None of the PR team’s subsequent video call requests went through, so they had no choice but to settle for calling the extremely thin-skinned agent instead.
Lin Zhu lay sprawled over a pile of throw pillows, barely clinging to life.
“Relax. They’re just planning to spin it as you being hopelessly devoted to Zhong-laoshi, love buried deep in your heart and impossible to speak aloud, so devoted that you even had to personally see him off at the airport. They wanted to use a clickbait headline to grab attention, but fans ended up treating it like candy and eating it right up…”
The PR manager cleared his throat lightly. “We don’t need to deal with it, right?”
Any gossip that couldn’t make it onto the trending charts was already beneath the notice of the PR department. Exposés like this with no substance or no hard evidence were harmless. Those who believed it enjoyed it; those who didn’t shrugged it off. It wouldn’t affect Zhong Yao at all. At most, some nosy entertainment reporters would take advantage of the hype they’d bought while covering Song Tianlang and grab a little extra payoff on the side.
Lin Zhu didn’t have the energy to deal with him and raised a hand to hang up, but the PR person’s voice chimed in just in time: “Oh right, Lin-laoshi. I think my eyes were playing tricks on me just now. I thought I saw something on your bed—”
Lin Zhu: “……”
Lin Zhu: “SteelSeries WoW peripherals. One mouse per person. You report the color and model and I’ll reimburse.”
The PR manager was thoroughly satisfied. “Must’ve been my imagination then. Nothing at all. Lin-laoshi, get some good rest.”
Lin Zhu hung up. His face was burning. He couldn’t help rolling back and forth twice in the pile of pillows, letting out a long breath.
He hadn’t been screenshotted… right?
The PR manager didn’t seem like the type to spread gossip. Lin Zhu comforted himself in vain, ran two laps around the room, then belatedly tried to fix things by scooping up two pillows and dragging them toward his brother’s room.
By the time he got to the seventh one, he ran straight into Lin Song, who had forgotten the time and was hurrying out of their parents’ room.
Seeing his little brother dragging away the pillows he treasured so dearly, Lin Song was horrified and rushed over to stop him. “Xiao Zhu, what are you thinking?! Did Zhong Yao wrong you?!”
The more Lin Song thought about it, the angrier he got. “You’ve been running around for him, worrying yourself sick! And he dares to wrong you?! I’m booking a flight right now to go talk to him—”
“No, no— Ge!”
Lin Zhu lunged forward, lightning-fast, clamping his hand tightly over his brother’s mouth, cold sweat breaking out on his back.
He peeked around, then lowered his voice. “Zhong-laoshi said… when he has time, he wants to come over and hang out…”
After his brother finally let go, Lin Song frowned deeply, trying to piece it together. “You’re afraid he’ll think… he’s just a replacement for this whole bed of pillows? That he’ll feel psychologically unbalanced and get jealous of the pillows?”
Lin Zhu, recalling what his standing was like in his brother’s mind, rubbed his temple and forced himself to nod. “K-kind of… yeah. Dage, help me hide them. I can’t bear to throw them away or sell them, and I can’t bear to put them in storage either…”
It wasn’t easy for his brother to have any spark of life at all in a house where their parents were present. Lin Song snapped back to himself and agreed without another word, rolling up his sleeves and hauling and carrying the pillows into his own wardrobe.
Lowering his voice, Lin Song opened a wide back door for him. “I even bought two more for you. If you get bored and you’re worried Zhong Yao might find out, come to my room and indulge yourself a bit.”
Lin Zhu: “……”
He no longer dared to imagine what was going through his brother’s head. Steeling himself, he nodded and answered vaguely. “Okay… Dage, are you done talking to Mom and Dad?”
Lin Song nodded, walked his brother back to his room, and briefly explained the plan for the next day.
They called it a dinner, but it was really a gala hosted by the film association. Screenwriters, directors, producers— anyone with a bit of name recognition in the film industry who was in Beijing had received an invitation. Marlensius’s team would be there as well, with plans to exchange professionally with their Chinese counterparts.
These galas usually had an extremely high threshold. Without an internal referral to guide someone in, it was very hard to get inside. Given Zhong Yao’s somewhat diminished status after his semi-retirement, even getting an invitation through normal channels wouldn’t be easy.
“I heard their team doesn’t like people going straight for backdoor deals or unspoken rules… they don’t want that kind of thing associated with their art. Otherwise I’d have taken you straight to meet them.”
Lin Song had originally planned to introduce his brother directly, but now had to take this roundabout route and felt rather disappointed. “Once you get familiar with them, I’ll take you out to eat with them. I’m sure I can make them remember you.”
Lin Zhu laughed and turned around to comfort his brother instead. “This is already pretty good. I was thinking of taking things step by step anyway.”
Lin Zhu’s promo reel still wasn’t finished. He had cut several versions in different directions, but he still needed to meet the other team first to tailor it to their preferences and pick the version that best fit the main line before submitting it. He also wanted to meet them without getting too close. Just read what they wanted, then come back fully prepared before moving forward.
With the gala scheduled for the next day, Lin Zhu felt a little excited. He quickly ran through the process in his head and held out his hand to his brother.
Lin Song raised an eyebrow. “What do you want?”
“The invitation.” Lin Zhu blinked. “How else am I supposed to get in? Break in?”
Noticing that his brother was in an unexpectedly good mood today, Lin Song cleared his throat and got carried away. “What’s wrong with breaking in? Worst case, your Dage will buy out the press and gag the media, make sure no one says a word about the Lin family’s youngest being devoted for twelve years, flying into a rage for love—”
Lin Zhu had no choice. He stood up as if to leave, but Lin Song grabbed him, laughing as he apologized. “Alright, alright, I’ll stop teasing.”
Lin Song opened his wardrobe, pulled out several sets of exquisitely tailored high-end suits, compared them carefully, and picked one to lay on the bed. “Wear this tomorrow. Deep starry gray color makes you look more mature.”
“You’ve been fighting on your own all these years. Now that you’re finally willing to use our family’s back door, shouldn’t you do it with a bit of style?”
He patted his brother’s shoulder. “The gala is funded by our family. Young Master, if you don’t like the look of someone tomorrow, just have them thrown out.”
The next day, Lin Zhu, accompanied by the PR manager and a publicity staff, slipped quietly into the gala venue.
“That’s Director Tang? My god. And over there, that’s Kong Jinhua!”
It was the publicity staff’s first time seeing in person all the real people whose names he usually only wrote in press releases. Barely able to contain their excitement, he kept whispering in hushed amazement. “Zhang Ke! Liang Fengmian! Oh my god, I’m done for…”
Lin Zhu was scanning for his target and responded dryly, “Later, I’ll get you the sign-in book at the entrance. Pick whichever names you want to trace. Just don’t spread it.”
Publicity Staff: “!!”
Overwhelmed with happiness, he practically floated off to the entrance to sneak a look at the sign-in book filled with industry heavyweights and masters.
Lin Zhu made a round through the gala, ordered a non-alcoholic drink, took a couple of sips, and let out a quiet breath.
These gatherings focused more on internal networking. The entry threshold was absurdly high. Either directors and screenwriters with shelves of major works to their name, or famous actors who had won major awards at international film festivals. Even those who had invitations were only allowed to bring one additional guest.
If Zhong Yao hadn’t inexplicably had a bucket of filth dumped over his head back then — been forced to give up a role that was all but guaranteed to win Best Actor, and even chosen to step back into semi-retirement to calm the storm — then no matter what, he should have been able to secure an invitation with ease by now.
Lin Zhu slowly turned his wineglass, his gaze settling on a figure that looked faintly familiar.
The PR staffer had just helped publicity check up on this person. Following his line of sight, he raised an eyebrow slightly. “Song Tianlang.”
Lin Zhu nodded and turned away to avoid him.
Now that he thought about it, Song Tianlang’s sudden return to China was undoubtedly because he’d heard that Marlensius’s team would be attending the gala, and had deliberately come to show his face and strike up some connections.
Song Tianlang had won Best Actor twice. Although he’d taken on quite a few bad films in between and, plagued by bad luck, fallen into obscurity for a full ten years, since his powerful comeback three years ago with [Thirteen Months], he’d been developing steadily. He’d also achieved respectable results overseas. This time, he’d entered openly and legitimately, invitation in hand.
Watching him move smoothly through the directors’ circle — smiling, modestly accepting praise and commendations from many senior figures — the PR manager couldn’t help frowning and muttering under his breath, “Back then…”
Lin Zhu cleared his throat softly.
The PR manager didn’t continue, scoffed once, and stopped watching Song Tianlang hold court so confidently.
Of course Lin Zhu wanted to get to the bottom of what had really happened back then, but there were more important matters at hand. He had no intention of clashing with Song Tianlang here and now. Hearing through his earpiece that Marlensius’s team had checked in and entered, he set down his glass and stood up to greet them.
This time, besides Marlensius himself who had come during his downtime to shoot and gather inspiration with pandas, the accompanying team had brought along the producer, screenwriter, and several highly specialized assistant directors. It was almost the entirety of the team’s core.
Lin Zhu was used to reading the room first to get a feel for things, and didn’t plan to be too aggressive. Just as he swept his gaze over the producer and the assistant directors one by one, his brow suddenly twitched upward.
At some point, Song Tianlang had also moved nearby. As if by chance, he ran straight into Marlensius and greeted him warmly.
There was a natural gap between domestic and American etiquette. Having come from the U.S., Marlensius found it hard to adapt to the overly restrained style of greetings common here. Hearing fluent American English, his eyes brightened slightly. He stopped and casually struck up a conversation.
Lin Zhu frowned faintly.
He remembered that when Song Tianlang won Best Actor at nineteen, he’d been all sharp edges and youthful arrogance, barely willing to spare reporters a word or even a smile. Who knew how he’d turned into this now.
Lin Zhu had never intended for Zhong Yao to personally fight for resources, nor did he want to keep watching the scene before him. He turned to leave, only to realize that the manager Song Tianlang had brought along had somehow also stepped into his path, deliberately or otherwise blocking the way.
Meeting Lin Zhu’s slightly surprised gaze, the middle-aged manager smiled affably, yet an inexplicable sharpness lay hidden beneath it. “Lin Zhu, right? What a waste for someone with a face like yours to be an agent… I never thought I’d run into you here. Did your Zhong-laoshi manage to get an invitation as well?”
