MACRM Chapter 31

Lin Zhu’s gaze was still chasing after the green dumpling when, at those words, he suddenly lifted his head: “?”

Zhong Yao sat down, making a silent choice between the script and kindness.

He picked up a green dumpling and popped it into his mouth.

Lin Zhu: “?!?!”

Maybe it was because he was too hungry, but he could practically smell the distinctive mugwort fragrance of the dumpling.

Zhong Yao ate slowly and with elegance. Lin Zhu could even see the fine, soft red bean paste nestled inside the tender glutinous skin, waving at him with all its might.

The agent’s Adam’s apple moved with difficulty. His eyes went wide, filled with wordless shock and reproach.

“…It’s pretty good.”

Zhong Yao wasn’t usually one for snacks, but he slowly finished the whole dumpling. Meeting Lin Zhu’s expression, a glimmer of suppressed laughter touched his eyes.

He had never been able to bear teasing Lin Zhu. His heart was already soft, yet with over ten years of honed acting experience, he barely managed to keep up the charade. He rubbed his agent’s soft fringe and murmured, “Call me something nice? Just one word, and I’ll give it to you…”

…

The screenwriter’s lines were still too unserious.

After all, Zhong Yao’s conscience wasn’t entirely gone. He couldn’t even get past two lines. Watching Lin Zhu’s obvious struggle, torn between advance and retreat, he shook his head with a muted laugh and prepared to hand over the rest of the dumplings. “Forget it, here—”

“…Ge.”

Lin Zhu’s voice came out softly, almost overlapping with Zhong Yao’s words.

The normally fearless agent sounded fragile now. The string of words he could call his “Ge” with was bitten out carefully, treasured, and snatched back almost as soon as it was spoken.

Like a plum steeped too long in sugar.

Zhong Yao’s words faltered. The second half of “I won’t act this scene with you” was quietly swallowed.

His gaze dropped slightly, landing on the agent burying his face in his chest. The light in his eyes softened inch by inch. Pulling Lin Zhu closer, he gently rubbed the base of his ear.

Suddenly, he felt a twinge of regret.

Perhaps this wasn’t the right time to make such a request. It should wait until he understood more clearly what he wanted, until he could recognize those still-vague yet undeniable feelings. Then, properly, seriously, bring it up again.

The kind where, if the call wasn’t sincere, he really wouldn’t relent.

Zhong Yao carefully took note of this, mentally filing it away as experience. Then, lowering the standard far beneath the screenwriter’s requirement, he generously deemed the thin-skinned agent’s effort as “pass.” He handed over the remaining dumplings, box and all. “Here, hurry and eat a few before the crew comes in…”

Lin Zhu, dream fulfilled, happily grabbed two dumplings and bit into one. At those words, however, he stiffened and looked up in alarm. “Wait— these are props too?”

“Only if we NG four times. If not, then they don’t count as props.”

Zhong Yao shook his head steadily, clearly seeing no problem in borrowing from the next scene’s props. He ruffled Lin Zhu’s hair, then stood to keep watch like a dutiful guard. “You eat first. I’ll keep an eye out.”

Lin Zhu: “……”

Thinking ahead to the inevitable promotional interviews after the entire shoot wrapped, the young agent suddenly felt an intense pressure. He even had the urge to grab his artist and run the moment filming was over.

The prop dumplings clearly came in a whole box. Eating one or eating them all wasn’t much different. Between the two of them, they finished off the entire box. With food finally settling in their stomachs, they changed costumes, had their makeup done, and returned to set just in time for the next shoot.

The upcoming scenes all took place in Zhan Yuan’s bedroom. The set had long been prepared, and compared to outdoor scenes, the filming difficulty was much lower.

The cameraman fixed the angle, and other departments also took their positions. Lin Zhu obediently climbed onto the bed and lay down. The assistant director held the rolled-up script like a megaphone, waiting for Zhong Yao’s signal before calling “action.”

But Zhong Yao never gave the signal.

The assistant director grew uneasy and called out tentatively, “Zhong-laoshi? Is there a problem?”

Zhong Yao: “……”

He stood up, swept his gaze over the room packed full of crew members, rubbed at his temples, and cleared his throat. “Could we… maybe have fewer people in here?”

After so many years on set, it was rare to clear a room. For films without sound recording, the surroundings were often noisy and chaotic. To focus, the first skill every actor needed was to ignore the presence of staff nearby.

Zhong Yao was long used to it. Through countless storms, he had never once had an issue. Yet of all times, now, when he truly wanted to enter the character’s skin, the presence of others seemed magnified to an unbearable degree.

He rubbed at his forehead, a little pained. “Everyone else is fine… but why is the production director here?”

The production director was in charge of the crew’s overall schedule and finances, managing over a hundred staff. Usually so busy he was never seen, yet now he was sitting right beside the camera with a chair.

The director gave a cold laugh, staring him down. “To hunt for the missing fourth box of dumplings.”

Lin Zhu broke into a fit of coughing.

Zhong Yao: “……”

“All right, all right. Once we finish filming, we’ll help you look for it.”

The assistant director, unaware of the situation, quickly tried to smooth things over. He casually came up with an excuse while ushering people out one by one. “Director Wei also said, the script for this scene is too sparse, it really depends on the actors to find their own state. Having so many people crammed in here, Zhong-laoshi might manage fine with his experience, but Xiao Zhu won’t be able to get into character…”

At those words, Lin Zhu braced himself, about to put his palms together and apologize politely to everyone, when Zhong Yao gently held his shoulder.

Lin Zhu lifted his head lightly. “Zhong-laoshi?”

He was calling him “laoshi” again.

The young agent’s eyes were still painfully clear, clearly not sensing anything wrong in this. Zhong Yao didn’t rush to correct him. Instead, he adjusted the microphone clipped to Lin Zhu’s shirt and said, “No… it’s me. I can’t find the state like this.”

On set, you couldn’t afford to embarrass the big names. No matter what went wrong, you always found someone else to cover. It was an unspoken rule of the industry.

Of course, Zhong Yao knew this. He also understood why the assistant director had bypassed him, using Lin Zhu — who had closer ties to the crew yet wasn’t a full-fledged actor — as a convenient front.

It wasn’t really a big deal. Yet Zhong Yao couldn’t help but mind. He simply couldn’t stop himself from caring.

Back then, when the younger Lin Zhu had practiced his basics over and over, how boring and grueling had it been? How much pain, how much exhaustion had he endured to polish his skills? And when he gave up and turned to work behind the scenes, had there been reluctance, quiet sorrow?

And when Zhong Yao himself suddenly chose to disappear from the screen for three years, stepping away from the domestic film industry. What had that boy, who had once fixed his sights solely on him, been doing then, burying his head in endless practice and study?

He wanted to know.

Becoming an agent had, of course, been Lin Zhu’s own choice. But if he had ever shed such sweat on set, in front of the camera, then that alone should earn him respect from anyone.

Zhong Yao smiled faintly, rubbed beneath Lin Zhu’s chin in reassurance, gently guided him back down to lie, and bowed his head sincerely. “I’ll trouble everyone, then.”

With Zhong Yao speaking directly, the matter naturally went more smoothly. The assistant director breathed easier, and with greater courage, sent out the unnecessary staff until only the essential crew remained.

This time, Zhong Yao raised no objection, and the second act finally began filming.

The ailing young master was far more difficult to serve than Lin Zhu himself.

The script had written him as arrogant, willful, and defiant of control—even in the depths of illness, he would never yield. That brief glimpse of vulnerability shown in front of Zhan Yuan was already pushing the limit. Being half-forced into cleaning, bandaging, and changing clothes had him nearly bristling.

Yet Zhong Yao bore it with patience, carrying the medicine bowl over and coaxing him gently to drink.

Lin Zhu’s eyes drooped half-shut, fever leaving him weak. Catching the bitter scent of the decoction, he stubbornly turned his head away. “I don’t want it.”

“It’s not bitter.”

Zhong Yao stirred the spoon, took a sip himself, and coaxed softly, “Be good. Drink it and you’ll feel better.”

“I said I’m not drinking it, and I’m not!”

Lin Zhu had no lines here. He had spent half the night working out a few based on the character’s personality. His eyes snapped open, impatient, and he pushed away. “You never listen to me, so why should I listen to you? You—”

The two were too close. With that push, he bumped right into Zhong Yao’s arm holding the bowl.

The steaming medicine almost spilled over Zhong Yao. Alarmed, Lin Zhu broke character, hastily reaching up to stop it.

But Zhong Yao had already shifted deftly, smoothly turning his wrist so the liquid fell neatly back into the bowl. At the same time, he spun just enough to catch the self-delivering little young master securely in his arms.

Lin Zhu: “!”

From outside the window drifted a faint, airy whistle.

The spilled-medicine accident had been unplanned. By this point, the scene had deviated heavily from the script.

The bit where Zhan Yuan teased him with candy to make him laugh, the moment of undoing his clothes to check whether his struggles worsened the wound, the half-coaxing, half-teasing that left him blushing and flustered but unable to speak — all of it was cut off by this embrace that seemed to anticipate everything.

Lin Zhu’s heart raced wildly, yet his chest slowly grew calm.

Zhong Yao was much taller, easily holding him fast. He set the bowl down on the table, one warm palm — still heated from the bowl — resting against the back of Lin Zhu’s head, rubbing gently, over and over. “Still angry?”

Lin Zhu wasn’t angry at all. In fact, he was secretly yearning to drink the medicine directly from Zhong Yao’s hand.

Gazing at the isatis root decoction Zhong Yao had just sipped, Lin Zhu’s eyes stung faintly. Painfully, he pressed down the surging thought, and dutifully kept in character, “You’re not even my teacher anymore, you don’t need to control me… and you’re making me drink such bitter medicine…”

Holding the restless young master easily with one arm, Zhong Yao’s free hand reached aside, picked up a round green dumpling, and offered it.

…Wouldn’t even let him smile?

He had secretly practiced smiling in the washroom for half an hour, and now Lin Zhu, inexplicably, felt a pang of loss. Hesitant, he lifted a hand to take it. But Zhong Yao gently avoided him.

Lin Zhu froze, bewildered, glaring at him with forced bravado.

Lowering his gaze, Zhong Yao drew him closer against his shoulder. His right hand extended again, but this time he brought the dumpling directly to his lips, smiling as he coaxed, “Open your mouth.”