Famous! Ch.178

Chapter 178: Filming in Progress

Lu Xu settled down with the Observing the Stars at Night production crew.

He had already read the script over and over again. In a production like Observing the Stars at Night, which heavily relied on special effects, making script changes during filming was simply not feasible—any slight modification meant additional costs.

The first part of the script revolved around a story called The Human Coffin.

Lu Xu played a character named Wei Qingfang, an extraordinary being who roamed the mortal world while possessing knowledge of supernatural occurrences. Though he had divine insight, he was not the kind of transcendent immortal people imagined. He did not seek to become a celestial being—he only wished to travel the world as a mere human, living both within and beyond worldly affairs.

Thus, his character had both human qualities and an air of detachment. He appeared youthful, yet he saw through the deceit and cruelty of human nature with chilling clarity.

In the story of The Human Coffin, the deceased could be laid to rest in wooden, golden, or silver coffins. However, according to folklore, there existed another type of coffin—the human coffin. By using a living person as the coffin, the deceased could be revived through the vitality of the living, ensuring wealth and prosperity for their descendants.

Yet those chosen as human coffins lost all their vitality, left with nothing but the aura of death.

Humans, by nature, should never be used as coffins. Such a ritual was inherently evil and unnatural. Once humans harbored wicked intentions, malevolent entities would inevitably be drawn to them.

The Human Coffin served merely as an introduction, leading into a much larger world of supernatural beings and deities—this was the overarching setting of Observing the Stars at Night.

The scriptwriter had poured a great deal of effort into this storyline. Though the references they gathered seemed extensive, they were, in reality, scattered and chaotic. Crafting a tightly woven and compelling narrative was no easy feat. Fantasy, as a genre, often risked appearing hollow when adapted into film. Whether focusing on the finer details or the grander picture, the most important thing was to ensure the story remained logical and engaging.

Although the story did not originate from traditional mythology, it was a blend of folklore and rural ballads. From Lu Xu’s perspective, however, it was still an intriguing tale.

Wei Qingfang was not a hero who pitied the world and sought to save it. Nor did he have a grand and tragic fate—something that set him apart from the other roles Lu Xu had played.

Lu Xu had reflected on the differences between this character and his previous ones. Wei Qingfang was neither purely righteous nor a villain, nor did he fall into the morally ambiguous category. He was not a normal person at all—he existed in a space of detachment.

Blockbuster films did not demand particularly high levels of acting skill, but this role was unlike anything Lu Xu had taken on before. In Observing the Stars at Night, Wei Qingfang roamed freely through the realms of deities, demons, and mortals, yet he ultimately had to make a choice, even if he was reluctant to do so.

Humans possessed both good and evil, and so did deities and demons.

The difference between Observing the Stars at Night and Lu Xu’s previous film, Fearless Life, was that the latter revolved entirely around its protagonist, Bai Qianshan. In contrast, Observing the Stars at Night was not structured that way—the film’s core lay in the strange and mystical events unfolding in the mortal world. Wei Qingfang played a role in these events, but he was powerless to alter the tragic fates that were destined to unfold.

The true focus was the appeal of the story itself.

…

After reanalyzing Wei Qingfang’s character with the director and costume designer, Lu Xu’s final look was officially decided.

Only then did the filming of Observing the Stars at Night officially begin.

Screenwriter Gong Lei believed that Wei Qingfang was not a particularly complex character, and with Lu Xu’s acting skills, he could easily handle the role.

In fact, once the film’s cast was confirmed, Gong Lei had felt completely at ease. Both Lu Xu and Li Yan were skilled actors who could also draw in audiences. No matter how they performed, there would always be viewers willing to buy tickets.

Gong Lei had been a screenwriter for commercial films for many years, working with a wide range of directors and actors. However, Observing the Stars at Night marked his first collaboration with Lu Xu and Li Yan. He knew that both actors were the type to take their craft seriously.

Actors like them were usually meticulous and dedicated during filming, fully immersing themselves in their roles.

That said… Gong Lei had also encountered actors who gave their all in arthouse films—desperately showcasing their acting prowess—only to resort to formulaic and halfhearted performances in commercial films.

These actors were by no means bad—some even exceeded the industry standard—but when it came to commercial movies, they relied on a preset acting template. After getting a general idea of their character, they would simply apply their usual approach without further analysis, treating the project as just another job to finish.

A commercial film like Observing the Stars at Night had virtually no chance of winning major awards. Box office success and critical recognition were rarely compatible, so actors would naturally save their “god-tier” performances for films with award potential.

Gong Lei had a feeling that Lu Xu was different.

Before Lu Xu officially joined the production, Gong Lei deliberately looked up his past performances—even digging out clips from his earliest work, My Baby Prince. Or rather, My Baby Prince was what he paid the most attention to.

If Lu Xu had put in so much effort even in a bizarre drama like My Baby Prince, there was no doubt that he would give his all to every other role.

And reality proved Gong Lei right.

Both Lu Xu and Li Yan brought an energy level of not just 100%—but 120%.

Once filming began, Gong Lei could barely keep his mouth shut.

Lu Xu recreated the essence of Wei Qingfang exactly as Gong Lei had envisioned. But more than that—there were lines where the screenwriter had only intended a single layer of meaning, yet Lu Xu deepened the character by expanding on the dialogue’s nuances.

That was Lu Xu’s individual performance.

But when he acted alongside Li Yan, Gong Lei was completely stunned.

As the Human Coffin story reached its climax, the malevolent entities both hated Wei Qingfang for uncovering the truth and feared him as one of the most intelligent beings in the world. Given his spiritual abilities, they schemed to turn him into a human coffin himself.

Lu Xu’s Wei Qingfang and Li Yan’s Zhang Bannu were partners and close friends. They each operated independently, yet would join forces at key moments to resolve supernatural disturbances.

With the malevolent entities targeting Wei Qingfang, and their leader possessing far greater power than him—along with the aid of the human coffins they had cultivated—Wei Qingfang found himself completely overpowered. At that moment, his entire being teetered between good and evil.

Lu Xu’s performance—shifting unpredictably between lucidity and madness—gave Gong Lei such a fright that he nearly jumped.

It was as if dozens of souls resided within Wei Qingfang’s body. The sheer madness in his demeanor was so unsettling that Gong Lei didn’t even dare to meet his gaze.

“…Did Lu Xu study at a psychiatric hospital for this role?” Gong Lei asked in shock.

Yue Chen hesitated. “…For our movie? I don’t think that was necessary, right?”

“It’s not far at all.” Gong Lei gestured behind him. “There’s a psychiatric hospital less than two kilometers from our set.”

Yue Chen: “…”

That wasn’t exactly essential information.

What truly shocked Gong Lei was that Lu Xu’s madness wasn’t just surface-level; it felt eerily real—like the kind of possession described in folklore.

His performance was so immersive that the sheer intensity of it evoked fear rather than amusement.

An exaggerated portrayal of madness could easily come off as ridiculous.

But when the frenzy subsided and Wei Qingfang returned to normal, his closest friend, Zhang Bannu, no longer knew whether this was truly him—or merely a facade, controlled by the malevolent spirits.

Thus, the two began a conversation.

Zhang Bannu began recalling past events, and Wei Qingfang responded to each one seamlessly.

Zhang Bannu was highly intelligent—he knew where to probe in order to distinguish between Wei Qingfang and the malevolent spirits. Wei Qingfang answered fluently, demonstrating an intimate knowledge of his own past, which should have been reassuring.

“Eleven years ago, you obtained the blood of the Cursed Dove and used it to save the Zhou Dynasty princess in Yunchuan.”

“I am Wei Qingfang. That much cannot be faked.”

“If only you had told me sooner… He Lingyun wouldn’t have died.”

Yet, despite the seemingly smooth conversation, the crew watching from the sidelines felt no sense of relief.

Wei Qingfang was still himself—but his presence was somehow different.

Looking closely, Lu Xu, fully immersed in his role, seemed to have taken on a deeper, more enigmatic air.

Li Yan’s Zhang Bannu exuded a cold, sharp intelligence.

Lu Xu’s Wei Qingfang, once steady and composed, now had a pair of eyes that seemed to smile—and yet did not.

When he fixed his gaze on Zhang Bannu, his words felt like the most trustworthy truth in the world. But the moment one met his eyes, an inexplicable alarm went off in the mind.

Lu Xu and Li Yan’s mastery of dialogue reached its peak in this scene, especially Lu Xu’s performance—not only did he subtly convey the shift in Wei Qingfang’s demeanor, but even his voice carried a barely perceptible change.

In the script, this was meant to be a simple verification—a minor conflict, not a major crisis. Yet, with Zhang Bannu’s pointed questions and Wei Qingfang’s ambiguous answers, what was supposed to be a calm exchange suddenly felt like a deadly duel of words, sharp as flashing blades.

Actors had the power to elevate a script.

And in Gong Lei’s eyes, Lu Xu and Li Yan’s performance was the perfect example of this.

As Wei Qingfang continued to respond, Zhang Bannu felt his heart sink to the very depths.

Zhang Bannu was certain now—his friend was no longer the Wei Qingfang he once knew. Wei Qingfang had become a human coffin for the malevolent spirits, someone he cared for deeply yet had no choice but to eliminate.

On the monitor, Li Yan’s voice was icy, but a flicker of sorrow lingered in his eyes before it was quickly replaced by resolute determination.

Wei Qingfang, on the other hand, continued reminiscing about the moments he and Zhang Bannu had shared. Yet, when he realized Zhang Bannu had made up his mind to destroy him, his eyes instantly darkened with an eerie, otherworldly glint.

It was not the frenzied madness of when he first became a human coffin. Instead, it was a quiet, chilling calmness—one that did not lessen his terrifying presence but only made it more profound.

“Cut!”

Director Yue Chen called for a pause.

The next scene was supposed to depict Zhang Bannu and Wei Qingfang pretending to work together while secretly outwitting the malevolent spirits. However, the chemistry between Lu Xu and Li Yan was so intense that Yue Chen decided against introducing any additional actors who might disrupt the atmosphere.

Instead, he instructed the crew to move up the film’s final scene and shoot it now.

Both Wei Qingfang and Zhang Bannu knew the truth—Wei Qingfang had not actually fallen under the malevolent spirits’ control to become a human coffin.

However, after all they had been through, Wei Qingfang’s behavior had undeniably changed in subtle yet undeniable ways.

Still, Zhang Bannu refused to believe that his friend had become one of the malevolent beings.

And so, after a long and arduous journey, when everything had finally come to an end, Zhang Bannu could no longer hold back the question that had haunted him.

“Are you really Wei Qingfang?”

Wei Qingfang did not answer him directly. Instead, he turned to Zhang Bannu with a smile—serene, unreadable.

“What do you think?”

The script deliberately left this question unresolved, allowing the audience to draw their own conclusions. Lu Xu’s only task was to embody Wei Qingfang’s enigmatic nature, leaving enough space for the viewers to wonder.

This was precisely the kind of performance Lu Xu excelled at.

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