Gu Chengyu stood up, smoothing the slightly wrinkled hem of his shirt before gesturing for Lin Shu to follow him. The two walked out of the lounge one after the other.
Under the shade of the canopy, filming continued.
This scene was Lin Shu’s solo monologue in the courtyard.
Gu Chengyu strode straight to the director’s monitor, pulled over a chair, and sat down casually.
The director and producer immediately rose to greet him, but he waved them off with a dismissive hand.
"Mr. Gu, what do you think—?" Director Li asked nervously, unsure what the man intended.
"Carry on. I’m just here to watch," Gu Chengyu replied flatly, his gaze fixed on Lin Shu, who stood under the scorching sun in the courtyard.
When Lin Shu noticed Gu Chengyu sitting there, intently watching her performance, her heart first leapt with joy—then immediately tightened with tension. She resolved to give her best.
Taking a deep breath, she focused on getting into character.
The monologue scene wrapped.
"Cut!" The director barely finished speaking when—
"The emotions are lacking."
Gu Chengyu’s low voice sounded right beside Director Li’s ear, calm but leaving no room for argument. "Again."
The director hesitated, glancing between the playback on the monitor and Gu Chengyu’s impassive profile. Though uncertain, he complied. "Alright! Ms. Lin, let’s go again! More emotion this time! Pay attention to the layers in your expression!"
Lin Shu adjusted under the blazing sun and started over.
"Cut!" This time, it was the director himself. "Ms. Lin, your positioning is off. Once more!"
"Cut! The pacing of your lines—again!"
"Cut! Your expression is too stiff. Loosen up!"
...
One take, two takes, three takes… Dozens in total.
The midsummer sun was merciless. Lin Shu, clad in heavy period costume, felt her makeup melting under the sweat, her carefully styled hair now clinging to her forehead and neck.
Her skin burned, her throat was parched, and her energy was rapidly draining.
Each "Cut!" made her nerves stretch tighter.
She stole a glance toward Gu Chengyu by the monitor.
His long legs were crossed, fingers occasionally tapping the armrest as he watched the screen with unwavering focus, his face betraying nothing.
This only deepened her frustration and anxiety.
She wasn’t performing well enough. She was embarrassing herself in front of him.
And the director—showing no leniency, as if deliberately making her suffer.
Gritting her teeth, she pushed through the exhaustion and heat, repeating the scene again and again, resentment simmering inside—yet she dared not complain in Gu Chengyu’s presence.
Director Li was sweating too.
With the young master of the Gu family sitting there, the pressure was suffocating.
A few takes had seemed passable to him, but one glance or a subtle tap of Gu Chengyu’s finger forced him to call for yet another retake.
Time slipped by, and soon it was nearly six in the evening.
The sun dipped westward, but the heat lingered.
Lin Shu felt on the verge of collapse, her vision blurring.
"Cut!" The director barely dared to look at Gu Chengyu after this one.
Gu Chengyu rose slowly.
His tall figure cast a long shadow in the sunset.
He reached out, giving Director Li’s shoulder a light pat—casual, yet the weight behind it made the man sag slightly.
"Director Li," Gu Chengyu said, his tone measured but laced with implication, "the lead actor’s performance is the soul of the production."
"Ms. Lin… shows potential. But she needs refinement."
He emphasized the word "refinement," his cold gaze sweeping over Lin Shu, who was being helped by an assistant as she clumsily touched up her ruined makeup.
"As the director, the responsibility falls on you. Be strict when necessary."
A pause, heavy with meaning. "Don’t let anyone’s influence soften your judgment. Call ‘cut’ when it’s needed. Reshoot when it’s warranted."
"Just… as we did this afternoon. That’s how you uphold the integrity of the work."
Director Li’s spine stiffened with realization.
This wasn’t a casual visit. It was a message. Wiping his brow discreetly, he nodded. "Of course, Mr. Gu! We’ll maintain the highest standards—no exceptions!"
Gu Chengyu gave a satisfied hum, his eyes flicking toward Lin Shu one last time, a mocking smirk playing at his lips.
"Since the energy today isn’t right, let’s wrap early." His tone was almost breezy.
"Everyone should rest and regroup. Tomorrow, I expect to see improvement."
Without another glance, he turned and strode off the set, his departure as composed as his arrival.
Lin Shu watched his retreating figure, exhaustion and humiliation warring within her. Mostly, she was furious at herself—convinced her poor performance had shamed her in his eyes.
Director Li, meanwhile, stared at the monitor, replaying Lin Shu’s visibly deteriorating takes. Gu Chengyu’s words—"as we did this afternoon" and "refinement"—sent another chill down his spine.
When gods clash, mortals suffer.
Weren’t the rumors saying this starlet was Gu Chengyu’s woman? So what was this?
He lifted his walkie-talkie, sighing. "That’s a wrap. Early dismissal today."
Across the set, relieved murmurs and the clatter of packing up erupted instantly.
