C14

Proxy photographers were figures that film crews both love and hate.

On the one hand, they brought significant publicity to productions even before official promotions began, helping casual viewers form an early impression of a show. Sometimes, a well-taken proxy photo could generate more buzz than several rounds of trending topics. Because of this, some production teams even collaborated with specific proxy accounts to stir up hype.

But more often than not, proxy photographers spoiled costume reveals, and sometimes even captured dialogue during filming, leaving little suspense for the audience. This could negatively impact viewership when the show actually aired.

As a result, directors racked their brains trying to control these photographers, wanting them to only capture what the crew allowed, while also preventing major leaks.

Yet, proxy photographers were incredibly resourceful. Compared to them, regular photography enthusiasts seemed almost insignificant.

They could climb mountains, perching precariously on near-vertical cliffs to get the perfect shot.

They could hang upside down from trees, making it nearly impossible for the crew to guard against them.

Sometimes, they even deployed drones for aerial shots to speed up content delivery.

Even professional detectives would struggle to match their ability to spot the slightest traces of a film crew, and even elite snipers might sigh in admiration at their precision.

This elusive group was practically a new scourge of the entertainment industry—impossible to offend and impossible to catch.

A major project like Wan Sheng was bound to attract countless proxy photographers.

Not only was it Qiao Qiao’s first leading role in a drama after successfully breaking into the film industry, but it also featured Lin Rin and Qiu Songsheng—two top-tier male leads—as supporting roles for a popular leading actress, a rare sight indeed. Even the supporting cast was filled with familiar faces, many of whom had headlined their own smaller-budget productions, seizing this opportunity to gain more exposure.

Oh, except for one person, Jiang Fanxing, the third male lead.

He was a new artist from Nian Nian Studio, the company founded by Qin Shi and Yi Zhu, and was currently being heavily promoted by Shen Tianqing.

Since the official poster hadn’t been released yet, barely anyone knew what this male supporting character even looked like. The internet was flooded with conflicting reports, and several people had already falsely claimed to be Jiang Fanxing.

What if he turned out to be the next rising star?

Following the principle of “better to overdo it than miss out,” the proxy photographers decided to capture some shots of him—just in case.

And to their surprise, they struck gold!

“Qiu Songsheng has always been aloof. Back in his talent show days, he rarely faked close friendships—it’s his trademark to be distant. But now, he seems really close with this third male lead. Interesting.”

“He had that nasty ranking battle with Lin Rin before, and now he’s teaming up with this guy? Tsk tsk, something’s going on here.”

“Qiu Songsheng looks great in historical costume. Lin Rin also has a breakthrough this time. With my years of proxy experience, I can tell—this drama is going to blow up.”

“Move over a bit, I want to take some shots too.”

“I was here first, why should I move?”

“I let you have the spot last time, didn’t I?”

“Hah, you have the nerve to bring up last time? If it weren’t for you, we wouldn’t have been caught!”

…

The grievances among proxy photographers could fill an entire novel, and now, their bickering was escalating.

By the time the film crew realized something was wrong, the photographers had already argued through several rounds—some had even started physically fighting.

Qiu Songsheng’s expression darkened. “Why is it always these proxy photographers?”

“What are you so mad about?” Jiang Fanxing yawned and said lazily, “They’re just trying to make a living. Staying up this late, perched on a mountain just to take pictures of us… they’re working hard for their money too.”

“They make money by secretly photographing us,” Qiu Songsheng frowned. “And it affects the production team.”

“Paparazzi, sasaeng fans, and so-called ‘fan site masters’—they’re all pretty much the same,” Jiang Fanxing replied nonchalantly. “You can’t act all friendly when you need them and then treat them like thieves when you don’t.”

He didn’t particularly dislike proxy photographers. After all, their existence was just a natural consequence of how the entertainment industry evolved. Compared to these relatively new proxy photographers, scalpers in the industry had already formed deeply entrenched alliances with celebrity studios, making it a mature and profitable business chain.

Qiu Songsheng wanted to argue but found himself at a loss for words. In the end, he just stood there without saying anything.

At 2:30 AM, filming finally wrapped up for the night, and the crew was free to go home.

Just as they were about to leave, Lin Rin suddenly walked toward them.

Despite being a well-established top-tier idol for years, Lin Rin had maintained himself remarkably well. Though older than both of them by a fair margin, he looked just as youthful.

“Filming’s over. Let’s go grab a late-night snack,” he said with a polite smile, addressing both Jiang Fanxing and Qiu Songsheng.

“That’s not necessary.”

“Sure.”

Qiu Songsheng and Jiang Fanxing responded at the same time.

“Jiang, are you that hungry?” Qiu Songsheng turned to Jiang Fanxing in surprise. Wasn’t it obvious that Lin Rin had ulterior motives? These top-tier idols who successfully maintained their status without failing in their transition to acting were never easy to deal with.

On one hand, they had to guard against younger actors rising to replace them. On the other, they were still overshadowed by veteran actors, unable to break into more serious projects. Stuck in a loop of idol dramas, even when they managed to land a role in a prestigious production, they were often playing second fiddle.

By this age, they couldn’t openly date, nor could they indulge too much in personal pleasures. The only thing they could count on was the support of their fans, but even that required constant vigilance, as they had to watch their fan base dwindle over time.

In this kind of position, very few idols managed to keep a positive mindset.

Qiu Songsheng, now the top talent in his own company, was fiercely protected. From the CEO down to his assistants, everyone treated him like a prized possession, terrified that he might fall into some kind of trap. The fact that he had three assistants and a massive RV as his mobile base spoke volumes about how much the company valued him. To make sure he understood the stakes, the company exaggerated potential threats, always emphasizing the worst-case scenarios.

“If Senior Lin is treating us, it’s only polite to accept, even if we’re not hungry,” Jiang Fanxing said with a smile. “But just the three of us seems a little lonely. Senior Lin, why don’t we invite Senior Qiao and Yang to join us too?”

Lin Rin glanced at Jiang Fanxing, his gaze lingering for a moment before he nodded in agreement.

This would be the first semi-official gathering of the drama’s lead actors.

Even though Qiao Qiao had the highest status among them, since Lin Rin was the one hosting the meal, she naturally didn’t take the main seat. Instead, she sat next to Jiang Fanxing, perhaps as a subtle gesture of support.

The five of them sat around the table in silence. No one spoke first, making the atmosphere a bit awkward.

Then, the first plate of skewers arrived.

“Well, I won’t hold back then. Thanks for the treat, Senior Lin,” Jiang Fanxing finally broke the silence, reaching for the skewers and digging in.

Honestly, the skewers were just average—nowhere near the best he’d ever had. But since he had been dieting recently, surviving on either meal-prepped portions or bland production-set food, this barbecue felt like a rare indulgence. He enjoyed it all the more because of that.

Lin Rin watched as Jiang Fanxing ate the skewers, then silently picked up a grilled mushroom from the side.

“Jiang Fanxing, as actors, we have a responsibility to maintain our physique,” Lin Lin said, his tone light but with an unmistakable undertone. “If you eat too much, your face will be bloated by morning.”

This dinner invitation, clearly, wasn’t without ulterior motives.

Qiu Songsheng didn’t even need to think about it—Lin Rin obviously saw him as a thorn in his side.

Jiang Fanxing, who seemed harmless on the surface, wasn’t someone to be underestimated.

His very first scene had been impressive enough to earn praise from his acting coach. With Shen Tianqing backing him, the fact that he had landed such a strong role for his debut meant that his career was bound to be tailored for the traffic-driven market.

There was an old saying in the entertainment industry, only rivals truly understood the threat posed by their competition.

Lin Rin hadn’t had an easy ride these past few years. The A-list idols ranked ahead of him had either self-destructed or been forced out of the industry due to legal or ethical scandals. That should have paved the way for him. Yet, in their place, a flood of new talents emerged, constantly competing for the same spotlight.

Qiu Songsheng was already established; taking him down would be difficult. But Jiang Fanxing was still young, there was still time to trip him up.

Qiao Qiao watched the interaction, feeling somewhat displeased. Though she herself had avoided the skewers and ordered a plain salad instead, she found it petty for Lin Rin, as a senior, to start nitpicking a rookie over something so trivial.

“But that’s understandable,” Jiang Fanxing replied unhurriedly. “After all, Senior Lin, you’re older now, so it’s natural that eating even a little extra would cause swelling. I’m only indulging while I still can, give me a few years, and I’ll probably have to watch my diet too.”

Qiu Songsheng kicked Jiang Fanxing under the table.

Was this kid out of his mind? Lin Rin was infamous for being petty and vengeful; did he have a death wish?

“Why’d you kick me?” Jiang Fanxing turned to Qiu Songsheng in confusion. “You can eat too, you know. You’re not fat either. Since Senior Lin is treating us, we shouldn’t be shy about enjoying the meal.”

Then, with an almost innocent expression, he turned back to Lin Rin. “You don’t mind me having a few more bites, do you, Lin?”

Lin Rin bit into his mushroom with the intensity of someone crushing bones.

“Of course not.”

The atmosphere at the table turned icy once more.

Qiao Qiao had originally considered stepping in to ease the tension, but after seeing how Jiang Fanxing handled things, she figured there was no need.

This guy wasn’t the least bit polite.

And why would he be? If he had the guts to publicly call out Zhu Guofu, Lin Rin was hardly a challenge.

Forget it—she’d just focus on her salad.

By the end of the meal, everyone except Jiang Fanxing had lost their appetite.

Afterward, Qiu Songsheng couldn’t hold back any longer.

“You… You should really talk to your agent about this,” he urged. “Senior Lin is incredibly petty. There have been rookies who offended him before, and they were kicked off projects the very next day. Not many people know about it, but it’s happened.” He sighed. In reality, Lin had come to target him, and Jiang Fanxing had simply been caught in the crossfire.

“Even if he gets kicked out, I still won’t be,” Jiang Fanxing said with absolute confidence. “Why should I cater to his nonsense? He’s the one sulking, not me. Anyway, I’m heading back to sleep. Good night.”

Qiu Songsheng watched him leave, unsure if the guy was ridiculously well-connected or just plain reckless.

“Xiao Qiu, we can’t get involved in other people’s business.”

“Shen Tianqing is powerful. You don’t need to worry too much.”

“Every newcomer has to take a few hits to grow.”

His three assistants quickly surrounded him, trying to calm him down. They were terrified he might act impulsively and stand up for Jiang Fanxing.

They weren’t afraid of Lin Rin—after all, they had already clashed with him before. What they feared was that by siding with Jiang Fanxing now, they’d be stuck with him in the long run.

Ingrates were all too common in the entertainment industry.

“Jiang Fanxing, should I let Boss Shen know about this?” Xiao Zhou asked as he escorted Jiang Fanxing back.

“He’s busy with his lawsuit, isn’t he? It’s a critical moment right now, so there’s no need to bother him with something this trivial.” Jiang Fanxing was so exhausted that his eyelids were barely staying open. “What can he even do to me? Kick me out of the production? Ha, even the director can’t do that. Cut my scenes? Fat chance, I’m the third male lead with a complete storyline with the supporting female character. Or maybe he’ll get his fans to cyberbully me? I’m not afraid. I can draft my own legal letters. If anyone tries to attack me online, I’ll sue them into oblivion.”

“He might try to isolate you,” Xiao Zhou cautiously added.

Being ostracized wasn’t a pleasant experience.

Jiang Fanxing opened his eyes, looking at Xiao Zhou with a calm expression. “If that happens, I should really thank him.”

He actually hoped they would isolate him.

Dealing with the production crew was such a hassle. These post-filming gatherings were no different from those annoying company team-building activities. If he hadn’t been genuinely hungry, he wouldn’t have bothered to go.

Lin Rin wasn’t completely clueless.

After returning, he didn’t immediately target Jiang Fanxing or recklessly mobilize his fans to suppress a rookie. If his fanbase rushed to cyberbully Jiang Fanxing now, wouldn’t that just hand him free publicity? He wasn’t that stupid.

Instead, he called in a friendly media outlet, sending reporters to the set for an impromptu interview, framed as a New Year’s greeting segment.

The reporters arrived quickly and unexpectedly. Since it was a live broadcast, there was no time for the actors to prepare pre-scripted answers.

Zhu Guofu smirked coldly. He knew exactly what this tactic was for. He, too, wanted to give Jiang Fanxing a little lesson—let him understand that the battlefield of top-tier idols wasn’t something a mere newcomer could easily step into.

The more experienced cast members handled the interview smoothly, effortlessly mentioning their roles and delivering a few festive greetings.

When it was Jiang Fanxing’s turn, the reporter took an extra step.

After all, they had been paid to set him up.

“As a newcomer, stepping into such a major production for the first time, do you feel any pressure?” The first question was relatively harmless.

“Not at all. Actors have the least pressure in a production team.” Jiang Fanxing replied.

The real stress was on the lighting technicians, prop masters, and costume designers—those people barely got any sleep and weren’t even paid well.

“I understand that Murong Qing is a rather demanding role. Have you encountered any difficulties?”

“Actually, yes.” Jiang Fanxing thought for a moment. “I’ve had to be careful with my diet; I need to lose weight.”

Nonsense! You ate the most barbecue last night!

Lin Rin, listening from the side, was full of disdain. An actor with such poor self-discipline was bound to have no future.

The reporter, sensing an opportunity, pressed on. “It seems like you have great confidence in your portrayal. You must have done a lot of preparation. Would you mind sharing some of your notes?”

This was a trap.

Without the production team’s approval, an actor’s script materials were confidential.

If Jiang Fanxing actually revealed anything, they could use it as a legitimate excuse to kick him out of the project.

If he refused, the media could twist the narrative, painting him as unprepared and arrogant, tanking his public image. The truth wouldn’t even matter.

Jiang Fanxing smiled and asked, “What’s your bank card’s PIN? Mind sharing that?”

The reporter froze.

---

TN:

My sassy king is back and so am I.

My sudden depression suddenly faded and I am more motivated than even [I think, I hope]

See ya soon, with more updates 🫶