Did the Movie Emperor Blow His Cover Today? - Chapter 9

Chapter 9

“Because you don’t like me enough.”

“W-what?” Tao Hui asked, her face stiffening. For a moment, she thought her ears were playing tricks on her.

Han Buji’s hand reached out toward Tao Hui, the moment stretching out inexplicably. She even caught a whiff of the osmanthus-scented hand soap on his hand.

Her eyes widened in terror, and she jerked backward.

Thud!

The back of her head slammed against the door behind her, the pain making her grimace.

Tao Hui watched, wide-eyed, as Han Buji’s pale, claw-like hand moved past her face.

Then, the crumpled tissue in his hand whooshed into the trash can.

Han Buji turned his head, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “I said, because your portrayal of Qing Wan doesn’t show enough affection for Dongchuan.”

Tao Hui pressed both hands to the back of her head, her expression blank.

Oh, is that all? I thought you’d lost your mind and were about to corner me against the bathroom wall.

“Or,” Han Buji rested his hand on the doorknob, tilting his head suddenly, “what did you think I meant?”

Even if Tao Hui could borrow a pig’s hide to use as a mask, she couldn’t bring herself to say, “I thought you were going to pin me against the wall.” She could only force a dry laugh and wave her hand dismissively. “N-nothing.”

Tao Hui and Han Buji emerged from the restroom together, her mind still mulling over his words.

He was right. Her portrayal of Qing Wan hadn’t conveyed enough affection for Dongchuan, failing to capture the character’s inner conflict.

It seemed she needed to not only review her own script but also thoroughly study Third Prince Dongchuan’s scenes to establish a deeper connection between their characters.

Lost in thought about the script, Tao Hui walked with her head down, oblivious to the fact that she was walking shoulder-to-shoulder with Han Buji across the set.

She also failed to notice a fleeting glimpse of fabric as they rounded a corner.

Tao Hui’s scene had to be reshot six times. The more nervous she became, the worse her performance grew, and the more determined she was to prove herself.

She was trapped in a vicious cycle of anxiety leading to poor performance, which only fueled her anxiety further.

The reshoots required constant action scenes. Tao Hui’s loose-fitting period costume was already soaked with sweat, and the gauze-wrapped burn on her arm felt stifling. She subtly flexed her arm, wincing slightly as the makeup artist touched up her face.

Nearby, Han Buji suddenly frowned, startling the stylist who was adjusting his hair crown. “Did I pull too hard?” the stylist asked, his hand trembling.

“No, please continue,” Han Buji said politely, as if the deep frown etched between his brows just moments ago had been a figment of the makeup artist’s imagination.

By the seventh take, Director Chen’s expression had darkened considerably. He didn’t bother with the clapperboard, simply raising his hand and shouting, “Cut! Tao Hui, come here.”

Tao Hui shuffled over to Director Chen like a schoolchild caught daydreaming in class, her head bowed low. “I’m sorry, Director Chen. I’m a little nervous.”

The assistant director and screenwriter tried to smooth things over. The screenwriter offered cautiously, “Tao Hui, Qing Wan’s character is indeed complex and difficult to portray. Your appearance perfectly captures her essence, but you need to delve deeper into her inner world.”

The screenwriter’s words did little to ease Tao Hui’s anxiety. Director Chen was notorious for his strictness, and she bit her lip nervously, bracing herself for the impending storm.

When Director Chen finally spoke, Tao Hui reflexively clenched her clammy palms. As expected, he said, “Do you think you got into this production crew by sheer luck?”

It was indeed sheer luck, Tao Hui thought, her bowed head shifting almost imperceptibly.

“Naive!” Director Chen suddenly declared.

Director Chen, a man in his fifties, had a stern face that only grew more imposing when he scowled. Tao Hui trembled, slowly raising her head and biting her lip, unable to speak.

He slammed his large teacup on the table with a thud, silencing the room. No one dared to breathe.

Yet Tao Hui heard him sigh. “My productions don’t cast unsuitable actors just to fill roles,” he said. “Let go and act freely. Here, you are Qing Wan.”

A good director knows how to motivate actors—neither by relentless criticism nor blind flattery. Director Chen’s brilliance lay in his ability to inspire each actor in the way they needed.

“Here, you are Qing Wan.”

Tao Hui hadn’t expected such words. Her nose stung with emotion as she paused for a moment before replying, “I understand.”

She realized she had been too tense, too cautious. Overwhelmed by the rarity of this opportunity, she had become overly cautious, making her hesitant and timid in front of the camera.

“Go now. Have Writer Li review Qing Wan and Dongchuan’s relationship with you again. Take a half-hour break before we resume.” Director Chen waved his hand, then suddenly looked up. “Today, can you show me the real Qing Wan?”

So I wasn’t just here to fill a quota after all. Director Chen genuinely recognizes my talent.

Tao Hui nodded firmly, her voice resolute. “I can.”

The screenwriter smiled and pulled Tao Hui closer. “Then let’s revisit Qing Wan’s psychological evolution.”

“Dongchuan and Qing Wan share similar childhood traumas. Both were exploited by their families as pawns in their power struggles. Had they not been on opposing sides, they would have been kindred spirits, at least friends who understood each other’s pain. That’s where their mutual attraction begins…” The screenwriter slowly explained to Tao Hui.

By the time filming resumed, Tao Hui had fully composed herself. She wasn’t just acting as Qing Wan; she was Qing Wan.

Dongchuan snatched the white jade sword from Qing Wan’s hand, causing her to stumble and fall into his arms.

The camera focused intently on Qing Wan’s face, capturing the complex mix of emotions: the shock of the sudden fall, the embarrassment of being caught in Dongchuan’s embrace, and the frustration of a skilled assassin being outmatched.

Her slightly widened eyes, flushed ears, furrowed brow, even the trembling eyelashes and sudden tension in her face—all finally conveyed the contradictory nature of Qing Wan.

The Assistant Director clapped his hands. “Cut! Excellent! Tao Hui, well done!”

Tao Hui glanced at Director Chen, who was holding his teacup, a hint of satisfaction flickering in his eyes.

The tension that had gripped her all morning finally eased. She smiled and bowed deeply to the crew, expressing her gratitude.

As she passed Han Buji, she heard him say, “Not bad.”

Tao Hui turned back in surprise, but only caught a glimpse of his retreating figure.

Wow, even the Best Actor knows how to give a compliment!

Regardless, Han Buji was still the Best Actor. To have her performance acknowledged by both Director Chen and the Best Actor simultaneously made Tao Hui forget her fatigue. She skipped excitedly toward the break room.

“Sister Huihui, you were amazing! I even recorded a video of you!” Miao Miao leaned against the break room door, waving her phone eagerly.

As Tao Hui entered, Miao Miao closed the door behind her, her face falling into disappointment. “But why didn’t you knock Best Actor Han down again?”

Tao Hui gritted her teeth. “Isn’t embarrassing myself once enough?! I’m a petite, slender actress—what’s there to be proud of about using my weight to topple a man who’s 186 centimeters tall? I’m not a sumo wrestler!”

Miao Miao, who was rolling up Tao Hui’s sleeve to help her remove the gauze, grinned. “If I had the chance to knock down the Best Actor, I’d rather become a sumo wrestler!”

After all, her assistant was a Han Meimei. Tao Hui sighed and decided not to argue with her.

Rolling her eyes, she grabbed Miao Miao’s phone to review the footage and identify areas for improvement.

Her expression in the video was indeed unnatural. No wonder Director Chen was dissatisfied, leading to her sixth NG.

Miao Miao, being the brainless fan of Han Buji that she was, continued filming even after her idol’s NG.

And what was she filming? Han Buji getting his makeup touched up!

Just as Tao Hui was about to close the phone, Han Buji suddenly turned his head in the video, his brow furrowing deeply.

Tch, men on their “male period” are so moody! Tao Hui thought to herself.

Then she realized with a jolt: Han Buji was looking directly at her!

Why was he frowning? Was it because she had caused six NGs?

So impatient, yet he had the nerve to say I was “not bad”?

Ha! I knew it!

Han Buji would never genuinely praise me. It’s all for his gentlemanly image!

In the afternoon, Tao Hui had no scenes to film. She retreated to a corner to practice her lines alone.

So engrossed in her practice, she didn’t notice Xu Chang standing behind her. Wielding a broom like a sword, she suddenly spun around, her broom meeting Xu Chang’s grinning face.

Xu Chang clutched his chest. “Ugh, I’ve been stabbed! This coffee… it’s yours!” He thrust the cup toward her.

Tao Hui blinked in surprise, then smiled. “When did you get here? Thanks!”

“Just now. Don’t mention it. The assistant bought too much coffee. Seeing you practicing alone, I thought I’d bring you a cup to perk you up.” Xu Chang cupped his hand around his mouth and whispered conspiratorially, “Brother Han took your morning cup, right? Guard this one carefully so it doesn’t get snatched again.”

Tao Hui didn’t actually drink coffee, but Xu Chang was a senior member of the production crew. She accepted the cup, joking, “Next time my assistant buys too much of something, I’ll bring some over to you too?”

They chatted for a few minutes. Xu Chang was just finishing a funny story about a filming mishap, and Tao Hui was laughing, when a deep voice suddenly spoke from behind them: “What’s so amusing?”

Tao Hui froze, coffee cup in hand, her neck stiffening. Remembering Han Buji’s insincere “Good acting,” she turned her head, pretending not to hear.

Xu Chang, oblivious, turned around. “Brother Han! I was just telling Huihui about Teacher Jiang’s spectacular faceplant the other day! Hahaha!”

Huihui?

Han Buji glanced at “Huihui” beside him, who was pretending not to see him, and at the coffee in her hand. Suddenly, he swayed weakly and steadied himself against the nearby table.

“Brother Han! What’s wrong?” Xu Chang exclaimed, startled. “Are you too tired?”

Tao Hui turned her head, equally puzzled.

Is he really this weak just because his “male period” came?

Han Buji wiped the sweat from his forehead and said slowly, “Probably low blood sugar. I suddenly feel a bit dizzy. Something sweet would really help.”

As he spoke, his gaze lingered on the coffee cup in Tao Hui’s hand, which clearly read “Sugar x2.”

Tao Hui: “……”

Forcing a smile, Tao Hui thrust the coffee forward, gritting her teeth. “Here, have it.”

Han Buji took the paper cup from her hand and nodded politely. “Thank you. I’ll treat you next time.”

No need! Just stay away from me—that’s all I want!

Tao Hui was still seething when her phone suddenly vibrated on the table.

Caller ID: Miao Miao

It’s only a two-minute walk from the break room! This girl is getting lazier by the day!

Tao Hui answered the call, but before she could speak, Miao Miao’s booming voice erupted from the other end: “Sister Huihui! It’s bad! Check Weibo now! You’re trending!”