Superstar Ch.141

Chapter 141: So Many Things

Two days ago, Xie Xizhao had actually had a meal with the production team of Specter.

As expected, it was a very mature team. At a glance, Xie Xizhao recognized several well-known behind-the-scenes figures by name. The director, Meng Xuran, was unexpectedly young—just in his early forties. He had a cheerful personality and chatted with Xie Xizhao for a long time, even mentioning that his little niece was a big fan of his.

Of course, Xie Xizhao wasn’t naïve enough to believe that statement was as genuine as the typical “I used to hold you when you were little” kind of remark. However, Meng Xuran’s actions clearly conveyed a message:

The entire production team of Specter seemed quite satisfied with him.

“How could they not be?” Dou Fei said bluntly when they had a meal together. “Two Best Actor winners—do you know how big of a sensation that is? This show is already making waves before even airing. Of course, they’re going to treat you like royalty.”

Ever since he got close to Xie Xizhao, Dou Fei had become increasingly casual with his words. After speaking, he suddenly remembered something. “Oh, by the way, have you met Senior Brother Yu Lin yet?”

Yu Lin had graduated from the same school as him, two years ahead.

Judging by his tone, they seemed to know each other quite well.

Xie Xizhao replied, “No.”

“He’s been working back-to-back on schedules and got too exhausted, so he fell ill and couldn’t come these past couple of days.”

Recalling Meng Xuran’s explanation, Xie Xizhao repeated it truthfully.

Hearing this, Dou Fei looked a little disappointed but quickly shrugged it off. “No worries, you’ll have plenty of chances to meet him.”

“Senior Brother Yu Lin is a pretty good person,” he added.

A good person—but not such a good character.

After reading the script for Specter, Xie Xizhao had only one thought:

This villain was absolutely insane.

The character Yu Lin played was named Di Shuo, the main antagonist of Specter. He was the quintessential born criminal—lacking morality, cold-blooded, and utterly ruthless. However, unlike most real-world criminals, he also possessed exceptionally high intelligence and an extraordinary ability to disguise himself.

The series had twenty episodes, covering four cases. In three of them, he orchestrated murders through manipulation. In the fourth, he personally committed the crime—killing his own mother. And in the end, when the protagonist, Huo Xiangyang, led a team to search his home, they discovered that his father had been dismembered and buried in the garden twenty years ago. In the freezer, they found the bones and skull of his younger brother.

A complete family reunion.

Despite being such a deranged murderer, his public identity was that of a philanthropist and an outstanding young entrepreneur—a character crafted to the extreme in terms of shocking contrast.

It was a terrifying role, yet Xie Xizhao wasn’t fazed.

He drew a clear distinction between fiction and reality. Watching crime thrillers was just entertainment, but reading a script was purely work. His personal emotions never interfered with his professional judgment.

From a professional standpoint, all he saw was how unexpectedly well-developed the character was.

Playing a villain wasn’t a bad thing. After all, it wasn’t real.

Di Shuo’s character had limitless potential. From his early persona as a refined and courteous gentleman to the spine-chilling revelations later on, every aspect of his role offered opportunities for performance. Xie Xizhao could already imagine the different ways fans would hype the character before and after the big reveal.

If he were in charge of marketing, he would first promote Di Shuo as a charming, gentle character, and then later brand him as the most attractive villain in history.

Unethical?

Morally questionable?

It was pretty morally questionable. Xie Xizhao would never do something like that himself, but he also knew better than to overestimate the ethical standards of major corporations.

By comparison, Huo Xiangyang’s character seemed a bit underwhelming.

—

Recently, Xie Xizhao had been praised as someone who could easily become a screenwriter. But no one knew that he had actually directed a film before. He had even written scripts.

However, compared to his roles as an actor and an idol, opportunities in that direction were far fewer. So, it had only been a brief indulgence for him.

Even so, indulgence required results. The system never granted beginners any protection period. And the simplest way to highlight a protagonist blessed by fate was to perfect their character setting from the very start.

The downside was that such roles didn’t leave much room for actors to showcase their skills. The upside was that as long as the actor met the minimum standard, under his guidance, the inherent conflicts within the character and the storyline would be enough to make them shine—and even earn them widespread praise.

In short, it was like giving a singer with an average voice a song that perfectly suited their range.

From this perspective, he could understand why the rival company had deliberately tried to trip him up with this approach.

And a character like Huo Xiangyang would definitely not be included in that category.

Xie Xizhao had a notebook at hand, a personal habit of his.

Whenever he read a script for the first time, he would organize character bios. At this moment, Huo Xiangyang’s life story was written on the page before him.

Middle-class family, both parents alive—he even had both a cat and a dog.

Top student throughout his school years, aced his college entrance exams, and got into the public security university right in his hometown. After graduation, he smoothly entered the local police department.

He had solved a few cases and, thanks to good luck, had been involved in a major case early in his career. He handled it well and earned a commendation, allowing him to rise through the ranks faster than usual.

The unluckiest thing in Huo Xiangyang’s life was probably crossing paths with the psychopath Di Shuo.

And worse—Di Shuo was hell-bent on killing him.

On the surface, it seemed like a solid character.

If Xie Xizhao were actually Huo Xiangyang in real life, he would probably be quite happy. Influenced by crime dramas and police films, many boys had dreamed of becoming police officers when they were young—Xie Xizhao was no exception. As he grew up, he chose a career path that suited him better, but if given the chance, he wouldn’t mind experiencing that kind of life.

However, that perspective was based on his personal thoughts and on the assumption that this was real life.

As a fictional character, what Huo Xiangyang lacked was the core elements of storytelling and discussion value.

Simply put, in this drama, he was nothing more than a functional character.

—

There wasn’t much to say about it.

When Hong Wu first approached Xie Xizhao, Jing Yin had just exploded in popularity. To the production team, his casting was less about his acting skills and more about Hong Wu’s influence and his ability to attract viewers. As for Hong Wu, he had intentionally wanted to support him. At that time, this project was indeed a step up for him.

In fact, after Xie Xizhao won Best Actor, Hong Wu had even brought it up, telling him that he could turn down the role if he wanted, without worrying about him. He had said, “After Stellar Awards, you won’t have to worry about getting roles. There’s no need.”

Hong Wu had made his stance clear—he was a straightforward person who never played mind games.

But Xie Xizhao still signed the contract.

His explanation to Fang Qingqing was also simple: “No need.”

Of course, Hong Wu would have covered for him, but it would still be going back on his word. While Meng Xuran probably wouldn’t say anything, the crew members might not be as understanding. There was no need to leave people with something to talk about for no reason.

Besides, with a renowned director backing it and a solid production team, even if the character was a bit flat, this project couldn’t be considered a bad deal for him at this stage in his career.

Xie Xizhao had signed the contract and mentally prepared himself.

But he hadn’t expected the role to be this much of a background character.

But when he read the part where Di Shuo wanted to kill him, and the internal monologue explained that it was purely because of his position as a “Criminal Investigation Captain”—a provocation toward law enforcement rather than anything personal against Huo Xiangyang himself—even someone as composed as Xie Xizhao couldn’t help but twitch the corner of his mouth.

…Damn.

Not even a shred of a dynamic to work with.

So this was the kind of show that prided itself on being a serious dual-male-lead drama with correct values, refusing to indulge in unnecessary embellishments. To outsiders, though, it might just seem like an overly cautious attempt to prevent a “pretty-boy idol” from siphoning attention in any way.

Said pretty-boy idol closed the script without a care.

His kitten had started nibbling at his pant leg again, whining to climb up and play. Xie Xizhao grabbed it by the scruff of its neck, holding its gaze for two seconds. Then, he laughed.

“Go,” he said. “Go find your dad.”

—

Cat dad was in a daze again.

Xie Xizhao placed the kitten in his hands. He took it, but his lips quivered like he was about to cry again.

“Stop,” Xie Xizhao said.

He pulled out his phone and waved it in front of him.

“See this?”

Some internet warrior had fired shots and then disappeared, leaving behind a battlefield still shrouded in metaphorical gunpowder. Xie Xizhao’s fans were currently battling with random netizens, the power imbalance roughly 99:1—a complete and utter stomp.

The reality was, most people could see the truth. Haters could stir the pot, but they couldn’t dictate the narrative. And the dramatized think pieces making the rounds? Not even remotely relevant.

As for what little drama remained, Xie Xizhao said:

“It has nothing to do with you.”

—

Meanwhile, Xuan Yang was being dragged away by Du Wei. The latter rubbed his hands together, sounding eager to please. “Teacher Xie, just ignore him. He’s having one of his episodes again. He’s been writing a script these past couple of days and forgot how to act like a human. Though, honestly, he might also just be lovesick. You should come by more oft—mmph!”

He didn’t get to finish that sentence.

He was dragged away with his mouth covered. Fang Yuwei, both adorable and apologetic, said, “Teacher Xiao Zhao, I’m so sorry. You know how those two are… Their brains aren’t exactly wired right…”

Xie Xizhao: …

He was a little curious. “Director Xuan is working on a new script?”

She smiled and nodded. “Yeah.”

“Quite a few investors have already approached him,” she added. “Looks like this one’s going to be a movie. But Director Xuan says he’s going with the flow—his inspiration matters most.”

Xie Xizhao agreed with that sentiment.

“Good luck,” he said.

Off to the side, Xuan Yang blinked furiously.

—

At noon, the production team gathered for a meal. Ji Yan had just come off a variety show and arrived looking a bit travel-worn. The moment he sat down, he asked, “Brother, your next project is with Yu Lin, huh?”

Xie Xizhao chuckled. “You already know?”

“Of course, who do you think I am?” Ji Yan looked rather pleased with himself.

He seemed much more energetic than he had in the past few days—he must have figured some things out.

Xie Xizhao didn’t ask about his next project, but Ji Yan beat him to it.

Since the topic had already come up, Xie Xizhao went with it. “Do you know Yu Lin?”

“Sort of. We filmed a variety show together once. Well, he was the main guest, and I was just in the fan section,” Ji Yan said. “He’s a pretty decent guy.”

Thinking for a moment, he added, “He doesn’t put on airs behind the scenes either. He treats us juniors and the staff well, even chats and jokes with us. For someone of his status, that’s pretty rare. Gives off a really good impression.”

Xie Xizhao hummed in acknowledgment.

This was the second time he’d heard someone give such a positive review of his future co-star.

It sounded like filming would go smoothly—and in reality, that’s exactly what happened.

—

Half a month later, Specter officially started shooting.

The first scene featured both male leads, and they nailed it in one take.

The production had started off so smoothly that Meng Xuran was naturally in high spirits. As the crew packed up the props, Xie Xizhao wiped the fake blood off his face and took the water bottle handed to him by his assistant.

At that moment, someone sat down beside him.

—

Yu Lin had arrived the day before the shoot.

Normally, most productions held a table read before filming began. But Meng Xuran felt that the script was too technical to be altered much, so instead of a traditional table read, each lead actor met separately with the screenwriter and director for discussions.

As a result, this was Xie Xizhao’s first time meeting the so-called “down-to-earth and low-profile” newly crowned Best Actor.

From Xie Xizhao’s perspective, Yu Lin had a rather striking appearance.

He didn’t have the classic righteous-leading-man kind of handsomeness. Instead, his good looks carried a touch of mischief—largely thanks to those slightly upturned, fox-like eyes.

Even though he had arrived just a day before filming, he showed up to set bright and early.

At around 8 AM—the time when most big-name actors were still enjoying their morning sleep—he was already at the prepped set. Not only that, but he had also instructed his assistant to bring hot breakfasts for all the crew members present at the time. Additionally, he handed out small gifts to everyone on set, from the lead actors and director down to the production assistants.

Since Specter had begun production, Yu Lin hadn’t been able to participate much due to scheduling conflicts and health issues. His absence had sometimes caused logistical headaches, and from what Xie Xizhao had heard, quite a few crew members had expressed their frustrations.

After that day, though, all those complaints vanished.

Xie Xizhao received a gift as well—a brooch from a well-known luxury brand, worth somewhere in the six-figure range.

It was an undeniably expensive gesture, and considering it was from a brand Yu Lin endorsed, it was also a particularly thoughtful one.

After a moment of consideration, Xie Xizhao had his assistant return a gift in kind—but he didn’t wear the brooch himself.

The jade bead bracelet Xie Xizhao had given in return was now on Yu Lin’s wrist, gleaming softly under the sunlight.

Perhaps sensing his gaze, Yu Lin smiled. “Thank you for the gift, Teacher Xie. I really like it.”

Xie Xizhao smiled as well.

“You’re welcome. It suits you well.”

His voice was gentle, carrying a natural steadiness and warmth. Yu Lin studied him for a moment before remarking thoughtfully, “You’re not quite like what I imagined.”

This time, it wasn’t just polite small talk.

Since there was still some time before the next scene, Xie Xizhao’s assistant tactfully left, giving them space.

Inside the resting area, Xie Xizhao unexpectedly lifted his gaze as well.

After a brief pause, he looked at Yu Lin with a hint of curiosity. “How so?”

Yu Lin unconsciously adjusted the jade bracelet on his wrist, hesitating for a couple of seconds.

How so?

He wasn’t entirely sure how to put it into words.

He had met many younger actors—plenty of popular idols and traffic stars. Most of them carried a certain restless energy, especially those who had risen to fame at a young age.

Of course, from another perspective, perhaps “restlessness” wasn’t the right word. These were the darlings of fate, after all—one could simply call it the arrogance of the favored.

But Xie Xizhao was different.

He was younger and more striking than most of the idol actors Yu Lin had encountered, yet he carried himself with a calmness that was rare among them. Whether in how he interacted with others or his overall demeanor, there was a quiet confidence and poise.

Yu Lin was genuinely surprised.

And then, there was that scene.

What had surprised him the most was the scene they had just performed together.

Yu Lin had watched Xie Xizhao act before.

From Jing Yin, who facilitated his transition into the industry and had Hong Wu personally place him into the Specter production team, to Tao Yan, who later helped him win the Best Actor award—Yu Lin had carefully watched and studied almost every episode.

Xie Xizhao was certainly a very talented actor, but no matter how gifted he was, he had only acted in two dramas.

Due to location constraints, the scene they had just filmed was a later part of the story.

The body of Di Shuo’s mother had been discovered, and he was appearing as the victim. He had to portray the suffering and sorrow of a victim, while also showing his distress and anger at the gruesome crime scene.

Moreover, given the series of suspicious cases before this, his character was under immense pressure at this moment. However, he couldn’t express that pressure outwardly, making it difficult to strike the right balance in performance.

Yu Lin had already prepared himself for multiple takes. He stood to the side with his gaze lowered, his face set in the restrained pain he had practiced countless times.

He adjusted his angle, and when the camera panned over, it caught the slight, eerie smile at the corner of his lips—perfectly timed to the second.

He exhaled in relief, but at the same time, he felt a tinge of regret.

A shot like this was difficult to get just right. He thought, ‘It took so much effort to nail the timing, but I can’t even use it.’

Then, he heard Meng Xuran’s excited “Cut!”

Was it a great shot?

Although he hadn’t seen it himself, it was clearly impressive.

Otherwise, Meng Xuran wouldn’t have sounded so thrilled.

But Yu Lin didn’t understand why.

He didn’t understand, so he ended up talking a lot—about Xie Xizhao’s appearance and personality, about the scene he had just filmed. It wasn’t until the end that he suddenly realized something and gave an apologetic smile. “Sorry, did I bother you?”

“I didn’t mean anything by it,” he said. “I was just really surprised.”

He paused for a moment before saying sincerely, “I actually quite like you, Xizhao. When Teacher Hong first recommended you to me, I was a bit hesitant. Mainly… well, you know. It’s not prejudice or anything. I don’t have any issues with younger actors—it’s just an objective fact.”

He made a joke, “Just the other day, during the script reading, I was telling a few of the writers and the director that it felt like Teacher Xiao Zhao won the Best Actor award just to slap me in the face. Maybe I was badmouthing him behind his back without realizing it, and he overheard me.”

As he spoke, he took a sip of water, his demeanor warm and natural. Anyone watching would assume he was a kind and approachable senior, and that the two of them were having an engaging conversation.

And in a way, that was true.

Yu Lin was extremely polite.

Given his status, he had no obligation to bring gifts or actively initiate conversations with Xie Xizhao. Yet throughout their talk, he continuously found topics to keep the interaction going, taking the initiative to create a sense of familiarity between them. In contrast, Xie Xizhao remained noticeably distant.

Altogether, he had spoken no more than ten sentences—almost to the point of seeming rude.

At this moment, as Yu Lin finished speaking, he seemed to realize his own lack of manners. Finally, he opened his mouth, but what he said was: “During the last crew dinner, were you feeling unwell, Teacher Yu?”

Yu Lin was briefly taken aback.

Then, he nodded. “Yeah, I was working non-stop back then. Just couldn’t keep up. Sorry about that.”

Xie Xizhao let out a quiet “Oh.”

Then, under Yu Lin’s slightly puzzled gaze—

He slowly revealed a beautiful, harmless smile.

“I thought maybe Teacher Yu heard that I won Best Actor and rushed to hire smear campaigns overnight, trying to make me undeserving of the title,” Xie Xizhao said slowly. “And then had the screenwriters rewrite my character overnight, just to make sure I wouldn’t get a single moment in the spotlight.”

“So many things to do. So busy, aren’t you?”

As his words fell, silence blanketed the room.

Xie Xizhao lowered his head, calmly flipping to the next page of the script.

In his mind, there was only one thought:

Nice.

The world was finally quiet.

<< _ >>

**TN

Woah woah woah! So it was him! Woah!