LOI Chapter 40 — The Height of Flamboyance

The Tea Society’s first tour performance was in their home city, allowing plenty of time for rehearsals.

The rehearsal venue was at the city center’s theater, about a half-hour drive from Tianxi Yunwan.

Afraid of encountering traffic jams during the morning rush hour, Rong Ke got up early. To his surprise, a certain prince who disliked early mornings actually got up earlier than him.

At the Western kitchen island, Yan Zhi fiddled with sandwiches on a plate. He glanced up at Rong Ke, “You’re awake?”

He wore only a pair of pajama pants, without any shirt on. His back muscles extended down to the dimples of his waist. His pert buttocks were particularly eye-catching, the waistband of his pants seemingly hanging off his hips.

Early morning sunlight streamed through panoramic windows, bathing Yan Zhi in a soft glow, making his fair skin dazzling.

At first glance, Rong Ke felt he was seeing… a male Bodhisattva.

It was indeed a feast for the eyes, but Rong Ke’s heart remained as calm as water because the kitchen counter on the other side was a complete disaster.

He approached Yan Zhi, eyeing the unappetizing sandwiches, “If you don’t know how to make it, don’t bother making it.”

“You should let me try,” Yan Zhi lifted a sandwich to Rong Ke’s lips, “Taste it.”

Normally, Rong Ke would take it with his mouth, but today, he simply accepted it with his hand, responding flatly, “There’s no point in such underhanded flattery.”

He bit into the sandwich as he went to the living room, returning with paper, pen, and ink pad. He then tore down the “Three Rules” contract from the refrigerator.

“If you’re really sincere, let’s revisit this.”

Although the contract held little weight, it concerned their status and needed proper consideration.

“You want to change it?” Yan Zhi asked.

The sandwich tasted fine—strictly speaking, it’s hard to make a bad sandwich. Rong Ke finished it in a few bites, wiped his fingers clean of crumbs, and twirled the pen, “The first rule is fine.”

He wrote “New Three Rules” on the paper, intending to transcribe the first rule from the old contract. Noting the stark difference in their handwriting, he turned the paper towards Yan Zhi, “I’ll dictate, you write.”

Admittedly, Yan Zhi’s handwriting was more beautiful.

Yan Zhi took the pen but didn’t move, “Let’s discuss before writing.”

“First rule: Yan Zhi won’t interfere with Rong Ke’s decisions in his acting career,” Rong Ke recited.

“No problem,” Yan Zhi twirled the pen, “I guess you want to change the second rule.”

Rong Ke continued, “Second rule: In matters outside acting, Yan Zhi will follow Rong Ke’s arrangements.”

Yan Zhi paused, then said, “Isn’t this a bit unfair? You decide on your acting career, and you decide on everything else, too.”

“Non-negotiable,” Rong Ke declared, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair.

“I can’t agree,” Yan Zhi said gravely. “This is clearly an unequal treaty.”

“Unequal treaties originated from capitalist powers invading our great China. Now it’s just karma coming back to you, foreign devil.”

Yan Zhi: “?”

“I’m not real,” Yan Zhi enunciated clearly. “My Chinese is excellent.”

Rong Ke’s mouth twitched speechlessly. “Write quickly.”

“Why are you still enslaving me?” Yan Zhi wrote down the first clause pitifully but hesitated on the second. “For matters outside your acting career, can we define a scope?”

Rong Ke waved the old contract, “Why didn’t you set a scope when we signed this originally?”

“Then was then, now is now,” Yan Zhi said seriously. “For work, I’ll listen to you on acting matters, and you’ll listen to me on others. In life, I’ll listen to you on everything. How’s that?”

Rong Ke instinctively thought it was fine but quickly caught himself. How could Yan Zhi trap him again?

“Get this straight, we only have a working relationship now, no personal matters.”

Yan Zhi sighed resignedly, reluctantly writing down the second clause. “Should we keep the third rule?”

This was Yan Zhi’s only hope. If he wasn’t even given a chance at rock-paper-scissors, that would truly be an unequal treaty.

“I’m not as heartless as you,” Rong Ke said. “The third rule stays.” — Meaning everything was negotiable.

Yan Zhi’s lips curved upward as he looked at Rong Ke, “I knew you cared for me.”

Rong Ke immediately averted his gaze.

After the new contract was written, Rong Ke took it to review.

In essence, the new contract could be summarized as Yan Zhi following all of Rong Ke’s decisions, with any disagreements settled by rock-paper-scissors.

Rong Ke signed his full name at the bottom and pressed his thumbprint. As Yan Zhi added his thumbprint, he suddenly adjusted the paper’s angle. When Rong Ke hung the new contract on the refrigerator, he realized their prints formed a bright red heart.

Rong Ke: “…” Never mind.

“I’ll be very busy from now on. You’ll have to manage your own dinners,” Rong Ke said.

“Alright,” Yan Zhi replied enthusiastically. “When you’re on break, I’ll surprise you with my culinary skills.”

Rong Ke glanced at the disastrous kitchen, already foreseeing his headache. “Clean this up first before you say anything.”

In the days that followed, Rong Ke left early and returned late each day.

The Tea Society’s script wasn’t set in stone; each year’s performance had subtle adjustments. The senior actors were all very professional. There was no distinction between lead and supporting roles here; everyone’s goal was to perform the play well. Sometimes, even when rehearsals were going smoothly, they’d still consider if there were better ways to present it.

Rong Ke played Zhang Mazi, a traitor. On the surface, he engaged in sending girls to the Japanese, but in reality, he passed information the Tea Society gathered to the Japanese.

His makeup aged him by ten years beyond his actual age, sporting the standard traitor hairstyle and mustache¹ like the Japanese.

He deliberately sent a photo of this look to Yan Zhi, hoping to disgust him, but unexpectedly found the other man had even more extreme tastes than he thought.

[Yan Zhi: I like you like this too ^_^]
[Rong Ke: :)]

The first performance day fell on a weekend, and Yan Zhi had no other work scheduled.

However, Rong Ke repeatedly warned Yan Zhi not to attend the performance, fearing someone might recognize them together and shift focus away from the play.

After all, everyone had worked hard rehearsing for so long. If the topic about the two of them overshadowed everything else, it would be disrespectful to the other actors.

The performance started on time. Rong Ke, who was set to appear later, stood behind the curtain, observing the packed audience. He felt so nervous he could barely breathe.

Unlike filming, there were no retakes in live theater. Whether all their hard work had paid off would be determined in the next few hours.

“Don’t be nervous,” a senior actor patted Rong Ke’s shoulder. “It gets easier after the first time. You’ll be fine after a few more performances.”

Rong Ke nodded. As the scene changed and the lights dimmed, he moved to his designated position, just as he had practiced countless times.

…

“What do you people want!” Zhang Mazi found himself surrounded by farmers. “I have the Imperial Army backing me! Let’s see who dares touch me!”

This was Rong Ke’s final line, after which he was beaten to death.

Dozens of minutes passed by in a flash. Only after leaving the stage did Rong Ke realize he’d been too focused to feel nervous that he could not even see the audience’s faces.

When they went on stage for the curtain call, thunderous applause erupted from the audience. Rong Ke finally relaxed completely. He exchanged words of appreciation with the other actors, and after the group photo, he returned backstage to remove his makeup.

Xu Hong, who played the teahouse owner, was also removing his makeup. The veteran actor had no assistant and did it himself. While wiping his face, he casually chatted with Rong Ke. “My granddaughter watched the seventh episode yesterday. She’s dying to know if Sha Ya eventually joins the main group.”

“No,” Rong Ke smiled, “He dies.”

“It’s up to you whether you want to tell your granddaughter or not.”

“You rascal,” Xu Hong glared at Rong Ke, “I’d have been better off not knowing.”

“But you asked,” Rong Ke spoke casually, enjoying the comfortable rapport with his senior colleagues.

“By the way, have you considered joining our theater troupe?” Xu Hong brought up, then seemingly regretting the suggestion, added, “Never mind, you’re becoming more famous now. Being a celebrity pays better.”

“What if I don’t care about money?” Rong Ke quipped.

“Then you’ve lost your mind.”

Rong Ke chuckled, not pursuing the topic further.

Theater performances differ from other events; security is less strict, and actors use the same exit as the audience.

When Rong Ke left, most spectators had dispersed, but some sharp-eyed fans recognized him. One approached, asking, “Are you Rong Ke?”

Masked, Rong Ke didn’t answer, only bowing politely.

Fortunately, the fan wasn’t persistent. Sensing Rong Ke’s desire for privacy, they simply said, “Keep up the good work. I’m rooting for you!”

Rong Ke replied with a “Thank you.”

After returning to his car, Rong Ke checked his phone. Strangely, he didn’t receive any messages.

During rehearsals, although he couldn’t check his phone promptly, the chatty prince always shared daily updates.

He’d inform about attending events, report on business trips, and even seek praise for frying an egg. Yet, on this crucial day of Rong Ke’s debut performance, he was silent.

— Could he be busy?

Rong Ke checked Weibo and found no updates about Yan Zhi. However, he noticed he’d quietly trended, because many audience members just realized he played Zhang Mazi.

[What??? I was so close to RK! I’m losing it (agonized)]
[Damn, if I’d known it was RK, I’d have asked for an autograph TT]
[So that’s why RK’s been quiet lately, he was doing theater]
[That look is… indescribable, good thing our KK is handsome]

The discussion was limited, given theater’s niche audience.

Rong Ke casually browsed for a while, then returned to WeChat, but still no message from Yan Zhi.

— Is this how you pursue someone?

Rong Ke found it odd, not even an acknowledgment of his performance ending.

This was unlike Yan Zhi’s style.

Just then, a notification popped up — a special follow had posted on Weibo.

Rong Ke’s first thought was Yan Zhi might have publicly congratulated him.

Bracing himself for some outrageous gesture, he opened Weibo and nearly fainted.

[Yan Zhi: I’m serious about pursuing you. [Picture]]

Yan Zhi had tattooed two beautiful artistic letters on his arm. Anyone could see they were R and K.

Combined with his caption, the meaning was clear — he was pursuing Rong Ke.

Rong Ke was so accustomed to being dumbfounded that he barely reacted.

So this was why he’d been quiet all afternoon – he’d gone to get a tattoo?

And was it really necessary to be so flamboyant about pursuing someone?

Rong Ke massaged his temples, about to tell Yan Zhi to tone it down, when two new private messages suddenly popped up in his Weibo inbox.

It was Jiang Si.

They hadn’t interacted since Rong Ke had asked him to leave the hotel during the film shoot.

Rong Ke still had no intention of engaging with Jiang Si, but since he was already on the page, he saw Jiang Si’s messages:

[Jiang Si: What does Yan Zhi mean by pursuing you?]
[Jiang Si: Weren’t you two already together?]

Rong Ke realized it had been over half a year since his breakup with Jiang Si. It was time to clarify something.

He opened the chat box and typed calmly:

[I never cheated. Satisfied now?]