Director Wang quickly finished redoing Pei Qingjian’s makeup.
It looked similar to before, but no longer as striking.
Even the headband had been changed to the most ordinary black one.
He was still good-looking—after all, his natural features were strong. As long as they didn’t deliberately make him look bad, it was hard for him to actually look unattractive.
But now his good looks were… ordinary.
He could be a shadow guard in this story, or in another story. He could be Tan Xin—or just some other unnamed guard.
Pei Qingjian marveled, “Makeup really is a technical skill.”
Director Wang laughed. “Otherwise, why would people hire makeup artists?”
“Thank you,” Pei Qingjian said with a smile.
Director Wang found him very polite. Setting down his tools, he said, “I’m going to take a break. When you come back later, I’ll do your makeup again.”
This time, Pei Qingjian was genuinely surprised—and delighted.
He could already tell that Director Wang had taken a liking to him. For him to offer to personally do his makeup again—that was a real benefit!
“Wow~” Pei Qingjian didn’t hide his excitement at all. “I’m really lucky then!”
After all, someone like Director Wang, the chief in charge, would never normally do makeup for him.
Seeing his reaction, Director Wang thought he was a bit childlike. He laughed a couple of times, exchanged a few more words with him, and then returned to his lounge to rest.
Pei Qingjian, meanwhile, went back to the set with Zhou Pengyue.
Yang Hao was discussing filming matters with the director. When she turned her head casually and saw Pei Qingjian, she looked him over carefully for a few moments before curling her lips into a satisfied smile.
As expected of Director Wang—the changes in the makeup weren’t drastic, but the overall feeling had clearly shifted.
This version of Pei Qingjian was no longer eye-catching, and naturally wouldn’t overshadow Zhou Bin.
Yang Hao was very satisfied. After saying a few more words to the director, she headed off to find Zhou Bin.
At that moment, Song Ye also arrived.
He glanced at Pei Qingjian, his gaze lingering on his face for a brief moment before saying nothing.
How strange, Song Ye thought. It was clearly the same person, yet something felt different.
How to put it? Perhaps the youthful spirit about him had lessened, making him seem more like an ordinary shadow guard.
But Tan Xin had never been an ordinary shadow guard. He was a shadow guard who hadn’t fully grown up yet—that was why he could be soft-hearted, why after following Kong Mingxiu, he would still do things with a touch of childishness.
He didn’t let his gaze linger any longer. Walking up to the director, he began discussing the first scene.
The first scene was between him and Qin Zizhen—a conversation in the courtyard that ended with Qin Zizhen kissing Kong Mingxiu on the cheek.
For male and female actors who hadn’t worked together before, some directors preferred to start with more intimate scenes to help them break the ice and get into character more easily.
Clearly, the director of Drunken River Moon was one of them. That said, he wasn’t as extreme as some others—he didn’t start straight with a full kiss, just romance plus a cheek kiss, a level both Song Ye and Qin Zizhen could accept.
After going over their lines briefly, filming officially began.
Pei Qingjian hurried over, wanting to observe Song Ye’s acting up close.
Zhou Bin didn’t go over. He just stood at a distance watching.
He and Song Ye were from the same company. Back when he hadn’t made it, it was one thing—but now that he had gained some traction yet still couldn’t reach top-tier status, it was hard not to feel resentful, thinking the company gave all the resources to Song Ye.
Now there were rumors that Song Ye wouldn’t be renewing his contract with the company, which made Zhou Bin especially happy. After the company assigned Yang Hao to him, it only reinforced those rumors. So Zhou Bin was holding onto that drive, waiting to surpass Song Ye.
He didn’t think his acting was any worse than Song Ye’s, so he had no interest in watching him perform.
And so, when his gaze casually swept across and landed on Pei Qingjian, Zhou Bin let out a scornful laugh.
Just then, Pei Qingjian turned to speak to someone beside him. Zhou Bin took a closer look, and the smile on his face deepened.
He was a straight man, so he didn’t notice that Pei Qingjian’s makeup had changed at all—he simply assumed this was what he naturally looked like.
“Quite the bait-and-switch with those set photos,” Zhou Bin sneered. “Turns out he’s nothing special.”
Yang Hao, standing beside him: …
She brushed her hair behind her ear and said nothing.
She had no intention of letting Zhou Bin know too much—she was afraid he’d end up dragging her down without even realizing it.
Song Ye’s acting was excellent, while Qin Zizhen was a bit weaker. She had several NG takes before finally finding her rhythm and completing the scene.
Since it was the same set, and because Song Ye had the highest status, the assistant director arranging the schedule didn’t dare waste his time. So Pei Qingjian—who also appeared in this setting—was luckily scheduled for the second scene.
He walked up to Song Ye and greeted politely, “Hello, Brother Song.”
Song Ye looked at him, nodded, and let his gaze settle on his face.
“Earlier I didn’t get a close look from a distance. Now that I’m up close, it’s more obvious—you don’t quite look the same as in the trending photos from noon,” Song Ye said calmly.
As soon as he said that, the director—who was about to guide their scene—and the others all turned curiously to look at Pei Qingjian.
Seeing this, Yang Hao quietly walked over.
Pei Qingjian put on an embarrassed expression. “Really? Maybe the photos just made me look better.”
Song Ye didn’t respond. He took out his phone and opened the still-trending topic #DrunkenRiverMoonSetPhotos#.
He zoomed in on the photos of Pei Qingjian posted by marketing accounts and held his phone up next to Pei Qingjian’s face, silently comparing them.
Those on set who were more sensitive to styling immediately noticed the difference. But noticing didn’t mean much—this kind of thing wasn’t rare in the industry. Plenty of leads would tone down a supporting actor’s styling to avoid being overshadowed.
It was just…
Someone glanced secretly at Song Ye.
Usually, the ones who did this were the male or female leads, since they stood to gain the most attention.
Other actors knew they were supporting roles and couldn’t be bothered with this kind of trouble—it was, after all, something that could offend people.
But judging by Song Ye’s attitude now, it didn’t seem like he had asked for Pei Qingjian’s styling to be changed.
Then it couldn’t be Qin Zizhen either—she was a female actress, not even competing in the same lane.
So who was it? Everyone was puzzled.
Yang Hao hadn’t expected Song Ye to see that trending topic.
He usually didn’t pay attention to online buzz—why had he noticed it today?
But she didn’t think too much about it. Song Ye was still a celebrity; it wasn’t like he never checked social media. Sometimes, when it crossed his mind, he would scroll through it.
Plus, they had argued at noon. Maybe he wasn’t in the mood to read the script, remembered that there would definitely be activity online for the drama’s launch, and casually checked—just in time to see it.
So in the end, this was all that manager’s fault!
Too impatient—buying a trending topic so early!
“Alright,” Yang Hao said, stepping in. “Time is tight. Song Ye, you still have other commitments later, so we can’t delay. Let’s shoot.”
Song Ye glanced at her, then looked back at Pei Qingjian.
Pei Qingjian nodded obediently. “Let’s shoot first, Brother Song.”
“No rush,” Song Ye said slowly. “An actor’s image is part of shaping the character. The right styling makes the character more authentic. I just took a closer look—you changed your headband?”
Pei Qingjian: …
Yang Hao: … She suddenly remembered—among the three photos posted by the marketing accounts, one side-profile shot had clearly shown that black headband with gold trim.
Striking and vivid.
“Your eyes are different too,” Song Ye continued. “They look rounder in the photos.”
He said, “Go find the makeup artist and have them restore your look to match the photos.”
Pei Qingjian: …
“Go on. I’ll shoot the next scene first,” Song Ye insisted.
Only then did Pei Qingjian nod, looking like he didn’t dare disobey, and turned to walk toward his manager.
Yang Hao had never expected things to unfold like this.
In front of so many people, she couldn’t directly question Song Ye. And by now, Pei Qingjian had already left with Zhou Pengyue toward the makeup room.
Fuming, Yang Hao walked off to the side, stewing in silence.
When Pei Qingjian reached the makeup room, Director Wang made a show of calling Yang Hao, sounding troubled.
“Then just restore his original styling,” Yang Hao said helplessly.
At this point, with so many people watching—and with Song Ye having spoken—even if she was dissatisfied, there was nothing she could do.
Otherwise, if she insisted and Pei Qingjian later reappeared in the current styling, it would be as good as openly admitting that she was behind this—for Zhou Bin.
After all, in the entire production, only a handful of people could go against Song Ye. Excluding the director and producers, that left only her.
And Song Ye had already cleared himself through his actions. So who else could she, as a manager, be acting for?
Only Zhou Bin.
Thinking this, Yang Hao rubbed her forehead, silently hoping that Pei Qingjian’s acting skills were poor.
That way, once he moved, he wouldn’t look as good as in still photos, and he wouldn’t pose much of a threat to Zhou Bin.
After ending the call, Director Wang cheerfully walked over to Pei Qingjian and began doing his makeup.
From Yang Hao’s reaction, it was clear the matter had been resolved smoothly, without affecting the makeup team at all.
Thinking this, Director Wang’s gaze toward Pei Qingjian grew even gentler.
As he worked, he chatted with him. When he finished, Pei Qingjian opened his eyes and saw that he had been restored to his original look.
Not only that—it somehow looked even better than the first time.
Pei Qingjian looked left, then right, unable to pinpoint what exactly had created this effect, yet clearly feeling the difference.
Even Amily, who had done his makeup earlier, exclaimed, “Teacher Wang, this is incredible—you did it so much better than I did.”
Pei Qingjian nodded quickly. “I think so too—it does feel a little different.”
Director Wang laughed. “Of course. If I weren’t better than her, then she wouldn’t be my assistant—I’d be hers.”
“Alright, go get ready to shoot,” he said to Pei Qingjian. “I’ll teach this makeup look to Amily later. After that, she and Lily will keep handling you. Too many people involved means too many opinions, and that’s not good for you.”
“Okay,” Pei Qingjian replied.
Right now, there weren’t many people in the makeup room, so it was fine for Director Wang to do it personally.
But once things returned to the normal schedule and all the actors gathered in the makeup room, if Director Wang continued to do his makeup, it would practically be handing people gossip material on a silver platter.
Who knew what people would say then? Yang Hao might even pick up on something and take it out on the makeup team.
So it was best to leave it to Amily and Lily—two relatively unnoticed assistants.
“Then I’ll head out,” Pei Qingjian said before leaving the makeup room.
By the time he returned to the set, Song Ye had already finished filming his third solo scene.
Pei Qingjian hurried over. “Brother Song, I’m ready.”
Song Ye looked at him—restored to the way he had looked when they first met—and for a moment, he was a little stunned.
He looks even better, Song Ye thought.
Was it just his imagination?
Or the contrast effect?
Because the earlier styling hadn’t suited him as well, now that he’d returned to the better version, what had once been “eye-catching” now felt downright striking.
Others on set were thinking the same thing.
The director stared at him carefully for quite a while. “No wonder Teacher Song has such a sharp eye—this really does look much better!”
“Exactly,” others murmured.
“This is way too good-looking!”
“I thought there was no need to change it earlier—it already looked fine—but now that I see this, the difference is huge.”
“My god, is our production this good-looking overall?”
“Is Pei Qingjian just not photogenic? I feel like he looks even better now than in the close-up photo Brother Song showed earlier.”
“Same here.”
Listening to all this, Yang Hao felt increasingly frustrated.
He really did suit this styling—especially after the previous version had set a comparison, making this one’s strengths stand out even more.
But Yang Hao wasn’t a professional makeup artist. Her sensitivity to styling only came from her own experience with makeup. Anything beyond her personal skill level was outside her understanding.
So like everyone else, she attributed the difference to him being less photogenic—and to the contrast effect.
Zhou Pengyue, listening to the whispers around him, almost burst out laughing.
Good. Very good. Keep thinking that way—just don’t mess with their Xiao Pei again.
Still, this had turned into a blessing in disguise. What had originally been an 8-point look had been elevated to a perfect 10 under Director Wang’s skilled hands.
At this point, Zhou Pengyue could confidently say: as long as Pei Qingjian’s acting was even just passable—not even good—then once this drama aired, his popularity would skyrocket.
After all, with a face like this, he was undeniably striking.
Thinking of that, Zhou Pengyue silently prayed that Pei Qingjian wouldn’t flop later—just maintain the level he had shown at noon, please.
Yet to his surprise, Pei Qingjian performed even better than he had earlier.
If not for one small mistake—stepping out of frame and having to redo the shot—he would have passed in a single take.
Song Ye looked at him in surprise. “Your acting’s pretty good.”
Pei Qingjian smiled. “I practiced a lot at home.”
“My scenes aren’t many, so I just kept rehearsing them over and over. Looks like it paid off.”
Song Ye nodded, his tone softening slightly. “Having that kind of awareness is a good thing.”
He added, “If there’s anything you don’t understand later, you can come to me. If you want to run lines, you can come to me too.”
As he spoke, he gestured for his assistant, took his phone, and said, “Let me add you on WeChat—it’ll be easier for you to reach me.”
Pei Qingjian immediately called Zhou Pengyue over, took out his phone, and added him.
“Thank you, Brother Song—you’re really kind.”
Song Ye smiled. “No need to be polite.”
Just as he finished speaking, Yang Hao appeared beside him and began discussing a brand they had worked with before.
Pei Qingjian tactfully stepped aside.
Zhou Pengyue looked at him, practically bursting with excitement. “You were amazing!”
“Seriously, Xiao Pei—I’ve never seen you act this well before!”
“If your acting had improved this much earlier, you should’ve told me! I wouldn’t have let you sit idle for eight months!”
He couldn’t help sighing. “As long as you keep this level up, with your looks and your acting—even without connections, we could at least push into second-tier.”
Then Zhou Pengyue suddenly thought of something.
Well… not exactly without connections.
Wasn’t the reason Pei Qingjian got this role because of his connection—Lin Xingchen?
So he wasn’t completely without backing.
Still, Lin Xingchen was Lin Xingchen, and Pei Qingjian was Pei Qingjian. They were just friends, not family, so Zhou Pengyue had no intention of relying on that connection.
Favors, once used, were gone. Even between friends, you couldn’t keep asking for help.
But whether or not you used it was one thing—whether or not it existed was another.
Even if Zhou Pengyue didn’t plan to rely on Lin Xingchen, he still hoped Pei Qingjian would continue to have that connection. That way, if they ever ran into trouble he couldn’t handle, they wouldn’t be completely without options.
“You and President Lin… you’re still friends, right?” Zhou Pengyue asked carefully.
Afraid that in the past month and a half—without his knowledge—the two might have gone their separate ways.
Pei Qingjian nodded. “Yeah. Why?”
“Nothing,” Zhou Pengyue said with a smile. “Just thought of it suddenly.”
Pei Qingjian didn’t think much of it.
But since Lin Xingchen had come up… he checked the time. It was already dinner time—why hadn’t Lin Xingchen sent him his dinner for today?
He stared at his phone, thinking quietly.
Seeing him focused on his screen, Zhou Pengyue didn’t disturb him. Instead, he went to pick up the boxed meals the crew had ordered.
“Time to eat,” he said.
The two of them got into the van and prepared to have dinner.
Pei Qingjian didn’t start eating right away. Instead, he took photos of the meal on the table and sent them to Lin Xingchen.
Pei Qingjian: [Finished my first day of filming! The director said I did pretty well!]
Pei Qingjian: [This is what I’m eating tonight [image][image][image]]
Pei Qingjian: [What about you? What are you eating? Let me see.jpg]