Chapter 141: Chaos
Director Mu Lang had no complaints about the scene, but Zhao Yifan’s frustration only deepened.
Determined to surpass Lu Xu—or at least be on equal footing—he carried the script with him everywhere, reading a few pages whenever he had a spare moment.
Yet, when it came to actual filming, Lu Xu still outperformed him.
Even Zhao Yifan’s manager advised him to stay calm and not get too anxious.
“When actors work on the same film, competition should push them to create something even better, not have the opposite effect.”
Zhao Yifan understood the logic, but that didn’t mean he started talking to Lu Xu. Lu Xu, on the other hand, simply treated him like he didn’t exist—not that it made any difference to their performances.
Of course, while neither of them cared much, the unusual atmosphere on the Reverse City set didn’t escape the eyes of entertainment bloggers.
Everyone in the industry knew how stacked Reverse City’s cast was.
But strangely, despite having worked together for some time now, Zhao Yifan and Lu Xu still hadn’t followed each other on social media.
Lu Xu had followed Director Mu Lang, screenwriter Luo Kun, and several other cast members. Zhao Yifan had done the same. But between the two of them? There wasn’t a single sign of interaction.
One day, an anonymous user whose IP matched the filming location casually dropped a revelation:
[Zhao Yifan and Lu Xu don’t even acknowledge each other on set.]
Marketing accounts immediately latched onto the gossip.
There were no real secrets on a film set. While Mu Lang was a director who disliked external interference and had a tight grip on production, leaked photos from Reverse City’s set showed that, outside of filming, Lu Xu and Zhao Yifan were never captured in the same frame.
Even if the two never said a word about it, social media activity spoke for itself.
[Lu Xu and Zhao Yifan haven’t thrown hands yet? [dog emoji] [dog emoji]]
[I remember Zhao Yifan is the type of actor who’s super strict with himself and others. If these two are going head-to-head, it’s gonna be interesting.]
Zhao Yifan had a bit of an arrogant streak—something many entertainment reporters had heard about. Lu Xu wasn’t one to back down either. If it weren’t for Mu Lang’s formidable reputation, journalists would have long since swarmed Reverse City’s set, chasing after a potential headline.
Even so, that morning, the assistant director’s phone had already rung multiple times.
Mu Lang’s face remained dark throughout the day. Both Lu Xu and Zhao Yifan kept their expressions tight, throwing themselves into their performances with almost exaggerated diligence—leaving the director no room to explode.
With reporters circling, an odd equilibrium formed between them.
Both actors understood that while they were still filming, stirring up trouble—or letting their respective PR teams leak drama to marketing accounts—would only lead to disaster. Mu Lang would not go easy on them.
“Lu Xu, look at the camera! Did you skip breakfast? Your eyes keep drifting—who the hell are you looking at?”
“Zhao Yifan, if you NG one more time, don’t bother showing up tomorrow! Cooperate! How many times do I have to tell you?!”
No one wanted to be the one to set off the director’s temper.
Zhao Yifan had initially resisted the idea of being led into character by Lu Xu, but he knew full well that cooperating with him would produce far better results than outright opposing him.
The language of the camera made that clear.
There was no other choice—Zhao Yifan had to give in.
Lu Xu, on the other hand, never deliberately tried to pull Zhao Yifan into the scene. He simply performed as naturally as he could—if Zhao Yifan could do the same, Lu Xu had no problem being drawn in by him either.
And just like that, Reverse City’s set became unexpectedly harmonious.
With their chemistry improving, Zhao Yifan’s individual scenes progressed much more smoothly.
Meanwhile, Lu Xu poured over the remaining script. Mu Lang’s standards were high—sometimes, he would suddenly change lines or alter entire scenes. The shifts were abrupt, yet he demanded that his actors keep up.
In just over a month since joining Reverse City, Lu Xu had lost five pounds.
Beyond that, Mu Lang had a habit of shooting the same scene over and over—not always because of NGs, but because he wanted multiple takes to sift through, searching for the one that would best translate onto the big screen.
As an actor, Lu Xu could only comply.
The more he filmed, the more he began to understand Mu Lang’s style.
In his past life, Lu Xu had worked with this type of meticulous director before. Their process seemed chaotic—directionless, even—but in their minds, they had a carefully constructed map. They could piece together scattered fragments into a seamless whole.
It was just that, from an actor’s perspective, everything felt utterly incomprehensible.
…
In the later scenes, although Lu Xu and Zhao Yifan had quite a few collaborations, they were still able to complete their respective parts without issue.
Online discussions about the so-called “Lu Xu and Zhao Yifan not getting along” continued, prompting Feiyang Entertainment and Zhao Yifan’s agency to issue separate statements explaining the situation.
As long as both sides refused to acknowledge it, it didn’t matter even if the whole world knew they didn’t get along.
Because of this, Zhao Yifan was feeling a bit dejected.
Deep down, he was well aware that in the already filmed scenes of Reverse City, Lu Xu’s performance had indeed outshined his.
But he didn’t want to admit it.
In fact… if he were to be completely honest, the role of the villain should have belonged to Lu Xu.
However, he would never say that to Lu Xu’s face—he had his pride.
After another scene was completed, Zhao Yifan was about to take a break when he saw Lu Xu writing something in the script. Seeing this, he immediately sat back down.
If he wasn’t as naturally talented, then at the very least, he should work harder—he couldn’t afford to lose again, could he?
His assistant: “……”
The assistant had no choice but to report the situation to the manager.
Zhao Yifan had just settled into his chair, ready to analyze tomorrow’s scenes a bit more, when his phone suddenly rang.
He initially thought it was his manager. During the filming of Reverse City, his manager frequently reminded him to behave properly in front of Mu Lang. No matter how dissatisfied he was, he couldn’t act out on set—at least not until after the movie was released.
“You’re the lead; the box office depends on you,” his manager had said. “Lu Xu has strong box office appeal.”
Once Reverse City was released, many fans would watch the movie for Lu Xu. A higher box office would ultimately benefit Zhao Yifan as well.
If the two of them truly fell out, and Lu Xu’s fans refused to support the film, Zhao Yifan’s personal box office appeal alone wouldn’t be enough to push Reverse City any further.
Zhao Yifan: “……”
…
He understood the logic behind it all.
When he unlocked his phone, however, he saw that the message wasn’t from his manager—it was from Qi Di.
Both had started their careers in film, and though Qi Di and Zhao Yifan had worked together before, they weren’t particularly close. After all, Qi Di wasn’t much younger than Zhao Yifan and had access to better resources.
Zhao Yifan set the script aside and squinted at the screen for a while. In the message, Qi Di said he figured Zhao Yifan must have suffered quite a bit while working with Lu Xu. With Lu Xu’s large fanbase, he was probably rather arrogant on set.
If Zhao Yifan had any grievances, he could talk to him about it.
Zhao Yifan’s expression remained unreadable. After a long pause, he finally replied: [It would have been better if you had gotten Lu Xu’s role.]
[Why didn’t you land it? Sigh.]
[Can’t blame anyone else for that—you can only blame yourself.]
Zhao Yifan watched as the “The other party is typing…” notification kept flashing in WeChat, yet no message was actually sent. That put him in a slightly better mood.
He couldn’t stand Lu Xu, resented how quickly the guy had climbed the ranks, and disliked how much favor he received from the director—but that didn’t mean he was an idiot.
“You came from a top-tier director’s studio, yet you waste your time on this kind of underhanded nonsense?”
Between the people Zhao Yifan looked down on, Qi Di ranked even higher than Lu Xu.
Zhao Yifan had his own logic.
He already disliked Lu Xu, but Qi Di had lost to Lu Xu—he was a tier below him. So how could Zhao Yifan possibly think anything of him?
Qi Di, upon receiving the message: “……”
His chest tightened with frustration, and for a moment, he almost couldn’t catch his breath.
Finally, in a fit of rage, Qi Di took a screenshot of their conversation and posted it on an entertainment forum. He only included one line:
[It would have been better if you had gotten Lu Xu’s role.]
The post blew up instantly.
After all, it was clearly an insider spilling the tea—and naming names, no less.
Afraid that people wouldn’t recognize Zhao Yifan, Qi Di even included the note “Zhao Yifan—Enne Entertainment” in the screenshot.
Rumors about Zhao Yifan and Lu Xu not getting along had already been circulating online, and Zhao Yifan’s comment all but confirmed them.
Netizens, always eager for drama, quickly pushed #Zhao Yifan and #Zhao Yifan Wants To Replace Lu Xu to the top of the trending list.
Zhao Yifan never expected Qi Di to pull such a move, but before he even had the chance to explain, he was already facing Mu Lang’s wrath.
For a brief moment, Mu Lang seriously considered replacing him.
However, Reverse City was already halfway through filming, and money was being burned at an alarming rate. While Zhao Yifan’s performance wasn’t outstanding, finding a replacement on short notice was nearly impossible.
In an attempt to salvage the situation, Zhao Yifan released the full context of his conversation with Qi Di.
Mu Lang, utterly speechless, said, “Would it have killed you to send all three messages in one go? You just had to leave something for people to twist.”
With Zhao Yifan causing trouble, Mu Lang was furious. Enne Entertainment, Zhao Yifan’s agency, even sent senior executives to step in. The discussions dragged on for hours, bringing that afternoon’s filming to a halt.
The final decision?
That very night—without even waiting until the next day—Enne Entertainment issued an official statement, announcing that they would be suing Qi Di for privacy violations and misleading the public with selective information, which had caused significant damage to both Zhao Yifan and the Reverse City production team.
Online reactions exploded:
[???? Never in my life have I seen a celebrity sue another celebrity.]
[??? So Qi Di really was the one who posted it?]
[Where’s our puppy?]
[Excuse me, but there’s another victim here. Thank you.]
…
Meanwhile, Zhao Yifan posted a lengthy apology to Lu Xu on Weibo—and even followed Lu Xu’s account.
Since Zhao Yifan had only made that comment in response to Qi Di badmouthing Lu Xu—rather than intentionally dissing Lu Xu—netizens accepted his explanation.
However, Lu Xu remained silent on Weibo. He didn’t acknowledge Zhao Yifan’s apology, nor did he follow him back.
Regardless of the situation, Lu Xu disliked being a topic of public gossip.
On the Reverse City set, whether out of genuine sincerity or pressure from Mu Lang, Zhao Yifan apologized to Lu Xu in person.
“There’s no need,” Lu Xu rejected him outright. “Just focus on doing your job well. Beyond that, there’s no need for us to interact.”
Zhao Yifan clearly had no intention of making friends with him either.
Mu Lang later explained the predicament to Lu Xu, and Lu Xu expressed his understanding.
In response to the controversy, the Reverse City production team issued a statement clarifying that Lu Xu had landed the role after a proper audition and was their top choice.
They also added that some actors, after failing their auditions, had maliciously slandered Lu Xu. If necessary, the production team was willing to release the audition footage to prove that Lu Xu was the best fit for the role.
More than ten actors had auditioned for the villain role, and after the statement was released, they publicly distanced themselves from the drama.
“If I actually did something like that, which production would ever dare cast me again?”
