C16

When it came to talking back, Jiang Fanxing had never been afraid of anyone.

As a child, he argued with eccentric relatives; as he grew up, he debated against rival school debate team members; in the workplace, he confronted colleagues and even his boss—his motto was simple: settle scores on the spot.

Of course, this sharp tongue meant his career wouldn’t be smooth sailing. But one thing about Jiang Fanxing was that he knew when to hold back. If he wasn’t confident enough, he would act reserved. But the moment he knew he had the upper hand, he would never suppress himself.

That was why, even though he longed to take it easy, he still pushed himself to work hard. His current efforts were all for the sake of truly relaxing in the future. In life, lowering one’s head when necessary wasn’t a sin—after all, a gentleman’s revenge was never too late.

Zhu Guofu, though often infuriated by Jiang Fanxing’s comebacks, had to admit there was nothing majorly wrong with his acting. Jiang Fanxing was a method actor, and the character Murong Qing naturally shared similarities with him. Plus, with his scene partner Yang Hanguang being a well-known powerhouse in acting, it was easy for Jiang Fanxing to get immersed in the role.

Moreover, because Jiang Fanxing frequently drove the director up the wall while still leaving no faults to be picked on, everyone in the crew kept a neutral stance on the surface but treated him quite well in private.

Especially the younger cast and crew members—they constantly checked up on Jiang Fanxing, afraid that if his fighting spirit ever wavered, Director Zhu would have free rein to nitpick everything again. Someone had to keep the director in check, after all.

Despite their clashes, Jiang Fanxing found Director Zhu Guofu to be a decent person. Sure, he had an overbearing “fatherly” attitude and a short temper, but he was highly professional. He didn’t scold people just for the sake of it; he clearly pointed out their mistakes, which was far better than those passive-aggressive superiors who never said anything outright.

Nowadays, even low-level managers in companies acted like capitalist overlords, so when someone wasn’t outright terrible, they ended up looking pretty good by comparison.

As Jiang Fanxing’s on-screen CP (couple pairing), Yang Hanguang also had a positive opinion of him. After all, acting alongside a smart and interesting co-star was far better than working with a lifeless performer.

Just look at Qiao Qiao.

As the female lead, she had a heavy workload, caught in the middle of a tangled love-hate relationship with two male leads. Though Lin Rin and Qiu Songsheng had acting coaches with them, acting talent was either there or it wasn’t.

Qiu Songsheng, being an idol, had the annoying habit of constantly looking at the camera. Zhu Guofu chewed him out so thoroughly that they had to cut many of his scenes requiring delicate emotional performances—better to remove them than to let his bad acting taint the audience’s experience.

Lin Rin was even worse. His expressions had already become a bad habit—furrowing his brows when angry, grinning from ear to ear when happy. No matter what he played, he was always just himself.

Qiao Qiao had no choice but to repeatedly reshoot scenes with them, until she was too exhausted to even get mad.

Watching from the sidelines, Yang Hanguang was stunned. The contrast made Jiang Fanxing seem all the more valuable.

Lin Rin and Qiu Songsheng were easy-going, but their lack of skill made it impossible to get mad at them openly—one could only suffer in silence. Working with people like that was sheer misery.

Jiang Fanxing, on the other hand, might be a troublemaker, but he was competent and got the job done without interfering with others’ work. Naturally, he was the more preferred collaborator.

Even the photographers lurking on the mountaintop to capture behind-the-scenes shots felt sympathy for Qiao Qiao.

Carrying two deadweights in a production—one might be manageable, but two? That was just cruel.

That being said, Qiu Songsheng and Jiang Fanxing really were close. The moment their scene ended and it was time for a break, Qiu Songsheng immediately gravitated toward Jiang Fanxing again.

“Fanxing, am I really that bad at acting? My coach says I’ve improved, but I still feel like I’m terrible,” Qiu Songsheng said, troubled.

“At least you’re self-aware,” Jiang Fanxing replied. “I don’t see any improvement, to be honest. You should invest in a good voice actor later. Or maybe send some nice gifts to the lighting and editing team—at least they can tweak the filters to make you look better.”

Qiu Songsheng was speechless for a moment. “Sigh, you really are the only one who tells me the truth.”

“That’s because you’re not paying me,” Jiang Fanxing said as he flipped through his script. He had a few heavy scenes coming up and needed to go over his lines properly—he couldn’t afford to drag Yang Hanguang down.

“I didn’t even want to act in the first place,” Qiu Songsheng grumbled. “But my company only gave me two options: either take on a drama or become a regular on a variety show.”

He was miserable. If he complained to his assistant, he’d just get empty praises. If he talked to his manager, he’d only hear, ‘everyone goes through this’.

“Variety shows are way too hard. I went on one once, and the haters dissected every single frame of me. It was terrifying—I didn’t even dare to smile or speak. And if I don’t have any schedules and just stay home writing music, my fans start scolding my agency.”

He couldn’t vent about this to anyone else—otherwise, people would accuse him of playing the victim. After all, he was the hottest idol right now.

But being famous didn’t mean he didn’t have problems.

As for why he was telling Jiang Fanxing all this? It was simple—Jiang Fanxing gave off a reliable vibe. He didn’t even bother to suck up to Lin Rin or Director Zhu Guofu, so he definitely wasn’t the type to gossip.

Jiang Fanxing sighed. So much for reading his script.

Did he have “Heart-to-Heart Counselor” written on his face or something?

“I know the drill,” Qiu Songsheng said, shaking his phone at him. “I asked Chen Kele first.”

Jiang Fanxing glanced at the screen.

A WeChat transfer of 100,000 yuan. Voluntary gift.

…Excuse me, but what was going on in the entertainment industry? Was “ten thousand” the basic unit instead of “yuan” now?

And speaking of Chen Kele…

Cough cough. This guy had no idea what Chen Kele was planning—or what kind of role Jiang Fanxing himself would play in it.

Fine, he’d be a “big brother” one last time.

“I remember there are some music-based variety shows. Your company won’t let you join those?” Jiang Fanxing asked. At the very least, he took his work seriously.

“I asked, but my manager said I’d just be setting myself up to be mocked. I can’t compete with real powerhouse singers, and I don’t have a viral hit yet. If I rank too low, haters will laugh at me and damage my career. If I rank too high, they’ll call me a ‘privileged industry plant’ getting special treatment. Plus, those music shows aren’t really about the music—they do a ton of manipulative editing.”

Of course, Qiu Songsheng had considered this route. But the problem was, he was too famous now. Every job he took had to be chosen with extreme caution.

“My manager said that by acting in this drama, I get to bundle in the OST deal. I’ll be singing the theme song, plus some character-specific tracks.”

At this point, Qiu Songsheng perked up. “Hey, Fanxing, if your character doesn’t have a theme song yet, I can write one for you. I won’t even charge much.”

To be fair, Qiu Songsheng did have real songwriting skills—that was how he stood out in his survival show. But compared to professional musicians in the industry, he was still lacking. That was why he needed a hit drama to push his music into the mainstream. Wansheng was the perfect opportunity. If the show became a massive hit, the songs would gain value right along with it.

For singers, the OSTs of hit dramas were an indispensable performance platform.

“Since that’s the case, just focus on acting,” Jiang Fanxing said after some thought. “As long as you don’t aim to be some kind of Best Actor, getting a solid 60 or 70 out of 100 is good enough. There are plenty of actors in the industry worse than you anyway.”

Seeing that Qiu Songsheng still frowned, Jiang Fanxing sighed inwardly and continued, “Look at Lin Rin—if he can land a male lead role, why can’t you? Even if you don’t take this part, the investors would just pick another popular idol over some skilled actor without any opportunities. This isn’t really about you. We’re just products. Until we have enough ability to back ourselves up, simply doing our jobs well is already an achievement.”

In the entertainment industry, good looks weren’t everything, but they were absolutely essential. Those so-called underrated, talented actors? The reality was, they just weren’t good-looking enough to capture the audience’s attention at first glance. Even if they had skills, if they couldn’t hook the audience within three seconds, no level of Best Actor-worthy performance could save them.

…Unless it was a massive breakout drama.

But in an actor’s entire career, how many actually got to be in one of those?

Showbiz looked glamorous, but that didn’t mean it was free of cutthroat competition. In fact, replacements came at an absurd speed. No matter how famous someone was, if they made a mistake or had a scandal, a dozen fresh newcomers were ready to take their place instantly.

Most of the time, it wasn’t even a matter of choice. If you weren’t popular, you simply didn’t have any opportunities.

Even someone as successful as Qiao Qiao still had to hold her nose and work with two completely incompetent male leads.

“You’re right! If Lin Rin can do it, why can’t I?” If someone else had told him this, Qiu Songsheng would have taken it as empty reassurance. But coming from Jiang Fanxing, it felt completely different.

“You really are a good person,” Qiu Songsheng said sincerely. “No wonder Chen Kele always praises you and says you helped him with something huge. By the way, what exactly did you do for him?”

“Well… it’s hard to say,” Jiang Fanxing replied smoothly, showing not a single ounce of guilt. “I didn’t really do much, to be honest.”

Qiu Songsheng looked at him suspiciously.

After Filming Wrapped for the Day…

Qiu Songsheng reluctantly parted ways with Jiang Fanxing.

“Xiao Qiu, the paparazzi have been taking a lot of photos of you two together lately,” his assistant manager asked cautiously. “Are you planning to create a CP buzz with him? If so, we need to inform the company in advance.”

“I haven’t thought about that yet. But if he’s up for it, I wouldn’t be against it. I’ll ask him another day.” Qiu Songsheng chuckled.

“Xiao Qiu, Jiang Fanxing seems to treat you much better than others,” his assistant said worriedly. “You should be careful—maybe he’s trying to use you for hype.”

“Really?” Qiu Songsheng was genuinely surprised. “He treats me that much better? How does it compare to Qiao Qiao or Yang Hanguang?”

…Xiao Qiu, you’re a male idol. Why are you comparing yourself to a female actress?!

The assistant felt even more uneasy. “Xiao Qiu, your state of mind isn’t right. You’re not seriously considering creating a CP with him, are you?”

“…It’s not what you think,” Qiu Songsheng said helplessly.

Being with Jiang Fanxing felt exactly like the way he used to hang out with his dormmates before debuting—comfortable, natural. With other people, there was always a clear sense of intention. But with Jiang Fanxing, he didn’t feel that at all.

“Haha, that’s no problem then.” Qiu Songsheng nodded. “Doesn’t matter—so many people are trying to ride my popularity wave. If he’s willing, I don’t mind playing along with the CP hype.”

The assistants wanted to say more, but the executive manager stopped them with a glance.

Forget it. Let him learn the hard way.

How many so-called best brothers or best sisters in the industry didn’t eventually go their separate ways?

Jiang Fanxing, who was at the center of the discussion, returned to the hotel and asked Xiao Zhou to make a video call to Chen Kele.

“Brother Jiang, you’re done for the day?” Chen Kele was still in costume, surrounded by a styling team fussing over him.

Clearly, he was still filming.

Maybe it was true that fame made people glow—Chen Kele looked noticeably better than before.

“You guys are still working?” Jiang Fanxing checked the time. It was already past midnight.

“Nope, we had a new idea and decided to film some night scenes. Had to avoid the crowds, so it got late.” Chen Kele sighed. “A lot of people have been copying my old videos. I need to come up with something fresh or I’ll be overshadowed. Oh, and my latest video already hit ten million likes, and my follower count is about to hit one million.”

Wow. This type of content attracted that many followers?

“I just wanted to ask something.” Jiang Fanxing’s voice turned icy. “You warned Qiu Songsheng that I ‘helped’ you. Are you planning to pin something on me later?”

The screen shook slightly as Chen Kele’s expression turned guilty. “I… brother Jiang … I just thought you two got along well. Our captain is super picky—when the time comes, can you put in a good word for me?”

“Heh.” Jiang Fanxing’s eyes flicked to Chen Kele’s costume. “You’re playing a scholar now?”

“Yeah.” Chen Kele nodded. “Gotta switch up the style.”

“I have an idea.” Jiang Fanxing smiled. “Why not go for a Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio vibe? A scholar traveling to the capital for exams encounters a female ghost, panics, and falls into the water. Add a little wet-body temptation —I guarantee it’ll go viral. Trust me.”

The stylists surrounding Chen Kele immediately perked up.

“Brother Jiang, that’s brilliant!”

“Why didn’t we think of this? Ning Caichen and Nie Xiaoqian—classic!”

“This works! Let’s do it! Wet-body temptation is fine as long as there’s no nudity—it won’t get taken down.”

Only Chen Kele looked like he was about to cry.

It’s the dead of winter! Below freezing! And you want me to jump into icy water?!

Brother Jiang, this is definitely revenge! No doubt about it!

“Uh, how about… we save this theme for spring?” Chen Kele tried to salvage the situation. “For now, let’s stick to the original plan—”

“Hold on.” Jiang Fanxing ended the call and immediately dialed Shen Tianqing.

To his surprise, despite the late hour, Shen Tianqing picked up instantly.

“What’s up?” Shen Tianqing sounded like he’d just woken up.

“So, I suggested to Chen Kele that he film a wet-body temptation video…” Jiang Fanxing started spinning his tale, embellishing every detail.

“…You just want revenge.” Shen Tianqing cut straight through his nonsense.

“I am also considering the performance of the studio.”

“Got it.” Shen Tianqing hung up the phone.

After a while, Chen Kele’s video call came, he had a bitter expression, obviously educated by Shen Tianqing.

“Brother Jiang, is it necessary to tell Brother Chen about this matter between us?” Chen Kele felt that he was too unlucky.

“What? Is my idea bad?” Jiang Fanxing asked back.

When employees have conflicts, who else should they turn to if not the boss? I’m not feeling well, so my boss can’t be too comfortable either.

“It’s a good suggestion, but let’s not have any more of them in the future.” Chen Kele apologized with his head lowered. “I… I won’t dare to do it next time.”

On that day, Jiang Fanxing updated a Weibo post.

“It’s another day to do good deeds and bring benefits to my family.”

Hmm, let’s wait for the future archaeologists[netizens] to dig this up.

 

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TN:

In case anyone’s curious about the Chen Kele’s video’s inspo
https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nie_Xiaoqian