As the clock struck past twelve, Huo Lianshan, the actor playing Li Jiancheng, arrived punctually.
During his makeup session, Luo Ding heard quite a bit of gossip about him from the surrounding crew. Although he hadn’t worked with Huo before, he was quickly forming a strong impression of him.
Big egos are common in every production team, and this actor was no exception. On his first day, he demanded a change of accommodation, brought his own chef, and was attended to by three people. His behavior wasn’t excessively outrageous, but in a cast full of seasoned professionals, his typical antics made him stand out. Lead actors Wu Yuan and Pan Yiming were both easygoing and personable, so no one dared to misbehave. Yet, Huo seemed out of place with his grandiose attitude.
Li Jiancheng was an important supporting role in the drama, especially before Li Shimin ascended the throne. Huo Lianshan wasn’t a small name in the industry either; in fact, in some ways, he had a bit more clout than Wu Yuan.
How so? Well, his wife was a top-tier actress, only slightly less famous than Yuan Bing.
Because of this, he had climbed the social ladder and gained more exposure and influence in the industry, often surpassing Wu Yuan.
Of course, Huo also had acting chops. He had played villains from the start of his career, mastering the role of the scheming antagonist with such depth that it sometimes required more skill than playing a protagonist. However, because of this, he had poor rapport with audiences. His roles were so consistently one-note that his entire career had been pigeonholed. He had become the kind of actor who, when appearing on screen, didn’t even need to speak — viewers already assumed he was the villain.
It was quite lamentable to see an actor with such a solid foundation end up like this.
But when Luo Ding saw him in person, he wondered if his pity was misplaced.
Huo Lianshan ordered his assistant to clear the cluttered vanity table and place four large thermoses on it. Then, he flopped onto the couch, sighing loudly. Another assistant immediately handed him a chilled bottle, opening the cap for him.
“It’s so hot,” Huo Lianshan complained dramatically, frowning as he scanned the room. His gaze landed on Luo Ding, sizing him up. “Who are you?”
“…” Even in his previous life, Luo Ding had never experienced such treatment. Though inwardly flustered, he maintained a respectful front and nodded slightly. “Hello, Mr. Huo. I’m Luo Ding. I play Fu Zhu, and we have a few scenes together.”
Huo stared at him for a moment, then snorted. “Oh, it’s you. I’ve heard about you. You’re that Fu Zhu who’s all over the internet. From, uh, Yaxing Entertainment, right?”
With his sharp, triangular eyes, Huo Lianshan looked insidious whether he smiled or sneered. Luo Ding sensed that Huo didn’t seem to like him much.
Luo Ding tried to recall if they’d ever had any interactions, but nothing came to mind. He didn’t know where Huo’s hostility stemmed from, so he just smiled and nodded, saying nothing more.
Huo didn’t seem interested in talking further either. He sat for a while longer, complaining about the heat and hunger, and how the air conditioning didn’t meet his standards. His assistants were clearly used to this routine, coaxing him as they escorted him out of the makeup room, thermoses in tow.
Luo Ding faintly overheard them mention the rest area. Once Huo and his entourage left, the makeup room gradually became lively again.
“Even Sister Pan and Brother Wu aren’t this pretentious, but this guy acts like a king…” Some of the crew members, who didn’t rely on actors for their livelihoods, openly gossiped about Huo after he left.
“You can tell by his sneaky eyes that he’s not easy to get along with.”
“Why are these freeloading men in the industry always like this? I was in a crew with that guy, xxx, last time, and he was just as bad…”
Someone approached Luo Ding, asking for his opinion. Luo Ding looked the person in the eye but detected no goodwill behind the question, so he just smiled without replying. The man, uncomfortable under Luo Ding’s gaze, soon turned away with a sheepish grin.
The entertainment industry was full of traps, and Luo Ding had long learned not to express his opinions casually. Even an offhand comment could be twisted by malicious people into something damaging. On the surface, everything in the crew seemed harmonious, but Luo Ding knew there were probably many who disliked him. Caution was the safest and most effective strategy. He made a mental note of the person who had questioned him, then mulled over Huo Lianshan’s mocking attitude and his mention of Luo’s agency, still feeling uneasy.
Finding a quiet corner, he called Gu Yaxing and asked if Huo Lianshan had any past conflicts with their company.
“No way!” Gu Yaxing sounded baffled. “Our business has nothing to do with that guy, and even Wu Yuan hasn’t worked with him. Why would he target you… Wait, is he from Universal Entertainment?”
Luo Ding was taken aback. “I don’t know.”
“Gonna find out.” Gu Yaxing’s tone turned grave, tinged with barely concealed anger. “Damn it. If he’s from Universal, then I might have a clue what’s going on.”
Luo Ding casually asked a staff member, who confirmed that Huo Lianshan was indeed from Universal Entertainment, as was his wife, Yan Jingjing.
Luo Ding was genuinely surprised. In his previous life, he had spent so much time at Universal as the company’s top star but had never heard of Huo Lianshan. He knew Yan Jingjing, though. They had worked on a few films together, and had crossed paths at banquets a few times. She was a lively woman with a reputation for being outgoing and able to drink a lot, but they hadn’t been particularly close.
When Gu Yaxing heard the news, he was furious and hung up. A few minutes later, he called back, and the sound of furious typing could be heard in the background. “Damn it. I didn’t want to tell you this, but if he’s from Universal, you have to be careful. I had someone investigate the group of people who’ve been smearing your name online. One of the suspects is Universal Entertainment. They’ve worked with several studios before, and their style of stirring up trouble fits perfectly.”
Luo Ding was puzzled. “Why? I have no connection to Universal. Why would they go after me?”
Gu Yaxing was silent for a moment before he said, “Before I started my own studio, I was an artist at Universal. We had a huge falling out. It was ugly, and we’ve been at odds ever since.”
“…”
Luo Ding didn’t know what to say. He felt like collateral damage in a feud he had nothing to do with.
“They even gave Hu Xiao a hard time. During the filming of Rainbow Bridge,the male lead, An Yichang, set up a rain scene for him that took over twenty takes. He ended up with a severe fever and almost went into shock. These people are nuts.”
“Got it,” Luo Ding replied, frustrated at being dragged into such petty vendettas. He cut the call short.
Gu Yaxing, left fuming, buried his face in his hands, overwhelmed with bitterness and frustration. After all these years, Universal’s vendetta hadn’t subsided. How many artists had they poached? How many events had they sabotaged? Why couldn’t they just target him directly instead of going after his artists?
Luo Ding reflected on his past life. He couldn’t recall any direct mention of Universal targeting Yaxing Entertainment. However, the ease with which Su Shengbai had been released from Yaxing and signed with Universal now seemed suspicious. The company had even offered to cover Su’s contract termination fees, and their cooperation during the signing process had been unusually smooth. At the time, Luo Ding had thought it was because of his own influence as Yaxing’s top star, but now, considering Gu Yaxing’s words, it seemed more likely that he had inadvertently become a pawn in Universal’s vendetta.
Now that he understood the situation, Luo Ding’s wariness of Huo Lianshan increased, along with the other Universal-affiliated actors in the production. He also realized that the person who had earlier asked for his opinion was one of them.
Was this an attempt to eliminate rivals and curry favor with higher-ups? Luo Ding couldn’t help but smirk inwardly.
Flipping through the script, he saw that he only had five or six scenes left to shoot, two of which were with Huo Lianshan. Fortunately, the battle wouldn’t last long.
Once the equipment was ready, Luo Ding, in good spirits and with his usual superb acting skills, quickly finished a few scenes that were almost solo performances, using his gaze and body language to convey just the right emotions.
Zheng Kezhen, standing behind the monitor, puffed on a cigarette and chuckled when Luo Ding approached, pulling his robe tighter to watch the playback. “You know, kid, in the half-month you were away, I couldn’t get into the groove of filming. Usually, it’s normal to NG several times before getting a good take, but now, with you, it’s just take after take going smoothly. My patience is wearing thin.”
Luo Ding smiled humbly, showing no sign of arrogance. “I practiced at home; otherwise, I wouldn’t have been able to get it right so quickly.”
“Yeah, sure, stop being modest,” Zheng scoffed, though inwardly his appreciation for Luo Ding grew. Talented actors were rare, but those who had both talent and a strong work ethic were even rarer. In the past, Zheng had been careful not to overpraise Luo Ding, fearing that it might inflate his ego and hamper his progress. Now, hearing Luo admit that he practiced privately despite his busy schedule, Zheng respected him even more.
Zheng made room for Luo to sit beside him as the makeup artist continued to powder his face.
“The filming progress is only halfway through. We’ll need to speed up, but no matter how fast we go, the wrap-up will probably be delayed until the end of the year,” Zheng Kezhen said slowly, taking another puff of his cigarette. “I’ll start editing the trailer bit by bit. We’ll definitely release one by September, and I’ll make sure you get plenty of screen time. But you need to coordinate with your manager. No matter how busy you are at the end of the year, leave some time to participate in the crew’s promotions.”
From a professional standpoint, Zheng knew that Luo Ding was poised for a breakout moment. He was already starring in a major film, and the year wasn’t even halfway over. Plus, he had an upcoming EP with an unprecedentedly star-studded production team. Who knew how many more opportunities would come his way? In the entertainment industry, actors like Luo Ding — talented, hardworking, and well-connected — were a rare breed.
Luo Ding nodded. “Of course.” He also understood the underlying message in Zheng’s words: come September, when the trailer was released, there would likely be a promotional push involving him. While these things couldn’t be said outright, Zheng’s subtle hints were enough to reassure him.
As the clock neared three, Zheng Kezhen, squinting his eyes in frustration, finally lost his patience. “Where is he?! The entire crew is waiting for one person. He must think he’s something special!”
Hearing Zheng’s booming voice, Luo Ding pretended to look away and idly scrolled through Weibo. His feed was mostly calm, filled with fan messages. As for the trending section, one certified makeup artist’s post had been pushed to the top three. Seeing his name mentioned, Luo Ding clicked in.
It was a GIF, posted by the makeup artist he had encountered earlier, and Luo Ding chuckled at the sight. The short clip showed him sitting in a makeup chair, blinking playfully at the camera with an almost childlike expression. The resolution was high enough to capture every detail of his long eyelashes, making his wide-eyed innocence all the more striking. The playful expression quickly faded as his smile returned to its usual calm and mature demeanor. The GIF ended with him turning to speak to someone off-camera.
The caption was cheeky: “The year’s best split personality performance — the master really needs to take his meds!”
The comments were flooded with fan responses, full of shrieks and giggles:
“OMG! My husband has two personalities! I can’t decide which one I love more! It’s driving me crazy!”
“Mama’s victory! My son is so cute! Super cute!”
“Adorable!”
“Licking the screen, damn it! This month alone, I’ve had to replace my computer screen three times because of water damage. Fangirling is expensive, just like my mom said!”
“Why does my male god have split personalities? LOL! He’s mastered the art of effortlessly switching between 18 and 28!”
“I’m changing my profile pic! Isn’t my new pic the cutest?!”
By the end of the comment section, Luo Ding found countless users had switched their avatars to the screenshot of his playful, blinking face. Seeing people roll around the internet with his face while making all kinds of shameless comments, Luo Ding couldn’t help but feel a bit flustered.
Being pigeonholed = It implies that someone is being placed in a predefined “box” that oversimplifies who they are, typically overlooking their complexity or potential.
For example, an actor who is constantly cast in similar roles may feel pigeonholed as only being suitable for a certain type of character, limiting their opportunities to explore different roles.
R : I really haaaaate when there are too many part for a chapter, my patience issue can never ಠ益ಠ
but I totally understand, this REI chapters are really tooo long and it’s better having half than nothing.. aiyaah (-＿- )ノ
Thank you Pineapple !
Please check the schedule page for this novel, if my health allows it, it’ll be a daily novel (from Mon-Friday)
This was also requested, I hope you like it !
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thank you for the translation 🥰🫶🏽