Chapter 19: The Conversation

The night hung heavy, the lamp shadows along the mountain road stretched impossibly long, reflecting on the silver-gray body of the car like flowing shards of stars.

Fu Yanzong rested one hand on the steering wheel, his fingertips idly tracing the stitching. A cool mountain breeze slipped through the half-open window, brushing across his slightly lowered brows.

Jiang Ming pulled up alongside him. Yang Wan sat in the passenger seat, rolling down her window with a grin. She snapped her fingers at Fu Yanzong and said, “With family here, Jiang Ming’s got this in the bag tonight. Wanna bet?”

Fu Yanzong turned his head, letting out a soft scoff. The smile didn’t reach his eyes.

Those who knew him well could tell he was in a foul mood tonight—his emotions smoldering like the embers of a mountain fire not yet fully extinguished. One gust of wind, and the lingering sparks would sweep across the peaks.

A low countdown crackled over the walkie-talkie—

“Three, two, one!”

The throttles slammed to the floor in unison. Tires bit into the pavement with a screech that tore through the night as the cars shot forward almost simultaneously. Taillights crisscrossed, illuminating the twisting mountain road.

Fu Yanzong’s car held the middle position. The two vehicles ahead pressed close together in a tacit attempt to block his path. He narrowed his eyes, his fingertips tightening slightly as he made a subtle adjustment to the wheel. His right foot shifted gears with precision, accelerating sharply. The sports car surged out of the trap, its silver-gray shadow slicing through the darkness like a blade.

Shouts erupted over the walkie-talkie one after another. He chuckled lightly but didn’t respond, his gaze remaining steady on the road ahead.

The mountain road grew steeper, the wind howling past. Beyond the guardrails lay a deep valley, while the distant city lights scattered like flecks of gold across the night sky. A tight hairpin turn loomed ahead, but Fu Yanzong didn’t hesitate for a second. His wrist twisted with pinpoint accuracy, sending the tires skimming the road’s edge in a perfect drift. The taillights carved a razor-sharp arc before settling smoothly under the car’s inertia.

In the rearview mirror, Jiang Ming’s car was falling behind.

The final straightaway stretched out, the finish line drawing near.

Fu Yanzong steadily pushed the horsepower to its maximum. The engine let out a near-roaring bellow and blasted through the night, crossing the line with unstoppable ferocity.

Silence fell for a moment, broken only by the mix of cheers, sighs, and Yang Wan’s grudging complaints crackling over the walkie-talkie from behind.

Fu Yanzong peeled off his glove with one hand and tossed it casually onto the passenger seat. He leaned back into the chair, his Adam’s apple bobbing almost imperceptibly as he pressed his fingertips to his temple.

His heartbeat hadn’t fully settled, and the memories refused to fade.

The air still carried the sharp tang of gasoline and scorching rubber, but the breeze through the window was cool, laced with the faint scent of lingering rain that seeped into his bones.

Fu Yanzong had first fallen in love with racing because of a movie.

One line from it stuck with him: When the racing engine hits seven thousand RPM, everything starts to fade away. The machine becomes weightless at your fingertips, vanishing as your body hurtles through time and space. Seven thousand RPM—that’s where all beauty begins. You can feel it whispering in your ear, forcing you to confront the most important question: “Who are you?”

Six years ago, Fu Yanzong had needed that extreme rush to peel his sense of self away from the shattered fragments around him, to question his very existence.

But now, as he crossed the finish line, the person who flashed through his mind was Song Linyu—quietly shedding tears at his side in the pavilion at Serenity Moon Misty Court.

Many years earlier, he’d half-jokingly promised Song Linyu, “Crying works on me.”

These days, all he could manage was a calm, “Don’t cry.”

When Fu Yanzong told Song Linyu he’d been wrong, it wasn’t for comfort or anything else. Their tangled beginning truly stemmed from his own excessive confidence and indulgence—and afterward, he’d stood by with folded arms, watching it all unfold.

Someone rapped on the car door from outside. Fu Yanzong didn’t stir, merely closing his eyes for a quiet moment before rolling down the window. “What is it?” he asked languidly.

“Let’s talk.”

It was Jiang Ming.

As he spoke, Jiang Ming leaned against Fu Yanzong’s car door, lowering his gaze to peer inside at the man.

In the darkness of the night, he suddenly spoke up, his tone oddly amused. “Hey, did you know Song Linyu has always really hated me?”

Fu Yanzong showed no particular reaction, merely following up politely. “No. Why?”

Jiang Ming shrugged. “He thinks I worked you to the bone on set. Even when we crossed paths occasionally, he’d shoot me these icy glares. During the years you were gone, he was this close to saying something straight out of a novel—like, ‘It’s getting chilly; time to bankrupt Jiang Corporation.'”

Fu Yanzong shook his head after hearing that. “Jiang Ming, you’ve got no knack for jokes.”

“I’m not kidding.” Jiang Ming’s expression turned somewhat solemn. “After you left, Dongyu offered me benefits I couldn’t refuse as hush money. I didn’t even tell Xiao Wan. The fewer people who know about you and Song Linyu back then, the better.”

“But I was still shocked that day. Song Linyu came to see me himself. We didn’t exchange a word during the contract signing—until he was leaving. Then he turned back and said, ‘Jiang Ming, I really do hate you.'”

Hate him for what? For his domineering style on set? For the shouting matches over a single shot with Fu Yanzong? Or for having seen Fu Yanzong at sixteen—for being the kind of friend he could chat freely with?

Jiang Ming paused for a moment, as if reliving the scene.

“But after he said it, he apologized.”

That day, Song Linyu’s office was filled with his subordinates. He stood among them in a stark black suit, his expression cold and his tone sharp—like the quintessential proud son of heaven, looking down from on high.

Yet as he left, right there in front of everyone, his voice came out choked and sorrowful as he pleaded softly with Jiang Ming. “I’m sorry. If Fu Yanzong ever tells you he’s unhappy with you in the future, please take good care of him.”

Jiang Ming could sense the gravity and humility in that earnest request.

But he hadn’t agreed at the time. He’d only replied coolly, “No need for President Song to worry. That’s what friends do.”

Song Linyu fell silent for a long while after that. His face remained utterly impassive, yet Jiang Ming caught a glimpse of utter exhaustion, as if he could barely hold himself together.

A moment later, Song Linyu tugged faintly at the corner of his mouth—perhaps a self-mocking smile, or mockery at something else entirely. In any case, he said nothing more. He simply pushed open the door and strode down the long corridor until he was out of sight.

He walked with his back ramrod straight, his slender frame impeccably suited, every bit the picture of poise. If not for how quickly he moved—fast enough to seem like a rout—it might have looked dignified.

Jiang Ming recounted the entire exchange word for word, then bent down to tap the edge of Fu Yanzong’s window. The gesture was clear: What did he think?

“Out with it.”

Fu Yanzong ignored the lengthy preamble and offered no opinion of his own. He simply cut in calmly during the lull, urging Jiang Ming to get to the point.

“Fine, straight to it, then.” Jiang Ming didn’t mince words. “You were in a bad mood tonight because you saw Song Linyu, right? I spotted Dongyu’s people when he left.”

There was no reason to deny it, so Fu Yanzong answered candidly.

“Do you still like him?”

That was the crux of it. Jiang Ming followed up: “You don’t have to answer. I don’t know exactly what went down between you two back then, but it must’ve been bad—otherwise, you wouldn’t be this pissed. If it’s something that serious, even getting back together might not mend the crack. And from the way Song Linyu acted that day, he might not let you go easily.”

“We’ve all seen what Dongyu’s been up to these years. I can only tell you this: Song Linyu isn’t the sweet assistant you knew back then. As your friend, to nip this in the bud for good, my advice is to make him give up completely.”

Jiang Ming rarely strung together such a long speech outside of directing scenes. When he finished, he glanced at Fu Yanzong for a reaction—only to see the man hadn’t even bothered lifting his eyelids. Fu Yanzong merely smiled faintly and said, “What, is this your conscience kicking in after working me half to death all those years?”

“I’m serious.”

“I know. Thanks. But Jiang Ming—this is my business.”

Fu Yanzong pushed open the car door and stepped out into the damp, rainy air. He turned his head, adding calmly, “Song Linyu’s business is my business too. I don’t like other things getting in the way.”

He paused on the words “other things,” his tone unconsciously sharpening with an ambiguous edge that was hard to pin down.

Jiang Ming knew better than to try talking Fu Yanzong out of a decision. He could only spread his hands in helpless resignation. “I figured you’d say that, but the missus at home insisted I have this heart-to-heart. What could I do?”

As he spoke, something else seemed to occur to him. He took a couple of steps forward to catch up with Fu Yanzong, curiosity and confusion mingling in his voice. “Oh, right—I think I can guess the reason for your breakup. Song Linyu didn’t rise to the top in the most aboveboard way, and you’ve got ten percent of Dongyu’s shares in your hands.”

“He approached you from the start with the goal of getting you to sign over an equity transfer agreement, didn’t he? So you split when it all came out after he got what he wanted?”

Fu Yanzong said nothing. Jiang Ming, ever the renowned director, let his imagination run wild. “That kind of scene would make for a killer long take—one continuous shot. The argument, the breakup, the disappointment, right up to the empty room at the end. All laid out linearly in the same space and time.”

“With your acting on top of that… it’s simply unimaginable. Fu Yanzong, I think I need to find you another script that pushes the emotions to their absolute limits. How about I ask Sister Nian to write one? No, wait—Cheng Shuangshuang would be better—”

Once Jiang Ming latched onto the topic of movies, he wouldn’t stop talking. Fu Yanzong let out a sigh and lightly dismissed his speculation. “Wrong guess.”

“…Huh?”

Jiang Ming frowned in confusion. “So the incident back then had nothing to do with the shares?”

Fu Yanzong neither confirmed nor denied it. He simply let out a soft chuckle, tossed the car keys in his hand to Jiang Ming, and then sauntered lazily toward Serenity Moon Misty Court down the mountain. “Keep guessing, Director Jiang. And when you’re done, don’t forget to drive the car back for me.”

Jiang Ming was at a loss with his attitude and could only glance helplessly at the keys that had been thrown his way. After a long moment, he shook his head with a faint smile.

“Never mind,” Jiang Ming said with a chuckle. “As long as he knows his limits.”

…

The noisy mountain path faded behind him. As Fu Yanzong strolled slowly down the winding road, he savored the tranquility that followed his extreme exertion. At the same time, he casually released the obedient Self-Rescue System from shielding—the one that had dutifully given him plenty of personal space.

As he walked, he asked the System, “Can you still not access the original plot points involving Song Linyu?”

The Self-Rescue System replied a bit sheepishly, “That’s right. I’ve tried, but all I can see are the parts about you, Host. Anything related to other characters only unlocks during a Shura field.”

Fu Yanzong wasn’t surprised by the answer. After a moment’s thought, he pressed on. “When’s the next Shura field?”

“That comes right after you join the production,” the Self-Rescue System said, flipping rapidly through pages in his mind. “It won’t be long, either. The script reading happens to coincide with Su Tang’s birthday… and Song Linyu will show up to celebrate it with him.”

“Birthday…?”

The word made Fu Yanzong pause. He instinctively pulled out his phone to check the date.

What was amusing was how familiar that number on the calendar felt to him as well—though it had nothing to do with Su Tang.