MACRM Chapter 49

T/L: Sorry for the sudden hiatus TT_TT work combined with con prep really got hands… but now I’m a free man, I’ll compensate with DOUBLE CHAPTERS for every update until the end of November!

Zhong Yao was an honored guest. The station director had personally given instructions that no matter what happened, they had to serve Zhong-laoshi, whose background was unclear, with full, all-around attentiveness.

So when the host heard the station director himself roaring in their earpiece, nervously interrupting Zhong Yao’s blunt bragging about his own manager, dragging the show back on track and continuing the rundown, it had already been five minutes.

“Keep him under control! If he dares mention his agent again, drag him off the stage!”

In the control room, the station director was livid, shouting into the mic, “Don’t give him any face. Make him behave! His agent is in my hands right now, he wouldn’t dare do anything to us!”

Lin Zhu couldn’t hold it in and burst into a string of coughs.

The station director turned around and glared at him.

Lin Zhu took two deep breaths, trying to stay serious, lifting his head with cheeks still flushed from being praised.

The director, furious and embarrassed: “No laughing! Hold it in!”

“I’m sorry… Director Lin¹just a note, Director Lin’s name is 蔺 lìn, while Lin Zhu is 林 lín. Completely different characters and tonal pronunciation…”

Lin Zhu couldn’t keep it together. He laughed so hard he had to rub his eyes, collapsing back onto the sofa, unable to stand. “I’ll go back… go back and tell our Zhong-laoshi to try to hold back next time, to cause less trouble for the editing team…”

The director’s eyes went round. Lin Zhu obediently corrected himself at once, “He’ll definitely hold back, and we won’t cause trouble for the team.”

“Good thing it’s a recorded show and we can edit. What if this were live? Wouldn’t your PR have to start searching which building to jump from?”

His attitude was sincerely apologetic, and with nowhere to vent his anger, the director grabbed a water bottle, chugged two mouthfuls, then sat down grinding his teeth. “Lao Wei even called me specially to tell me not to give him a chance to mention his agent. I can’t believe I didn’t stay alert…”

The director didn’t really use Weibo and didn’t know how battle-hardened Zhong Yao’s PR team was. His earlier worries vanished, and he frowned at Lin Zhu. “Tell your Zhong-laoshi to keep a low profile. In this industry, there are more people who enjoy schadenfreude than those who’ll laugh along… He’s not afraid of anything, but what if someone tries to poach you?”

“You’re right.” Lin Zhu didn’t dare provoke the old director again. He nodded politely and accepted the advice. “I’ll tell Zhong-laoshi later.”

“You say— uhh… never mind, you really can’t say it.”

The director remembered his situation and, anxious again, got up and paced a couple of steps. “After the recording, there’s always a meal. I’ll tell him myself. These years haven’t been easy for you either. Just stay good with him…”

The director was born to worry, and he’d seen Lin Zhu’s devotion from the very start. Seeing him doing well let one worry fall away, only for him to immediately start fretting about the future.

In this circle, wanting things to go well was incredibly hard.

A pairing between someone onstage and someone behind the scenes was even more exhausting and unstable; most of them ended up losing both love and money. After hesitating a long while, the director frowned and asked, “I haven’t asked you yet. Those cufflinks, did you really give them to him?”

Lin Zhu didn’t know what the director had imagined. He nodded blankly.

“I know your family’s rich, but you can’t spend like this.”

The director spoke earnestly. “People bribe through connections and gifts all the time, and I’ve scolded them for it. Those cufflinks cost over fifty thousand, right? You—”

“Thirty-something thousand,” Lin Zhu reminded him kindly. “Your station’s procurement department really needs to be reorganized. Want me to help?”

“No!” the director roared. “Stop changing the subject! All these years, how much have you poured into him? Has he ever given you anything? Listen to the voice of experience! Don’t act like some clueless kid. Even if the two of you really are together, you have to think for yourself. Don’t throw your whole fortune into him…”

Lin Zhu: “…”

He looked up at the split-screen monitor, remembering Zhong Yao earnestly showing off the cufflinks on camera, and the corners of his lips lifted.

“Director Lin, since you asked…”

Lin Zhu pointed at his clothes. “All of this was bought by Zhong-laoshi. Clozeya’s new season. The collaboration isn’t even confirmed yet, and he bought them at full price. This hoodie’s a bit over a thousand. I’ve got more than a dozen in my closet, plus a bunch of other styles.”

Young Master Lin had been raised in luxury for over a decade, always having whatever he wanted, and his parents and older brother always preparing anything he might need before he could even think of it. He had long forgotten what it felt like to brag about gifts. Since the director insisted, he could only patiently explain one by one.

“This is the key to Zhong-laoshi’s place. There’s a room inside for me. I can stay anytime.”

Lin Zhu pulled things out of his pocket, item by item, not the least bit impatient. “His bank card and password are with me. This is his personal seal. This is Jaeger-LeCoultre’s Tribute to Cinema limited edition. I can’t bear to wear it, so I use it like a pocket watch…”

He’d just finished emptying one pocket and was about to go for the other when the director stood up and stormed out, slamming the door.

…

The poor, innocent, wronged door kept trembling back and forth. Lin Zhu chuckled and unwrapped a candy.

His other pocket didn’t actually contain anything valuable, just candies and chocolates in different flavors, and a bunch of tiny, delicately packaged bite-sized pastries.

All chosen by Zhong Yao. Every morning he grabbed a few and stuffed them into Lin Zhu’s pocket. Now that Zhong Yao was making sure he ate properly, he rarely got low blood sugar from overworking, and had even fewer chances to need emergency sugar. He actually didn’t finish them most days, so they just piled up in his pocket without him noticing.

Good thing the old director had stormed off. If he’d taken them out and the director wanted some, he wouldn’t be willing to give them away…

The control room was small. The directors inside had been terrified by the station director’s outbursts, and once he finally left, they all let out a breath of relief. Their eyes inevitably drifted toward the poor manager who had been dragged into the scolding for no reason.

Lin Zhu didn’t mind. He held the candy in his mouth, lips curved, and looked up at the screen.

At twenty, there was still so little he could do, and his methods were all simple. He had been pushing forward according to plan, and if counted honestly, he had only been impulsive once.

From the initial conflict with Tianxing TV to later forcibly booking the entire studio and blocking most of the malicious reporters, the director had witnessed all of it firsthand. It wasn’t surprising he worried about all sorts of unlikely scenarios.

After today, the director would probably rest easy.

The show proceeded smoothly. After surviving that storm three years ago, Zhong Yao’s acting had only improved dramatically, and the applause as he entered the scene rose wave after wave.

Lin Zhu sucked on his candy and quietly breathed out in relief.

He wanted everyone to know just how good Zhong Yao was.

It was full of evenly matched battles. This episode of [Light and Shadow] became the longest one to record since filming began, and by the time they wrapped up, it was fully dark outside.

Lin Zhu stayed in the control room for a while to make sure everything was fine, then returned to the set and accompanied Zhong Yao until filming ended. He even ordered late-night snacks for the entire crew in Zhong Yao’s name. Everyone’s fear and awe faded quite a bit, and by the time they wrapped, the atmosphere had grown lively and warm.

Several well-known directors who were guests stayed to chat a bit more. One straightforward person even slapped a script into Zhong Yao’s hands to read. Zhong Yao’s mentor, though, was the one who seemed very interested in Lin Zhu and asked him many gentle questions.

As the saying goes: a teacher is like a father. As Zhong Yao’s proper elder, Lin Zhu treated him with great respect and answered every question carefully. By the time he helped the professor into his car, there was a fine sheen of sweat on his forehead.

“Why are you so nervous? Elder Zhang has a great temper. He doesn’t scold people.”

Zhong Yao had just chatted with a few fellow actors who’d come over to exchange thoughts, then walked toward him. He angled his body to block the wind from outside the door, leaned down and wiped the sweat from Lin Zhu’s forehead. “Tired? You must’ve been busier than me. I kept seeing you running back and forth offstage…”

“Not tired!” Lin Zhu had just been praised by the professor for acting well with Zhong Yao, and he was buzzing with excitement. “Do you want to talk more with those teachers? Today’s such a rare chance…”

“No rush. The production team said the station will invite everyone out for a casual meal in a few days. There’ll be time then.”

Zhong Yao smiled and ruffled his hair. “I’m a little tired. Let’s go home and get some sleep.”

After the adjustment in the show’s structure, the pacing was balanced. Zhong Yao had a good grasp of it and hadn’t used his full strength; from start to finish he felt no pressure. In the final voting speech, where he won easily, he nearly mentioned his agent again, but the host cut him off just in time.

Lin Zhu blinked, looked at Zhong Yao’s composed expression, and was about to speak, but Zhong Yao was already leading him to say goodbye to the crew and into the guests’ private greenroom corridor.

There was always some polite chatter offstage, and since not many people had left yet, the corridor was quiet. Before Canxing Entertainment’s PR stormed in for resource-grabbing, they’d left people guarding the area. The two of them got into the nanny van before the reporters outside even realized what was happening, and the car pulled onto the main road under the streetlights.

A spray of unwilling camera flashes chased the car’s tail lights. Lin Zhu faintly understood Zhong Yao’s intention. He twisted his body, wanting to look back, but Zhong Yao covered his eyes with one hand. “You weren’t offstage at the time… They said the cufflinks were pretty, and even swung the boom camera over. I was afraid people would notice, so I didn’t show it off too much…”

After the Mid-Autumn Festival, the weather cooled day by day, but Zhong Yao’s palm was still warm and dry. Covering Lin Zhu’s eyes like that, the warmth spread right to his chest.

Lin Zhu squinted in comfort, not telling him that the station director had already stormed off in fury over that so-called “low profile.” He curved his lips. “I’m not tired. Watching you on stage… I was really happy.”

Zhong Yao’s hand paused for a moment, then he lifted it and smiled. “Really not tired?”

It had been so long since Lin Zhu had seen him shine so freely on stage. The excitement in him hadn’t faded at all. He shook his head energetically.

“Then help me take a look at this.” Zhong Yao laughed and handed him a phone. “Director Chai’s script. A film, probably starting at the end of the year. He was aiming for awards. He asked if I’m interested…”

Lin Zhu’s eyes lit up.

The popularity was already rising; the next step was quality and prestige. He didn’t want to overload Zhong Yao’s schedule and had only negotiated that one historical drama. The end of the year would be free, so this script came at the perfect time.

Zhong Yao handed him the phone and took Lin Zhu’s own phone to play games.

Fifteen minutes later, Zhong Yao gently pulled the phone from Lin Zhu’s hands, wrapped an arm around him and let him lean on his shoulder. Softly, he said, “Blanket.”

The driver quickly pulled one out and passed it over. Lin Zhu blinked awake in a daze, and Zhong Yao laid the blanket over him, soothing him with a rub of the hair. “It’s fine. Sleep now.”

Any film that could vie for awards wasn’t going to have a simple theme or straightforward storyline. The manager who insisted he wasn’t tired was thoroughly defeated by the dense, abstract dialogue. With that familiar voice calming him, his eyelids drooped shut on their own.

Zhong Yao tightened his arm around him.

The studio was several thousand square meters. Just the on-site staff numbered in the hundreds, not counting backstage and audience members. Zhong Yao couldn’t even calculate how many people Lin Zhu had interacted with today or how much effort he’d spent.

The PR team hadn’t responded yet, and with worries on his mind, Lin Zhu slept restlessly, frowning in his sleep.

Zhong Yao adjusted his embrace, slowly massaging the back of his neck. Only when the frown eased did he look out the window.

Autumn was short in the north. It wouldn’t be long before the cold set in. The bedding at home should be swapped for something warmer.

After [Light and Shadow] aired, it immediately ignited a new wave of online buzz.

The traffic-driven era was cooling down, and audiences were beginning to look forward to real, capable actors who took their craft seriously. This episode hit at the perfect time. The view count passed one hundred million in three days. With the broadcast of [No Bridge], Zhong Yao’s Weibo following doubled again.

Canxing Entertainment hosted a dinner with several deputy directors from the TV station and the producers of the show, treating the artists and guests.

Lin Zhu accompanied Zhong Yao to the entrance, answered a call from PR, and slipped into a break room.

“The edit came out too clean… The haters can’t find anything to latch onto, so they’re making things up, nitpicking nonstop. It’s annoying.”

The PR person summarized succinctly: “Do we fight back?”

The Clozeya endorsement was still a mystery, and Lin Zhu’s mind was tangled up with the publicity department kicking responsibilities around. He was debating whether he needed to go back to the company himself and risk starting a fight. He paused for a moment. “If it involves Zhong-laoshi, fight back. No need to hold back.”

Zhong Yao had mentioned his manager too many times during recording. To avoid affecting the viewing experience for regular audiences, the station director personally ordered the editing team to overcorrect and scrub any trace of Lin Zhu from the footage. They didn’t even leave in a shot of Zhong Yao’s reaction to a guest’s comments about [No Bridge].

The two of them had accidentally landed on hot searches too many times recently. Lin Zhu had been deliberately keeping a low profile. Since he had already asked for quite a few edits, he didn’t take this detail to heart.

He hadn’t expected the video to be so clean that haters, unable to find anything else, began stirring trouble. With no recent Weibo interactions between the two, they spun conspiracy theories, insisting that Zhong Yao and his manager were on bad terms, that he refused to mention him on the show, that his Weibo was silent, accusing him of hypocrisy.

Many fans liked them as a pair and couldn’t stand this talk. They started arguing, though not on a huge scale yet.

Lin Zhu rubbed his temples. “My fault, I forgot to post anything on my private Weibo lately.”

With [No Bridge]’s announcements coming one after another, and his older brother still not back, he had simply been living at Zhong Yao’s place. Seeing each other day and night, he’d forgotten he was supposed to post online to prove their relationship was fine.

He didn’t intend to let the rumors run wild. He opened Weibo, searched the keywords, skimming through. “If needed, I’ll post something now, and later Zhong-laoshi can repost it. You guys prepare to cool the trending tags…”

The PR manager emphasized, “In a bit, please use Zhong-laoshi’s Weibo to repost it.”

Lin Zhu: “…”

PR manager: “A written guarantee.”

The PR manager hadn’t been climbing rooftops recently, and Lin Zhu didn’t want to provoke him. He agreed sweetly and wrote out a guarantee by hand, sending it over.

Too formal would look staged. Too personal would risk hitting the hot search. Leaning against the window, Lin Zhu mulled over what to post when the door gently opened.

“Something wrong?” Zhong Yao closed the door behind him and walked over. “Need my help?”

“No, just—”

Lin Zhu smiled and shook his head, trying to come up with an excuse, then paused slightly.

Zhong Yao pulled him away from the window, closed it, felt the temperature of his hands, then produced a warm red-shelled egg and slipped it into his pocket.

The sky was overcast. It looked like rain might fall any moment. The wind outside had been sharp. Standing at the window he hadn’t felt it, but once back inside, the chill hit him.

His cold fingertips brushed against the warm egg. Lin Zhu pressed his lips together, unable to stop his quiet laugh. “Where’d you get this…”

“Ordered a dish. I was going to pour some tea, but it was too obvious.” Zhong Yao clasped his hand. “Cold?”

Lin Zhu shook his head, hesitated a moment, then said, “It’s just… PR said haters are spreading rumors that our relationship isn’t good. They want me to post something on Weibo. Should we post something? He is practically waiting on the rooftop for salvation…”

Zhong Yao raised a brow, focused on him, and smiled. “No need… I talked with the production team. When the TV broadcast version airs later, they added something of ours.”

“They really added it?” Lin Zhu froze. “Didn’t the station director forbid adding anything?”

“He said nothing could be added to the main episode, and they didn’t dare disobey…”

Zhong Yao nodded. “So it’s not in the main episode. They put it in the independent opening preview.”

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  just a note, Director Lin’s name is 蔺 lìn, while Lin Zhu is 林 lín. Completely different characters and tonal pronunciation