MACRM Chapter 94

The Marlensius team was urging him on, so Lin Zhu didn’t stay long. That very night, he left Beijing and flew to the United States.

Nothing had been finalized yet, and everything was confidential. The team didn’t know what Lin Zhu was actually going for. They only knew he was heading to the US to negotiate a film role. They stayed up late brainstorming ideas for him, coming up with suggestions all night.

“Can we specifically edit a demo reel using the films where Zhong-laoshi cooks?” the publicity staff suggested enthusiastically. “Use Chinese cuisine to tempt them, maybe they’ll fall for it!”

For a film directed by an internationally renowned director, even a second- or third-tier supporting role was hard to come by, let alone the male lead. The publicity staff was so excited they had no intention of sleeping, even volunteering eagerly, “Do you need help? We can help edit the footage!”

Lin Zhu smiled and rubbed his forehead. “Alright, edit it and send it to me.”

The publicity staff felt greatly encouraged and immediately went off to get busy.

---

Adjusting his posture, Lin Zhu listened to everyone in the conference call tossing out one imaginative idea after another. He rubbed his eyes and opened the materials compiled by the PR team, flipping through them.

There hadn’t been any major incidents lately, and everyone on the team was relatively free. Having something to work on wasn’t a bad thing.

The flight from Beijing to New York would take half a day. With the time difference of half the globe, the time of departure and arrival differed by less than an hour, so he would still land at night.

If he wanted to adjust to the time difference quickly, he couldn’t sleep yet.

First class cabins now had Wi-Fi, so it didn’t hinder the team from continuing their collective brainstorming. Lin Zhu didn’t dampen their enthusiasm. Holding his tablet, he leaned by the window, watching the glittering lights of the city below.

The awkwardness and embarrassment from the previous night quietly receded like a tide.

Lin Zhu started to miss Zhong Yao.

Coming back to his senses, he rubbed his face a couple of times and looked down at the flowing lights below.

Zhong Yao… should be about done filming by now, right?

Lin Zhu couldn’t help recalling the scenes he had read from Zhong Yao’s eyes the night before. He took a sip of coffee, his ears quietly turning red.

He pulled the tie he had been carrying with him out of his pocket, slowly unfolding it and loosely looping it around his eyes a couple of times.

The plane slowly crossed national borders.

Back home, it was already close to midnight. Lin Zhu shooed the group of night owls in his team off to sleep, fiddled with his tablet for a bit, and suddenly spotted a message from Zhong Yao.

His eyes lit up. He sat up straight and quickly sent a voice call request, putting on his headphones.

“Didn’t get much sleep?” The call was picked up quickly. Zhong Yao’s familiar voice came through.

He had just arrived at the hotel, his voice carrying a trace of fatigue from finally resting, yet still distinctly gentle. “It’s a ten-hour flight. Get some rest. After you land, take a day off before going over, it’ll be in time…”

Lin Zhu had always been unable to resist that kind of soft voice that felt like it was right by his ear. His face flushed uncontrollably, and he cleared his throat. “Mm.”

Embarrassed as he was, they weren’t together after all, and Lin Zhu’s return date was uncertain. They might not see each other again until the end of the year when filming wrapped. Missing even one chance to talk like this felt like a waste.

Reluctant to hang up, Lin Zhu let out a soft breath, suppressing the easily stirred heartbeat in his chest. “I’m not tired. Ge, you need to rest well. Don’t push yourself too hard.”

Zhong Yao smiled and agreed to everything. “Alright, I won’t make you worry.”

Zhong Yao had thought Lin Zhu would stay shy for at least ten days or half a month, but he hadn’t expected him to resume voice calls the very next day. In a better mood, he couldn’t help teasing him with a smile. “If I rest well, will Lin-laoshi give me a reward?”

Lin Zhu’s ears grew even hotter. He glanced around to make sure no flight attendants were nearby, lowering his voice further. “Ge, yo—you have to go to bed before midnight every day. Don’t drink too much strong tea, don’t stay up late playing games, don’t get insomnia.”

Lin Zhu took a deep breath. “When we meet again… when we do that kind of thing…”

Lin Zhu: “I’ll let you use a tie to cover my eyes.”

Zhong Yao: “……”

Lin Zhu’s embarrassment was entirely focused on the first half of what he said, completely unaware of any issue with the “reward” he had designed. After making his promise, he hurriedly added a few vague instructions, then quickly hung up before Zhong Yao could react.

---

Looking out the window, Lin Zhu’s heart pounded.

Having touched the steering wheel once really did make a difference.

He could already casually say “do that kind of thing” out loud!

Still not quite used to his own evolution, Lin Zhu carefully rolled around on the bed twice. Only after a long while did the heat on his face subside slightly. Drowsiness crept in, and he unknowingly closed his eyes.

…

Zhong Yao sat on the hotel bed.

He logged onto the forum and, under the title of a gold member, posted his second question.

[My lover said I can use a tie to cover his eyes. What does that mean?]

Midnight was when young people were most active. Seeing that the same interesting original poster had appeared again, word spread quickly, and within moments there were already hundreds of replies.

Zhong Yao read through the entire thread from beginning to end.

Zhong Yao had insomnia again.

Lin Zhu arrived in New York, and it was already late at night local time.

Zhong Yao had stayed in Manhattan for three years, with quite a few friends and acquaintances, and was familiar with the area. This time Lin Zhu came over, and it was Zhong Yao who personally handled all the phone arrangements throughout.

The flight was too long; even in first class, it left him exhausted. Lin Zhu was worn out to the bone. After checking in at the hotel and reporting his safety to Zhong Yao, he collapsed onto the bed and fell asleep.

Perhaps he was truly too tired. Lin Zhu slept soundly all the way until dawn the next day. Only then did he finally regain his energy, freshen up, and head to report to the Marlensius team.

Foreign production teams are usually highly specialized, with each role already well-developed. Lin Zhu was invited as an external contributor, not only to participate in scriptwriting, but also to take part in the overall concept design of the film.

When Lin Zhu arrived at Marlensius’s studio, before he even had time to discuss the outline, he was pulled straight into the casting room.

“Welcome, we’ve been waiting for you for a long time.”

Marlensius had a deep impression of this young man from China. He shook his hand, his serious expression softening slightly. “Your inspiration solved our urgent problem. We’ve thought about it for a long time, and we still need an external collaborator who understands this ability more thoroughly to help us.”

“Alright, let’s put it bluntly,” the producer joked. “Our director needs your artist and your eyes.”

The producer teased with a smile, “If you’re also willing to take on a role, I suspect our director should already be considering changing the main storyline.”

Marlensius frowned slightly, casting a disapproving glance at the gray-haired producer.

Lin Zhu was a little surprised and looked up curiously.

“We’ve already received the character bio and the mixed sample footage you sent. The results were excellent, be it Zhong’s physique, skills, and acting style were fully brought out by your editing. We’ve confirmed he’s exactly the Eastern image we need.”

Marlensius was very satisfied with Zhong Yao in every aspect. His gaze paused lightly on Lin Zhu, though a faint trace of regret still showed. “It’s just that… your eyes are something we can’t forget.”

“These are eyes blessed by God.”

Marlensius looked at him and spoke frankly, “They suddenly made us feel… if such an ability really existed in the world, those eyes should look like this.”

Lin Zhu’s heart skipped slightly, and he instinctively looked away.

“Whether they’ve been blessed by God or not, I don’t know,” Lin Zhu smiled. “If there really is a God, I think the first thing He should ask is whether the person being ‘blessed’ actually wants this kind of ability…”

Lin Zhu paused slightly, raised his hand to touch his eyes, unconsciously recalling the gentle kisses that had fallen there the night before.

His ears turned faintly red, and his lips pressed together lightly. “But… being blessed might actually be true.”

The producer’s eyes immediately lit up with gossip-fueled curiosity, wanting to ask more, but the unromantic Director Marlensius had already nodded and changed the subject. “It’s fine. Just your presence here already gives us considerable inspiration.”

Marlensius gestured, signaling an assistant to come over and take Lin Zhu around. “I hope you’ll like this place. We should have a long period of cooperation ahead. If you have any requests, feel free to bring them up—the investors will do their best to accommodate you.”

Such conditions hardly seemed like they were meant for just an external helper. Lin Zhu blinked, subtly glancing into Marlensius’s eyes.

…He wasn’t joking.

A hint of curiosity arose in Lin Zhu, but he didn’t press further. He nodded his thanks and followed the assistant around the building.

Marlensius’s productions had always leaned toward actors and teams with Broadway experience, so instead of settling in the outskirts of Los Angeles like most film crews, he had chosen the high-priced land of Manhattan.

Wall Street was nearby. Although Lin Zhu was already used to the standards back home, after wandering around the building, he still couldn’t help but feel a sense of awe at the overwhelming elite atmosphere.

As they say: when in Rome, do as the Romans do.

Lin Zhu squared his shoulders and carefully adjusted the strings of his hoodie until they were even.

“These days we’re selecting supporting roles, including both Asian and local actors. They’ll probably all gather here during this period,” the assistant explained as they walked. “There will likely be quite a lot of foot traffic here recently, but don’t worry, we’ll arrange a car to pick you up, or we can also book you a nearby five-star hotel…”

After the script was completed, issues were found in the main storyline, requiring adjustments and reorganization of details, but the characters themselves didn’t need much alteration.

The filming schedule had already been set. Even if the script wasn’t fully revised, casting still had to be done in advance so both sides could confirm schedules. Lin Zhu’s visit this time would likely also involve offering suggestions on the casting.

“No need,” Lin Zhu smiled. “The place I’m staying at is quite nice. I’ve been resting well too, so I’d hate to switch.”

The assistant, relieved that the guest from China was easygoing, smiled as well. “Being so far from home is not easy. Good rest is very important.”

Lin Zhu nodded, about to ask more about the current progress, when he suddenly heard the commotion of reporters outside the door.

He raised his brows and looked over, immediately recognizing the figure surrounded by the crowd.

It was a mixed-race Korean-American star who grew up in the United States, called David Muller.

This time, Marlensius’s team cast a wide net. Any Asian actor had a chance to audition, which attracted a large number of second- and third-generation immigrant Asian actors.

Lin Zhu wasn’t very familiar with overseas actors, but he did have some impression of David Muller.

During Zhong Yao’s three years abroad, he had practically been shelved by his company, and not much footage made it back to China. Only some loyal fan groups continued to circulate occasional behind-the-scenes clips and videos. In a few of the rare Broadway performance recordings, Lin Zhu had seen David Muller before.

Zhong Yao had started in stage plays relatively late, but his progress was rapid. Within half a year, he had already qualified to perform on stage. Asian roles in stage plays were limited, and the rise of a newcomer was bound to take opportunities from others.

One of David Muller’s roles had once been replaced by Zhong Yao. Because of that, Muller’s attitude toward Zhong Yao on stage had never been particularly friendly.

Lin Zhu had just arrived and didn’t intend to cause trouble for Zhong Yao or the Marlensius team. He signaled the assistant to avoid them, but the moment they met, David Muller immediately recognized his distinctly Eastern features.

Appearing in the building where Marlensius’s studio was located, with an Asian face, and especially striking looks—

Even with the cultural differences across continents affecting beauty standards, the clean, refined youthful aura Lin Zhu carried was still something that could easily captivate audiences on screen.

Not giving Lin Zhu the chance to turn away, Muller’s expression darkened slightly, and he signaled his bodyguard to clear the way.

Seeing the burly bodyguard approach aggressively, Lin Zhu raised his brows. His gaze flicked across the bodyguard’s eyes, and he smoothly stepped aside in time, neatly avoiding the rude swing of the incoming hand.

The assistant cleared his throat softly and explained in a low voice, “Today they’re selecting a third-tier supporting role in the film. It’s basically already decided to be Mr. Muller. He’s here for the final audition…”

For a world-class team like this, most actors were decided in advance. Only in special circumstances — or if someone truly outstanding appeared — would they replace an originally chosen actor.

For David Muller to single out Lin Zhu at first glance and deliberately target him so openly, he had clearly already taken him as a hypothetical rival.

“What kind of ill-fated connection is this…”

First, Zhong Yao — who rose to fame unintentionally — had “bullied” him by taking his role, and now he was worried that Lin Zhu might snatch another one. This kind of luck was truly one in a hundred.

Lin Zhu had no intention of arguing with him. He casually apologized and was about to head back to the elevator, but the bodyguard blocked his path completely.

“You’re here to audition too?”

David Muller stopped and gave Lin Zhu a once-over. His gaze lingered on the young man’s striking amber eyes, and a deep wariness showed in his own. “This role is already decided today. You’d better not come here hoping to get lucky with thoughts you shouldn’t have, understand?”