Chapter 64 – Many More (End)

In the wee hours of the night, Jiang Ruo returned to the dance studio with a cake adorned with three candles. Amidst the flickering flames, he wished Xi Yufeng a happy birthday.

Xi Yufeng, who never celebrated his birthday, played along and blew out the candles. He guessed, “Each candle represents ten years?”

Jiang Ruo shook his head. “No, each one represents a year. You’re three years old this year.”

Xi Yufeng chuckled.

Upon hearing that Jiang Ruo hadn’t sublet or given up the rented apartment, but kept it instead, Xi Yufeng asked, “Do you want to move back?”

“Primarily because I don’t want to breach the contract, and I do quite like that place,” Jiang Ruo said with an air of seriousness. “Besides, if I ever get kicked out again, at least I’ll have somewhere to shelter from the wind and rain.”

Xi Yufeng said, “I won’t kick you out.”

Jiang Ruo shrugged. “Who knows what the future holds?”

Xi Yufeng immediately took out his phone, intending to call Shi Mingxu to transfer the property under Jiang Ruo’s name.

Jiang Ruo swiftly snatched his phone away. “It’s the middle of the night; can you let people sleep?”

“I’ll call during the day then.”

“I don’t want your house.”

“Then I’ll buy the one you’re renting.”

“I can’t afford it.”

“I can.”

Jiang Ruo was nearly at his wit’s end. “I was just praising you for respecting me and not using a capitalist’s sugar-coated bullets to bombard me. How come you’re reverting after growing a year older?”

“I don’t want you to lose out,” Xi Yufeng said.

“How am I losing out? You have no idea that when I first saw you, I wanted to…”

He covered his mouth halfway through, realizing he had blurted something out.

But Xi Yufeng had heard. “Wanted to do what?”

Jiang Ruo looked up at the sky, remaining silent. Xi Yufeng grabbed his wrist and pressed him against the wall, interrogating him.

The breath on his face made Jiang Ruo’s face flush, and his heart raced. After a while, he gave in. “I wanted to sleep with you, wanted to sleep with you!”

“Hmm.” Xi Yufeng nodded in understanding. “Love at first sight.”

Jiang Ruo felt even more embarrassed. “What’s wrong with love at first sight? Is it not allowed? Unlike you, calculating every step.”

Xi Yufeng didn’t let go, looking at him. “When did I ever calculate against you?”

At this point, Jiang Ruo was fired up. “You were calculating right from the beginning, using me as your shield.”

Xi Yufeng acknowledged this point. “Initially, I did use you to cover my tracks, but later, did I still need to?”

Jiang Ruo wouldn’t let him off the hook. “See, you admitted to using me.” Then, he seized the opportunity. “Tell me, when did ‘later’ start?”

Xi Yufeng understood that Jiang Ruo still wanted to know when he stopped “calculating” and started to feel genuine emotions.

However, pinpointing an exact moment was difficult for someone as obtuse as him. All he could say was, “From the moment I took the initiative to approach you.”

Initially, he thought it was compassion, a desire to save. Later, he realized it was called love, the sound of a beating heart.

Before dawn, Jiang Ruo still acquiesced to the birthday boy’s wishes and accepted something from Xi Yufeng.

They were increasingly in sync. When Jiang Ruo held out his hand, Xi Yufeng knew exactly what he wanted. Returning to the bedroom, he took a jewelry box from the drawer of the bedside table and placed it in Jiang Ruo’s palm.

Opening it, there lay a delicate anklet.

Jiang Ruo picked up the anklet, letting it shimmer in the light, and extended it forward. “Help me put it on.”

Xi Yufeng didn’t rush to take it. Instead, he asked, “Aren’t you afraid I’ll tie you down?”

“If I don’t want to, you couldn’t even if you tried,” Jiang Ruo said with a smile, raising his eyebrows. “If I don’t want it, could you bind me?”

There were times when Xi Yufeng, at a loss, had considered using one of those myriad methods to forcibly tie Jiang Ruo back to his side.

The result would have been clear. He would have obtained a bird trapped in a cage, its soul lost.

Its feathers would gradually dim, never emitting a crisp chirp again. Not like the vibrant life before him, proud and wanting nothing more than to see him soar higher.

That night, they danced together in an embrace.

Easily awakening memories from the same time last year, when the music ended, Xi Yufeng’s hand around Jiang Ruo’s waist tightened, while Jiang Ruo rested on his shoulder, telling him, “I won’t leave you.”

That night, Xi Yufeng gained a lover and received the best birthday gift of his life so far.

When the snow melted completely, it coincided with the Spring Festival.

Jiang Ruo stayed cooped up at home until the fifth day of the New Year, not even participating in the high-level team-building activities at Xi Yufeng’s company.

The reason for not going was quite valid — should he sit at the leaders’ table or the spouses’ table?

Xi Yufeng said, “Sit wherever you want. It’s up to you.”

“I won’t be happy in such situations,” Jiang Ruo attempted a one-for-one trade-off. “How about this: after the New Year, when Director Xu’s film starts production, you accompany me. They all call me Brother Jiang, so you’d be Sister Jiang.”

Xi Yufeng bargained with him. “I can accompany you, but forget about being a sister-in-law.”

Jiang Ruo hummed, vexed by men’s damned competitiveness!

Fortunately, he didn’t go. On the evening of the sixth day, Jiang Ruo received a call from An He, saying he was at the airport about to board his flight. He asked for a bank account number and bid farewell with the promise of seeing each other again soon.

Jiang Ruo, who had been lounging on the sofa, jumped up in shock. “Are you ascending to the throne? Did the Meng family give you such a grand send-off?”

An He laughed uncontrollably on the phone.

After a brief exchange, it became clear that An He was studying abroad under the Meng family’s arrangements. Since it was hidden from Meng Chao, no one was around to see him off.

Two paths had been laid before An He — one to stay in Feng City, where Meng Chao would leave the Meng family, and the other for him to go abroad, with Meng Chao staying behind. An He unhesitatingly chose the latter.

“I don’t know how to manage companies, and our family can’t do without him,” An He analyzed logically. “Anyway, their aim was just to separate us. My departure would cause the least damage.”

Regarding his friend’s choice, Jiang Ruo rarely offered his opinion. He sighed, “You’ve barely found your biological parents.”

And hardly found someone who genuinely cared for him.

In contemporary society, people like them could only have both family and love if their parents were both deceased; otherwise, it was hard to have both.

An He was rather open-minded. “I’ve been spending time with them at home these days. Besides, I’m just going abroad to study; it’s not like I won’t return.”

“As for Brother Meng…” An He’s voice dropped. “My leaving gives him a chance to reconsider. If fate permits, a few years won’t make a difference.”

Jiang Ruo noticed that An He had changed the way he referred to Meng Chao and realized that An He had completely left the decision to Meng Chao, the implications clear.

Feeling a mix of emotions, he was somewhat melancholic, watching the little kid who used to be at everyone’s mercy grow into a decisive adult.

On the brink of parting, Jiang Ruo didn’t want to make the atmosphere too sorrowful. After much deliberation, he gave a friendly reminder. “I heard the water quality isn’t good over there; it might lead to baldness. Take care of yourself.”

An He was speechless.

The tears he had just started to well up were suddenly reined in.

Later, upon discovering that Xi Yufeng had studied in London, Jiang Ruo messaged An He, telling him not to panic; baldness was mostly genetic.

Then, with starry eyes, he looked at Xi Yufeng and expressed a desire to visit An He and tour his school.

Xi Yufeng naturally agreed.

He had long realized Jiang Ruo had a serious admiration for strength and thus was grateful he hadn’t relied on his family background for enjoyment in the first half of his life. Otherwise, he might not have caught Jiang Ruo’s attention, let alone experienced love at first sight.

Moreover, Jiang Ruo himself was both excellent and hardworking.

On the eighth day after the New Year, Director Xu’s film, “Chill of Autumn,” began production. Jiang Ruo entered the set with a script filled with annotations, putting their travel plans on hold.

Before entering the production, Jiang Ruo left behind a six-figure men’s watch, saying he had come across a windfall and didn’t know how to spend it. Instead, he decided to please Sister Jiang.

Xi Yufeng gladly accepted it and once again refused to be a sister-in-law. At the launch banquet for “Chill of Autumn,” he introduced himself as Jiang Ruo’s friend, requesting that everyone take good care of him in the coming months.

Perhaps the filming dates were well-chosen, or perhaps the occasional fruit baskets sent by President Xi proved effective; this shoot was particularly smooth.

Even when they traveled to four or five different locations across the country, due to the advance in schedule, they received three precious days off.

It was late March, the season when grass grew and orioles flew. Jiang Ruo flew back to Feng City that day, waiting downstairs at Xi Yufeng’s company, giving him a solid surprise.

Just as they entered the door at home, they embraced each other.

Jiang Ruo urgently pulled at Xi Yufeng’s shirt, ripping off two buttons that fell to the ground, bounced, and rolled to some unknown location.

Xi Yufeng was also in a hurry, his movements slightly rough. His hand snaked under the hem of the shirt, firmly grasping Jiang Ruo’s slender and resilient waist. Above, he wasn’t gentle either; the neckline of the sweater was pulled down to the shoulder, and he lowered his head, his lips touching Jiang Ruo’s quivering collarbone, leaving ambiguous traces.

It was a drought meeting a sweet rain.

Afterwards, Xi Yufeng poured a glass of whiskey, and they leaned against the headboard, taking turns sipping from it. Still not enough, they kissed again, tasting the strong alcohol on each other’s lips.

By the time they finally called it quits, Jiang Ruo was so exhausted he couldn’t lift a finger, yet he was reluctant to fall asleep just yet. He asked if anything interesting had happened recently.

Xi Yufeng pondered and told him about Peng Weibin’s trial.

Jiang Ruo exclaimed in disbelief, “Just three years, not interesting at all.”

“After three years, we’ll send him back inside.”

“…Really?”

“Because as long as you want it, I can make sure he stays inside until he dies.”

Jiang Ruo drew a sharp breath.

Previously, when he heard from Lin Xiao that Xiao Yin had been sent to a psychiatric hospital and Xi Wangchen had been arrested for committing another crime, he hadn’t felt much. Now that something similar happened to him, he truly witnessed the ruthlessness of Xi Yufeng’s methods.

Seeing Jiang Ruo in a daze, Xi Yufeng asked, “What’s wrong? Are you scared of me?”

Jiang Ruo snapped back to reality and laughed. “Scared of what? You wouldn’t treat me like that.”

He looked at Xi Yufeng, his eyes gradually revealing a fervent, almost pathological obsession.

No one willingly played the role of a soft persimmon for others to bully. Admiration for the strong stemmed from the fact that the strong did the right thing.

As for the scope of what was right, the current Jiang Ruo was willing to categorize all of Xi Yufeng’s decisions within that range, even treating them as a standard to follow.

His hand reached out, caressing Xi Yufeng’s face. In a hoarse voice, Jiang Ruo said, “You’re so amazing, I can’t help but like you.”

He decided to express his admiration in the most primitive way.

His legs wrapped around Xi Yufeng’s waist, and Jiang Ruo tilted his neck, approaching his ear.

— Fuck me.

Thus, that night, the earth shook, and no one slept.

“Chill of Autumn” wrapped up in May, coinciding with the opening of the Cannes Film Festival.

This was Jiang Ruo’s first trip abroad, and he couldn’t help but feel nervous. Originally, Xi Yufeng was going with him, and the tickets were booked. But just before departure, a project Xi Yufeng was handling encountered issues, requiring him to make a business trip to Northern Europe.

They had to adjust their plans hastily. In the end, they decided that Xi Yufeng would fly to Northern Europe first, and Jiang Ruo would fly to France the next day, collect the award, and Xi Yufeng would immediately join him after finishing his work.

There was nothing wrong with this arrangement except for one thing —

On the way to the airport to send Xi Yufeng off, Jiang Ruo asked, “Are you so certain I’ll win an award?”

Xi Yufeng turned the question back on him. “Why aren’t you afraid I’ll buy you an award this time?”

Jiang Ruo unusually pondered seriously. “If Cannes could be bought, how much would it cost?”

To put it bluntly, Jiang Ruo lacked confidence in this trip.

It wasn’t that he lacked faith in “Skin” and Director Zhuang; rather, he doubted himself.

In the eyes of others, his starting point was relatively high, starring in his second movie. There were countless actors with extraordinary talent who, despite decades of hard work in the industry, had never stepped onto the prestigious awards stage due to a lack of favorable timing, location, and people.

Therefore, sitting in the Palais des Festivals, when the award presenter announced the Best Actor, even though Jiang Ruo was nominated, he didn’t win the final prize. As he released the breath he had been holding since entering, Jiang Ruo first felt a sense of relief.

Even if his performance was still immature and didn’t reach perfect standards, he had given it his all, with no regrets.

Furthermore, in this glorious industry, he had just begun. Every step ahead was his room for improvement, and the stars above his head represented numerous opportunities he could reach.

And it seemed that heaven favored those who had endured hardships. Just as the “Skin” crew thought they would leave empty-handed after sitting with sore bottoms and strained smiles, the Palme d’Or, the Best Film Award, fell like a meteor symbolizing luck onto their heads.

Jiang Ruo was stunned. He watched Director Zhuang walk onto the stage, unable to hear a word he said into the microphone.

Later, backstage, Jiang Ruo learned from his colleagues that Director Zhuang had specifically thanked his lead actor, Jiang Ruo, saying he was like a muse that orchestrated a brilliant symphony for his film.

Back at the hotel, Jiang Ruo logged into his main Weibo account for the first time in a long while and posted a group photo with the “Skin” crew members taken on-site.

The number of comments skyrocketed by the second. Scrolling through them randomly, one comment caught Jiang Ruo’s attention.

It was from an ID that seemed familiar, often active in Jiang Ruo’s super topic.

The comment was sharp, attaching screenshots of recent rumors about Jiang Ruo being promoted by a powerful figure outside the entertainment circle, asking if it was true.

Normally, such comments should be deleted outright or ignored until they sank. But Jiang Ruo, still not fully detached from the thunderous applause, couldn’t resist responding.

He asked that fan to critique his performance in the movie.

The fan apparently was monitoring Weibo, and the response was swift, stating it was “very good.”

Jiang Ruo replied, “Thank you, it will be better in the future.”

Regarding public opinions, he always had a scale in his heart, capable of distinguishing which ones to listen to and which weren’t important.

For an actor, the most crucial thing was how they performed.

Because as long as they didn’t break laws, violate social morals, the rest were personal matters, none of anyone else’s business.

Coincidentally, just as Jiang Ruo logged out of Weibo, Xi Yufeng sent a message, saying he was almost at the hotel and asking which room Jiang Ruo was in.

Jiang Ruo’s heart, which had only recently calmed, started racing again. Without replying, he rushed out of the room and headed downstairs.

This entire Cannes trip had been kept secret, but unexpectedly, near the end, several domestic reporters got wind of it and ambushed Jiang Ruo in the hotel lobby.

Cameras and microphones were aimed at him. These entertainment reporters were not only eloquent but also received information at lightning speed.

First, they asked Jiang Ruo if he regretted not winning the Best Actor award. Then, they confirmed his supposed regret, asking if his Weibo reply to a fan earlier was due to his poor mood. They also questioned whether he ignored the fan’s question because he didn’t care about the rumors, implying that having buzz was better than nothing.

Jiang Ruo was both amused and exasperated, not wanting to respond at all.

At that moment, a car approaching in the distance provided him with an excuse to escape.

It also reminded him of something he and Xi Yufeng had previously agreed upon.

They had planned to visit Grandpa in Los Angeles together and then fly to London to stroll across the Cam; they also planned to visit Jiang Ruo’s hometown and see the practice room where he once danced.

They had agreed to ride the Ferris wheel in Hong Kong when the Golden Horse Awards opened. Regardless of whether they won or not, they would go to the cinema to watch a movie in the dark, holding hands. Then, they would find a barbecue restaurant nearby for a late-night snack.

Jiang Ruo had also promised to write love letters to Xi Yufeng — not just one, not writing a single “love” word, but letting love permeate throughout.

On the other side of the road, under the clear blue sky, beside the towering cypress trees, the car door opened. A man got out from the rear seat, dressed in a regular shirt and trousers, exuding a superior aura distinct from others.

Jiang Ruo couldn’t wait any longer, leaving behind the words, “No regrets, no cares, my mood is great.”

He squeezed through the crowd and hurried forward, the anklet swaying gently around his ankle.

On the other side, Xi Yufeng saw him at first glance. His initial reaction was to raise his hand to signal Jiang Ruo to slow down, watch out for traffic, and then hide the bouquet of flowers in his other hand behind him, attempting to cover it up.

But Jiang Ruo had already seen it and knew it was his exclusive accolade, telling him that even if the applause belonged to others, the flowers in his hands were reserved solely for him.

Never before had he so clearly known that they had many, many more tomorrows ahead.

He was the only Best Actor in his eyes.