Xu Zhen heard footsteps and immediately knew it was Su Shengbai. Now, only Su Shengbai would come to see him. The company had advised him to lay low recently and avoid attending any events. Always the cautious one, Xu Zhen wouldn’t risk his reputation.
Golden sunlight poured through the window, as Xu Zhen sat behind his desk, his eyes drifting towards the fig tree in the backyard, now growing strong and tall. He and Cao Dingkun had planted it when they first moved into this house. It had once been a thin, fragile sapling, but over the years, it had become a towering tree. After the winter, its bare branches were finally sprouting new buds as spring arrived, almost visibly growing each day.
He stared at the tree, lost in thought — though it was unclear whether he was truly focused or just pretending.
The room was dim, and Su Shengbai took a moment to adjust his eyes to the light. His gaze swept across the neatly arranged photo frames on the desk. When he caught sight of the picture of Cao Dingkun squinting and smiling, it was as if he’d been burned, and he quickly averted his eyes.
“Brother Xu,” he softly called out.
Xu Zhen remained silent for a while before coldly responding, “Why are you here?”
Su Shengbai found a chair and sat down. “‘The Assassin’ isn’t finished yet. If I don’t help you, who will?”
Xu Zhen turned his head, his gaze filled with disdain. “Help me? You’ve already taken other roles. Our partnership is over. There’s no need to continue.”
Su Shengbai’s smile faded. “Brother Xu, you’re burning bridges here.”
Xu Zhen sneered. “You think too highly of yourself. What help did you give me? Running a few events with me?”
“Brother Xu!” Su Shengbai interrupted firmly. “Don’t forget! If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t have secured any investment for this film! Now you’re saying this? How do you sleep at night?”
The mention of this clearly provoked Xu Zhen, his nose flaring and his eyes gradually turning bloodshot. His trembling finger pointed at Su Shengbai for several moments, his voice shaking with rage before finally hurling his words toward the desk. “Look at those pictures and repeat what you just said. Say it again! I didn’t hear you!”
Su Shengbai cast his eyes down in frustration, muttering after a pause, “Brother Xu, you know what I mean. I don’t want us to destroy each other. I truly regret what happened with Brother Cao, but in this world, when are things ever perfect? Back then, I acted in desperation to help you. Now that you’ve stabilized, you want to kick me aside? Can you live with yourself?”
Xu Zhen stepped forward, intending to kick him, but this time Su Shengbai wasn’t as submissive. He dodged, still ranting, “You think pushing all the blame onto me will solve everything? Am I the only one affected if this blows up? Who do you think made the evidence disappear after the accident? You think you’re innocent?”
“Shut up!!!” Xu Zhen roared.
“You don’t want to hear it?” Su Shengbai stood firm, taking two steps back, staring directly into Xu Zhen’s face. “Just because I don’t say it, does that mean it didn’t happen?”
Xu Zhen finally lost control. He shouted, “Yes! Yes! You’re right! I was the one who hurt him! I wronged him! Ah Kun will never forgive me in the afterlife, but we were family! And you? What are you?!”
Su Shengbai looked startled, quickly hiding behind a chair. “Brother Xu, calm down.”
“What are you?!” Xu Zhen pressed closer, demanding, “You came here just to tell me this?”
Su Shengbai shoved his hands into his pockets and turned sharply on his heels. “I’m leaving.”
“Feeling guilty?” Xu Zhen, seeing his retreat, smirked, standing still with a look of amusement. “Not going to stay a little longer? Now that you’re here, I should show you something.”
Su Shengbai paused mid-step, turning back slowly. His face was obscured by the shadows, but his eyes were piercing. “What?”
“I know what you’re after. Stop hiding it.” Xu Zhen sighed. “I was blind before. But after what happened to Ah Kun, do you think I’d let you fool me again? I already told you—I kept evidence. But why do you keep provoking me, over and over again? Do you think I’m bluffing?”
Su Shengbai took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. His heart was racing, and he felt a cold chill run from his feet to his head.
But surprisingly, in this moment, he remained calm. “I told you, I don’t want us to destroy each other.”
Xu Zhen chuckled mockingly. “What you say and what you do are two very different things.”
“I’m just concerned for you.”
“Concerned that you won’t have a role in the film?”
“….” Su Shengbai forced a smile. “Brother Xu, I’ve followed you for so long, and this is how you repay me? Not a shred of sentiment?”
Xu Zhen grabbed a picture frame, ready to hurl it at him, but stopped when he saw Cao Dingkun’s smiling face in the photo. He switched to a teacup, not caring if the water inside was still hot, and flung it at Su Shengbai.
Su Shengbai dodged but didn’t entirely escape. The cup, originally aimed at his head, struck his arm instead, shattering on the floor. Scalding water soaked through his thick winter clothes, causing a sharp sting.
He understood now.
Xu Zhen’s message was clear.
But what troubled him more was the mention of “evidence.”
This was the second time Xu Zhen had brought it up. The first time, Su Shengbai had been restless for days. Xu Zhen had been erratic back then, lashing out physically, and Su Shengbai hadn’t dared to resist. Over time, however, he sensed things might not be as dire as he initially thought. The evidence Xu Zhen spoke of seemed vague. Thinking back now, what could Xu Zhen possibly have?
Su Shengbai tried to recall. He hadn’t worn gloves during the car accident, so perhaps he left fingerprints or hair in the car. But the mountain area had no surveillance or witnesses, so what could that prove? Besides, the car belonged to Xu Zhen, and there were likely witnesses to Xu Zhen driving that day. After the crash, Xu Zhen had handed the car off for cleaning and repairs. When Su Shengbai saw the car again, all signs of the accident had been erased.
The police had never even considered foul play, closing the case as an accident. What critical evidence could Xu Zhen have gotten hold of?
The more Su Shengbai thought about it, the more his head throbbed. He slumped over the steering wheel, a creeping sense of unease gnawing at him.
If Xu Zhen showed his hand, Su Shengbai might be able to relax. But Xu Zhen’s vague, cat-and-mouse approach left him feeling adrift, as if he couldn’t find solid ground.
But giving up the role in “The Assassin”?
Su Shengbai knew exactly what this film meant, and he simply couldn’t let it go. The script was tailor-made for the Golden Lion Awards. While Xu Zhen’s morals were questionable, his talent as a director was undeniable. “The Assassin” had only two standout roles—Cao Dingkun’s and Su Shengbai’s.
Looking at the domestic film industry, anyone who made it into the Golden Lion Awards was a big name. Even after Cao Dingkun’s death, Xu Zhen wouldn’t take the film lightly. Whoever replaced Cao Dingkun would likely be an equally heavyweight actor.
If Su Shengbai could get just one nomination at the Golden Lion Awards, it would secure his career in China. He wouldn’t even need to win. The title alone would guarantee that he never lacked job offers. That accolade would be enough to carry him through his entire career.
He couldn’t let go.
*******
Tang Rui, when not shooting films, kept a low profile. He was a professor at the Film Academy, with countless students and a solid reputation. Yet, this was the first time he felt so popular.
Even his students, who usually respected his authority, were sneaking up to ask if it was true he was going to work with Luo Ding and Duan Xiubo. Were Luo Ding and Duan Xiubo really that handsome?
Handsome? Of course.
Facing the flashing lights and journalists’ long lenses, Tang Rui puffed out his chest and glanced at the two calm figures beside him, who were handling their interviews with ease.
A reporter asked, “This is Duan Xiubo’s third collaboration with Luo Ding, right? First ‘Crouching Dragon,’ then ‘Blade Warrior III,’ and now ‘Supermodel.’ That’s not just a coincidence, is it? Were you two planning to take on these projects together?”
Luo Ding glanced at Duan Xiubo. He’d already expected this question. In just over a year, Luo Ding had starred in four major productions, and in three of them, Duan Xiubo had been his co-star. The odds were too high for it to be a mere coincidence, so people’s curiosity wasn’t surprising.
Duan Xiubo had been watching Luo Ding from the side, and when their eyes met, he immediately smiled. Without hesitation, he said into the microphone, “Originally, this film clashed with my schedule. Even though I loved the script, I wasn’t planning on taking it. But then Luo Ding mentioned he’d taken it, and I immediately decided to join.”
Laughter erupted from the crowd. Duan’s honest admission about following Luo Ding into a project was so straightforward, it left no room for any hidden implications.
“You two must have a great relationship off-screen, right?”
Duan Xiubo moved closer, casually throwing his arm over Luo Ding’s shoulder. “Of course.”
Luo Ding didn’t dodge. He’d realized that showing a bit of closeness, especially in front of the cameras, didn’t have the dire consequences he’d once feared. The reporters weren’t fools. They’d write what needed to be written. And Duan Xiubo wasn’t some small-time actor they could easily manipulate. When it came to him, the media maintained a higher level of respect. They knew better than to fabricate stories.
By being just a little more open, their relationship became harder to pin down. Those who believed they were just friends wouldn’t find anything unusual about a friendly arm around the shoulder or a few shared jokes. Meanwhile, CP (couple) fans would feast on the subtle hints. To them, this level of interaction was more than enough of a treat.
While they had the spotlight, Su Shengbai and Tang Rui were left in the background. Tang Rui didn’t mind. As the director, he was respected enough to get a few questions here and there, and he didn’t need the attention. If the media focused solely on Luo Ding and Duan Xiubo, it would only help the film’s promotion, which suited him just fine.
But for Su Shengbai, the situation was much more awkward. He stood there holding a microphone, barely getting a word in. Everyone knew about the history between him and Luo Ding, and no one wanted to risk asking a question that might offend. So, he was mostly ignored. When the questions finally circled back to him, and the microphones turned in his direction, he plastered on his most pleasant smile, only to be hit with a pointed question right off the bat.
“Su Shengbai, how does it feel to be working with Luo Ding again? You were once in the same group but have been apart for many years. Do you feel like the chemistry is still there?”
Su Shengbai froze for a moment, stealing a glance at Luo Ding, who simply smiled, seemingly detached from the situation.
Awkwardly, Su Shengbai answered, “I’m really happy to be working with Ah Ding again. The chemistry is still there, and he’s been very supportive.”
“Will your past conflicts affect the filming process?”
Su Shengbai looked at the reporter’s badge — it read “Entertainment Weekly.” Swallowing his frustration, he replied, “Calling them conflicts is a bit much. It was just some minor misunderstandings from the past. How could that affect our work together?”
The reporters all smiled knowingly, and in unison, turned their gazes toward Luo Ding. Seeing Luo Ding still maintaining his inscrutable smile, they wisely chose not to drag him into it, and the questions finally returned to the main topic. Everyone, including Luo Ding, breathed a collective sigh of relief.
When it came to Su Shengbai, Luo Ding could retaliate, but he couldn’t initiate attacks. If Su Shengbai made a mess for himself, that was one thing. But if Luo Ding took the offensive, the public sympathy he’d gained might begin to wane.
People tend to side with the underdog, and directly confronting Su Shengbai would essentially hand him the role of the victim.
By keeping quiet and simply smiling, Luo Ding could still achieve his desired outcome.
The press conference made waves, sparking heated discussions across various media platforms.
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