Over the next two days, Lin Zhu kept a close watch, but contrary to expectations, Canxing Entertainment remained unusually quiet.
“The interview is set for the night after tomorrow. The Sichuan Film Crew said we can record it at the hotel. We’ll handle setting up the venue and doing early publicity to make sure the livestream goes smoothly.”
It was their brand-new publicity team’s first time reporting work to the agent, so they were a little nervous. “There’s still a little over half a month before filming wraps. The [No Bridge] crew will also be starting their promotional warm-up, so there may be media coming to shoot behind-the-scenes footage in the next couple of days. We were thinking we could combine both waves to quickly boost exposure, and it would also make it easier for you when you go out to negotiate for resources…”
Now that there was the framework of a team in place, the weight on Lin Zhu’s shoulders was visibly lighter. Since he was intentionally training the new staff, all these liaison tasks had been handed over to the PR and planning departments.
“Alright, thanks for the hard work.”
Zhong Yao was still deep in discussion with the screenwriter over the script. Judging by how heated it was, he probably wouldn’t be able to break away for a while.
Lin Zhu mentally noted down a few key points to discuss with Zhong Yao later. Seeing that the publicity manager still hadn’t left, he put down the notebook in his hand. “Anything else?”
The publicity manager hesitated for a moment. “It’s… about Canxing’s latest movements. Our team picked it up…”
Lin Zhu had been waiting for this for the past two days. At the words, his eyes lit up, and he even looked relieved. “Finally, it’s here— what tricks are they up to now?”
The publicity manager looked awkward. After a pause, he pulled out a tablet and handed it over.
Lin Zhu took it. On it were screenshots of comments from various platforms. It was hard to tell how many people PR had sent undercover, but after only a few days of working together, they had already gathered quite a few screenshots from fan groups.
Lin Zhu scrolled through them one by one, momentarily speechless.
It seemed Canxing had already set their sights on him, convinced that he — the difficult-to-control manager — was the bad influence who had led Zhong Yao astray. In just two short days, the “exposé” that “Zhong Yao’s agent forcibly drove away the company’s professional management team” had been quietly released, spreading like a whispered secret. The timing was still too short for it to gain full momentum, but the seed had been planted.
Because Lin Zhu had been so strict in filtering past job offers, some fans were already dissatisfied with him. This added fuel to the fire, and there were now quite a few sarcastic, critical remarks aimed his way.
Lin Zhu didn’t care much about that. In fact, he was quite satisfied with the PR team’s efficiency. He flipped through the screenshots carefully, assessing which platforms had already been infiltrated. “Leave it be. Right now, the fans aren’t united, so a little abuse will help set a sense of camaraderie between all of them… Are there any comments under Zhong-laoshi’s Weibo?”
“There are… but we’ve deleted them all!”
The publicity manager replied instinctively, then quickly added, “Don’t worry, we know exactly what happened. We’re monitoring Zhong-laoshi’s Weibo around the clock. If anything slips through, we’ll help explain—”
“Explain what?”
Lin Zhu looked up, immediately understanding, and chuckled. “I’m not afraid of this. I just don’t want Zhong-laoshi to get annoyed if he sees it…”
It was obvious that Canxing’s plan was to let these comments slowly brainwash Zhong Yao into believing that his agent wasn’t very good, sowing distrust, and eventually leading to a split.
This tactic wasn’t uncommon in the industry. But to use it on them—
Lin Zhu looked up at Zhong Yao’s tall, upright figure. “Using this kind of trick on us… really underestimates me, and seriously underestimates Zhong-laoshi.”
The publicity manager froze.
Lin Zhu had been about to explain, but when he saw the other man’s blank expression, he could only smile helplessly. “It’s fine. No need to intervene too much. Just subtly guide the fan discourse. As long as it doesn’t touch Zhong-laoshi, everything else can wait.”
“Just let them say whatever they want?”
The publicity manager, not much older than Lin Zhu, grew anxious. “We know the truth! Even if you trust Zhong-laoshi and he trusts you, dumping a whole bucket of filth like this over your head—”
“How long can they keep talking?”
Lin Zhu cut him off, his eyes carrying a faint, sharp gleam. “Once filming wraps and the drama is released, I’ll go after Clozeya[mfn]this name is in English btw[/mfn] and snatch their Asia-Pacific endorsement. Then I’ll take on a few leading roles in serious dramas, pair them with variety shows to build traffic, and climb step by step… How long do you think they’ll keep talking then?”
The publicity manager was stunned.
Lin Zhu’s hand was in his pocket, his palm pressing against that seal stamp, slowly tightening around it.
“I’ll walk with Zhong-laoshi back onto the right track, return him to his former standing, and then keep going higher.”
“Get him the endorsements he deserves, the top variety interviews. Press conferences, the big screen, awards, the summit.”
“No one will be able to slander him again. No one will be able to set him up again.”
Lin Zhu’s eyes shone. “Isn’t that a much more satisfying way to shut them up?”
Lin Zhu was usually cheerful and easygoing, rarely speaking without a smile, but at this moment he reminded the publicity manager of that day during contract negotiations, when the young agent’s gaze had been so clear and sharp it was impossible not to believe him.
It makes him believe Lin Zhu immediately… that every possibility he spoke of for the future was real and within reach.
“Alright, off you go. Let me know if anything else comes up. Thanks for your hard work.”
Seeing Zhong Yao and the screenwriter’s argument reaching a boiling point, Lin Zhu couldn’t sit still any longer. He shoved the tablet back into the publicity manager’s hands and strode quickly toward the umbrella. “Liang-laoshi! No, no, you can’t start throwing punches — it’s not about protecting our Zhong-laoshi, there are just visitors on set these two days…”
The publicity manager scratched his head, then tucked the tablet away with genuine respect before leaving quickly.
“You be the judge! You tell me if this is reasonable!”
The screenwriter, so angry he’d lost all reason, waved the script in his hand, spitting out words without thinking, “I stayed up two nights to write this, and he just goes and cuts my script like that! He’s the one who asked me to write it in the first place— mmph!”
Zhong Yao shook out his hand, took out a handkerchief to wipe his palm, then turned his gaze to Lin Zhu. His eyes softened with that familiar, warm smile. “Finished talking?”
“All done. Their professional level was even better than I expected.”
As soon as Lin Zhu returned to Zhong Yao’s side, his work mode naturally eased off, his youthful energy bubbling back to the surface, eager to tell Zhong Yao everything.
Zhong Yao always listened with genuine attention, which encouraged Lin Zhu all the more. His brows curved in a smile, and his eyes lit up with tiny sparks. “I just checked out their PR team — they monitor over thirty platforms, big and small, plus a dozen fan groups. That level is almost on par with Canxing’s PR department! And Canxing’s PR team covers even more people, so they often miss things…”
Zhong Yao’s eyes brimmed with an even deeper smile as he listened carefully, nodding sincerely. “Thanks to you, we’ve struck gold.”
The young agent’s cheeks grew warm from the praise, the corners of his lips lifting despite himself. He quietly savored the happiness for a while, then grew curious about the script. “Is this the next episode’s script? Zhong-laoshi is used to high standards. Don’t be upset, we can talk it through slowly…”
The screenwriter, having calmed down, remembered Zhong Yao’s earlier instructions. He ground his teeth but forced out a laugh. “You’re right, I’ll… talk it through with him… talk.”
Zhong Yao had only asked him to write a scene where the little young master gets sick. The screenwriter had painstakingly filled in the cause and effect, and after two nights of feverish writing, had enjoyed himself immensely, down to every detail of how the little young master snuggled into Zhong Yao’s arms saying he felt unwell, how he was carried off to have his temperature taken, how Zhan Yuan wiped him down, dressed him, fed him medicine, and coaxed him with sweet red bean paste dumplings.
And then Zhong Yao, with just a few words, cut more than half of it.
No snuggling into arms, no wiping down and dressing, only the dumpling-coaxing remained. And even that wasn’t explicitly described as being for the little young master. He merely told the prop master to make sure to have it ready and to expense the cost to him.
A perfectly good script had been chopped into a pitiful little outline. Zhong Yao insisted Lin Zhu decide how to act it himself, and refused to budge, saying he didn’t want a little young master who was manipulated by the plot.
The screenwriter, swallowing his grief, had been ready to go down with Zhong Yao, only to be intercepted by an utterly clueless Lin Zhu.
“This is the CP I support… the CP I support… the CP I support…”
The screenwriter repeated the mantra in his head until his anger finally ebbed away. Grinding his teeth, he forced out, “I’ll revise it.”
Zhong Yao replied pleasantly, “Much appreciated.”
The screenwriter gave a cold laugh, capped his pen as if stabbing him hard with an imaginary knife, then snapped the script shut and walked off.
Zhong Yao had always kept good relations with the crew. Lin Zhu, slightly worried, leaned forward to peek after the man, but Zhong Yao smoothly blocked his line of sight, taking his hand to lead him back under the umbrella.
Turning slightly to shield him from the sun, Zhong Yao finally took his hand out of his pocket and placed two pieces of walnut pastry, neatly wrapped in oiled paper, into Lin Zhu’s palm.
Lin Zhu accepted the walnut pastries.
Today’s scene was Zhan Yuan opening the door to guests and offering the household’s sweets to entertain visiting Japanese officials…
Still unaware that this all stemmed from a grudge born over a bowl of instant noodles, Lin Zhu nibbled the freshly baked, fragrant walnut pastry with genuine concern over whether the Sichuan Film studio’s prop team might one day rise in revolt and leak to visiting reporters about the suspiciously high rate of prop consumption.
“Liang-laoshi’s writing hasn’t been going smoothly the past two days. He’s stuck on a plot point. He’s just in a bad mood, that’s all.”
Since it was currently Zheng Lingyang’s solo shoot, Zhong Yao wasn’t in a hurry to go over. Sitting under the umbrella with Lin Zhu, he spoke gently to reassure him. “Once he’s unstuck, it’ll be fine.”
“Writing scripts really isn’t easy.”
Trusting Zhong Yao’s words as always, Lin Zhu’s sympathy allowed him to relax. He broke the walnut pastry in half and shared it with Zhong Yao. “The publicity team just came over, they said the interview is set for the day after tomorrow, in the conference hall of our hotel…”
With his excellent memory, he didn’t bother taking notes. He recited the key points without missing a detail, then mentioned the upcoming set visits. “Even though they’re all credentialed reporters and have been told they can only film in designated areas, there will inevitably be gaps… We should all watch our behavior so the gossip reporters won’t have any material to stir up.”
Zhong Yao nodded, but his gaze stayed on him.
Lin Zhu paused, inexplicably a little guilty. “Zhong-laoshi…?”
“Nothing else?”
Zhong Yao lowered his head to read his expression, brows slightly furrowed. “If something’s wrong, don’t hide it from me. I’ve already experienced it once, I can handle anything.”
Feeling certain he hadn’t revealed anything, Lin Zhu’s heartbeat quickened slightly, but he still shook his head. “Nothing…”
Zhong Yao didn’t press further. He simply nodded lightly, then bent down to unscrew the thermos cup he’d specially prepared with goji berry tea for Lin Zhu, handing it to him.
Lin Zhu had excellent self-control, but in his line of work, patterns always emerged over time.
For example, when Lin Zhu was actually feeling a little unwell but strictly refused to admit it, he tended to act even more cheerful and talkative than usual.
And when he was in front of Zhong Yao… he would unconsciously hope for his praise even more.
The cup held goji berry tea. The young agent cradled it, sipping in tiny mouthfuls. He was unwilling to drink much, but also unwilling to let him down.
Zhong Yao chuckled, raising a hand to ruffle his hair. “Better than last time. Tonight I’ll make you hotpot.”
“Really?!”
Lin Zhu’s eyes lit up instantly. He set the thermos down at once. “I want napa cabbage! And chicken meatballs and fish balls — wait, let me go buy them later. Write me a list of what you want…”
Smiling, Zhong Yao leaned in and murmured something to him.
Not far away, the camera filming Zheng Lingyang’s behind-the-scenes footage kept rolling, the wide shot just catching the edge of their sun umbrella.
