Author: 颜凉雨 / Yan Liang Yu

Translator: Kinky || https://kinkytranslations.com/

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Chapter 39

Setting up an offering table, lighting incense, and the director’s speech… With the red cloth lifted from the camera, <Sword of Fallen Flowers> officially began filming!

Invited journalists crowded around the main creators, seizing the chance for up-close interviews before the makeup and shooting began.

With no lead actress present, the male stars Lu Yiyao, Ran Lin, and Tang Xiaoyu naturally became the primary targets of the media. Each holding several microphones adorned with various logos, they evenly distributed the burden.

“God Lu, what kind of role will you be challenging in this film?”

“God Lu, what attracted you to this drama?”

“God Lu, has your experience changed from working with Ran Lin in a reality show to a TV drama?”

“Xiaoyu¹, what’s it like to partner with God Lu again?”

“…”

Lu Yiyao stood in the center, with Tang Xiaoyu and Ran Lin on either side. The journalists’ questions were rapid-fire, mostly directed at the male lead, with occasional queries for Tang Xiaoyu, while Ran Lin had yet to be asked.

With a natural smile, Ran Lin dutifully played the part of a decorative vase.

Lu Yiyao, accustomed to such scenes, waited for the journalists to finish their flurry of questions. When the noise subsided, he picked the questions he preferred to answer. “Firstly, ‘God Lu’ is just a playful nickname from fans. Please don’t call me that. It’s embarrassing. In this drama, I play Tang Jingyu, a character who constantly evolves and grows. He starts carefree, then becomes darker upon learning about his enemy, but ultimately achieves self-realization. It’s a character with a dark side that I’ve always wanted to try but never had the chance. I really like it and hope to portray this role well.”

His answer was standard and safe, but not particularly exciting.

Just as Lu Yiyao was about to pass the microphone to Tang Xiaoyu, indicating it was time for his old friend nicknamed “Xiaoyu¹” by fans and journalists to continue answering questions. A persistent journalist loudly repeated the most sensitive question—

¹Clarity: The reporters are calling him Little/Small Fish [xiǎo yú] (小鱼) which is a nickname given to him by his fans, since it sounds close to his name [Xiǎoyù] (晓遇).

“Has your experience changed from working with Ran Lin in a reality show to a TV drama?”

Tang Xiaoyu, ready to speak, swallowed his prepared words, giving Lu Yiyao a resigned look of “you can’t dodge this one.”

Lu Yiyao glanced at Ran Lin, who faced the journalists with a constant smile, as unwavering as a plastic flower.

He was sure Ran Lin understood the malice in the question, but even Tang Xiaoyu gave him a look, suggesting Ran Lin wasn’t unaffected. Was the lack of reaction due to familiarity with such malice or confidence in his friend being questioned?

Lu Yiyao thought it was the former but hoped for the latter.

After pondering for two seconds, Lu Yiyao looked up, graced with a charming smile like a spring breeze. “Speaking of changes in feelings, there’s actually quite a big one…”

Journalists perked up, expecting a vague response, but he directly addressed the key point.

“When recording the variety show, we weren’t that close, but now, I’m genuinely afraid I’ll break character and laugh with him.” Lu Yiyao passed the microphone to Ran Lin. “Teacher Ran, what do you think?”

Caught off guard by the sudden handover, Ran Lin momentarily hesitated.

Lu Yiyao was pleased with the effect he caused—a stunned Ran Lin was livelier than one with a forced smile.

The journalists were also surprised by the response. It wasn’t quite evasive; he mentioned they were now so familiar they might break character, but it also wasn’t a groundbreaking revelation.

“I don’t think I’ll break character…”

Ran Lin’s voice, clear and gentle, interrupted the journalists’ inner chaos, some even eager to hear more.

“After all, Teacher Lu in this drama has tricked me terribly…” Ran Lin said, looking frankly at Lu Yiyao, his eyes full of teasing threats. “I’m already in character, so watch out.”

Lu Yiyao, facing Ran Lin’s harmless gentlemanly appearance, was suddenly intrigued by his partner’s potential darker side. “I have no good solution. I’ll just keep deceiving.”

Tang Xiaoyu saw his opportunity, earnestly lamenting to the journalists. “Now you know how miserable I am. As the third male lead, I’m the biggest source of anguish in this drama. Troubled love life, complicated brotherhood—who’s more pitiable than me!”

The journalists laughed, and the topic naturally shifted.

Fifteen minutes later, crew members arrived with the legitimate reason of “actors needing makeup”, politely ending the interview and escorting the three male actors away.

Makeup and styling for historical dramas take much longer than modern dramas, even though male actors require less time than females. Still, it took nearly two hours for the three main male actors to transform completely.

Ran Lin looked at the reflection of Fang Xian in the mirror, dressed in magnificent clothes with a milky white base and golden embroidery, showcasing his noble birth with a cloud-patterned belt and a jade dragon pendant. He looked every bit the pampered young master of a martial arts family, the kind more inclined to luxury than learning.

His hairstyle was crafted to be suave and dashing. All the hair at the temples and forehead was pulled back, revealing a widow’s peak, with long hair naturally falling at the back, creating a classic, gentle, and handsome ancient look.

Lu Yiyao’s styling was simpler in comparison.

The hairstylist gathered all his hair into a neat bun, leaving only a widow’s peak and some tousled bangs, complementing his sharp eyebrows and peach blossom eyes. Even without speaking, he exuded decisiveness and resolve.

His attire was dark, devoid of any ostentatious patterns, understated and plain, more befitting the role of Fang Xian’s protector than that of a foster son in the Fang Clan. This matched his status in the family—in name, he was a young master, but in reality, just another dog raised by Fang Huanzhi.

But Fang Xian didn’t see it that way.

Ran Lin, who had finished his styling first, circled around him twice, genuinely admiring. “You look good.”

Lu Yiyao’s favorite compliment was of this sort. While raising his arm to allow the stylist to fasten the hidden buttons on his costume, he returned the compliment. “You look pretty good too.”

Ran Lin thought for a moment and shook his head. “I still prefer your outfit, though. It’s not ostentatious, looks low-key yet profound, and seems easy to move in.”

Lu Yiyao asked, “Are you referring to the clothes when you say ‘good-looking’?”

Ran Lin, noticing the obvious disappointment on the face of the lead actor, quickly realized, “No, I mean you, the person!”

Lu Yiyao, somewhat frustrated, replied, “Too late.”

Ran Lin sighed and turned to Tang Xiaoyu, who was still having his eyebrows done, for help. “Has Teacher Lu always been so… concerned about his looks?”

Tang Xiaoyu, unable to move his head to avoid disturbing the makeup artist, struggled to respond with minimal mouth movement. “Not just…”

Ran Lin raised an eyebrow.

Lu Yiyao seemed somewhat reassured.

Tang Xiaoyu continued, “Not just the looks. He cares about his hairstyle too.”

Lu Yiyao looked away, pretending not to hear anything.

Ran Lin couldn’t help but laugh; indeed, working with old partners had its risks and required caution.

When all three were almost done with their makeup, another male actor entered the makeup room—Zhong Jiakun, playing Fang Huanzhi.

The veteran actor, nearly sixty years old, was still energetic and fit, with a profound gaze and a face that showed maturity and dignity.

Regardless of their status, the three greeted him respectfully. “Teacher Zhong—”

“Don’t make me sound so old.” Zhong Jiakun’s voice was magnetic and robust, obviously honed from years of performing in stage dramas. “Let’s learn from each other and make progress together.”

Zhong Jiakun’s scenes were scheduled for the afternoon, so he wasn’t required to come in early that morning. The director’s assistant came in to check on the styling progress, and seeing it was almost complete, immediately called the three male actors to take their costume photos.

The director had no objections to the styling, and the costume photoshoot went smoothly—Tang Jingyu looked stern, Fang Xian dashing, and Xu Chongfei righteous.

After the photoshoot, Tang Xiaoyu rushed off to the B set for his scenes with supporting actors, leaving Lu Yiyao and Ran Lin at the A set to start their first scene of the day.

A small bridge over running water, a dark red corridor, and a pavilion in the middle of the water with a stone table, laid with pastries and a pot of tea.

Tang Jingyu sat by the stone table, poised, gazing into the distance.

Fang Xian lay on top of the pavilion, his body under the hexagonal eaves and glazed tiles, with the clear blue sky above. He crossed his legs in a relaxed manner, a straw dangling from his mouth. The straw swayed with the movement of his feet, wasting his handsome appearance that was as exquisite as a jade carving.

They were waiting for someone from the Liuhua Palace to pass by.

The resurgence of the Sword of Fallen Flowers Manual in Liuma Town had led them to believe that someone from the Liuhua Palace had crucial clues. They were lying in wait, hoping to follow someone from the palace to gather information.

Originally, only Tang Jingyu was dispatched by Fang Huanzhi. However, his typically carefree and ignorant younger son also insisted on coming along. Fang Huanzhi, who didn’t value this son much, let him be, and thus Fang Xian enthusiastically followed his “good brother”.

Yes, he thought he and Tang Jingyu were good brothers.

But at this moment, Tang Jingyu had already begun to suspect Fang Huanzhi and was gradually confirming whether his foster father was indeed responsible for the annihilation of the Tang Clan. And Fang Xian, from being a simple good brother, had become a pawn in his game.

“Hey.” Fang Xian, lying above, gazing at the sky, casually chatted with Tang Jingyu. “Do you think someone from Liuhua Palace will really come?”

Inside the pavilion, Tang Jingyu’s expression remained unchanged, his voice steady. “Be patient.”

“I heard that Zhao Buyao is stunningly beautiful yet cold as ice towards others. I really want to see her with my own eyes…”

“Cut!”

Director Chen, from behind the monitor, called for a halt without mercy. “The emotion is off. Let’s do it again!”

The entire crew remained silent.

Usually, for the first scene and first shot, it’s normal for actors to struggle to get into the right state, and directors tend to be gentler. But Director Chen was stern and unyielding from the start, not sparing any feelings.

No one dared to speak, just waiting for the actors to react.

Ran Lin lay on the pavilion’s glazed tiles. A small shift would risk a slide, so he just slightly turned his head to give Director Chen an “I got it” look, then continued gazing at the sky.

Compared to him, Lu Yiyao was more fortunate. He got up, stretched his muscles, and sat back down on the stone bench, sitting straight as if wearing a posture corrector, looking into the distance.

“Action,” the director said, returning behind the monitor.

The script supervisor stepped forward to clap the board. “<Sword of Fallen Flowers> Scene 77, Take 2…”

Click!

With the sound of the clapboard, Fang Xian’s straw immediately began swaying again. “Hey, do you think someone from Liuhua Palace will really come?”

Tang Jingyu absentmindedly replied, “Be patient.”

Fang Xian, full of longing, looked past the sunshade above him, around the camera on the crane, finally reaching the sky. “I heard that Zhao Buyao is stunningly beautiful, yet cold as ice towards others…”

“Cut!”

The director called even earlier this time.

The crane operator sighed almost inaudibly, while the camera operators capturing Lu Yiyao and the other cameras behind them were somewhat helpless.

Frankly, for just these two lines, they, as laymen, couldn’t really tell if the emotions were right or wrong. In the lens, both actors were handsome from every angle, and the composition was perfect. It was unclear what exactly the director was dissatisfied with.

Director Chen finally stood up, came out from behind the monitor, and walked into the pavilion. Lu Yiyao quickly stood up, and Ran Lin, sensing something was amiss, carefully climbed up and leaned on the pavilion’s protruding eaves, peering down.

Director Chen looked up at Fang Xian, who lacked any grace, and rubbed his head wearily. “Come down for now.”

A quick-witted crew member immediately brought over a ladder to help Young Master Fang climb down.

Ran Lin, while climbing down, envied Lu Yiyao—his character in the drama was set to have his meridians¹ severed by Fang Huanzhi from a young age, rendering him unable to practice qinggong² or any internal force³-based martial arts. He could only practice some basic hand and foot techniques for self-defense, so he had no scenes in high places, let alone any wire stunts.

¹Concept in Chinese medicine that allows you to channel qi (energy) throughout your body. When a meridian is severed/sealed, it cripples or immobilizes that person.
²The ability to lighten the body and move with great agility & swiftness. At high proficiency, practitioners of this skill can run across water, leap to the top of trees, or even glide through the air.
³[Neijin] (内力) or [neigong] (內功) is commonly used in martial arts and Chinese medicine. It’s considered a source of energy, strength, and agility for combat and can be harnessed through cultivation. || In wuxia and xianxia context, it’s basically energy that gives cultivators superhuman powers.

While reading the script, he was absolutely delighted. Amid his random thoughts, Ran Lin had already landed and immediately joined Lu Yiyao inside the pavilion to listen to the director’s guidance.

The director didn’t need the actors to guess his thoughts, speaking directly. “Both of your emotions are off. Tang Jingyu is currently preoccupied with Fang Huanzhi, who’s still at the Fang residence. He’s only dealing with Fang Xian, but his whole state isn’t distracted; it’s contemplative. Your gaze is too scattered. There’s nothing in your eyes. If you can’t get into the emotion, how can you bring the audience into it?”

“And you.” Director Chen turned to Ran Lin. “You’re not deeply in love yet. All your fantasies about Zhao Buyao are based on her being beautiful, so what you need to express is frivolity, not a lover. If you want depth, there will be plenty of opportunities later.”

“Take a ten-minute break. Both of you go over there and work on your emotions.” As soon as Director Chen finished speaking, the two actors hadn’t reacted yet, but the crew members from various departments—camera, lighting, sound, etc.—immediately switched to a relaxed state, easing the tension.

Lu Yiyao and Ran Lin exchanged glances—they were each other’s only comfort now. Any actor with a sense of responsibility wouldn’t want to delay the progress of the production due to their own shortcomings. Their disappointment in themselves was coupled with guilt towards the hardworking crew members.

Seeing Lu Yiyao still pondering in place, Ran Lin decisively pulled him to a secluded and quiet spot in the corridor, away from the crew.

“What do you think?” Ran Lin asked directly, given the limited time.

Lu Yiyao was perplexed. “I have no idea right now. This scene isn’t emotionally intense, and I don’t know what effect Director Chen wants.”

Ran Lin looked at him silently.

Lu Yiyao looked back at his partner expectantly, waiting for a revelation…

“I don’t know either,” Ran Lin admitted, spreading his hands.

Lu Yiyao felt like pinching his face.

“But—” Ran Lin quickly changed his tone. “I can’t get into the role right now. I feel like the person below is you, Lu Yiyao, not Tang Jingyu.”

Lu Yiyao felt uncomfortable with the term “below”, but that wasn’t the point. “You can’t get into the role either?”

Ran Lin was surprised. “Either?”

Lu Yiyao confirmed. “Yes, when I say my lines, I feel like the person above is you. There’s no trace of Fang Xian in my mind.”

Why did he have to use “above” as well…

“That’s the issue.” Ran Lin seemed to understand what Director Chen meant by incorrect emotions. “We’re too familiar with each other, which makes it harder to get into our characters.”

Lu Yiyao, still confused, frowned. “In my last project, my first scene was confessing love to the female lead. I didn’t even know her before that, but we got it in one take.”

Ran Lin looked at him, unamused. “Sorry, I couldn’t spark with you like the female lead.”

Lu Yiyao smiled but, seeing his partner’s displeased expression, thought better of continuing.

Silence fell in the corridor.

Identifying the problem was easy; solving it was hard.

“Let’s do this,” Ran Lin said seriously, looking deeply into Lu Yiyao’s eyes. “From now on, forget that you’re Lu Yiyao. You are Tang Jingyu, and I’ll do the same.”

Lu Yiyao was surprised because he was thinking along the same lines as Ran Lin.

Ran Lin took a deep breath, turned towards the lake, and stood silently for several seconds. Then slowly, he turned back and looked at Tang Jingyu, asking deliberately, “When you found out that my father might be the one who destroyed your family, what did you think?”

This wasn’t Ran Lin; this was Fang Xian, holding back unbelievable pain, seeking confirmation from Tang Jingyu with a last glimmer of hope.

Lu Yiyao lowered his eyes and, miraculously, easily slipped into character. He was Tang Jingyu, the man who, in his quest for revenge, wouldn’t hesitate to use his sincere brother…

His gaze lifted again, the smile gone, replaced by Tang Jingyu’s struggle. “I couldn’t think of anything else. I just wanted to verify my suspicions at all costs.”

Pain flickered in Fang Xian’s eyes—the carefree young master of the Fang Clan, who loved and feared nothing, was also capable of getting hurt. “Even if it meant using me?”

Tang Jingyu shook his head slightly. “I couldn’t think of anything else. I just needed to confirm whether your father was the one who destroyed my family.”

Fang Xian’s voice trembled faintly with suppressed emotion. “We grew up together—more than a decade of brotherhood. Didn’t you hesitate even a bit when you used me?”

“No.” Tang Jingyu was decisive. “Even if I did later, at that moment, there was no hesitation at all.”

Fang Xian’s eyes reddened. “So, not even a bit of remorse?”

Tang Jingyu hesitated, then said softly after a while, “There is. But it can’t compete with my desire to find my family’s destroyer…”

“Look at me.” Fang Xian slightly lifted his head, his body unconsciously drawing closer to his former brother, close enough to feel each other’s breath. “Who am I in your eyes now?”

Tang Jingyu didn’t hesitate this time; his heart was clear. “A brother I owe the most.”

Fang Xian stared intently at him. “Remember, that’s your feeling towards me.”

Tang Jingyu suddenly asked, “And yours towards me?”

Fang Xian lowered his eyes, then lifted them again, firm. “I recognize you as a brother. Once recognized, it’s for life. Even if I have to kill you later, you’re still my brother.”

“Teacher Lu, Teacher Ran, we’re ready to continue shooting…” The director’s assistant hurried over, breathless, to inform them.

The two returned to the pavilion, Ran Lin climbed back up, and Lu Yiyao sat down straight again. The ladder was removed, the crane lifted, and cameras got into position—

“<Sword of Fallen Flowers> Scene 77, Take 3…”

Click!

“Hey, do you think someone from Liuhua Palace will really come?” Fang Xian looked at the sky, casually asking, his toes pointing up, swaying along with the straw in his mouth, the breeze brushing through his hair, making him look even more handsome and carefree.

“Be patient.” Tang Jingyu withdrew his distant gaze and quietly poured himself a cup of tea.

His movements were slow, like a ritual, and his voice was unchanged, but his eyes were unfathomably deep.

Fang Xian couldn’t see him, still lost in fantasies about the beauty. “I heard that Zhao Buyao is stunningly beautiful yet cold as ice to others. I really want to see her with my own eyes.”

Tang Jingyu offered a slight smile, but the warmth didn’t reach his deep, profound eyes. “Liuhua Palace is known in the martial world for its use of poison. If you’re not afraid of death, feel free to flirt.”

“What are you saying!”

Fang Xian, dissatisfied, suddenly stood up and leapt down—though it was just for show.

“Cut!” The director emerged from behind the monitor for the third time.

The two heroes, one above and one below the pavilion, held their breath…

“Pass!”

Thank God.

Quick as shadows, the crew brought a ladder, and Ran Lin, the great hero, finally bid farewell to his precarious position aloft. He climbed down, not very gracefully, to stand with Lu Yiyao in the middle of the pavilion.

Later, Ran Lin would join the action scene team to film this acrobatic descent, but for now, he could only play a mortal.

The equipment was reset, and the two actors—one casually lounging, the other calm and stern—stood in the pavilion. Even the colors of their costumes, one light and one dark, contrasted sharply.

A breeze skimmed the lake, creating gentle ripples.

“<Sword of Fallen Flowers> Scene 78, Take 1…”

Click!

Fang Xian nonchalantly sat next to his brother, full of discontent. “Everyone desires beauty. I, a young master, have an open heart. How could I stoop to such lowly acts as flirting? But some people, though they speak righteously…” He suddenly wrapped an arm around Tang Jingyu’s neck, laughing mischievously. “Might be thinking of all sorts of flirty things.”

Lu Yiyao momentarily broke character, but as he looked into “Fang Xian’s” eyes, Tang Jingyu’s soul was pulled back.

Ran Lin, in his role, seemed to possess a magic that made people naturally forget their real world and identity, as if their characters in the drama were the only true existence.

Tang Jingyu’s gaze settled, and he looked at Fang Xian with an almost smiling expression, silent, exuding a calm as if saying “let the strong be strong. I am as calm as the breeze on the hills.”

Fang Xian, finding no fun in this, let go with a “Tch”, clearly unimpressed.

Tang Jingyu, sprayed with a disdainful aura, smiled, but soon, as if realizing something, the smile remained on his face, yet retreated from the depths of his eyes.

Fang Xian, oblivious, continued, “What should I say when I see Miss Zhao later? Talking too much might seem frivolous, but if I speak too little… will it fail to show my charming and dashing nature…”

Tang Jingyu silently watched his brother lost in thought, his calm eyes flickering with an indescribable complexity. He ignored Fang Xian’s fanciful musings and asked out of the blue, “Will foster father come this time?”

Fang Xian, still discussing Zhao Buyao, was suddenly taken aback as the topic shifted to his father.

But since Tang Jingyu asked, he naturally responded, “He probably won’t. Father said he’s going into seclusion for a while.”

Tang Jingyu’s eyes lowered, understanding dawning.

Fang Xian sensed something odd and suddenly leaned forward, almost lying on the stone table, looking up at Tang Jingyu. “You’re acting a bit strange today.”

Tang Jingyu looked down at him, and a gust of wind blew, scattering the smile at the corner of his mouth. “Strange in what way?”

Fang Xian relaxed, standing up to pat his brother’s shoulder. “That’s better. Don’t always be so stern. Smile more. No girl likes a stone…”

Tang Jingyu, intrigued, asked, “They all like you?”

“Of course,” Fang Xian said proudly, lifting his chin up. “I have the looks of a hero, a face rivaling Pan An*…”

*Pan Yue, more popularly referred to as Pan An, was a well known poet who was famous for his good looks from a young age, thus “Pan An” has become a Chinese byword to refer to handsome men.

But as he spoke, Fang Xian faltered, looking hesitantly at Tang Jingyu. “Why aren’t you throwing hidden weapons at me?”

Tang Jingyu smiled softly, his voice unusually gentle. “I’ll let you speak your mind today.”

Fang Xian pouted, clearly unimpressed. “Boring.”

After saying so, he snatched Tang Jingyu’s tea and drank it in one gulp.

Tang Jingyu looked at his brother, who couldn’t even bother to pour his own tea, first with resignation and then slowly, his eyes filled with an apology that could no longer be hidden.

“Cut—”

“Pass!”

Ran Lin instantly relaxed, exhaling deeply. The charming and dashing young master was nowhere to be seen.

Lu Yiyao strangely realized that the moment the director called “Pass”, Fang Xian vanished without a trace, leaving only Ran Lin, unblemished and harmless.

The guy who had unabashedly grabbed his neck just moments ago seemed like an illusion, with only the lingering warmth on his neck as proof that Fang Xian had been there.

“Hey, that take is done. Stop staring at me like that.” Ran Lin waved his hand in front of Lu Yiyao’s eyes. “It’s kind of creepy…”

Lu Yiyao simply smiled.

He couldn’t say this to Ran Lin, as he was sure it would make him even more smug, but he mentally added a note in his mental notebook—

Ran Lin [Cunning Boy]

Note 1: Occasionally attentive.

Note 2: Occasionally naive.

Note 3: Good at self-reflection.

Note 4: Shines when acting.

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