Crossover Actors - Chapter 42

Two Maybach business cars were parked by the roadside, one in front and one behind. The drivers, dressed in black suits, stood by the rear doors. A man in the front car’s passenger seat got out, well-dressed and of medium build, squinting slightly as he looked toward the entrance of the terminal.

 

Lu Wen strolled out casually, waving excitedly from about ten meters away as he shouted, “Uncle Zheng!”

 

Old Zheng smiled widely and waved back. He walked up to Lu Wen, embracing him warmly and saying, “You’re finally back. Come on, get in the car.”

 

Lu Wen had about three or four days off, with his schedule depending on the crew’s arrangements. Regarding his management company, he told Sun Xiaojian, “If there’s anything, let me know, but for now, let’s all go home. The car behind will take you and Brother Peng back.”

 

Leaving the airport, Lu Wen pressed against the window, admiring the familiar cityscape. The past few months had gone by so quickly, and now it finally felt like he was home.

 

Old Zheng asked, “Was filming fun?”

 

“It was alright, though sometimes pretty tough.” Lu Wen dreaded being asked about it because he couldn’t stop talking. “There was this one scene where I had a big argument with my on-screen mom, and I cried so hard, totally from the heart.”

 

“You cried for real?” Old Zheng was intrigued. “Didn’t you use eye drops?”

 

Lu Wen replied, “Of course, I cried for real! Eye drops wouldn’t cut it for how much I was crying. It would take an IV bag.”

 

Old Zheng laughed so hard he adjusted his tie, afraid he might choke. “You little rascal, I feel like you’re pulling my leg.”

 

“Why would I lie to you?” Lu Wen shared enthusiastically. “I didn’t just cry; I even knelt down. You’ll see when it airs.”

 

Old Zheng’s eyes widened. It was one thing for him to see, but he definitely couldn’t let Lu Zhanqing see his son kneeling to someone else. If he did, he might just punch the screen to pieces.

 

As Lu Wen animatedly recounted his experiences, he rummaged through his bag, pulling out an autographed photo of Ruan Feng, which he’d specially requested for Old Zheng’s daughter, who was a big fan.

 

After all that talking, Lu Wen got thirsty and cracked open a can of sparkling water. During a pause in the conversation, Old Zheng interjected, “Take some time to relax these next few days. Anywhere you’d like to go? How about traveling abroad?”

 

The implication was that they could arrange a private jet. However, since the film hadn’t officially wrapped yet and time was limited, Lu Wen declined, “Nah, I’ll just catch up with friends for now.”

 

The Maybach cruised smoothly into the city, the air thickening with urban energy. As they passed the looping overpasses, the towering skyscrapers in the distance came into view, growing closer and closer.

 

Among the skyscrapers were two adjacent towers connected by an aerial bridge. Their deep blue glass facades reflected the sun and drifting clouds. One tower housed Huanlu Construction, the other Huanlu Era, forming the headquarters of the Huanlu Group.

 

Old Zheng asked, “Wanna take a look around?”

 

“No need,” Lu Wen replied indifferently. “As long as it hasn’t gone bankrupt, I’m good.”

 

Old Zheng chuckled. “Try saying that again in front of your father.”

 

Lu Wen took another sip of water, swallowing just before realizing the meaning behind Old Zheng’s cryptic smile. Alarmed, he asked, “Wait, is my dad waiting for me at home?”

 

Two hours later, they arrived at a gated community in the South Bay. After passing through the outer and electronic gates, the car slowly drove inside.

 

The car stopped beside a dark-colored driveway, near a flowerbed. Standing nearby was a slightly overweight middle-aged woman, the family’s housekeeper who had been with them for over a decade.

 

Impatient, Lu Wen opened the door before the driver could assist him. Unlike his enthusiastic greeting with Old Zheng, he was even more animated now, calling out in a booming voice, “Sister Ling! I’ve missed you so much!”

 

Sister Ling, who was barely 1.6 meters tall, almost got knocked into the flowerbed by Lu Wen’s overexcited embrace. She rasped in her smoker’s voice, “Why have you lost so much weight? You’re gonna make me worry to death.”

 

Lu Wen immediately started venting his grievances, causing Sister Ling’s eyes to mist up. Walking up the red-brick slope beside the house, they entered the long and spacious west wing of the mansion, their two husky voices echoing faintly in the large space.

 

A pair of towering double doors stood slightly ajar, leading to a living room beyond. Lu Wen suddenly fell silent and whispered, “Is my dad home?”

 

Sister Ling replied, “Your dad didn’t go to work today. He stayed home specifically to wait for you.”

 

Nervously, Lu Wen suggested, “How about we take a walk in the garden instead?”

 

“Walk my foot,” Sister Ling pushed him gently, “You’ve been away for months, missed both the winter solstice and New Year, and didn’t even bother to call. Your dad misses you!”

 

The heavy doors swung open, and Lu Wen walked into the spacious living room. Facing the back of the island-like sofa, he slowly made his way over. His sneakers made no sound on the carpeted floor.

 

“Dad,” he called softly.

 

The figure on the sofa shifted slightly. As Lu Wen rounded the corner, Lu Zhanqing stood up, his simple black loungewear outlining his strong shoulders and arms. His expression was stern, and as he took off the gold-rimmed glasses he only wore while reading, his gaze grew even colder.

 

Though they were about the same height, Lu Zhanqing’s presence was imposing. He simply said, “You’re back.”

 

“Yeah.” Lu Wen dropped his bag on the sofa, standing half a meter away. They stood in silence. Lu Wen wouldn’t dare sit until his father did first, lest he provoke his anger.

 

The low coffee table was cluttered with documents and a laptop, suggesting Lu Zhanqing had been working. Footsteps from outside signaled Old Zheng’s approach, coming to collect a contract.

 

Lu Zhanqing said, “Go change your clothes.”

 

Lu Wen turned to leave, noticing that his father hadn’t sat down. He suspected something but wasn’t sure. Tentatively, he walked over and, in an awkward move, threw his arms around Lu Zhanqing in a clumsy embrace.

 

“Dad,” Lu Wen muttered awkwardly, “What time is dinner?”

 

Lu Zhanqing, just as uncomfortable, lifted a hand and gripped the back of Lu Wen’s neck as though he were holding a bothersome stray dog, moving him aside. “Ask the housekeeper.”

 

Lu Wen pulled away, rubbing the back of his neck in protest. “That hurts! Other people just pat gently! You trying to strangle me?”

 

Lu Zhanqing asked, “Other people?”

 

Lu Wen faltered, but luckily Old Zheng came in at that moment, allowing him to make a quick exit. He dashed off so fast he nearly knocked over the tray in Sister Ling’s hands.

 

Old Zheng didn’t linger, taking the contract and leaving the father and son to their reunion. The tea on the table remained untouched, and Sister Ling cleared it away.

 

The house had two chefs, and today’s dinner was special. Preparations had started early in the morning. Lu Zhanqing got up and headed to the dining room, saying, “Serve dinner early; that kid is probably starving.”

 

Sister Ling followed, noting, “He’s lost eight pounds. We need to give him some proper nourishment.”

 

Lu Zhanqing had noticed Lu Wen’s weight loss immediately. Whether it was from hunger or exhaustion wasn’t clear, but it was undoubtedly due to filming. Displeased, he muttered, “What a lousy production. Only an idiot would think it’s something special.”

 

“Well, Xiao Wen enjoys it,” Sister Ling said affectionately. “The food’s manageable, but I worry he might get mistreated.”

 

Lu Zhanqing scoffed, “He’s probably already been through it. Without my support, he’s got no background and no connections. It’d be a miracle if he wasn’t looked down on in that entertainment cesspool.”

 

The house had two dining rooms: a large one that could accommodate about twenty people for hosting guests, and a smaller, sunnier room where the two usually had their meals. Lu Zhanqing sat at the head of the long table, still looking displeased.

 

Sister Ling tried to comfort him, “But Xiao Wen is clever. He’ll manage.”

 

As if hearing a joke, Lu Zhanqing replied, “Him? Clever?”

 

Sister Lingling forcibly explained, “Sometimes his brain works quite fast.”

 

“Stop giving him so much credit,” Lu Zhanqing said. “He’s just shy of having ‘brainless’ written on his forehead. All the brains he’s missing are made up for in height. He’s just a big, dumb guy.”

 

Lu Wen came over after changing his clothes. The house was quiet, and the conversation was clearly audible. As he entered the room, he distinctly heard Lu Zhanqing’s last sentence. He lowered his face, “You’re not satisfied with scolding me to my face anymore, now you have to badmouth me behind my back too?”

 

Lu Zhanqing, as domineering as ever, said, “You’re my son. I can say whatever I want, wherever I want.”

 

“You do know I’m your son,” Lu Wen sat down at the corner of the table. “So if I’m a big, dumb guy, isn’t that inherited from you?”

 

Lu Zhanqing replied, “Inherited? You should feel regretful.”

 

“Regretful about what?”

 

“Regretful that you didn’t inherit my abilities. So the good life you’ll have in this lifetime will rely solely on inheritance.”

 

Being belittled by Lu Zhanqing was Lu Wen’s sorest point, and it triggered him every time. He retorted angrily, “Who cares? I don’t need you to support me!”

 

“Don’t need me?” Lu Zhanqing asked. “So you grew up on nothing but the northwest wind?”

 

“I grew up on the Siberian cold current!” Lu Wen shot back, “From now on, I don’t need your help! I’ll make my own living!”

 

Lu Zhanqing showed no reaction, his expression and tone remaining steady: “And how much do you think you can make to support yourself?”

 

Under a vase was a bill—Lu Zhanqing’s private account invoice. He pulled it out. “Does the payment for this movie even amount to two million? That yacht of yours doesn’t sail all year, just sits idle at the dock, and the maintenance costs for three quarters have already drained that money, haven’t they?”

 

Lu Wen was speechless. He had been so busy lately that he’d forgotten to pay the last quarter’s fees. He grabbed the invoice and, for the first time, realized just how large the figure was. If the yacht were to set sail, the cost would double.

 

After a moment of silence, Lu Wen came to his senses. He hadn’t paid—so why hadn’t his manager contacted him?

 

Lu Zhanqing explained, “Because I paid it for you before the deadline.”

 

“Why?” Lu Wen quickly stated, “You did that voluntarily.”

 

Zhanqing took a sip of cold water to calm his temper. What could he do if he wasn’t willing?

 

When Lu Wen was just a year old, during a traditional birthday ceremony where various objects like pens, computers, gavels, and stethoscopes were laid out for him to grab, he ignored them all and crawled straight into Lu Zhanqing’s arms. From that moment, he knew he would never escape the debts that come with children.

 

A few months ago, Old Zheng had informed Zhanqing that Lu Wen had donated all his payment to the Wenjia Foundation. Since then, Zhanqing had personally overseen all related processes. He was even so pleased that he couldn’t find a proper outlet to express it, so he paid the yacht’s fees in advance.

 

The atmosphere grew tense, and Sister Lingling quickly arranged for the meal to be served. Hot and cold dishes were laid out together, with plenty of meat, vegetables, and seafood—everything Lu Wen liked to eat. He shoved the invoice into his pocket. Feeling a bit guilty, he picked up his chopsticks and began eating, despite the earlier tension.

 

Lu Wen coughed lightly, “Dad… let’s eat.”

 

Lu Zhanqing remarked, “Don’t burn yourself. After all, you grew up on cold currents.”

 

“…” Lu Wen had no retort and buried his head in his food, too scared to drink the soup while it was still hot. By the time he was about 70% full, he glanced up at the table and noticed a bunch of white lilies of the valley in a short vase.

 

One of the flowers was drooping heavily, and hanging from the stem was a key.

 

Lu Wen reached out to take it. “Is this the new trend in floral arrangements? ‘Bearing burdens while moving forward?’”

 

Lu Zhanqing replied, “Keep it.”

 

Lu Wen didn’t quite understand. “What do you mean? Is this for me?”

 

“It’s a birthday present,” Lu Zhanqing said.

 

Lu Wen’s birthday had been in December, but he had been too busy filming to celebrate. Only now did he notice the box on the table. He opened it and found a stack of documents—property papers, title deeds, and even a list from an art auction.

 

Lu Zhanqing’s birthday gift to him was a house in the prestigious Purple Mountain estate.

 

Holding the key, Lu Wen was no longer the tough-talking guy from earlier. “Dad, how come…?”

 

“The villa is fully furnished,” Lu Zhanqing said, without even glancing at him. “I didn’t have time to pick out the decorative artwork, so I just bought a few pieces at auction.”

 

Lu Wen occasionally stayed in another apartment when he visited the South Bay. He hadn’t expected that Zhanqing would prepare a house for him, let alone as a birthday present.

 

It wasn’t that he wasn’t happy, but Lu Wen had to play it cool. “So this counts as a gift, not an inheritance.”

 

He was promptly kicked hard by Zhanqing, pain shooting through his left calf. Terrified, he quickly corrected himself, “Alright, I won’t inherit it for free… I’ll take good care of you in your old age.”

 

Zhanqing wasn’t interested in verbal sparring. “You’re a public figure now. From now on, whenever you’re on camera or in the spotlight, use the house in Purple Mountain. As for everything else, keep it discreet.”

 

“I know,” Lu Wen said dreamily, “I heard Zeng Zhen lives in Purple Mountain. Maybe if I run into him while jogging and he sprains his ankle, I can carry him home, and he might cast me in a movie!”

 

Another swift kick landed, this time on his right calf. “Stop acting like a fool in public and embarrassing yourself,” Zhanqing scolded.

 

Lu Wen wiped his mouth and darted out of the room before his legs gave out from under the table. But after a few steps, he stopped, turned back, and leaned over Zhanqing’s chair, massaging his shoulders. “Dad, I love you.”

 

Suppressing a smile, Zhanqing responded, “Get out of here.”

 

After eating his fill, Lu Wen went to take a nap. As he lay on the big bed, he pulled the covers over him, planning to visit Purple Mountain Estate tomorrow to check out what might be missing.

 

In the evening, he planned to meet up with his old friends and patch things up with Su Wang.

 

That afternoon, at the Paper Clouds Studio.

 

The adapted script was nearing completion when Qiu Yanting’s phone rang. He had been sitting at his desk for six hours straight. Rubbing his temples, he exhaled and answered Wang Mingyu’s call.

 

“Teacher?”

 

“Yanting, are you busy?”

 

Qiu Yanting leaned back in his chair, resting against the neck pillow. “It’s manageable. Just tell me what you need, Teacher.”

 

Wang Mingyu asked, “Have you looked at that script yet?”

 

Qiu Yanting opened his eyes slightly, his eyelids thin and delicate, veins faintly visible. He had skimmed through five or six episodes. It was a poorly structured, illogical, and clichéd idol drama. He had only glanced through the rest.

 

He replied, “I’ve looked at it briefly.”

 

Wang Mingyu said, “Come by my place tomorrow, let’s talk about the script.”

 

Qiu Yanting bit his lip. A script of this level wasn’t worth discussing, but Wang Mingyu wouldn’t bring it up unless it was important.

 

He agreed, “Alright, I’ll come by in the afternoon.”

 

“Teacher” is a term of respect or formality used to address someone with authority or seniority, often in professional or artistic settings. In this case, it refers to Wang Mingyu, who seems to be a mentor or a respected figure to Qiu Yanting. It’s similar to calling someone “Sir” or “Madam” in English.