The Stand-in Side Character Only Wants to Make Money – CH52

Chapter 52 – Joining Record of Blossoms Crew

His agent thought that made sense.

Though he had a wide and unusual social circle, it didn’t extend to major investors. If he really did know someone like that, he’d probably be aware of it.

She said, “I’ll ask around and see what else I can find out.”

Chen Bai agreed.

Putting the other scripts aside, he took another look at the film script. The movie was titled ‘Record of Blossoms’, and for confidentiality, the script only included scenes related to his character.

There weren’t many scenes, but he could tell that the role would require good physical condition—not easy with his aging joints and fragile back.

His agent pointed out the salary, which had been manually noted on the side.

Chen Bai felt he was still young and could manage the demands, so he finished reviewing the script and then looked at the thoughtfully provided notes.

The notes, prepared by the agent’s assistant, were straightforward and concise.

Knowing he was still groggy, the agent read through the notes, saying, “The advantage of this role is obvious—it pays well.”

The advantages were clear, but there were also plenty of considerations.

The film had been in pre-production for over a year since they’d started looking for a director. Most of the cast was finalized, and production was imminent. If he accepted, he’d have to join the crew shortly.

The crew would be filming on location in the south, mostly in remote forests. The locations were likely quite secluded, and instead of staying in hotels, they’d be lucky to have even a guesthouse. Spending three to four months in such a place would be challenging.

Most of the other scripts were for projects near City A, with only occasional out-of-town trips, and not as long as this one.

Chen Bai wasn’t too picky about the environment as long as there was a place to stay. He was more concerned about other factors.

His agent glanced at him a few times, then leaned in and asked, “Are you hesitant to leave Xu Sinian?”

Without hesitation, Chen Bai nodded in acknowledgment.

The agent sighed and suggested, “Why not bring your friend along?”

He seriously considered this before saying, “He pretty much already has me covered.”

Xu Sinian’s schedule was valuable, and he couldn’t afford to “buy his time.”

Gao Qian “…”

Chen Bai actually seemed to be weighing the feasibility of bringing his friend along, so the agent lightly tapped him on the head, trying to bring him back to reality.

Instead of snapping him out of it, she inadvertently left him steeped in a faint sadness over their imminent separation.

Gao Qian “…”

Enough with the hopeless attachment to your friend.

Setting that aside, they finalized the decision on the script.

Chen Bai went back to catch up on sleep, while his agent had to return to the company for a meeting. Before leaving, she even washed her cup and put it back.

Chen Bai said he was going back to sleep, but he’d already been up, washed up, and wasn’t planning to go back to bed. He made himself a cup of black coffee and sat down at his computer.

He had been completely focused on his neighbor, but now that he had calmed down and thought about it, he remembered he had other important matters to handle.

Like his part-time restaurant job, and his live streaming schedule.

The restaurant job was already being handed over; once they found someone else to play piano, he could step down, which shouldn’t take too long.

The main concern was his streaming. He’d be away for three to four months, in a remote area, probably staying in a guesthouse. From experience, he knew that guesthouse walls didn’t offer much soundproofing.

This meant he wouldn’t be able to stream for those three or four months.

While the streaming platform might not be happy, it wasn’t impossible to work around. Three to four months without streaming just meant three to four months without income. He could extend his contract by the same amount of time.

He’d also have to update his viewers about the situation.

Things suddenly seemed to pile up.

Unexpectedly, the film contract was processed quickly. As soon as this was confirmed, his endorsement deal with EV also got wrapped up around the same time.

The schedule was tight. He’d sign the contract this month and join the crew the next, with just enough time to shoot promotional photos and hold an offline signing event.

It looked like a light month, but the full script had arrived—a thick stack, starkly contrasting with the few thin sheets he’d received before.

Reading what felt like a textbook by day and streaming online at night, Chen Bai was busier than ever, surviving on black coffee.

The day before heading to the film set, Chen Bai, ready to make a grand announcement, finally set aside his script and unusually started his livestream early.

The new fans, unaware of his past behavior, cheered, thinking they were getting an early treat. However, the seasoned fans were immediately on alert.

Even though Chen Bai had been streaming diligently recently, almost every day, they remembered all too well what had happened the last time he suddenly increased his streaming frequency—he had become unreliable and drastically cut back his streaming hours afterward.

[Chen Er Bai, you little rascal, are you up to something again?]

[Watching this with a sense of dread; I feel like the good times won’t last long.]

[Be honest, Chen Er Bai, what trouble have you gotten into this time?]

Chen Er Bai wasn’t in trouble; he just had some news to share.

Although he had news to share, he didn’t start with it. He streamed from afternoon until evening, and when he felt the time was right, he took a sip of water to clear his throat.

[Here we go, Chen Er Bai’s about to make his sad announcement.]

[The moment he clears his throat, I know what’s coming.]

[Already shedding tears.]

Sure enough, once his throat was clear, he started to speak. “Friends, I need to tell you something.”

That was just a preamble. He then got straight to the point: “For the next three to four months, I probably won’t be streaming much.”

The viewers: “…”

[Wow! You make three to four months sound as casual as three to four days!]

[No joke, I listen to Chen Er Bai’s voice every night to fall asleep! What am I supposed to do without you!?]

[A college student slowly loses all hope.]

[First thought: What will Qingzhou do? He’ll have to go solo again (sigh).]

[Why so long? Chen Er Bai, are you getting roped into some strange organization in the mountains?!]

Chen Bai glanced at the comments and said, “It’s possible it’ll be in the mountains, but it’s for work, and it’s a legitimate organization.”

The more he emphasized the organization’s legitimacy, the more worried his fans became. After all, no one who gets scammed ever thinks they’re getting scammed.

Despite all the fuss, they just didn’t want to accept a future without Chen Er Bai for three or four months.

[I don’t even care about the game; I just love hearing Chen Er Bai talk.]

[Just like that, my joy is gone.]

[Can’t you stream at all during that time?]

The comments turned into a river of tears. Seeing the flood of comments, Chen Bai could barely keep up, so he picked a few he could actually read and replied, “If there’s a need, I can stream when I have time.”

He continued, “But under limited conditions, it would just be chatting—no games.”

Unexpectedly, his screen lit up with a flurry of gift notifications, and the comments filled with excited “yes, yes, yes” messages, all asking him to let them know in advance when he’d be streaming.

Chen Bai “…?”

Chen Bai suddenly realized there were many people in his stream who only cared about chatting and didn’t mind skipping the gameplay.

After wrapping up the announcement, he took another sip of water and glanced at the still-busy comments, pausing just before he ended the stream. “Alright, let’s play two more rounds.”

“Two more rounds” ended up stretching until nearly three in the morning.

When he finally turned off his computer, it was late at night. After washing up, he collapsed onto his bed. Just before falling asleep, he sent a message to his “good neighbor,” then closed his eyes peacefully.

He slept deeply, dreamlessly.

The next day was overcast, with rain threatening to fall. The cloudy sky lingered into the daylight, making it seem like nighttime, with the city street lights still on.

His agent and assistant arrived around noon, entering the building and taking the elevator up.

Once on the right floor, the agent knocked on his door, then stepped back to wait.

Soon after knocking, they heard soft footsteps approaching from inside, a response time far quicker than the usual Chen Bai.

“Click—”

The door opened, but it wasn’t who they expected. Instead, it was Xu Sinian. He was tall, dressed in casual clothes, holding something that looked like clothing in one hand. He had a bit less of his usual imposing aura, and he stepped aside to let them in.

Not sure what was happening, they entered anyway. The agent looked around and saw that only the luggage was out in the living room, clearly still being packed. There was no sign of Chen Bai.

Xu Sinian told them to sit on the sofa and said, “He stayed up late last night and is still sleeping.”

His voice was low, as if he were afraid of waking someone.

While Chen Bai was still asleep, the packing seemed to be almost done.

The agents “…”

The agent and assistant finally understood why Xu Sinian had been holding some clothes when he opened the door.

Sitting on the sofa, they watched as Xu Sinian neatly folded the clothes and put them into the mostly-packed suitcase. Then they watched as he went into the master bedroom, opened the wardrobe, and began picking out more clothes to pack.

The agents “…”

The situation was hard to describe. They had come early, assuming they’d need to help Chen Bai with packing since he was probably still asleep. But it looked like he didn’t need their help at all.

After all, who could have guessed he’d be brazen enough to have Xu Sinian, the movie star, pack his things while he slept soundly in bed?

Once he was done, Xu Sinian went back upstairs briefly, returning shortly with a few jackets, which he added to the suitcase.

With everything packed, he closed the suitcase, stood up, and said, “I’ll go wake him up.”

Relieved of the daunting task of packing, the agent quickly replied, “Thank you.”

Xu Sinian headed into the master bedroom.

From their seats in the living room, they had a clear view of the bedroom door.

Some people are completely normal when they’re awake—diligent and efficient workers—but the moment they fall asleep, they become difficult to manage, a walking headache. Waking them up is especially tough.

When forcibly rebooted, the person will attack anyone indiscriminately, and even Xu Sinian the movie star isn’t exempt.

They watched as the white-haired sleeper, sprawled across the bed, raised a hand as if trying to pull the person standing by the bed down with him to continue sleeping.

But his hand never made it down; the person beside the bed, Xu Sinian, quickly grabbed his hand from around his neck and effortlessly hoisted him up.

From lying down to sitting, then to standing, all in one smooth motion, it was remarkably practiced.

The white-haired guy, held up by Xu Sinian, finally opened his eyes, unfocused and groggy, as if he hadn’t fully woken up or hadn’t completely left his dreams.

…So that’s how it’s done!

The motion was so seamless that the two assistants were momentarily stunned. Regardless, the man was up.

After a few seconds, Chen Bai, the unfeeling sleep machine, finally booted up. His eyes opened, his vision cleared, and he noticed a few unexpected people in the room. He hesitated, and then, a bit belatedly, greeted them.

Wasting no time, he shuffled off to the bathroom to freshen up. After splashing his face with water, he was fully awake.

Now he remembered.

Today was the day to head to the film set. He had planned to pack after the stream, but it had gone on too long, and he’d fallen asleep, intending to wake up early and pack in the morning.

To avoid oversleeping, he had messaged his good neighbor before bed, asking them to dig him out if he hadn’t sent a message by morning.

Sure enough, he hadn’t woken up, and his neighbor, who had a spare key, came over.

Though half-asleep at the time, he vaguely recalled his neighbor attempting to wake him up, eventually giving up and saying they’d pack for him. He might have thanked them or perhaps just mumbled something before going back to sleep.

Then he slept until now.

Once he finished washing up, he walked back into the living room and saw his suitcase packed and the three people on the couch watching him. He told them to wait a moment, then went back to his room to change clothes.

Out of his pajamas and into proper attire, a freshly shining Chen Bai appeared.

Shining, yes, but his hair was still a mess. His agent, long past the point of bothering with his unruly hair, handed him a hat, which he quickly put on.

In less than ten minutes from wake-up to readiness, he was all set to go.

With the lights and gas off and the door locked, his considerate neighbor didn’t just return upstairs—they escorted him to the underground parking garage.

This departure meant they wouldn’t be able to play Ludo together for several months.

After the suitcase was loaded into the car’s trunk, Chen Bai turned around, waved, and suddenly felt a pang of sadness, with big, thick tears streaming down his face.

Agent: “…”

Neighbor: “…”

The agent stared at him, unflinching. “Are you putting on a melodrama now?”

His neighbor quietly pulled out the car keys from their pocket.

The tearful farewell was interrupted as his neighbor drove him to the airport. The agent watched as the teary-eyed guy happily hopped into the passenger seat and even remembered to wave at her.

Gao Qian “…”

The agent wiped her face, handed over the packed breakfast, waved back, and closed the car door.

Both cars left the parking garage in succession.

In the familiar car, now comfortable, Chen Bai leaned back, sipping on a soy milk.

From home to the airport, a trip that usually seemed long flew by today.

At a red light, his neighbor glanced over and suggested that he could save some of his words for phone calls later.

Agreeing, he stopped talking, took a mid-trip break, and focused on his soy milk, promising to remember to call.

From home to the airport, a usually lengthy journey seemed quick today.

When they reached the airport parking lot, his neighbor, without a hat or mask, stayed in the car. Chen Bai hopped out, waved through the window, and the agent and assistants got out to retrieve his suitcase without interrupting.

Walking a bit further, he didn’t shed a tear this time. He pulled his suitcase along, his cheerful self restored as if in an instant.

The agent glanced at him. “Feeling better now?”

Chen Bai threw his empty soy milk container into the trash and nodded. “Feeling much better.”

With thick clouds above, they didn’t linger in the parking lot. They headed straight into the airport.

They had arrived just in time. After check-in, they waited briefly before boarding.

As the rain poured, the plane took off, and Chen Bai immediately drifted back to sleep.

It was raining in City A, and as the plane headed south, it was raining there too.

Nearing the descent, the agent woke the heavily sleeping guy up.

Unlike Xu Sinian’s methods, she had her own way. She casually said, “The money god is here.”

It worked every time, without needing a dramatic voice or volume, and the man next to her woke up.

Perfect timing. Once he focused, he glanced out the window and saw the gleaming airport below.

Through the rain, he noticed another plane preparing to land as well.

Brother Liu and Xiao Meng were already gathering their things, ready to disembark.

The landing went smoothly. After a light bump, the plane touched down, taxied a bit, and came to a stop.

Chen Bai yawned, adjusted his hat, and joined the other passengers in getting ready to leave.

They stayed for a while before finally exiting the cabin, walking down the corridor.

Despite the gloomy weather, the airport was unexpectedly bustling with people everywhere, a crowded scene.

These people didn’t look like passengers, and the airport itself didn’t seem to offer anything exciting to watch.

The crowd was mainly concentrated at another exit, leaving this area relatively quiet. The agent followed the white-haired guy’s gaze and said, “Those are fans waiting to pick someone up.”

She continued, “Do you remember Chu Mingyuan, who’s in the same film as you? He’s the one they’re here to meet.”

Chu Mingyuan, the star chosen by the producer for ‘Record of Blossoms’, had recently won a domestic Best Actor award. Although he wasn’t on the same level as his good friend Xu Sinian, he was one of the few actors in the industry with both commercial value and acting skills, boasting a fan base across the country and firmly holding his position as a leading actor.

It’s tough to keep the schedule of such a high-profile artist under wraps; sometimes, the studio would even announce it publicly, and fans would spontaneously organize to pick them up. This time seemed to be the latter, promoting the movie’s launch.

After all, as the lead, he had to shoulder both box office and popularity.

Earlier on the road, Comrade Old Xu had mentioned this person, and Chen Bai remembered. He nodded in acknowledgment and mused, “It’s not easy to be the main character.”

It’s also not easy for the fans, who braved the rain to come to the airport when this weather is perfect for staying at home.

Being a supporting actor is much better; they don’t have to worry about box office numbers.

The agent turned to look at him, saying, “One day, you’ll be in that position too.”

Just as she finished speaking, cheers erupted from the crowd in the distance, easily drowning out other noises.

It seemed someone had arrived. Most people’s attention was drawn to another exit, and taking advantage of this moment, the agent led Chen Bai and the others quickly out of the airport.

The crew’s vehicle was already waiting outside, so they could get in right away.

Unlike the north, the south was humid; in the short distance from the airport entrance to the car, they didn’t get wet from the rain, yet they could still feel the moisture on their clothes and skin, a thin layer that was barely noticeable but definitely there.

Once inside the car, Chen Bai could finally take off his hat and greeted the driver with a smile.

The driver seemed surprised by his friendly approach and paused for a moment before responding in kind.

As the vehicle started, the journey from the airport to their temporary hotel was quite bumpy. Normally, it’s the driver who initiates conversation, but this time, the passenger was more talkative, and the driver ended up blushing instead.

By the time they arrived at the hotel’s underground parking garage, the driver and the white-haired guy had already formed a brotherly bond, leaving the usually talkative agent feeling somewhat silent in comparison.

Fortunately, the driver had other passengers to pick up, so after they got out, they parted ways.

There were no fans waiting in the underground parking lot; the crew’s staff had already received word and were waiting by the elevator to take them to their rooms.

The crew had arranged a suite—four bedrooms and two living rooms—perfectly accommodating their small team for convenience.

After quickly settling their luggage, they still had time to rest before the scheduled meet-up with the crew.

Chen Bai lounged comfortably on the sofa, picked up his phone, snapped a picture of the room, and sent it to his good neighbor, letting them know he had landed safely.

His neighbor was likely busy and didn’t reply immediately. He put his phone down, then thought of something and turned to his money-making partner, asking, “Is there something going on with Chu Mingyuan?”

This question caught his partner off guard. “Why?”

Chen Bai replied, “Earlier, Old Xu… my friend said in the car that I should try to avoid too much contact with Chu Mingyuan.”

With no outsiders in the room, just their small team, he felt free to speak his mind.

“Chu Mingyuan?”

The agent pondered for a moment before nodding. “He has talent, but he’s not good in relationships.”

“Not good in relationships” meant he was a straightforward scoundrel, often falling for his co-stars, dating them during filming, and breaking up soon after, leaving no emotional ties behind.

He liked to date actresses, but that didn’t seem to affect him too much, and there didn’t appear to be a specific reason to avoid him. After thinking it over again, the agent nodded and said firmly, “Your friend probably doesn’t want you to learn his bad habits.”