Chapter 81: The True and False Demon

Xiao Qian’s film production had already progressed more than halfway. After all, the movie didn’t feature explosions or action scenes, nor did it require green screen effects or wirework. Aside from the luxury product shots, there really wasn’t much technical difficulty involved. Originally, Xiao Qian’s plan was to take it slow, and it would have dragged on, but then his mother joined the fray.

Hui Tianxin had dyed her hair gray, with two white streaks at the front, styled slicked back for a clean and crisp look. She wore a black-and-white contrast suit paired with metallic accessories, and her ten-centimeter heels clicked as she strode into the office building, sunglasses perched on her nose. The crowd instinctively parted to make way for her.

When she entered the elevator, the girl already inside apologized and hurriedly switched to another elevator. With a soft chime, the elevator doors opened on the right floor, and Hui Tianxin stepped out, removing her sunglasses.

“Sorry, Linda,” said a young man in a casual suit, cradling his laptop as he approached.

“I don’t understand why it’s so hard to confirm a time.”

“Sorry, Linda, I really did reach out—”

“I’m not interested in the details of your incompetence. Tell Jordan to replace the sports section models. I want young, clean, energetic girls, not dirty, ugly mud.”

“Tell Mr. Lin I’ll attend his gathering. Have the driver drop me off at that place at eight thirty, and pick me up at eight forty-five. Call Huaxin Café and replace the cream cake with fruit cake—no blueberries, cranberries, or any berries at all unless they’ve changed suppliers.”

“Call my ex-husband, remind him there’s a parent-teacher conference tonight for his middle-school child. Then call my husband and arrange dinner at the place Billy and I visited.”

“Tell Richard I saw the photos of the female racers he sent. They’re much too thin—the racing suits hang on them without any muscle definition, as if a crash would snap them in half. Can’t he find a pretty, healthy girl with muscle tone who doesn’t look bulky in a racing suit?”

The young man scribbled away as he responded, “Of course.”

Hui Tianxin paused, watching his flustered state. “So, can I pluck the moon from the sky?”

“Of course not.”

Once she confirmed he was genuinely listening and not just glossing over, Hui Tianxin continued, “Also, I want to see the clothes John picked for Chris’s second cover shoot. I don’t know how much weight she’s lost, and—who is he?”

Her gaze landed on Mo Fei, who sat uneasily outside the office.

“A nobody,” the young man said, stepping forward to block Mo Fei. “HR sent him over as an assistant. I already interviewed him; he’s totally unsuitable for this place.”

“I’ll decide for myself,” Hui Tianxin glanced at him. “The last two you picked weren’t any better. Let him in.”

“Yes, ma’am…”

“Cut!” Xiao Qian, seated behind the monitor, raised his hand in applause. “Beautiful long shot. Well done, veteran.”

Hui Tianxin’s expression softened, her fierceness melting into a friendly smile. “It’s nothing, just what I should do.”

The actor playing the assistant laughed, too. “You’re amazing—such a long line, memorized in one go. I didn’t dare even breathe beside you.”

Hui Tianxin accepted the praise humbly, thanking them repeatedly.

“She really is incredible, but that’s no excuse for you all to be wasting time here,” Mrs. Qian said, holding a folder, her hair pinned up with a ballpoint pen. “Prepare for the next scene, change the camera position, touch up her makeup, and lighting—”

The atmosphere on set transformed instantly.

Mo Fei took the opportunity to sip his tea, unable to resist marveling. During filming, the female tyrant—Hui Tianxin. In the theater, the female tyrant—Mrs. Qian. Why would such talented people ever want to be actors? They’d excel at anything!

If he voiced the question, Mrs. Qian would answer bluntly, “I’ve spent half my life fighting just to experience what it’s like to sit and do nothing but collect money—what’s wrong with that?”

After observing the actors’ daily routines up close, Mrs. Qian felt that acting wasn’t for her; being a celebrity was more her style. The fastest way to become a star was to invest money and have famous people support you. So, her son needed to become famous first. In the end, it was just two roads to the same goal.

As they wrapped up the day’s shoot and prepared for night scenes, the makeup artist, boredly scrolling her phone, suddenly zoomed in and out on a photo.

“Oh my!” She slapped her thigh, showing the phone to the eye-rolling costume designer beside her. “Look at this—doesn’t it look like Mo Fei?”

The costume designer glanced over, lips pursed, and immediately frowned. “I’m not sure about the face, but that’s definitely the shirt he took from us.”

With the lighting assistant now handling chores, Ji Xingyu, freed up, heard Mo Fei’s name and came over. “What’s up?”

The makeup artist held up her phone. “Doesn’t this look like Mo Fei?”

Ji Xingyu’s eyes widened in surprise as he looked. “It’s him—where did this photo come from?”

“From a digital magazine push notification. It’s selling well.” The makeup artist swiped again, showing them the magazine cover. “Fashion Salon. I have a feeling this photo will end up with gossip accounts spinning a thousand gangster stories.”

She hugged her phone with delight. “Who’d have thought Mo Fei, always laughing like a fool, had this side to him? I wonder if the cameraman who took it is still alive.”

Ji Xingyu recalled Mo Fei’s habit of pulling out his phone to snap photos even in front of murderers and thought it wasn’t hard to imagine.

Meanwhile, the crew’s photographer fished out his phone. He subscribed to quite a few digital magazines, so flipping through them while catching his breath didn’t take much time. Unexpectedly, today’s magazine splash page featured a familiar face.

Unlike the others, he was a professional cameraman—he recognized the male lead he’d been shooting at a glance, even if his temperament had changed dramatically. Nothing escaped his trained eye.

“Hey, Fei! That’s not cool!” the cameraman wailed almost instantly. “You had this kind of camera presence? Why didn’t you tell me? I’d have shot you myself!”

Mo Fei, mid-sip, was stunned by the outburst. “What?”

The rest of the crew turned their attention to them, drawn by the cameraman’s excitement.

The cameraman, now obsessed with the idea of missing his muse, showed Mo Fei the picture. “This is you, right? Don’t tell me it’s your twin brother.”

Mo Fei glanced at the familiar photo and nodded. “Yeah, it’s me. What’s up?”

“So wild, so modelesque!” The cameraman slapped his thigh. “I want to shoot you. You have to let me. I’ll do the retouching for free!”