Superstar Ch.144

Chapter 144: “The universe balances out in the end—suffering is a form of good fortune.”

When Pei Yiman told Fang Qingqing about the situation, her first reaction was, “Who won?”

“Uh…” Pei Yiman replied, “That question though. Right now, in the Chinese entertainment industry, I honestly can’t think of anyone whose fans could outvote ours.”

Newstar had long become an outdated piece of history. Ever since that time, no matter the scale—big or small—of unofficial or official rankings and voting competitions, Xie Xizhao’s fans had never lost.

Fang Qingqing was satisfied.

She turned around to look for Xie Xizhao, who had just finished a scene. When he heard about the vote, he paused for a moment and asked, “Who won?”

Fang Qingqing responded proudly, “Just checked. Fifty thousand to eight thousand. A sixfold slaughter.”

“And that was without even trying,” she added. “Your casual fanbase is truly unmatched.”

Xie Xizhao laughed and said, “That’s great, then.”

Fang Qingqing had asked who won because she didn’t want to swallow her anger. Xie Xizhao asked the same question purely out of habit—he had already anticipated the result.

To be honest, when it came to competing with Xie Xizhao, Yu Lin had nothing on him except seniority.

In terms of popularity, no one in the traffic-driven entertainment sector could beat Xie Xizhao. Let alone a professional actor who relied on national recognition. As for that national recognition… well, Yu Lin was indeed considered a seasoned and skilled actor by the general public. But he had his fair share of critics. What the casual crowd criticized most was his pitifully few notable achievements.

With equal effort and performance, people tended to favor youthful prodigies over someone achieving success later in life. That was a cruel truth on a surface level, but in Yu Lin’s case, Xie Xizhao didn’t think it had reached that point yet.

He only felt regret for those truly overlooked talents.

Of course, this marketing stunt couldn’t have been initiated by Yu Lin’s team. They’d have to be out of their minds to go up against a top-tier idol in terms of popularity and fanbase. Xie Xizhao’s team also never paid for trending topics that involved stepping on others. So, the only answer was: this had become a naturally occurring hot topic.

The voting had gone on for several days, and Xie Xizhao maintained a massive lead. The vote distribution was so lopsided it left people speechless. Yu Lin’s team could no longer sit still.

—

Xie Xizhao had been filming intense scenes with Yu Lin these past couple of days.

A proper supporting role was supposed to act like a camera and a reaction machine when the antagonist went wild.

But lately, Yu Lin had begun to feel like this “camera” was gaining a mind of its own.

An actor usually had a decent sense of whether their scene partner was performing well. Although that sense had become somewhat muddled due to Xie Xizhao’s acting being a full level above his, over time, Yu Lin grew increasingly agitated.

He started to feel that letting Xie Xizhao into the cast for a bit of traffic and buzz—and to do Hong Wu a favor—was nothing but trouble for himself. That frustration peaked when the results of the vote came out.

“What the hell is going on?!” he snapped at his assistant, his voice teetering on the edge of collapse.

The title of the trending post nearly gave him a brain hemorrhage. What he hated the most was people saying that his Tianzhao Best Actor award was just a consolation prize handed out by the jury to acknowledge his seniority and status!

The assistant was close to tears too. He said, “Brother, I really don’t know… but the studio looked into the account behind that vote. It’s just a super active casual user, maybe…”

Under Yu Lin’s dark, chilling stare, the assistant swallowed hard and forcibly changed his wording. “…maybe it’s someone from Teacher Xie’s side?”

Yu Lin withdrew his gaze.

That was the only explanation he could accept. Of course it was Xie Xizhao. Who else could it possibly be?

The assistant felt like he’d just survived a disaster. And the next day, while filming a fight scene with Xie Xizhao, Yu Lin almost str*ngled him on the spot.

—

This scene was the final showdown. Specter wasn’t an action film, and they hadn’t hired any stunt doubles. The last gunfight, which shifted into close-quarters combat, was performed entirely by the two lead actors themselves.

At the start of filming, the atmosphere had been fairly upbeat. The balance of power and natural opposition between the characters gave off an intense “enemies-to-lovers” dynamic, and as the crew prepared props on set, they were already discussing this epic showdown. The only one who hadn’t slept well the night before was Meng Xuran, who knew the behind-the-scenes tension all too well.

As it turned out, his worry had been entirely justified.

When Yu Lin grabbed Xie Xizhao by the throat, most of the crew didn’t even react at first. The young detective in uniform was pinned to the dust-covered ground, and the hand at his neck kept tightening.

At first, Meng Xuran was still filming close-ups of Yu Lin’s twisted, manic expression. But then, something felt off. The word “Cut!” burst out of him, almost like he was coughing up blood. Just two seconds before that shout, Xie Xizhao had drawn up his knee and, without a hint of hesitation, struck upward. Yu Lin let out a muffled groan of pain and was flipped to the ground in an instant. A perfect take.

Amid the enthusiastic applause, Xie Xizhao leaned down, his voice hoarse:

“Teacher Yu, are you trying to make this the last scene of your entire career?”

Yu Lin looked at him, his eyes gradually regaining clarity. He laughed between breaths. “And what if I am?”

He braced himself on the ground and sat up, meeting the chilly look in Xie Xizhao’s eyes. That moment of post-adrenaline fear had somehow turned into a faint sense of thrill.

He said, “Teacher Xie, I’ve heard people say you’re blessed with a long life. But have you ever considered your second possible cause of death might be this—getting ‘accidentally str*ngled’ by your scene partner, hmm?”

A glint flashed through Xie Xizhao’s eyes.

It was a deep, unreadable look. Yu Lin couldn’t tell what it really meant—he just took it as a sign of Xie Xizhao’s helpless disgust.

Yu Lin pushed himself up from the ground. Xie Xizhao was already standing.

The str*ngulation marks on his neck were stark and jarring—painful to look at, and strangely, laced with a certain dominance and beauty.

He walked over to Meng Xuran, whose eyes were practically bulging out of their sockets.

“You…” Meng Xuran began.

Xie Xizhao gently said, “Shh.”

Their relationship couldn’t be shown as too close. That was also why Meng Xuran, despite being nearly frantic with worry, didn’t dare approach when he saw Xie Xizhao’s subtle gesture.

After saying that, Xie Xizhao added, “Still breathing. Want to shoot some behind-the-scenes footage with the injury makeup?”

Meng Xuran: “……”

He thought to himself, You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, but still called over the photographer in charge of behind-the-scenes shots.

—

That scene had given Fang Qingqing a serious scare. For quite some time afterward, she lectured Xie Xizhao at least ten times a day on the importance of treasuring his life and staying away from lunatics. Xie Xizhao obediently applied the prescribed ointment to his injuries while saying:

“Look on the bright side—his public persona is about to collapse too.”

Str*ngling someone might be brushed off as a moment of intense emotion. But no matter how you spun it, it still sounded violent. Over the past couple of days, even the fans shipping them as an on-screen couple had cooled down noticeably. After all, this was a matter of life and death—and the industry was always most sensitive to these subtle red flags. If Yu Lin wanted to salvage his image, he might need to start adding ginseng to the breakfast he was sending out.

Fang Qingqing stared into his eyes. “You did that on purpose?”

“…” Xie Xizhao couldn’t help but laugh. “How could I?”

Fang Qingqing didn’t know whether to be angry or relieved. With a headache, she muttered, “Just hurry up and finish filming this damn show.”

And so, they did.

The fight scene between Xie Xizhao and Yu Lin was already one of the final few. Within a few days, both actors wrapped up their parts. Only a few solo reshoots remained.

The final scene was set on a rainy day. The young man pushed open the door to his solitary home, drenched from the storm. A milk-white kitten came scampering toward him from a distance, little paws going pat pat pat on the floor. Behind him stretched the pitch-black hallway; before him, the warm glow of orange light.

Bathed in that soft halo, he looked like the only source of light in the entire world.

At that moment, everything had yet to begin. The damp night rain carried no scent of blood, no trace of death. There were no watchful eyes peering from across the hall. The rental ad on the neighbor’s door was still clinging to the wall in the stairwell.

Xie Xizhao picked up the cat, smiling as he said to it, “You didn’t break anything today, did you? No canned food if you did…”

Behind him, the sound of rain grew louder. In the midst of that hushed, sleeping world, Meng Xuran called out, “Cut!”

Then he added, “Congratulations to Teacher Xie on wrapping!”

The cat squirmed out of Xie Xizhao’s arms and tumbled to the floor. Xie Xizhao loosened his tie and casually tore down the rental ad from the wall.

That night, he didn’t attend the wrap party. Neither did Yu Lin. For a long time afterward, the two of them had no further contact. Everything remained calm and quiet—but Xie Xizhao knew that this was when the real knives and shadows began.

—

After filming wrapped, the project entered a string of submission and approval processes.

Specter was a cold-toned suspense film, and the production team had hoped to release it in winter—or at least before spring arrived. But things didn’t go as planned. Yu Lin’s team took a heavy interest in the promotion and editing process, assigning people to monitor every step.

Meng Xuran, ground down to exhaustion, went to Xie Xizhao for help.

The latter said, “I don’t care about the promo. But the editing is non-negotiable.”

Meng Xuran hesitated. “Teacher Xiao Xie, about that…”

Fang Qingqing interjected, “Our company, Yaoxin, has a full PR team.”

Her eyes sparkled with a polite smile, laced with unmistakable threat. There was no doubt that if she didn’t get the answer she wanted today, by tomorrow Meng Xuran would be trending at #1—brutally torn apart by Xie Xizhao’s fans.

Meng Xuran shouted, “I’m fucking done with this shit!”

He was truly on the verge of a breakdown.

Xie Xizhao nodded calmly. “Then please send us the master footage. We’ll handle the editing on our side. Oh, and if you’re holding a retirement dinner, let us know in advance. Director Hong and I will be there on time.”

Meng Xuran: “……”

Heartless, unyielding lunatic—doesn’t listen to reason at all!

He’d twisted and turned, bent over backward, practically worked himself into an early grave editing eight different versions—only for Xie Xizhao to reject every single one. In the end, even Fang Qingqing couldn’t bear to watch anymore.

She said, “Honestly… this one’s probably good enough, right?”

Xie Xizhao asked, “Sister Qing, do you think we’re considered the ‘good guys’ in the entertainment industry?”

Without hesitation, Fang Qingqing replied, “Of course.”

No one could be more honest than them—seriously!

Xie Xizhao continued, “Now, if you were Meng Xuran, and on one side you had a villain who might str*ngle you to death the moment he got excited, and on the other side, an honest ‘good guy’… and you had to choose one to b*lly—who would you pick?”

Fang Qingqing opened her mouth, “I’d pick—”

…Goddammit.

She turned around and walked away, wringing a ninth version out of Meng Xuran.

Xie Xizhao finally said, “That’s the one.”

The way Meng Xuran looked at Xie Xizhao was pure wounded grievance, like a scorned housewife. And strangely enough, Yu Lin didn’t make any comments about this version either.

Fang Qingqing fell silent. She felt like what little sympathy she had left had been squeezed dry once again.

Xie Xizhao consoled her, “It’s alright, Sister Qing. The universe balances out in the end—suffering is a form of good fortune.”

Fang Qingqing: “……”

Who are you calling stupid in a roundabout way?

—

The production crew was preparing for the premiere, while the outside world was just as lively—if not more so. After the vote, the fanbases of Yu Lin and Xie Xizhao had completely torn into each other. With Xie Xizhao’s massive fanbase—plus his fair share of haters—Yu Lin ended up being used as a weapon in the crossfire.

One side was yelling, “What era is this? Still trying to pull rank with seniority?”

The other side snapped back, “Typical of a traffic-star fandom. Barely acted in a few dramas and already looking down on everyone.”

All the arguing reached a peak the moment the photos of the bruises on Xie Xizhao’s neck leaked online.

There was no way to hide those marks.

Xie Xizhao wasn’t just anyone—every move he made was watched. If it wasn’t fans on his commute, it was journalists. Once the photos got out, all of Weibo exploded.

As soon as a gossip account posted them, both sides launched into an all-out battle.

Pei Yiman consulted Xie Xizhao first before releasing a statement. It claimed the injury had been sustained accidentally during filming, with no mention of any details.

But Xie Xizhao’s fans instantly picked up on the strange tone of it—and immediately tagged the production team demanding answers.

Of course, their questions weren’t really aimed at the crew. The subtext was obvious—they were throwing shade. Yu Lin’s fans were also thrown into confusion. Those bruises were real, no denying that.

But soon, a few marketing accounts began steering the conversation. They praised both leads of Specter for their dedication and professionalism. Alongside that, they released another set of behind-the-scenes photos—specifically the moment where Xie Xizhao countered Yu Lin and flipped him to the ground.

That set of behind-the-scenes photos managed to temporarily ease some of the public’s suspicion. People were willing to accept it as just a rough, back-and-forth fight scene.

But Xie Xizhao’s fans weren’t having it.

One of his biggest fan accounts dropped screenshots from a recent group livestream.

Xie Xizhao’s livestreams had always been casual, and this one was no different. The dorm’s heating was turned all the way up, and he wore only a simple crew-neck T-shirt, which revealed his clean, elegant collarbones.

And just above those collarbones—faint bruises from someone’s grip still lingered.

The caption was icy:

[It’s been this long and it still hasn’t healed—and you’re telling me that was an accident?]

One of Yu Lin’s major fans, clearly on the defensive, responded with a sarcastic retort:

[…What, you think it was attempted m*rder?]

Both sides acted like they had a point. The general public didn’t know who to believe and settled somewhere in the middle, watching the drama unfold like a roadside spectacle.

Back and forth, fight after fight, the gap between filming and the drama’s actual release was filled with wave after wave of juicy gossip. And the buzz only kept growing. After half a month of non-stop drama, Specter climbed its way to the top of every major forum’s “Most Anticipated Drama” list.

And right then, just as the tension peaked, Specter finally completed all its review and promotional procedures.

It was officially scheduled to air at the end of January.

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