IBKAWB Chapter 44

**Chapter 44: The Flu**

Re-translated by: Namizaki

****************************

Lu Yuzhou scrolled down the page, his eyes scanning the lines. The more he read, the more he felt something was off. By the halfway point, Prince Yu and the Young General were… rolling around together.

And not just in the literal sense.

Lu Yuzhou initially glanced over the passage without fully registering it. After scrolling down a few more lines, the realization finally dawned on him.

His mind went blank for a moment, but his fingers reacted faster than his brain, swiftly closing the tab.

He instinctively pictured Chi Zhongqiao and Xu Xingzhou’s faces, and a sudden chill ran through him, accompanied by an inexplicable anger. Perhaps it was because Chi Zhongqiao had no romantic interest and always stayed by his side, giving Lu Yuzhou the illusion that Chi Zhongqiao belonged solely to him. Seeing this utter nonsense immediately felt like a violation.

Lu Yuzhou recalled a day when Chi Zhongqiao, after browsing fan groups, had slumped on the sofa and sighed, “These girls really have no standards. They’re practically… anything goes. They’ll devour any kind of trash.”

Only now did Lu Yuzhou fully grasp what Chi Zhongqiao meant by “any kind of trash.”

Brother Qiao was right—young girls were truly terrifying creatures.

After sitting quietly to calm himself for a while, Lu Yuzhou chuckled wryly. He pressed the base of the crystal ball on his desk, and a cheerful piano melody filled the room.

I’ve really been losing my composure lately.

Lu Yuzhou tapped the crystal ball, as if scolding someone: “Heartless little rascal.”

**********

Chi Zhongqiao’s fans received a voice message later that day, simultaneously with [Wild Ferry Crossing] tagging all members.

The fans plugged in their headphones and listened to the short, ten-second message dozens of times, until they could recite it word for word even with their eyes closed.

So what if it’s a terrible film? they thought. We’ll accept it. After all, we’re stanning such a precious darling.

That night, the official account for <Campus Prince and Campus Belle> was besieged by a row of fiercely protective “mother fans.” Director Ji Shan, browsing the comments on the first night of filming, was so startled by the swarm of overprotective fans that he practically leaped out of bed.

The official account remained largely inactive. With filming just beginning and little buzz around the project, it mostly posted photos of the cast and retreated into its shell like a quail, only occasionally venturing out to share promotional images.

The latest post featured Chi Zhongqiao and the female lead rehearsing their lines. Both young leads radiated youthful energy even without makeup.

Yan Yiyun, also a newcomer, had starred in only one drama series, which had recently concluded its run. While it hadn’t made a huge splash, her beauty, acting skills, and unique style had steadily built her a loyal fanbase.

True overnight success stories are rare. Most actors gradually accumulate experience and recognition, waiting for the perfect moment when their skills and opportunity align, leading to what the public perceives as a “breakthrough.” Yan Yiyun, like many others, was steadily building her reputation, carefully selecting roles and scripts, and patiently awaiting the “chance” that would catapult her to stardom.

Below the second male lead, who had a small following, the rest of the cast were newcomers, and even the Director was someone no one had ever heard of.

This was even worse than the production of <Empress of the World>. Before filming began, besides Xu Xingzhou and Yan Cheng being at the peak of their popularity, the project was also an adaptation of a well-established IP with a dedicated fanbase.

Chi Zhongqiao’s fans meticulously combed through the cast list, some even creating detailed spreadsheets. In the end, they had to admit one thing: Their Qiao Bao was actually the biggest star in the entire production.

Sun Qi, ever the reassuring mother hen, comforted the fans whose maternal instincts had nowhere to go: “Look on the bright side, this means no one can bully our Qiao Bao!”

Well, that was a small consolation.

These fans, brimming with misplaced maternal affection, quietly camped beneath the official account. Though their hearts were full of nitpicking, they swallowed their complaints for Chi Zhongqiao’s sake.

Thanks to the influx of Chi Zhongqiao’s fans, the official account’s follower count skyrocketed, multiplying several times over.

Ji Shan was stunned by the surge in followers and comments. He had directed numerous films, but none had ever generated such buzz before their release.

This gave Ji Shan a whole new understanding of Chi Zhongqiao’s “fame.”

While many artists experience fleeting bursts of popularity, few retain such unwavering fan loyalty even after prolonged periods without new work.

On the second day of filming, the second male lead, who had been shooting another project, finally joined the set.

“Hello, Brother Qiao.”

The actor playing the second male lead was also a Zhaohui artist named Guo Zhou. At twenty-three years old, he had signed with the agency at nineteen. Though still not a household name, he had a dedicated group of quiet fans and was known for his hard work, making him one of Zhaohui’s more successful talents.

Guo Zhou had more scenes with Chi Zhongqiao than Chi Zhongqiao had with Yan Yiyun. Chi Zhongqiao greeted him with a slight smile. “Have a seat.”

“Sure thing.”

Holding his script, Guo Zhou said, “Brother Qiao, I’m here to rehearse our scenes.”

<Campus Prince and Campus Belle> was a peculiar film. While both the male and female leads had substantial screen time, their interactions were fewer than those between the male lead and the second male lead, or between the female lead and the second female lead. Yet, it wasn’t deliberately trying to sell “bromance.” Rather, the scriptwriter seemed to have completely overlooked romantic elements, focusing instead on portraying friendship throughout the story.

It was a tale of high school seniors, their friendships fueled by youthful naivety and impulsive fervor.

Chi Zhongqiao’s first scene of the day was particularly amusing: The male lead, second male lead, and female lead scaling the school wall to visit the second female lead.

This scene was packed with lines and jokes, requiring the actors to maintain strict control over their facial expressions. All three actors repeatedly rehearsed their lines silently. Chi Zhongqiao, a highly professional actor, rarely broke character unless he genuinely couldn’t help it.

Yan Yiyun, however, with her exceptionally low tolerance for humor, struggled. Chi Zhongqiao overheard her burst into laughter four or five times just while memorizing her lines. Fortunately, she managed to regain her composure before filming began.

When the cameras rolled, Ji Shan simply reminded them to be careful and waved them on. He then observed the actors’ performances through the monitor.

Yesterday had been primarily for the opening ceremony and warming up the cast. Today marked the start of serious filming.

**Scene:**

Inside the schoolyard, Chi Zhongqiao, playing the Campus Prince, and Guo Zhou, as the second male lead Li Dou, stood beside the Campus Belle, who was rubbing her hands together eagerly.

Li Dou and the Campus Prince clasped hands, raising them to waist height.

Li Dou said anxiously, “Slow down, don’t fall.”

Yan Yiyun, as the Campus Belle, zipped up her uniform jacket. “Don’t worry.”

She took several steps back, gained momentum with a short run-up, and stepped onto the actors’ clasped hands. Using their support, she grabbed onto the top of the wall and pulled herself up.

The two students acting as the human bench below simultaneously sighed in relief, ready to hoist the Campus Belle over the wall. Suddenly, she cried out, “Hurry, hurry, hurry, hurry—!”

“Hurry up?” The Campus Prince asked.

The Campus Belle was on the verge of tears. “Hurry down!”

“Do you need to use the restroom?” The Campus Prince asked, ever straightforward.

“We’re all doomed!” The Campus Belle wailed.

The Campus Prince’s keen sixth sense detected something amiss. He and Li Dou looked up to see another head appear over the wall.

First, a half-bald crown, then a familiar, kindly smiling face—the Principal.

Perched on the wall, the Principal beamed. “Good afternoon, students! Where are you off to?”

Facing the Principal directly, the Campus Belle forced a stiff smile. “Hi~”

The Campus Prince, his hands occupied supporting the Campus Belle, couldn’t move. Behind his black-framed glasses, his lashes didn’t even flicker as he nodded politely to the Principal. “Good afternoon, Principal.”

Li Dou: “…Mom! I’m done hanging out with these guys!”

After filming the scene, Ji Shan called for a cut. He reviewed the footage, found no issues, and waved his hand. “Pass.”

After all, for a comedy, laughter was king.

The filming of <Campus Prince and Campus Belle> progressed rapidly. The film itself was lighthearted and cheerful, and aside from a few necessary emotional scenes, even the inexperienced newcomers could handle their roles with passable acting skills.

After all, the script was well-written, and everyone genuinely enjoyed performing their parts.

With the film set’s positive atmosphere and the lack of mentally taxing scenes, Chi Zhongqiao found time to delve into his character for <April in the Human World>.

This character was a painter born mute, who had endured relentless bullying and mockery from his peers during childhood due to his inability to speak. Unlike the Campus Prince, who was a natural-born winner, the painter had always been a pitiable figure.

Yet the workload was still exhausting. While <April in the Human World> leaned toward a warm, healing tone, it stood in stark contrast to the slapstick comedy of <Campus Prince and Campus Belle>. By day, Chi Zhongqiao played the Campus Prince; by night, he transformed into the painter at home. Juggling two distinct roles without letting them bleed into each other left him mentally drained.

Chi Zhongqiao maintained this split persona until he filmed the final scene of <Campus Prince and Campus Belle>. After a celebratory dinner with the crew, he drowsily climbed into Lu Yuzhou’s car.

Lu Yuzhou lowered the partition. Chi Zhongqiao had drunk some wine and spent over an hour in the hotel’s air-conditioned room. Before they even left, a headache began to throb in his temples.

When Chi Zhongqiao was in pain, he never complained. He would simply curl up somewhere, letting out a soft whimper or two when the pain became unbearable, a sound that twisted Lu Yuzhou’s heart.

“Brother Qiao, lean on me.”

As soon as Lu Yuzhou got into the car, he saw Chi Zhongqiao’s forehead pressed against the window, his brow furrowed. Lu Yuzhou’s own brow furrowed in response.

Chi Zhongqiao’s temples throbbed, his mind foggy. Hearing Lu Yuzhou’s words, he silently leaned toward the warmth beside him.

“My head hurts,” Chi Zhongqiao murmured, his chin resting on Lu Yuzhou’s shoulder.

He pressed himself so close, as if the pain had drained all the strength from his body, leaving him limp and boneless, clinging to Lu Yuzhou.

Yet Lu Yuzhou felt no romantic thoughts. Chi Zhongqiao was like a part of his own heart, and every furrow of his brow seemed to crumple Lu Yuzhou’s own heart, lungs, and viscera into a tight knot.

Pressing closer, Lu Yuzhou whispered, “Should I call the Doctor?”

Chi Zhongqiao’s headache made him reluctant to move anything above his neck. With great effort, he extended a hand, grasped one of Lu Yuzhou’s fingers, and gave it a small up-and-down wiggle.

Yes.

Lu Yuzhou texted their Family Doctor, who was already waiting at the door when they arrived home.

Lu Yuzhou, leading the listless Chi Zhongqiao by the hand, opened the door with his free hand and nodded to the Doctor. “Sorry for the wait.”

The Doctor waved dismissively. “No problem at all. It’s only been a few minutes.”

Chi Zhongqiao, feeling nauseous from the alcohol and the long car ride, managed a weak nod to the Doctor before retreating inside to collapse on the sofa.

During the drive, his headache had escalated into a full-body ache.

Lu Yuzhou poured two glasses of hot water and gently patted Chi Zhongqiao’s back.

The Doctor, focused entirely on Chi Zhongqiao’s condition, seemed oblivious to the overly intimate dynamic between the two men.

“It’s likely the flu,” the Doctor concluded after asking about symptoms and taking Chi Zhongqiao’s temperature. “You have a slight fever. Take this medication, get some rest to bring the fever down, and let the flu run its course.”

There’s never been a truly effective cure for the common flu. Most people simply take flu medicine and wait for it to clear up on its own.

The Doctor added, “Spring is like this. There’s not much you can do. Just make sure to get plenty of vitamins to speed up recovery.”

He prescribed two boxes of medication, then shouldered his medical bag and left.

All the medications were to be taken after meals. Lu Yuzhou’s fingers traced down Chi Zhongqiao’s spine. “Brother Qiao, are you hungry?” Although they had eaten at the hotel, the wrap party had mostly been about socializing, with little actual food consumed.

Chi Zhongqiao felt a bit nauseous, but he was indeed hungry. “I want some soup.”

Since Chi Zhongqiao’s filming wrapped up today, Lu Yuzhou had prepared soup at home early in the morning. Now, he just warmed it up and ladled some into a bowl.

Chi Zhongqiao took two sips from Lu Yuzhou’s hand and ate a piece of sparerib before pushing Lu Yuzhou’s hand away, refusing to open his mouth any further.

Lu Yuzhou set down the bowl and measured out the medication. “Brother Qiao, take your medicine.”

Chi Zhongqiao swallowed the pills whole, then mumbled groggily, “I want to…”

He stood up, stumbled over his own feet, and was barely caught by Lu Yuzhou.

Lu Yuzhou restrained himself from simply picking him up. “I’ll help you.”

Chi Zhongqiao leaned heavily against Lu Yuzhou, staring blankly at his profile.

The feverish patient’s mind drifted aimlessly, and a sudden thought surfaced: Li Xi, who gets to spend a lifetime with Yuzhou, must be so happy.