Heaven's Will

Xie Yibai said calmly, "I never blamed you."

"Then why did you block me... and go so many years without contacting me?"

"I was too busy."

Xing Zhanyun was more perceptive than he had expected. He suddenly straightened up, met his eyes, and asked, "Yibai, did you ever like me?"

How should he answer? He had liked him once, and he couldn't say he disliked him now. But what Xie Yibai really wanted to say was, "There's no point in asking that." It seemed a little hurtful, though, and he found it hard to say. As he hesitated, the screen of the phone beside his leg lit up. Someone had sent him a WeChat message.

"Hang on." He picked up his phone, intending to use the reply as a way to dodge the heart-to-heart.

Zou Yan: Are you home?

: Yeah.

Zou Yan: I sent your agent the documents for the projects we mentioned tonight. If any of the story outlines or roles interest you, we can meet another day and discuss them in detail.

: Okay, thanks.

Xie Yibai made no effort to hide his screen as he replied, and Xing Zhanyun saw the conversation clearly. He demanded, "Are people only worth taking seriously if they can help your career?"

"Zhanyun, we're both past twenty-five. It's time to start a new chapter in our lives." Xie Yibai felt exhaustion fill his limbs. He said bluntly, "I don't know what you've told your friends about me, but everywhere I go, I hear people saying I used you and cast you aside. We could have stayed friends on good terms, but you left me no room to do that. Go home. I'm very tired today."

"I never said anything bad about you. I don't know who's spreading those rumors either, but don't worry, I'll find them and teach them a lesson!"

"Don't bother. If you make that big a fuss, people will really think there's something between us."

"What do you mean, people will really think there's something between us? Even if you're still angry, there's no need to deny what we had, is there?"

"Then go out and shout it. You might as well let the whole world know."

Xing Zhanyun said impatiently, "Do you have to make everything you say a jab at me? I've never done anything to hurt you, and I never will."

"Then you'd better remember what you said. I'd be grateful." Xie Yibai walked to the entryway and opened the door, dismissing him. "Good night. Get home safe."

Xing Zhanyun silently changed his shoes and stormed out of his home.

Xie Yibai felt a weight lift off his shoulders the moment he locked the door behind him. Now that no one else was home, he grabbed Little Biscuit, held him down on the sofa, and rubbed him vigorously. He buried his face in the dog's plump belly and made muffled humming noises.

He played with the dog and scrolled through his phone until one in the morning, venting all the frustration and pressure he had bottled up. At last, he was ready to wash up and go to sleep. He lay down in bed with a face mask on and picked up his phone, intending to look at something that required no thought, only to find a pile of messages from his agent. They were three project proposals containing plot synopses and character profiles, with lists of the main creative staff attached.

Xie Yibai wasn't in the mood to read them closely. He sent a voice message asking, "Sis, is it that urgent? Have you finished looking through them?"

Sister Hu immediately called him. He fought off his sleepiness and answered, peeled off the mask and threw it away, then got out of bed to find his cup.

"If it were invitations from other producers and directors, I'd need at least three to five days to look into them. But haven't you latched onto someone well-connected? The teams behind projects Zou Yan handles are all strong. Still, I had a quick look, and there's a problem we need to consider carefully. They're taking the independent film route, so none of the investments are big, and the budgets are tight. If you take this kind of script, you'll have to be prepared for a pay cut. Your fee can't be high. And most of the directors they have their eyes on are newcomers. They have film festival experience, but all their awards are for shorts. Whether they can pull off a feature is a gamble."

"How are the scripts and roles?" Xie Yibai stood at the water dispenser filling his cup. Little Biscuit heard him and came running on his little paws.

Sister Hu said, "They certainly can't be compared to the immortal lords, demon venerables, noble heirs, and young masters you've played before."

"Do you mean I'm not up to it?" He crouched down to pet the dog. With the puppy gazing at him with those watery eyes, he felt a little more guilty about being an inadequate owner.

"That's not what I mean, but crossing over is hard. Your popularity and metrics are excellent right now. The industry recognizes your loyal fans, commercial value, and ability to carry a series, and they have high hopes for you. I understand that you want to change your image, and I support you one hundred percent. But the jump from television to film isn't that simple. You have to think about your fans too. What do they like about you? Isn't it that you're handsome and beautiful? Movies take a long time to shoot, and you can't dress up all pretty to deliver your lines. You'd have to sacrifice a lot, and you might not even make money. I'm not stopping you from doing it. I'm worried you won't be able to adapt."

"I understand. I'll think it over some more."

Sister Hu said earnestly, "Xiao Xie, I work for you. Of course I have to want what's best for my boss. I've contacted the production teams for those two satellite TV dramas we talked about, and the producers asked for you by name. You can't spend your whole life doing web dramas, that's true, but we have to take this transition one step at a time. Time waits for no one. By the time you come back from making a couple of movies, there's no telling whether they'll even get release dates, and there might not be a place for you in television anymore."

Xie Yibai understood his agent's advice perfectly. She was implying that his traffic-star status was insubstantial, that his popularity was only temporary and his position not yet secure. He shouldn't aim too high, or he might be like a carp trying to leap over the

Dragon

Gate, only to fail and be knocked back to his original form.

But why was he so unwilling to accept it?

Xie Yibai recalled that morning's audition again, and anger made his teeth itch. What were those filmmakers so full of themselves for? What gave them the right to be so arrogant?

He went to the bathroom and washed his face, but even the clear water couldn't wash away the fire in his heart. Xie Yibai lay under the covers, tossing and turning, unable to sleep. At two thirty in the morning, he sent Zou Yan a WeChat message.

: Brother Yan, I still want to do web dramas. Is that okay?

Zou Yan had drunk until he threw up once and was still in a daze. Seeing that someone had messaged him, he picked up his phone and unlocked it with his face. In the blink of an eye, his arm went limp and dropped, and he passed out drunk again.

Sheng Ke caught the phone just before it hit the floor. He opened the message without thinking and happened to glance at the line.

He and Zou Yan were best friends who had grown up wearing the same pair of split-crotch pants, and they had kept no secrets from each other since childhood. They had eaten from the same bowl, smoked the same cigarette, attended the same school and studied the same major, shared diaries and candy, and swapped schoolbags and game consoles. Just about the only thing they hadn't done was swap partners.

Sheng Ke didn't date, so he always retained a bit of curiosity about the people Zou Yan was involved with.

He'd already seen it, so he might as well reply for his buddy.

Zou Yan: Why? Aren't movies good?

Xie Yibai replied in resignation: Web dramas can make me more popular... I'm not confident about making movies.

Zou Yan: I see.

: I'm really sorry, Brother Yan. Look me up when you decide to make a web drama.

Sheng Ke looked up. Zou Yan was slumped on the sofa, fast asleep and completely unaware of his prank.

He was a director and a screenwriter, with a keen interest in and desire to explore how relationships between people developed. Even if he set up one of his own, he could still patch up the hole, so he typed and sent: Then let's make a web drama.

When Xie Yibai saw the reply, he guessed Zou Yan was dead drunk. Forget it. They could talk tomorrow.

But before he had even switched out of WeChat, another message from Zou Yan quickly arrived: You're set as the male lead. Leave the rest to me.

Sheng Ke put the phone back beside its owner's head, looking forward to seeing Zou Yan's expression when he saw the chat history tomorrow.

Chapter 5: Heaven's Will

The prank didn't have much impact on Xie Yibai. He was twenty-six, not sixteen, and had long since passed the age of believing everything people told him. Taking a web drama from conception to release cost tens of millions at the very least, and more than a hundred million at the high end. How could a few words on WeChat settle it?

Zou Yan had drunk too much and was joking with him. He didn't take it seriously, and went to sleep as soon as he put his phone away.

With Xie Yibai's current standing, there were plenty of male lead roles in web dramas available to him. What worried him wasn't the present, but the future. If he was still taking historical idol dramas at thirty-six, he might as well get into short-form dramas early and play sweet, doting romances until the end of his life.

There were only a few paths ordinary actors could choose. For someone like him, who had some popularity and traffic behind him, changing his image meant taking second billing to established, skilled seniors and acting in a few mainstream-leaning spy,

period,

rural, or uplifting

workplace

dramas. If he did reasonably well and won recognition from viewers, he could take the lead in major productions centered on a protagonist's growth, such as historical or political dramas, with a host of veteran actors supporting him and helping him enter the serious drama scene.

Once he had gained a firm foothold, he could land some decent roles in urban, suspense, or crime dramas. Anyone who made it that far could already be called a widely known, famous actor with solid all-around abilities, possessing both fame and fortune as well as work to show for it.

Xie Yibai's problem was that he had the classic looks of a pretty boy and appeared young for his age. The refined, fresh-faced youth he played in campus dramas came across as lacking a sense of real life, detached and unrealistic, in contemporary dramas. His appearance limited the roles he could take, and his acting wasn't good enough for him to convincingly play anything. If he blindly threw himself at roles that didn't suit him, he would only damage his reputation and the goodwill of the general public.

Most of the dramas he had made so far were meant to consolidate his fanbase. His range of roles was fixed, they weren't too difficult to play, and the buzz and view counts met the platforms' expectations. Idol dramas had a dedicated audience, and dramas starring him sold well, so investors and advertisers liked him.

People really didn't know how to be content, it seemed. Xie Yibai thought back to when he was nineteen. All he had prayed for every day back then was to be offered scripts and have roles to play, not be replaced halfway through filming, and not have his pay withheld.

Who would have thought that after becoming a traffic star, he would have to rack his brains to maintain his position and climb higher?

Every star had a whole team behind them, offering advice and managing their career. Xie Yibai wasn't on his own; he had employees to support. Like a boat sailing against the current, he would fall back if he didn't move forward. No matter what, he had to take his career a step further. Even if he retired from the industry, he first had to earn enough to live comfortably for the rest of his life.

Xie Yibai drifted off planning his future and unexpectedly had a full, good night's sleep. He got up refreshed at noon the next day. After wrapping each drama, he always set aside some vacation time for himself, though he usually chose his travel destination on a whim. He scrolled through short videos for five minutes, booked a flight to Indonesia, then sat on the sofa with the dog in his arms, picking a hotel, his heart full of anticipation for the jelly-colored sea.