Chapter 159: Busy—Being busy is good
Xuan Yang asked, “What is it?”
He looked completely innocent.
Xie Xizhao swallowed the words he was originally going to say and forced himself to change to something else with difficulty: “…I mean, I need to read the script first.”
After he said it, he sighed inwardly.
What a textbook example of saying absolutely nothing.
Fortunately, Xuan Yang already viewed him through a filter that defied all reason, and he nodded eagerly:
“Of course.”
There was still some time before dinner, so the two of them had a light afternoon tea. Xuan Yang said he wanted to take a walk nearby.
Once he left, Xie Xizhao returned to his room and opened the script.
Even though he had already mentally prepared himself after hearing the name and Xuan Yang’s earlier remarks, actually reading the content still gave Xie Xizhao a very strange feeling.
Of course it wasn’t exactly the same.
The script still carried that unmistakable Xuan Yang style. Xuan Yang’s universe was always wrapped in a fantastical, glamorous shell, but underneath was a stark, grounded reality. During their earlier chat, Xuan Yang had mentioned the material he’d been researching lately—traces of it could be clearly seen in the script.
But still, it felt very familiar.
By the time Xie Xizhao finished reading, he immediately understood why Xuan Yang had been able to pinpoint his core issue so quickly.
Because over these past few days, he’d been pondering a similar line of mental logic himself. Different content, but a shared essence.
The script wasn’t long, but Xie Xizhao took his time reading it.
When Xuan Yang came back hungry, Xie Xizhao opened the door for him with the script still in hand.
Xuan Yang instantly stopped noticing the smell of the food he was carrying. Looking a bit anxious, he asked, “So? What do you think?”
Xie Xizhao looked up thoughtfully. Meeting Xuan Yang’s expectant gaze, he paused for two seconds and said, “It feels like a complete transformation.”
Xuan Yang: !
“I was bored the other day, so I went back and reworked the logic of that first script you helped me revise,” Xuan Yang said, rubbing his hands together. “Then I went back and edited a few of my older scripts too. Oh right, and I also sought out those teachers you recommended.”
Xuan Yang had once seriously asked Xie Xizhao for advice on how to improve his writing and expression. Xie Xizhao had taken the time to recommend some books and teachers to him.
Given Xuan Yang’s fame, no one would have turned him down. But Xie Xizhao hadn’t expected him to actually take all his suggestions to heart.
With genuine sincerity, Xie Xizhao said, “I feel like I’ve been outpaced.”
He had already made up his mind. So he stopped beating around the bush: “I’ll do it. But are you sure you want me?”
“Honestly, your script is perfect for training new actors,” Xie Xizhao said. “If you can make a fresh face shine, you’ll be up on a pedestal.”
Xuan Yang was definitely destined for greater things. Teaming up with Xie Xizhao again would generate buzz, sure—but it would be seen as less refined. In the world of arthouse films and directors, popularity often counted as a drawback.
Xuan Yang scratched his head.
“Ah.”
“And then?”
He reaches the pedestal—then what?
Xie Xizhao was momentarily speechless.
He suddenly thought of the recently finished Super Rookie 4.
In truth, the burnout had been building for a while.
Putting aside his own emotional baggage, there were still moments of confusion on his ever-forward path.
Given his background, if he wanted to achieve his goals, he had to keep adapting to the rules of this industry. Adaptation—and friction. He stuck to his principles, but sometimes, compromise was unavoidable. Social niceties, for example. Unspoken rules that didn’t do much harm.
It was exhausting, but unavoidable. Just like he’d once told Yin Li—at this level, he was no longer just himself. Behind him were fans, colleagues, collaborators. All of them carried weighty expectations and responsibilities.
He didn’t regret it. Everyone has their own path to walk. Reaching this point, it was impossible for him to fully immerse himself in his own world the way Xuan Yang did. But he thought, at the very least, they could still walk together for a while longer.
Maybe, in the pure, untainted world of art, all those things that had once plagued him—his worries, his fears—would one day become nothing more than tiny grains of sand, scattered by the wind.
—
Once the decision to do the film was made, Xie Xizhao and Xuan Yang didn’t stay long in K City.
Somehow, these two, whose work had just wrapped up, ended up wandering around K City for a few days and even flew back on the same flight. Considering their long and complicated history, Xie Xizhao’s fans were practically bursting with complaints, but when they showed up at the airport, they still had to smile sweetly:
“Welcome back, Zhaozhao! Director Xuan too—have you eaten? Do you want anything? Maybe head back and have a bite first…”
Xuan Yang was still munching on a flower cake, his cheeks puffed out like a hamster. He sincerely expressed his gratitude:
“Thank you! We’re going to grab dinner together in a bit.”
Fans: “…”
Haha 🙂
Xie Xizhao, ever concise, dispelled the brewing grumblings at the airport with one clean sentence:
“Discussing a contract.”
The details of the contract had pretty much been settled over the past couple of days. Once they were back, they’d sign it. Once it was signed, it couldn’t be kept secret anymore, so there was no point in hiding it for just a day or two.
Fans: !
All that brooding over three months of lonely silence, all the complaints, all the teasing about “sister-in-law”—pfft. In that instant, all of it was obliterated by Xie Xizhao’s three simple words.
Xie Xizhao added, “It’s a movie. I’ve only done dramas before, figured I’d try the big screen.”
Fans: Aaaahhh!!!
Xie Xizhao said, “Yeah, it’s Director Xuan’s film. I’ve already read the script—it’s a very interesting piece. I think it’s something to look forward to.”
Fans: Aaaahhh!!
Xie Xizhao continued, “Marketing accounts are saying I’m preparing to quit the industry? Rumors. Not true at all.”
Fans: Aaaahhh!!!
During his few months of traveling, countless people said his time had passed. Maybe he himself had sensed it too—and that was what made him afraid.
The result of that fear? He hadn’t even made it back to the company, but he was already trending.
Just one airport appearance, and:
#XieXizhaoInACity,
#XieXizhaoXuan YangSecondCollab,
#XieXizhaoNotLeavingTheIndustry
took the No. 1, 2, and 4 spots on the trending list—bluntly and effectively reminding everyone what it meant to be the top star in the entertainment industry.
Xie Xizhao’s studio had been dormant for several months, resting along with him, and was now experiencing that long-lost sensation: pain and joy, all mixed together.
PR head Pei Yiman gripped his mouse while watching the media storm unfold, tears streaming down his face. “Busy—being busy is so good.”
Next to him, the corner of Fang Qingqing’s mouth twitched.
When Xie Xizhao stepped into the studio, she gave him a hug that felt exactly like the one from years ago.
“Welcome back,” she said with a smile.
Xie Xizhao smiled, patted her shoulder, and gently placed the gifts he brought back for everyone on the table.
—
Once the lead actor was confirmed, the movie moved quickly into production.
Ever since Xuan Yang won Best Director, people had been lining up to be in his next film. In fact, even before this project got underway, he had already received countless overt and subtle requests.
It wasn’t that he was saving the role specifically for Xie Xizhao—it was just that none of the other actors he auditioned gave him the feeling he was looking for.
Du Wei joked that it was Xie Xizhao’s fault—for making Xuan Yang so damn picky about actors.
He said it like a complaint, but honestly, he was thrilled. For days, he was humming little tunes while watering the plants. Not just him—there was a cheerful vibe throughout the whole studio.
Xie Xizhao always had that kind of magic.
Everyone in the industry who had worked with him had nothing but praise. At the end of the day, it was simple: his studio was meticulous, he himself was easy to work with, highly competent, and basically the most worry-free collaborator anyone could ask for.
And on top of all that—he was famous.
Those who had worked with him wanted to do it again. Those who hadn’t were lining up with metaphorical number cards, waiting for their turn. The offers were dazzling, hard to sift through—but Xie Xizhao was no longer in his “take whatever comes” era. He handpicked a few that felt right and firmly, politely declined the rest—even if they were big names.
That freed up his time. Half of it went to The Player, and the other half, to himself.
For the film, the main challenge this time wasn’t the script—it was finding the right collaborators. The Player was on a whole different level compared to Tao Yan’s Summer in terms of visuals and special effects. They needed a professional VFX team, one that was not only technically strong but also artistically aligned with their vision.
The studio didn’t have much experience in this area, but Xie Xizhao had dabbled a bit before.
He handled the search for collaborators decisively—polite, but with high standards. If someone could do it, great. If not, he moved on. No dragging things out. In the end, he didn’t hire just one company, but an entire project team.
The studio’s finance department, busy drafting the budget, nearly lost it.
Xie Xizhao simply said, “It’s fine. Money’s not an issue.”
Even if he retired on the spot, he could live comfortably for eight lifetimes. Not just because of the money he’d earned, but because he had few material desires. Whatever he didn’t need for daily expenses, he had invested.
And when a smart person invests, money makes more money.
Du Wei, hands trembling, lit a cigarette. “Teacher Xie, please don’t say things that even a straight man can’t resist.”
I’ll fall for you!
Xie Xizhao: “…”
He replied sincerely, “Director Du, I believe you’re a man of strong will. You would never trade your dignity for money.”
Du Wei stormed off in despair.
—
The past few days, Xie Xizhao had been selecting cast members with Xuan Yang. Waves of handsome men and beautiful women came in, and one after another, their acting was worse than the last. In the end, they took a different route—following Xuan Yang to the Film Academy to scout.
They basically stalked the campus like creeps for over ten days—and they actually found someone suitable. Like starving tigers pouncing on prey: “Hey, classmate, are you in the acting department? Interested in a role…”
“This world is basically just one big amateur troupe,” was how Fang Qingqing described the situation.
Once the prep work was done, and the fresh-faced young actors were all in place, there was only one major thing left before filming could begin.
That day, a rare sense of tension surfaced in Xie Xizhao’s super-topic. Veteran fans were bouncing around frantically, all asking the same bizarre question:
[Has it been born yet? Has it been born?]
To anyone in the know, it was just a fan thing. But to outsiders, it sounded like they were waiting outside a delivery room.
Meanwhile, somewhere else, Xie Xizhao took off his mask and found himself looking into a pair of wide, watery eyes.
—
Originally, Xie Xizhao wasn’t in a rush to adopt a cat. He still had work to do, and figured he could take his time deciding once things settled down.
But fate had other plans. After Fang Qingqing heard he was considering getting a cat, she told him her friend owned a reputable cattery, and that he should drop by if he was serious. So, on a pleasant sunny afternoon, Xie Xizhao went—just to check it out.
Before going, he had—very uncharacteristically—done a lot of research. Now that his schedule was lighter, it didn’t really matter what kind of pet he adopted. What mattered was whether he felt a connection.
…Honestly, the whole thing weirdly felt like a blind date.
He messaged Xuan Yang: [Why did you decide to adopt a cat back then?]
Xuan Yang replied almost instantly: […I got emotionally bl*ckmailed by one. orz]
Xie Xizhao: …
Just as he was about to say something else, another message popped up: [Once your cat’s warmed up to you, you can bring it to set. Let it make a cameo.]
Xie Xizhao laughed.
He typed slowly: [Then that cat’s too lucky—debuting with a film that’s gonna gross billions.]
Xuan Yang: ?!
Xuan Yang: [Ahhh don’t say that, this genre’s kinda niche TT I don’t think it’ll work…]
Without blinking, Xie Xizhao encouraged him:
[Director Xuan, have some confidence.]
The car came to a stop, and Xie Xizhao stepped inside. He was actually a little nervous, but making the decision didn’t take much effort.
Because as soon as he walked in and exchanged a few words with the shop owner, a kitten—almost as if sensing something—lifted its head. Throughout the conversation, Xie Xizhao kept getting distracted by it. In the end, he had to helplessly pause the chat.
At first, the shop owner didn’t understand what was going on. She followed his gaze and then chuckled.
“Oh?”
“This Chinchilla is usually super quiet,” she said. “This is the first time she’s been so lively. Looks like she really likes you.”
Xie Xizhao crouched down, locking eyes with the big watery ones in front of him—and in those clear eyes, he saw his own reflection.
It was a beautiful little female cat, with soft fur in a blend of pale gold and creamy white, delicate and adorably gentle in appearance. Xie Xizhao wiggled his finger at her, and she followed it closely, eyes locked in full focus.
He smiled and said softly, “Little princess, do you want to come home with me?”
Amid the faint honking of cars outside, separated by a pane of glass, the Chinchilla let out a soft, sweet “meow,” then leaned forward and nuzzled her soft head against his finger.
