Chapter 143 143 New Invitation

Chapter 143: A Standout Performance

In terms of years in the industry, Lu Xu was Guan Sha's junior. Before joining the crew, Guan Sha had planned to wait for him to catch up. But now, Lu Xu's performance made her realize that if she didn't give it her all, she might end up being overshadowed in their scenes together.

After Guan Sha joined the crew, director Mu Lang and screenwriter Luo Kun's moods noticeably lifted. Anyone could see the chemistry between Lu Xu and Guan Sha—their performances crackled with intensity, fully embodying the visual language Mu Lang had envisioned.

During the early stages of filming *Reversal City*, Lu Xu had a few NG takes. But as time went on, his mistakes became fewer and fewer. By the time he was acting opposite Guan Sha, he was firing on all cylinders.

His screen presence was magnetic.

Mu Lang and Luo Kun had collaborated with many actors, and in their eyes, Lu Xu's performance held its own against those of seasoned veterans.

Great actors can elevate the material.

In the following scenes, Luo Kun gave Lu Xu more room to improvise.

To be precise, it was Lu Xu's performance that reshaped their understanding of *Reversal City*'s story—Luo Kun wasn't deliberately cutting Zhao Yifan's scenes, but Lu Xu was performing at such a high level. It would be a shame not to let the audience see more of him.

From the audition to this point in filming, Lu Xu's progress had been astonishing.

One day, Mu Lang and Luo Kun were having a meal together and inevitably started discussing the actors in the crew.

Luo Kun asked Mu Lang how many nominations he thought Lu Xu could earn.

Mu Lang held his silence, then dipped his finger in water and drew a "3" on the table.

"That's what I thought too."

Though *Reversal City* was far from finished—editing hadn’t even begun, and its release was still a distant prospect—Lu Xu's performance convinced them he was worthy of nominations from any prestigious awards.

Bringing up the decision to cast Zhao Yifan as the lead made them uncomfortable.

Objectively speaking, before joining the crew, Zhao Yifan had shown no red flags—otherwise, the role wouldn’t have gone to him. But once filming started, his performance paled in comparison to Lu Xu's.

The contrast made Mu Lang develop a clear preference for Lu Xu.

Mu Lang wasn’t the type of director who openly favored actors with words—he rarely praised anyone. His usual method was to show preference in the editing room—whoever performed better would get more screen time.

After all, he was known for shooting excessive footage. The material accumulated for *Reversal City* was enough for him to cut an entirely different movie unrelated to the script.

Lu Xu's character already had plenty of showcase scenes from the start.

In Mu Lang's mind, Lu Xu wasn’t there to be relegated to supporting status compared to Zhao Yifan. His role was more challenging than Ji Chongyang's, and from the beginning, Mu Lang had been looking for an actor whose overall ability surpassed Zhao Yifan's.

He just hadn’t expected Zhao Yifan and Lu Xu to have such poor chemistry.

To be precise, it was Zhao Yifan who harbored unilateral resentment toward Lu Xu.

Now, as the film neared completion, Zhao Yifan's performance had improved significantly from the start, but it still fell short of Mu Lang's full expectations. Lu Xu, on the other hand, came in strong from day one, growing stronger with each passing day. Compared to Lu Xu's brilliance, Zhao Yifan's screen presence naturally dimmed—even at his best, he always seemed a step behind.

"But talent like Lu Xu's is indeed rare," Mu Lang mused after a moment.

Luo Kun nodded in agreement.

The younger generation of actors seemed to lack standout talent—when it came to acting, the established actors still held the advantage.

But for the film industry to thrive, it couldn’t let established actors monopolize lead roles forever. Fresh young actors needed to be developed.

The directors didn’t want to choose the least bad option, but in many cases, they simply had no choice.

...

Filming for *Reversal City* took half a year, much longer than Lu Xu’s previous two movies.

He could only sigh—even as someone impatient by nature, enduring this had given him the patience of a zen master.

After Lu Xu wrapped his scenes, Zhao Yifan was still in the crew filming his remaining parts. While Lu Xu was free, he had no idea how much longer Zhao Yifan would be stuck there.

“I want to take a break. Don’t schedule any work for me for now.”

Filming *Reversal City* had left Lu Xu completely wiped out. The moment he wrapped, he didn’t think about anything—he just wanted to crash for days.

Xu Wen definitely had a ton of work lined up, and Lu Xu knew it, but he didn’t even have the energy to think about it.

He slept for nearly 15 hours straight. When he woke up and scrolled through his phone, he realized the entertainment world had been way crazier than he expected.

The bad blood between him and Zhao Yifan was no secret, but online, more people had his back.

"Zhao Yifan is more fake, isn’t he?"

"One second he’s trash-talking Lu Xu, the next he’s following him. At least Lu Xu doesn’t pretend to be friends when they’re clearly not."

"+1, I’ve always thought Lu Xu is a sincere person."

"Lu Xu’s behavior in the *Reversal City* crew was similar to how he was in *Verse*. After leaving the group, he criticized other *Verse* members, but while he was still in it, he endured—for the group’s glory, for the fans’ fantasy world. Lu Xu will diss all sorts of random people, but because Zhao Yifan is part of *Reversal City*, he didn’t want to disrupt filming or hurt the movie’s reputation, so he held back and said nothing."

"Lu Xu is just a class act, that’s all."

Of course, compared to the petty squabble among the *Reversal City* cast, Qi Di and Wei Fangfei’s scandal was way juicier.

When the court served Qi Di a summons, the gossipmongers reported it immediately. Then came Qi Di’s court appearance, evidence presentation, trial... The gossipmongers documented Qi Di’s every move online like chroniclers of royal drama.

Qi Di still refused to admit he’d tried to incite Zhao Yifan against Lu Xu, insisting he had no reason to envy Lu Xu.

He faced a backlash and lost countless fans, but no matter the public outrage, Qi Di refused to show even a hint of remorse toward Lu Xu.

"What a mess." Lu Xu played a few rounds of phone poker before remembering to check his own Weibo.

The comments and DMs were overwhelming. Being a bit OCD, Lu Xu hated seeing too many unread notifications—especially on apps like Weibo that stacked up to "99+" if left unchecked.

Then, he discovered his Weibo had turned into a shrine. Some called him *"Master Lu,"* others *"Immortal Lu."*

Lu Xu: *sigh*

It all started with the fan who turned his photo into a ring.

How she pulled it off was anyone’s guess, but all Lu Xu knew was that two days after she wore it, her boss was arrested for criminal activity.

"Holy crap! Hocus pocus, Immortal Lu blessed us!"

"Not even 48 hours! A crime involving over 20 million!"

"I never believed in superstitions, but starting today, I’m ride-or-die for Immortal Lu. *Lu Sect!*"

The flood of *Lu Sect* replies that followed nearly made his eyes bleed.

In short, from that day on, Lu Xu’s Weibo comments and DMs were total chaos.

Every morning, members of the "Lu Xu Fan Club" check in, while at night, they pray for good luck the next day.

In the private messages, some followers "ask for divine guidance," even deciding based on whether to choose red or blue shoes by checking if the timestamp of the message is odd or even.

Lu Xu: "..."

This isn't the "Lu Xu Fan Club"—it's more like a cult.

Anyway, Lu Xu just seems to jinx Qi Di, Zhang Che, Zhang Zhizhen, the Verse members, and all sorts of oddballs.

"Lu Xu Fan Club!"

Even Zheng Xiao and Shao Yao got in on the joke, sending memes of burning incense.

Lu Xu: "Panda Burning Incense? That's a computer virus, thanks."

Zheng Xiao quickly retracted it and replaced it with a meme of a puppy burning incense.

Lu Xu genuinely pleaded this time: "If this keeps up, will any actors even dare to work with me?"

Zheng Xiao nudged Shao Yao in the group chat: "This guy has worked with you twice—not only is he still alive and kicking, but his career's also thriving. Why wouldn't people want to collaborate?"

The reality was pretty much as Zheng Xiao said. After *Reversal City* wrapped production, the number of scripts sent to Lu Xu didn’t decrease—it actually increased.

Lu Xu jinxing oddballs was true, but his profitability was just as real.

This year, Cloud Film & TV's overall performance was disappointing, with several high-budget summer releases flopping. The only major success was *Chivalrous Fragrance*, which single-handedly boosted the platform's financial reports for two consecutive months.

Because the summer lineup had performed so poorly, *Chivalrous Fragrance* stood out even more, saving the entire season.

"Who in their right mind would turn down money?"

In the TV industry, Lu Xu's name was undoubtedly at the top of every production team's shortlist.

There were also plenty of film crews extending invitations, mainly because Lu Xu's box office draw was undeniable—even Mu Lang was willing to work with him, and in the directing world, few could rival Mu Lang's track record.

"*Sanctuary*? A fantasy film?"

Just from the title and synopsis, Lu Xu could tell this was pure blockbuster material. Given the fantasy genre, extensive CGI was inevitable, meaning a high budget.

"And there are still directors willing to make fantasy films?"

In Lu Xu's memory, many fantasy films had flopped—hard. So much so that in recent years, the genre had all but disappeared, with directors opting for safer themes.

Lu Xu hadn’t yet seen the proposed cast list for this film, but when he did, he turned to his agent: "Did this crew rob a bank?"

A lineup of nothing but A-listers, with even minor roles filled by big names.

Lu Xu was naturally the lead, with *Sanctuary* offering him a staggering 60 million yuan (approximately $8 million USD).

Lu Xu: "..."

Honestly, the paycheck was mind-boggling.

For both *Feather of Youth* and *Reversal City*, Lu Xu's pay wasn't particularly high—*Feather of Youth* had a limited budget, while *Reversal City* was a Mu Lang project, where pay had always been modest. Actors could take it or leave it.

$8 million was a number Lu Xu had never even considered.

Yet, the moment he saw the director and screenwriter, he hesitated. Compared to the star-studded cast, the hefty paycheck, and the ambition behind the offer, the script for *Sanctuary* felt surprisingly thin.

Could such a flimsy storyline support the film's grand scale?

Lu Xu had his doubts.