Let Me Be Spoiled - Chapter 35

The final scene went smoothly.

In fact, Sun Huaijun was already satisfied after that shot and had called it a day for the crew. But then Xie Yan came up to him after getting out of the pool and pointed out that there had been a subtle emotional inconsistency in one of his shots. Sun Huaijun rewatched it carefully and agreed, so they reshot it.

Xie Yan took a shower and quickly changed into his own clothes—a long gray sweatshirt and black jeans. His hair was half-dried in a hurry with a towel, fluffily piled on top of his head. Fortunately, his face was so strikingly handsome that his messy hair didn’t look like a pile of weeds, but rather like a deliberately styled look, wild and flamboyant.

A nearby makeup assistant looked at him, clearly envious, and said, “Ugh, having a good face is unfair. You don’t even need to dress up. You could wear a potato sack and still walk a runway.”

Xie Yan, for once, glanced at himself in the mirror.

Zhou Yu saw Fu Qing arrive, greeted him, then sensibly took off in his little beat-up car for some freedom and fun.

Xie Yan walked up to Fu Qing in a few quick steps, slightly tilting his head upward. His eyes were still wet from the water, shimmering.

Fu Qing reached out and smoothed his fluffy hair. The roots were still damp. He casually pulled the sweatshirt hood over Xie Yan’s head and reminded him, “Don’t catch a cold.”

Xie Yan nodded and put on his mask again.

The two walked to the parking lot. Xie Yan opened the door and sat in the passenger seat, habitually rolling down half the window and resting one arm on it.

He looked a bit like a spoiled kid.

Fu Qing stepped on the gas and drove toward the old street, asking, “Do you like acting, Xiao Xie?”

Xie Yan’s voice came out slightly muffled through the mask, “I do.”

He paused for a moment, then repeated, “I really like it.”

Today, Fu Qing had noticed that Xie Yan was always brief and to the point when talking to others. He spoke little, disliked rambling, and never said more than necessary. Yet when he spoke to Fu Qing, he was different. Sometimes Xie Yan would deliberately say more, as if to show he was taking the conversation seriously and not being perfunctory.

Xie Yan was already endearing, but to Fu Qing, he had just discovered another layer of that charm.

Fu Qing asked, “The shoot’s almost over. How does it feel to act in a movie?”

Xie Yan propped his chin on his hand and looked out the window. The roadside scenery whizzed by. His eyes were half-lowered, and the dim yellow streetlight spilled onto his face, making him look unusually calm and gentle.

He thought for a moment and said, “When I’m acting, it’s like I’ve become someone else, living another life. It’s brief, but really interesting.”

After filming the scene in the pool, Xie Yan showered. The moisture still lingered on his skin, mingled with a faint scent of body wash, drifting subtly through the air and inevitably finding its way into Fu Qing’s nose.

Fu Qing hesitated, then rolled down the window on his side, needing the breeze to stay calm and rational before continuing, “And after filming? Do you want people to see it?”

Xie Yan tilted his head. “Of course. A script, a director, and a bunch of actors come together to make a movie, to tell a story—it’s only natural to want more people to see it.”

At that, Xie Yan seemed to recall something unpleasant. He pulled down his mask and took out a cigarette, but put it back again, “And making movies costs money. You need people to watch it to make that money back. Otherwise, Director Sun might go insane.”

He rarely made jokes, but that one made Fu Qing chuckle.

Fu Qing said softly, “To Xiao Xie, every film is a complete life.”

It was said lightly, but it made Xie Yan remember the promise he had once made to Fu Qing—that he wouldn’t get too deep into character anymore. He turned his head and explained, “Don’t worry, Fu Ge. I can control myself now. I snap out of it when filming ends.”

Even if the role affected him, it wouldn’t spill over into his life anymore.

Xie Yan had a kind of confidence in how he lived his life, almost bordering on arrogance. He smiled at Fu Qing, showing his sharp little white teeth. “Those characters are fun, sure. But I don’t envy or dream about someone else’s life, because I’m already living the best version of mine.”

The fact that he was Xie Yan—that would never change.

Once they left the city, the streetlights became sparse. Some stretches didn’t even have one but the moonlight was bright. Still, any light that shone on Xie Yan seemed to mellow, becoming his backdrop.

Fu Qing silently wished that no matter what came in the future, Xie Yan would always keep this innocence, passion, and pride—forever untarnished.

He smiled and said with certainty, “All your wishes will come true, Xiao Xie.”

—

The next day, Fu Qing met with Mo Fu to discuss investing in White Whale.

After listening, Mo Fu was full of questions. “So what you’re saying is, your little friend’s movie ran out of money midway. It’s an obvious art-house film with no box office potential but you can’t bear to see his months of effort go to waste, so you want to patch the hole. You can’t even use your name, so you need a shell to invest under?”

After walking through the situation, the more he thought about it, the less he understood, “Seriously? You’re playing anonymous benefactor now? Just throwing money away?”

Fu Qing gave him a sidelong glance. “My name’s too conspicuous. It wouldn’t be good for Xiao Xie.”

He said it seriously. Mo Fu couldn’t help but laugh. “Weren’t you the one putting on that righteous act before, saying it was Xiao Xie’s own choice to sign with Huida? And now you’re the one scrambling to invest? Isn’t this the kind of setback a young person’s supposed to go through?”

Fu Qing looked at him. “Don’t call him ‘Xiao Xie.’”

Mo Fu paused, confused.

Then Fu Qing added, “Only I can call him that.”

Mo Fu gave up. Completely gave up.

What a touching display of brotherly love—he wasn’t even allowed to use the guy’s nickname.

Mo Fu, always a bit of a joker, thought, Fine, if Fu Qing insists it’s just friendship, then it’s friendship. He’d give him that face.

Despite his carefree manner, Mo Fu was reliable when it came to business, especially in industries he knew well. He quickly put together a safe and efficient investment plan to rescue the White Whale production.

After that, he and Fu Qing chatted briefly about Xu San’s situation. As he was about to leave, he suddenly heard Fu Qing say something.

“I regret it,” he said.

Mo Fu didn’t react at first. He turned back and asked, “Regret what?”

Fu Qing lowered his eyes, smiling faintly. “Not setting up a studio for Xiao Xie. Letting him go to Huida instead.”

Mo Fu’s eyes widened. He stared at Fu Qing for a long time. “No way. You’re kidding.”

In all their ten years of friendship, through all kinds of storms, Fu Qing had never once said he regretted anything.

And now he regrets this?

—

Five days later, Sun Huaijun received an incredibly generous investment offer. Not only did it promise tens of millions in guaranteed funding, but the investor was also willing to increase the amount depending on the filming progress. Moreover, the investor promised not to interfere in any aspect of the production, all expenses would be under the director’s control, and profits would be shared only after all costs were recouped.

It was like a golden pie falling from the sky.

Sun Huaijun held back—he didn’t bite.

The reason was simple. The investor claimed to be a fan of Xie Yan, unwilling to let his first film die, and therefore decided to fund it.

Sun Huaijun had been in the industry for years and had heard that excuse too many times. Most of the time, it was just a cover for rich people taking a liking to a star. They would start with “investment,” then expect dinners, shopping trips, and ultimately a night in bed. Yes, the production was short on funds and he was anxious, but he hadn’t sunk so low as to sell Xie Yan to pay off the debt.

The investor’s side heard Sun Huaijun was still considering and didn’t react negatively—instead, they politely encouraged a quick decision, since the filming was still burning money.

The whole situation left Sun Huaijun sleepless that night. The next day, he called off filming entirely and gave the crew a day off, then sat down with the assistant director to talk to Xie Yan privately.

Sun Huaijun laid everything out plainly for him.

Xie Yan, as always, was calm. After thinking for a moment, he asked, “Did they include any additional conditions? Will the money be transferred immediately after signing?”

Sun Huaijun hadn’t expected him to be so composed. He called the investor again and confirmed, “Yes. As soon as the contract is signed, the money will be transferred.”

Xie Yan nodded. “Sign it.”

Sun Huaijun was still hesitant. “But Xie Yan, that whole ‘fan’ thing…”

It was clearly just an excuse. Xie Yan hadn’t even been in any films before. The only thing he’d ever played on screen was corpses.

Xie Yan frowned slightly. His voice was cold, but his thoughts were clear. “If he wants to invest, the terms are on paper and we accept those. Anything that is not on the paper, no one can force me to do so.”

No one had ever been able to strike a deal with Xie Yan that way.

Because he was fearless. His boundaries were fixed and unbreakable. Anyone who tried to cross the line would be met with his fists.

The investor hadn’t put forward any conditions on the surface. Their suspicions about his motives were just that—suspicions. At least, the money could pull White Whale out of the crisis.

If he could do something well, then he woud do it. Right now, all Xie Yan wanted was to finish the film. Everything else could wait until it really happened.

Still, thinking ahead, he gave a warning, “But once we accept the money, if I don’t want to be friends with him, it might affect the crew.”

He paused. “I still won’t be friends with him.”

That had to be made clear. Xie Yan wouldn’t sacrifice his dignity for anyone or anything.

He pursued his dreams as Xie Yan. And if Xie Yan lost his dignity, then he was no longer himself.

The assistant director nodded repeatedly. “What are you saying? The crew accepted the money and it’s our responsibility. If that guy really dares show up, we’ll be the first to throw him out!”

Sun Huaijun immediately contacted the investor to set a date for the contract signing. He was even in a great mood, chatting with the assistant director about how to burn through the big budget.

Xie Yan had nothing to contribute to that topic. He sat nearby scrolling through his phone. Sun Huaijun glanced over and noticed a conflicted expression on his face. Curious, he peeked at the screen.

It was a WeChat message from Yang Xun, answering the question Xie Yan had asked earlier: how do you thank a loyal fan who made a huge contribution?

[Yang Xun: 

1. 1. Find stills of your most iconic role, then send the fan a signed, limited-edition print—something out of print. While others are desperately hunting secondhand, they get it effortlessly! Make them feel special!

1. 1. Send unreleased stills and merch from your latest role—something not yet for sale. That way, the fan gets your new items ahead of everyone else. Exclusive and appreciated!

1. 1. Write a personal thank-you letter. Make sure it’s heartfelt and fluent. Don’t use a ghostwriter because if they find out, it’ll really hurt.]

After listing all that, Yang Xun added: [Why are you asking this, Xie-ge?]

Xie Yan instantly regretted asking.

Truly regretted it.

Sun Huaijun clapped him on the shoulder. “Brilliant! Do exactly this and shut them up for good. What more could they possibly want?”

Xie Yan’s most iconic role? Probably the eight corpses he played in The War of the Eight Princes. He played them so well that he caught Wang Ning’s eye, who then recommended him to Sun Huaijun.

So Sun Huaijun called up his old friend Wang Ning to get someone to pull together eight stills of the various corpses Xie Yan had played.

Then he personally selected some of the most photogenic shots of Xie Yan in White Whale and rushed to print them.

In the end, Xie Yan signed his name on these awkward, painful stills.

He still had to write a letter. But that was too much to ask from Xie Yan, so they downgraded it to a postcard.

After much deliberation, Xie Yan wrote one line.

“Hope you enjoy the movie.”

When Sun Huaijun went to sign the contract, he brought along all three gifts and solemnly insisted they be delivered directly to the investor.