Taking advantage of the moment, she could not resist touching it a few more times.
“President Gu, not only is your hair quality great, you also have a lot of it. You definitely don’t have to worry about going bald.”
“Unlike me, worrying all day long, I’m going to turn into a balding fairy at this rate.”
“……” Gu Zhanran chuckled. “Why does that sound exactly like a hair salon assistant trying to convince someone to buy a membership card?”
Playing along, An Juexiao said, “So, President Gu, would you like to sign up for one?”
He cooperated, “Yes.”
“Alright then.” She pulled out her business card, wrote a line on it, lifetime free haircuts and styling, then stuffed it into his hand.
Seeing the words, Gu Zhanran looked a little surprised.
An Juexiao smiled. “Considering how much you’ve taken care of me, it has to be lifetime free.”
The corner of his lips lifted slightly. “Alright, I’ll accept it.”
After borrowing the bathroom, Gu Zhanran left in a very proper manner.
Looking at the now empty room, An Juexiao replied to Gu Keqing.
An Juexiao: He’s gone back.
Gu Keqing: Gone back???
Gu Keqing: In the middle of the night, he really just came over to shower?
Gu Keqing: Xiaoxiao, could it be that President Gu… can’t?
An Juexiao: ……………………
An Juexiao: Ugh, what nonsense are you saying!
From what she had glimpsed earlier from head to toe, Gu Zhanran was definitely perfectly capable.
Blushing, An Juexiao stopped replying to Gu Keqing’s nonsense.
Because of that rather tantalizing scene Gu Zhanran had provided, she slept very soundly that night. No ghosts disturbed her dreams, only the lingering image of a handsome man.
Two days later, Gu Zhanran left the hotel.
An Juexiao felt that he truly came and went like the wind. When she casually checked the news, she saw that he had already flown abroad again for a technology exchange.
The training days were dull and exhausting. Just as she was about to feel completely bored out of her mind, she unexpectedly saw that Gu Zhanran, who rarely updated anything, had posted on his Moments, blue skies, night views, delicious food, all breathtakingly beautiful.
Naturally, An Juexiao left an enthusiastic compliment under his post.
Good-looking people really do take good-looking photos.
“Wow, that line of yours is even more over-the-top than what my fans say,” Peng Chenglang’s carefree voice rang out beside An Juexiao.
She shot him a glare. “Why are you peeking at my phone?”
“I’m not peeking, I’m looking openly.”
“Shameless.”
Peng Chenglang protested, “The most outstanding thing about me is this face, how could I not want it?”
Even someone as quick-witted as An Juexiao sometimes found herself at a loss dealing with him.
“The director is arriving the day after tomorrow, I’m actually a bit nervous,” Peng Chenglang said, rubbing his wrist.
“What’s there to be nervous about, as long as you act seriously, Director Zhang isn’t going to eat you,” An Juexiao noticed his movement and asked, “Is your injury any better?”
During martial arts training the day before, his wrist had been struck by a staff member and had swollen immediately.
Peng Chenglang waved it off with a smile. “It’s nothing. What actor doesn’t get injured?”
With Director Zhang joining the production, filming officially began.
Director Zhang was extremely strict. Under him, there was no such thing as just passing, only perfection.
Flourishing Tang Fantasy Chronicle tells a story set during Emperor Xuanzong’s reign.
In the prosperous and dazzling city of Chang’an, there are people with extraordinary abilities from all corners of the land, rare treasures from across the seas, and foreign dancers from distant regions. Together, they weave a series of fantastical tales.
The splendor of the golden age attracts not only people, but also spirits and demons.
Within Chang’an, there exists a mysterious organization called the Tianji Pavilion. It is directly under Emperor Xuanzong’s authority and specializes in handling strange incidents from all over.
The male lead, played by Peng Chenglang, is an investigator from the Tianji Pavilion. The female lead, played by Su Lanxue, is half human and half demon. Another key role is the princess, possessed by a demon and triggering a chain of events, played by An Juexiao. She is the male lead’s childhood companion, so the story also features a classic rivalry between childhood sweetheart, the princess, and the fated newcomer, the female lead.
In terms of screen time, An Juexiao’s role would actually be considered the second female lead. However, the film also features Yang Guifei, played by a veteran, highly respected actress. Even though her role is not extensive, she is still credited as the first female lead, making Su Lanxue the second and An Juexiao the third.
Today’s scene involved An Juexiao’s character, after being possessed, climbing onto a rooftop to dance before falling into the water.
The princess she portrayed stood on the eaves with a dazed gaze, her arms moving gracefully, her figure elegant yet carrying an indescribable, eerie allure.
The actress who had been sitting beside Gu Zhanran earlier played her maid, lifting her skirt as she called out anxiously from below the roof.
However, after several takes, the actress kept stumbling over her lines.
Director Zhang lost his temper. “You can’t even deliver a few simple lines properly?!”
“Did you memorize your lines with your feet?!”
The actress hunched her shoulders and suggested timidly, “Maybe you could edit together the parts where I got the lines right?”
From her position on the roof, An Juexiao thought that suggestion was astonishing in the worst way.
“You think you need to teach me how to make a film?!” Director Zhang exploded, throwing the script to the ground.
When filming, Director Zhang hated two things, actors not taking things seriously, and people interfering with his direction.
This actress had managed to do both.
Without hesitation, he removed her from the production.
Only then did An Juexiao hear the actress crying about who her uncle was, probably some executive or investor from Yaohui.
“I don’t care who your uncle is. Even if your father were the king of heaven, it wouldn’t matter,” Director Zhang declared, unwavering.
Watching the actress being escorted away by staff, An Juexiao felt no sympathy, only regret. Not for the actress, but for others.
So many people longed for an opportunity but never got one, while some received it and failed to cherish it.
Director Zhang called over the screenwriter, and after a brief discussion, they decided to revise the scene. The male lead, Peng Chenglang, would call out from below, and when An Juexiao fell into the water, it would turn into a classic rescue scene.
Peng Chenglang groaned, “I was planning to just watch from the side, didn’t expect I’d end up becoming a drenched rat with you.”
An Juexiao replied, “Sharing the hardship together, I guess.”
Although the changes were made on the spot, Peng Chenglang adapted quickly, something An Juexiao greatly admired.
Despite both Peng Chenglang and Su Lanxue having strong popularity, resources, and backgrounds, especially Peng Chenglang who was not even formally trained in acting, his dedication on set was highly commendable. Even the veteran actors playing Emperor Xuanzong and Yang Guifei praised him repeatedly.
As for Su Lanxue, there was no need to say more. For the rooftop dance scene, she had provided a lot of help.
Very quickly, Peng Chenglang memorized the newly written lines and went into filming. The rooftop exchange was completed in just three takes.
The most difficult part of the scene was the fall into the water.
Multiple camera angles were required, so both An Juexiao and Peng Chenglang had to jump into the water several times.
As filming progressed, it was already early autumn. Each time she entered the water, An Juexiao felt the cold seep into her bones, and Peng Chenglang fared no better.
Every time they came out, they wrapped themselves in blankets, blasted warm air, and drank ginger soup brought by assistants, shivering as they listened to the director’s instructions, only to hear Director Zhang say coldly,
“One more take.”
After repeating the water scene over a dozen times, they finally got the shot.
When they heard the “OK,” Peng Chenglang was almost in tears with relief. He rushed over to hug Director Zhang and deliberately rubbed the water on him.
Director Zhang said, “This is revenge, isn’t it?”
Off set, Director Zhang was actually quite amiable.
“How is this revenge? This is my love for you, like a mighty river, endless and flowing. Juexiao, come on, let’s show Director Zhang our river-like affection.”
Wrapped in a blanket, An Juexiao sneezed a few times and said, “Forget it. It’s fine if you hug the director, but if I do it, there might be scandal rumors tomorrow. I’ll be neatly packaged into gossip.”
Peng Chenglang nodded in agreement. “Then I’ll hug him a few more times on your behalf.”
As he spoke, he rubbed against the director a few more times, making everyone on set burst into laughter.
Su Lanxue teased, “The way you look reminds me of a dog shaking off water.”
Peng Chenglang immediately turned toward her. “Then let me shake some on you too.”
Su Lanxue screamed and hid behind An Juexiao.
For a moment, the entire set was filled with laughter.
In the past, Director Zhang disdained doing publicity during filming, but times had changed. Promotion was still necessary, so An Juexiao received a schedule from the production team.
“The 28th is media visit day. All the main cast will attend, no costumes, just regular outfits,” Zhang Xiaowan said. “I’ve already told Sister Xi, she’ll find you some designer clothes.”
“Do we really have to go that all out just for an interview?” An Juexiao looked at her suitcase. “Are the clothes I brought not good enough?”
“Of course not. If you don’t present yourself well now, when you become popular later, both devoted fans and haters will dig up your past. The fans will say, ‘Our girl is so thrifty and adorable, even budget clothes can’t hide her beauty.’”
“The haters will say, ‘Is An Juexiao’s stylist incompetent? Is Yaohui so broke it can’t even afford proper outfits?’”
An Juexiao: “……”
She had to admit Zhang Xiaowan’s imitation was spot on.
And she was not exaggerating.
Fans’ investigative skills were top tier.
An Juexiao thought about those artists who suddenly became famous. Even their middle school photos and old forum comments from high school could be dug up. If those memories were embarrassing, it would feel like a public execution.
“So we have to prepare in advance,” Zhang Xiaowan said.
“I’ll listen to you.”
Before media visit day arrived, another storm erupted on Weibo.
It started with someone exposing that an actor in Director Zhang’s production could not even memorize their lines during filming and was scolded. Not only did the actor fail to reflect, they even challenged the director on the spot, boasting about who their relative was.
Normally, there were countless complaints posted on Weibo every day. The person who posted this likely had a small account with few followers, probably a crew member, so it did not attract much attention at first.
Until a veteran actor somehow came across the post and reposted it with a comment, lamenting how the industry had declined. Young actors were earning far more than veterans, yet their professionalism and work ethic were far worse.
Forgetting lines was one thing, but relying on popularity and connections to boss around other actors and even directors was another. Even minor injuries would land them in the hospital, followed by exaggerated praise across the internet.
The veteran actor’s remarks resonated with many, including both netizens and people within the entertainment industry.
A screenwriter complained that scripts painstakingly written were often altered beyond recognition by well-connected actors, just to grab more screen time or make their roles stand out, disregarding logic and storytelling. In the end, when the finished product turned out poorly, the audience blamed the writer.
A young director shared grievances as well. In the past, those with acting skills were the stars. Now, those with popularity and traffic were. Some actors could not even get up in the morning, yet the entire crew had to wait for them.
Anonymous commenters added more gossip, mentioning actors who relied on numeric placeholders instead of memorizing lines, and others who could neither cry nor laugh convincingly.
Soon, someone compiled all these complaints into a long post.
Originally, none of the accusations named anyone directly, but that did not stop speculation.
Netizens began digging through various young actors, matching timelines, and many were caught in the crossfire, their acting skills widely mocked.
Peng Chenglang, Su Lanxue, Li Lingyin, and others all ended up on the list.
One by one, young actors, especially those with high popularity, were criticized across the board.
Fans from different camps clashed fiercely.
Fans of one star said, “We’re taking our idol away, not getting involved.”
Fans of another said, “Stop throwing accusations at our girl. She hasn’t even worked with those insiders, how could it be her?”
Another group said, “Our idol has always been dedicated. The director even praised him during filming.”
After rounds of arguments, one person ultimately became the main scapegoat, Peng Chenglang.
People analyzed it like this. First, Peng Chenglang came from a strong background, enough to pressure others on set.
Second, he was currently filming Director Zhang’s project, matching the initial claim.
Third, he had worked with the veteran actor who reposted the complaint, so it was assumed the criticism must be about someone he had collaborated with.
Then came fourth, fifth, sixth, and more “reasons.”
Regardless of truth, belief, or doubt, the blame firmly landed on Peng Chenglang.
His fans, of course, refused to accept it and tried everywhere to defend him.
The general response was simple, stop defending, it looks bad.
As a result, his fans even gained a mocking nickname, “cleanup fans.”
When An Juexiao read the analysis online, she was stunned. If she had not been so close to Peng Chenglang at the center of it all, she might have believed it too.
She muttered, “Now I understand what it means when repeated claims become truth. Is there any news about how Peng Chenglang’s side is handling this?”
She looked up at Zhang Xiaowan.
“They’re discussing countermeasures. This time, so many industry insiders have spoken up, it feels intense and believable, which makes it very tricky for his team.”
“Actually, those accusations were not aimed at him originally. It’s just that his recent rise has been strong, so rivals probably took advantage of it and deliberately steered the narrative.”
Peng Chenglang was currently the most popular among actors of his generation. If his collaboration with Director Zhang’s film succeeded, his status would rise far above his peers, so naturally he would attract envy.
“In my opinion, his team will keep a low profile and quietly delete posts behind the scenes.”
Zhang Xiaowan reminded An Juexiao, “Right now, young actresses and actors have stirred public anger, and Director Zhang’s production is at the center of it all. Many people are questioning his decision to use younger actors this time. Be careful with what you say during interviews.”
An Juexiao nodded. She had also seen comments about Director Zhang, mostly saying he had declined and was bowing to capital and popularity.
“If you’re asked about Peng Chenglang, just say you’ve been filming in isolation and are not aware of the online rumors.”
An Juexiao looked at Zhang Xiaowan in surprise.
Zhang Xiaowan sighed. “I know you’re close to him, but this is not the time to act out of loyalty.”
“Whoever steps forward will be criticized to death.”
“And whether you explain or not, it won’t make much difference. Do you think people really care about the truth?”
“No. Many people just want an outlet for their emotions. Once this wave passes and the movie is released, the truth will speak for itself.”
“We all know how Peng Chenglang performs. The best explanation is not words, it’s his acting.”
An Juexiao sighed. “Alright, I understand.”
Looking at the chaotic and toxic comments online, she felt irritated and closed the app.
She opened WeChat instead, intending to comfort Peng Chenglang, but when she found his contact, she saw that his profile picture had turned black. It was obvious how bad his mood was.
At that moment, she found it hard to say anything.
Empty words of comfort felt meaningless.
Absentmindedly scrolling on her phone, the first person she thought of was Gu Zhanran. But seeing how late it was, she felt it would be too abrupt to disturb him.
Just as she hesitated, as if they were thinking of each other at the same time, Gu Zhanran sent her a message.