Provoking Fire [Entertainment Circle] - Chapter 27

The rules of Heartbeat Acceleration stipulated that couples who successfully held hands before the show’s official broadcast and conclusion would receive a grand prize. This trial period was designed to maintain audience engagement and generate buzz.

In previous seasons, several couples had genuinely held hands, and some had even gotten married. The production team covered all honeymoon expenses, a lavish gesture that underscored the show’s commitment to rewarding genuine connections.

Although neither Chu Xiyue nor Su Yan had publicly declared themselves straight on the show, fans remained skeptical about their chances of becoming a couple. After all, shipping CPs was primarily about enjoying the fantasy.

When An Tong’s scandal first broke, anti-fans mocked Chu Xiyue as a “curse of the crew.” Yet, shortly after, the official announcement of Su Yan joining the cast left them red-faced. Since then, fans of the Morning Dew, Evening Bloom CP had been spreading the news like wildfire, celebrating as if it were New Year’s Day. They couldn’t wait to proclaim their CP’s rapid reunion to the world. Even An Tong’s old scandals seemed less compelling in the face of this new wave of excitement.

Amidst this fervent excitement, the official day for joining the production team arrived swiftly.

As the script was for an ancient fantasy drama, the filming location was set in a film city. Apart from a brief period of on-location shooting in a mountain village, there would be no need to leave the premises.

However, it was nearly impossible for a top-tier celebrity to focus solely on filming without distractions. Chu Xiyue had an interview scheduled for the day after tomorrow and a magazine photoshoot next week. Although both were in nearby cities and required only same-day trips, the constant back-and-forth meant her schedule was packed to the brim.

In contrast, Su Yan’s schedule was much simpler. Chu Xiyue had previously looked it up and found she only had a jewelry endorsement and a fashion endorsement, requiring occasional event appearances. She rarely accepted interviews or other engagements.

While celebrities in the industry resented and feared gossip mongering by entertainment outlets, it was undeniable that staying in the public eye was always preferable to being forgotten. Su Yan, however, had always maintained a disdainful attitude toward these sensationalist reporters, accepting interviews only a handful of times.

She also rarely appeared on variety shows.

In short, she was the kind of actress the director felt relatively at ease with.

Having learned from An Tong’s disastrous example, the director drank a couple of glasses at the post-launch dinner and began earnestly advising the actresses to maintain strict self-discipline during the filming period. He emphasized that even after the series aired, their private lives and public perception would significantly impact box office performance.

While actors with genuine talent might not face major issues from dating, the director subtly suggested that those in stable relationships should maintain their stability and avoid provoking their partners. He also cautioned those currently single against impulsive, dramatic romances that could end in heartbreak. In today’s hyper-connected world, scandals spread like wildfire, leaving no time to even cry before they’re exposed.

“Of course,” he added, “besides private matters, please avoid stirring up trouble or causing any negative publicity for the production. Just let me get through this period peacefully. I’ll be eternally grateful.”

Chu Xiyue, feeling inexplicably singled out, coughed awkwardly.

The director didn’t dwell on the topic. He dismissed them to rest well for the night, preparing for their first scenes the next day.

This was Chu Xiyue’s first time acting alongside someone of Su Yan’s caliber, and the experience was vastly different from filming variety shows. It was impossible to completely suppress her nerves. Back in her room, she reviewed the next day’s scenes countless times, rehearsing the lines until they were practically ingrained in her dreams.

Unfortunately, the weather turned against them the following morning. Dark clouds gathered early, and rain began to fall in torrents. The autumn rain arrived swiftly and violently, drumming down in relentless sheets. Though less intense than the mountain downpour they’d encountered on the island, the overcast skies made filming the script’s sunny scenes impossible, forcing a last-minute change of plans.

After meeting, Gu Feishuang and Yan Qiuxi decided to travel together, each harboring their own hidden motives. Though they weren’t truly familiar with each other, they were quick to devise schemes and remained constantly wary of one another. Gu Feishuang distrusted Yan Qiuxi, and Yan Qiuxi, a self-taught demon hunter, had no fondness for righteous sects that preached benevolence and morality.

Yan Qiuxi had claimed to be a solitary traveler with no attachments, but on the very night they were preparing to leave, a massive fire erupted in the Capital. In the chaos, Gu Feishuang risked exposing her identity by climbing the city walls and beating the drums to evacuate the crowds. When she returned, Yan Qiuxi was nowhere to be found, vanished without a trace from their agreed-upon meeting place.

Doubt immediately arose in Gu Feishuang’s heart. The traces of a malevolent demon had been discovered amidst the great fire, and the weight of the evidence led her to suspect Yan Qiuxi’s involvement. After searching the Capital, she finally found Yan Qiuxi in a dilapidated alley.

By then, rain had begun to fall, extinguishing the flames but failing to quell the terror that had taken root in the hearts of the people.

The Gu Family’s senses were exceptionally keen.

As a demon-hunting lineage blessed with spiritual bl00d, their perception of the world was extraordinary. Amidst the Capital’s chaotic miasma, Gu Feishuang detected not only demonic energy but also a faint, lingering scent of charred flames dissipating in the air. Rushing to the source, she found Yan Qiuxi kneeling amidst a pile of ashes, cradling a mangled corpse and weeping silently.

At that time, Gu Feishuang had known Yan Qiuxi for only a few days. She recalled the woman’s vibrant, spirited demeanor from their first meeting beneath the setting sun, her radiant face seemed bathed in flowing honey, dazzlingly brilliant.

Yan Qiuxi was flamboyant and unrestrained, like a wild wind, full of reckless abandon and untamed ferocity. She seemed detached from the world, observing life and death as if they were mere spectacles, utterly disconnected from all things, a stark contrast to Gu Feishuang’s unwavering principles.

She had always believed that someone like Chu Xiyue couldn’t possibly feel genuine emotion for anything. Yet in this moment, Chu Xiyue was weeping uncontrollably, her face contorted in anguish, as if her very soul had been shattered. Each word she uttered was choked with sobs.

Chu Xiyue stumbled twice, and the Director remained unsatisfied. He knew that once an actor had fully immersed themselves in a scene, it was difficult to abruptly pull them out and expect them to immediately return to that emotional state. Understanding this, he didn’t press her to continue filming immediately. Instead, he signaled for a warm towel to be brought over so she could soothe her eyes, then gestured for her to rest aside.

It was clear he wasn’t pleased with her performance.

As the saying goes, “The layman sees the spectacle, while the expert sees the craft.” While waiting on the sidelines, Su Yan observed that Chu Xiyue’s acting was decent enough. She did manage to immerse herself in the role, abandoning any concern for her appearance as she wept, her features contorted in grief.

However, her performance sometimes felt formulaic. She shed tears when required, but they seemed forced, as if she were simply following a script rather than truly embodying the character and experiencing their joy, anger, sorrow, and joy.

Chu Xiyue was called aside by the crew’s acting coach, while the makeup artist diligently touched up her makeup. The coach began giving her notes on the scene:

“At the time, Yan Qiuxi didn’t trust Gu Feishuang. She thought Gu Feishuang was a fool. Her entire family had been exiled by the emperor, yet instead of seeking revenge, she only wanted to clear their name and restore their family’s honor. Yan Qiuxi dared not reveal her weaknesses before the Gu Family, such a prestigious and righteous clan.”

“Yan Qiuxi’s weakness was the grandmother who raised her. She believed her grandmother would be safe in the Capital, never imagining such a sudden calamity. Her first reaction would undoubtedly be disbelief at the loss of her only family member. When Gu Feishuang approached her later, Yan Qiuxi might even lash out in anger, venting her grief over her grandmother’s death on Gu Feishuang, even knowing it was wrong. She would resort to irrational behavior to numb the pain.”

Yes, numb the pain. Yan Qiuxi couldn’t accept the reality of her grandmother’s death. Gu Feishuang, the great demon, the fires in the Capital—all were meaningless to her. If the Yan Qiuxi before had been a sharp blade concealed in its sheath, hiding its deadly edge, at this moment, her butcher’s knife might even turn against countless innocent lives.

The difference between falling into depravity and remaining virtuous lies in a single thought.

Chu Xiyue listened intently, not just going through the motions. She even discussed the concept with her teacher, seemingly gaining some insight, and jotted down notes in her script. After applying a warm compress to her eyes and reapplying her makeup, the clapperboard snapped, and filming for In Character resumed.

Su Yan put down her phone.

Gu Feishuang stepped forward into the frame, appearing to stumble over a piece of firewood on the ground. The lingering heat burned her foot, but she didn’t even flinch. She walked up to Yan Qiuxi, who was cradling a charred corpse so blackened its features were unrecognizable, and knelt down before her, muttering to herself.

Yan Qiuxi’s eyes were vacant until she heard Gu Feishuang’s voice. Slowly, her gaze focused, and she turned her tear-streaked face. Recognizing Gu Feishuang through her blurry vision, she shoved her violently. Gu Feishuang staggered back as Yan Qiuxi snarled:

“It’s all your fault! You insisted on dragging me to Huarong Street that day! My grandmother was injured because of you!”

The charred figure in Yan Qiuxi’s arms must have been severely burned, so much so that it was impossible to tell if it was a woman. Yet Yan Qiuxi insisted she was merely injured, refusing to acknowledge her death. This made it clear how deeply she cared for the person. Gu Feishuang had never seen her so distraught before. Even when pushed, she didn’t react with anger, her calm eyes fixed on Yan Qiuxi.

Under Gu Feishuang’s gaze, as deep and cold as an icy pool, Yan Qiuxi gradually calmed down after her initial outburst. Having released her pent-up emotions, she was finally ready to listen. Gu Feishuang said:

“The Fei Demon set this fire. Smell the faint demonic energy in the soil. The fires in the Capital may appear to be arson, but they’ve likely been targeting us, framing us for their crimes.”

“Is that true?” Yan Qiuxi’s bloodshot eyes bored into Gu Feishuang’s face as if trying to pierce through her. Her mind churned with conflicting thoughts, but when Gu Feishuang extended her palm, Yan Qiuxi leaned in to sniff. Seizing the opportunity, Gu Feishuang retrieved a red cord from her sleeve and showed it to Yan Qiuxi. Under her questioning gaze, she explained slowly:

“This is a Spirit-Praying Cord. Tie it to yourself and the deceased. Wherever you go, it will offer comfort and blessings to their soul from afar.”

The rain grew heavier. Su Yan opened her umbrella and subtly shifted it slightly toward Chu Xiyue, delivering her final line.