Chapter 24: Filming in Progress
Lu Xu remarked that the commissions withheld by his manager were limited. However, since the manager had overseen the entire Verse team at the time, they had a certain degree of influence over business decisions and event participation, making it inevitable for them to skim off some benefits.
Such practices were commonplace in the entertainment industry.
The next day, when Lu Xu discovered another deposit in his account, he knew he had made the right gamble.
Lu Xu had no desire to remain entangled with any of the members of Verse. Shortly after his transmigration, he began shedding any labels associated with Verse. Yet, while he refrained from bringing up Verse, it seemed that invoking the group was the other three members’ favorite way to maintain their relevance.
From the moment he arrived in this world, Lu Xu was well aware of how much Xie Qingyang loved Verse, how much Gu Sinian loved Verse, how much Meng Qin loved Verse. The only one who didn’t love Verse was him, Lu Xu.
But Lu Xu always believed that love or the lack thereof was shown through actions, not words.
The original owner had willingly spent his own money on performance outfits, simply because he didn’t want to ruin Verse’s stage. He endured b*llying without speaking up, partly due to his personality and partly to preserve the beautiful image of Verse in the fans’ eyes.
But Lu Xu was different.
A few days ago, Lu Xu had come across a discussion thread where a blogger analyzed the reasons behind Verse’s disintegration.
If the original owner were still here, he would likely have been heartbroken by the post.
But Lu Xu believed that Verse was destined to end up this way—from the moment it became a four-member group, everything was already set in stone.
Because the members of Verse were Xie Qingyang, Meng Qin, Gu Sinian, and Lu Xu—not anyone else.
The original owner had tried his best, but his efforts alone weren’t enough to make a difference.
…
When the words “withheld commissions” were exposed by Lu Xu, Lin Ge Entertainment, as expected, refrained from stirring up further trouble and issued a single statement promising a thorough investigation.
As for how long the investigation would take and whether the results would be made public, those remained unknowns.
However, Lu Xu clearly noticed a drop in the frequency of Lin Ge artists trending online. Coincidentally, Rising Sun found a new director, Gu Sinian kept a low profile while filming, and Meng Qin even made a cameo appearance on set, leaving little material for marketing.
Of course, after this incident, the reputations of the Verse members still took a hit.
Lu Xu’s donation receipt prompted numerous marketing accounts to quietly review the charity contributions attributed to Verse members. They discovered that while the others loudly touted “our Verse,” most of the receipts showed that the donations had come from Lu Xu’s account.
Adding to this, the act of transferring 100,000 yuan to their former teammate to “compensate for his losses” while simultaneously spending heavily on trending topics made fans gradually realize that the other three members of Verse were not as innocent as they had believed. Likewise, Lu Xu wasn’t the sole person responsible for Verse’s downfall, as they had imagined.
[In terms of popularity, the one who least wanted Verse to disband was Lu Xu. Before the breakup, he was able to lend Yao Yuan 6 million yuan. Afterward? His pay for My Baby Prince was just 500,000 yuan.]
[I don’t know much about Verse, but judging by his acting, I think Lu Xu must be a very dedicated person.]
The process of idols losing fans is a slow one. As early as the moment Verse disbanded, its members had already prepared themselves for a decline in popularity.
However, because of Lu Xu’s presence, Xie Qingyang and the others gained a significant number of sympathetic fans, which slowed the decline in their popularity compared to other disbanded boy groups. Recently, however, they began to realize that their popularity was plummeting at an unimaginable rate.
Idols are dream-makers for their fans. No matter their true personality, when facing fans, they must maintain the persona their fans adore.
Once that persona collapses, the idol’s survival becomes nearly impossible.
…
After returning to the Son of Heaven set, Lu Xu resumed the familiar rhythm of his work.
This period involved a heavy workload for him, with both court scenes and palace dramas. While most of the actors he worked with weren’t as famous as Cheng Yun, their mastery of their roles left Lu Xu no room to slack off.
When news of his involvement in Son of Heaven broke, paparazzi tried tracking him at the set.
Unfortunately for them, the production was filled with older actors and very few young ones. The director, Liu Chunfeng, had the face of a boxing coach, and the paparazzi, fearing they’d get KO’d, didn’t dare return.
“Lu Xu, let’s run through the afternoon’s lines together.”
Early in the morning, Guo Yining waved at Lu Xu as he arrived on set.
“Count me in.” Another actor playing a minister in the drama joined in upon hearing the suggestion.
None of them had scenes to shoot in the morning, but the afternoon featured a pivotal scene. Lu Xu had a significant number of lines, and the plot was complex. Originally scheduled for a different day, director Liu Chunfeng rearranged everyone’s schedule to ensure the cast had ample time to prepare.
Lu Xu was too busy with his script to pay attention to gossip.
Recently, several talent agencies had reached out to him, some of them even larger than Lin Ge Entertainment. However, Lu Xu planned to wait until he finished filming Son of Heaven before making any decisions.
What he wanted was a company with a mature approach to managing acting careers—one that wouldn’t restrict his choice of projects but would secure roles he truly desired.
In a way, this was the privilege of a star.
Lu Xu had always been this ambitious.
…
“That segment is difficult to perform. How did you interpret it?” Guo Yining asked as he looked at Lu Xu.
The afternoon scene was considered a turning point in Son of Heaven’s plot—Crown Prince Qin Zhao faced the first crisis of potentially being deposed.
Before this scene, Qin Zhao had a childlike admiration for Emperor Cheng. However, Emperor Cheng found him too weak, lacking the qualities necessary to rule an empire. Qin Zhao’s perceived weakness, however, implied he was not entirely cold-hearted or ruthless—deep down, he still possessed a sense of kindness.
But this time, Qin Zhao finally understood what he truly meant to his father.
Serving medicine during illness, being tested on scholarly knowledge, and competing with his brothers for favor were all minor games. It was only when Qin Zhao confronted the emperor’s absolute authority that he realized what it meant to face the power of a ruler.
Guo Yining’s question to Lu Xu was not intended to test him.
Although the crew of Son of Heaven was filled with seasoned veterans who liked to give acting advice when bored, Lu Xu was not someone who needed their guidance. From the moment he received the script, he had been carefully analyzing the character of Qin Zhao. His understanding of Qin Zhao was undoubtedly deeper than anyone else’s.
Guo Yining and Lu Xu huddled together, whispering while discussing the character. They jotted down key points as they spoke. Halfway through, Cheng Yun squeezed in, turning the long bench into a cramped three-seater.
“Aren’t you hot?” Guo Yining glared at him.
“Not at all.” Cheng Yun showed no sense of guilt for taking up space and remained shameless even under Guo Yining’s glare.
After Cheng Yun joined, the group grew even larger. Someone brought over a small round table, piled it with nut trays and fruit platters, and brewed various teas—black, green, and white. Eventually, even Qin Yu, the scriptwriter, joined in and claimed a seat.
Liu Chunfeng, who was staring intently at the monitor: “…”
Due to his personality, the director often felt like the entire crew was excluding him.
In summary, the scope of the script discussion had expanded once again.
Cheng Yun was more talkative, and he shared his thoughts on the afternoon scene with Lu Xu. It was like giving Lu Xu a heads-up, creating a sense of mutual understanding between them when they filmed the scene later.
Communication between actors was crucial. Filming was never a solitary effort.
Lu Xu noticed that in the past few days, Cheng Yun had become increasingly serious about his role as Emperor Cheng.
Cheng Yun was the kind of actor who could endure hardships. His acting skills were solid, and he could handle various roles with ease. However, whether due to a lack of audience appeal or some other reason, the dramas he led had always garnered mediocre ratings, even if they were well-received critically.
Lu Xu suspected that Cheng Yun’s shift in attitude stemmed from the online skepticism about his lead role in Son of Heaven.
In some sense, Lu Xu had inadvertently triggered this situation.
Had Lu Xu not taken on the role of Qin Zhao, the cast of Son of Heaven would likely have remained under the radar. Even if the series gained some attention, the actors would still have kept a low profile.
Lu Xu guessed that Cheng Yun probably felt deeply unwilling.
He had long been labeled a “golden supporting actor,” but as an actor, who would willingly settle for being in the background?
Moreover, Cheng Yun wasn’t someone who had always played second fiddle. His starring roles had simply been overlooked. Before Son of Heaven, it had been over ten years since he last played a leading role.
For Cheng Yun, the reality of starring in a drama that failed to attract attention felt more like a curse.
Lu Xu sighed. There was nothing he could do about such matters. The only thing he could control was his own performance—giving his best to deliver the most compelling portrayal to the audience.
Whether a show succeeded or not was unpredictable at the time of filming. It ultimately depended on the audience.
…
After noon, the actors made some preparations, and the shooting of the pivotal scene officially began.
In the script, after Qin Zhao reached adulthood, Emperor Cheng allowed him to participate in political affairs and handle some matters in the capital.
Emperor Cheng was not yet old, yet some had already set their sights on Qin Zhao, the crown prince. They actively sought to forge connections with him, hoping to secure merit for supporting his ascension in the future. Moreover, the prince’s interactions with his maternal relatives became increasingly frequent—both the Grand Duke and the Imperial Uncle were influential ministers at court and natural allies of the crown prince.
At this time, the political climate at court was turbulent. A severe drought in Shaanxi had left the land littered with starving corpses, while corrupt officials embezzled the relief grain. Meanwhile, a scandal erupted during the spring imperial examinations, leading to the execution of the Assistant Minister of Rites, Shi Xian, along with his entire family. Upon investigation, it was discovered that these matters bore traces of Crown Prince Qin Zhao’s involvement.
Or rather—someone needed Emperor Cheng to believe they did.
Emperor Cheng likely understood that Qin Zhao’s actual influence in these matters was extremely limited. As a crown prince who held little real power, at most, his name was being used as a facade by those operating behind the scenes.
Nonetheless, Emperor Cheng used these incidents to reprimand Qin Zhao, making his intentions to depose the crown prince clear.
At that time, Emperor Cheng had not truly considered deposing Qin Zhao, but Qin Zhao didn’t know that. Neither did the other princes or the supporters backing those princes.
This marked the origin of Qin Zhao’s rebellion and the opening act of the fierce battle for succession.
When analyzing the script, Lu Xu focused on the shifts in Qin Zhao’s mindset.
The crown prince, after all, carried the pride of his position. Appointed heir at a young age, he had held the title of “ruler-in-waiting” for years, which instilled a sense of composure and propriety in his actions.
The spring imperial examination was meant to select capable individuals for the country. If corruption were allowed to taint this process, how could anyone in the future be motivated to dedicate themselves to rigorous study?
Similarly, during the drought, if even the crown prince sought to profit from the crisis, how could he maintain stability as emperor in the future?
Thus, at the start, Qin Zhao remained composed and proud. He feared only his father and believed in the principle of “the innocent need not defend themselves.”
However, as court ministers one by one elaborated on the pros and cons, and Emperor Cheng’s gaze grew increasingly cold, Qin Zhao suddenly realized that, despite being the crown prince and legitimate heir, there was no one in court who would stand up for him.
Hmm