Did the Movie Emperor Blow His Cover Today? - Chapter 4

Chapter 4

This was an apology call. The moment Han Buji answered, 18-year-old Tao Hui reflexively held her breath, her lips trembling slightly. “Hello, I…”

Tao Hui paused for a fraction of a second.

After all, this was her idol—the one she watched on TV and in movies every day, the one she had been eagerly waiting to speak to! For a moment, Tao Hui hesitated, unsure whether to greet Best Actor Han first or introduce herself.

But the other party clearly had no intention of giving her time to hesitate. A deep, sexy male voice erupted from the other end of the line, lacking Tao Hui’s restraint and nervousness. Instead, it launched into a furious tirade: “Fucking hell, you keep calling and calling! What the fuck do you want? Call again and I’ll kick your ass so hard you’ll fly! You goddamn idiot, do you even know how much money I make in an hour? Stop calling! You son of a bitch, I’ll slap you into next week!”

Tao Hui was stunned by the barrage of angry shouting, so shocked she didn’t regain her composure until the call ended.

Forty-five seconds. She had been cursed out for a full forty-five seconds.

Tao Hui stared at her phone in disbelief. This… this was Han Buji?

This volatile man was the refined and aloof Han Buji she saw on screen?

The Han Buji fans were clamoring to marry?

And Han Buji was from Sichuan-Chongqing???

Oh, that might actually be true. In that movie, Han Buji played a Sichuan-Chongqing undercover cop, and his dialect was spot-on.

After all, he did say on the phone, “Do you know how much I make in an hour?” Most celebrities wouldn’t dare say something like that, but given Han Buji’s market value, it wasn’t an exaggeration at all.

Eighteen-year-old Tao Hui’s illusions shattered. She never dreamed of being pinned against a wall and kissed by the Best Actor again, and she never watched another one of his movies.

From then on, the Best Actor was just another stranger!

The matter of apologizing to the Best Actor was shelved indefinitely. But Han Buji’s fans—the Han Meimeis—had no intention of letting Tao Hui off the hook. Even three years later, she still occasionally received a hateful message or two.

It’s safe to say that these Han Meimeis, named after characters from English textbooks, could hurl insults with the same ferocity as their volatile Best Actor.

Tao Hui had been lying low for three years, and now that she’d finally landed a spot on a high-quality production crew, she absolutely couldn’t afford to give the Han Meimeis any ammunition!

To avoid any accidental or inevitable encounters with Han Buji, Tao Hui simply stopped leaving her apartment.

In the days leading up to joining the production crew, she lived a blissful life of takeout meals, reading scripts, and gaming with her Little Fanboy.

On the morning she was scheduled to join the production crew, Tao Hui rubbed her eyes and glanced at the calendar, immediately shuddering.

Oh no, it’s time to start work.

Sister Xun would definitely come to pick her up at noon. Wouldn’t the pile of takeout containers in her trash—fried noodles with fatty intestines, fried chicken strips, pork rib rice, and large-portion beef ramen—be exposed?

And what about the crayfish shells and bamboo skewers from her late-night skewers?

Tao Hui naturally had the kind of constitution that defied logic: she could eat anything without gaining weight or breaking out.

But managers, being managers, all suffered from occupational hazards. Seeing their artists indulge in greasy, spicy foods always prompted them to nag, sometimes even threatening to enroll them in intensive “body sculpting, wellness, and health” courses if they were in a good mood.

Tao Hui rummaged through a corner and pulled out a pink Peppa Pig mask. Grabbing the trash bag, she prepared to dispose of the evidence by dumping it in the stairwell trash can.

It was barely past 5 a.m., still dark outside. Half-asleep, Tao Hui yawned widely, her delicate fingers wiping away tears from the corners of her eyes. Clad in fuzzy bear slippers, she stumbled groggily toward the fire escape, trash bag in hand.

As a child, Tao Hui had heard that walking with her eyes closed would lead her to encounter ghosts. She was only six or seven then, and the legend had terrified her pale. Ever since, she’d walk with her eyes wide open, afraid that even a blink might bring her face-to-face with a long-haired ghost.

Tao Hui yawned and didn’t immediately open her eyes. Her eyelids remained half-closed, her lashes clumped together from rubbing, leaving only a narrow, tear-blurred slit.

How funny, she thought. Growing up is great—I’m not even afraid to walk with my eyes closed anymore.

The moment this thought crossed her mind, Tao Hui felt her foot land on something. In the next instant, she stumbled into a cedar and sandalwood-scented embrace.

This scent was all too familiar. The terror of Han Meimeis’ curses sent a chill from the crown of her head to her toes.

Crashing into the fragrant arms of a man—and not just any man, but the Best Actor himself—at a corridor corner was anything but romantic for Tao Hui. In fact, it was utterly terrifying.

Tao Hui’s eyes snapped open. She recoiled a full step backward. Before her stood Han Buji, wearing a black mask that revealed only his phoenix-shaped eyes. Those deep, dark eyes, hidden behind long lashes, were scrutinizing her.

So, walking with your eyes closed really does lead you to ghosts!

“Careful,” Han Buji murmured, his hand briefly steadying her arm as she retreated. His tone was polite, even gentlemanly.

Judging by the slight curve of his eyes, he might even have been smiling.

What a hypocrite, Tao Hui thought bitterly. Where was this gentlemanly act when you were cursing me out in Sichuan-Chongqing dialect over the phone all those years ago?

Her tirade was so impassioned, she didn’t repeat herself once in 45 seconds.

Taking a large step back, Tao Hui suddenly realized her predicament. The hallway, meticulously cleaned by the building management, was occupied by five people besides herself: Han Buji, his manager, two assistants (possibly), and his stylist.

Each member of the group was impeccably dressed and radiated an air of crisp confidence.

In stark contrast, Tao Hui knew without looking that her messy bun was sticking out at odd angles and she was still wearing her pajamas. She felt like she belonged to a different world entirely from the polished group across from her.

The corridor fell silent, twelve eyes locked in an awkward standoff.

Tao Hui decisively grabbed her trash bag and continued walking. After all, she was wearing a mask. If she didn’t draw attention to herself, there was a 99% chance Han Buji’s team, including Han Buji himself, wouldn’t recognize her.

Even if Han Buji did know her, he would only remember her as the person who drew turtles on his posters—he certainly wouldn’t know her name was Tao Hui.

With this thought, Tao Hui relaxed and strolled leisurely toward the stairwell, trash bag in hand.

She had taken only two steps when Han Buji suddenly called out from behind, “Tao Hui?”

Tao Hui: “…QAQ”

That’s not me! You’ve got the wrong person! Don’t be ridiculous!

Tao Hui feigned deafness, maintaining her steady pace as she pushed open the stairwell door and tossed the trash inside.

Turning around, Tao Hui saw the five people still standing by the elevator. Han Buji lowered his mask and smiled, extending a hand. “I heard you’re joining the Sheng Jue production crew. Welcome.”

Welcome? Welcome who?

Tao Hui closed her eyes in despair. Under the group’s watchful gaze, she reluctantly touched Han Buji’s hand with her fingertips, adopting a frosty demeanor. Gritting her teeth, she forced out, “H-happy… to collaborate!”

With that, Tao Hui fled, her steps slightly unsteady. Her left foot caught on the fluffy bear slipper on her right foot, causing her to stumble as she darted into her apartment and slammed the door shut.

In her haste, she didn’t notice the Best Actor behind her, covering his mouth with a fist, his face melting into a warm smile.

The Best Actor’s team members wore bewildered expressions, their mouths agape, unsure what to say.

After all, they had witnessed their Best Actor casually stroll toward the elevator, suddenly freeze mid-step, turn back, and position himself around the corner, even removing his hand from his pocket—a posture that looked almost like he was preparing for an embrace.

Then a girl wearing a Peppa Pig mask appeared, looking half-asleep and yawning repeatedly with her eyes closed. Like a defenseless rabbit, she stumbled straight into the Best Actor’s arms.

It looked suspiciously like the Best Actor had done it on purpose.

Manager Wu Yue and the other staff members were all internally cursing, but they couldn’t say anything. Han Buji snapped his fingers cheerfully. “Let’s go.”

“I don’t want to act in Sheng Jue anymore, Sister Xun! The Han Meimeis will tear me to shreds! They’ll ambush me on my way home and hang me from that hundred-year-old tree outside the residential complex with your tie! Waaah!”

Tao Hui wailed, her voice hoarse with despair, flipping through the script to the cast list printed in tiny letters at the end. Her trembling finger pointed at Han Buji’s name. “Opposite scenes! I have opposite scenes with him! Oh no! Is my second career Waterloo coming so soon?!”

Zhou Xun was caught off guard by this sudden outburst. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” he reassured her. “He’s just making a cameo appearance. I checked—his role is small. Just be careful not to let any rumors spread during filming, and everything will be fine.”

“Think about it,” Sister Xun said. “You’re aiming to become a Best Actress. Can such a small obstacle really be considered a challenge? Are Han Meimeis truly that intimidating compared to a Best Actress?”

Intimidating? Of course they’re intimidating. But when Tao Hui imagined that gleaming golden Best Actress trophy, she even started rehearsing her acceptance speech!

The wind had died down, the rain had stopped, and Tao Hui felt like she was back on track.

After getting her makeup done, Tao Hui changed into tight jeans and a white mohair turtleneck sweater. She neatly tied her hair into a ponytail, looking obedient and well-behaved.

Sister Xun had warned her that Director Chen’s production crew consisted of seasoned veterans who disliked flashy appearances. They preferred actors who were sensible, obedient, and willing to work hard.

Tao Hui entered the set looking every bit the sweet, well-behaved girl.

She arrived a bit early; the crew hadn’t returned from lunch yet, leaving only the Assistant Director present.

As fate would have it, Han Buji was also there, chatting with the Assistant Director at a nearby table.

Tao Hui felt like destiny had grabbed her by the scruff of the neck. Summoning her courage, she forced herself to greet them: “Good afternoon, Assistant Director. Good afternoon, Teacher Han.”

“Tao Hui, you’re here! Come, come, have some pear juice first. It’s so dry today. I’ll introduce you to everyone when they get back,” the Assistant Director said, looking more approachable than Director Chen. He gestured for Tao Hui to sit down.

The plastic table had only three chairs. The empty one was next to Han Buji, across from the Assistant Director.

Unable to refuse the warm invitation, Tao Hui shuffled over and sat down. Just as she settled in, the Assistant Director said, “Xiao Han, you should drink more too. Yesterday, Xiao Xu suddenly got a nosebleed while filming. Beijing is great in every way, but the autumn is so dry, it’s easy to get overheated.”

Han Buji was a master at playing the obedient subordinate. In front of the Assistant Director, he was all meekness and deference. He first filled the Assistant Director’s cup from the thermos before politely saying, “You should drink more, sir. I’m fine—I’ve lived here my whole life, so I’m used to it.”

“Oh, right, right! I almost forgot—you’re from Beijing, Xiao Han?” the Assistant Director asked.

Han Buji nodded. “Yes, I’m from Beijing.”

Tao Hui rolled her eyes so hard they nearly popped out of her head.

Bullshit! You’re about as Beijing as a Sichuan hotpot!

Have you forgotten how you were cursing me in your thick Sichuan-Chongqing accent just yesterday?

Her eye roll was a bit too dramatic. Before she could even turn back, Han Buji, sitting beside her, suddenly asked casually, “Miss Tao, are your eyes bothering you?”