Chapter 1: The Eight-Million-Yuan Tough Guy and the Unlucky ‘0’

At two in the morning, Su Xuan’s inbox flashed. Wiping his hair with a towel, he single-handedly popped open a can of coffee and took a long swig, only then realizing he had already brushed his teeth.

Su Xuan felt his mind was a little muddled.

He had finally earned a day off, free from late-night work. Yet, after showering, he instinctively pulled a can of coffee from the fridge, a habit formed from downing a can daily to memorize his lines through the night.

Su Xuan opened the email. ‘Well, it seems this coffee wasn’t for nothing today,’ he thought, as the production crew had sent over a new script, signaling another sleepless night.

Su Xuan was currently playing the fourth male lead in a third-rate web drama. The production team’s budget was ten million when they applied for the project, with eight million allocated to the male lead’s salary alone.

Just three months prior, this male lead had been an unknown, much like Su Xuan.

However, he had shot to fame after starring as the ‘gong’ in a BL side story within the hit IP adaptation, *From Now On*, which premiered this summer. He cultivated a ‘tough guy doting on his wife’ persona and extensively promoted a Real Person Slash (RPS) pairing with the actor who played the ‘shou’.

Now a recognized star, he wouldn’t even consider being the male lead in such a low-budget web drama without an eight-million-yuan paycheck.

Su Xuan had often overheard their director complaining about this ‘eight-million-yuan tough guy’.

But there was nothing to be done. The director also yearned for fame and a hit. For a web drama to succeed, it needed a popular star to drive publicity.

Su Xuan believed the director actually profited by securing this ‘tough guy’ for eight million.

Otherwise, the director wouldn’t have tolerated the male lead’s antics—bringing his own screenwriter to change scenes daily, and frequently taking leave for other projects—only daring to grumble behind his back.

In this era fame was money.

More popular stars commanded higher prices. Those who were popular, had a good reputation, and could guarantee viewership were one in a million. This male lead, for example, currently had seven or eight web dramas, each paying eight million yuan.

He would spend an average of only one or two hours a day on set for each production, yet production teams still eagerly waited to cast him. He was already considered a new second-tier star.

First-tier celebrities, especially the ultra-popular ones like Shen Chao—whom their director dreamed of casting every night—were a different story. This year, Shen Chao had two massive hit dramas.

One was From Now On, where he played the male lead. This was a satellite TV drama, broadcast on two channels, and its highest ratings surpassed three percent during the female lead’s final confession to the male lead.

The other, Chen Nian, was an original web drama produced by Douhua, a leading film and television app. Its viewership had already exceeded 20 billion before it even concluded.

Eight million yuan wouldn’t even be enough to get Shen Chao to make a brief appearance.

Shen Chao had been popular for four years, maintaining a rare and stable ascent to fame, with at least one hit drama every year. Celebrities of his caliber could not be bought with money.

Those who could be bought with money weren’t considered ‘top-tier’ but ‘temporary’—loyal fans, but ever-changing idols.

In truth, was always transient; no one could stay massively popular indefinitely. Shen Chao was the sole exception, with steadfast fans and a new character for every drama.

To a certain extent,could dictate a production team’s status. For instance, this male lead could freely alter the script. Though the lower-tier actors in the drama grumbled, they dared not openly protest.

Su Xuan, for example, found his script so drastically altered it was almost unrecognizable.

Originally, his character was a high school heartthrob, the female lead’s childhood friend, who existed mostly in flashbacks. His role wasn’t extensive, but his image was positive.

However, after the male lead’s screenwriter made sweeping changes, Su Xuan’s character transformed into a gender-bent ‘green tea’—jealous and scheming against the male lead, aggressively pursuing the female lead, and ultimately meeting a tragic end.

This tragic ending had been revised three times. The first version saw him fail the college entrance exam and end up driving an excavator.

The second version had him skipping the exam entirely, eventually selling real, quacking ducks at a farm beneath the female lead’s apartment. Truly, a gifted screenwriter.

Su Xuan had just opened the third version when he sprayed coffee all over his screen.

In the third version, Su Xuan’s character took the college entrance exam, but his ID information failed to register, rendering his attempt invalid. He would drive an excavator by day and sell real, quacking ducks by night.

The script read:

[In the evening breeze, he looked forlornly at the ducks in his basket, murmuring, “Anyone? Anyone want to buy my little duckies?”

He finally received his retribution. The male lead sneered at his cage full of ducklings and walked away, utterly satisfied.]

It was clear the screenwriter had worked tirelessly to please the male lead, with every phrase betraying a frantic plea of, ‘Client, please let me go!’

Su Xuan laughed so hard he nearly dropped his coffee can. He had been toiling in this chaotic web drama industry for so long, yet he never imagined he would one day be reduced to selling ducks.

He emailed the screenwriter: [Teacher, will this be changed again?]

This screenwriter was brought in by the male lead, but under the male lead’s prolonged torment, they couldn’t suppress their urge to complain. They had become quite candid with Su Xuan, who suffered similar ‘persecution’, forging a deep revolutionary camaraderie during their recent all-nighters.

The screenwriter replied: [Don’t ask. If you ask, it means the character isn’t prominent enough. I don’t know if it will change again. Just wait for news.]

Su Xuan was speechless: [But driving an excavator by day and selling ducks at night is too far-fetched. Are we really going to act this out? The director wouldn’t agree, right?]

[I think it’s ridiculous too, but there’s nothing to be done,] the screenwriter responded. [The male lead thinks you must be both a ‘chicken’ and a ‘duck’ for dramatic tension. I told him you couldn’t be a ‘chicken’, and he said he didn’t care. He’s a tough guy and needs to maintain his persona; all other men in front of him must be ‘chickens’ or ‘0s’. So I had no choice but to make you drive an excavator.]

Su Xuan felt a touch speechless but also resigned.

To be obscure meant to be a ‘chicken’, which was akin to less popular celebrities being forced into the ‘0’ role when promoting a CP. In the entertainment industry, unlike the prevalence of ‘0s’ outside, most male celebrities marketed or pushed into BL pairings by their companies vied to be the ‘1’ (top).

Being a ‘1’ attracted more girlfriend fans. Even if they privately posed with a ‘delicate’ hand gesture while wearing underwear, once they started promoting a CP, there was no negotiation. Even if they wore a condom with a ‘delicate’ hand gesture, they had to be the ‘1’.

Su Xuan replied: [Alright then.]

The screenwriter, however, felt their boss was being excessive and sympathized with Su Xuan. They replied: [Get popular quickly. Once you’re popular, you won’t have to be both a ‘chicken’ and a ‘0’.]

Su Xuan responded: [No thanks, I’d rather be a ‘0’.]

[…]

The screenwriter retorted fiercely: [Have some ambition! If you’re going to be a ‘chicken’, you must be a popular, hotshot ‘chicken’! Everyone should be lining up with eight-million-yuan paychecks for you to be a ‘chicken’—no, wait, for you to act! Don’t be an obscure ‘chicken’, understand?]

[Su Xuan, in the name of dark scripts, I command you: Seal release! Balala Energy! Get famous for me!]

Su Xuan, while memorizing his lines, casually replied: [Mhm, alright, sir.]

[Do you know what they say in this industry?] the screenwriter pressed. [It’s better to be a popular ‘chicken’ than an obscure ‘1’. Brother, some people will give up being a ‘1’ just to get famous. You need to get popular quickly, otherwise, you won’t be able to do anything!]

But becoming famous wasn’t so easy. Minor fame came from being promoted, major fame from destiny, and explosive fame from God.

Su Xuan had been obscure since his debut. He had no one backing him, and he didn’t believe he had the destiny. Not to mention, he was gay; God allowing him, a homosexual, not to fade into complete obscurity until his coffin was already a blessing.

Moreover, Su Xuan was quite daring. He hadn’t always been stuck in web dramas. He had acted in films. His very first film was a gay-themed one called *Courtyard*, co-starring Shen Chao.

That was probably the closest he had ever come to the word ‘famous’ in his life.

He was an actor opposite Shen Chao, a setup that barely qualified as dual male leads. No lead actor who worked with Shen Chao remained obscure, but Su Xuan might truly lack that destiny. *Courtyard* failed to pass review, was shelved, and couldn’t be released—not even abroad, as it was a Republican-era film with historical prototypes but heavily fictionalized, making it sensitive.

This was Shen Chao’s debut work and Su Xuan’s final film. After this, Shen Chao’s career exploded, making him a household name.

The director of *Courtyard* later collaborated with Shen Chao several times on films, all of which garnered excellent box office and critical acclaim. Su Xuan watched them all; they were indeed well-made. Shen Chao’s acting had become much sharper and more mature than when they worked together.

On the big screen, his face was exceptionally handsome, with distinct features and not a single flaw. He was so dashing he could instantly overshadow any male actor sharing the frame, and his acting career, like his looks, was filled with breathtaking artistry.

He was indeed the first man Su Xuan had ever liked.

Su Xuan felt a sense of shared pride; the more famous Shen Chao became, the better Su Xuan’s taste proved to be. His mindset was peaceful, without a hint of regret or imbalance. Applying the variable exclusion method—[Shen Chao + him + director = banned] and [Shen Chao + director + any other lead = famous]—the formula was clear.

He was indeed the reason it didn’t become famous.

However, his agent, Liu Pangpang, completely disagreed with Su Xuan’s variable exclusion method, even scolding him for developing an ‘obscure artist mindset’. Seeing Shen Chao soar while Su Xuan spun in web dramas, Liu Pangpang felt only a bitter ‘my fate is mine to control, not heaven’s’.

Su Xuan drank coffee while memorizing his lines. This scene involved him forcibly kissing the female lead, only to be brutally beaten by the male lead. According to the script, he was supposed to lie on the ground, butt facing the male lead, weeping ‘like a pear blossom bathed in rain’ (the script literally said this), and cry out, “Today you treat me with disdain; tomorrow, you won’t be able to reach me!”

‘This is too effeminate, truly too effeminate,’ Su Xuan thought, wondering what misconception the male lead had about ‘0s’. Yet, he memorized it with relish, then chuckled, “Tsk, a straight man pretending to be gay—may lightning strike him.”

After his first run-through, feeling a little tired, Su Xuan leaned back in the sofa chair, gazing at Shen Chao’s poster on the ceiling. He cleared his mind.

The poster on the ceiling was a celebratory one for *From Now On* breaking three percent in ratings. Shen Chao, dressed in a school uniform, leaned against a bicycle, his uniform hem fluttering in the breeze. The female lead, clutching a stack of books, secretly watched him. Shen Chao, however, didn’t spare her a glance, exuding an air of aloof coolness and indifference, as if he would never fall in love, looking incredibly handsome and youthful.

The poster bore Shen Chao’s autograph, along with *From Now On*’s promotional slogan: [You are my reckless eighteen years].

Su Xuan had seen eighteen-year-old Shen Chao, who was even more handsome and outstanding than in the drama—the most handsome man in the universe, so handsome that even a broken heart felt worthwhile.

Su Xuan had confessed to eighteen-year-old Shen Chao after Courtyard wrapped filming.