Chapter 38: The Masterpiece Scene

The following day, Hua Na asked Su Xuan, “Are you ready to shoot the most important scene of your season?”

With such a strong start for the online series *Nine Streams*, Hua Na believed that if Su Xuan’s performance in this critical scene was shocking enough, it was entirely possible for Su Xuan to leap upward and become the second Shen Chao.

After today, Su Xuan would have to go to *The Jewel Thief* set to shoot the remaining scenes. Hua Na thought he should first let Su Xuan try this scene, especially since Yan Gang had been training (beating) him for nearly half a month.

This was also Su Xuan’s first attempt at shooting [Killing Mother to Prove the Dao].

Hua Na was even more anxious than Su Xuan himself. Because of the massive success of the premiere, his pressure had not diminished but doubled. He was terrified that the subsequent episodes wouldn’t keep up.

Su Xuan attributed Hua Na’s anxiety to the “top student” kind of worry—always fretting about missing the threshold for Tsinghua by one point, even though he had been first in both the second and third mock exams.

Last night, Hua Na even called Hua Wei. Such a grown man, yet he broke down crying in front of his own father, asking, “What if I can’t shoot it well?”

Hua Wei comforted him, saying it was perfectly normal for this kind of scene to be difficult. Back then, Wang Muzhe had spent an entire month on it. Filmed to the point where his own mother wouldn’t dare recognize him—literally too scared to go back home and acknowledge her. He had NGed countless times; every NG meant killing his on-screen mother once more.

Hua Na: “…”

On the second day of shooting, Hua Na was so nervous his forehead was taut. He had mentally prepared himself for many NGs, but as the scene was about to start, watching Su Xuan still adjusting his costume, he couldn’t help but ask, “Su Xuan, are you confident you can shoot it well?”

Su Xuan thought for a moment. “I don’t know what ‘well’ means.”

“But I should be able to pass.” He said cheerfully, laughing, waved at Hua Na, and walked onto the set with complete composure.

On the set was Shen Chao. In a moment, he and Yan Gang would each film some shots with Su Xuan. Su Xuan glanced at Shen Chao, who stood outside the camera frame. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Countless thoughts faded from his mind, leaving only one resolute conviction—

‘Damn it, at least I can’t lose to Du Mu!’

Hua Na shouted, “*Nine Streams*, Scene 14, Shot 1, Take 1!”

Su Xuan’s eyes snapped open. Everyone held their breath, watching Su Xuan unleash his full aura. He slowly drew his gleaming sword from his waist. The blade reflected his dazed and muddled face, his lips twitching as if to curl into a smile.

Hua Na watched intently and murmured, “Good, good. This state is excellent. Su Xuan, keep it up, keep it up…”

Song Xiao’s eyes lit up. “Su Xuan’s vibe is really good, isn’t it?”

Yan Gang, who hadn’t yet gone on stage, crossed his arms and smirked. “He doesn’t look like a weakling. Quite imposing.”

Suddenly, Su Xuan hiccuped. The hiccup jolted his entire body—shoulder to wrist, wrist to elbow, elbow to hand, hand to sword. The sword hit the ground, and he stumbled forward a step. Losing his balance, Su Xuan fell flat on his face.

Hua Na: “…”

Song Xiao: “…”

Yan Gang’s expression was complicated. “…Director, am I really supposed to be beaten by this guy?”

Hua Na was getting a headache and was about to call cut. But then he saw Shen Chao calmly gesturing for them to continue, his expression mild, as if Su Xuan’s behavior was normal.

Song Xiao’s emotions were mixed. She never thought Shen Chao would be blinded by love one day. How could they continue like this?

She spoke up, “Did Su Xuan drink before coming on set? He can’t even walk straight.”

The words to tell Su Xuan to step down were on Hua Na’s lips. Suddenly, he slapped his thigh, struck by a revelation. “Su Xuan didn’t drink! It’s Rouge Young Master who likes drinking!”

Song Xiao was startled. Then she heard Hua Na talk excitedly, “I remember the original novel mentioned that Rouge Young Master went to a brothel before going to find his mother! And every time he goes to a brothel, he drinks. He’s about to kill his mother the next day, so this time he would have drunk especially heavily.”

Hua Na’s eyes gleamed with excitement. “Su Xuan is acting—acting as Rouge Young Master, dead drunk. He’s avoiding it. He doesn’t want to go to [Spring Peach Residence] to kill his mother, so he lies at the entrance, pretending to be drunk.”

Su Xuan tried several times to push himself up with his sword, but each time he slid back down. Blood was smeared on his face—real blood—but no one called cut.

They could all see that Su Xuan was using his own understanding to give everything he had to interpret this scene as Rouge Young Master.

At this moment, Shen Chao made a “come on stage” gesture to the actress playing Rouge Young Master’s mother, who was standing by. She looked at Director Hua and mouthed, “Is it me?” Hua Na whispered, “Follow Shen Chao’s lead. Go ahead.”

None of them could tell what kind of Rouge Young Master Su Xuan was going to portray.

But Shen Chao could.

He knew what Su Xuan’s acting meant. And he knew exactly which actor Su Xuan needed to interact with next.

The actress swayed as she approached, waving her handkerchief. She covered her mouth and giggled, “Young master, why are you lying drunk at the door? Come inside to drink. Lying here is so uncomfortable.”

Su Xuan’s face was injured. He had been separated from his mother for many years. His mother had known no less than a thousand men in a life of revelry, so she had no idea that this was Rouge Young Master.

Rouge Young Master slowly lifted his head. Blood dripped from his eyelashes, highlighting his incomparably stunning features. His lips curled in a half-drunk smile. “Where is ‘here’?”

The actress reached out to wipe the blood from his forehead, her fingers caressing his face ambiguously. “What a handsome young master. Naturally, you should be drunk in the gentle embrace of Spring Peach.”

Su Xuan’s voice was imbued with liquor, husky and hoarse. He swayed, fixing his gaze on her. “I’ll burn this place down, give you riches and honor, give you a status above others. Whatever you want, I’ll give it to you.”

The woman found him frightening and withdrew her hand in fear.

But Su Xuan grabbed her retreating hand. A startling light burned in his eyes. “I can wipe away all your past as a prostitute. You can start anew as a virtuous woman. No one will dare spread rumors about you, and no one will speak of your…” He swallowed hard and forced out the last word, “son.”

The woman shook her head in terror. “I have no son. And I don’t see anything wrong with being a prostitute. Let go of my hand!”

Su Xuan tilted his head back and exhaled a white breath. His neck seemed to have gone limp from the alcohol. His head wobbled on his shoulders a few times before finally settling—only his eyes turned to stare at the woman, the whites shot through with red. He let out a hoarse, low laugh.

Song Xiao got goosebumps all over. She furiously rubbed her arms. “Holy crap! Su Xuan is acting like a psychotic killer! The kind that specifically targets women! I’m breaking out in cold sweat!”

Hua Na stared, slightly dazed. “…He must be using what he learned from Qian Huai. The effect is amazing…”

Su Xuan said in a low voice, “If you don’t reform, I’ll kill you.”

As soon as he said that, the Dao began to be proven, and the heart demon emerged.

He raised his sword high. Amidst the screams of the woman and the bystanders, he swung fiercely down at the woman’s neck. Yan Gang was about to move in, but Shen Chao reacted faster and intercepted the strike. With a fluid motion, Shen Chao’s sword parried Su Xuan’s blade, slid down the length of it, and smoothly pierced Su Xuan’s heart.

The woman stumbled and fell to the side, her legs trembling uncontrollably.

Shen Chao pressed the sword deeper. Only then did Su Xuan lift his head, blood dripping from his lips, a smile on his face. Shen Chao paused. “Rouge Young Master? It’s you? Have you fallen into demonic obsession?”

At the name “Rouge Young Master,” the woman’s face turned stark white. She froze, staring up at him—he, whose white robes were half-soaked in blood. She recognized him now. The one who came to kill her was her own son.

Shen Chao asked, “Why do you want to kill her?”

Su Xuan stared straight at him. “Because asking the Dao told me that my path requires killing my mother. If I don’t, I will die.”

Shen Chao frowned. “I won’t let you kill her.”

A bloody cough escaped Su Xuan’s lips as he smirked. “That’s true. You’ve already killed me. What difference does it make whether I kill her or not…”

Blood poured endlessly from his chest. Shen Chao frowned and moved to check on him, but unexpectedly, Rouge Young Master laughed softly and, catching him off guard, thrust his sword forward again!

Rouge Young Master attacked with his sword. But the woman who had been sitting on the ground suddenly stood in front of Shen Chao. Rouge Young Master couldn’t stop in time, and his mind was unsettled. She let out a short cry before his sword pierced through her body, blood gushing forth.

She clutched her chest, gripping Rouge Young Master’s sword and pushing it deeper inch by inch, a tragic smile on her face. Like a lump of decayed, melting rouge, she slowly crumpled to the ground. The blood pooled beneath her like peach-colored ink, spreading under her vibrant clothes.

She gazed at him with adoration. “Yanzhi, you’ve grown up…”

“I’m willing to go with you… Mother is willing to become a virtuous woman for you…” She smiled as tears fell, smearing the rouge on her face. “But… it’s too late. So Mother… is willing to die to prove your Dao.”

“Yanzhi, Little Spring Peach, Nannan… Don’t die. Let Mother die for you…” With those words, she closed her eyes. The pink gauze handkerchief in her hand slipped, covering her face as her arm fell, as if a shroud were being drawn over a skeleton of pink rouge.

Rouge Young Master fell completely silent. Shen Chao didn’t move either. The entire scene seemed frozen.

Then, he suddenly stepped forward and yanked the sword from his mother’s chest. He lifted his gaze, a smile on his face, but tears streamed down freely. “She’s dead…”

“I have proven the Dao.” Rouge Young Master looked down at the blood on his blade—his mother’s blood mingling with his own as it dripped down. He chuckled softly. “Big Spring Peach is dead…”

“She is dead. So I should have succeeded in proving the Dao. Then why…” He looked at Shen Chao. With a sweep of his sword, the blood on the blade coalesced into droplets that fell to the ground, making a metallic sound like striking gold or stone. He asked hoarsely, with a laugh, “Then why hasn’t my heart demon been eliminated? Why is my desire to kill only growing stronger!”

He swung his sword at Shen Chao.

Hua Na was so focused that his body leaned forward involuntarily. His eyes widened unconsciously—the atmosphere these two had built was incredible. The tension and hostility were palpable from just a single exchanged glance.

Hua Na didn’t even want to call cut.

What followed was a purely physical fight scene—no wire work, no aerial stunts.

Because both characters would constantly interrupt each other’s attempts to take flight, some shots required slow motion and fast motion, making the force and fluidity of the movements crucial.

They needed to feel the impact of the sword hitting the body. The fight had to be real and unscripted. Yan Gang had trained with Su Xuan for so long precisely for this fight—a scene where Su Xuan, driven mad, had to overpower Shen Chao while heavily wounded, with a genuine, reckless killing intent.

But at this moment, Shen Chao absolutely could not perform such an intense scene.

Hua Na finally sighed and called cut. “That’s enough, Shen Chao. Come down.”

Yan Gang made a gesture to replace him, but Shen Chao’s cold glare before drawing his sword made Yan Gang pause.

Hua Na was bewildered. Shen Chao’s meaning was clear—he wanted to continue fighting Su Xuan.

For this scene, he would not use a stunt double.

Su Xuan was about to stop when Shen Chao pulled the sword from his chest, causing him to stagger. Surprised, Su Xuan looked at Shen Chao, who was already attacking with fierce momentum. He had no choice but to counterattack.

Su Xuan understood Shen Chao’s intention.

Song Xiao spoke with mixed feelings. “Shen Chao wants to shoot this scene himself.”

Su Xuan’s eyes grew calm. He exchanged a long look with Shen Chao, then took a breath and swung his sword.

Without mercy, Su Xuan struck Shen Chao’s shoulder with his sword, forcing him down. The blade bounced twice. Then Su Xuan abruptly reversed his grip and slashed horizontally at Shen Chao’s head. Shen Chao dodged just in time, the sword grazing his hair.

Shen Chao kicked Su Xuan’s sword-wielding wrist, sending the blade into the air. With a menacing air, Shen Chao swung the blunt side of his broken sword at Su Xuan’s shoulder.

As the male lead, Bai Di did not want to harm Rouge Young Master, so he used the blunt side.

Su Xuan turned and pressed into Shen Chao’s embrace. He turned his fist into a palm and struck Shen Chao’s waist forcefully, while reaching with his other hand to catch the airborne sword. Shen Chao’s face twisted briefly. He grabbed the scabbard and slammed it hard onto Rouge Young Master’s right shoulder.

Rouge Young Master was knocked to one knee. His sword fell from the air, grazing his face and leaving a bright red scratch before embedding itself in the ground with a metallic ring. Su Xuan’s hand was locked by Shen Chao, unable to move.

Suddenly, a twist. Rouge Young Master lunged forward, dropped to his knees, and bit onto the scabbard of his sword. With the scabbard in his mouth, he turned and swung the sword in a clean arc aimed at Shen Chao’s throat.

Su Xuan had practiced this “biting the sword to cut the throat” move hundreds of times. Every time, Yan Gang would slap his face with a broken sword, making the sword fall from his mouth. In the beginning, his face was swollen every day, and he couldn’t even eat.

Shen Chao was equally merciless—he slashed his sword at Su Xuan’s face. Su Xuan focused, held his breath, and dropped low, sweeping his legs across the ground. Shen Chao lifted his leg and kicked against Su Xuan’s sweep. The collision sent both of them bouncing backward.

Su Xuan rolled on the ground, got up on one hand, bit the sword, and glared at Shen Chao with murderous intent, blood seeping from the corner of his mouth.

Shen Chao spun, retracted his leg, and stood steady. He held his sword behind his back, looking down coldly at Su Xuan, blood dripping from his wrist.

Normally, there should be some dialogue to reduce the action. Hua Na had suggested adding a dramatic scene to lower the intensity. But both Rouge Young Master and Bai Di were extremely decisive men—they didn’t waste words. Shen Chao and Su Xuan felt the same. Both rejected the idea.

Different paths, no common goals. Kill!

Shen Chao flipped his sword, pointing the blade at Su Xuan. Su Xuan took the sword from his mouth with his right hand. He stabbed it into the ground, putting his full body weight on it. The blade bent halfway, then snapped straight with a *twang*.

Using the recoil, Su Xuan launched himself forward. He spun in midair, reversed his grip, and thrust the sword at Shen Chao.

This section had no wire work.

The first time Su Xuan heard the requirement, he was stunned. A move that required him to hover and spin in the air while thrusting a sword—and no wires? He wasn’t a superhero. How was that possible?

But Hua Na explained that if they used wires, Su Xuan’s sword would look too floaty. The visual effect wouldn’t be as good; it would seem fake.

To achieve the floating effect, Su Xuan had to put almost all his strength into his core. He trained planks for half a month just for this few-second shot.

The essence of this move wasn’t the moment Su Xuan was in the air—it was what happened after Shen Chao deflected his thrust.

Shen Chao’s sword knocked Su Xuan’s airborne strike away. Su Xuan’s sword spun, and his body followed, his hair whipping around. He held his breath, sweat beading on his forehead. He reversed his grip, touched the sword tip to the ground to borrow force, then launched himself up again, driving the sword fiercely at Shen Chao once more.

During this, Su Xuan could only use the sword for support. For the visual effect, his entire body had to stay straight, only his toes touching the ground. It was a one-minute-long, extremely difficult plank that also required two full rotations in the air. The first time Su Xuan learned this, he went on a rant: ‘This is f*cking gymnast-level requirements!’

Since his debut, Su Xuan had finally walked the path of an athlete.

Every day after practicing this move, Su Xuan felt like his waist had been run over by a tractor driven by ten Yan Gangs.

Hua Na was completely awestruck. “…He actually did it…”

Song Xiao was also completely stunned. “Su Xuan isn’t wearing wires, is he?! Did he just flip twice in midair?!”

Yan Gang crossed his arms and smirked. “Not bad.”

The set had fallen completely silent. Everyone’s mouths were slightly open, their gazes glued to the pair locked in combat, unable to look away.

Shen Chao bent backward to dodge the thrust. Su Xuan’s sword grazed past Shen Chao’s eyelashes. Shen Chao’s face was deathly pale—the injury on his waist hadn’t fully healed, making such moves extremely risky. But his expression remained cold and murderous. He raised his broken sword, reversed his grip on the scabbard, and charged in close, intending to lock Su Xuan’s throat from behind.

Su Xuan had his back to Shen Chao.

Without turning around, Su Xuan faced forward and raised his sword. The white reflection of the blade shone in his eyes. From the sword’s reflection, he saw Shen Chao attacking. Su Xuan thrust the sword backward under his armpit. Shen Chao barely avoided it, catching the blade with one hand. Blood dripped from his palm.

Su Xuan, still with his back to Shen Chao, had his sword tip an inch from Shen Chao’s eye. He held it there, frozen.

Shen Chao gripped the sword and asked, “Why don’t you kill me?”

Su Xuan lowered his head and pulled the sword back. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. He coughed twice and said, eyes downcast, “I didn’t come here to kill you. Get lost.”

With that, he slashed open the doors of Spring Peach Residence, which had been shut tight during the fight. Amidst the screams of scattering courtesans, he went upstairs and found his mother’s keepsake—a folding fan inscribed with the words “Lady Spring Peach.” It was a gift from Rouge Young Master’s father, a client, to his young mother. She had been moved, and eventually gave birth to him.

He let a single tear fall onto the fan. Before leaving, Rouge Young Master casually fanned the peach blossom tree in the center of the courtyard. The tree burst into brilliant bloom.

The peach tree stood lush, its blossoms radiant. Spring Peach had bloomed fully—his mother had once yearned to be a wife who suited her home.

Peach blossoms drifted down. Rouge Young Master caught one on the fan’s surface. The flower dissolved into a painting, merging into the fan. He gazed at it for a long moment, then turned and left.

From then on, wherever Rouge Young Master went, he carried this fan.

Everyone knew that the woman Rouge Young Master treasured most was named Lady Spring Peach. The one he deemed worthy must have been a peerless beauty. Even her name inscribed on the fan seemed to hold endless spring charm.

When the fan opened, spring was boundless—and that was this peach blossom fan.

Hua Na let out a long breath. “Cut.”

Everyone seemed to snap back to reality, looking at the two on set. Hua Na said, “It’s a pass.”

Su Xuan was stunned for two seconds. Then he heard Hua Na jump up excitedly, running over to hug him and Shen Chao, almost screaming, “It’s a pass!! The two of you, one take! Su Xuan, Shen Chao, you are gods!! Gods!!!!”

Su Xuan looked dazedly at Shen Chao. Shen Chao’s eyes held a rarely seen smile. He looked at Su Xuan as if watching a peach blossom blooming in his heart—a look with affection, obsession, and unspoken desire.

But it was only a moment. Shen Chao looked away and said, “You did very well just now.”

Su Xuan’s face flushed red. “You too.”

Then, worried, he looked at Shen Chao’s waist. “But is your injury okay? Why did you push yourself to shoot with me?”

He had seen Shen Chao’s face tighten several times—a sign of pain.

Shen Chao gazed at him intently. “You fulfilled our promise.”

Su Xuan was taken aback. He was about to ask what promise, but then he remembered. Before leaving the set to film *The Jewel Thief*, after watching Shen Chao’s incredibly stunning fight scene, he had said he wanted to play opposite Shen Chao and deliver such a brilliant fight together.

And Shen Chao had said okay.

So, even with an unexpected injury, Shen Chao had calmly and stubbornly fulfilled his promise. He went on set despite illness, insisted on not using a stunt double, and together with Su Xuan, they delivered a breathtaking, utterly spectacular fight that was the stuff of legend.

Su Xuan’s hand was still numb from the tremor of Shen Chao’s sword. His eyes suddenly grew wet. He thanked Shen Chao sincerely, “Shen Chao, thank you.”

Whether or not you will ever love me, or love someone else deeply, I thank you for being willing to give your all to perform this scene with me. It will be unforgettable for me, and perhaps also for the audience.

Though it was cheesy, Su Xuan truly felt that liking Shen Chao might be one of the best things that had ever happened in his life.

This scene was Su Xuan’s final scene in the Nine Streams web series.

They were going to take the wrap-up photo.

The photographer gestured at the group standing together. “Su Xuan, get a little closer to Shen Chao! Song Xiao, come over here, lean toward the center! That’s it! Okay! Everyone shout!”

“Ready, one, two, three—Congratulations, Su Xuan, on wrapping up *Nine Streams*!”

A bunch of goofballs made various funny faces at the camera. Song Xiao held a bouquet of flowers in front of her face. Yan Gang pressed his elbow on Su Xuan’s head, forcing Su Xuan’s head down a notch.

Su Xuan held up both hands in big peace signs. He stood beside Shen Chao, grinning goofily and radiantly. Behind him, Hua Na smiled like a kind father, giving a thumbs-up over Su Xuan’s head.

Su Xuan and Shen Chao stood in the center, side by side. Shen Chao neither smiled nor joked. While everyone was shouting “Congratulations, Su Xuan, on wrapping up!” Su Xuan heard Shen Chao’s quiet voice: [Su Xuan, there’s a long road ahead.]

He didn’t dare turn to look—he was afraid he would cry. So he just hummed an “mm-hmm” in response, his voice thick with tears.

Whether or not there would be a future, Su Xuan was already satisfied. He had gained so much that he truly had no regrets.

He now had a photograph of himself standing openly with Shen Chao. It was just a group photo, but Su Xuan wasn’t hiding or avoiding it. He stood firmly and happily beside Shen Chao.

Just as Liu Pangpang had said—openly, beautifully, without anyone daring to scold him for this moment of happiness, because the happiness was also permitted by Shen Chao.

“Congratulations, Su Xuan, on wrapping up!”

Su Xuan’s role in the first season of *Nine Streams* wasn’t the largest. His first appearance didn’t come until the middle of the series; in the early episodes, he was only a character in the opening credits.

His work on the *Nine Streams* set was mostly done. If Hua Na needed him later, he might have to come back for some pick-up shots, but the bulk was finished.

His next priorities were various endorsement campaigns and wrapping up *The Jewel Thief*.

*The Jewel Thief* wasn’t a major production. It wasn’t produced by Star Culture or UK. The investor behind it was an old friend of Qian Huai, and the industry didn’t have high hopes for it. The budget was pretty small. Before Su Xuan joined, its only selling point had been Wang Muzhe.

Now, it also had the red-hot Su Xuan.

Qian Huai watched Su Xuan adjusting his blocking on set and muttered to Wang Muzhe, who stood beside him, “Hey, did you notice? Su Xuan has a certain something now.”

Wang Muzhe looked puzzled. “What kind of something?”

Qian Huai clicked his tongue in annoyance and covered his nose. “It’s definitely not the stench of your body after not showering for a week. I mean that Su Xuan has his own ideas about acting now.”

Wang Muzhe, who hadn’t showered in a week thanks to Qian Huai’s filming schedule: “…”

Wang Muzhe had a good temper and didn’t bother arguing. Instead, he carefully observed Su Xuan on set. “Yeah, he’s developed a personal style now. It’s different from before.”

An actor having a stable personal understanding of their character was very beneficial to the performance. It made the character appear real and consistent, without any collapse of persona.

But Qian Huai, as a director with his own very strong personal interpretations of every character, usually demanded that actors follow his lead.

Previously, Su Xuan had done exactly that. But an actor trained that way, no matter how skillful, was just a puppet controlled by the director.

Such actors had a fatal flaw: they could only work well with good directors and good crews. Once paired with a director who had a chaotic understanding of the characters or faced a messy script, they would revert to mediocrity.

Because these actors were merely tools to present the work. When the work was good, they performed well. When it was bad, they performed poorly.

That was why Qian Huai had previously scolded Wang Muzhe for being lazy in his acting. Wang Muzhe’s usual method was a lazy one—he didn’t think for himself. He might act well, but he never considered what he was actually portraying.

Such actors were like mirrors, only reflecting what they saw. In Qian Huai’s eyes, they were just tools.

Other actors were like lenses.

They thought, recorded, and presented their own interpretations of the characters. To some extent, they could use their excellent performance to make even a mediocre script shine. Someone like Shen Chao, if faced with a terrible script or a troublesome crew, would react very forcefully.

For example, Su Xuan had heard gossip from Song Xiao about the drama *From Now On*. Liu Junya originally wanted to play a sweet, secretly-crushing girl who would later be doted on by Shen Chao’s character in a domineering way.

The script written by the screenwriter was barely passable—it felt like a generic, assembly-line campus idol drama. Liu Junya wanted to revise it further, adding mindless romance scenes. But when the revised script was given to Shen Chao, he quickly replied that if the script wasn’t changed back, he would pay the penalty and leave the production.

The team relented and let Shen Chao revise the script. Shen Chao and the screenwriter went head-to-head that night. In the very first episode, he killed off the female lead. When Liu Junya received the new script, her face turned black. But the screenwriter and the others were thrilled, because the revised version was obviously much better.

*From Now On* became a story about a ghostly female lead who believed she hadn’t died yet, trapped in a time loop reliving the day before her death. On that day, she confessed to the male lead.

From then on, she confessed to him every day. But she didn’t realize she was in a loop, and neither did anyone else. Only the male lead noticed that she came to him every day to confess. He revealed that she had already died. The female lead was devastated for two days, then came back to him.

She asked the male lead to help her fulfill her last wishes. He agreed. He took her to do things she had never dared to do before—cut class, get caught in the rain, argue with her best friend, finish an entire extra-large ice cream, order the highest-calorie fried chicken combo, adopt the stray kitten she used to feed, spend a whole day at her deceased grandfather’s grave, cook a meal for her parents and apologize to them.

She wrote a suicide note and hid it in the sweater her mother was knitting for her, to say goodbye properly.

The last wish was the female lead saying to the male lead, “I still want to say ‘I like you’ one more time. Tomorrow at this time, will you wait for me here?”

By this point, the male lead had fallen for her. But he didn’t want to admit it, was afraid to admit that he had fallen for a dead girl. Still, he said yes, and promised to wait for her.

He stood at the spot where she always confessed to him, replaying their memories. He felt that living with her in this endless loop forever wouldn’t be so bad.

But the next day, she didn’t come. The loop was broken. When the male lead woke up, he saw the news of her death. He frantically searched for traces of their time together. But the ice cream shop owner didn’t remember them. The teacher didn’t remember them cutting class. The stray kitten was still wandering. No one had any memory of that day.

The male lead gradually forgot, too. Then, one day, the female lead’s mother came to him. She said she had found the suicide note hidden in the sweater—two letters: one for her, one for the male lead.

When the male lead opened the letter, there were two pages. One page recorded everything they had done together.

The other page was filled with “I like you”—written as many times as the number of times that day had looped.

The male lead remembered everything.

In the end, *From Now On* was a massive hit.

Song Xiao said that Liu Junya truly didn’t know how good she had it. The female lead was clearly much more three-dimensional than the previous insipid, sweet, and innocent character. But Liu Junya just wanted to act in a silly sweet drama where she could kiss Shen Chao a hundred times.

In *From Now On*, even the last confession before the female lead vanished was rejected by the male lead. There were very few hugs or hand-holds—let alone kisses. Yet countless people still cried over their beautiful love story.

Qian Huai initially thought Su Xuan wasn’t even qualified to be a tool under his direction.

But now, Qian Huai genuinely felt that making Su Xuan into a tool would be such a waste. He didn’t want Su Xuan to become a tool actor for anyone.

Even though he personally didn’t like actors who were too insistent on their own ways, even when Su Xuan’s interpretations differed from his own and the results weren’t what Qian Huai wanted, he didn’t dislike it.

Because Su Xuan had a strange, convincing quality to his performance. He kept stumbling and correcting himself in the mud, honing his on-screen presence. He respected the director and also himself. He respected every NG and every successful take. Su Xuan’s understanding of the character was not static; he constantly adjusted during the performance to find the best expression.

Qian Huai had been stubborn for half his life. Now, with this little brat Su Xuan, he discovered that sometimes not insisting on his own way, allowing others to participate in his work, could actually be a good thing.

Qian Huai looked at Su Xuan under the lights and couldn’t help but sigh. “Su Xuan has improved so much that now, every time I see him shoot a scene, I feel like I want the Su Xuan in that shot to redo all his previous scenes.”

Wang Muzhe said sympathetically, “Let Su Xuan off, and let yourself off, Director Qian. Our crew isn’t that rich.”

Qian Huai: “…”

Wang Muzhe smiled appeasingly at the red-faced director. “But Director Qian, even without a reshoot, this movie of yours will definitely be different from before. It’ll be great.”

Qian Huai fumed. “Are you saying my previous movies weren’t good?”

Wang Muzhe watched Su Xuan, who was closing his eyes and breathing heavily under the pure white lights. He suddenly laughed. “They were good. But this one won’t be good in the same way. It won’t be the kind of shock-and-awe gorgeousness from intense impact. It will be softer, more friendly to everyone.”

“All of Su Xuan’s efforts are trying to dilute the ‘if you like it, fine; if not, get lost’ aggressive vibe you bring, Director Qian. He wants all audiences to be able to accept your movies. So he’s been correcting and changing the… unfriendly parts. Like the philosophical treatises you wanted to add that had nothing to do with the film—Su Xuan cut most of them out.”

Qian Huai was a little embarrassed and angry. “What do you mean ‘nothing to do with the movie’?! Don’t you think Hegel’s outline of philosophy would feel fitting here?”

Wang Muzhe wanted to laugh. “As a viewer, I feel that Su Xuan has made your movies cleaner, more straightforward, and much gentler. It lets me focus more on the story itself.”

He turned to look at Qian Huai directly. “Director Qian, didn’t you once scold Shen Chao for having a personal style that overshadowed the movie too much, hindering its brilliance? As a director, you put your own personal insistence above everything else. Isn’t that the same thing?”

Qian Huai was taken aback. Wang Muzhe continued leisurely, “But Su Xuan is a very magical actor. He eliminated the strong influence that both you and Shen Chao bring to your works.”

“In *Nine Streams*, Shen Chao’s performance was clearly different from before. That’s why so many people praised his acting this time. He managed to rein in his own aura, making the character feel more like the character rather than Shen Chao. And Director Qian, now that *The Jewel Thief* has Su Xuan, don’t you think the filming has been much more brilliant?”

Suddenly, Qian Huai kicked Wang Muzhe’s foot. He took out a cigarette from his pocket, put it in his mouth, and laughed in a low, muffled voice. “Yeah, it’s been a lot better. Makes me want to beat Su Xuan up. With him doing this, it makes all my previous films look like nothing.”

He laughed, wrinkles appearing at the corners of his eyes. “I really hope I can shoot another film with that little brat Su Ergou.”

Wang Muzhe coughed into his fist, suppressing a laugh. “Director Qian, do you always add ‘dog’ to the names of people you like? You like Hua Na’s movies, don’t you? You often call him ‘that son of a b*tch’. Your son’s contact name is ‘Canine gay son’. And now you’re calling Su Xuan ‘dog brat’…”

Wang Muzhe whispered, “You’re such a tsundere, Director Qian.”

Qian Huai: “…”

Furious and embarrassed, Qian Huai smacked Wang Muzhe on the back of the head. “You talk too much, you son of a b*tch!”

But hey, a man’s gotta eat.

Su Xuan lamented that, under the exploitation of his agent Liu Pangpang, he was about to become a part-time laborer in the entertainment industry.

Liu Pangpang mercilessly mocked Su Xuan. “Shen Chao hasn’t even finished filming. No chance of you two working together on a project. Don’t dream about being the bottom when you’re working your ass off. You’re nothing but a single migrant worker in showbiz.”

Su Xuan: “…”

To protest, Su Xuan changed his WeChat name to [Part-Time Xiao Su].

Right now, Su Xuan had a fair amount of money, but not a whole lot.

Even though he was hot, he shouldn’t be short on cash, but Su Xuan jumped straight into filming the moment he blew up. He barely got to enjoy the benefits of his sudden fame. The company had profited from him, but those profits weren’t his.

Su Xuan’s main income was from his acting fees. *Nine Streams* was pretty generous. Hearing about Su Xuan’s financial situation, Hua Na had even offered to give him a bonus if the show performed well. Given the current performance, that big bonus was pretty much in the bag.

But *The Jewel Thief* was different. Compared to *Nine Streams*’ big budget and location shooting, it was dirt poor.

Qian Huai had poured almost all the money into costumes, props, and post-production. Both Su Xuan and Wang Muzhe had signed profit-sharing contracts—they would get a percentage based on the box office. Good box office meant more money; bad box office meant less. And they wouldn’t get any money until after the movie was released.

Qian Huai was quite frank. He told Su Xuan directly, “The crew doesn’t have money to pay you now. When I succeed in this big venture, you can come collect your payment. Consider it an investment in the film industry. On behalf of the entire crew, I thank you.”

Migrant worker Xiao Su suffered unpaid wages with no recourse. He had to take on jobs for seven or eight endorsement companies to earn money to support his vampire-like crew.

For *The Courtyard House*, Su Xuan had also signed a profit-sharing deal. But he was a newbie back then, and his cut was abysmally low. Still, it was a decent sum. But the moment the money came in, the company froze it. Before Su Xuan could even see the hot cash, it evaporated.

Leaf Media had been operating at a loss for a long time. Many departments had shut down for lack of funds—the PR department, for example. They couldn’t handle anything for Su Xuan. They were so desperate for money that when Su Xuan’s payment came in, they snatched it like a wolf that had been starving for three years.

Director Wang, Leaf Media’s top executive, was equally frank. “The company doesn’t have the money to pay you this right now. When we succeed in our big venture later, you can come collect it. This is an investment in the company’s future. On behalf of the entire company, I thank you.”

Migrant worker Xiao Su suffered unpaid wages again. With no recourse, he had to take on more endorsement jobs to feed his vampire company.

His 200-pound agent Liu Pangpang was also straightforward. “You have a lot of expenses now. You need nice clothes and accessories for your image. Once you earn big money, you’ll have plenty. Poverty is temporary, not forever. This is a farsighted investment in yourself. You should thank me on your behalf.”

Raising a popular and increasingly famous artist meant burning through money like crazy.

Clothes, accessories, marketing, supporting teams—the expenses were enormous. Usually, the company, the crew, and the agent footed the bill. But Su Xuan’s company was burning his money, his crew was burning his money, and he was burning his own money.

Su Xuan tactfully expressed that he might get burned to death.

A refined and outstanding male artist was like a luxury product. Their maintenance in every aspect was no less than that of female artists. Shen Chao, who sometimes had to be yelled at by Song Xiao to put on sunscreen, was already a very rough male star.

Someone more careful, like Wang Muzhe, had a maintenance routine that exceeded Su Xuan’s imagination.

Su Xuan had seen the bottles and jars that Wang Muzhe brought to the set—they filled an entire suitcase.

They included every mid-range to high-end men’s skincare brand Su Xuan had ever seen in his life. Some were sponsored, some Wang Muzhe chose for himself, and some were for emergency care—like creams to help wounds heal and anti-allergy sprays.

Wang Muzhe had to shoot a hand close-up ad next, so he brought sixteen types of hand cream to the set. Su Xuan was completely stunned.

When Su Xuan went to set, he only brought one bottle of Dabao SOD Moisturizer—using it for his face, hands, butt, and even his frostbitten feet.

Wang Muzhe’s expression went blank. After a long, dumbfounded moment, he asked, “Didn’t you just use this to apply on your face?”

Su Xuan lowered his head in shame under Wang Muzhe’s incredulous gaze.

The next day, he bought another bottle of Dabao SOD. He labeled the two bottles “For Upper Body” and “For Lower Body.” Originally, he wanted to write “For Face” and “For Feet,” but sometimes he used it on his elbows and thighs, so he went with that.

Wang Muzhe’s reaction was “…”

Su Xuan used to get away with this. But now, even Liu Pangpang couldn’t stand it. He bought Su Xuan a lot of new clothes—all expensive pieces. Personal accessories, watches, belts, glasses, a thermos—the works.

Skincare products alone were a huge expense.

Watching Liu Pangpang buy things for him gave Su Xuan a heart-stopping feeling. It lacked the idol-drama vibe of “domineering agent spending thousands for you.” Instead, it felt more like the distressing reality of “vicious boss Liu Papi wasting the blood and sweat of migrant workers for vanity.”

The expenses were enormous.

Plus, now every time Su Xuan went on a job, he had to book a stylist and makeup artist. Even a decent Tony the Barber could charge prices high enough to make him reconsider his life choices. Su Xuan now truly understood the psychology of girls who worry about their lipstick smudging when they drink water—it’s all money!!!

Su Xuan prayed every night for a sudden windfall.

But sudden wealth wasn’t happening. He could only make ends meet by working odd jobs.

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