Chapter 49 – Secret Maneuver

At the recording site for the second round of “The Actor’s Flower Road,” Jiang Ruo had chosen the theme of his performance as “Silent Love.”

The script was written by a specially invited screenwriter from the production team, depicting the reactions of a congenitally deaf and mute young man when faced with his loved one — the restrained yet undeniable affection lurking in the details.

This was a performance without dialogue, and since Jiang Ruo had rehearsed it countless times before taking the stage, whether it was the envious yet desolate look in his eyes as he watched the girl laughing and chatting with other boys, or his awkward response when he saw her sobbing after a breakup, he handled everything perfectly.

In the end, he received high scores from four out of the five judges, and the heart that Jiang Ruo had been holding in suspense finally settled back down.

One of the judges, who was also a director, asked, “Do you know sign language?”

Jiang Ruo shook his head. “No, I learned it recently.”

“Looking at your acting experience, you were a dancer before?”

“Yes, so I grasp body movements relatively quickly.”

The judge nodded. “Your acting is good too; it’s more natural than the last round. I’m looking forward to your excellent performance in the next round.”

Jiang Ruo thanked him, bowed deeply to the audience, and exited the stage amidst applause.

Backstage, Zhou Xinyao approached him, her expression animated as she said, “Director Xu praised you. If you perform even better, he might cast you as the lead actor in his next film.”

Jiang Ruo had just come down from the stage, feeling a sense of exhaustion after an emotional outburst. “I doubt it. Director Xu prefers tough, macho types for his leading men. My image and temperament don’t fit.”

“I heard that Director Xu wants to transition to making art films now. Doesn’t that mean he needs a face like yours, which resembles a poster?” Zhou Xinyao pondered. “If they need a beautiful vase of a supporting actress later on, remember to think of me. I love roles where I don’t have many lines and just have to stand there looking pretty.”

“You could ask Director Liu to tailor a role like that for you.”

“That’s no fun. Besides, he always likes to make those mysterious suspense films. This kind of movie doesn’t highlight the value of a beautiful vase at all.”

“…”

“Anyway, your performance on stage was quite natural,” Zhou Xinyao changed the subject. “I thought seeing that profile picture would make you…”

Jiang Ruo’s heart skipped a beat, and he subconsciously shifted the topic. “Actually, my mind was filled with distractions while I was on stage.”

“What kind of distractions?”

“I was thinking about something related to a friend of mine.”

“I warn you, don’t make up friends out of thin air.”

“I’m serious. His life story is too incredible. Even after digesting it for over a month, I’m still shocked.”

“What kind of life story? Tell me about it.”

“No can do. It’s his private matter.”

“Then don’t go around tantalizing people! You’re killing me!”

…

After watching the performances of the subsequent groups backstage, Chen Muxin, a member of the judging panel for this season, finally found time to visit Jiang Ruo’s dressing room before wrapping up for the day. He commented, “You acted well, and the average score from the judging panel was very high. There shouldn’t be any problems getting into the third round.”

Jiang Ruo was delighted. “It’s all thanks to your good taste. The script has delicate emotions and avoids clichés. Anyone would shine performing it.”

Wei Chulin, who played the love interest of the deaf and mute youth, scoffed from the side. “There are no cameras here, you two should stop blowing smoke up each other’s asses.”

Whether intentional or not, after finalizing the judging panel and the participating guests, “The Actor’s Flower Road” production team added another group of judges, established a new scoring system, and invited Chen Muxin to serve as the head of the judging panel.

Earlier in the year, during a reality show outdoors, Jiang Ruo participated in two episodes as a friend of Chen Muxin in the industry. Since then, the two, who were similar in age and had great chemistry, were paired together as a couple. Due to their high popularity, their CP hashtag once reached the top three. Now, inviting the two of them to “The Actor’s Flower Road” could be considered a successful grasp of the traffic code.

To support Jiang Ruo, Chen Muxin even invited his cousin, Wei Chulin, the female lead in “Sun and Moon of Jing Mountain,” to act alongside Jiang Ruo.

Perhaps due to her inherent prejudice towards Jiang Ruo, Wei Chulin initially showed clear reluctance during rehearsals. Later, maybe after hearing Chen Muxin speak highly of him, or perhaps moved by Jiang Ruo’s relentless dedication to practice early in the morning and late into the night, she gradually put aside her attitude of “let’s see what you can do” and began to cooperate actively.

This included the most brilliant scene, where the girl falls and the boy goes to help her up, which was her idea. Even just practicing it was enough to bruise her knees.

Therefore, Jiang Ruo was also grateful to Wei Chulin, thanking Chen Muxin and quickly said, “I’m not professional enough. If it weren’t for Sister Wei leading me, I wouldn’t have been able to get into character.”

Wei Chulin found these words pleasing to hear, but her mouth remained as sharp as ever. “If you know you’re not professional, spend more effort learning. There’ll be times when others need you to guide them into their roles.”

“Eh.” Jiang Ruo replied with a smile. “Thank you, Sister Wei, for your guidance.”

The four of them ate dinner together that evening.

Zhou Xinyao and Wei Chulin, two blossoming stars in the entertainment industry, had only heard of each other’s names before. During the meal, they discovered that they had compatible personalities and similar interests. Halfway through the meal, they left their chopsticks aside, linked arms, and went to get their nails done.

Left behind, Jiang Ruo and Chen Muxin sat at opposite ends of the dining table, facing a table full of food, both of them at a loss.

Chen Muxin eventually came up with a solution. “It’s fine, we can pack the leftovers.”

Just as Jiang Ruo was about to ask who they were packing it for, Chen Muxin continued, “We’ll split it evenly between the two of us. I’ve been staying in Feng City recently, and I’m too lazy to cook for myself.”

Although they didn’t socialize privately much, they never lost contact. Plus, being in the same circle meant their schedules often overlapped. Over time, they truly became friends within the industry.

Jiang Ruo laughed and asked, “You’re not the type who orders takeout and stays home all day, are you?”

“How did you know?” Chen Muxin also laughed. “But I do go out. I hit the gym every day.”

“Takeout is usually greasy, you should indeed increase your exercise to burn off the excess fat.”

“I heard that a new restaurant specializing in light vegetarian dishes opened downtown, and it has good reviews.” Chen Muxin looked at Jiang Ruo. “I wanted to try it out. I heard their set menu for two offers a comprehensive selection of dishes, but I was afraid of wasting food. I wonder if you’d be interested in joining me?”

Jiang Ruo paused with his chopsticks in hand.

There could be many reasons for someone to invite another to dine alone, but there was only one purpose: to draw closer.

Jiang Ruo had avoided such invitations many times before, to the point of developing a reflexive rejection.

However, in that moment, the WeChat profile picture that he had forcefully pushed aside before taking the stage inexplicably flashed through his mind.

Jiang Ruo poked at the meat slice in his bowl, then smiled as he lifted his head. “Sure.”

The film “Cliff,” directed by Liu Rui, was scheduled to hit theaters across the country in early August. The pre-release screening was arranged for mid-July, held in a small theater in Feng City.

It was rumored that this theater had been built in the early days of the country’s founding, originally hosting not only film screenings but also smaller-scale theatrical performances.

After undergoing multiple renovations, while preserving the antiquated feel of its facilities, the theater’s audiovisual equipment kept pace with the times. Rows of wooden seats bore the marks of years of wear, and a crimson curtain was draped on either side of the screen, exuding a vintage charm from that era.

Upon entering the hall, Jiang Ruo understood why Director Liu chose this location for the screening.

This old, cramped atmosphere, tinged with a dampness and a hint of decay, matched “Cliff” almost perfectly. Stepping inside felt like arriving in a drizzling southern city, venturing into a quiet, deep alley.

The venue was small, with limited seating. The first row was reserved for major investors, and starting from the second row were the actors’ seats.

Jiang Ruo, following the number on his electronic ticket, found a seat near the edge of the second row. Not long after sitting down, Zhou Xinyao arrived in a form-fitting dress, taking the seat to his left.

When asked why, as the director’s family, she could only sit on the side, Zhou Xinyao shrugged. “Our Old Liu is impartial. After all, I only made a cameo appearance out of familial duty, and my screen time is less than half of yours, the fourth male lead.”

Jiang Ruo chuckled. “What about Director Liu? Why haven’t I seen him?”

Zhou Xinyao pointed to the back. “He insisted on staying in the projection room.”

Jiang Ruo nodded. “I see, a director’s sentimentality.”

As the hall filled up, Director Liu walked onto the stage. To preserve the atmosphere, he made brief pleasantries and simply said, “Everything I want to express is in the movie,” before announcing the start of the screening.

All the lights instantly went out, and the screen lit up.

The film grain texture of the scene was accompanied by the rising and falling piano accompaniment, and the two hazy characters “Cliff” appeared in the center. Jiang Ruo felt his heart, which had been agitated by certain possible events, slowly calm down.

Especially when Wang Xiaoyu, raised as an abandoned “wild child,” appeared on screen, Jiang Ruo could finally detach himself and watch as an observer the story of another self unfolding in a parallel universe.

Absorption occurred unconsciously. Jiang Ruo focused all his senses on the movie, unaware of when Zhou Xinyao left his side and when someone else took her place.

Yet, the development of the story inevitably involved twists and turns, akin to the sudden storm outside.

Everything happened so suddenly. Jiang Ruo only heard a sound similar to thunder, followed by the screen abruptly going dark. With the disappearance of the only source of light, the entire cinema plunged into darkness.

Parallel to the frightened cries of people, a hand grabbed Jiang Ruo’s wrist.

Warm and dry.

So swift, so accurate.

Jiang Ruo wasn’t afraid of the dark, but he preferred to believe that the momentary panic was due to fear.

Amidst the cacophony of voices, he could precisely identify that deep voice.

“Just stay seated,” Xi Yufeng said. “Don’t rush to leave.”

It turned out that Xi Yufeng’s judgment was correct.

In the darkness, obstructed vision led several people who stood up to check what was happening to stumble on steps or trip over each other. If it weren’t for the staff promptly using a megaphone to urge everyone to remain calm and stay seated, a stampede might have occurred.

Later, staff members announced that the theater’s electrical system, worn down by age, couldn’t withstand the harsh weather and that repairs were underway. They estimated that the screening could resume in twenty minutes. Only then did the crowd quiet down and return to their seats.

Due to the absolute confidentiality regarding the film’s content, all electronic devices, including cellphones, were collected and stored by the staff upon entry. With the power outage, only a single charged lamp placed in the corner illuminated the area, casting pale light through the gaps in the crowd. Only a faint strand of it reached Jiang Ruo.

But it reassured him, at least he couldn’t see anything clearly.

At this moment, Director Liu seized the megaphone, jokingly saying, “Take advantage of this blackout. If you have any ideas, act on them now. This is your only chance.”

Laughter erupted, but Jiang Ruo seemed to finally react, subtly moving his wrist to gently pull his left hand away from Xi Yufeng’s grip, then instinctively shifted his body slightly to the right.

Under these circumstances, perhaps he should say something.

But it had been a long time since Xi Yufeng spoke, and responding now would seem forced and strange.

Asking why he used his photo as a profile picture would inevitably lead to further conversation.

And Jiang Ruo questioned himself — what answer did he want to hear?

It seemed he didn’t want any.

It seemed that regardless of the answer, he wasn’t prepared to accept it.

Fortunately, the repair work was efficient. In less than fifteen minutes, the screen lit up again, and the movie resumed.

Jiang Ruo focused on the plot, not sparing a glance at the person beside him.

In the end, after receiving news of the protagonist’s death after falling off a cliff while being pursued, Wang Xiaoyu returned to the land that bore and nurtured him. Standing in the damp alley after the rain, he slowly tilted his head up, his gaze passing over the dripping gray tiles and looking upward, searching for the sky in the gap.

At the same time, the voice of the protagonist sounded in narration — see that dilapidated building? That’s our fate, precarious and uncertain if there’s a tomorrow. Just like standing on the edge of a cliff, a slight misstep and you fall, leaving nothing behind.

So go back, go back, and you won’t be afraid anymore.

The voice and images disappeared together. After a brief silence, applause broke out, and the black screen began rolling the credits.

Seeing “Jiang Ruo as Wang Xiaoyu,” Jiang Ruo completely broke free from this dreamlike state, stood up, and followed the crowd out.

He didn’t turn back the entire time.

He couldn’t go far, though, because it started raining. A common summer downpour in Feng City caught everyone off guard, trapping them in place.

Xiao Shen informed Jiang Ruo via phone that the driver was moving the car from the parking lot to the theater entrance, but due to the large crowd, it would take some time.

Jiang Ruo acknowledged this, slipped his phone back into his pocket, and found an unobtrusive corner under the eaves to wait.

The theater was brightly lit outside, so he could clearly perceive when that person stood beside him.

After all, that person was the most eye-catching presence wherever he went. Even the male lead surrounded by stars would dim in his presence.

Moreover, he carried the scent Jiang Ruo knew best, and after being steamed by the summer rain, the cool cypress mixed with a warmth that was easier to approach.

Causing Jiang Ruo to subconsciously hold his breath, his mind blanking for a moment.

Later, Zhou Xinyao’s timely arrival salvaged this difficult situation.

She came with Director Liu, first handing Xi Yufeng a long-handled umbrella, then noticing Jiang Ruo empty-handed, she asked, “Why didn’t you bring an umbrella?”

Jiang Ruo replied, “I have a car coming to pick me up.”

After some polite exchanges, Jiang Ruo noticed that the surrounding gazes were converging on them.

Indeed, the sight of a former lover with her current husband chatting with the financier and the ex-lover was rare, perhaps once in a century.

Fortunately, they were discussing investment matters, and Jiang Ruo couldn’t join in, so he stood aside like a transparent figure.

Seeing the nanny van drive up from a distance, Jiang Ruo bid farewell to everyone as if granted a reprieve, turned around, descended the steps, and rushed into the rain.

Strangely, he didn’t get drenched. Sensing something black looming overhead, Jiang Ruo glanced sideways, seeing Xi Yufeng walking slightly behind him, holding a black umbrella, the front of which was tilted forward, enveloping him entirely beneath it.

His steps paused, and Jiang Ruo said, “Not necessary.”

Perhaps the two words were too short, or perhaps his voice wasn’t loud enough. In any case, Xi Yufeng didn’t leave due to his refusal; instead, he followed even closer, escorting Jiang Ruo all the way to the nanny van.

The door was open, and Jiang Ruo stepped up. Xiao Shen said, “Teacher Jiang, why did you come over by yourself? I told you to wait for me to bring an umbrella and pick you up…”

Her words stopped at the sight of the person behind Jiang Ruo.

With the dim lighting, Xiao Shen wasn’t sure and leaned out to take a closer look, then called out, “Chairman Xi.”

Xi Yufeng responded with a low “Mm.”

It was also at this moment that Jiang Ruo couldn’t avoid lifting his eyes to look at the person standing outside the vehicle.

In the rain, Xi Yufeng was still dressed in a white shirt and black pants, his jacket draped over his arm, as if he had just stepped away from a conference table.

He held the umbrella in his left hand, his shoulder, back, and outer arm wet from the rain, his shirt becoming semi-transparent. Moisture seemed to spread to his hair, eyebrows, and eyes, softening his overly defined facial features, revealing a subdued elegance.

His pursed lips slightly parted, as if he wanted to say something.

Jiang Ruo preempted him by saying “thank you,” then withdrew his gaze.

He wasn’t even sure if Xi Yufeng heard him, but he tapped the backrest of the driver’s seat, signaling the driver to depart.

After a brief hesitation, Xi Yufeng stepped back, watching the door close in front of him, then watched the vehicle drive away in the torrential rain.

Back at his residence, upon seeing the calendar on the wall, Jiang Ruo’s first reaction after regaining consciousness was that half a year had already passed.

He changed into slippers, went to his room to fetch pajamas, entered the bathroom to shower, and after finishing, took water from the refrigerator, sipping it while checking his schedule on his phone.

It seemed like today was just an ordinary day.

Later, Zhou Xinyao sent a message, saying she had left early to find Director Liu in the projection room. Jiang Ruo replied with an “Mm,” and she asked: Did he sit next to you?

Jiang Ruo thought for a moment, then replied: His seat should have been in the first row, maybe he got lost.

Zhou Xinyao sent a “Lol” emoticon: Do you believe that?

Before Jiang Ruo could answer, she continued: Anyway, I don’t believe it.

Jiang Ruo responded with a rolling eyes emoticon.

Exchanging a few rounds of emoticons, Zhou Xinyao couldn’t hold back: Did the two of you really not talk at all?

Jiang Ruo said no, and Zhou Xinyao asked: What about actions? During the fifteen-minute power outage, didn’t you two do something behind closed doors?

Staring at the words “behind closed doors” for a while, Jiang Ruo didn’t know how to respond, so he sent a “Goodnight” emoticon and tossed his phone aside.

Then, his right hand involuntarily moved to the left, his palm covering his wrist.

But the skin that had been gripped seemed to become even hotter.

After all, protection carries warmth, while restraint does not.