Chapter 5 – Lost Lamb on a Forked Road

Almost immediately, Jiang Ruo guessed that Zhang Shaoyuan was behind it.

Unable to speak openly about it, he could only express his confusion about this “sudden misfortune,” hoping the production team would provide a legitimate reason.

As an important figure overseeing all the work in the production crew, Zhao Sen had mastered the skill of treating people differently based on their status. He glanced at Jiang Ruo with a mocking attitude. “Are you a proper person yourself, asking me for a legitimate reason? Because of something like this, I can’t exactly write it out in black and white for you, can I?”

Jiang Ruo’s heart sank. Quickly analyzing the situation, he realized there was no room for negotiation. Without hope, he asked, “What about the pay for the previous scenes…”

“Do you still want money?” Zhao Sen widened his eyes. “All your previous scenes need to be reshot. We’re being lenient by not demanding compensation from you. Go, go, hurry up and leave, don’t delay our afternoon shooting.”

Jiang Ruo had been at the film city for just half an hour before he was out again.

Lin Xiao had another job, so she only sent him to the entrance, discreetly asking him, “Who did you offend? You couldn’t even hold onto a minor role.”

Jiang Ruo tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I offended a petty dog.”

Lin Xiao blinked. “So was it a chicken or a dog?”

Later, Jiang Ruo thought about it again. That bastard Zhang Shaoyuan was clearly worse than an animal. At the time, he shouldn’t have held back; he should have pounded that oily face until he was in the ICU.

But it was just a thought. Within half a day, Jiang Ruo became a dwarf in action again. Not only did he not tell Lin Xiao who he had offended, but thinking about the debt he hadn’t settled for the new month, he even considered closing his eyes and gritting his teeth to go apologize to Zhang Shaoyuan and beg for mercy. At worst, he’d take a beating, just as An He had said, using his advantages to gain some convenience.

After all, this kind of thing would become routine after the first time. They had already gone through it last night.

Although it hadn’t been paid for.

It was only a thought. If he wanted to take a shortcut, he would have had the chance earlier. Why would Jiang Ruo have endured until now, living like an ant that anyone could easily crush?

Before returning, he contacted the head of the extras group via WeChat, who informed him that there were no new productions starting soon. The extras for the previous few shows had already been decided upon, and he suggested that Jiang Ruo come back to the film city gates in a few days to look for opportunities.

Jiang Ruo, who hadn’t rested even during the Spring Festival, suddenly found himself with a holiday. Sitting in the car in a daze, the scenery outside the window, still dreary from winter, presented a bleak grayness. Jiang Ruo stared unblinkingly, inadvertently passing his stop.

The terminal station, the Sports Center Station. This area was the far eastern suburb of Feng City, vast and sparsely populated. Besides the stadium, the convention center, cultural and art exhibition halls, and the largest theater in Feng City were also gathered here.

Few people knew that beneath the Feng City Theater lay a dance troupe directly affiliated with it, with a dedicated practice room set up.

Even fewer people knew that inside the practice room was a small stage for members of the dance troupe to simulate performance scenarios.

Even though he came less frequently in recent years, Jiang Ruo was still familiar with the terrain here. Passing through the west gate of the theater and walking forward along the stone path for over a hundred meters before turning left, the evergreen trees on either side of the road stood tall year-round. Walking to the end and turning left again, one could see a pair of old teak double doors. Getting closer, one could clearly see a wooden sign hanging beside the door, inscribed with the words “Xinghui Dance Troupe Rehearsal Hall.”

Dancers started practicing early, so it was usually empty around dusk. Jiang Ruo pushed open the slightly ajar wooden door and stepped into the dark, narrow corridor.

Even though he was familiar enough with the place that he didn’t need light to navigate, Jiang Ruo still walked very lightly and slowly, so slow that his sudden appearance in this vast space was akin to a speck of dust drifting in unnoticed.

The lights on the stage were on, perhaps forgotten by the manager again. Circling past the sparse rows of audience seats and stepping up onto the higher ground with his hands supporting him, when the exclusive spotlight splashed down on his head, Jiang Ruo couldn’t help but look up, only to be blinded.

Perhaps it was because he hadn’t stood here for too long.

At this moment, not dancing would be a wasted trip. So Jiang Ruo turned his neck, flung his arms and legs, and performed a series of contemporary dance floor movements on the spot — shoulder stand drawing circles in the air, hands supporting the middle segment unfolding, finally drawing circles on the floor, ending with his upper body spread out, lying flat on the floor in a supine position.

He had been out of systematic practice for some time, and he began panting after a few basic moves.

But it still gave Jiang Ruo the feeling of returning from hell to paradise, staring straight at the bright lights above without finding them blinding anymore. It seemed as if he belonged here, under the lights, receiving the baptism of gazes from all directions.

In the past, he believed that the rapid breathing after an exhilarating performance was the most beautiful sound, even surpassing those admiring voices.

In the past, he had the confidence to shine on stage.

Even though Jiang Ruo had been very careful, not daring to make much noise while dancing, he still encountered someone when he was leaving.

Song Shiyun had returned to retrieve her bag. There was an external performance today, and she had rushed out, forgetting it at the dance troupe. Hearing footsteps at the door, she found it strange, wondering who would be inside at this time.

When she saw Jiang Ruo pushing the door open, Song Shiyun was taken aback. After managing to react, she blurted out nonsensically, “Why are you here?”

Seeing the person, Jiang Ruo sighed in relief but felt even more embarrassed, caught in the act. “Just happened to pass by… came in to take a look.”

This lie was poorly told. Who would pass by a location in the suburbs for no reason?

Song Shiyun didn’t expose him, pausing for a moment before speaking calmly. “Oh, what a coincidence.”

Jiang Ruo had no choice but to gruffly reply with an “Mm.”

Old acquaintances meeting would naturally chat about something. Song Shiyun asked him where he worked now, and upon hearing that he was acting, she managed a rare smile. “That makes us in the same line of work, both performing.”

“Just making ends meet,” Jiang Ruo spoke truthfully.

“Art is interconnected, performing anywhere is the same.”

Jiang Ruo also asked about Song Shiyun’s current situation, learning that besides helping the troupe leader manage the troupe, she had taken on several students herself and was planning to lead them to the capital to participate in a dance competition. Jiang Ruo sincerely wished her, “I hope Teacher Song’s students all achieve good results.”

Then followed a long silence.

This place was far from the hustle and bustle. Regardless of how skyscrapers sprouted in the city and how the day and night changed, this place remained unchanged, quiet and silent, like an old landscape painting hidden in celluloid.

An ancient question seemed to echo, “Has that guy come out yet?”

“Not yet.” Jiang Ruo took a deep breath. “Still has over half a year.”

Song Shiyun nodded. “I hope that in these next six months, the heavens will open their eyes and let him die in there.”

Rather than a wish, it was purely a curse. But Jiang Ruo laughed when he heard it, saying, “Thanks to Teacher Song’s auspicious words.”

Thus, back and forth, the two regained some of the ease they used to have when interacting.

When they parted ways, Song Shiyun had Jiang Ruo save her phone number.

“Call me if you need anything… except borrowing money.”

Learning to dance was laborious and expensive, and the economic return wasn’t high. Compared to entertainment industry stars, the income of dancers who had made it to the top circle was like comparing dwarfs to giants.

Jiang Ruo understood this well and laughed. “Am I that kind of person?”

Song Shiyun rolled her eyes at him. “No, you aren’t. You’re the type who, when something happens, is afraid to drag others down and disappears without a trace. I couldn’t contact you for two whole years.”

For a moment, Jiang Ruo couldn’t tell whether she was praising or scolding him. He cleared his throat and muttered, “That’s quite a long prepositional phrase.”

Watching Jiang Ruo leave, Song Shiyun said behind him, “If you still want to step on stage, you can — ”

“No.” Before she finished, Jiang Ruo turned around. “I’m pretty busy with work normally, can’t spare the time.”

Song Shiyun was taken aback, feeling that this scene was eerily familiar.

Three years ago, a young dancer also looked back here, rejecting an invitation for a high-paying part-time job.

The reason was: “I’m busy enough practicing and preparing for competitions normally, how could I have time for other jobs?”

Similar words, but the meaning was vastly different.

The gaze was different too. Jiang Ruo was clearly smiling, but his pupils were dim. He waved to Song Shiyun, turning away from the stage behind him without any nostalgia. “Gotta go, can’t keep the shoot waiting.”

In reality, there was no shoot. Jiang Ruo had signed with a talent agency in a hurry when he desperately needed money, and then he was left to fend for himself for two years, barely seeing his so-called agent a few times.

They were quick to claim their commission, though. In the past two years, Jiang Ruo had participated in a dozen or so productions, although none as the lead actor, and the talent agency had taken a significant cut from his earnings.

This situation was unbearable for anyone. Therefore, since the end of last year, Jiang Ruo had joined forces with a few victims who had similar experiences to sue the company. It would be difficult to get the money back, but they only sought termination of the contract and restoration of their freedom.

Such labor disputes were akin to a protracted battle, costly and arduous to fight. Even splitting the legal fees among several people was a staggering sum. Therefore, Jiang Ruo had been particularly short on funds recently, lowering his standards for taking on jobs. He used to at least consider the time and effort-to-pay ratio, but now he blindly accepted any job as long as it paid.

However, as the saying goes, when it rains, it pours. After being fired from the production crew without receiving a penny due to offending someone, Jiang Ruo suffered a series of financial setbacks. First, his landlord suddenly raised the rent and demanded payment for the entire year in advance. After scrambling to gather the money and paying it, the monthly debt deductions drained the last bit of savings from his account.

Adding insult to injury, An He was hospitalized.

Ever since being tormented by Zhang Shaoyuan for a night, An He’s health had been poor. In order to earn money, he returned to work before fully recovering, and the high workload had severely depleted his vitality, leaving him sickly and unable to even carry a tray steadily. The reason An He hadn’t replied to Jiang Ruo’s message last time was that he accidentally broke two expensive bottles of wine at the bar, scaring him so much that his face turned pale, and he passed out.

So Jiang Ruo spent these few days off in the hospital. To ease his mind, he paid for a comprehensive physical examination for An He. Unbeknownst to him, An He had a problem with his heart, classified as a critical illness. Jiang Ruo didn’t understand the academic terms the doctor mentioned, only knowing that surgery was urgently needed; otherwise, any emotional fluctuation could cost An He his life.

Jiang Ruo wasn’t sure about the degree and scope of this “emotional fluctuation.” When conveying the news to An He, he used an especially light tone. “It’s just a minor surgery, probably just making up for the lack of common sense you’ve had all these years. Afterward, you won’t lack common sense anymore.”

An He couldn’t stop laughing, then wiped away the tears from laughing and asked, “Is it going to cost a lot of money?”

“Not much, don’t worry about it.”

“Don’t lie to me. I know it’s a lot. I’m not that lacking in common sense.”

Jiang Ruo reined in his forced smile and looked at the person sitting on the hospital bed. “You’re not lacking in common sense? If you weren’t, could you have gotten lost and been trafficked? If you weren’t, could you have supported that family of ungrateful wolves? If you weren’t, would you have insisted on confessing to me, couldn’t you have just pretended not to know?”

An He was inherently timid and was speechless when confronted. After mustering up the courage to start, “But you also — ”

Jiang Ruo pressed him back onto the pillow, covering his head with the blanket.

“Anyway, I have a way.” Jiang Ruo said impatiently. “The doctor said that more rest will aid recovery, so go to sleep.”

Once outside the ward, Jiang Ruo, who had been fierce just moments ago, slumped against the wall, seeming to lose all strength.

In the past two years, he had experienced many similar situations, but none had been as dire as the present, almost reaching a dead end.

Just before returning to the ward, his lawyer called to inform him of the latest developments, saying that the opposing party had also hired a lawyer to counter-sue them, citing breach of contract as the reason. The talent agency contract was for five years, and it was only the third year.

After all, it was written in black and white. From a legal perspective, it was much more powerful than the so-called “evidence” they had gathered that the talent agency failed to fulfill its obligations.

Regarding the conclusion, the lawyer’s original words were: “I will do my best to reverse the situation, and please also prepare yourselves.”

What kind of preparation? It was all about money. If he lost, he would have to compensate a large amount for breach of contract. If he won, he would merely break even.

In essence, it was a question of whether he was willing to exchange money for freedom. Jiang Ruo had pondered this before filing the lawsuit. At the time, he indeed harbored hope, or rather, a fearless and solitary courage. After all, things couldn’t get any worse.

Reality proved that worse was still to come.

In Jiang Ruo’s mind, spending money had priorities. Originally, the highest priority was debt repayment, followed by food and shelter, and lastly non-essential items such as spiritual needs.

An He’s illness directly disrupted his rigid spending plan, with raising funds for surgery rising to the top.

It was hard to judge whether it was right or worth it, but Jiang Ruo felt he had to do it.

The reason was simple. During the first Spring Festival after they started sharing a home, An He didn’t return to his hometown and made him a meal of dumplings in Feng City.

He remembered An He saying at the time, “I forgot my own name, but I remember Feng City, so it must be a good place. I’ll cling to life to stay here.”

Feng City wasn’t Jiang Ruo’s hometown; he had come here for school. Even after four or five years, he didn’t feel a strong sense of belonging.

He was different from An He, yet there was a subtle similarity.

Perhaps humans naturally have the instinct to seek what they lack in others. Jiang Ruo hoped that An He could maintain his connection to this land, firmly, unlike him, adrift without direction, unable to grasp even a vine in his dreams when falling rapidly.

After understanding this, flipping through his call records, the embarrassment and shame Jiang Ruo felt when dialing the unnamed number diminished to zero.

There was no psychological struggle of fearing to wander astray and lose his way.

He had a legitimate reason and the confidence to do what had to be done. Upon connecting the call, he straightforwardly asked, “Do the words you said last time still count?”

Naturally, he referred to Xi Yufeng’s offer for Jiang Ruo to decide what he wanted and then call him.

Without much delay, Xi Yufeng’s deep voice came from the other end of the phone. “Of course.”