Chapter 36 – A Sky Full of Stars (END)
When everyone saw Shi Cha’s name, they simply couldn’t believe it.
Although Shi Cha had shown a glimpse of his skills on a variety show and was a top student from A University, they still found it hard to imagine that someone so unknown—someone who, just a month ago, was virtually non-existent in the entertainment industry—could actually receive a nomination for such a prestigious award.
He voiced an entire animated film—a film that now had a high chance of winning an international award!
Was he even human?
This disbelief wasn’t limited to netizens; even Shi Cha’s former classmates were stunned.
Their class group chat exploded once again.
[When did this even happen? There wasn’t a single hint about it!]
[The film is only getting nominated now, but that means it must’ve been completed and submitted at least a month or two ago. If we count backward, it must’ve been during our senior year.]
[Shi Cha was always so introverted—when did he even get involved in such a big production?]
[Senior year, huh? Now that you mention it, I remember Shi Cha once spent a period of time using one of the school’s dubbing studios alone. Word was, during that time, only he was allowed to use it.]
[So it was back then? In that case, I know this—Shi Cha got the job thanks to Du Yan. @DuYan, was the project you gave Shi Cha the Divine Dragon film?]
[@DuYan @DuYan]
Everyone knew that tagging @ShiCha was pointless—he never replied—so they went all-in and began bombarding Du Yan instead.
Du Yan had chatted with Lin Ran for a long time the night before. By the time he got home, it was already 1 or 2 a.m., and now he was deep in sleep.
His phone kept buzzing with WeChat notifications from the group chat, but glancing at them, he figured it wasn’t anything urgent. If it were serious, he thought, they’d just call me directly. So he simply powered off his phone and went back to sleep.
Meanwhile, Lin Ran—newly crowned “model boyfriend of the year”—had gotten up early and was in the kitchen following a recipe to make porridge.
At the exact moment Shi Cha’s alarm went off, he also received a voice message from Lin Ran.
“Time to get up, my little sleepyhead. Your boyfriend is here to bring you breakfast.”
The soft, teasing voice in his ear made Shi Cha hug his pillow and roll around on the bed a few times, savoring the moment. Only after that did he finally climb out of bed in his pajamas and demurely open the door for Lin Ran.
Even after they finished breakfast, Shi Cha still had no idea that the internet was buzzing with the news of his award nomination.
It was Lin Ran who asked him, “I’m going to France in three days. Do you have time to come with me?”
Shi Cha thought for a moment. It seemed he didn’t have any pressing plans lately.
Streaming had always been something he did on a whim, and besides, he had taken a week off just a few days ago—it hadn’t even ended yet.
So he nodded. “I’m free. Do you need me to be your translator?”
Lin Ran smiled and pinched his cheek. “Mr. Shi, do I need to pay you for your services?”
Just as Shi Cha was about to shake his head and say no, Lin Ran leaned down and kissed him deeply.
When the kiss ended, Lin Ran’s husky voice came low in his ear, “Is that payment satisfactory, Mr. Shi?”
Shi Cha licked his lips and gave a small nod. At the same time, one phrase popped into his mind, completely unbidden: Blinded by lust!
Seeing Shi Cha look so obedient, Lin Ran lowered his head slightly and rubbed noses with him, chuckling. “I was kidding. You’re not coming as a translator—you’re coming with me to attend the animation film festival in France.”
Only then did Shi Cha realize: as a nominee for Best Voice Acting, he had also been invited to attend the Cannes International Animation Film Festival.
But since he hadn’t left any personal contact information at the time, the festival organizers had no choice but to go through the film’s production team.
After hearing Lin Ran’s explanation, Shi Cha suddenly understood. “So the animation project Du Yan helped me get back then—that was your film?”
He finally realized why, during the voice-over sessions, some of the scenes in the movie had felt so familiar.
Years ago, he and Lin Ran had been rescued by the police from human traffickers. But due to the trauma—and the influence of Xiao Pang—Shi Cha’s autism had worsened, making it even harder for him to interact normally with other children.
At that time, the only person he could tolerate being close to was Lin Ran.
And during that period, Lin Ran had adapted myths from Huaguo (China) and told them to Shi Cha as bedtime stories. One of those stories had been about the Divine Dragon.
Of course, after all these years, those stories had evolved far from their original versions.
Seeing Shi Cha lost in thought, Lin Ran continued, “I’ve been preparing this film for a long time. I had already assembled the whole creative team—the only thing missing was a voice actor. And the first person I thought of was you.”
Shi Cha had been his first audience. Lin Ran had wanted him to be part of the credits too.
After hearing that, Shi Cha pursed his lips and muttered in a small voice, “Then why didn’t you come to me directly?”
Lin Ran laughed and lightly tapped his nose.
“I did. You were the one who didn’t give me the chance.”
After hearing Lin Ran’s explanation, Shi Cha finally understood that Lin Ran had actually come to the university to look for him.
But at the time, Shi Cha had fallen into a period of confusion after Lin Ran’s sudden retirement. He had lost his sense of purpose and shut himself off completely, slipping back into the same autistic state he’d experienced as a child.
Du Yan, as Shi Cha’s close friend—and his only link to the outside world—had turned down Lin Ran’s invitation on his behalf.
Lin Ran hadn’t known what Shi Cha was going through. He had only heard from Du Yan that Shi Cha never accepted any projects. In the end, he had no choice but to entrust Du Yan as the middleman, hoping he could persuade Shi Cha to agree.
Du Yan had indeed succeeded in convincing Shi Cha in the end, and even helped secure the best terms for him—on the condition that all communication go through Du Yan.
And so, Lin Ran and Shi Cha missed each other by a narrow margin.
Shi Cha looked down with a conflicted expression. Du Yan had blocked countless potential suitors for him during their university years. That time, he must have mistaken Lin Ran for just another admirer and blocked him too.
With this kind of “indiscriminate defense,” Shi Cha wasn’t sure whether to thank him or blame him.
…
Elsewhere, Du Yan sneezed for no reason. He rubbed his nose and muttered under his breath, “Who’s thinking about me in broad daylight?”
Then, finally free, he picked up his phone, which had been buzzing non-stop, only to see a flood of @ mentions in the group chat.
What?
Shi Cha had been nominated for an international award?
And it was for Lin Ran’s animated film?
Du Yan immediately called Shi Cha. “Hey, I think Lin Ran owes me a big fancy dinner! If it weren’t for me, how would you have ended up voicing that film? You both better thank your amazing middleman here!”
But to Du Yan’s surprise, when the call connected, there was no promise of a fancy dinner.
Just a quiet, “Thank you.”
Yet the more Du Yan thought about it after hanging up, the more that “thank you” didn’t sound like gratitude.
Even though Shi Cha knew he shouldn’t blame Du Yan, he still felt a little bitter. If he’d known the film’s director was Lin Ran, maybe the two of them would have…
Well, then again, back then, Brother Lin Ran might not have liked him yet anyway.
Lin Ran looked at Shi Cha, who sat there first sighing, then frowning, clearly lost in thought, and couldn’t help but chuckle.
He reached out to gently touch Shi Cha’s earlobe. “What are you thinking about?”
Shi Cha hesitated for a while before finally asking the question that couples ask most often:
“When… when did you start liking me?”
As soon as the words left his mouth, the tips of his ears turned red. His eyes darted everywhere, avoiding Lin Ran’s gaze.
Lin Ran raised an eyebrow. He hadn’t expected his little one to ask that.
He gently twirled a lock of Shi Cha’s soft hair around his finger. “If I said it was when you were still underage, would you think I’m a pervert?”
Shi Cha looked down, revealing his slender neck. His fingers fidgeted nervously as he whispered, “No… I liked you when I was underage too.”
After that, Shi Cha suddenly looked up at Lin Ran. Then his eyes lowered slightly again, as if he had made up his mind.
Before Lin Ran could react, Shi Cha stood up, straddled Lin Ran’s lap, and sat down facing him.
He looked Lin Ran straight in the eyes, his tone serious and firm.
“But I’m an adult now.”
And then—
…
Three days later, at the Cannes International Animation Film Festival, photos of Divine Dragon winning five out of its eight nominations were sent back to China.
In the photo, Lin Ran and Shi Cha looked at each other and smiled.
One held the trophies for Best Director and Best Screenwriter, the other held the trophy for Best Voice Actor.
Behind them stood the rest of the Divine Dragon creative team.
[My husband’s husband is still my husband!]
Press releases flooded the internet.
The top trending search came with a bold red “Explosive” label next to it.
This was the first time a Chinese animated film had received such prestigious international recognition. It wasn’t just about the trophies—it marked a historic moment where Chinese animation had officially stepped onto the global stage.
From that moment on, no one could mock Chinese animation as third-rate.
[First time shipping a CP, and my heart feels not just sweet, but proud!]
…
On the awards stage, Shi Cha held his trophy in one hand, and with his pinky, hooked the pinky of Lin Ran’s free hand.
He tilted his head slightly to look up at Lin Ran, who was gazing down at him.
Both wore gentle smiles, their eyes reflecting each other’s figures—backlit by a sky full of dazzling light.
[At last, I can stand beside you, on the same award stage.]
Author’s note:
Little Shi Cha’s original wish was to one day win an award on the esports stage alongside Lin Ran. In the end, that wish still came true—just in a different form.