Chapter 37: Fear of Him Becoming Famous

“The first stop after leaving Lin Ge Entertainment, Lu Xu chose Feiyang Entertainment. It feels like two extremes.”

“But strangely, it fits perfectly!”

Artists under Lin Ge Entertainment were more focused on entertainment and often stayed at the top of trending searches, while Feiyang Entertainment attracted a group of skilled actors whose popularity was slightly weaker.

The new generation valued trending topics more, and newcomers signed with Feiyang Entertainment generally had lower visibility.

If Lu Xu had still been a member of Verse, Feiyang Entertainment would definitely not have been suitable for him. But now, things were different.

With just the role of Qin Zhao, Lu Xu had already proven his potential as an actor.

Even after Qin Zhao’s character exited the stage, Son of Heaven maintained a stable popularity of around 12,000, making it the most successful drama of the post-New Year season.

Although this data couldn’t secure the annual top spot, it had already guaranteed a place in the year’s top ten.

Cloud Film had also shaken off its awkward period of mediocre ratings from multiple dramas. Now, they had a drama worth boasting about. Moreover, Son of Heaven not only performed outstandingly in terms of data but also surpassed expectations in terms of reputation.

The rivalries between actors in the drama, a single action, or even a subtle expression, left viewers pondering endlessly. It wasn’t just sweet; there was bitterness, astringency, and spice—making it all the more worthy of audience appreciation.

Lu Xu was the youngest actor in Son of Heaven cast and also the most prominent one.

A drama with the popularity of Son of Heaven had the potential to launch a superstar. Unfortunately, Cheng Yun and Guo Yining, among others, were seasoned veterans who had been navigating the entertainment industry for years. Even with more attention, the dramas they could lead were limited, and their commercial value couldn’t be expanded further.

Although Lu Xu’s screen time wasn’t much, his performance was particularly eye-catching.

Furthermore, the group of veteran actors in the crew had taken a strong liking to him. Whether Lu Xu was on set or not, they always mentioned him a couple of times, making his presence even stronger.

Son of Heaven was a classic serious drama with a rich plot, the kind of material that authoritative award ceremonies particularly favored. When the character of Qin Zhao, played by Lu Xu, first gained a bit of recognition beyond the show, some netizens had already started threads on forums speculating whether Lu Xu might have a shot at winning an award.

At that time, very few people agreed.

But as Son of Heaven gained more and more popularity, Lu Xu’s portrayal of Qin Zhao received increasing acclaim from audiences. When new threads discussing his award potential surfaced on the forums, the discussions had become much more heated.

Most netizens still believed that Lu Xu’s chances of winning were slim. If he were to compete for Best Supporting Actor, he would inevitably go up against people like Guo Yining.

Given Lu Xu’s current level of experience, beating Guo Yining and others seemed as difficult as reaching the heavens.

After a long and heated debate, one particular reply quietly climbed to the top of the thread:

[Don’t you think that just by having Lu Xu’s name mentioned in this context, he’s already won?]

As soon as this was posted, the forum fell silent.

Forum users were notoriously harsh. Any actor with even slightly subpar skills dreaming of awards would be ridiculed mercilessly.

Lu Xu’s decision to sign with Feiyang Entertainment hadn’t escaped the attention of his former groupmates.

The flops of The Watchers and Rising Sun had utterly demoralized Lin Ge Entertainment. Both dramas had plummeted from being daily chart-toppers to disastrous failures, leaving the company’s executives simmering with frustration and not knowing where to vent.

Gu Sinian, in particular, had been slapped with a direct ban by the higher-ups, forbidding him from taking on any new acting projects in the near future.

In reality, no production team would be reckless enough to approach Gu Sinian for a role.

He lacked acting skills, had no pull, and every drama he was involved in flopped spectacularly, as if cursed. His “bad luck” seemed to grow exponentially, leaving directors deeply wary of working with him.

When Gu Sinian showed up at the Lin Ge Entertainment building, he was no longer the dazzling star he had been during Verse’s heyday.

There were still fans holding light boards to cheer him on, insisting that none of this was his fault.

Gu Sinian looked utterly exhausted, his expression downcast and despondent, which made his fans ache for him. If they could, they wished to hug him themselves and tell him not to give up.

Thankfully—two other members of Verse stepped in to do just that.

Xie Qingyang slung an arm around Gu Sinian’s shoulders, while Meng Qin gave him a comforting pat on the back. Though neither said a word, their actions spoke volumes.

Witnessing this scene, the remaining fans of Verse’s “only three” nearly burst into tears.

Despite everything that had happened to Verse and the tarnished reputations of its members, the bond between Xie Qingyang, Meng Qin, and Gu Sinian was undeniably real.

As the elevator doors closed and the fans outside disappeared from view, the warmth shared moments ago evaporated entirely.

The elevator carried six people: the three former bandmates and their three managers.

The closeness they had shown before the fans was nowhere to be seen now. The three of them stood far apart. Xie Qingyang’s eyes were hidden behind his sunglasses, but Gu Sinian was certain he heard the faintest snort from him.

“You don’t need to attend the interview next month,” Xie Qingyang said coldly. “I’ll let you know when to join again.”

As for when “again” would be, Xie Qingyang didn’t elaborate, but Gu Sinian understood—it would likely be never.

Xie Qingyang had launched an interview program, inviting numerous friends and acquaintances from the industry to participate. Many celebrities had graciously agreed, and the show had garnered a good reputation.

But Xie Qingyang wasn’t satisfied with merely that. During the Verse era, he had been both the leader and the center of the group, always standing in the spotlight. At his peak, Verse had enjoyed the same level of prestige as top-tier movie stars.

Now, however, he had been relegated to the role of a host—a supporting act. He had to cater to the thoughts of his guests and expertly steer conversations, a far cry from the shining star he once was.

Originally, having Verse members participate in Xie Qingyang’s program was intended to be a key talking point. However, Xie Qingyang no longer had any desire to invite Gu Sinian.

Xie Qingyang merely informed Gu Sinian of his decision, but Meng Qin’s silent yet scrutinizing gaze made Gu Sinian feel even worse.

Verse had disbanded due to conflicts of interest, and whatever bond the members had shared had been thoroughly eroded after the group’s dissolution. Each member now ran their own studio, though all were still affiliated with Lin Ge Entertainment. This made them direct competitors for resources.

Gu Sinian and Meng Qin, in particular, had a poor relationship.

Meng Qin’s words were always laced with sarcasm and passive-aggression. His ability to navigate risks was unparalleled in Verse, and now that he primarily operated in the fashion industry, his habit of flattering the powerful while belittling the weak had only intensified.

A single, dismissive glance from Meng Qin felt more cutting to Gu Sinian than outright insults.

Meanwhile, the trending tags #VerseReunion and #OnceBandmatesAlwaysClose had already been bought and were climbing the charts. Seeing this, Gu Sinian felt a strong urge to throw his watch across the room.

Unfortunately, his sponsorship deal for the watch had long since fallen through, and its value was too high for him to afford breaking it.

This thought stoked his frustration further, and he couldn’t help but snap, “Do you really think I’ll be the only one to suffer when Lu Xu becomes famous?”

“Is it because he won’t do variety shows? Or because he doesn’t play by the rules of your precious fashion industry?”

The shifting expressions on Xie Qingyang’s and Meng Qin’s faces brought Gu Sinian a small measure of satisfaction.

Even without Lu Xu achieving widespread fame, his rising star had already cost the three of them numerous resources. When the day came that Lu Xu truly became a household name, the association with their former group, Verse, would drag them all into endless comparisons.

None of them wanted to see Lu Xu—their former defeated rival—rising above them and stepping on their heads.

If Lu Xu ever found out what his former bandmates truly thought of him, he’d likely say, “Overthinking is a disease—you should get that treated.”

He had a habit of retaliating against those who stepped on him, yet the three members of Verse seemed to expect him to lie down and let them walk all over him. That was something he could never do.

In the entertainment industry, there was always someone rising to fame and someone falling from grace. No one stayed at the top forever, nor at the bottom.

He was simply someone who had experienced the lows and was now rebounding.

Why should he bow to Xie Qingyang, Meng Qin, and Gu Sinian?

Was it because they had exceptional acting skills, striking good looks, or noble charisma?

None of those applied.

Some people claimed that Lu Xu was living out a revenge-hero storyline, but he didn’t see it that way.

To him, he was just doing what an actor was supposed to do: act well, take responsibility for the script, and respect the work of his fellow actors.

That was simply the duty of an actor.

Yet, even such a straightforward expectation was something many in the industry failed to meet.

Scripts that Xu Wen had carefully filtered finally began to pile up on Lu Xu’s desk. According to his manager, there were plenty of options, but most of them failed to meet Lu Xu’s standards.

Out of the batch, Lu Xu picked out three leading roles, all of which were in low-budget productions.

There were also three supporting roles in big-budget productions. One of these was directed by a legendary filmmaker, widely regarded in the entertainment industry as a star-maker. Anyone cast in his dramas was virtually guaranteed to achieve stardom eventually.

This director had a good relationship with Feiyang Entertainment, and most of Feiyang’s successful stars had collaborated with him at some point.

“I wouldn’t recommend you take this script,” Xu Wen said as he handed it over to Lu Xu, though he advised against choosing it. “Right now, you don’t lack opportunities to be seen. This role just doesn’t offer enough room for growth.”

Although the script had been obtained through Feiyang Entertainment’s connections, Xu Wen believed that Lu Xu, having already gained visibility through Son of Heaven, needed a role with more screen time and greater potential for personal growth.

After carefully reviewing the options, Lu Xu eventually set his sights on a suspense drama.

Among the three low-budget productions, this one caught his interest the most.

The other two scripts didn’t appeal as much. One was a Republican-era drama about a pair of lovers separated by war, who ultimately embarked on completely divergent paths. Their love was steadfast, but their differing beliefs ensured they could never stand together.

The script was undeniably solid, but Lu Xu felt it placed too much emphasis on the romance while neglecting the career arcs of the characters. It came off as shallow in that regard—even less compelling than Rising Sun, a drama that, objectively speaking, could have been excellent if not for Lin Ge Entertainment’s mismanagement.

The third option was a multi-lead drama revolving around four male characters all madly in love with the female lead, going to absurd extremes for her affection.

Lu Xu: “…”

He couldn’t quite wrap his head around the premise.

That said, the script did have its charm. The male character offered to him was a well-crafted archetype: handsome, domineering, beautifully tragic, and possessing the ability to swoop in and save the female lead. Despite being mistreated by her, he remained utterly devoted, even exhibiting some borderline masochistic tendencies.

If his willingness to experiment increased in the future, he might actually consider trying a role like this.

On his Weibo comment section, fans had long been urging him to take on more heartthrob roles.

[These days, unattractive guys play handsome roles, while actual handsome guys get criticized for having no acting skills, so they ugly themselves up to prove their talent! Handsome actors, please find the confidence that unattractive guys have!]

[Can’t agree more! Smashing the like button until my fingers break!]

[At least a handsome guy with no skills is still handsome. Unattractive guys have nothing…]

Reflecting on these comments, Lu Xu had to admit—there might actually be some truth to them.

However, the genre that demanded handsome actors the most was undoubtedly idol dramas. Lu Xu felt that perhaps his acting experience had become so extensive that he instinctively gravitated toward more mature roles.

The suspense drama he had his eye on revolved around a handsome man who underwent plastic surgery to exact revenge. It was a pure thrill ride, packed with bloody confrontations and the intense anxiety of nearly being exposed. The plot and character design were undeniably intriguing.

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