Chapter 159: The Director and the Visit
“Very good, very good!”
After Lu Xu finished filming this scene, Miao Zhi clapped his hands and praised him. His tone was so straightforward that Lu Xu found it a little hard to adapt. “Was it really that good?”
“Absolutely perfect.” Miao Zhi nodded seriously, his expression sincere.
Fearless Life had already reached the part where the experiment was completed—a group of people smiled, embraced, and shed tears. In this shot, Bai Qianshan stood alone outside the crowd, tears streaming down his face as he looked at the national flag.
This was the reason he had returned. It was also the reason he was fearless.
Everyone knew how dangerous the experiment was, yet there were always people willing to take that step.
In this scene, Lu Xu’s performance was especially moving. Miao Zhi was the kind of director who rarely showed his emotions, so for him to praise Lu Xu so openly was already an unusual display of sentiment. If it had been any other actor, he might have just given a slight nod and moved on.
Screenwriter Jiang Tang, however, was not one to hold back. He rushed forward and pounded Lu Xu on the back several times.
Lu Xu could only sigh—people who worked with words really didn’t have much physical strength. If it had been Liu Chunfeng, that punch would have knocked him to the ground.
Lu Xu was also very satisfied with his performance.
Getting closer to the character he portrayed, trying bit by bit to make the role even better—as filming progressed, he found himself understanding Bai Qianshan more and more.
Without a doubt, Bai Qianshan was an idealist.
But an idealist was never born out of thin air. His ideals needed something to be anchored to. He had to devote his wisdom, talent, and even his entire life to realizing them. Throughout the filming of Fearless Life, Lu Xu had, in a way, relived Bai Qianshan’s ideals.
One thing Lu Xu liked about Fearless Life was that the film did not simply “drop” an ideal onto Bai Qianshan out of nowhere, nor did it repeatedly emphasize how great or extraordinary he was. Instead, it directly laid out the origins of Bai Qianshan’s ideals, his relentless efforts to uphold them, and the companions who walked the same path alongside him.
Because of this, Bai Qianshan was not alone. The film itself was also grounded in reality, not just a story randomly made up on a whim by the director and screenwriter.
In Lu Xu’s view, even if no one ever wrote a book about Bai Qianshan or made a film dedicated to his life, that would still be far better than fabricating a story about him—forcing events onto him that never actually happened, altering his ideals, or even tainting his beliefs.
But in today’s film industry, such works did exist.
Many directors and screenwriters didn’t care about what actually happened in reality. As long as they thought a certain version was good, they dared to include their fabricated content in the story.
After all, the dead couldn’t speak.
As for the living? Even if they could speak, it didn’t matter—there was no way their voices could overpower the professional teams that controlled dozens of trending topics every day.
In short, if the Fearless Life production team had not respected Bai Qianshan’s life, Lu Xu would never have considered taking on the role.
Filming Fearless Life reminded him of the project he had missed out on—Rising Sun. Although the two stories took place in different eras, their core themes were quite similar. Lu Xu had truly wanted to play a role in Rising Sun, and taking on Fearless Life was, in a way, fulfilling that wish.
With the completion of the experiment scene, the core plot of Fearless Life was mostly finished. However, Lu Xu still had several scenes left to shoot, and there were parts of the story that Miao Zhi felt he needed to refine further.
Miao Zhi noticed that Lu Xu had a strong ability to convey emotions. Beyond that, he also displayed a level of mature acting far beyond his age—something an experienced director like Miao Zhi could recognize. However, from the audience’s perspective, it could sometimes feel a bit complicated.
In other words, Lu Xu occasionally overacted.
That was Miao Zhi’s personal opinion, though he didn’t think Lu Xu needed to take it as absolute truth.
During the time they had been filming Fearless Life, Miao Zhi realized that Lu Xu was an actor who thought for himself. He didn’t always need external guidance—sometimes, he could evolve on his own.
For a director, working with such an actor made things much easier.
Initially, Miao Zhi had never considered Fearless Life as an award-chasing film. But after seeing Lu Xu’s performance, he started to feel that Lu Xu should win an award.
It would only be fair.
Now that he was past fifty, Miao Zhi no longer cared to bow to the messy politics of the industry. Most of the time, he chose to stay out of conflicts. But… if his reluctance to fight meant that someone truly deserving missed out on an award, wouldn’t Lu Xu just end up walking the same difficult path Miao Zhi himself had taken in his younger years?
“You’re overthinking it,” Jiang Tang said. “Lu Xu’s agency isn’t just sitting around doing nothing.”
Miao Zhi shook his head. “Feiyang Entertainment was decent a few years ago, but now… if I’m not mistaken, Lu Xu is their top actor, right?”
Jiang Tang nodded.
“Feiyang can provide mid-tier resources, but anything beyond that is tough to compete for. That’s the case for most agencies, though. The highest level of resources is difficult for anyone to get their hands on.” Miao Zhi rarely mentioned Liu Rennong, but this time, he did. “If we’re just talking about scale, Liu Rennong’s company is basically a small studio.”
Yet Liu Rennong still managed to snatch up resources that others couldn’t even dream of touching.
“So… are we really going to fight for this?” Jiang Tang asked Miao Zhi.
“It’s not about fighting for it,” Miao Zhi emphasized again. “I just don’t want Fearless Life to be overlooked.”
Back in the day, he had lost out on an award to Liu Rennong, and from then on, he had steadily fallen behind. He wasn’t jealous of Liu Rennong’s success—if Liu Rennong had truly won by sheer artistic merit, Miao Zhi would have been the first to applaud him. But that wasn’t how it happened.
How could he possibly accept that?
When awards season arrived, if there were films better than Fearless Life and performances stronger than Lu Xu’s, Miao Zhi would step back willingly. But if the same subpar, unimpressive films ended up taking home the trophies again, he would feel frustrated on Lu Xu’s behalf.
Lu Xu, of course, had no idea that the director was thinking about all this—let alone that he was planning to pave the way for him to win an award. While their working relationship was good, it hadn’t reached that level of depth.
They had exchanged WeChat contacts, but their conversations were limited to greetings and discussions about the script.
What Lu Xu didn’t know was that, for Miao Zhi, this level of interaction was ideal. He wasn’t fond of excessive enthusiasm or idle chatter unrelated to filmmaking.
In short, the director appreciated him more than he realized.
Miao Zhi might seem unremarkable on the surface, but he had been part of the industry since the early days, rising through the ranks as a traditional filmmaker. He had kept a low profile in recent years, but his network and industry ties remained intact. Many of his old connections now held key positions in various corners of the film world. In terms of influence, he was probably only slightly behind Liu Rennong.
Besides, everyone in their circle knew that Miao Zhi had been unfairly treated back when he lost his award. While no one was about to go out of their way to right that old wrong, there were still ways to compensate him.
Rather than saying Liu Rennong had defeated Miao Zhi, it was more accurate to say that Miao Zhi had voluntarily stepped back—he simply no longer wanted to compete.
If not for that, he wouldn’t have been able to keep making films all these years.
Of course, when it came to box office competition and navigating relationships with theater chains, Miao Zhi wasn’t particularly skilled.
…
As Fearless Life neared the end of filming, an old acquaintance of Lu Xu’s came to visit the set!
To be honest, the filming location was incredibly remote—even Lu Xu himself had no idea how Shao Yao managed to find it.
“Our crew isn’t that far from here, just a few hundred kilometers away,” Shao Yao explained.
A few hundred kilometers sounded far, but both production teams had chosen sparsely populated locations. The last time Lu Xu had gone to the hospital for a checkup, he had also driven for ages before reaching civilization.
Back when they had video-called, Lu Xu had already noticed how tanned Shao Yao had gotten. Now, seeing him in person, he realized that Shao Yao was even darker than he appeared on screen. The video must have had a beauty filter on.
“So my manager bought me a whole pack of face masks—some for me to use on the way back, and some to use once I get home,” Shao Yao said.
His manager hadn’t allowed him to use them while on set—getting tanned was necessary for his role.
Lu Xu rubbed his forehead. Honestly… he wasn’t in much better shape himself. Shao Yao’s tan was deep and uneven, almost like he’d been scorched. Lu Xu’s was slightly lighter, but it was far from refined.
In the film, he had portrayed Bai Qianshan’s exhaustion and weariness, but the director had made it clear that the character couldn’t appear unkempt.
Bai Qianshan was a sharp, energetic, and highly capable man.
Every now and then, Miao Zhi would talk about this with Jiang Tang (which Lu Xu may or may not have eavesdropped on), mentioning how well-cast Lu Xu was for the role. Bai Qianshan wasn’t a traditionally handsome man, but his features were sharp and resolute. You could tell just by looking at his photos. In fact, not just Bai Qianshan—among his generation of scientists, none of them looked unattractive.
In a way, the saying “one’s appearance reflects one’s character” held some truth.
Shao Yao brought plenty of supplies when he visited the set—food, drinks, and other necessities. Though he didn’t stay long, his arrival still made Zheng Xiao howl in protest for quite a while.
“You guys secretly formed a Tanned Faces Alliance behind my back, didn’t you?”
Originally, he and Lu Xu had been filming at the same production base, but midway through, Lu Xu had moved to a different location, leaving Zheng Xiao without a gaming buddy.
And now, not only had Lu Xu and Shao Yao secretly reunited, but they had both managed to get ridiculously tanned—competing to see who could get darker.
Lu Xu defended himself, “…I even did a cameo for you!”
By the time Shao Yao arrived, Fearless Life no longer had any suitable roles left for him to cameo in.
Miao Zhi, however, stared at Shao Yao for quite a while after he arrived, then jokingly said to Lu Xu, “Your friend would’ve been perfect for playing Bai Qianshan—such an upright-looking guy!”
Lu Xu silently expressed his dissatisfaction. “Director, are you saying I look like a villain?”
“In Reverse City, you were downright terrifying. I was scared just watching,” Miao Zhi replied with an exaggeratedly serious expression.
“Exactly! Super scary!”
The entire crew chimed in to support the director.
Even though Lu Xu tried to put on a fierce expression, no one took him seriously. All his efforts to bare his teeth menacingly were completely wasted—no one was afraid of him in the slightest.
Since the filming location was so remote, entertainment options were limited. But that didn’t bother Shao Yao—he had always been the quiet, reserved type, and he actually adapted well to this kind of atmosphere.
What he dreaded most was being dragged to social gatherings with a bunch of unfamiliar people. That was when his social anxiety would kick in.
He never enjoyed those situations, so naturally, he didn’t act particularly lively. But to others, his quiet demeanor often came across as aloof and arrogant.
Fortunately, as Shao Yao’s status in the industry grew, at least he felt secure while working on set.
Among the three of them, even though Shao Yao had won the Stellar Award for Best Supporting Actor, he was still seen as having the least potential for future success. His agency was too small, his personality made it unlikely for him to build strong connections, and he wasn’t the type to bow his head to others.
However, Miao Zhi liked his personality.
He wasn’t talkative, but he was honest and sincere—qualities that were quite rare in the entertainment industry.
Though Miao Zhi had no immediate plans to start a new film, whenever he did, he was certain that Shao Yao would be on his casting list.
