Chapter 181: Lu Xu’s Gaze
Summer passed in the blink of an eye. Lu Xu had spent nearly half a year filming with the Observing the Stars at Night crew, making this the longest time he had ever stayed with a production team. When he first started portraying Wei Qingfang, he had struggled with how to grasp the character. But now, he had completely adapted to the life that came with playing this role.
The “human coffin” had drawn out both demons and deities, pulling Wei Qingfang and Zhang Bannu into the chaos. As they journeyed together, uncovering secrets, they eventually realized that the coexistence of humans, demons, and gods concealed a much darker truth beneath the surface.
Typically, fantasy stories had a hidden mastermind behind the scenes, but the script of Observing the Stars at Night did not follow the trope of a righteous leader secretly being the villain. Instead, it presented an unsolvable chain of events, a cycle with no clear end.
Why was it that, when the three realms of humans, demons, and gods first separated, all beings could still coexist in harmony, yet now, they had reached a state of irreconcilable conflict?
Maintaining balance had simply become increasingly difficult.
Both the demons and gods had attempted to resolve the crisis, but none had succeeded. The human realm, caught between the two, had become the battleground for their struggle.
This was also why there existed a “human coffin,” but no “god coffin” or “demon coffin.”
As the story progressed, Observing the Stars at Night introduced more and more characters, causing the filming process to slow down. While actors came and went, only Lu Xu and Li Yan remained until the very end.
The two of them had a few fight scenes in the movie. However, rather than brutal hand-to-hand combat, their battles revolved around spellcasting, making the filming process less physically demanding. Even so, they still trained with the action director for a while to ensure their movements looked convincing on screen.
At the end of the script, Wei Qingfang and Zhang Bannu each made their own choice. The former decided to continue wandering the human world, uncovering secrets related to gods and demons, acting as the watchful eyes of the mortal realm. Zhang Bannu, on the other hand, transformed into a Kunpeng, restoring the missing balance in the human world. Though both understood their respective duties and felt reluctant to part, they had long made their decisions.
Before Zhang Bannu’s transformation, Wei Qingfang fixed his gaze on him. Throughout their journey, they had faced countless dangers and overcome each one together. Yet, the final obstacle was not something they could simply conquer—it required sacrifice.
Neither Wei Qingfang nor Zhang Bannu were the type to openly express their emotions, but at that moment, as Zhang Bannu made his decision to give himself up, Wei Qingfang could only offer a quiet farewell: “Take care.”
During this scene, countless eyes on set turned to Lu Xu.
In the long filming process of Observing the Stars at Night, this was one of the most emotionally demanding scenes. After months of shooting, everyone knew that for Lu Xu, this moment would not be difficult.
Yet, when their gazes landed on Wei Qingfang’s eyes as he looked at Zhang Bannu, they were still deeply moved.
Gong Lei turned to Yue Chen and said, “Did you know? There’s a compilation online of Lu Xu’s eye-acting scenes. Watch it, and you’ll understand just how powerful his gaze is.”
Before working with Lu Xu, Gong Lei had only heard of him. He had seen Deception and Reverse City—he had liked the narrative style of the former, while the latter had drawn his attention because he wanted to study the script of a renowned director. Naturally, he had taken notice of Lu Xu’s performance. However, at that time, Observing the Stars at Night had not yet confirmed Lu Xu’s involvement, so Gong Lei had only paid passing attention.
Now that they were working together, Gong Lei had deliberately looked into Lu Xu’s previous works and happened to come across the compilation of his eye-acting scenes.
When playing deeply emotional roles in idol dramas, Lu Xu could portray a blend of love and despair. In Son of Heaven, the crown prince’s dignity and inner struggle were captured entirely in his gaze. What had truly shaken Gong Lei, however, was not just that performance, but also Yu Yi’s hollow, withered state and Huang Luning’s warm, sun-like eyes that carried the gentleness of winter.
Now, on the set of Observing the Stars at Night, Gong Lei was witnessing a completely different expression in Lu Xu’s eyes.
Wei Qingfang was a reserved person, so composed at times that he seemed devoid of emotion. He rarely displayed his feelings outwardly.
In fact, he was indifferent by nature.
And yet, at this moment, as he looked at Zhang Bannu, there was no reluctance, no sorrow. He did not even shed a tear.
If one had to describe it, his gaze was that of someone looking at a martyr.
He knew that Zhang Bannu had chosen a path that led to death, yet he also understood his unwavering determination. As his closest confidant, the only thing he could do was see him off with dignity.
He respected Zhang Bannu’s choice. He understood his sacrifice.
From this moment in Lu Xu’s portrayal of Wei Qingfang, Gong Lei saw an unyielding resolve—not an aggressive or fanatical one, as Wei Qingfang was no zealot—but an intensity that Zhang Bannu would surely understand.
Zhang Bannu chose to sacrifice himself, while Wei Qingfang remained alive. It was not a matter of one being noble and the other cowardly—both had their own roles to play in this world.
And Zhang Bannu understood Wei Qingfang just as well.
Compared to Wei Qingfang’s solemn expression, Zhang Bannu’s demeanor was light, as if what he was about to do was nothing more than a trivial task. But before he left, he did not forget to remind Wei Qingfang, “You’ll have to pick the persimmons from the back hill yourself from now on.”
Wei Qingfang did not respond. He simply watched him in silence.
Seeing this, Zhang Bannu found himself at a loss for words. In the end, he allowed the moment to be swallowed by silence.
Gong Lei stood quietly, watching it all unfold.
The words on the script were flat, but through their performances, Lu Xu and Li Yan brought them to life, adding depth beyond what was written. The bond between their characters needed no explicit explanation—anyone who watched their performance would understand it instinctively.
Not only did Lu Xu and Li Yan respond seamlessly to each other’s acting, but they also enriched every scene as they performed. Some of their scenes had minimal dialogue and lacked dazzling special effects. If a viewer were impatient, they might have found those moments dull. But as long as Lu Xu and Li Yan were on screen together, even a simple conversation felt engaging—never once did their presence feel bland.
In short, the further Observing the Stars at Night progressed, the more the director and screenwriters felt grateful for casting Lu Xu and Li Yan as the leads.
It could be said that the foundation of the production was built on these two. And once filming began, they carried out their roles with the utmost dedication.
Beyond just improving the filming pace, their natural camaraderie and positive relationship created a welcoming atmosphere on set. From the leads to the supporting cast, everyone was committed and professional.
Yue Chen and Gong Lei rarely made direct comments about an actor’s skill—both were seasoned figures in the industry, experienced enough to avoid casually judging others. They might not have reached a level where they could freely critique actors, but they had sharp instincts. Whether an actor was good or bad, they could see it clearly.
If they had the status of someone like Mu Lang, they wouldn’t have to worry about offending any actor.
Recently, they had been keeping an eye on the controversy surrounding Liu Rennong. Yet their first reaction wasn’t satisfaction or a sense of justice—it was disappointment.
Liu Rennong had once been one of the most respected directors in the industry, yet he had fallen so far.
Because working with Lu Xu had been such an enjoyable experience, Yue Chen had even taken the time to privately warn him about potential retaliatory moves from Liu Rennong, advising him on what to watch out for.
Before Lu Xu joined Observing the Stars at Night, the controversy surrounding Liu Rennong had already surfaced. Of course, by that time, Lu Xu’s contract had long been finalized. During that period, while the media and marketing accounts were busy digging into Liu Rennong’s scandals, they overlooked the fact that Yue Chen was also a victim of the so-called “High Screen Allocation Victims’ Alliance.”
One of his films had been released alongside Silent K*lling.
Under normal circumstances, when an arthouse film and a purely commercial blockbuster were released at the same time, theaters would naturally favor the blockbuster, given its stronger box office appeal. But Yue Chen had the misfortune of going up against Silent K*lling.
Just thinking about the bizarre box office performance of Silent K*lling gave Yue Chen a headache. Of course, he admitted that his film didn’t have the overwhelming strength of Fearless Life, so it was unsurprising that it lost to Silent K*lling and underperformed at the box office.
But did that mean the blame lay solely on the quality of his work?
Was Silent K*lling really that good?
It was Silent K*lling that manipulated screenings. It was Silent K*lling that cheated. And now, just because he couldn’t beat a film that played dirty, he was supposed to just accept it?
Yue Chen recalled a ridiculous comment from a certain critic about domestic violence: “Well, why weren’t you [XXX]?”
XXX referred to a female world boxing champion.
During Silent K*lling’s theatrical run, Yue Chen had already sensed something was off. However, at the time, he didn’t have the full picture. It wasn’t until much later that he realized everything was tied back to Liu Rennong.
Lu Xu had clashed with Liu Rennong more than once. On the surface, Liu Rennong appeared mild-mannered and harmless, but who knew what he was truly capable of? Even Yue Chen couldn’t say for sure. All he could do was warn Lu Xu to stay vigilant.
That said, Lu Xu was no newcomer to the industry. He likely had his own strategies for handling situations like this.
…
By the end of the year, Lu Xu and Li Yan had completed all their scenes.
After wrapping up the final major scene, Lu Xu and Li Yan didn’t have much left to shoot—just some reshoots and minor script revisions. They stayed with the production for a few more months, finishing up those additional scenes. With that, Lu Xu’s time with the Observing the Stars at Night crew officially came to an end.
Even he couldn’t help but reflect on how long the filming had been.
But the longer he spent on set, the more he felt like he was part of something truly remarkable—a great team working on a great project.
Observing the Stars at Night might not become a groundbreaking, era-defining film, but if he were an audience member, he knew he’d be looking forward to a fantasy blockbuster where every cent was spent wisely, and both the director and screenwriters had poured their hearts into the story.
Lu Xu had always believed that as long as a film was made with genuine effort and passion, even the most niche, low-budget productions could still win over audiences.
After Lu Xu and Li Yan left the set, Yue Chen and Gong Lei remained, pushing forward. The film had already gone through an incredibly long shoot, so it was no surprise that post-production would take even longer. That was now Yue Chen’s problem to deal with. Lu Xu sympathized with the director, but at the same time, he knew Yue Chen would secretly enjoy every bit of it.
During one crew dinner, Yue Chen had casually mentioned that fantasy blockbusters were becoming rarer and rarer—he had to cherish this one because securing investments was getting increasingly difficult.
He missed the days when investors would fund projects without hesitation. Nowadays, all they did was point to some other film that had grossed over 4 billion at the box office and demand, “Just make one that earns the same.”
And they had the audacity to call that reasonable expectations.
“If so-and-so could do it, why can’t you?”
Yue Chen: “……”
He had no idea how to even respond to that.
“So why don’t you just hire XXX then?”
If he could guarantee that his film would make 4 billion at the box office, he wouldn’t even need investors. He’d empty his own savings, borrow from every relative he could find, and when the profits rolled in, he’d happily pay them back tenfold.
The absurdity of it all almost made him laugh.
Unfortunately, this was the reality he faced as a director.
