Back then, young Liang Xiao’s handwriting had been wild and messy. He was forced to write each stroke meticulously—if he connected even one stroke, he’d have to rewrite it entirely.
Seeing Liang Xiao’s genuine happiness, Duan Ming almost felt pity for him and chimed in supportively: “President Huo is really great.”
Liang Xiao nodded enthusiastically, successfully convincing himself. Clutching his script tightly, he recited his lines fluently from start to finish before heading onto set with the crew. The scene passed smoothly.
“Not bad.”
Director Jin reviewed the footage on the monitor and nodded with satisfaction before using Liang Xiao as an example to lecture a group of young actors: “How are these lines difficult to memorize? They’re just as tricky for everyone—so how come Liang Xiao can memorize them?”
The young actors lowered their heads in shame and replied softly: “We haven’t worked hard enough.”
Jin Zhenbo glanced at Liang Xiao: “Share some tips with them later.”
Having just finished filming, Liang Xiao twisted open a bottle of mineral water only to choke on it immediately: “…”
His recent performances had been flawless—even under Director Jin’s strict standards—which had softened Jin Zhenbo’s attitude toward him considerably. Seeing him cough so hard, Jin Zhenbo casually patted his back: “Caught a chill?”
Liang Xiao cleared his throat: “…I’m fine.”
“Take care of yourself and don’t get sick,” Jin Zhenbo reminded him. “We’re doing synchronized sound recording, so your voice needs to stay in good condition.”
Liang Xiao nodded: “Understood.”
Director Jin gestured to the assistant directors to adjust the set and walked to the side to check on Liang Xiao’s progress: “Has your training started?”
“It has,” Liang Xiao replied. “I’ve been working on strength and cardio these past few days.”
The production team seemed to have adjusted the schedule intentionally—his lines had increased, but his scenes were relatively light.
Since his meetings with President Huo were at night, Liang Xiao spent his free time doing relevant training. While physical sculpting would take more time, his strength and stamina were gradually improving.
Jin Zhenbo seemed satisfied and nodded slightly: “Focus on explosive power. The spear won’t be too heavy.”
He glanced at Liang Xiao: “Just make sure the spear doesn’t throw you off balance.”
“…” Liang Xiao almost felt like he’d been poked full of holes. “Got it.”
Director Jin added: “You’re heading back to the capital next week?”
Liang Xiao remembered the banquet Huo Lan had mentioned and calculated the timing: “Yes.”
The team’s schedule had likely already been reported to the production crew, so it wasn’t surprising that Director Jin knew.
Liang Xiao hesitated: “Will it delay filming progress?”
“Not every scene has you in it; taking two days off won’t affect anything.”
Jin Zhenbo didn’t seem particularly opposed to the idea and waved his hand dismissively: “Go meet some people, find a few good resources… There’s no need to be overly reserved. Filming isn’t something shameful.”
Liang Xiao smiled without refuting him: “I understand. Thank you.”
Most of Liang Xiao’s resources came from Xingguan. Attending the banquet was primarily aimed at generating high-quality candid photos to align with his character’s image adjustment.
Director Jin was older and still held onto traditional views that actors should find their own roles. He didn’t think much of concepts like adjusting public personas, and the production manager likely hadn’t bothered explaining this in detail to him.
Having asked once, Director Jin felt he’d done enough to show concern for his actors. He nodded briefly before returning to oversee the next scene.
Taking note of Director Jin’s advice, Liang Xiao stepped off set, met briefly with his manager, and reviewed their upcoming plans.
“The main focus is still on this production,” Duan Ming said as he scrolled through his phone and summarized for him. “This film is the priority. On the 29th, there’s a banquet—images will be posted on Weibo as part of a publicity campaign, and PR has everything planned out.”
Duan Ming added: “If the results are good, they might arrange for you to do one or two live streams to interact with fans.”
Liang Xiao nodded: “Alright.”
“On the 8th of next month, Year-End will officially enter its post-production promotional phase. The crew will likely participate in several programs—if they’re nearby, we can join them to help with publicity.”
Duan Ming flipped another page on his schedule: “This weekend, Episode 2 of On The Road will air… Oh, by the way, their producer-director wanted me to let you know—they might dedicate some time in this episode to introducing the breakfast cart vendor’s family.”
Liang Xiao’s voice was slightly hoarse: “Why would they need to tell me about this?”
“They’re probably worried someone might mind,” Duan Ming guessed. “After all, the breakfast cart vendor’s family is a bit of a discussion point. Including this material might affect our promotional narrative.”
Liang Xiao thought for a moment: “That works out—we need to make some adjustments on our side too.”
Duan Ming nodded: “Exactly. In the short term, you’ll need to suppress the association with the breakfast vendor storyline. We can use this as an opportunity.”
With Xingguan’s team fully taking over, there wasn’t much left for them to handle. Duan Ming quickly skimmed through his notes and set his phone down: “That’s about it. The only thing left is for you to find time to get fitted for a proper suit.”
Liang Xiao paused, vaguely recalling something: “I think President Huo mentioned it…”
“President Huo is arranging it for you?” Duan Ming felt reassured and crossed off an item from the schedule. “That’s good. But we need to hurry—there’s not much time left.”
Liang Xiao hadn’t paid much attention at the time but vaguely remembered something about taking measurements. He nodded lightly: “Got it… I’ll talk to President Huo.”
“You’ll also need a watch,” Duan Ming suggested, thinking aloud. “If you don’t have one, you could borrow one from President Huo and return it later.”
Or maybe there wouldn’t be a need to return it.
A cold metal watch strap clasped around the wrist—not perfectly snug—hooked overhead, firmly restricting movement, leaving raw, bleeding marks from struggling…
Liang Xiao’s eyes widened in shock: “Brother Duan—”
Duan Ming snapped out of his thoughts: “Did I say that out loud?”
Liang Xiao stared at him for a long moment, his ears turning red inch by inch. Gritting his teeth, he muttered: “No…”
Even though he hadn’t said it aloud, all of Duan Ming’s little yellow books had been confiscated from Liang Xiao’s own stash.
Whatever Duan Ming had read, Liang Xiao had read too. Caught off guard by being run over by his manager’s runaway thoughts, Liang Xiao flushed furiously and stumbled off to find somewhere to cool down.
Reckless driving truly harms people.
When Liang Xiao returned to the hotel gym and strapped on a fitness tracker, he couldn’t help but feel a slight psychological shadow over the fact that it wasn’t cold or metallic.
“It’s not that serious,” Duan Ming said as he joined him for planks, squatting nearby while scrolling through Weibo to handle routine maintenance. “It’s not a big deal…”
By the third set, Liang Xiao was trembling and gritting his teeth: “Brother Duan.”
Duan Ming stopped himself from spiraling further and shifted back to the topic at hand: “Xingguan is gradually loosening its grip on maintenance. Things might get a bit annoying on Weibo, but don’t worry about it.”
Liang Xiao nodded: “I understand.”
When starting out and trying to leave a good impression on the public, strict management of public opinion was necessary. Xingguan had kept things airtight—any inflammatory or malicious comments were swiftly dealt with before they could gain traction.
Now that things had stabilized, maintaining an overly harmonious and picture-perfect image would start to feel fake.
“Different people like different things,” Liang Xiao said as he reached his limit in this set, shaking and wobbling as he held on. “I’m not money…”
He wasn’t RMB—not everyone could like him.
Duan Ming was just giving him a heads-up and nodded in agreement: “There are still people keeping an eye on you, but nothing too extreme will happen.”
Liang Xiao’s arms gave out, and he collapsed onto the mat with a thud. Rolling onto his back, he took a few deep breaths.
“The criticism is mostly about you not having a representative work yet,” Duan Ming said as he handed him a towel. “Year-End’s production cycle is short—it won’t be long before it shuts those people up.”
Wiping away sweat, Liang Xiao responded with a quiet hum of acknowledgment.
Seeing that Liang Xiao wasn’t taking it to heart, Duan Ming felt much more at ease: “The other thing is… what we were worried about earlier. Someone dug into your background and found out about the aftereffects of your pheromone surge.”
Liang Xiao asked, “What are they saying?”
“All kinds of things—some of it is surprisingly well-fabricated.”
Duan Ming opened a post from a gossip account: “They’re saying you grew up in poverty and couldn’t afford inhibitors. To avoid worrying your family, you ran off to the mountains to undergo your secondary gender differentiation…”
Liang Xiao was stunned: “Was I out of my mind?”
Duan Ming switched to another post: “Your parents were too busy with work to take care of you, so they locked you in the house to stop you from running around.”
Duan Ming read dramatically: “You went through differentiation alone, banging on the door desperately and screaming until your voice gave out. When your parents returned, all they found was a puddle of you at the door—”
Liang Xiao: “…”
Duan Ming moved on to a third one: “You hid your identity and were actually from a wealthy family. During a kidnapping and ransom incident, you got frightened and unexpectedly differentiated.”
Liang Xiao found this one intriguing. Sitting up, he thought for a moment: “And I cleverly used my pheromones to send a signal that led the rescue team to find me.”
Duan Ming considered it and added details: “You were locked in a cellar. The entrance was sealed, so it wasn’t visible from the outside, but there were gaps where gas molecules could flow.”
Liang Xiao nodded: “High concentration diffuses to low concentration…”
Duan Ming quickly jotted it down, planning to discuss it further with Xingguan’s team later to refine the logic and fill in the details.
Liang Xiao couldn’t rest for long. As soon as he regained some strength, he got up again and switched to another piece of equipment for more self-imposed torture.
Watching him work out, Duan Ming couldn’t help but tease: “Do you want to train for a peach-shaped booty while you’re at it?”
Liang Xiao was mid-pull on the lat pulldown machine when he choked and coughed violently, losing his grip: “…”
Duan Ming sighed regretfully: “Never mind.”
“No,” Liang Xiao said firmly. “I never want to hear those three words again.”
Duan Ming sighed again: “Alright.”
Liang Xiao stared at his manager for half a minute with strict intensity, making sure Duan Ming had fully committed to this promise before gripping the handles again and gritting his teeth as he pulled up the weights.
