Chapter 307 | Chapter 308 | Chapter 309
Chapter 307: Acting Skills—Absolutely Insane
Ou Qian noticed Director Wang glaring at him and casually explained, “The little girl is my fan. It’s normal for her to be talented—she’s got the same gift as me.”
Director Wang cursed him inwardly for being shameless and let out a dry chuckle. “She’s no ordinary fan. You didn’t see the way that girl, Dan Shui, was looking at you—she practically wanted to devour you.”
Last time the girl auditioned, Ou Qian had been there too. Back then she’d been so calm, nothing like today—bold beyond belief. Director Wang couldn’t help wondering if that calmness had been an act. Maybe the moment she laid eyes on Ou Qian, her heart had already run wild.
Thinking of business, Director Wang changed the subject. “How’s your new movie coming along? Director Yan is way stricter than I am. Even you must’ve gotten chewed out plenty, right?” His tone carried a hint of schadenfreude.
Ou Qian replied lightly, “I didn’t give him the chance to scold me. There’s only one last scene left. We should wrap tomorrow.” He paused. “The set’s not far from here, so I dropped by to see you.”
The area boasted lush mountains and clear waters—beautiful scenery and low location fees—so it was common for crews to film here. Director Wang wasn’t surprised.
He was, however, a little touched. “Filming a movie is exhausting. Why not hurry back and rest? What are you doing coming to see this old brother of yours?”
Ou Qian narrowed his eyes with a lazy smile. “Just swinging by to remind you—there’s a strict crackdown lately. Your drama is a big production, so be careful with the scale. If it doesn’t pass review, you’ll be hugging your wuxia dream and crying.”
Director Wang really wanted to punch him. “Brother Ou, stop jinxing me. You’re the biggest investor in this drama. If it can’t air, you’re going down with me!”
Ou Qian patted his shoulder and delivered a truly infuriating line. “I don’t lack that little bit of money. But you—your contract has a floating director’s fee. If this drama loses money, your pay will… hehe.”
After that reminder, Ou Qian left as casually as he’d arrived, leaving Director Wang fuming and stamping his feet.
That brat! That damn brat! What’s so great about becoming a movie emperor at twenty-three? About owning his own businesses? About netting billions every year? What’s so great about that?!
Once Ou Qian was truly gone, Director Wang hurriedly flipped through the script from start to finish. Aside from the scene where the male and female leads fall off a cliff, pledge themselves to each other at the bottom, and consummate their marriage in a cave—which was a bit over the line—there wasn’t much else that pushed boundaries.
After thinking it over, Director Wang felt the scene where Yang Yurou risks herself to seduce Ji Qing for revenge was also slightly excessive. That part definitely couldn’t be cut—so maybe the scale could be toned down?
With that decision, Director Wang quickly called the screenwriter to discuss it. In the end, the writer agreed to make some adjustments to those scenes.
After Nan Xun returned, she immediately checked her arm.
Thankfully, the autograph hadn’t rubbed off.
Zhao Rui’s call came right away. “Dan Shui, why didn’t you call me after filming? I could’ve picked you up!”
Nan Xun replied considerately, “You’re not only managing me—I know you’re busy. I caught a ride back with Sister Qin. Don’t worry.”
The person on the other end hesitated before saying, “I’ll assign you a personal assistant. When I’m too busy, she can take care of you.”
“Thanks, Brother Zhao. Oh, Brother Zhao—I met Ou Qian today! My idol signed my arm! Ahhh, I’m so excited—”
Before she could finish, she heard the busy tone. The other side had hung up.
Zhao Rui, on the other end: Brain-dead fangirl!
Even though the call was cut, Nan Xun wasn’t angry at all. She excitedly took a photo of the autograph on her arm and posted it on Mantou, adding an ecstatic caption:
Ahhh! I met the little demon Ou Qian today! He even signed my arm! Too bad I didn’t have paper and pen, but it’s fine—I’ve decided not to shower for at least two weeks!
The comments exploded instantly.
Fallen Deity: Ahhh, that really is our idol’s autograph!
Yan Shang: Awooo—sis, make it a month without showering! That’s Ou Qian’s signature!!
BlahBlah: Tch, just a signature. I have one too… though someone else copied it.
…
Nan Xun glanced at the comments and headed to the bathroom. No way was she really skipping showers—she’d been filming all day and practically stank.
“Little Eight, do you have any waterproof powder? I need to protect the autograph.”
Little Eight: …
And somehow, it really did.
After a nice hot shower, Nan Xun lay on her bed and started sketching.
She was too tired today, so she kept it simple.
A few minutes later, a new post appeared on Dan Shui’s Mantou: a chibi version of her idol, Ou Qian.
A rain of pink hearts smashed toward the idol’s head. Chibi Ou Qian hugged his oversized head and tried to dodge, big watery eyes brimming with tears, little mouth pouting—so aggrieved he looked about to cry.
Nan Xun laughed out loud herself, let alone the fans who swarmed in like hungry wolf cubs.
The comments filled with nothing but hahahaha, scrolling at lightning speed.
Fish-Tail Cat: Mysteriously heartbroken for my idol—turned into a pitiful baby by sis, hahaha!
Procrastinator’s Second Sis: Don’t cry, big bro—Big sister will take good care of you, hahaha!
Xixi: Is this really okay? Ou Qian is usually dark, seductive, elegant—this little pitiful version makes me want to… bully him, hahaha!
…
Nan Xun covered her face shyly. “Oh my, how did my fans all get so wild?”
Little Eight: Heh. And whose fault is that?!
In less than two months, Nan Xun had shamelessly amassed five million followers. Truly unmatched.
Over the next few days, filming went smoothly. The Yang family’s martial arts manual attracted the covetous eye of a court hawk named Ji Qing. On a dark, windy night, Ji Qing led a group of masked men to massacre the Yang household—dozens killed, even the servants spared none.
At that time, the male lead An Zihao escaped death by going out to run errands, while Yang Yurou was sealed at an acupoint by her mother and hidden under the bed. She watched her family being slaughtered with her own eyes, grief and rage tearing her apart.
In the end, the Yang residence where she’d lived for years was burned to the ground in a raging fire, her anguish reaching its peak.
This scene was a severe test of acting. There was an extreme close-up on the eyes. Director Wang worried Dan Shui wouldn’t be able to cry—but the girl’s restrained, heartbreaking tears came instantly. Even her eyebrows trembled. Her performance surpassed that of many veteran actors.
Little Eight said, “Darling, I think you’re about to shine in this world. Hehehe—I want to watch you conquer the stars and the sea.”
Nan Xun replied with a grin, “My goal isn’t to conquer the stars and the sea—it’s to conquer Idol Ou Qian.”
Little Eight burst into sobs. Such a clear, unwavering goal—it was so moving~
Chapter 308: I Volunteer to Play the Role
Nan Xun’s next few scenes required a change of filming location.
Although Yang Yurou, hiding beneath the bed, couldn’t see her enemy’s face, she heard his cold voice clearly when he interrogated her mother about the whereabouts of a martial arts manual. Combined with the fact that his subordinates addressed him as Lord Ji, she soon uncovered the enemy’s identity.
Ji Qing had once roamed the martial world. Later, he was recruited by the imperial court and became its tool. A martial arts fanatic, he would stop at nothing to collect manuals from every sect. After becoming a lackey of the court, his actions grew even more reckless.
Escaping through a secret passage, Yang Yurou headed straight for Ji Qing’s territory—this being the next filming location.
Ji Qing’s residence was extravagantly luxurious. It was said that the production had rented not only the entire mansion, but also the whole street outside it. Even a single day’s rent cost a fortune. Fortunately, the crew was well-funded and didn’t mind the expense. Director Wang, who pursued high production quality, had even hired specialists to redesign the ancient-style residence.
Nan Xun’s final few scenes were all filmed here, especially the assassination of Ji Qing—a small climax in the early part of the drama.
Because the set was a half-day’s drive from the company, the crew arranged a vehicle to pick up Dan Shui early the next morning.
Dan Shui’s assistant had already been assigned—a girl about her age named Gu Xiaomo. She was quick and efficient, and didn’t talk much. Nan Xun liked her quite a bit.
Everything was ready; they were just waiting for the crew’s car. Instead of the car, however, Nan Xun received a phone call.
It was from the production’s stage manager, informing her that an actor was unavailable, and filming might be postponed for a few days while they shot other scenes first.
Nan Xun quickly asked Zhao Rui what was going on. Zhao Rui didn’t know either at first, but with his wide network, he figured it out after a few calls.
There was a hint of disdain in Zhao Rui’s voice. “The actor playing Ji Qing, Wei Teng, supposedly fell down a flight of stairs by accident. He can’t film the remaining scenes.”
Wei Teng was a popular second-tier male star, a solid actor. Otherwise, Director Wang wouldn’t have chosen him for such an important role.
He’d finished his earlier scenes and left quickly, apparently buried in endless engagements. Nan Xun hadn’t spoken much with him, but she could tell he was a smooth operator who got along well with the crew.
“Brother Zhao,” Nan Xun asked, “should I, as a nobody, go send some flowers or fruit? We’re all from the same crew, after all.”
Zhao Rui snorted. “Why bother? The production will send someone as a formality.”
Nan Xun hesitated. “Brother Zhao, you don’t seem very fond of Wei Teng. Why?”
“Heh. From what I’ve heard, his agent lined him up for a popular IP idol drama, and the other side already confirmed him as the male lead. Compare that to an unlikable villain, third male lead—of course he’d choose the idol drama.”
Nan Xun froze, frowning. “You mean… he injured himself on purpose?”
Zhao Rui sneered. “Director Wang won’t halt production just for one actor. His goal is this year’s major awards—he has to get the drama on air this year. So Wei Teng’s fall basically means he’s exiting the crew. And since it was an ‘accident,’ even if the contract’s terminated, the penalty won’t be that high.”
Nan Xun frowned even deeper. “Then doesn’t that mean Director Wang has to recast Ji Qing? And all of Wei Teng’s previous scenes are wasted?”
“Exactly,” Zhao Rui said with contempt. “That’s the worst kind of person. If you didn’t want the role, you shouldn’t have signed the contract. Because that IP drama didn’t work out at first, he agreed to this one—now he pulls this stunt.”
Nan Xun nodded. She hadn’t expected Wei Teng to be like this in private. Maybe it wasn’t entirely his intention, but persuasion from his agency and overwhelming temptation had pushed him into doing something unethical.
With no scenes scheduled for her over the next few days, Nan Xun didn’t go to the set. To keep the schedule on track, Director Wang could only film other parts first.
Thinking of Director Wang’s foul mood these days, Nan Xun felt a wave of sympathy for the male and female leads, An Zihao and Song Jiayue.
As Nan Xun predicted, the atmosphere on set was tense. The female lead’s performance in one scene wasn’t satisfactory, and Director Wang yelled at her several times.
Song Jiayue was notorious in the industry for throwing her weight around, but in front of Director Wang, she became meek as a kitten—never late, never talking back, completely stifled.
After being scolded so many times, her eyes were red.
Nearby, a makeup assistant muttered softly, “Why does it feel like Song Jiayue’s acting isn’t even as good as Dan Shui’s? Dan Shui’s just a newcomer.”
The speaker had no ill intent, but the listener did.
Proud and temperamental, Song Jiayue clenched her teeth in anger. She secretly searched for Dan Shui’s Manman account and scrolled through her old posts.
She didn’t know what she saw, but her eyes lit up instantly. Glancing around to make sure no one was paying attention, she rapidly tapped her screen, downloading all the sketch drawings Dan Shui had posted.
After six NGs, the final night scene finally passed. Everyone began wrapping up. After taking a phone call, Director Wang’s tightly drawn expression finally eased, and he left the set early.
Director Wang looked at the old friend sitting across from him, disbelief written all over his face. “Old Ou, you said you’ve already found a new third male lead for me. Are you serious?”
For a demanding, veteran director like him, it was nearly impossible to find a suitable actor on short notice. First, the actor had to fit Ji Qing’s character. Second, even if they fit, they had to have availability—otherwise everything was pointless.
Ji Qing was about the same age as the male lead, a growth-type villain. That meant the role had to be filled by a young actor. But there wasn’t a second young Best Actor like Lin Yufan.
When casting the male lead’s best friend as the second male lead, Director Wang had already lowered his standards. For the villain, he absolutely could not.
Unhurried, Ou Qian poured two glasses of red wine, sliding one toward him. He gracefully lifted the other and took a light sip, utterly relaxed. “This wine’s called Noble. Not bad. Have a drink—might cool that temper of yours.”
Director Wang: “……”
With a sour expression, Director Wang snapped, “Stop teasing me. Who exactly is this third male lead you’ve got your eye on? I’ve filtered through all the young actors in the industry these past two days. Aside from Wei Teng, I really didn’t find anyone with both decent acting and an open schedule.” He downed the wine in one gulp.
Ou Qian set down his glass. Curling his index finger toward himself, he said solemnly, “The person I’m talking about is… me.”
“Pfft—!”
Director Wang sprayed a mouthful of wine.
Chapter 309: A Once-in-a-Lifetime Tragic Romance
Ou Qian had been prepared. With lightning speed, he grabbed an empty plate from the table and raised it to shield his face. The red wine that sprayed toward him was completely blocked by the plate and splashed right back—straight onto Director Wang’s face.
Soaked and miserable, Director Wang bent over and coughed violently. “You… you…”
Ou Qian shot him a sidelong glance and scoffed. “Was that really necessary?”
Only after Director Wang finally stopped coughing did Ou Qian speak again, unhurried. “My movie just wrapped. I was planning to give myself a long vacation, so I turned down the projects that came after. Right now, I’m very free.”
The Movie Emperor Ou Qian—who could nail any role and just happened to have free time—was simply the perfect choice.
But damn it, Director Wang felt overwhelmed by the favor.
What level was Ou Qian at in the entertainment industry now?
Three-time consecutive Golden Man Award winner. A top-tier movie emperor. A huge name who hadn’t filmed a TV drama in nearly three years—suddenly volunteering to act in his show? And not even as the male lead or second lead, but as an unlikable villain role?
Director Wang felt like he was either dreaming or hallucinating.
Then he heard that familiar, slightly punchable voice again.
“Old Wang, do you know how much I get paid per episode for TV dramas now? 1.5 million. But I’m also one of the investors in this drama, and we’ve known each other for years, so I’ll give you a discount—1 million per episode.”
Director Wang’s mouth fell open.
He felt like he’d stepped in dog shit today—in the best way possible. A wildly popular movie emperor with endless fans, willing to play a supporting role in his drama? And even lower his pay?
Sure, it was still one or two times higher than other first-tier actors, but it was worth it. Absolutely worth it. With Ou Qian on board, they could practically skip promotional expenses altogether.
“Brother Ou, won’t you feel wronged playing a supporting role in my drama?” Director Wang asked sincerely. “Ji Qing gets completely crushed by An Zihao later. It’s brutal.”
Ou Qian chuckled. “That’s why you should call Wang Yu right now and have him tweak the script. I’ll just appear for five or six episodes.”
Director Wang’s mouth twitched. “Brother Ou, are you joking? Scripts aren’t changed on a whim. Ji Qing is the final villain—if he dies that early, how are we supposed to film the rest?”
Ou Qian lazily yawned. “Just tell Wang Yu what I said. He’s the screenwriter, not you. Why are you stressing?”
Director Wang: “…”
Damn it—he’d forgotten that Wang Yu, the so-called gold-medal screenwriter, was also one of Ou Qian’s brain-dead fans. If he found out Ou Qian was acting in his script, forget minor revisions—even deleting a character outright wouldn’t be an issue.
Sure enough, when Wang Yu learned that Movie Emperor Ou Qian was willing to humble himself and play a small role, he was ecstatic. After four days and nights of nonstop work, he finished a brand-new script.
Ji Qing’s character was completely rewritten.
Instead of a ruthless martial-arts-obsessed butcher, Ji Qing became the young master of a prestigious martial family that had been exterminated. The true mastermind framed the Yang family, making Ji Qing believe they had stolen his family’s manual and slaughtered his entire clan. Twisted and extreme, he wiped out Yang Yurou’s family as an act of vengeance—an eye for an eye.
Keeping Ou Qian’s request in mind—to appear for only five or six episodes before dying—screenwriter Wang Yu went wild with inspiration and came up with a doomed, epic romance between Ji Qing and Yang Yurou.
Yes. Originally, Yang Yurou was the male lead’s childhood sweetheart. But during her quest for revenge, she fell for Ji Qing.
This forbidden love filled her with self-loathing. She felt she had betrayed An Zihao’s feelings and disgraced her parents’ spirits in the afterlife.
At the same time, Ji Qing also fell deeply in love with Yang Yurou. When he later learned she was his enemy’s daughter, love and hatred tore him apart.
In the end, Yang Yurou stabbed a dagger into Ji Qing’s chest.
Ji Qing died in her arms.
Yang Yurou then took her own life.
And just like that, the two of them wrapped filming together.
When Director Wang read the revised script, he nearly smashed it on the ground in rage.
“Wang Yu, do you have any shame left?! What kind of dog-blood plot is this?! Tell me—what the hell is the point of Ji Qing’s character?!”
On the other end of the phone, gold-medal screenwriter Wang Yu casually picked his ear. “Didn’t Ji Qing wipe out the Yang family? That pushes the plot forward. And he’s cool and domineering. I cried while writing that epic romance myself—audiences will definitely be moved.”
Director Wang roared, “I want reputation! Reputation!”
“Old Wang, not to be blunt, but this drama’s going to be eighty or ninety episodes anyway. Five or six episodes of dog-blood drama won’t hurt anything. Trust me. Later, the male lead follows Ji Qing’s clues and uncovers the final boss—the plot is even tighter and more exciting than before. I’ve already designed the ultimate villain: a sinister, vicious old eunuch obsessed with martial arts manuals. He’ll do anything to collect them. There are plenty of veteran actors who’d kill for that role—you won’t have trouble casting.”
Director Wang: “…”
Heh. What else could he say?
Wow, thanks so much for being so considerate.
When the actors received the revised script, some were delighted, others miserable.
The main storyline hadn’t changed much, but actors who had scenes with the villain needed to relearn lines. The revisions also meant some roles lost screen time while others gained it.
Zhao Rui grinned all day long. Damn—this was pure luck.
Dan Shui was originally slated for only five or six episodes: three or four with the male lead as childhood sweethearts, and one or two opposite the villain Ji Qing. But with the new dog-blood epic romance added, Yang Yurou and Ji Qing alone would take at least five or six episodes.
That meant Dan Shui now had eight or nine episodes—and they were undeniably lead-role material.
Even if the drama ended up being eighty or ninety episodes long, the opening arc would be completely dominated by Dan Shui. And this tragic romance was guaranteed to boost her popularity.
All thanks to that idiot Wei Teng for dropping Director Wang’s drama—otherwise none of this would’ve fallen into their laps.
After carefully reading the script, Nan Xun was puzzled. “Brother Zhao, in the new version, Ji Qing dies together with me at the end. Don’t you think this character is kind of unnecessary? And look at this description—so flashy. Red robes, silver hair, dark and seductive personality. What the hell? I’m supposed to fall in love with someone like this?”
“I think it’s unnecessary too,” Zhao Rui replied, “but why worry so much? Just act well.”
As for who would play the revised Ji Qing, Director Wang kept it tightly under wraps. No one knew.
So when they shot the first night scene the next day, and Nan Xun saw that breathtaking ancient-costume man dressed in flamboyant red—
She froze completely.
