Chapter 32: Is It Enjoyment?

“You’re one to talk. Your female lead is nowhere near as striking a character as Yun Tianxue. Aren’t you ashamed to squander such talent?” Li Shuangmu shot the screenwriter a glare, her critique unreserved.

True, the actress playing the female lead wasn’t up to par—she couldn’t match Xiao Jingxuan’s presence and ended up as mere window dressing—but the way the character was written played a role as well.

Among all the characters in “Dragon Roars Across the World,” the female lead was the least remarkable, the one who left the faintest impression. Who was to blame for that?

“Heh, you can’t put all the blame on me. Everyone in the industry knows—I’m either the killer of female leads or the killer of male leads. You should be used to it by now,” Dong Bing replied, not the least bit embarrassed, but completely candid.

This “killer” didn’t mean he always wrote characters to their demise; rather, it referred to how, in his scripts, either the female lead shone, or the male lead did. If neither managed to stand out, then the supporting roles—men and women alike—would each have such distinct personalities that viewers would remember them long after, sparking heated discussions for a time.

But Dong Bing was infamous for one quirk: in any series, he could never make both the male and female leads shine at the same time. One side would inevitably turn out generic, lacking any distinctive qualities. This half-brilliant, half-lackluster style infuriated not only directors and producers but also the many fans of his scripts, though in the end, no one could do much about it.

Of course, it was even more pitiful to know your own shortcomings and be unable to change them. Dong Bing had tried to improve, but the results were always even more awkward and out of place, so he simply gave up and claimed this imbalance as his unique signature.

Better to be half-lame than completely crippled, after all; at least the strengths outweighed the flaws.

“Typical—give you an inch and you take a mile. Was that supposed to be a compliment?” Li Shuangmu was exasperated, yet she had to admit Dong Bing’s skill as a screenwriter was unmatched, even if imperfect.

Hearing the director’s cue, Chu Luoxi exhaled softly, clenching her fists to savor that sense of accomplishment at finishing.

Her scenes were only someone’s recollection, after all, so she didn’t need to show whether Yun Tianxue ultimately lived or died. Everything had ended with that last shot.

Xiao Jingxuan opened his eyes serenely, their depth unfathomable, his tone carrying a hint of a smile. “Was that enjoyable?”

His character, Xiao Tian, had simply lost consciousness and lay in Yun Tianxue’s arms. It was never made clear whether he lived or died. Fortunately, his part was little more than playing dead; the focus was entirely on Yun Tianxue’s performance.

“Hey? Wasn’t that supposed to be my line?” Chu Luoxi realized, giving him a half-smile. He was the one lying in her arms, and for the sake of the shot’s aesthetics, her posture was anything but comfortable—it should have been her struggling!

“Mmm!” Xiao Jingxuan replied oddly, with a smile. Whether he was really enjoying the sensation or just responding for the sake of it was unclear. Most importantly, he shifted into an even more relaxed position, as if searching for the perfect spot to lie down, all while Chu Luoxi’s exasperation mounted.

Just as Chu Luoxi was about to protest, Xiao Jingxuan sat up in an instant, rose gracefully, and even extended a hand to help her up, his gesture pleasing to the eye. “Your legs must be numb. Move carefully.”

Chu Luoxi was left speechless once more. This man could switch moods faster than flipping a page—no wonder he’d once run circles around the world’s media as an international superstar. It was a rare talent, indeed.

Her role only lasted half an episode, mostly filmed at night. There was no way the production would shoot her scenes all at once—she wasn’t important enough for that kind of special treatment. So, after the weekend’s shoot, Chu Luoxi had no choice but to take a week off from school. Fortunately, she worked quickly, and with the great Xiao never holding her back, they wrapped right on schedule that Sunday.

How precisely everything was timed! Though only half an episode would air, much more footage had been shot—otherwise, what would there be to edit?

Because filming ended late that night, Chu Luoxi stayed an extra night with the crew and hurried back to school the next morning, arriving just in time for class.

It wasn’t unusual for students to take time off, so Chu Luoxi’s weeklong absence went largely unnoticed. Only her two roommates knew anything about it; no one else cared.

When classes finally ended, Zhu Xueshuang and Liu Yujia dragged Chu Luoxi back to their dorm with suspicious secrecy, making her laugh despite herself.

“What’s with you two? Playing secret agents?” Chu Luoxi raised an eyebrow, amused as they peeked around before shutting the door.

“You tried so hard and nothing happened, but this time, you landed a lucky break without even meaning to. Tell us—what’s it feel like?” Zhu Xueshuang was delighted for her friend. Taking that first big step meant everything; for many, it’s the hurdle they never cross.

“Yeah, seriously. You’re even more of a homebody than we are—spending your days in the dorm gossiping about handsome guys—and opportunity just came knocking. Meanwhile, others are slaving away out there for nothing. How is that fair?” Liu Yujia’s tone was dramatic but genuine, not a hint of jealousy—just heartfelt happiness for her friend.

“Well, when opportunity appears, you have to seize it,” Chu Luoxi replied with a gentle smile. “But it’s just a minor role—no need to make such a fuss.”

“Sure, a minor role, but it’s in ‘Dragon Roars Across the World,’ which is all anyone’s talking about right now. They’re still filming, but there are already countless fans waiting for it. The director, the screenwriter, the male lead—it’s a powerhouse team! And you got to work with the Legendary Senior! Yet you act so nonchalant? Someone needs to shake you!” Liu Yujia suddenly grew agitated, wanting to grab Chu Luoxi and give her a good shake. Couldn’t this girl react like a normal person for once?

Chu Luoxi rolled her eyes. “You’re the one overreacting. So what if it’s the Legendary Senior? We’re in the same industry.”

She’d mentioned it when she took her leave—both Zhu and Liu had nearly fainted at the time. Luckily, a week had passed, and they were calmer now.

“I’m curious, Xiaoxi—how did you even meet Xiao Jingxuan?” Zhu Xueshuang asked, finally regaining her composure as a fellow professional.

A flicker of confusion crossed Chu Luoxi’s eyes. “I honestly don’t know,” she admitted.

It was true—she still didn’t understand how it happened. Thinking back to how abruptly Xiao Jingxuan had appeared before her, it all felt surreal.

At this, Zhu and Liu both stared at the ceiling, at a loss for words. If they didn’t know Chu Luoxi was telling the truth, they would have thought she wasn’t even trying to come up with a believable excuse.

Despite this unexpected detour, Chu Luoxi soon returned to her peaceful life as a student—at least, until “Dragon Roars Across the World” hit the airwaves. Until then, nothing was likely to change.