MACRM Chapter 63

Thanks to that one spontaneous line from Zhong Yao, the two of them couldn’t cool down for the entire morning.

Lin Zhu was already completely limp; Zhong Yao had put him on his recliner, where he lay half-dead, slowly recovering. It was Zhong Yao’s first time saying something that flirtatious, and he was no less nervous than Lin Zhu. He drifted out of focus several times while acting with his scene partner and nearly messed up his lines.

Jin Zhenbo was exhausted from dealing with a horse that refused to cooperate, too busy suppressing his temper while gesturing heatedly at the horse trainer to notice anything happening at the sidelines. He had no time to storm over and scold anyone yet.

“If you want to talk to your agent, then go. Why are you holding it in?”

The actor working with Zhong Yao was an older performer who often played treacherous court officials. He saw what was happening and stopped the scene, teasing with a laugh, “The more you hold that kind of thing in, the more you think about it. Once, when my wife came to visit the set, I just wanted to finish quickly and go home with her. The more I rushed, the more I kept NG-ing. That one shot took us from daytime to nighttime. We had to use extra lights to finish it…”

Zhong Yao had acted for over ten years, and this was the first time his own state had interfered with his performance. Hearing this, he couldn’t help apologizing. “Li-laoshi, I shouldn’t have gotten distracted.”

The senior actor waved him off with a smile as they walked back together. “Everyone has their moments. If you’re out of it, take a break. Anyway, judging by the situation, this scene won’t get filmed anytime soon, might even drag into the afternoon. How many indoor scenes do you have today?”

Both of them had worked with Jin Zhenbo’s crew for years and knew the routine well. Zhong Yao let out a rueful laugh. “Two. Neither one needs natural light.”

“Brutal,” the older actor clicked his tongue. “Looks like you can forget about going home before midnight…”

Scenes that don’t require natural light aren’t limited by time. However long this outdoor scene takes, everything afterward will be pushed back just as far.

This was the first official day of filming, and this scene — where Zhong Yao’s character, a powerful minister, is captured during the new emperor’s enthronement ceremony — was the first shot of the entire production. It required a grand setup with many extras. They had seven wind machines running.

Originally it was expected to be a one-take scene, but the only snow-white Ferghana horse on set suddenly refused to be ridden. No one knew what was wrong, and even the horse trainer couldn’t figure it out.

There were plenty of spare horses, but only one pure-white one. Jin Zhenbo had strict aesthetic demands and refused to switch it out, resulting in the entire schedule getting stuck.

It was the first day of filming. Failing to complete the plan would be extremely inauspicious. Jin Zhenbo was superstitious, so he refused to move either of today’s scenes. Since everyone was living nearby anyway, it looked like they were destined to shoot until late at night.

Zhong Yao smiled helplessly and was about to speak when his nearly-dead agent suddenly sprang up from the recliner.

Zhong Yao reacted quickly, catching him with a raised hand. “Careful—”

He thought Lin Zhu might still be upset because of his earlier flirtatious remark and was ready to apologize, but then he felt something shift.

He lowered his head to see Lin Zhu gripping his hand, and the corners of his eyes curved slightly as he pulled him into a quiet corner. “What’s wrong?”

Lin Zhu’s face was still red. He stammered, “We’re… going to be filming that late?”

Zhong Yao paused, his gaze lingering on him; then, for once, he instantly understood what was going on.

He felt his own cheeks warm, amusement deepening in his eyes as he ruffled Lin Zhu’s hair. “Yes. But Director Jin won’t push too hard. I shouldn’t have any scenes tomorrow morning.”

That meant they still wouldn’t get to go home early tonight!

Lin Zhu grew anxious, pacing twice around Zhong Yao before steeling himself. “Who on set is having trouble? I might be able to help…”

“If it were a person, that’d be easy.” Zhong Yao couldn’t help laughing. “It’s the horse for the emperor’s procession. It won’t obey, won’t let anyone ride. The horse trainer already checked but can’t figure out what’s wrong.”

He’d acted in historical dramas for years and knew the workflow, so he explained, “Director Jin is planning to urgently bring another horse over, but this one was picked for its appearance and will have many scenes later. They can’t find a suitable replacement on short notice. And since the set is already arranged, they can’t switch to another scene…”

Lin Zhu’s gaze shifted to the field. “Then I can help… ge, do you trust me?”

Zhong Yao froze.

Lin Zhu pressed his lips together, clenching his fist slightly at his side.

He was seventy to eighty percent sure he could fix it. If it wasn’t convenient, he could sneak over when no one was looking and check the horse himself. It wasn’t impossible.

This wasn’t the Sichuan Film Academy; everything here was far more regulated, with even a documentary team following the shoot. It might not be convenient to take him over openly…

The thought was still circling when Zhong Yao smiled lightly and nodded.

Lin Zhu’s eyes lit up, the corners of his lips lifting.

Zhong Yao didn’t ask further and led him toward the set. “Come on, let’s help Director Jin…”

“Help with what?”

Jin Zhenbo was already overwhelmed, his voice sharp with irritation. He stared in disbelief at Zhong Yao approaching with trouble at a time like this. “Go, go, go! I don’t have time for you to babysit your agent! This horse is useless! Hey, you lot, go with the production chief and pick another—”

Zhong Yao cut him off. “Director Jin.”

“I said I don’t have time!” Jin Zhenbo exploded. “Do you think this is child’s play? I don’t even know if he’s really worked as a stuntman! And even if he has, different fields are mountains apart. Has he ever trained a horse? You—”

Jin Zhenbo stopped mid-rant, frowning as he looked at Zhong Yao.

Zhong Yao remained calm. “Just let him take a look, Director Jin. Five minutes won’t delay anything.”

What infuriated Jin Zhenbo most was that Zhong Yao used sheer presence to intimidate people. Yet Jin Zhenbo, who had spent his life valuing reason, was powerless against this version of him. After a long stalemate, he gave a disgruntled grunt and stepped aside.

“You always pull this! Do you know where you are? I’ve never seen anyone spoil someone like this… What if you spoil him rotten? You think others will spoil him too?!”

Jin Zhenbo was upright by nature and couldn’t imagine anything beyond their professional relationship. He simply felt irritated and lectured earnestly, “People’s hearts are hidden. You never know what someone really is… He says he wants to come, so you bring him. He says he can handle it, so you believe him?!”

“Yes.”

Zhong Yao patted Lin Zhu’s back, signaling him to go check the horse. “I believe him.”

“Anyway, we’re together from now on. If I spoil him, I’ll just keep an eye on him more… help him when needed, and make sure no one bullies him.”

Jin Zhenbo: “…”

Afraid he might accidentally strangle a top celebrity with a trembling hand, Jin Zhenbo massaged his temples, abandoned Zhong Yao on the spot, and went off to instruct the staff to hurry to the stables and check the situation.

Lin Zhu walked over, listening to the faint conversation behind him, a small warmth blooming in his chest.

The white horse had been surrounded for so long it was thoroughly agitated, pawing the ground frantically and trying to break free of the reins. Lin Zhu took a quiet breath, seized the right moment to meet the horse’s eyes, grabbed a handful of fresh grass, and approached.

A horse didn’t understand human intentions. At this point, it struggled against anyone who came near. But Lin Zhu moved even faster. Catching it off guard, he grabbed the reins and wrapped his arms firmly around its neck.

The horse trainer was terrified. “Careful!”

Holding the horse’s neck, Lin Zhu restrained its thrashing while reaching for the saddle, unbuckling it halfway.

Once he adjusted to the slightly chaotic sensory input, reading an animal’s emotions was far easier than reading humans’.

He immediately identified the problem. Not rushing, he waited for the horse to gradually calm down, gently smoothing its silky mane until it settled obediently.

Lin Zhu asked the trainer for a pair of pliers. He bent a few hidden iron wires back into shape and wrapped the exposed blunt ends with bandages.

The trainer was stunned. “That’s it? Impossible—”

“It didn’t feel well. It was trying to tell you, but didn’t know how.”

Lin Zhu smiled, rubbing the horse’s back and offering it the grass before fastening the saddle again. “Try riding it now.”

They had tried riding it several times before, and each time the horse grew more agitated. On the last attempt it had nearly thrown the trainer, which was when Jin Zhenbo gave up on using it entirely.

Hearing this, the trainer hesitated, but since Lin Zhu was obviously someone Zhong Yao had brought, he couldn’t refuse. He steeled himself, ready to climb on, when Lin Zhu laughed softly. “Forget it.”

The trainer froze.

Lin Zhu had already pulled the reins, stepped into the stirrup, and swung himself smoothly onto the horse.

Zhong Yao’s heart tightened and he instinctively moved forward, but Lin Zhu was already riding. He gripped the reins, nudging the horse forward, his legs pressing its flanks as he guided it into a light trot.

His eyes sparkled brilliantly, not dodging or hiding, landing directly on Zhong Yao.

Zhong Yao let out a soft laugh, his heart finally settling, and stepped back to where he was.

Freed from the discomfort that had been bothering it, the white horse ran with increasing energy.

Lin Zhu had already figured out the horse’s temperament. After a few rounds, he suddenly pulled the reins. The horse neighed sharply and reared up, sending startled gasps through the entire set.

But Lin Zhu sat perfectly balanced in the saddle, calming the horse with practiced ease. With a shift of his body and a swing of his leg, he dismounted lightly and landed with effortless grace. His eyes were bright as he smiled. “Director Jin, I really have worked as a stunt double.”

…

The incident with the white horse spread across the set within minutes.

Lin Zhu only wanted to speed up filming so he and Zhong Yao could go home earlier that night. He didn’t expect sudden fame. The production chief dragged him off for hotpot without giving him a chance to refuse. All afternoon, people kept coming over to talk to him, and even the horse trainer visited repeatedly, enthusiastically inviting him to the stables.

By the time they finally sent everyone away, Zhong Yao had nearly finished his remaining two scenes.

Both scenes were confrontations inside the prime minister’s residence. They were dramatic dialogue scenes, meaning, it’s easy to shoot. Zhong Yao had already regained focus and completed them in just a few takes to Jin Zhenbo’s satisfaction.

The people on set were all professionals, discussing the composition and adjusting shots while filming. By the time they wrapped, the night outside had deepened so much that faces were no longer visible.

Against all odds, the shooting schedule hadn’t been delayed. In fact, it went more smoothly than planned. Jin Zhenbo was in a good mood and waved Zhong Yao off early with half a day of leave, practically shoving him out of the set.

After changing out of his costume, removing his headpiece and makeup, and taking a few casual gulps of water, Zhong Yao walked lightly into the resting room.

The computer was closed on the side. Lin Zhu lay asleep on the desk, covered with Zhong Yao’s army coat and hugging his jacket, his head pillowed on his arm.

Zhong Yao raised a brow, amusement lighting his gaze. He quietly closed the door and approached on soft steps.

Outside, Lin Zhu slept lightly. But before Zhong Yao even reached him, he jerked upright, blinking. The moment he saw Zhong Yao, his eyes lit up. “Ge!”

Failing to sneak up on him, Zhong Yao felt a flicker of disappointment, but he still caught him with a smile, ruffling his hair. “You could’ve just gone home first. Aren’t you tired?”

Lin Zhu was warm from sleep, soft and comfortable in his arms, even more than usual. Leaning against the door, Zhong Yao couldn’t help tightening his hold.

Lin Zhu pushed the clothes he’d been hugging into Zhong Yao’s hands. “I’m not tired. You worked way harder than I did anyways. Were the last two scenes tiring? Director Jin wouldn’t let me watch, otherwise I’d have followed.”

Zhong Yao’s makeup was all gone, so he’d definitely finished filming for the day.

Lin Zhu, delighted, fumbled with the zipper of Zhong Yao’s coat. “I thought it’d take much longer! I was about to climb through the window—”

Zhong Yao chuckled. “Those assistant directors who weren’t here this morning would’ve grilled you about what happened. There are several different versions going around about Director Jin ‘failing to recognize a hidden expert,’ and he’s already annoyed. Better to keep you out of sight… tomorrow will be fine.”

Lin Zhu shrank his neck, but the corners of his lips still curled in schadenfreude.

Seeing him show a bit of the youthful temper he should’ve had, Zhong Yao’s eyes softened even more. He encouraged him a little, watching the bright stars glitter in Lin Zhu’s gaze, before finally stopping.

The more he learned about Lin Zhu’s past, the more he cherished this little bandit-like assertiveness of his.

Being praised made Lin Zhu dizzy and obediently promise that he would always act on his thoughts from now on, never sparing Director Jin’s face again. Satisfied, Zhong Yao brushed his cheek with the back of his hand, then turned off the lights. “Come on, let’s go home.”

They left the set and got into the car back to the hotel.

The driver and planning manager were both insiders who knew about them, so there was no need to pretend. Zhong Yao had wanted to chat, but the moment Lin Zhu woke up, he jumped right back into work, face still marked by pillow creases.

Outside, the night sky was pitch-black. The road was muddy and bumpy. The ever-busy agent sat typing furiously on his laptop, making Zhong Yao feel like he truly was a menace to society, especially since he was Baidu-ing candlelight dinner recipes on his phone. 

“Ge, give me a bit more—almost done…”

Lin Zhu worked nonstop all the way back, clutching his laptop. He would’ve walked into a mirror if not for Zhong Yao guiding him. By the time they reached their room, he finally sent off the last batch of selected photo templates.

Zhong Yao had just set up the candles beside their takeout dinner. Turning around, he saw Lin Zhu sitting upright on the bed at last, laptop put aside. His lips curved. “Finished?”

Lin Zhu had been waiting all day for this moment. Finally freeing up his entire night, his heartbeat quickened and he nodded hard.

He had to coax Zhong Yao!

He wasn’t sure if his “education” from reading forums was reliable, but he knew these situations typically started with something emotional and tasteful, followed by six or twelve dots… and then the story would cut to “the next morning.”

Lin Zhu was already an adult, and being raised by a big brother who believed he could make Zhong Yao unable to get out of bed, he’d seen enough questionable fan-theories and fantasies to know the basics. He wasn’t going to pretend to be innocent.

Even if he didn’t fully understand, he knew those ellipses meant something.

They were already together. They had kissed and hugged, so naturally the next step would follow.

His heartbeat pounded so hard it vibrated through his whole body. Lin Zhu drew in a breath, his voice slightly hoarse. “Ge…”

“Don’t be nervous.” Zhong Yao’s own breathing was unsteady, but he remembered his responsibilities, forcing himself to stay calm as he brushed aside the two beads of sweat on Lin Zhu’s forehead.

Lin Zhu suddenly felt the nerves of someone watching something for the first time under someone else’s guidance. He clenched his fists. “Mm.”

Zhong Yao nodded, his throat bobbing as he wrapped an arm around him, pulling him close. His voice was low, soft, and meant only for the two of them. “You know… when you kiss, you can use your tongue too.”