MACRM Chapter 12

Lin Zhu hugged the stack of contracts to his chest, feeling like his entire body was on fire.

“Share a room for tonight” — these few words practically popped up in bold and underlined across his chest, his heart thudding like a drumline smashing into a wall.

He swallowed hard, took two deep breaths, and seriously considered running two laps around the hotel right this second.

“Nobody has any objections, right? If not, get going. You have to get up early for tomorrow’s shoot. Don’t you dare show up on set with dark circles under your eyes…”

Director Wei had no patience for dithering. He grabbed each of them by the shoulder and practically shoved them out the door, even stuffing Zhong Yao’s neatly packed clothes into Lin Zhu’s arms. “All right, all right. You two, off to bed. Now.”

Lin Zhu: “…”

The hotel’s amenities were top-notch. The freshly laundered, still-warm clothes were soft against his skin, and a corner brushed lightly over the exposed skin at his neckline.

Lin Zhu’s face got even hotter. He ducked his head, stammering, “Zhong, Zhong—”

Calling him Zhong Yao felt way too bold, whether as a fan or as an agent. He’d spent the whole day psyching himself up for it, and still couldn’t get the word out.

“Why’s your accent changing now?”

Zhong Yao, who’d filmed all over the country and slept in everything from tents to farmhouse cots with half a crew at a time, clearly wasn’t the least bit bothered about sharing a hotel room with his agent. He chuckled and reached out a hand for his clothes. “Here, I can’t just let you carry everything. That’d look terrible…”

Lin Zhu, dazed, fumbled the contracts out from under the clothes and split the stack with Actor Zhong. 

Thus, “The People’s Veteran Actor” was graciously allowed to contribute to the labor.

Zhong Yao let out a quiet laugh, obediently taking the thick stack of papers, then fell into step behind Lin Zhu, calmly watching him pull out the room key card.

In most crews, the agent didn’t get an assigned room at all.

If it was a major star with a heavy workload, sometimes they’d split out a spare room for the agent, but it would almost never be on the same floor as the actor’s.

For Lin Zhu’s room to be right next door, there was no reasonable explanation besides Director Wei’s blatant favoritism and addiction of mahjong. 

“Don’t worry, I sleep like a rock. I don’t kick the covers off, I don’t roll around. You’ll get a good night’s sleep….”

Lin Zhu swiped the key card through the lock, one hand pressed on the handle, his throat dry as he gave Zhong Yao this very solemn guarantee.

The bed in Zhong Yao’s room was a giant king-size that could easily sleep three. Lin Zhu had secretly tried lying on it earlier. It’s super comfy, he could roll around hugging a pillow forever.

He hadn’t even had time to check his own room before being dragged off to play mahjong. 

Maybe his room also had a king-sized bed… 

Lin Zhu’s face flushed scarlet. He pressed his lips together, mentally scolding himself for having such scandalous thoughts. 

It was already late. Even though he knew the hotel’s soundproofing was excellent, his voice dropped unconsciously.

The hallway light was dim. The young agent tipped his chin up slightly, his clean voice carrying a clear, earnest note, like a bit of unpolished, gentle innocence.

Zhong Yao looked down at him and smiled. “I sleep pretty deep too. No idea what I’m like once I’m out. Just don’t let me keep you awake.”

“Like I could sleep at all!!”

Lin Zhu was screaming internally, clawing at the walls of his mind, but on the outside he still tried to look calm and reliable. He pushed the door open and gestured for Zhong Yao to go in first. “No, I’m a heavy sleeper too…”

His heart was pounding so hard he could barely keep it together. As soon as Zhong Yao stepped inside, he practically launched himself after him.

…It turned out to be a standard twin room.

Tastefully decorated, definitely higher-end than the mahjong room. It had a traditional Chinese decor that gave it a refined vibe. Two beds, neatly separated by an elegant screen that cast a soft, blurry shadow.

So proper Lin Zhu didn’t know whether to feel disappointed or relieved.

He let out a tiny sigh, then promptly snapped out of his scandalous thoughts, going red to his ears. He hurried to set down the contracts, hang up the clothes, and then bustled over to close the curtains and adjust the lamp.

“It’s so late, I’ll tidy up.”

As the hyper-efficient agent once again whisked past, Zhong Yao calmly reached out and caught him by the arm. “Go take a shower. Then get some rest. We have an early morning. Might even need you to wake me up.”

Waking Zhong Yao up!!

Lin Zhu felt like if someone sharpened his head and stuffed it full of gunpowder, he could launch himself into the sky and explode right now. His heart thumped so hard in his chest that he was instantly filled with unstoppable energy. He promptly dropped all the fussing he was doing and obediently spun around, diving headfirst into the bathroom.

Zhong Yao still had his hand frozen in midair, watching the faint afterimage of the young man vanish behind the bathroom door. The surprise slowly faded from his eyes, and in the end, he couldn’t help but let out a quiet laugh.

One that was warm and genuine. 

Inside the bathroom, things clinked and clattered for a while, then the sound of running water picked up.

A soft, clear voice hummed a bright, playful tune. At first a bit too loud, then it quickly dropped in volume, but the cheerful energy was impossible to hide. Even when he was scrubbing on some body wash, he bounced around under the showerhead like he couldn’t stand still.

The Veteran Actor Zhong Yao tidied up the room a bit, then sat down on the bed for a moment, debating whether to remind him not to slip and fall. But he remembered Lin Zhu’s absurdly nimble movements and decided there was no need to fuss.

Lin Zhu was too quick on his feet.

Zhong Yao debuted in historical martial arts dramas. When that genre declined in popularity, he pivoted to modern action shows, taking four to five roles in crime dramas[mfn]includes police procedurals, secret agents, spies, etc[/mfn]. He had real combat training in various grappling techniques, and also had professional Tai Chi lessons on top.

Plus he worked out all year round, so his grip was strong. When he grabbed someone’s arm, even casually, most people wouldn’t get away so easily.

But Lin Zhu had just twisted slightly, slipping out of his grasp before he could even process it.

As skilled as if… he’d gotten in more than a few fights before.

Zhong Yao found himself remembering what Lin Zhu had said back in the mahjong room.

Inside the bathroom, the water sound changed, so the young agent was probably nearly done. The faint hum of singing drifted out, carefully hushed under the water’s rush.

It was as if he was afraid of disturbing Zhong Yao’s rest, but still too happy to completely stop.

Zhong Yao experimentally twisted his own arm a few times, but he couldn’t replicate the move. He heard the water slow to a trickle, then, before Lin Zhu emerged, he circled around the screen and settled onto his own bed, sitting up again a moment later to switch on the bedside lamp and open his script.

Lin Zhu finished up quickly, emerged in a bathrobe while toweling his hair, only to find the great Actor Zhong still diligently memorizing lines.

“No wonder he’s an award-winning actor. Even this late, he could still stay so focused and professional.”

Lin Zhu, feeling suddenly self-conscious, ruthlessly peeled off the rose-colored fan filter clouding his mind, shuffled over in his slippers, and squatted by the bed to look up at him: “Um… is seven in the morning okay?”

Zhong Yao calmly put down the script and straightened up to answer, only to pause mid-motion when his eyes fell on him.

Lin Zhu’s freshly washed hair stuck up in soft spikes, beaded with water, his face pink from the steam, his brows and eyes so clear they seemed to glow with that lingering warmth.

Those amber eyes were like a mountain spring under the soft yellow lamp, so bright and clear they made him look even younger than usual.

So terribly well-behaved.

Zhong Yao’s mind flashed back to the impromptu audition. 

—Dim light, cluttered set. Lin Zhu vaulting over the prop table one-handed, blocking Zheng Yi’s path, ready to pick a fight.

Standing right in the way openly and aggressively, like a little bandit declaring the mountain pass his own.

Zhong Yao couldn’t hold back a laugh. Before he realized it, he reached out and ruffled the still-damp hair lightly. “Alright. Dry your hair, then go to sleep.”

“Zhong Yao’s telling me to sleep!!”

“And reminding me to dry my hair!!!”

Lin Zhu felt like his entire life might just be complete at this very moment. His smile arched so bright it nearly lit up the whole room. Then he happily bounced back into the bathroom to blow-dry every last drop of moisture from his hair. Not a single strand left damp.

Finally, he tumbled into his own bed, hidden behind the screen, where he could safely roll around to his heart’s content without being seen.

Sleeping in separate beds was also good. 

At least he wouldn’t embarrass himself rolling all over the place in excitement.

Lin Zhu inhaled the cozy scent of the blanket, happily cocooned himself up, then remembered his sacred duty to wake Zhong Yao up the next morning. He pulled out his phone and set an entire row of vibrating alarms. Now he had zero regrets, so he was completely at peace as he burrowed into bed.

He’d burned through so much energy today, and his body was tired. He’d meant to sneak in a few more episodes of Zhong Yao’s old drama cuts, but the moment his head hit the pillow, his eyelids got heavier and heavier until sleep gently pinned him down.

Lin Zhu dreamed a lot, but never disturbed anyone.

His gift was like an endless sponge, soaking up all the emotions of those around him without ever leaking any back out — those feelings belonging to other people were hidden deeply in his subconscious, where they sometimes bubbled up in the form of vivid, fragmented dreams.   

Joy, anger, sorrow, ennui. Separation and reunion. The people he met are unpredictable, and their dreams are even more so. 

When he was a child, he hated these dreams. But as an adult, he found them oddly fascinating.

Tonight’s dream was about the crew members. He dreamt of the bustling crew, of Director Wei scowling furiously while the entire team pretended to look sorry but were secretly thrilled he’d lost three straight nights of mahjong.

No wonder everyone seemed secretly delighted when the director lost.

In the dream, Lin Zhu giggled maliciously, hugging his blanket and snuggling deeper, but still sound asleep.

On the other side of the screen, Zhong Yao finished reciting every line of the script, glanced at the unmoving silhouette behind the screen, and finally closed the script. He picked up his phone and opened Candy Crush. 

He hadn’t had time to play at all yesterday, so he’d even missed the weekly tournament.

Zhong Yao felt a tiny pang of regret. He cleared today’s puzzles in advance, idly scrolling up and down the leafy vines, tapping through every help request he’d been invited to unlock.

A few seconds later, a new message popped up.

David: [Zhong! You’re still awake? Are you stuck in traffic in China again?]

David was a documentary director he’d met while studying acting overseas. He was now in his fifties, fluent in Chinese, and famous for filming pandas in China for two years. They’d become unlikely friends despite the age gap.

After Zhong Yao had unwittingly introduced him to this game, David had become a hopeless addict. He was always the one pestering him for energy boosts.

The two were seven time zones apart, so it was still afternoon for David.

Zhong Yao paused, then typed back: [David, my driving isn’t that bad. And no, China’s roads aren’t crowded all the time like the Great Wall during the National Day.]

David: [Good, good. I was worried you’d drive up to another security booth again!]

David: [By the way, did you enjoy working with that new agent of yours?] 

Zhong Yao glanced at the faint silhouette behind the screen, then slowly smiled, a trace of playful pride bubbling up. He lowered his head to reply.

Zhong Yao: [Very well. I’m lucky. He says he’s my fan. He is cute, obedient, and very capable. An excellent agent.]

A moment later, the screen lit up with David’s replies in quick succession.

David: [Oh my god, he’s actually your fan!] 

David: [Be careful. Don’t let him get too close, especially at night. Otherwise he’s definitely going to jump you in your sleep — and if he doesn’t, that means you’ve lost your charm, old man!]

David: [I’ve made a lot of documentaries, I’m not going to lie to you!] 

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T/L: 

I love how despite being barely 30, Zhong Yao’s old man smell is so strong. He had an old man’s fashion taste, good buddies with a 50-years old director, and played Candy Crush daily…