The party was arranged by Qiu Ming, and everyone in the production team pooled their ideas for it. Zhuang Qin never expected that the crew would go out of their way to organize such a birthday party for him. When he walked into the restaurant and found the lights all out, he thought there was a power outage, but then he heard people singing the birthday song. Someone carrying a cake walked out, clapping and singing, “Happy Birthday to you.”
There was even someone playing the guitar on the side.
Zhuang Qin was moved and thanked everyone: “Thank you all.”
“Time to blow out the candles!”
Then the lights came back on.
The restaurant was located right next to the beach, with steps leading down to the sand, and was divided into indoor and outdoor sections. The crew had spent money on decorating the inside with balloons and flowers. By the time Zhuang Qin arrived, it was already nine in the evening, quite late.
So as soon as he arrived, the kitchen immediately started serving a feast.
The crew, numbering sixty or seventy, packed the indoor restaurant full.
At one table, the main cast, the two directors, and producer Qiu Ming were seated. Xiao Lian ate at another table.
“Director Guo, did you arrange this specially? Thank you, it’s really thoughtful.”
“I have the heart but not the funds—this was all Qiu’s doing, specially for you.”
“What? Thank you? No need for that,” Qiu Ming said, peeling a lobster shell while wearing gloves, “You’re one of my actors, and I’m a producer, right? It’s just a meal for the crew under the guise of your birthday. You’re twenty now, Zhuang, all grown up. Can you drink alcohol?”
He pretended to fill the glass to the brim.
“I’ll have one glass.” Zhuang Qin had no reason to refuse.
“He can’t drink,” interjected Li Mu from the side.
Qiu Ming looked at him and immediately said, “Alright, alright, no alcohol then. Almost forgot you both have scenes tomorrow. Here, have some lobster.”
He placed the peeled lobster meat on Zhuang Qin’s plate.
“Thank you, Mr. Qiu, but I can do it myself,” Zhuang Qin politely declined.
He wasn’t very familiar with Qiu Ming, having only met a few times on set.
Li Mu, noticing him eating, was displeased and kicked Qiu Ming under the table.
Qiu Ming glanced towards Guo Baozhen.
Guo Baozhen, who had been filming supporting roles all day, was famished and happily buried his head in his meal.
Li Mu was also preparing to peel a lobster for Zhuang Qin. He didn’t eat them often, finding the process bothersome and unclean, and his peeling skills were not very polished.
Zhuang Qin’s phone rang; it was Sister Wen.
He wiped his hands and answered: “Hello, Sister Wen?”
“Have you arrived in Thailand yet?”
“Uh-huh, just got to the crew, we’re having dinner.”
Sister Wen said, “Didn’t I negotiate a variety show for you before? ‘A Hundred Flavors in Drama,’ there’s some news…”
“One second, I’m going to take this call.” Zhuang Qin stood up to apologize and walked aside.
“Sister Wen, I’m listening.”
Sister Wen explained, “So, about the funding… it’s not ideal. I’ve been trying to negotiate for a long time.”
“How much?”
“Three… million.” Sister Wen herself hesitated before continuing: “Zhuang, do you have some issue with the company’s higher-ups?”
“Sister Wen?”
Sister Wen recalled the disbelief when she first saw the offer. It was too low, but the variety show’s production team didn’t contact her directly, probably because they knew someone at Yuedong Media’s upper management. After asking her company and getting a vague response, she felt something was wrong and discreetly contacted the production team’s producer. That investigation revealed that the producer had offered Zhuang Qin 20 million for the season.
Very high.
But the contract given to Sister Wen was only for one million. Upon investigation, she found out it was a bundled contract. Most of the twenty million went directly into the company’s accounts, and after splitting the profits, Zhuang Qin would only receive a few hundred thousand—a price too low even for a lesser-known star.
Given Zhuang Qin’s current popularity and draw, the offer was absurdly low.
Clearly, something was off.
She didn’t know the exact reasons, but after asking at the office and receiving ambiguous answers, it seemed intentional.
The higher-ups were reluctant to let him access better resources, and even when he did, they didn’t pay him much. Recently, Sister Wen had felt that although Zhuang Qin still had a hit drama airing—albeit poorly reviewed—the company clearly seemed to be deliberately stifling his career, favoring several newcomers instead.
Sister Wen was just an agent and didn’t dare question the higher-ups too much, but still tried her best to negotiate for her artists.
But the higher-ups were inflexible, and after days of negotiations, Sister Wen argued, “He absolutely won’t accept this price, but he likes this program. If you can increase it a bit, he might consider. If he doesn’t, there’s no contract, and no one benefits,” managing to secure an additional two million for Zhuang Qin.
“Three million?” Zhuang Qin was silent for a while. “How many episodes?”
He didn’t suspect anything amiss, assuming the production team planned to eliminate him after the first or second episode.
In that case, three million seemed reasonable.
Sister Wen explained, “The whole season. It’s written in the contract. The show airs weekly, and you’d probably need to stay with the crew for a few months, twenty episodes in total.”
That amounted to just over a hundred thousand per episode, less than he’d earn from acting in dramas, where even a minor role would pay more.
“To be honest, I don’t really want you to take it. But if you really like it… it’s not impossible to accept, even if the pay is low. I think the panel of judges and others you’d meet on the show could teach you something. The production team won’t easily eliminate you; you could make it far. I’ve seen the pilot season and understand the format. Making it to the end, there’s a custom-made drama as a prize.”
Zhuang Qin wasn’t interested in the reward.
He wanted to learn something new.
If not for the stakes, he might have accepted on the spot.
“Sister Wen… is this offer from the production team?” Zhuang Qin sat on the steps far from any light, facing the deep, dark blue sea.
“No…” Sister Wen hesitated to say too much over the phone, “Zhuang, you’re really in a tough spot right now. Take my advice. If there’s an issue with the company, it might be best to apologize and admit any mistakes. Otherwise… think about it. If they keep blocking you, how long can you stay popular?”
The waves rolled gently and rhythmically along the shoreline, the smooth sound of the ocean right beside him, the sea breeze tousling Zhuang Qin’s hair. He hugged his knees, his voice unusually firm: “Sister Wen, I can’t apologize. I haven’t done anything wrong.”
Meanwhile, Director Guo had gone to the restroom, and Director Zhou to another table, leaving only Li Mu and Qiu Ming sitting opposite each other.
Li Mu had already peeled several lobsters for Zhuang Qin, who hadn’t returned yet. Li Mu turned his head to look at Zhuang Qin sitting far away, facing the sea breeze and talking on the phone, visible only from behind, unclear whom he was talking to.
“Probably his agent,” Qiu Ming took a sip of champagne. “His agent’s name is Su Wen, right? He just called her Sister Wen.”
“You found out?” Li Mu hadn’t paid attention to these details.
“It’s easy to ask around. You two are fuck buddies, and you don’t even know this?”
“We’re not fuck buddies.”
Realizing Li Mu might be angry, Qiu Ming quickly apologized, “I misspoke, my bad, I’m an asshole.”
But Qiu Ming still felt that their relationship seemed distant, even though they sat close together, with Li Mu even peeling lobsters for Zhuang Qin, it didn’t seem like a typical romantic interaction.
Thinking of Li Mu’s solo investment in acquiring shares of Yuedong Media through him, Qiu Ming internally corrected the label to lovers.
He didn’t say it outright but mentioned it as gossip: “I heard some juicy news from the PR firm a few days ago.”
Li Mu looked disinterested, turning his head to watch Zhuang Qin talking on the phone.
“It’s about Zhuang Qin.”
Li Mu then looked at him.
“People at the PR firm said he didn’t mean to say it, but blurted it out drunk—I don’t know if it’s true or not—they said when Zhuang Qin first started out, he was severely slandered online, and the company was ready to buy positive news articles to whitewash his image, portraying him as a pitiful figure to elicit sympathy from netizens.”
Li Mu’s lips brushed against the tulip glass, his eyes signaling Qiu Ming to spill it.
“The draft article was never published because the artist himself opposed it, causing a fuss. So, I think it’s very likely true.”
Li Mu started to get impatient.
Qiu Ming sped up: “The draft basically said he was abandoned as a child, then worked as an apprentice in a theatrical troupe, endured bullying, wasn’t allowed to study, and barely had enough to eat… basically, a very pitiful story. So, netizens should understand why he’s uneducated, it’s not his fault he didn’t have the opportunity to study. Later, he did go to school and even got into a film academy. Such a capable person, I respect him, but online trolls still relentlessly slander him, saying his English is bad—I think his English songs are pretty good. He performs Kunqu opera well, and his acting is decent too.”
Qiu Ming thought it was commendable, considering they had just celebrated his birthday.
“Probably didn’t celebrate much as a kid,” Qiu Ming sighed. “Poor kid.”
Li Mu’s expression changed; his eyes lowered, his lips slightly pursed, indicating he was taking this seriously.
“From the PR firm?”
“Yeah, the PR firm. They said the artist refused to let them publish such an article, so they suppressed it. See, isn’t it just unwillingness to expose his childhood scars?”
Perhaps this news was embellished.
Li Mu looked up: “Don’t tell a third person—did you tell anyone else?”
Qiu Ming covered his mouth: “I didn’t say anything. Who would I tell? My mom?”
Li Mu nodded.
He thought of Zhuang Qin’s relationship with his junior brother, remembered how he had specially visited his mentor and mentor’s wife in the USA, and why he never mentioned his parents, with no news of them online.
His upbringing in the theatrical troupe was likely true.
The troupe’s leader also had the surname Zhuang.
So being adopted by the troupe was highly probable. As for the bullying, Li Mu thought it was quite credible; perhaps people in the troupe treated him poorly, but a child knows gratitude, so he reconciled with them as he grew up.
And there’s a certain melancholy about children under the sun, appearing sunny yet solitary, polite, well-behaved, always sitting alone like a left-behind child, uninterested in mingling with others.
If he had grown up pampered, his personality wouldn’t be like this.
Li Mu looked back and found the silhouette he had been watching had disappeared!
He stood up.
Before Qiu Ming could ask, he saw Li Mu stride towards the beach.
Guo Baozhen returned to the table, puzzled by the scene: “Mr. Qiu, why has everyone left but you?”
Qiu Ming raised his champagne: “Director Guo, keep me company with a drink.”
Li Mu reached the beach, first following the steps in search, not seeing anyone. He scanned the night-darkened beach several times before finally spotting him.
Li Mu immediately ran over, the beach soft, his leather shoes sinking into the sand, the soles of his feet chafing inside his socks.
Zhuang Qin lay on the not-so-clean sand, staring at the night sky. Waves reached up, wetting his pants, and sometimes surged more violently, threatening to engulf him completely.
Li Mu approached and squatted down: “Have you eaten enough? Why aren’t you eating?”
He noticed Zhuang Qin’s clothes were soaked, clinging tightly to his skin.
Zhuang Qin was surprised he had come: “I’ve eaten.”
“Only a few bites, and you’re full?”
“I’m cutting fat.”
“That’s not how you cut fat.”
Their conversation mingled with the sounds of the waves.
Li Mu looked into his clear, distinct eyes, sensing the emotions within: “Are you unhappy?”
“No…” Zhuang Qin was just confused.
With nothing to his name, how could he fight against a behemoth like the company? His eye for choosing scripts?
He had contacted several producers and directors recently and planned to meet the crew in July. If the auditions went well, he would fill up next year’s schedule. If the pay was good, he might take a couple of endorsement deals, possibly winning a two-hundred-million bet contract.
Sister Wen had just shared a lot with him—truths he had understood when entering the industry. An individual’s power is no match for capital, and even with decent acting skills, he could still be ousted by financial interventions.
A large wave rolled towards the beach, spreading directly over Li Mu’s feet and submerging Zhuang Qin’s chest.
“Comfortable lying down?” Li Mu asked.
“A bit hard on the back.” The sand wasn’t fine, containing various small shell fragments.
“Then why are you still lying down and not getting up?” Li Mu wanted to rub his hair, thinking so, he just did it. His fingers slipped through his black hair, his wide palm on his head, stroking like petting a cat.
Zhuang Qin showed no reaction, seemingly not minding his touch, his eyes lifting to gaze at him: “Don’t want to move.”
He felt too weak to bother, thinking it was nice just to sleep here.
“Lazy cat, the tide will rise tonight, and the sea will carry you away.” Li Mu thought his hair felt soft, hard to let go. “You can’t swim.”
“I can swim a little, won’t drown.”
The waves visibly grew fiercer, the wind whipping their hair into disarray.
Each time the water submerged his body, the sensation of being washed felt quite comforting, as if it carried away some inner filth. Zhuang Qin didn’t want to get up, but life is such that one cannot remain stagnant, indulging in comfort.
“Then I’ll get up.” He pushed himself up as a wave surged forward, already weak, he was knocked to one side by the sudden wave. Li Mu opened his arms to catch him, holding him firmly, thinking he had deliberately thrown himself into his arms—okay, if he had no strength, then he’d just carry him.
“Sorry.” Zhuang Qin hadn’t expected the wave to be so powerful, prepared to push him away.
Eh?
Why couldn’t he push him away?
Author’s note:
Li Mu: You intentionally touched my pecs.
