Chapter 7: The Script with Two Male Leads

Last night, lying in bed, Zhang Yang had mapped out his future.

His ten-year contract with Tangren was already seven years past its start date, leaving three more years until it expired—just around early 2014.

The year 2014 held special significance; it marked the rise of China’s “Four Heavenly Kings” who ignited a storm of popularity across Asia. The airing of Sword and Fairy gave birth to one such iconic star, while internet giants entering the entertainment industry caused actor salaries to skyrocket. This period could be considered the dawn of celebrity-driven content.

Before the government implemented salary caps, even third- or fourth-tier stars post-2014 earned more than top-tier actors did previously. New units of currency emerged, like “one ‘satisfy’” or “several small goals per year,” reflecting the astronomical sums being paid.

Zhang Yang planned to use these remaining three years to climb to stardom. As a Tangren artist, he naturally focused on their self-produced dramas—a resource ripe for exploitation. Period romance roles were known for launching careers.

Once free from his contract, he anticipated earning far more in a single year than he would have throughout the previous decade—with less effort involved!

Xuanyuan Sword: Heaven’s Scar seemed perfect for this endeavor. Playing the male lead Yu Wento, embodying both sides of his conflicted nature, offered an opportunity to create a signature role.

Thus, aside from seizing opportunities, Zhang Yang devised how to repay Hu Ge’s favor when necessary, using gratitude as leverage.

At worst, after achieving success, he’d become valuable enough to secure several highly acclaimed film roles for Hu Ge—a win-win situation.

However, he never anticipated that his meticulous plan would be rendered useless as the role was delivered right to him.

Of course, this wouldn’t have happened if not for Liu Shishi’s intervention; Hu Ge might never have considered Zhang Yang otherwise.

“Are you talking about Xuanyuan Sword: Heaven’s Scar?” Zhang Yang didn’t immediately confirm, instead choosing to feign ignorance with a counter-question.

“Yes, I assume you’ve already heard about the internal auditions?” Hu Ge asked.

“No,” Zhang Yang shook his head.

Liu Shishi and Hu Ge exchanged glances before Hu Ge inquired, “So, you still haven’t reconciled with K-sis?”

They were well aware of what had transpired with Xu Changqing from Sword and Fairy III, feeling that Cai Yining was clearly in the wrong.

If she hadn’t made any promises, Zhang Yang could have simply daydreamed. But by giving him hope, he put effort into it. Then at the last minute, another actor was assigned to the role? Who wouldn’t be upset over that?

Hu Ge had tried discussing this matter with Cai Yining, but she’d brushed him off, claiming her contract with Hu Jianhua prevented her from backing down.

He suggested compensating Zhang Yang with another part, but even Zhang Yang proved resolute. He applied to the Shanghai Theatre Academy and later used school commitments as an excuse to decline all company assignments, essentially blacklisting himself.

In truth, he had been away accumulating connections and honing his skills.

This was precisely why, when Xuanyuan Sword: Heaven’s Scar began filming, Hu Ge hadn’t even considered Zhang Yang for a role.

“The last time I saw her was at the annual company gathering,” Zhang Yang replied. “She asked if I’d consider renewing my contract early, but I declined.”

Upon hearing this, both Hu Ge and Liu Shishi suddenly recalled that while Zhang Yang’s contract with the company was nearly up, he was barely 21 years old.

He had since attended the Shanghai Theatre Academy, where his acting prowess earned him praise from all his instructors—they wanted nothing more than to secure him a spot in their theater troupe. His looks had also matured, becoming increasingly striking.

As a male actor, he stood on the cusp of two decades, perhaps even a lifetime, of golden opportunities.

It was no wonder Cai Yining sought to renew his contract; without it, she wouldn’t have considered giving him any roles at all.

Given Zhang Yang’s talent, how could he not outshine Jiang Jinfu by several streets?

“How did you find out about this show, then?” Liu Shishi abruptly changed the subject.

“Still thanks to Jiang Jinfu, actually. We’re roommates, so last night…” Zhang Yang began candidly.

Hu Ge and Liu Shishi listened patiently, their eyebrows subtly furrowing as they finished listening.

As Zhang Yang’s friends, they instinctively disapproved of Jiang Jinfu’s blatant boasting and high-profile antics.

“Lin Gengxin was cast as Male Lead 3 ages ago,” Liu Shishi suddenly interjected. “The contract is already signed. And Jiang Jinfu was there at the time.”

“That makes it even more deliberate.” The disapproval in Hu Ge’s eyes intensified.

The entertainment industry was a hub of fame and fortune, attracting all manner of eccentric characters. He had long since grown accustomed to the bizarre and the extraordinary.

As Zhang Yang’s friend, his stance was clear-cut; he couldn’t bring himself to appreciate Jiang Jinfu’s actions.

“If you were willing to renew your contract, the male lead role would undoubtedly be yours,” Hu Ge said.

“No thanks, I’m not particularly keen on staying with Tangren for now,” Zhang Yang waved off the suggestion. “I have no interest in competing with Jiang Jinfu for the lead either. But this second male lead you mentioned earlier—if you’re sure you don’t want to play him yourself—could you let me take a look at the script?”

He needed to confirm that the script matched the version he knew well—the one where the second male lead outshone the protagonist.

“Sure thing. Take a look,” Hu Ge agreed. “If you decide you want to do it, I’ll talk to K-sis and see if we can get you cast.”

Hu Ge walked over to the nearby bookcase, unlocked it using the key he always carried, and retrieved two thick scripts—one containing the entire series’ outline, the other just his personal part.

Zhang Yang eagerly took them from him, settling down to leaf through the pages rapidly, scanning ten lines at a glance.

Already familiar with the TV series’ plot, he only needed to compare it to the synopsis, focusing on the ending and character roles. He wasn’t in a hurry to read specific dialogues.

Half an hour later, he closed the script and smiled at Hu Ge. “Playing two roles yourself—both hero and villain—is quite challenging.”

“Exactly! That’s why I said if you insist on me doing historical dramas, then I’ll play the male lead,” Hu Ge chuckled. “In fact, because I wanted this role, we even added more scenes for the second male lead. This could almost be called a dual-hero film, but since in China the villain can’t be the main protagonist, they made him the supporting lead instead. It’d be a steal for you to play that part.”

“You’re really that eager not to do any more historical dramas?” Zhang Yang detected the unspoken meaning in Hu Ge’s words.

“I don’t want people to keep saying I’m just good at playing those period romance leads. I’m already nearly thirty; I still have potential as an actor.” Hu Ge nodded firmly. “If possible, I don’t want to act in another one for the next five years.”

Zhang Yang thought back and realized that indeed, apart from Fate of Wind, Old Hu hadn’t appeared in any other historical dramas for the following five years until Yanhui came along and changed his tune.

“Then give it to me—I’d like to try,” Zhang Yang said without hesitation.

“Great! Stay here while I go dump this onto someone else using you as my excuse.” A smile played across Hu Ge’s face as he hit upon a brilliant idea.

“You’ve figured something out?” Liu Shishi asked curiously.

“You’ll find out once I’ve done it,” Hu Ge said before preparing to go find Cai Yining.

“Wait a moment, I’ll come with you.” Liu Shishi stood up from the sofa.

She wanted to witness the drama unfold firsthand.

“I’ll wait here for now and review the script again.” Zhang Yang lifted his hand slightly.

Hu Ge and Liu Shishi left together, returning half an hour later with serious expressions on their faces, tinged with a hint of dejection.

Zhang Yang put down the script he was holding and looked at them, a smile playing across his features. “Hey, old buddy, Po Shi-jie, no offense meant here.”

“But with acting skills that weak, you two can only rely on your looks to be idol actors—just barely maintaining your status as performers.”

Hu Ge stared blankly.

Liu Shishi paused briefly before responding, ”…I see.”