The filming for Nine Swords had always been grand in scale. This time, the main dramatic focus centered on wartime chaos, so they would first shoot against a green screen before adding composited effects in post-production.
When Qin Sizheng arrived, Lu Xianqing had not yet come. The director and the makeup team were waiting nearby. The set was bustling but orderly, massive equipment standing to one side. Only then did he remember that he would be suspended on wires later.
His character had two looks: a red-and-white everyday outfit and black-and-red armor. Even the hairstyle differed—one half-loose for daily wear and one neatly bound up.
The first half of the story conveyed the sense of an impending storm, so he first did the loose-hair look. When the wig cap was placed on his head, it felt slightly uncomfortable.
“It is a bit stuffy,” the makeup artist said. “But this one is better. Once you put on the armor later, it will be even more uncomfortable. That one is heavy. You will have to endure it.”
Qin Sizheng could not shake his head, so he simply said, “It is fine,” and lowered his eyes to study the script.
His acting was not strong; he could only grind through it word by word, practicing each line. It was even more exhausting than learning boxing. Fortunately, Lu Xianqing taught him patiently. Thinking of how he had called him “Father” twice over video last night made his ears heat up.
“Lift the outer corners of his eyes a bit more. Use the makeup to express more arrogance and youthful defiance,” Meng Zhen said as he stepped over to inspect the look. Qin Sizheng was a little too beautiful; it overshadowed the character’s temperament.
The makeup artist examined the reflection in the mirror. “Should I also draw the brows upward at the tail? Would that make him look too fierce?”
“No. However fierce he looks, he cannot outdo his father. Even if he turned the world upside down, he could not suppress Lu Xianqing’s presence. Make him flamboyant. Make him look almost irritating. The kind of person whose eyes seem to sit on top of his head.”
“…All right, I will adjust it.”
Meng Zhen did not leave after speaking. Seizing every minute, he stood beside Qin Sizheng and walked him through the scene. He was familiar with this young idol and had specifically reviewed his previous footage. Although the audition had been decent, his earlier work could only be described as a complete mess.
He did not want any mishaps during official filming, so he explained everything in as much detail as possible.
“This character has two main stages. In your audition, you only tried the second stage—after the nation falls.”
“The first stage is when everything is teetering. You are still the beloved youngest son of the Grand General who safeguards the state. Full of youthful spirit, heart set on the wandering life of the martial world. You believe that one day you can step out from your father’s shadow and have your own legend. So you secretly leave home to travel and encounter the famed courtesan Liu Xiaowan.”
“On the surface, this part does not seem to require much acting, but portraying true youthful spirit is not so simple. His spirit is carefree and unrestrained—not arrogant or domineering. You must grasp that balance.”
Meng Zhen’s phone rang. He answered with a few brief acknowledgments, then hung up. “Lu Xianqing ran into a traffic accident and is stuck in congestion. He will be late. Let us try to finish the first shot before he arrives and starts makeup. No problem?”
Qin Sizheng nodded. “I will do my best.”
—
Meanwhile, Lu Xianqing had already been waiting in place for over half an hour without moving an inch. Bored out of her mind, An Ning opened her phone and scrolled through the fan forum to see if there was any new content to enjoy.
Suddenly, she spotted a provocative new video posted only ten minutes ago. She immediately turned around. “Fourth Brother, I am sending you a video.”
Lu Xianqing tapped into the clip An Ning had forwarded: The Sickly Adoptive Father and His Spoiled Adopted Son — An Imagined Lover. He could not help clicking his tongue.
In ten minutes, the video told the story of a tattoo artist with mental health issues falling in love with a bright, innocent boxer. Lost in a haze between dream and reality, he sank deeper and deeper into his imagined world. The young boxer had been raised by him, unaware of the love buried deep in his guardian’s heart. Secretly, the boy nursed a crush on the adoptive father who had brought him up, treasuring it as the most hidden secret in his heart.
The screen split in two. His side was dark and oppressive, while Qin Sizheng’s side was bright and blazing—an intense contrast.
Lu Xianqing quite liked the stylistic choice. He clicked into the creator’s homepage and found another, more artsy piece titled Nong Zhang. The moment he tapped into it, he nearly flung the phone at An Ning’s face.
It told the story of a “male mother” trapped in a forced-love relationship—beginning with coercion and possession, moving on to pregnancy and childbirth. Angsty romance piled high with melodrama, love and hate intertwined to the point of obsession.
“Fourth Brother” lost his memory and did not know the child Qin Sizheng carried was his own. He forcibly imprisoned the pregnant Qin Sizheng, tormenting him day and night until he nearly miscarried.
Qin Sizheng hid a knife and stabbed him while he was drunk, but was knocked aside at the last second—the blade lodging in his shoulder instead. “Fourth Brother” smeared his own blood across Qin Sizheng’s lips and grew even more unhinged.
Later, when he regained his memory and learned the child was his, Qin Sizheng had already been driven to a mental breakdown, refusing even to recognize the baby. He abandoned both father and son and left.
Then came the inevitable wife-chasing crematorium arc: “Fourth Brother” raising the child while pursuing his runaway lover. Along the way appeared second female leads, second male leads, rivals everywhere. No one knew where the creator had sourced the footage; the editing was so seamless it flowed like a television drama. An outsider might not even detect the splicing.
Lu Xianqing: “……”
An Ning hurried to explain, “Do not be angry. People just make these for fun. Fan works help keep up popularity too.”
“Do you have their contact information?” Lu Xianqing asked.
An Ning suddenly felt as though she had opened some terrifying new door for him. “You have to promise to stay within the lines. Do not test content that crosses boundaries.”
“What lines?” he asked.
“The moral red line.”
Lu Xianqing lowered his head to his phone and replied calmly, “My eyesight is not good. I cannot see it.”
An Ning wished she could travel back in time and strangle herself for sending that video. She clawed at the back of her chair, grinding her teeth. “Do not use night blindness as an excuse! If you cannot see at night, you can see during the day! Fourth Brother, let us be reasonable.”
“Then I will test it at night. Any problem?” Lu Xianqing did not even lift his head. After a brief pause, he added, “Reasonable? I am the reason.”
“…Do not speak to me. I am dead.”
—
Ancient-style makeup took a long time. Qin Sizheng kept his eyes lowered, reading the script and immersing himself in the role. Only when the makeup artist told him they were finished did he snap back to reality. He looked up and saw the “Young Master” reflected in the mirror.
“Well?” the makeup artist asked.
Qin Sizheng sighed sincerely. “A masterpiece—like divine craftsmanship.”
The makeup artist laughed. “Honestly, you are young. You already fit the character’s age range. Your skin is in good condition, so the makeup shows well.”
Qin Sizheng did not understand the technicalities. As long as it suited the role, that was enough.
After changing into costume and finishing preparations, he headed to the shooting studio. Since this was more of a promotional feature, the visual style leaned toward CG, and everything was filmed indoors rather than on location.
The set had been built inside the studio: at its center stood a red waterside pavilion. Around it, fabric props were stretched and barely supported—there were no truly stable load-bearing points.
Meng Zhen had worried that Qin Sizheng, who had never filmed a period drama before, might struggle. Yet seated to the side, the young man’s eyes were hazy, as though lightly intoxicated. In an instant, that flamboyant, carefree youthful spirit emerged.
On the platform, dancers performed while a drunken man harassed one of them. The young master tossed a wine cup to stop him. “Why make things difficult for a lady? If you want to fight, fight me.”
The drunk sneered. “You swagger around relying on your father’s name. Strip away that outfit and that name—can you still stand?”
“Young Master Shen, teach him a lesson!”
“Young Master Shen, show him what you can do! Beat him! Miss Liu has always had high standards. Save her and maybe you will win her heart.”
“Young Master Shen, are you afraid?”
The young man gave a light scoff, seized the red-tasseled spear at his side, and thrust it straight toward the speaker. The tip grazed the man’s eye before embedding in a pillar behind him.
Meng Zhen watched the monitor nervously. Onscreen, the boy’s brows flew upward, chin lifted in supreme arrogance. “Afraid? Of you?”
As he spoke, he grabbed a length of red cloth and leapt down, wrapping an arm around the dancer’s waist and lifting her into his arms. He spun several times midair, earning thunderous applause.
Lu Xianqing arrived just in time to see the crucial moment—Qin Sizheng holding the actress, their gazes locked in tender affection. His face nearly turned green.
“In ancient times, did early romance earn a beating?”
An Ning shot him a sidelong glance. “Fourth Brother, in ancient times fourteen-year-olds were already married. Your son is seventeen. That is considered late marriage and late childbirth.”
Lu Xianqing let out an “Oh.” “Even so, if he does not leave me any heirs, he still deserves a beating.”
Meng Zhen turned and glared at him. “Heirs, what heirs? Stop talking! If you have something to say, get out and say it.”
Lu Xianqing truly did fall silent. He stood to the side watching Qin Sizheng film the scene. The night before, Qin Sizheng had asked him to rehearse lines over video, blushing as he called him “Father” twice before belatedly realizing he was being teased—and promptly hanging up.
With acting skills like his, he would need help even for this. When they filmed Between Good and Evil, he would need even more guidance. At that time, Lu Xianqing would teach him bit by bit, letting him learn carefully from every subtle detail.
“Old Lu, come here.”
Lu Xianqing walked over. Meng Zhen lowered his voice. “What do you think of the effect? Qin Sizheng has a good build. He looks great in period costumes. Honestly, if this were a xianxia game, he would be the charming young swordsman.”
Lu Xianqing’s expression remained calm, still remembering being told to get out moments ago. “So what if he is a charming young swordsman? In a moment, he still has to call me Father.”
Meng Zhen could not be bothered to respond and turned back to the monitor. He was meticulous about details. Lu Xianqing glanced at the screen. If Meng Zhen praised someone like that, it meant the performance was basically solid.
When Qin Sizheng came down, he was still a little nervous. He was not sure how the scene had turned out. Uneasy, he greeted Meng Zhen first, then nodded politely to Lu Xianqing.
“What ‘Fourth Brother’? Your wings have grown strong enough that you will not even call me Father anymore?”
Meng Zhen let out a cold laugh. “You have not even started filming and you are already taking advantage. You play his father once and think you are his father for life? Even scammers are not as shameless as you.”
Lu Xianqing replied, “One day as a teacher, a lifetime as a father. I have been his teacher for several days. What is wrong with him calling me Father?”