After several run-throughs, the sun gradually slanted westward.
The golden evening light spilled across the corridors of Zhaoming Palace, casting the entire palace in a serene, ancient beauty. The director immediately decided to capture the light and start filming.
Shang Wan and Fang Xinghe took their positions before the camera.
The scene about to be shot depicted the emperor and the grand princess sharing an evening meal.
As the elder sister of Emperor Li Zhao, Grand Princess Qionghua had single-handedly supported his ascent to the throne. Yet, after his coronation, she quietly stripped him of power, reducing him to a mere puppet.
Li Zhao had long harbored discontent over this and had been making frequent moves to cultivate his own loyalists within the court.
The scene to be filmed next was one where Qionghua used the meal as an opportunity to admonish Li Zhao.
Fang Xinghe lived up to his reputation as a child star and a seasoned actor of his generation. As soon as he appeared on camera, the Li Zhao he portrayed sat rigidly upright at the dining table.
This should have been the most relaxed moment of his day, but with power slipping from his grasp and political adversaries lurking nearby, he had no choice but to straighten his back like a bowstring stretched to its breaking point.
As for Shang Wan—
Shang Wan’s feelings toward the role of Qionghua were actually quite complex.
When she was twenty-two, Shang Wan had almost played a similar role.
The reason she said “almost” was that she had already signed a contract with the production team at the time.
She had meticulously prepared for the role for two months, even writing tens of thousands of words of character analysis. Yet, just before filming began, she was replaced by the production team.
Now, an old role had reappeared before her in new packaging, as if fate were playing a joke on her.
Shang Wan’s heart was filled with mixed emotions.
The clapperboard snapped, and Shang Wan snapped back to attention in an instant.
The chief eunuch attending the emperor bent low, carefully serving dishes to Li Zhao. Suddenly, Li Zhao raised his hand and pointed to one of the dishes, saying, “This dish of stuffed duck breast with assorted flowers is something my elder sister often enjoys. Serve it to her.”
According to the script, Qionghua should have calmly looked at Li Zhao at this moment and, in an unquestionable tone, rejected his first gesture of goodwill.
However, Shang Wan deliberately paused for two seconds without delivering her line.
Fang Xinghe’s mind immediately flashed with the thought, “Did Shang Nanzhi forget her lines?” Just as he was about to question whether the person opposite him took her work seriously, he saw Shang Nanzhi quietly watching him.
No, it wasn’t Shang Nanzhi.
It was Grand Princess Qionghua.
Because the expression was that of Grand Princess Qionghua.
Qionghua gazed at him calmly, her eyes carrying a natural sense of intimidation.
This reminded Fang Xinghe subconsciously of the glance Shang Nanzhi had given him at the entrance of the makeup room—similarly condescending, as if she were Qionghua herself.
Fang Xinghe had been startled by that momentary illusion at the time. When he regained his composure, he saw Shang Nanzhi staring at him suspiciously.
Fang Xinghe had thought it was just a fleeting trick of his eyes.
But the look in Shang Nanzhi’s eyes at this moment once again transported him back to that scene.
Unlike Li Zhao, a puppet emperor with only an empty title, Qionghua’s intimidation stemmed from her long-standing position of power and absolute authority.
With nothing more than a casual glance at Li Zhao’s chief eunuch across the dining table, the eunuch’s hand froze mid-air, not daring to advance another inch.
Only then did Qionghua turn her gentle gaze to Li Zhao, shaking her head slightly as she delivered the scripted line: “Your Majesty, one must not exceed three servings of a dish. I have already taken three bites of this dish. It should be removed.”
“Not exceeding three servings”—this was the ancestral family rule.
To share a meal with the emperor at the same table, the decision of when to clear the dishes should naturally rest with the emperor. It was certainly not a princess’s place to remove dishes the emperor had yet to touch.
Seeing the calm, almost indifferent look in Qionghua’s eyes, Li Zhao finally grasped the true nature of the situation—
This was what it meant to put someone in their place.
As a true devotee of acting, Fang Xinghe momentarily forgot his prejudice against Shang Wan, almost completely drawn into the scene by her performance.
The Li Zhao he portrayed couldn’t hide his complex emotions as he looked at Qionghua, a flicker of humiliation flashing in his gaze.
After a few moments, Li Zhao swallowed it all down.
He lowered his eyes and said, “My elder sister’s guidance is well taken.”
The scene didn’t end there.
After Fang Xinghe exited the frame, the clapperboard snapped once more.
Still at the dining table, Qionghua casually instructed the head palace maid in the hall, saying, “Today’s meal service was unsatisfactory. By His Majesty’s decree, Chef Liu is to receive twenty lashes and be demoted to the cleaning department.”
Her tone was light, as if discussing which flower to wear in the morning or which dessert to serve in the afternoon.
She appeared every bit the superior who cared nothing for the lives of those beneath her.
Not far away, Fang Xinghe watched Shang Wan on the camera monitor and couldn’t help but think, Shang Nanzhi’s delivery wasn’t half bad.
Compared to Fang Xinghe’s restraint, the director’s delight was practically overflowing.
After Shang Wan finished the shot, he grinned from ear to ear, repeatedly praising, “Nan Zhi, have you been taking acting lessons from some master recently? This scene was truly eye-opening!”
Shang Wan waved her hands modestly, saying, “Not at all, it’s all thanks to your guidance, Director.”
It was no wonder the director was so pleased.
From the audition, Director Zhou had known that Shang Nanzhi had completely failed to grasp the true essence of Qionghua’s character.
Once in front of the camera, Shang Nanzhi would automatically turn Qionghua into a shallow, affected woman.
Whenever Li Zhao opposed Qionghua, Shang Nanzhi would immediately lash out like a programmed robot, all claws and teeth.
To make matters worse, her line delivery lacked any skill—misplaced emphasis, unclear enunciation, and occasional stuttering—it was nothing short of a disaster.
On top of that, Shang Nanzhi was all too aware of her physical advantages.
No matter what role she played, she couldn’t let go of her glamorous image as a popular starlet. While acting, she would constantly adjust her swaying hairpins or stretch her slender neck, making everyone watching her performance from behind the camera feel uneasy.
Yet, given Shang Nanzhi’s immense popularity and the fact that she had reluctantly agreed to play a supporting role, the investors simply wouldn’t agree to recast.
The director had once despaired.
If the drama aired like this, his reputation would be completely ruined.
But the performance in this scene was enough to prove that Shang Nanzhi had finally understood the character.
Qionghua was not a woman vying for favor in the deep palace; her vision lay in the imperial court.
She was a politician with blood on her hands.
Recalling Shang Nanzhi’s abysmal acting, which had nearly cost him his late-career reputation, Director Zhou looked at Shang Wan with increasing warmth.
Shang Wan played along, and the two exchanged compliments back and forth, creating a harmonious atmosphere for a while.
Nearby, Fang Xinghe frowned again as he watched Shang Wan’s hypocritical act.
At the same time, Shang Wan heard the System’s notification sound ringing incessantly like a roller coaster.
When she played Qionghua putting Li Zhao in his place, Fang Xinghe’s Bond Points rose to 3.
When she performed Qionghua disciplining the palace servants, Fang Xinghe’s Bond Points surged sharply to 7.9.
But as soon as she stepped off camera and had barely exchanged a few words with the director, the System prompted her: “Fang Xinghe’s Bond Points are continuously declining. Current Bond Points have dropped to only 2.5. Please be cautious with your words and actions, Host.”
Shang Wan: “…”
What exactly was careless about her words and actions?!
Clearly, Fang Xinghe had something wrong with his head!
A man’s heart is as deep as the ocean.
The next few scenes were filmed surprisingly smoothly.
Relying on her refined acting skills honed from the bottom up and her serious attitude while studying the script, Shang Wan grasped the character of Qionghua thoroughly.
When acting opposite Fang Xinghe, it was a back-and-forth game of wits; when acting opposite Shen Hui, it was an air of dismissive arrogance.
When facing the court officials who were loyal to her in the previous dynasty but did not approve of her as a woman attempting to emulate Empress Wu Zetian and declare herself emperor, she portrayed the authority of a ruler, hidden resentment, burgeoning desire, and relentless ambition.
Shang Wan handled every nuance perfectly.
She was quite satisfied with herself.
The only thing that displeased her was that Fang Xinghe’s Bond Points fluctuated so wildly throughout the evening that it was downright maddening.
They seemed to shift every few minutes, and by the end of the night, they had only stabilized at 0.7.
Shang Wan: A flurry of effort as fierce as a tiger, but you might as well have done nothing.
By the time filming wrapped up, Shang Wan’s gaze toward Fang Xinghe was tinged with faint despair.
With a lifeless expression, she headed to the dressing room with Shen Hui to remove her makeup, as if she had lost her soul.
The night was deep, and the makeup artist’s touch was too gentle. Leaning back in the recliner, Shang Wan couldn’t resist dozing off.
When she woke up, her makeup had already been removed.
The makeup artist was calling her: “Sister Nan Zhi, wake up. Everything’s done. You can go back and rest now.”
Shang Wan yawned and was about to leave when, out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Shen Hui’s empty makeup chair. Instinctively, she felt something was off.
Shen Hui’s makeup and hairstyle as the empress tonight were far more complex than hers. How could she have finished removing them so quickly?
She asked the makeup artist, “Has Shen Hui gone back?”
Makeup artist: “No, Assistant Director Liu just said a few lines need to be changed for tomorrow and asked Teacher Shen to take a look.”
Shang Wan: “!!”
She knew it!
Shen Hui truly lived up to being the female lead of a melodramatic romance novel. The moment Shang Wan took her eyes off her, something happened to the heroine!
As a scumbag in the “Zhao Ming Palace” crew, Assistant Director Liu was just as notorious as Shang Nanzhi, with his despicable nature almost universally acknowledged by readers of “Star Path.”
Shang Nanzhi attempted to seduce the male lead.
As for Assistant Director Liu, he usually took advantage of pretty extras, and later, emboldened by lust, he set his sights on Shen Hui, who had just debuted.
One late night after filming, under the pretext of reviewing the script, he lured Shen Hui into the empty script reading room.
If Fang Xinghe hadn’t coincidentally passed by that night and sensed something amiss, Shen Hui would have truly fallen victim to this scumbag.
It was because of this heroic rescue that Fang Xinghe, for the first time in his life, developed an interest in a girl that went beyond normal boundaries.
However, timing is everything.
Since Shang Wan had encountered this major event from the original plot, she might as well use it to boost Shen Hui’s Bond Points.
Moreover—
Following the memories of the original body, Shang Wan sprinted toward the script reading room.
Behind the half-open door, Assistant Director Liu’s hand was tightly gripping Shen Hui’s wrist.
He pulled Shen Hui in front of him, tugging at her clothes while leaning close to her neck, muttering to himself, “What’s so bad about being with me? You can pick any resource I have from now on—isn’t that enough?”
Shen Hui pushed hard against Deputy Director Liu, as if suffering some unbearable humiliation.
Her feeble strength was as useless as a kitten’s hiss to Deputy Director Liu. Struggling with all her might, she only earned his amused gaze.
Shang Wan instantly flew into a rage.
She grabbed the stainless steel thermos she had taken from the dressing room and carried all the way, smashing it hard onto Deputy Director Liu’s flabby back.
With a loud clang, Shang Wan’s voice rang out firmly.
She said, “Enough for your grandpa!”
Moreover—
Looking at Shen Hui, pushed to the brink with reddened eyes, Shang Wan thought: Besides, the way Fang Xinghe held leverage, threatened Deputy Director Liu, and ultimately settled things quietly was just too frustrating to watch.
Revenge should be taken on the spot.
Scumbags should pay the price immediately!