Chapter 22: Sinking Costs

Liu Chunfeng’s expression had initially been somewhat tense as he sat in front of the monitor. However, after watching Lu Xu and Cheng Yun’s scene, his face gradually relaxed.

During the audition, Liu Chunfeng had merely felt that Lu Xu’s temperament matched that of Qin Zhao. Lu Xu entered the role quickly and had a deep understanding of the character.

Yet, when shooting the first scene today, Liu Chunfeng noticed that once Lu Xu donned the costume, even his appearance seemed to align perfectly with Qin Zhao.

His figure was slender but not sickly thin. His eyes were strikingly dark, his skin fair, and his features delicate. Such a look could adapt to any style of makeup and costume without appearing out of place.

The Qin Zhao he portrayed exuded an innate classical elegance.

Liu Chunfeng was not the type of director who obsessed over minute details. When it came to acting, he preferred to let the actors improvise, using the chemistry between them to drive the narrative forward.

Cheng Yun’s acting was seasoned and masterful. Even though he was portraying Emperor Cheng, who was gravely ill, he conveyed the dignity and paranoia of a monarch with just his gaze and a few lines of dialogue.

Lu Xu, on the other hand, perfectly embodied the Crown Prince Qin Zhao’s cowardice and fear. One exuded authority, the other trepidation. Without any superfluous dialogue, their performance vividly captured the harsh reality of “no familial bonds in the royal family.”

Liu Chunfeng believed that there was undeniable chemistry between Lu Xu and Cheng Yun. He didn’t need to micromanage their lines or actions; the two actors instinctively knew how to perform.

“Lu Xu really isn’t professionaly trained? Never acted before?”

When the same question was asked for the fifth time, Liu Chunfeng couldn’t help but rub his forehead. “Why does everyone keep asking me? I’m not a walking encyclopedia!”

“Weren’t you the one who brought him in?” The person who had interrupted him showed no sign of remorse. “I’m just curious.”

The cast of Son of Heaven consisted primarily of veteran actors, all with deep experience in the industry and long-standing familiarity with Liu Chunfeng. They would casually stroll over to ask him questions and then amble back just as leisurely.

Fortunately, this group eventually got the answer they were looking for—Lu Xu was indeed not professionaly trained. Before taking on the role of Qin Zhao, he had only acted in My Baby Prince, a self-produced drama by Chenxi Film.

“That title sounds a bit strange,” remarked Guo Yining, who played the powerful prime minister in the series, frowning slightly. “And oddly familiar.”

At that moment, his youngest daughter sent him a message. Out of habit, Guo Yining checked her social media to see if she had blocked him from viewing her posts. With a casual tap, he ended up seeing a video she had recently liked:

[I’m not your brother! I just want to be your lover!]

[If he can, why can’t I?]

[I’ll chain you up in this underground bunker, so these eyes will reflect only my image from now on.]

Guo Yining: “…”

Seriously? They couldn’t even afford a proper house for the character—was a bunker really breathable?

He didn’t get it. After acting for so many years and earning recognition for two or three iconic roles, his daughter remained utterly uninterested in his work. Yet she was obsessed with these overly dramatic, nonsensical shows.

Brothers one moment, lovers the next—didn’t she know imprisoning people was illegal?

Guo Yining’s internal rant was only halfway through when the deranged villain who had uttered all those cringe-worthy lines appeared on screen.

He looked… strangely familiar.

Wait a minute—wasn’t that Lu Xu?

It finally dawned on Guo Yining that this infamous show was none other than My Baby Prince.

Guo Yining: “…”

He suddenly found himself somewhat impressed by Lu Xu. It took real skill to deliver such arrest-worthy lines without batting an eye.

And he couldn’t help but admire Liu Chunfeng as well—somehow, the man had managed to identify the perfect candidate for Qin Zhao from a drama like this.

After filming three or four scenes, Lu Xu’s Weibo gained more than a dozen new followers.

Although Cheng Yun, Guo Yining, and the other veteran actors rarely used their Weibo accounts, they all had one. Typically, they only became active when promoting new projects. Occasionally, they would scroll through trending gossip.

Recently, the internet had been buzzing with rumors about Lu Xu and a few members of Verse. Even Cheng Yun and the others had taken notice of the uproar.

At that time, however, the group’s focus wasn’t on Lu Xu.

A production as grand as The Watchers had ended up as nothing more than a case of “much ado about nothing.”

“Old Ren’s been acting his whole life; I bet he never thought his scenes would be cut up like that,” Cheng Yun remarked. He was familiar with both Yue Hui and Ren Ningyi, having worked with them on several projects in the past. He couldn’t help but feel sympathy for Ren Ningyi over the outcome of The Watchers.

Despite both being Best Actor awardees, Yue Hui had higher public recognition and stronger ties with major film and TV companies in the industry. As a result, the production team for The Watchers dared not touch Yue Hui’s screen time, leaving Ren Ningyi as the one to suffer.

It wasn’t unusual for productions to sacrifice veteran actors’ scenes to promote new faces; this was a practice Cheng Yun and others had grown used to.

After all, the commercial value of older actors was significantly lower than that of younger stars.

But no one could have predicted that The Watchers would flop as badly as it did.

Although industry insiders knew the responsibility ultimately lay with Gu Sinian, The Watchers listed Ren Ningyi and Yue Hui as co-leads. When the production tanked, neither of them could escape the fallout.

“What a mess,” Cheng Yun sighed, scrolling through gossip he hadn’t finished reading a few days ago.

Ren Ningyi had had the misfortune of working with someone like Gu Sinian, while Lu Xu had suffered similar misfortune with his former teammate.

Actors who didn’t focus on their craft and instead chased clout with relentless marketing—was it any wonder they scared directors off?

Cheng Yun, who was friends with Ren Ningyi, already held a low opinion of Gu Sinian because of The Watchers. That opinion soured even further because of Lu Xu’s experience.

From Cheng Yun’s perspective, even though he had only worked with Lu Xu once, the young man was unquestionably competent as an actor.

He simply couldn’t understand why the Rising Sun production team had dropped Lu Xu.

Even if Lu Xu’s performance didn’t meet their standards, how could they kick him out while keeping Gu Sinian?

Had they gone mad?

Lu Xu hadn’t proactively followed Cheng Yun and Guo Yining on Weibo—it was the two of them who insisted he do so.

Cheng Yun’s reasoning was simple. Even though Mu Qian had walked away and the future of Rising Sun remained uncertain, he couldn’t help but feel irritated when he searched Lu Xu’s name online and saw people mocking him, claiming no production team wanted him.

Some even went as far as to say Lu Xu would only end up taking roles in low-budget, poorly made web dramas.

This essentially insulted the Son of Heaven production team.

Cheng Yun wasn’t happy about that.

Sure, Son of Heaven didn’t have a massive budget, but director Liu Chunfeng poured his heart into the project, and screenwriter Qin Yu meticulously helped the cast analyze their characters. The filming process was clean and smooth, with a pleasant and professional atmosphere on set.

Since joining the production, Lu Xu had filmed four scenes, all of them opposite Cheng Yun.

Having worked with many young actors over the years, Cheng Yun could honestly say that Lu Xu was the only one who could consistently nail a scene in one take, fully conveying the character’s emotions and physical nuances.

Cheng Yun genuinely enjoyed acting alongside Lu Xu. It was effortless, and it saved time.

Occasionally, they would have differing interpretations of their characters, but these were usually minor details. Discussing and resolving these differences often led to even deeper insights into their roles.

After working on a few scenes together, Cheng Yun had developed a strong appreciation for Lu Xu.

Initially, when he had seen Lu Xu’s fiery online posts criticizing this or that, he had assumed the young actor was hot-tempered. But after spending time with him, he realized Lu Xu was far quieter than he’d imagined.

Lu Xu’s daily routine revolved around studying the script, memorizing lines, and delivering performances so impressive they made even seasoned actors like Cheng Yun feel the pressure.

Lu Xu’s Weibo followers had already surpassed 5 million. However, ever since he joined the production, he hadn’t posted anything new. His page still displayed his previous explanation about auditioning for Rising Sun at the top.

While he maintained a low profile, discussions about him online showed no signs of dying down.

The production team of Rising Sun was still frantically searching for a director. Meanwhile, Mu Qian’s angry public remarks had an unintended consequence: even though You Zichen had been officially dropped from the cast, the criticism against him only grew louder.

Directors, screenwriters, and actors who had worked with him began openly—or subtly—expressing their dissatisfaction with You Zichen.

The consensus?

You Zichen was, in no uncertain terms, a piece of shit.

But unlike regular shit, which could stink quietly in a corner, You Zichen insisted on stirring up chaos within productions, turning the atmosphere of entire sets rancid.

And the spark that ignited this mess? Mu Qian’s infamous [poop] emoji post.

Thus, after the phenomenon of “V-school” (V Xue), a new trend emerged—Bian Xue (poop school).

While V-school was known for its passive-aggressive jabs, Bian Xue prided itself on bluntness, taking direct shots at its target with maximum impact.

Lu Xu: “…”

He really didn’t want to learn about this niche cultural phenomenon.

Lu Xu had briefly considered throwing a few passive-aggressive jabs at the Rising Sun production team, but he ultimately decided against it. His comments section was already saturated with V-school energy. If more [poop] emojis showed up, it would be exhausting to deal with.

While Lu Xu himself maintained a calm demeanor, his new follows on Weibo didn’t escape notice.

[Cheng Yun, Guo Yining, Zhao Fan… Looks like Xiao Lu joined a new production team.]

[Mutual follows? Does this mean Lu Xu’s new project is a serious drama?]

[…No big names in the cast. If you compare the line-up, it seems even less impressive than the Rising Sun team.]

[But at least it won’t be worse than My Baby Prince, right? At least he won’t have to fund his own costumes and deal with rumors of b*llying his teammates.]

Fans: “…”

The new fans following Lu Xu included a mix of viewers who had enjoyed My Baby Prince and former fans from his Verse days. The latter group, like Tan Qi, had once supported Lu Xu but had left after the wave of scandals tarnished his reputation.

They hadn’t exactly turned into anti-fans, but at the time, Lu Xu’s behavior made it difficult for them to continue supporting him.

Now that the truth had been revealed, it was clear that the other members of Verse had advanced far beyond Lu Xu in their careers.

Reluctantly, some fans returned to follow him, hoping to give him a little boost in terms of online engagement.

Though, it seemed Lu Xu didn’t necessarily need it anymore.

From the moment he cleared out his Weibo account, fans had suspected that Lu Xu planned to pursue acting seriously and leave his past with Verse behind for good.

As an actor, Lu Xu likely had no interest in maintaining the kind of popularity that came with being an idol.

Shortly after Lu Xu followed Cheng Yun and Guo Yining, marketing accounts began leaking information about his new project:

[Historical drama Son of Heaven, featuring director Liu Chunfeng, screenwriter Qin Yu, and lead actors Cheng Yun, Guo Yining, and Lu Xu.]

[Is his new project a historical drama?? Bold choice!]

[I thought Lu Xu would stick to idol dramas. With such a beautiful face, he should be doing more romantic leads!]

[While I respect Lu Xu’s decision, historical dramas are practically a dead genre. Have there even been any new historical dramas aired in the past few years?]

[I really think actors need guidance from professional agencies. My Baby Prince’s success had a lot to do with luck. If Lu Xu wants to secure great roles, he can’t afford to go with his gut alone.]

The decline of historical dramas as a popular genre was undeniable. Still, since Lu Xu had chosen this path, fans could only respect his decision.

The very next day, however, in a livestream episode of the variety show Fog Level, former Verse member Xie Qingyang shared his favorite type of TV drama:

“Historical dramas. I love historical genres the most. Classics like Empire, The Fall of Nations, and Heart of the World are just unparalleled. It’s a shame there’s so little historical content being made now.”

The host beside him reminded him, “It seems like there’s a historical drama in the works recently, with Lu Xu in the cast.”

“Really?” Xie Qingyang’s expression lit up with surprise. “That must be a great show. Once it airs, I’ll use both my phone and tablet to support it.”

Verse had already fallen apart, and from its ashes, the concept of “V-school” emerged.

However, Lin Ge Entertainment explained the situation as follows: Lu Xu purchasing his own performance outfits was something the other members were unaware of. It was simply because the stylist responsible for Verse’s wardrobe had a personal bias against Lu Xu and had intentionally assigned him unsuitable outfits. As a last resort, Lu Xu had to buy his own stage costumes.

Once Lin Ge Entertainment became aware of the issue, they immediately fired the stylist. When the other members learned the truth, they were deeply pained and upset, even offering to give part of their earnings to Lu Xu as compensation for his losses.

After the incident came to light, Xie Qingyang and Meng Qin both expressed their shock in different interviews.

“My goodness, something like this actually happened?”

“I always thought the company had swapped the outfits and that those expenses were reimbursed by them. Turns out… I didn’t care enough about my teammate. That’s my failure as the team captain.”

Netizens: “…This is a certified Ph.D. in V-ology moment.”

Some people claimed that Lin Ge Entertainment was treating netizens like fools—no one would believe this.

But, in reality, fans did believe it.

After some fans had left, the ones who remained became even more stubborn and united.

In a way, idol fandoms are a constant process of sinking costs.

When the self-purchase costume incident was exposed, fans initially stayed silent. But after Xie Qingyang and Meng Qin spoke out, a wave of fans began tearfully expressing their sympathy for them.

[Lin Ge Entertainment has been mistreating its artists for more than just this one time.]

[I knew it—they absolutely aren’t that kind of people!]

[This is too tragic. So during Verse’s active period, Xie Qingyang and Meng Qin always believed the company gave Lu Xu extra privileges, but they still chose to stay silent?]

[Is making everyone miserable Lin Ge Entertainment’s goal?]

Lu Xu: “…”

#Sometimes, he just didn’t want to play with fools.#

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