After an entire afternoon of shooting, Su Shengbai had only managed to get two scenes right, leaving him sunburned and dizzy. The director’s team was dissatisfied with his progress, and honestly, Su Shengbai himself was feeling anxious.
Lately, his life had been a mess, both work and personal matters tangled together. Universal’s higher-ups had always been hands-off regarding the personal development of their artists, and his agent wasn’t exclusive, juggling too many clients to give Su Shengbai any real attention. Without a reliable assistant, he had been forced to choose a few inexperienced rookies from the company for this film shoot, none of whom were trustworthy or capable. They were useless in times of crisis. Su Shengbai regretted it; had he known, he wouldn’t have fired the assistants that Cao Dingkun had arranged for him. At least by now, one or two would have been properly trained and become invaluable.
Then there was the issue with Xu Zhen. They were at an impasse, neither side talking nor daring to act. Su Shengbai had been unable to sleep properly for days. When he did manage to fall asleep, he would toss and turn, his mind filled with thoughts about the film. Sometimes, he barely closed his eyes before dawn broke again. Such a lifestyle was taking a toll on his health.
Covered in sweat, Su Shengbai finally sat down in the rest area. He took a wet wipe from his assistant and wiped his face, quickly followed by another thick layer of powder being applied.
He was terribly thirsty, so he gave his assistant a look. The assistant just stared back blankly, and Su Shengbai had no choice but to instruct him, “Get me a bottle of water.”
When the water came, it was room temperature, and the assistant didn’t even bother to unscrew the cap, just shoved the bottle into his hand and stepped away.
In contrast, on the other side, Wu Fangyuan was meticulously adjusting the angle of Luo Ding’s fan, with a basin of ice in front of it to ensure the air blowing was cool. Luo Ding, wearing the same long-sleeved clothes, showed no signs of sweating.
Wu Fangyuan had been with Luo Ding since before his group disbanded, and after the group’s dissolution, his attitude toward Su Shengbai was likely as hostile as Gu Yaxing’s. In the production team, he treated Su Shengbai like he was invisible. Su Shengbai could only look on with envy.
Staring at Luo Ding for a moment too long, Su Shengbai suddenly felt a chill run down his spine. His entire body tensed as if sensing an impending threat.
He turned around but saw nothing out of the ordinary, just crew members going about their business. What was there to be frightened of?
Then Duan Xiubo, who had been in deep discussion with his team, looked up and locked eyes with Su Shengbai, squinting slightly. Su Shengbai quickly nodded in acknowledgment.
Duan Xiubo smiled back, his expression as gentle as ever, but it sent a shiver down Su Shengbai’s spine, filling him with guilt.
When Duan left, Luo Ding went to shoot his scenes, leaving his script on the table for Wu Fangyuan to tidy up later. Bored and restless, Su Shengbai’s gaze wandered. For reasons he couldn’t explain, he picked up Luo Ding’s thick script.
What he saw left him speechless. Every line and scene from Assassin was imprinted in his mind; though he couldn’t recite it word for word, he knew the script inside out. After all, Xu Zhen had stopped consulting him about the film’s progress. Su Shengbai had once recommended Luo Ding for the role, but Xu Zhen never made it clear if he would actually cast him. Now, seeing Assassin in Luo Ding’s possession made Su Shengbai feel dazed. Had Luo Ding been cast in Assassin?
“What are you doing touching someone else’s things?” The script was snatched out of his hands. Su Shengbai snapped out of his daze as Wu Fangyuan, glaring, took the script away, muttering angrily. Su Shengbai, though frustrated by Wu Fangyuan’s attitude, had no choice but to swallow his anger.
He forced a smile. “I thought it was a magazine.”
Wu Fangyuan gave him a dismissive look, and his expression softened slightly.
Su Shengbai, sensing an opportunity, asked tentatively, “You don’t need to be so upset. I’ve already taken a role in Assassin, so Luo Ding and I will be working together. It’s not like I’d leak any plot details… I’m playing Male Lead No. 2. What role did Luo Ding take?”
Wu Fangyuan straightened up, his expression shifting from curiosity to amusement. “Male Lead No. 2?”
“…?” Su Shengbai nodded, confused.
Wu Fangyuan gave him a look that screamed, *Really?*, then laughed. “Sure, sure. Luo Ding was offered all kinds of roles—Lead 1, Lead 2, Lead 6—*but* he’s too busy to even consider them right now!”
Su Shengbai sat in awkward silence for a moment, forcing a strained smile. “You must be mistaken. I was given the script for Male Lead No. 2 over half a year ago. There might have been a mix-up in communication.”
“Oh, maybe,” Wu Fangyuan said with a tone that made it clear he didn’t believe him, then walked off with Luo Ding’s belongings, giving Su Shengbai one last mocking glance that left him seething.
Su Shengbai stormed off to his car, pushing away assistants who tried to approach. Once inside, he locked the doors, fuming in silence.
His assistants, all inexperienced fresh graduates, exchanged bewildered glances. One dared to mutter, “What’s he got to be so high and mighty about? Plenty of people here outrank him.”
“Just let it go,” another one said, nudging the first. “There’s only a few days left. Let’s just get through it.”
**
“You want to explain yourself?” Su Shengbai was furious. He had thought Xu Zhen was bluffing about ending their collaboration, but now, to find out his role in Assassin was in jeopardy? He had to hear it from someone else! Even if he was good at playing nice, Su Shengbai still had his pride, and seeing Wu Fangyuan’s mocking expression had pushed him over the edge.
Xu Zhen’s voice was cold on the other end. “How many times have I told you to let this go? You’re still hung up on it?”
“Xu Zhen!” Su Shengbai shouted, trying to keep his voice down. “Have you forgotten who helped you secure funding? How can you just throw me under the bus like this? Aren’t you afraid I’ll—”
“We’re tied together,” Xu Zhen interrupted, his patience long gone. “Don’t keep bringing up that old blackmail. You made your choices, not me. If anyone should be afraid, it’s you. I don’t want to hear another word about this. Stop bothering me. I’m changing my number, and I hope I never have to speak to you again.”
“Xu Zhen, you bastard!” Su Shengbai’s eyes welled up with tears. “I told you how much Assassin means to me, and now you’re sabotaging my future!”
Xu Zhen laughed coldly. “You should be grateful, Su Shengbai. Do you know how much I hate you? If it weren’t for Assassin still being unfinished, I would—”
Xu Zhen cut himself off, realizing he had said too much, and abruptly ended the call.
Su Shengbai curled up in his seat, hugging his knees as tears silently streamed down his face. His fists clenched tighter as he realized everything he had schemed for was slipping away. Xu Zhen’s words echoed in his mind, stabbing at him like needles, but then his thoughts came to a sudden halt.
Something was wrong.
Xu Zhen had said, *If it weren’t for Assassin still being unfinished…*
What did he mean by that? What was Xu Zhen planning once Assassin was done?
Su Shengbai sat up, his face pale as he stared at the dim interior of the car. His reflection in the rearview mirror looked back at him, lifeless and expressionless.
Was Xu Zhen planning something extreme? Had Cao Dingkun’s death pushed him to the edge? Was Assassin the only thing keeping him going?
And what would happen when the film was finished? Would Xu Zhen betray him? Would he confess everything?
A chill ran down Su Shengbai’s spine as he felt the walls closing in around him.
*****
Mi Rui couldn’t figure out what was going on with Duan Xiubo. After bringing him the script for Assassin, Duan had retreated to his private lounge to read in silence.
Duan Xiubo was a fast reader, but he often went through things twice to catch every detail.
“The script’s really good,” he said after finishing his second pass, impressed. “The characters are so well-developed, and the ending is great. Even though it’s about a small-time character, it doesn’t feel trivial at all.”
“Hold on,” Mi Rui interrupted, raising his hand. “We can’t do this. Assassin has been delayed for so long, and now they’re saying it won’t start until the end of the year. Your schedule from October onward is packed, and you won’t be free until at least next March. No matter how much you like it, it’s just not possible.”
“I didn’t say I was taking the role.” Duan Xiubo wasn’t foolish enough to take on a supporting role at this stage in his career. He’d agreed to *Supermodel* for fun, but he wasn’t about to step backward and play another supporting character.
“Then why do you even have the script? Just for fun?”
“Do you know why Assassin has been delayed for so long? This script was clearly carefully crafted, so even with funding issues, it shouldn’t be stuck like this.”
Mi Rui adjusted his glasses. “You know the original lead was Cao Dingkun, right? And you know about his car accident, right?”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Well, that’s not the main reason for the delay. After that, the production ran into financial problems and started some kind of audition stunt, using Cao Dingkun’s name as a gimmick to attract sponsors.”
Duan Xiubo’s brows furrowed. It was clear to him that the production team lacked integrity, using a deceased actor’s name to make money. It was shameless.
Mi Rui continued, “But here’s the kicker: before the audition even got off the ground, the director got caught up in a scandal with the second male lead. And guess who that was—Su Shengbai. The whole thing blew up, and people were outraged. Only recently has it started to die down.”
“Su Shengbai?” Duan Xiubo was taken aback. “He was in this movie too?”
Mi Rui shrugged. “That was the plan, but then he took on *Supermodel*, and now, I’m not sure where things stand.”
Duan Xiubo fell silent for a moment. “Who’s the investor?”
“Cao Dingkun, apparently. He had a lot of money, enough to invest over a billion. But the money went through Universal first, so the funds are technically in Universal’s hands, and Xu Zhen has to follow their lead.”
“I see,” Duan Xiubo said thoughtfully, waving Mi Rui off. He needed to think things through. Sitting quietly in his lounge, his mind kept replaying the image of Luo Ding’s script, full of highlighted notes. The mention of Su Shengbai’s involvement made him uneasy.
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