Chapter 29: The Chase and the Rescue

Su Xuan lay sprawled like a dead dog in a corner of the set, panting with his tongue out. His chest heaved violently as he raised a hand to chug a bottle of mineral water.

They had just been filming a chase scene on the road. Su Xuan played Ergou, who was brought to the police station for questioning about selling stolen jewelry, but Ergou thought his murder had been exposed. Taking advantage of Wang Muzhe—who played a policeman—being off guard, he fled the station.

The first take, Su Xuan tripped. The second take, he was too out of breath to deliver his lines on time. Qian Huai immediately flew into a rage, but Wang Muzhe held him back.

Now Wang Muzhe was also sitting beside Su Xuan, drinking water. This guy had just sprinted a few kilometers at full speed and only broke a sweat and was panting.

‘What stamina,’ Su Xuan thought involuntarily, remembering Shen Chao. But Shen Chao didn’t seem to pant much after running—just sweated and breathed a little heavier.

But was being an actor all about physical labor now? Two actors, both with such great stamina.

Wang Muzhe finished his water and said to Su Xuan, “You’ve made a mistake once. One more time, and Qian Huai will kick you out of the crew.”

Su Xuan already knew Qian Huai’s twisted rule—he was bald, and Su Xuan hadn’t expected this at all. Actors not in the crew wouldn’t know, and Su Xuan couldn’t possibly have known the gossip that only circulated within a small circle in the industry.

Because before, he had no way to reach actors of the caliber who could be in a Qian Huai film.

Su Xuan’s face scrunched up. “If I’d known about this, I wouldn’t have come so easily.”

Making mistakes was common for actors. It was the same as an actor NG—forgetting lines, laughing during a scene, or mixing up actors in a scene were all possible.

Qian Huai could NG a hundred times to achieve an artistic effect, but he wouldn’t allow an actor to make more than three mistakes in a single scene.

‘How is that even possible, damn it’—Su Xuan had wanted to argue back to Qian Huai, but after watching Qian Huai and Wang Muzhe rehearse, only one thought remained in his mind—

—’It actually is possible.’

Wang Muzhe could do it.

Before seeing Wang Muzhe, Su Xuan couldn’t imagine such a person existing in this world.

Qian Huai’s rule only applied to the lead actor and important supporting roles. He was impatient with extras and minor roles but much more lenient.

Because Qian Huai felt those people weren’t real film actors, so he was tolerant.

But for Wang Muzhe, the male lead, Qian Huai’s demands couldn’t be described as just harsh. He practically expected Wang Muzhe to lay eggs—an unrealistic demand. Like a crazy client, he’d frantically order retakes, then look left and right, reluctantly deciding the first version was best.

But throughout this process, Wang Muzhe couldn’t make more than three mistakes.

The first time Su Xuan saw Wang Muzhe being tormented by Qian Huai, his eyes went numb.

Wang Muzhe’s acting was too stable.

As Qian Huai filmed a scene, he would constantly make tiny adjustments to lighting, camera, etc. Su Xuan couldn’t tell the difference, so in his eyes, Wang Muzhe was like a videotape stuck on repeat, precisely reproducing the same frame.

‘Too damn awesome!’ Su Xuan was awed.

From then on, Su Xuan’s address for Wang Muzhe changed: “Emperor Wang, I have one last chance.”

Wang Muzhe was also helpless. “So I called cut. Your stamina is too poor; you can’t keep up with me.”

Su Xuan simply couldn’t meet Qian Huai’s demands. Although his acting skills barely passed the standard, he wasn’t on the same level as Wang Muzhe, who seemed to have long been under the thumb of crazy directors. Su Xuan needed an adjustment period. He made mistakes, couldn’t avoid them, and couldn’t control them to stay within three.

Without Wang Muzhe, Su Xuan would have been kicked out by a furious Qian Huai already. Of course, Qian Huai might let Su Xuan crawl back due to budget constraints.

Wang Muzhe would timely call cut when Su Xuan made two mistakes. Qian Huai would give him face, and Su Xuan would adjust his state, barely passing on the third try, allowing him to survive under Qian Huai’s command.

But Su Xuan was still stuck on this scene.

It was a chase scene shot on the road. Qian Huai demanded that Wang Muzhe, playing the police officer, chase Su Xuan, playing Ergou, at full speed, but Su Xuan couldn’t be caught—he had to escape successfully.

But when Wang Muzhe went full speed—Su Xuan said mournfully, “You’re too fast, Emperor Wang. I can’t outrun you.”

Su Xuan wilted. “I used to finish the 1000-meter physical test in 3 minutes 50 seconds… That was a pretty good score…”

Wang Muzhe coughed. “…I run 1500 meters in only four minutes… fifteen seconds faster than a perfect score.”

Su Xuan: “……”

Su Xuan was startled. “Wait?! Isn’t that the standard for a national second-level athlete?!”

Who the hell was he acting with?!

Wang Muzhe said, “When I was in high school, I was a volleyball PE student, a national second-level athlete.”

Su Xuan was dazed. “How can I outrun you? At your speed, you could lap me and have extra left…”

Qian Huai said full speed chase meant full speed chase. No negotiation. But Su Xuan simply couldn’t outrun Wang Muzhe—a big problem, and not solvable in the short term. Yet Qian Huai soon wanted them to do the third take.

But to make Su Xuan run faster than him…

Wang Muzhe pondered for a moment, then slowly spoke: “Su Xuan, listen—”

Su Xuan: “??? What??”

Wang Muzhe explained unhurriedly: “One day, a tiger met a rabbit. He wanted to catch it, so he raced the rabbit. But the rabbit ran for its life and still got away. Because the tiger just wanted to catch something, but the rabbit wanted to survive. So the rabbit escaped.”

Wang Muzhe seemed a bit reluctant to meet Su Xuan’s eyes. “…Su Xuan, how about we add a police dog? Let the dog chase you along with me?”

Su Xuan: “……”

Su Xuan: “…Huh?! ?”

The prop team brought over a tall, fierce-looking German Shepherd, already prepared. The owner held the leash and meaningfully patted the dog’s back—the dog was almost waist-high.

The owner introduced proudly, “It’s called Black Whirlwind. It can hunt and kill rabbits in the wild and bring them back. Very capable.”

Su Xuan looked at Wang Muzhe gloomily. “…Emperor Wang, it seems it won the race against the rabbit… and killed it too… Are we really adding it in…?”

Wang Muzhe didn’t dare look at Su Xuan. But Qian Huai rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “It could be added. It would add some comedic effect.”

‘But for me, it’s a tragic effect!’ Su Xuan screamed inwardly. He made eye contact with Black Whirlwind for a moment and felt his hackles rise. The dog bared its teeth at him menacingly, thick drool dripping down.

Su Xuan’s legs started trembling.

‘…Damn, it might even create a funeral effect!!’

Qian Huai stared at the dog for a few seconds, then made the decision: “Let’s try it first!”

Su Xuan wailed inside—’Director, if I try, I might die! This scene might be the last one I ever shoot!’

But on the surface, he forced a stiff smile. “…Okay, Director Qian. I just have one question: Is Black Whirlwind obedient? It stops when we call cut, right?”

The owner said, “Black Whirlwind doesn’t let go of a rabbit until it’s dead.”

Su Xuan: “……”

Su Xuan felt tears coming. He looked at Qian Huai. “Director, are there any safety measures for me?”

Qian Huai snorted. “Yes, but my safety measures only apply to actors who can deliver the scene I want. If you can run to my satisfaction, I’ll give you protection.”

Su Xuan wanted to roar: ‘If I could run to your satisfaction, would I even need protection?! And isn’t protection supposed to be for when I can’t achieve the desired effect?!’

Su Xuan looked at Wang Muzhe, his eyes desperate and longing. “Emperor Wang… Don’t you think something is a bit unreasonable here?”

Wang Muzhe turned his head away. “Hang in there, Su Xuan. You can do it.”

Black Whirlwind was led onto the road by Wang Muzhe. Su Xuan bowed frantically to Wang Muzhe, tears actually welling up. “Emperor Wang, Brother Wang, Brother Wang, please keep this Whirlwind on a tight leash, okay? Saving a life is better than building a seven-story pagoda. May good people have a safe life, Brother Wang!”

Wang Muzhe hesitated, glanced at Qian Huai outside the set, felt a pang of conscience, and nodded.

‘Sorry, Su Xuan. Even though the script says I hold the leash—’

Qian Huai clapped his hands vigorously. He exchanged a look with Wang Muzhe and roared, “Alright, enough nonsense. Everyone on your marks—”

“—Release!”

Su Xuan looked back in terror and let out a sky-shaking scream: “—Ahhh!!!”

Black Whirlwind: “Woof woof woof—!”

Su Xuan was drenched in sweat. The scene finally ended. He sat limp on the ground. Black Whirlwind put two paws on Su Xuan’s shoulders and licked him wildly, panting happily, as if it liked him a lot.

Su Xuan stared blankly at Wang Muzhe. “…It doesn’t bite people…”

Black Whirlwind’s owner said nearby, puzzled, “It only bites rabbits, not people.”

Su Xuan stared straight at Wang Muzhe and Qian Huai.

Wang Muzhe coughed into his fist and suppressed a laugh. “People can only suddenly run fast when their adrenaline spikes. We had no choice but to trick you.”

Su Xuan glared at them weakly, tears in his eyes. “You… are too unscrupulous…”

Qian Huai sneered with arms crossed. “Whose fault is it that you can’t outrun Wang Muzhe?”

“My fault,” Su Xuan said, on the verge of tears. “Why did I come here? I should be in the mountains, not here… Alright, Black Whirlwind, stop licking me…”

Song Xiao received a WeChat from Su Xuan that evening. They had added each other on WeChat during the “Nine Evils” crew. At first, their conversations were serious. Su Xuan would sometimes ask Song Xiao for acting advice.

But later, it turned into the two of them just trash-talking each other.

Song Xiao burst out laughing at the sticker Su Xuan sent. It was a picture of Qian Huai holding a fierce dog, with the caption [I’ll let you run 3.9 meters first].

Song Xiao sent a voice message: “He really set a dog to chase you?”

Su Xuan typed: [Yes, Aunt Qian actually did that. I ran until my lungs were burning. I tell you, I saw a white light at the end.]

Song Xiao cracked up: [That’s exactly the kind of thing those directors would do. He’s the same type as Director Liu—really tortures actors. Before, Shen Chao and I went through hell too.]

Seeing Shen Chao’s name, Su Xuan couldn’t help asking: [Shen Chao?]

Song Xiao remembered and started laughing: [Back when we were shooting ‘On the Horse,’ Shen Chao had a Ferghana horse in the show. Director Liu found him a horse with great appearance, but the horse had a bad temper. The stable said the horse needed to get familiar with Shen Chao before he could ride it. And the horse loved listening to music. To help Shen Chao bond with the horse faster, Director Liu made Shen Chao sing to it.]

Su Xuan: […]

Song Xiao laughed so hard she teared up: [But you know what? Shen Chao is tone-deaf!! Every time he sang, the horse reared. Shen Chao could only sing ‘Happy Birthday’ without going off-key!! So he sang ‘Happy Birthday’ to that horse over thirty times!]

Su Xuan: “Pfft!!!!”

Song Xiao: [Later, we all made fun of him, saying he was riding an old horse that was thirty-something years old.]

Song Xiao: [Wait, let me find a photo. I took one. I’ll show you.]

Song Xiao: [Photo]

Su Xuan opened the photo. He froze for a moment. The Shen Chao in the picture was so similar to the one in his memory. He was on horseback, wearing a hair bun and a form-fitting iron-armored hunting outfit, his brows and eyes even more dashing than now. His long legs straddled the horse, one hand holding the reins, the other patting the horse’s neck. Shen Chao was looking at the photographer, seeming a bit displeased.

Su Xuan had watched “On the Horse” many times, but every time he saw Shen Chao in this costume, he felt it was really handsome.

Su Xuan: [Was he saying something?]

Song Xiao: [Oh, yeah. Shen Chao retorted, saying it wasn’t that old, telling us not to joke about it. He had a good relationship with the horse. Sometimes he’d ride it around even when not filming.]

Su Xuan: [How’s your filming going?]

Song Xiao: [Not bad. The scenic area notified us to speed up. We should be done soon. How long will you be?]

Su Xuan: [Don’t know]

He was a bit helpless too. Qian Huai was a director with many ideas, the kind who would improvise and change the previously set plan as if struck by inspiration. They, the actor clients, were all tormented enough that even Wang Muzhe sometimes dozed off during breaks.

Originally, Su Xuan was supposed to come after finishing his major scenes here. Qian Huai’s later scenes were to be filmed after the first episode of “Nine Evils” aired. But now, completion seemed nowhere in sight.

Most importantly, Qian Huai seemed to want to back out. He didn’t want to let Su Xuan go. He wanted to keep Su Xuan in the crew until all filming was done.

He had already talked about this with Su Xuan a few times.

“Su Xuan, finish filming first, then leave,” Qian Huai said while looking at the monitor. “Don’t waste yourself on that web drama. Stay here, got it?”

Su Xuan was stunned. “Director Qian, but—”

Qian Huai waved his hand, cutting him off. “No buts.”

On the monitor, Su Xuan was screaming and trying to save a little boy—Ergou’s son.

Ergou’s son had been living with his grandparents.

Ergou got mixed up in the jewelry heist. Greedy and unwilling, and afraid of his murder being discovered, he wanted to take the jewelry and run.

Ergou went to his son, hid the jewelry under his son’s bed, and went to buy tickets. But the criminal organization behind the jewelry had tracked the stolen goods to Ergou. They broke in and only saw a child doing homework.

These people asked the child kindly where his father went. Although confused, the boy sensed something wrong. To protect his father, he lied, saying his father hadn’t come back.

But the boy didn’t know that the jade pendant Ergou had given him to wear was one of the stolen items.

When Ergou returned, he saw his son lying in a pool of blood. Ergou went crazy, performing CPR and mouth-to-mouth on his son, then ran around the hospital holding the cold body, kneeling on the ground begging for help.

Finally, Ergou called the police. He walked back the same way he had escaped from the station.

This scene was incredibly intense. Qian Huai said there would be no music—it would rely entirely on Su Xuan’s acting, mostly close-ups.

Su Xuan couldn’t remember how many takes it took, but he eventually passed. However, after finishing, Su Xuan knelt on the ground and couldn’t stand up—he really couldn’t. His mind went numb; he had low blood sugar.

The next day, Su Xuan had a fever and nightmares. In the nightmares, the boy lying in blood, wearing the jade, reached out to him, calling him “Dad, why didn’t you come back to take me away?”

Back on set, Su Xuan occasionally saw the child actor and wanted to avoid him. He felt creeped out, afraid to look. He told Wang Muzhe that after filming that scene, seeing the child actor felt strange and a bit awkward.

Wang Muzhe looked at him, perplexed. “Su Xuan, that little boy left days ago. What’s wrong with you?”

Su Xuan was stunned.

During that period, his state was almost dazed—very disoriented and floating, as if walking in a dream. But his scenes passed easily. Su Xuan knew his condition was bad, even terrible, but once on set, he could feel the little boy beside him, watching. And strangely, Qian Huai loved the footage shot in this state.

Qian Huai said this was true immersion in character.

But Su Xuan hadn’t seen himself acting in that state.

He stared at his hysterical self on the monitor, feeling a bit horrified.

He felt it wasn’t him, but someone else—a different face, expression, demeanor. Su Xuan found it all very unfamiliar. He hadn’t felt that way while acting, as if someone else had possessed him to play the scene.

Qian Huai looked at him, grabbed Su Xuan’s shoulders, and said, “Don’t waste your talent on TV dramas, Su Xuan. You belong to films and the big screen. You belong to artistic works, not some messy, sensationalist commercial crap. That’s all shit. Don’t learn from Shen Chao.”

Su Xuan was dumbfounded. “Don’t learn from Shen Chao?”

Qian Huai sneered, “He has talent and skill, but he’ll never reach your level. He can only play Shen Chao-style actors, serving the fan economy. People in the industry remember his money; outsiders remember his face. No matter the work, the end result is always—Shen Chao the person towers above the work. I don’t like that.”

Qian Huai finished speaking, rapped his knuckles on Su Xuan’s head three times, and said, “Think about it carefully,” then left.

Su Xuan rubbed his head, dazed. Beside him, Wang Muzhe chuckled. “Director Qian giving you a brainwashing session?”

Su Xuan snapped back to reality. “…Yeah, I guess. I didn’t realize he had such a strong opinion of Shen Chao…”

Wang Muzhe was casual. “It’s impossible for him to like Shen Chao. A director with a strong personal style and an actor with a strong personal style can’t be in the same crew. It’s like two tigers on one mountain.”

Su Xuan looked at him, a bit confused.

Wang Muzhe explained, “You’ve already acted with Shen Chao, right? In the crew, how much say does he have compared to Hua Na?”

Su Xuan thought about it. “…About the same.”

Wang Muzhe continued, “Director Qian needs actors who act entirely for his needs, basically incapable of injecting their own personality. That is, you act whatever he says.”

Su Xuan understood. “So I’m just a tool actor, right?”

Wang Muzhe smiled. “Something like that. But sometimes, actors have their own understanding of the role and script. For example, Shen Chao is very familiar with ‘Nine Evils,’ and he has his own acting requirements.”

“When two people have different interpretations of the script and both insist on their own way, then—’bang’—” Wang Muzhe made a collision gesture with both hands. “—World War III erupts.”

Wang Muzhe added, “But I do agree with Director Qian on one point: I also don’t like actors who overshadow the work. But Shen Chao is too… vivid. When you see him on screen, your memory of him amplifies to the max instantly. After watching, the deepest impression is always him—he steals the audience’s attention, making them ignore the brilliance of the film or drama itself.”

Wang Muzhe sighed. “I’ve never seen a script or actor that can suppress Shen Chao’s presence.”

“He may not be the best actor, but he’s definitely the most unforgettable to everyone.”

Su Xuan suddenly asked, “If Shen Chao learned to suppress his presence, what would he become?”

Wang Muzhe thought for a while, then said seriously, “Then I might be out of a job. He’d be capable, young, good with expression, good-looking, suitable for the big screen, and wouldn’t steal the spotlight. Even Qian Huai might want to collaborate with him…”

Su Xuan’s expression was complicated. “…Director Qian and Shen Chao collaborating?”

Wang Muzhe finished his sentence: “…Then halfway through, Director Qian gets furious and kicks Shen Chao out of the crew.”

Su Xuan: “……”

As agreed, Su Xuan was supposed to leave today after finishing this scene to go shoot “Nine Evils.” This made Qian Huai irritable all day.

Because Su Xuan hadn’t agreed yet.

And after the scene with Ergou’s son’s death, Su Xuan seemed to suddenly get the hang of it. The number of NGs and mistakes decreased significantly. Sometimes he could even match Wang Muzhe. Even when Qian Huai repeatedly ordered retakes, Su Xuan and Wang Muzhe could reproduce the scene like a stuck videotape.

Filming progress accelerated.

People on set, after watching for a while, got a strange feeling—as if the two were like the spinning figurines in a music box come to life.

Su Xuan’s last scene was after Ergou called the police. Wang Muzhe’s police character told Ergou that the killer of his son couldn’t be caught yet.

Moreover, Wang Muzhe hinted that the forces behind these people were deeply connected. Even if they knew where they were, under the protection of various powers, catching them was very difficult.

Ergou sat brooding in the police station all night. Then he stole Wang Muzhe’s gun, went to the place Wang Muzhe had mentioned, shot wildly, and killed those people hysterically. Finally, he shot himself.

After Su Xuan’s suicide scene, the last shot was on Wang Muzhe. Wang Muzhe’s acting was always steady—so steady, Su Xuan thought, that it reached a certain level. But Qian Huai rarely praised him and sometimes complained that Wang Muzhe was lazy, not acting seriously, just “coasting.”

After Su Xuan finished, he was about to pack up and leave. But he heard Qian Huai roar: “Wang Muzhe, you better act seriously for this scene! Act well! Use the skills that won you the Emperor Award! Shock Su Xuan so much that he scrambles to stay!”

Su Xuan: “……”

Qian Huai grabbed Su Xuan’s arm tightly as he was about to leave, glaring at him. “Watch this scene, then leave!”

Turning his head, he shouted at Wang Muzhe: “Wang Muzhe, if you don’t convince Su Xuan in fifteen minutes, you’re not a man!”

Su Xuan: “……”

Wang Muzhe: “……”

Wang Muzhe helplessly rubbed his temples. He turned to Su Xuan and rubbed his nose. “Director Qian, I’ll try my best, but convincing Su Xuan in fifteen minutes really doesn’t make me a man.”

Su Xuan: “…”

‘I suspect Emperor Wang is making a dirty joke… Actually, no need to suspect; this crew is definitely led by Director Qian in degeneracy every day.’

What Wang Muzhe had to act was a seven-minute-long take, also the puzzle and essence of the film. As they say, the best part of a suspense drama is the last three minutes.

And the best part of this film was also the last seven minutes.

And those seven minutes were all a continuous long take following Wang Muzhe. During these seven minutes, he had to interact and talk with many people with emotional shifts, without any NG, completing it in one go.

The shot started with Wang Muzhe returning from Su Xuan’s suicide scene to the police station to resign.

The scene began. Wang Muzhe greeted some people at the suicide scene. “How is it?”

“All dead, completely. Used your gun.”

A look of cowering fear appeared on Wang Muzhe’s face, but he also seemed to pity these people. “I’ll go back to accept punishment. I didn’t watch him well, nor my gun…”

A colleague comforted him, “It’s okay, not your fault. Those people all committed crimes. We might not have been able to handle them anyway. This is their retribution…”

Wang Muzhe forced a smile. He turned and walked out the door onto the street. His forced smile gradually became cheerful. As he walked, he hummed a tune. Amid the crowd, he took off his police hat and casually placed it on a little boy, teasing him: “You’re so cute. I’ll give you the hat.”

The boy said thank you, “Thank you, Uncle Police.”

His mother watched Wang Muzhe’s back in surprise and unease, wondering about this policeman who didn’t want his hat.

He walked all the way into the police station, his cheerful expression turning somber. He took off his uniform and placed it before his superior. His shoulders gradually slumped. Tears and snot flowed together: “I’m sorry, I’ve failed your training. I’m not fit to be a people’s policeman.”

Under his superior’s astonished and reluctant eyes and words, Wang Muzhe took off his clothes and hung them in the locker room. The tears on his face disappeared, replaced by a strange fervor. Slowly, he opened the locker room door, stripped naked, and walked into the shower room. He used his work badge to open a storage locker—inside were gleaming jewels.

The final shot was Wang Muzhe leaving with a backpack. A jade piece fell out of the pack and rolled into a roadside drain.

This was the suspense film “Jewel Thief.”

The policeman played by Wang Muzhe, along with an accomplice, stole the jewelry from the crime lord. Based on tips from an informant inside the station, Wang Muzhe learned that the crime lord was smuggling a batch of jewels. He got the idea and, together with his friend—Ergou’s wife’s lover—stole the jewelry.

Unexpectedly, the lover got caught giving jewelry to Ergou’s wife, and the crime organization caught on.

Wang Muzhe gritted his teeth and killed the lover, trying to frame Ergou.

Then Ergou really killed his wife. Scared by Wang Muzhe’s interrogation, and fearing exposure, Ergou ran off, went to his son, but the son was killed by the crime group. Desperate, Ergou turned to Wang Muzhe for help, but Wang Muzhe used him, feeding him information to lure him into attacking the crime group.

Wang Muzhe pretended to sleep, leaving his gun where Ergou could see it.

Finally, Ergou indeed took the gun and attacked. With heavy casualties, the police stepped in fully, and the crime group dared not pursue the jewelry any longer.

The true whereabouts of the jewelry sank into oblivion, and the jewel thief, Wang Muzhe, left in time.

But the film was all told from Wang Muzhe’s first-person perspective, investigating the jewel thief case—from Ergou to the crime group, tracking down who really was the thief.

In the end, the thief turned out to be Wang Muzhe himself.

This ten-minute scene went extremely smoothly for Wang Muzhe. He was no longer the stuck music-box figurine but became… a victoriously insane thief, tinged with personal emotion. For instance, the shot where he gave the hat to the boy actually showed regret for the dead Ergou’s son. Yet this regret mixed with the satisfaction of victory, making it quite frightening.

Wang Muzhe’s overall performance was very impressive.

After the first take, Qian Huai was drenched in sweat. He had boasted they could finish in fifteen minutes, but Su Xuan had been watching for half a day without a single successful take.

But each attempt produced great results—the character came alive, and Wang Muzhe handled it effortlessly.

Su Xuan asked, “I feel Emperor Wang is acting differently from before.”

Qian Huai glanced at him. “Of course. Do you think he got his Emperor Award for nothing? Before, he was just a puppet in my hands, acting exactly by my signals. But for this scene, I told him to act on his own, with his own understanding.”

“Looks awesome, doesn’t it? Want to stay and let him teach you?”

Qian Huai coaxed, “Su Xuan, don’t you want to shoot this kind of long take? That third-rate web drama ‘Nine Evils’ won’t let you do that.”

The cameras swirled around Wang Muzhe. He stood in the center of the scene, eyes eerie yet at ease, slowly unbuttoning the uniform that represented justice, becoming a heinous jewel thief.

Su Xuan was tempted.

He also wanted to shoot a long take. It looked so cool. If he did well, he could show off to Shen Chao…

Su Xuan licked his lips. “I kind of want to stay… learn this from Emperor Wang…”

Someone nearby shouted excitedly, “Su Xuan, someone’s here to visit you!”

Qian Huai’s set was completely closed—no fans or media allowed. Someone visiting was as rare as a prison visit.

Qian Huai was impatient. “Who?!”

The person couldn’t contain the excitement and brought the visitor in. Su Xuan looked over and froze completely.

Shen Chao was standing there quietly. “I’ve come to take you back to the crew.”

Qian Huai saw Shen Chao and instantly exploded: “Who said Su Xuan was going back with you? He’s already decided to stay after watching Wang Muzhe’s scene!”

Shen Chao’s eyes shifted slightly toward the set. Wang Muzhe was shooting the part where he enters the locker room and finds the jewelry.

Wang Muzhe, who had stripped down to his shorts and was about to enter the locker room, smiled awkwardly but politely. “…Long time no see, Shen Chao.”

Qian Huai kept chattering, “Su Xuan has already decided to stay with Wang Muzhe…”

Su Xuan jumped up anxiously. “I meant I want to learn this kind of scene from Emperor Wang!”

Shen Chao glanced at Wang Muzhe, who was now getting dressed, and said, “You want to learn a nude scene from him?”

Su Xuan: “……”

Wang Muzhe, who had dressed and walked over: “…It’s not like that.”

‘Shen Chao, don’t look at me with that cold gaze as if I’m a corruptor of good women!!’

Su Xuan nervously explained the whole situation to Shen Chao. After that, Shen Chao said nothing.

But Qian Huai was very pleased, pacing back and forth in front of Shen Chao with his hands behind his back. “See, see? Not everyone wants to follow your path. Little Su has his own ambitions. He looks down on your money-grubbing…”

Su Xuan couldn’t help interrupting Qian Huai’s bragging. “But actually, I still want to… go back…”

“Long take?” Shen Chao asked calmly. “That is indeed Wang Muzhe’s forte. He’s better than me.”

Su Xuan was startled.

Wang Muzhe’s performance was stable, rarely making mistakes—exactly the quality needed for a long take that required steadiness. Such steadiness wasn’t achieved overnight.

At Shen Chao’s age, it was almost impossible to reach Wang Muzhe’s level of stability. He might polish a 7-8 minute long take, but he couldn’t match Wang Muzhe’s ease and emotional fullness. That came with experience.

Shen Chao asked Su Xuan, “Do you want to stay here?”

Suddenly, the gazes of Qian Huai, Wang Muzhe, and some onlookers fell on Su Xuan.

Su Xuan slowly shook his head. “No. I’m going back with you.”

Qian Huai angrily slapped the back of Su Xuan’s head. “Going back? You’ll have no long takes to shoot! No one there knows how to do this…”

“It’s okay even if there aren’t any. I’ve seen how Emperor Wang does it. Maybe I can teach myself,” Su Xuan said, grinning and wincing as he rubbed his head where Qian Huai had hit him.

Su Xuan looked at Wang Muzhe. “And that amazing long take carried a lot of Emperor Wang’s personal style.”

Su Xuan smiled. “I think that’s something I can’t learn. I still need my own things. Although Emperor Wang told me that too much personal style is bad, having no personal style at all—just relying on you to teach me—would turn me into a puppet. I don’t think that works either.”

Wang Muzhe and Qian Huai were both stunned.

Finally, Qian Huai laughed out loud. He waved his hand and turned away. “Alright, I actually like you. Becoming a puppet would be a waste. Get lost!”

Wang Muzhe looked at Su Xuan, then at Shen Chao, and sighed with a mix of headache and amusement. “Now I know why Shen Chao insists on having you, Su Xuan. You two are really cut from the same cloth.”

“But I don’t like puppets either,” Wang Muzhe said with a warm, teasing smile. “Junior disciple, I hope next time we meet, we don’t need to set dogs on you to finish a scene.”

Su Xuan: “……”

Su Xuan: “I won’t give you another chance to do that.”

Shen Chao waited until Su Xuan had finished talking with everyone, then coldly said, “Qian Huai, Wang Muzhe.”

Qian Huai was walking ahead. Hearing this, he turned, his face dark. “What now!”

Wang Muzhe also looked over, puzzled.

Shen Chao: “Don’t interfere with the path Su Xuan takes.”

His expression was serious. “Whatever kind of actor he wants to become, whatever he wants to learn, only if he’s willing. Don’t influence him, and don’t overuse him.”

Su Xuan was stunned for a few seconds, then his face slowly turned red…

‘How does he feel… that Shen Chao doesn’t like others interfering with him, so he can’t go back to the Nine Evils set…’

But Shen Chao earnestly planning Su Xuan’s future, hoping Su Xuan would follow his true desires…

Su Xuan smiled faintly at Shen Chao and said seriously, “I won’t be easily swayed. I know what I want most.”

“Mm.” Shen Chao met Su Xuan’s eyes for a moment, then said softly, “Me too.”

Song Xiao was practically ecstatic. She was on the phone with Wang Muzhe talking about it, her eyes sparkling as she listened. “And then? And then! Oh my god, I haven’t seen Shen Chao lose his temper in years. You’re amazing, Wang Muzhe, to get under his skin.”

Wang Muzhe was completely innocent. “What did I even do? I just talked to Su Xuan, acted a bit, taught him some things, gave him some advice as a senior. Didn’t I do anything wrong?!”

“Didn’t you see Shen Chao’s eyes?!” Wang Muzhe felt he was being wronged. “Even though his existence itself is payback to me, I just wanted Su Xuan to stay and film! He acted like I was stealing his wife! Qian Huai almost started a fight with Shen Chao.”

Song Xiao laughed so hard she staggered. “Shen Chao and Qian Huai started a fight?!”

Wang Muzhe sighed helplessly. “You know Director Qian’s temper. Shen Chao lit his fuse. He grabbed Su Xuan’s arm, insisting he stays, and Shen Chao shielded Su Xuan behind him, refusing to let go. The two played tug-of-war with Su Xuan…”

Song Xiao was in hysterics.

Wang Muzhe continued, “Finally, we pulled Qian Huai away, but Shen Chao never let go of Su Xuan’s hand. His expression was pretty terrifying. I feel that if Su Xuan tries to come back next time, it’ll be tough—Shen Chao looks like he won’t let him go.”

Wang Muzhe asked, “But I’m curious. Why did Shen Chao come to pick him up?”

Song Xiao laughed herself tired, slumped on the hotel sofa backrest catching her breath. She thought about it. “No idea. Su Xuan said he’d come today, but the next morning he didn’t show up. Word is he was detained there. At first, Hua Wei said he’d negotiate with Qian Huai, but Shen Chao just took leave and went to pick him up.”

Wang Muzhe felt something was off but couldn’t put his finger on it. “Your crew has so many people. Was it necessary to send Shen Chao specially?”

Song Xiao was startled, thinking ‘Damn,’ then quickly covered it up. “Well, we were afraid no one else could handle Qian Huai and get him to release Su Xuan?”

Wang Muzhe’s suspicion subsided. He pondered. “That’s true.”

“Only Shen Chao could snatch Su Xuan back from Qian Huai…” Wang Muzhe murmured, then suddenly thought it peculiar. “…Hold on, didn’t I remember your crew doesn’t have Su Xuan’s scenes right now? That’s why Director Qian dared to detain him. Why did Shen Chao insist on taking him back?”

“He took Su Xuan back but not to shoot. What does Shen Chao want Su Xuan for?”

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