Chapter 2
China
THERE WEREdays so steeped in happiness, they were like the perfect ending to a well-loved series. It was Han and Leia kissing before Kylo Ren screwed up their happily-ever-after. It was saving the galaxy, recovering the lost treasure, and rescuing the princess all at once, and Walter Chen clutched every second to his heart, wishing he had the power to slow down time. But this wasn’t a book or a movie. This was his life, and he wanted to remember the details so he could savor them whenever his anxieties overwhelmed him.
Today was the opening ceremony, often called the booting ceremony, for his manga comic to begin filming for television. It was how Chinese productions asked for blessings before shooting began. The production company, the stars, and the creators got together. Media was present, and everyone joined in the celebration. He didn’t even care that he was standing in the back of the soundstage, barely visible behind the lighting crew. He knew they thought he was an unimportant cog in the vast machine that was television.
It didn’t matter because he’d been thefirstcog. What had started as a fever dream, then drawn in desperate breaks from his barista job, was now about to become a television show, and he thanked everyone he met for their part in his good fortune.
“Yaz!” he said as his agent stomped up to him on her impossibly high heels. “Can you believe this?” he said, gesturing expansively around the set.
“No, I can’t!” she snapped. “It’s un-freaking-believable. I’m going to put a stop to it right now.”
He blinked. She didn’t sound giddy happy like he was. In fact, her brows were lowered, as if he’d just killed her favorite purse Chihuahua, Louis. “Um, what?”
“Come with me,” she said, gripping his arm in a vise hold. “We’re going to talk to the director right now.”
Walter stumbled after her, doing his best not to sideswipe makeup artists, costume designers, or (God forbid) any of the on-camera talent. The female stars were so thin, he was afraid he’d accidentally snap their bones. Then Yaz grabbed director DuYi’s arm and hauled him none too gently around.
“Did I or did I not negotiate for the creator to help with casting? Who plays what part is very important to Walter, and he has the right to give his input. He knows where the story is going. You don’t.”
DuYi blinked at her, understandably confused. He’d just finished toasting the production’s success for the eighth time. Her demands were completely at odds with the tone of the ceremony, and it was taking him a moment to adjust. “Miss Yaz,” he said, “of course the creator was consulted. Did you get some champagne?”
“Really?” Yaz said as she pulled Walter forward. “Look around,” she instructed Walter. “Did you choose any of these people? Did you?”
“No, I didn’t, but it’s—” He was going to saynot important. Casting was a great deal more complicated than who would be the best actor to play the role. Especially in China—where this production was being filmed—actors were chosen because of political ties, fan engagement on the Asian version of Facebook, plus a zillion other factors. Honestly, Walter was too happy to argue over casting.
His agent didn’t give him a choice. “He hasn’t been consulted on anything!”
The director frowned, first at his empty champagne glass, then at Walter. “Who is this?” he asked.
There it was, the deflation to his happy balloon. The director didn’t even know who he was.
“This is Walter Chen.” And when DuYi still didn’t recognize him, Yaz snapped out in frustration, “The creator ofWinter Wolf’s Reign. The man who wrote the manga that you’re taking to television!”
DuYi’s eyes widened as he looked down at Walter. He blinked several times, as if he couldn’t believe that the short, bespectacled guy in front of him was the geek who’d created the story adored by millions of fans. “You’re not Touko Chen.”
Walter shook his head. “That’s my cousin. He helped with the anime, but the original manga is mine.” Everyone stood there as they realized what had happened. Walter’s agent had given him casting input, but that honor must have gone to his cousin by accident. Oops.
“Uh, well, um…,” the director said, obviously sweating. “But you got the check, right? Those were sent to the right place.”
Yaz rolled her eyes. “Of course we got paid. I made sure of that.”
“Well, then, it’s all good.”
No, actually, it wasn’t all good. Walter was a quiet man, but that didn’t mean he was unimportant. He was about to say as much when Yaz started in on her I’m-shocked-and-appalled routine. She gasped, pitched her voice into a furious growl, and even managed to push out a few tears as she demanded recompense for their error. It was one of the reasons she was a great agent.
She’d just gotten started with the “I am horrified that a director of your reputation—” when DuYi broke in.
“No, no! Of course we understand. Mr. Chen knows that he could not select the stars. That was explained to you, yes, that the principals were already selected? But of course you have the choice for the remaining roles.”
“What roles?” Walter had already seen the list of the actors and parts. Everyone was assigned.
“Um, uh….” DuYi rubbed a hand over his forehead before he snapped his fingers. “Shan Ru, the drunken student who becomes a wolf. His role has not been assigned.” He made an expansive gesture to where the kung fu actors were drinking and laughing together. “You may pick the man for that.”
Yaz snorted. “He isn’t important. He only has a few lines.”
“But he is in almost every episode. He provides an excellent balance for the hero.”
