Chapter 98: A Visit
Shao Yao clapped his hands softly from the side.
Even though he was merely an observer, he could clearly see how impressive Lu Xu looked in that moment. The way he switched seamlessly from the bookish “Chang Qing” to the charismatic Yan Huan was a display of complete mastery.
Acting opposite someone like him could only bring an unparalleled sense of fluidity and coherence.
Jiang Lin embodied a quiet righteousness, Huang Luning exuded warmth, and Yan Huan was the epitome of charm and style. Shao Yao felt that Lu Xu didn’t even need extensive preparation to fully bring out the essence of his character.
If it felt this captivating just as a bystander, he could only imagine how the audience in the cinema would feel watching this scene unfold.
Lu Xu was truly—a genius in performance.
Yet, being friends with someone like him, Shao Yao felt no jealousy at all. Instead, he felt a deep sense of pride for Lu Xu.
Whether it was sheer talent or relentless hard work, Lu Xu stood as a role model right beside him.
Shao Yao no longer thought that being an actor was difficult because no matter how challenging it got, Lu Xu would always perform better than anyone else.
This man would pour his heart into every role he portrayed. As long as he could continue acting, he would continue to shine.
Shao Yao was only passing by this time. He was filming another project nearby, and since his director had given him a day off, he decided to drop by to see Lu Xu.
But once again, he left feeling inspired by Lu Xu.
Occasionally, Shao Yao would feel a twinge of inferiority when facing him. Among their peers, Lu Xu’s brilliance was unmatched, an undeniable presence that no one could overshadow.
But more than that fleeting sense of inadequacy, Shao Yao gained so much more.
…
The moment Gao Xingchuan called “Cut,” the charismatic aura of Yan Huan vanished from Lu Xu. He joyfully ran over to Shao Yao, and the two headed to a nearby restaurant to have a meal together.
In this regard, Lu Xu deeply admired Shao Yao. The man seemed to have an uncanny knack for finding the best restaurants nearby—even if he hadn’t tried a place before, his choices always turned out to be exceptionally good.
After wrapping up the scene, Lu Xu changed out of his costume, removed his makeup, and put on his usual attire. He looked no different from his everyday self, but after this scene, Mei Yu, who played Qian Beichen in the film, quietly wiped away some sweat and muttered, “That was a lot of pressure.”
Lu Xu himself probably wasn’t even aware of it, but as his scene partner, Mei Yu had felt the overwhelming intensity emanating from the character of Yan Huan.
Though Yan Huan smiled, the smile never quite reached his eyes.
In the script, Yan Huan was written as a character whose thoughts were difficult to read. But when Lu Xu immersed himself in the role, even a slight shift in his performance exuded a commanding presence that was impossible to ignore.
His ability to switch personas was nothing short of extraordinary.
The longer the other actors spent working with Lu Xu, the clearer it became why Yue Hui had chosen him to play Yan Huan.
This role could only belong to Lu Xu.
The fluidity with which he acted and the ease with which he commanded his character were on par with Yue Hui himself.
And Yue Hui was already one of the most elite actors in the country.
Mei Yu chuckled and admitted, “He honestly scares me.”
“I’m scared too,” Yue Hui replied, casting a glance at him. “But you have to admit, he’s incredibly good.”
At the beginning of the year, during the Stellar Awards ceremony, Yue Hui’s acceptance speech had been heartfelt and sincere.
He had realized while watching The Path of Bones that Lu Xu was an exceptionally talented actor. Facing the pursuit of such a brilliant young actor, Yue Hui, as an older performer, couldn’t help but feel the pressure.
And after actually acting alongside him, that pressure only intensified.
Lu Xu was an exceptional actor, whether in his understanding of the characters or in the attitude he displayed during his performances.
Although he didn’t overshadow other actors to the point of dulling their presence, his own brilliance was simply too dazzling.
This was especially true during scenes where he appeared as Yan Huan. If others didn’t give their full focus and effort, they could easily be outshone.
Lu Xu also excelled at separating his role as an actor from his personal life. On set, he was fully dedicated and focused, but off-camera, he was approachable, with a personality that had a hint of endearing charm.
“Lu Xu is incredibly low-maintenance,” was Yue Hui’s conclusion.
Yue Hui had once seen an online video about Lu Xu. It featured interviews with directors and actors who had worked with him. To this day, Yue Hui still remembered that nearly everyone mentioned how working with Lu Xu significantly boosted filming efficiency.
Now, Yue Hui had experienced this firsthand.
The filming of Deception was indeed very efficient.
For Yue Hui, the process was smooth and enjoyable.
At his age, most of the actors Yue Hui worked with were significantly younger. While he could still secure leading roles, the casts of his dramas and films almost always included newcomers heavily promoted by some company.
Yue Hui was diplomatic by nature and avoided openly criticizing any rookie in public. He mostly stuck to words of encouragement and praise. However, to be objective, as an actor, it was frustrating to have the shoot frequently interrupted.
When his emotions were fully prepared for a scene but were suddenly disrupted, it felt as if a breath had caught in his chest, leaving him struggling to regain his rhythm.
Under such circumstances, it was considered fortunate if a scene could be completed smoothly.
Many times, Yue Hui knew that the scene wasn’t working because his co-actors weren’t performing well. The entire crew was aware of it too. Yet, the director would often let it slide, knowing that even with multiple retakes, the newcomers might not perform any better than before.
It was often more practical to just move on to the next scene.
But when working with Lu Xu, they could generally shoot a scene from start to finish in one take. The only time there would be a retake would be due to external factors, never because of the performance.
Shi Xinshan was a master of strategy, and Yan Huan was equally scheming. How could the dynamic between these two characters not leave him feeling exhilarated?
Among his peers, Yue Hui had one of the longest careers. Few from his generation had made it to the top, and many had gradually retired from the industry due to health or family reasons. Opportunities to collaborate with actors at his level had become fewer and fewer.
In The Watchers, he had worked with Ren Ningyi, whose scenes had been cut down quite a bit. Still, the two had enjoyed their time working together.
The Watchers had a shooting pace that alternated between smooth takes and frustrating ones. While working with Ren Ningyi, the scenes flowed effortlessly, but with Gu Sinian, it felt like they were constantly stumbling. It was strange, really.
There weren’t many productions like Deception that left him feeling so satisfied with the process.
…
Lu Xu spent three months filming with the Deception crew. The production of Deception had started before When I Was 18 aired, and the movie wrapped up around early November. As the year-end approached, various responsibilities began piling up, and Xu Wen had a long list of tasks waiting for Lu Xu.
“Awards, summaries, summaries, awards…” Lu Xu rubbed his forehead. “Why are they all such time-consuming events?”
Deception was also planned to be released after the Stellar Awards.
At this rate, Gao Xingchuan would have to edit the film so fast it might catch fire.
Lu Xu realized he wouldn’t have a moment of rest during this period.
“These are all things that piled up after the finale of When I Was 18,” Xu Wen said, hands stuffed in his pockets. “While you were busy with the crew, do you know how much effort I had to put in just to delay these events?”
Lu Xu immediately became contrite. “…Thank you for your hard work.”
Xu Wen wasn’t wrong. Perhaps because When I Was 18 had such a strong and positive message, the show’s impact was far greater than Lu Xu had anticipated—there were plenty of formal events like summary meetings and recognition ceremonies.
Xu Wen had shielded him from a portion of them, while Mu Qian and Jin Mu had represented him at some others.
But now that Lu Xu was available, he had to attend the ones that required his presence.
On the business side, Xu Wen continued to manage Lu Xu’s engagements carefully, keeping the number limited and only choosing partnerships with highly reputable brands.
“And then there’s the company’s annual party. You’ve skipped it for a few years now. If you don’t show up this time, the boss will nag me to death.”
Lu Xu gave an embarrassed smile.
Fortunately, Xu Wen was a senior member of Feiyang Entertainment, so the company’s executives gave him some leeway. At most, they grumbled a bit, but it didn’t affect Lu Xu’s ability to generate revenue for the company.
With three hit dramas in a row, Feiyang Entertainment’s visibility had been steadily rising, and the company’s financial reports looked much better than in previous years.
The executives didn’t want to create the impression of cornering Lu Xu too much. If they accidentally pushed him away, the big and small agencies across the entertainment industry would undoubtedly go into a frenzy trying to recruit him.
As a result, Lu Xu became exceptionally busy in the following weeks.
Although he found the long and tedious meetings frustrating, these summary and sharing sessions often included audience members who shared their thoughts on the shows they watched. That was what moved Lu Xu.
No matter how exhausting it was, knowing that his work was cherished and his characters were appreciated made him feel truly happy.
Huang Luning might not have had grand dreams, but if the character could inspire one or two people or make the world slightly better, Lu Xu felt it was meaningful.
This was his joy as an actor.
The end-of-year schedule was so packed that an overseas fashion show, initially planned for Lu Xu, had to be canceled.
In his heart, he silently apologized to G-brand. Their contract with him was nearing its end, and they had even increased his endorsement fee as a gesture of goodwill. Taking the money without fulfilling all the commitments left his manager feeling a bit guilty.
Fortunately, G-brand didn’t mind.
For G-brand, the fact that Lu Xu was willing to renew his contract and hadn’t been poached by competinG-brands was already good news.
Finding an excellent spokesperson was no easy task.
Especially one like Lu Xu, whose career skyrocketed after the endorsement—G-brand’s executives were likely smiling in their sleep.
What’s more, Lu Xu was an exceptionally qualified spokesperson.
In his breakout dramas, such as The Path of Bones, he wore several G-brand outfits. While the character settings in Voice of the Dead and When I Was 18 didn’t align with G-brand’s image, Lu Xu frequently appeared in their clothing off-camera. Whenever he was caught on film, he was essentially a walking mannequin for G-brand.
G-brand couldn’t imagine finding a more dedicated and effective salesperson than him.
Moreover, Lu Xu’s busy schedule was partly tied to G-brand. First, the Stellar Awards nomination list was about to be announced. Second, Deception was scheduled to release after the awards. Between the award ceremony, the red carpet, and the movie roadshows, Lu Xu would bring massive exposure to the brand.
Before the year ended, Lu Xu finally attended Feiyang Entertainment’s annual party.
It was mostly to support his manager.
Xu Wen had experienced a low point at Feiyang Entertainment after the actress he previously managed, a former Best Actress winner, left the agency. Now that Lu Xu was under his management and had become wildly successful, Xu Wen couldn’t even show off at the annual party since Lu Xu had been skipping it for years.
Xu Wen said, “…Am I really that petty?”
“You are,” Lu Xu replied with a grin. “You should thank me. I’m the nicest person to you in the entire company.”
Xu Wen: “…”
His manager chose to remain silent.
Still, just Lu Xu’s brief appearance at the party gave Xu Wen a sense of pride.
After all, his talent was a star.
For Lu Xu, the annual party was just a minor event. But what he hadn’t expected was that his single appearance would lead to someone using him for marketing.
The culprit was a newcomer who had been signed with Feiyang Entertainment for over a year. Lu Xu hadn’t interacted with him before. At the party, it was perfectly normal for artists from the same company to take photos together, and Lu Xu had received numerous requests for selfies.
He barely remembered who he had taken photos with. He wasn’t familiar with most of Feiyang Entertainment’s roster. The few he did know, like Cheng Yun and Guo Yining, didn’t particularly enjoy attending annual parties either.
This newcomer, Su Zhao, posted six photos on his Weibo, all of them selfies with Lu Xu. In his captions, he hinted at being quite familiar with Lu Xu. When fans commented on his post, he responded ambiguously, saying things that easily led to misunderstandings, such as, “Brother Lu is incredibly gentle,” “His encouragement makes me want to become a better actor,” and “Finally met my idol face-to-face, ahhhh!”
Not long after, several trending hashtags emerged related to Lu Xu and Su Zhao:
#Su Zhao Successfully Chased His Idol
#What It Feels Like To Be Close To Your Idol
#Su Zhao Qin Zhao
Lu Xu: “?”
While the name Su Zhao was making waves on social media, Lu Xu was struggling to recall who this person even was.