A real killer playing a villain; the guy surnamed Zhen in Detective, run!

"Attention all departments! Scene 7, Camera A in position, Camera B moving around, lights check!"

Lu Yuan sat down in the leather swivel chair behind his desk, leaving a three-finger gap between his back and the chair back, and placed his hands naturally on the desk.

Today, I dressed him in a dark gray three-piece suit, with a dark red tie and a presidential fold in his breast pocket square.

A prop black coffee sits on the table.

The sixth cat was temporarily taken in by the production assistant, kept in a cardboard box, and placed next to the monitor to chew on cat treats.

Lu Yuan closed his eyes briefly.

Zhao Xiujie walked out from behind the black cloth barrier.

He'd changed his look. His hair was slicked back, a few strands of bangs fell loose, his shirt sleeves were rolled up to his forearms, and the top two buttons of his collar were undone. The investigative reporter's image—disheveled, yet with a reckless, almost suicidal, energy.

Zhou Peiyuan's final instruction was: "Remember, when you enter that door, your hatred must be burning hot. Don't think, don't test. You are a knife, with only one goal: to pierce him."

Zhao Xiujie exhaled a breath of stale air and stretched his neck.

He knew he was afraid of Lu Yuan. Yesterday's reading session was brutal, the day before's costume fitting was suffocating—this fear had taken root. But Zhou Peiyuan taught him a method: transform fear into the character's anger. You're afraid of him, that's fine. The character you're playing should be afraid of him too. Burn that fear into fire, and unleash it.

Today he will avenge his previous defeat.

"log."

"Scene 7, Shot 1, A—Action!"

The sound of the clapper striking the wood was crisp and clear.

Zhao Xiujie kicked open the office door.

He strode in. His steps were firm, his stride long, and the sound of his leather shoes hitting the floor was faithfully recorded by the microphone.

"Shen Yibai!"

He walked to the desk, braced his hands on the edge of the desk, leaned forward, and almost pressed his face against the top of the desk.

"I've got my hands on your entire money chain from Singapore to the Cayman Islands. Every single transaction, every shell company, every nominee shareholder who signed off. You're finished."

His lines were delivered with conviction, his neck muscles tense. A light sweat trickled down his forehead. His eyes were fixed on the other person's brow, creating a visually penetrating effect.

The cameraman and the assistant director exchanged glances and nodded slightly.

This is indeed Zhao Xiujie at his best. His emotions are full, his explosive power is concentrated, and every emphasis in his lines is perfectly placed. He has unleashed all the signature skills of a top star in the Chinese entertainment industry.

Behind the desk.

Lu Yuan held the cup of black coffee.

He didn't move.

From the moment Zhao Xiujie kicked the door open until he reached the table, nearly fifteen seconds passed, and Lu Yuan's posture remained unchanged.

After Zhao Xiujie finished delivering his lines.

Lu Yuan raised his eyelids slightly.

The direction of his pupils shifted from the coffee cup on the table to Zhao Xiujie's face.

It's very slow.

Behind the monitor, Su Qinghan's fingers dug into the leather of the chair armrest.

That look in his eyes. It was like an autopsy.

Without any emotional response, he was assessing the situation. From the pupils to the carotid artery to the clavicle to the intercostal spaces, he was like a sophisticated scanner reading the structural parameters of a body.

The final conclusion was written in those extremely quiet eyes: It wasn't worth standing up.

Zhao Xiujie froze.

His ten fingers, gripping the edge of the table, began to tighten, his muscles spasming on the verge of losing control. Zhou Peiyuan taught him to transform fear into anger, but this methodology had a prerequisite: the pressure from the other side must be within the realm of human experience.

What Lu Yuan gave him was not within this scope.

It's too calm, too complete. It's something only someone who has truly stood in that position, truly possessed the power to end another person at any time, and truly exercised that power could possess.

Zhao Xiujie's throat tightened.

The next line was stuck in his throat, and his tongue felt stiff.

His left leg took a half step back.

Instinctively, I retreated.

"Click!!"

Su Qinghan smashed the walkie-talkie to the ground. She stood up, ripped off her earpiece, walked around the monitor table, and her high heels clattered rapidly on the floor.

"Zhao Xiujie!"

The entire room froze. Even the photographers peeked their heads out from behind the viewfinder.

Su Qinghan walked up to Zhao Xiujie, less than a meter away. Her imposing presence made the other man's shoulders slump.

"You call that testing me? Are you some kind of monkey jumping around in the zoo? Why are you using so much force? Do you think making a loud noise will cover up your trembling knees?"

Zhao Xiujie's face turned pale.

Su Qinghan grabbed his arm and dragged him in front of the monitor. "See for yourself!"

She rewound the image, freezing it on the frame where Zhao Xiujie propped up the table and Lu Yuan looked up.

"Look at Lu Yuan. Did he move? No. What did he do? Nothing. He just slightly raised his eyelids."

"And you? Your legs are shaking, your voice is trembling, and your micro-expressions are screaming for help. You're an elite journalist here to confront your innermost thoughts, not a shrew throwing a tantrum in a market! The script tells you to meet a wolf, and you, before the wolf even opens its mouth, you've already peed your pants in fear!"

There were over a hundred people inside the shed. Not a single one dared to utter a sound.

Zhao Xiujie stood in front of the monitor, staring at his own face in the playback footage, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down twice.

Su Qinghan turned around and walked towards Lu Yuan.

Her pace changed. The force of her high heels hitting the ground was halved, and the distance between her steps slowed down.

"Teacher Lu," she said, changing her tone, "could you—to tone down the next line a little? So he can handle it. It'll be easier to pass the review."

"Again." Zhao Xiujie crumpled the tissue into a ball and squeezed out the two words through gritted teeth.

Article .

Following Su Qinghan's advice, Lu Yuan added a layer. It wasn't fully exposed, but rather layered underneath, like an undercurrent in deep water.

Zhao Xiujie entered, took his position, braced himself on the table, and recited his lines. This time, he controlled his legs. He didn't back down. But the shirt on the back of his shirt had already soaked through from the midline of his spine outwards.

He managed to finish his lines, albeit with a slight lisp at the end of the last sentence, and his tongue stumbled over the word "evidence."

Su Qinghan looked at the monitor and rubbed her temples. "Let's finish this scene first. We'll see how to edit it in post-production."

She picked up the walkie-talkie, her voice regaining its professional indifference: "Zhao Xiujie, your scene for today is over. Go back and get back into character."

There were over a hundred pairs of eyes in the room, each looking in a different direction, but all of them were glancing at the same person out of the corner of their eye.

Some people were biting their lips. Others were looking down, pretending to tidy up cables. Two young women from the makeup team huddled in a corner, their nails digging into their palms.

Zhao Xiujie turned and left. His four assistants followed behind, none of them speaking. As they passed Lu Yuan, they didn't even dare glance in his direction.

Return to the lounge.

Zhao Xiujie leaned against the dressing table, panting.

More than twenty bottles of high-end skincare products on the dressing table were swept to the floor, the glass bottles shattered on the tiled floor, and serum was scattered everywhere.

"I want him kicked out of this production."