“Woah, what the heck!”
“What is this? A love child?”
“It’s a random encounter! A random encounter!”
“Help, this is too sweet, I’m dying from the sugar!”
Duan Xiubo was busy browsing Weibo, and the screams from his small account’s homepage were almost popping off the screen. Situations like this were usually related to something about him and Luo Ding. He quickly clicked on it, and sure enough, it was a photo of him and Luo Ding being surrounded outside the cinema on the day of the premiere.
The picture didn’t show them in too much of a mess. It was probably taken by some girls who had called out to them. In the image, Duan Xiubo was holding a plastic cup, with an empty marker pen raised in Luo Ding’s direction. His head was turned, looking confused toward the camera. Standing across from him, Luo Ding was partially blocked, with one cheek puffed out like a hamster as he chewed on something, also looking at the camera with wide, innocent eyes.
Then came a series of candid GIFs: Luo Ding taking the plastic cup from Duan Xiubo’s hand, Duan helping Luo Ding adjust his scarf, and the two of them grabbing each other’s sleeves and running for their lives together…
In short, the two of them looked very close.
The text accompanying the pictures was so excited it felt like it was going to burst out of the screen and hit anyone who saw it. Even though Duan Xiubo was already used to this level of fan enthusiasm, the barrage of exclamation points still gave him a bit of a headache.
The fans were ecstatic:
“Our boys are still so playful, sneaking off to eat spicy hotpot. Is it because their manager didn’t allow it?”
“Aww, look at Luo BaoBao chewing! He’s like a little hamster!”
“Everyone, let’s form a group and send hotpot soup bases to their company! Luo Luo’s company is hard to find, but Duan’s company address is public!”
Duan Xiubo wasn’t sure if they were serious or just joking. Thinking about the receptionist at his company signing for a whole bunch of hotpot soup bases made him chuckle.
Mi Rui walked past behind him, took one look at the screen, and instantly knew what Duan was looking at. He didn’t know that Duan had a small account, so he assumed Duan was using his main account. Mi Rui rolled his eyes, “Bro, seriously, can you and Luo just be a bit more careful about your image when you’re outside?”
Duan Xiubo responded seriously, “Luo Ding’s outfit was really well-coordinated.”
Mi Rui: “…” He walked away, utterly helpless, but he was used to it by now.
Luo Ding’s outfit was indeed well-matched, and the scarf had been quickly recognized by fans. He had only accepted gifts from fans twice, and neither were expensive items, but whether it was the handkerchief or the scarf, he made sure to use them thoughtfully whenever he could. This kind of special consideration always touched the fans deeply.
Yu Chanjuan carefully pressed the movie tickets into her album, smoothing out the plastic covering on each one. She flipped to the next page and stuck the other ticket down as well.
She had also gone to the premiere in City B with her niece Yu Tianyun, both of them wearing masks. At the cinema entrance, Tianyun suddenly said she wanted to get a family-sized meal from KFC, complaining that the cinema snacks weren’t good. She asked Yu Chanjuan to wait for her outside. While waiting, Yu Chanjuan bumped into Duan Xiubo and Luo Ding as they were running away from the crowd.
It wasn’t a hard bump—just a light brush of the arm as they passed by. Her eyesight was going bad, so even though she was familiar with Luo Ding, she didn’t recognize him from a distance. It wasn’t until the last second, when they passed by her, that the faint scent of grass and laundry detergent hit her nose, making her realize who it was. It was only a brief moment, just a few seconds, and soon she also recognized the other person who was covered up—Duan Xiubo.
Their faces were wrapped in scarves, and they looked flustered. When they hurriedly turned back to check behind them, Yu Chanjuan caught a glimpse of the unguarded joy in their eyes.
The movie was great. Yu Chanjuan hadn’t been to a theater in years, but when her niece said she had managed to get tickets, she decided to attend to show support. Her finely honed instincts, shaped by years in the entertainment industry, told her right after the screening that, despite the lack of flashy effects or a dramatic love story, there probably wasn’t another film in the Spring Festival season that could outshine this one.
The maid quietly placed the usual stack of entertainment newspapers on the coffee table in front of Yu Chanjuan, and she glanced over at them while holding her album—
“‘Supermodel’ Shines on the Big Screen, Veteran Critics Heap Praise,”
“Su Shengbai = Lu Yiyang = Playing Himself?”
“Duan Xiubo and Luo Ding Appear in City B’s Premiere, Their Chemistry Makes Everyone Laugh…”
Of the seven newspaper headlines, six were about the movie.
Yu Chanjuan stared off into space, remembering the two heads whispering together in the seats during the premiere. She sighed, tossing the newspapers back onto the table.
****
A movie’s huge success doesn’t necessarily mean its actors will become hugely successful too.
Su Shengbai had no professional manager or dedicated assistant. Cao Dingkun used to manage everything for him, laying out instructions for him to follow. He had stumbled from the music industry into the movie world, and it wasn’t until after *Supermodel* that he truly understood how harsh the industry could be.
His acting skills were among the best of the new generation of actors, but not everyone was as lucky as him to have roles fall into their lap. Most male actors his age were still only popular in the TV world; the movie industry was ruled by men over 28. Filming a movie demanded far more than a TV show—the costs, the sets, the fact that a movie had only two hours to develop character traits instead of dozens of episodes. Bad acting could be fatal.
It was the first time Su Shengbai understood what people meant by “being overshadowed.” He had the most screen time of any supporting character, appearing from the beginning to the end of the movie, with a total of over fifteen minutes on screen. But when he watched the movie, even he found his portrayal of Lu Yiyang to be shockingly lackluster.
In scenes opposite Luo Ding and Duan Xiubo, audiences naturally focused on them. Aside from the scene where Lu Yiyang drugs someone, which sparked some discussion, the rest of the time, Su Shengbai’s presence was almost nonexistent, even less so than his character.
And honestly, he preferred it that way!
Looking at the headlines in the papers and online—
“Playing Himself? A Look at Luo Ding and Su Shengbai’s Feud,”
“Luo Ding Faces the Past Calmly, Su Shengbai Declines to Comment,”
“Betrayal? Backstabbing? The Real Entertainment Industry Exposed,”
“The Clean-Cut Prince’s Dark Story…”
What the heck is all this!? Are these editors brain-dead, taking one scene in a movie too seriously?
When someone’s down, everyone jumps on them. Even though Su Shengbai hadn’t offended many people before, once interests were at stake, the media would latch onto any reason to attack him. Audiences loved drama, verbal sparring, seeing untouchable stars being dragged down. Negative news spread the fastest, and once someone was caught in a scandal, it was like a feeding frenzy.
Su Shengbai’s only bit of luck was that he wasn’t completely in the dark about it this time.
But for days, he had been so anxious he couldn’t sleep, dreading what would happen if the media came after him. When they finally did, he was too exhausted to fight back and could only avoid them as much as possible, trying not to look too pathetic as he fled.
Now, he was sitting in his agent Fu Zhao’s office. Fu Zhao was juggling several phone calls while half-heartedly listening to Su Shengbai’s complaints.
Su Shengbai clutched his mask tightly. His sleeve was wrinkled from being grabbed by reporters outside the company earlier, and the sight of it made him furious. These paparazzi had no respect for people.
“When is the company going to step in for me?” he asked, voice filled with urgency.
Fu Zhao remained as calm and nonchalant as always. “The higher-ups still need to have a meeting about it. Your scandal is pretty serious this time, so resolving it won’t be quick.”
Su Shengbai didn’t believe a word of it. “The company has ties with so many others. When the *Assassin* crew had their scandal, one phone call was enough to shut down the news. Why can’t they do that for me?”
Fu Zhao sighed, “The media are picking and choosing. If it’s between money and more money, they’ll always pick the latter. Your scandal is too big this time. It’s much harder to suppress than last time.”
Su Shengbai was shaking with anger. “My contract has less than a year left, Fu.”
Fu Zhao glanced up, noticing how truly upset he was, and smiled, trying to placate him. “Why say that? It’s too negative. The company’s doing what’s best for you. Look, I’ve got some work lined up for you. If you’re really stressed, why not take a look at these scripts? Once the storm blows over, no one will even remember this.”
Su Shengbai was furious. This approach clearly showed the company wasn’t taking him seriously. But when Fu Zhao mentioned the work, he couldn’t help but look at the scripts, and soon, his anger began to crack. “What are these?”
“TV show scripts! Look at this one—*Crystal Romance*, over thirty episodes, and they’re offering a great fee. Then there’s *Spicy Wife and Sassy Mother-in-Law*, where you’ll be the male lead! Oh, and this one, *Your Majesty, Love Me Again*, all big-name directors, with a top-tier female lead…”
Su Shengbai cut him off, his voice trembling, “You want me to go back to doing TV dramas? These trashy shows?”
Fu Zhao tried to smooth things over. “Hey, don’t say that. Which has the bigger audience—TV or movies? You aimed too high by starting with movies, without a solid foundation. That’s why things blew up so badly this time…”
Even the most patient person would explode by now. Su Shengbai slammed his hand on the table. “Fu, ever since I joined this company, they’ve been taking 70% of my income, and this is how you treat me?!”
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