Chapter 13: The Seventh Day (Part Two)

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The ending of the previous chapter was slightly revised—the part about the "stolen role" was changed to "the male lead’s highlight scenes were given to the second male lead."

———

The male lead’s highlight scenes given to the second male lead?

Su Shengxin asked, "Which parts exactly?"

When scheduling actors, the production company generally provides scripts for 5 to 10 episodes. But for someone of Su Shengxin’s stature, he usually receives the entire script and remembers the full storyline.

His agent flipped through the script and sent back a voice message, mentioning several segments. Su Shengxin listened quietly and realized they were indeed the highlight scenes. Since this was an original script, not based on a big IP, outside fans wouldn’t even be aware of these lost scenes.

After the changes, the brilliance diminished somewhat; some parts felt abrupt or even forced, but the overall quality remained high. The concept was innovative, the plot was dramatic, the ensemble cast vivid. However, the script shifted from being an absolute showcase for the male lead to a contest for popularity between the male lead and the second male lead. Supporters for both actors might even resort to mutual insults. In the final scene, the second male lead’s popularity could very well surpass the male lead’s, becoming the winner, since the male lead’s performance in the last phase was quite standard, and a long segment was reassigned to the second male lead.

Is he stepping on his own toes to rise...?

Su Shengxin lowered his eyes, pondered for a moment, and asked, “Why give it to the second male lead?”

“Not entirely clear,” the agent said. “They claim the screenwriter thought it would make the plot more complete, but that’s probably not the real reason. The actor playing the second male lead is the only son of a major director, a star second generation, currently breaking into the industry—you probably know that. The production company definitely wants to save face for the big director; they previously collaborated on a box office champion film that made the production company a top-tier player overnight. Now, the big director’s son is betting his acting career on this project, so naturally, the production company... More importantly, the production company and that director are deeply intertwined—the production company invested a billion yuan into the director’s studio, and the director must deliver certain performance returns, which seem to have all been met. Their cooperation is quite pleasant. Frankly, if the actor’s image didn’t really clash with the male lead’s character, he might have tried to snatch the male lead’s role! As for the film’s director... the contract was signed a long time ago, and the second male lead’s real father is a close friend of the director. The director obviously wouldn’t oppose the changes; after all, this is his last film, so he’s willing to compromise. I think the producers and director are a bit upset about the changes, because this drama really didn’t need any disputes or controversy and could have followed a classic route, but there’s no way around it.”

“Really...” The agent complained, “Why is it always one or two or three people—afraid to offend this one, afraid to offend that one—but no one dares to offend Mr. Shang?”

Su Shengxin said nothing. The agent realized she had misspoken and fell silent as well.

Su Shengxin knew that rumors were already circulating in the industry—that the two men were in a fake marriage, or at least their relationship was strained. The last time, the female guest celebrity couple seemed to believe this wholeheartedly. When he and Shang Yin won against them in the game, the female CEO was very surprised.

This rumor made sense. He had been accidentally hurt or wronged a few times; the other party was anxious, but Shang Yin showed no reaction and didn’t even beef up security—which was understandable since Shang Yin was unaware. Later, at an internal brand dinner, Su Shengxin was molested by an American, and Shang Yin again showed no reaction; months later, Shang Zhou Group even cooperated with the same party! Then six months ago, someone bold outright stole Su Shengxin’s role, yet Shang Yin still made no move, and the new drama was even slated to air on Shang Yin’s platform—of course, Shang Yin was actually unaware of the molestation and the role theft. Outsiders thought they were sweet, but insiders were already suspicious.

This time he dared to revise the script, likely relying partly on his father’s influence and partly because he saw through some of the backstage dealings.

Su Shengxin told his agent, “I’ll think about what to do. If it really doesn’t work out, then it’s just this way. Actors have to listen to the director—that’s basic professional conduct.”

The agent sighed deeply, “Such a great story, such a great role... what a pity.”

Su Shengxin didn’t respond.

No matter how the role changed, he still had to love it.

If he himself didn’t love it, who else could?

He didn’t want to say the role was bad.

He thought: Even if many highlights are lost, he still wants to explore and perform new things, to reveal the character’s uniqueness and charm even in seemingly ordinary scenes.

He had to succeed in doing so.

...

After the wedding ceremony in the morning, the guests gathered again.

While chatting, Su Shengxin and Shang Yin tightly held each other’s fingers. Su Shengxin was left-handed—he even wrote with his left hand—so his right hand was held by Shang Yin. He smiled brightly, while the other guests were left speechless.

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As others spoke, Su Shengxin even placed Shang Yin’s hand on his folded knee and gently stroked each finger, from the nail down to the base, even the knuckles, playfully.

The other guests were again left speechless.

In the afternoon, there were weddings of two other guest couples from Russia and Kenya, while Su Shengxin had work—to shoot the print ads for the lipstick set he endorsed.

To accommodate Su Shengxin, the brand’s advertising team set up a studio at the resort, and the show crew lent them a room to shoot the ads.

For such print ads, a green screen behind him was sufficient. The background would be designed later.

Several versions of the print ads were shot.

In one version, Su Shengxin wore a pristine white shirt, with the top two buttons undone. The collar bore seven or eight lipstick streaks in various colors, but his exposed Adam’s apple was clean and untouched.

The image conveyed people’s desire to defile, yet he remained untainted.

In another version, Su Shengxin lay on the ground, still in a white shirt, but this time it was utterly disheveled. The shirt had lost its shape, with shocking lipstick marks all over. His face appeared vulnerable; he reached out his left hand toward the air as if struggling. His hand and wrist were painted with various shades of color. The long-pile carpet around him was scattered with open beauty products. At the moment the camera froze, a pot of lipstick was poured onto him, and helplessness shone in his eyes.

As if he was being bullied by many.

There were other styles of photos afterward.

For example, one shot captured his profile; Su Shengxin twisted a beautiful bright red lipstick and gently kissed its side.

Another showed him tilting his neck, sliding a lipstick down past his Adam’s apple.

Yet another had him gazing into a mirror, writing the phrase “i love you” in flamboyant script with the most vivid color.

Finally, a more conventional shot: Su Shengxin wearing lip gloss; the ad director smudged it a bit to create a messy effect and photographed him.

“Good, good,” the ad director said. “All styles covered: pure, seductive, male, female—you’ve got it all, very nice.”

“Is that okay?” Su Shengxin asked. “Don’t worry about the schedule. I can accommodate you.”

“Absolutely,” the top ad director in the industry looked at Su Shengxin and said, “Trust me, sweetheart, no one wouldn’t want to... you.”

Su Shengxin was speechless.

The ad director added, “Of course, only Mr. Shang is that lucky. Oh, I can’t even imagine how happy Mr. Shang must be.”

Su Shengxin again was speechless.

A few seconds later, he said what he felt he should say: “I also feel very happy.”

The ad director interpreted that differently: “Got it, got it. Mr. Shang obviously looks very fierce.”

Su Shengxin ignored her.

The ad director asked, “Are you taking off your makeup here or going back to your room?”

Su Shengxin thought for a moment and said, “I’ll go back.”

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...

Back in his cabin, Su Shengxin entered the washroom and began wiping off the lipstick in front of the large mirror.

He had worn it for a long time; the lipstick was indeed hard to remove, especially since it was waterproof—the best in its class.

He used a cotton soft towel to clean his lips and the surrounding skin. Looking in the mirror, he saw it was indeed clean, but his lips remained quite red.

No matter. Su Shengxin thought: It will fade on its own.

The washroom door wasn’t fully closed when Shang Yin heard him return. He walked to the door, swiftly slid it open, stepped inside, and then closed it behind him.

Su Shengxin turned around, puzzled: “???”

Shang Yin looked at Su Shengxin, appearing somewhat disinterested. He turned on the faucet with one hand and asked, “The new script you took—is it changed?”

Su Shengxin was surprised for half a second, then asked, “How do you know?”

“This one is being evaluated by the platform,” Shang Yin said. “The production company contacted Shang Zhou at noon saying the script has been adjusted. The platform only watches the first 10 episodes, but within those, two of your scenes were reassigned to other characters—they happened to be the most brilliant parts of the male lead in the previous version. The person in charge at Shang Zhou checked the script outline and found your storyline was completely altered. They were sharp and informed me. I checked Zhu Yan’s emails and confirmed the final version was approved by Zhu Yan.”

Naturally, there were no cameras or microphones in the washroom.

There were cameras in the living room, but they were far away; Shang Yin had turned on the faucet, so their conversation could not be overheard.

“Ah,” Su Shengxin understood. He turned back and looked at him through the mirror. “It’s nothing.”

Shang Yin’s eyes fixed unblinkingly on him, staring at his red lips. “Nothing? Your highlight scenes were completely snatched by others, and that’s nothing?”

Su Shengxin planned to handle it himself. Quietly looking at Shang Yin’s captivating face in the mirror, he said, “Mr. Shang, please don’t ask anymore.”

Shang Yin was provoked by Su Shengxin’s distant attitude and dropped the act. He cut straight to the point, his gaze locking onto Su Shengxin’s: “Why didn’t you come to me?”

Faced with this tone of questioning, Su Shengxin almost laughed. He asked, “Why would I come to you?”

Shang Yin stared at him for seven or eight seconds, then, with his usual pressing tone, said, “I thought there was something between us. Not just the previous agreement.”

Su Shengxin thought, Are you stupid?

Precisely because I feel there’s something between us, I wouldn’t come to you.

We don’t have anything official yet, just a day or two of ambiguous feelings, and you expect me to ask for scenes and resources?

Nonsense.

Su Shengxin grabbed the cotton towel to throw it away. Seeing Shang Yin still standing there, he said disdainfully, “Move aside.”

“So,” Shang Yin said, one hand in his pocket, the other shutting the door tightly, his gaze inquisitive and demanding, “Did I misunderstand our relationship?”

Su Shengxin was utterly helpless. He looked at the cotton towel in his hand—its creases marked by bright red lipstick stains. He picked it up and, from one corner of Shang Yin’s mouth along the lower lip to the other corner, he wiped it. Shang Yin’s lips immediately blurred with a messy light red stain.