Spoiled - Chapter 1

The film set under the scorching sun was like a steamer. Several huge cameras were carried on the shoulders of the cinematographers, lenses all aimed squarely at the male and female leads in the center.

On such a hot day, they were shooting a period drama. Both wore thick, heavy costumes. Though sweltering, their faces still had to maintain an air of calm composure.

The director raised a newspaper to shield his forehead, lifted the megaphone, and shouted: “Come come come! Walk forward a few steps… right now, draw the sword!”

“Tsk!”

The male lead reacted half a beat slow. The director fanned himself with the newspaper, but it was useless—the wind was still stifling hot. He raised his hand and shouted, “Card card card! One more time!”

After speaking, he cautiously lifted his eyelids to glance at Fang Baijing waiting among the crowd and asked in a negotiating tone: “Baijing, wait a little longer, okay?”

Fang Baijing was also wearing costume. Many assistants assigned by the director surrounded him. He shook his head and said: “It’s fine.”

Hearing this, the director breathed a sigh of relief. Today he had called this little ancestor early to wait for the scene. The weather was so hot, and the male and female leads kept failing the take. He was truly afraid Fang Baijing would grow impatient waiting, turn around and whisper a word in someone’s ear, and the entire crew would collapse.

“Baijing.” Fang Baijing’s assistant Ji Weile carried a basin of ice blocks from the set workers and placed it at Fang Baijing’s feet, asking, “Any better?”

“It’s okay.”

Because of the heat, Fang Baijing’s tone unconsciously revealed some irritation, but he had no habit of losing his temper over work matters and only sulked alone while blowing a small electric fan.

The costume was too thick. Fang Baijing impatiently tugged at his collar; a flash of blindingly white skin showed.

But Fang Baijing suddenly realized something and hurriedly pulled the clothes up in a fluster. The red marks beneath his collarbone had no time to be exposed before he covered them in time.

Psychopath! Fang Baijing could not help cursing Fu Feng once more in his heart.

This time he was playing a young master born frail and sickly; the clothes on his body had to be several layers thicker than everyone else’s.

Fang Baijing felt embarrassed to let the girl beside him keep fanning, so he reached out and took the fan from her hand, saying gloomily: “I’ll do it myself.”

He felt somewhat suffocated, brows slightly furrowed from annoyance.

The girl stared blankly for a moment, then blushing placed the fan into Fang Baijing’s hand. She could not resist secretly glancing at Fang Baijing again.

Fang Baijing’s furrowed brow did not make people feel he was angry and should be avoided; it only looked like he was throwing a small tantrum.

Because of filming, Fang Baijing had makeup on his face.

His own skin was already excellent; foundation was only a very thin layer with almost no makeup feel. To better fit the role, the makeup artist covered his originally deep red lip color and simply refined the brows.

Against the brick-red background of the film city, at first glance Fang Baijing looked like a noble young master who had walked out of a novel, delicately beautiful and precious.

Fang Baijing sensed her gaze and smiled at her, curving his eyes. The girl’s face turned even redder.

He had not finished smiling when his shoulder was warningly nudged by Ji Weile.

Fang Baijing nonchalantly rolled his eyes and scolded in exasperation: “How can you have so little guts! What are you afraid of!”

Although Fu Feng, that psychopath, definitely had planted eyes in the crew, Fang Baijing felt that just a smile surely would not need to be reported to Fu Feng.

After waiting a long time, the sun’s light and shadow shifted somewhat; the shady spot where Fang Baijing had been waiting suddenly became scorching.

He was sitting on the prop wheelchair for the role. The only thing Fang Baijing liked about this character was this chair. He did not know what wood it was made of; the effect was similar to an ordinary wheelchair and could be controlled to move forward or backward by himself.

Fang Baijing turned the chair and moved forward a bit, hiding back in the shade.

He found excuses to dismiss all the assistants the director had assigned him, leaving only Ji Weile by his side.

Ji Weile had followed him since debut. Fang Baijing had a personality that bullied the weak and feared the strong; he ordered him around without any courtesy.

He lazily sat in the wheelchair and urged Ji Weile: “Hurry and bring that ice back; I’m about to get heatstroke!”

Ji Weile dutifully carried back the considerably melted ice blocks and also fetched a bottle of iced water for Fang Baijing.

The back of his shirt was soaked through. He helplessly sighed: “Ancestor, on such a hot day, why did you have to take this script?”

Fang Baijing drank a mouthful of heart-chilling iced water, tugged at his wig, and said righteously: “Because this script’s male second has many intimate scenes with the female lead ah!”

He squeezed the bottle again, indignantly: “But Fu Feng had someone change this script for me.”

Fang Baijing heavily knocked the water bottle on the wheelchair and cursed openly: “The more he won’t let me film intimate scenes, the more I want to film them!”

Ji Weile’s headache worsened. He snatched the water bottle from Fang Baijing’s hand and advised: “Must you be so stubborn; isn’t it you who suffers in the end?”

“What else!” Fang Baijing’s eyes widened. When anxious he easily spoke without choosing words: “Otherwise I still have to obediently let him… let him…”

His face gradually turned red; the last word could not come out no matter what.

Fang Baijing could only forcefully shake his head, tone somewhat aggrieved: “Anyway, if he makes me unhappy, I will make him unhappy.”

Staying by Fu Feng’s side was not what Fang Baijing wanted.

Fu Feng’s desire for control was too strong; he could turn into a lunatic having an episode at any moment. From the time Fang Baijing was marked into Fu Feng’s territory, Fu Feng no longer allowed him to take scripts with intimate scenes.

Fang Baijing’s status was not enough to act in those big productions without romance lines, and he also did not want Fu Feng throwing money at him.

Back and forth, he instead became a professional male second, male third, even male nth.

And the script he was filming now was one he had strongly demanded to take.

Fang Baijing still remembered that day; he slammed the script on Fu Feng’s office desk, glared furiously at Fu Feng, and said aggressively: “I want to act this male second.”

Fu Feng looked at him for a very long time then, as if suddenly laughing once.

Fang Baijing felt his attitude then had already been very tough, his expression already very fierce.

But Fu Feng pulled him into his arms. Fang Baijing was caught off guard and accidentally sat on Fu Feng’s lap, almost kissed half to death, and after kissing still humiliatingly had his head rubbed.

Fang Baijing was so angry he swung a fist on the spot; the fist had not landed when Fu Feng caught it.

Fu Feng lowered his brows, casually flipped through the script, and agreed: “Go film it.”

On the first day joining the crew, Fang Baijing saw the script already changed beyond recognition. He was angry enough to tear the script to pieces on the spot.

That night when he returned, he also did not give Fu Feng a good face.

Fu Feng knew what he was angering him. He liked to hold Fang Baijing in his arms when idle, but Fang Baijing that night refused to let him hold.

Although in the end on the bed Fang Baijing still cried begging to hug his shoulder, Fu Feng was still very dissatisfied.

He pinched Fang Baijing’s chin to lift it, asking in a low voice: “Just these intimate scenes, not even a kiss, only hand-holding and hugging, cutting them doesn’t affect the scenes or plot, what are you angry about?”

Fang Baijing’s eyes red, cursed: “You get lost!”

Thinking of this, Fang Baijing grabbed his collar in extreme dissatisfaction. His face flushed somewhat red from anger, angrily cursing: “Psychopath!”

He cursed halfway when Ji Weile stopped him: “Baijing.”

Ji Weile signaled with his eyes, indicating him to look to the right rear. There parked a Maybach, windows covered with one-way film; from outside nothing inside could be seen at all.

It was Fu Feng’s car.

Fang Baijing coldly snorted, pretending not to see.

The film city did not allow cars to drive in, but some people always had privileges; Fu Feng was one.

The crew happened to be in the capital; Fu Feng always came to pick him up.

Fang Baijing gnashed his teeth thinking Fu Feng doing this was only declaring sovereignty, making him lose face.

People in the crew who recognized this car did not dare speak, only dared to sneak glances; no one dared take it outside to say.

Fu Feng and Fang Baijing being together was not a matter not secret in the circle, but those who knew were not many; even if they knew no one dared leak to any media, after all no one wanted to touch Fu Feng’s reverse scale.

Fang Baijing was from an artistic family; the family was not short of money. Those who did not recognize Fu Feng’s car all thought it was Fang Baijing’s family coming to pick him up.

“Mr. Fu.” Driver Wang looked back at Fu Feng and asked, “Outside so hot, should we have Mr. Fang come over?”

Inside the car and outside the scorching heat were not the same season. Fu Feng sat in the back seat, long legs crossed together.

Even in summer, he still wore a neat three-piece suit.

Fu Feng was very young, looking not much older than Fang Baijing, but cold sharp brows and eyes looked much more mature than Fang Baijing.

He was very handsome, a cool and noble handsome.

Fu Feng was lowering his head looking at the documents in hand. Hearing this, he lifted his chin to glance out the window, just meeting Fang Baijing pretending to glare fiercely at him.

Actually it was harmless, even less painful than a kitten scratching with claws.

“Let him be.” Fu Feng calmly turned a page, “He’s throwing a tantrum at me.”

Though he said so, Fu Feng still placed the documents aside, gaze focused staring at Fang Baijing in the corner.

Under the blazing sun, Fang Baijing was white to the point of dazzling, cheeks with a layer of red; his skin tender, estimated sunburned.

Fu Feng frowned and said: “Delicate.”

Tonight again had to help Fang Baijing apply ointment; clearly for Fang Baijing’s good, he still had to get angry because face hurt.

Fu Feng’s eye pupils carried some natural gray; usually not obvious, only when sunlight shone would it show.

Driver Wang did not dare answer, did not dare raise head to look at the film set activity, only lowered head looking at steering wheel.

When Fang Baijing waited almost fuming, the male and female leads who had been carded countless times finally passed this segment.

Mainly the male lead had problems; a new actor called Zhuang Chengyan, usually no big issues, did not know today how, like possessed by evil.

Either emotion wrong, or action slow half beat, even appeared forgetting lines such low-level mistake.

Fang Baijing independently turned his wheelchair over. The female lead was a very popular little flower in recent years.

He always had good feelings toward pretty girls, brows and eyes curved, mouth very sweet called: “Chen Yun sis.”

Chen Yun was touching up makeup. She and Fang Baijing these days mixed quite familiar. Seeing Zhuang Chengyan walk away, could not help complaining: “And this is supposed to be classically trained; pull anyone off the street, this scene would have passed.”

But good thing, Chen Yun next scene was fainting, then exactly encountered by passing Fang Baijing.

The director raised megaphone again, with voice already starting to smoke shouted: “Come come come, everyone prepare!”

Chen Yun skillfully lay down under the tree covered with leaves; her camera sense very strong, immediately found her best-looking angle, posed a posture evoking pity.

The actor playing Fang Baijing’s servant pushed him forward, stopped beside Chen Yun.

In the original script, Fang Baijing needed to personally try waking Chen Yun, but Fu Feng had someone change the plot, changed to Fang Baijing having the servant directly carry Chen Yun away.

The actor behind Fang Baijing had not had time to move when he saw Fang Baijing not following routine bend down, slender fingers gently held Chen Yun’s hand.

He entered the play; frail brows and eyes all wrote concern. The sickly young master lightly coughed several times, effortfully called: “Miss?”

Fang Baijing knew Fu Feng was watching.

He smugly thought in heart—humph, he just wanted Fu Feng to see, wanted Fu Feng unhappy.

The director shouted “Card!”, Fang Baijing changed the script, but acting like this also worked, counted as one take pass.

Surroundings became noisy, to change camera positions. Fang Baijing used palm-leaf fan to fan himself wind, smoothly turned head glanced at that Maybach.

The car window did not know when lowered half; Fu Feng sat inside car, separated by so far, Fang Baijing could not see clear Fu Feng’s expression and eyes, only knew he should be staring at him.

Fang Baijing fanning hand paused, blankly stared at Fu Feng. He instinctively somewhat feared Fu Feng. Could not resist, Fang Baijing moved back several steps, standing a bit farther from Chen Yun.