The Pampered Young Master Is Adored at Art School - Chapter 11

Dylan didn’t seem to take their previous friction to heart. He waved and said goodbye to Su Zhan with an easygoing air. “Call me next time you’re free to teach me Chinese.”

Su Zhan stood there, unsure of how to react until the door clicked shut. Deep down, he felt a flicker of regret. Dylan was a great friend and an excellent client. Even after being offended, he had offered Su Zhan a way out, but Su Zhan couldn’t bring himself to be thick-skinned enough to take it. It felt strange to rush into calling Dylan to “invite” him to learn Chinese.

Unable to wrap his head around it, Su Zhan pushed the matter aside. Finals were approaching, he had his own papers to worry about, and he had a cameo in a performance at the campus theater.

Xu Chenjian, for some unknown reason, had started calling him every single night. Even when they had nothing left to say, they would stay on the line together. Xu Chenjian had also been dropping hints, asking for photos of Su Zhan’s “love interest” several times. Su Zhan’s head throbbed at the request. Where was he supposed to find a photo of a girl interested in him? In the end, he just grabbed a random picture from the internet to settle it.

Subconsciously, he chose a photo of a typical California sweetheart with brilliant blonde hair and a bold, striking beauty. For some reason, looking at the photo always made Su Zhan think of Dylan.

For several days, Dylan didn’t come looking for him, and Su Zhan didn’t reach out either.

The professor hadn’t just been making polite conversation earlier. He soon provided Su Zhan with a theater work pass and information regarding the play.

“The story of Marie Antoinette?” Su Zhan flipped through the script. The Queen’s tale of luxury and decadence was so famous that one only needed to see the title to know the plot.

To Su Zhan’s surprise, a production like this required massive costs for props and staging, usually performed in theaters with a capacity of a thousand people. The professor had multiple projects under his belt, and it would have been safer to pick an obscure new play for Su Zhan to gain experience, rather than making him a director’s assistant for such a large-scale stage play. If something went wrong, hundreds of people would be there to witness the embarrassment.

Even though there was more than one director’s assistant, Su Zhan’s credentials were far too light for this.

“Yes, famous stories are always easier to sell,” the professor said, picking up on Su Zhan’s hesitation. “Lucian, there’s nothing to be afraid of. If I’d had an opportunity like this back then, I might be working on Broadway now instead of teaching while hunting for investments.”

“You young people usually get along better. I can’t handle trying to mingle with young actors anymore.” The old man sipped his healthy chamomile tea and pulled a bag of American honey-glazed dates from his office drawer, handing it to Su Zhan. “I heard these are very healthy, and they’re originally from China.”

Su Zhan waved them off and said thank you.

The dates had been pickled so smooth they didn’t have a single wrinkle, looking completely different from Chinese honey dates. One look told him they had been soaked in a lethal amount of sugar. It was impressive how Americans could use the same raw ingredients to create something entirely different.

“Actually, your task is to go over there and mingle with them,” the professor said, eating a date. He clearly found it too sweet himself but forced it down for the sake of “health.”

Su Zhan nodded, his face a bit pale.

In the past, he would have rejected such an exhausting task. He had never been good at socializing with Americans, often feeling like he didn’t quite fit in. When he had money, he could afford to ignore whoever he wanted. If he couldn’t stay in the U.S. after graduation, he could just go back to China and start a small theater of his own, treating it like a hobby to burn money on.

But things were different now. The professor was right, if he truly wanted to stay in this industry, he had to continuously acquire resources to support his career development. Even someone like the professor, who had a contract with the university, had to teach during the day and work on his own plays at night.

“I know it’s not easy for you, but if you want to stay in this industry, you have to be more socially active,” the professor advised, speaking as someone who had been through it all.

He looked at the hesitant Su Zhan, wondering if this young Chinese lad’s shoulders were too thin to carry the weight of the job. For a moment, it felt like he was looking at his younger self, who had also been underestimated decades ago.

The professor spoke more bluntly. “Many people in there come from good family backgrounds just like you, which is why they can afford to be in this business. Of course, there are also many with more ordinary backgrounds. They might not be famous now, but they could skyrocket any day.”

The professor was clearly unaware of Su Zhan’s original plan of treating art as a money-burning hobby, but he had accidentally hit the nail on the head regarding Su Zhan’s current situation. Su Zhan had to stay. Making a living through art in China was a pipe dream.

Su Zhan forced a smile and agreed.

That afternoon, Su Zhan followed the professor to a rehearsal hall on the edge of the downtown area. He had joined the project too late. Rehearsals were already halfway through and the staging was mostly set. Su Zhan had to memorize everything quickly.

His job was to ensure that all the fixed arrangements were carried out perfectly. If there was any discrepancy, he had to point it out, then decide whether to ask the professor for a modification or to nudge the actor’s “improvisation” back on track.

Once he got busy, Su Zhan had no time to think about Dylan at all. Teaching Chinese was pushed to the back of his mind, and the anxiety and pressure began to cause a dull ache in his stomach.

When the actors finished rehearsal and headed out, the ones who were close greeted each other and went to dinner together. No one invited Su Zhan. Looking at these seniors who were already well-acquainted or could easily convince others with their experience, he felt that fitting in wouldn’t be easy, let alone being able to direct them.

Su Zhan began to doubt if he was cut out for this, wondering if the professor had overestimated him.

Anxiety drove him to work even harder. He stayed in the rehearsal hall to memorize the blocking, scribbling on scratch paper and occasionally pressing a fist against his aching stomach. He was already a picky eater, and his nervous stomach made him want to eat even less.

After four hours of continuous work, Su Zhan opened Instagram during a break and instinctively clicked on Dylan’s profile.

Instagram stories only stay up for 24 hours, providing a tiny peek into Dylan’s life. In the latest post, a laptop screen was closed next to half a cup of coffee, looking like a quick break during work. At the edge of the frame, half of a Chinese primer was visible, titled “Introduction to Pinyin.”

Su Zhan couldn’t help but smile. Who was it that said they liked learning Chinese through daily life and didn’t look at textbooks? It was so late, yet he was still drinking coffee. Westerners really did have sturdy constitutions.

But his smile slowly faded, his brow furrowing into irritation. Would Dylan realize he could just teach himself and withdraw the $500-per-lesson offer? If that happened, Su Zhan would lose out big time just because of his pride!

The script materials next to him were so thick they felt like the physical embodiment of pressure. In a moment of distraction and fluster, Su Zhan’s finger slipped, and he accidentally “liked” Dylan’s story.

Even more awkward!

Liking the story felt like showing off in front of Dylan, a constant reminder that he could still teach Chinese. But unliking it would seem too intentional, so it was better to just leave it.

Before he could process it further, a DM from Dylan popped up: “Chinese is so hard :(“

Dylan: “Why do we have to learn Pinyin first? Aren’t these just English letters? Why do ‘making a phone call’ and ‘calling a taxi’ use the same verb…”

Does this guy have his phone glued to his hand?

Su Zhan jumped up in surprise, startling a few staff members who hadn’t left yet. They cast glances his way. Su Zhan felt even more embarrassed. Acting so jumpy made him look even more unreliable to these seniors, especially his supervisor, who already seemed a bit dismissive of him.

At this point, Su Zhan could only keep a stiff face and use the “mental victory” method. As long as he wasn’t embarrassed, the embarrassment belonged to others.

He still couldn’t quite let go of his pride, so he replied to Dylan: “I’ll prepare a lesson plan. Just looking at textbooks is indeed dry.”

After thinking for a moment, Su Zhan felt he was being too stiff, which wasn’t the right attitude for a service provider. He weighed his words and tried to explain the verb issue to Dylan. “The word ‘da’ doesn’t always mean to literally hit with your hand. It carries the meaning of triggering an action.”

It was the first time he had thought about Chinese from the perspective of a non-native speaker, and he found it quite novel. He began chatting with Dylan back and forth.

It wasn’t until the lighting technician shouted for him to remember to lock up that Su Zhan realized he was the only one left in the hall. The time he was supposed to spend memorizing blocking had been completely spent chatting.

He rubbed his face, his smile feeling a bit strained. But it was strange. Hadn’t he just been so anxious about the workload that his stomach hurt? For some reason, the pain had subsided.

Su Zhan replied in the DM: “It’s late, I have to work overtime to memorize the blocking. If you have more questions, you can send them to me first.”

Dylan was persistent: “What overtime? Is it the thing your professor mentioned last time?”

Su Zhan decided to stop talking to Dylan. He put his phone down and went through the blocking one more time. Chatting with Dylan was far too distracting!

Dylan: “Where are you?”

Su Zhan remained unmoved by the vibration of his phone.

Dylan: “It’s time for a break. Shall we go grab dinner?”

Su Zhan glanced at the phone, thinking it must be the vibration that was annoying him, so he looked again.

Who had time for dinner? He wanted to finish early and get back so he wouldn’t have to listen to another lecture from Xu Chenjian.

Dylan: “Are you downtown? I happen to be headed there to pick something up. Should I bring some Korean tofu soup over? Do you want seafood or beef?”

Su Zhan had underestimated the local’s knowledge of the city. With just the keywords “rehearsal” and “blocking,” Dylan was able to guess roughly where he was.

Dylan was coming by anyway and wanted to treat him to dinner. It wouldn’t waste Su Zhan’s time, and he’d get a free meal. Su Zhan looked at the menu Dylan sent and touched his stomach. He used to go to this Korean tofu soup place often. Having a hot bowl of tofu soup in the winter was very comforting.

Fine, he really was hungry.

Su Zhan picked his dish, sent the address, and didn’t forget to thank Dylan.

As Dylan got closer, he sent a few messages to confirm the location. The old downtown area was built long ago, and even locals could get lost. Su Zhan waited and waited, but Dylan was still nowhere to be seen, so he decided to go out to the curb to wait for him.

The rehearsal space was a converted old warehouse located on the edge of the old district. Opening the door revealed a world of pitch-black darkness, with only a gas station visible in the distance. This entire area was soaked in the desolate night, and the cold wind sent a chill down Su Zhan’s spine.

It hadn’t felt like much when he arrived earlier while it was still light out, but it was a bit frightening in the dark. Su Zhan had watched plenty of movies, and that naturally included horror films.

Su Zhan looked around, unsure if he wanted to see someone or if he hoped there was no one there at all. He hadn’t walked far when he heard footsteps behind him.

Someone approached and asked in a low voice, “Need something to relax?”

Su Zhan didn’t answer, pretending not to see him. When encountering homeless people or drug dealers, the best response was not to engage.

His hand in his pocket pressed tightly against his side. His whole body was tense as he debated whether it was better to turn back to the rehearsal hall or keep heading toward the roadside. He knew downtown was messy, but he didn’t expect someone to try and sell him drugs the moment he stepped out!

“Are you lost, pretty boy?” The man didn’t give up and followed him.

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