Chapter 230: 230 Filming

Chapter 230: Filming

Lu Xu and Zheng Xiao joined the cast at the same time. To make up for Shao Yao missing out on a role, each of them bought him a large pack of extra-spicy chips from different brands—both claiming to be the spiciest.

After tasting them, Shao Yao remarked that both were just average spicy chips, nothing particularly special. Still, to avoid waste, he ate them and even gave some to his poor middle-aged agent, who ended up with a pimple on his chin.

Lu Xu: "..."

Typical Shao Yao move.

The historical film’s sets were specially constructed by the crew. Since most of the plot took place in the imperial palace, building the sets didn’t cost too much, though the preparation time was slightly longer.

As a historical film, historical accuracy was obviously priority one.

The crew had considered filming at an existing film lot, but unfortunately, too many other productions were shooting similar palace scenes at the same time. The director wasn’t satisfied after location scouting and opted to spend extra money building their own.

With Lu Xu confirmed as the lead, money wasn’t an issue anymore.

For Lu Xu’s costume and makeup, the crew prioritized period authenticity. Though the film didn’t rely heavily on special effects, the estimated production costs were still high, with significant expenses going toward set construction, costumes, and styling.

Audiences often associate productions that boast about “historical accuracy” or “top-tier styling” with guaranteed disappointment—usually because the plot is so weak that the only thing left to hype is the visuals.

Sometimes, these so-called “accurate” depictions are merely the filmmakers’ self-serving takes, completely incomprehensible to viewers—if you could even call that art.

However, *Reign Supreme* was planned as a potential franchise, making a strong impression on the audience crucial. The empress dowager’s prophetic dreams could be expanded into palace intrigue, and while the era of peace was stable, there were still plenty of events worth exploring—folklore, beautiful women, and lost treasures—all material for potential sequels.

Moreover, the reign of Qi Yi produced a host of famous ministers, each with their own stories to tell.

The reason Shao Yao missed out on a part this time was that *Reign Supreme* might have a sequel. While there wasn’t a suitable role for him in this installment, that didn’t mean the next one wouldn’t.

Shao Yao agreed, and Lu Xu had to marvel at how easygoing his friend was.

Because… Shao Yao was genuinely a very good person.

Even knowing Lu Xu might just be feeding him a line, Shao Yao chose to believe him.

...

Chang Aiwei, the director of *Reign Supreme*, was getting up there in years—a seasoned figure in the film industry. He had never achieved blockbuster fame but always stayed busy, and objectively speaking, his films performed decently, occasionally losing money but never catastrophically, and licensing fees to streaming platforms usually ensured profitability.

He had directed historical films before. The genre wasn’t particularly popular among audiences or filmmakers, yet over time, viewers would sometimes grow nostalgic for it.

Early in his career, Chang Aiwei worked in Hong Kong. When he first returned to the mainland, his historical films had a strong unofficial history flavor, drawing criticism from peers. He took the feedback to heart, improving with each project. Ironically, his older works like *The X Emperor’s X History* got a second wind in popularity.

The reason? Modern historical films had become too stiff, demanding higher moral standards from protagonists. Back then, audiences just wanted entertainment and cut characters more slack. Over time, Chang Aiwei’s films began to find favor again.

Chang Aiwei was content with his career and the steady work, though he did complain about the increasing difficulty of securing funding.

He was quite familiar with Xu Wen and once vented to him: “Everyone says the industry’s in a slump, yet some people are dropping hundred-million deals like they’re nothing. Meanwhile, I have to cobble together decent funding.”

“Thankfully, this time we got Lu Xu. What if we hadn’t?”

Still, Chang Aiwei was grateful—as long as he could keep making films.

With his friendly, laid-back vibe, Lu Xu initially assumed he’d be a pushover director. But on the first day of shooting, Chang Aiwei showed him just how demanding he could be.

It wasn’t personal—in fact, Chang Aiwei was quite satisfied with Lu Xu’s performance. Anyone could see that Lu Xu lived the role completely. But precisely because Lu Xu’s acting was so strong, any flaws in the set design became glaringly obvious.

Chang Aiwei’s eyes were sharper than a film editor’s scissors. The moment something was off, he spotted it—sometimes before the props team even realized.

In addition, he has high demands for actors. Although he is not an A-list director, Lu Xu feels that his experience on the *Reign Supreme* crew is no different from that on an A-list director’s set.

He once discussed this with Zheng Xiao, feeling that sometimes the gap between an ordinary director and an A-list one isn’t as big as imagined.

Liu Rennong could also be considered an A-list director. Before his scandal, in the public’s perception, Miao Zhi paled in comparison to him.

However, according to Xu Wen, Chang Aiwei’s situation is different from Miao Zhi’s. Chang Aiwei is mainly paying for past mistakes—when he should have been striving for recognition, he was making B-list films. As a result, the audience’s impression of him was already set. He’s actually a late-blooming talent, but unfortunately, it’s now the age of fresh talent.

“He’s fine with it, and I think that’s good,” Xu Wen said. “Liu Rennong loved the spotlight, but Chang Aiwei doesn’t. Filming is just his hobby.”

In short, both Lu Xu and Zheng Xiao were on edge.

In the *Reign Supreme* script, Zheng Xiao’s character, the Civil Official Jiang He-nian, appears relatively late. But since Zheng Xiao has been free lately and wasn’t satisfied with the jobs his agent arranged, he came to the set early.

As he put it, it was the perfect opportunity to observe Lu Xu and quickly replace him.

Apart from the two of them, the other actors in *Reign Supreme* are older and generally steer clear of industry gossip. They clock out right after shoots, so their interactions with Lu Xu and Zheng Xiao are minimal.

In the mornings, Zheng Xiao played fanboy to Lu Xu at the set, helping him with small tasks. Neither of them brought assistants this time, so they had each other’s backs.

The rest of the time, Zheng Xiao focused on watching Lu Xu’s performances.

Their last collaboration was in *The Supreme*. After that, Lu Xu only made a guest appearance in a TV series Zheng Xiao starred in, back when Lu Xu’s acting hadn’t yet reached the level of “next-level acting.”

“Next-level acting” wasn’t Lu Xu’s own boast—Zheng Xiao genuinely described him that way.

Zheng Xiao wanted to witness firsthand Lu Xu’s metamorphosis on screen and how it differed from before.

Lu Xu did not disappoint.

When chatting and laughing with the Junior Concubine, his portrayal of Qi Yi showed a rare warmth. But when facing his ministers, Qi Yi was every inch the imperial ruler.

After watching for a week, Zheng Xiao noticed that during that time, Qi Yi never lost his temper, yet Lu Xu’s performances in different scenes were never the same twice!

Profound, cold, decisive—Lu Xu switched effortlessly.

And they hadn’t even filmed the “Son of Heaven’s wrath, rivers of blood” scene yet.

Qi Yi was a master manipulator, politically astute and scheming. When Lu Xu, in character as Qi Yi, occasionally glanced over, the authority in his gaze made Zheng Xiao’s hairs stand on end.

He felt that when Lu Xu immersed himself in Qi Yi’s role, he wasn’t the person Zheng Xiao knew.

Filming’s weirdest side effect? Zheng Xiao sent fewer monkey memes. Even when he did, he’d only send them to Shao Yao, not Lu Xu.

Though Lu Xu quickly returned to his normal self after filming, Zheng Xiao still found it unsettling to watch him switch from the imposing emperor to dorky golden retriever energy in an instant. He couldn’t help but think, *Is this dude possessed? How does he change so fast?*

Low-key terrifying.

Yet Lu Xu’s immersive acting still earned Zheng Xiao’s admiration. With the full script in hand, Zheng Xiao could see the descriptions of Qi Yi’s character—the words were cold, but Lu Xu fleshed them out.

“So terrifying, Lu Xu!”

“Next-level!!”

After one scene wrapped, Zheng Xiao’s exclamation in the group chat was immediately countered by Lu Xu’s “What’s wrong with you?” meme.

“I’m extremely nervous right now,” Zheng Xiao said.

“No clue,” was Lu Xu’s reply.

Not long after, the two would begin their first scene together since joining the crew.

The dream message might be real or fabricated, but within the palace, someone had indeed seized the opportunity to carry out a massacre.

Qi Yi dispatched Vice Minister of Justice Hu Qing to investigate the case.

Hu Qing was Zheng Xiao's character.

Qi Yi summoning Hu Qing marked the first scene between Lu Xu and Zheng Xiao.

To match Hu Qing's character, Zheng Xiao's appearance was made more mature, crafted to project composure and dignity. Before filming began, both burst out laughing at each other's transformations.

It wasn't that their real-life personas were completely different—just that few similarities could be found.

"Focus up," Chang Aiwei clapped and reminded them.

Later, the director realized his worries were unnecessary. Though Lu Xu and Zheng Xiao had been joking around before filming, once the cameras rolled, Lu Xu exuded the commanding presence of an emperor, while Zheng Xiao flawlessly portrayed a minister who feared his ruler like a tiger.

Dressed in everyday imperial robes, Qi Yi questioned Hu Qing with an air of indifference, his gaze deliberately indirect. Yet it was precisely this unpredictability that made Hu Qing feel even greater pressure.

Chang Aiwei watched the two intently.

Objectively speaking, this scene was less of an exchange and more of Qi Yi thoroughly suppressing Hu Qing.

Lu Xu was already fully immersed in his character, perfectly embodying Qi Yi's enigmatic personality, every gesture carrying the bearing of a ruler.

Yet he was also inscrutable—both powerful and cunning. Since Lu Xu began portraying this role, Chang Aiwei couldn't help but keep the camera on him.

In terms of looks, even in an industry filled with beautiful faces, Lu Xu was standout handsome. But once in character, his presence became magnetic—Lu Xu in character seemed far more captivating than his off-screen self!

It didn't feel like acting. He seemed to have absorbed the script, delving deep into the character's psyche until he had completely unraveled it.

How does someone get this good?

Chang Aiwei had worked with many actors, including quite a few talented ones. Some performances followed a set pattern, but Lu Xu was the type to improvise on the spot.

His acting was superb, but it was never rigid.

Even before collaborating, Chang Aiwei knew Lu Xu was an exceptional actor—otherwise, he wouldn't have won three Best Actor Contention Awards. Plenty of actors lacked such honors, but the depth to which Lu Xu portrayed Qi Yi still blew Chang Aiwei away.

And it wasn't just Lu Xu—Zheng Xiao's performance also impressed him.

Faced with Qi Yi's interrogation, Hu Qing, though subordinate, still struggled. He was indeed pledging loyalty, yet his words also subtly built himself an out.

A ruler's power commanded fear. Yet even under the heaviest imperial pressure, every era had its cunning officials. Hu Qing's fear was genuine, yet he had his own calculations.

This part of the script didn't elaborate on Hu Qing's personality—it required understanding the later plot to perform well. That Zheng Xiao could portray this aspect so convincingly showed he'd dug deep into the script.