Chapter 148: Always
This was a day so profoundly shocking and unforgettable that people in the Chinese entertainment industry, counting thirty years both forward and back, would remember it vividly.
In the morning, everyone had still been watching fans of Xie Xizhao fiercely lashing out at the entire world with awe-inspiring momentum. By noon, they were already enjoying their meals while digesting juicy behind-the-scenes gossip about the crew of Specter.
Some claimed that the script of Specter had been revised at least a dozen times, all thanks to a certain two-character Best Actor. During that time, they’d often seen the screenwriter pulling at their hair in frustration. Others said the person who had the most NGs (retakes) on set wasn’t the rookie idol everyone had doubted, but the director had long given up on correcting him—whereas the one with the fewest NGs was indeed Xie Xizhao. There were also whispers that the entire crew had been secretly shipping the two main creators for their “enemies-to-lovers” chemistry.
Netizens: ?
So… why was there romance involved?
Crew member leaking gossip: Uh… YL almost actually str*ngled XXZ, but Teacher Xie was generous enough to still do publicity with him. Doesn’t that count?
Netizens: …
Ah, so it was “enemies-to-lovers” in the literal sense.
As soon as this bit of gossip dropped, everyone immediately recalled the str*ngulation mark that had once been seen on Xie Xizhao’s neck, along with the wave of ghostly PR bots and overwhelming crisis control that had followed.
But before anyone could fully piece things together or try to reconstruct the truth from the tangled mess of PR maneuvers, a video suddenly surfaced on the homepages of every gossip-hungry netizen.
Upon first glance, most people’s reaction was: What the hell is this?
But once they saw the faces in the video, their reaction quickly escalated to:
…Holy sh*t.
Holy sht holy sht HOLY SH*T! Was this really something they were supposed to be seeing?
Were those the two central figures at the heart of the storm? And—and—that cold, glinting object… was that a knife?
The gossip-hungry crowd was confused. The gossip-hungry crowd was stunned. The gossip-hungry crowd was shook.
They repeatedly dragged the progress bar back and forth, making absolutely sure that they had indeed seen a certain two-character Best Actor punch his co-star, and then unmistakably pull out a deadly weapon. And just like that, the entire entertainment industry boiled over like a pot of water brought to a roaring simmer.
–
Fang Qingqing had just gotten into the car when she received a call from Pei Yiman.
On the other end, he said, “Sister Qing, the studio phone’s blowing up. Do you want to take any of the calls?”
Fang Qingqing let out a tired sigh.
“No.”
“You draft a statement first,” she said. “Send it to me when it’s ready. Also, make sure no one from the crew posts anything without clearance. Until we have the results of the investigation, no details should be disclosed.”
Pei Yiman responded with a quick “Got it.”
Then he added quietly, “Boss… is Teacher Xie okay?”
Sitting in the silence of the car, Fang Qingqing paused for a couple of seconds.
“He’s fine.”
“He’s giving his statement right now,” she added. “He doesn’t seem seriously hurt, but I’ll take him to the hospital later just to be safe.”
The call ended.
Not long after, a young man in a long trench coat stepped out of the brightly lit police station and opened the car door.
His expression was the same as always—calm and unreadable. Fang Qingqing’s throat felt dry as she asked, “Well? What’s the situation?”
Xie Xizhao’s answer was brief.
“We handed over the video and the earlier audio recording from the set to the police,” he said. “Looks like I’ll need to come back a few more times to assist with the investigation.”
He paused. “I saw Yu Lin’s agent.”
Fang Qingqing fell silent.
Even though they had once been on opposing sides, in that moment, she couldn’t help but feel a little sympathy for the poor guy just trying to do his job.
She asked, “How did he react?”
Xie Xizhao paused before describing it: “Pretty dazed.”
An answer that was unexpected… and yet made perfect sense.
Fang Qingqing didn’t say anything.
After a moment, she said, “Is Yu Lin completely finished?”
Xie Xizhao paused.
“Most likely,” he replied.
The case was still in the filing stage, but regardless of whether he was eventually prosecuted or what the verdict might be, the fact that Yu Lin had attempted to injure—possibly even kill—someone with a weapon was already beyond dispute.
Barring any major surprises, he would never appear in the public eye again. And from this point on, all public memory of him would be overwritten by the words “legal trouble case.”
Xie Xizhao said, “Sister Qing, you can rest now.”
Fang Qingqing let out a bitter laugh.
“Don’t tease me,” she said. “I’d rather Pei Yiman and I keep running around worrying.”
—
Fang Qingqing still remembered how she’d felt when she got the call from Xie Xizhao.
At the time, she and Pei Yiman had been discussing their next PR strategy.
They both agreed that while public opinion had already shifted completely in their favor, they still lacked one final, devastating blow against Yu Lin. Their consensus was that this final strike had to expose the hypocrisy in Yu Lin’s carefully crafted public persona.
Then, she’d heard Xie Xizhao say on the phone: “Sister Qing, don’t panic just yet.”
Don’t panic just yet.
The moment calm, unshakable Xie Xizhao said those words to her—the man who never flinched even if the sky fell—Fang Qingqing immediately knew: she was absolutely going to panic.
And sure enough.
They had needed leverage, but Fang Qingqing had never wanted that leverage to come at the cost of Xie Xizhao’s personal safety.
In the end, though, Xie Xizhao wasn’t injured—that one crucial fact was enough to give her some relief.
She finally accepted the situation, took a deep breath, and slipped back into work mode.
“As for the police,” she said, “we just need to cooperate with the investigation. President Qi has already arranged a lawyer for you. There’s nothing else we need to handle on that front. Right now, our focus is public opinion.”
She paused for a moment. “The trending topics will probably keep blowing up for a few days. This whole thing is just too unbelievable. My advice is—for the time being, you should probably stay offline.”
Xie Xizhao let out a small laugh.
“It’s fine,” he said.
–
When Xie Xizhao said he was fine, he really was fine.
While the internet raged in chaos, he reappeared in the public eye as early as the next day. Reporters and paparazzi practically worked as his free bodyguards, tailing him everywhere. Xie Xizhao answered all the questions he could.
Were there conflicts during filming? Yes.
Did Yu Lin suffer from a mental disorder? He didn’t know—best to wait for an official diagnosis.
Did Yu Lin really intend to kill him? That’s what he said.
No avoidance, no sugar-coating. With the most matter-of-fact tone, he pieced together the clearest version of the truth for the public to see.
And after the initial shock wore off, the public slowly returned to rational thinking.
The facts were crystal clear:
A potentially unstable, violent man.
A production team riddled with power plays and hidden agendas.
Nearly half a year of filming filled with overt and covert hostilities.
Behind the shocking and bizarre turn of events was the same old cesspool of the entertainment industry that everyone was all too familiar with.
Casual onlookers had gorged themselves on the drama. Xie Xizhao’s fans, on the other hand, were collectively traumatized. For a long time afterward, they treated him like a delicate porcelain doll. Every post he made on Weibo was flooded with comments asking after his health.
Eventually, Xie Xizhao couldn’t take it anymore and started a livestream himself.
He said, “I’m really fine. I just got hit on the shoulder once—it’s already healed.”
The comment section: Wuwuwu 😭😭😭
“…” Xie Xizhao continued, “And actually, I reacted right away. So it really wasn’t a big deal.”
The comment section: Wuwuwu 😭😭😭
Xie Xizhao: “…”
Then he said, “How about I do a few signed photo giveaways later?”
“If you don’t enter, you’re a sad wuwu monster,” he added gently.
The comments: Wuwuwu…
QAQ!
That night, Xie Xizhao—rare for him—chatted with his fans for quite a long time. Only after he was sure they’d all been comforted and calmed down did he finally turn his attention to the next thing on his list:
Cleanup.
—
Once the video went public, online opinion reached near-unanimous agreement.
Aside from a handful of Yu Lin’s fans still insisting it was all some elaborate act, the vast majority accepted that Xie Xizhao had been caught in a storm entirely not of his own making.
Yu Lin’s studio had more or less resigned themselves to the fallout. It was his family who hadn’t yet given up—they hired a skilled lawyer to defend him, attempting to use mental illness as grounds for reduced responsibility. Unfortunately, multiple witness statements from the crew and video evidence clearly showed that while Yu Lin might have displayed signs of mental instability, neither the attempted str*ngling on set nor the later knife attack could be chalked up to complete loss of control or reasoning.
In the end, after months of court proceedings, he was sentenced and sent to prison.
But that was a story for later.
Right after the incident, the biggest problem faced by the Specter production team was:
With the actor gone—what was to become of the show?
Meng Xuran looked like the light had gone out of his soul. He looked ready to storm the detention center and drag out the culprit by the collar. It was Xie Xizhao who tried to console him.
“It’s alright,” he said. “Think about it—his studio invested all the money in this project. The one who’s taking the biggest loss isn’t you.”
Meng Xuran: “…”
But I still lost money!
He wasn’t the only one losing out, but the other party involved seemed oddly calm.
Xie Xizhao said, “It’s okay. We’ll get another chance to work together.”
That instantly revived Meng Xuran: “Write that down and sign it!”
Xie Xizhao just laughed.
Meng Xuran gritted his teeth. “No, I need to prove my worth. I can’t walk away empty-handed.”
Xie Xizhao: Huh?
And so, just when everyone thought the Specter production team had been buried for good, they unexpectedly released one final update.
–
Up to that point, pretty much everyone had assumed the rest of the series would never see the light of day. After all, they had to consider messaging and public image—especially since the villain in the show was portrayed as a ruthless, law-breaking manipulator… which now hit a little too close to home.
Fans of the series were heartbroken, but even they struggled to keep watching the previously aired episodes. Yu Lin’s scenes in particular left most viewers feeling a chill down their spines.
Under those circumstances, the scriptwriters from Specter released both the original and revised versions of the full script—offering a kind of symbolic closure for the series.
There was disappointment, sure, but fans were generally content. Given the circumstances, this felt like the best possible ending.
No one expected Meng Xuran to go the extra mile and cut together a video dedicated to Xie Xizhao.
He had access to all the original footage. Since only four or five episodes remained—covering the final case in the story—Meng Xuran decided to compile every usable scene featuring Xie Xizhao.
And in this edit, for the first time, everyone got to see a complete, vivid, living version of—
Huo Xiangyang.
He was the captain who treated his colleagues and subordinates with warmth and humor. Still in his early twenties, he held on to a bit of youthful mischief. His favorite pastime was teasing new recruits when bored; the thing he hated most was being suddenly summoned to the higher-ups’ office for a lecture.
At work, he was meticulous. Off duty, he played with stray cats and dogs. The cat and dog in his home? Both rescues he’d brought back himself.
He had a favorite lunch spot—a corner shop that always added a sweet touch to their tomato and egg stir-fry. But when things got busy, he often didn’t have time to eat. On those days, he would order convenience store delivery: a ham sandwich and a particular brand of plain instant coffee.
It was a habit he’d kept for nearly three years.
He actually hated his new neighbor. On the surface, he smiled politely, but deep down, he always felt the man’s smile reeked of insincerity. Still, his mother had raised him from a young age with one core principle: “Xiao Yang, you must always be polite.”
So, that day too, the ever-polite Captain Huo gave his neighbor—the young entrepreneur—a textbook fake smile, then carried his boxed lunch home, turned on a melodramatic primetime soap, and settled in.
He believed in being polite to neighbors—but not to suspects.
When he faced Di Shuo—now censored out of the footage—when he looked at that indifferent, dismissive smile behind the blur for the first time, he felt powerless. His mind went back to the funeral he had attended.
A young girl’s smiling face was frozen in monochrome on a tombstone. His mother stood beside him, holding a black umbrella, and quietly asked, “Officer Huo, is the world a fair place?”
Is the world a fair place.
He didn’t know.
Vibrant, young lives were being destroyed, while monsters walked free.
The hypocrites stood high above, untouched, while the kind and innocent struggled through storms and sorrow.
She wasn’t looking for an answer. And he didn’t need to give one.
But he said, “We’re chasing fairness—always.”
He had exhausted every method he could think of, battling the darkest evils of the world while staying within the bounds of the law.
At his lowest, he had sat outside the police station in the pouring rain, cracked open a soda, and watched the tab ring drop into the flood at his feet. He wanted to scream, to break down—but never once did he consider giving up.
Twenty minutes later, he tossed the empty can into a trash bin. Without a word, he turned and walked back into the interrogation room, his face expressionless.
Rainwater dripped from the tips of his hair, soaking the back of his shirt.
He was still the young genius in the eyes of his superiors, the most dependable captain in the eyes of his colleagues.
—
No one had expected this video. It not only presented a full picture of Xie Xizhao’s character, but also unintentionally proved one thing: compared to the original version of the script, half of this character’s soul truly belonged to Xie Xizhao himself.
Those little habits, the subtle touches, the precise control over expressions and emotions—every bit of it showed, beyond a doubt, that no matter how much controversy or chaos surrounded the production, one fact remained undeniable:
Xie Xizhao was an exceptionally dedicated and outstanding actor.
The regret faded, and anticipation grew. This segment felt like a truly perfect ending.
Xie Xizhao’s fans finally let go of their lingering grievances. Of course, they didn’t dare rush him to get back to work, though Xie Xizhao himself had already started moving forward with his schedule.
But the next stop wasn’t just any project.
Not long after, the fourth season of the popular talent show Super Rookie was officially announced.
And so, everyone watched—some shocked, some delighted—as the show’s first revealed mentor, and also its main MC, came with a familiar yet surprising name:
Xie Xizhao.
