Though Luo Ding loved acting and was a natural at it, he hated wearing a mask around those close to him. Gu Yaxing and Wu Fangyuan had already seen him in a bad mood, and now, unconsciously, he had placed Duan Xiubo in the same category—family.
In truth, he hadn’t known Duan Xiubo for that long. This man was really something—always managing to become deeply trusted without even trying.
Luo Ding felt a brief surge of caution, but it quickly dissipated as Duan’s hand rested reassuringly on his head.
There was nothing in Luo Ding’s possession worth coveting, and these natural gestures of affection from Duan Xiubo couldn’t possibly be faked at every moment.
Embarrassingly, Luo Ding actually enjoyed having his head rubbed. Though he had been around for a long time, he had never experienced this kind of care before. Deep down, he was still a bit lacking in that aspect.
“I’m just surprised at how smoothly I got the role,” Luo Ding said, gently placing his hand over Duan’s on his head, patting it softly. “Thank you, Duan.”
Duan Xiubo lowered his head, smiling as he looked at him, flipping his hand to hold Luo Ding’s briefly before releasing it with a gentle squeeze.
The moment of tension disappeared as quickly as it had come, dissolving before Luo Ding could even notice.
“I told you, no need to be so polite.”
Luo Ding had assumed they would stay at a hotel, but the car kept driving up the mountain, surprising him.
The more remote the surroundings became, the quieter Luo Ding grew, gazing out the window. Finally, the car turned onto a flat road.
Towering birch trees flanked the road, and at the end of the straight path, a massive iron gate loomed into view.
As the car approached, the gate slowly opened.
Even though Luo Ding had mentally prepared himself, he was still taken aback by what he saw.
Fountains, gardens, and roads wide enough to accommodate horse-riding crisscrossed the vast grounds. The manicured lawns and topiary showed signs of meticulous care. Elegant statues held vases, smiling as they gazed toward the entrance, with water continuously flowing from their vessels.
Beyond all of this lay an ancient castle, with domes, towers, and buildings half-hidden by taller trees, their full extent obscured from view.
Had this been in England, France, Germany, or Italy, Luo Ding wouldn’t have been surprised. But in the young United States, this was unusual.
This wasn’t a faux historic building slapped together for show. The castle had clearly been around for nearly a century, with hidden traces of restoration work visible on the walls.
Luo Ding glanced at Duan Xiubo.
Maintaining a place like this had to cost a fortune in taxes and upkeep. How much money did Duan Xiubo make exactly? He was never listed on Forbes’ highest-paid actors list, but anyone with half a brain knew that Duan was definitely one of the highest earners in China. Just the endorsement fees from his nearly ten luxury brands would leave most people speechless.
Sensing Luo Ding’s gaze, Duan Xiubo naturally knew what he was thinking and smiled. “Don’t overthink it. It’s inherited.”
“Are you an American?”
“No, I’m not,” Duan Xiubo replied, “The United States does not stipulate that only locals can buy houses.”
Duan’s casual, vague answer made it clear that he didn’t want to elaborate, so Luo Ding didn’t press further. It wasn’t his business, after all. Whether Duan Xiubo was rich or where he was from had nothing to do with Luo Ding. They were just close friends, and asking too much would be crossing a line.
There were gardeners and maids in the castle, but they didn’t show themselves. Luo Ding once caught sight of a skirt disappearing around a corner, but when he looked again, there was no one there. The castle already had an eerie atmosphere, and Luo Ding’s imagination made it worse, sending shivers down his spine.
Mi Rui seemed familiar with the place, bustling about to help arrange accommodations.
Wu Fangyuan, probably still shaken from being intimidated by Tommy Lee earlier, stuck close to Luo Ding, following him everywhere after getting out of the car.
“Luo Ding should stay in the room next to mine,” Duan Xiubo said naturally when asked about accommodations.
Mi Rui’s expression was a bit odd. “…Huh?”
“It’s easier to look out for each other if we stay close,” Duan replied with a straight face.
Mi Rui figured he was overthinking things and scolded himself for having such dirty thoughts while directing the bodyguards to help with the luggage.
After the long flight, audition, and jet lag, Luo Ding had already felt sleepy in the car. Now, exhausted beyond measure, he barely cared about whether his room was appropriate. After being shown to his room, he quickly freshened up, changed into his pajamas, and fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.
From inside the wardrobe in the corner of the room, there was a soft click.
The wardrobe door slowly opened from the inside, and Duan Xiubo emerged stealthily.
The wide bed had a deep indentation in the center, and as he approached quietly, Duan saw Luo Ding clutching a pillow, almost drooling in his sleep.
Duan sat by the bed, greedily watching his sleeping face, remembering the moment during the audition when Luo Ding had willingly placed his hand in his own, his fist clenching tightly at the memory.
He suddenly realized that controlling one’s emotions wasn’t as easy as he’d thought. Now that he had detected the danger, it was too late to withdraw.
Luo Ding didn’t wake up until early the next morning.
Rubbing his sore head, he got up and pulled open the curtains, revealing the deep blue night sky. His phone showed that it was already afternoon back in China.
He felt like he had just woken from a long afternoon nap, groggy and nauseous. Luo Ding winced, thinking to himself how the world was too big and full of annoyances.
Just then, his phone vibrated briefly before stopping.
Luo Ding glanced at the number—Gu Yaxing?
He called back, and before the dial tone could ring, the call was answered. On the other end, Gu Yaxing’s voice was unusually excited: “Hello?! Luo Ding?!”
Luo Ding hesitated before responding, “…Yes, it’s me.”
“Ahhh!” Gu Yaxing’s voice grew even more frantic. “You’re up?! How did the audition go?!”
Just as Luo Ding was about to answer, Gu interrupted again: “Whatever the result, you need to come back soon! The promo for *Tang Legend* has already aired, and it aired during prime time on CCTV! You have no idea how huge the reaction is in China right now!”
Luo Ding perked up. “Really?!”
“Really, really, really! Zheng Kezhen pulled through! Over a third of the footage is of you this time! The response has been amazing. Production companies and distributors are already reaching out. Luo Ding, you’ve made it! Do you understand? You’re famous now!”
Luo Ding’s laughter rang out clearly in the quiet night. “I know.”
Gu Yaxing’s over-the-top enthusiasm abruptly halted, followed by a choked, “Shameless.”
“Congratulations,” Luo Ding replied, deliberately out of context.
Gu Yaxing, however, took it well. Luo Ding’s rise would directly boost the success of Yaxing Studio. If this pace continued, the company would grow bigger and bigger. His lifelong dream and ambition were finally starting to take shape.
Gu Yaxing’s gratitude toward Luo Ding was as great as Luo Ding’s gratitude toward him.
“Come back soon,” Gu Yaxing finally said in a small voice, unsure of what else to say.
“Mm,” Luo Ding agreed softly, then suddenly remembered something just before hanging up. “Oh, I forgot to tell you. I got the role in *Blade Warrior III*. They’ll probably announce it soon. You can have someone release the news back home.”
“…”
There was no sound from Gu Yaxing’s end.
With a thud, the line went dead, leaving only the beeping tone of a disconnected call.
*********
This trailer was *Tang Legend*’s first major publicity push. Just like the first shot fired in battle had to be loud, the first step of promotion had to be eye-catching, capable of sparking widespread discussion and debate. Only then could the second and third trailers achieve similar success. Once the show’s name was established, and the series aired, it would be time to reap the rewards.
So Zheng Kezhen and his team boldly and decisively edited a significant portion of Fu Zhu’s scenes into the first trailer. They even pulled strings to have the segment aired during prime time, betting on the enduring interest in Fu Zhu from the filming period.
The result was both unexpected and predictable.
The trailer exploded like a torpedo in the water, causing huge ripples. However, the reviews were far more harmonious than the crew had anticipated.
It was almost universally praised.
Wu Yuan as the emperor exuded both authority and handsomeness. Pan Yiming’s empress was dignified and beautiful. The production team had spent a fortune on costumes and sets, achieving a subtle yet luxurious aesthetic that was among the best seen in recent years.
The director’s experience with documentaries gave the trailer a different feel. From the opening bird’s-eye view of the palace, the entire trailer had a deep and meaningful tone.
The warm tones of the visuals gave everything a sense of history, as the emperor stood with his hands behind his back, gazing out from the steps, his eyes seemingly piercing through the great hall and out toward the sky beyond.
The empress, dressed in a stunning robe and adorned with an intricate headdress, gave the camera a brief, sharp glance that was enough to send chills down the viewer’s spine.
Amidst this somber setting, a single crisp chime rang out.
A bamboo forest bathed in green. A man in white stood with his back to the camera, his thin and determined figure framed by the swaying trees, his black hair lifted by the wind.
No further introduction was necessary. Everyone could tell with one look—this was Fu Zhu.
Fu Zhu’s form shifted slightly, as though sensing the gaze from behind. He slowly turned his head.
“Elegant” and “otherworldly.”
These two words, used to describe him in the book, now seemed to leap off the page, transforming into a living, visual feast for the eyes.
The emperor, the empress, and Fu Zhu—each looking in different directions, yet the post-production editing created the illusion that they were gazing through time and space at one another.
Tense and confrontational.
The sound of the flute abruptly stopped, and the plucking of a pipa became softer.
A deep male voice echoed: “Sir Fu Zhu’s reputation precedes him, but his origins are unclear. If we bring him into the court rashly, it could spell disaster!”
A single beat of the drum.
The emperor’s voice thundered with authority: “Withdraw! My decision is final!”
The scene flashed by quickly, sweeping across the palace rooftops before entering the grand hall below.
The murmuring faces of the ministers flickered in and out of view, their whispers growing fainter until silence reigned.
But the drumbeat continued, growing faster, more intense.
Fu Zhu, dressed in white, his gaze deep like an unfathomable pool, walked step by step toward the emperor, ignoring all other eyes in the room.
The music surged, mirroring the turmoil in his heart.
All the noise finally faded in the last moment, leaving only the sound of a voice as clear as a stream.
“Greetings, Your Majesty.”
In just five minutes, the trailer encompassed tales of national enmity, love, and hatred. Even after the commercial break cut in, the audience in front of their screens couldn’t quell their surge of adrenaline.
The only words that could describe it: “Brilliant.” There was nothing more to say!
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