Chapter 13: Someone Forgot His Medicine

Zou Songpu closed the door and swallowed one pill straight away. When he woke the next morning, his throat was indeed much looser, and speaking took no effort. The call sheet's first scene had him facing off against the opposing counsel in the courtroom; the whole performance flowed, his lines smooth and his state on point, the lighting and his scene partners perfectly coordinated—there was no reason not to nail it in one take.

Afterward he even had time to go rest in his trailer. The regret of not finding Tingting yesterday had been swept away entirely; only the question of how to play the coming scenes remained in his mind.

"Brother, did you bring that other medicine I mentioned yesterday?" Xiao Chen bustled about the trailer, tidying the whole space into perfect order. There was a dedicated housekeeper at the hotel for that sort of thing.

"What medicine?" The door had shut too fast yesterday; Zou Songpu hadn't caught the last of what he said.

"The one you're supposed to drink along with the special medication. Where did you put it? I'll go back for it right now."

"Don't bother. Even without traffic it's an hour back to the hotel. We'll talk after wrap today." Zou Songpu laid the script over his face and closed his eyes to rest.

"No good, Brother—when did you take the special medication? Last night or this morning?"

His voice came out from under the script. "Last night."

The normally tight-lipped Assistant Chen went mad. "Last night? That was after I left you! Our rooms aren't far—a few minutes' walk. I looked at the time when I got back and it should have been around one, meaning you took the pill at one. And the time now is... just before nine!"

"So what? If it comes to it, I'll just run back at noon and take it." The man who hadn't listened at all last night had no idea how serious this was, and even lounged back to sip some water.

"Brother! You must drink the follow-up medicine within ten hours, or you can't speak for three days!!"

A clattering burst of noise filled the space. Zou Songpu scrambled to pick up the script that had fallen to the floor, and suddenly found speaking rather strenuous. "What?"

"This is bad. Who's still at the hotel? I'll contact them right now!"

Xiao Chen's hands were shaking. Finally, in one of the many group chats on his phone, he found the full call sheet, and in it, for today's date, the water-break schedule—set for the afternoon.

"Brother, I found someone whose schedule is free this afternoon. I'll contact her assistant right now and see if she can fetch it for us, and I'll call the hotel front desk."

Ever since learning he had less than an hour left before becoming mute for three days, Zou Songpu's mood had been in the gutter, kicking himself for slamming the door without hearing the second half of his assistant's sentence. He nodded and told him to contact anyone at all, whatever it cost.

"Hello, Assistant Zhou. Forgive the intrusion—are you heading to set yet? Oh, not yet? Then might you swing by room 3408 on the thirty-fourth floor and grab a bag of medicine on the desk for us? I'll arrange with the hotel to open the door for you—it won't hold you up, I hope? Truly sorry to trouble you, Assistant Zhou. We'll thank you in person when we get the chance—thank you so much, really, thank you! Our car is parked where it was yesterday; I'll come meet you in a bit. Thank you, thank you!"

Only after offering thanks at least ten times did Assistant Chen finally hang up, exhaling a long breath, hand pressed to his chest. "Brother, all set. They'd left the hotel not long ago, and they're doubling back now to get the medicine. She said on the phone their driver is very good and can reach the set within an hour. When they arrive I'll thank him properly."

Zou Songpu picked up his phone and typed for him to read: Who's "they"?

"Ms. Qin and company. We ran lines together yesterday and I exchanged contact info with her assistant—didn't expect it to come in handy today."

The thought of being helped by her made Zou Songpu uncomfortable. Last night he'd been mentally criticizing her every flaw, and today he had to beg her for a favor. He wanted to travel back to yesterday and punch the version of himself who'd gulped down medicine without reading the instructions. If you look down on someone, how do you have the nerve to accept their help? What kind of man are you?

Just as the phone call promised, by the time Qin Ting's RV pulled to a stop, fifty minutes had passed since the call ended—and Zou Songpu's voice was still salvageable.

Zhou Dao hurried out of the car, handing the bag she carried to Chen Yue, who was already waiting outside. "It's one of those medicines you have to drink warm, so I kept it heated the whole way. See if this works—we can't waste any time."

"Perfect, perfect, Assistant Zhou, this is perfect. The temperature's just right. Thank you all so much today—our Brother Zou says he'll treat you to a meal to show his gratitude. There's almost no time left; I'll go get him to take it now."

"It's nothing. We'll talk when there's a chance. Go—make sure Mr. Zou drinks it first."

Chen Yue took the bag, so grateful he could have kowtowed to Zhou Dao and company. With time so short, he could only thank them verbally before running back to the car, racing the clock to get Zou Songpu to drink the medicine.

The moment the medicine went down, the burning and aching in his throat eased considerably. Zou Songpu tried a few words and found nothing wrong; only then did he relax.

He asked his assistant, "What did they say to you?"

"To me? Say what to me?"

Zou Songpu frowned, half disbelieving. "They didn't ask for anything in return?"

"Brother, they're not that kind of people. They kept the medicine warm the whole way here—this stuff only works while it's hot. Assistant Zhou is every bit as considerate as her name." Then he noticed there was something else in the bag, fished it out, and found a piece of candy. "Look, they even sent you a candy."

The man with the miraculously recovering throat, uncharacteristically, reached out to take it—but his assistant had already unwrapped it and popped it in his own mouth, saying he'd eat it on Zou's behalf. With no other choice, Zou Songpu could only swallow several more gulps of warm water to chase the bitterness away.

Filming went unusually smoothly today. During yesterday's rehearsal, Zou Songpu's relentless, needling remarks in the car had numbed Qin Ting into full recognition: this man was nothing but a machine—cold face, colder heart, and a tongue sharp as a blade—with a fanatical devotion to nothing but the performance. Now, no matter how tenderly he played the brother on screen, she could keep her composure and stop the fawn in her heart from stampeding. On top of that, a day of working together had warmed her up with Teacher Han, so she was perfectly at ease.

Seeing everyone in good form today, the director decided to seize the remaining daylight and shoot a few extra scenes to make progress. The next scene up was the argument between the siblings Tian Yuan and Zhenqing.

"Brother, Mom already said you don't need to send money home. Our martial arts school's business isn't bad. Take the money back." Zhenqing pushed a not-very-thick envelope back into Tian Yuan's hand.

"Can you stop fooling me? You think I can't see how the family business is doing? How many sets of sparring gear are even left? The door locks are practically rusting. I have money—take it."

"I really don't want it. Don't you have to rent a place out there too? I read online that working at a law firm means paying in first. Keep the money for yourself."

Tian Yuan pulled free of her and, in the end, stuffed the money into her pocket. "I've told you, I have money. I went out to work precisely to earn more in the big city so you all could live better. Give me a few more years of grinding and I'll bring every one of you out here."

Zhenqing's eyes went red at once, and she said, choking up, "Brother, why do you always act as if you're repaying us for something? We don't need you to repay anything."

"Zhenqing, what do you take me for? You think I give you money to compensate you?"

"Isn't that exactly it? You chose a university so far away, didn't come home for summer breaks, said you were working—came back only at New Year and left again before the Lantern Festival was even over. Ask what you're doing and it's busy, busy, busy!" Zhenqing had half a sentence more in her heart, but she didn't want to say it—didn't dare.

Tian Yuan looked into her eyes and asked, "You want to ask whether I've been searching for my birth parents, right?"

"Zhenqing, let me tell you: I'm not that heartless! Yes, I was adopted, but I've never once thought of looking for them. They abandoned me first—they're not my parents. Your parents are my parents!" As he spoke, Tian Yuan unlocked his phone and pulled up every income, big and small, since starting university, showing her one entry at a time. "Open your eyes and look. In school I worked in the cafeteria ladling out food for others, eight yuan an hour, going back to the dorm smelling of everyone's meals. Later I tutored—the parents thought my school wasn't good enough, so I gave free trial lessons, and each round trip took over an hour on the subway. Mom sends me two thousand yuan a month for expenses; I spend one thousand and save the other thousand for you, so that when you go to college, I can cover your living costs and Mom won't have to."

Tian Yuan panted hard, his voice growing hoarser with every word: "You say I want to leave. What right do you have to say that? Every yuan I've given you is money I saved myself, earned by my own skill—not the crooked money you're imagining. Get your head straight!"

Zhenqing burst into loud sobs, tears pouring out as if they cost nothing. "If it was so hard out there, why didn't you ever tell us? Every time I said I'd come find you, you said you were busy. I'd video-call you and you'd say it wasn't a good time. I'd ask if you were doing well and you'd say yes—how am I supposed to believe you're doing well?"

"The place I rent now is a few hundred yuan a month, top floor of a walk-up—one neighbor livestreams in the middle of the night, the other leaves shoes out in the hall forever. I do want you to come. But I don't want you to see how miserable the place is. I want, at the very least, to have a decent home by the time you visit. I don't want you thinking I'm doing badly out here."

He held his sister and wiped the tears from her face. "Stop crying. Let's go home—Mom's waiting for us to bring the groceries back and cook. Take the money."

"Cut! That's a pass. That's a wrap!"