Chapter 130: Exceptionally Good
Xie Xizhao’s question was oddly phrased.
For a brief moment, Xuan Yang felt as if he had traveled back to kindergarten, being asked by a teacher, “What’s 1 + 1?” Usually, after answering, the teacher would reward them with a little red flower.
But there was nothing difficult or embarrassing about this question, so Xuan Yang answered.
However, as soon as he began narrating, he suddenly realized—it wasn’t actually an easy question to answer.
When his thoughts became blocked once again, he had no choice but to pause.
Sitting across from him, Xie Xizhao still looked completely focused, listening intently. Today, he was wearing a white cotton sweatshirt. If one ignored his face, he could easily pass as an ordinary college student—harmless and gentle.
Meeting Xie Xizhao’s expectant gaze, Xuan Yang stammered, “Uh… I remember sending you all the plot summary.”
“Ah,” Xie Xizhao responded. “I read it.”
He paused before adding, “But with just five lines… it felt a little unfinished? I’d like to hear more details.”
“Even if it’s a short drama,” he said with a smile, “it still has eight episodes.”
Xuan Yang was at a loss for words.
As much as he hated to admit it, his plot summary had been sloppily thrown together—just to fill the required space.
He had never liked writing dry, concise summaries. Back in school, he also despised those “analyze the central theme” exercises. To him, they felt completely devoid of soul.
But up until now, he had always thought he simply disliked them—not that he was incapable of doing them.
He suddenly felt a bit dazed.
Had he really failed at something as simple as telling a story?
That thought flashed through Xuan Yang’s mind, but at this moment, it wasn’t the most important thing.
Looking into Xie Xizhao’s clear eyes, Xuan Yang felt a deep sense of guilt.
Xie Xizhao trusted him so much—investing twenty million yuan in him—yet he couldn’t even answer the first question properly.
He didn’t want to give a half-hearted response, so he gathered his courage and said, “I’ve forgotten some of the details… I’ll go back, organize them, and send them to you later. Is that okay?”
“Of course.” Xie Xizhao closed his notebook.
“I’ll send it to you tonight!” Xuan Yang practically ran out of the office.
Just as he disappeared, Du Wei walked in, holding a cup of coffee. He glanced at Xuan Yang’s retreating figure, puzzled. “Director Xuan?”
“He’s busy,” Xie Xizhao replied. Then he paused before saying, “Director Du, I was actually looking for you.”
Du Wei now looked at him as if he were a living deity. “Please, go ahead.”
“…You don’t have to be so formal,” Xie Xizhao chuckled. Then he continued, “I wanted to ask about the rest of the casting.”
—
Xie Xizhao had already read the script for Tao Yan’s Summer before.
The production budget wasn’t high.
It was set in modern times, and most of the scenes took place in everyday locations, which meant minimal costs for costumes, props, and set design. In other words, the biggest expense was the cast’s salaries.
Xie Xizhao’s own paycheck had already been converted into investment.
That just left the key supporting roles.
The most important supporting role—the cat—was working for free.
When Xie Xizhao first visited Xuan Yang’s house, the orange tabby had immediately cozied up to him. Apparently, the cat had a thing for good-looking people.
Now, that same round, chubby furball was curled up in Xie Xizhao’s arms, fast asleep without a care in the world.
As the cat snored softly, Du Wei’s response was just as blunt:
“Other than the cat, no one’s been cast yet. No one wants to join.”
Xie Xizhao: “…”
Du Wei seemed to remember something and added, “But we’ve already got a candidate for Xiao Ji—the script was just sent over. Her agent said they’d get back to us in a couple of days.”
He was referring to one of the key supporting female roles: Ji Mingxian.
Xie Xizhao asked, “Who did you pick?”
“Uh… Zhuang Yinyin.” Du Wei was just wondering how to explain to Xie Xizhao who Zhuang Yinyin was when he heard him say, “Oh, the new artist signed by Lingxiu?”
After thinking for a moment, Xie Xizhao nodded. “She’s actually a pretty good fit.”
“My manager probably has her contact info,” he continued. “I can ask for you.”
Du Wei: !
He had actually been considering dropping hints to Zhuang Yinyin’s manager that Xie Xizhao was playing the male lead.
With that piece of news, Du Wei was confident that—even though Zhuang Yinyin had only starred in one drama so far—even a top-tier actress would be interested in joining.
But he hadn’t expected Xie Xizhao to personally step in.
If that was the case, their chances of securing her were almost 100%.
He immediately said, “I’ll have Sister Bai draft the contract.”
Xie Xizhao hummed in acknowledgment.
Then, after a brief pause, he asked, “What about the role of An Wen?”
An Wen was another major supporting male character.
Du Wei didn’t want to burden Xie Xizhao with too much, but the truth was—he still hadn’t found a suitable actor for the role.
An Wen was one of the first people to interact with Tao Wen, and his importance even surpassed Ji Mingxian.
Du Wei had been searching for the right actor, but—
Those who looked the part were too expensive.
Those who were affordable…
Well.
Du Wei sighed.
Maybe they were just too picky.
Otherwise, they wouldn’t have come up with the wild idea of sending the script to Xie Xizhao.
Du Wei looked at him expectantly, and Xie Xizhao couldn’t help but chuckle at his eager expression.
Not disappointing him, Xie Xizhao said, “I have someone in mind for the role of An Wen. But I’m not sure about his schedule. Let me check with him first, and I’ll get back to you.”
—
That evening, Xie Xizhao received a document from Xuan Yang.
The document was a thorough 3,000 words long. Compared to Xuan Yang’s stumbling and unclear explanations earlier in the day, this version was far more coherent.
It was obvious that he’d been working on it non-stop after returning home.
Xie Xizhao read through it carefully. Once he confirmed that Xuan Yang just needed time to organize his thoughts—rather than being unable to—he replied with a short message:
[Received. Thanks, Director Xuan.]
The response came instantly:
[You’re welcome! [Cat-being-good.jpg]]
A few moments later, another message popped up:
[Does it have any issues?]
His tone was no different from a student waiting for a teacher’s feedback on their essay.
Xie Xizhao, amused, responded in the same soothing tone one would use on a child:
[Nope. It’s a very good story.]
Xuan Yang: !
Xie Xizhao could almost picture him wagging an invisible tail behind him.
As he sent the message, he had already printed out Xuan Yang’s synopsis.
While jotting down notes, he casually sent a message to someone on his contact list:
[You there?]
Almost at the exact moment he turned off the screen, Xie Xizhao mercilessly crossed out a full three lines of what he considered useless fluff.
If Xuan Yang had been there, he would have witnessed how the gentle idol who had just been reassuring him could, in the next moment, be so coldly decisive when dealing with his manuscript.
Unfortunately, he would never get to see this side of Xie Xizhao.
With that, Xie Xizhao calmly spent the next hour doing a rough cut of the 3,000-word text.
After ensuring that all the essential content had been kept, he set the manuscript aside.
At that very moment, his phone buzzed.
He picked it up.
Ji Yan: Just finished shooting. What’s up, bro?
Xie Xizhao got straight to the point.
Xie Xizhao: Got a role for you. Might lose money. You in?
—
Ji Yan arrived at the location Xie Xizhao had mentioned under the blazing sun, almost feeling as if his brother had tricked him.
He looked at the small building in front of him, its walls mottled and peeling, the yard overgrown with weeds, and the house number half-missing. Even the sunglasses on his face seemed to fall into silence. He had to take them off and double-check the address on his phone.
Then, after a moment of mental preparation, he finally pressed the doorbell.
The doorbell had an aged quality, sounding like a dying duck. Ji Yan endured the sound three times before someone inside finally rushed over—a young girl dressed in Lolita fashion.
She was sweet-looking and apologized as she opened the door, “Sorry, sorry! I was on the phone just now. You must’ve waited a while!”
Ji Yan’s complaints were momentarily swallowed back.
He politely said, “Uh, hello, I’m—”
“Ah!” The girl suddenly let out a surprised cry.
Ji Yan: ?
“You’re Ji Yan!” Her eyes lit up. “You’re Ji Yan, right? Ahhh! I love your portrayal of Huang Ziyan so much! I’m your fan! Wait a second…”
A brief look of confusion crossed her face. “But… why are you here, big brother?”
Ji Yan: “……”
Great.
That was exactly what he wanted to ask.
The two of them stared at each other until the girl suddenly realized something and quickly covered her mouth.
At that moment, the curtain inside was lifted, and Xie Xizhao walked out, carrying an exceptionally plump-looking cat in his arms. He glanced at Ji Yan and greeted him calmly, “You’re here? Come in, then.”
He paused for a moment. “Hmm? Where’s your manager?”
Ji Yan touched his nose, feeling a bit guilty as he followed behind Xie Xizhao. “Why would I need him to tag along just to see you? Besides, today is just an audition, not a contract signing.”
Only half of that was true.
He was indeed close enough to Xie Xizhao that he didn’t need his manager with him, but he had also come to this audition behind his manager’s back.
These past two years had been good for him. While he wasn’t as explosively popular as Xie Xizhao, he had still made a name for himself.
He had been acting exclusively in idol dramas.
His acting skills weren’t particularly outstanding, but they were decent enough. More importantly, he had the looks of a campus heartthrob—handsome, with a fresh and clean temperament—attracting a devoted fanbase of girlfriend fans. He was considered one of the rising young actors.
The moment he saw the script Xie Xizhao had sent him, he knew there was no way his manager would approve.
But…
Xie Xizhao suddenly stopped and said, “Actually, if you’re willing, you could sign the contract today.”
Ji Yan replied, “I’d love to.”
Then, after a brief pause, he added, “Brother, long time no see.”
Three years.
A thousand days and nights.
At first, they kept in frequent contact, but over the past year, as they pursued their own careers on different paths, more important things had taken up their time. If he thought about it carefully, it had been about six months since they last met.
As Ji Yan’s words fell, Xie Xizhao looked up at him.
His gaze was still as warm and clear as Ji Yan remembered. For a fleeting moment, Ji Yan felt as if he had traveled back in time.
Back then, they were just two unknown trainees—Ji Yan merely drifting along, and Xie Xizhao not yet the household name he was now. They used to sit on the dormitory rooftop, drinking non-alcoholic fruit juice and talking about the future.
And in the blink of an eye, the future had arrived.
Ji Yan took a deep breath, suddenly feeling a slight sting in his nose.
As if he could read Ji Yan’s thoughts, Xie Xizhao patted him on the shoulder.
In a softer voice, he said, “It’s been a long time.”
Then, he added, “Director Xuan is waiting for us. Let’s go in.”
—
Ji Yan’s audition went smoothly.
But he had been a little nervous.
Ever since his first breakout role, he hadn’t auditioned much.
Idol dramas didn’t require much acting skill. In a way, image and popularity often outweighed actual performance. Because of that, he wasn’t entirely sure of his own abilities.
When he told Xie Xizhao he had something to do before coming, he had actually been at home studying the script.
Even so, when he stood in front of Director Xuan, his heartbeat felt noticeably faster than usual.
Xuan Yang was different from any director Ji Yan had met before.
He was young and unkempt, seemingly uninterested in the social niceties of the industry. Most of the time, he spoke to Ji Yan in a straightforward manner, leaving Ji Yan with no choice but to follow his rhythm.
Sometimes, Ji Yan couldn’t even understand what he meant.
Xuan Yang would look up at him blankly, making Ji Yan feel like he was the dumb one.
At times like these, Xie Xizhao would step in to smooth things over.
“What Director Xuan means,” he explained, “is that when you walk over, lean slightly to the left. That way, the sunset light will fully envelop your silhouette, creating a better atmosphere.”
He paused before adding, “It’s not that your acting was bad.”
And just like that, Ji Yan understood.
After several test scenes, Ji Yan glanced at Xie Xizhao, who smiled at him and said, “That was great.” Then, Xie Xizhao turned to the slightly chubby man beside him and exchanged a few quick words. Moments later, he walked over and called out, “Ji Yan.”
“You’re a good fit for the role,” he said. “Would you be willing to join?”
He hesitated briefly before adding, “We can adjust the filming schedule according to your availability. The shoot won’t take too long.”
Ji Yan let out a breath of relief.
Then, looking slightly conflicted, he said, “I need to discuss it with my manager first.”
Xie Xizhao nodded. “Alright.”
—
Ji Yan’s prediction was spot on.
The moment he brought up the production team to his manager, the man nearly had a heart attack. Before he could even ask if Ji Yan had lost his mind, Ji Yan quickly added, “The male lead is Xie Xizhao.”
His manager immediately responded, “Xie Xizhao has lost his mind too?”
Ji Yan: “……”
“He invested in this drama,” Ji Yan explained.
“…Sounds like he’s gone completely off the deep end,” his manager commented. “I always knew Yaoxin’s ragtag crew would do something ridiculous if they ever got a big shot involved, but I actually thought Xie Xizhao had a brain.”
After a pause, he continued, “Listen to me, sweetheart. Dump that sweet-talking man and move on to the next, more obedient one. Do you have any idea how many idol drama directors are lined up for your schedule? Next month, we’ll start filming a historical romance, and by the end of the year, you’ll be in that workplace drama’s cast. Do you like workplace dramas? Sure, it’s just another romance wrapped in a different setting, but at least being a lawyer looks prestigious.”
Ji Yan: “……”
“Brother.”
“Isn’t this schedule too packed?” Ji Yan’s manager was already immersed in his own planning. “But you’re in your rising phase—jumping straight from one project to another is the best way to maintain momentum. Actually, Xie Xizhao would make a great publicity boost. You two even filmed Super Rookie together back in the day—what a perfect reunion story! It’s just that his team seems completely uninterested in hyping up CP pairings or scandals…”
“Brother!” Ji Yan had to raise his voice.
The air fell silent.
Ji Yan said, “I want to do this.”
His manager looked at him, caught off guard. “Xiao Yan?”
“I’m joining the cast.” Ji Yan met his gaze, his tone firm. “I like this role. Most importantly, I trust Brother Xie.”
He hesitated for a moment, then averted his eyes. “Haven’t you always wanted me to transition to different roles? I think this is a great opportunity.”
His manager: “……”
What he had meant was transitioning from brainless sweet-romance dramas to ones that were slightly less brainless—not diving headfirst into some clearly unmarketable, avant-garde art film.
The kind that didn’t even speak in a normal language.
He wanted to say more, but Ji Yan had already turned away.
His figure looked even thinner than before.
His manager slowly exhaled a puff of smoke, and after a moment, let out a quiet sigh.
—
Xie Xizhao received Ji Yan’s response that evening.
By then, he already had a printed manuscript in his hands.
He had rewritten Xuan Yang’s synopsis in his own way and sent it back under the guise of a “discussion.” The other party responded with a string of exclamation marks and then quickly followed up with a voice call.
His tone carried an unusual sense of disbelief.
“Xizhao,” he said. “What did you just send me?”
“It looks like the script for Tao Yan’s Summer,” Xie Xizhao replied honestly.
“Have you considered the possibility,” Xie Xizhao patiently said, “that it is the adaptation of your story?”
On the other end of the call, Xuan Yang’s mouth formed an “O” shape.
Fang Yuwei happened to pass by, holding a cat. Curious, she took a glance and, feeling mischievous, attempted to stuff an egg into his open mouth.
Xuanyang shut his mouth.
He seemed to realize something and fell silent.
After a brief pause, he said, “I’ll take another look.”
Then he hung up.
Xie Xizhao lowered his gaze and replied to Ji Yan with a simple “Okay.” He then added, “Let’s have a meal together in a couple of days.” When he received Ji Yan’s cheerful response—”Sure, sure!”—he finally turned off his phone.
About a week later, he received a script from Xuan Yang.
Unlike the synopsis, this was an entirely new version, almost unrecognizable compared to the original.
There were many visible edits.
It was clear that Xuan Yang had made an effort to imitate Xie Xizhao’s narrative style from the synopsis, but it still felt a bit stiff.
He asked, “Is this okay?”
Xie Xizhao first gave him plenty of encouragement.
Only then did he proceed to offer further suggestions.
On the other side, Ji Yan and his agent came to sign the contract on a bright and breezy afternoon. Along with them was Zhuang Yinyin, who was also there to negotiate her contract. Besides that, all the supporting actors had gradually been confirmed as well.
Then, one day, Xuan Yang sent over another document.
This time, the file suffix had reached version 32.
Once again, he carefully asked the same question: [Xizhao, do you think this revision works?]
After sending the message, he patiently waited for Xie Xizhao’s response.
Usually, Xie Xizhao’s replies came with an excruciatingly long buildup. At first, Xuan Yang would always get carried away by the initial praise, but over time, he realized…
It was nothing more than a sugar-coated ice ball.
By now, he had reached the point where just seeing Xie Xizhao send a long text message gave him PTSD.
He waited anxiously.
His phone vibrated. Xuan Yang opened the message.
For a brief moment, his fingers even trembled uncontrollably.
Then, his eyes widened in disbelief.
It was the same familiar minimalist avatar made of simple lines, exuding its usual indifferent aesthetic.
But this time, Xie Xizhao had only sent two words:
[Exceptionally good.]
