In Marlensius’ team lounge, Zhong Yao put down his phone and handed it to his assistant.
“The public sentiment doesn’t look too good. Should I go back and take a look?”
The attitude on Weibo kept shifting, and it didn’t seem entirely stable. The few Chinese actors traveling with him were all somewhat worried for Zhong Yao.
One of them couldn’t help but ask, glancing toward Song Tianlang in the waiting room next door and lowering his voice, “I was supposed to help you post something on Weibo, but the chances of being selected are too slim. I really can’t bring myself to ride this wave of attention. It’s too embarrassing…”
“We might not be in a position to say anything, but those already selected candidates explaining a bit shouldn’t be a problem.”
Another actor beside him offered a suggestion: “Aren’t there a few Chinese-descended actors who’ve already been chosen? Maybe ask the production team to let them post a tweet?”
They all knew better than anyone what kind of occasion those photos were from. Once the truth came out, all the doubts would naturally disappear.
Speaking up for Zhong Yao at a time like this wasn’t difficult. But if they did, it would mean admitting that they had also attended Marlensius’ team networking party.
Right now, marketing accounts were scrambling for trending topics. If they got caught, it might turn into exaggerated headlines like “Chinese actors participating in an Oscar-level director’s new film.”
If things escalated… it wouldn’t be much different from Song Tianlang’s behavior of hyping himself up just because he received an invitation.
With fewer and fewer spots available, the actors who came this time all knew they weren’t as certain as Zhong Yao. They were just hoping to experience the atmosphere of a top-tier production team and simply couldn’t bring themselves to do something so embarrassing.
Zhong Yao, however, wasn’t worried at all. He shook his head with a smile. “No need. Someone at home is keeping an eye on things.”
Earlier, the comment moderation had been steady, and now suddenly letting those comments surface…
Clearly, the agent who was supposed to be resting under doctor’s orders had just woken up.
Zhong Yao had never doubted Lin Zhu’s professional ability. Though he didn’t know what Lin Zhu planned to do, he wasn’t worried. He simply turned back and asked his assistant for the phone again.
The actor beside him also finally remembered their famously capable manager and laughed in relief. “Right, right. We forgot about your little one. We’ve been worrying for nothing. With him around, it’ll be fine…”
Zhong Yao’s eyes lit up, and he nodded with a smile, about to say something — when the people around him had already instinctively stepped half a meter away.
Since he had taken his phone back, the next step was obviously to contact his manager and discuss countermeasures.
These actors were all working overseas and were very respectful of personal space. They all moved aside, leaving Zhong Yao — who hadn’t even had the chance to praise his agent — plenty of privacy.
Zhong Yao: “……”
Sigh… It was still warmer back home.
With no one to talk to about his agent, Zhong Yao felt a bit disappointed. He sighed softly and lowered his head to send Lin Zhu a few messages.
Lin Zhu, who was remotely directing the team to prepare their counterattack, suddenly saw the phone screen beside him light up.
Zhong Yao: [Awake?]
Zhong Yao: [Stay in bed a bit longer. Remember to eat the bread I baked. There’s strawberry yogurt in the fridge. You can have a small bowl later.]
Zhong Yao: [Don’t eat too much. Let’s go out for lunch together later.]
Lin Zhu’s sharp edge softened. Happily grabbing his phone, he quickly replied with a couple of messages.
On Weibo, after that comment appeared, even without moderation, the direction of public opinion was gradually being corrected.
More and more people recognized Heidi Dodge. Lin Zhu had specifically asked Heidi to post a tweet. The lively, fun-loving actress agreed without hesitation and immediately posted a set of playful photos she had taken with Zhong Yao and Lin Zhu.
Heidi also had quite a number of fans in China. Once the photos were posted, they were quickly reposted onto Weibo.
Thanks to Huaying Entertainment and Song Tianlang, news about Song Tianlang receiving an invitation had been widely publicized recently. Without much guidance, people quickly pieced together the truth.
[So… bold guess: Zhong-laoshi also got an audition invitation and was brought to the crew’s party?]
[It seems very likely?? That would also explain why the agent disappeared for a month!]
[I think Zhong-laoshi fits the role so well! Petitioning for him to succeed in the audition!!]
[So it wasn’t just one person? Song Tianlang’s side made it sound like he was the only Chinese actor invited…]
[Shh… his fans are fierce right now, don’t bring it up…]
[So Actor Zhong and Actor Song are competing for the same role? Honestly, the difference in PR is huge. One is known by everyone, the other not exposed at all. Even though I have a good impression of Actor Zhong’s agent, hsi team should be more dedicated, right? What have they been doing all this time?]
Even though Lin Zhu had told them not to manage Weibo, the PR team was still uneasy. While scrolling through Song Tianlang’s negative press, they kept an eye on things. The moment they saw the latest comment, they were furious, rolling up their sleeves to attack the troll accounts.
“Alright, alright, no need to worry,”
Lin Zhu chuckled and reassured them in time. “They’re just lashing out at anything now. Someone will push back for us. Come help here…”
“Lin-laoshi’s temper has gotten so much better.”
The PR team understood the reasoning, but hearing Lin Zhu remain so calm despite being attacked, they couldn’t help but sigh. “Is this the power of love?”
Lin Zhu’s ears warmed slightly. He coughed and regained his authoritative tone. “Enough chatting. Everyone, be prepared for everything. Release it as soon as the time comes.”
As soon as he became serious, even the PR team instinctively straightened up. Every department waited on standby, and the group call fell silent.
“Lin-ge…”
It was the first time the PR team had participated in such a major counterattack. Both excited and nervous, a staff member couldn’t help asking, “Why are we timing it like this? Traffic is so low at midnight. If we want to blow this up, we’ll have to wait until morning. Looks like we won’t be sleeping tonight…”
Lin Zhu smiled, his gaze falling on the latest Weibo comments. He clicked the mouse twice. “He stole three years of glory, so we’ll give him exactly three years back. Isn’t that fair?”
The PR team member froze.
Under that Weibo comment, the obviously provocative message was quickly attacked by rational fans. Many had already spoken up in defense of the team.
[“Audition invitation”. Can you understand what the first word means? Since when is announcing an audition invitation something to brag about? We can’t afford that embarrassment, thanks.]
[+1. If it’s not confirmed, we don’t want publicity, especially not against Song Tianlang 🙂 Haven’t we learned from the past?]
[New fan here, missed what happened back then!! Can someone explain?? What’s the deal with Song Tianlang??]
[A certain someone who competed with Zhong-laoshi for a role, both teams announced it at the same time, then Zhong-laoshi got dragged through the mud so badly he nearly couldn’t recover. Then the role went to that person…]
[Seriously? Bringing up old rumors again. Do you have evidence? Proof? Just making accusations. Are Actor Zhong’s fans this paranoid?]
[Alright, stop here. We’re not trying to start drama. Don’t bring this up without evidence, or you’ll get attacked.]
[It’s not about starting drama… Haven’t you noticed the time? The entire studio team is online right now. Yet despite being attacked like this, no one is responding. Not even a simple clarification?]
[Reminder: in less than an hour, it’ll be exactly three years since Song Tianlang was officially announced as the lead in “Thirteen Months”…. replacing Zhong-laoshi.]
[Three full years… can we finally know what really happened back then?]
Lin Zhu let go of the mouse, fiddled with his phone, and sent Zhong Yao a message.
…
Zhong Yao’s phone vibrated softly.
He picked it up, glanced at it, and raised his brow slightly.
He slowly typed a reply and put the phone down.
Song Tianlang had just finished his audition, a faint layer of cold sweat on him. He glanced toward Zhong Yao, who was about to go next, his gaze wavering before he forced himself to look up.
Zhong Yao stood and walked toward the audition room.
The scene Song Tianlang had chosen earlier was one provided by Lin Zhu in the script outline. The protagonist, who could read minds, returns home battered and exhausted after being dragged into a series of uncontrollable events, standing in front of the bathroom mirror and trying to read his own mind.
In the script, this scene required the actor to portray both the real self and the “illusion” revealed by mind-reading. Song Tianlang had chosen to play the illusion, and he had indeed portrayed the exposed desires and ambitions under mind-reading quite well.
Everyone has a beast hidden inside. Seeing it clearly is the first step to taming it.
Zhong Yao walked into the audition room, closed the door behind him, and stood still.
“Hello…”
This was Song Tianlang’s first time facing Zhong Yao directly. He didn’t know how much Zhong Yao knew, but he couldn’t openly antagonize him in front of the cameras. Forcing himself, he extended his hand. “Zhong-laoshi, I’ve heard a lot about you—”
His words halted as Zhong Yao calmly shook his hand. A sudden unease rose in his chest.
Zhong Yao gestured for him to take position, then stood opposite him. “I heard my agent had some conflict with you. I hope it didn’t affect your performance today…”
“No, no!”
When Song Tianlang finished his performance, he was extremely satisfied with it. Afraid that the Marlensius team might be influenced by Zhong Yao’s words, he quickly waved his hands.
“It’s nothing, it’s already over!”
Zhong Yao smiled. “That’s good.”
Zhong Yao added, “my agent just messaged me. He said he didn’t feel like he hit you hard enough… and asked me to help him out.”
Song Tianlang’s heart jolted violently. He instinctively took two steps back, cold sweat soaking through his clothes in an instant. “Y-you wouldn’t— this is an audition! You can’t attack someone during an audition!”
Actors were supposed to coordinate when acting together, and the team would give them time to communicate. Seeing that no one was urging them, Song Tianlang seemed to find some reassurance. His eyes lit up, and he said urgently, “Your agent said it too… if you had known my situation back then, you would’ve given me the role!”
Zhong Yao paused slightly.
Thinking of his agent resting obediently at home, Lin Zhu, Zhong Yao couldn’t help but curl his lips faintly, his gaze softening.
No matter when or what happened, Lin Zhu had always been the one who believed in him the most.
The one who had always watched him, taken him as a goal and standard, and rushed to the front to protect him whenever something went wrong…
His darling little one.
Zhong Yao glanced outside, faintly regretting not asking his assistant to set up a livestream.
Song Tianlang let out a long breath of relief. “You’re a magnanimous person, so you don’t blame me, right? I know I was wrong. Let me go, I swear I’ll never—”
“Wrong.”
Zhong Yao let out a faint laugh and cut him off. “I won’t let you go.”
He stepped forward and undid his collar with one hand. “Three years.”
Zhong Yao lifted his head. “Do you know? My agent could’ve entered the industry long ago. He could’ve acted with me. He could’ve met me much earlier. He’s a good kid; more hardworking, more resilient, more willing to endure hardship than anyone…”
“You delayed him for three years.”
Song Tianlang’s pupils shrank, his face turning pale.
“I won’t hit you. There’s no part in the script where the illusion gets beaten, otherwise I would’ve already signaled the start of the audition.”
“I don’t like meaningless hypotheticals. That role back then is already yours. There’s no point talking about it anymore. But this time… this role won’t be yours.”
Zhong Yao raised his hand toward the camera, signaling readiness.
Marlensius watched the monitor and nodded. The assistant director tapped the slate. “Action!”
Lin Zhu lowered his head and checked the time.
“Run through it again,” he tapped the microphone to keep people from dozing off. “PR handles Weibo. Marketing handles major portals — trending searches, site highlights, push notifications…”
No one dared sleep. Everyone sat tensely in front of their computers, waiting for the final moment. Each time Lin Zhu called a team, a crisp response came through the headset.
“Double-check the statement. Make sure there’s nothing people can nitpick.”
The PR manager acknowledged and once again reviewed the statement word by word.
Facing Song Tianlang, Zhong Yao’s expression turned cold. His slightly worn posture straightened bit by bit, his silhouette sharpening.
Inside the audition room, it was Song Tianlang’s first time acting opposite him. He struggled to focus, trying to withstand Zhong Yao’s overwhelming presence, yet couldn’t stop himself from avoiding his gaze.
Cold sweat seeped down his back.
According to the script, the “illusion” should have been evenly matched with the protagonist, even slightly dominant. But he couldn’t even meet Zhong Yao’s eyes.
“Everyone has desires. I just want more. That’s not wrong…”
He recited his lines, forcing himself to look up.
Then he suddenly shuddered.
“Three, two, one…”
Lin Zhu counted down. “Release.”
All teams moved at once. Starting with the evidence from the burner accounts they’d uncovered, they exposed solid proof from three years ago: evidence that Song Tianlang had participated in smearing Zhong Yao, along with the agency behind it. Combined with the studio’s legal statement, it exploded across every platform simultaneously.
Even though it was late at night, many people were still awake. The shocking news instantly wiped away any sleepiness.
Search trends about Song Tianlang shot upward.
Because his agent had hidden the evidence, afraid the company would abandon him if they found out, the PR team hadn’t reacted in time. By then, the videos and screenshots had already spread across the entire internet.
In the audition room, guilt gnawed at Song Tianlang. Intimidated by Zhong Yao, he stumbled backward and crashed hard into the table.
“What are you…”
Zhong Yao let out a soft scoff and clearly delivered his line, “You think you can destroy me?”
He closed his eyes briefly, a faint ache stirring in his chest.
If Lin Zhu could write something like this… had he once been trapped in obsession too, nearly destroyed?
When he got back, he’d definitely make his agent a big cream cake, the kind that is covered in fruit, with chocolate drizzle.
Under the camera, Zhong Yao’s gaze flickered between sharpness and softness. A hint of hostility glinted, then was subdued by something deeper and gentler, settling into calm clarity.
Suddenly, Zhong Yao threw a punch at Song Tianlang.
Terrified, Song Tianlang screamed and staggered backward, tripping and falling hard. When he looked up, Zhong Yao’s fist had stopped just short of him.
In the script, the protagonist would smash the mirror and walk out, returning to where he was needed.
Song Tianlang’s chest heaved violently. He stared at his own hands, dazed, as if something inside him had collapsed completely.
Zhong Yao didn’t look at him again. He grabbed his coat and walked out.
“Zhong, wait!” Marlensius called as he rushed out at the same time, but the producer stopped him with a smile.
“Let him go. He has something more important than contracts right now… don’t you, our dragon-slaying knight?”
Zhong Yao paused, met his gaze, and smiled faintly. “No…”
“I’m just in a hurry to find my little knight at home.”
The producer kept his promise to Lin Zhu and hadn’t told anyone about Song Tianlang’s actions. Since pre-audition conversations weren’t recorded, Marlensius still had no idea what had happened. “What dragon? What are you talking about?”
“You’re better off not knowing,” the producer patted his shoulder. “Didn’t you say you’d devote your life to art? It won’t let you hug it or kiss it under mistletoe…”
Marlensius: “……”
He immediately shut his mouth and went back inside.
In online spaces, everything had exploded into chaos.
The PR manager, multitasking as usual, couldn’t resist chatting with Lin Zhu. “Lin-laoshi, what about you?”
Lin Zhu had already changed into slippers and stepped out, phone in hand as he checked the fridge. “What about me?”
“You usually handle something personally too, right? This time you didn’t even post the studio statement yourself…”
Lin Zhu took out the strawberry yogurt Zhong Yao had made, stirred it with a spoon, and — after that infamous video call disaster — finally turned on his camera again. The once fearsome agent now wore a fluffy rabbit pajama, curled up warmly by the fireplace under a blanket, gently swinging his spoon. “I’m very busy drinking yogurt.”
