Let Me Be Spoiled - Chapter 39

The “70 million fan” meme surrounding Xie Yan stayed popular online for quite a while, drawing in a lot of casual fans.

He was undeniably good-looking, but he had no real body of work, not even many selfies—those casual fans didn’t get to see much of his face and didn’t stick around for long.

After the initial buzz faded, Xie Yan’s Weibo returned to its usual calm.

After finishing White Whale, Xie Yan rested at home for about two weeks. Though he had plenty of energy, he still felt somewhat drained after such a long, fully immersive shoot.

Even though he made a point to distance himself from the role each day, it still took time to fully step out of Lu Fengchun’s mindset once filming ended.

Two weeks later, Wang Zhuwu gave him a call. The last time they had spoken was right after Xie Yan had cleared his name from the sugar daddy rumors. Wang Zhuwu had been slow to apologize, claiming she was off filming with Qin Haocheng in some remote wilderness without any signal, and only found out two days later. She even subtly hinted that Xie Yan should ask for that fan investor’s contact information. After all, since the person was a fan, there might be room for further development.

Xie Yan ignored her.

This time, though, Wang Zhuwu actually brought a script. She introduced it warmly. “This drama Into the Sheath is one of Huida’s in-house productions. It’s our big flagship project of the year—top-notch script, director, costumes, everything. Filming wrapped up last summer, and it’s in post-production now. It was supposed to air this summer, but there was a problem. The actor who played the male lead’s younger self can’t appear on screen anymore for certain reasons, so they need to reshoot. This is a prime opportunity—people were fighting over it before—but because it’s urgent, I managed to get it for you.”

She paused for a moment and added, “Xie Yan, do you want to give it a try?”

Xie Yan thought for a moment. He really did want to act, but he didn’t trust Wang Zhuwu, so he didn’t agree right away. Instead, he said, “Send me the script.”

Wang Zhuwu immediately sent over the full script along with the cut of the scenes for the younger version of the male lead, Yan Chuzhi.

Xie Yan opened the script and skimmed through the plot summary. Wang Zhuwu wasn’t lying this time. It was purely from a script standpoint, Into the Sheath was excellent.

Into the Sheath was an ensemble drama set during the Qiyuan era of the Great Ning dynasty, telling the story of a group of idealists who rise up against a tyrant emperor. There were many characters, but what made it unique was that the main perspective followed two avengers—both male leads with almost equal screen time. The younger one was Ning Zaiyuan, and the older one was Yan Chuzhi. Xie Yan would be playing the younger Yan Chuzhi.

At the beginning, Yan Chuzhi came from the martial world. An orphan since childhood, he was taken in by the master of the Qingwu Sect, becoming the sect’s top disciple and getting engaged to the master’s only daughter. At twenty, he was a skilled martial artist, righteous and brave, and with his handsome, elegant appearance, he was the very picture of a noble young hero.

But after returning alone from a training trip, Yan Chuzhi found the entire Qingwu Sect slaughtered. He searched for months before discovering that the massacre had occurred simply because the emperor had taken a liking to the sect’s ancestral sword and wanted it for his personal collection.

Yan Chuzhi was talented in martial arts, but even the most extraordinary skills were no match for an army—especially not one guarding a heavily protected emperor.

So he went to the southern borderlands, skinned the face off a scholar who had just passed the imperial exams, grafted it onto his own, and then killed the sorcerer who helped him do it. From then on, he became that scholar and entered the imperial bureaucracy.

The story begins when Yan Chuzhi is forty years old. It’s been twenty years since he vowed revenge. By now, he has become the emperor’s loyal hound, committing countless atrocities in service of his goal. He even ordered massacres himself. Meanwhile, Ning Zaiyuan is the emperor’s nephew. The throne originally belonged to Ning Zaiyuan’s father, but the emperor had massacred his entire family to seize power. Ning Zaiyuan grew up and returned for revenge too. The difference was, as a royal descendant, Ning Zaiyuan could rally support under the banner of reclaiming the throne. With the emperor ruling with cruelty and corruption, there were many who wanted him overthrown.

Yan Chuzhi was ordered to hunt down Ning Zaiyuan and his band of rebels. On the surface, he was ruthless in his pursuit, but in reality, he was constantly evaluating Ning Zaiyuan’s capabilities—always letting him escape by a hair’s breadth, surviving against all odds.

In the end, Ning Zaiyuan stormed the imperial palace. The emperor’s elite guards scattered in fear, and Yan Chuzhi killed the emperor with a single strike. Then, on the throne in the great hall, he took his own life, bringing his story to an end.

All of the younger Yan Chuzhi’s scenes appeared in flashbacks. His passionate youth before twenty, his righteous acts, the crushing despair after the Qingwu Sect was annihilated, and finally, his transformation in the name of revenge.

It was a fascinating character. Even as a not-quite-villain, it was rare for someone like this to take center stage in a TV drama.

Xie Yan stayed up all night reading the script and messaged Wang Zhuwu the next day at noon to say he would love to take the role.

Wang Zhuwu breathed a sigh of relief when she got his reply and told him the reshoot schedule. Qin Haocheng, seeing her expression, muttered sarcastically from the side, “You’re that happy Xie Yan took it?”

Wang Zhuwu shot him a glare. “It’s not about you. If he didn’t take it, were you going to?”

In fact, over ten days ago, when news broke that the actor originally cast as young Yan Chuzhi had been caught using drugs, Wang Zhuwu had already secured the role for Qin Haocheng. But just five days later, a hugely popular variety show invited Qin Haocheng to join their sequel season. In his rush to do the show, Into the Sheath became unworkable, which was why Wang Zhuwu thought of Xie Yan.

Qin Haocheng was still unwilling—even if it was a role he had given up, he didn’t want Xie Yan to have it.

He had no choice. After the mess he caused last time by hiring trolls to smear Xie Yan, Wang Zhuwu had to clean it up for him. Now she held leverage over him. He no longer had the confidence he once did. Even if he didn’t like it, there was nothing he could do.

Still, Qin Haocheng thought, there would be a next time and he would find another way to bring Xie Yan down.

Because the timeline was tight, Xie Yan had to be on set just three days after accepting the role.

The drama had originally been shot using a fully built, expensive set, but it had been dismantled after filming ended. With everyone on separate schedules now, there was no one to film with—Xie Yan had to perform solo in front of a green screen.

It was his first time filming a period drama, and he wasn’t used to the headpiece and costumes. On top of that, Yan Chuzhi’s scenes were emotionally intense and constantly shifting. Xie Yan had trouble getting into character, and the first day was slow. The director, already anxious to wrap up and start post-production, snapped at him a few times.

Once Xie Yan adjusted, he immersed himself quickly. Almost every shot afterward was done in one take—he even asked to reshoot some scenes from earlier that he didn’t think he did well enough.

They filmed until after 2 a.m. that night. When the director wrapped for the day, he told Xie Yan, “No wonder Director Sun picked you as his lead with just one look—you’re a real talent. Honestly, this role doesn’t even do you justice.”

Xie Yan nodded.

Compared to modern dramas, period dramas had a much more tedious makeup and costume process. The makeup artist hadn’t left yet and helped Xie Yan remove his makeup and headpiece. His costume was halfway off when Xie Yan received a message.

It was from Fu Qing.

He asked. [Are you done filming? I’m outside the studio waiting for you.]

Xie Yan didn’t even bother changing. He asked the makeup artist to get the crew to let Fu Qing in.

Fu Qing had already been waiting outside for two hours. Only when he saw people trickling out of the studio did he send the message.

Most of the crew had already left. The lights in the dressing room were mostly off—only the one by Xie Yan was still on.

When Fu Qing pushed the door open, Xie Yan had just finished changing out of his costume. He was wearing only a white T-shirt and was reaching for his jacket.

He noticed a piece of jade resting near Xie Yan’s collarbone, glinting emerald under the dim light.

It was late spring already. During the winter, Xie Yan always dressed in layers, and the jade pendant had been hidden under his clothes. Fu Qing had never seen it before.

Xie Yan looked up and saw Fu Qing staring at the pendant around his neck.

He looked a little embarrassed, holding the jade Maitreya Buddha in his hand and explaining to Fu Qing, “This was a gift from Grandpa Fu during the New Year. He said it’s a pair with yours, so I accepted it.”

What he meant was, if it hadn’t been, he wouldn’t have wanted it.

Fu Qing was momentarily stunned, his gaze fixed on the jade pendant. Then he suddenly smiled, reached into his shirt, and pulled out a pendant of his own. The red string was so old it had almost lost all its color. He held it out in front of Xie Yan—a finely carved Bodhisattva of Compassion resting in his palm.

Softly, he said, “It was bought when I was born. There were two of them. I’ve worn this one for thirty-two years.”

Xie Yan reached out and touched the pendant.

Until this moment, he had never truly felt that the one around his own neck and Fu Qing’s were a matching pair—it had only existed in his imagination.

Most jade pendants felt cold, but this one was different. It was warm and was still holding Fu Qing’s body heat.

Xie Yan unconsciously pulled his hand back, then placed his own pendant gently in Fu Qing’s palm.

Fu Qing gave a quiet smile and said, “They’re a pair. Guanyin and Maitreya.”

Just like you and me.

We should be a pair.

Xie Yan carefully returned the pendant to his chest, put on his jacket, and walked out of the studio with Fu Qing.

It was already 3 a.m. Outside, there wasn’t a soul in sight—just the occasional bark of a dog in the distance.

Maybe it was the talk about the jade pendant, or maybe just the quiet of the late night making it easier to speak one’s mind. Xie Yan finally said something that had been weighing on him, “The pay for White Whale was a hundred thousand, and for Into the Sheath, it’s also a hundred thousand. I get five thousand yuan a month now too—that’s more than enough.”

Fu Qing looked at him, a little puzzled.

Xie Yan lowered his voice, speaking plainly. “I’ve saved up almost two hundred thousand. I’ve been wanting to buy a gift for you, and thought about it for a long time. I’ve never given anyone a gift before, so I don’t know what to get. So I wanted to ask you—what kind of gift would make you happy?”

He had never received gifts growing up, and had never given any either. He wasn’t familiar with these kinds of gestures, and that’s why he hadn’t been able to figure it out. Now, he was asking directly because he had no other way.

To be honest, not long ago he was still holding onto the idea of helping Fu Qing pay off that bill because it felt like the most practical gift. Zhou Yu wouldn’t dare agree, no matter how many times Xie Yan asked. After a few rejections, he gave up.

Seeing the tips of Xie Yan’s ears turning red, Fu Qing deliberately asked, “Why do you want to give me a gift? Is it to repay me for something?”

Xie Yan looked down and kicked a small rock at his feet. After a long pause, he said, “No.”

He didn’t like owing people. If someone did something for him, he would pay it back. Fu Qing was different. He didn’t owe him anything.

Xie Yan hesitated, clearly struggling with the words, but still forced himself to say it—just so Fu Qing would tell him what he wanted. “I just want to make you happy.”

It had nothing to do with repayment—that was something reserved for outsiders. As for Fu Qing, all Xie Yan wanted was for him to feel joy in the moment he received the gift.