Chapter 229: 229 Casting

Chapter 229: Casting

With a new film in the works, Lu Xu naturally focused his attention on the project. The script had already reached him, and after signing the contract, both parties agreed on a shooting schedule. In the following days, Lu Xu immersed himself in studying the script.

Historical films are naturally shorter when adapted for the big screen. Sweeping historical works are usually made into TV series, with *The Son of Heaven* being a prime example. For films, they typically select a specific event as the focal point, gradually unfolding a grand narrative before the audience.

After all, movies cost money, and audiences prefer fresh, engaging stories over overly familiar ones.

Lu Xu was no stranger to period dramas, but playing the Son of Heaven was a first for him. In recent years, historical films had all but disappeared from the scene, with only major directors daring to tackle them, and even then, box office performance was far from stellar. The common refrain was that audiences didn’t care for them.

However, Lu Xu believed audiences were actually quite open-minded—there was no such thing as an inherently unpopular genre. Look at the TV world: the themes of hit dramas varied every year.

Previously, historical romances were almost guaranteed to be annual hits, launching many A-list actors to stardom. But in recent years, even these young-audience favorites had seen declining popularity, with some even incurring losses. Meanwhile, niche and offbeat shows were rising in popularity.

To some extent, whether in the TV world or the film industry, it had become increasingly difficult to predict audience preferences.

That was why Lu Xu took on projects the industry deemed unpromising.

This wasn’t arrogance—he simply believed that if a film was truly well-made, audiences wouldn’t ignore it. Even if the movie wasn’t outstanding, as long as the creators demonstrated sincerity, viewers would undoubtedly recognize it.

...

The script told of how, in the fourth year of the Chengping era, a strange incident occurred in the palace—a recent palace arrival seemed to have received a dream visitation from the late Empress Dowager.

The Son of Heaven, Qi Yi, had been on the throne for many years. As the eldest son of the previous emperor, he was named crown prince in his youth and had lived a life free of turmoil, remarkably smooth beyond measure. The Empress Dowager passed away two years after his ascension, and during her lifetime, mother and son had been exceptionally close.

History marked Qi Yi as an oddity. By all accounts, he was one of the rarest, most fortunate emperors—spared the usual court intrigues in his youth, blessed with a kind father and a doting mother, living like any privileged firstborn. Moreover, both parents lived long lives—a rarity in dynasties since the great unification.

Yet, this emperor was far from benevolent, a warped branch of the family tree. But precisely because of his ruthlessness, he had a firm grip on power early as crown prince. His father never suspected him of disloyalty; instead, he indulged Qi Yi’s actions, knowing the throne would inevitably be his.

In a way, this father-son duo was rather peculiar.

With the Empress Dowager’s dream visitation, the palace naturally treated it as a major event. The newly arrived junior concubine, suddenly elevated in status, grew arrogant, sparking endless strife within the inner court.

Strangely, Qi Yi placed great trust in this junior concubine, often reminiscing with her about his mother’s time. The junior concubine grew even bolder—had Qi Yi not remained as shrewd as ever in court affairs, he would have faced censure from his ministers.

Then one day, after the junior concubine recounted a story about the Empress Dowager’s youth in the princely residence—where life as a consort was less glamorous than in the palace, though most of the previous emperor’s concubines came from humble backgrounds, leading to occasional friction but generally harmonious relations—Qi Yi, intrigued, decided to investigate an old incident the Empress Dowager had mentioned in life.

Yet, just as he began uncovering clues, the Imperial Consort referenced by the Empress Dowager hanged herself in the palace.

This was only the beginning.

Every time Qi Yi made progress in uncovering the truth, whether it involved an Imperial Consort, a palace maid, or even the notorious well said to hold countless bodies, the trail would go cold without a trace.

When Lu Xu first read the script, the early mysteries reminded him somewhat of *Night Sky Observations*. But as he progressed, he realized the two films had entirely different styles.

The new film emphasized the brutality of palace and court intrigues—a staple theme in historical dramas centered on the imperial court.

Lu Xu holed up at home, digging into his role, paying little attention to online news. He assumed rumors of him taking on a historical film had already spread and steeled himself for the backlash.

But surprisingly… there was none.

Fans thought a historical film suited him perfectly: “The Son of Heaven? Great! So regal! Ready for our puppy to go full emperor mode!”

“Yes!! Back on set at last! It’s been so long—I almost forgot you were an actor!”

Lu Xu: "..."

No need to mention those remarks.

Meanwhile, certain film critics who frequently posted on Weibo—whose IDs Lu Xu gradually recognized—mused, "Is Lu Xu finally here to save the historical film market?"

Lu Xu: "..."

No need to get so excited.

In short, the online vibe was oddly positive. No one said Lu Xu had "signed onto a doomed film," nor did anyone claim that "the Contention Award-winning actor has let fame go to his head."

Lu Xu: "Flattery! This is definitely flattery!"

Zheng Xiao sent a facepalm emoji: "Dude, you're ridiculously paranoid. People roast you, and you flip out. People praise you, and you still flip out."

Lu Xu: "There’s a super ruthless eunuch in the film. The director hasn’t cast anyone yet—wanna take a crack at it?"

Zheng Xiao replied with a "dog cursing" meme: "After all these years, you’re still hung up on that eunuch role I never got? Not interested in a super ruthless eunuch, but a super spicy snack? Now you're speaking my language."

Before Lu Xu could reply, Shao Yao slipped into the chat with a curious meme: "Link to the spicy snacks?"

The chat immediately went off the rails.

"The spicy snacks sold online lean sweet. I prefer salty and spicy," Shao Yao said while dropping a few links in the group chat. "If you two like sweet, try these brands. They’re decent, just not spicy enough."

Lu Xu & Zheng Xiao: "..."

Whatever.

Countless potential arguments had dissolved under Shao Yao’s intervention. Shao Yao—the ultimate peacekeeper.

But Zheng Xiao couldn’t resist adding, "Shao Yao, why not audition for the super ruthless eunuch? I’ll pay you in spicy snacks."

"No," Shao Yao shot back.

"That’s blasphemy against the God of Spicy Snacks. He’ll punish you."

After a long silence, when Lu Xu thought Shao Yao was done, he reappeared: "Mainly, my physique isn’t suitable."

#PhysiqueNotSuitable#

What a gentle yet slightly brutal response.

In this group, Shao Yao was the tallest and had played the most authoritative, upright roles. Zheng Xiao... was even shorter than Lu Xu.

Lu Xu couldn’t resist piling on: "This issue... I think we already discussed it when I filmed *Chivalrous Fragrance*."

Zheng Xiao... went nuclear with eighty monkey rage memes—90% of which were from *Light and Shadow Journey*, featuring them being chased by monkeys.

The truth was, since Shao Yao was the tallest and most athletic, he was so fast the monkeys gave up and switched targets to the less robust guests.

Zheng Xiao was furious about this, but when the memes of them fleeing monkeys flooded the internet, he saved every single one. Lately, every chat with Lu Xu and the others inevitably included some fresh meme from Zheng Xiao’s stash.

"Are there no other roles besides eunuchs?" Zheng Xiao protested. "You and Shao Yao have acted together. When was our last project together?"

When Lu Xu took *The Supreme*, he and Zheng Xiao weren’t as close as they were now. They only really clicked after *The Supreme* aired.

For Zheng Xiao, *The Supreme* meant way more. Yet when the industry talked about Lu Xu's work in TV dramas, they highlighted *The Path of Bones* and *The Year I Was 18*. Even among supporting roles, Qin Zhao from *The Son of Heaven* got more buzz than Ji Xiuya from *The Supreme*.

Of course, in recent years, as Lu Xu gradually withdrew from the television industry, *The Son of Heaven* and *The Supreme* became the "white moonbeam"—those cherished ideals that fans occasionally reminisce about—while Ji Xiuya's reputation steadily rose.

Ji Xiuya was devastatingly handsome—madly, breathtakingly so, the kind of handsomeness unmatched by anyone under heaven. Every time people discussed beautiful men of ambiguous gender, Ji Xiuya would dominate the conversation the moment he appeared.

Lu Xu couldn't deny it.

In reality, what the production lacked wasn’t just a ruthlessly vicious chief eunuch. Although the new film starred Lu Xu, it leaned more toward an ensemble cast featuring eunuchs, civil officials, palace consorts, and more—each character written with enough depth to shine on screen.

However, the emperor Lu Xu portrayed was at the height of his power, not in the declining years of his rule, meaning most of the ministers were older than him.

There were young civil officials in the script, but these youthful characters weren’t nearly as shrewd as the core members of the civil official faction. Judging from the roles Zheng Xiao had played recently, he didn’t quite fit those younger parts either.

Lu Xu thought for a moment. “Hold on.”

Suddenly, he remembered a particular civil official role Zheng Xiao might actually pull off—he just wasn’t sure if the role had already been cast.

He called the director to check. The role was still available. When the director learned Zheng Xiao was interested, he readily agreed.

This role carried significant presence in the film—it was essentially the second male lead. The director frankly told Lu Xu that with him in the lead and Zheng Xiao as the second male lead, the buzz around the film would go through the roof.

“If it weren’t you as the lead, Zheng Xiao might not have agreed,” Xu Wen said. “He’s not hurting for film offers these days.”

Zheng Xiao had long been the top star at his agency, receiving priority access to the best projects. His reputation was solid, and his previous films had all done well. These days, he mostly took on leading roles.

Unless the other male lead was a major star, he wouldn’t consider a second male lead role.

“It’s good you two have this dynamic,” Xu Wen added, glancing at Lu Xu.

Back when netizens nicknamed Lu Xu and his friends the “Mountain Trio,” Xu Wen had worried their friendship might fall apart.

It wasn’t that Xu Wen was naturally suspicious—it was just that in the entertainment industry, such situations were all too common. There were countless stories of lifelong friends falling out over resources and opportunities.

Even worse were cases where someone barely waited for a scandal to settle before stepping in to take over their friend’s projects.

The “Mountain Trio” was a rare exception—a group of friends who, despite competing for similar roles, maintained a strong bond for years.

None of them relied on or leech off each other, and all three continued to rise professionally. Now, each was recognized as a capable, independent actor in the industry.

Once Zheng Xiao accepted the role, he immediately started bragging in the group chat.

Shao Yao: “Should I act in it too?”

“There aren’t any roles left that suit you—only the ruthlessly vicious chief eunuch. Want it?”

Shao Yao said he’d think about it.

Lu Xu shot that down immediately—because the eunuch’s backstory spanned twice Shao Yao’s actual age.

Looking at Shao Yao’s face, no one could imagine him as a ruthlessly vicious chief eunuch.

Even if he did play a eunuch, he’d only be the bottomless-pit type—the kind who pilfered so much food even the emperor would give him the side-eye.