MACRM Chapter 13

……

After accidentally hitting the wrong button and blocking a warmhearted, well-known director halfway across the world, Zhong Yao finally got a solid sleep.

A full night of restful sleep.

It was their first day shooting, and both of them took it seriously. The moment the alarm rang, they were up on time, washed up, packed their things, and headed to the first floor together to the filming area.

The shoot started at 8:30 AM. Not everyone in the crew had arrived yet, but breakfast was already laid out in the lounge area. There was an ample supply of steaming buns and soy milk, sesame flatbreads, crispy fried dough sticks, and a line of small pickles for people to pick from. It all looked incredibly appetizing. 

“Didn’t sleep well?”

Zhong Yao had spent three years overseas and couldn’t describe how much he’d missed a proper Chinese breakfast. He picked up two sticks of crispy fried dough and sat down, watching Lin Zhu nibble listlessly on a bun like a wilted bamboo shoot. “You can take a nap later if you need to. Today’s scenes aren’t heavy, I can handle it myself…”

For a professional actor constantly shuttling between shoots, good sleep was a survival skill.

Zhong Yao had actually gone to bed later than Lin Zhu, yet he still looked far more refreshed than the young agent who’d dreamed all night of the director scolding him.

“I slept great!”

Lin Zhu instantly sat up straight, bright and alert, shaking his head vigorously. “I still have to handle your makeup. I don’t trust anyone else to get it right. It’s safer if I do it myself. Once shooting starts I’ll head out and look for a couple more outfits for you.”

He rattled off the day’s plans, quickly pulling himself together as he stuffed the rest of the bun in his mouth. “What do you want for lunch? I’ll bring it back with me. Anything is fine, as long as they have it in town…”

Zhong Yao: “Instant noodles?”

Lin Zhu: “…”

“I’m kidding. You can decide what I eat. I’m not picky. No matter how much I eat, I don’t gain weight.”

Actor Zhong, favored by the heavens, changed his answer just in time. He dunked the fried dough sticks into his soy milk, fully absorbed in enjoying breakfast. “My wallet is in our room. Make sure you grab it when you go. If it’s not enough, I still have my card too. I’ll give you the password later.” 

Lin Zhu was sipping soy milk from his bowl when his face suddenly flushed bright red, bubbles gurgling to the surface.

Zhong Yao just said “our room”…

The disappointment of not being able to wake Zhong Yao up himself vanished instantly under those three simple words. Lin Zhu’s heart thudded wildly as the corners of his lips lifted uncontrollably. He sneaked another glance at Zhong Yao, who was still dunking his fried dough.

If only he could nail the mahjong table to the floor of that game room next door!

But life could never be perfectly satisfying in every way. The young agent bit the rim of his bowl, mentally imagining a string of thoughts that would probably get him fined if anyone caught him, and for once let out a heavy sigh before tipping back the rest of his soy milk in one go.

“Zhong-laoshi, are you ready to get started?”

The daylight was now bright through the windows. A stagehand came bustling over, full of energy. “Your makeup room is the third on the left. We’ve got all your clothes ready, everything’s tailored to your measurements. If anything doesn’t fit, we’ll fix it right away…”

Zhong Yao had just finished eating too. He set down his chopsticks and got up. “Got it. Thank you.”

[No Bridge] was a big production with a star-studded cast. Many actors skipped the crew breakfast and showed up just in time for their scenes.

This time they’d added a former award-winning actor back into the mix. The stagehand had expected to have to explain a few things, but seeing how straightforward Zhong Yao was, his impression instantly improved. He grinned and added, “Everything is set for you. I’ll send the phone numbers for your two assistants to Xiao Zhu later. Just let them know if you need anything.”

Zhong Yao thanked him politely. The stagehand waved off the thanks with repeated “don’t mention it”s before rushing off to hurry another department.

Watching him come and go so quickly, Zhong Yao couldn’t help asking Lin Zhu, “Does the crew know we’re handling the makeup ourselves?”

He trusted Lin Zhu’s skill as a professional agent, but when he heard him say he’d do the makeup, he hadn’t set his expectations too high. He’d even resigned himself to letting Lin Zhu use his face for practice if need be.

—After all, different jobs were different worlds. Professional makeup artists and fine artists had a lot in common — it looked easy, but the moment the brush touched the skin, the hand might have other ideas entirely.

Not to mention that relying on purely technical skills isn’t enough. One had to grasp exactly what the director wanted for the character and the story. A slight misstep and the actor’s face would stick out like a sore thumb on camera.

The crew had their own makeup artists. If an actor brought in their own artist — or if an agent wanted to weigh in on the process — they usually had to clear it with the crew in advance.

Zhong Yao had even set aside an extra half hour, ready to sacrifice his face for Lin Zhu’s “fun.” But the stagehand hadn’t mentioned any makeup artist at all.

Lin Zhu just scratched his head and smiled, nodding without saying much. He tugged Zhong Yao by the arm toward the makeup room.

Just then, the assistant director happened to pass by and overheard them. He chimed in with a grin, “When Xiao Zhu was on the crew, he helped with everything. He was always busy from dawn till dusk. He’s done more than his fair share of work. I heard he learned makeup young, too. His skills aren’t any worse than the pros. Sometimes he’s even better at getting the feel just right. We trust him with Zhong-laoshi’s makeup.”

Lin Zhu’s ears went pink at the compliment. He grabbed a basket of flatbreads and shoved them into the assistant director’s hands. “Why are you up so early? You played mahjong all night, I thought you’d sleep till 8:29…”

The assistant director happened to have skipped breakfast. He grabbed two flatbreads to munch on while patiently chatting.

After staying up half the night playing mahjong, most of the main crew were still fighting to wake up. They’d only exchanged a few words before a frantic stagehand dragged the assistant director away, basket and all. “Xiao Zhu, Zhong-laoshi’s in your hands now. Thanks for this, hot pot’s on me next time!”

“Serving the people!”

Lin Zhu waved him off cheerfully and spun back around, only to walk straight into Zhong Yao’s gaze. His heart skipped a beat, and he froze on the spot.

Lin Zhu blinked a few times, instinctively snapping to attention. “Zhong-laoshi?” 

“Just remembered something…”

Zhong Yao smoothed out his expression and smiled at him, reaching over to straighten his collar. His tone turned solemn. “I never properly thanked you.”

Even though Lin Zhu had joked about winning the role over a game of mahjong, Zhong Yao knew full well it hadn’t been that simple.

It wasn’t like that cutting “pour tea and serve water” line Zheng Yi had thrown at him, but securing a role for someone not even confirmed on the cast list couldn’t have been easy either.

Everyone in this industry had seen it all, nobody was won over so easily. If they all liked Lin Zhu so much, it had to be about more than just a cute “little bandit” face.

He said it seriously, his eyes losing their usual gentle, amused glint and instead sharpening into a clear, sincere focus.

Lin Zhu’s cheeks went crimson. He clutched the hem of his shirt and stammered, “N-no need to thank me…”

He wanted to explain, but couldn’t find the words. His face looked like it might ripen right off his head when Zhong Yao lowered his gaze, gently patted his shoulder, and smiled. “Come on, time to do makeup.”

A subtle sweetness bloomed in Lin Zhu’s chest, curling sneakily up to the corners of his lips as he obediently let Zhong Yao lead him into the makeup room.

Even though it was just a hotel room temporarily repurposed as a makeup space, it had everything they needed.

The first scene was a grand banquet thrown by Zhan Yuan, so they’d prepared an elegant three-piece suit with a matching hat, a dark striped tie, all cut with a touch of vintage Republican-era style.

Zhong Yao changed clothes, splashed his face clean, and sat obediently in the makeup chair, watching Lin Zhu slip off his glasses and tuck them into his pocket, deftly arranging the tools on the vanity table.

The young agent was at an age when he didn’t need any makeup himself. His face was all baby-smooth skin, fine brows, clear eyes, lips red and teeth white. The light in his eyes alone could outshine any camera rig.

Zhong Yao didn’t know how exactly people ranked the so-called “fresh meat” stars these days, but he instinctively felt Lin Zhu was easily qualified. He turned slightly in the swivel chair, tilting his head back to cooperate. “I never asked you before. With such good conditions, why didn’t you—” 

But the question broke off halfway.

The young agent had already leaned in close, bringing with him a fresh scent of bamboo leaves and spring breeze. His eyes were focused and intent, so close Zhong Yao could see every fine lash quivering, like tiny brushes tickling right at his heart.

Zhong Yao had his makeup done countless times, but never once had it made him feel this odd flicker of tension. Out of habit, he finished the question anyway. “—try acting, I mean?”

“Mm?”

Lin Zhu answered absentmindedly, mind fully on retrieving the version of Zhan Yuan he’d glimpsed through Director Wei’s eyes. He set down the powder puff and switched to an eyebrow pencil, beaming as he curved his brows at the question. “I thought about it. But this is better.”

Being an agent meant he could help Zhong Yao fight for roles, stand up for him, do his makeup, and share the same room.

He was already so content it felt like he might burst into bloom.

Something must have crossed his mind just then, something that made his amber eyes light up all over again. Sunlight caught in them, fractured by his smile into a dazzling sparkle.

Zhong Yao stared at him, an unfamiliar feeling brushing at his heart, a thought flickering by too fast to catch.

But before he could grasp it, Lin Zhu’s palm came up to cover his eyes. “Okay, close your eyes. Time for eye makeup…”

The cool touch of that hand settled gently on his face. Zhong Yao obediently closed his eyes, mind quieting as he leaned back into the chair.

---

Lin Zhu worked fast.

After styling Zhong Yao’s hair to perfection too, he didn’t rush to let him look in the mirror. Instead, he guided Zhong Yao over to stand by the window, lifted his phone, squinted for a good angle, and finally snapped a shot. Then he dashed over, eyes sparkling, to show him. “How about this one?”

Zhong Yao raised his brows slightly when he saw the phone screen, a hint of surprise showing in his eyes.

He really had underestimated Lin Zhu’s skills.

His own natural aura tended toward the cool and detached, a bit different from Zhan Yuan’s current characterization – smooth and easygoing. But under Lin Zhu’s touch, those overly sharp edges had been subtly softened, without losing the grounded sharpness underneath. Paired with the neat, tailored Republican-era suit, he gave off an almost time-warping sense of illusion.

The young manager beamed with delight, holding the phone out for him to see, eyes bright as he looked up expectantly for praise.

Zhong Yao lowered his head, unable to hold back a smile. He reached out to ruffle Lin Zhu’s hair, then directly logged into Weibo on the phone, tapped out a few lines, attached the photo, and posted it.

That counted as officially cooperating with the production team’s announcement. Zhong Yao had done this so many times it was second nature. He tagged everyone who should be tagged, thanked everyone who should be thanked. Just as he was about to hand the phone back, the notifications were already buzzing nonstop.

He was used to keeping his own phone notifications off, so he casually tapped into the replies. His brows twitched slightly at a quick glance.

He still had some fame left. Posting a fresh look test shot immediately brought out a flood of excited cheers. But mixed in were a few particularly glaring comments.

[Wasn’t Zheng Yi supposed to audition for this? Does this mean the rumors about someone pulling strings to steal the role are true?]

[?? Wait, is this for real? Any inside scoop?]

[I heard Zheng Yi prepped for days and went early in the morning. The director’s team was pretty happy too… you can draw your own conclusions.]

[Wow… so it was stolen? That’s way too much. Even if you’re a Film Emperor, you shouldn’t do that…]

Zhong Yao was long used to seeing such obvious hired smear comments. He just skimmed through, turned off the reply notifications, and handed the phone back to Lin Zhu.

Lin Zhu snapped out of his daze, fumbling to grab the phone. “Wait! That was my—”

“I know. I’ll just link it up later. My account has to be handed over for my agent to run anyway, doesn’t it?”

Zhong Yao had kept up with Weibo even when he was abroad, proud of not being out of touch. He chuckled and returned the phone. “It’s really good, exactly what I wanted. From now on, I’m not hiring makeup artists or stylists ever again.”

The praised agent took the phone back, but his head drooped in dejection. “But that was just a quick snap. I didn’t even touch it up, I haven’t slimmed your face, or added any filters…”