Xu Zhi was dumbfounded, staring at his phone and checking it repeatedly. “When did they confirm Qin Sizheng? How could it be Qin Sizheng? Did Zhou Changjiang get hacked?”
Jiang Zhen threw his phone into the corner in frustration. Wrong! Everything was wrong!
This movie should have been his and Lu Xianqing’s defining collaboration. Why was it suddenly Qin Sizheng? He only had the marketing account post a Weibo—why did Zhou Changjiang change his mind?
A film role doesn’t just change because someone says so!
Xu Zhi didn’t have time to debate. Grabbing Jiang Zhen’s shoulders, he demanded, “Did you leak this? Answer me! Did you sell the info to a marketing account? How many times have I told you not to compete with him? Stop obsessing over him! Now even your film contract’s gone—happy?”
Jiang Zhen was still dazed, clutching Xu Zhi’s hand. “Xu, go to the marketing account. Push up all the past scandals about Qin Sizheng’s acting. Make Zhou Changjiang replace him! Immediately! This role is mine! Chu Jing is mine!”
“Even if Qin Sizheng dies right now, Zhou Changjiang won’t use you!” Xu Zhi shoved him away, pointing at his nose. “You used to be steady. Now a single film makes you float? How can you compete with Qin Sizheng like this? Do you know who Zhou Changjiang is? Even a dummy can be honed into an acting emperor under him. This role was already a fluke you snatched—now you insist on targeting him?”
“What good does going on ‘Cute Kids’ do you? Even if Sijianqiu got flak, the hype went up. Shengyu is crowded with talent—you take whatever hype you can get. What did you do? You didn’t eclipse Qin Sizheng’s aura; you just acted as a background prop to highlight him.”
“Do you know what people online are saying? Jiang Zhen is Qin Sizheng’s fan, following him onto ‘Cute Kids.’ Sounds flattering, right? You happy now?”
Xu Zhi was frustrated, seeing his friend destroy himself. He ranted, growing more and more worked up. “Wen Li told me in private to perform well for this film. She really believes in you. Do you know who she is? Not just an actress—she’s Zhou Changjiang’s wife. Her word carries weight. She also doesn’t get along with Qin Sizheng. Don’t you understand what that means?”
“You sold the info to the marketing account. Did you think one post would seal it so Zhou Changjiang couldn’t change his mind? Don’t you know these film people are all a little crazy—one more willful than the next?”
Xu Zhi ranted himself into a near heart attack. He’d seen reckless behavior, but never anyone this self-destructive. “Keep this up, and if Qin Sizheng doesn’t leave the entertainment industry, you’ll kill yourself first!”
Jiang Zhen couldn’t understand it himself—how had everything gone so off course? He frowned, closed his eyes, and tried to recall. According to his memory, he should have been with Lu Xianqing… no.
Lu Xianqing had committed suicide. In the end, he hadn’t ended up with Lu Xianqing. That man’s gaze had never truly rested on him, yet it seemed full of deep love.
He clutched his head, feeling like an overloaded machine on the verge of collapse. His thoughts were fragmented, flickering with static and electric sparks. Jiang Zhen’s head ached unbearably as he let out a low, painful groan.
Xu Shu was startled. Forgetting to scold him, he immediately crouched down. “Are you okay?”
Jiang Zhen felt his memories tangled—truth and falsehoods intertwining wildly, leaving him unable to distinguish reality from recollection. Qin Sizheng’s face flashed in his mind like a curse.
“Jiang Zhen! Jiang Zhen!”
Suddenly, Jiang Zhen fainted. Xu Shu caught him and, with his free hand, dialed emergency services.
Meanwhile, Xu Zhi had hung up and scrambled back to the office, grabbing Qin Sizheng’s hand and rattling off so much that he left him blinking in confusion.
“Uh?”
Xu Zhi shook his head to stay awake, gripping his shoulders seriously. “There’s good news and bad news. Which do you want first?”
Qin Sizheng, unnerved by the intensity, replied, “Bad… bad first.”
“You can’t stay away from Lu Xianqing anymore.”
?
That didn’t even seem like bad news. “Then what’s the good news?”
“Zhou Changjiang just called. There’s a film looking for a male third, and it’s confirmed—it’s you. The contract’s on the way. And the male lead is… Lu Xianqing.”
Qin Sizheng: “…Your mouth must be blessed or something.”
Xu Zhi worried he might not be pleased, so he spoke patiently, trying to set up a long-term perspective. “I see you and Si Ge are getting along well. Take this chance to build the relationship. I know you’re reluctant, but…”
“I’m willing.”
Xu Zhi froze, surprised.
Qin Sizheng added, “But I have one condition.”
“What condition?” Xu Zhi asked.
Qin Sizheng turned toward Jiang Xi, who had been silently standing in the corner, and said, “I want him replaced.”
At home, Qin Sizheng spent two days repeatedly chewing through the script. Once he roughly understood the plot, Xu Zhi arranged for him to meet an acting coach to practice, so he wouldn’t be scolded once filming started.
The coach was a visiting professor at a film university, reportedly very young, with notable acting experience and achievements.
After Jiang Xi left, Xu Zhi temporarily lent his driver to take Qin Sizheng to the location. He would return to pick him up after class.
Qin Sizheng arrived early. The acting coach wasn’t there yet, and he worried about leaving a bad impression. His previous acting had been so bad that even a layperson like him wanted to cover their eyes.
Most of his scenes were with Lu Xianqing. Already weak, being overshadowed by him would be unbearable.
The columns were lined with mirrored tiles. Qin Sizheng couldn’t help practicing in front of them. “I’ve only lost one hand. Even if it were a foot, even if I had only one hand left, I could still protect you all!”
“No… it still feels off.”
“I’ve only lost one hand! Even if it were a foot… no, that’s too fierce.” He muttered, banging his head against the mirrored tile and wishing he could claw the wall.
“Try again.” He composed his expressions, gathered his emotions, and recited the lines. After a while, he started clawing at the wall again. “Ah! This is so hard! Will the teacher scold me? I’m really not cut out for this. I should go back to boxing. I’m going to make a fool of myself.”
He muttered to himself, completely unaware that a man was approaching from behind.
“You look great putting in the effort, but your acting… it’s really pathetic.”
Feeling hot breath at his neck, Qin Sizheng reflexively reached out, but his hand was caught and pulled into someone’s arms. The other hand, mid-air, froze.
“Si Ge! What are you doing here?” He realized immediately. “You’re the acting coach Xu Zhi arranged?”
Acting coach?
Qin Sizheng called again, “Si Ge?”
Lu Xianqing snapped out of it and said calmly, “Yes. I’m the coach Xu Zhi arranged for you.”
Qin Sizheng immediately relaxed. He had worried the coach would scold him, but if it was Si Ge, everything would be fine. His temper was so good, he wouldn’t yell.
Caught up in relief, he forgot that the man was still holding his wrist and pulling him close. Only when handed the script did he realize it, turning red and stepping back. “So… when do we start?”
“In such a hurry?” Lu Xianqing smiled.
Qin Sizheng nodded quickly, like a chicken pecking, “Time’s tight, tasks are heavy. Let’s start.” Few days left until filming.
“Si Ge, do you normally teach?”
“No. You’re the first.”
Just after finishing a psychological session with Shen Qing, Lu Xianqing ran into Chu Wei at the elevator.
“Yo, Si Ge,” Chu Wei greeted.
Lu Xianqing, still low on energy, muttered, “Yeah… what are you doing here?”
Chu Wei raised his hand toward an office. “Got a student. Teaching him a few days. Paying well too.”
Lu Xianqing scoffed. “Another last-minute, useless wannabe?”
Chu Wei replied, “Kind of useless. Acting’s terrible… but you know him—Qin Sizheng.”
Lu Xianqing suddenly turned sharply, startling Chu Wei. “What are you doing? Hey, don’t come over—wait, what?”
The man draped an arm over his shoulder, leaning close. “I’ll teach him myself.”
Chu Wei: “?”
Lu Xianqing pulled a key from his pocket, flicking it between his fingers. “He’s not useless. I’ll train him into a little genius. You can clock out. Payment’s in your account later.”
Qin Sizheng nervously clutched the script, saying with as much authority as he could muster, “Then I might just shatter your teacher dreams.”
Lu Xianqing propped his chin with one hand while curling a finger toward him with the other. When Qin Sizheng leaned closer, he smiled and said, “Then you’ll just be my only student. Come on—call me ‘teacher’ once so I can hear it.”
Without suspicion, Qin Sizheng immediately shouted, “Teacher!”
Lu Xianqing carefully deconstructed the two words in his mind, polishing every stroke, his voice wrapped in a subtle undercurrent of desire. By the time Qin Sizheng hesitated and repeated “teacher,” Lu Xianqing’s breathing was already slightly ragged.
“Let me see the script.” He exhaled, trying to stay calm, reaching for the page. When Qin Sizheng extended that beautiful hand, his breathing stumbled again.
He looked at those full, flushed lips, and memory involuntarily brought up images of it covered in white liquid—hands soaked, mouth wet, instinctive swallowing choked and nauseating, his throat trembling.
Even Shen Qing’s psychological counseling had done nothing. He was like a pile of scattered sand, utterly broken whenever he saw Qin Sizheng.
The boy didn’t know what he was thinking. When taking the script, he instinctively glanced at that hand. Compared to his own, it was far more beautiful—his own fingers thin, covered by a thin layer of skin over the bones. Lu Xianqing’s hands, however, looked strong and capable. Just holding the paper made him tense.
If he knew how to fight, sparring with him would probably be thrilling.
He swallowed, imagining Lu Xianqing in competition shorts, fists wrapped in gloves, hair plastered with sweat, sweat tracing the contours of his skin.
“Yanyan!”
Qin Sizheng jumped at the sudden call. Before he could react, Lu Xianqing lifted his chin, and a warm flow ran down his nose.
He was bleeding!
“Si… Si Ge!” Qin Sizheng blushed furiously, flailing to grab tissues from the table, only for Lu Xianqing to hold his head still. “Don’t tilt your head back. Blood will flow the wrong way. Stay like this, don’t move.”
He couldn’t nod, watching as Lu Xianqing fetched a tissue to stop the bleeding, his face still smiling. “And you’re bleeding just thinking about something?”
“Nothing… maybe I’m overheated, that’s all.” He wanted to dig a hole and hide in it. Useless—he’d seen so many fighters and never had this happen. Just imagining him like that made his nose bleed.
Lu Xianqing didn’t press further, helping him stop the bleeding and pouring water in a disposable cup. Seeing him breathing through his mouth with tissues in his nose made him smirk.
“Stop laughing,” Qin Sizheng murmured, pointing.
Lu Xianqing shot back playfully, “Why not laugh? Last time skiing, you laughed at me for ages. Little one, only you get to light fires, not me?”
Qin Sizheng kept jabbering, “You light it then. Burn the mountain, rot in jail.”
A question mark rose over Lu Xianqing’s head. Qin Sizheng, like a fire safety advocate, kept nagging: “Morning fire, afternoon police. I don’t set fires casually.”
Lu Xianqing ground his teeth. “Alright, no more fires. Be a law-abiding citizen, okay?”
Qin Sizheng squinted, finally making him laugh. Previously, he had always seemed shadowed, distant. Even when teased, he never truly laughed with his heart open.
“Teacher, when do we start?” he asked.
Lu Xianqing had skimmed the script earlier and knew a bit about the role of the male third. Now, reading it in detail, he liked it immediately. No wonder Zhou Changjiang chose him. The role fit Qin Sizheng perfectly.
The boy’s character, Chu Jing, even had romantic scenes with him. In truth, it was like his own feelings projected, but Chu Jing left him for “family,” only to be betrayed.
Chu Jing was the epitome of goodness; those others, pure evil. And he? He was the balance between good and evil.
Because of the subject and tone, and the romantic subplot with Chu Jing, the film couldn’t be released domestically. For Qin Sizheng, that wasn’t entirely ideal.
His current trajectory should maximize commercial value. This high-profile, un-airable project would be wasted effort. Better to focus on long-term growth.
Yet, for Shengyu Entertainment, this was an enviable resource.
If it landed under his guidance, it would be a crucial stepping stone for Qin Sizheng.
Flipping through the script, Lu Xianqing asked casually, “Yanyan, what kind of contract do you have with your company? How many years left?”
Qin Sizheng answered honestly.
Lu Xianqing clenched the script tightly. Ten years? That was practically a slavery contract.
The boy must have feared being taken advantage of. No wonder Shengyu had been exploiting him, knowing he couldn’t terminate or renegotiate. Just treating him like chaff.
And Xu Zhi? Useless. He couldn’t manage an artist to save his life. Even An Ning was ten times better. This poor kid had been made into a fool in his hands.
Qin Sizheng, unfamiliar with industry contracts, asked, “Is there a problem?”
Lu Xianqing sneered silently. Big problem. These idiots were treating him like wheat to harvest, squeezing his commercial value dry. By the end of the contract, even moving companies wouldn’t offer growth potential. Twenty-six and done.
He didn’t confront him directly, only asked indirectly, “What do you think of Mingfei Entertainment?”
Qin Sizheng, aware of his own position, spoke honestly, not thinking about signing. “The company’s strong. Their actors win many awards, films are excellent, but the boss… isn’t great. Very annoying.”
“…” Lu Xianqing couldn’t help laughing and groaning.
True, Mingfei the person was terrible—even calling him a butterfly would insult the butterfly species. Yet in the industry, he was effective, skilled in maneuvering. He made a far better boss than actor.
That’s why so many kids clamored to sleep their way up. His cultural level wasn’t high; he spent years in the military with the old man, but he was trustworthy.
He said he would promote whoever he chose. There was no such thing as going back on his word.
Forget it. No matter whose management he was under, none would give him as much freedom as being under his. If he said take a role, then he would take it—especially roles with emotional scenes opposite him.
Lu Xianqing finished spinning out his fantasy and tapped the script in satisfaction. “All right, class is in session. Professor Lu is very strict. If you get it wrong, I will smack your palm. Understood?”
Qin Sizheng immediately sat up straight, tissues still stuffed in his nostrils. The sight of him was unintentionally ridiculous.
Lu Xianqing first walked him through the script. “There is no time to teach you the basics from the beginning. We will cram this film instead. Start by feeling the identity. A seventeen- or eighteen-year-old who has already seen the worst of humanity, scraping and clawing his way up in the slums…”
Qin Sizheng gradually became absorbed. The script, coming from Lu Xianqing’s mouth, seemed to gain another layer of weight and depth. He found himself sinking into the role, as if he were already standing in that filthy, dangerous slum. He could almost smell the damp rot in the air.
The crumbling tenement buildings looked ready to collapse at any moment. Rotting garbage hung over the edges of trash bins, drawing swarms of flies. Neon signs in garish colors advertised haircuts and massages. Others bluntly announced the sale of adult products, along with various “special services,” both overt and covert.
Even the water on the ground carried a fishy stench. A few women leaned against the entrance of an alley, waving at him. “Ah Jing, you are back. I still have some wontons here. Take them and eat.”
A child urinated beside a utility pole. Nearby, a woman holding a baby stood with dull, hopeless eyes, lowering her head as she numbly coaxed the child.
Men with sallow faces and skeletal frames squatted on the ground, chopping wood to feed into a stove. The smell of smoke was everywhere.
Everything here reeked of decay and age. Chu Jing had been born here, raised on scraps from every household, and in turn he protected them. Like a sunflower growing out of the mud, the boy was unyielding and full of fighting spirit.
Lu Xianqing said, “Let us try the first small outburst. Your friend stole something and it ended up with me. You come to me to take the punishment in his place.”
Qin Sizheng nodded stiffly, nerves written all over him.
Lu Xianqing rested one hand on the edge of the table, his tone flat. “Kneel.”
“What?”
He pointed at the script. Only then did Qin Sizheng remember there was indeed a kneeling scene—kneeling straight-backed before him under the gaze of a crowd, enduring mockery.
Was he supposed to kneel?
Seeing his discomfort, Lu Xianqing said, “You can kneel when we film it. For now, just run through the scene.” He handed the script back and stood up, holding a cup as he stepped closer.
Qin Sizheng held his breath as he approached. In that instant, he felt Lu Xianqing’s aura change, as though Ding Chenhai had stepped straight out of the script. He gripped Qin Sizheng’s chin and lifted it. “They say you can fight. How old are you?”
Qin Sizheng stayed silent.
“Do you know who I am?” Lu Xianqing continued. “You came here alone to save someone? There is only one outcome for stealing from me—death.”
“Killing is against the law!”
Lu Xianqing suddenly laughed. “Against the law? Around here, someone dying is as ordinary as a rat dying. That place you live in—what is it called…” He tilted his head as if recalling, then raised an eyebrow. “The slums?”
“The people in there are not even considered people anymore. They are just living livestock.” He bent down, gripping the boy’s chin and lifting it higher, leaning in close. “Drink it, and I will consider letting your friend go.”
Chu Jing did not know how to drink. Ding Chenhai’s fingers brushed slowly over his lips, moving with deliberate slowness and sending a tingling sensation through him. Qin Sizheng stared blankly into Lu Xianqing’s eyes, his breathing forgotten.
“If you do not drink, I will break your friend’s hands and feet and feed him to the dogs.”
Seemingly lost in the scene, Qin Sizheng snatched the cup and gulped it down, only to choke and cough violently. Water streaked across his lips. He instinctively moved to wipe it away, but the man grabbed his hand to stop him, his other hand stroking lightly.
His chest felt as if it were about to burst. Qin Sizheng’s breathing turned erratic until Lu Xianqing finally released his lips. “Not bad. Your acting is nonexistent, but at least it is real. Zhou Changjiang likes that when he shoots.”
Qin Sizheng stared at him in disbelief. “Is that good enough?”
Lu Xianqing said, “The main camera in this scene is on me. You were unconsciously influenced by me, which made you look natural. When you act opposite someone else, they might not be able to carry you. Do not celebrate too soon.”
Qin Sizheng gave a small “oh,” unsure whether to call him confident or arrogant.
“Let us try another small outburst. After Chu Jing and Ding Chenhai have their first conflict, Ding Chenhai personally goes to the slums to apologize. In your room, he pushes you down onto the bed. This scene focuses on you. There needs to be more acting through the eyes, a clear shift.”
“From initial surprise, to trying to hide it, bringing him into your room to talk in private. Then you hear those discordant sounds from upstairs. Slowly, you begin to react. Your gaze shifts from shyness to something with a little more desire and tension. If you feel your eyes are not enough, you can use body language to supplement.”
Qin Sizheng did not quite understand.
“For example,” Lu Xianqing said, “when I push you onto the bed, even though it is not written in the script, you can grab my arm or press your hand against my chest. That shows you are still resisting at first. Later, as your emotions change, your hands can move to my waist, or clutch the… bedsheets.”
The moment he said “bedsheets,” Qin Sizheng’s ears flushed red. He now understood exactly what that implied, and what kind of emotional shift Lu Xianqing meant.
“Is there… anything else?”
“Chu Jing is young and not affected or artificial. He follows his instincts. Hearing those sounds upstairs, he would dare to lift his head and kiss Ding Chenhai—but only a sudden, unguarded peck before pulling back.”
As Lu Xianqing spoke, his thoughts seemed to drift to the image of pressing Qin Sizheng down on the bed.
He could not help reaching out to grab Qin Sizheng’s hand, his thumb rubbing slowly over his palm as he spoke in a low voice, almost as if indulging himself. “I would kiss you. Fierce and overwhelming in a way you have never felt. You would go from resisting at first to gradually sinking into it. You would not dare make a sound, afraid the neighbors you see every day would discover what I am doing to you, so you would hold back your voice and breathe softly.”
Qin Sizheng’s face burned red, as though that low voice had already bullied him once.