MACRM Chapter 15

During the break between the next two scenes, Zhong Yao couldn’t help but find himself spacing out. 

The memories from the past had been locked away for too long that they felt vague and blurred. He faintly sensed he’d forgotten something important, but for the moment, he still couldn’t grasp a clear thread.

Fortunately, his professionalism as an actor was still intact. Even if he drifted off during breaks, it didn’t affect his performance once the cameras were rolling. With the entire crew working at full throttle, the morning’s scenes wrapped up smoothly, and they even managed to rehearse the blocking for the afternoon’s takes twice.

Director Wei Geping was delighted and waved his hand to let the entire crew break for lunch half an hour early.

Zhong Yao didn’t join the others for lunch, He just filled a paper cup with some water and took a few sips, then walked over to sit by the side of the set, scrolling through messages on his phone.

“Waiting for your little agent?”

The assistant director had worked with Zhong Yao all morning and felt much more familiar with him now. Carrying his boxed lunch, he came over and sat down beside him with a laugh.

“As expected of a professional, working with you is just different. This is your first time playing a Republican-era character, right? It’s too perfect a fit. I’m already worried Director Wei’s going to scold Zheng Lingyang because of you…”

Zheng Lingyang was playing Wu Qiao, the male lead. He’d attended the same film school as Zhong Yao, three years his junior. After graduating, he’d acted in several respectable projects and signed with a management company, developing steadily ever since, though luck hadn’t brought him a big breakout yet.

Zheng Lingyang didn’t stay at the hotel. His company provided a car to take him back and forth. Since he didn’t have scenes today, Zhong Yao hadn’t run into him yet.

“Zheng Lingyang’s pretty good too, I’ve seen some of his work,” Zhong Yao said, still scrolling through Weibo. He smiled and teased lightly, “How do you even know I’ve never played a Republican-era role? The production does its homework that thoroughly?”

“Homework? Please. Your little fan over there rattles it all off by heart. Did you think Director Wei was joking when he said he’d memorized your resume?”

The assistant director snorted and seriously started counting on his fingers. “You landed your first role before college. After three projects, you shot to fame and won awards. In college you shot four TV series and one movie. When you just graduated, you picked up a Golden Wind Festival trophy… Did I get anything wrong?”

Zhong Yao hadn’t expected this at all. His hand froze mid-lift, still holding the paper cup, and he gave a small cough.

The assistant director, clearly long-suffering from Lin Zhu’s influence, didn’t miss a beat, adding dryly, “He’s got every single piece of your original work. That audition reel he brought was edited from all sixteen of your projects across twelve years. Every detail was meticulously combed through. We all got a thorough crash course in your entire career—”

Zhong Yao fell momentarily speechless, about to reply when something flickered in his mind. “Sixteen?” he asked.

The assistant director paused. “Isn’t it sixteen? I’m sure it is, the stagehands counted them one by one…”

Zhong Yao shook his head slightly, thinking for a moment before saying, “I’d like to see that reel.”

Sixteen was right. But in reality, in the context of his aired projects, one of those should no longer exist.

It was his very first project when he debuted — objectively, it hadn’t been anything special. The script and crew were just part of the usual assembly line, and the show made no splash when it aired.

Later, a freak flood at the TV station ruined the only known copy of the tape. Back then, copying wasn’t yet routine. So just like that, the drama vanished completely from public view.

At the height of Zhong Yao’s fame, fan-made compilations flooded every video site. But people had long lamented that they could never find that one drama project.

It had been his very first acting job. The quality might not have been high, but it was that project that brought him into the industry, leading several major directors to notice him and eventually cast him in classic roles that made him a household name while he was still in college.

It had simply been so long ago he couldn’t even clearly remember what exactly he’d acted, or how he’d done.

Zhong Yao lowered his cup, folding his arms.

For some reason, that fleeting thought came drifting back again, hazy but insistent. As if, if he could just part that fog, he’d be able to grasp something real and solid…

The assistant director took it for nostalgia and agreed cheerfully, “Sure, I’ll get it for you later.”

Before he could finish, an angry bellow from Wei Geping erupted from the main production break room where the core team was having lunch.

Ever since Zhong Yao joined the crew, Director Wei’s mood had been great. This was the first time he’d blown up, and Zhong Yao instinctively sat up straighter to look. But the assistant director calmly tugged him back down. “Don’t worry about it. I think it’s probably your agent who told him the whole Weibo mess.” 

Zhong Yao blinked, then remembered what had happened. He reflexively opened Weibo and scrolled.

“Wow, #3 on trending? No wonder Director Wei couldn’t stay in the dark.” 

The assistant director muttered, leaning over to peek. He clicked his tongue. “Honestly, that Zheng Yi guy — pulling stunts is bad enough, but dragging the whole crew into it and claiming the director was satisfied? You think the director’s gonna stand for that? He should be glad he didn’t get used for target practice. After you guys counterattack this round, the production will have to put out an official statement too…”

Zhong Yao was still lost in thought and didn’t immediately respond.

The assistant director checked the time and didn’t push it. He finished his boxed meal in a few quick bites, then clapped Zhong Yao’s shoulder as he stood up. “I’ll go put out some fires. See you this afternoon.”

Zhong Yao nodded, gave him a polite wave, and watched him slip into the break room where the main crew were gathered. Then he lowered his eyes to his phone again.

This situation was still strangely new to him.

To be smeared so thoroughly… only for someone to step forward to fight back, to throw every accusation right back in their faces.

Weibo had already exploded. Under his post alone, retweets, comments, and likes had shockingly broken 100,000 — a first time for him. Unlike the earlier sarcastic negativity from the water army accounts, the tide of public opinion had completely spun out of the smear campaign’s control.

[Hahahaha I laughed to death… “The director was satisfied”? Funniest joke I’ve heard all year!]

[I used to think Zheng Yi’s acting was alright! But sure enough, the older generation still easily outshines him. Makes me nostalgic for when everyone actually had acting skills.]

[Our Zhong-ge is only thirty! Please don’t call him an “old generation”! This old Auntie is howling and clawing at the walls ah ah ah ahhhhhh _(q皿q∠)_]

[Wait, my Zhong Yao is only thirty? Why does it feel like I grew up watching his dramas?]!

[Because he debuted so young, so calm down guys! But honestly, he does deserve to rank among the previous generation of veterans in their forties…]

[I weirdly feel bad for Zhong Yao Σ(｀h’；)]

[Honestly, it’s no wonder Actor Zhong crushes Zheng Yi. He’s very talented, it makes sense! But… the guy acting opposite is Actor Zhong’s agent, right? How can Zheng Yi… not even be as good as an agent…] 

[So true. It’s real, these so-called popular fresh meats can get demolished by a “retired” legend’s agent. Are his fans still gonna close their eyes and blindly praise him?]

[I don’t even care about Zheng Yi anymore! I just wanna know, are the standards for agents this high nowadays? They have to be good-looking and have acting skills?!] 

[Seconding upstairs[mfn]comment/forum thread is called building. So each post is called one floor (if you find the likes of 1L or 32L etc, it means floor (楼 lou) number XX. Tbh, 楼 means more like building, but it can be casually used for referring to floors. Nowadays/formally, you use 层 (ceng) for floors though). Upstairs just mean the commenter right before you lol[/mfn]! That young man glows—I wanna see him act! I wanna see him in a scene with Zhong Yao! What’s his Weibo?? I can switch sides for Zhong Yao’s manager!]

[Us drama-watchers are signing a petition written in blood begging the production to give this pretty agent a role! This young master role is great!]

……

Zhong Yao scrolled up through the comments, the tension in his shoulders slowly easing.

The clear light in his eyes was softened by the sunlight, gradually dissolving, leaving behind a faint, warm smile.

If only he could act in a drama together with Lin Zhu…

The thought lingered in his mind, refusing to leave, still unformed when a new Weibo notification popped up.

Zheng Lingyang had reposted his Weibo.

Zhong Yao raised his eyebrows slightly and tapped in to take a look.

Zheng Lingyang’s wording wasn’t stiff or overly formal. It didn’t look like it had been ghostwritten by his studio. Not only did he warmly and sincerely welcome Zhong Yao to the project, he even affectionately called him “senior brother[mfn]specifically 师哥 shi-ge[/mfn]” and openly admitted he’d always been a fan, asking him to please offer guidance on set.

Though Zheng Lingyang’s career hadn’t been as flashy in the beginning, by now he’d built up a stable fanbase. Combined with the trending topic’s momentum, his post instantly racked up a flood of replies and shares.

Zhong Yao skimmed through it briefly, his brows knitting together ever so slightly.

Zheng Lingyang’s tone… was just a bit too enthusiastic.

These years of hovering between lukewarm success and missed chances had left some people itching to try all kinds of side tactics.

Though Zhong Yao hadn’t fully kept pace with the new era of fan-driven PR tricks, he was no stranger to these hype maneuvers — old ploys the previous generation of stars had already played to death a decade ago. One glance and he could see right through it.

He could’ve shared the post earlier or later. Why choose right now, with wording so deliberately ambiguous?

Just lending support wouldn’t require laying it on this thick. It was obvious what Zheng Lingyang was trying to pull.

Zhong Yao had no intention of playing along. He casually closed Weibo and checked the day’s top headlines instead.

He sat there patiently for a while longer before Lin Zhu’s head peeked through the doorway.

After running around outside all morning, Lin Zhu’s forehead was damp with sweat. But the moment he saw Zhong Yao still sitting by the set, his eyes immediately brightened, and he bounded over, happily pulling out boxes from an insulated bag like a child showing off a treasure. “Tianhe Mall just opened a new shop called Xian Yu Xian[mfn]鲜芋仙 xiān yù xiān; Fresh Taro Immortal/Fairy literally lol[/mfn]! I waited in line a bit longer — I got the taro one, extra ice, and their grass jelly’s really good too…

“Bring it here, we’ll eat together.”

Zhong Yao reached up to steady his energetic young agent, then deftly scooped up the heavy bag, leading him into the private dressing room set aside just for him.

The room’s air conditioning was on, and as soon as he opened the door, a refreshing coolness washed over them.

Seeing the sweat on Lin Zhu’s forehead, Zhong Yao lowered the fan speed for now, tore off two tissues, handed them over, and gave him a gentle flick on the brow.

“Next time, don’t rush around like that. The crew prepares boxed meals for me. I’m a grown man, I’m not going to starve to death on my own.”

Lin Zhu’s eyes curved into bright crescents. He obediently dabbed at his sweat, nodding earnestly through Zhong Yao’s scolding, unable to stop the corners of his lips from lifting.

The morning’s filming had wrapped up earlier than expected, earlier even than Lin Zhu’s carefully planned schedule. The main hall’s air conditioning was weak, so everyone else had already retreated to rest and cool down.

Only Zhong Yao was sitting there alone, waiting for him in that chair.

Just catching sight of that solitary, upright figure from the doorway had made all the heat vanish for Lin Zhu.

Zhong Yao, used to living abroad, didn’t let Lin Zhu fuss around too much either. He had him sit on the couch, quickly pulled the coffee table closer, unpacked the food he’d brought back, stuffed the Xian Yu Xian desserts into the fridge for later, and handed over a pair of chopsticks. “Come on, let’s eat.”

“This is from Zheng Lingyang’s agent. He said they want to have dinner together tonight…”

Lin Zhu was scrolling diligently through Weibo while clutching his phone. He straightened up when he accepted the chopsticks and handed Zhong Yao the private message. “Should we go?”

He’d been carrying so much on the way back that both hands were full, leaving no time to check his phone. Only now did he see the unread messages in Zhong Yao’s inbox.

Zhong Yao and Zheng Lingyang were both alumni from the same school, now on the same production. It didn’t seem outrageous to have a meal together to build rapport in advance.

Lin Zhu excelled at handling people face-to-face, but through a phone screen he couldn’t deploy those skills, so just from this one friendly invitation, he couldn’t yet tell if there was something else behind it.

At worst, once they sat down together, they’d see exactly what the other side was thinking.

Lin Zhu tilted his head up, waiting for Zhong Yao to decide. Zhong Yao just smiled, raised a hand, and gently ruffled his hair. “Just reply that I’m too busy today. Something like, I’m very sorry, maybe next time.”

In this industry, reputation was everything. Saying that basically meant there’d never be a “next time.”

“Then I won’t go out either. I’ll stay here with you…”

Lin Zhu blinked, didn’t ask any more questions, and obediently lowered his head to type out the reply. “Busy this afternoon?”

“…Mm.”

Zhong Yao picked up some food with his chopsticks and placed it in Lin Zhu’s bowl, his eyes resting on the young man’s delicate, earnest features. A quiet light flickered in his gaze, and he chuckled softly, “Very busy.”

Lin Zhu nodded diligently, digging in with renewed energy so he’d have strength for the afternoon.

Zhong Yao took the phone back, tapped a few times to pull up the read message, and typed out a few lines, calm and steady.

Zhong Yao: [Sorry, I don’t do CP hype[mfn]couples[/mfn].]

Zhong Yao: [I already have an agent.]