Fifteen minutes later, the plane took off on schedule, and Zhong Yao — who claimed he might have been coerced by the producer and forced to flee overnight — successfully remained on board.
Lin Zhu pressed at his temples, amused and exasperated. “Ge, you’ve never even met that producer.”
Zhong Yao nodded.
Lin Zhu: “But you were still worried that he’d— that he’d prey on you, so you escaped from the set ahead of time.”
Zhong Yao coughed once and nodded stiffly.
Lin Zhu took a deep breath and stared at the man who could lift him off the floor with one arm, repeating in disbelief, “And you even thought he’d ambush you at the hotel. You’re all alone and vulnerable, so you didn’t dare stay at the hotel or eat anything. Instead, you ran through the rain to come hide with me…”
Zhong Yao: “…”
It was the first time in his life he’d said something so embarrassing. He couldn’t bear to hear any more. He slapped a hand over Lin Zhu’s mouth and forcibly pulled him into his arms.
Lin Zhu’s breath stilled for a moment, then his whole body relaxed, a soft laugh bubbling out against Zhong Yao’s chest.
He laughed until his shoulders trembled, eyes slowly reddening.
He knew perfectly well what Zhong Yao was doing.
Lin Zhu took a deep breath and rubbed his face against Zhong Yao’s chest to blot out the sting in his eyes, tightening his arms around him. “Ge, next time you need to make something up, just say Director Jin snapped, grabbed a knife, and chased you down eighteen blocks. That’d be more believable…”
“I did,” Zhong Yao admitted, flushing. “I didn’t expect Director Jin to call you. The moment I heard it, I knew I was exposed.”
“It really was too impulsive… I spent the whole trip trying to come up with something you’d accept to let me come along.”
Zhong Yao spoke honestly, “I was afraid you wouldn’t let me on the plane, that you’d make me refund the ticket before takeoff. Within two hours, I could still get an 80% refund…”
Lin Zhu couldn’t help it. He burst out laughing.
Being held like this, warm and solid, finally eased the shock of watching his Film Emperor calmly spin wild lies.
He fumbled to wrap his arms fully around Zhong Yao and nuzzled against him. “Ge, do you have filming tomorrow?” he asked softly.
Zhong Yao nodded and touched his hair. “Yeah. You keep me for the night, and I’ll head back in the morning.”
His agent was still cold to the touch. Zhong Yao leaned over to grab a blanket and wrapped it around him carefully, voice gentle. “They only need the recording for the scene tonight. I don’t need to be there. Tomorrow everything is indoors, and I swapped my schedule. No scenes for me in the morning. I’ll just go in the afternoon…”
Zhong Yao bent down and kissed Lin Zhu’s forehead. “Sleep a bit if you’re tired. I’m here.”
Lin Zhu’s closed eyes warmed, and he buried himself deeper in Zhong Yao’s chest, arms tightening.
Remembering the wrist brace he’d seen earlier, Zhong Yao shifted to help him take it off and rub his wrist, but Lin Zhu’s grip around his arm was locked solid.
Lin Zhu opened his mouth and breathed out a faint sound. “Ge…”
Zhong Yao hummed in response, stopped moving him, and held him close, patting his back slowly.
When he’d seen the text messages, Zhong Yao had already sensed something was wrong.
Something this big… if nothing had happened to Lin Zhu, he wouldn’t have relied on texts alone.
Unable to rest easy, Zhong Yao rushed to get his own ticket information, grabbed his things from the hotel, and headed to the airport without stopping. The truth wasn’t that far from his excuse, only the details differed.
On the way, he kept wondering what had happened to Lin Zhu. What condition he was in now.
He imagined many possibilities… but still, nothing had prepared him for this.
This agent who stayed cheerful the more he hurt, who always forced a smile when things were hardest — after letting go of the last thread holding him up, he didn’t even have the strength to pretend anymore.
Zhong Yao tightened his hold.
Even knowing he needed to give Lin Zhu time — to progress slowly, step by step — he still found himself wanting to know more.
Lin Zhu stayed in his arms for a while, then slowly loosened his embrace and pushed himself up with his left hand.
Zhong Yao steadied him immediately, voice soft. “What do you need?”
Lin Zhu shook his head and tried to press a button. “Ge, you need to eat something. Going hungry will hurt your stomach…”
Zhong Yao’s chest ached sharply. His arms tightened around him as he held Lin Zhu’s hand, voice low and rough. “No need. I brought food. It’s inconvenient to call anyone in.”
Lin Zhu stared up at him, stunned.
“Be good. I’m rattled today. You… you have to comfort me…”
Picking the abandoned lie back up without blinking, Zhong Yao drew a breath and smiled at him again. He wrapped his arm around Lin Zhu’s thin back and lifted him, settling Lin Zhu onto his lap.
He met his eyes, voice gentle. “Give me a kiss, okay?”
Lin Zhu’s heart fluttered.
Too much had happened. He’d almost forgotten how excited he’d been last night. On how thrilled, how giddy, how nervous he’d been, fumbling so badly he’d nearly bitten Zhong Yao’s tongue.
He’d been… so happy then.
Today, what he did was wrong. He had made Zhong Yao worry. He’d imagined anger, imagined stern scolding for acting alone, imagined frantic calls demanding explanations.
But he had never imagined Zhong Yao would make up a ridiculous excuse just to chase after him onto the plane, to hold him without asking anything, and gently, seriously ask him if he could kiss him.
Lin Zhu instinctively looked up, meeting Zhong Yao’s gaze, and suddenly froze.
……
Pressed against Zhong Yao’s chest, Lin Zhu froze for three seconds, his face flushing helplessly red.
How… how could someone mentally review kissing instructions right before actually kissing someone?!
For the first time, the gentle heartbeat he always heard blended with something tender and flirtatious, an intimacy that made his own heart race. Lin Zhu was pulled into reliving every moment of that night, all the steps, all the feeling. The coldness inside him melted slowly away, replaced by a small, bright sweetness that felt rediscovered—fluttering lightly at his heart.
He was thoroughly cooked red from head to toe, trying hard to pull himself out of Zhong Yao’s subconscious while bowing his head and stammering, “O-overbreathing on the plane… it’ll, um, scare the flight attendants…”
Zhong Yao had not actually started anything, then he paused. He watched, stunned, as his agent, who had just gone racing through his mind like a sports car, came back to life bit by bit, light returning to his eyes. Zhong Yao wasn’t entirely sure what he’d even done. “Just— a quick touch? I’ll be gentle, not all the way…”
Lin Zhu, who had just stolen a perfect lesson, felt his heartbeat speed up. Mustering his courage, he quickly shook his head.
Zhong Yao’s worry only deepened. He frowned slightly and felt Lin Zhu’s forehead. “Are you uncomfortable? Tell me if anything’s wrong. Don’t force yourself…”
Lin Zhu drew a deep breath. Before Zhong Yao could recover, he grabbed his sleeve, tipped his chin up, and put his new skills to use:
“Ge, y-you let me kiss you. Okay?”
Two hours later, the plane landed.
The agent, who had successfully kissed his artist breathless in retaliation, was rejuvenated at full HP. He efficiently stuffed Zhong Yao into the waiting nanny van and, with a squad hardened by rooftop battle training, marched straight toward Huaying Entertainment’s headquarters.
“Zhong-laoshi’s agent? Welcome, welcome! We’ve been hoping to speak with Zhong-laoshi. We heard he’s been filming and thought we’d miss our chance.”
Huaying had pulled these tactics before many times, and they had been waiting for Zhong Yao’s team to finally crack and come to them. Seeing them arrive, the executives relaxed, ordering someone to send Lin Zhu’s group straight into the conference room.
Over the years, Huaying had practiced these maneuvers until they were practically procedure. The executive greeted Lin Zhu with a smile, even lowered himself to pour him tea.
“We heard there were a few little frictions and misunderstandings recently, rumors that we snatched resources from Zhong-laoshi. We’ve been wanting to clarify.”
The executive slid the teacup toward him and, before Lin Zhu could question anything, continued with a friendly laugh. “Why would we target him? We’ve always admired Zhong-laoshi. We extended an olive branch, hoping for a pleasant collaboration… To be honest, with Huaying’s strength, those resources were beneath him anyway.”
“Huaying is wealthy and powerful.”
Lin Zhu lifted his gaze and smiled politely. “I’m sure Director Zhan will be thrilled to hear Huaying’s opinion of his film.”
“No, no—” The executive’s smile twitched. He cleared his throat. “[Praire Fire][mfn]燎原[/mfn] is a different matter entirely. We didn’t know that film was originally meant for Zhong-laoshi when we reached out.”
The executive, with an air of nonchalance, grinned. “In that case, here’s something I can decide. If Zhong-laoshi joins Huaying, [Praire Fire] goes back to him. He can play it however he wants. How about that?”
“No need,” the PR manager snapped coldly. “Zhong-laoshi doesn’t eat leftovers. Your company can enjoy it yourselves.”
He stood behind Lin Zhu, someone the executive had dismissed as irrelevant all along. His expression darkened, ready to lash out, but Lin Zhu casually set down the cup and stood.
Lin Zhu hadn’t come to trade polite words. He’d already read what he needed from the man’s eyes. He cut straight through: “Thank you for your troubles. We’re just here to ask, if Zhong-laoshi doesn’t sign with Huaying, what exactly does your company plan to do?”
Lin Zhu: “Keep snatching resources? Every project we choose, Huaying steals one, leaking rumors until everyone is too afraid to approach us?”
The executive stiffened, about to speak, but Lin Zhu narrowed his eyes and continued, “Pressure [Serving the Sovereign] to rewrite the script, push Li Yijie into the lead, let Zhong-laoshi feel the cold bench firsthand. Let trap him in the crew, watching himself left without scenes to shoot, and the ones he does shoot torn to shreds in editing…”
Lin Zhu: “Then start a media war, smear campaigns, rumors, saying the most nasty things… For example… Zhong-laoshi is a diva on set, Zhong-laoshi had an immoral conduct overseas—”
Lin Zhu chuckled softly. “Who came up with this idea? How could you even make up such a scandalous story about how Zhong-laoshi is keeping a boy toy? Aren’t you afraid the internet will laugh you out of the room? Does Zhong-laoshi even know what a sugar daddy is supposed to do?”
These were pressure tactics, yes, but Lin Zhu kept pushing, deeper and sharper, exposing details only someone within Huaying should know. The executive’s expression twisted repeatedly. At last, he snapped: “Lin Zhu!”
Lin Zhu raised a brow slightly and smiled. “Huaying’s intel has always been thorough. You know what I am. Don’t you?”
“The Lin family’s young master has backbone. Impressive.”
The executive, face dark with anger, took a breath and paced twice. “We’ve never figured out your family’s influence in the industry, but clearly you’ve got connections. You even know this much.”
Since there was no room for reconciliation, his tone froze into ice.
“But what good is knowing? Can you really keep Zhong Yao safe?”
“Wake up, Young Master. No matter how rich your family is, you play by this industry’s rules.”
The executive sneered. “These are open strategies. Even if you know, can you stop them? If Huaying wants to blacklist an actor, even a top-tier idol or a Film Emperor, not a ripple will remain in this country.”
He’d known the pampered, unpredictable young master manager would be trouble. He swept his gaze over Lin Zhu, voice colder still.
“We already analyzed your tactics. You rely on your family, know a bit more than others, bluff and posture. What can you really say? Huaying isn’t some kiddie playground. You can taste Huaying’s crisis management and see how many seconds your words will appear online…”
The executive scoffed. “I’ve seen plenty of men with pride. When Zhong Yao falls to third-rate status, you’ll still be a wealthy heir. And him? Will he still have the nerve he has now? When we offer him resources then, won’t he come crawling like a dog—”
Before he could finish, Lin Zhu lifted his leg and kicked the table over with a clear and decisive motion.
The deafening crash shook the room, making everyone’s eardrums ring. The executive stumbled back, face pale then dark, about to shout for security when Lin Zhu nimbly flipped over the table and placed his hand against the door. “What if— I plan to buy Huaying?”
His tone was too steady, like he was discussing tomorrow’s breakfast. The executive hadn’t even recovered from the shock. He stared, then barked a laugh.
“Dreaming isn’t done like that! Even if your family gave you all their liquid assets, you couldn’t swallow one Huaying subsidiary. Young Master, you—”
Lin Zhu nodded. “I can’t.”
He lifted his head, gaze clear. “But I can change careers. Go home and do business for a few years. I happen to have some talent in this area, and it won’t take long to grow.”
“If entertainment tactics don’t beat you, we’ll use capital.”
He smiled. “Fair competition. We’ll make Huaying lose money, little by little, until I can swallow it whole.”
Lin Zhu: “It won’t take many years. Zhong-laoshi can wait.”
