Chapter 146: “What are we even arguing about?”
In fact, it wasn’t just the film and television forums raising this question.
Similar posts had also appeared on Weibo, gaining quite a bit of traction.
There were always some people in this world who, while staying loyal to their own lesser-known favorites, never missed a single trending topic — even as global A-list celebrities came and went.
The blogger named “Strawberry Latte, 30% Sweet” was exactly this type of person.
She had her own favorite idols, but she also knew about Xie Xizhao and loved following dramas. She had watched two of Xie Xizhao’s previous dramas — this time marked the third.
She was genuinely surprised, and since she also had a modestly popular UP account, this Weibo post of hers quickly drew several hundred comments.
[Agreed — he really stood out with how handsome he was. I was watching ‘Specter’ today and barely recognized him at first glance. He doesn’t have a traditionally handsome face — it leans soft — but in the drama, he looked so dignified and upright. How is that even possible?]
[Ahhh sister, I’m watching ‘Specter’ too! Could it be the makeup? There’s a difference between idol makeup and actor makeup, right?]
[But in his last drama, he played a delusional high school boy. This contrast is wild. It’s like his looks didn’t change, but his whole aura got a complete upgrade. So magical.]
[Feels like it’s the acting… If an actor can make audiences forget their last role, they’re either totally unmemorable or seriously talented. Xie Xizhao is clearly not the former.]
With two successful dramas under his belt, the audience should’ve been used to Xie Xizhao’s acting by now — they shouldn’t have been so shocked this third time.
But no one had expected his new role to be so drastically different from the previous ones. As “Specter” soared in popularity, Xie Xizhao once again became the center of heated discussion among viewers.
As Pei Yiman put it: “Baby, you were born to be a star.”
Whether he was truly destined for stardom was still up for debate. After all, if one really looked into it, finding an actor—at such a young age—who could pull off drama-dropping performances with no weak roles whatsoever, you wouldn’t find even one in three generations.
But for some people, this moment hit hard—really hard.
—
Almost the instant he saw the heated discussion on the forum, Yu Lin’s eyes turned red.
At first, he frantically refreshed the post in disbelief. When he confirmed that the following dozens of comments were all focused on Xie Xizhao, he straight-up flung his phone across the room.
The phone landed on the hotel carpet with a heavy thud. Yu Lin staggered to his feet, dizzy with rage. When his assistant rushed in after hearing the commotion, Yu Lin snapped at him, “Go! Go get Cao Anyin for me!”
Not long after, the head of PR at Yu Lin’s studio arrived at the hotel, drenched in sweat.
Yu Lin looked at him coldly. “I want an explanation.”
The man was clearly miserable, but forced himself to respond, “We’ve already started pushing things. The plan was to base it on genuine reviews, then heat it up gradually—thinking that would make the general public less resistant…”
He paused mid-sentence, meeting Yu Lin’s gaze.
The second half of his explanation was swallowed on the spot.
He awkwardly picked up where he left off, “…The marketing accounts have all been lined up. Once the highlight episodes air, this round should be a guaranteed success.”
Yu Lin said nothing.
Cao Anyin cautiously picked up the phone from the floor and placed it on the table. While silently lamenting how hard he worked for his paycheck, he gently tried to console Yu Lin:
“Boss, there’s really no need to compete with someone like Xie Xizhao in terms of popularity or public opinion.”
“Let’s not talk about anything else,” he said, “Just look at Dou Fei. He was Director Lu’s prized protégé, came from a well-respected background — and even he ended up becoming a stepping stone for that guy. Actually, the role of Di Shuo has gotten quite a lot of praise too. If the word of mouth holds up in the later stages, the popularity will rise.”
Yu Lin’s staff tended to rotate frequently, but Cao Anyin was one of the rare ones who had stayed by his side for a full two years.
After hearing his words, the uncontrollable rage in Yu Lin finally began to subside a little.
He asked, “A lot of praise?”
Cao Anyin immediately pulled out some prepared data.
“Yes, absolutely. Take a look…” He handed over his phone. “These are trending posts from all the major social platforms — most of them are talking about you.”
Yu Lin glanced at them and stayed silent.
Seeing his expression soften slightly, Cao Anyin let out a breath of relief.
—
Though Cao Anyin was trying to comfort Yu Lin, everything he said was also true.
He worked in PR, and while the current situation had caught him somewhat off guard, it wasn’t entirely beyond expectations.
What had surprised him was just how good Xie Xizhao’s acting really was — to the point that it broke through the limitations of being a “traffic star.” Once he realized how strong Xie Xizhao’s performance was, all the buzz surrounding him made perfect sense.
Yu Lin was proud and ambitious, but if there was one thing Cao Anyin understood, it was that not everyone could be called a top-tier celebrity.
If it were truly possible to suppress a clean-reputation, high-national-favorability actor purely through persona manipulation — and leave him with zero presence — that would be nothing short of a fairy tale.
For Yu Lin, who hadn’t risen through the ranks via internet traffic or hype, the important thing was not how many people mentioned his name, but how many of those who did respected him.
And that proportion was still very high.
There was one thing Cao Anyin didn’t dare to say aloud — he didn’t even know when it had started, but somehow, they seemed to have shifted from being the ones in control to becoming the ones reacting.
Whether it was Yu Lin losing control back then because of Xie Xizhao, or now, being angered again by the buzz surrounding him after the drama aired — none of this was supposed to concern them in the first place. Especially that one time… when he lost control and grabbed someone by the neck — that incident really…
Cao Anyin didn’t dare follow that thought any further.
He had a vague sense that this time, Yu Lin’s emotions and behavior were teetering on the edge of losing control. His gut told him something was seriously wrong. But for now, clearly the most important task was still to stay focused on promoting “Specter”, ensuring the role wrapped up strongly, and pushing for awards afterward.
After calming Yu Lin down, Cao Anyin finally managed to coax him out of his volatile state — at least for the time being.
Meanwhile, their carefully planned promotional strategy was now proceeding steadily — and finally beginning to pay off.
This was thanks to the recently aired episodes.
To some extent, if Yu Lin had been up against anyone other than Xie Xizhao, his strategy would have worked.
After all, the key to moving an audience was strong emotional buildup, and in that regard, roles that naturally carried dramatic backstories and wide emotional arcs held a distinct advantage.
In the following updates, Yu Lin didn’t have much screen time.
It wasn’t until the third case began that Di Shuo’s scenes increased significantly.
The third case was a group crime. It told the story of a band of juvenile delinquents—teenagers on the fringes of society—who, lured by profit, were slowly seduced down a darker path. What began as extortion escalated to robbery, and finally, to a fatal mistake: an accidental killing that dragged them into the abyss of crime.
At the beginning, of course, the m*rder wasn’t committed by the group of delinquents. One of them k*lled the bl*ckmail victim, then got his companions drunk and staged the scene to make it appear as though the group had beaten the victim to death in a drunken frenzy. From that moment on, the entire group truly stepped onto the path of no return. The mastermind behind it all was a seventeen- or eighteen-year-old boy — a student personally mentored by Di Shuo.
This boy, named Dai Yu, also had antisocial personality traits. He was the only person who had seen Di Shuo’s true face. He harbored an intense and pathological obsession with his mentor.
In the end, he was arrested by the police, but throughout the entire investigation, he never gave up Di Shuo. It wasn’t until Di Shuo himself was apprehended that the full extent of his manipulation came to light.
—
Dai Yu didn’t have many scenes, but as a supporting character, nearly every one of them was a highlight. His character setup was distinctive, and with the right performance, he could’ve been a standout presence in the show. Unfortunately, the actor cast for the role was a young idol. Not only had he failed to slim down to the sickly, gaunt look director Meng Xuran had wanted—thanks to his overeating—but his acting was also painfully stiff.
Naturally, this role had been cast by Yu Lin’s team. And the moment his scenes with Yu Lin aired, the backlash online was immediate and intense.
A show could survive poor overall quality — but if everyone else performed well and only one actor dragged things down, it became a glaring issue.
That very night, the young idol’s acting was ruthlessly mocked and trended on social media. Alongside it was the hashtag #YuLinEyes, featuring clips of the two actors’ face-off scenes.
Marketing accounts wrote with dramatic flair:
[New actors these days are just getting worse and worse. In this scene, Chen Runcan got absolutely crushed by Teacher Yu. A Best Actor is still a Best Actor.]
The comments below agreed wholeheartedly:
[He was so bad. What could’ve been a thrilling ‘twisted mentor grooming a twisted student’ plot turned into something bland as plain water…]
[Yu Lin really was experienced. He handled several subtle details impressively, which only made the other actor’s shortcomings stand out even more. As expected, acting truly shines in contrast.]
[Well… there’s really only one Xie Xizhao in this world. Chen, maybe go back and train some more before trying again.]
After several rounds of trending on the hot search, the young idol was thoroughly dragged through the mud online. Yu Lin finally felt a bit more at ease.
The only thing that still annoyed him was that even when people praised him, some couldn’t resist bringing up Xie Xizhao in the same breath.
After thinking it over, he called for Cao Anyin. “Didn’t someone compare me to Xie Xizhao before? Stir up those posts again.”
Cao Anyin, who had just breathed a sigh of relief, immediately felt conflicted again. “Uh… maybe let’s not? His fanbase is huge, and his acting…”
What he wanted to say was: taking shots at a clearly subpar actor was one thing, but now that things were finally going smoothly, provoking another storm and risking a PR disaster wasn’t worth it.
Honestly, at this point, he just wanted to steer clear of anything involving Xie Xizhao.
But Yu Lin shot him a glance.
That look was chilling — enough to instantly remind Cao Anyin of Di Shuo from the show. Terrified, he swallowed the rest of his words.
Soon enough, those long-dormant comparison posts resurfaced once more.
—
While the fan circles of Xie Xizhao and Yu Lin were once again clashing fiercely online, Xie Xizhao himself was strolling around his studio.
He had just finished a magazine shoot, still wearing a black shirt with subtle patterns. His entire vibe was lazy and seductive — though what he was doing had nothing to do with that image.
When Pei Yiman looked up, pale as a ghost, he saw his boss standing there with a mischievous grin. The left side of his face practically said “siren”, and the right eye screamed “schemer.”
He said, “You lost the bet, right?”
Pei Yiman: “…”
In silence, he pulled out his phone and started ordering drinks for the entire office.
Before long, everyone was happily sipping on milk tea — courtesy of Director Pei.
Pei Yiman also had a cup of milk tea, and mumbled with his mouth full, “So, baby, how did you know Yu Lin was going to drag you into this? I mean, it’s one thing for him to be dumb, but even Cao Anyin’s that dumb?”
This was a question Fang Qingqing could answer.
She said, “Obviously because his boss actually choked someone, while your gentle and kind boss has been called ‘baby’ by you a hundred times and still hasn’t docked your year-end bonus.”
Pei Yiman straightened up solemnly. “Baby is baby. Even if I did get my bonus docked, I’d still defend my right to call you that.”
He paused, then asked cautiously, “But… I won’t actually get docked, right?”
Xie Xizhao laughed so hard he nearly choked.
He said, “Alright, enough nonsense. Back to work.”
Pei Yiman grinned. “Aye-aye, captain.”
He turned around and quickly began gathering data on the current state of online discourse. By the afternoon, he had already set up a meeting.
—
The reason Xie Xizhao predicted that Yu Lin wouldn’t let things go was simple: he understood Yu Lin too well.
That wave of public opinion when the show first aired had shaken Yu Lin more than a little. Now his mind was consumed by the desire to outdo Xie Xizhao. Chen Runcan gave him a boost of confidence — but he overlooked one crucial fact: he could outshine Chen Runcan, but only Chen Runcan.
Unfortunately, even though those around him were aware of this, none of them dared to risk their necks to remind him, not under the shadow of his oppressive presence.
If he had left Xie Xizhao alone, he might have walked away with the reputation of a seasoned actor. But the moment he dragged Xie Xizhao into things—
At first, when the controversy started bubbling up, it did stir up some heated debate.
In the early episodes, Xie Xizhao and Yu Lin hardly had any scenes together. Their storylines ran almost parallel, with the only overlap being when Yu Lin’s character moved into the apartment across from Xie Xizhao’s.
In that particular scene, Xie Xizhao’s character was entirely innocent, while Yu Lin’s character had a wealth of internal conflict. The balance between the two made it hard for the audience to draw clear conclusions. As a result, opinions varied widely. Given Yu Lin’s formal training background, many still viewed him through a favorable lens.
This seemingly “evenly matched” situation lasted for about a week—until it was shattered by a single scene.
That scene was the one where Xie Xizhao had improvised and directly used “Di Shuo’s” words.
—
The version that ended up in the final cut was, indeed, the improvised one. Not because Xie Xizhao insisted—but because Director Meng Xuran couldn’t help himself.
He truly cherished his work. Xie Xizhao’s performance in that take was just too outstanding, and Meng Xuran couldn’t bear to cut it.
After mulling it over, he resorted to a bit of sleight of hand.
There were two or three segments that he had shown to Yu Lin’s team, but just before submitting the final version for review, he swapped in the takes he had actually wanted to use all along. He felt great about it—and the audience was left stunned.
That night, while Xie Xizhao’s fans were still locked in a snarky back-and-forth with Yu Lin’s fans on the forums, their group chat suddenly blew up. One after another, people started spamming like broken records: [Aaaaah! New episode! Go watch today’s two new episodes! Now!]
Caught off guard, the fans on the frontlines clicked on the new updates in confusion.
After the now-familiar opening theme song and a chaotic arrest sequence, the scene cut to a small, dark, windowless interrogation room.
It was hard to describe what kind of feeling it evoked.
Ever since Xie Xizhao began portraying Huo Xiangyang, most of his on-screen presence had been tense, serious, and weary.
He had been led by a powerful antagonist in his search for the truth, falling into traps hidden in the fog, tricked and confused by meticulously crafted schemes. He had tried in vain to comfort the victims’ families, listened to their heart-wrenching cries, and felt the crushing weight of public opinion and responsibility.
There was no denying it—Specter was a brilliant series.
But up to that point, most viewers, aside from being drawn into the story, had mainly felt a sense of helplessness and frustration over the truth remaining shrouded in mystery.
—Until today.
Xie… Huo Xiangyang—cut through the fog.
He had been calm.
Even though he had already been tormented to the point of gritted teeth and mental exhaustion, the first thing he said when he sat down in the interrogation room was still delivered with a relaxed tone: “Coffee or water?”
A steaming cup of coffee was brought in. Di Shuo knocked it over slightly, and the scalding liquid dripped onto his hand. His expression didn’t change.
He didn’t even blink.
But the moment he sat in that chair, he transformed into the sharp, powerful, and experienced captain of the criminal investigation team.
It was a scene of raw and overwhelming dominance.
Both inside the drama—and outside.
On screen, Di Shuo was sweating profusely under questioning. In the end, due to lack of hard evidence, he managed to avoid immediate consequences. But everyone saw the subtle tremble in his fingers.
Off screen…
That night, Xie Xizhao’s interrogation scene shot to the top of the trending topics—and unlike Yu Lin’s previous moment of fleeting popularity, this time it wasn’t just a flash in the pan.
—
As one unknown but enthusiastic viewer once put it: acting—real acting—is something that shines best through contrast.
A head-to-head scene was the most unforgiving mirror.
Especially when it was a confrontation scene with no external interference, relying purely on performance.
The show hadn’t even finished airing when someone immediately posted on Weibo:
[That confrontation scene between Xie Xizhao and Yu Lin—Yu Lin got crushed. Wasn’t Di Shuo supposed to have the upper hand in the story? Why did he look like a defeated dog?]
Naturally, this came from our favorite enthusiastic bystander, Ms. Strawberry Latte, 30% Sweet.
As usual, her post gained a lot of traction.
[Seriously, oh my god. I knew he wasn’t going to get convicted right there, but if I hadn’t, I would’ve thought it was a done deal. I was sweating bullets watching that.]
[Technically, Di Shuo had the upper hand in the dialogue. It wasn’t even time for him to be taken down yet. But Teacher Xiao Zhao’s aura was just too strong. It really felt like the sword of justice was about to pierce that psychopath’s chest—I was pumped.]
[Honestly, instead of saying Xie Xizhao was too good, maybe the problem was Yu Lin couldn’t carry the weight… Isn’t he supposed to be some twisted villain? Wasn’t he the guy who ‘toyed with the police like puppets’? This… this ain’t it.]
[Agreed. Zhao’s performance was on point. Even though he pretended to be calm, you could still feel his urgency. After all, he didn’t have solid evidence yet to get a conviction. I think he nailed it.]
[…This isn’t even a hard question. Just look at Yu Lin and Chen Runcan. In a clash between two strong actors, if one side clearly dominates, what does that tell you? It means the other one couldn’t hold their own. I always thought Yu Lin’s acting was mid, but without a direct comparison, it didn’t stand out. Welp, there’s your answer. What are we even arguing about?]
That last sentence—“What are we even arguing about?”—was echoed across forums in the film and TV community.
Despite being a place known for harsh criticism and especially unfriendly toward Xie Xizhao due to competing fanbases and industry interests, today, even they were surprisingly in agreement:
[Xie Xizhao really is the real deal. Not just anyone can be called a ‘Purple Star.’]
[…I think saying he was crushed is a bit of an exaggeration, but the difference was pretty obvious. Yu Lin should really reflect on how, after acting for over a decade, he still couldn’t measure up to his junior.]
[Been meaning to say this for a while—Yu Lin, stop buying trending searches and hiring bots. Do you really think we’re blind? Criticizing the celebrity culture while doing the same thing is just disgusting…]
As the public opinion kept spiraling out of control, Yu Lin lost it.
He grabbed Cao Anyin, his eyes red as if they were about to bleed. But Cao Anyin couldn’t even comfort him anymore. He quickly reached out to his PR team, frantically arranging an emergency meeting in the middle of the night.
Before the meeting was even over, another piece of bad news came in.
A new thread had appeared in the film and TV forum.
[So, can someone tell me why, in Specter, a crime thriller, the villain gets so much screen time and shine?]
