71: Chapter 71 Supporting Actors

That phrasing sounds a bit strange.

"I am honored that you would say that." Chen Mo didn't let go immediately, his expression sincere. "James, I have one more request."

James looked at him.

"I have a friend named Huang Bo. He is a very mature actor back home, and he has recently been in contact regarding the role of a Chinese-American engineer in your film."

"He auditioned twice. The first time, they said his performance was too 'big,' and the second time, they said it was too 'small.' He wants to know exactly what the director is looking for, but no one has told him."

James took off his glasses, wiped them with the hem of his shirt, and said, "Huang Bo, I remember him. I watched the recording of his second audition. He reined it in a lot, but he reined it in so much that it didn't feel like him anymore."

James gestured with his hands and said, "What I want isn't 'big' or 'small.' It's 'real,' do you understand?"

James put his glasses back on. The shadows of the ivy outside the window fell onto the edge of the mixing console.

"What are you asking for on his behalf?"

"I hope you can give him a fair audition opportunity, tell him what you want, and let him act it out for you. He has a wealth of acting experience and his skills are top-notch. It's not that he can't do it; it's that no one gave him the rules."

James was silent for a moment, then picked up his phone from the table and scrolled to a number.

"Is he still in Beijing next week? I'll have the casting director schedule a time with him to talk about the role directly. I'll make it clear to him who this Chinese-American engineer is. I want him to play that person, not play 'Chinese-American'."

Chen Mo said sincerely, "Thank you."

James patted him on the shoulder, his voice very slow.

"Tom Hiddleston is right. When you speak up for others, your voice isn't loud, but every word lands solidly." He pushed the mixing console volume fader back. "As for the theme song, it's settled."

When Chen Mo came out of the studio, the sun in Los Angeles was already leaning west.

He sat in the CLA and didn't start it immediately.

His phone vibrated. It was a WeChat message from Huang Bo, just one line: "Little Chen, Director James's casting director contacted me. Next week, we'll talk about the role."

Chen Mo replied: "Brother Bo, others didn't act like it; you need to act as if you aren't acting at all."

Huang Bo didn't reply for a long time. About ten minutes later, he sent a voice message.

Chen Mo clicked it open. There was the noise of a film set in the background, and Huang Bo's voice was very low.

"Little Chen, brother has noted it down. Thank you."

His phone vibrated. It was a message from Taylor: "Are you done talking?"

"Done. They're going to use it."

"Then let's have hot pot tonight. I've prepared it at home."

He didn't ask which "home" it was; he started the car.

The sales data for the second week of the album was tallied in the early hours of the eighth day.

Chen Mo sat on the bay window of the recording studio, while Taylor curled up on the sofa, flipping through a music magazine she had picked up from the coffee table.

Scott's call came in, his voice filled with irrepressible excitement.

"2.6 million. The second week has completely doubled compared to the first."

Taylor looked up from the magazine, her amber eyes watching him.

Billboard 200 champion for the second consecutive week.

Global streaming volume has surpassed 1.2 billion.

Scott's voice continued.

"Universal Music is going crazy. Katherine sent an email overnight saying that 'Epiphany' is the album with the highest second-week sales for Universal Music in the last five years."

"The first week of 1.3 million already broke records, and the second week doubled. They haven't seen a curve like this in years."

"And the fact that the second week sold even more than the first shows that word-of-mouth is fermenting; it's not just fans rushing to buy in the first week."

After hanging up the phone, Chen Mo leaned back against the sofa.

Taylor closed the magazine and walked over. She was wearing his white shirt, with two buttons at the collar undone, and the hem of the shirt reached the middle of her thighs.

She pulled the phone from his hand, placed it on the coffee table, and then took his hand.

"The album sales are very good."

"Hmm."

"Are you tired?"

"Tired."

"What kind of tired?"

"Not the kind that makes me want to sleep."

Taylor let go of his hand, walked to the kitchen, took the jar of honey from the refrigerator, returned to the sofa, and had him lie down with his head resting on her lap.

She smeared honey on his lips.

"It's sweet."

"Honey is sweet, of course." She pulled her finger back, put it in her mouth, and licked it. "Hmm, it is sweet."

Chen Mo looked at her and suddenly murmured very gently: "Taylor."

"Hmm?"

"Is the Staples Center stage ready?"

"It's ready. The band is ready, the lights are ready, the costumes are ready." She paused and gently massaged Chen Mo's temples. "And the guest is ready too."

"What are we singing?"

"'Closer,' the whole song." Her fingers still rested beside his lips. "And then one more, you choose."

"'Mercury Record.'"

Taylor's fingers stopped, and she paused before asking: "Chinese?"

"Chinese. I'll sing, you play."

She looked at him, her amber eyes shining in the dim light, and said: "I'll play."

End of August, Staples Center.

Taylor's 1989 Tour, Los Angeles stop.

The backstage corridor was full of people. Staff members ran around holding walkie-talkies, stylists pushed racks filled with sequined dresses, and band members leaned against the wall drinking mineral water.

Chen Mo stood at the side stage, looking at the audience through a gap in the black curtain.

The 20,000-seat venue was packed, and the lights from mobile phones converged into a sea of silver-white stars.

He felt very intuitively that she was Taylor Swift.

Taylor walked over from behind him. She was wearing a gold sequined jumpsuit, her short hair tucked behind her ears, and she was still wearing the two pearl earrings.

She knew Chen Mo liked this very much.

Her stage makeup was heavier than usual, and her lips were a true red.

She stood next to him, her shoulder brushing against his.

"Are you nervous?"

"Are you nervous?"

"Every time," she smiled, leaning her head against his shoulder, "but since you're here, I'm not nervous anymore."

The lights dimmed, and the screaming accelerated.

Taylor ran out from the side stage, her gold sequined dress shimmering in the spotlight.

Chen Mo stood at the side stage watching her. She stopped in the center of the stage and raised the microphone.

The first song was "Welcome to New York."

He watched the entire performance standing at the side stage.

When she sang "Blank Space," she used the microphone stand as a prop; when she sang "Style," she ran around the stage; and when she sang "Bad Blood," the whole crowd danced along.

The last song before the encore was "Shake It Off." She pointed the microphone at the audience, and 20,000 people sang the chorus for her.

She stood in the center of the stage listening, smiling like an eight-year-old child.

No wonder singers dream of holding concerts; this live performance, this atmosphere—it's worth it for a lifetime!

The piano prelude in C Major poured out from the speakers on both sides of the stage.

Tens of thousands of mobile phones were raised simultaneously, and the silver-white sea of stars was twice as bright as it had been at the start.

Taylor stood in the center of the stage; she had changed into a sea-blue long dress.

Chen Mo walked to her side, with a distance of one arm's length between them.

"Hey, I was doing just fine before I met you."

Taylor continued.

"I drink too much and that's an issue but I'm okay."

The two sang in turns, their voices intertwining under the dome of the Staples Center.

When they reached the chorus, she took a step forward, and he also took a step forward, shrinking the arm's length of distance between them to half an arm's length.

When they reached the final high piano note of the third bridge, Chen Mo struck it with his ring finger.

At the same moment, Taylor's fingers curled slightly inward, making that holding gesture.

Tens of thousands of people in the audience made the same gesture simultaneously, and some couples hugged without hesitation.

Taylor raised an eyebrow slightly, smiled, then switched the microphone to her left hand, reached out her right hand, and interlocked her fingers with his.

Fingers interlaced, palms pressed against palms.

Tens of thousands of mobile phones clicked their shutters at the same time, the sound of shutters so dense it was like rain hitting the dome of the Staples Center.

She didn't let go until the applause rang out.

The lights dimmed for a moment, and when they lit up again, a Steinway piano had appeared in the center of the stage.

Taylor walked over and sat down, her fingers landing on the keys, while Chen Mo stood beside the piano.

The prelude of "Mercury Record" flowed from her fingertips. The mobile phone lights in the audience dimmed, and the 20,000-seat venue quieted down.

Taylor didn't understand the lyrics, but she knew where every note fell. When they sang the chorus, "How much further until I can enter your heart," her left hand held the rhythm steadily, and her right hand followed the melody line of his voice.

"Although I don't understand the words, I know what you're singing."

"Tell me."

"Mercury orbits the sun, never able to catch up, but always orbiting." Taylor stood up and picked up the microphone from the piano. "So am I."

The whole venue erupted in applause.

That night, "Chen Mo Taylor Staples" surged to number one on Twitter trends globally.

Almost no one found it strange; it was as if everyone had tacitly accepted their relationship as "close friends," just blindly taking screenshots, saving them, and shipping the couple.

Taylor posted a photo on Instagram—

On stage, the backs of the two of them with fingers interlaced, the lights of the Staples Center falling from above, gilding their silhouettes in gold.

After the concert, Chen Mo and Taylor came out through the backstage passage.

The Los Angeles night breeze poured in, carrying the scent of palm trees and the distant sea.

The lights of the Staples Center slowly dimmed behind them.

Taylor was wearing that blue dress, draped in his black suit jacket.

The jacket was too big, the sleeves covering her fingers.

The two walked along the passage toward the parking lot, her high heels clicking on the concrete ground, one step after another.

When they reached the car door, she stopped and turned around.

The collar of the jacket slid down, revealing the straps of her blue sequined dress.

She looked up at him.

The Los Angeles moonlight fell on her face.

"Today on stage, I said Mercury orbits the sun, never able to catch up, but always orbiting. I am not Mercury." She paused, tilting her head adorably.

"I am another sun, and you are too. Two suns don't need to orbit anyone; as long as they are in the same galaxy, they will illuminate each other."

"What is this galaxy called?" Chen Mo asked curiously, holding her shoulders and gazing at her intently.

"The Epiphany Universe."

She smiled; her eyes curved first, then the corners of her mouth moved.

The car door opened.

She sat inside and wrapped the suit jacket tighter around herself.

The car drove out of the parking lot, and the lights of the Staples Center grew more and more distant in the rearview mirror.

She rested her head on his shoulder.

Outside the car window, the shadows of the palm trees retreated one by one.

She closed her eyes, her breathing slowly becoming even, the suit jacket completely covering her.

The sales data for the third week of the album was tallied in the early hours of the first week of September.

Scott sent a message, just one line: 3.4 million, Billboard 200 triple champion.

Chen Mo replied: "Thank you for your hard work."

On the mixing console screen, the project file for "Asgard" was still open.

James sent an email today, the body of which was clear and concise:

"The theme song doesn't need any more changes; the production team passed it unanimously. Tom Hiddleston said you told him that when Asgard is destroyed, Loki's main theme should use the French horn."

"Because the sound of the French horn is round, and all of Loki's underlying badness is round. I relayed this to the scoring team. They were silent for a moment, and then they started changing the score."

Chen Mo read the email twice and replied: "It is my honor."

His phone vibrated again; it was a message from Taylor.

"Just woke up. When are you coming back?"

He replied immediately: "Now."

The CLA slid out of the parking lot and onto Sunset Boulevard, with a bag of freshly bought strawberries and a jar of honey on the passenger seat.