Secondary CP Chapter 1: Hidden Thorn in the Heat
Ah Zhe nibbled on the orange Yun Heng handed him, the sweet and sour juice trickling down his throat, but he couldn't suppress the heat surging in his heart. His phone kept vibrating on the stone table, and the screen lit up. Messages from the drama's publicity group poured in like a tide. In the pinned screenshot, #Gu Yanchen and Lu Shi's eyes were wired# had already climbed to the third place on the trending search list. He smiled and swiped the screen, tapping the glass with his fingertips to show Yun Heng the Weibo post he had just posted - the picture showed the backs of him and Lin Yu on the set, one wearing a black windbreaker, the other wrapped in a camel-colored scarf, standing side by side under the snow-covered eaves, snowflakes landing on their shoulders, and the caption contained only four words: "Through thick and thin together."
"Look at this comment section," Ah Zhe said, moving his phone closer to Yun Heng. The screen was filled with comments like "crazy" and "locked" scrolling non-stop. "Everyone's shouting 'get together!' If Lin Yu saw this, he'd probably get angry again."
Yun Heng was squatting in the vegetable patch, adding soil to the radish seedlings. Upon hearing this, he stood up, wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, and smiled: "He doesn't like business?"
"I don't just dislike it, I simply resent it." Ah Zhe sighed, his fingertips unconsciously rubbing the edge of his phone case—a polished, shiny black soft case with a chipped edge, a worn-out one from training camp three years ago. He suddenly caught sight of the silver bracelet on Yun Heng's wrist. It was a simple design, its surface polished to a slight shine, and almost identical to the one he remembered.
The nights at training camp suddenly flashed back to his mind. The twelve-person dormitory was packed like sardines in a can. He and Yunheng huddled in the lower bunk, altering music by the light of their cell phone flashlights. Yunheng cradled the old guitar, fingertips plucking out the first draft of "Moonlight Rose," the melody tinged with a youthful recklessness. "The chorus is too loud," Ah Zhe underscored on the music with a pen. "It's like a tractor suddenly bursting into a wheat field, ruining the atmosphere."
Yun Heng was amused, her eyes sparkling in the darkness. "Then why don't you change it?"
He snatched the sheet music and replaced the electronic chorus sounds with piano, tapping the rhythm with his fingertips in the air: "It's like moonlight shining on wheat stalks, rustling in the wind." Yunheng leaned in to listen, her breath brushing against his ear, carrying a hint of the fragrance of laundry detergent. "Azhe, you're a genius."
The praise at that time was so sincere, like the water that had just been poured on the vegetable garden, clear and refreshing, able to seep into the soil.
"Come to think of it," Yun Heng's voice brought him back to reality, and he slammed the hoe into the ground. "You were such a great composer back then, why did you switch to acting?"
Ah Zhe's grip on the orange suddenly tightened, leaving marks on the peel. Juice dripped through his fingers onto the stone table like a few unwiped tears. He lowered his head and smiled, his laughter a little dry. "The day I was persuaded to quit, I deleted all the music editing software on my computer."
The sun that day was scorching, making my scalp numb. The director threw his arrangement manuscript to the ground, and the A4 paper scattered everywhere like shredded hope. "Can't you tell the difference between primary and secondary?" The director's voice was more annoying than a summer mosquito. "The Class C quota is for you to compete for the debut position, not to be a ghostwriter for Yun Heng!"
He clenched his fists and said nothing. He had just helped Yun Heng revise the final version of "Moonlight Rose" the night before, and hadn't fallen into bed until three in the morning, with a faint dark circles under his eyes. He wanted to explain that half the soul of "Moonlight Rose" belonged to him, but when the words came to his lips, they came out as follows: "That song should have smelled like a wheat field."
"Smell?" The director sneered, "Once both of you are eliminated, no one will smell it no matter how many smells there are!" He threw a quitting agreement over and said, "Sign it. The company doesn't want people with bad intentions."
As he left the office, the sky suddenly turned cloudy, and raindrops as big as beans fell, hitting his face painfully. His phone vibrated in his pocket. It was a message from Yunheng: "'Moonlight Rose' has passed review! Let's go to the rooftop tonight to celebrate!" He stared at the words, his finger hovering over the screen for a long time, and finally replied with just "OK."
The wind on the rooftop was strong. Yunheng brought two cans of beer and offered him one: "I heard from the teacher that your arrangement was praised." Ah Zhe didn't take it, burying his face in his knees. His throat felt blocked, and he couldn't utter a single sound. That night, neither of them mentioned the word "dissuade"; they just sat facing the moon for a long time, until the beer can was blown away by the wind and rolled into the corner, making a clanging sound.
"Later, I started singing in a bar, singing the songs you wrote." Azhe's voice was very soft, as if he didn't want to disturb the wind in the yard. "A director came over for a drink and ordered 'Moonlight Rose'. He said that when I sang the line 'Wheat waves swept away the moonlight,' my eyes looked like the male lead in his new play - a painter who can't get the love he wants."
He paused, picked up the orange peel from the stone table, and tore it into pieces bit by bit: "He asked me if I wanted to try acting. I thought at the time that since no one listens to my singing anymore, I might as well try a different path."
Unexpectedly, this journey would take three years. From playing a supporting role in a corpse to playing the third male lead in a low-budget web drama, he saved all his energy until the script of "Obsession" was handed to him. The role of Gu Yanchen seemed tailor-made for him - forbearing, paranoid, with a heart that no one could understand. On the day of the audition, he hummed the melody of "Moonlight Rose" to the director: "Gu Yanchen should have such a voice in his heart."
The director patted him on the shoulder: "You understand him."
He truly understood. To emulate Gu Yanchen's pale complexion, he ate only one piece of bread a day. When he collapsed on the set from hypoglycemia, Yun Heng's words were still on his mind: "To bring a character to life, you must first let him live in your heart."
The phone vibrated again. It was a message from the agent: "Lin Yu's team has agreed. We will be shooting a double cover for next week's fashion magazine. You should get ready." Azhe raised his eyebrows and typed on the screen with his fingertips, "Isn't he afraid of misunderstanding?" After thinking about it, he deleted it.
He knew all too well what this drama meant to him. Three years ago, he was labeled a "problematic trainee," and people criticized him wherever he went. During his audition, the producer told him directly, "You, with no background, are lucky to get the second male lead." Even his current agent was hesitant when he initially accepted him, saying, "Let's give it a try first, and we'll see if it doesn't work out."
Only this drama, like a crack in a film that suddenly opened, allowed him to see some light.
"This drama is so important to me," Ah Zhe suddenly said, with a hint of stubbornness in his voice that he himself didn't even realize. "It's more important than what they see."
Yun Heng had just finished watering the seedlings and placed the kettle on the ground, making a slight clinking sound. He looked at Azhe with a calm gaze: "I can see. There's a shadow of Gu Yanchen in your eyes."
Azhe's heart ached. People in the industry praised his acting, saying he "brought endurance to life," but no one ever said there was "a shadow in his eyes." Only Yunheng could see through the obsession hidden behind his characters—a desire to silence those who said, "You can't do it," and to let the boy who had edited the song with him back then know that he wasn't defeated.
While helping his grandmother harvest beans that evening, Ah Zhe's phone suddenly popped up a notification with a glaring headline: [Shocking! The male lead of an S-rated gay drama has been secretly in a relationship for three years. His girlfriend has visited the set numerous times, and everyone on the crew knows about it!] The accompanying image was a blurry silhouette of a man wearing the crew's black down jacket, offering a hot drink to a woman wearing a mask. His posture was straight, and his gait was remarkably similar to Lin Yu's.
His heart skipped a beat as he tapped into the whistleblower's profile. Several of Lin Yu's high school classmates were on their follow list, and their latest update read, "Some people forget their roots when they become famous. They've been hiding their relationship for three years. Do they really think the audience is stupid?"
Azhe's fingers felt a chill. He recalled filming a night scene last month, wrapping up at 3 a.m., and seeing Lin Yu helping a woman to her car in the parking lot. He was too tired to open his eyes at the time, and he vaguely remembered the woman wearing a beige coat and long hair, a silhouette that almost matched the one in the leaked photos.
"Don't panic," the agent's message came quickly. "I'll have the PR department suppress this kind of groundless information. I asked Lin Yu, and he said it's not true."
Is that true? Ah Zhe stared at the silhouette and recalled what Lin Yu had said during their scenes together: "Acting is one thing, but don't do this in private. I'm afraid my girlfriend will misunderstand." At the time, he had thought it was just a joke, but now he thought, the other party might have already left a way out.
For the role of Gu Yanchen, he turned down lucrative variety shows, declined commercial performances recommended by friends, and even forced himself to accept every joke thrown at him during Lin Yu's live broadcast, where he remained expressionless. But what about Lin Yu? It was like he was playing a game he could withdraw from at any time, not even bothering to say "let me know in advance."
"Azhe? What are you daydreaming about?" Yunheng brought two bowls of mung bean soup, and the porcelain bowls clinked together, making a crisp sound. "Grandma told you to bring some oranges back to eat on the way."
Ah Zhe took the bowl, the sweetness of the mung bean soup sliding down his throat, but it couldn't suppress the bitterness in his heart. He looked at the orange tree in the corner of the yard, the green and yellow fruits hanging from the branches, just like those unresolved matters. Suddenly, he remembered Lin Yu's annotation on the script, written in red pen: "Gu Yanchen's tragedy lies in his excessive belief in the four words 'through thick and thin together'."
At that time, he laughed at Lin Yu for being too pessimistic, but now he felt that perhaps the other party understood the "falsehood" of this circle better than he did.
During dinner, Grandma pulled Azhe aside to chat about family matters, asking him if he was tired from filming and if he had eaten on time. Azhe smiled in response, but his eyes kept glancing at his phone. Lin Yu's team had indeed acted quickly; the revelations on the trending searches had disappeared, and only a few marketing accounts were still vaguely reposting them, with fans arguing fiercely in the comments section.
"Stop looking at your phone," Yun Heng put a piece of pork ribs into his bowl, "the rice is getting cold."
Ah Zhe hummed and put his phone back in his pocket. Halfway through his meal, his phone vibrated again. This time it was Lin Yu's assistant: "Teacher Lin said that he wants to wear dark colors for the double cover. Please cooperate with him."
He almost spit out the food in his mouth. At this time, he was still struggling with what color to wear?
Lying in his guest room bed at night, Azhe tossed and turned, unable to sleep. The river breeze outside the window whistled, like someone crying. He pulled out his phone and saw Lin Yu's recent Weibo post: "Focus on filming, everything else is just noise." The accompanying image was a close-up of the script, the handwriting clear and elegant, conveying a sense of distance and aloofness, as if to say, "Leave me alone."
Azhe put down his phone and touched the guitar pick in his pocket—a gift Yunheng had given him that afternoon. It was made of orange wood from the yard, with a small leaf carved into it and the edges polished to a smooth finish. In the darkness, he remembered Yunheng's words when they were revising "Moonlight Rose": "Music, like people, must be sincere."
The same is probably true for acting. But Lin Yu doesn't understand, or rather, he doesn't care at all.
His fingers gently rubbed the pick, the smooth touch soothing. Ah Zhe closed his eyes, his mind flashing through the moonlight of the training camp, the lights of the bar, the lighting on the film set, and finally settling on the orange tree in the corner of Yunheng's yard.
He suddenly had a premonition that this seemingly lively "explosion" actually concealed a sharp thorn. It was still buried in the soil, but one day it would penetrate deeply into his flesh and wake him up with pain.
But at that time, he didn't know how deep this thorn would penetrate, or what kind of situation it would push him into. The night wind blew through the window lattice, carrying the moisture of the river, as if quietly brewing the prelude to an impending storm.
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