MACRM Chapter 86

The middle-aged actor rubbed his eyes, closed the door, then opened it again.

Middle-aged actor: “…………”

He quickly raised a hand to shut the door, but Zhong Yao had already let out a light sigh, hidden his agent — who looked like braised red bamboo shoots — from sight behind him, and stood up to walk over.

“The lock… uhhh…. The lock doesn’t work well. It opens with just a push.”

The middle-aged actor coughed lightly. Under Zhong Yao’s gaze, his hairline seemed to retreat at visible speed. “We thought you were about to be beaten to death, so we got worried and came to check on you…”

Who would’ve thought that Zhong Yao, who looked so refined and gentle, would actually be so…

The young agent was famous for being fierce!

But Zhong Yao made him cry like that!! 

Personal preferences were private matters, and friends ought to be tolerant of each other. Looking at Zhong Yao who now seemed even more terrifying than his ultra-fierce agent, the middle-aged actor’s eyes filled with faint awe as he sidestepped backward. “I’ll go write a self-criticism—”

“Is it time to draw blood?”

Zhong Yao hadn’t forgotten the main matter. He glanced at him, puzzled, and pressed at his temple. “Wait for me. Just five minutes.”

The middle-aged actor nodded repeatedly and neatly closed the door for him.

Zhong Yao vaguely felt something off about that look but had no time to think about it. He casually dragged a chair over to brace the door, then returned to the sofa and scooped up his agent, who was still trying to burrow into the floor.

His movements were gentle as he carefully unfolded the tightly curled-up Lin Zhu and rubbed his head. “It’s fine. They’re all my friends. They won’t go out and spread rumors.”

He was still worried about Lin Zhu’s injury. Taking a fresh alcohol swab, he prepared to finish cleaning the wound. He braced himself for a long while, hand trembling slightly. Yet, he still couldn’t bring himself to press down.

Lin Zhu couldn’t bear to watch. In a small voice, he said, “Ge, I’ll do it myself.”

He had handled small injuries like this since childhood. Even using just one hand, he was deft and practiced. He took the cotton ball, quickly disinfected the wound, applied iodine, tore open a bandage, and stuck it on.

The flesh-colored bandage covered the nearly gruesome wound. Everything looked fine again, as if nothing had happened.

Zhong Yao kept holding him. Watching Lin Zhu move so briskly, as though he felt no pain at all, it was like needles pricking his heart.

Perhaps from the earlier embarrassment, Lin Zhu actually seemed in better shape now than before. The moisture in his eyes had mostly receded, leaving a faint glimmer in his pupils, and there was a touch more color in his lips.

Zhong Yao didn’t rush him to talk. He leaned down and kissed his forehead gently. “I’m going to get my blood drawn. Do you want to rest here, or come with me?”

Lin Zhu’s hand curled slightly. He lowered his head.

Zhong Yao didn’t urge him. He took a piece of candy from his pocket and carefully unwrapped it.

Lin Zhu’s mind-reading had limits, and Zhong Yao had already figured that out. He also knew how bad Lin Zhu’s condition was right now. Honestly, he didn’t really want to take him somewhere crowded.

And besides… Lin Zhu probably didn’t want to go out either.

Their earlier conversation had completely gone off track. Zhong Yao hadn’t caught on at first, but now he could guess most of it.

His agent, who always took it upon himself to protect him, must have habitually taken all the blame onto himself again.

Zhong Yao didn’t know much about Lin Zhu’s childhood, but he could sense that the education and influences he’d received had been deeply problematic. Lin Zhu was tougher and more driven than anyone Zhong Yao had met his age, but once something touched the very foundation he relied on to keep going, it wasn’t easy for him to come out of that spiral.

If Lin Zhu wanted to be alone for a while, Zhong Yao would just hurry through the blood draw and come back.

Not wanting to pressure him further, Zhong Yao had already calculated the time it would take. Just as he straightened up, Lin Zhu pressed close and followed him.

Zhong Yao froze slightly, looking at the hand that had grabbed onto the hem of his clothes.

His eyes inexplicably burned. He bent down. “You want to go?”

Lin Zhu nodded and gave a soft “Mm.”

He lowered his head and reached for the piece of candy in Zhong Yao’s hand.

Their fingers brushed lightly. Zhong Yao’s ears flushed red. He rubbed his fingertips together unconsciously, about to speak—

—but Lin Zhu had already lifted his head, cheeks flushed, the candy between his lips, and rose on tiptoe to kiss him.

Awkwardly, carefully, Lin Zhu bit off half the candy and fed it to Zhong Yao.

Zhong Yao’s heart trembled softly. A silent warmth spread through him.

He understood now.

Even while trapped in guilt and lingering fear, barely holding himself together, his agent was still worrying that he might feel hurt by his friend’s betrayal. In his own way, the agent was still trying to comfort him.

Zhong Yao accepted half of the candy and slowly let it melt under his tongue. Sweetness seeped quietly through him, completely dispersing the cold gloom in his chest.

Zhong Yao lowered his head and drew Lin Zhu in his arms. The youth’s gaze was still unfocused. Gently, he said, “Look at me.”

Lin Zhu instinctively obeyed. Though hesitant, he raised his head and met Zhong Yao’s eyes obediently.

A galaxy unfolded in his mind.

A dark night sky, stars flickering, seemingly vast and tranquil. Lin Zhu didn’t know how such a vision appeared. He stared, wide-eyed, up at Zhong Yao.

“Can you see it?”

Zhong Yao held him, voice warm. “A couple of years ago, I used to go to Griffith Observatory a lot. Some views make reality seem less irritating… Especially when your mind’s in chaos. Look at them for a while, and you’ll feel much better.”

Lin Zhu’s heart ached. He frowned slightly and lifted his head to speak, but Zhong Yao gently stopped him.

“I once tripped pretty badly over a stone,” Zhong Yao said. “This time I was just almost tripped again… and I didn’t even fall.”

“If you really think about it, yeah, something like this does hurt. It’s discouraging.”

He smiled faintly. “But if someone’s already given me a sky full of stars…”

Zhong Yao: “If I already have everything, and I’m still upset over one stone. Isn’t that a little stupid?”

The light in Lin Zhu’s eyes trembled softly. His eyes reddened without a sound.

“There are a lot of people outside. Don’t worry about me. If you still feel bad, rest for a while. Your health is more important than anything.”

Zhong Yao squeezed the back of his neck with a smile. “It’ll be quick. I’ll draw a tube of blood and come right back. Then we’ll go home. And once we’re home, you promised to let me kiss you…”

Lin Zhu, already dizzy from such overwhelming tenderness, couldn’t handle such blunt teasing. He flushed from head to toe and lowered his head. “Wait, at least until we’re home…”

He believed whatever Zhong Yao said. By now he’d been coaxed into forgetting everything else. His nose and ears were red as he stammered, “We’ll kiss at home. There are too many people here. It wouldn’t look good…”

Zhong Yao smiled and nodded. Then, he suddenly scooped Lin Zhu up in his arms.

He laid Lin Zhu flat on the long sofa, wrapped him in his coat, and ruffled his hair. “I’ll have someone guard the door. Rest for a bit. I’ll be back soon.”

Lin Zhu’s mental and physical strength had long reached their limits. With that reassurance, he unconsciously relaxed. His eyes fluttered twice before finally closing obediently under the pull of exhaustion.

Zhong Yao kissed his forehead, then went out, told the planner to stand guard outside, and followed the police to the temporary questioning room.

A reunion of old friends had turned into this. Everyone was shaken and in no mood to linger. After drawing blood and giving statements, they each used their own connections to suppress the matter. With a few mutual reminders, they hurried home.

In the corner of the world shielded from media exposure, this near-disastrous turmoil dragged on for three full days before it was finally and completely settled.

……

“I’m fine, Ge. It was Zhong-laoshi who almost took a drag— no, no, just one kiss wouldn’t get me addicted either. And Zhong-laoshi didn’t touch it. He doesn’t smoke…”

Leaning against the headboard, obediently on an IV drip, Lin Zhu patiently reported the true events of that night to his older brother, who had rushed over overnight.

That night, Lin Zhu had fainted into a deep sleep. By the time they returned to the hotel, he had developed a high fever and drifted in and out of consciousness for an entire day and night.

For the first time ever, Zhong Yao had forcibly pushed back filming, carried him to the hospital, and stayed by his side without closing his eyes until his fever broke and he regained consciousness. Only then had he hurried back to the set to make up for lost progress. He’d left just a few hours ago.

According to the planning manager, Zhong Yao had even gone alone to the detention center behind everyone’s back. He found Wu Chen who was being held pending trial, and personally beaten him half to death.

Considering how good his own team was at exaggeration through word of mouth, Lin Zhu suspected that last part might be somewhat embellished. Still, knowing that Zhong Yao had actually thrown punches because of him, he couldn’t help but secretly feed himself a candy in his heart. He felt… pleased, immorally so.

Zhong Yao’s team was battle-hardened, and with Lin Song providing capital support from behind the scenes, such a major incident had been suppressed without even a ripple. Something as minor as a fight certainly wouldn’t leak any improper rumors.

Lin Zhu’s fever had just gone down. His body felt weak and limp. After talking for a while, he couldn’t quite hold on, rubbed his eyes, and yawned.

“Tired?” Lin Song had been watching his younger brother the whole time. He quickly stood and adjusted the bed. “Sleep a bit more. More sleep is good for you. Zhong Yao said you haven’t slept much these days…”

Lin Zhu laughed, pressing down on his arm. “I still have to hold a meeting with them tonight. If I sleep now, I won’t wake up. Ge, can you get me some water?”

“What are you afraid of? It’s not like you have anything urgent right now. Since when is the agent busier than the artist?”

Lin Song had always disliked his brother’s workaholic tendencies. Though reluctant, he turned and poured him a glass of water, placing it in Lin Zhu’s hands.

Holding the glass, Lin Zhu lowered his head and took a couple of sips, slowly moistening his throat.

The wound on his palm had been re-bandaged. Clean white gauze was wrapped neatly and carefully, unfortunately far too conspicuous. It immediately drew Lin Song’s attention.

“You—”

Lin Song looked at his brother’s hand and frowned, guessing out of habit. “Got into another fight? I told you before, next time you can throw money at someone, don’t use your fists. Come back and find me first…”

Lin Zhu fell silent, then nodded obediently. “Mm-hmm.”

“You only ever say ‘mm.’ Other than Zhong Yao, I’ve never seen you listen to anyone.”

A younger brother once given away is like spilled water. Lin Song felt glum. He took Lin Zhu’s hand to inspect it and hissed in sympathy. “How did this happen?”

It was just scraped flesh. As long as he kept it dry for a few days, it would heal. It didn’t affect anything. It’s hardly a big deal.

Lin Zhu clenched his fist lightly and smiled. “I wasn’t careful…”

Lin Song glared.

His older brother had worried plenty these past few days. Lin Zhu’s heart softened. Thinking back to the almost-possessed thoughts he’d had then, he smiled sheepishly. “I—well, I went down a mental rabbit hole. Thought a lot of messy things. Like returning the key and stuff… I squeezed too hard and scraped it.”

Those thoughts absolutely couldn’t be told to Zhong Yao.

Lin Zhu glanced at his left hand and tugged at his lips helplessly. “A single bandage would’ve been enough. The hospital insisted on wrapping it like this—”

“Your Zhong-laoshi wrapped it,” Lin Song said flatly. “Sat by the bed and wrapped it all night.”

Lin Zhu: “…”

His unpromising face flushed red. He swallowed back what he’d just said and stammered, “It’s… it’s very comfortable. Not too tight, not too loose… He wrapped it really well…”

“You should’ve seen how many rolls of gauze he wasted,” Lin Song thought. Watching his brother like this, he tapped Lin Zhu’s head in exasperation. “Where’s your backbone?”

Lin Zhu gave up struggling, touched the bandage, and the corners of his lips lifted unconsciously.

There was no pulling his younger brother back. Lin Song sat on the bed, gathering himself for a long moment before taking the cup from his hands. “Xiao Zhu, I need to ask you something.”

Lin Zhu blinked and looked up.

His brother rarely looked this serious. Whenever he did, it meant a heart-to-heart talk.

The last time had been when he was barely a teenager. Lin Zhu straightened with some effort, instinctively avoiding Lin Song’s gaze.

Lin Song sighed quietly to himself before speaking. “Back then… did you think that if you didn’t exist, Zhong Yao wouldn’t have been so unlucky?”

Lin Zhu froze. “Ge—”

He couldn’t help glancing at him. “You mutated too? Want me to share some tips? I’m pretty good at not looking into people’s eyes when I don’t want to see…”

Lin Song choked back anger, resisting the urge to roll up his sleeves and hit him. “No thank you! Stop changing the subject. Sit up straight and listen!”

Lin Zhu obediently sat upright.

His brows and eyes were still gentle and clear. Thinking about what he’d heard recently, Lin Song’s heart clenched painfully. After a while, he continued, “I’ve been talking to them these past few days and learned some things about the past.”

“I heard that when you were little, you were locked up alone… I wasn’t there. You were scared, so you caused trouble a few times, hoping Mom and Dad would notice you…”

Lin Song clenched his fists tightly, chest aching, forcing himself to continue. “They admitted that sometimes, for a fleeting moment… they thought that if—if you didn’t exist, it might be better.”

“You saw it, didn’t you?”

Lin Zhu’s breath caught slightly. He smiled faintly. “I know Mom and Dad didn’t mean it. Everyone has intrusive thoughts like that. They don’t represent anything. Later I looked it up. Over ninety percent of parents, when their kids are being difficult, have felt desperate enough to think it might’ve been better not to have children.”

He touched his bandage and looked up seriously. “I understand, Ge. When people are emotional, bad thoughts pop up. But thinking something and actually doing it are worlds apart. Maybe I read it, and three seconds later they regretted it. Maybe they didn’t mean it at all… it was just a moment’s impulse…”

Lin Song gave a bitter smile. “You sound exactly like those therapists.”

“The psychology books on my desk aren’t just for decoration.” Lin Zhu smiled. “Ge, don’t worry. I’m fine—”

Lin Song interrupted him. “But that’s not what I want to tell you.”

Lin Zhu paused and looked up.

Meeting his brother’s eyes, Lin Song spoke slowly and firmly. “To hell with all those theories. Xiao Zhu. Even if every word of them is right, they have nothing to do with you.”

He looked at Lin Zhu’s left hand, the corners of his eyes twitching with pain, his voice hoarse. “Those methods are for treating normal people. But my didi has superpowers. He’s stronger than anyone else. He can see what others are thinking at a glance. Nothing can be hidden from him. Hurtful words. Cruel thoughts. Nothing.”

Five-year-old Lin Zhu hadn’t had the ability to discern. He only knew that what he saw was real.

Those words haunted his dreams night after night, following him like a curse as he grew up. While he stumbled toward reconciling with his past, repeatedly trying to understand and forgive everyone around him, he himself had never known a single moment of ease.

That was why, whenever things spiraled out of control, he instinctively ran from home. That was why, when panic overwhelmed him, the first thought that surfaced was the one he’d seen as a child—

“If I didn’t exist, it would be better.”

“If I weren’t here, everything would be fine.”

“When you’re clear-headed, sure, you can reason and understand,” Lin Song said. “But what about when you’re not clear-headed? When you’re panicking? When you’re terrified?”

“You probably don’t even remember. You once wrote things when you were unhappy.”

He clenched his fists, stubbornly refusing to describe his brother using what he’d heard. “Xiao Zhu… I’m your Gege. Your elder. I’m giving you this right.”

“You don’t have to forgive them. Back then, they were wrong.”

Lin Zhu’s shoulders trembled slightly. His arms slowly tensed.

Lin Song took a deep breath, ready to catch his brother when he threw himself into his arms and finally cried freely—

—but instead, he watched the last trace of shadow in Lin Zhu’s eyes dissolve. His eyes curved into bright crescents.

Bright enough to dazzle.

The tightness in Lin Song’s chest lifted. He stared at him for a long while, then let out a long breath and ruffled his hair. “I underestimated you… Fine. Go fall in love properly.”

He stood to leave, intending to smoke, but his steps halted.

Zhong Yao had arrived at some point, standing silently outside the door, his figure rigid as iron.