MACRM Chapter 18

Lin Zhu was led into the dressing room by Zhong Yao, his ears still burning red.

“Come on, lift your clothes.”

Seeing the young manager simmering like a small pot on low heat, Zhong Yao’s eyes also softened with a smile. He patted Lin Zhu on the shoulder and crouched down in front of him.

Lift it, lift it, lift it…

Lin Zhu was a bundle of nerves but instinctively followed Zhong Yao’s instructions, lifting the hem of his robe. The moment he saw Zhong Yao crouched in front of him, he panicked and fumbled. “Zhong-laoshi, I can do it myself—”

“That outfit was tailor-made. If it rips, the costume designer will chase you down with a rain of needles.”

Zhong Yao chuckled, raising a hand to tap the back of his knee. “Lift your leg.”

Lin Zhu was thoroughly cooked at this point, dazed as Zhong Yao carefully strapped the mic receiver to his thigh.

He didn’t dare look down, but he could almost clearly imagine how that hand braced him, adjusted the placement, and carefully fastened the Velcro strap against his leg.

If it weren’t for the makeup already on his face, Lin Zhu would’ve wanted to rub his cheeks hard.

“All done. Just be careful not to stretch your clothes too much. These mics are very expensive…”

Zhong Yao secured the receiver, stood up with the microphone in hand, and glanced over. He smiled, “Why’s your face so red? Still nervous?”

He was nervous enough to explode into a firework!

Lin Zhu peeked at the hand holding the mic and swallowed the words “I can do it myself.” He squeezed his eyes shut like a martyr facing execution.

Even if… it’s just this once.

Once is enough.

Even if Zhong Yao distanced himself in the future, this one memory could be tucked away and treasured. Every time he saw a scene of them standing side by side on screen, he could pull out these little details that only he knew — dusted in powdered sugar, swallowed down bit by bit in quiet satisfaction.

…He must be too happy right now to be having such melancholy thoughts.

Lin Zhu shook his head to clear his mind, slowly relaxing his body.

Zhong Yao patiently worked on attaching the mic.

Lin Zhu stood properly, both hands holding up his clothes. He quietly lowered his head and peeked at Zhong Yao, who was focused on untangling the earpiece wire.

The evening sun was warm, falling gently on the sharp lines of Zhong Yao’s face, softening all his edges. The depths of his dark eyes looked especially calm and clear.

Lin Zhu clenched his fists and quietly looked away.

At first, it was nerves. Later, it was deliberate avoidance. From their first meeting until now, Lin Zhu had never tried to read Zhong Yao’s mind.

After being used to being certain about all the people around him, this kind of unknown really made him queasy. Still, he gritted his teeth and endured it, not meeting Zhong Yao’s glance head-on. 

He would never read Zhong Yao’s mind. 

Lin Zhu is a well-behaved and obedient person, but once he latched onto an ideal, he was stubborn as a mule. Otherwise, he wouldn’t insist so hard to go to the entertainment industry despite his circumstances. Later, he even gave up on being an actor and switched into an agent. 

Lin Zhu actually knew that with his psychic ability, most of the things he did would go smoothly.

There’s no such thing as a secret in front of him. All their thoughts were laid out in the open, all naked for him to see. No need for second guesses, no need for speculation or effort. Just one look, and he knew what to do next.

But Zhong Yao was different.

Zhong Yao was the one who pulled him out of the mud. He was the light Lin Zhu had always chased.

And he was the only unpredictable variable in Lin Zhu’s life.

“Still too thin. Next time, I’ll feed you even more delicious food.”

Zhong Yao said casually as he ran the wires under Lin Zhu’s clothes, brought it out from the collar, and clipped it in a hidden spot. “Don’t move, let me fix your clothes.”

Lin Zhu obediently raised his arms. Zhong Yao circled around him, carefully smoothing out his robe before nodding in satisfaction. “All set. Get out there now, or Director Wei will be sending someone to drag us—”

Right on cue, Wei Geping himself burst through the door like a whirlwind. “What are you two doing in here, writing an essay on mic technology? Hurry up, we’re ready outside—”

He abruptly stopped talking, took two steps back, and squinted, adjusting his angle.

Zhong Yao, worried that Lin Zhu might be embarrassed, was about to leave when Wei Geping barked, “Don’t move! Call the photographer over!”

Zhong Yao raised an eyebrow and stepped back.

In a flash, the photographer came rushing over with the camera. Wei Geping positioned him at the door, muttering about angles, lighting, and composition. Lin Zhu instinctively looked over, but Zhong Yao gently touched his shoulder and brought his attention back. “Here, don’t move.”

Lin Zhu instinctively looked up, then quickly glanced away like he remembered something. Zhong Yao’s expression remained warm and gentle, his gaze steady and calm as he held Lin Zhu’s shoulder, a hint of exploration in his eyes.

The sunset light glowed brightly as it spilled down the windowsill, pouring over their shoulders.

The photographer, quick on the trigger, lifted the camera and pressed the shutter.

……

“Alright, post this on Weibo! Just say I’m very satisfied!”

Wei Geping’s voice rang out, instantly breaking the silence. He slapped the still photographer on the shoulder with vigor. “Not a single word is allowed to be changed!”

Earlier, when Zheng Yi was being used by his company to create drama and drag Zhong Yao down, even Director Wei got caught in the crossfire. The production team hadn’t found the right opportunity to respond directly, and could only watch as netizens partied away on rumors, yet the crew wasn’t able to stir up even a bit of buzz.

Now that the timing was finally right, Director Wei was in high spirits, completely refreshed as he gave orders and dragged everyone toward the set. “Come on, let’s shoot, let’s shoot. We’re running out of time…”

Lin Zhu didn’t have time to react before he was pulled out of the room by Wei Geping, but his instincts still had him glancing back at Zhong Yao. When he saw the other man nod, he quickly picked up the pace to follow.

Zhong Yao deliberately hung back a few steps, trailing steadily behind them.

His gaze landed on the slender figure in a white shirt and blue vest, and after a long moment, he smiled faintly before stepping onto the set.

“[No Bridge] Scene 32, Act 1, Take 1— action!”

That night’s filming went exceptionally smoothly.

Lin Zhu performed beyond expectations, and with Zhong Yao guiding him through their scenes, the results were nothing short of stunning. There were only a few minutes of break between two major scenes, and both were filmed in a single go. Even the notoriously strict Wei Geping looked pleased, nodding repeatedly in approval.

“With talent like this, it’d be a shame not to act.”

The screenwriter, always ready to stir things up, teased Lin Zhu while he was having the costume designer unpick the seams. “Do you want to survive to the last episode? Carry on your master’s legacy and fight to the end, maybe get promoted to third male lead? Squeeze your family’s Film Emperor Zhong back one notch…”

Zhong Yao happened to walk over just in time to hear the screenwriter painting this dream. He chuckled silently and paused to listen.

In this industry, few people came in without the goal of fame.

Climbing higher was perfectly normal. Plenty of people used jobs like assistant or manager to gain exposure and build relationships on set. Once their network was solid enough, they’d find a way to get in front of the camera. It’s definitely a valid alternative route.

He knew Lin Zhu hadn’t entertained such thoughts, but he wouldn’t mind if Lin Zhu wanted to start paving the way ahead of time.

After learning more about how traffic and fame translated into money, Zhong Yao had a clear sense of his current position. He was confident in his acting and in turning resources into wins. But whether he could still appeal to the public tastes, whether he could carve out space amid all the pretty, multi-talented young stars — he wasn’t so sure anymore.

Watching that eye-catching figure in the crowd, Zhong Yao paused in thought and didn’t move forward.

If he really had aged out of the times and couldn’t keep up anymore, it’s best for him to go solo without dragging Lin Zhu down. 

Zhong Yao wasn’t the possessive or controlling type. He didn’t mind if people around him used him as a springboard, and sometimes he even lent a helping hand.

Lin Zhu had already gone above and beyond for him. If this drama took off, it’d be Lin Zhu’s best opportunity to transition into a new career path.

“No, no, I never planned to be an actor.” 

Lin Zhu had his back turned to him, surrounded by people and unaware that Zhong Yao had walked over. He happily waved his hands, full of contentment. “This one time was enough. I got to act in a drama, but what if Zhong-laoshi runs off while I’m here? Took me so long to catch up to him…”

The screenwriter gave a suggestive “tsk tsk” of admiration and quickly jotted down the scene for future material.

“Tons of people enter the industry for their idols, and most of them end up successful… You’ve never thought about yourself? No ambitions, no dreams?”

The assistant director frowned, looking at the cheerful but too-easygoing young manager. He couldn’t help knocking on his head. “Let’s take a step back. Even if you plan to stay with Zhong-laoshi, what if one day he doesn’t want you anymore? You should think ahead, leave yourself a way out. Have some foresight…”

Lin Zhu froze. His bright smile stilled in his eyes, and a familiar, secret pain rose in his chest.

…It wasn’t a matter of “what if.”

No one wanted to be around someone who could read minds.

He had understood this long ago.

People only got along well with him now because he could easily read their personalities and preferences, and never did anything to make them uncomfortable. But no one liked having their thoughts exposed. Once they found out about his ability, people would only avoid him like the plague.

Just like when he was 5 years old, and his parents had looked at him with veiled shock and confusion as he proudly demonstrated his “superpower”…

Lin Zhu blinked, instinctively reaching for candy, only to realize he was wearing a costume, and had none on him. So he simply forced the corners of his mouth upward again, putting on his usual cheerful expression with a squint-eyed smile. “I—”

“Who said I don’t want him anymore?”

Zhong Yao’s voice suddenly rang out from behind the crowd.

The assistant director quickly cleared his throat and stood up. That tall, straight figure had parted the group and walked over, pulling the young manager — just freed from his costume — back to his side, gaze cool as it swept over everyone.

Zhong Yao had always been mild and easygoing since joining the crew, but now he deliberately let go of restraint and released his full presence. It made everyone inexplicably nervous, and the once-chaotic set instantly grew quieter.

Lin Zhu snapped out of it, quickly rubbed his eyes, and tried to smooth things over. “Zhong-laoshi, we were just chatting, it’s nothing—”

“Even if it’s just chatting, it’s still not okay.”

Zhong Yao frowned. His earlier sharpness softened slightly under Lin Zhu’s worried glance, but his tone remained firm. “I plan to keep acting for the people until I’m eighty. How can I do that without an agent?”