Famous! Ch.229

Chapter 229: Casting

Since he was preparing to shoot a new film, Lu Xu naturally focused all his attention on it. The script had already reached his hands, and after signing the contract, both parties agreed on the shooting schedule. In the following days, Lu Xu devoted himself entirely to reading the script.

When historical films were adapted into movies, the runtime was naturally a bit short. Large-scale historical works were usually made into TV dramas, and Son of Heaven was a prime example. For a film, the production team typically chose a specific entry point, starting from a particular event and gradually unfolding a grand picture before the audience.

After all, movies required audiences to pay for tickets, and when they entered the theater, they wanted to see fresh plots rather than stories that had already been told countless times.

Lu Xu had considerable experience in filming historical dramas, but this was his first time playing an emperor. In recent years, historical films had almost faded into obscurity—only major directors dared to take them on, and even then, the box office results were far from impressive. The simple reason was that audiences just weren’t interested in watching them.

However, Lu Xu believed that audiences were actually quite open-minded. There was no such thing as a genre they inherently disliked. Just look at the television market—every year, the most popular dramas came from completely different genres.

For years, historical romance dramas had been almost guaranteed hits, launching many actors into stardom. But in the past few years, even this genre—despite its broad appeal among young viewers—had seen a sharp decline in popularity, to the point where some productions even suffered financial losses. Meanwhile, some smaller, more niche dramas unexpectedly gained traction.

In a way, both the television and film industries had become somewhat uncertain about audience preferences.

That was precisely why Lu Xu chose to take on projects that the industry had little confidence in.

It wasn’t that he was overly confident—he simply believed that if a film was of high enough quality, audiences wouldn’t ignore it. In fact, the film didn’t even need to be groundbreaking; as long as the production team put genuine effort into it, the audience would absolutely be able to feel that sincerity.

…

The script described an unusual event that occurred in the fourth year of Chengping—within the palace, a peculiar incident took place. A concubine who had only recently entered the palace claimed to have received a dream visitation from the late Empress Dowager.

Emperor Qi Yi had already reigned for many years. He was the eldest son of the late emperor and had been designated as crown prince since childhood. His life had been remarkably smooth, free from any setbacks or hardships. The Empress Dowager passed away two years after he ascended the throne, and while she was alive, the bond between mother and son was exceptionally strong.

Historical records described Qi Yi as an eccentric figure. By all accounts, he was one of the luckiest emperors in history—he had never suffered the power struggles of the imperial court as a child, his father was benevolent, and his mother doted on him. His early life was akin to that of an eldest son in an ordinary household, rather than that of a prince. Moreover, both his parents lived long lives. Such a fortunate upbringing was rarely seen in any dynasty following the unification of the empire.

Yet, despite this seemingly ideal life, Qi Yi was far from a benevolent ruler. He was like a twisted fruit growing on an otherwise normal tree. However, precisely because he lacked compassion, he had mastered the art of controlling his subordinates even as a crown prince. His father never saw anything alarming in his behavior and instead indulged him, for the throne was undoubtedly Qi Yi’s to inherit.

In a way, this father and son were rather peculiar.

Since the Empress Dowager had supposedly sent a message through a dream, the palace naturally treated the matter with great importance. The newly favored concubine, emboldened by this supernatural endorsement, became increasingly arrogant, stirring up endless conflict within the harem.

Qi Yi, however, placed great trust in this concubine and frequently reminisced with her about the days when his mother was still alive. This only made her even more audacious. Were it not for the fact that Qi Yi remained as shrewd and capable in court as ever, the ministers would have surely submitted memorials to admonish him.

Then, one day, after recounting a memory from the Empress Dowager’s youth—an episode from the time when she resided in the prince’s manor before becoming empress—the concubine revealed an old story. Back then, as a consort in the manor, the Empress Dowager had not enjoyed the same prestige she once had before entering the palace. However, most of the late emperor’s concubines came from respectable families, and while occasional disputes arose, they generally lived together in harmony.

There was, however, one particular event—an incident that the Empress Dowager herself had briefly mentioned while she was alive. Now that she had supposedly sent a message through a dream, Qi Yi’s curiosity was piqued, and he decided to investigate further.

From then on, every time Qi Yi got closer to uncovering the truth, just as he found a clue—whether it was an imperial consort, a palace maid, or even the well rumored to be filled with corpses—everything would mysteriously vanish without a trace.

When Lu Xu first read the script, he noticed that the screenwriter had set up several mysteries early on. For a moment, it even reminded him of the beginning of Observing the Stars at Night. However, as the story progressed, it became clear that the two films had entirely different styles.

The new film placed a stronger emphasis on the brutality of palace struggles and court politics.

When it came to historical films about the imperial court, this was an unavoidable theme.

Lu Xu spent some time at home carefully analyzing his character, paying little attention to the news online. He figured that by now, the rumors about him taking on a historical film must have spread, and he was fully prepared to be met with skepticism.

But unexpectedly… nothing happened.

His fans actually thought the role suited him quite well:

[An emperor? That’s great! Emperors are so cool! Can’t wait to see a new version of our majestic and domineering puppy!]

[YES!! Finally back on set! The last time you filmed was the last time, and I was starting to think you’d forgotten you were an actor!]

Lu Xu: “…”

Some things were better left unsaid.

Meanwhile, a few prominent film bloggers—ones whose IDs Lu Xu had grown familiar with over time—were making dramatic statements like:

[Is Lu Xu finally here to save the historical film market?]

Lu Xu: “…”

That seemed a bit excessive.

In any case, the online atmosphere was overwhelmingly positive. No one was saying “Lu Xu just took on a film doomed to fail,” nor was anyone claiming “The Contention Award-winning actor has gotten too full of himself and lost his mind.”

Lu Xu: [This has to be a setup! They’re hyping me up just to watch me fall!]

Zheng Xiao simply sent a speechless emoji and replied:

[People criticize you, and you’re unhappy. Now they’re praising you, and you’re on high alert. Kid, your trust issues are getting out of hand.]

Lu Xu: [There’s a super vicious head eunuch in the film. The director said the role hasn’t been cast yet. Want to give it a shot?]

Zheng Xiao sent back a meme of a puppy angrily barking: [It’s been years, and you’re still hung up on that eunuch role I never got to play? No interest in a super vicious eunuch, but a super spicy snack? Now that I’m interested in.]

Before Lu Xu could reply, Shao Yao sneaked online and sent a curious emoji: [Where’s the link to the super spicy snack?]

The conversation immediately derailed.

[The ones sold online tend to be a bit sweet. I want something salty and spicy,] Shao Yao said while demanding a link, then proceeded to drop several links in the group chat. [If you two like sweet flavors, try these. They taste pretty good, but they’re not quite intense enough.]

Lu Xu & Zheng Xiao: “…”

Alright, fine.

How many heated arguments had been effortlessly defused by Shao Yao’s distractions? The man was a true peacemaker.

Still, Zheng Xiao couldn’t help but push back: [Peony, why don’t you try playing the super vicious eunuch instead? We’ll pay you in a truckload of spicy snacks.]

[No.] Shao Yao rejected the offer without hesitation.

[This is blasphemy against the god of spicy snacks. You will be punished.]

A long silence followed. Just as Lu Xu thought Shao Yao had no comeback for Zheng Xiao’s nonsense, a new message popped up.

[Mainly because my body type doesn’t fit.]

#BodyTypeDoesn’tFit#

Such a gentle yet subtly ruthless reply.

In this group, Shao Yao was the tallest, and he had played the most dignified and authoritative roles. Meanwhile, Zheng Xiao… was actually a little shorter than Lu Xu.

Lu Xu couldn’t resist adding another jab: [Didn’t we already discuss this when I filmed Lives Beyond Death the Chivalry?]

Zheng Xiao… was so furious that he spammed eighty raging monkey memes—90% of which came from Light and Shadow Journey, specifically from the scene where they were being chased by a horde of macaques.

The truth was, because Shao Yao was the tallest and physically the strongest, he ran the fastest. The monkeys even seemed to recognize the threat he posed, switching their focus from him to the other, less athletic-looking guests.

Zheng Xiao had been utterly outraged by this turn of events. However, when the meme-worthy frames of them being chased flooded the internet, he had aggressively saved a whole stash. Now, whenever Lu Xu and the others chatted, Zheng Xiao never failed to drop a reaction meme—one that Lu Xu had never seen before.

[Is there really no other role besides a eunuch?] Zheng Xiao protested. [You and Shao Yao have both been in films already. Do you know how long it’s been since we last worked together?]

Back when Lu Xu took on Supreme, his relationship with Zheng Xiao hadn’t been as close as it was now. The two only truly became friends after the drama aired.

For Zheng Xiao, Supreme held far greater significance. Meanwhile, when the industry reviewed Lu Xu’s achievements in television, The Path of Bones and When I Was 18 were the ones most frequently mentioned. Even as a supporting character, Qin Zhao from Son of Heaven had garnered more attention than Ji Xiuya from Supreme.

Of course, in recent years, as Lu Xu had gradually distanced himself from TV dramas, Son of Heaven and Supreme had become nostalgic “white moonlight” classics for drama fans. Ji Xiuya’s reputation had only grown with time.

Ji Xiuya was pure, unadulterated handsomeness—madness wrapped in beauty, the kind of striking allure that was unrivaled in both heaven and earth. Every time people made lists of androgynous yet devastatingly attractive characters, Ji Xiuya’s appearance was an instant landslide victory.

Lu Xu thought about it and realized Zheng Xiao had a point.

In fact, the production team wasn’t just missing an ultra-vicious head eunuch. While Lu Xu was the film’s lead, the movie itself was more of an ensemble cast. Eunuchs, civil officials, palace concubines—every role that received narrative focus had its own space to shine.

However, the emperor Lu Xu was playing was at the peak of his reign, not in his later years. As a result, most of his ministers were older than him.

The script did include young civil officials, but they were far less politically sharp compared to the veteran core of the bureaucracy. Based on the roles Zheng Xiao had taken on in recent years, he didn’t quite fit the mold of an overly young scholar-official either.

Lu Xu pondered for a moment before saying, [Hold on.]

A thought struck him—there was a particular civil official role that Zheng Xiao might be able to pull off. He just wasn’t sure if the production had already cast someone for it.

Lu Xu quickly called the director to check. The role was still available. No one had been confirmed yet. When the director heard that Zheng Xiao was willing to take it, he immediately agreed.

This character had a significant amount of screen time—essentially the second male lead. The director was candid with Lu Xu, saying that with Lu Xu as the main lead and Zheng Xiao as the second, the film’s buzz and visibility would skyrocket.

“If you weren’t the lead, Zheng Xiao might not have accepted the role,” Xu Wen remarked. “He’s not exactly short on offers these days.”

Zheng Xiao had long been the top star at his agency. Any high-quality scripts that came their way were prioritized for him. He had an excellent reputation, and his past films had all performed well. These days, he was almost exclusively cast as the male lead.

Unless his co-star was an exceptionally big-name actor, he rarely took on supporting roles.

“Looks like he really wants to act with you,” Xu Wen observed, glancing at Lu Xu. “It’s nice that you guys have this kind of bond.”

A while back, Lu Xu and his friends had been nicknamed the “Mountain Bike Team” by fans. Xu Wen had once worried that their friendship wouldn’t last.

It wasn’t that Xu Wen was naturally suspicious of the world, but in the entertainment industry, situations like these were far too common.

Lifelong brothers falling out over resources and benefits—there were countless examples.

Then there were cases where someone had just gotten into trouble, and the very next moment, their so-called “brother” swooped in to claim their opportunities.

The Mountain Bike Team was one of the rare exceptions. Despite competing for similar roles, their friendship remained strong, and it had lasted for years.

There was no clout-chasing or leeching between them. Their careers had steadily risen, and by now, all three were recognized as leading actors who could carry a project on their own.

As soon as Zheng Xiao accepted the role, he immediately started showing off in their group chat.

Shao Yao: [Then maybe I should take a role too?]

Lu Xu: [There are no roles left that suit you. Only the ultra-vicious head eunuch. Do you want it?]

Shao Yao: [I’ll think about it.]

Lu Xu instantly rejected the idea—because the character had been a eunuch for twice as long as Shao Yao had even been alive.

No matter how you looked at it, no one would be able to associate Shao Yao’s face with an ultra-vicious eunuch.

Even if he did play one, he’d end up being the ultra-gluttonous eunuch instead—the kind who stole food so often that even the emperor took notice.

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