MACRM Chapter 22

Hou Chengbin’s words caught in his throat. He nearly bit his own tongue.

Zhong Yao didn’t spare him a glance. He simply lifted a hand to clear the way, his tone indifferent. “Excuse me.”

The company’s current strategy was to maintain a good relationship with Zhong Yao. The assistant director from Sichuan Film Crew was still diligently recording, so Hou Chengbin didn’t dare clash with him. Anxiously, he stepped back two paces.

Zhong Yao strode forward and caught an oncoming manager who nearly ran into him.

Hou Chengbin froze at the side, his face draining of all color.

“Zho-zhong-laoshi…” 

Lin Zhu had run so fast that his lungs ached. He coughed twice, looked up, and grabbed Zhong Yao’s sleeve in a firm grip. “Don’t sign that contract… that’s Canxing’s specialty for swindling people!”

The moment the Sichuan Film staff called him away to handle a dispute, Lin Zhu had guessed what was going on.

He knew exactly what the consequences would be if that contract was signed. He had planned to deal with the matter quickly and come straight back to Zhong Yao. But he hadn’t expected to be cornered in a secluded spot by several tall, burly young men.

There were indeed many shady dealings in the industry, and even some who worked as hired muscle. When Lin Zhu entered the business, he had never flaunted his background, but he had always acted with restraint and tact. This was the first time he had encountered such treatment.

Those men were not easy to shake off. Lin Zhu had to spend some effort to get away from them. He hurried back, and the moment he caught sight of Zhong Yao talking to someone, his heart leapt to his throat.

Zhong Yao steadied him and chuckled helplessly. “The way you’re rushing in, I almost thought I had just agreed over the phone to buy two ¥988 natural meteorite magnetic therapy foot baths…”

He might be a little out of touch with the current entertainment industry, but he wasn’t so far gone as to have left his brain behind.

After years of navigating the industry — and having once been viciously stabbed in the back — Zhong Yao’s wariness was far keener than most. Canxing’s little scheme was just far too blatant.

Lin Zhu finally came back to his senses, realizing he had truly lost his composure out of concern. He coughed and let out a laugh, just about to speak, when the assistant director’s head suddenly poked out from behind his phone. “So… you mean you can’t buy them?!”

Lin Zhu: “…”

Zhong Yao: “…”

Looking at the assistant director, who was just turning 40, Zhong Yao let out a sigh and said sincerely, “Next time you get an overly enthusiastic call from a stranger, you might consider recording it, or asking a colleague twenty years younger than you to answer…”

Lin Zhu, now breathing more evenly, couldn’t help but laugh at that. He lifted his gaze to meet the steady, unhurried warmth in Zhong Yao’s eyes, and at last, his heart relaxed.

Zhong Yao looked down at him. Seeing that the pallor on the agent’s lips from running was slowly giving way to color again, the faintest trace of a smile finally softened his eyes. He reached out to ruffle Lin Zhu’s hair. “Alright. I don’t really understand the current process. What should I…”

As if weighing his words for the most tactful phrasing, Zhong Yao paused, then brushed away the fine beads of sweat from Lin Zhu’s forehead. “…do to make them leave?”

“No, no! Our company doesn’t believe in hard selling. If Zhong-laoshi isn’t interested, I’ll just take them back!”

Hou Chengbin didn’t even dare imagine what Zhong Yao had originally been about to say before that pause. Cold sweat broke out across his back. “Sorry for troubling you, Zhong-laoshi. We’ll leave right away…”

He had only been sent by the company to “take care of” Zhong Yao. Now, clearly, there was no way to keep stringing him along.

Lin Zhu was usually easygoing, but his reputation in the company as an agent who wasn’t to be trifled with was just as solid. Hou Chengbin didn’t dare provoke him either, so he kept his head down, muttering, and was about to signal everyone to leave when Lin Zhu suddenly spoke, “Wait a minute.”

Hou Chengbin’s heart sank, his expression turning bitter in an instant.

Lin Zhu steadied the assistant director’s arm holding the phone and murmured a quick “Thanks for the trouble.” He stepped in front of Zhong Yao and turned toward Hou Chengbin. “Hou-laoshi, may I ask— what exactly did the company send you and all these assistants here to do today?”

Hou Chengbin groaned inwardly, avoiding the topic of the manager entirely. “The company… the company is concerned about Zhong-laoshi, worried that no one is here to take care of him…”

“How thoughtful of the company, always so concerned about our Zhong-laoshi.”

Lin Zhu smiled, deliberately taking on the air of someone being interviewed. Turning toward the shabby phone camera, he politely said, “Thank you. Zhong-laoshi really is short on help. There’s not even one person by his side to run errands. Since the company is being so considerate… why don’t I just pick someone directly from among you?”

Hou Chengbin jolted, finally realizing what Lin Zhu was trying to do.

For someone of Zhong Yao’s stature and status, to have absolutely no one looking after him was already tantamount to mistreatment. If word got out that the company had finally sent a team over, only to take them all back without leaving even one or two behind…

Hou Chengbin didn’t need to think hard to imagine the uproar this footage would cause if it spread online.

When he’d first seen Zhong Yao being filmed, Hou had only thought the man stubborn and rigid. He never imagined that once Lin Zhu appeared, the situation would deteriorate to this degree.

The more he thought about it, the more panicked he became. He rushed forward, trying to get the assistant director to turn off the recording, but Lin Zhu stepped right into his path. “Hou-laoshi?”

The assistant director, well-trained from years of exposure to such situations, obligingly switched to a different camera angle.

Hou Chengbin’s face was stiff, his heart bleeding, and he forced out a smile uglier than a cry. “You… you choose…”

Lin Zhu smiled. “You’re really kind.”

Hou Chengbin nearly burst into tears as he watched Lin Zhu walk past him, sweeping his gaze over the still somewhat bewildered assistant team.

Lin Zhu studied them carefully.

It’s one thing to send a team. It’s another thing to bring along a detailed roster. 

Back when Zhong Yao was filming, Lin Zhu had already used his own connections to look into it. Sure enough, the list included several well-known, top-tier nutritionists in the industry, and a PR team that had once turned the tide for a few small-time idols. If it weren’t for their hopelessly unmotivated client, they might have been able to hold their own even against Canxing’s own PR department.

In recent years, the entertainment industry had become increasingly segmented. Apart from a few top entertainment companies, most only kept their core internal teams in-house, while the rest was outsourced, just going through the company’s intermediary process.

Even if one day Zhong Yao did terminate his contract, these outsourced staff and teams would simply switch employers and payment sources, still able to skip the company and keep working with him steadily.

Zhong Yao was bound to open his own studio sooner or later. Compared to entertainment companies with long-established channels, personal studios were much weaker in securing teams. Lin Zhu had no intention of letting such a golden opportunity slip through his fingers.

With one quick scan, he already had a rough idea. Just as he was about to select a few for a closer look, his arm was suddenly grasped by Zhong Yao.

Zhong Yao bent down slightly, a faint frown between his brows. “These people…”

“Don’t worry, I’ll personally see to it.”

Lin Zhu knew exactly what he was worried about. He looked up with a smile, then turned his head toward the crowd. “I know about what happened before… but now you have me.”

Zhong Yao’s heart gave a faint tremor. He said nothing, his gaze fixed on him.

The young agent neither blushed nor faltered. His eyes flashed sharp, and he spoke each word with firm precision.

“I will never… let anyone stab you in the back again.”

Standing in the bright sunlight, Lin Zhu’s slender figure was drawn taut like a blade, with a light shining from the amber depths of his eyes — unyielding, like a shield that no weapon could pierce, guarding him without yielding an inch.

Zhong Yao stared at him for a long while before slowly releasing his hand.

The call for the next scene sounded in the distance. The assistant director, hearing the shout, quickly stuffed a phone into Lin Zhu’s hand, patted his shoulder apologetically, and hurried back to report in.

There was no need to collect further evidence now. Lin Zhu let out a small breath of relief, stopped the recording, and returned the phone to Zhong Yao.

Zhong Yao pocketed the phone, but didn’t leave with the others. Instead, he turned back and stood before him.

Lin Zhu was slightly startled and instinctively looked up.

“I finished the ice cream. It was delicious, not melted at all… I’ll probably be shooting until noon without a break. Once you’re done talking, you don’t have to come keep me company. Rest in the room for a bit. I don’t have any scenes this afternoon, so we’ll go out for lunch together at noon.”

After rambling on for a bit, Zhong Yao lingered another moment before finally fishing a small jade seal from his pocket and placing it in Lin Zhu’s hand. “This is my personal seal. Any contract you want to sign, stamp it with this. I’ll add my signature later.”

Lin Zhu’s heartbeat suddenly quickened. The cold resentment that had been building in him all morning from the company’s shameless tactics quietly dissipated, replaced by a strange heat in his throat.

Zhong Yao had gotten used to being treated like a veteran artist these days. After waiting a while with no response, he felt a little uneasy. “Is it too old-fashioned? They laugh at me every time I bring it out, but I think the carving is pretty nice…”

Blinking away the moisture in his eyes, Lin Zhu looked down at the plain, slightly clumsy carving of a treasure-holding golden toad in his palm. “….”

Forcing the words out, he nodded. “It’s… it’s very nice…”

Encouraged, Zhong Yao was about to tell him the story behind the golden cicada engraved on the seal, but Director Wei’s roar came bellowing across the set, loud enough to be heard halfway across the lot.

Everyone on set was already in place, and the assistant director was adjusting the camera positions. Zhong Yao couldn’t delay any longer. He gave Lin Zhu’s hair a quick rub and strode over to start filming the next scene.

Lin Zhu closed his fingers around the seal. The warm jade pressed into his palm, tapping in time with his slightly quickened heartbeat.

Zhong Yao had entrusted him with this.

While the next scene was being filmed, Lin Zhu chose five people.

Two senior nutritionists, one in PR, one in planning, and the ill-fated outsourced team leader who had simply backed the wrong person for a year.

Lin Zhu personally selected each one, interviewing them for three minutes apiece, before finalizing them and signing independent contracts on the spot to separate them from the company.

Hou Chengbin had already given up completely. Even when he realized Lin Zhu hadn’t kept a single personal assistant and had chosen only outsourced staff, he didn’t have the will to resist. His eyes dull, he gathered the remaining people and left without a single extra word.

The company had suffered a silent but bitter loss, and they would never just let it go. Lin Zhu knew this well, but at the moment, he had no energy to deal with it.

He arranged for those staying to rest at a nearby hotel, planning to go over the contracts with Zhong Yao later. Then he took off his glasses and went back to his room alone, collapsing face-down on the bed with his eyes shut.

They might not be his own personal entourage yet, but since they were to be part of the team, he had taken the precaution of reading each person’s mind several times over.

Such high-intensity use of his ability inevitably came with side effects. Once the tension eased, it felt like he had ridden ten roller coasters back-to-back. His mind was a churning, chaotic mess. His temples throbbed, head pounding so badly he could barely open his eyes.

Even so, Lin Zhu was still happy.

With Zhong Yao’s seal safely in his pocket, he couldn’t help but take it out every so often to touch it, and each time, he’d secretly feel happy all over again.

When signing the final contract with that outsourced team, this was exactly how Lin Zhu had quietly kept himself going.

The life stories of more than ten people played on loop in his mind like overlapping little dramas, chaotic and noisy. Lin Zhu squeezed his eyes shut and slowly imagined a boundless, endless desert.

The scene of blue skies and yellow sand spread through his mind, gradually swallowing all the noise, until everything returned to rare calm and peace.

Holding that seal in his hand, Lin Zhu drifted off into deep sleep without realizing it.

On set, during a break after the fourth cut, Zhong Yao checked his phone again. Seeing the few unread messages still without reply, he frowned slightly.