The planning manager followed along in terror the whole way, forcing himself to teach Zhong Yao how to flip pages, read posts, and send tips. In the end, he obediently handed over his own account and password, and could only watch with wide eyes as Zhong Yao used his alt account to throw out two deep-water torpedoes.
When they reached the hotel, Zhong Yao got out of the car, returned the phone to the planning manager, and commented on the last story: “Good plot, but the ending is poorly written.”
The planning manager held onto the car door, guilty as he kept agreeing, hurriedly deleting that Republican-era BE fanfic of Zhan Yuan × young master, then grabbed the bags and followed Zhong Yao upstairs.
Their booking had been upgraded to a suite. The air conditioning in the inner room was strong, and Lin Zhu had been ordered by Zhong Yao to work on the bed. They had barely stepped into the outer room when the agent’s commanding voice came from inside.
“No interviews for now. He has too much exposure lately. We can’t flood Weibo with his news. We need to separate ourselves from those popular idols…”
“Print media is fine. Filter them and send the list to me. I’ll choose.”
“The termination announcement has been sent to you. As soon as the contract ends, the studio must release the statement immediately.”
“I will not giving them a cent extra. If Canxing dares to make a fuss, we’ll help them make it bigger. They want to drink poison? We’ll hand them the bottle. They want to hang themselves? We’ll pass them the rope. Once it blows up, I’ll come out and sit on the ground crying misery louder than them. Let’s see who wins…”
The agent’s aura in work mode was overwhelming; he was remotely directing work via video conference, his sharp tongue trained from arguing with reporters showing no mercy, giving him an inexplicable sense of domineering power. The planning manager couldn’t hold back a snort of laughter, glanced at Zhong Yao, and saw clear amusement in his eyes too.
Zhong Yao nodded to the planner and pulled out a thick red envelope. “Go work. Send me the link when you get back.”
This wasn’t the first time he’d received a physical red envelope from Zhong Yao. The planning manager’s anxiety turned to joy. He nodded repeatedly, helped put Zhong Yao’s things in order, and hurriedly left.
The voices inside stopped, replaced by the sounds of bumping and tidying, probably because they heard the two of them return.
Zhong Yao timed it right, opened the door unhurriedly, and caught the agent who flung himself at him.
“Ge, [No Bridge]’s ratings just passed 2, and they’re still climbing. We might even hit first place in this year’s rankings! It’ll definitely get a rebroadcast!”
With his arms around him, Lin Zhu was bursting with excitement, his eyes bright and sparkling. “Once [Serving the Sovereign] airs after this, our exposure for the first half of next year will be secured. Then we can take a proper vacation; one or two months off work won’t be a problem…”
Zhong Yao laughed and ruffled Lin Zhu’s hair twice before he could speak, then suddenly stilled. “We can rest that long?”
Lin Zhu was full of confidence. “At most we’ll take one or two interviews. That level of exposure should be enough.”
Zhong Yao nodded, picked up the snacks he’d bought, and went into the room with Lin Zhu.
Their last vacation had been too short, and plenty of things had gotten in the way, so they hadn’t really gotten to enjoy it. He had long planned to take Lin Zhu out to relax, but worried it would interfere with the agent’s carefully arranged schedule, so he never mentioned it. Hearing Lin Zhu say there would be a break now made him tempted.
If he remembered correctly, when they last signed a contract, Lin Zhu’s birthday was in February…
Zhong Yao opened a bag of chips and fed them to the supposedly starving agent, then smoothly set up a pot to heat soup as he teased with a smile. “So when is our vacation? Do I get to decide? Lin-laoshi, do you have any plans?”
Lin Zhu was still young, not yet past the age of liking being called “laoshi.” His face flushed with pleasure; he crunched chips happily and shook his head. “Too many variables. I can’t lock it in for now. We decide the vacation time first, then arrange the work around it…”
Zhong Yao smiled and nodded. “Alright, I’ll calculate it properly later.”
Everything was going smoothly. After chatting about work for a bit, their conversation wandered all over the place again. Zhong Yao had traveled widely and intentionally guided Lin Zhu to talk more. While the agent was distracted giving work instructions, Zhong Yao discreetly noted down a few places Lin Zhu seemed interested in.
…
That night, realizing nothing dramatic had happened, the planning manager revived himself and logged into the gold-member alt account he’d loaned to Zhong Yao, opening the forum.
A thread that had been bumped into bright red sat on the homepage recommendations.
I’m telling you, I’m completely serious about this: [Need advice, I want to plan a trip with my lover during his birthday (lunar January / late February solar). Any recommended travel itineraries?]
The extremely formal, serious wording combined with the poster’s username, plus the shiny [Top Driver] badge, created such a striking contrast that the thread had already attracted hundreds of replies.
This membership system didn’t rely on spending money but on consistently posting and replying with coded phrases to accumulate points. Anyone who could enter this special section was no innocent newcomer.
Zhong Yao, a newbie using an old account, had stumbled straight into a sea of expert drivers[mfn]“driver” is someone who reads smut in this context. It can also mean someone who had sex. “Driving” is just euphemism for sex.[/mfn]. The replies quickly spun wildly off-track and became impossible to rein in. Fortunately the main subject didn’t fight or start drama, so the people drawn in were all friendly fans with no malice. No one mocked the post, but the speed of the comments soared past a hundred miles an hour instantly, filling with raunchy and wholesome jokes alike.
The planning manager’s hand trembled, and he fainted again from fright.
The next day, the [Serving the Sovereign] production officially began filming.
Lin Zhu had far too much on his plate this time and truly couldn’t free himself; even after the start of filming he couldn’t run to the set often. And with the complexity of historical-costume styling — just sticking on the wig cap took half an hour — Zhong Yao didn’t make him wake up early every day, switching back to the production team’s own makeup artists.
He was used to having the agent nearby. Even though he told himself it was so Lin Zhu could rest properly, Zhong Yao still felt a bit unaccustomed. He scrolled his phone twice, leaned back in the seat, and closed his eyes to catch up on sleep.
“We’ve been watching [No Bridge] too. Was it Lin-laoshi who styled you?”
The makeup artist was fixing the wig cap and saw his low spirits, so she chatted with a smile: “He did an amazing job! Skill aside, he really brought out all your strengths.”
The whole Jin Zhenbo crew always worked with fixed teams. Most staff had known Zhong Yao for a long time. Familiar with him, the makeup artist continued praising Lin Zhu’s work as she applied makeup. “It even fits the character image. In the overall look it’s harmonious yet stands out. Honestly, so many TV drama makeup teams overdo things nowadays. A natural look like this is really rare…”
Zhong Yao loved hearing people praise Lin Zhu. His eyes brightened slightly as he set down his phone. “He can do everything. I really feel like I picked up a treasure.”
The last time Zhong Yao joined a production, his personality had still been gloomy. He felt like a young man who had somehow been influenced by a group of old-timers despite his young age. His thermos cup even held half a cup of tea leaves. Unless it was work, he never initiated small talk.
The makeup artist, worried he’d isolate himself, had gotten used to coaxing him into conversation. She had no idea how much he’d “evolved” now, and without any guard up, she marveled, “Really? You’re lucky. Have you and Lin-laoshi worked together for a long time?”
Zhong Yao smiled. “Really… I do think I’m lucky.”
He couldn’t move while the styling was still being done, only sitting up a little straighter. The makeup artist, full of curiosity, waited for him to go on. Zhong Yao thought for a moment and chose a beginning that wasn’t too early in the story.
“Not that long. It was when I first came back to the country… Honestly, I hadn’t planned on forming a team anymore. Working alone wasn’t a big deal. I can take jobs if I get them, and if not, I’d just go back to the university and teach. Then one day I was driving past the company gate, and he suddenly opened the car door, got in, and begged me to save his life…”
…
The intricate styling took the entire morning.
Zhong Yao’s styling was finally complete, and he had long since changed into his costume. Hearing the earpiece urging him, he stood up and nodded at the makeup artist. “Thanks… Director Jin is calling. I’ll head to the set first. We’ll talk more later.”
The makeup artist looked conflicted. “Okay… okay… would you like some tea?”
Having woken up early, Zhong Yao was refreshed now. He waved a hand, thanked her, greeted a few assistants in charge of costumes and props, and headed to the set.
The massive set was already fully built.
The assistant director ran around adjusting lights and camera positions, the stagehands carried props everywhere searching for placements, and Jin Zhenbo was still confirming final details with art and cinematography. Compared to Sichuan Film’s set, this was several times more lively and busy.
Several assistants stood guard over Zhong Yao’s station. Seeing him approach, they rushed over. He waved a hand and put on a coat. “Lin-laoshi didn’t come?”
The assistant shook his head. “No. Should we call him to come over?”
Zhong Yao checked the time and couldn’t help but laugh, shaking his head. “No need. Let him sleep more. Call me the moment he arrives.”
Sichuan Film staff were known for digging holes but never filling them[mfn]building up interest but not following them to the end. Though I first know this in the context of novels (that is, starting a story but not finishing them)[/mfn]. Once the promotional events were done, a drama was considered completed. They never bothered with online comment control, voting, or ratings battles. Everything depended on the fans’ passion. If the show was good, ratings rose; if it wasn’t, it was normal for momentum to drop.
Lin Zhu couldn’t bear seeing that and could only take on the burden himself. Add that to managing endorsement hype, selecting the second batch of promo photos, supervising online traffic control… it was normal for him to work late into the night.
Media workers were busiest at midnight. Based on how Lin Zhu always crept into his arms late at night, Zhong Yao gave him strict orders: he must sleep until after 9:30 AM every day before getting up. Whenever he had time, he could come to set whenever he wanted.
Director Jin was right next to them when Zhong Yao said this. He was justice-obsessed and had wanted to throw the rule-breaking actor out for violating set discipline. But when he remembered Zhong Yao asking for coarse salt bags to warm Lin Zhu against the damp and cold, he couldn’t bear it. He forced a smile and sent Lin Zhu away, then turned around and viciously ordered the coordinator to increase Zhong Yao’s daily two scenes to three.
The workload wasn’t too high for Zhong Yao. He was already extremely familiar with the script, only needed to skim it twice, and after listening to Director Jin explain the storyboards, he followed the assistant director to run through the scene.
At 9:30 AM sharp, Lin Zhu climbed out of bed full of energy.
Worried he’d be cold, Zhong Yao had turned on the heating in the room and even added a humidifier puffing out light mist with a hint of fresh cedar scent.
Lin Zhu took a deep breath, stretched a little, quickly put on his clothes, grabbed his equipment with excitement, and headed straight for the set.
There wasn’t much to do during the day. Everyone in the team handled their own tasks, and all the detailed work had been assigned. As long as he could respond to emergencies, running around wouldn’t affect anything. Lin Zhu had long wanted to go find Zhong Yao on set.
A few days of rain had made the roads very muddy, slowing down the trip. By the time Lin Zhu arrived at the set, it was already past ten.
It was his first time coming to the completed set. He didn’t want to disturb the crew’s actual work, nor did he call the assistant who was with Zhong Yao. With the staff badge that Zhong Yao had specially gotten for him, he wandered for half a circle. He hadn’t reached the filming site yet, but he had already found the logistics team.
Filming was in full swing, while logistics wouldn’t get busy until the noon break. For now, it was quiet. Taking advantage of Director Jin being away, the supervising producer and production manager were sitting with a few junior producers around a makeshift hotpot, steam rising and the smell of meat drifting everywhere, completely luring in the hungry Lin Zhu, who had remembered only after leaving home that he’d forgotten breakfast.
He hadn’t met many people he could talk to along the way. Lin Zhu glanced over, hesitating about whether to go up and ask for directions. The supervising producer immediately recognized him at a glance and called out with a smile, “Zhong Yao’s agent, right? Come over. Looking for your Zhong-laoshi?”
Lin Zhu’s eyes lit up. He quickly walked over and greeted them politely.
These days, he had been reading the script alongside Zhong Yao, so he was already familiar with most people in the crew. The supervising producer liked Zhong Yao’s easygoing, capable new agent quite a bit, and joked, “Finally seeing you in person. When you’re not around, your Zhong-laoshi can’t focus. He keeps checking his phone. Director Jin’s face has been getting longer than that horse’s.”
Lin Zhu jolted. “Did it affect Zhong-laoshi’s state?!”
“No, no.”
Seeing he’d actually gotten worried, the supervising producer laughed and waved a hand. “Zhong Yao may be distracted, but his professionalism is spotless. Director Jin hasn’t even found a chance to scold him today, so he’s been taking it out on our junior crew members instead.”
The production manager, who oversaw stagehands and had been dragged into the crossfire for no reason, tapped her chopsticks and added gloomily, “Director Jin must be going through menopause…”
Hearing that Zhong Yao was fine, Lin Zhu let out a quiet sigh of relief, but then felt bad toward the people in front of him. He hurriedly apologized properly, “I’ll talk to Zhong-laoshi later. We’ll try not to upset Director Jin.”
The supervising producer, who had known Zhong Yao for a long time, looked at him in surprise. “You dare say that to him?”
Lin Zhu froze slightly, then unconsciously nodded. He couldn’t help glancing at the supervising producer, a faint ripple stirring in his heart.
The supervising producer noticed nothing and still looked at him incredulously. “You really aren’t afraid of him at all when you see him?”
Lin Zhu shook his head, thinking of the genuine fear he’d seen in Li Yijie’s eyes that day.
He had never been afraid of Zhong Yao, and had never thought others would be. Seeing the strange, shocked expressions around him, he felt inexplicably uncomfortable and explained, “Zhong-laoshi is a very good person. He’s upright, never schemes or hurts others. Even if there’s a misunderstanding, he wouldn’t retaliate or cause trouble… there’s no reason to be afraid of him.”
The supervising producer was speechless. “That’s not the point.”
But when he saw the clear earnestness in the young agent’s eyes, he couldn’t help laughing, and explained, “He looks quite likable on screen, right? That’s his work persona. Normally, you can’t get three words out of him, and he doesn’t like talking. When he gets serious, everyone is scared of him.”
The supervising producer continued, “Forget now. Back then, when he was only twenty, Director Jin snapped at him over something and blamed him. He didn’t say a single word. Just stared at Director Jin until Director Jin lost his nerve.”
The production manager added, “Later, when Director Jin’s second film had a mute assassin role, he cast him on the spot.”
After all that back and forth, Lin Zhu couldn’t help curling his lips slightly, relieved.
“We know he’s a good person, but that doesn’t change that he naturally looks stern. Half the time he walks around like he’s acting in a crime drama…”
Seeing Lin Zhu’s expression soften, the supervising producer also smiled, unable to resist sighing, “People who aren’t close to him get scared. Even those of us who know him get nervous when he darkens his expression. You can never tell what he’s thinking. How can anyone be sure he’s good or bad? A lot of people don’t even dare get too close after just seeing him…”
The supervising producer meant well. Afraid that Lin Zhu might think Zhong Yao was too cold or distant, and wanting to prevent misunderstandings between them, since it wasn’t easy for Zhong Yao to finally find an agent he liked. But as he kept talking, Lin Zhu’s brows gradually drew together.
Lin Zhu clenched his fists lightly and whispered, “I can’t read minds… but I already know he’s good.”
The supervising producer froze. “Huh?”
Lin Zhu repeated, “Zhong-laoshi is good… I’ve known for a long time.”
The supervising producer laughed. “How long? You two have only worked together a few months.”
Lin Zhu shook his head and didn’t answer. He pressed his lips together, smiled, and said, “From now on it’ll be a long time… Thank you. I might fear others, but I’ll never fear Zhong-laoshi.”
The supervising producer had been circling around this topic anyway. Seeing he understood, he relaxed and nodded with a smile. Just as he was about to speak again, a junior stagehand suddenly ran over, covered in dirt.
The production manager, numb with routine, set down her chopsticks and went to see what menopausal symptoms the director was showing now. Lin Zhu followed and arrived just as Zhong Yao finished a scene and was walking down after putting on his coat.
“Don’t go over— don’t go— The horse’s acting up. Director Jin is giving it a pep talk.”
Quickly stopping his own agent, Zhong Yao touched Lin Zhu’s hand, only relaxing when he confirmed it wasn’t cold. He guided him to sit at the edge of the set. “Had breakfast?”
Lin Zhu had been focused on finding him; hearing this, he paused, then flushed a little. “I forgot…”
“Looks like I need to add another rule for you.”
Zhong Yao sighed helplessly, rubbed his hair with a smile, told the assistant to buy food, and took out a piece of chocolate to give him. “It’s windy here. Find a sheltered spot to eat…”
His voice paused. He studied Lin Zhu’s expression carefully, then rubbed his ear. “What’s wrong? You’re upset?”
Lin Zhu shook his head, pressed his lips together, and grabbed Zhong Yao’s hand. “Ge, I’m not afraid of you.”
Zhong Yao chuckled. “I know… Why bring that up all of a sudden?”
Lin Zhu didn’t answer. He thought of the “high school stories” Zhong Yao had told him, the ones about no one wanting to play with him, everyone avoiding him. His heart ached inexplicably. He lowered his voice. “I wish I had come to find you earlier.”
Zhong Yao paused. Thinking of the traitor in the crew who had spilled his black history, he vaguely understood what had happened. He smiled lightly. “What are you thinking about… It’s never too late.”
He pulled Lin Zhu down to sit beside him, teasing gently, “Already feeling sorry for me?”
Lin Zhu genuinely was. He didn’t speak, just lowered his head and nodded twice.
It was all in the past. Zhong Yao himself didn’t care anymore. He had planned to comfort him, but then suddenly remembered something he’d seen on the forum. His heart stirred, the tips of his ears slowly turning red. After a while, he said softly, “Then… when we get back tonight, will you coax me a little?”
