MACRM Chapter 58

Lin Zhu had already called the director’s team, and now it was almost eleven at night.

The upgraded suite they booked was excellent, with great facilities and ample heating. Lin Zhu stayed in the shower for half an hour before he finally drove out the deep, bone-chilling dampness. After changing into the warm pajamas fresh from the dryer, he burrowed straight into the bed.

He tossed and turned a bit, then sent Zhong Yao a couple of messages.

The replies came fast but were short. Both voice messages carried background noise. He was clearly still busy.

The turbulence from the flight and the exhaustion of the day melted away under the quiet warmth. Lin Zhu rubbed his eyes, yawning softly.

He’d been forced into an early-sleep schedule lately, and his biological clock had been forcibly reset. Sleepiness settled over him. He logged into Zhong Yao’s Candy Crush game account, cleared a few levels with three-star ratings, and his eyelids began to droop.

He didn’t sleep all that soundly.

He was used to sleeping beside Zhong Yao. Just the sound of steady breathing nearby was enough to put him out, and even the dreams were always good. He’d long grown used to those subconscious dreamscapes. Sometimes he even enjoyed the strange stories that had nothing to do with his real life.

He even remembered once dreaming of Zhong Yao singing to him…

The hum of the air conditioner was a bit loud. Still holding his phone, Lin Zhu rolled over and tugged the blanket around himself.

But this time was different.

This dream came in broken fragments, and they were all memories from his childhood.

When the assistant had been driving him over earlier, he’d accidentally glanced out the window and felt a pang of déjà vu at an old, weathered clinic on the street corner…

That call to the director’s team hadn’t been an empty bluff.

For safety reasons, even actors good at stunt work weren’t allowed to film dangerous shots directly. But back when Lin Zhu had run around film sets as a child extra, his small, agile frame often got him pulled over to do dangerous stunts. Those were hard-earned skills from literal practice.

Back then the sets didn’t regulate minors well. He came from an orphanage, with no child-protection laws looking out for him. Lin Zhu grew up among stunt teams, learning how to dodge horse hooves, how to avoid explosion points, how to roll down a slope without breaking bones. He’d patch himself up at a little clinic with ointment instead of going to a real hospital…

Lin Zhu shivered awake, sat up and raked a hand through his hair. Outside, the storm had already ebbed into a rain, pattering against the window.

After so long living in the dry northern inland region, he’d forgotten what the southern climate was like. He got out of bed, slipped into his room slippers, walked to the window, and parted the curtains.

He still didn’t know where exactly he’d been kidnapped as a child.

Kids had no sense of geography. He’d been sold several times, escaped several times, and finally ended up in the last orphanage. Then, by sheer coincidence, got shoved into a film lot as an extra. He only vaguely recalled it being a large base.

Twelve years had passed. Even if this was the same place, nothing would look the same anymore.

His joints ached. Lin Zhu moved them gently, then took out two painkillers and swallowed them with water.

He paced the room twice, struggled with himself for a while, then finally obeyed his elder brother’s constant health nagging. He jumped and stretched through a full set of “promote circulation and qi flow” health exercises in the hotel room.

By the time he finished, a thin sheen of sweat covered his forehead, but his body indeed felt much better.

Relieved, he grabbed a towel to wipe his sweat and flopped onto the bed.

Good thing he wasn’t sleeping with Zhong Yao tonight.

The young master of the Lin family had pride. He wasn’t at the foot-bath-health-regimen stage yet. No way he’d let himself be seen doing those embarrassing health-exercise-routine moves from WeChat public accounts.

Lin Zhu rolled twice across the bed, played through his current game level, then exited. He noticed the two messages Zhong Yao had sent ten minutes earlier. His phone must’ve been switched to night mode, so they hadn’t popped up.

He immediately perked up, grabbed his phone, and opened them.

One was a text saying he’d returned to his lodgings.

The other was a photo of the room. Edited, with lighting adjustments and a filter.

Lin Zhu couldn’t help smiling, his lips curving up. He typed a reply while hugging his phone.

The moment the message went through, Zhong Yao responded: [Not asleep yet?]

Lin Zhu had just warned him not to stay up late playing games. He couldn’t admit the truth. Rubbing his nose, he tapped out a reply: [I’m in bed. About to sleep… Ge, you just got back?]

Zhong Yao didn’t reply by text. He sent a video call request directly.

Lin Zhu scrambled upright, glanced around, grabbed the bottle of painkillers and stuffed it under the pillow, ran a hand through his hair, and answered the call.

Zhong Yao was sitting on his own bed.

His hair was still slightly damp, so he must’ve just showered. It made him look softer than usual. In his hand was the large Pikachu hot-water bottle Lin Zhu had secretly slipped into his quilt before leaving.

Zhong Yao smiled as he looked up. “Every time I look away for a second, you sneak something into my room…”

Lin Zhu’s face heated up. His lips lifted without him noticing.

“My place is warm. I don’t need a hot-water bottle. Ge, is it cold there? Make sure you close the window before you sleep! It’s raining hard, and it’ll probably get colder tomorrow…”

“It is raining pretty hard. You wear more layers tomorrow too.”

Zhong Yao tucked the large hot-water bottle under his arm, barely able to hold it in one hand, then straightened his blankets.

“The opening ceremony is early. I heard Director Jin specially consulted someone for the timing. 6:18 AM for an auspicious start.” (6 means great, while 8 is a lucky number) 

He paused, mild with amusement. “Honestly, I think I could do that job. I’d say 8:16 AM sounds pretty lucky.”

The water cup by the bed hadn’t been put away. Lin Zhu picked it up for a sip, and promptly choked, spraying a clean mist of water. “My hotel is close. I’ll burn a stick of incense with them and come right back to sleep. Don’t run back and forth.”

A smile filled Zhong Yao’s eyes, and he softened his tone. “Sleep well. Come find me when you wake up. This week is all table readings and set prep, there’s nothing urgent.”

Lin Zhu thought about his condition and nodded. “Okay.”

He answered, but his gaze drifted unconsciously to the hot-water bottle tucked under Zhong Yao’s arm.

He’d originally planned to warm the bed himself…

Feeling it was ridiculous to be jealous of a cartoon hot-water bottle, Lin Zhu shook his head to clear his mind and rallied his energy.

“Ge, you should sleep. You have to get up at six. That’s torture…”

Zhong Yao chuckled. “No rush.”

Lin Zhu blinked.

Zhong Yao finished tidying up, settled back against the pillows, and put on a high-quality headset.

“Let’s sleep together. Lie down.”

Maybe because he’d spoken a lot today and stirred up his voice reading lines, but Zhong Yao’s tone was a little hoarse. Through the microphone, it was soft, mellow, and even more magnetic than usual.

Lin Zhu’s ears burned. Without thinking too much, he lay down obediently.

They were together every day, so there weren’t many chances to video call. Lin Zhu cherished the chance to look at him without worry, reluctant to close his eyes, waiting for him to speak again.

After a moment of thought, Zhong Yao tapped a gentle rhythm on his knee with his fingertip, then began to sing softly.

Lin Zhu’s heart picked up speed instantly.

Zhong Yao sang the new songs he’d recently learned, his voice quiet and soothing. Even through the distortion of the phone speakers, it was tender enough to make Lin Zhu’s chest feel warm.

The rain outside no longer felt cold. Lin Zhu curled deeper into the blanket and closed his eyes.

…The dreams were good again.

He wasn’t very responsive to painkillers, so after increasing the dosage, drowsiness overtook him. He slept straight through to morning.

The rain had stopped, but the sky was still dark and heavy.

The opening ceremony was surely long finished by now. Lin Zhu didn’t rush. Wrapped in the blanket, he turned up the heater two degrees and checked his messages.

Zhong Yao had sent him two photos of the incense-lighting at the opening ceremony, telling him not to rush over. Lin Song had just returned to the country, and upon hearing that his younger brother had run off to a film base, he was so worried he sent more than a dozen messages in a row, half asking and half lecturing, insisting on mailing Lin Zhu a whole down duvet.

Lin Zhu couldn’t help laughing and crying. He replied to each message one by one, exhausting himself to soothe his older brother, who was on the verge of flying over to visit the set as an “investor.” Then he opened the work group chat.

Everything at the opening ceremony went smoothly. The news released caused neither a big splash nor a small one. Other than Zhong Yao, there was only one legitimate top traffic star attached to the project, so there was no fan-war or rivalry brewing. The PR team only had to lift a hand to settle everything.

Since Clozeya’s official announcement wasn’t out yet and Zhong Yao hadn’t stirred up any trouble recently, the PR manager had too much free time on their hands and couldn’t resist gossiping.

PR manager: [Lin-laoshi, are you really working with Li Yijie this time? Have you seen him yet?]

Lin Zhu had just woken up, and it took his mind a few seconds to turn. He typed a reply.

Lin Zhu: [Haven’t seen him. I went back to the hotel last night. Li Yijie only arrived this morning.]

The PR manager, who’d all been warned by Zhong Yao not to bother Lin Zhu, knew he’d slept alone in the hotel last night. For some reason, he was full of tender care now, and his tone was much gentler than usual.

PR manager: [Why are you typing so slowly today, Lin-ge? Still sleepy? Maybe go back to bed for a bit. I heard your plane yesterday was shaking like a roller coaster when it landed. The planning manager is still paralyzed in bed and can’t get up…]

Lin Zhu: [Just woke up, it’s fine. Have you guys dealt with Li Yijie before? Is he easy to get along with?]

Li Yijie was the top traffic star pushed in by the investors. It was rumored that he has a strong family background, the favored young star of Tianying Entertainment. Lately he seemed eager to shift toward “serious actor” status; the dramas he picked were high quality, and with fans bragging blindly, he had indeed managed to blow up some “real skill.”

Since entering the industry, Lin Zhu had been stuck in Canxing with almost no interaction with those big first-tier entertainment companies. He only knew of Li Yijie in passing. And when it came to knowing people, he wasn’t half as informed as the PR manager, who did tons of outsourced work.

The PR manager had just changed to a new mechanical keyboard, and replied at lightning speed.

PR manager: [We’ve dealt with him! Heard he’s the son of some business tycoon. Has a big presence and lots of quirks. Super obsessed with saving face. Ever heard of this? Once, on set, two pretty-boy actors had a feud. Both insisted that whoever stepped into the set first would have more “presence.” In the end, their assistants called each other and arranged it so they’d open their car doors at the exact same time, stepping out with their left foot simultaneously…]

Lin Zhu knew most families that were big enough to rank in the circle, and he didn’t recognize this surname. But listening to the description, he couldn’t help feeling a strange sense of respect.

Lin Zhu: […That really happened?]

PR manager: [It’s true! One of our team members used to work for him. Quit because he couldn’t stand it anymore. He came to our PR team specifically for the joy of finally being able to bad-mouth him.]

PR manager: [This is Director Jin Zhenbo’s crew. He won’t dare go too wild, though probably won’t restrain himself much either. He’ll probably use a body double for half the scenes. And the time the double works still counts toward his pay. Later, the money for the double comes out of his studio. And if the double gets even ten percent, it’s already good. He’s incredibly stingy…]

PR manager: [Anyway, try not to butt heads with him. Avoid him if you can. Someone of Zhong-laoshi’s status doesn’t need to get into a conflict with him.]

Lin Zhu raised an eyebrow, amused.

His luck wasn’t bad.

He wasn’t afraid of Li Yijie using a stuntman. In fact, he was afraid of him not using one. Take the horse-fright scene, for instance: Li Yijie’s whole job was to sit on the horse. There was protective gear and wire support. According to the plot, Zhong Yao would lift him and toss him toward the guards to be caught. As long as he followed directions, there was no chance of getting hurt.

By comparison, it was Zhong Yao who was far more at risk.

Lin Zhu rubbed his wrist and replied: [Got it. I’ll be careful around him.]

Lin Zhu: [If he doesn’t provoke me, I won’t provoke him. If anything happens, defuse and de-escalate first. Avoid picking a fight. And let me know immediately if something comes up.]

The PR manager understood perfectly. He replied [Received], then went offline to monitor social media trends.

Lin Zhu changed clothes and skimmed through the news. There really wasn’t much happening yet, so he relaxed. He called his assistant, sent Zhong Yao two messages saying he was heading over, then left the hotel.

Zhong Yao didn’t reply, probably still catching up on sleep.

The hotel was five-star, known nationwide for its breakfast. Lin Zhu ordered two clay-pot porridges according to Zhong Yao’s tastes, plus a basket of shrimp dumplings and a basket of soup buns. He had the assistant pack them in meal boxes, then headed straight to the crew’s hotel.

The weather forecast had predicted rain for days. Lin Zhu had terrible luck. Just as the car pulled up at the entrance, raindrops started falling again.

There wasn’t any filming today. Everyone had been tormented by the 6:18 AM opening ceremony, so the hallways were silent. Most doors were closed, as everyone was catching up on sleep.

A bit damp from the drizzle, Lin Zhu took off his coat and slung it over his arm. He didn’t bring the assistant, carrying breakfast on his own while heading down the corridor, checking room numbers.

But just as he reached the meeting room, a burst of heated arguing erupted from inside.

Lin Zhu stopped, glanced in.

Director Jin wasn’t here, because he only came at night for script readings. Inside were several assistant directors and the production supervisor, all struggling to deal with Li Yijie’s furious agent.

Listening for a moment, Lin Zhu figured out the issue. Li Yijie’s team was unhappy with the placement in the official announcement photo. They demanded the crew’s official account repost it. The crew couldn’t comply, so conflict exploded.

Lin Zhu, used to planning from a big-picture perspective for Zhong Yao, was really not suited to dealing with this kind of petty squabbling. His initial curiosity about how agents argued evaporated. He was about to turn toward Zhong Yao’s room when the meeting room door suddenly burst open.

Lin Zhu stepped back quickly to give way.

Wearing a low-key hoodie to avoid attracting paparazzi, he looked young, his features clean and delicate. To a casual glance, he could pass for an intern hired to run errands.

He had no intention of dealing with Li Yijie and wanted to slip past quietly. But fate had other ideas. Lin Song’s phone call came at the worst possible moment.

The ringtone echoed loudly through the quiet hallway.

Lin Zhu reacted immediately, picking up the call. Just as he was about to tell his brother he’d call back later, Li Yijie turned toward him with anger still simmering, gave him a cold glance, and shoved him aside.

Caught off guard, Lin Zhu instinctively braced against the wall. Pain shot through him, forcing out a low grunt. His body swayed, and the porridge in his hand splashed, spilling a good portion.

Li Yijie’s agent and assistant rushed over, scolding him for not watching where he was going while trying to smooth things over. The assistant directors inside heard the noise and hurried out.

On the phone, Lin Song immediately picked up on the situation. He heard unfamiliar voices and grew agitated.

“Who pushed you? Was it that Li kid? The actor? What’s his full name—”

Lin Zhu had never lost a fight as a kid. He couldn’t publicly hit someone and give the PR team a heart attack, but he definitely wasn’t someone who quietly endured being bullied. He didn’t need his big brother to fight his battles.

Amid the chaos, Lin Zhu quickly steadied himself. He checked the porridge. Fortunately, not too much had spilled. He set it safely on a windowsill, then looked up, meeting Li Yijie’s gaze head-on without flinching.

Lin Zhu froze slightly, frowning.

The hallway had grown unnaturally quiet without him noticing.

He turned instinctively—

and saw Zhong Yao, freshly out of the washroom, calm and unreadable, standing there.