Chapter 143: A New Invitation

In terms of seniority in the industry, Lu Xu was Guan Sha’s junior. Before joining the production, she had thought she might need to wait for him to catch up. However, after seeing his performance, Guan Sha realized that if she didn’t give it her all, she might end up at a disadvantage in their scenes together.

After Guan Sha joined the crew, both Director Mu Lang and screenwriter Luo Kun’s expressions noticeably improved. Anyone with a discerning eye could see that Lu Xu and Guan Sha’s on-screen chemistry was electrifying. Their performances were full of tension, and they perfectly conveyed the visual storytelling Mu Lang had envisioned.

During the early stages of Reverse City’s filming, Lu Xu had experienced a few NG takes. However, as shooting progressed, his mistakes became fewer and fewer. By the time he reached these latest scenes with Guan Sha, he had completely unleashed his full potential.

His presence was simply unstoppable.

Mu Lang and Luo Kun had worked with many actors before, and in their eyes, Lu Xu’s performance was in no way inferior to that of veteran actors who had been famous for years.

A great actor could bring inspiration to a production.

In the later scenes, Luo Kun gave Lu Xu more space to improvise.

More precisely, Lu Xu’s performance gave him and Mu Lang new interpretations of Reverse City’s story. It wasn’t that Luo Kun was deliberately reducing Zhao Yifan’s screen time—it was just that Lu Xu’s performance was so outstanding that it would be a shame not to let the audience see more of him.

From his audition to the present moment in filming, Lu Xu’s improvement had been tremendous.

One day, while Mu Lang and Luo Kun were having a meal together, their conversation inevitably turned to the actors in the cast.

Luo Kun asked Mu Lang how many nominations he thought Lu Xu could get.

Mu Lang didn’t speak. Instead, he dipped his finger in water and traced the number “3” on the table.

“I was thinking the same,” Luo Kun said.

Although Reverse City was still unfinished, with editing yet to begin and its release date far in the future, Lu Xu’s performance already convinced them that he fully deserved a nomination for any prestigious award.

When the topic of casting Zhao Yifan as the lead came up, Mu Lang and Luo Kun couldn’t help but feel a bit frustrated.

Objectively speaking, before joining the production, Zhao Yifan had seemed like a solid choice—otherwise, the lead role wouldn’t have landed in his hands. However, after filming began, his performance had truly disappointed Mu Lang.

It wasn’t bad, per se—just far from being as good as Lu Xu’s.

The stark contrast between the two naturally made Mu Lang somewhat biased toward Lu Xu.

Mu Lang wasn’t the type of director to openly show favoritism toward actors. He rarely gave praise, and instead of verbal compliments, his preference was to express his bias through editing—whoever performed better simply got more screen time.

After all, he had a reputation for burning through film stock. The amount of footage accumulated for Reverse City was enough for him to cut an entirely different movie with no relation to the original script.

And from the beginning, Lu Xu’s role had already been full of standout moments.

In Mu Lang’s mind, Lu Xu was never meant to be merely a supporting character to Zhao Yifan. His role was inherently more challenging than Ji Chongyang’s, and from the start, Mu Lang had sought an actor whose overall skill level surpassed Zhao Yifan’s.

What he hadn’t expected was how poorly Zhao Yifan and Lu Xu would get along.

Or rather, how one-sidedly hostile Zhao Yifan was toward Lu Xu.

Now that the film was nearing completion, Zhao Yifan’s performance had improved significantly compared to the beginning. However, he still hadn’t fully met Mu Lang’s expectations.

In contrast, Lu Xu had displayed an impressive presence from the start, and his performance only grew stronger with each passing day. Next to Lu Xu’s brilliance, Zhao Yifan’s natural aura was already weaker. Even in moments where his acting reached its peak, there remained a noticeable gap between him and Lu Xu.

“But finding a better fit would have been difficult,” Mu Lang mused after a moment of thought. “Actors like Lu Xu are truly rare.”

Luo Kun nodded in agreement.

It was as if there was a missing generation of young actors. When it came to pure acting skill, the middle-generation actors were still the strongest.

However, if the film industry wanted to develop in a healthy way, it couldn’t let mid-career actors monopolize lead roles forever—young actors had to be nurtured as well.

Directors didn’t want to choose the best from a mediocre pool, but often, they had no other choice.

Filming Reverse City took a full six months—far longer than Lu Xu’s previous two films.

He could only sigh at how much patience he had gained through this process. Even someone as naturally impatient as he was had been forced to slow down.

After wrapping up his scenes, Lu Xu was finally free, but Zhao Yifan remained on set, still filming his remaining parts. Lu Xu had escaped, while the other had no idea how much longer he would be stuck there.

“I want to take a break. Don’t schedule any work for me for now.”

Reverse City had been such an emotionally heavy experience that, the moment filming ended, Lu Xu wanted nothing more than to sleep.

He knew full well that Xu Wen probably had a pile of work waiting for him, but he was too exhausted to care.

He ended up sleeping for nearly 15 hours. When he finally woke up and scrolled through his phone, he realized that the entertainment industry had been far livelier than he had expected while he was away.

The fact that Lu Xu and Zhao Yifan didn’t get along had long ceased to be a secret, but online, most people sided with Lu Xu.

[Isn’t Zhao Yifan the fake one?]

[He badmouthed Lu Xu one moment and then followed him the next. At least Lu Xu isn’t pretending to be friends with someone he clearly doesn’t get along with.]

[+1, I’ve always felt that Lu Xu is a genuine person.]

[Lu Xu acted in Reverse City just like he did in Verse. After he left the group, he dissed the other members, but while he was still in the group, he endured everything for the team’s reputation and for the illusion fans wanted to believe in. He’ll call out nonsense when he sees it, but because Zhao Yifan was part of Reverse City, he held back. He didn’t want to disrupt the filming or affect the movie’s reception, so he stayed silent.]

[Lu Puppy is just someone with a sense of dignity, that’s all.]

Of course, compared to minor drama about tension between Reverse City’s lead actors, the real buzz online was all about Qi Di and Wei Fangfei.

A court summons had been issued for Qi Di, and the gossip accounts wasted no time spreading the news. From his court appearance to the evidence he presented, to the trial proceedings, these accounts documented every detail as if they were eunuchs recording the emperor’s daily life.

Qi Di continued to deny that he had ever tried to incite Zhao Yifan against Lu Xu, insisting that he had no reason to be jealous of Lu Xu in the first place.

For that, he was thoroughly dragged online and lost a massive number of fans. Yet, no matter how strong the backlash was, he refused to show even the slightest hint of remorse toward Lu Xu.

“What a mess.” Lu Xu idly played a few rounds of Fight the Landlord on his phone before finally remembering to check his Weibo.

The sheer number of comments and messages was overwhelming. Lu Xu had a bit of a compulsive habit—he disliked seeing too many notification numbers on his phone, especially apps like Weibo that perpetually displayed 99+ unless checked.

Then, Lu Xu discovered that his Weibo had turned into a full-blown prayer forum. People were calling him Master Lu and even Immortal Lu.

Lu Xu: “……”

It all started with that one netizen who had turned his photo into a ring.

Lu Xu didn’t care to investigate the technical difficulties involved in cropping his picture into a ring. What he did know was that, within two days of this fan wearing the ring, her boss was arrested for crimes involving over 20 million yuan.

[A miracle! Māmī māmī hōng, Immortal Lu has manifested!]

[Not even 48 hours! A case worth over 20 million!]

[I never believed in superstition before, but from today onward, I have decided to become a devout follower of Immortal Lu—welcome to the Lu Sect!]

A long string of Lu Sect comments followed, making Lu Xu’s eyes ache just from looking at them.

In short, from that day on, his Weibo comment section and private messages were anything but peaceful.

Every morning, Lu Sect members would check in, and every evening, they would pray for good fortune the next day.

His private messages were even worse—netizens were “following the Immortal’s guidance,” asking him for advice on everything from which color shoes to wear (red or blue) to life decisions. The method? They’d check whether the timestamp on their message was an odd or even number and take that as their divine answer.

Lu Xu: “……”

This wasn’t Lu Sect—this was some cult nonsense.

At this rate, Lu Xu was apparently the bane of Qi Di, Zhang Che, Zhang Zhizhen, and the three members of Verse. He was the natural counter to all absurdity.

[Lu Sect!]

Even Zheng Xiao and Shao Yao jumped in on the joke, spamming incense-burning emojis.

Lu Xu: [Panda Burning Incense. Computer virus. Thanks.]

Zheng Xiao immediately retracted his message and, a second later, sent a puppy burning incense emoji instead.

Lu Xu truly surrendered this time. [If this keeps up, will any actor even dare to work with me?]

Zheng Xiao patted Shao Yao in the group chat and said, [This brother here has worked with you twice already—not only is he alive and well, but his career is thriving. Why wouldn’t people want to collaborate with you?]

And honestly, Zheng Xiao wasn’t wrong. After Reverse City wrapped up filming, the number of scripts landing on Lu Xu’s desk didn’t decrease—it actually increased.

Lu Xu truly was a natural repellent for weirdos, but he was also a real moneymaker.

This year hadn’t been great for Yunduo Films. Most of the high-budget dramas they had invested in for the summer season flopped, except for Lives Beyond Death the Chivalry. That one drama alone had made the platform’s financial reports look fantastic for two months straight.

Since the rest of the summer season had been a disaster, Lives Beyond Death the Chivalry stood out even more, single-handedly reviving the entire schedule.

“I mean, who would say no to money?”

In the television industry, Lu Xu’s name was now at the top of every casting list.

Even film productions were reaching out to him—his box office performance was simply too attractive to ignore. After all, even Mu Lang was willing to work with him, and there were only a handful of directors with a stronger track record than Mu Lang.

“Sanzu River? A fantasy movie?”

Just from the title and synopsis, Lu Xu could tell this was a pure commercial film. Since it was fantasy, heavy CGI was inevitable, which meant a high budget.

“There are still directors willing to make fantasy movies?”

As far as Lu Xu remembered, fantasy films had flopped spectacularly in recent years—so badly that the entire genre had practically disappeared. Most directors had switched to safer genres instead.

Lu Xu hadn’t even checked the film’s tentative cast list yet. When he finally did, he turned to his manager and asked, “Did this production team rob a bank?”

It was an all-star lineup. Even the minor roles were filled with A-list actors.

Naturally, Lu Xu was set to play the male lead, and the Sanzu River team had offered him a salary of 60 million yuan.

Lu Xu: “……”

To be honest, that number was a little terrifying.

For his previous two films, Feather of Youth and Reverse City, his earnings hadn’t been particularly high. Feather of Youth had a limited budget, while Reverse City was a Mu Lang film—Mu Lang’s projects were never known for high paychecks. His philosophy was simple: actors were welcome to take the job if they wanted, but if they felt the pay was too low, they were free to walk away.

Sixty million yuan was a figure Lu Xu had never even considered before.

However, the moment he saw the names of the director and screenwriter, he hesitated. Compared to the massive cast, the high salary, and the ambition evident in the invitation, the script for Sanzu River felt incredibly flimsy.

Could such a weak storyline really support a movie of this scale?

Lu Xu had serious doubts.

<< _ >>

**TN

Sanzu River (River of Three Crossings) – it’s like the River Styx; Before reaching the afterlife, the souls of the deceased must cross the river by one of three crossing points: a bridge, a ford, or a stretch of deep, snake-infested waters.

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