The vacation was over, and the very next day meant jumping right back into a non-stop schedule. In the morning, Qiu Mian went back to the company first, and in the afternoon, he flew to Xing City to meet up with the crew of Si Yao Biography and wait for the variety show recording.
Some time ago, Qiu Mian had been filming at a film and television city, bringing along only one assistant, while his studio’s promotion and public relations were handled by Duoyi Media, sharing a team with his boss, Wen Yi.
Duoyi Media was not large in scale; it primarily consisted of Wen Yi’s own working team. Aside from Qiu Mian, the only signed artist was a sophomore college girl.
When Qiu Mian arrived, his boss Wen Yi and his manager Tao Yi were both there, but neither of them looked very happy. Qiu Mian didn’t notice and silently sat down without even saying hello, while Wei Pu followed closely behind, plastering on a smile: “Teacher Wen, Sister Taotao.”
The two of them were already used to Qiu Mian’s eccentric personality and didn’t mind. Wen Yi first asked a few questions about the filming of his new drama. Qiu Mian gave a brief summary, and she nodded: “You have a drama currently airing, which is your rising period of popularity. Several commercial offers and scripts have already been sent over; you can compare and pick through them.”
“Anything is fine.” Qiu Mian had no strong opinions, with only one requirement: “One with fewer romance plots.”
The manager chuckled. Tao Yi was Wen Yi’s best friend, and the two co-founded Duoyi Media. Though not as conventionally beautiful as Wen Yi, Tao Yi closely followed fashion trends and was very stylish. Her personality was also much more playful, and she showed great favor toward Qiu Mian: “Where can a leading role have few romance plots? If you aren’t pandering to women, you have to pander to men. Actually, you could have strived for more important roles previously, but we prioritized your persona and image first. Now there are even male lead scripts being handed to us, so don’t miss out.”
Qiu Mian’s resources were actually not bad; at the very least, he always had a production crew to join. Although Wen Yi chose to branch out on her own and restart her career, she was still a well-known actress who had spent over twenty years in the industry and won a grand slam of television awards. Pulling strings to support the company’s only young actor was more than enough.
Qiu Mian was unimpressed, raising a finger to give an example: “The role I was about to join is quite good. Important, and devoid of affection.”
This role referred to the soul-shaking figure in the male-oriented fantasy masterwork Gliding Dragon, a character whom the male lead, female lead, and villains all loved: Tianxuan Zuiwo. He was the person closest to the upper limit of the original setting’s power scale, who emerged out of nowhere to shake the entire universe. As the only saint who ever unified the continent and yet mysteriously disappeared, he only appeared in flashbacks, yet still stirred up storms across the continent a thousand years later. Everyone fought over the holy relics he left behind and went crazy over images bearing traces of him.
At the very end of the original work, Tianxuan Zuiwo made a formal appearance, turning the tides of heaven and earth. Although the first installment wouldn’t film up to that point, it was already enough to fire the imagination. Such a massive opportunity fell into Qiu Mian’s hands and made him extremely satisfied because Tianxuan Zuiwo’s screen adaptation had one fatal flaw for actors: his face was completely hidden during flashbacks, with only a vague glimpse of his chin and the tip of his nose visible, and he only made a shocking appearance at the very end of the original work to astound all living beings.
Due to the length of the original novel, Tianxuan Zuiwo’s full appearance wouldn’t be shown in the first few movies, and whether they would successfully film the final installment remained an unknown variable. Traffic actors didn’t need to fight over this special cameo role; even if his face were to be revealed eventually, changing actors across a series was common practice, and striving for it then would be completely on time.
However, Tianxuan Zuiwo was, after all, an important role. Even if he only appeared in silhouette and with minimal lip-syncing, he couldn’t stray too far from the original description: “Jade-intoxicated posture, crumbling mountain shadow, even harboring a delicate unfeeling heart, ten thousand lords chase after him and kneel beneath his robes.” In the end, when Qiu Mian was chosen, both the producer and director were extremely satisfied.
Yet this example made Wen Yi and his manager sigh simultaneously.
“Tianxuan Zuiwo is being recast.”
Qiu Mian paused his movements and slightly narrowed his eyes.
Wei Pu was utterly shocked: “Why? Didn’t Mianmian already sign the contract? Filming starts in a few days, and the chat group is even still active!”
“The investors demanded it, an emergency replacement. Of course, the breach of contract compensation is generous.”
“Who are they replacing him with?”
“Jiang Sheng, an artist signed by Sansheng Entertainment just this month.”
The manager brought up a photo on her screen for him to see. Qiu Mian couldn’t recognize him anyway and directly refused.
Thinking he was harboring anger inside, the manager gently consoled him: “Sansheng has changed its big boss, and many of their practices are different from before. It’s not your problem. Furthermore…”
She hinted darkly: “Relying on a bit of favor won’t keep someone hyped up for long. It’s better for us to be down-to-earth and feel at ease!”
On the way to the airport, Wei Pu was still filled with indignation: “How can such a thing happen? Stealing a role right out of someone’s stomach!”
“Pretty common.”
“Common is one thing, actually encountering it is still disgusting!” Wei Pu was extremely depressed. “Mianmian, aren’t you angry?”
Qiu Mian rested his head on one hand, gazing out the window at the spotless azure sky, his state of mind equally peaceful: “A little. It’s hard to encounter such a satisfying role again, but whatever.”
“Sigh, I don’t know whether to say your mindset is too good or…” Or that you simply don’t have any ripples of emotion at all.
Having known Qiu Mian for so many years, Wei Pu found that he rarely displayed his own emotions. Yet this wasn’t due to being reserved, restrained, or deeply scheming; rather, it simply stemmed from a dullness of feeling. Not only was his capacity for empathy scarce, but he also showed no impatience regarding his own gains and losses.
To put it positively, Qiu Mian’s mental state was top-tier and supremely stable, allowing him to live freely as he pleased; to put it negatively, he might harbor severe personality flaws.
However, Wei Pu was unwilling to dwell on it further and cursed overconfidently as if covering up a guilty secret: “I keep saying that rich kids entering the showbiz industry all have ulterior motives! One by one, they’re either scamming money or scamming love! It’s only been a few days, and they’re already shoving this and that to their little lovers! The pomp is certainly grand, getting a good role right off the bat. Humph, they’d better hurry up and torture each other with Qiu Mi.”
The Qiu Mi mentioned by Wei Pu was also an artist signed with Sansheng Entertainment, as well as a famously top-tier resource-backed star who had never lost a battle for a role. He possessed the heaven-defying track record of starring as the male lead in a masterwork crafted over seven years by a renowned top director right upon debut, earning him the moniker “Crown Prince of Sansheng.”
His financial backer remained unconfirmed to this day; people only knew that industry insiders spoke of them with deep, fearful awe. Wherever there was a verified real-name system, any negative gossip released about him would be deleted within seconds, so people dared not mention it. For a period of time, his derogatory nickname was simply You Know Who.
Such behavior naturally offended quite a few people. However, Wei Pu wasn’t annoyed with him because of a clash in resources, as they didn’t clash and the gap was worlds apart, but rather because he was irritated by Qiu Mi’s arrogant and foul-mouthed fans.
The pronunciations of Qiu Mi and Qiu Mian’s names were very similar, and their debut times were back-to-back. At one point, a gossip insider misheard internal news and leaked the wrong information, mistakenly trailing Qiu Mian instead of Qiu Mi. How could Mi fans tolerate a washed-up nobody riding their beloved idol’s coattails? On the spot, they slaughtered Qiu Mian’s super-topic plaza for ten full days and nights. Of course, fan-club infighting hitting downwards was a major taboo. To avoid giving away free traffic, they simply used their own idol’s promotional pictures to pave the plaza in a very friendly manner. Searching for Qiu Mian yielded nothing but Qiu Mi.
At the time, although Qiu Mian’s works had neither track record nor visibility, it wasn’t as if he lacked a single hair. After all, Wen Yi’s name still commanded considerable attention, and coupled with his stunning looks and detached temperament, plus the fact that the resources he initially took on were quite good, there were already quite a few stock-buying fan girls who had flocked over, eagerly managing the fandom and hunting for materials. His name had appeared quite a few times in the lists of upcoming breakthrough stars over the past two years, and many of Qiu Mi’s rival anti-fans also dove in to drag and compare him. Anyway, since Qiu Mian wasn’t their actual idol, they didn’t hurt when he got cursed at.
Alas, after more than two years, not a single one of Qiu Mian’s works had launched, and he himself maintained a totally career-indifferent attitude. Aside from the occasional post by his assistant’s account, he made zero noise across the entire internet. His only yearly presence was his birthday status update. Stock-buying fans came and went quickly; before Si Yao Biography started airing, the number of daily check-ins was something Wei Pu could count on his fingers.
But now, the situation was different!
Following closely behind Qiu Mian, Wei Pu shielded him like a chick as they pushed through the crowded airport traffic. The shouts of “Crown Prince Jin Gu is so handsome!” and “Qiu Mian, look over here, look here!” were completely drowned out by a tidal wave of screams.
“Ahhh Mianmian! Take off your mask! You’re countless times better-looking offline!”
Even on the airplane, fans had bought tickets on the same flight to accompany him, excitedly asking for autographs and photos. Yet Qiu Mian didn’t even spare them a glance, plugging in his headphones and falling asleep single-mindedly.
The fans’ complexions looked quite unpleasant. Wei Pu hurriedly stepped in for crisis management and stabilization, explaining a few words and gifting them several packs of Qiu Mian’s favorite spicy snacks as appeasement.
Xing City Airport was similarly blazing with heat. Not until they boarded the van did the boiling cheers gradually fade away. Wei Pu let out a breath and said excitedly: “Mianmian, this time you’re truly popular! It’s also my fault for not paying attention, as we should have taken the VIP channel.”
Qiu Mian took it in stride: “It’s just a novelty at first; it will fade after a while.”
He didn’t consider this to be any sort of explosive popularity; he had merely transitioned from a passerby into someone with a bit of name recognition. Si Yao Biography was currently airing, so having traffic was normal, and fangirls came and went after all.
“No way, the next era is definitely going to be yours!”
Wei Pu spoke with conviction, displaying his credentials as a chief toxic solo fan: “You were just accumulating works before, and when your fortune arrives, nobody can block it! Just now, while scrolling through my moments, I saw the editor of Triple Autopsy post an update: the recut version has passed censorship!”
Triple Autopsy was the fourth drama Qiu Mian filmed after his debut, a crime-investigation-style episodic drama. The small-boss anti-hero played by Qiu Mian, who was the male lead’s old classmate and later cleared of wrongdoing, was supposed to appear in the third arc. However, as ill luck would have it, the drama was forced offline due to technical reasons the day before his appearance.
Although many felt this reason was purely sheer bad luck, sometimes the censorship sensitive spots drifted unpredictably. If they wanted to broadcast again, they had to censor, cut, and rebuild it from scratch.
Taking a show down was easy; getting it re-released was hard. Now, more than half a year had passed, and very few people retained any anticipation. Even if it were rescheduled, the initial promotional efforts had gone down the drain, and its popularity would inevitably be much lower than before.
However, for Qiu Mian, appearing in the actual footage was still better than living purely inside the trailers.
His mood improved, and the travel-induced drowsiness from the flight subsided somewhat.
He looked out the window. The summer solstice had just passed, leaving days exceptionally long. A lingering brush of golden-orange afterglow remained at the edge of the sky. Streams of cars zipped by amidst bustling crowds; Xing City’s prosperous nightlife was only just beginning.
It was a relatively unfamiliar city he had never visited before, or rather, the places he had been to were far fewer than most people imagined. But regardless of whether it was bustling or desolate, clamorous or tranquil, people of all ages and walks of life would always slowly close their eyes at some point.
The first thing he always considered was the same question:
How many people would fall asleep tonight? Would they carry smiles or tears? How many would drift into dreams? Would those dreams form a white hole or a black hole? Within the dreams of these people who had stripped off their masks and struggled to hide their emotions, how many wildly imaginative, bizarrely seductive, and love-hate entangling scenes would there be? How many dream-travelers would toil away for the entire night because of them?
Yet when the dawn’s first ray of light illuminated the window, no matter what, tomorrow would be a brand new day.