Shrine - Chapter 100
Chapter 100
In mid-October, the entertainment industry entered its "red carpet season."
As a rapidly rising new star, Ruan Ruan was naturally a guest of honor at every major ceremony. Dianxing's foresight and cooperation were excellent; brand endorsements that had been negotiated early on quickly followed, boosting her original eighty-percent exposure to one hundred and twenty percent. Her WeChat Index and discussion levels remained sky-high.
At the same time, some of her less confidential upcoming projects were leaked to gossip marketing accounts. Ruan Ruan became the promising "two-character actress," though some also called her the very unique "one-character actress."
This was a visible ladder to the clouds, meant to firmly grasp those who were watching, those who were investing in her potential, and those who were new to her fandom. Confidence in an artist could be converted into tangible fan loyalty.
The team updated Ruan Ruan's fan profile every three months, and the data in their business proposal PowerPoints was being refreshed with increasing frequency.
Ruan Ruan now had a very direct understanding of what Shi Ran had meant when she said she was a product, a brand. She wasn't just Ruan Ruan; she was a team. Her explosive popularity wasn't an accident; it was meticulously crafted by the girls behind the scenes, who had long ago woven an inescapable net and were now reeling it in, one line at a time.
Fan profiles, brand endorsements, platform resources, trending topic pushers, candid photo exposures, ceremony red carpets… these were all cards they had held for a year, and now they were being played one by one, methodically and beautifully.
As "Ruan Ruan" gradually became an IP, Ruan Ruan herself miraculously managed to shed her skin. She became better and better at preserving her true self, observing her public persona the way one might observe data. Sometimes during meetings, she would look at the PowerPoint slide of herself adorned in priceless jewelry, next to a set of inspiring statistics, while her own hands were dusted with dry flour as she made dumplings for Shi Ran.
However, she hadn't grown so adept all at once.
When it was time to walk the red carpet again, she was still anxious. She couldn't sleep for several nights in a row. She told Shi Ran that the organizers had given her a very good spot, surrounded by high-traffic celebrities, and she was worried about making a mistake.
That day, Ruan Ruan woke herself up by biting her own tongue, her brows furrowed in pain.
Shi Ran turned on a small night light. In the faint glow, she held Ruan Ruan's chin and helped check if she had broken the skin. After checking, Shi Ran lowered her head and sucked on the reddened tip of her tongue. Her eyelashes fanned out coolly, but the motion of her lips was incredibly gentle.
Ruan Ruan sometimes felt that Shi Ran truly did see her as a little kitten, her gaze always seeming as if she wanted to scoop her into her arms.
This feeling of mutual dependence was even stronger in the state between dreaming and waking.
Ruan Ruan cupped Shi Ran's face and kissed her back with the same earnest care. As the faint, unique scents of their bodies mingled between their noses, she said in a hoarse voice by Shi Ran's lips, "I don't think I've apologized to you yet."
"Hmm? For what?" Shi Ran murmured softly, her breath a kiss beside Ruan Ruan's chin.
"I caused trouble at the charity banquet, made you shoot something you didn't like." Ruan Ruan's eyelids drooped obediently, looking dejected.
She hadn't brought it up recently, thinking she could just work harder from then on. But when the invitations for the year-end galas arrived, she still felt a bit of PTSD.
"Do you remember why you went to that charity banquet?" Shi Ran asked her softly.
Hmm?
"You didn't have to go, I told you to go. You wouldn't have vented that way, I took you out to relax. You didn't know Gracia, I got you the invitation."
So…
"So there's no end to tracing back right and wrong," Shi Ran tapped her chin. "I suggest Little Bread use her thoughts on more meaningful things."
Just like when Ruan Ruan bit her tongue, should she blame her unconscious teeth, or the person in her dream who made her nervous?
Ruan Ruan touched the ends of Shi Ran's hair. "So, you really do call me Little Bread in private."
She smiled faintly, a little shy in the dim light.
"Mmm," Shi Ran touched her cheek with the tip of her nose, her voice as soft as fluff. "Little Bread."
Goosebumps rose on the back of Ruan Ruan's neck. She turned her head to kiss Shi Ran's neck. "Then you're Black Forest."
"Am I?"
"Yes, you always wear black. You chose black for the Weibo Awards Ceremony too, didn't you?"
The grand finale of this year's Weibo Awards Ceremony was, without a doubt, still Shi Ran. She wore a black, vase-cut long dress, with gold and silver camellias slanting across her from waist to hip. The dewdrops were dotted with crushed diamonds, and as she walked, it was as if she were reclaiming the spring rain for the mortal world. The two bangs of her hime cut were swept up and woven into a floral crown-like braid. It was the first time she had worn her hair this way; it made her look less arrogant, yet possessed more of a princess's gentle beauty and pride.
She also brought good news with her appearance: Non-Desire had passed its review and was expected to premiere in Venice.
Before her, the cast of 360 Times of Missing You had also walked the carpet together. It was said that Shi Ran's performance in it was a major breakthrough, absolutely stunning and refreshing, leaving the audience on the edge of their seats.
The cast of Shrine appeared in the latter half of the red carpet. Ruan Ruan was dressed in an A-brand, super-seasonal haute couture gown. The deep blue dress was embroidered with subtle patterns in silver thread that shimmered as she moved, as if she had cut a piece of the moonlit ocean and wrapped it around herself. She wore no jewelry, instead letting her fair shoulders and arms serve as the moonlight. With her long hair swept up, the moonlit image was presented in its full integrity.
Zhong Yi, on the other hand, wore an off-white, one-shoulder gown. From her earrings to her necklace, everything was pure white, as if she were walking moonlight itself. The only exception was a 120-million-yuan blue diamond on her hand. This diamond had been in the news before for its large carat size, high clarity, and excellent fire—deep and dazzling. It was a private treasure from her family, which her mother had acquired at an auction in South Africa.
In the eyes of CP fans, the diamond was meant to echo Ruan Ruan's blue gown. In the eyes of business people, the diamond was a stand-in for the Zhong family's industries, making a high-profile appearance in the spotlight to build momentum for the family's upcoming fourth-generation smart residential development.
Today's consumers were not very confident in pre-sale properties, so the purpose of Zhong Yi's high-profile appearance and flaunting of wealth was self-evident.
The popularity of Shrine and Zhong Yi's blue diamond made the cast the center of attention on the red carpet. Ruan Ruan held the hem of her dress and greeted the fans on both sides. The red carpet season was still so cold, always scheduled in the winter. Besides celebrating the year's achievements, it felt like a test of human nature. If you were draped in gorgeous clothes, hit by waves of heat from the crowd, and showered with fluttering gold and silver powder, would you still feel hungry? Would you still feel cold?
Most artists were fueled by the adrenaline rush from the spotlight, forgetting they hadn't eaten all day and that they were in the dead of winter.
They spoke with gentle smiles, their hands holding the signing pens perfectly steady, their jaws not chattering in the slightest as they answered questions.
Ruan Ruan gazed at the end of the long red carpet. This time, she finally felt like she had truly stepped onto it.
Inside the magnificent and noble auditorium, the lights were as brilliant as grapes borne of the sun and moon.
The host's voice came through the speakers, easily commanding the eardrums. Thus, the cheers from the audience seats on both sides came in waves, one after another. Light sticks flashed, and declarations of love were shouted like a tidal wave, piling up high mountains of heat on either side. And the artists in the valley below were in a state of meditation, like solemn wooden sculptures that never smiled.
Ruan Ruan once again felt the imagery of a shrine. Desires rushed toward her from both sides, yet those within could not move, could not act as they pleased, could not lose themselves in abandon.
They were suppressed by the flashes and cameras, forced to be infallible Bodhisattvas. They kept their backs straight, applauded appropriately, smiled gracefully, and spoke in soft whispers. They tucked the version of themselves that lounged on the sofa scrolling through their phone deep inside their hearts, only to pull it out for a breath of fresh air after tearing off their painted skin.
Ruan Ruan was staring blankly at the eye-searing screen when she heard her name.
"Newcomer of the Year, Ruan Ruan."
She lifted her head and saw her face appear on the big screen, her name written beside it, growing from small to large.
"Why is your given name the same as your surname? Don't you know how to write your name?" her deskmate had asked her.
"I don't know either," a young Ruan Ruan had said, biting her finger. "My dad gave it to me."
Ruan Ruan, which sounded like "soft soft." The name's connotation wasn't necessarily good. Perhaps it was a wish for her to be a little more obedient, a little more docile, soft and without a temper.
But she had walked a path she had never imagined. Bearing this name, she had burned incense and prayed to Buddha, hidden a phone, placed a little cat on it, and made a deal with a goddess. The goddess had discovered the tough and unyielding core within her name and had also told her that a needle could be hidden in cotton, and could even be forged to be even more indestructible.
Ruan Ruan's gaze passed over the goddess's profile. She discreetly retracted her impulse to glance at her, then lifted her skirt and walked onto the stage.
She suddenly wanted to know what her original name was. She was certainly not surnamed Ruan, nor did she have to be required to be a person without strength. But she also appreciated her own gentle side. No matter what her name was, she would have chosen to grow into the person she was today.
To the slow, gentle music, Ruan Ruan bowed and accepted the trophy. It was lighter than she had imagined, cool to the touch, and felt as if it could shatter easily.
She moistened her lips, instinctively glanced down at it, then cast her gaze back toward the seats she had just come from.
It was such a long and distant path. Once the lights hit, she could no longer see the seats clearly.
This was a very small award. The organizers had even sent the acceptance speech to her team for confirmation beforehand, and the VCR was also made from raw footage provided by her team. But it was the first award she had ever received. She held its base, squeezing it in her hands again and again. She wanted to say, it's so magical. A year ago, she couldn't even dream of attending this ceremony, of having a seat among the audience. A year later, she was standing under the gazes of so many seniors, peers, and juniors below the stage.
Those shining, unreachable people—one day, they too would all look up together, at that inconspicuous name on the big screen.
She had once bustled around the set, moving things for the lighting technicians. She had once run out on a scorching day, clutching a plastic bag to help buy props. She had once woken up at four in the morning to brew dark plum soup. She had once smiled and made a peace sign in the vlog of another equally bored young actor.
She had dozed off countless times on the bus heading to the set. She had worn a borrowed military coat that many others had worn before, sitting on the stairs waiting for her scene. She hadn't dared to spray mosquito repellent, afraid of leaving a scent on the costume. She had gone to auditions time and time again, and after being rejected, she still had to bow and close the door for the production team, saying through the closing gap, "I'll wait for your news, teacher."
Was it a year? No, it was many, many years.
Many years of being ignored, of being forgotten, of being considered dispensable.
The significance of this award to her was this single moment of being looked up at by so many people—of being seen, after waiting to be seen for so, so many years.
"I'm so excited to be standing here."
It was so hard to get here.
"I know this award is an encouragement from all of you in the audience. To me, its greatest meaning is that I have been seen."
Not on the screen, but in life.
"I've spent more than twenty years constantly doing one thing: making myself the first to be seen, the first to be remembered, the first to be chosen."
The person I love, she saw me first.
On a sweltering summer day, Shi Ran's brow had twitched ever so slightly as she asked, "Isn't she… the one who played my college classmate?"
Her heart had been moved from that sentence on. In the many times before, Ruan Ruan had always existed in the space between "memorable and not," and had always been the one who was forgotten. But Shi Ran had remembered her. When there was no need to remember, she had seen the one in the corner, the one with a small name, the one far away.
"You said a word differently from the script."
Ruan Ruan had only changed a single particle of speech, and it had been heard again, falling into the goddess's ears, as if she had heard her sunless prayers.
The lights that obscured the view of the audience below were like the white smoke from burning incense, curling before her eyes, making her gaze into the distance with longing.
"Thank you," Ruan Ruan leaned closer to the microphone and said in a very low voice.
Thank you.
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