MACRM Chapter 17

Screenwriter: “…”

Lin Zhu: “…”

Zhong Yao: “Actually, the understanding of this phrase differs between China and English-speaking countries. Abroad, the term ‘CP’ has a very… negative connotation, but in China, it has a very… uh… you see, when it is adopted to the local customs…” 

Lin Zhu let out a helpless laugh of relief. He opened his mouth to explain, but the screenwriter quickly dragged him back and sincerely praised, “Right, yes, your English is really good.”

Zhong Yao sensed something odd and frowned slightly, turning to Lin Zhu to ask more. But the screenwriter gave him no chance. Quick as lightning, he shoved the script between them.

“Come on, forget about that whole CP thing. Take a look at these revisions. See if this works. Maybe your young master character can have a few more scenes…”

Letting Lin Zhu join the scenes had actually been the crew’s idea.

The Sichuan Film Crew didn’t have that many restrictive rules. Assistant directors, stage managers, and even producers had all taken acting turns in front of the camera before. Zhan Yuan’s total scenes didn’t add up to more than ten episodes. Having a young master satellite[mfn]I hope I’m using this term correctly? It should mean a character that revolves only to one other character/a small group of characters. They’re not fleshed out outside of that context[/mfn] character around him wouldn’t feel forced; in fact, it could help flesh out his character.

Lin Zhu’s performance the night before had indeed been impressive. The casting director didn’t even bother looking for a guest actor for the role. Their only concern had been whether Zhong Yao — as the main actor — would mind his own agent stealing the spotlight.

Now that Zhong Yao had come to them on Lin Zhu’s behalf, it was like sending a pillow to someone sleepy – a truly perfect timing.

“How about we keep him with you until the last episode?”

At Sichuan Film Crew, roles were split in detail. Even storyboard artists had their own department. The head screenwriter was bored and finally interested in a task. His eyes sparkled as he held up the script. “Just have him have a cameo appearance once in a while, run some errands for Zhan Yuan, add a few sweet moments — master x apprentice pairings are fan favorites! These days, viewers are pros at finding romantic hints under a microscope…” 

Lin Zhu rubbed his face hard twice, distractedly listening to the pitch, trying to tamp down a faint flicker of emotion deep in his heart.

Zhong Yao really wouldn’t understand any of this.

Ten years ago, LGBTQ+ themes in domestic media existed mostly in the context of social commentary, with strict boundaries. If it was filmed, it would be in a serious tone. And if it was to be marketed, it would be just a simple, innocent banter — unlike today, where lines were danced on repeatedly.

Lin Zhu had been Zhong Yao’s fan for twelve years, he knew exactly what Zhong Yao had gone through.

Zhong Yao came from serious drama roots and played plenty of iconic roles, but they were all non-romantic. Either aloof swordsmen or stoic soldiers and cops. Just when he finally reached the age to act in romantic plots, he got smeared with scandal and decisively walked away from that muddy mess.

Forget marketing stunts, even for roles, he had never taken on a single intimate scene.

Clearly… Zhong Yao truly didn’t like this stuff.

Otherwise, he wouldn’t have misunderstood the phrase so badly and still refused Zheng Lingyang’s offer.

Lin Zhu’s hand moved in his pocket, secretly unwrapping a milk candy.

It’s okay if he doesn’t like it…

Just being able to stay beside Zhong Yao now was already enough for him.

The candy melted on his tongue, sweet and creamy. Lin Zhu looked up at Zhong Yao’s focused figure reading the script, his lips slowly lifting into a smile, eyes shining clean and bright once again.

The screenwriter, still oblivious, chattered on excitedly, “Let the fans zoom in all they want! Let’s see— your character isn’t the type to seriously flirt, right? Still, it should be okay to sacrifice it a bit for the plot. Lin Zhu is your agent anyway, give him a head pat by episode 3, hold his hand by episode 5, a surprise hug by episode 7, and a tragic double-suicide by episode 10…”

Lin Zhu couldn’t help it anymore as the screenwriter got more outrageous. Before Zhong Yao could object, he spoke up: “Liang-laoshi, I don’t think that’s very appropriate—”

“It’s not very appropriate.”

Zhong Yao spoke at the same time, then added after a slight pause, “Double-suicide for love is unlucky. Let’s revise that part.”

“Hey, how are you not just good at English, but also superstitious, you old-school artist!”

The screenwriter looked at him in disbelief, just about to question him when he suddenly came to his senses. “Wait, you’re fine with the earlier parts? You’re okay with more intimate acting with him? You’re okay with patting his head, holding his hand, giving him a comforting hug when he’s lost?”

Zhong Yao turned to look at Lin Zhu.

Lin Zhu, caught off guard, didn’t look away in time. He instantly flushed red, completely flustered. “N-no, I—”

Zhong Yao chuckled, reached out to steady the bouncing Lin Zhu with a hand on his head, and said, “I’ll try my best.”

Lin Zhu wasn’t sure if he should be happy or worried. Just as he looked up under Zhong Yao’s hand, about to speak, Zhong Yao continued seriously:

“I’ll try… to hold off until episode 3 before patting his head.”

Screenwriter: “…”

Lin Zhu stood there stunned, meeting Zhong Yao’s smiling, deep gaze. He felt like his entire body had combusted.

Time always seems to move slower when you’re looking forward to something.

Lin Zhu couldn’t calm down all afternoon, thinking constantly about the evening scene.

“Don’t be nervous. The new scenes come later. Tonight we’re still shooting the one where we scare Zheng Yi.”

Night shoot meant a tight schedule. There wasn’t time for everyone to go home for dinner, so they ate on set. Zhong Yao found a quiet spot and half-forcibly took Lin Zhu’s script away, carefully plating food for him. “Just act like you did before, it was already really good.”

Lin Zhu wasn’t afraid of the camera, he was nervous about acting with Zhong Yao. His face turned red at the comment, and he pursed his lips lightly. “I just want to do better…”

He couldn’t help but take this opportunity seriously.

This wasn’t a rehearsal or an audition — it was a real scene, on camera, one that would be fully recorded and seen by countless people in the future.

Lin Zhu didn’t want to drag Zhong Yao down.

Zhong Yao smiled, picked out a generous helping of fish, and placed it on Lin Zhu’s rice. “Alright, then eat more.”

Zhong Yao had ordered dinner for both of them, brought over with the crew’s catering truck. To cheer up the nervous first-timer agent, he’d specially ordered a top-quality steamed bass. Its fresh aroma made the whole crew green with envy. The assistant director had to spend ages convincing Director Wei, who had been with the crew through thick and thin, not to dump his boxed dinner over the head of their People’s Veteran Actor. 

Zhong Yao was used to being in the spotlight and wasn’t bothered by the attention. He patiently coaxed Lin Zhu into eating more, occasionally mentioning a few shooting tips.

Lin Zhu listened earnestly, noting everything down word-for-word, and subconsciously kept eating. Before he realized it, Zhong Yao had already fed him nearly half the fish.

Even his nervousness melted away with the tender fish in his mouth.

After dinner, the night shoot began.

Zhong Yao stood still, arms slightly out, letting others adjust his costume. He couldn’t help but glance toward Lin Zhu.

It was set in Republican-era Shanghai, it was not uncommon to see people wearing clothes from different cultures — from Western suits to evening gowns, from Japanese kimonos to Chinese cheongsam.

Lin Zhu’s character was a young master from a prestigious family, dressed in a gentle blue changshan robe[mfn]it looks like this [/mfn] with a white vest inlaid with silver cloud embroidery. In a room full of dark suits, he instantly lit up the space.

“Don’t move, don’t move. This part can still be tightened.”

Lin Zhu’s build was a bit slimmer than the prepared costume. Surrounded by stylists, the costume designer quickly adjusted it for a perfect fit, then clapped her hands in delight. “Perfect! This look is going in the promotional footage!”

“Thank you…”

Lin Zhu blushed from the praise and instinctively looked up to find Zhong Yao. Their eyes met, and his gaze instantly lit up. He couldn’t help but bounce on his toes slightly in greeting.

Zhong Yao smiled and was about to give him a thumbs-up when his eyes caught the sound technician clipping the mic to his own belt. Then, a thought hit him.

Sichuan Film Crew insisted on using original sound, and absolutely no dubbing by other voice actors. For wide shots where boom mics[mfn]those chunky, over-the-actor microphones.[/mfn] couldn’t be used, actors wore wireless mics.

The wireless mic hid in the collar, while the receiver was clipped on the belt, covered by the costume. Young actors today might not even know how to wear it properly.

Zhong Yao was in a Western suit, so it was easy to lift the jacket and clip it to his belt. But Lin Zhu was wearing a changshan robe, which was harder to take off and put on, and had been tailored closely to his body. If they weren’t careful, it could easily show or ruin the costume. He’d have to strap the receiver to his leg and run the wire inside his clothes, clipping the mic discreetly.

Lin Zhu was acting for the first time. He probably needed help putting it on.

Which meant… someone had to help him.

Zhong Yao’s brow furrowed slightly as he looked toward the sound technician approaching Lin Zhu.

He noticed Zhong Yao’s expression, and quickly offered, “Zhong-laoshi, is it okay to hang it here? Or should I shift it back a little?”

“This is fine — sorry, I’ll be right back.”

Zhong Yao nodded, excused himself politely, and moved toward Lin Zhu through the crowd.

He had a tall, striking figure that naturally drew attention wherever he went. The staff surrounding Lin Zhu instantly parted to let him through.

Lin Zhu looked up, surprised. “What’s wrong? Is something the matter—”

“Do you know how to wear this?”

Zhong Yao took the mic and receiver from the sound technician and weighed them in his hand, looking for a good spot. “It’s tricky. I’ll help you.”

“I—”

Lin Zhu had worn these plenty of times as a child when he acted. He blinked and was about to answer when his heart skipped quietly.

To wear this kind of mic… he’d have to strap the receiver to his thigh, run the wire inside his clothes, and clip the mic at his collar…

Lin Zhu took a deep breath, trying to cool his blushing face. Now he wasn’t even sure if he should “know how” anymore.

Zhong Yao was focused and calm. After looking around, he decided the dressing room would be best, gave Lin Zhu a pat on the shoulder, and led his quietly overheating agent away.

The screenwriter, watching from afar, tutted as he adjusted his glasses. He then lowered his head and enthusiastically added three more scenes to the script.

T/L: I’m picking up a new series! It’s called [Did You See My Cat?]. And it’s an unlimited flow BL novel featuring MC that has been transformed into a kitty-cat~ go check it out if it interest you!