MACRM Chapter 57

Compared with Director Jin’s lack of awareness, plenty of professionally trained actors in the circle had long heard of Lin Zhu.

Canxing relied on traffic stars, and their dirty tricks didn’t reach this part of the industry. But after [Light and Shadow] became a hit, several of Zhong Yao’s competitors — who’d been on stage with him — were deeply impressed by the young agent at his side. Not long after they returned home, news of Lin Zhu was already circulating everywhere.

There are no secrets in the industry, only gossip that grows more exaggerated with every retelling. Many had heard about the agent beside Zhong Yao: literate and martial, able to grab resources, gentle-tempered, doting on his artist. With the TV promo deliberately fanning the flames, once someone paid attention, everyone else reading the script started putting two and two together.

Before Lin Zhu could spend even a little time with Zhong Yao, he was surrounded tightly by a group of enthusiastic seniors.

“Zhong-laoshi! Zhong-laoshi!”

Lin Zhu hadn’t recovered yet from being pulled around. He flailed a bit, managing to free one shoulder as he searched for Zhong Yao. But the latter clearly had no intention of “rescuing” him. With a small smile, he handed Lin Zhu a hot water bottle. “I’m right here. Stay and chat with the actors for a bit.”

When he didn’t need to fight reporters or grab resources, the roguish air Lin Zhu sometimes carried was impossible to find even with a magnifying glass. Combined with his clean, well-behaved appearance, it was easy for elders to like him. A group of veteran artists, overflowing with affection, had already started stuffing quit-smoking candies into his pockets.

The planning manager was worried. “Zhong-laoshi… Is this okay?”

Zhong Yao smiled. “It’s fine. Getting to know people isn’t a bad thing.”

It was the first time the staff around him were following a crew. After a brief pause, Zhong Yao added, “Show extra respect to the actors. They’re all seniors. Don’t cause trouble for Lin-laoshi’s work.”

The planning manager was new, both excited and nervous about everything he saw on set. He didn’t dare act out, nodding repeatedly.

Zhong Yao took a sip of coffee and looked over.

Lies spread with one sentence; clarifications require you to run your legs off. Once a smear sticks, it’s hard to wash clean, especially something you can’t even publicly clarify.

Zhong Yao knew everyone in this circle, understood their character and attitude. These were the least likely people to misunderstand Lin Zhu. Let good impressions build gradually, and words will spread. Sooner or later, the mud Canxing had thrown would be washed off.

He had it all planned out. Taking the thermos from his actual assistant, he headed over to give Lin Zhu some hot water to warm up.

But fate stepped in. Just as he reached them, a middle-aged actor in the same production teased Lin Zhu with a grin. “With treatment this good, I kind of want you as my agent too. Is Zhong-laoshi planning to terminate his contract? If he starts his own studio afterwards, will he be hiring? And if he is, could you be my agent?”

Zhong Yao paused mid-step.

The planning manager’s heart nearly jumped out.

“Z-Zhong-laoshi, Lin-laoshi is just… greeting people…”

Zhong Yao: “Contact Director Jin. Tell him everyone’s here and we can start the script read.”

The planning manager paled. “They’re all seniors… Lin-laoshi’s job is hard…”

Zhong Yao didn’t answer. He took a few steps forward, smiling politely.

“Lu-laoshi, the read-through is about to begin. Could you return my agent to me?”

…

Several minutes later, Jin Zhenbo pushed open the door, and the script read-through began.

The once-lost-and-now-recovered agent sat quietly, sipping hot milk under Zhong Yao’s watchful eyes. His amber-colored eyes couldn’t hide their smile, and he subtly scooted closer.

Zhong Yao, still reading his script, lifted an arm to pull him neatly into his side.

Lin Zhu relaxed. He sat obediently next to him and lowered his head, focusing on his script.

Script read-throughs are standard for major productions. Actors rehearse lines without makeup or blocking, while staff read the narration. They adjust emotions and find the right rhythm before filming. Strict productions spend half a month just reading scripts; with costume fitting and rehearsals, it often takes one to two months before cameras roll.

Zhong Yao had rushed to join the crew on the last day before the opening ceremony. The read-through had already been going on for a week, making him one of the last actors to join, but he hadn’t wasted a single day.

He started his career in historical dramas. His grasp of tone and delivery was already refined. He had studied the early scripts thoroughly. When he opened his mouth, the room instantly quieted.

Director Jin originally planned to use today’s read-through to “knock some sense” into Zhong Yao. But after listening with a frown for two pages, his expression gradually softened. He leaned back in his chair.

Zhong Yao played the male lead in [Serving the Sovereign], a domineering minister who monopolized power for years, controlled the court with an iron grip, pushed the foolish emperor into indulgence, seized the moment to kill the favored consort, pressured the monarch to abdicate, and single-handedly raised a secretly educated crown prince to the throne.

When Lin Zhu first received the script, this was the role he immediately picked out.

Director Jin rarely works, but when he does, it’s always a major production. Many had their eyes on this role. Securing it took effort, but it was undeniably worth it.

Rarely did one get to watch veteran actors perform so closely. Lin Zhu had studied acting for four years under Zhong Yao. Even though he later switched to behind-the-scenes work, his artistic sense remained sharp. At first, the sight of modern people reading a historical script felt strange to him. But the more he listened, the more captivated he became.

“All right, mark this. We’ll revise this line later, still not smooth…”

Director Jin, hunched over his script, heard someone trailing off. He looked up, squinting, and tapped the table impatiently.

“That one, that one— your turn, Crown Prince. Speak!”

Lin Zhu froze, looking up blankly. “Director Jin, I—”

“What do you mean ‘I’? Hurry up!”

Jin Zhenbo was notoriously strict with young actors. He despised the current wave of pretty-faced idols who relied solely on looks to rake in money. He couldn’t remember Lin Zhu’s name and grew impatient, snapping:

“Do you think being good-looking is enough to survive? Can you continue the line or not? If not, get out and practice! I don’t have time to wait!”

Lin Zhu had intended to explain, but the director’s scolding startled him. He gritted his teeth, grabbed the script, and plunged into the crown prince’s lines.

He was reading the crown prince’s dialogue.

Because of the market’s demands, big productions must include at least one popular star. When Zhong Yao took the male lead, his popularity wasn’t as high as now. The crew eventually compromised and accepted a trending young idol to play the young Crown Prince.

Director Jin hated the arrangement. When he heard the news, he nearly stormed off to argue with investors. After being talked down, he still refused to give face, pressuring the screenwriter to cut the young prince’s scenes to barely seven or eight.

The news leaked, causing chaos on the other side. They nearly issued press releases to rally fans for battle. Only the heat of [Serving the Sovereign] held them back. Even so, they refused to give in and said they’d show up at the opening ceremony the next day.

In film and TV, directors control the big picture, so they can’t manage detailed negotiations. Jin didn’t know that the entire cast wasn’t present yet. So when he saw a delicate-looking young person sitting quietly nearby, he scolded him on instinct.

Everyone in the room understood. But with the director in work mode, no one dared speak up. Lin Zhu glanced up mid-line to check Zhong Yao’s reaction.

“Once a teacher, always a teacher for life. Protecting him… isn’t that only natural?”

The script was structured in reverse chronology, beginning with the Crown Prince ascending the throne, condemning the treacherous minister to execution, then gradually working back. The young prince only appeared in flashbacks, all opposite Zhong Yao’s character.

Lin Zhu had rehearsed lines with Zhong Yao at home, so he remembered the plot and dialogue well. Seeing no reaction from him, he relaxed and continued reading.

“My words hold no weight now. But when I grow up, anyone who treats my teacher badly or bullies him… I will throw them all into prison or exile them to the far, wild, miasma-filled borders…”

Lin Zhu’s breathing was steady, articulation clear, his emotional control precise. Everyone present knew who he was, and several turned to look, their expressions curious.

Director Jin raised a brow, his expression easing slightly. He leaned toward his assistant and whispered a few instructions.

After the script read-through, it was already nine or ten at night.

Jin Zhenbo had gotten an unexpected harvest today and was in a good mood. He told the assistant to find the screenwriter, then asked them to bring Lin Zhu over. “If you’d come earlier for an audition, that would’ve solved it. Why insist on walking the crooked path. Do you want to act in a few more scenes? Have you learned fight choreography before? Do you know how to control your strength?”

It was hard to explain in front of everyone earlier. Now that people had dispersed, Lin Zhu no longer had any scruples. He gave a helpless smile. “I don’t act, Director Jin.”

Jin Zhenbo’s eyes widened.

“I’m Zhong-laoshi’s agent. I just came to watch the excitement.”

Lin Zhu hurried to speak before he lost his temper, and also took the chance to cast a wide net for more opportunities. “Do you have any other projects that need casting? Zhong-laoshi is short on good scripts lately. You can have someone contact me anytime. We collect all kinds of scripts. Our email and WeChats are open 24/7…”

“Where is he?! Still not here? What is this supposed to be!”

Jin Zhenbo instantly understood the situation. A surge of anger rose in him. He ignored the agent’s naturally enthusiastic pitch, slammed the table. “No auditioning, no reading lines, come here to say ‘one-two-three’ and run the scene?! If I say I’ll fire him, I will! It’s not like there aren’t other people—”

“Director Jin, they called, said the weather is bad. They’ll arrive before the opening ceremony tomorrow.”

The assistant director came forward looking defeated, trembling. “We really can’t replace him, Director Jin. This is the investor’s only demand…”

A big production can’t afford losing investment. If negotiations break and there’s a funding gap, everyone has to stop work. That’s almost a fatal blow for a drama.

Jin Zhenbo was full of anger, ready to explode, when Zhong Yao had already walked over.

Lin Zhu’s eyes lit up and he went over quickly. Zhong Yao smiled at him, raised his hand and rubbed his agent’s hair, then tucked a warm water bag into his clothes. “Director Jin, my agent doesn’t work on camera. He was just helping out today.”

Jin Zhenbo knitted his brows, scrutinizing him. “What’s wrong with being on camera? You can’t bear to part with him?”

Zhong Yao smiled and nodded. “I can’t. Please don’t think about changing the casting.”

He had been in the industry long enough to understand the rules even better than Jin Zhenbo.

A role that’s already set should never be replaced last-minute. If Lin Zhu intended to enter the acting industry, grabbing a role and becoming famous would be worth it. But Lin Zhu had firmly decided to work behind the scenes. There was no need to create an enemy for such a small role.

Zhong Yao wasn’t afraid of becoming a target, but he didn’t want Lin Zhu to be wronged again.

Jin Zhenbo knew what he was thinking. His face darkened as he gave a cold snort.

Zhong Yao remained calm, politely declining the unspoken offer on behalf of his agent. He zipped up Lin Zhu’s jacket higher and adjusted the velcro at the cuffs carefully. “Go back to the hotel and rest. I’ll talk to the director for a bit and return soon.”

Lin Zhu was reluctant, tilting his head up to look at him. “I’m not tired…”

Zhong Yao nodded at Director Jin, then took Lin Zhu to the door, slipping a hazelnut-filled chocolate into his mouth. “We’ll see each other first thing tomorrow morning. And aren’t we video calling tonight? Your eyes are barely open. How are you not tired…”

Zhong Yao’s voice softened. In the shadows, he raised an arm and drew his agent into his embrace, rubbing the ends of his hair. “If you miss me, call me. I’ll definitely pick up.”

It was already late, and Zhong Yao also needed to rest soon. He definitely wouldn’t be able to take calls for long.

Lin Zhu had been in front of people all evening; getting to hug him even a little made him perfectly satisfied. He straightened up, nodded firmly, and carefully reminded Zhong Yao not to stay up late, to use his sleeping bag, and to sleep early before he finally got into the assistant’s car to return to the hotel.

Zhong Yao watched the van disappear into the night, then turned and went back to the meeting room.

Jin Zhenbo was still sulking.

Zhong Yao let out a small laugh and went over with good temper to make amends. “He really can’t act. Please don’t be angry. If you really like him that much, we can help by providing an extra voice-over from behind the scenes. But we can’t steal someone’s role. If they hold a grudge, it’ll cause trouble everywhere…”

“Who am I doing this for?! Have you looked at those scenes we can’t cut?”

Jin Zhenbo glared at him. “You saving the crown prince under the berserk horse, and later, when you two fall out, he throws the imperial seal at you! Do you have any sense of danger? Outsiders don’t understand, but you don’t understand either?!”

Zhong Yao was stunned.

A set is never a peaceful place, especially historical drama sets. A berserk horse trampling someone, forcing actors into a forest and knocking them unconscious, hitting someone too hard during a scene and injuring their forehead… these kinds of accidents happen too easily. Anyone who works regularly on set hears of multiple such incidents every year.

Actors rely on their faces for their careers, especially those with good looks. If they get hurt or scarred, it can seriously affect their future. Over time, fewer and fewer people are willing to do dangerous scenes with a newcomer.

“If they can’t handle it, I can. Don’t you trust me?”

Zhong Yao gave a light smile, met Jin Zhenbo’s gaze sincerely. “Don’t worry. I won’t take risks. I have an agent now, I can’t let myself get injured casually. He works hard to protect me. I can’t just think about my own fun and make him worry endlessly…”

“…”

The last time they talked on the phone, it wasn’t this outrageous. Now that he had been force-fed dog food face-to-face, Jin Zhenbo nearly choked on his own breath. “You weren’t like this before…”

Zhong Yao smiled. “Before, I was alone. I didn’t know better. Now I have someone I care about. Three years ago, when I had that mess, he worried enough for both of us. I just want him to be happy now.”

Jin Zhenbo did not want to hear about something that happened three years ago. He held back a headache and waved him away. “Fine, fine. Go be happy… Why are you saying this behind your agent’s back? Aren’t you afraid he’s too young to understand your intentions and misunderstands you?”

“He won’t.” Zhong Yao answered firmly. “He probably refused the role because he’s afraid people would resent me for it. My agent thinks too much and tends to worry for me…”

Jin Zhenbo felt numb listening to all this. He cursed himself for having a loose tongue and shoved him out of the meeting room.

When they had worked together previously, Zhong Yao had been quiet, hardworking, and reliable. He had no idea what he’d gone through to become like this.

Rubbing his forehead to suppress his irritation, he was about to ask for the screenwriter to cut more dangerous scenes when the assistant director came running up. “Director Jin! We just got a call from Zhong-laoshi’s agent.”

At this point, hearing the word “agent” made Jin Zhenbo’s head swell. He barely had the energy to get angry. “…What did he say?”

The assistant director hesitated, then reported honestly. “He asked… whether we needed a stunt double. He said he’s always running around sets and can do everything. As long as it’s behind-the-scenes, he can do stand-in work too. He said he’s especially suitable for the two dangerous scenes between the young crown prince and Zhong-laoshi…”

Jin Zhenbo froze for a long moment. Then he remembered what Zhong Yao had said before leaving. He picked up the script, weighed it in his hand, and his anger slowly faded away. He shook his head and gave a helpless laugh.

Jin Zhenbo let out a sigh and waved his hand. “We probably… do need one. Go tell him to be on standby.”