MACRM Chapter 42

Though Zhong Yao had joined the crew later than others, he was the first to wrap up his scenes.

After finally blasting the outdoor set into a full-blown wasteland, they had to make good use of it. Several main actors still had scenes that took place amidst the ruins, so they all planned to stay and film after this, which meant at least another one or two weeks of work.

Most of the crew came specifically to celebrate the two actors’ completion. The resting area buzzed with energy for quite some time. Zhong Yao, ever good-natured, agreed to every request for signatures and photos, even writing a personalized autograph for the assistant director’s son — a formal thank-you for kindly taking in his pillow.

After a month of filming, everyone had grown quite close. They promised to work together again someday, and only under Director Wei’s urging did they reluctantly send the two off.

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Although the filming had wrapped up smoothly, Zhong Yao still failed to immediately lure his agent back home with him.

Taking the overnight stay at Zhong Yao’s place rather seriously, Lin Zhu insisted on going home to pack and prepare. Zhong Yao also needed to return home early to ship the assistant director’s parcel and tidy up his house, which had been empty for nearly a month.

The two of them were so nervous it bordered on ridiculous. They circled the city twice, shaking off the relentless reporters waiting to ambush them for post-shoot interviews, then agreed to spend the night apart and head straight to Zhong Yao’s house the next day to celebrate Mid-Autumn Festival together.

“No need to bring much. I have everything at home.”

Zhong Yao was driving, and recalling last night’s events, he couldn’t help but laugh. Freeing one hand, he reached over to pat his agent on the shoulder who looked as if he wanted to make a checklist for even this. “Just bring yourself.”

He had just gotten rid of the extra pillows at home. If Lin Zhu ended up pulling an inflatable Great Wall out of his suitcase tomorrow…

Maybe he didn’t sleep enough last night. 

Zhong Yao brushed aside the wandering thought, glanced at Lin Zhu, who was drowsy yet stubbornly flipping through lodging tips, and raised a hand to cover his eyes with a chuckle. “Rest for a bit. I remember the way from here. Just think of it as spending the night at a friend’s place. Not so nervous anymore, right?”

With his vision dimmed into gentle darkness under Zhong Yao’s palm, Lin Zhu’s heart began to race. He instinctively nodded. “Not nervous anymore…”

Boys his age were lively by nature, and surely he had gone to friends’ houses before. Relieved, Zhong Yao waited until Lin Zhu obediently closed his eyes, then withdrew his hand and focused on the road, driving him home. They set a time to meet tomorrow before he finally headed back to prepare.

As soon as he stepped into the villa, Lin Zhu darted straight to his room on the second floor.

Lin Song hadn’t managed to find out his younger brother’s final filming date, and had reluctantly flown overseas two days earlier. Now, only the butler and the housekeeper were home.

It didn’t take long for Lin Zhu’s commotion to draw the butler to his door. The man leaned against the frame, smiling. “It’s been a while, Young Master. Will you be staying home for a few days this time?”

“I’m going to a friend’s house!”

Lin Zhu shook his head, looking up from his pile of luggage, his eyes bright and sparkling.

He tried hard to appear calm and mature, but the smile tugging at his lips refused to stay down. “He… my good friend invited me. I’m going tomorrow. I’ll be staying overnight…”

“Friend?”

The butler blinked, masking his mild surprise with a gentle smile. “That’s wonderful. Are you packing, Young Master?”

Lin Zhu nodded, suppressing the thrill bubbling in his chest. He turned to the scattered clothes and luggage on the bed. “What— what should I bring? Have you ever stayed at a friend’s house before? Should I bring a gift? Maybe some snacks…”

The last time Zhong Yao had invited him home was only for a brief rest, so it was fine to go empty-handed. But this time, they had planned an overnight stay ahead of time. Not preparing anything felt wrong no matter how he thought about it.

Lin Zhu fretted back and forth for ages, still unsure what to do. “Can I… can I play at his house? Do I need to bring my own blanket? Where can I go, where can’t I go? And what if I want to stay a few more days—”

“Young Master.”

The butler’s heart softened, and he interrupted gently, “There aren’t so many rules when visiting a friend’s house. As long as you and your friend are happy, you can do whatever you like.”

He had been with the Lin family for a long time — since Lin Zhu had first been brought back home — and he understood well why such a small thing could make the young master so happy.

Lin Zhu looked up, still a little hesitant, clearly unable to accept that something so important could be arranged so casually.

“I’ll go get you something to eat,” the butler smiled, gave a slight bow, and turned toward the kitchen.

The staff, who had seen the young master come home, had already started preparing, making several plates of Lin Zhu’s favorite home-style snacks.

The butler personally carried them upstairs, placing the tray on the desk without disturbing the young master, who was still bustling about with his packing. Then he quietly closed the door.

By the time Lin Zhu finally finished packing his enormous suitcase, it was already close to midnight.

There were his own essentials, a collection of little trinkets he’d gathered over the years that he wanted to show Zhong Yao, the gifts he’d prepared, and even a jar of cookies he’d baked that afternoon under the chef’s guidance. The suitcase was stuffed to bursting.

What if he ended up staying a few extra days…

Lin Zhu rubbed his warm cheeks, got up quietly, picked out two more clean sets of underwear, folded them neatly, and tucked them inside.

But staying longer might also cause trouble.

He remembered the PR staff’s receding hairline. Best not to overwork them. Especially after several rounds of trending searches, Zhong Yao’s popularity had skyrocketed. The production team had released two trailers, both generously filled with shots of him, and audiences’ anticipation for [No Bridge] and for Zhong Yao himself had reached new heights.

Anyone with eyes could tell that once [No Bridge] aired, Zhong Yao’s fame was all but guaranteed to explode.

High-quality offers had already begun rolling in, each with impressive pay rates. Clozeya had sent an invitation for a brand ambassador role, and Lin Zhu, ambitious as ever, had set his sights on a lucrative Asia-Pacific endorsement. He insisted on waiting until after the show’s premiere to negotiate — a decision that already had the marketing department growing anxious.

With so much lined up, even after the Mid-Autumn Festival, they’d still be busy for at least two more days — and right after that came the recording for Battle of Light and Shadow.

Sitting on his suitcase to force the lid shut, Lin Zhu thought for a moment, then opened his laptop.

Two minutes later, the entire team was dragged out of bed.

The head of publicity, hair a tangled mess, stared blankly. “What time is it? Did I sleep for thirteen hours or something…”

The planner sat up in bed with his laptop, furiously spraying his face with water and prying his eyelids open with his fingers to stay awake.

The PR head, hardened by years in the field, was the only one alert. He immediately started mocking: “Pathetic. No professionalism at all. Look at me—”

“Everyone, sorry to bother you tonight. I’ll send out red packets later.”

Lin Zhu felt a little guilty about acting like a capitalist, his cheeks coloring slightly as he cleared his throat. “After the Mid-Autumn Festival… I want to take an extra day off. Let’s go over our upcoming projects tonight and sort out the schedule. Everyone gets one more day of leave.”

At the mention of red packets, everyone suddenly sobered up.

Lin Zhu’s red packets were famously generous — one was worth an entire month’s bonus elsewhere. The PR team, in particular, had recently upgraded to business laptops and top-tier mechanical keyboards thanks to him; they practically strutted when walking.

He’d hand-picked and poached this entire team himself. Whether or not Zhong Yao eventually left Canxing Entertainment, they were his personal crew, fully tied to his success. How well Zhong Yao’s career went directly affected them, so none of them dared to truly complain about a little overtime.

Lin Zhu gathered his focus and began summarizing the situation.

“I didn’t realize until I laid it all out…”

The planner’s eyes widened. “We’re actually being chased by resource offers now?”

The publicity head instantly perked up, rubbing his eyes as he sat straighter. “But Zhong-laoshi’s show hasn’t even aired yet, right? If it’s like this now, what’s it going to be like later?”

“Zhong-laoshi should be at this level,” Lin Zhu said firmly. “We’ve started here. From now on, we can only go up, not down.”

He’d already anticipated this, and he was far calmer than the rest. “[No Bridge] premieres on October 15. Before that, there’ll be three teaser episodes and one fifteen-minute extended trailer. Based on those releases, we need to ramp up fan-generated content and online engagement before October. If you need to buy tags or launch campaigns on platforms, tell me directly.”

“All kinds of tags?”

The publicity head raised his hand carefully. “Some tags are trending really high. They’re not exactly mainstream, but fan creativity around them is insane…”

Lin Zhu dragged his timeline in Vegas, trimming every one of Zhong Yao’s appearances. “Do them. As long as it’s related to him, do it.”

While multitasking, he continued giving orders. “If any official statements are needed, coordinate with me first. We can use those as fan benefits. Also, keep all promotional tone positive — no comparisons, no negativity, no fan wars. If anyone comes picking fights, send them to me. Some of the premium sponsors care a lot about reputation, so we have to maintain a clean public image.”

“Lin-ge, are you watching the second trailer?”

The planner trusted Lin Zhu blindly, but his attention was caught by the audio from Lin Zhu’s laptop. “I saw that one too. It’s so tragic! I went through a whole box of tissues! The official team really kills me sometimes…”

The publicity head coughed sharply, snapping him out of it just in time.

Lin Zhu didn’t notice, simply nodded and tapped a marker on the timeline. “I’ll sort the offers by priority tonight. Everyone, take a look after and keep them in mind.”

The Sichuan Film Crew always worked fast — they had wrapped up filming just that morning, and by afternoon, the second trailer was already released, now climbing to the top of several streaming platforms.

Lin Zhu fast-forwarded through it, paying little attention to the plot. His focus was entirely on Zhong Yao. The sight of him, his coat billowing amid smoke and gunfire, brought back the memory of that one unguarded glance, and warmth bloomed again in Lin Zhu’s chest.

During the video call, worried that smiling would make him lose his professional composure, Lin Zhu rubbed his face lightly and cleared his throat. “Mid-Autumn Festival… for at least two days, I might be handling some personal matters. If anything urgent comes up, just text me.”

Normally, Lin Zhu was never careless about anything involving Zhong Yao. The entire team had permission to call him anytime. This was the first time he’d reverted to “text only,” which left everyone stunned.

The publicity head, the quickest thinker, couldn’t hold back: “You mean… you’re spending the festival with Zhong-laoshi? Is that why you’re making us work overtime tonight?”

Caught off guard, Lin Zhu’s hand slipped, almost failing to save his last video edit.

“No problem! Go enjoy yourself,” the PR head said cheerfully, already resigned to fate. “We’ve been meaning to get a high-res projector anyway.”

Their PR team had grown fast, and all of them had a zen-like spirit at this stage. “Once you two go public, maybe we’ll finally get to rest.”

The planner froze mid-typing and looked up suddenly. “Wait— Lin-ge’s spending the night with Zhong-laoshi? And… going public?!”

Lin Zhu：“……”

Lin Zhu quickly closed the video and typed fast: “Alright, everyone, go to sleep. Thanks for your hard work.”

He casually sent a few red envelopes to the group. As soon as the “claimed” notifications popped up below, he let out a long sigh, pressed his lips together, and slowly allowed the sharpness in his expression to fade, leaving behind the real him, not the work persona.

Rubbing his face hard twice, Lin Zhu turned off the group notifications. He stared at the freshly edited video clip for a while, but couldn’t focus at all. After tossing and turning on the bed with his eyes closed for some time, he couldn’t help sitting up again.

The moon was still high in the sky; it would be a few more hours before dawn.

Lin Song wasn’t here, and there was no one at home to talk to. There was a time difference between here and the other side of the ocean — it should be daytime there now, and his older brother was probably spending time with their parents.

Lin Zhu didn’t want to disturb them. He picked up his phone, then put it back down, leaning by the window to watch the slowly drifting moon, and suddenly felt a little regretful.

If he had gone home with Zhong Yao today, he could’ve stayed there for at least two nights…

In his whole life, apart from the night when his parents came to take him away from the orphanage, this was the first time Lin Zhu had been so nervous that he couldn’t close his eyes.

“Being taken home”  was a phrase that had always meant something different to him.

It wasn’t like eating together, filming together on set, or even sharing a hotel room. This was about going to Zhong Yao’s personal space, the place that carried traces of him, where he actually lived.

Lin Zhu suddenly felt like taking another shower.

There wasn’t much else to do anyway, and after that last line shouted by the publicity team, he’d broken a light sweat. Taking another shower didn’t seem like a bad idea.

Just as he was about to move, his phone suddenly buzzed.

Lin Zhu’s heart jumped. He turned and snatched up the phone.

It was a message from Zhong Yao.

Zhong Yao: [Still awake?]

Old-school artists often typed very concisely. Lin Zhu had gotten used to it by now, and his brain automatically supplied the tone Zhong Yao would use in real life.

Lin Zhu’s eyes lit up instantly. Hugging his phone, he flopped face-first onto the bed, the corners of his mouth curling up without him realizing it.

Lin Zhu: [I’m awake! You’re still up too? Is something wrong]

Zhong Yao didn’t reply right away. Instead, a few moments later, Lin Zhu’s phone started to vibrate again, signalling an incoming call.

“Good thing you’re still awake.”

Hearing his voice, Zhong Yao sounded relieved, even gave a soft chuckle. “I just… don’t know how to explain this.”

“What’s wrong?”

Lin Zhu immediately sat up straight and flipped open his laptop. “Did we trend again? It’s fine, I just finished the meeting with the team — they’re probably still awake. I’ll call them right now to handle—”

“No, no, it’s nothing that serious.”

Zhong Yao quickly stopped him. Just as he was about to continue, he paused, then changed the subject gently, “You just finished the meeting?”

Lin Zhu hadn’t expected that detail to catch his attention. He opened his mouth but didn’t know what excuse to make. Finally, he admitted softly, “I just wanted to… finish a bit more work, so I could… stay with you one more day.”

There was a short silence on the other end, then followed by a quiet laugh. “What a coincidence. I just finished recording a few VCRs the crew asked for too.”

Lin Zhu’s heart skipped. He was about to speak again when Zhong Yao continued warmly, “But… I might not be able to come pick you up tomorrow. Is that okay?”

Lin Zhu froze. The bright spark that had lit up inside him was snuffed out in an instant.

He sat there for a bit, took a moment to steady his tone, and forced a smile: “Do you have something scheduled tomorrow — or… are your family coming back? It’s fine, you handle your business first. I’m not in a rush. We can see each other anytime…”

“No, no — listen to me first.”

Before he could finish, Zhong Yao’s voice came again, cutting him off just in time.

Lin Zhu’s hand tightened around his phone. He fell silent obediently.

“I regret it. I shouldn’t have teased you.”

Zhong Yao’s tone was sincere, his voice soft as he confessed, “I couldn’t stay in bed. I already got everything ready, but I couldn’t sleep… so I went out for some air. Somehow, I ended up driving over.”

Lin Zhu: “!!”

He shot up like an arrow, ran to the window, and yanked open the curtains.

The security guard had probably recognized the license plate and let the car in. At this late hour, the familiar vehicle he’d seen several times was quietly parked by the roadside.

Zhong Yao stood beside it, holding his phone in one hand, the other slipped into his coat pocket. When he looked up, their eyes met.

His voice, low and gentle, drifted through the silver light of the August full moon.

“Would you… come home with me tonight?”