MACRM Chapter 5

Zheng Yi’s expression twisted.

He dared to openly mock Lin Zhu, but he didn’t have the guts to contradict Zhong Yao outright in public, especially now that Zhong Yao had deliberately adopted this posture of an approachable senior meeting a junior.

The two of them weren’t even comparable in status. Zhong Yao had debuted at eighteen — twelve years ago now — and had starred in countless serious dramas and major films. The household-name roles he’d played could circle around Zheng Yi twice if one were to line them up hand in hand.

Even if Zhong Yao really wanted to lecture him, Zheng Yi would have no choice but to lower his head and listen.

In this industry, seniority was everything, and the public cared about it too. Even if Zhong Yao now had fame without much of a fan base, one whiff of “disrespecting a senior” would be a fatal blow to Zheng Yi’s current image and career trajectory.

They were standing in the company’s lobby, with reporters waiting outside to interview Qi Zhi. If he somehow angered Zhong Yao enough to make him storm off in public, he’d probably hit the headlines the next day.

Even if the company stepped in to manage the fallout, the damage would be significant.

Zheng Yi looked up in frustration, trying to find an excuse to slip away, but just then the elevator had only made it to the tenth floor, showing no sign of coming down soon.

Zhong Yao looked perfectly good-natured, his right hand resting on Lin Zhu’s shoulder and his left hand clasped behind his back. If he’d been holding a thermos, he’d look exactly like a down-to-earth veteran cadre paying a friendly visit to the countryside.

There was no pretending not to see him.

Outside, Qi Zhi was still dragging things out. Who knew if he was giving an interview about his new project or dictating his autobiography. The reporters were still blocking the entrance so tightly that not even a drop of water could get through.

Zheng Yi held his breath painfully in his chest, his eyes flickering a few times before he finally clenched his teeth and lowered his head. “Zhong-laoshi…”

He tried to bluff his way through, lifting his head to leave after muttering a quick apology to this seemingly affable senior. But instead, he met the sharp, crystal-clear edge behind Zhong Yao’s deep, dark eyes.

A chill swept over Zheng Yi’s heart. Instinctively, he stepped back two paces.

Zhong Yao kept his gaze fixed on him, not a trace of a smile left in his eyes.

Zheng Yi’s face flushed red, his teeth nearly grinding to dust. At last, he forced out two muffled words: “…Lin-ge.”

He spoke so quickly and quietly that it was more like a muttered grunt than a proper greeting. As soon as the elevator doors finally opened, he wasted no time. He hurried past the two of them into the car, spun around, and slammed the close button with force.

A dull banging echoed from inside the elevator.

…

Zhong Yao withdrew his gaze.

The good-natured warmth on the surface vanished in an instant. He lowered his head and saw Lin Zhu, who was still standing frozen with wide eyes like a statue. But deep in his cool, clear eyes, tiny sparks of amusement slowly gathered again.

“I’m sorry. I took the liberty.”

He stepped back to put a little distance between them again. After a brief pause, he decided to explain and pointed to the phone Lin Zhu had tucked away in his back pocket. “Your brother’s been messaging you nonstop.”

The moment he stepped back and the “seal” lifted, Lin Zhu came back to life on the spot. He snapped to attention, practically bounced in place as he grabbed his phone, and hurriedly scrolled through his messages.

He’d come here straight from the Lin Family Group’s main headquarters today.

Because he’d come from the company, he was wearing a suit.

A custom-tailored slim-fit suit at that, with pockets that were more for show than function, barely able to hold anything.

The phone had never really been hidden, half the screen was sticking out at a crooked angle. The screen was still lighting up at a high frequency, one message after another pouring in relentlessly.

Having once again lost track of his little brother, the Lin Group’s President was still putting up a final desperate effort.

Da-gegegege: [Xiao Zhu, Da-ge was wrong. Da-ge won’t call you Bamboo Shoot anymore.]

Da-gegegege: [Da-ge will buy you lollipops.]

Da-gegegege: [A whole bucketful of them.]

Da-gegegege: [Plus a life-sized Zhong Yao poster.]

Da-gegegege: [And as for that Zhong Yao body pillow you wanted last time, it’ll be done tomorrow. I’ll have it delivered straight to your bed.]

---

Lin Zhu’s hair stood on end as he quickly tapped his screen off. Realizing that Zhong Yao hadn’t had any intention of invading his privacy. He’d just been standing there with his arms crossed, observing another “little fresh meat” outside. Lin Zhu finally let out a tiny breath of relief.

With how he’d stuffed his phone in his pocket, then dashed out to block in front of Zhong Yao, it was practically out in the open. Of course he couldn’t blame Zhong Yao for seeing his messages.

Lin Zhu patted his chest, then, while the movie emperor was still sizing up the enemy, he snuck a quick glance at the Film Emperor’s buttocks. 

Perfect height, perfect angle. It’s obvious at a first glance that it’s just a casual peek, nothing more.

——Zhong Yao had only called him “Sun” to back him up, wanting to sound close and familiar. He had happened to see his brother’s contact note for him, so he’d just copied it.

Lin Zhu himself didn’t mind things like this, but it wasn’t that he didn’t understand how the industry worked. Watching Zhong Yao’s back, a tiny patch of warmth in his chest suddenly met the sun, and grew wildly, robustly, filling up his whole chest, tangling and twining, branching and blooming.

It surged through him like a flood, unstoppable.

His lips couldn’t help but lift into a grin so wide it was impossible to hide; he almost wanted to bounce in place twice.

Zhong Yao called him “Sun”!

“Sun” sounded amazing!

He swiftly deleted that whole string of righteous, indignant complaints he’d typed about his big brother using that nickname, grabbed his phone and fired off a message to Lin Song instead. His eyes shining so bright they practically burst into blooming flowers.

Over in the President’s office, Lin Song — who was so anxious he was about to buy Zhong Yao outright for his little brother — felt his phone buzz and light up.

Don’t call me Sun, call me Xiao Zhu: [Gege gege gege gege gege! _(rq∠)_]

President Lin, feeling apprehensive: …. 

His younger brother probably lost his mind.

President Lin decided he might as well work overtime tonight before going home.

While the Lin brothers were having their internal exchange, Zhong Yao had finished his “reconnaissance” and was walking over.

“Zhong-laoshi!”

Lin Zhu happily tucked his phone away and ran up to him. “Shall we go? Find somewhere to talk about what’s next. Are you hungry? I know a place nearby that’s quiet and delicious. If you don’t have other plans, we could sit there for a bit…”

Zhong Yao raised an eyebrow slightly, taking in the young man’s sudden cheerfulness. Without a trace, he shelved the gentle explanation he’d prepared and gave a faint nod. “Alright.”

Strictly speaking, the way they’d only just met today yet were already addressing each other so closely should have been pushing it.

Zhong Yao respected Lin Zhu. He didn’t want him to think he was being too forward or casual. Putting Zheng Yi in his place was one thing; in private, when it was just the two of them, he’d originally intended to draw back that intimacy a little so Lin Zhu wouldn’t feel uncomfortable.

But the happiness in those gleaming eyes was so real that it gave Zhong Yao no room to doubt. 

It was like unexpectedly glimpsing a clear lake, the sky and clouds reflected so plainly within that everything shone, nothing hidden. Fish flicked their tails and leapt through the mirrored sky underwater, sending ripples ringing out in circles.

Walking alongside him toward the exit, Zhong Yao remembered something and added, “No need to call me Zhong-laoshi. My name’s Zhong Yao, you can call me—”

Film Emperor Zhong suddenly found himself in the exact same predicament as his manager.

But Film Emperor Zhong was not the kind to be defeated by such a minor awkwardness.

Zhong Yao: “Just call me Zhong Yao.”

Lin Zhu: “……”

Zhong Yao looked down at him, coughed lightly to hide a laugh, and gestured to the doors. “Come on, let’s go talk first.”

He’d been out of the spotlight for so long that even walking on the street didn’t draw the paparazzi anymore, and he’d gotten used to that. He stepped forward to head toward the car, but suddenly felt a subtle tug on his sleeve.

Zhong Yao turned back, meeting Lin Zhu’s unusually serious expression. “Something wrong?”

“A bit.”

Lin Zhu nodded, lowered his head and tapped his phone twice, quickly checking a few messages, then suddenly took off his non-prescription glasses and, lifting his hand, pushed them right onto the movie emperor’s face.

Canxing Entertainment had planned all this out. They wouldn’t abandon the plan over just one word. Today’s reporters were also here for Zhong Yao. The moment Zhong Yao stepped out the company doors, a whole “accidental encounter” press team would instantly swarm him for interviews, full of hidden traps.

Using Zhong Yao to boost Zheng Yi, letting Qi Zhi piggyback for hype. One could easily imagine what this “interview” would really turn into.

Interviews were the easiest place to play dirty. No matter how careful a person was, with enough editing — cutting off the start and end, twisting words — a person’s image could be flipped on its head, turned into something completely unrecognizable.

Zhong Yao had been abroad for three years, and this was his first public appearance after returning—if that moment fell into these people’s hands, it would be the worst possible opening move.

Qi Zhi’s sudden press session at the front entrance was ending, and that group of reporters hadn’t fully dispersed yet. A few of them were already glancing over and were now excitedly hurrying their way.