Chapter 231: Filming Continues
For Zheng Xiao, having an epiphany was a feeling.
He had indeed read the script many times before filming, but the moment he locked eyes with Lu Xu and truly immersed himself in the scene, he naturally sank into the atmosphere of his character, Hu Qing. It felt as if he were genuinely facing the pressure emanating from Lu Xu.
During their scenes together, Lu Xu was not his friend but a dignified emperor—his source of pressure.
Only when he stepped out of the performance did Zheng Xiao regain the sense that Lu Xu was still that annoying guy.
After finishing a scene, Zheng Xiao was sweating. The weather was not particularly cold, but their costumes were thick and heavy. Just moments ago, Lu Xu had been reprimanding him in the role of the emperor, yet now the two of them were grinning and joking around.
The director: “….”
Whatever.
Because of Lu Xu and Zheng Xiao’s dynamic, The Sovereign Descends the World was a rather solemn film, yet the atmosphere on set remained incredibly lively.
Lu Xu’s presence as the lead actor had an unmistakable impact on the entire production team.
In The Sovereign Descends the World, there were scheming ministers and treacherous eunuchs, all portrayed by seasoned actors. Even when these formidable characters faced off against Lu Xu, his portrayal of the emperor still managed to suppress them.
After all, an emperor and his subjects were not the same.
After wrapping up his scene with Zheng Xiao, Lu Xu’s next scene was a conversation between Qi Yi and the chief eunuch, Ding Fu.
Ding Fu carried great authority within the palace. Before the emperor’s ascension, he had served in the Empress Dowager’s quarters. Later, he was promoted to Qi Yi’s side. After years of maneuvering, his power grew considerably. Even when dealing with high-ranking scholars and ministers, he had never lowered his head.
Yet, in front of Qi Yi, Ding Fu wore a completely different expression.
When discussing the strange occurrences in the palace, Qi Yi casually asked a few more questions, “I heard that you used to get along well with a maid from the Noble Consort’s quarters. Now that there have been some disturbances in the palace, you should visit the Noble Consort more often.”
His tone was light and casual, far more relaxed than when dealing with Hu Qing. When speaking with Ding Fu, his gaze grew even gentler, as if he regarded him as family.
Yet, upon hearing Qi Yi’s words, Ding Fu—who usually carried himself with supreme authority—broke out in a cold sweat. His voice stammered, and he knelt even lower, completely stripped of the imposing presence of a grand eunuch.
Not until his head was nearly buried in the ground, his body as low as possible, did Qi Yi finally let out a soft cough. “I was just making idle conversation. Why are you so nervous?”
“This servant wouldn’t dare.”
Only when Qi Yi instructed him to lift his head did Ding Fu finally look up. The camera zoomed in, capturing his expression in full detail—his face was deathly pale, starkly different from usual, and a fine layer of sweat covered his forehead. It was as if Qi Yi’s words carried the same weight as an executioner’s falling blade.
Qi Yi, of course, noticed this reaction. A moment later, he waved a hand at Ding Fu. “You understand what I need you to do, don’t you?”
“This servant understands.”
In just a few short minutes, Ding Fu’s complexion had turned ashen, while Qi Yi remained as relaxed as ever. Yet, Ding Fu would have preferred if the emperor had simply reprimanded him harshly.
For a eunuch, no matter how arrogant he acted, his power ultimately came from the emperor’s indulgence. This was why ministers could call themselves ‘subjects’, but eunuchs could only call themselves ‘servants’. The moment he lost the emperor’s favor, his fate would be no better than those buried in the forgotten wells of the palace. Even if young eunuchs had once fought to call him their godfather, should he fall from power, those same people would tear him apart like ravenous wolves.
This was precisely why Ding Fu could never afford to lose the emperor’s trust—his entire being was dedicated to Qi Yi’s best interests.
Even if he had personal ambitions, they were built on one unwavering principle: the emperor’s interests could not suffer even the slightest harm.
This was Wang Yu’s second scene as Ding Fu in The Sovereign Descends the World. In the previous scene, the grand eunuch had been arrogant and domineering, disregarding everything and everyone. Even if a concubine requested his presence, he would decide whether to go based solely on his mood.
Of course, his “mood” had only one criterion—the emperor’s mood.
Whoever Qi Yi favored, Ding Fu would shower them with warmth like the coming of spring. Whoever Qi Yi disdained, he would trample without hesitation, indifferent even if others cursed him as a heartless eunuch.
Through these two scenes, Wang Yu vividly portrayed the stark contrast between Ding Fu’s submission and arrogance, perfectly capturing the duality of the character.
Zheng Xiao had finished filming his own scene but hadn’t left. Instead, he stood in place and watched Lu Xu and Wang Yu perform together.
Wang Yu’s seasoned acting left him in awe, but what struck him even more was the atmosphere that Lu Xu and Wang Yu created—it was beyond words. The two of them had brought the stark reality of absolute imperial power to life, laying it bare for the audience to see.
The palace was a place of treachery and shifting alliances, but above all else, imperial power reigned supreme.
Qi Yi was no puppet ruler—he was a sovereign with real authority. His joy and sorrow dictated the fate of the entire realm.
Zheng Xiao had felt that he had already delivered an exceptional performance earlier, but after watching Lu Xu and Wang Yu, he realized he could still push himself further.
These two were simply on another level.
And in the The Sovereign Descends the World cast, Wang Yu wasn’t the only actor of his caliber. Zheng Xiao was convinced that Lu Xu was one of them.
…
Chang Aiwei was somewhat shocked by the filming efficiency of The Sovereign Descends the World.
He had initially estimated that, with Lu Xu as the lead and several veteran actors joining the cast, the production speed would be slightly faster than usual.
But in reality—The Sovereign Descends the World wasn’t just moving a little fast; it was progressing at an astonishing pace.
Lu Xu almost never needed a retake. Perhaps it was due to the sheer number of films he had worked on, but he always managed to capture Chang Aiwei’s vision perfectly, eliminating the need for repeated explanations. On top of that, Lu Xu even seemed to understand exactly what kind of shots Chang Aiwei needed—when a scene should pass by in a flash and when it required emphasis. As long as Chang Aiwei gave a slight cue, Lu Xu could execute it flawlessly with a 100% accuracy rate.
He was practically… a precision machine.
Lu Xu had an undeniably attractive face, but because his acting was so compelling, it never felt superficial. Instead, his expressions carried depth, as if his face alone told a thousand stories.
Chang Aiwei wanted to portray Qi Yi as a ruler with a volatile and enigmatic personality. The moment Lu Xu appeared on camera, his expression was an unreadable mask, exuding an air of mystery.
Chang Aiwei: “…”
He couldn’t help but ask Xu Wen if Lu Xu had undergone some kind of specialized acting training to become this skilled.
Xu Wen replied, “You’ve asked me this before.”
He had already explained it long ago—after filming Son of Heaven, when he officially became Lu Xu’s manager, he had witnessed firsthand just how shockingly good Lu Xu’s acting was.
“You’re already late to being surprised,” Xu Wen admitted. “Plenty of people were shocked before you.”
Over the years, Xu Wen had received countless similar questions—many of them from young actors hoping to improve their own craft. These actors meant no harm; they simply wanted to know what books Lu Xu read in his free time or whether he had attended any acting workshops.
Xu Wen had always answered honestly, but people still chose not to believe him. They assumed Lu Xu was hiding some kind of secret training method, unwilling to share his true techniques.
As a manager, Xu Wen found this incredibly frustrating.
In fact, this question ranked second on his list of most exasperating inquiries. The only reason it didn’t take first place was because the top spot belonged to an even more ridiculous question:
“Which hospital did Lu Xu get his plastic surgery done at?”
Xu Wen: “…”
Now that was a tough one to answer.
If he said Lu Xu had never undergone plastic surgery, people simply refused to believe him.
…
Meanwhile, Chang Aiwei remained both astonished and delighted by The Sovereign Descends the World’s rapid filming progress.
Every scene between Lu Xu and his co-stars seemed to spark an electrifying chemistry.
The “dream visitation” from the late empress dowager hinted at a brewing conspiracy within the palace, and as the plot unfolded, the truth behind the scheme was gradually exposed.
This meant that Lu Xu had more and more scenes with various actors.
He was widely acknowledged as an actor capable of conveying deep emotions. However, in The Sovereign Descends the World, the character he played—Qi Yi—rarely expressed any personal emotions at all. His feelings belonged solely to a ruler. In his world, there was no room for weakness, no sentimentality—only absolute strength.
This was similar to Lu Xu’s previous film, Clay Man, where he had played Ma Yanwen, a character with a deeply sinister nature. At his core, Ma Yanwen had already stripped himself of ordinary human emotions. He was nothing more than a vessel filled with pure malice.
…
One morning, during a particular scene, Qi Yi’s favored concubine was accused of being involved in the conspiracy. The evidence against her was irrefutable. She had not intentionally committed treason, but she had been aware of the scheme and failed to report it, hoping instead to use the situation to bring down another concubine.
Qi Yi had always treated her well—otherwise, she would not have been recognized as his most favored concubine, both inside and outside the palace. After the conspiracy was exposed, she wept bitterly, begging Qi Yi for forgiveness. She had assumed he would spare her, believing that, at the very least, the emperor had shown her some tenderness in the past.
But he did not.
Qi Yi merely cast a calm glance at her—serene, without a ripple of emotion. Yet that single look made her feel as though she had been plunged into an icy abyss. She did not dare to plead any further.
Because she knew, in that moment, that Qi Yi had already sentenced her to death in his heart.
She had occasionally seen that cold, detached gaze before—the kind that marked someone as already dead. But she had always believed that such cruelty was reserved for others, a detached indifference that only emperors could afford. And now, that very gaze was directed at her.
In Qi Yi’s eyes, she was no different from anyone else.
Or rather, his patience had always had a limit. Once that limit was crossed, even if she was his favored concubine, she was no different from the others who had once enjoyed his affection—disposable, like a mere plaything.
Even Lu Xu himself felt that Qi Yi was a ruthless man.
But the film was titled The Sovereign Descends the World, not Secrets of the Imperial Harem. There were almost no love scenes in the movie. It was a story about imperial power, and the cruelty of that power extended beyond the court and into the inner palace. No matter who they were—whether the empress or a concubine—they were not the emperor’s wives. They were his subjects. They could never stand as his equals.
They were merely his possessions.
As Zheng Xiao put it, Lu Xu’s performance in this role was like a man possessed.
The more the conspiracy unraveled, the more people Qi Yi executed. No matter how ruthless the decision, he never hesitated.
In the latter half of the script, the connection between Deputy Minister of Justice Hu Qing and the conspiracy gradually came to light. Although he was outside the palace and had risen through the ranks by passing the imperial examination and securing his position step by step, his family was tied to the origins of the so-called “divine message.”
Even his assignment to investigate the case by the emperor was, in reality, the result of his own careful scheming.
In this scene, according to the script, Hu Qing was originally meant to deliver a furious denunciation of the devouring nature of imperial power and the cruelty of Emperor Qi Yi—just as villains in historical dramas were often given a chance to voice their grievances. However, in The Sovereign Descends the World, Hu Qing didn’t even get that opportunity before Qi Yi ordered his men to drag him away for execution.
Despite all his cunning and meticulous planning to reach his high position, in the end, his schemes amounted to nothing more than a joke.
Zheng Xiao: “…”
He had read the script before and knew that his character’s fate was tragic, but to die like this? The villain didn’t even get a shred of dignity.
“At least let me finish my lines!” Zheng Xiao protested.
Lu Xu stifled a laugh from the side.
“What are you laughing at?” Zheng Xiao silently glared at him. “Have you not noticed that no one in the cast has been talking to you lately?”
Lu Xu: “…What does your character getting executed have to do with me?”
“Who gave the order?”
“Then should I go biu biu a couple of times and revive you?” Lu Xu countered.
Zheng Xiao: “…kneel down.”
Lu Xu: “…”
#What to do when you lose a friend because your acting was too good
#The jealousy of those around you is even more terrifying
