Chapter 69: Lu Xu Was Really Amazing

When Shao Yao’s manager visited the Voice of the Dead crew once again, Lu Xu was quite worried that the manager might blame him for leading Shao Yao astray.

After all, someone who had been clueless before joining the crew suddenly mastering the intricacies of V-School and Chen-subject seemed a little strange, didn’t it?

Fortunately, nothing of the sort happened. (Perhaps the manager was just too understanding.)

In fact, because Lu Xu and Shao Yao had developed a good relationship, the manager’s attitude toward him was much warmer compared to their first meeting. The look in his eyes was even kind.

Lu Xu was now very curious about how many good things Shao Yao had said about him.

The manager not only treated the two to a meal but even gave Lu Xu a small gift.

Lu Xu: “…”

He couldn’t help but suspect that Shao Yao’s manager’s daily routine might actually involve babysitting.

#Mingniao Entertainment, full of kind-hearted people#

If Lu Xu were to reveal Shao Yao’s true personality to the public, the entire entertainment industry probably wouldn’t believe it.

Shao Yao, with his tough-guy image—someone who looked like he could knock out ten crying monsters with a single punch—who would imagine that he would cry whenever he brought up the b*llying he endured in his previous crew?

At first, Lu Xu didn’t know much about the situation in the Song of Southern Country crew. After all, that was Shao Yao’s personal matter, and Lu Xu would only listen if Shao Yao was willing to talk about it.

As they grew closer, Lu Xu finally learned the details—it was the usual case of those in power b*llying others.

In the entertainment industry, such things were all too common.

Just like the original Lu Xu, who, despite being a member of Verse, was still ostracized and oppressed by his teammates.

As Lu Xu lifted his head, he saw the crystalline tears hanging from Shao Yao’s eyelashes.

Clearly, Shao Yao still hadn’t gotten over it. “I don’t think I was in the wrong.”

“You weren’t wrong at all; they were,” Lu Xu said, looking at him seriously. “We’re actors. We should never lower our standards for acting.”

Shao Yao stared at him, his gaze shining as brightly as a lightbulb.

Such words were ones Shao Yao had only ever heard from senior actors in the industry. Younger actors rarely expressed such sentiments.

In fact, because his good acting skills hadn’t made him famous enough, he was often mocked by the bigger stars, who dismissed acting ability with disparaging remarks.

Among his peers, only Lu Xu was this resolute.

Not only did Lu Xu say such things, but he also had the acting skills to back them up.

Although Shao Yao hadn’t known Lu Xu for long, he was certain that Lu Xu was an actor with a strong sense of conviction. Whatever Lu Xu said, he would follow through on.

At that moment, Shao Yao suddenly felt that taking the role in Voice of the Dead was the best decision he had made this year—perhaps even the best decision he would make in the coming years.

For a long time after wrapping up Song of Southern Country, Shao Yao had been reflecting on whether he was truly suited to being an actor.

He had dreams—dreams of bringing characters to life through his performance, of being remembered and recognized by more audiences. Before filming Song of Southern Country, he had been steadily pursuing this goal. Although he had faced setbacks, his overall journey had been relatively smooth.

But after Song of Southern Country, he felt out of place in the entire entertainment industry.

Yan Qichen was above criticism, reciting his lines as “one, two, three, four, five” was deemed acceptable.

But could such a person still be considered an actor?

During that period, Shao Yao faced even more criticism.

He didn’t want to revisit the insults he endured after wrapping up Song of Southern Country. He had made peace with the exclusion and hostility from Yan Qichen and Lin Ling. What he couldn’t accept, however, was that experienced, older actors from the crew—those who were skilled in acting—tried to persuade him to be more adaptable, to stop being so serious, and to turn a blind eye to certain things.

But in Shao Yao’s eyes, delivering lines was the most fundamental skill of any actor.

A performance without spoken lines would take one back to the silent film era—a hundred years ago.

Shao Yao didn’t even think he was being overly strict—if Yan Qichen only recited “one, two, three, four, five” for his lines, it became nearly impossible for Shao Yao to determine what line to deliver next. It also made it challenging to respond naturally to the other actor’s expressions and actions in a timely manner.

Yan Qichen wasn’t just delaying the filming process; he was also holding back his scene partners.

Shao Yao had reflected on the situation many times. Even now, his greatest regret was that, in all the time since wrapping up Song of Southern Country, not a single actor had firmly told him, “You weren’t wrong.”

Perhaps due to his personality, Shao Yao didn’t have many close friends.

But now, he did.

And Lu Xu was absolutely right.

His manager sighed. “…What if he sells you out someday?”

Noticing Shao Yao’s slight frown and disapproving expression, the manager quickly raised his hands in surrender. “I wasn’t badmouthing your friend.”

As someone who knew Shao Yao better than most, the manager could clearly see the significant change in Shao Yao’s spirit since joining the Voice of the Dead crew.

Before, Shao Yao had been listless and lacked confidence. Now, he was full of energy and even started riding a bike.

For someone with Shao Yao’s personality, simply going out was a victory in itself.

Voice of the Dead had a total of four main chapters, plus a half-chapter for the resolution of the initial case. Aside from the second case involving rats, which both Lu Xu and Shao Yao found particularly challenging, the rest of the filming went extraordinarily smoothly.

Lu Xu was gradually regaining the peak form he had in his previous life.

In the earlier projects, he had been adapting to his identity as an actor in this life. The Path of Bones gave him the chance to fully immerse himself in acting from start to finish, indulging his passion for performance. By the time he reached Voice of the Dead, his skills began to flow naturally.

Lu Xu found it difficult to describe the profound feeling he was experiencing. All he could say was that he was genuinely enjoying acting.

Although Voice of the Dead might seem to offer limited room for creative expression in the eyes of others, Lu Xu believed that an actor’s ability to shine wasn’t solely determined by the script. It also depended on how deeply the actor could explore the character.

Lu Xu never underestimated any role or allowed himself to fall into a rigid pattern of acting for similar characters.

Each role was unique and required careful study and interpretation by the actor.

Shao Yao’s performance also improved significantly starting with the third chapter. Objectively, his work in the first two chapters had already been quite impressive, but by the third chapter, he had taken his acting to another level. His conviction as an actor had visibly strengthened.

Lu Xu didn’t ask Shao Yao about the reason behind the improvement, but Shao Yao’s manager confided in Lu Xu that it was due to his guidance.

The manager even called him “Teacher Lu.”

Lu Xu: “?”

He was quick to respond, “I don’t deserve that title.”

All in all, the manager’s attitude toward him became even warmer.

Lu Xu finally understood where Shao Yao had learned that irresistibly persuasive expression of his.

As the saying goes, great students come from great teachers—hopefully, he’d pick up more positive traits.

Regardless, with Shao Yao in such good form, the filming process became even smoother.

Xu Yan and Zhao Jincheng no longer needed to give reminders to Lu Xu and Shao Yao. Before shooting each scene, Lu Xu and Shao Yao would naturally exchange ideas. Their discussions often resulted in unexpected creative sparks that delighted the director.

While their performances stayed within the bounds of the script, the final effect on screen far surpassed the simple descriptions written in the script.

Take the final half-chapter, for example.

The camera focused mainly on Lu Xu. This part of the story depicted Jiang Lin’s origin—how he gained his abilities. It was the invisible pull of a murdered woman’s corpse that set him on the path of seeking justice for the dead.

The killer was both brutal and cunning. Many days earlier, separated by just a thin wall, he had carried out a savage murder and managed to escape without a trace.

This time, when Jiang Lin faced the murderer, the latter remained as cunning as ever. Jiang Lin had to rely on the smallest details to discern the man’s habits.

However, the murderer, a person in a high social position, regarded Jiang Lin and Su Yang with utter disdain. Even when suspicion fell upon him, he continuously provoked Jiang Lin, attempting to lure the non-criminal-investigation expert into a carefully laid trap.

Compared to Su Yang, Jiang Lin faced more obstacles during investigations. After all, while he had his special ability, he lacked the official authority to resolve cases.

This particular case ran throughout the entirety of Voice of the Dead. While it didn’t haunt Jiang Lin as a nightmare, it remained one of his deepest regrets.

Jiang Lin should have been enraged, should have succumbed to the provocation. Yet, he remained calm. Even when danger loomed close, and when the murderer was just a step away from escaping, Jiang Lin displayed extraordinary wisdom and composure.

This was why the ability to hear the voices of the dead had chosen him.

Because he was worthy.

During the resolution of this case, it was Su Yang who lost his usual composure.

Xu Yan watched the monitor intently, observing Lu Xu’s performance in the confrontation scene with the murderer.

Lu Xu, usually casual and somewhat absent-minded, appeared unexpectedly composed. The murderer, a typical social elite, would never have been associated with such a brutal crime if not for the evidence that step by step pointed toward him.

The murderer calmly recounted his alibis, his expression casual and relaxed. Indeed, his evidence was flawless. His tone carried a veiled mockery toward Jiang Lin, suggesting that someone of Jiang Lin’s status couldn’t even begin to grasp what he was talking about.

Su Yang’s face flushed with anger, and he was about to step forward when Jiang Lin reached out and stopped him, gently shaking his head.

Su Yang was baffled, but Jiang Lin’s eyes were steady and composed.

At that moment, it seemed their personalities had swapped.

Jiang Lin stepped forward slowly, his usually hesitant face now resolute and fearless. His presence shifted dramatically, as if transformed in an instant. He spoke with quiet authority:

“You’re wrong.”

“Over the past month, your female secretary has ordered a flower for you every day, typically between 10 and 11 in the morning.”

“But not that day.”

“Your secretary did go out to order flowers for you, but the type of flower was wrong. Between 10 and 11 that day, the flowers never arrived.”

“Because the florist goes out on that day every year to place the most beautiful flowers on his daughter’s grave.”

“She was your first victim.”

“You thought you could get away with everything. From your first murder onward, you succeeded every time. You toyed with the police, manipulated them like puppets. You have everything—power, money, women—and you believed you had control over it all. But you didn’t.”

“In the shadows, the victims you killed have been handing me the evidence. You might not see it, but even now, someone is pulling your hair, someone is binding your legs, someone is pointing out every scar on your face to me, and someone is guiding me with flowers. You just don’t know it.”

Jiang Lin wasn’t a professional investigator, and in earlier cases, he didn’t stand out as much.

But perhaps because this case was personal or because of the overwhelming resentment from the woman in the apartment next door, at this moment, Jiang Lin’s presence outshone even the murderer’s.

He methodically presented the evidence he had uncovered, one piece at a time, without hesitation or clumsiness.

On the monitor, Jiang Lin’s character seemed to radiate brilliance, as though his true essence had suddenly come to light.

This brilliance was something Lu Xu had instilled in the character.

Standing behind Lu Xu, Shao Yao felt this even more deeply.

It wasn’t that Jiang Lin in this case was entirely different from the Jiang Lin in earlier cases. Rather, at this moment, his wisdom, the way he rebutted the murderer, his calm demeanor as he listened to the murderer’s excuses, and his decision to expose the truth only at the last moment made it clear what justice meant to Jiang Lin.

Lu Xu handled the character of Jiang Lin across the different cases with exceptional precision. While Voice of the Dead didn’t emphasize Jiang Lin as particularly handsome or striking, Lu Xu’s portrayal made the character irresistibly charismatic, even as an ordinary man living in the bustling city.

At the start, the script didn’t portray Jiang Lin as especially sharp or capable—after all, he wasn’t professionally trained. Shao Yao sometimes wondered if Lu Xu taking on this role was a bit of a waste.

But as time went on, Shao Yao realized Lu Xu could handle any type of role.

In fact, it was precisely because Jiang Lin was an ordinary person that Lu Xu’s acting shone even brighter. Jiang Lin wasn’t the most handsome man in the world, nor was he some legendary palace lord or celestial emperor. Yet even with such a grounded character, Lu Xu managed to make him endearing and captivating.

Jiang Lin embodied the traits of everyday people—both their bad habits and their simple sense of justice.

Through Lu Xu’s performance, Jiang Lin became entirely his own person—unique, independent, and free of clichéd archetypes.

‘There’s no one quite like Jiang Lin,’ Shao Yao thought, noting how he couldn’t find any comparisons for this character in others he’d seen.

“Lu Xu is amazing,” Shao Yao sighed for what felt like the hundredth time that day.

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