MACRM Chapter 88

Lin Zhu, who was usually calm and strategic in front of the team, directing everything with steady command, was completely thrown off by his own artist kissing him so openly that he lost all composure.

Lin Zhu’s face burned hot as he buried himself in Zhong Yao’s arms, unable to lift his head for a long while.

“Alright, alright, my fault.”

Zhong Yao hadn’t expected Lin Zhu to be on a video call at that moment either. He laughed helplessly and admitted his mistake good-naturedly. “I should’ve checked first. I’ll pay attention next time.”

Lowering his head, Zhong Yao gently kissed Lin Zhu’s forehead. “I wanted you to remember this a little… and also wanted to take advantage of the chance to steal a kiss. I wanted to kiss you. I haven’t seen you all day. I got impatient.”

Zhong Yao never hid his thoughts; whatever he felt, he told Lin Zhu honestly. That unconscious openness and tenderness made Lin Zhu’s heartbeat race even faster. He rubbed his face hard twice. “It’s not…”

His voice was too soft for Zhong Yao to hear clearly. Zhong Yao lowered his head. “What?”

Lin Zhu lifted his face, quickly kissed the corner of Zhong Yao’s lips, then buried himself against his neck. “Not… bad.”

Anyway, the team already knew about their relationship. At most, those guys who had grown bold enough to joke around on the rooftop would tease them a few more times later. Worst case, he’d just buy a batch of Cardcaptor Sakura mousepads and throw them at them again.

The video meetings had started during the Clozeya endorsement period. The publicity team’s exaggerated wording when describing the men’s fashion looks sent by brands had practically turned into a linguistic disaster, and taking photos one by one was too troublesome. So Lin Zhu simply opened group video calls instead, and the habit stuck.

Now there weren’t any new endorsements to discuss for the time being, so the group video’s only remaining purpose was to stop the PR team from gaming while attending meetings. Even if they switched back to voice calls next time, it wouldn’t matter much.

But if Zhong Yao stopped kissing him so often because of this… that would be a huge loss.

Lying in Zhong Yao’s arms, Lin Zhu let his thoughts wander aimlessly, blushing more the further his imagination ran.

“What are you thinking about?”

Zhong Yao lowered his head and immediately noticed the faint, candy-thief smile at the corner of Lin Zhu’s lips. His heart softened, and he pulled him closer into his embrace. “You really don’t feel unwell anymore? Still tired? Dizzy?”

Lin Zhu shook his head and lifted his face. “I’m all better, Ge. You should come lie down and rest for a bit too…”

He had slept groggily for more than a day and didn’t know much about what had happened around him. Only after waking did he hear bits and pieces from his older brother.

The night before last, he had been too exhausted and fallen asleep immediately. Unexpectedly, his fever spiked in the middle of the night. Zhong Yao, who hadn’t slept soundly, noticed in time and urgently called a car to rush him to the hospital.

Zhong Yao stayed by his bedside without leaving for an entire day, only lying down briefly in the hospital at one point. He kept watch until the morning of the third day, when Lin Zhu’s fever finally broke and Lin Song arrived to take over, dragging Zhong Yao back to the film set to catch up on a day’s shooting schedule.

The VIP ward was quiet and fully equipped. Lin Zhu could work anywhere anyway. The reason he wanted to be discharged so urgently was simply that he didn’t want Zhong Yao to keep exhausting himself here.

“Finish your forms first. Aren’t they urgent?”

Zhong Yao had long seen through his agent’s little thoughts. Smiling, he rubbed his head. “I’m not tired. This is nothing. Filming used to be much harder than this…”

Whenever Lin Zhu got into Zhong Yao’s arms, he habitually forgot everything. He had already completely forgotten the work that had kept him scrambling earlier. Hearing this, he suddenly snapped awake and reached for the laptop, only to be pulled back by Zhong Yao’s outstretched arm.

Zhong Yao pulled the computer over and briefly reviewed the forms. “Aside from this, is anything else especially urgent, or can it wait a little?”

Resting against Zhong Yao’s arm, Lin Zhu hesitated. “Not extremely urgent… but there’s just too much piled up.”

“If it’s piled up, I’ll help you with it. Let me hold you for a while first. I’ve got something to tell you later.”

Zhong Yao leaned against the headboard, not letting go of the manager in his arms. He had Lin Zhu hold the laptop while he wrapped one arm around him and typed efficiently.

What happened today… he had to find a way to tell Lin Zhu eventually.

He hadn’t held his agent for an entire day. Only after firmly enclosing him in his arms did the hollow space in Zhong Yao’s chest finally fill with warmth and steadiness. Without drawing attention, he tightened his arms slightly, adjusting Lin Zhu into a more comfortable position.

His language foundation was far stronger than most people’s. While writing, he distracted himself by telling Lin Zhu stories.

“Filming wasn’t this strict before. There’s no approval numbers, no pre- and post-production reviews. At its craziest, scripts were written the day before airing. The whole crew filmed day and night under harsh lights, everyone so sleepy they looked like sleepwalkers.”

After typing another paragraph, Zhong Yao sighed. “Later, after I played Plants vs. Zombies a few times, I realized those zombies looked strangely familiar…”

Lin Zhu blinked, the corners of his lips lifting.

He knew that kind of drama, mostly weekly episodic series that ran for hundreds of episodes. Back when productions across mainland China, Hong Kong, and Taiwan collaborated frequently, this model was common. He had worked on a few himself, though unfortunately never at the same time as Zhong Yao.

If they had met back then…

Lin Zhu imagined a sleepwalking teenage Zhong Yao and, despite trying to hold it in, burst out laughing.

If they’d met under those circumstances, maybe he would’ve gathered the courage and actually chased after Zhong Yao once he became an adult.

Zhong Yao had already started another story when the agent in his arms suddenly laughed a beat too late. Raising an eyebrow, he lowered his head to look at him.

Lin Zhu couldn’t stop his dangerously vivid imagination. Laughing so hard he began coughing, he lifted his head to speak, then suddenly froze.

He felt his heart jerk violently twice.

“You saw it?”

Zhong Yao hadn’t planned to hide it. He finished filling out the last part of the form, sent it to the team as instructed, and gently set the laptop aside.

He didn’t avoid Lin Zhu’s gaze, quietly letting him look straight into his eyes.

He knew what Lin Zhu cared about most. He had already tried his best to compress his own feelings, but the pain and heartache still couldn’t be hidden.

Whenever he thought even briefly about those bleak years when the teenage Lin Zhu had struggled just to survive, Zhong Yao couldn’t help wanting to step in and snatch him away completely from the agent’s parents. 

Take him away, cherish him properly, give him everything. Let him grow up happily, safely, and smoothly…

Zhong Yao closed his eyes briefly, suppressing the thought.

No matter how justified the motivation, eavesdropping was still wrong.

Unsure whether Lin Zhu was ready to tell him these things, Zhong Yao suppressed the surge of anger and heartache brought on by those memories and was about to apologize when Lin Zhu beat him to it, eyes wide with outrage:

“Dage hit you?!”

Zhong Yao：“……”

People can’t control what they think. Zhong Yao silently apologized to Lin Song in his heart and soothingly stroked his agent’s back. “It was just symbolic. He only hit me a few times. It didn’t really hurt…”

‘Didn’t really hurt’ still meant it hurt!

Lin Zhu was too distressed to keep listening. He grabbed Zhong Yao’s forehead, searching for red marks, wanting to rub them but not daring to, carefully leaning in to blow on the spot. “Why would my brother do that…? Where is he? I’m going to settle this with him!”

Zhong Yao answered honestly, “He said he had something to do and just rushed back to Beijing.”

Lin Zhu stared in disbelief, already rolling up his sleeves to grab his phone. “He even ran away?!”

Seeing his agent about to book a flight to chase him down for justice, Zhong Yao reacted quickly, pulling him back into his arms and gently rubbing circles on his back. “Alright, alright. It’s fine. Whatever your brother did doesn’t matter…”

His chest ached. Tightening his arms, Zhong Yao tilted his head and kissed Lin Zhu’s earlobe. “I… am very grateful to him.”

“I don’t even know how to thank him…”

Lin Zhu’s body tensed slightly, then gradually relaxed, soothed by Zhong Yao’s almost fierce heartbeat. He hugged him back and, imitating him, gently stroked Zhong Yao’s back.

“I’m really okay now, Ge.”

Lin Zhu took Zhong Yao’s hand and placed his palm over his own heartbeat.

His older brother had helped him endure those chaotic, miserable teenage years. And Zhong Yao’s hand had also always been there, leading him forward step by step, gripping him firmly and pulling him completely out of that cold, silent abyss.

Lin Zhu’s eyes grew warm. He rubbed them hard twice, then looked at Zhong Yao — whose eyes were also red — and couldn’t help smiling. “Ge, if you feel this bad… then I probably won’t dare tell you about my past anymore.”

With Zhong Yao’s stubborn, almost inescapable sense of responsibility, if he ever learned what happened twelve years ago… that that had actually been their first meeting, and that Lin Zhu had gone through so many awful things afterward—

Lin Zhu couldn’t bear to make Zhong Yao hurt again. He leaned forward on his own initiative and held him tightly.

Zhong Yao’s lips had turned slightly pale from holding back. He slowly exhaled, lowered his head, and smiled faintly, rubbing the head resting on his shoulder. “The heartache hasn’t passed yet… let me prepare myself a little more.”

He raised a hand to cover Lin Zhu’s eyes, his voice still slightly hoarse. “Don’t look. Just hold me for a while.”

Lin Zhu lightly nuzzled his palm and deliberately said the wrong thing at the wrong time. “Ge, crying isn’t embarrassing.”

Afraid Zhong Yao might feel self-conscious, he used himself as an example. “Ever since I met you, I’ve made up for all the crying I didn’t do in my first twenty years.”

“Don’t talk.”

It was the first time Zhong Yao had ever scolded him, though his tone was so gentle it carried no authority at all. He coughed twice to hide his unsteady breathing. “I’m not crying…”

Closing his eyes, Zhong Yao tightened his arms. “How could anyone—”

He couldn’t finish the sentence. Remembering what Lin Song had once told him, pain churned in his chest until he could barely breathe.

“Ge, there’s something you might not believe, but it’s true…”

Lin Zhu obediently kept his eyes closed, rubbing lightly against Zhong Yao’s neck. “I’ve liked you for twelve years. During those twelve years — every year, every month, every day—”

“Everything I did was because of you.”

“I went to university because of you. I worked hard because of you. I tried to improve myself because of you. No matter what happened, I had to… to stay alive.”

Lin Zhu rubbed his eyes, gaze drifting aside. He pressed his lips together, suddenly blushing. “It was all because I had ulterior motives… I wanted… wanted to flirt with you.”

But even now, he still hadn’t managed to “drive,” only wandering around by the roadside.

Lin Zhu sighed softly, suddenly feeling a strangely mature kind of youthful melancholy.

Zhong Yao: “……”

Lin Zhu had chosen his wording carefully to match the era Zhong Yao was familiar with, so Zhong Yao understood perfectly well. Though the sudden shift in tone caught him off guard, he still discreetly wiped the moisture from his eyes against Lin Zhu’s clothes, suppressing the emotion that had nearly spilled over.

David had actually sent him several tutorials already, but with so many troubles these past few days, he had forgotten to download them. By the time he remembered, the files had expired.

Feeling slightly guilty, Zhong Yao gently kissed his lover’s forehead. “Soon… very soon.”

Even if he figured everything out, Lin Zhu’s current physical condition wasn’t suitable for that anyway. Besides, Lin Zhu would likely be reversing his day-night schedule for several days. Zhong Yao never stopped him from focusing on serious work, but he also had no intention of adding anything else to burden him when he was already this busy.

If they each focused on their own tasks, progressing on both fronts at once, then by the time Lin Zhu recovered physically, Zhong Yao would probably have finished his own “research” too.

Having made up his mind, Zhong Yao found that it coincidentally aligned with Lin Zhu’s wishes. Lin Zhu’s eyes lit up as he sat upright. “Ge, does that mean we can go back now?”

At least the hotel bed was spacious, and Zhong Yao could properly lie down and rest. Feeling completely fine, Lin Zhu focused entirely on being discharged, trying hard to persuade him. “I have a private doctor. He can come to the hotel. If I stay up late these few days, I’ll nap during the day. I definitely won’t ruin my health!”

Lowering his gaze, ears reddening, Lin Zhu added, “I mean it, Ge. I get one fever and you stay up like this with me. How is that okay…”

Zhong Yao paused, the words he meant to say getting stuck halfway. He rubbed Lin Zhu’s ear and smiled. “I’m fine.”

“That’s still not okay. I need to learn my lesson… I’ll take better care of myself from now on.”

The bandage Zhong Yao had wrapped on his hand was still neat and tidy. Lin Zhu touched it, pressed his lips together, then looked up. “I… I’m still not used to this kind of life, so I keep making mistakes. Ge, if there’s anything, just tell me directly.”

He was no longer afraid of reading Zhong Yao’s thoughts and added helpfully, “If it’s hard to say, you can just think it. I’ll know as soon as I see.”

Zhong Yao, being older, tended to think more deeply and less quickly. Hearing that, half his mind still stuck on researching “materials” earlier, he couldn’t help imagining the two of them silently communicating through meaningful glances to achieve harmonious life coordination.

Zhong Yao: “……”

Seeing him go quiet, Lin Zhu looked up. “……”

Lin Zhu’s face instantly turned bright red.

Since this concerned the extremely important future of “driving quality,” Lin Zhu endured his embarrassment, took a deep breath, and stammered, “Ge, actually… actually… we could use the… uh… doggy…. position. It doesn’t have to ruin the mood like this…”

Before he could finish, Zhong Yao lowered his head and quickly kissed away the rest of his words, then stood up. “I’ll ask the doctor to check. If it’s okay, we’ll arrange discharge.”

Without waiting for Lin Zhu to speak again, Zhong Yao hurried out, and promptly walked straight into the doorframe.

---

After being discharged, neither of them had much time left to think about the “doggy position” matter.

Lin Zhu became busy day and night. Aside from strictly following his private doctor’s and nutritionist’s instructions on eating and sleeping, nearly all his remaining time went into finishing the outline requested by the Marlensius team. He barely managed to submit the first draft just before midnight on the final deadline day.

Jin Zhenbo returned to the set and was extremely dissatisfied with the filming progress, forcibly keeping Zhong Yao focused on shooting seriously. By the time Zhong Yao returned to the hotel each day, after checking on Lin Zhu’s condition without fail, he was so exhausted he fell asleep immediately, leaving no energy for anything else.

After several days, aside from brief moments of affection when they happened to be awake at the same time, they relied almost entirely on phone messages. Somehow, despite living in the same room, they created the effect of a long-distance relationship.

Observant people on set quickly noticed that although Zhong Yao remained professional during filming, he became quieter again once cameras stopped rolling.

While the role currently required a worn, weary demeanor, an actor becoming too psychologically aligned with the character wasn’t a good sign. The ever-concerned production team pulled aside several staff members who followed Zhong Yao and questioned them carefully before anxiously going to find Jin Zhenbo.

Jin Zhenbo was reviewing footage. Hearing this, he waved dismissively. “Why worry about him? He’s old enough. Can’t he handle his own problems?”

There were no secrets in the industry. With so many people involved — and drugs and police at that — it couldn’t be hidden. Though nothing had leaked publicly, insiders already knew the situation.

Jin Zhenbo had lived through the most complicated years of romantic drama scandals in film and television, weathered countless storms, and had nerves of steel. “I know about that incident. Anyone would feel bad after something like that. Let him calm down for a few days.”

The assistant director looked worried. “But… Zhong-laoshi was backstabbed once before, wasn’t he? Again and again like this, anyone would struggle.”

The producer added uneasily, “He doesn’t talk about himself and his agent anymore, barely talks to anyone. Just sits alone, either on his phone or reading scripts…”

The executive director said, “His agent isn’t on set anymore either. Staff say Zhong Yao told him not to come.”

“They said it was to let the agent ‘rest,’ but it sounded evasive. Who knows what really happened.”

The production manager nodded. “If this causes a rift between them, it wouldn’t be worth it.”

Jin Zhenbo hadn’t taken it seriously at first, but after hearing everyone talk, his brows slowly furrowed. He even began to feel uneasy. “So… he’s developed a psychological knot?”

Everyone nodded repeatedly. They had already discussed it and reached the same conclusion.

The production supervisor added, “You’re close to him. He treats you like an elder. Go comfort him, encourage him a little. Once his spirits lift, the rest of us can talk to him more easily.”

Busy filming these days, Jin Zhenbo hadn’t paid much attention to such matters. Surrounded by the production team’s persuasion, he was quickly convinced and stood up with a frown. “I’ll go take a look.”

The producer quickly stepped aside and pointed toward the corner where Zhong Yao sat.

There was no filming at the moment. Zhong Yao had chosen the quietest spot and was flipping through a script he had clearly read countless times, occasionally glancing at his phone. He’s not really using it, just lighting the screen before putting it down again.

He did look deeply preoccupied.

Unable to stand it, Jin Zhenbo strode over, intending to scold him, but the production supervisor grabbed him. “Encouragement, encouragement! Director Jin, he can’t handle being yelled at right now…”

Jin Zhenbo choked back his irritation, remembering everything Zhong Yao had gone through. After a moment, he nodded stiffly. “I know.”

No matter what, he had to get the man’s spirits up first. Suppressing his temper, Jin Zhenbo walked over and gently pulled the script from Zhong Yao’s hands. “Still studying the script now? Working this hard?”

Zhong Yao had been severely sleep-deprived these past few days, waiting for a reply from his manager who might wake up at any moment. Jin Zhenbo’s unusually gentle demeanor startled him, and he wasn’t paying attention, so the script was taken from his hands.

Still speaking kindly, Jin Zhenbo casually flipped through it while comforting him. “Don’t just sit here alone. You’ve handled the script well enough already. Go chat with the others—”

He stopped mid-sentence, eyes landing on several printed pages tucked inside the “script.”

The materials David sent were flawless, full of clear storyboard visuals paired with detailed essay explanations. A gust of wind flipped the pages with a rustle and stopped precisely on the page titled “Guanyin Sitting Lotus[mfn]A sex position where they both sit, but not face-to-face I think. The shou on top, the gong doing him from below.[/mfn]”.