Zhong Yao set down what was in his hands, his chest aching sharply.
Lin Zhu’s breathing was light and even. He slowly shifted his gaze back, his expression still somewhat dazed.
Zhong Yao didn’t startle him. He pulled out two wet wipes to clean his hands, then sat by the bed. “Then… what wouldn’t be a dream?”
Lin Zhu froze for a moment, the corners of his lips lifting as he quickly pressed them together in a small smile.
A trace of youthful shyness and awkwardness showed between his brows and eyes. He shook his head hard, curled further into the blanket, and said nothing.
Zhong Yao didn’t let him hide any deeper. He leaned down and gathered him fully into his arms, kissing him slowly while gently peeling the blanket away with his hands.
Lin Zhu’s body was still cool, yet he seemed completely unguarded, blankly lifting his face within Zhong Yao’s arms.
Zhong Yao: “It’s all real, Xiao Zhu. Everything that happened today is real.”
“How about…”
Zhong Yao thought it over carefully, then tentatively made a suggestion. “I’ll go downstairs with you and run a couple of laps. See if you wake up?”
Lin Zhu: “……”
Lin Zhu propped himself up and glanced at the gloomy sky outside the window, thunder rumbling and rain pouring down. He swallowed with difficulty, steeled himself, and prepared to climb up and change clothes.
Zhong Yao reacted quickly, scooping him back into his arms. Laughing helplessly, he rubbed his head and kissed him. “Alright, alright… I’m teasing you. With rain this heavy, wouldn’t that be miserable? Lie still and behave, I’d sooner go run for you.”
When Lin Zhu left home, he had already thrown caution to the wind. Now that things had finally settled, he instead felt restless, barely noticing his own discomfort. Hearing this, he froze slightly. “Not… running?”
A sudden ache tightened in Zhong Yao’s chest. He held him closer and gently kissed him. “Not running.”
Too much had happened today. Lin Zhu’s mind couldn’t withstand such successive shocks, and he was far too used to hope being followed only by disappointment. He didn’t even dare fully trust his own memories. Clearly exhausted and uncomfortable to the point of sleepiness, he still didn’t dare close his eyes and fall asleep again.
Yet as long as Zhong Yao said a single sentence… he believed it without hesitation.
Zhong Yao suddenly understood what Lin Zhu was seeking confirmation for. He slowly loosened his hold, took out his phone, and handed it to him, kissing his forehead. “Order some food… pick what you like, have them make it and deliver it.”
Lin Zhu took the phone instinctively, trying hard to keep his thoughts moving. “Not… cooking anymore?”
“Not cooking.” Zhong Yao took off his coat. “I don’t feel like cooking today.”
Lin Zhu felt a little uneasy, but still followed Zhong Yao’s words, absentmindedly picking a few dishes Zhong Yao often ate. Just as he was about to choose the last one, Zhong Yao had already taken his hand and, one by one, ordered the inconspicuous tomato and egg stir-fry, sweet and sour pork, and stir-fried three delicacies on the menu.
Lin Zhu’s hand was still cold. Zhong Yao held it steadily, drawing him into his arms.
Zhong Yao spoke softly. “Sometimes I feel this way too…”
Zhong Yao: “How can things be this good? How did all the good things end up happening to me? How did I get this lucky? Was I unlucky for too long and started dreaming? Will everything go back to how it was once the dream ends…”
Lin Zhu couldn’t bear to hear him say this. He struggled to speak, but Zhong Yao firmly and securely pulled him back against his chest.
Zhong Yao tightened his arms, lowered his head to meet his eyes, and smiled. “But for this, you bear full responsibility.”
Zhong Yao: “Ever since the moment I drove to the entrance of Canxing, you yanked open the car door and jumped in. Before I could even react, I suddenly had an agent. I started feeling like I was having a daydream all the time.”
The love words he’d promised to say in person fell gently upon him. Zhong Yao’s voice was too pleasant to hear; Lin Zhu’s ears burned and tingled as he lowered his head against Zhong Yao’s chest.
Lin Zhu held it in for a while, then finally burst out laughing.
Lin Zhu: “Ge, it’s fine if you tell others, but you can’t even start from the very beginning and tell our whole story again when you’re talking to me…”
His fingers slowly clenched around Zhong Yao’s sleeve, twisting it tightly between them. He coughed softly twice and leaned into Zhong Yao’s chest.
Zhong Yao smiled, rubbing his chin against the top of his hair. “I’ve got a lot to tell. One dream wouldn’t be enough to hold it all. How about I stop cooking and have them deliver some food, then tell you properly?”
Zhong Yao: “Don’t worry. Talking until the plane takes off won’t be a problem. Whether I can finish before landing, I’ll do my best. Anyway, I still owe Director Jin an ending. MNext time I catch him, I’ll finish telling him then…”
He deliberately spoke his jokes slowly and unhurriedly. Lin Zhu laughed so hard against his chest that he trembled, rubbing his eyes as he was about to speak, when Zhong Yao had already lowered his head to meet his gaze.
Zhong Yao looked at him, the light in his eyes growing warmer.
Lin Zhu instinctively tried to avoid his gaze, but Zhong Yao gently cupped his cheeks, his deep eyes steadily enclosing him. “Don’t be nervous… just follow what I’m thinking.”
Lin Zhu stared at him blankly. When the exceedingly gentle heartbeats gathered into images in his mind, his heart suddenly raced.
So many times, meeting Zhong Yao’s eyes… made it impossible for him to tell who exactly was the one who could read minds.
He had already made up his mind. Whether it was a dream or not, he couldn’t keep being so timid and overly sentimental. He was already this happy; wasting even a little would be too much. He should properly accompany Zhong Yao to finish cooking, eat together, catch the flight back to the set, and continue filming without delaying anything.
The knot in his heart had already loosened. It was nothing more than a string that had been tied into a dead knot for too long and hadn’t straightened out yet. Even if he left it alone, as long as he waited slowly, one day there would be no trace left at all.
But Zhong Yao clearly had no intention of waiting.
“I’ve wanted to let you know for a long time…”
Zhong Yao smiled, sharing the images in his mind with him, tightening his grip on Lin Zhu’s still-cool hand. “When you’re in a dream, you shouldn’t be able to read minds, right?”
Lin Zhu’s chest rose and fell slightly, his eyes quietly heating up.
He hadn’t known… that without his noticing, Zhong Yao had watched him for so long, so many times.
Like a film meant for him alone, the images transmitted into his mind were unbelievably gentle. From watching to standing side by side, from probing to certainty, from the joy of just having bared one’s heart, to—
Lin Zhu’s body suddenly stiffened slightly.
Lin Zhu took a deep, deep breath, closed his eyes.
Lin Zhu shifted his gaze away, his hand trembling a little. “Ge…”
Zhong Yao froze and clasped his hand. “What is it, are you uncomfortable?”
Lin Zhu shook his head with difficulty. “It’s fine… just a bit motion sick.”
Lin Zhu pressed a hand to his temple, pulling his consciousness back from the image of a small boat bobbing and pitching on the sea.
He lifted his head, barely clinging to life. “Ge, do you really think… that ‘small boat’ written about in those scenes means the two of us holding hands, lying together on a boat drifting up and down with the waves?”
Zhong Yao: “……”
Zhong Yao cleared his throat lightly and replied with more than a decade of script-reading experience. “Montage technique. Intercut shots to build atmosphere, using unrelated imagery—”
Lin Zhu choked for a moment, then carefully thought back on the transitions he’d seen in those scripts. “……”
With no way to refute it, Lin Zhu sulked and buried himself against Zhong Yao’s shoulder. “Alright, Ge. Now I know for sure this isn’t a dream anymore……”
Real warmth flowed inch by inch through where their bodies touched. Lin Zhu couldn’t help curling his lips upward, his eyes heating, and he rammed straight into Zhong Yao’s arms.
…Next time, just ask the team for a few more high-level CP-forum alt accounts.
The last dim light flicked on with a soft bang. Lin Zhu tilted his head up at Zhong Yao, couldn’t help wriggling and bumping into his chest, clinging to him and kissing him all over in a chaotic, woodpecker-like frenzy.
Zhong Yao laughed, quickly scooping him up and holding him tight. “Alright, alright. Of course I know it shouldn’t go like that afterward. But we can’t just cut to black the moment we think of it, right? I’ll go study it properly later. Don’t rush…”
Lin Zhu was so happy he couldn’t stop, long having forgotten all about cutting to black. “Really, really, really, really, really—”
Zhong Yao was about to speak when he heard the broken murmuring, and his heart softened all at once.
Zhong Yao slowly tightened his arms. “Yes. Really.”
The heartbeat pressed against his chest raced. Zhong Yao met those eyes brimming with fine, shimmering light; his brows softened as he lowered his head and kissed him gently.
Ten minutes later, Zhong Yao held his agent who was so happy he was nearly rolling around in his arms, and gently set him on the bed. He tucked him in, dimmed the bedside lamp, and kissed his brow and eyes, now closed and showing clear exhaustion.
Lin Zhu rubbed against his palm, lips still curved upward, and fell into a satisfied sleep.
Thanks to the brief but steady rest at home, Lin Zhu followed Zhong Yao by plane back to the set, still full of energy, even finding time to listen to the assistant director talk through the next day’s scenes all night.
Tomorrow’s shoot was a major one: during the former emperor’s spring hunt, the crown prince would be in danger, and Zhong Yao would rescue him amid a startled horse. All together, the sequence would take at least a full week to complete.
Director Jin Zhenbo had already done using him and was now tossing him aside. He was still in Beijing. When he heard that Zhong Yao had actually brought his agent back to the set, he was so furious he fumed and scolded Zhong Yao soundly from afar. Even as Lin Zhu listened to the assistant director and the action director discuss the scene, he could faintly hear the “hating iron not being steel” tirade coming from the other end of the room.
“Don’t worry. Director Jin just has a bad temper. He won’t really do anything to your Zhong-laoshi.”
The assistant director, long familiar with Zhong Yao’s temperament, smiled and lowered his voice to comfort Lin Zhu. “Your Zhong-laoshi just lets him scold him when he’s in a good mood. Once Director Jin calms down and starts being reasonable, and Zhong-laoshi’s presence kicks in, he won’t have anything to say.”
Unaware of the utterly tangled schedules among several people, the assistant director watched Zhong Yao — clearly in high spirits, all smiles — obediently taking the scolding, and couldn’t help being curious. “Strange. I’ve never seen him in such a good mood before… Did something good happen when you were in Beijing this time?”
The rainy night was bitterly cold. Lin Zhu was still wrapped in the scarf Zhong Yao had put around him before boarding the plane. Hearing this, sweetness welled up in his chest, and the corner of his mouth lifted despite himself.
The assistant director unknowingly assisted again, continuing, “You weren’t here, so you don’t know. These past few days, Zhong-laoshi hasn’t really been angry, but the low pressure was just as scary. The only time he’d cheer up a bit was when talking about you.”
“To make him happy, we already sent five executive directors to listen to him talk about you.”
The assistant director shook his head with lingering fear. “It’s probably all because of that Li Yijie! Thank goodness you’re the stand-in tomorrow. Honestly, they should just let the stand-in do the rest of his scenes too. Who could stand serving a spoiled young master like that…”
Listening, Lin Zhu did his best to maintain composure and politely thank the crew for their hard work, but inside, firecrackers were already going off with loud pops.
Zhong Yao was especially happy today!
He was happy today too!
This secret joy that couldn’t be shared with others swelled warmly in his chest, driving away every trace of chill from the flight. Lin Zhu restrained the urge to run two laps around the set, tiptoed slightly, and glanced at Zhong Yao. The actor was already laughing for the third time under Director Jin’s full-frontal fury. Lin Zhu felt his heart pounding faster.
“Alright, tomorrow’s shoot is just this one scene. Take Zhong-laoshi back to rest.”
Seeing that his heart clearly wasn’t here anymore, the assistant director smiled and smoothed things over, sending Lin Zhu off to douse Director Jin’s temper. “Sign the stand-in agreement later and there won’t be anything else here.”
Lin Zhu’s eyes lit up, and he ran over at once.
Jin Zhenbo’s crew had worked with Zhong Yao several times before, but all of that was three years ago. This shoot was the first time he’d seen Zhong Yao bring someone along. On top of that, Lin Zhu was likable and well-liked; in less than a month on set, no one had the heart to lose their temper at this sensible, capable, and quiet young agent.
It didn’t take long after Lin Zhu firmly inserted himself into the conversation for him to deftly take responsibility for Zhong Yao’s urgency to return to Beijing, subtly mentioning matters related to the Marlensius team. Jin Zhenbo’s expression immediately improved. After scolding Zhong Yao a few more times, he let them go.
Connecting with Marlensius wasn’t a secret anyway. Everyone at the gala had seen it, and word would spread sooner or later. Hiding it too tightly would only invite accusations of “keeping things to oneself” and “small-mindedness.”
“So it was you who cut him off? No wonder when I saw Song Tianlang today, he looked so anxious, running around offering tea and lighting cigarettes for people…”
Jin Zhenbo’s earlier frustration eased somewhat. He shot Zhong Yao a look, suppressing the favoritism that was a bit too obvious, but still couldn’t help softening his expression. “He pushed you down and stole your role back then. Truly, he deserves it. The wheel of fate turns. This time, no matter what, you have to snatch this back from him!”
Lin Zhu was still thinking about what happened three years ago. Hearing this, his heart lifted slightly, and his fingers rubbed together unconsciously.
Zhong Yao remained calm, smiling faintly. “That’s all in the past.”
“You think it’s in the past, but he doesn’t.” Jin Zhenbo frowned and lowered his voice. “Zhong Yao’s kid[mfn]in CN this is 钟杳家小孩儿 (Zhong Yao’s family’s little child). I think the connotation is that ZY spoils LZ so much it feels like LZ is a family member of ZY.[/mfn], keep an eye out. I heard they’ve contacted a few pretty famous film critics, probably planning to prop him up by stepping on your Zhong-laoshi. Respond in time. Don’t let this wind blow all the way to those foreigners’ ears…”
“That Song Tianlang… he used to be quite decent. After a few years of setbacks, who knows what crooked path he took. Seems like he has a backer now. Some people can’t afford not to give him face.”
Jin Zhenbo had always looked down on that sort of thing and didn’t want to say more, turning back to the main topic. “This is a great opportunity to reach the international screen. Something big for the entire domestic film and television industry. If it clashes with the shooting schedule here, bring it up. We’ll do our best to coordinate.”
The overall outline of the film was still in Lin Zhu’s hands, so there was no need to worry too much about such minor tactics. He knew where he stood, but didn’t get arrogant. He sincerely thanked Jin Zhenbo and made a mental note of it.
In between the serious matters, Lin Zhu stole a glance at Zhong Yao, the corner of his mouth quietly lifting a little.
“Director Jin, what kind of form of address was that just now…?”
Was the whole crew calling him that now? Did anyone else find it strange? When the assistant director mentioned Zhong Yao earlier, did he refer to him the same way?
Zhong Yao looked serious, likely still listening carefully to Director Jin. Lin Zhu listened with half his attention and let the other half wander, secretly feeding himself sweetness, happily indulging in his own fantasies. He was so delighted he nearly felt like sprouting two leaves on the spot for Zhong Yao.
Before the candidates were finalized, details clearly couldn’t be discussed much.
Lin Zhu had no intention of spreading things around before they were settled. Just as he was properly thanking Director Jin for his concern, his stiff, frozen hand suddenly fell into a warm palm.
Lin Zhu’s words paused. He couldn’t help sneaking a look at Zhong Yao.
Zhong Yao remained upright and solemn, nodding frequently as he listened to Director Jin’s lecture. But out of the camera’s reach, he had already firmly gathered Lin Zhu’s hand, steadily passing warmth into his palm.
The excitement felt like secretly passing notes under a teacher’s watchful eyes. The Lin family’s young master — who’d barely even gone to elementary school — had his heart racing, heat quickly rising to his face. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t press down the curve of his lips. He hurriedly thanked Director Jin and quickly ended the video call.
All Lin Zhu wanted was to get back to the hotel as soon as possible to properly ask about what had been happening on set these past two days. After exchanging greetings with everyone, he dragged Zhong Yao and hurried out.
Just as they reached the doorway, a noisy, grating argument suddenly came through.
Lin Zhu stopped short, darted half a step forward to shield Zhong Yao behind him, and looked outside.
Li Yijie never showed up unless it was time to shoot and even then always arrived late, making the entire crew wait half an hour. Yet, he had shown up on set for once, blocking the doorway and acting outrageously. Several assistant directors were suppressing their anger as they tried to explain the crew’s arrangements to him.
“Doesn’t Jin Zhenbo always tell actors to be professional?”
Li Yijie crossed his arms and glanced at Lin Zhu not far away. “Who said I wanted a stand-in for this scene? I’m willing to take the risk and act it myself! Does the crew not allow that either?”
Clearly bolstered by the producer’s recent presence, Li Yijie’s eyes flashed with malice. He didn’t even care when he saw Zhong Yao, his words sharp with barbs. “The crew won’t let the actor perform in person and insists on using a stand-in… If news like that gets out, who knows how the media will spin it?”
