Lin Zhu hung up the phone and, in a fit of anger, blocked the entire team for half an hour. He even deliberately sent a message saying he’d paid extra to have all the PR department’s mice custom-made in cherry blossom pink and fluorescent yellow.
After coming out of the bathroom, the perpetually busy agent plunged straight back into his pile of work.
By the time he finished cutting the first draft of the video and saved the project, it was already the early hours of the next day. Lin Zhu tossed the computer aside and flopped onto the bed, burrowing into the warm covers, rubbing his face hard twice and letting out a long breath.
All things considered, it seemed he might as well just take the initiative and confess himself…
His face was still a little hot. Lin Zhu rolled around twice under the covers, fished out his phone, and sent his big brother a message, planning to ask him to take a photo of a body pillow and send it over. At least to clear up the suspicion about an inflatable doll first.
Before he even finished typing, he received a message from Lin Song.
Lin Song: [Xiao Zhu, are you going back to the film crew tomorrow?]
Lin Song: [Dage knows you have things going on over there. Mom and Dad want to see you, have a meal with you…]
Lin Zhu’s fingers paused lightly.
Lin Song’s messages kept popping up one after another.
Lin Song: [If you don’t like it, you don’t have to come back. It’s fine, don’t be afraid, Dage is here for you.]
Lin Song: [Actually, Dage doesn’t really want you to come back either, I’m just passing on the message… Are you at Zhong Yao’s place? It’s quite good there too! As long as you can eat well and rest properly, that’s enough!]
The “typing…” on the other side never stopped. Lin Zhu clenched his phone, then typed a reply: [Dage, I’ll come back.]
After all, it was their parents who had arranged the connection. This time he was coming back when both of them were at home; he couldn’t very well not even show his face… Sooner or later, he would have to take this step anyway.
And now he probably… could take this step properly.
Zhong Yao had already taught him well. If there was something he didn’t like or couldn’t do, he had to say it clearly.
The phone was quiet for a long while. He didn’t know whether his big brother had been scared silly or had started arguing with their parents again. Lin Zhu tugged the corner of his mouth helplessly and continued typing: [It’s too late today, I’ll go back first tomorrow before leaving.]
Lin Zhu: [Dage, you and Mom and Dad should go to bed early too.]
Tone couldn’t be discerned from text alone, and Lin Zhu was afraid Lin Song would overthink things, so he deliberately added two emojis before sending it. Without waiting for a reply, he turned off the screen, placed the phone by his pillow, and burrowed back under the covers.
He had been exhausted all day, both physically and mentally drained. Even though he had things on his mind, he couldn’t fight off the drowsiness and soon fell asleep.
Lin Zhu curled up slightly, his eyelids trembling faintly.
He dreamed of his childhood.
Before he even had time to uncover other people’s secrets, he had already turned over his own. Lin Zhu knew he was dreaming. He rolled over and wrapped the quilt tighter around himself, using the dream to revisit the few exchanges he had had with his parents:
“Mom…”
Sixteen-year-old Lin Zhu trembled lightly before his parents, his face pale, cold sweat streaming down his neck.
“Mom…”
Young Lin Zhu clenched his fists, his throat trembling softly. “I—I can help you negotiate business. I know what they’re all thinking…”
Young Lin Zhu stood in panic at the bedroom door, his voice hoarse. “I won’t read your minds. I haven’t read them since I came back. Please, don’t—”
In the dream, his parents were actually not cold. They surrounded him with concern, no less anxious or nervous than he was.
“Xiao Zhu, you misunderstood. Mom and Dad have never disliked you. We’re just worried about you…”
Lin Zhu slowly curled in tighter.
He had actually never misunderstood.
When he grew a little older, he understood that his parents going abroad was not entirely because they were too afraid of being read by him, but also to give him an environment to grow up in where no one knew the truth. His parents had always insisted that as long as every trace of his past was completely erased, as long as no one knew his “secret” anymore, he would be able to let go of his mental knot and start life over.
They had never truly figured out what the real demon in his heart, the one that had entangled him for so many years, actually was.
Lin Zhu turned over, his brows quietly knitting together.
……
“We won’t let others know. We’ll keep it a secret for you.”
……
“Xiao Zhu is already like this. He can’t be blamed for not having friends. It’s good enough if someone plays with him. Don’t force him; just let him do whatever he likes.”
……
“With this as a buffer, his reaction won’t be too intense. He can gradually accept you.”
…
“Mom and Dad will prepare everything for you. Don’t worry. Once you have the surgery, you’ll be the same as normal people…”
“Have the surgery, and you’ll be the same as normal people…”
Normal people…
Lin Zhu jolted upright, cold sweat soaking through the clothes on his back. His chest heaved violently as he forcibly pressed down the bewitching voices in his head.
He raised a hand and touched his eyes, slowly tightening the corners of his lips.
This was the most important foundation he had already found. An ability he could coexist with, use rationally, charge out with to slay demons and monsters and fight in all directions…
Not some hidden illness or burden that needed others to “gradually accept,” that was “good enough as long as someone would play with him,” something that had to be received with alms-like pity and careful handling.
He had never needed to be the same as normal people.
And he didn’t need Zhong Yao to gradually accept him either… When the day came that Zhong Yao learned the truth, if he felt even the slightest bit uncomfortable, Lin Zhu would simply step back and return to being his agent.
Being unable to accept such an ability was, of course, not anyone else’s fault.
But this was the shield he used to protect Zhong Yao. No matter how unbearable or terrifying this ability was in other people’s eyes, as long as it still had this one value… it would forever be an ability worthy of pride.
Perhaps because of that earlier analysis with the Marlensius’ team, Lin Zhu’s mind was unusually clear this time. He propped himself up, went to rinse with hot water, and was about to get a clean set of pajamas when his hand paused. He couldn’t help taking one of Zhong Yao’s half-old T-shirts and pulling it on.
After years of washing and friction, the fabric had grown so soft it seemed soaked through with the traces of time.
Lin Zhu rubbed his head, squatted by the wardrobe, and murmured softly to himself, “It’s okay now, it’s okay…”
After squatting for a while, he had mostly recovered. He stood up, bounced twice, dug out the last packet of crispy noodles and chewed on them slowly, opened Zhong Yao’s Weibo, and scrolled from top to bottom.
These past two days, while he wasn’t at the film set, the Weibo account had gone back into Zhong Yao’s hands. The photos posted were all unusually carefree, either blue skies and white clouds or Director Jin’s ashtray. Lin Zhu had actually already scrolled through dozens of times and had long since turned on special-follow notifications, yet he still couldn’t help coming up to refresh whenever he was free. Even just reading the comments could improve his mood a lot.
It was too late to message Zhong Yao now and disturb his rest. Lin Zhu went into Weibo, scrolled through from beginning to end as usual, and was just about to put down his phone and work up some sleepiness when his sharp eyes suddenly noticed that the comment count under Zhong Yao’s latest post about Director Jin’s ashtray was rapidly increasing.
Curious, Lin Zhu went back and tapped into it.
Just now, Zhong Yao had actually appeared in the comments section and replied to a fan.
Even though it was already deep night, there were still plenty of night owls. The news that Zhong Yao had shown up in the comments spread from one to ten, from ten to a hundred, flying rapidly through all the fan groups, and in the blink of an eye a towering thread had risen under the comment he had replied to.
Zhong Yao’s latest reply, from half a minute ago, was to a comment saying “Caring for empty-nest elderly artists is everyone’s responsibility; don’t let waiting become a regret.”
[Zhong Yao V: This one is great. I’ll mark the source. Can I borrow it?]
The comments section was filled with various screams and incoherent keyboard smash. The fans were so lively it didn’t feel like one in the morning at all.
Zhong Yao’s Weibo style had changed abruptly these past two days, and almost all the fans knew Lin Zhu wasn’t around because he had something to deal with. Some were concerned about why Zhong Yao was still not asleep so late; some were asking where the little agent had run off to work overtime; more were placing bets, guessing where Zhong Yao planned to use that comment—whether he would enlarge and bold it and stick it on the hotel room door to scare the agent when he came back.
Zhong Yao, as always sincere, replied one after another in the comments section.
[Zhong Yao V: Planning to make it into a stamp. Lin-laoshi seems to really like stamps.]
[Zhong Yao V: It is a bit long, I’ll try to simplify it.]
[Zhong Yao V: Yes, he’s the agent. Remember to call him Lin-laoshi, he likes people to call him that.]
[Zhong Yao V: I’ve saved up a whole box of snacks for him. The props team is very conscientious.]
[Zhong Yao V: In Beijing, coming back tomorrow.]
[Zhong Yao V: Can’t sleep, waiting for tomorrow.]
Lin Zhu gripped his phone, heat suddenly flooding his face. He had the sudden urge to run downstairs and do a couple of laps. He was spinning in circles looking for suitable clothes when proactive informant fans had already surged into the comments.
Ever since he’d accidentally debuted alongside Zhong Yao during a live interview, Lin Zhu’s agent Weibo account had gained quite a few followers. Then with [No Bridge] becoming a hit, his “young master” image unexpectedly attracted fans. Even though Lin Zhu didn’t want to divert attention and deliberately kept a low profile, posting only a few times a month, he still watched helplessly as his follower count quietly increased by over a hundred thousand.
Many of them had come because they shipped the two of them as a couple. They had turned on online notifications, and as soon as they discovered that Lin Zhu’s Weibo account was online too, they rushed over to report to Zhong Yao.
[Zhong-laoshi, Zhong-laoshi! Lin-laoshi just secretly went online!]
[What kind of rhythm is this, neither of them sleeping in the middle of the night! Mom, have I actually shipped something real?!]
[Wasn’t it real to begin with? I’ve already prepared my nine yuan!]
[Lin-laoshi isn’t asleep either, so why is Zhong-laoshi still messing around in the comments! Could it be that Lin-laoshi is online but didn’t chat with Zhong-laoshi? Aaaah I’m going to start imagining things…]
[Lin-laoshi might be lurking! Both of them can’t sleep but are afraid of disturbing each other, secretly scrolling Weibo and such, it’s too sweet, I’m going to draw a little comic!]
……
Lin Zhu braked hard.
Zhong Yao didn’t know much about Weibo’s complicated notification settings and was still seriously replying to fans.
[Zhong Yao V: No, I just checked my Weibo. He didn’t leave a comment.]
[Zhong Yao V: I’m always here. If he can’t sleep, he’ll definitely contact me.]
The comments, feeling both pity and fondness for the old-fashioned artist, started screenshotting and explaining the “followed user online” notification feature to him without fearing trouble.
The temperature on Lin Zhu’s face shot up again. He no longer dared to hide, and, gritting his teeth, opened Zhong Yao’s chat window and threw himself straight into the net.
Holding his phone, Lin Zhu’s heart raced. He walked back and forth twice, and, as expected, received Zhong Yao’s video call request.
“Still not asleep?”
Zhong Yao’s voice was gentle as it came through the phone. “What’s wrong, can’t sleep either?”
Zhong Yao smiled, that bit of smile traveling through the internet and being delivered along with the video. “I can’t sleep either, just thinking about how to take you out to have fun tomorrow… Just finished showering? Have you been working all this time?”
Lin Zhu sat on the bed, staring fixedly at the image in the video. His eyes inexplicably burned a little, and he instinctively lifted the corners of his mouth. “Yeah, I—”
His voice paused, gently stopping.
Of course, he could find many excuses. With so much work, and Zhong Yao unable to personally watch him at the set, he could just casually make something up and easily fool him.
Lin Zhu looked at the phone, his heart beating faster and faster.
In the past, he definitely would have done that.
But now it was different.
There was someone who was always there… and then everything became different.
Lin Zhu shook his head, doing his best to press down the slight nasal tone that had been drawn out. “Ge, I just had a nightmare.”
He rubbed his eyes hard and stiffly complained to him, “Someone bullied me…”
According to the fans who had kept watch all night, half a minute after agent Lin-laoshi went online and then offline, Zhong-laoshi never appeared in the comments section again.
The next day, the two of them, without any suspense, both slept in.
Lin Zhu cut out the important parts and rambled to Zhong Yao for a while. He only felt that most of the suffocating heaviness in his chest had dispersed, and he fell back asleep until broad daylight. It was only when his nearly frantic big brother banged the door open that he realized he had slept so deeply he’d missed more than ten calls.
Lin Song clung tightly to his younger brother, drenched in cold sweat. “I regret it to death… why did I tell you that in the middle of the night? Did it make you feel bad?”
When he hadn’t been able to contact his brother the next day, Lin Song had almost gone crazy, imagining a whole string of tragic outcomes. Yet he didn’t dare tell their parents or notify Zhong Yao, nearly frightening himself out of his wits.
Looking at his brother, rosy-cheeked and in good spirits, Lin Song closed his eyes, his voice hoarse. “Since you were little, you only knew how to swallow your grievances and not say anything. When you really couldn’t take it anymore, you’d just run away. If you ran away again this time, Dage really wouldn’t know where to find you…”
Lin Zhu’s heart ached, and he hugged his brother back. “Ge, I won’t run away anymore.”
“Actually, it’s fine if you run. Just run to Zhong Yao’s side. He’s easy to find; you’ll find him as soon as you look.”
Seeing that his brother had recovered, Lin Song ruffled his hair. “Not seeing Mom and Dad then. Come on, Dage will take you to eat. After that, I’ll send you to the airport…”
“Ge.” Lin Zhu grabbed him. “I want to see Mom and Dad. I have something… I want to tell them.”
Lin Song froze, frowning deeply. “But—”
Lin Zhu relaxed his brows and smiled. “I’m fine. I promised Mom and Dad I’d think about something… It’s about time to give them an answer.”
Having already been scared half to death by his brother that morning, Lin Song was unwilling for Lin Zhu to see their parents, but he couldn’t bear to reject him either. He could only watch as Lin Zhu washed up, changed clothes, and then took him all the way home.
Both parents had gotten up early. After hearing the news from their eldest son, they were already waiting in the study. Lin Song originally wanted to stay by his side, but Lin Zhu still stuffed him back into his room and shoved a phone into his hand. “Ge, help me take a few photos of the body pillows. I need them when I go back to turn myself in…”
Lin Song stood in his room holding his brother’s phone, facing a whole cabinet full of Zhong Yao body pillows, falling into silent, profound anxiety.
Lin Zhu first returned to his own bedroom, took out a somewhat old file from a hidden compartment under his desk, flipped through it, then went out and entered the study.
