Superstar Ch.132

Chapter 132: “Today is a Full Moon”

When Xie Xizhao called “Cut!” once again, the entire set fell into silence.

The supporting actress, Zhuang Yinyin, was a gentle-looking, quiet, and reserved young woman.

She had formal training and excellent acting skills, intending to pursue a career in serious dramas. At the very least, in all the days she had been on set, she had the fewest NGs (outtakes) apart from Xie Xizhao. Of course, she was also here because of him.

Or rather, her team was. That was the only reason they had agreed for her to take on this role.

They were here to ride Xie Xizhao’s momentum. But neither she, nor her team, nor anyone else had ever imagined—

That on this set, Xie Xizhao truly had the final say.

This scene was between her and Ji Yan, a semi-chase sequence. At this moment, both of them were crouched in an alley, looking somewhat disheveled. But more than their appearance, their attention was focused on the other side.

Zhuang Yinyin was dressed in a pale yellow floral dress, holding a cat in her arms. She spoke softly,

“He… I mean, Director Xie, is he always like this?”

“I mean…” She struggled to find the right words.

Xie Xizhao was very gentle with her.

In fact, he was polite and courteous to the entire crew.

At first, she had even told her manager that this legendary top-tier celebrity had a surprisingly good temper.

But once filming truly began, she realized that wasn’t quite accurate.

It wasn’t that he had a sudden change in temperament, it was just that…

Ji Yan took a long gulp of hot water before finally saying, “He invested twenty million. If you really think about it, you, me, and this entire production team are essentially working for him.”

“That’s true.”

Zhuang Yinyin thought for a moment. “I just feel like he’s a bit… forceful?”

“I don’t mean it in a bad way,” she quickly added in a hushed voice. “It’s just that, well, Director Xuan is the actual director.”

Putting herself in Xuan Yang’s shoes, she figured that even though Xie Xizhao was the investor, it must still be an awkward situation for the director.

Ji Yan chuckled.

It was a mysterious kind of laugh, carrying a mix of fondness and sympathy, like a senior watching a junior make a naive remark. Zhuang Yinyin suddenly found herself unable to drink her water. Hesitantly, she asked, “Did I… say something wrong?”

“No.” Ji Yan shook his head.

After thinking for a moment, he said, “He is quite forceful. But he won’t force you to do anything.”

“Look at Director Xuan,” he continued. “Xie Xizhao has made so many suggestions. Has Director Xuan ever gotten angry or upset?”

Zhuang Yinyin blinked.

“As for everything else,” Ji Yan paused for two seconds before continuing,

“Let me teach you something.”

“Never doubt Xie Xizhao,” he said slowly. “Because it’s completely pointless. Countless people have learned this lesson. Trust me, you won’t regret it.”

On the other side, Xie Xizhao walked over to Xuan Yang.

The young director was wearing a color-blocked sweater with cargo pants, creating a mix-and-match look that felt a little chaotic. His mind was just as messy as his outfit at that moment. When he looked at Xie Xizhao, there was almost a pleading expression in his eyes.

“…Xizhao.”

“I really want to add this scene,” he said. “Really, really. If I don’t add it, I might die. Please don’t—”

Xie Xizhao looked at him.

He spoke softly, “We had an agreement.”

First, the shooting schedule would be followed as planned.

Second, any changes had to be discussed with him first, and if he approved, they could be added.

Xuan Yang ruffled his hair in frustration.

There was a hint of guilt in his eyes, but also undeniable eagerness.

Xie Xizhao watched him for a moment before sighing.

“Explain your thought process to me,” he said.

Xuan Yang: !

It was as if he had been granted amnesty. He immediately lifted his head and launched into an impassioned explanation. “I just think An Wen shouldn’t let Tao Yan go here. He should take Tao Yan back with him, and then later, Tao Yan would escape again—from An Wen’s house. In the meantime, An Wen’s grandmother could also make an appearance…”

Xie Xizhao reminded him, “The grandmother is over eighty. She probably wouldn’t be able to travel that far.”

Xuan Yang’s excitement stuttered for a moment.

“Then let the owner of the small shop next door push her to An Wen’s house,” he said. “The shop owner and the grandmother have always been close despite their age difference. He also knows about Tao Yan’s family situation. Ah! I got it! He was actually childhood sweethearts with Tao Yan’s mother…”

As inspiration struck, his words spilled out faster and faster.

Beside him, Du Wei hesitated, wanting to speak but holding back.

This scene was all too familiar.

Countless times before, Xuan Yang had impulsively slapped his forehead mid-shoot, only to overturn everything they had planned and start over.

And in that process, yet another new subplot would emerge.

Sometimes, Du Wei had a vague feeling that something wasn’t quite right.

But he had always been terrible at academics, and Xuan Yang was too good at acting spoiled. In the end, they always followed Xuan Yang’s spur-of-the-moment inspiration.

It wasn’t until Xie Xizhao established the rule of “sticking to the script” that Du Wei suddenly realized—constantly rewriting the script on the fly wasn’t actually normal.

Even so, Xie Xizhao didn’t outright reject Xuan Yang’s idea.

He listened quietly until Xuan Yang finished, then asked, “Do you really want to add it?”

Xuan Yang nodded frantically.

Xie Xizhao said, “Alright.”

He first turned to Du Wei and said, “Brother Wei, let everyone take a break and grab something to eat.”

Then, he looked at Xuan Yang, whose eyes had widened in surprise, and said calmly, “If you really want to add it, I’ll walk through it with you.”

*

What did he mean by “walk through it”?

Going over the script again wouldn’t work—it would be too slow.

So, they sat down in a room. Xuan Yang explained his ideas while Xie Xizhao wrote the script.

He wrote incredibly fast. Xuan Yang’s version was a straightforward narration, but under Xie Xizhao’s hand, it became a structured story with buildup, transitions, and resolution. Once they had roughly gone over the script, Xie Xizhao took Xuan Yang to the set.

Just the two of them. No cameras, just a phone.

Under the gentle spring breeze, Xie Xizhao led him back to the original alley to simulate the first scene.

He asked, “Here, An Wen takes Tao Yan back. What would Tao Yan be feeling?”

“Let me think,” Xuan Yang muttered to himself. “They’re best friends. Tao Yan shared all his secrets with An Wen. But An Wen betrayed him. Hmm, so he probably wouldn’t believe it—he’d be in shock.”

In an instant, his expression changed.

One second, he was speaking gently with Xuan Yang, and the next, he was completely immersed in the scene—his entire being radiating confusion and disbelief.

Xuan Yang’s heart pounded as he watched, completely forgetting that he was holding a phone. He stared, unblinking, at Xie Xizhao’s eyes.

Next scene: the room.

Xie Xizhao asked, “Once they get back to An Wen’s house, where would Tao Yan stay?”

Xuan Yang answered without hesitation, “He should stay with An Wen. An Wen doesn’t want to let him go. Actually, he just wants to take care of him—it’s not the betrayal Tao Yan thinks it is.”

They walked into An Wen’s room.

It was a space filled with youthful energy.

Black-and-white sports-themed decor, a basketball by the bed, and scattered clothes everywhere.

Standing amidst the scattered clothes, Xie Xizhao lifted his head and looked at Xuan Yang. “Even though they’ve come back together, they’re bound to have an argument. Because they can’t convince each other—that’s what we just discussed, right?”

Xuan Yang’s lips moved slightly. “Right.”

Xie Xizhao asked, “How intense should the argument be?”

*

It was like branches wildly sprouting from a tree trunk.

Xuan Yang had never experienced anything like this before.

Everything in his mind was being materialized, led by someone else, as if his thoughts were being pulled into reality ahead of time. But he knew—Xie Xizhao was right about everything.

He was his soulmate, his kindred spirit. He had known it ever since Xie Xizhao wrote that song. They were the same kind of people.

People driven by inspiration, traveling toward the distant landscapes of their minds.

Xie Xizhao knew what he was thinking, understood every absurd yet wonderful idea he had. Xuan Yang no longer had to stumble through the dark, no longer had to struggle blindly. Xie Xizhao led him forward, unfolding every fleeting thought in his mind, every spark of inspiration, and then—

They arrived at a dead end.

*

Under the plane trees, Xuan Yang blinked his dry eyes.

The sky had already darkened.

They had walked through the story from afternoon into the night—without eating, without drinking. Xie Xizhao had stayed with him, expanding from that one additional scene he wanted, pushing forward all the way to the story’s conclusion.

And then, Xuan Yang finally realized—

He was wrong.

The scene he wanted to add would destroy the characters he had originally created.

Worse, it would ruin everything that was meant to follow.

Unless—he wanted to write a new story.

A different story.

A story that was no longer Tao Yan’s Summer.

Otherwise, this was a completely, utterly wrong decision.

Standing beneath the plane tree, his face burned with shame.

Xie Xizhao had spent all this time with him.

He was completely consumed by regret and self-reproach. His lips moved, wanting to say I’m sorry.

But Xie Xizhao spoke first.

With a smile, he said, “Tonight is a full moon.”

Xuan Yang instinctively followed his gaze, lifting his head to see the perfectly round moon hanging in the sky.

And then, he heard the words that would stay with him for a lifetime.

Words that would become the last—and the first—genuine praise he had ever received from someone outside his family, before his name, Xuan Yang, ascended to the most prestigious award stages, both nationally and internationally.

“Director Xuan,” Xie Xizhao said, “you are a very talented director. I hope the whole world sees your talent. Not just me. Not just the moon.”

He paused for a moment before continuing, “I know change is hard, and it’s painful. But… you’re so close.”

“For today—for me, who has walked through this with you, step by step,” he said, “let’s try, okay?”

Try—

To break free from the cage of habit.

To abandon the constraints of old thinking.

Try—

To pull out the cork.

No.

Not just pull it out.

Shatter it.

Shatter it completely.

Let inspiration flood out like water, drowning this barren, lifeless world.

And then—

Leave a mark on every corner of it.

He had already been through the lowest of lows.

What did he have to lose?

*

No one knew exactly what had happened that day between Xuan Yang and Xie Xizhao.

But after that day, everyone in the Tao Yan’s Summer production team noticed—

Their director had changed.

He was no longer stubborn.

No longer impulsively whimsical.

Xuan Yang grew quieter and quieter, but his gaze became more and more resolute. Whenever he was unsure about something, he no longer waited for the investor to call cut—instead, he would take the initiative, seek him out, and the two of them would hole up in a small room, discussing for half an hour at a time.

And so, everything continued as usual, with only subtle changes unfolding along the way.

Eight episodes. One month.

The production moved forward rapidly, strictly following the shooting schedule.

The last three actors to wrap up filming were Ji Yan, Zhuang Yinyin, and Xie Xizhao.

That night, they ordered takeout. Even Zhuang Yinyin, who was usually the most reserved and gentle, got tipsy from beer and passionately debated her latest favorite ship with Ye Yuwei in the courtyard.

Meanwhile, in a quieter corner of the barbecue stall, Xie Xizhao’s eyes remained clear.

Because of his health, he neither drank nor smoked.

And so, he and Du Wei—who had also quit drinking due to stomach issues—were the only ones left sober, taking on the responsibility of looking after the drunkards.

That night, there were no stars in the sky.

After they finished helping everyone back to their rooms, the two of them stood in the corridor.

A long silence passed before Du Wei chuckled. “Teacher Xie, take a guess—how do you think our show will perform?”

Though it was phrased as a question, his tone was lighter than ever before.

Xie Xizhao smiled.

“Honestly, I’m a very pragmatic person,” he said.

Du Wei’s expression faltered slightly.

Then, Du Wei heard Xie Xizhao finish his sentence:

“So, I never waste my time acting in a show that will flop.”

He looked at Du Wei and blinked. “Not even if the director is an absolute cutie.”

Du Wei burst into laughter.

Behind him, Xuan Yang was sprawled out, fast asleep, completely unaware of anything around him.

A little orange cat perched on his stomach, snoring softly in the same posture. After a month of unofficial employment, it had gained two more pounds.

—

Two days later, Tao Yan’s Summer officially wrapped.

The entire production team shifted their focus to editing, review submissions, and other post-production procedures.

Two months later, all necessary paperwork was finalized.

That night, Tao Yan’s Summer announced its official release date.

The internet fell into a long silence, as if it had been momentarily stunned before being jolted back to life. Skepticism, shock, and endless debates erupted online. Amidst the chaos, Xie Xizhao’s team and the production crew steadily carried out their promotional plans.

And just like that, time moved forward—

Until the premiere of Tao Yan’s Summer.

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