C1 Part3

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N – Chapter 1.2

N – Chapter 1.3

After hearing that there was a possibility of Liang Sizhe agreeing to come and reshoot the film, the other investors quieted down for a few days. There was no way around it — if the film couldn’t find a good substitute actor, then the investors would lose all of the money they’ve provided.

Huang Qianshi, the original male lead1, may not have had all that much box office appeal, but he’d acted in so many Hong Kong films before, after all, and held a film emperor award. When it came to mainland China’s general audience, he still possessed a certain on-screen appeal.

An actor’s box office appeal was something very mysterious and hard to grasp. There were some who were incredibly famous and well-accepted within the television industry, but once they appeared on the silver screen, all of their charisma seemed to disappear, their shortcomings and weaknesses magnified. The audience would refuse to pay to watch them. When it came down to it, the silver screen and the small screen were different.

What kind of actor could make the general audience willingly pull out their wallets? The best ones would’ve once stunned the silver screen and would’ve yet to take a single step wrong, forever adept and capable. For example, someone like Liang Sizhe who’d debuted on the silver screen at 17 years old and had shocked both the industry and the audience.

And yet Liang Sizhe remained silent for the next few days after he’d requested the script.

The most anxious was actually Zhao Chengdong. He’d spat out that Liang Sizhe was simply just an actor, but once he heard there was a chance of him agreeing to the reshoot, he couldn’t help but call a couple hundred times a day, bothering Lin Yan beyond annoyance.

After another two days had passed, Lin Yan called Cao Ye to complain. “That Zhao Chengdong keeps urging me to ask Liang Sizhe for an answer. I’m so annoyed, how did you end up working with him?”

Cao Ye and Lin Yan were childhood friends who’d grown up together, so Cao Ye usually never beat around the bush when speaking to him. Now, he bluntly and directly said to him in response, “He’s quick and easy when it comes to investing and rarely interferes with films. In this industry, see if you can find someone else with stupid amounts of money and is willing to leave things alone.”

Lin Yan was silent for a few seconds, and then he could only nod and agree. “You’re right.”

“Besides, you brought this onto yourself. If he’s urging you to ask, then just go and ask.”

“Of course I’ve already asked. Liang Sizhe’s been overseas on a holiday. I’d send him a message, and then he’d only reply two days later with something pointless. If I call him, he won’t answer. How can I guess what he’s thinking? Cao Ye, I’m begging you. You’re the main investor in this film. If you personally go and ask him, he’ll still give you some face.”

Cao Ye didn’t say a single thing, decisively hanging up the phone and continuing to work on what he was doing.

What Liang Sizhe was thinking, had he read the script or not, would he accept this film reshoot offer — Cao Ye couldn’t guess those answers, and neither did he want to guess. As the main helmsman of Luomeng Media, he couldn’t put all of his focus onto A Choice into the Dark.

And besides, reshooting a film couldn’t be rushed. It was more important for him to now think of the worst outcome and search within the current film market for a good film with actual release plans. As long as he found one, with Luomeng’s current advertising power, there was a very high chance he could achieve a large return with a small investment — Luomeng had started that way, three years ago.

But the current film market was depressing: a simple glance over it saw too many films with lots of money and inferior quality. Terrible films flowed out in an endless stream, while dark horse-like low budget productions weren’t able to be found at all.

Cao Ye was just about to click into another film prospectus when Lin Yan once again called.

At first he didn’t pick up, but Lin Yan didn’t give up, calling three times before Cao Ye decided to take his call.

“Let me tell you, we have a chance,” Lin Yan immediately said.

Cao Ye let out a ‘hm?’ and waited for him to continue.

And as expected, the next thing out of Lin Yan’s mouth was, “But Cao Ye, we’ll still need you to come out personally.”

Reading through the prospectus, Cao Ye nonchalantly said, “You’ve already used me once.”

“Don’t turn me down so quickly. Liang Sizhe just returned my call and said he’ll be back in two days or so. It was so hard for me to get him to agree to have dinner with us. Cao Ye, if this ends up falling through, don’t say I didn’t try to help you.”

“How’d you help me? You told him I’d be coming before asking me, didn’t you?”

“Since you guessed it,” Lin Yan wasn’t ashamed at all, “you may as well come.”

Cao Ye didn’t respond. Silence, silence.

Lin Yan couldn’t wait anymore and tried again. “It’s not like there’s a large conflict in between you guys — at most just a small disagreement while both of you were still young and inexperienced. Why act like old lovers who don’t dare to see each other?”

Cao Ye considered Lin Yan’s words for a moment and thought they were logical; he relented, saying, “That’s true. Fine, I’ll go.”

“Good. I’ll let Liang Sizhe know so he doesn’t skip out. That’s settled then.”

So Liang Sizhe hadn’t actually agreed to go. Lin Yan was honestly so crafty and calculating that people couldn’t guard against him.

“Ah yes,” Lin Yan tried to push for more, “if Master Cao would be willing to condescend to picking Liang Sizhe up from the airport, then our sincerity would appear much more genuine.”

He hadn’t finished speaking yet when Cao Ye hung up the phone.

Cao Ye was very clear: Lin Yan wasn’t taking this matter so seriously simply because of their childhood friendship. His Dongsheng Entertainment company was the second largest investor into A Choice into the Dark behind Luomeng Media — and that was more important.

Lin Yan had always cared more about what he could gain. He was obviously not going to give up so easily on an opportunity to use Liang Sizhe to change the situation around.

Not long after that phone call, someone leaked the news online, saying Liang Sizhe was currently considering taking over Huang Qianshi’s role in the reshoot of A Choice into the Dark. No one initially believed it, but after the news was forwarded through several large verified Weibo accounts, people gradually couldn’t tell what was true and what was false. Online opinions were once again widely divided.

— “Actually using Liang Sizhe’s name to stir up attention, it’s hard to swallow how bold and shameless the production company is being.”

— “If Liang Sizhe actually accepts this film, I’ll livestream swallowing a laundry machine. I mean it.”

— “Production company, please wake up and stop dreaming.”

— “Going by Film Emperor Liang’s eccentric personality, I actually can’t tell if I should believe this rumour or not…”

— “As a decade-long fan, I’m crying as I say I think it really is possible for him to do something like this…”

— “Liang Sizhe may be willing to lower himself and do something like this, but will Xu Yunchu let him?”

— “What a joke, if Xu Yunchu really was able to control Liang Sizhe, then would she have let him be caught with so many rumoured girlfriends?”

To sum it up, when it came to Liang Sizhe participating in the reshoot for A Choice into the Dark, the online opinions could be roughly separated into three categories: they didn’t believe it, they weren’t optimistic about it or they didn’t agree with it.

Three days later, Liang Sizhe returned back to the country as promised.

It was 3:30am at the Beijing Capital Airport, and dedicated entertainment industry reporters spotted a messy and dirty-looking Liang Sizhe within the masses with their sharp eyes.

If they looked only at his face, Liang Sizhe was still handsome. It was just that he didn’t look like he’d gone overseas for a holiday; he looked more like he’d returned from digging for scraps. He wore a white shirt that didn’t look new, and the bottom of his pants was splashed with fresh droplets of mud from somewhere.

Perhaps it was because he’d stayed a long time in a quiet, sparsely populated village overseas, but when the reporters all rushed over to him, Liang Sizhe took a small step back, looking like he’d been startled. “Whoa, such a large crew,” he said. He then continued with some hesitation, some innocence in his eyes, “I lately… shouldn’t have been caught doing anything, right?”

“You were, you were!” The reporters surrounding him all talked at once, joking with him.

Liang Sizhe clearly knew they were teasing, and so he raised three fingers up next to his ear somewhat improperly and said, “Let the heavens be my witness, I truly have been pure and free from desires lately.”

That caused a burst of laughter.

“We don’t believe you!” someone took the lead in calling out, their voice fairly loud.

They were causing a ruckus — the crowd watching them quickly grew larger, some passengers who were waiting for their flights gathering around one by one to watch the fun once they heard it was Liang Sizhe. Fortunately, there weren’t too many passengers in the early hours of the day; the crowd wasn’t large enough to cause chaos at the airport.

Song Qingyan, both Liang Sizhe’s day-to-day manager and personal assistant, brought over an airport security guard. They now carefully protected him, just in case he ended up being pushed and shoved by the people around him.

“Shh, someone’s sleeping.” Liang Sizhe gestured with his hand for everyone to quiet down. “All right, tell me. What did you guys want to ask me after waiting here all night? Let’s chat while I walk.”

Dozens of reporters quickly followed behind him as soon as he started moving. A reporter immediately asked, “Sizhe, there’s a rumour saying you’re considering replacing Huang Qianshi in A Choice in the Dark. Is it true?”

“You’re here for that…” Liang Sizhe thoughtfully paused, and then he continued with a smile, “You’re so well-informed. Yes, I’ve received an invitation, and I am currently reading through the script.”

“Then did you come back this time specifically to discuss it with the production company?”

“Have a guess.” Liang Sizhe turned his face over, smiling as he looked at the person who’d asked that question. That was one of his habits when dealing with press — he would say ‘have a guess’ when he didn’t want to answer. He would also deliberately mix mocking and teasing notes into his eyes, and it made people unable to take him seriously.

It was the same this time; the reporter who’d asked that question was a young lady, and she instantly turned speechless, not knowing what to say.

Someone else luckily took advantage of the silence and asked, “Mr Liang, may I ask why you’re considering accepting this reshoot invitation?”

Liang Sizhe’s gaze swept over and rested onto that person’s face. He didn’t directly answer the question, evading around by saying, “You’ve interviewed me once before, haven’t you?”

“Ah… yes. You remembered.” The reporter was clearly surprised.

“Because the headline you wrote was a bit… how should I say it. Devious?” He really did start talking with the reporter, conversing with him unhurriedly and half-heartedly.

“Your publicity agent later refused that headline.”

“He didn’t. I refused it when I just so happened to see it. Do you want to know why?” Liang Sizhe was talking quite casually, the words sounding like a joke he would say to an old friend. “It’s fine if you yourself saw through me, but it wasn’t very nice of you to try to expose me.”

Even now, Liang Sizhe could still remember very clearly the magazine article’s initial headline: “The Young Film Emperor Liang Sizhe: To Be Unbridled is His Camouflage”.

With Liang Sizhe’s tall height, long legs and fast footsteps, the reporters had yet to ask him to explain when they’d already followed him to the airport exit.

There was an imposing black minivan waiting outside the exit; the driver had already opened the door to the back, waiting by the side.

Since he was protected by a security guard, Liang Sizhe bent over and entered the car, safe and sound. The door closed, and the reporters were blocked outside — questions came one after another and faintly trickled in through the thick and heavy car doors.

Song Qingyan got into the car from the opposite side, heading to sit in the very last row of seats.

The driver rapidly sat into his seat, pulled on his seatbelt, released the handbrake and turned on the car, his movements agile and smooth. Then, as part of his routine, he turned and asked Liang Sizhe, “Mr Liang, shall we head off now?”

Liang Sizhe was facing the windows, looking outside. Through the black window tints, he could see the sky in the distance; a moon hung from it, very bright and very round. The moon wasn’t the roundest on the fifteenth of the lunar month, but rather the sixteenth — and today just so happened to be the middle of the lunar month: the sixteenth.

He didn’t speak, and so the driver couldn’t decide for himself to drive the car away.

The reporters outside had still yet to stop with their questions. Someone tried to open the car doors, and the view inside the car was as though they were watching an old black and white silent film. The dim hue of the streetlights was their background, every single one of them with an anxious look on their faces. Their mouths continuously opened and closed, and yet the people inside the car couldn’t hear what they were saying.

“Sizhe-ge2, let’s go?” Thinking he was lost in his thoughts, Song Qingyan prompted him.

“Wait,” Liang Sizhe suddenly said, and then he reached out to press down the car window switch. Once the window rolled down, he leaned onto the windowsill and looked at the people outside the car. “Wasn’t there a question I hadn’t answered yet?”

A reporter didn’t hear what he’d said, but he still persistently raised his voice and asked, “Mr Liang, what are your thoughts on Huang Qianshi’s drug usage?”

Liang Sizhe ignored that question. He also didn’t care if anyone was listening, saying in a voice at normal volume as though talking to himself, “As for why I’m considering accepting that reshoot invitation… It’s because this film is related to one of my old friends. I’m indebted to him, so I’m considering repaying my debt.”

And then, he disregarded the reactions outside the car and pulled the car window back up. He leaned back into his seat, relaxed, and said to the driver in front of him, “Chen-ge, let’s go.”

Behind him, Song Qingyan wasn’t as relaxed as he was. As soon as the window was fully shut, she immediately bent over and asked, “Sizhe-ge, what debt repayment? Is the film related to Director Cao Xiuyuan?”

“Yes, and no.” Liang Sizhe was very skilled at keeping people in suspense.

“I’m losing my ability to understand you the longer I stay with you… Shoot, I think Yunchu-jie’s3 going to be angry again tomorrow.” Song Qingyan’s chin pressed into the seat in front of her, a tinge of despair in her voice. “She didn’t let you accept this film to begin with, and yet you decided to talk about it to the reporters, even taking the initiative to tip them off. You’re not being…” Her voice turned smaller and smaller, not daring to continue.

Liang Sizhe didn’t hear her last few words, and he asked with his eyes closed, “Not being what?”

“Discreet, you’re not being discreet at all!” Song Qingyan courageously said.

He couldn’t help but chuckle. “When have you ever seen me being discreet?”

“It’s fine if you’re not discreet about other stuff,” Song Qingyan muttered under her breath, the volume of her voice at a level just right — if she saw a single shred of displeasure on Liang Sizhe’s face, then she could pull back whenever she wanted and pretend she hadn’t said anything. “But this time… It really isn’t good, you don’t know how people are talking about it online. They’re all saying things like substitute role, picking other people’s leftovers. Ugly things like that.”

“Let them say what they want to say.” Liang Sizhe opened his eyes, turning his head over to look at her. “Believe me or not, but I’ll definitely be at the top of the trending topics in a few hours. What’s with that look on your face? I haven’t trended in a few months, you should be happy.”

With a worried look on her face, Song Qingyan said, “It’s fine if you don’t trend. Yunchu-jie’s definitely going to explode once this trends… Sizhe-ge, do you really plan on accepting it?”

“We’ll see.” Liang Sizhe’s voice was relaxed.

“Huh? You haven’t decided yet but you still talked like that to the reporters?”

Song Qingyan returned back to her seat with a dumbstruck look on her face.

She was honestly anxious for Xu Yunchu. If Liang Sizhe really accepted the film, he’d be called a substitute picking up leftovers, lowering his own status; if Liang Sizhe didn’t accept it, then he’d be scolded for exploiting a hot issue once his answer today was released.

She was a young assistant who’d been in the industry for less than two years, and she was still able to think of this. Liang Sizhe had been in the industry for a decade and had suffered through more scolding than the amount of water she’d ever drank — how could he not predict such consequences?

When her thoughts reached that point, she hurriedly pulled out her phone and sent Xu Yunchu a message.

Translator has something to say:

Raws do say ‘Huang Qianshi, the original male lead’ despite all the talk about LSZ lowering himself to be a supporting actor etc. etc. — it’s just a minor author continuity problem :’) ↩‘Ge’ (哥) is what other people call men who are older than them and is literally translated as ‘older brother’. No need to be actually blood related, it’s common courtesy to tack that behind a man’s name if you’re not strangers with them and are younger. ↩‘Jie’ (姐) is the same thing as above, except for women who are older than you. ↩

N – Chapter 1.4

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