Chapter 159 159 Director and Visit

"Excellent, excellent!"

After Lu Xu finished filming the scene, Miao Zhi clapped and praised him enthusiastically. His tone was so effusive that Lu Xu felt a bit unaccustomed: "Was it really that good?"

"Perfect," Miao Zhi nodded solemnly.

*Fearless Life* had reached the scene where the experiment was completed—people smiling, hugging, and crying. In this shot, Bai Qianshan stood alone outside the crowd, tears rolling down his face as he looked at the flag.

This was the reason he returned, and the reason he was fearless.

The experiment was dangerous—everybody knew that. But somebody had to step up.

In this scene, Lu Xu's performance was particularly moving. Miao Zhi was the type of director who rarely wore his heart on his sleeve, so for him to go out of his way to praise Lu Xu’s acting was already an unusual display of sentiment. With other actors, he might have just nodded and moved on.

But screenwriter Jiang Tang showed no restraint at all, rushing forward to give Lu Xu several hearty back slaps.

Lu Xu could only sigh—you couldn't expect much arm strength from a writer. If it had been Liu Chunfeng throwing those punches, he'd be flat on his back by now.

Lu Xu was also very satisfied with his own performance.

Getting closer to the character he portrayed, polishing his performance bit by bit… the more he progressed, the more he understood Bai Qianshan.

Without a doubt, Bai Qianshan was an idealist.

But an idealist doesn’t emerge out of thin air—his ideals must have a foundation. He must dedicate his wisdom, talent, and even his entire life to realizing those ideals. While filming *Fearless Life*, Lu Xu basically walked in Bai Qianshan's shoes.

One thing Lu Xu appreciated about *Fearless Life* was that the film didn’t simply hand Bai Qianshan some ready-made ideal, endlessly droning on about how amazing he was. Instead, it clearly depicted the origins of Bai Qianshan’s ideals, his efforts to uphold them, and the people who stood with him.

Thus, Bai Qianshan was not alone, and the film itself was grounded—not some half-baked story they dreamed up on a whim.

In Lu Xu’s view, even if no one ever wrote a biography for Bai Qianshan or made a film specifically about him, it would still be far better than pinning made-up events on him, or worse—twisting his ideals and dragging his beliefs through the mud.

Yet, such works did exist in the current film industry.

Some directors and screenwriters didn’t care what had actually happened in reality. As long as they *felt* a certain way, they’d boldly insert their own made-up content into their works.

After all, the dead couldn’t speak.

As for the living? Even if they *could* speak, it didn’t matter—they could never drown out critics with dozens of daily hashtags.

In any case, if the *Fearless Life* crew hadn’t respected Bai Qianshan’s life, Lu Xu would never have considered taking on this script.

Filming *Fearless Life* reminded him of the role he'd lost out on in *Rising Sun*. Though the stories were set in different eras, their core themes were actually quite similar. Lu Xu had truly wanted to act in *Rising Sun*, so taking on *Fearless Life* felt like making up for lost opportunity.

By the time they filmed the experiment’s completion scene, they'd mostly wrapped the main story. However, Lu Xu still had many scenes left to shoot, and there were certain parts Miao Zhi believed needed more work.

Miao Zhi noticed that Lu Xu had a strong emotional impact in his performances. Beyond that, his acting showed a depth beyond his years—something an experienced director like Miao Zhi could recognize, but which might come off as trying too hard to the audience.

In other words, Lu Xu occasionally overacted.

That was Miao Zhi’s opinion, though he didn’t expect Lu Xu to take it as gospel.

During the filming of *Fearless Life*, Miao Zhi realized that Lu Xu was the type who figured things out on his own. Sometimes, he didn’t even need guidance—he could work out the kinks himself.

For a director, working with such an actor was a breeze.

Miao Zhi hadn’t set out to make *Fearless Life* an awards contender. But after witnessing Lu Xu’s performance, he started thinking Lu Xu had award-worthy chops.

Lu Xu winning an award makes perfect sense.

Now in his 50s, Miao Zhi no longer wants to bow to the messy affairs of the industry. Most of the time, he chooses not to compete. But... if his refusal to fight results in someone deserving missing out on an award, wouldn’t Lu Xu end up walking the same path he did in his youth?

"It's not as complicated as you think," Jiang Tang said. "Lu Xu’s agency isn’t just sitting around doing nothing."

Miao Zhi shook his head. "Feiyang Entertainment used to be solid a few years ago, but now... If I remember correctly, Lu Xu is their biggest star, no?"

Jiang Tang nodded.

"Feiyang Entertainment can provide mid-level resources just fine, but going beyond that, competing for top-tier resources is tough—though that’s the same for every company. The top-tier resources are nearly impossible to land." Miao Zhi rarely mentioned Liu Rennong by name. "Scale-wise, Liu Rennong's basically running a small studio, isn't he?"

Yet Liu Rennong could still secure resources others couldn’t.

"You're actually going to push for this?" Jiang Tang asked Miao Zhi.

"It’s not about pushing," Miao Zhi emphasized. "I just don’t want *Fearless Life* to get overlooked."

Back then, he lost the award battle to Liu Rennong and fell behind step by step. He didn’t resent Liu Rennong’s success—if Liu Rennong had surpassed him purely through his work, Miao Zhi would have gladly applauded him. But that wasn’t the case.

How could he just let that slide?

If, by awards season, there were better films than *Fearless Life* and performances surpassing Lu Xu’s, Miao Zhi would step back willingly. But if awards still went to films and performances clearly inferior in every way, he’d be pissed for Lu Xu.

Naturally, Lu Xu was clueless that the director had so many thoughts brewing or was even planning to pave the way for his award. Though they got along well enough, they weren’t exactly close.

They’d exchanged WeChat info, but their exchanges were limited to greetings and script discussions.

What Lu Xu didn’t know was that this level of interaction was exactly what Miao Zhi found most comfortable. He couldn’t stand overeager chatter or discussions straying too far from film.

In short, the director admired him more than he realized.

Miao Zhi might’ve seemed average, but he was, after all, a director who had fought his way up from the early days, with a solid traditional background. While he had kept a low profile in recent years, he still had his industry connections and old mentors—his acquaintances now spanned every corner of the film industry. In terms of skill, he might only be slightly weaker than Liu Rennong.

Besides, his old acquaintances knew he had been wronged back when he lost that award. While they wouldn’t necessarily avenge him, doing him a solid wasn’t out of the question.

Rather than saying Miao Zhi was defeated by Liu Rennong, it was more accurate to say he chose to step back—he no longer wanted to fight.

Otherwise, Miao Zhi wouldn’t have kept getting films to direct all these years.

Of course, when it came to box-office battles and maneuvering theater relations, Miao Zhi wasn’t particularly skilled.

...

Around the time *Fearless Life* was nearing completion, an old acquaintance of Lu Xu’s visited the set!

Honestly? The filming location was so remote that Lu Xu had no idea how Shao Yao even found it.

"Our set isn’t too far from here—just a few hundred clicks."

A few hundred clicks might sound far, but both crews had chosen sparsely populated areas. When Lu Xu last went for a checkup, it had taken hours of driving to reach the hospital.

During their last video call, Lu Xu had noticed Shao Yao was sunburnt to a crisp. Now, in person, he was even darker—the video must’ve been filtered to hell.

"So my agent bought me a whole case of face masks—some for the road, some for after I get back."

His agent banned him from using them on set since the tan was for filming purposes.

Lu Xu ran a hand over his face. Honestly? He looked just as rough as Shao Yao. Where Shao Yao was charcoal-black, he was just slightly less burnt—not exactly red-carpet ready.

In the film, Lu Xu portrayed Bai Qianshan's exhaustion and drowsiness, but the director wouldn't allow him to make the character appear sloppy.

Bai Qianshan was an energetic and sharp-looking individual.

Occasionally, Miao Zhi would mention to Jiang Tang (while Lu Xu eavesdropped) that casting Lu Xu as Bai Qianshan was a perfect fit. While Bai Qianshan wasn’t classically handsome, his appearance was sharp—you could tell just from his photo. And it wasn’t just Bai Qianshan; among their group of scientists, not a single one was unattractive.

To some extent, the saying "you are what you look like" had some truth to it.

Shao Yao’s visit to the set brought plenty of supplies—food and drinks. Though his stay was brief, it had Zheng Xiao whining endlessly: "You guys secretly joined the ‘Tanned Crew’ behind my back, didn’t you?"

He and Lu Xu had originally been at the same filming base, but halfway through, Lu Xu relocated, so Zheng Xiao couldn’t find him for their usual gaming.

And now, Lu Xu and Shao Yao had secretly reunited, both sporting deep tans.

Lu Xu: "I already did you a favor with that guest role!"

Shao Yao arrived too late—there were no suitable roles left for him to guest-star in *Fearless Life*.

After Shao Yao arrived, Miao Zhi stared at him for a while before joking with Lu Xu: "Your friend would be perfect to play Bai Qianshan—he’s got such an honest face!"

Lu Xu grumbled under his breath: "Director, are you saying I look like a villainous role?"

"In *Reversal City*, you were pretty terrifying—I was scared just looking at you." Miao Zhi put on a straight-faced expression.

"Exactly! Scary!"

The crew overwhelmingly sided with the director. Even though Lu Xu put on his fiercest glare, all his snarling was for nothing.

The remote filming location meant limited entertainment options, but Shao Yao, being naturally quiet and reserved, fit right in with the quiet vibe.

What he dreaded most was unfamiliar crew members dragging him to dinners—his social awkwardness would kick in, and since he wasn’t interested, he wouldn’t act lively. To others, people just saw him as standoffish.

Fortunately, as his star rose, Shao Yao at least had peace on set.

Among the three of them, though Shao Yao had won the Starlight Award for Best Supporting Actor, he was seen as having the least career potential—his agency was too small, and his personality meant he wouldn’t cultivate deep connections, and he wasn’t one to compromise.

But Miao Zhi actually liked his temperament.

Quiet, yet honest and sincere—a rarity in showbiz.

Miao Zhi didn’t have plans for a new project yet, but the next time he filmed one, he’d make sure Shao Yao had a part.