Chapter 99: Phoenix
When Xie Xizhao stepped onto the beautifully decorated divine throne, an incredibly awkward situation occurred.
The mechanism behind the so-called Glazed Eye seemed to have gotten stuck—whether it was jammed or malfunctioning was unclear. In any case, it refused to open when it was supposed to and instead stared wide-eyed when it shouldn’t have.
Catching a glimpse of it from the corner of his eye, Xie Xizhao was thoroughly startled.
—Startled in his heart, that is.
Once the scene was shot, the MV director happily declared, “Cut! That’s a wrap!”
When Xie Xizhao walked over, the director praised him, “Xizhao, your camera presence is really impressive. I thought we’d have to scrap that take.”
Xie Xizhao also reviewed the footage and saw his own expressionless profile.
And despite the unexpected glitch, the Glazed Eye had ended up aligning with another perfect moment. According to the original script, it was supposed to lock eyes with Xie Xizhao. However, at that moment, it was staring straight into the camera instead.
Though unplanned, it created an eerie and intriguing effect.
The director wasn’t worried about this little bug—he was more concerned that the sudden mishap might have thrown Xie Xizhao out of character.
Fortunately, Xie Xizhao had handled it well.
During a short break, Xie Xizhao stepped aside and took a big gulp of his Americano. Nearby, Zou Yi happened to catch sight of him and remarked casually,
“You got startled just now, didn’t you?”
Xie Xizhao was a bit surprised. “How did you know, brother?”
“When you get startled,” Zou Yi said, “your blinking speed increases by about half a second.”
Even though the camera hadn’t captured it, Zou Yi had. He had always been sharp at reading people, but this also reflected how much their intensive training had deepened their understanding of each other.
Being found out, Xie Xizhao didn’t bother to hide it.
“Well, I wouldn’t say I was scared,” he said. “I was just wondering when that thing was finally going to move.”
Zou Yi chuckled. Meanwhile, Xie Xizhao tossed his empty Americano cup into a nearby trash bin.
The trash bin, placed by the entrance, was designed to look like a tree root.
As Xie Xizhao walked over to dispose of his cup, a gust of wind—stronger than the one on the day the dragon snatched the princess—rushed in from outside, blowing straight into his face and hair.
He ran a hand through his slightly tousled hair and stepped aside for the stylist to fix his look and touch up his makeup.
In the mirror, a face with strikingly elaborate makeup stared back at him.
—
Speculation ran wild in the forums, but one particular comment hit the nail on the head:
Shenghong was more than willing to spend money on this group.
At one point, Xie Xizhao even suspected that Ai Qingyuan had secretly invested in the project. Ai Qingyuan scoffed, saying, ‘Do you think I’d bother with such a small amount?’
Meanwhile, Yun Pan sighed dramatically, ‘If only Brother Qingyuan really wanted to compete with the rich folks…’
In any case, this shoot was almost entirely done on location.
Right now, they were at a famous tourist spot in a coastal city.
The location was a natural scenic area—half of it was sea, while the other half featured desolate highlands with a cluster of dilapidated, European-style buildings.
It was said that when the land was first developed, the plan had been to build a foreign-style town. However, for various reasons, the project was never completed, leaving these buildings awkwardly abandoned. Over time, they became a popular photography hotspot.
For Shenghong, this made for a perfect filming location.
Since the structures weren’t historical landmarks, there was no need to worry about preservation rules, allowing for some minor set dressing. At this moment, in the grand hall, a dining table draped in an exquisite tablecloth had been arranged. On it sat six sets of silver bowls and chopsticks.
At the center of the dining table stood a massive, lit candelabrum.
The base of the candelabrum bore a small yet intricately detailed phoenix relief.
The entire scene resembled something straight out of an oil painting—or perhaps a mural one might find in an actual temple.
And that was precisely the effect this MV needed to achieve.
After a quick touch-up, Xie Xizhao wandered back to Zou Yi’s side. Both of them were dressed in soft, silk shirts, though in different styles and colors. Zou Yi’s was pure white, adorned with feather accessories.
Xie Xizhao’s outfit, on the other hand, was more elaborate.
The hem of his shirt was embroidered with golden phoenix patterns, interwoven with cloud motifs.
This gave him a refined and elegant appearance.
The two stood together, watching the monitor. At that moment, the camera was focused on Fu Wenze, who was in the corner of the set.
Compared to them, he was dressed entirely in dark, ink-black clothing. His thin, sheer shirt faintly revealed the strong lines of his toned abs. His makeup was also bold and dramatic—sharp and intense, though not flamboyant. Instead, it accentuated his already striking and chiseled features.
In his hand, he held a broken arrow.
The tip of the arrow gleamed with a deep, rusty red—instantly evoking associations with a certain kind of liquid.
The two of them stared at the screen, completely absorbed.
After a moment, perhaps finding the silence a bit suffocating, they both spoke at the same time.
Xie Xizhao said, “Nice abs.”
Zou Yi asked, “How exactly did you come up with this kind of worldbuilding?”
Silence.
A beat later, Xie Xizhao replied nonchalantly, “You mean for the MV?”
Zou Yi: “…Yeah.”
“It almost feels like a short film,” he added.
Zou Yi truly found it fascinating.
From the very beginning, when Xie Xizhao first pitched the concept, he had realized that it was an ambitious and challenging idea.
First, there was the difficulty of adapting the song itself. Then, for a title track, the MV was just as crucial—it would require an immense amount of time and effort to refine.
And since the concept was tied to divinity, the complexity of the MV’s execution was practically inevitable.
Yet, none of that had deterred Xie Xizhao.
When he initially submitted the proposal, he had included not just the song concept but also a rough MV storyboard. Back then, it had only been a draft—several rough sketches of shot compositions, with annotations outlining the entire worldbuilding.
Yes.
He had even created an entire world.
When Zou Yi first saw it, he had felt momentarily dazed, almost convinced that his roommate’s other career—besides being an idol—was that of a web novelist. But soon, he realized it wasn’t quite the same.
Literature told a complete story.
But Xie Xizhao’s worldbuilding, his shot compositions, and his concise plotline—all of it was designed for filming.
As the protagonists of the MV, the roles they were playing at this moment were those of the Creator Gods within this world—beings known as the Phoenix Clan. And based on their individual personalities, each of them had been assigned dominion over a specific virtue.
For example, the defiant and untamed Fu Wenze represented Justice.
Meanwhile, Zou Yi—whose personality contrasted sharply with Fu Wenze’s—embodied Humility.
Aside from that, Yun Pan represented Purity, Ai Qingyuan embodied Courage, and as the conceptual core of the MV, Xie Xizhao—after much deliberation by the planning team—was ultimately assigned Reason.
His symbolic item was his dice. The small dice had been honored with a role in its owner’s MV—an important role at that—and had been strutting around in glory for days. Even Xie Xizhao couldn’t rein it in and had to carry around the die, which always landed on six, explaining to everyone on set:
“It’s blessing you with good fortune—may everything go smoothly.”
Ai Qingyuan, however, was thoroughly baffled.
“I think people who use dice to make decisions are just impulsive lunatics.”
A rather pointed remark.
Xie Xizhao, ever patient, replied gently, “An impulsive lunatic would just punch you on the spot, whereas a rational lunatic rolls a die to decide—meaning you have a 50% chance of not getting punched. See the difference?”
Ai Qingyuan: “…”
Ai Qingyuan’s symbolic item was a lion, which also served as his mount.
Of course, since bringing a real lion was out of the question, the MV’s setting placed the lion within his spiritual energy. Special effects would be added later to bring it to life.
As for the others, Zou Yi’s symbolic item was a ribbon—the most resilient ribbon in existence, one that could not be burned by fire. Meanwhile, Yun Pan’s was a beautiful, pristine crystal ball.
He adored the little prop they had bought from a toy store, especially because it had a switch—one press, and snow would swirl inside.
As a result, Yun Pan carried it around the filming set every day, occasionally pressing the switch to make it snow whenever he got bored.
The grand worldbuilding, combined with meticulously detailed character settings, meant that rather than struggling with props and sets, they had an abundance of creative possibilities.
Zou Yi firmly believed that once the MV was complete, regardless of the specifics of its content, the sheer visual grandeur alone would be enough to earn it labels like “meticulously crafted” and “highly artistic.”
Not to mention, it had such a compelling storyline.
—
“If you’re asking about worldbuilding,” Xie Xizhao said, “I have to admit, I drew inspiration from many different sources.”
He thought for a moment. “The beauty of mythology lies in its boundless imagination. When someone lets their mind run completely free, they often arrive at unexpected discoveries.”
“Besides,” he added, “when I was little, my mom used to tell me myths as bedtime stories.”
“Nuwa Mending the Heavens?” Zou Yi chuckled.
Xie Xizhao laughed too. “No, The Seven Fairies and Dong Yong.”
“That means Aunt must be a romantic.” Zou Yi smiled.
“Then what about Rift of Divinity?” Zou Yi hesitated slightly before asking, “How did you come up with the idea of having the five of us portray the gradual collapse of divinity—three distinct stages, progressing in intensity—all while aligning with our individual personalities?”
Xie Xizhao lowered his gaze in thought.
After a brief pause, he replied apologetically, “Sorry… that might have come from thinking about test tubes with different concentrations of solutions.”
Zou Yi: “…”
“Aren’t you a math major?”
“Math, physics, and chemistry are all interconnected.” Xie Xizhao replied earnestly, “Actually, I was pretty good at physics and chemistry too. I just never had a chance to show it.”
Zou Yi: “…”
—
This was not a particularly complicated story.
The Phoenixes created the world, and naturally, they were revered by all.
The five Creator Gods each governed a different virtue, and their divinity was the source of their power.
Existing above the mortal realm, the Gods were never meant to experience human emotions. The joys and sorrows that plagued the people of the world were nothing more than fleeting ripples in the vast river of time—waves that crashed and disappeared, incapable of shaking the heavens.
The Gods loved humanity.
The good and the wicked.
The beautiful and the grotesque.
The virtuous and the corrupt.
But this love stemmed from compassion, not from attachment.
The Gods loved humanity, but they did not love humans.
And yet—
Divinity had begun to crack.
The first to notice the change was the God of Justice.
