Chapter 232: Aftermath
In the production crew of The Sovereign Descends the World, Lu Xu had the most screen time. However, when it came to the actual filming duration, his time on set was only half that of the Clay Man crew.
He had many scenes with other actors but fewer solo scenes. Besides showcasing Qi Yi’s perspective, the director also highlighted the viewpoints of other characters.
Starting from the Empress Dowager’s “dream visitation,” as the mysteries unraveled one by one, the atmosphere of The Sovereign Descends the World gradually shifted from eerie and ominous to starkly unmasked.
If Lu Xu were to put it into words, he had thoroughly enjoyed acting in The Sovereign Descends the World.
His previous film, Code A77, was universally recognized as a satisfying watch, but the protagonist in Code A77 still endured a tragic past. Qi Yi, on the other hand, was different. From the very first page of The Sovereign Descends the World’s script, he was already a supreme figure, commanding everyone’s deference.
Qi Yi had never experienced a moment of humiliation. He was not only a ruler in terms of power but also a master of political maneuvering, seeing through every scheme. Those who underestimated him inevitably lost their lives.
Zheng Xiao’s remark about the cast avoiding Lu Xu wasn’t entirely false.
It was because Lu Xu’s portrayal of Qi Yi was so convincing. No matter how friendly he acted off-camera, once he was in character, he exuded an overwhelming sense of oppression.
The Sovereign Descends the World crew consisted of talented actors. And at times, great actors found it difficult to separate themselves from their roles. Having just endured Lu Xu’s dominance during filming—whether trembling under his pressure or cowering from his threats—it was only natural that they wouldn’t greet him warmly right after the cameras stopped rolling.
Lu Xu: “……”
All in all, by the next day, most people would gradually return to normal—until filming resumed, and they once again had to endure being tormented by him on screen.
Either way, Zheng Xiao’s comment didn’t bother Lu Xu.
“Qi Yi is the one they hate, not me.”
Although Qi Yi was not the kind of character with a good reputation, during filming, Lu Xu gradually understood the emperor’s mentality and built upon it. Moreover, the actors he performed alongside were all incredibly skilled, making the experience exhilarating for him.
The script of The Sovereign Descends the World started from seemingly small matters, yet it vividly and brutally illustrated the true meaning of its title. When Chang Aiwei conceived the script, he never intended for it to be a feel-good film where everyone lived happily ever after.
Qi Yi was also a character that Lu Xu had rarely encountered in his acting career.
In the film Son of Heaven, the Prime Minister was a beast consumed by power. In Lu Xu’s view, Qi Yi from The Sovereign Descends the World was the same. The Prime Minister, as a high-ranking minister, no matter how obsessed he was with power, still had an emperor above him. His authority could be restrained, and other officials could oppose him. But Qi Yi’s power was unchecked.
As an emperor, he believed himself to be in control of everything—more arrogant, more capricious.
He thought he possessed power, but in reality, it was power that devoured him.
Lu Xu had played many characters from the lower rungs of society, but Qi Yi stood at the very pinnacle.
Qi Yi was unfathomable and complacent. Even when he occasionally displayed a gentler side, it was merely a calculated act to consolidate his imperial authority, never a reflection of his true emotions.
The fascinating thing about this type of character was that although Lu Xu was only portraying Qi Yi, as soon as he immersed himself in the role, he could feel the intoxicating thrill of wielding absolute power—deciding life and death at his whim.
If just experiencing the role felt like this, then the real Qi Yi, had he existed, would likely have been even more extreme than what the script depicted.
The final scene of The Sovereign Descends the World showed Qi Yi, having dealt with all those involved in the rebellion, sitting alone on the dragon throne.
There was no trace of sorrow on his face—only indifference.
Ministers, concubines, eunuchs—everyone was merely a tool at his disposal. The only difference was that when someone no longer served their purpose, he could discard them without hesitation. There would always be others eager to take their place.
As long as he employed the right people wisely, history would still grant him the title of an enlightened ruler.
History was written by the victors, and as long as he remained seated on the throne, there would be an endless stream of brilliant minds willing to serve him.
Chang Aiwei told Lu Xu that for this scene, he didn’t need to think about anything—just sit properly. There was no need to question whether Qi Yi was good or evil. An emperor did not need to be defined by morality, for a good person was not necessarily a good ruler.
Lu Xu followed the director’s instructions and sat as he was told. When the camera captured his gaze sweeping over the world with dominance, Chang Aiwei repeatedly signaled for him to “hold the pose,” and Lu Xu maintained his stance.
Chang Aiwei was an efficient director, still retaining some of the habits he developed during his early years in Hong Kong’s film industry. But while he valued efficiency, he was also skilled at crafting profound and evocative scenes when needed.
“Cut! That’s a wrap!”
The moment the director called it, Lu Xu immediately jumped down from the dragon throne, prompting Chang Aiwei to call out several times, reminding him to “watch his step.”
With that, The Sovereign Descends the World officially wrapped filming.
Reflecting on the experience, Lu Xu found the shoot relatively easy. However, in order to portray Qi Yi, he had to fully adopt the mindset of someone in absolute power—something that didn’t align with his usual acting style.
Though he never relied on habitual techniques, as an actor, he inevitably had his own distinct approach to performances.
Beyond that, Qi Yi was an incredibly complex character.
Even after spending so much time immersed in the role, Lu Xu felt he hadn’t completely unraveled Qi Yi’s essence. After all, the film was meant to portray him as an enigma—someone impossible to fully decipher.
Although Chang Aiwei was easygoing and gave Lu Xu considerable creative freedom, allowing him to interpret the character in his own way, he had firm boundaries. Whenever Lu Xu’s interpretation conflicted with his vision, the director would immediately make him stop.
In other words, Lu Xu’s creative freedom existed within the framework set by the director. When it came to the character and the script, Chang Aiwei had already made clear decisions in advance, and Lu Xu was not allowed to stray beyond them.
Every director had their own style, and since Lu Xu had agreed to film The Sovereign Descends the World, he naturally had to respect the director’s vision 100%.
Bit by bit, he analyzed and aligned himself with the role. Occasionally, there were moments when his portrayal deviated from the intended character, but he was usually able to correct it quickly.
Compared to Ma Yanwen from his previous film Clay Man, Qi Yi felt much more distant from the audience. Lu Xu knew he had invested a great deal of effort into the role, but whether viewers would actually perceive that effort was another matter entirely.
After all, Qi Yi was anything but relatable.
At least he had fulfilled the director’s expectations. Letting out a long breath, Lu Xu felt a sense of relief.
He didn’t think playing Qi Yi had been easy. His only hope was that after the film’s release, audiences wouldn’t turn his face into a meme with the caption “I am the Emperor.”
Though… he had a strong feeling that was exactly what would happen.
—
The Sovereign Descends the World had taken nearly five months to film, a relatively long production period. There were some on-location shoots, though Lu Xu never had to participate in them—his domain was strictly within the palace.
Chang Aiwei had ambitions of turning The Sovereign Descends the World into a series. Even though the film was still far from its release, and its box office success remained uncertain, he approached the project with the mindset of creating a grand epic.
The reason he seemed so relaxed was that the actors had performed beyond his expectations.
Chang Aiwei especially appreciated Lu Xu’s performance. He often praised him directly and even spoke highly of him in front of Xu Wen.
“If Lu Xu hadn’t taken the lead role, this film wouldn’t have gone so smoothly,” the director admitted bluntly.
Not to mention that Lu Xu’s involvement had secured ample funding for The Sovereign Descends the World, allowing for grander sets and more elaborate scenes without budget constraints.
During filming, Lu Xu had numerous scenes opposite Zheng Xiao. Since the final act revealed that Hu Qing was also one of the masterminds, their interactions, which initially seemed straightforward, took on a deeper and more layered meaning by the end.
Both Lu Xu and Zheng Xiao delivered outstanding performances.
Beyond that, as an actor with near-perfect records in both awards and box office performance, Lu Xu’s dedication to his craft deeply impressed Chang Aiwei.
His presence alone pushed the entire cast to strive harder. In the The Sovereign Descends the World production team, not only did Lu Xu excel, but his commitment also inspired the other actors to give performances beyond their usual standard.
Chang Aiwei didn’t want to attribute all the film’s success to Lu Xu alone, but the truth was, Lu Xu had played a significant role in making it what it was.
—
After finishing The Sovereign Descends the World, Lu Xu accepted an invitation from Yue Hui to audition for a comedy film. He had no idea what made Yue Hui think he had a talent for comedy, but the director’s enthusiasm was undeniable. So, Lu Xu happily went—only to leave the audition in awkward silence.
As the director put it, it was obvious that Lu Xu was trying to be funny, but his impossibly handsome face completely clashed with the comedic tone.
Apparently, one could either be funny or be handsome—never both.
“Sorry, sorry, but trying new things isn’t a bad thing, right?” Yue Hui’s apology sounded anything but sincere.
Lu Xu sighed. “I wouldn’t say I was exactly eager to try.”
“Well, not eagerly trying new things isn’t a bad thing either,” Yue Hui quipped back, just as insincerely.
The fact that Lu Xu couldn’t handle comedy was now widely acknowledged in the industry. Offers for comedic roles all but disappeared from his script selections.
Lu Xu himself had no problem playing unattractive characters, but according to directors, even when he deliberately tried to look ugly, he still appeared more handsome than most. If he took on such a role, audiences would likely accuse the production team of being cruel and outrageous for forcing someone like Lu Xu to portray an “ugly” character.
Lu Xu: “…”
Fine. He couldn’t force directors to go against their instincts.
So instead, he took on a spy thriller.
What drew him to this project was the strength of its script. While he played the lead, the story itself was the true focus, depicting a group of individuals—represented by his character—fighting to survive and save one another under dire circumstances.
The film portrayed the enemy’s ruthlessness and cunning, the deep cover of spies, the extreme efforts taken to break through obstacles and transmit information, and the high-stakes confrontations between opposing forces. The protagonist and his comrades were both intelligent and deeply committed to their cause.
This time, Lu Xu played a heroic role. His manager had advised against taking on a villain in a film like this, as it could negatively impact his public image.
For now, Lu Xu was still receiving lead roles, and the characters he was offered tended to be more mature. While he wasn’t facing an immediate career transition, the day would come when he needed to evolve as an actor.
Playing too many villains at this stage wouldn’t benefit his future casting opportunities—especially in a spy thriller, where antagonists tended to be especially ruthless.
Lu Xu took his manager’s advice to heart. Whether he played a hero or a villain, he would do his best to bring the character to life.
Sometimes, he felt like his daily routine revolved entirely around choosing scripts and filming, but aside from those two things, he truly had nothing else to do.
After finishing the spy thriller, Lu Xu received a notice from The Sovereign Descends the World’s production team—the film’s release date had been tentatively set.
Since he hadn’t found a suitable new project, he now had an extended break. During the time he was filming the spy movie, Zheng Xiao had taken on a medical drama about the daily operations of a hospital. That film had also wrapped, leaving Zheng Xiao just as idle as Lu Xu.
“Well, isn’t this perfect?” Zheng Xiao messaged Lu Xu in their group chat. “Shall we team up?”
“Let’s do it.” Lu Xu responded with a handshake emoji.
With both of them having plenty of free time—and since most of the The Sovereign Descends the World cast wasn’t too enthusiastic about promotional events—the audience following the film’s marketing campaign felt like they were watching a mini Light and Shadow Journey special.
Wherever Zheng Xiao and Lu Xu appeared, there were comedic moments and meme-worthy expressions. Even though neither of them intended to be funny, the audience found their interactions endlessly entertaining.
