhaling the breath he had held before falling into the water, forming bubbles.

There was a large glass window below the pool to capture everything underwater, and every move he made was clearly recorded.

When he had struggled enough and almost ran out of breath, Ran Lin slowly stopped moving, relaxed his body, closed his eyes, and felt himself sinking deeper into the water.

Even though the water was only in the twenties degree Celsius, it felt very cold and icy to him.

In the script, the character “Xiao Shitou” loses consciousness after struggling in vain, eventually resting beside a white serpent.

In reality, Ran Lin was still conscious, but being conscious was more painful. His chest felt as if it was pressed by a huge stone, about to explode, yet he couldn’t move or swim up. He had to sink as much as possible, sinking until there was enough footage for post-production special effects and to position himself near a small white dragon at an appropriate spot.

Glug—

It seemed there was a muffled sound by his ear but Ran Lin couldn’t be sure.

He was out of air.

‘Director, I’m sorry. There’s only so much footage. Make do with editing,’ Ran Lin muttered in his heart, then immediately opened his eyes and prepared to swim upwards.

But as soon as he opened his eyes, he saw a handsome man. Before Ran Lin could react, his arm was seized, and he was quickly pulled to the surface.

“Whew—” As soon as Ran Lin surfaced, he gasped for air, but the handsome man didn’t let him stay in the water and immediately pulled him to the poolside, where the staff quickly dragged him ashore.

Finally feeling less discomfort in his lungs, Ran Lin remembered to look at the director, only to find himself surrounded by a circle of people, all looking worried and frightened.

Ran Lin was also startled and immediately asked, “What happened?”

“They thought you drowned, so I had to dive in to save you,” said the handsome man who had just pulled Ran Lin out, somewhat helplessly.

Only then did Ran Lin realize that the handsome man was the lifeguard assigned to the underwater studio. They had met before shooting began.

Ran Lin didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, saying to the concerned staff, “I’m fine. I knew what I was doing. He came down just as I was thinking about swimming up.”

“You don’t have to sink to the bottom. Just do enough!” Director Huang, who had walked over from behind the monitors at some point, spoke in a stern tone, obviously scared as well.

Ran Lin quickly leaned out, raised his hand, and expressed his apology to the director. “I was thinking of getting more footage by staying under longer. I’ll be more careful next time!”

Seeing that the actor was okay, the staff dispersed to prepare for the next scene. Ran Lin, drying his head with a towel handed to him, grinned at the director.

Director Huang, having lost his temper to the teasing, sighed and said, “Acting requires dedication, but you don’t need to risk your life.”

Ran Lin didn’t agree or disagree, just widened his eyes, reddened from the sting of the water, and asked, “How was the effect just now?”

Director Huang was speechless, realizing he was preaching to the choir*.

*Playing the lute to a cow (对牛弹琴) Idiom referring to a situation where someone is offering nuanced or sophisticated argument or opinion to an unappreciative or incapable audience.

Forget it, directors always hope for actors to be more dedicated, but he had never seen one discourage an actor from going too far. He shrugged it off and said irritably, “Perfect. If you ask me, you shouldn’t be playing Xiao Shitou, but the white dragon1 trapped under the water!”

Ran Lin quipped, “Isn’t it supposed to be a jiao1?”

1Clarity: Ran Lin is making a joke here. White dragon is (小白龙). However, Ran Lin is referring to it as a jiao (蛟). It is also a type of dragon, but in Chinese legends, it’s actually not a “real dragon”. They have to cultivate and go through tribulations before actually ascending to become a “real dragon”. Ran Lin is referencing the story <Chronicles of Winter> where the white dragon is supposed to ascend to the heavens but failed because it was captured (thus, technically, it’s a jiao).

Director Huang realized that the longer the collaboration went on, the more his authority seemed to diminish. He wasn’t sure if it was just his inability to handle this type of actor or if his habit of occasionally throwing out a frog toy diminished his deterrence.

Suddenly, applause broke out.

Ran Lin and Director Huang turned to see a middle-aged man clapping with a slight smile.

The man looked to be in his early forties, wearing a brown biker-style leather jacket, dark jeans, and lace-up high-top leather shoes, looking like a street-fashion mature male celebrity.

“Director Huang,” the man spoke politely but was conversing with the director. “I just watched from the underwater window, and it was spectacular.”

Director Huang seemed to have met the man before, so he skipped the greetings and replied half-jokingly, half-seriously, “With an actor willing to commit, a director’s job is easier.”

“Ran Lin,” the man called out his name, clearly certain.

In a flash of insight, Ran Lin remembered what Wang Xi had said a few days ago about an investor visiting the set. The investor seemed to be the man before him.

“President Shi?” Ran Lin asked tentatively.

The man broke into a smile and said to the director, “See, Director Huang, I do have some reputation.”

Director Huang inwardly thought, ‘Of course, the investor would be memorable.’

But to be honest, he quite liked this investor since he gave the directors relatively more freedom and authority, especially regarding artistic creation, fully respecting the director’s vision. Overall, the collaboration was very pleasant.

Upon hearing this, Ran Lin understood he was right and quickly said, “Hello President Shi. I’m Ran Lin. Thank you very much for giving me this opportunity with the director…”

Mr. Shi waved it off, his smile warm. “No need for formalities. Your thanks are shown in your performance, which I’ve just seen.”

Ran Lin, halfway through speaking, felt warmth in his heart, and even his soaked body didn’t feel cold anymore.

“I’m just here to observe. Pretend I’m not here and carry on with your work. Don’t let me delay your progress,” Mr. Shi said before turning to sit in an inconspicuous corner of the set, legs crossed, truly looking like he was there for a casual visit.

Ran Lin hadn’t met many investors before. Lei Baishi was known for his drinking habits, Ding Kai had ulterior motives, and Peng Jing seemed more like a peer or a bad influence. Compared to them, President Shi was simply perfect.


<<< || Table of Contents || >>>

Suddenly Trending Ch74

Author: 颜凉雨 / Yan Liang Yu

Translator: Kinky || https://kinkytranslations.com/


Chapter 74

Click.

Gu Jie, the first to enter, pressed the wall switch, and the entryway suddenly lit up.

The intertwined hands quietly separated.

The four of them changed their shoes in the entryway. The living room was still dark, with moonlight streaming through the window, mostly falling on the floor, with a few strands on the sofa, casting a cold light everywhere, like the frost of early winter.

“It’s warmer inside…” Xia Xinran was the first to change into slippers, fumbling in the dark along the wall to find the living room light switch.

“Warm? Just don’t complain about the cold tonight.” Gu Jie, the second to enter the living room, stepped forward and accurately turned on the pendant light. “Ran Lin is now wrapping himself in a blanket every day, even reading scripts wrapped up like a dumpling.”

The living room’s pendant light was an old-fashioned design, with three budding flowers, the petals formed by yellow-white frosted glass shades, and three light bulbs as the stamens. Although the bulbs were now energy-saving spiral ones, the white light through the frosted glass turned into a light with a hint of yellow, filled with a nostalgic sense of the times.

Ran Lin, the third to enter the living room, sighed at Gu Jie under the dim yellow light. “Why always use me as a bad example?”

“The example is too vivid. Can’t help it,” Gu Jie joked while picking up the remote to turn on the air conditioner. Soon, a slightly cool breeze accompanied by a humming noise blew out, gradually warming up.

“Wrapped in a blanket?” Lu Yiyao, who had entered without notice, now stood behind Ran Lin.

His voice was low and soft, not so much chatting with friends as murmuring to Ran Lin alone.

Ran Lin’s ears heated up, not turning back to address him but instead asking Xia Xinran directly. “Where do you want to sleep?”

During dinner, the two newcomers expressed their “eco-friendly” visit, so they didn’t book a hotel and decided to stay together. But how exactly they would fit wasn’t discussed in detail by Xia Xinran, who had given Ran Lin a knowing look. With Ran Lin feeling guilty, he didn’t dare to ask further. Lu Yiyao smiled and ate quietly, while Gu Jie didn’t even think it was an issue, nodding continuously. The floor was too cold, and the sofa wasn’t long enough. However, both bedrooms had large enough beds, so squeezing in wouldn’t be a problem.

But now the question of “how to sleep” was right before them, and Ran Lin decided to resolve it quickly.

Xia Xinran glanced at him with a teasing look, clearly saying, “You know the answer,” then, without waiting for a response, headed towards one of the bedrooms. In a moment, he leaned against the bedroom door frame with a considerate smile. “Of course, I’m staying with Gu Jie. I have so much to talk to him after such a long time.”

Ran Lin nodded, a flicker of gratitude in his eyes, but then a hint of helplessness. “If you want to chat with Gu Jie, why are you leaning on my bedroom door?”

Lu Yiyao, who was automatically heading towards Gu Jie’s bedroom, suddenly stopped, then nonchalantly turned around, pretending as if he hadn’t done anything.

Xia Xinran, embarrassed, hurriedly dashed towards Gu Jie’s bedroom and gave Lu Yiyao a look as they brushed past—Why didn’t you remind me I was going the wrong way!

Lu Yiyao raised an eyebrow—All the doors look the same. Who can keep track!

Xia Xinran—With that sense of direction, you shouldn’t even be allowed to date. Revoke your dating license!

Lu Yiyao—I’m dating, not driving1. Why do I need a sense of direction!

Xia Xinran—Not driving? Are you sure?1

1Clarity: It’s referencing car which is a euphemism for sex/explicit content.

Lu Yiyao—…Goodnight.

Visually, Xia Xinran was like a whirlwind, disappearing into Gu Jie’s bedroom in the blink of an eye.

But inexplicably, Ran Lin felt as if in that brief moment of shoulder brushing and eye contact between Xia Xinran and Lu Yiyao, a lot of information was exchanged…

Was it just his imagination?

Ran Lin frowned in confusion, puzzled.

Suddenly, a weight landed on his shoulder, and before he could look up, he was pulled into Lu Yiyao’s embrace.

The man didn’t hold back at all, and Ran Lin felt himself tightly clasped with one arm, his body pressed against Lu Yiyao’s side, his neck and shoulder constricted by an arm.

But to Gu Jie, it looked like a standard brotherly back-slapping moment, especially since Lu Yiyao was smiling brightly at him, obviously conveying a clear message.

Gu Jie immediately nodded understandingly. “Got it, it’s rare for you guys to get together; you must have lots to talk about.” After tossing his coat on the sofa and nodding towards the bathroom, he announced, “Then I’m going to shower, okay?”

Only Gu Jie would call a December shower a “shower”. Intimidated by his boldness, Lu Yiyao involuntarily nodded. “Please.”

Gu Jie strode into the bathroom, then closed the door behind him with a moderate thud.

Two seconds later, Xia Xinran peeked out from Gu Jie’s bedroom, sighing softly to the remaining pair in the living room. “I feel a bit guilty deceiving such an honest guy. What should I do…”

Before Lu Yiyao and Ran Lin could respond, the bathroom door suddenly opened again. “Oh, Xia Xinran—”

Gu Jie thought Xia Xinran was inside, so he called out loudly, only to realize the man was leaning out from the doorway, looking utterly bewildered.

“What?” Xia Xinran finally regained his senses, looking over irritably.

Gu Jie smiled, a rare display of friendliness. “I didn’t bring my sit-up equipment this time. Though I can still do it without equipment, it just doesn’t feel as effective…”

“So?” Xia Xinran had a bad feeling.

“So later, can you help me hold my legs a bit?” Gu Jie requested. “Don’t worry, I won’t do much, just two sets, very quick!”

Xia Xinran: “Weren’t you going to take a shower?”

Gu Jie: “I’ll do it after.”

Xia Xinran: “Who exercises after a shower!”

Gu Jie: “Just two sets, like walking a few steps, barely any effort; won’t even sweat.”

Xia Xinran: “But why do you need to exercise right before bed?”

Gu Jie: “Warm-up before sleep.”

Xia Xinran: “…”

Xia Xinran’s guilt popped like a soap bubble, leaving only a sense of powerless ridicule that lingered like a shadow.

Ran Lin and Lu Yiyao’s heads turned back and forth with the conversation, finally resting on Xia Xinran’s inexplicable face.

For safety, Lu Yiyao decisively took Ran Lin back to his room.

As the door closed behind them, Ran Lin thought he heard Xia Xinran’s sincere plea for a reconsideration of room arrangements.

Ran Lin’s bedroom was unlit, with the curtains tightly drawn. Once the door was closed, blocking the light from the living room, the world turned dark again.

Ran Lin blinked a couple of times, but opening or closing his eyes made no difference; it was pitch black.

The room was very quiet, so quiet that only Lu Yiyao’s breathing could be heard next to him.

The arm slung around his neck was heavy, and Ran Lin said irritably, “Hey, you can loosen…umph!”

Before Ran Lin could finish speaking, he was pressed against the wall by a great force, and then a fervent kiss landed on him.

At first, Ran Lin wondered if Lu Yiyao had brought night vision contacts, as he precisely captured his lips. But such mood-killing thoughts vanished in an instant under Lu Yiyao’s overpowering assault.

Lu Yiyao kissed forcefully, almost biting off his lips. Ran Lin wanted to respond, but the others didn’t need or allow any space for it. Whether he resisted or cooperated, nothing he did could disrupt or hinder the person ravaging him.

Not knowing how long they kissed, Ran Lin felt like he was about to collapse, his strength seemingly drawn out, his legs growing weak. If not for Lu Yiyao pressing him, he might have slid down the wall like a puddle of jelly…

Suddenly, the world spun around.

Ran Lin felt like he was being carried, but before he could understand what was happening, he was on the bed with Lu Yiyao’s body pressing down on him.

He instinctively wanted to embrace the other, but suddenly one wrist was pinned above his head, followed by the other, both hands crossed and pressed above the pillow.

Ran Lin was slightly resentful.

Because the other could suppress his crossed hands with just one.

“Hey…” Ran Lin tried to protest but kept his voice down, fearing being heard outside, so it sounded utterly weak.

“Shh.” Lu Yiyao blew air close to his face. “No talking.”

Ran Lin struggled a bit, but his wrists were pressed tighter, and he muttered resentfully, “Why…”

In the slowly adapting darkness, Lu Yiyao’s peach blossom eyes glowed with ambiguous desire, and his voice was husky and sexy. “Because you like me.”

The articulate always have the upper hand.

Having given up struggling, Ran Lin seriously considered whether to buy a book on sweet talk after going back.

The room was cold, with no heating, and the air conditioner in the living room was blocked, leaving only the cold night breeze seeping in.

But the room was also very hot. Ran Lin almost bit his lip to keep from making any noise.

Sensing Ran Lin’s imminent surrender, Lu Yiyao no longer suppressed his wrists but covered his mouth.

Almost the moment his hand covered Ran Lin’s mouth, Lu Yiyao’s other hand ventured without hesitation…

Bang bang.

A loud knock on the door echoed.

Then Gu Jie’s voice penetrated through the door. “I’m done showering. You guys can go next—”

His voice cut through the chaos like a divine intervention, bringing clarity.

Lu Yiyao jolted.

Ran Lin’s passion froze.

“Okay—” Lu Yiyao’s voice, feigning naturalness, carried a slight hoarseness.

But to the oblivious Gu Jie, it was sufficient. Receiving the response, he turned and left, completely unaware of the tiny gap beneath the door in the pitch-black room, let alone the high-end question of “why are they still in the dark after so long?”

As the footsteps faded, Lu Yiyao sighed in relief and frustration.

Ran Lin took down the hand covering his mouth, gently kissed it, and teasingly asked, “Want to continue?”

Lu Yiyao slapped his forehead irritably. “Be brave and provoke me when it’s time for action next time…” His voice dipped low again, drawing close to Ran Lin with a mischievous tone. “I’ll be more excited…”

Feeling the danger about to return, Ran Lin wisely kept quiet.

Lu Yiyao disdainfully glanced at his lover in the darkness, intending to scold him for only being brave with words, but his affection got the better of him. Eventually, he leaned in for a light peck, devoid of any desire, just filled with the joy of reunion.

The physical heat slowly subsided, while the emotional warmth was safely tucked away by Lu Yiyao.

He truly wanted to touch Ran Lin freely, to make him moan and beg under him, but the more he thought about it, the less he wanted to rush.

At least, not here.

Even if Gu Jie hadn’t knocked on the door, he hadn’t intended to go all the way.

Their first time, and every time after, he wanted it to be warm and completely relaxed, without having to worry about someone knocking on the door or Ran Lin having to suppress his voice.

He wanted to give Ran Lin the best of everything.

Turning on the bedroom light finally, the sudden illumination made Ran Lin instinctively shield his eyes.

Lu Yiyao returned to his side, enveloping him in his embrace to shield him from the light.

Ran Lin’s head rested against Lu Yiyao’s chest, his heartbeat reverberating through his skull.

Ran Lin unconsciously curved his mouth into a smile.

Even though his lover turned into a seasoned rogue when it came to intimacy, the heartbeat couldn’t lie.

Even after all this time, with the light on, his heart was still racing—rapid and fierce.

Bang bang bang!

“Teacher Lu, Ran Lin, if you’re not showering, I’m going first—” This time it wasn’t Gu Jie, but Xia Xinran.

Lu Yiyao felt the two were doing it on purpose, always appearing just when the mood got better… Were they like warning bullets for high-energy scenes?

“Go ahead and shower.” Lu Yiyao, less polite to the insider, directly sent him off.

Outside, Xia Xinran was like a mischievous groundhog.

The sound of water from the bathroom reached them despite the distance, clear and continuous.

Lu Yiyao sighed helplessly. “There’s no soundproofing at all.”

“Just keep your voice down,” Ran Lin advised, experienced. “As long as we don’t speak loudly, they can only hear that we’re talking but not make out the words. Otherwise, with all the video calls we’ve had, we would have been caught long ago.”

“Actually… perhaps not.” Lu Yiyao’s mood was complex.

Ran Lin, thinking of Gu Jie’s earnest face, couldn’t help but agree with his lover. “Indeed.”

Misdeeds are always done under the cloak of darkness, but now with the lights brightly on and the room clear, the two of them lay quietly together, their hearts gradually settling and ceasing their restlessness.

“Didn’t I just hold you like this last time and fall asleep while talking?” Lu Yiyao suddenly remembered a painful memory.

Ran Lin couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” Lu Yiyao still resented the past.

Last time everything was perfect—mood, environment, soundproofing, bed, even the bedside table was stocked with considerate little items and props. They could have tried all sorts of things.

Instead, he fell asleep.

The memory still made him beat his chest in frustration!

“You were sleeping so soundly, I didn’t have the heart to,” Ran Lin murmured quietly.

Unprepared for such a response, Lu Yiyao’s heart softened, and he hugged Ran Lin a bit tighter.

Actually, that night, Ran Lin had secretly pinched Lu Yiyao twice, but the man just turned over and continued sleeping.

But he couldn’t tell Lu Yiyao that; it would make him seem too unreserved.

So, Ran Lin decided to maintain his “gentle and considerate” persona to the end.

“Did you ask Xia Xinran to come with you?” Suddenly, Ran Lin remembered a question that had been nagging at him.

At dinner, Xia Xinran had claimed they both spontaneously decided to visit the set, a story believable only to Gu Jie.

Sure enough, Lu Yiyao straightforwardly admitted, “Yeah, I just wanted to try asking him if he was free and willing, and he agreed immediately, seeming even more eager than me.”

Ran Lin could easily imagine it.

Xia Xinran was both someone who loved being in the thick of things and a truly loyal friend. While outsiders might only see his more prominent trait, as a friend, he had the right to speak.

“We should really thank him,” Ran Lin sincerely said.

“Don’t worry about him,” Lu Yiyao replied. “He had already negotiated his compensation before coming.”

Ran Lin was puzzled. “What compensation?”

Lu Yiyao: “Can’t say.”

Ran Lin: “…”

Why was there an ominous feeling that Lu Yiyao had agreed to an unfair treaty?

“Actually, even if he hadn’t agreed, I would have come by myself.” Lu Yiyao turned the person lying against him to face each other, looking deeply into Ran Lin’s eyes. “I couldn’t wait that long. Ever since I wrapped up my filming, I’ve been thinking about seeing you every day.”

“I missed you too.” Ran Lin’s eyes tinged with the ache of longing—those four words carried so much unspoken emotion.

Lu Yiyao gave back his own four words. “Didn’t look like it.”

Ran Lin was speechless, the rising warmth in his eyes forcefully pushed back.

Teacher Lu continued to complain, “When I was filming <Split Moon>, you didn’t even mention visiting the set. As time went on, we even talked less. I thought you had moved on.”

Ran Lin was incredulous. “Who would I move on to?”

Lu Yiyao had a ready blacklist. “Tang Xiaoyu.”

Ran Lin: “……”

Lu Yiyao: “You shot an advertisement for the <Sword of Fallen Flowers> game with him, and then you started interacting a lot on Weibo…”

Ran Lin: “Teacher Lu, are you sure you were fully invested in your film?”

Lu Yiyao: “Everyone needs a break now and then.”

Ran Lin: “So you spent your breaks stalking my Weibo?”

Lu Yiyao: “It’s ‘loving observation from the shadows’.”

Ran Lin: “……”

Clearly, during their long separation, his lover had accumulated endless grievances.

Ran Lin irritably took Lu Yiyao’s hand and brought it to his mouth. “Listen carefully…”

“I, Ran Lin, only like Lu Yiyao.”

After saying so, he pressed a kiss to Lu Yiyao’s hand.

Continuing—

“In my eyes, Lu Yiyao is narcissistic, repressed, over-imaginative, says too little, is always caught up in his inner drama, and even makes his own memes to the point of boredom…”

“Hold on!” Lu Yiyao swallowed, earnestly interrupting. “If there’s a ‘but’ coming, I’ll keep listening. If not, can I request we end this conversation early?”

Ran Lin drawled out, “But—”

Lu Yiyao’s heart finally settled.

“He’s serious…”

A kiss on the hand.

“He’s professional…”

Another kiss.

“He’s responsible to others and himself.”

“He may not be warm to everyone, but he’ll never kick someone when they’re down.”

“He might compromise with reality, but he always has his principles.”

With each phrase, Ran Lin kissed Lu Yiyao’s hand.

Finally, he pressed a gentle kiss on the other’s lips—

“He’s the best person I’ve ever met.”

……

Xia Xinran, who had just had a quick wash and was now sneakily eavesdropping at the door, was disappointed. He had expected a fiery encounter, but all he got was a quiet conversation with indistinct words.

Are you two here to discuss life?

Close the door and get on with it!

After enduring a few more minutes and seeing no end to their “night talk”, the frustrated single classmate Xia Xinran finally straightened his aching legs and begrudgingly returned to his room.

As for Ran Lin and Lu Yiyao, after exchanging long pent-up sweet nothings, they reluctantly parted to freshen up in turns.

Lu Yiyao was the first to shower and immediately dived into the bed, using his body heat to pre-warm the cold sheets.

By the time Ran Lin got back into bed, it was already warm.

He obediently lay down, clinging to Lu Yiyao like an octopus, turning the warmth into coziness.

Ran Lin was already feeling sleepy, but he didn’t want to waste their limited time together sleeping. Lu Yiyao was only here for three days, and the only time they had to themselves was at night.

Lu Yiyao, on the other hand, had far more complicated thoughts.

He had intended to ease his longing with some intimacy today, leaving the real matter for tomorrow. But now, in the stillness of the night, he suddenly couldn’t hide his words anymore.

The urge to pour out his heart came suddenly and fiercely, almost unable to wait another minute. He wanted to share all his thoughts with Ran Lin right then and there.

Suddenly, his frown was smoothed out by gentle fingers.

Lu Yiyao snapped back to reality to meet Ran Lin’s bemused face. “If you really don’t like me hugging you like this, I won’t do it. You don’t have to endure it as if you’re bearing a deep grudge.”

Lu Yiyao pulled the blanket tighter, cocooning Ran Lin more securely, before whispering, “I’m thinking about starting my own company.”

The topic suddenly became serious. Ran Lin, momentarily taken aback, moved aside from Lu Yiyao to allow for a better face-to-face conversation. “Don’t you already have your own studio?”

The blanket, disturbed by Ran Lin’s movement, let in a draft of cold air.

Lu Yiyao quickly closed the gap before explaining. “Not a studio. I mean an entertainment company. I’m thinking about becoming a boss.”

“……” The weight of this revelation hung in the air, leaving Ran Lin momentarily stunned.

Lu Yiyao pinched his lover’s cheek, finding Ran Lin’s bewildered look endlessly adorable.

“No more acting?” Ran Lin managed to pick out the most immediate question amidst his scattered thoughts.

“I don’t think so.” Lu Yiyao had thought it through clearly, so there was no hesitation.

“What about guest appearances?” Ran Lin asked, then immediately realized how trivial this question was in the grand scheme!

Lu Yiyao found the question refreshing, considering it seriously for the first time since deciding to change careers. After a while, he answered, “It depends on how deep the friendship is.”

Ran Lin didn’t expect him to actually ponder the question, giving a sense of reality to the notion of his lover switching careers. But the bigger question loomed. “Why don’t you want to be an actor anymore?”

“Isn’t being a boss good?” Lu Yiyao grinned. “Still in the entertainment industry, I’d say it’s a triple jump in class status.”

As Ran Lin’s thoughts began to order themselves, he understood that being a boss was naturally better, both in terms of profit and personal satisfaction. If the entertainment industry was a pyramid, then the bosses with capital and influence were certainly at the top.

But—

“Don’t you find it a waste? You’ve been acting for so long, to just give it up?” Ran Lin’s query was not out of skepticism or opposition but a personal reflection. If it were him, he would find it a regrettable loss.

“What if I tell you I don’t find it a waste, and I’m actually relieved to have finally found what I want to do?” Lu Yiyao asked, “Would you think I’m frivolous about my career?”

Lu Yiyao’s voice was calm and firm, but Ran Lin still detected a hint of apprehension.

It wasn’t apprehension about his new career path, but whether his partner could accept such a sudden change in direction.

But was it really a sudden change?

Ran Lin didn’t think so.

No one knew his boyfriend better than he did—Lu Yiyao was never one to make rash decisions. Everything he said and did was thoroughly considered beforehand, ensuring he could bear the responsibility.

“When did you decide?” Instead of answering Lu Yiyao’s question, Ran Lin asked another.

“Before shooting <Split Moon>,” Lu Yiyao candidly replied.

Ran Lin: “Have you talked to Hong Jie about it?”

“Yes, she’s stopped taking new contracts for me,” Lu Yiyao said. “I’ve also told my mom and sister; it’s all good. My family has always wanted me to go into business. I haven’t told my dad yet, but I think he’ll be singing Peking opera out of joy when he finds out.”

Ran Lin noted that Lu Yiyao always found a chance to sardonically mention his father.

“If this is truly what you want to do,” Ran Lin turned serious after a smile, “then I’m happy you’ve found it. I don’t think you’re being frivolous about your career. I believe you’ll do well, whether in acting or running a company…”

“But?” Lu Yiyao anticipated the turn in conversation.

Caught off guard by the accurate prediction, Ran Lin gave him a slight glare. “But there has to be a catalyst for such a change. You can’t tell me you just sat there one day, thought it over, and suddenly found the path you want to pursue, right?”

Lu Yiyao looked intently at him. “What if I said that catalyst was you?”

Ran Lin was taken aback, struggling to respond. “I can’t bear that responsibility…”

Lu Yiyao leaned in close, so close Ran Lin could see the flutter of his eyelashes. “I would have found this path eventually; you just helped me find it sooner. So, you don’t need to bear anything. It’s my life, my path. I’ll bear it myself.”

Ran Lin met his gaze, half convinced.

Lu Yiyao continued, “Don’t renew the contract when it’s up; sign with my company.”

“…?” From half-belief to complete doubt, Ran Lin frowned deeply. “So it’s still all for me.”

Lu Yiyao, unruffled, simply said, “What if I say that even without you, someday in the future, I would have found out on my own that what I really wanted wasn’t to be an actor in the entertainment industry, but to do business in it? How would you feel about that?”

Ran Lin: “……”

The question felt like a trap because the mere thought of it was quite unsettling!

If it were predestined for Lu Yiyao to change careers, then having himself as the catalyst seemed preferable, at least making him feel somewhat significant…

“You might indeed be naturally suited for business,” Ran Lin grumbled, glaring at Lu Yiyao. “You’re quite the smooth talker.”

Lu Yiyao’s heart settled, and his expression relaxed unconsciously. “Then let’s settle on that.”

Ran Lin blinked in confusion. “Settle on… what?”

Lu Yiyao: “Sign with my company when your contract expires.”

Ran Lin: “That’s a whole new topic!”

Lu Yiyao: “…”

His attempt to fish in troubled waters* failed, and Lu Yiyao sighed, barely audibly, but soon rallied himself.

*(浑水摸鱼) Idiom referring to someone taking advantage of a chaotic or confusing situation for personal gain.

Pulling Ran Lin back into his embrace, he switched to a gentler tactic. “Think about it. If I want to grow and strengthen my company, not only do I need to have a good eye for investment, ensuring that the projects I invest in have more gains and fewer losses, but I also need artists under my label who can stand firm and support themselves. Good projects and good artists are the two most important pillars of a successful entertainment company. I’ll take care of having a good eye; the risk lies with the artists. Of course, I want to sign someone whose background I know well and who has a promising future…”

Knowing full well that these were sugar-coated shells that he should avoid, Ran Lin found himself delightfully hit, body and soul, with only a sliver of rationality remaining in his brain, unable to even command a single finger.

“You don’t want to renew your contract with your current company either, right? Since you have to switch anyway, why not jump to your own place…”

“Once you come over to my side, no one will force you to take on roles you dislike anymore. Your future prospects, popularity, market response… none of that will be your concern. You just need to focus on acting well…”

“Plus, I prefer to independently produce dramas to create quality works. So in these projects, if there’s a suitable role for you or if you feel the urge to act, it will be yours. But just because you’re the boss’ wife, don’t slack off…”

“What?” Ran Lin, who had been quietly listening, suddenly spoke up. “What did you just say?”

Lu Yiyao was startled. His first thought was he misspoke, considering he had just rattled off a lot in a row. “…slack off?”

Ran Lin frowned. “Backtrack a bit.”

Lu Yiyao strained his memory. “No one else… it’s you?”

Ran Lin glared. “After that.”

With his brain nearly overheating, Lu Yiyao finally identified the suspect phrase tentatively. “Boss’ wife?”

Ran Lin suddenly grabbed the blanket, covered his face, and started rolling around the bed.

Exposed to the cold air unexpectedly, Lu Yiyao sneezed and then watched the “blanket ball” rolling around, feeling an almost uncontrollable urge to pounce on it…

Next time, he would find a place where they could freely indulge!

……

The next morning, Ran Lin woke up to a long-missed warmth and saw Lu Yiyao fiddling with his phone.

Ran Lin yawned sleepily. “Are you checking if I have any inappropriate same-sex relationships?”

Lu Yiyao didn’t even glance at him, still struggling with the phone, his voice tinged with irritation. “I’m turning off the insane eight alarms someone set.”

“Right, why didn’t the alarm go off?” Ran Lin finally sensed something amiss.

“Who says it didn’t?” Lu Yiyao finally turned off the last alarm, his eyes dark with circles. “I woke up at the first ring.”

Ran Lin: “And then you angrily turned off all the alarms as revenge?”

Lu Yiyao: “I wanted you to sleep a little longer.”

Ran Lin: “…”

Lu Yiyao: “If you don’t come and kiss me, it’s going to be a bit awkward.”

This was the first time he had seen someone take advantage of someone so openly.

Ran Lin rolled his eyes but gave his partner a morning kiss, adding a touch of flavor to the gesture.

They had talked late into the night, naturally resting as the conversation wound down. Lu Yiyao had been so preoccupied with discussing the career change and how to pull Ran Lin over to his side that he hadn’t considered the reverse problem.

Now, watching his lover put on clothes, he blurted out without warning. “What if my company doesn’t do well and, instead of elevating you, drags down your accumulated popularity? What then?”

Ran Lin put on his hoodie, fully dressed, and turned back, looking bemused at Lu Yiyao. “What else can be done? I’m the boss, so of course, I’ll share the company’s fate.”

Lu Yiyao frowned slightly. “If I’m not mistaken, it should be the boss’ wife, right…”

Ran Lin walked over, patted his still-confused partner’s shoulder, transferring the warmth of his palm. “Then you remembered wrong.”

Lu Yiyao watched the figure heading to the bathroom, both amused and exasperated.

Why run if you’re not guilty!

Meanwhile, Ran Lin in the bathroom was also restless.

Because Lu Yiyao’s question had given him a wake-up call—what if he ends up dragging down Lu Yiyao’s company?

Lu Yiyao wanted to protect him from the storm, but he wished even more to make Lu Yiyao proud.

So starting now, he had to work even harder, to be a sturdy, proud-standing, robust money tree!

“Do you have to be so intense about brushing your teeth?” Xia Xinran, also in the bathroom for his morning routine, was startled by Ran Lin’s vigor.

Ran Lin gurgled and spat out the water, shaking his head at his friend. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“How could I not?” Xia Xinran retorted, his mouth curling despite not getting the juicy details the night before. He could guess. “Isn’t it just that you got all fired up1 and couldn’t go all the way?”

Ran Lin: “…”

What he had been thinking and what his friend said seemed to be on completely different wavelengths.

Ran Lin mused, somewhat unsure.

“What’s this ‘all fired up1‘ about?” Gu Jie asked, who happened to pass by the bathroom.

Ran Lin froze.

Xia Xinran was momentarily speechless.

Gu Jie suddenly understood on his own. “Ah, reminiscing about that time in Sanya trying to start a fire, right? That episode was indeed a pit. Despite all the friction, no fire was seen1.”

1So Xia Xinran was using (擦出火) which literally means “create fire” but in the context, it was more like “You got all fired/worked up last night.” Gu Jie, being so oblivious, thought they were actually talking about creating fire instead metaphorically, which is why he responded like so (referring to the variety show where Lu Yiyao failed to light a fire..

Ran Lin: “…”

Xia Xinran: “…”

“What are you all chatting about here?” Lu Yiyao, coming out of the bedroom, curiously joined in.

“Good morning,” Gu Jie greeted him enthusiastically, “Talking about that ‘Drifting’ episode in Sanya.”

Lu Yiyao wondered, “Why suddenly talk about that?”

Gu Jie shrugged, looking towards Ran Lin and Xia Xinran. “You’d have to ask them.”

Lu Yiyao’s gaze turned quizzically to them.

Ran Lin: “It’s just…”

Xia Xinran: “On a whim!”

……

The three days flew by, and with the departure of the visiting friends, the days seemed to speed up even more.

Mid-December arrived in a blink, and Ran Lin needed to return to prepare for <Chronicles of Winter>. Gu Jie, without any appointments, decided to stay a bit longer.

Before leaving Wuhan, Ran Lin, Gu Jie, and Director He had a meal together. This time, Director He treated them to a banquet of authentic Wuhan cuisine in the city center.

Again, they opted for tea, but this time the conversation wasn’t limited to <Dyeing Fire>. They chatted about everything under the sun, and Director He even inadvertently revealed some industry secrets.

As the meal concluded, Ran Lin, substituting tea for wine, toasted Director He.

Director He rarely accepted such gestures, so he obliged and included Gu Jie in the toast.

The three teacups clinked together—

“See you in April!”

April was still far off, but January was just around the corner. Back in Beijing not long after, Ran Lin, having just transformed from a disheveled youth back into a clean and tidy male artist, began shooting the film version of <Chronicles of Winter>.


Kinky Thoughts:

I totally ship Gu Jie x Xia Xinran… Preferably with Gu Jie being the shou. I can imagine he’d be a great power bottom… though Xia Xinran could too TBH.


<<< || Table of Contents || >>>

Suddenly Trending Ch73

Author: 颜凉雨 / Yan Liang Yu

Translator: Kinky || https://kinkytranslations.com/


Chapter 73

Wuhan in December was a couple of degrees warmer than Beijing in early November.

But that was just a comparison of temperature readings. In reality, Wuhan felt colder, especially when sitting still indoors, where the damp chill was more pronounced.

The room rented by the film crew lacked heating equipment, featuring only an air unit in the living room. Even running all day, its heating effectiveness was limited and made the air extremely dry. However, without it, Ran Lin found himself needing to pace around the room periodically to ward off the cold that seemed to freeze his limbs.

In contrast, Gu Jie was faring much better. While Ran Lin was wrapped in a blanket on the sofa reading the script, Gu Jie would be working out on the spot with his own equipment, doing dumbbell exercises or push-ups on stands—these were just the basics. He also had various other equipment that Ran Lin couldn’t name, and it seemed Gu Jie could effortlessly add more complex routines like balancing on balls or practicing with aerial silk.

Finally breaking a sweat, Gu Jie stood up and grabbed a towel to wipe his face, casting a dissatisfied glance at his companion cocooned on the sofa. “You should exercise too,” he said. “That’s how the body works: the more you move, the more your blood flows; the more your blood flows, the less cold you feel.”

Ran Lin thoughtfully put down his script and asked, “If it were Di Jiangtao, what would he do at home in such a winter?”

“Order takeout, watch TV, daydream, or wallow in self-pity…” Gu Jie grimaced, slinging the towel over his shoulder. “Definitely not exercising to strengthen his body.”

“So…” Ran Lin picked up the script and showed it to Gu Jie. “I am making progress, aren’t I?”

“Why don’t you read the <Dyeing Fire> script instead?” Gu Jie came over, exasperated, and flipped through the pages of the script in Ran Lin’s hands, frowning. “<The Legend of Lantern Blossoms>… What were you thinking when you took this role?”

“The pay is high,” Ran Lin replied honestly.

Gu Jie looked at him incredulously. “So you plan to make up for the lost salary from <Dyeing Fire> with this drama?”

Sighing, Ran Lin shrugged. “It’s not what I planned. It’s what the company plans.”

“You should start your own studio,” Gu Jie casually suggested as he handed the script back to Ran Lin. “Many are doing it nowadays. Be your own boss, no one to manage you, and no commissions taken away.”

“Why don’t you start one?” Ran Lin asked, puzzled, remembering that Gu Jie was still under a management company.

“I’m basically doing the same as owning a studio,” Gu Jie said. “My agent is the boss himself, so he usually gives me professional advice, but whether I take it or not is my decision. If I have ideas, I directly discuss them with him, and he tries his best to support me. We have a pleasant cooperation with no reason to change. Plus, running a studio involves a lot of headaches. Just thinking about it makes my head hurt.”

Ran Lin slumped back onto the sofa, covered in his blanket, and sighed lightly. “I don’t want to deal with all that hassle either. I just want to focus on acting.”

“Speaking of which.” Gu Jie seemed to remember something and moved to the end of the sofa, pushing Ran Lin’s blanket-covered feet inward before sitting down. “We haven’t really practiced acting together, have we?”

It took Ran Lin a great deal of effort to extract his legs, wrapped in the blanket, from the tight space between Gu Jie’s back and the sofa. Sitting up, he said, “It seems we really haven’t…”

The decision to cast him as Di Jiangtao was made over a meal without any audition process. So, he and Gu Jie hadn’t really had a formal acting confrontation.

“Want to give it a try?” Gu Jie’s eyes sparkled with excitement.

Ran Lin swallowed nervously. “Then… let’s give it a try?”

Despite the seemingly unserious phrasing of the suggestion, they were both earnest and professional young men. Besides professionalism, there was also a curiosity about each other’s acting abilities.

Having lived together for a month, Ran Lin and Gu Jie’s friendship had evolved from the pleasant interactions on the Drifting Stories to a deeper understanding of each other. Gu Jie knew Ran Lin needed eight alarms to wake up, as he was tormented by them through the wall every morning. Ran Lin knew Gu Jie needed to exercise morning and evening, sometimes even adding a midday session. Their camaraderie, except for not discussing each other’s romantic lives, left no stone unturned.

As for the romantic aspect…

Ran Lin didn’t know if Gu Jie had a girlfriend—although he tended to think not, lately Gu Jie had indeed been on his phone quite frequently.

Gu Jie didn’t know if Ran Lin had a significant other—although he leaned towards yes, except for the faint talking sounds from next door at night, which Ran Lin deliberately kept low, making it unclear who he was talking to or whether it was sweet nothings.

Fortunately, neither was particularly curious about this aspect of the other’s life. What was more pressing was that they hadn’t really acted together, which was quite unusual.

As soon as he said it, Ran Lin threw off his blanket and ran back to his bedroom to fetch the <Dyeing Fire> script, with Gu Jie doing the same. Eventually, they met in the living room, choosing a scene from the beginning of the story where Xiao Gu suspects Di Jiangtao of surveilling a snack shop owner and visits under the pretext of surveying the neighborhood.

For about half an hour, the living room was silent.

No one spoke. Each occupied a corner, pondering their parts, memorizing their lines.

The scene was set in summer, with humid and stifling air. As he read, Ran Lin miraculously stopped feeling cold and instead felt sticky all over, as if he were indeed blocked by unevaporable sweat in every pore.

Knowing his lines by heart, Ran Lin put down the script and unconsciously stood up, drifting to the window. Through the thick layer of dust on the glass, he couldn’t see anything clearly.

He naturally opened the window. Cold air rushed onto his face, but he felt nothing. Instead, he leaned his forearms on the windowsill, relaxed his shoulders, and let his upper body rest on the ledge—the posture of someone peering out the window.

But he wasn’t looking at the sky; he was looking down at the street.

Without the blurry interference of dusty glass, his view was clear, and he could see everything below.

The seemingly kind and approachable snack shop owner seemed odd in Di Jiangtao’s eyes. He chatted warmly with everyone who came into the shop, whether old residents or new tenants, seemingly as amiable as a community elder.

But something was off.

The snack shop owner was only around thirty, and though his unkempt appearance made him look older than his years, his eyes were those of a young man. They were warm on the surface but held a coldness underneath, and behind his mundane façade was a persistent gaze.

Having seen too many eyes in prison, Di Jiangtao learned to gauge whether a person was approachable or to be avoided just by looking into their eyes. This insight saved him from a lot of trouble.

Now, the snack shop owner’s eyes reminded him of the most ruthless criminals he had seen in prison. Di Jiangtao knew it sounded crazy, so he didn’t intend to convict someone just on a pair of eyes or a gut feeling.

He wasn’t keen on dealing with the police again. He was just intrigued by something interesting amidst his otherwise bleak and hopeless days, and he wanted to follow it through to some conclusion.

The outcome might be right or wrong, end in nothing, or be shockingly unconventional—it didn’t matter.

He needed something to distract himself, to pass the time, and to momentarily forget the estrangement with his family and his alienation from society.

That Lao Zhang came to buy cigarettes again. He was a regular resident who purchased a pack every other day and occasionally some liquor. His life was mundane and predictable.

But the snack shop owner would always step out after he left, pacing casually in front of the shop, seemingly uninterestedly watching his departing figure. If Lao Zhang walked slowly, the shop owner might even manage to watch his back disappear into the distance.

Weird, very weird…

“What are you looking at?”

A sudden, unfamiliar voice came from behind.

Di Jiangtao turned around in shock, meeting the face of Xiao Gu, who was standing at the door in a police uniform.

Di Jiangtao knew this young cop, about the same age as himself, who clumsily bustled around the urban villages…

“How did you open the door?” Di Jiangtao asked with a hostile tone.

Xiao Gu stood immobile at the doorway, not stepping past the threshold, showing a smile typical of a community officer.

“Your door was open. I saw it as I passed and thought to remind you.”

Di Jiangtao relaxed a bit but still felt uneasy. “Is… something wrong in the building?”

He reasoned that the police wouldn’t show up without cause. If they appeared, something must have happened. Xiao Gu was ready with an answer. “There’s been an incident, so I wanted to check with the residents. May I come in and talk?”

“Of course,” Di Jiangtao replied readily, but he didn’t move any closer, still standing by the window as if the distance gave him a sense of security. “Please come in.”

When Gu Jie started speaking his lines, he often felt out of character, but when Ran Lin, who was leaning against the windowsill, turned around, his face seemed to transform in the dim light. It no longer belonged to Ran Lin but to a gloomy, suspicious youth just out of prison, and Gu Jie slowly got into the feeling.

By the time he walked into the living room, he was fully the ambitious young cop, Xiao Gu.

“Do you like to watch outside from the window?” he asked, sitting on the sofa, pulling out a pen and notebook, looking all business.

“Bored, just looking.” Di Jiangtao pulled a smile, a cold one.

Xiao Gu nodded casually. “What did you see then?”

Di Jiangtao didn’t sit but stood by the sofa, leaning on its backrest. His voice was tired and somewhat defiant. “Uncle Officer…” he deliberately emphasized the word ‘officer’. “Which day are you asking about?”

Xiao Gu raised an eyebrow, sizing him up. “From what you say, it sounds like you see something exciting every day?”

Di Jiangtao truly laughed this time. “I…”

Ding dong.

Ran Lin’s line was abruptly cut off by the notification tone of a phone.

Ding dong.

Ding dong.

Ding dong.

The high-frequency ringtone obviously wasn’t going to let him continue.

Ran Lin sighed and glanced at Gu Jie’s phone on the coffee table. Just as his eyes swept over the lit screen, the phone was swiftly snatched away.

Ran Lin was startled by Gu Jie’s action. He hadn’t intended to pry into who was breaking the atmosphere; after all, it was Gu Jie’s phone, so that was his private matter. But Gu Jie’s haste seemed all too telling.

“Girlfriend?” Ran Lin was already out of character. He was no longer the dejected youth Di Jiangtao but the gossiping young Ran Lin.

Gu Jie almost reflexively rolled his eyes. “How could that be.”

Ran Lin frowned. Gu Jie wasn’t good at lying, so his reaction seemed genuine, but that made it all the more suspicious. “Then why are you so nervous?”

Gu Jie hesitated, looking at him for a long while as if searching for the right words, wanting to give a convincing yet elegant explanation…

Ran Lin waited, beginning to feel anxious for Gu Jie, thinking he should just say something, anything, as it would be seen through anyway…

“People,” Gu Jie finally said, “need to have their little secrets, right?”

“…” The most advanced defense in the world is the truth.

In the face of such an honest defense, Ran Lin suddenly felt ashamed of his underhanded curiosity against his partner’s upright aura.

“Fine, keep your little secrets.” Ran Lin went back to his room to put on a jacket and then to the entrance to change his shoes. “I’m going to buy some lunch. What do you want?”

Gu Jie looked at his phone; it was indeed lunchtime. Although he felt a bit guilty for “hiding” something, he was relieved his partner didn’t press further, sparing him from more fabrications.

“Anything’s fine.” Gu Jie wasn’t picky about food.

Ran Lin nodded, slipped on rubber-soled slippers, and left the apartment.

His first stop was the snack shop. From their apartment, one could only see the bicycle shed below. One had to exit the building and turn the corner to see the snack shop.

And the snack shop owner wasn’t the thirty-year-old man from <Dyeing Fire> but an actual kind and friendly aunt.

“Still two bottles of mineral water?” The auntie had already figured out the young man’s routine. He’d come around every day and just buy two bottles of water, which was quite memorable.

Ran Lin, caught off guard by the auntie’s prompt response, deliberately held up four fingers. “Today, I’ll take four.”

The auntie could tell from his accent that the young man was from out of town, but he looked clean and handsome with a polite demeanor, so she quite liked him.

As the auntie fetched the water, Ran Lin looked around the small store. Despite the dim lighting, cramped space, and dusty shelves, the shop was well stocked with an assortment of snacks, groceries, and daily necessities.

Just as the auntie returned with the water, two teenage boys, around seventeen or eighteen, entered. With dyed hair and delicate features, one bought a drink and the other cigarettes.

They didn’t recognize Ran Lin, but he recognized them—they were apprentices from the nearby “Listine Beauty Salon”. Despite its fancy foreign name, it was just a typical, down-to-earth barbershop.

Ran Lin had become thoroughly familiar with this urban village, knowing details as specific as which sewer wells were clear and which were perennially blocked. Perhaps due to his unkempt appearance or lower-than-expected fame, during his month-long stay, no one recognized him. Only once, while buying duck necks, a girl remarked that he looked somewhat like a celebrity… What was his name again?

Ran Lin seriously helped her recall, suggesting, “Lu Yiyao?”

The girl immediately shook her head, declaring that “God Lu” was much handsomer than him!

Recognizing “God Lu” as an insider term, Ran Lin quickly grabbed his duck neck and left before being identified as the one “leeching off the fame”.

After purchasing the mineral water, Ran Lin entered a small restaurant, ordering a vegetarian dish, a braised Wuchang fish, and three servings of rice. The midday sun was warm, even warmer outside than inside. But as soon as he entered the building, the chilly air hit him. The close proximity of the buildings meant the hallways were permanently deprived of sunlight. The fourth floor, where they lived, wasn’t much better. Apart from the living room, where one could peer out, the windows in both bedrooms only offered a view of the neighboring building’s balcony railings—so close one could reach out and touch the steel bars and see everything on the other balcony. Thus, he rarely dared to open the curtains, maintaining a semblance of privacy between neighbors.

Arriving at the fourth-floor security door, Ran Lin knocked, not having brought his keys. Gu Jie opened the door swiftly, convincing Ran Lin he’d already dealt with his “private matter”.

The TV was on in the living room. As Ran Lin entered, he initially paid no attention to it until he heard a very familiar line.

“From now on, you and I will have such swords together.”

Ran Lin felt embarrassed as he handed the bag of takeout to Gu Jie, while taking off his cotton slippers and switching to indoor ones. “Why are you watching <Sword of Fallen Flowers>?”

“It was on when I flipped through channels,” Gu Jie replied as he arranged the food on the coffee table. “Actually, I haven’t watched it yet.”

Ran Lin understood. He usually didn’t watch much TV either, unless studying performances by seasoned actors. Otherwise, he preferred classic films, especially considering the limited free time artists have.

Seeing that Gu Jie hadn’t watched it before, Ran Lin immediately offered, “Do you want a brief introduction to the backstory?”

Without hesitation, Gu Jie shook his head. “I can follow along and understand the plot instantly.”

Ran Lin was impressed. “Impressive.”

Gu Jie looked at him seriously, stating, “It’s because you all performed well.”

Ran Lin was taken aback, the praise coming so unexpectedly that he was completely unguarded, and his heart immediately began to dance with joy.

Gu Jie actually wanted to compliment him further, as the characters Fang Xian and Di Jiangtao felt entirely different to him, and he couldn’t reconcile them as the same person despite them having the same face. But seeing Ran Lin’s reaction, he worried that more praise might make his friend overly elated, so he swallowed the rest of his words.

So, the two of them finished their lunch while watching <Sword of Fallen Flowers>. They had a silent understanding of each other’s preferences—Ran Lin ate one portion of rice, while Gu Jie ate two, a harmony developed over their time living together.

After lunch, they wandered around the apartment to digest their meal. When they felt ready, they picked up their earlier interrupted scene and went through it again.

This time, no interruptions occurred, and the two got more and more into the act, continuing until dusk fell and the lights came on.

Then, a rapid knock on the door sounded.

The first knock came just as Ran Lin was in the midst of a roar. In the scene, Xiao Gu and Di Jiangtao had temporarily allied, agreeing to suspect the snack shop owner. Di Jiangtao would act as a grassroots informant, reporting the owner’s activities. But they had barely begun collaborating when a fierce argument erupted.

Just as Ran Lin was halfway through his line, the knocking started, but he couldn’t stop mid-sentence and had to finish, causing the knocking to grow more urgent, matching the argumentative atmosphere inside.

Unable to detach from Di Jiangtao’s emotions, Ran Lin instinctively yelled, “Who is it—”

The knocking abruptly stopped.

Ran Lin startled himself, initially annoyed because the visitor could only be the director. But instead of being polite, he yelled…

The knocking turned into banging, becoming increasingly intense as if challenging him to shout again.

Ran Lin, frustrated and seeing Gu Jie frozen in place, went to open the door himself.

“I’m coming, I’m coming…” His tone softened, despite his internal complaints, out of respect for the director.

Click.

The lock clicked open, and Ran Lin pushed the door ajar. Suddenly, a hand reached in and yanked it open, and before Ran Lin could see clearly, a dark figure pounced on him—

“Surprise!”

Ran Lin staggered backward, nearly losing his balance, but was caught by someone’s arm, stabilizing him. Then, holding onto Xia Xinran, he looked over the beauty’s shoulder to meet eyes with the “arm’s owner” standing behind him.

Lu Yiyao wore a gray jacket, his hair unstyled with a bit of a disheveled fringe, which, along with the weight he hadn’t fully regained, left his face looking thinner. This made him lack the usual dashing “God Lu” persona. If he intentionally kept his head down, using his fringe to cover his eyes, even on the street, only his true fans would recognize him.

Clearly, to come here inconspicuously, the typically appearance-conscious lover had thrown caution to the wind. But to Ran Lin, it didn’t matter. Whether Lu Yiyao was fat or thin, energetic or gloomy, he liked him all the same and thought he was chaotically handsome…

“I know what you’re thinking.” Xia Xinran lifted his head from his friend’s embrace with a pitiable look. “But for the sake of my enthusiasm, shouldn’t you at least reward me with a glance?”

“I’ve told you before.” Gu Jie, who was slow to react, sauntered to the entryway and sighed at Xia Xinran. “That your kind of enthusiasm doesn’t fit our reserved Eastern culture.”

Ran Lin was surprised by Gu Jie’s reaction, barely managing to pull back a bit of sense from the shock of seeing his lover. Just as he was about to turn and ask, he heard Gu Jie greeting Lu Yiyao. “Long time no see.”

Lu Yiyao also smiled back at Gu Jie. “All well, I hope.”

Ran Lin, embracing the friend hanging on him, was utterly baffled. Why did everyone seem so natural, and he was the only one out of the loop?

Before Ran Lin could ask, Lu Yiyao grabbed Xia Xinran first, prying him off Ran Lin’s body. “That’s enough of that.”

Xia Xinran pouted, clearly reluctant, but considering it was in front of the actual partner, he refrained from making a fuss.

Feeling the sudden weight reduction, Ran Lin finally found the opportunity to speak. “What brings you guys here?”

Xia Xinran obediently stepped aside, gesturing with his eyes to Lu Yiyao—Your turn to perform.

But Lu Yiyao simply smiled and passed the look to Gu Jie—Good brother.

Gu Jie, ever the loyal friend, promptly clapped Ran Lin’s shoulder. “Surprise visit, isn’t it obvious?”

Ran Lin, unsure, looked at Gu Jie. “So you knew all along?”

He suddenly realized, “Was that daytime WeChat from Xia Xinran?”

The frequency of the “ding-dong” messages, sending several in a row, was unmistakably “The Xia’s family style”.

“I know you guys are close,” Gu Jie admitted freely, “so when Xia Xinran said Lu Yiyao wanted to surprise you, as a friend, of course, I had to help.”

Ran Lin swallowed hard, cautiously confirming. “Xia Xinran told you, this is a surprise from Lu Yiyao for me?”

“Actually, even if he hadn’t said, I would have known,” Gu Jie said with a face full of “you can’t hide anything from me” confidence. “Dressing up and making a special trip here for a surprise visit is something only hardworking Teacher Lu would do. This is a real friendship, quite rare indeed!”

Ran Lin: “……”

Looking at the innocent-faced Gu Jie, Ran Lin really wanted to pat his friend’s shoulder and respond with an affirmative, “You’re quite something, too.”

With mixed feelings, he redirected his gaze back to Lu Yiyao and Xia Xinran—You guys aren’t feeling guilty for deceiving Gu Jie like this!

Xia Xinran raised an eyebrow—We’re not deceiving. It’s indeed a surprise from Lu Yiyao.

Lu Yiyao’s eyes twinkled—I missed you.

Ran Lin: “……”

Alright, he conceded.

“Don’t all stand here. Come on in—” Gu Jie, not understanding why the conversation had halted, quickly ushered them.

Ran Lin looked at Gu Jie, vowing to be even kinder to his friend from now on.

Since entering, Lu Yiyao’s eyes hadn’t left Ran Lin. It had been too long since he’d seen Ran Lin in three dimensions, as he was used to the flatness of video calls. Now he couldn’t bear to look away, not for a second.

“Already diving into the script?” Xia Xinran noticed the script on the coffee table.

Gu Jie, while collecting both scripts, replied, “We were practicing lines.”

Xia Xinran wasn’t concerned about the “practicing” or “memorizing”, but he felt mixed about Gu Jie’s actions. “Are you that afraid of me seeing the script?”

Gu Jie had a solid reason. “The director said the script must absolutely not be leaked.”

Xia Xinran objected, “I’m not going to tell anyone. Can’t I even take a look?”

“If you really won’t tell anyone, actually, you could look.”

“Then why are you holding it so tight?”

“Because the actual situation doesn’t fit the ‘if’.”

“Do I look like I have a big mouth to you?”

“……”

“Your silence has wounded me.”

Xia Xinran and Gu Jie’s friendship always grew amidst their banter upon meeting, and Ran Lin was used to it by now.

As for Lu Yiyao, he hadn’t even heard the other two bickering…

“My confidentiality work isn’t too bad, right?” This was something Lu Yiyao was particularly proud of, especially recalling Ran Lin’s bewildered face when he first opened the door. He could savor that moment for a year.

Ran Lin looked at the person he’d been thinking of day and night, filled with surprise, yet his mouth couldn’t help but tease, “Was this a spontaneous idea, or did you plan it meticulously?”

“First spontaneous, then meticulously planned.” Lu Yiyao’s mouth curved upwards uncontrollably. “And you always said there’s a lot of good food here—better to taste it yourself.”

“How long will you stay?”

“Three days.”

“Didn’t get caught on the way here?”

“Xia Xinran got recognized, not me.”

“Normal. His face is too pretty.”

“While waiting for a taxi, he was ranting next to a hospital billboard with his face on it, complaining about infringement of his portrait rights, attracting onlookers.”

“……”

Having wrapped up his “courtesy” exchange with Gu Jie, Xia Xinran rolled his eyes massively in their direction. “Can’t you guys have a decent conversation when you meet? Don’t drag innocent bystanders into this.”

“Who’s innocent?” Ran Lin imagined the scene and felt a headache brewing. “Maybe tonight Weibo will have posts about you and an unidentified man out together.”

“Then we should strike first,” Xia Xinran suggested, pulling out his phone. “Time for a reunion photo of the Drifting Group!”

Ran Lin understood.

That was indeed a good strategy—nothing more positive than a gathering of four old friends.

Just as he was about to join Xia Xinran, Lu Yiyao said, “Wait a moment. I need to use the bathroom.”

After finishing speaking, his lover stood up from the sofa. Ran Lin quickly pointed in the direction. “It’s over there.”

Lu Yiyao nodded and hurried away.

“Why can’t you just take the photo and then go? How long does it take to snap a picture…” Xia Xinran grumbled but still took out a selfie stick from his bag, set up his phone, and started adjusting the angles on himself.

Five minutes later, everything was ready. Ran Lin, Xia Xinran, and Gu Jie squeezed together on the sofa, shoulder to shoulder, head against head, smiling at the camera above…

“I can’t anymore. My arm’s aching.” Xia Xinran could no longer hold up the selfie stick and put it down, turning his head towards the bathroom and shouting, “Teacher Lu, did you travel through time?”

Xia Xinran’s call seemed to work; before the echo faded, Lu Yiyao had already emerged from the bathroom. Then, Xia Xinran was stunned. “Holy…”

Ran Lin and Gu Jie, not understanding the reason, also turned their heads to look in the direction of the bathroom. Then, they were stunned. “What the…”

Lu Yiyao’s fringe had been combed back, revealing a clean forehead, making his whole face instantly bright and handsome. His hairstyle was neatly arranged with mousse, tidy yet dashing. His peach blossom eyes seemed more spirited than before, slightly squinting, enough to electrify the room. Even his somewhat thin cheeks no longer looked haggard but rather sharply defined and masculine.

In short, the man standing at the bathroom door was completely different from the one who had entered. Now, he shone like the brightest star, not even a backdrop of roses could distract from his dazzling presence…

“Is there mousse in the bathroom?” Gu Jie had a ton of questions, but the most pressing was this. After all, he and Ran Lin had been going barefaced, fully immersed in their characters. Aside from essential daily items, the bathroom only had toilet paper.

“No.” Lu Yiyao shook his head readily, ending with a smile. “I brought my own.”

Xia Xinran: “Eyeliner and foundation too?”

Lu Yiyao: “Absolutely not. I just washed my face.”

Gu Jie still couldn’t understand. “So why suddenly get all dolled up…”

Ran Lin patted Xia Xinran’s shoulder, crossing over him. “Idol’s burden. Try to understand.”

Gu Jie: “……”

At Xia Xinran’s “one, two, three,” all four smiled at the camera. Lu Yiyao, right next to Ran Lin, had the most charming smile, as if his eyes carried eight hundred million volts of electricity.

In the moment the photo was taken, Gu Jie finally accepted Ran Lin’s explanation. After all, Lu Yiyao was a popular star; a little idol’s burden was normal… but Lu Yiyao had gone to the bathroom, not a makeup room. How did he manage to completely refresh his appearance and aura in just a few minutes?

This wasn’t just washing his face; it was a complete makeover!

While Gu Jie was still shocked by Teacher Lu’s extraordinary skills, Xia Xinran had already posted the group photo on Weibo—[Winter gathering~~ 🐰]

He didn’t tag anyone, but the four faces in the photo were unmistakable.

Ran Lin retweeted with a laughing emoji.

Gu Jie retweeted with a clinking beer mugs emoji.

Lu Yiyao didn’t retweet but liked all three people’s posts.

Comments flooded in, especially under Xia Xinran’s post, where the conversation was most lively, with new comments popping up every few seconds.

The initial comments were all about—

[Ahhh, Xia Xia is so beautiful!]

[Licking the screen!]

[Who’s my husband? It’s so hard to choose…]

Until a sharp-eyed netizen noticed the truth—[Is it just me, or does it seem like only God Lu is wearing makeup and the others are barefaced?]

Immediately, God Lu’s fans came to reply, posting a photo of Lu Yiyao’s other barefaced selfies for comparison—[This is what God Lu looks like barefaced [photo]]

Then a veteran God Lu fan came to explain—[No matter the occasion or what photo he’s taking, God Lu is always serious. He always wants to present his best. It’s his obsession 😭.]

When Ran Lin scrolled to this comment, he felt like giving that fan a high five.

The three didn’t browse Weibo for too long before they set out into the night to find good food. Ran Lin led the way, Gu Jie acted as a bodyguard, and Lu Yiyao and Xia Xinran followed obediently like two tourists.

They were unaware that while they were out eating, the direction of the conversation on Weibo had shifted briefly.

It started with just a few people asking—[The Drifting Group reunited, but why isn’t Zhang Beichen there?]

Then Zhang Beichen’s fans explained—[He entered a new drama set for <Mint Green> a week ago.]

Just as the discussion was about to heat up, Zhang Beichen retweeted Xia Xinran’s post from Gu Jie—[Missing one 😭]

Thus, the voices questioning why Zhang Beichen wasn’t included died down. Even though some questioned why the other four didn’t respond to him, since they hadn’t interacted much after the initial retweets and likes, these questions never really made a big impact.

They also didn’t know that in a villa in the capital, a girl who had seen her brother’s liked Weibo post was now meticulously studying the group photo—

In the photo, her brother and Gu Jie were on opposite ends, with Ran Lin and Xia Xinran in between. The farther apart they were, the more suspicious it seemed. Truly innocent relationships, like her brother’s and Ran Lin’s, would be close together, with no avoidance.

More importantly, some girls commented that they had seen Xia Xinran waiting for a taxi in Wuhan that day, deducing that the gathering was in Wuhan. Fans also provided information that neither Lu Yiyao nor Xia Xinran had recent activities scheduled in Wuhan. Instead, it was Gu Jie and Ran Lin who were supposedly experiencing life in Wuhan for their upcoming movie <Dyeing Fire>.

Putting all the clues together led to the conclusion—her brother had specially gone to visit the set. Knowing him for many years, she had never seen him make such an effort to visit a colleague’s set. Saying there was nothing unusual between him and Gu Jie, who would believe that!

Although Lu Yimeng had long suspected that her brother’s many years of not having a serious girlfriend might not be for a simple reason, when the suspicion became a reality, her feelings were quite complex.

Haa, being too accurate with her sixth sense was quite sorrowful indeed.

……

Whether it’s the undercurrents in the online world or the worries of a sister in a capital villa, the “Foodie Four” were oblivious.

Ran Lin led the “newcomers” through an entire street of delicacies, and by the time they returned to their residence, all four felt a bit heavier in body.

The hallway light had been broken for a long time, unrepaired, so at night it was pitch black.

“Gu Jie, walk slower…” Xia Xinran cautiously illuminated the path with his phone’s flashlight, stepping carefully up each stair, feeling an eerie chill from unknown corners.

Ran Lin followed behind Xia Xinran, quite relaxed, as he had become accustomed to it after living there for over a month. However, Lu Yiyao at the back might not have been so at ease. Considering this, Ran Lin looked back and said, “Watch your…”

His words were halted mid-sentence by the warmth transmitted through their hands.

“…steps.”

Ran Lin finally finished his sentence, then pursed his lips and fell silent, but his hand moved, changing from being held to intertwining fingers.

The moment their fingers locked, Lu Yiyao gripped tightly. Ran Lin felt a bit of pain from the grip, but along with the pain, there seemed to be something else.

In the pitch-black hallway, no one could see each other’s faces. But the strength and warmth of the hand were very real.

It was less like holding hands and more like an embrace, a kiss—everything lovers could do. The long-suppressed longing, once released, was like this—first a slight pain, then slowly, it became sweet.


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