Crossover Actors - Chapter 45

Lu Wen was woken up by the sound of his phone ringing. He fished the phone out from between the couch cushions, swiped to answer, and let out a groggy grunt through his nose, his throat burning from the previous night’s drinking, with a surge of morning grumpiness stuck in his chest.

 

It was Sun Xiaojian on the line: “It’s me, had a bit too much to drink?”

 

“I’m fine,” Lu Wen rasped, “what do you want?”

 

Sun Xiaojian said, “Isn’t there still one scene left to shoot? The crew sent out a notice.”

 

Lu Wen replied, “Then just text me. Calling me in the middle of the night, where’s your sense?”

 

“Bro, are you dreaming?” Sun Xiaojian yelled, “It’s almost ten in the morning!”

 

The call ended with a busy signal. Lu Wen rubbed his eyes and opened them. The suite’s living room was brightly lit, and the hands on the clock hanging on the wall were just hitting ten.

 

He sat up, shaking off his grogginess, though his temples still throbbed slightly. The coffee table was littered with empty wine bottles; everyone had drunk their fair share last night.

 

Tossing aside the blanket, Lu Wen headed to the bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth. The splash of cold water brought him fully awake. He had just started applying shaving foam when Su Wang barged in, half-asleep, making a beeline for the toilet.

 

The sound of running water filled the room. Lu Wen said, “Held it in for a while, huh?”

 

“Don’t talk nonsense,” Su Wang retorted, “A man can break anywhere, but not there.”

 

As they spoke, Gu Zhuoyan and Lian Yiming came in as well. Last night, they had all looked sharp and well-dressed; now they crowded into the bathroom, competing for space. Lu Wen felt irritated: “Do you guys even understand the concept of taking turns?”

 

Lian Yiming, already naked, stepped into the shower. “Sure do. The three of us came into this world before you, so shut up.”

 

Being the youngest of the group, Lu Wen always lost out whenever age was brought up. Su Wang, flushing the toilet, suggested, “Wen’er, you should marry someone with a younger brother. That way, you’ll finally know what it feels like to be the older sibling.”

 

“Yeah, younger brothers are great,” Gu Zhuoyan mumbled around his toothbrush, “Just don’t marry someone with a younger sister. That’ll take years off your life.”

 

Lian Yiming poked his head out of the shower. “Future brother-in-law, who are you cursing?”

 

Ignoring the banter around him, Lu Wen continued shaving in silence, though, strangely, the sound of Ruan Feng’s voice kept echoing in his ears, calling him “brother” with a playful smile. Lost in thought, he accidentally nicked himself on the chin with the razor.

 

He rinsed off the foam and tilted his head to examine the mirror. A small cut on his chin was oozing blood, which diluted into a faint red trickle as it mixed with the water. Gu Zhuoyan, rinsing his mouth and looking up into the mirror, asked, “Are you alright?”

 

“It’s nothing,” Lu Wen replied, patting on some aftershave.

 

Gu Zhuoyan added, “You didn’t do that on purpose, did you?”

 

“Huh?” Lu Wen flashed a few teeth in the mirror, “Why would I intentionally cut myself? Am I some kind of masochist?”

 

Gu Zhuoyan pressed a towel to his face, “Yesterday, you had someone holding your chin to look at your nose. Today, they can hold your chin to look at your cut. Tomorrow, who knows, they might be holding your chin to look at a canker sore.”

 

The memories from last night resurfaced. Normally, Lu Wen would brush off Gu Zhuoyan’s comments as nonsense or overreacting, but maybe it was the lingering headache—this time, he paused, at a loss for words.

 

Gu Zhuoyan didn’t seem interested in having a heart-to-heart in the bathroom and urged him, “Hurry up, will you?”

 

Lu Wen stepped aside, but a strange sense of unease welled up inside him. He raised his voice, “Let’s go get brunch. My treat.”

 

They went to the hotel restaurant. The four of them were starving, so they ate in silence, focusing on their food. Once full, they each went their separate ways. Su Wang wasn’t heading in the same direction as the others, and Lian Yiming had a meeting to attend. Lu Wen hitched a ride back to Nanwan with Gu Zhuoyan.

 

It was a nice day, uncharacteristically sunny for winter. Lu Wen lowered the sun visor and made small talk: “It’s almost the end of the year. Where are you spending the Spring Festival?”

 

Gu Zhuoyan’s “wife” had returned to her studies in the U.S., so they alternated between visiting each other for holidays. He replied, “Here, Fanxin is coming back for the new year.”

 

Lu Wen mused, “Do you think I’ll ever make it onto the Spring Festival Gala in my lifetime?”

 

Gu Zhuoyan said, “What’s so great about the Gala? Spending time at home with Uncle Lu eating dumplings sounds way better. By the way, is your current film almost wrapped up?”

 

“About to finish,” Lu Wen sighed, “It’s my first lead role, so I’m a bit reluctant to part with it.”

 

Gu Zhuoyan corrected him, “Your first lead role was in *Sleepless Tonight*.”

 

That was a low-budget horror film that had been released at the beginning of last year. Its showings and ticket sales paled in comparison to other films out at the same time, and it was pulled from theaters early. Lu Wen had buried it deep in his memory.

 

On its opening day, Lian Yiming had bought tickets for the entire staff at Sofi, Su Wang had rented out a theater, and Gu Zhuoyan had treated his sister and all her classmates to watch it.

 

That night, the four of them had gone to the cinema together. They had walked in as close as brothers but left nearly ready to disown each other. Lu Wen had spent two weeks sweet-talking them in their group chat to mend the friendship.

 

Even now, Gu Zhuoyan still had lingering trauma. “This new film’s not going to be another disaster, is it?”

 

“Of course not,” Lu Wen replied, feeling that wasn’t convincing enough, so he added, “No way.”

 

“Good. Just don’t let it be another trainwreck.”

 

In the cramped car, Lu Wen stretched out his leg, knocking the mat askew, and retorted, “You’re the one who’s a trainwreck. This movie is directed by Mr. Qu, it’s his real debut!”

 

“I’m just a handsome guy,” Gu Zhuoyan teased, not getting angry but laughing instead, “You’re not even talking about how well you acted or how good the directing is, just rushing to defend Mr. Qu.”

 

Lu Wen snapped back, “So what?”

 

Gu Zhuoyan smirked, “Tsk tsk.”

 

“Stop that tsking nonsense,” Lu Wen punched him playfully, shifting the topic, “Let’s hang out again after I wrap up the shoot.”

 

As they approached the Nanwan community, Gu Zhuoyan slowed the car down at the entrance gate but didn’t immediately unlock it. They had no real worries about being taken advantage of, but everyone has moments when they’re not thinking straight, especially in the temptation-filled world of showbiz.

 

“Don’t act rashly,” Gu Zhuoyan reminded him, “It never hurts to stay alert, right, brother?”

 

Lu Wen unfastened his seatbelt. “I know. Don’t worry.”

 

Gu Zhuoyan unlocked the car door. “If anything comes up, let me know.”

 

Lu Wen, annoyed by his nagging, hit where it hurt: “You’re so busy, I’ll just talk to Fanxin.”

 

Gu Zhuoyan replied, “Get lost.”

 

Reeking of alcohol, Lu Wen returned home, nearly making Sister Lingling gag from the stench. After a bath and a change of clothes, he settled in his room, brewing a pot of malva nut tea and going over his script.

 

Sun Xiaojian had sent over the shooting schedule. They were to film the day after tomorrow, at a residential area in the outskirts of the city.

 

He had memorized the script inside out. Following Qu Yanting’s advice, he broke down each line, identifying key emotional shifts, adjusting the pacing, ensuring that not a second of his performance would be sloppy.

 

His phone buzzed several times with texts and WeChat messages, but Lu Wen ignored them. Sister Lingling brought in some fruit and commented that he was more focused than he had been during his final year of high school.

 

After draining the pot of tea, Lu Wen took a ten-minute break, then opened WeChat. After replying to the unread messages, he scrolled through his Moments feed.

 

The latest post was from Ren Shu, who was on set. The props team was preparing for the final scene, and his caption had the rough tone of an old veteran: “Let’s win this last battle!”

 

His colleagues from the crew were enthusiastically liking and commenting. Buried among the long comments, Qu Yanting had left a simple message: “Thanks for the hard work.” Ren Shu didn’t acknowledge anyone else, but singled out Qu Yanting to reply: “Come by the day after tomorrow.”

 

Lu Wen couldn’t help himself and left an earnest like on the post.

 

He refreshed a few more times, but Qu Yanting never responded.

 

Meanwhile, Qu Yanting was lying on his bed, a slight dip forming in the middle of the mattress. He hadn’t had an appetite for either breakfast or lunch and had absentmindedly finished reading a book on traditional folk crafts.

 

He had agreed to consider putting his name on the script, but deep down, he knew there wasn’t really any room for negotiation.

 

Having been a Teacher and apprentice for over ten years, this was the first time Wang Mingyu had brought up the concept of “repaying favors.” At this point, Qu Yanting simply couldn’t refuse. After all, Wang Mingyu had done too much to help him get to where he was today.

 

Qu Yanting had been lying in bed, feeling out of sorts. Occasionally, he would pick up his phone, check the news, leave a comment, or delete useless photos from his gallery. As the deadline for his response drew closer, he still hadn’t called Wang Mingyu.

 

Suddenly, WeChat pinged.

 

Feeling irritable, Qu Yanting rolled over, sat up, and unlocked his phone. He stared blankly at the red notification dot on the WeChat icon but didn’t tap it, assuming it was Wang Mingyu asking if he had made up his mind.

 

A familiar sense of helplessness washed over him. It wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling—he had felt it when he couldn’t afford to buy rice, when classmates caught him delaying tuition payments, and when he sat uneasily in that villa at Zishan for the first time.

 

But the hardest days were behind him now. While Qu Yanting could get upset or frustrated, he wouldn’t be easily knocked down. Sitting up in bed for a moment, he finally opened his contact list and dialed Wang Mingyu.

 

She answered quickly, as if waiting for his call. “Yanting?”

 

“Teacher.” Qu Yanting skipped the pleasantries and cut straight to the point, even forgoing small talk. “About that script, I’ve made my decision.”

 

Wang Mingyu asked, “And?”

 

Qu Yanting clutched the edge of his blanket and calmly replied, “I’ll agree to put my name on it.”

 

This was the answer Wang Mingyu had expected. She wasn’t particularly surprised, more relieved, as if a burden had been lifted. She said, “Yanting, this is the right decision. There’s no need to take this too seriously. No industry is completely by the book.”

 

Qu Yanting replied, “I don’t agree, but you are more important to me than my principles.”

 

“I knew you were sensible,” Wang Mingyu said, not wanting to argue. “Have you thought about the compensation? Don’t worry, I won’t shortchange you.”

 

“You can decide,” Qu Yanting said. “But I have one condition.”

 

Wang Mingyu asked, “What’s the condition?”

 

Compromising didn’t mean full surrender for Qu Yanting. “Since the script will bear my name, I want the contract to state that I have full rights to modify its content.”

 

There was a two-second pause on the other end before Wang Mingyu advised, “Yanting, there’s no need for that. It’s not worth spending your time on this script.”

 

“I’m doing it for my own reputation,” Qu Yanting said.

 

“… Fine,” Wang Mingyu relented. “We’ll do it your way.”

 

Qu Yanting let go of the blanket and wiped his face lightly. Resolutely, he said, “Teacher, there won’t be a next time.”

 

Without waiting for Wang Mingyu’s response, he hung up. He felt both indifferent and scared. But with that, the matter was settled, though it would affect his current work schedule. He informed Yu Nan of the situation.

 

It turns out that public success is the least reliable thing. Everyone has struggles they can’t escape in private.

 

After handling everything, Qu Yanting finally opened the WeChat message that had been sitting unread for hours. It wasn’t from Wang Mingyu—it was from Lu Wen.

 

Idiot: “Mr. Qu, I’ll be wrapping up filming the day after tomorrow. Do you have time?”