MACRM Chapter 46

The mist in Lin Zhu’s eyes was instantly scared away.

The PR manager on the phone was clearly no longer speaking coherently, and Lin Zhu, too flustered to care about his own emotions, scrambled to check the pattern and size of the T-shirt he was wearing.

Zhong Yao loosely circled an arm around him, watching as his manager spun about in panic, warmth flooding his eyes. He drew the young man into his embrace and gently patted his back, smiling. “It’s alright, it’s one of my old shirts…”

That was exactly what made it not alright!

In the earlier chaos, Lin Zhu hadn’t looked closely. Only now did he realize he was wearing one of Zhong Yao’s private clothes, the kind he used to wear all the time back in the day. Having once been a fan himself, Lin Zhu knew just how sharp fans’ “microscopes” could be. Panicked, he turned to run to the bedroom to grab his phone.

But Zhong Yao had already anticipated it. Lin Zhu barely took a step before the tall, long-armed Film Emperor smoothly caught him back.

“Ge, this isn’t a small matter,” Lin Zhu said anxiously, ears flushed red. “I need to tell PR—”

“PR has worked hard enough. Let them have a peaceful Mid-Autumn Festival.”

Zhong Yao ruffled his hair, smiling. “You don’t have to be so tense about everything. I can handle a little wind and waves… You’re at my house. What’s wrong with wearing my clothes?”

Lin Zhu froze.

Something about that logic seemed a little off, but he couldn’t help trusting Zhong Yao instinctively. His mind was torn between panic over the probably frantic PR team and the realization that he was currently wearing Zhong Yao’s shirt. His neck flushed red, inch by inch. “But…”

“It’s fine. Today is the Mid-Autumn Festival. Let’s just enjoy our holiday.”

Seeing that Lin Zhu had been completely distracted from his earlier worries, Zhong Yao relaxed, smiling gently as he interrupted and guided Lin Zhu to the table. He set an orange stuffed with crab in front of him. “For reunion and peace.”

Lin Zhu couldn’t handle those words. His heart trembled suddenly; he gripped the hem of the shirt tightly and fell silent.

Zhong Yao lifted the top of the orange for him, took out a delicate silver spoon, and gently stirred the crabmeat soaking in wine. Steam rose with the sweet fragrance of fruit and the fresh scent of crab.

It wasn’t surprising that Lin Zhu hadn’t noticed at first. In all fairness, he’d been too frazzled.

The shirt Zhong Yao had given him dated back to his debut years, when he hadn’t yet finished growing, his frame still slender and boyish. On Lin Zhu, it only looked a little loose, not ill-fitting.

So Zhong Yao hadn’t rushed to make him change.

Lin Zhu lowered his head, the corners of his lips curling slightly. He could no longer keep up the façade of a professional agent. Quietly, inside his heart, a firework bloomed.

Zhong Yao’s… T-shirt.

Every time Lin Zhu thought he’d already reached the peak of his luck, something even luckier would fall right into his lap.

Dazed and dizzy with happiness, he ate small spoonfuls of the sweet, fragrant crab, completely forgetting what he’d meant to tell Zhong Yao before realizing the clothing mix-up.

After the meal, the moon was high in the sky.

Zhong Yao had originally wanted to show Lin Zhu more of his old collection, but when he saw the faint shimmer of drowsiness in Lin Zhu’s eyes, he decided against it. He reached out and rubbed his hair. “Sleepy?”

Lin Zhu leaned into the touch, rubbing his head against Zhong Yao’s palm. “No…”

Zhong Yao chuckled. He shifted his hand, letting Lin Zhu rest his head on it. “How can you be drunk after so little wine? Are you dizzy?”

The orange’s fruity aroma and the mellow Shaoxing rice wine had blended perfectly with the crab. Lin Zhu had eaten three of them and shared a tiny cup of wine with Zhong Yao. His face was now thoroughly flushed.

Relaxed like never before, his delicate features had softened, no longer clouded by worry or his usual bright energy.

Zhong Yao didn’t have the heart to wake him. He tidied the table, gathered the dishes, and headed for the kitchen, only to find that his shirt hem had been caught again.

This grabbing habit of Lin Zhu’s just wouldn’t go away. Zhong Yao’s heart softened even more. He bent down, speaking softly. “I’m just cleaning up, not leaving.”

“I’ll help…”

Still half-asleep, Lin Zhu swayed to his feet, trying to pick up a plate.

Seeing him grab at empty air, Zhong Yao reacted fast, catching it before it fell. Sighing helplessly, he pulled Lin Zhu close. “You can help by talking to me. Tell me a story while I clean, okay?”

Half-drunk Lin Zhu was even more obedient than when sober. He didn’t try to move the dishes again, just followed Zhong Yao step by step, chatting away in a dreamy stream of words.

Zhong Yao washed the dishes, careful not to step on the little “tail” trailing behind him, listening attentively to Lin Zhu’s disjointed rambling.

“There were roasted cicadas too… You use a flashlight, has to be dark, find a tree with lots of leaves. You’ll definitely catch some.”

Still in a good mood from dinner, Lin Zhu spoke animatedly, educating him. “There are some on the ground too, but harder to find. You have to dig hole by hole…”

“That impressive?” Zhong Yao asked with a laugh. He’d once spent half a year living in the countryside for a role, but hadn’t been there during cicada season. “Where did you do that?”

Given how protective Lin Zhu’s family was — the kind that wouldn’t even let him go abroad without a chaperone — it was hard to imagine them letting a kid run around the woods at night catching cicadas unless it was some family trip to a farmhouse resort.

Half teasing, half genuinely curious, Zhong Yao dabbed a bit of foam onto Lin Zhu’s nose. “Then we’ll go together sometime. I’ll try catching some too.”

Lin Zhu burst out laughing, dodging. “No, I’m not taking you!”

Normally so obedient, the agent’s rare refusal made Zhong Yao raise his brows in amusement. “What’s so secret about that place? Got some hidden treasure you won’t share?”

After dodging for a while, Lin Zhu’s cheeks flushed red, a sheen of sweat forming on his forehead as he laughed and shook his head. “No good… I just won’t take you.”

Zhong Yao chuckled, rinsed his hands, and reached to wipe the sweat from Lin Zhu’s brow, but then paused.

The rice wine they’d drunk seemed mild but had a strong aftereffect. Lin Zhu, who rarely touched alcohol, had held up fine while sitting, but once he stepped into the cool air, the intoxication hit him full force. He stood there, dazed and docile, eyes soft and smiling faintly.

Zhong Yao stroked his hair, voice gentle. “Not good, so you won’t take me?”

Lin Zhu leaned closer instinctively, eyes curving as he nodded.

Zhong Yao didn’t press further. He drew him into his arms, carefully wiping the sweat from his forehead, patting his back in slow, soothing motions.

Outside, the moon hung full and bright. Pale silver light streamed through the window, quietly filling the room.

Zhong Yao brushed the back of his hand against Lin Zhu’s forehead and looked at him quietly. “If you ever don’t know where to go… come back here, alright?”

Lin Zhu’s eyes lit up. He looked up at Zhong Yao, the moonlight of the Mid-Autumn night reflected in his gaze, clear and bright. “Anytime?”

“Anytime.”

Zhong Yao smiled, tightening his arms around him. “From today on, this is your home too.”

Lin Zhu stood still, staring blankly at him. His pupils shrank slightly, as if the words had burned him.

The usual light in his eyes vanished, but Zhong Yao didn’t rush him. He only grew gentler, rubbing Lin Zhu’s ear softly. “Call me ‘ge.’”

Lin Zhu leapt forward, throwing himself into Zhong Yao’s arms, overjoyed. “Gege gege gege gege gege!”

The drunk manager didn’t have much strength; after a short while of squirming happily, he quieted down, leaving both of them sweaty from laughter. Finally calming him, Zhong Yao released his arms and led him out of the kitchen. “Alright, go shower, and if you’re tired, go lie down—”

Before he could finish, Lin Zhu was already gone.

Startled, Zhong Yao turned toward the sound of the door. The front door clicked softly shut.

Half an hour later, under the tranquil Mid-Autumn moonlight, the impeccably dressed Film Emperor Zhong was sprinting downstairs, chasing his runaway agent in frantic circles, deeply reflecting on his fatal mistake of letting go too soon.

Meanwhile, ten kilometers away on a rooftop, after sending a dozen unanswered messages and calling for half an hour straight, the PR manager stared expressionlessly at two abandoned phones and silently ascended to a new level of professional evolution.

The next morning, after chasing his agent halfway through the night, Film Emperor Zhong Yao opened his eyes with great difficulty in the morning light.

Sunlight slipped through the gap in the curtains that hadn’t been drawn properly. The bedroom was a bit of a mess, with blankets and clothes tangled together. Lin Zhu was bumping his forehead against the headboard.

“Alright, alright, it’s fine.”

Zhong Yao, afraid he’d hurt his head, propped himself up just in time and placed a hand against the headboard. “This is a small residential area where a lot of celebrities live. The security’s good. No paparazzi could have snuck in. No one saw us last night…”

Lin Zhu pressed his forehead against Zhong Yao’s palm, looking half-dead. “The PR—”

“I’ve already handled PR. Replaced their high-def monitors, all three of them. Each got a 10k yuan Mid-Autumn Festival bonus.”

Zhong Yao had seen the PR team’s messages when he came home last night. He actually had savings of his own, and since Lin Zhu had been working so hard lately, he’d cashed out some of his investments. Money wasn’t an issue. “I’ll give you access to the account. You don’t need to ask me before spending anything…”

Seeing his agent still dazed and distracted, Zhong Yao realized this wasn’t the time for financial talk. He pulled Lin Zhu into his arms and gently massaged his head. “Does it hurt? My fault, I shouldn’t have made you drink last night.”

Lin Zhu slowly came out of his thunderstruck daze.

He still vaguely remembered bits from last night. His face reddened uncontrollably. “I—I, last night—”

“You ran fast,” Zhong Yao said with genuine admiration. “I haven’t been to the gym lately. I’ve slacked off.”

Lin Zhu’s hazy memory confirmed itself, and his mind went blank with horror. He scrambled to get out of bed, but Zhong Yao caught him swiftly and chuckled. “Alright… it’s fine. Be good. Let me rest a little longer…”

Last night, Lin Zhu had indeed been obedient. He ran three full laps before stopping, then let Zhong Yao bring him home, take a proper shower, and fall sound asleep.

Zhong Yao, on the other hand, had reaped what he sowed. He spent the entire Mid-Autumn Festival night trending on social media, unable to come down from the trending topic list. Under the stern supervision of director Wei Geping, he had to get up, ride the wave, post several promotional tweets for the show, and record a remote video collaboration.

The last time he’d closed his eyes was nearly dawn, and now he was still half-dead with exhaustion.

Lin Zhu quickly jumped up to pull the curtains closed, tidied the sheets, and carefully folded the clothes scattered around.

Zhong Yao had lived alone for years; it was the first time someone else was bustling around his home. Watching Lin Zhu flit busily around the bed brought a faint smile to his eyes. He closed them again and lay back down.

After working for a while, Lin Zhu noticed Zhong Yao’s breathing steady into sleep. He instantly softened his movements and quietly sat by the bedside.

He sat there for a while, then cautiously pulled out his phone and opened Weibo.

Compared to yesterday’s massive trending surge from the TV station’s official accounts, the fact that he’d accidentally worn Zhong Yao’s clothes during the livestream actually hadn’t caused much of a stir.

The PR response had been quick and smart. Although many loyal fans had immediately recognized the shirt, explanations flooded in too. Some speculated that Lin Zhu had come over unexpectedly and hadn’t brought pajamas, others swore he must’ve spilled something while cooking and just borrowed one of Zhong Yao’s old shirts. The topic soon died down and was diverted toward “Zhong-laoshi really is frugal and sentimental.”

Lin Zhu let out a small breath of relief.

People saw what they wanted to see. Those inclined to think it was nothing saw it as nothing; those inclined to see romance would find romance.

But… outside of Weibo, things weren’t so clean.

Suppressing his anxiety, Lin Zhu opened a few forums that the screenwriter had grimly recommended before he left, and skimmed through them quickly.

In just one night, wild speculation was already everywhere. Lin Zhu read until his face flushed bright red. He hurriedly scrolled faster, but at that moment Zhong Yao shifted slightly in his sleep, so Lin Zhu instantly locked his phone, shoved it under his pillow, and froze like a guilty schoolboy.

He rolled around for a while but couldn’t stay still. Eventually, he picked up his phone again and slipped into the bathroom to wash up.

Biting the hem of a T-shirt…

What were these people thinking? Why were their brains filled with the same nonsense as his Dage’s?!

Every bit of his heart had been given to Zhong Yao. The young agent, who had never even been in a relationship before, flushed red to his neck, scooped up some cold water, and splashed it on his face hard.

---

Thanks to the team’s swift crisis management, Zhong Yao was blissfully unaware of the chaos. He woke from his nap refreshed and cheerful, and kept Lin Zhu at his place for another day.

The Sichuan Film crew was notorious for its workaholic pace. Once production ramped up, twelve-hour days were common. Both of them had been exhausted. After three full days of sleeping in without guilt, they finally felt like they’d recovered enough to function again.

On the third day, Tianxing TV sent over a very polite rehearsal invitation.

“I’ve always wondered…”

As Tianxing’s people arrived downstairs to pick them up, Zhong Yao adjusted his tie in front of the mirror, wearing the outfit Lin Zhu had chosen for him. “What exactly did my agent do to them to make them this scared?”

Lin Zhu, sandwich in mouth and scrolling his phone, warmed at the familiar phrase and put his phone down. “I… kind of fought with them once. Broke into their building and said some threatening stuff. Maybe I overdid it. They have probably been terrified ever since.”

Three years ago, when the news of Zhong Yao’s first press conference came out, the Lin family’s young master had exploded.

Lin Zhu had been only twenty then, with no connections in the industry, and his family’s business wasn’t even related. The only way to help was through sheer willpower.

Unwilling to give up, he pretended to be an enthusiastic audience volunteer, sneaked into Tianxing’s pre-recording session, and started exposing “insider secrets” until the director had no choice but to bring him into the main building.

The more nervous he’d been, the more outrageous his bluffing got. Claiming that the Lin family secretly owned media shares, that he had insider information on three hosts planning to jump ship — he’d scared everyone so thoroughly that they’d given up the press conference altogether.

Of course, a scene like that couldn’t stay secret.

The chaos had been enormous. Rumors flew everywhere that some rich young master had stormed Tianxing TV “in a fit of passion for a beauty,” and it had taken Lin Song’s personal intervention to completely suppress the scandal.

Not wanting Zhong Yao to think he had a violent streak, Lin Zhu rubbed his neck and promised earnestly, “If something like that happened now, I’d definitely handle it differently…”

He spoke vaguely, never explaining what exactly the fight had been about. Zhong Yao thought for a moment but didn’t press. Instead, he ruffled Lin Zhu’s hair with a soft laugh. “Next time something like that happens, I’ll go fight with you.”

Warmth spread through Lin Zhu’s chest. He leaned into Zhong Yao’s hand and shook his head lightly. “No more fighting.”

“Why not?”

Zhong Yao looked curious. “I’m not afraid of fighting. When I was a kid, if my brother hit me unfairly, I always had to hit back.”

His temper had been the same since childhood. He was always reasonable, even in a fight. Lin Zhu couldn’t help laughing, shaking his head. He answered seriously, “I just… don’t want to fight anymore.”

It was only casual talk, not something to take to heart. Zhong Yao smiled, unwrapped a candy, and popped it into Lin Zhu’s mouth, praising sincerely, “You’ve grown up. You’re steadier now.”

Lin Zhu curved his eyes, accepted the candy, double-checked his phone, and stood up. “Tianxing’s people are downstairs. Should we go?”

Zhong Yao nodded, stood, and headed for the door.

Lin Zhu followed, locking up behind him. Watching Zhong Yao’s tall, poised back, his lips curled into a small smile. A gentle sweetness spread from the tip of his tongue.

No more fighting.

He had Zhong Yao now.