The Academic God Becomes an Internet Sensation After Joining a Dating Show - C56 - Filming

Qing Lin shifted nervously closer to Shen Xuzhi as he observed the middle-aged man who had suddenly appeared.

Leaning in, Shen Xuzhi whispered quietly, “This is our director.”

“My apologies, my apologies. I’m Guo She, the director of ‘Chai Lian.’ And you are…?” Guo She looked at Qing Lin expectantly.

“Hello, Director Guo. My name is Qing Lin,” he replied politely.

“Qing Lin, hmm, yes, yes, yes. What a lovely name,” Guo She said, nodding repeatedly.

Standing nearby, Shen Xuzhi added, “Qing Lin and I appeared on the same reality show. He came to visit the set today.”

“No wonder! I thought you looked familiar. You two were on that dating show together, right? Your boyfriend?” Guo She turned to Shen Xuzhi with a teasing smile.

“…!” Qing Lin froze, a tightening sensation running across his scalp. It was the first time anyone outside the show had referred to them so bluntly.

Shen Xuzhi, however, only smiled without denying it, leaving Qing Lin no choice but to blush and stay silent.

“Hahaha, just kidding!” Director Guo laughed heartily.

Shen Xuzhi shifted the topic. “Director Guo, did you need to discuss something?”

“Oh right, Xuzhi. We have one more scene to shoot, but your scene partner left early. Ugh… if we don’t film it today, it’ll just get postponed.” Guo She rubbed his temples in frustration.

Then he turned to Qing Lin, resting his chin on his hand. “Perhaps… would you be willing to give it a try?”

Qing Lin looked around, unsure, and hesitated for a moment before pointing at himself. “Me?”

Guo She nodded. “Yes, yes.”

The assistant director beside him leaned in, whispering urgently, “Director Guo! President Qin’s people…”

Guo She ignored him, continuing to explain to Qing Lin. “The character you’d be playing is named Xubai. He’s mute and works in the same factory as Yang Chengmao. Because he can’t speak, he’s constantly bullied.”

He gave a brief outline of the role.

From Guo She’s perspective, there was no reason for Qing Lin to refuse. After all, he was a renowned director with an almost flawless record for producing quality films. This adaptation of Chai Lian had immense IP appeal, and countless actors would have given anything to join the cast.

Most talents he discovered shot straight to fame. It was a rare opportunity, one Qing Lin should seize immediately.

But to Guo She’s surprise, Qing Lin declined without hesitation. “Sorry, Director Guo. I won’t be auditioning.”

Guo She blinked. “?”

“I’m not an actor. I can’t perform. I won’t waste everyone’s time,” Qing Lin said calmly.

Guo She’s words caught in his throat, while the assistant director let out a quiet sigh of relief.

But Qing Lin’s refusal only seemed to fuel Guo She’s determination. “Don’t worry. Even if you just run through the scenes with Xuzhi, the original actors will return for the real shoot. We’re stuck halfway through production because we’re short-handed. Just think of it as helping us get back on track.”

Truth be told, Qing Lin’s interest was piqued.

He had long heard of Guo She’s reputation. Back in his school days, he had studied the director’s films, their aesthetics, the layered symbolism, the meticulous precision, and understood just how formidable a figure Guo She was in the industry.

And now, nearly the entire crew had turned to watch. The chief director himself had extended him a graceful way out. If he agreed, it would not only preserve Guo She’s dignity but also ease the tension in the production.

Qing Lin lingered in silence for a moment, weighing it all, before finally parting his lips.
“Should I give it a try?”

“Excellent! Wonderful!” Guo She exclaimed, clapping his hands together. Without missing a beat, he called out, “Makeup and styling team. Quickly, over here!”

In an instant, staff bustled into motion. Qing Lin was ushered away, seated before the makeup artist, and surrounded by the quiet flurry of brushes, powders, and fabrics.

Nearly half an hour later, costume fitted and makeup complete, he was pushed onto the set.

The moment Guo She caught sight of him, he rose swiftly from his chair.

Perfect.

It was as if Xu Bai himself had stepped out of the novel’s pages and stood before them in the flesh.

The youth’s face was sharply defined, his expression calm and unreadable. A faint sweep of red eyeshadow traced the outer corners of his eyes. The loose mechanic’s uniform hung from his frame, long lashes casting delicate shadows that lent him an air of cold, melancholic fragility.

For the role, his hair had been sprayed gray with temporary dye, adding to the sense of faded weariness that clung to him.

This was precisely what had drawn Guo She to Qing Lin’s face. It wasn’t simply handsome; it carried the essence of the character.

Shen Xuzhi’s gaze remained fixed on him. In his memories, Qing Lin had always been the boy with short, jet-black hair. Never had he imagined that silver-gray would suit him.

Yet now, it suited him too well, so perfectly that it felt as though one careless touch might cause him to shatter.

Guo She moved on to explain the scene.

The scene took place in a factory. Yang Chengmao, having stolen the boss’s money, was preparing to flee when Xu Bai spotted him. Yang Chengmao grabbed Xu Bai by the collar, warning him to stay silent and act as though he had seen nothing, then shoved him aside and ran.

“Take a look at the script first. Since Xu Bai is mute and has no lines, you just need to understand the story and go through the scene smoothly,” Director Guo said.

Qing Lin lowered his gaze to the pages. The script wasn’t long; in fact, the story was rather straightforward.

“What do you think? Ready to try a run-through?” Guo She asked.

The set buzzed with activity, and before long, a small crowd had gathered to watch.

Qing Lin was completely unaccustomed to this environment. He felt as if everyone’s eyes were on him, and with so many cameras pointed his way, he couldn’t help feeling uneasy.

Across from him, Shen Xuzhi stretched his shoulders, stealing a glance at Qing Lin.

He, too, wasn’t entirely at ease. The thought of having to grab the person he liked, yell at him harshly, push him down, and bully him made him feel uneasy.

But professionalism demanded otherwise. If he wanted Qing Lin to see him as a serious actor, he had no choice but to push those feelings aside. Drawing in a steady breath, Shen Xuzhi let Yang Chengmao’s rough, desperate aura seep into him until it drowned out everything else.

After going through the scene about three times, they finally began filming.

Yang Chengmao burst into the machine room, footsteps echoing against the metal walls.

The factory had been plagued by thefts lately, yet the culprit had always managed to slip away unseen.

That evening, as the sun dipped toward the horizon and shadows stretched long across the floor, Yang Chengmao crept into the boss’s office. His fingers trembled only slightly as he punched in the code—Sanliuzi. The safe clicked open. Within seconds, he was stuffing bundles of cash into his hands.

The sight of those neat stacks of red bills made Yang Chengmao’s hands shake uncontrollably. Greed surged through him, and he shoved the money into his pockets with frantic urgency. The safe door clanged shut, echoing in the stillness of the office.

He turned to leave, only to stop dead in his tracks.

Xu Bai was standing in the doorway.

Yang Chengmao had long heard the rumors about a mute worker at the factory. Unable to speak, he was an easy target for cursing or beatings.

And now, that very mute stood silently, expressionless, his eyes locked on Yang Chengmao.

“Fucking hell…” Yang Chengmao muttered under his breath.

Xu Bai remained motionless—of course he could not speak. His gaze drifted casually, lingering on the edge of the cash peeking from Yang Chengmao’s pocket.

A shiver ran down Yang Chengmao’s spine. He lunged forward, grabbed Xu Bai by the collar, and slammed him against the wall. His face twisted with fury.

The words to threaten him rose instinctively, but then he froze. What was the point? Xu Bai couldn’t speak.

Yang Chengmao breathed a sigh of relief, a crooked sneer curling his lips. “Right. You’re just a mute. Can’t talk anyway.”

Yet Xu Bai’s expression never wavered.

His eyes, hollow yet steady, met Yang Chengmao’s without flinching. No fear, no submission, only a quiet boldness that unsettled more than resistance ever could. In the depth of that silence, there was even a flicker of pity.

He didn’t struggle, nor did he even glance away from Yang Chengmao’s eyes.

Yang Chengmao suddenly panicked.

Thoughts crowded his mind, dense and chaotic, pressing against every corner of his chest, clawing at him, making him want to escape.

He shoved Xu Bai violently, sending him crashing to the floor. “If you fucking dare make another move, believe me, I’ll gouge your eyes out!” His voice was frantic, vicious, trembling with anger.

At that moment, Xu Bai’s eyes never left Yang Chengmao. He held the gaze until the man finally stepped back from the light.

The set was silent.

Time seemed to freeze as everyone stared in shock. Only when Shen Xuzhi stepped forward did Director Guo finally shout, “Cut!”

Shen Xuzhi ran over and helped Qing Lin up from the ground, asking if he was hurt. Qing Lin shook his head and said he was fine.

But… isn’t it a little too quiet at the moment?

Qing Lin swallowed hard.

Director Guo stepped forward and asked Qing Lin, “Why did you act that way just now?”

“Ah…” Qing Lin pursed his lips. “I’ve read the original novel of Chai Lian. Teacher Liu Jingwu designed the character Xubai to complement Yang Chengmao. Though Xu Bai is mute, he is fundamentally a character with a calm, unshakable presence. His inability to speak does not mean he is weak.”

“Xu Bai may be cornered and threatened, but the one truly terrified in this scene is Yang Chengmao. Xu Bai is only the trigger. The writer didn’t give the mute character any physical gestures to express emotion. At this point in the plot, this scene’s purpose is to warn Yang Chengmao: even a mute pities you now. It marks the beginning of the subtle shift in his psyche, laying the groundwork for his eventual transformation under Chai Lian’s influence. My task is to make sure Yang Chengmao’s fear is fully conveyed and right now, what terrifies him most is the gaze of the mute witnessing it all.”

Qing Lin fell silent, letting his words settle.

Applause broke out around him.

Qing Lin looked at the person standing nearby, seeing the smile on his face, and finally realized that he hadn’t messed up.

“What an impressive analysis.”

“I’ve been following that romance reality show. I even caught the live stream from Hangzhou Planetarium recently. Qing Lin is a true academic prodigy—a top scorer in the provincial college exam and admitted to Tsinghua for graduate studies.”

“Wow, that’s incredible! No wonder he’s so smart. His interpretation of the character is so profound.”

“When will the entertainment industry ever get its act together? It’s exhausting working with actors who only understand their roles superficially and still ask to change the scenes.”

“Shh! Keep it down…”

Whispers rippled throughout the set.

Director Guo was genuinely moved.

If he had said back then that Qing Lin’s face resembled Xu Bai’s, he could now say it without hesitation: Qing Lin was Xu Bai.

Although his acting was still a bit raw, the emotions he conveyed were precisely what Director Guo had been hoping for.

Director Guo clapped his hands. “Absolutely amazing, really impressive!”

Qing Lin exhaled. “I’m so relieved I didn’t cause any trouble.”

“Are you really not considering acting?” Director Guo asked. “Your face is perfect for the big screen, and you’re very smart. You interpret your characters so well.”

Qing Lin only smiled faintly and shook his head. “I’m sorry, Director Guo. Truly. But I don’t have any plans to pursue that path.”

A trace of regret tugged at Guo She, though it was tempered by quiet admiration for the youth’s resolve. “Very well,” he said at last. “If you ever develop an interest in acting, don’t hesitate to reach out.”

The scene was wrapped for the day, though the original actor would still need to return for another take later.

Qing Lin and Shen Xuzhi removed their makeup, changed out of costume, and made their way to the production van side by side.

By then, the filming delay had pushed into evening. Only after settling into his seat did Qing Lin suddenly remember. “Ah—the cake!”

Wang Zhan quickly retrieved the ice cream cake and handed it over. Then, noticing how cramped the van had become, he excused himself with a grin and wandered off to amuse himself elsewhere.

“This is the gift I brought for Mr. Shen during my visit—an ice cream cake.” Qing Lin handed it over, muttering, “It should still be edible, right…”

Shen Xuzhi almost blurted, “Even if it’s not, I’ll eat it anyway,” but instead he said, “Let me try a bite.”

He scooped a spoonful of cake, placed it in his mouth, and looked at Qing Lin with bright, shining eyes. “Delicious.”

Qing Lin glanced at the spoon in Shen Xuzhi’s hand. “Is it really okay to eat?”

“It is.” Shen Xuzhi scooped another bite and held it up to his lips with an easy smile. “Want to try?”

Qing Lin leaned forward instinctively, ready to accept—but at the last second, hesitation caught him.

Was this… an indirect kiss?

Noticing Qing Lin’s hesitation, Shen Xuzhi quickly grabbed a fresh spoon, scooped another piece, and offered it. “Sorry…”

A quiet awkwardness slipped between them. Qing Lin, flustered, blurted out, “It’s fine… I don’t mind.”

For a heartbeat, neither spoke. They sat shoulder to shoulder, each focused on their own small spoonful of cake.

Qing Lin lowered his gaze, remembering the unguarded smile Shen Xuzhi had just shown him. It had been so foolishly bright that it almost seemed the cake must truly be extraordinary.

But Shen Xuzhi seemed absorbed in other matters. Once he finished his part, he pulled out his phone to attend to some business.

Qing Lin, meanwhile, chewed slowly, sneaking glances at him in the dim van. The headlights spilled across Shen Xuzhi’s face, catching the high bridge of his nose, the sharp edge of his jaw.

His fingers moved swiftly across WeChat, eyes darting to documents between replies, his focus unbroken.

And then, in the middle of typing a reply, Shen Xuzhi felt a gentle tug at his wrist. Startled, he turned his head, only to find Qing Lin beside him, calm and watching.

Qing Lin felt a little… strange.

He couldn’t quite understand what this feeling was, but seeing Shen Xuzhi reply to messages gave him a small knot of unease in his chest.

He unconsciously blinked his quiet, serene eyes, holding the gaze of the person beside him for a moment before quickly lowering them.

His lips pressed together, corners slightly downturned. Shen Xuzhi noticed his ears turning pink, standing out vividly against the fair skin around them.

“Mr. Shen,” Qing Lin said at last, his voice catching. “It seems… you forgot to reply to my message.”