But this time, even after practically burning out his eyes, Huo Tianzhuo couldn’t link it to anyone in the business—and that only made it worse.
“Director!” His assistant ran over, urging, “The set’s ready—we can start filming.”
Snapping out of it, Huo Tianzhuo shut off his phone. The first scene after the launch ceremony was supposed to be an easy one, traditionally chosen to ensure a smooth start. They’d picked a classic: the female lead falling from a tree straight into the male lead’s arms.
He steadied himself and nodded. “Everyone ready? Let’s shoot.”
“Got it!” The assistant rushed off to notify the departments.
Huo Tianzhuo sat in front of the monitor, starting with some environment shots. Once he confirmed everything looked good, the lead actors entered. The female lead climbed the tree.
“All right—action!”
The clapperboard snapped, and Zhao Muyun took another step up. Suddenly, her foot slipped.
“Ahhh—!” she screamed as she fell from the tree.
Su Yan, who happened to be walking by, noticed and his expression changed. He rushed over and caught her just in time.
“Ugh!” The impact hit Su Yan’s arms hard, too hard. He couldn’t hold his balance and stumbled forward, both of them crashing onto the grass.
“Cut!” Huo Tianzhuo’s face was dark as he stood up and yelled into his megaphone, “What the hell was that? Weren’t we told she could fall directly?!”
Both Su Yan and Zhao Muyun quickly apologized. Su Yan, face flushed, said, “I’m sorry—I thought I could handle it, but the impact was a bit too much. I couldn’t hold her.”
His physique, built to give off a youthful look, lacked muscle. He’d slimmed down through dieting, not exercise—he simply didn’t have the strength.
Huo Tianzhuo pressed his lips into a tight line, took a deep breath, and said sternly, “This is the first scene. I expect you all to take it seriously. Let’s try again. If it doesn’t work, we’ll use a wire rig!”
Su Yan gave an awkward smile. “It’ll be fine this time!”
Everything reset. This time, Zhao Muyun climbed lower, so her fall had less force.
She let out a startled scream, and Su Yan caught her solidly. Then the camera paused, a rotating platform turned beneath their feet, and a wind machine blew petals down from the tree, capturing a perfect, romantic “hero saves beauty” moment.
The shoot ended smoothly. Huo Tianzhuo, still frowning, glanced at the monitor and waved it off as acceptable.
But his good mood had already been ruined by that trending teaser. And now, even the first scene of his drama had been a mess. He couldn’t shake the feeling that things weren’t on track.
It was the two Phoenix Slaughter teasers—they’d hit him hard.
Trying to outdo that show suddenly felt way more difficult.
Huo Tianzhuo just couldn’t figure out what kind of connections Su Qingli had that allowed her to produce something like this. But the pressure was real—and rising fast. At this point, there was only one thing he could do. He turned to his assistant and said, “Tell the screenwriters—we’re doing a late-night script session.”
They had to revise. Again.
With a sharper script and the inevitable buzz from rumors of the leads falling in love on set, he was determined to make the show explode.
It wasn’t just Huo Tianzhuo who wanted to compete with Phoenix Slaughter.
The producers, investors, and lead actors all shared the same goal.
Because if Phoenix Slaughter flopped, all the heat it generated would flow directly to Royal Power.
But beating it wasn’t going to be easy. That’s why Huo Tianzhuo kept revising the script, and why filming had to be rushed if they wanted to air at the same time.
They were already two months behind Phoenix Slaughter. The show had originally just been on standby—there were no firm plans to shoot it. It was only because of a heated fallout between Huo Tianzhuo and Su Qingli, likely tied to personal or marital disputes, that the investors approached him to do it.
Huo Tianzhuo agreed—on the condition that he could bring Zhao Muyun and Su Yan onboard.
Part of it was out of spite—Su Yan was Su Qingli’s nephew.
As for Zhao Muyun, it was because of Zhao Rongrong. Since Zhao Muyun had left Phoenix Slaughter, Huo Tianzhuo wasn’t going to give her up. He was determined to prove to Su Qingli that she had made the wrong choice.
Huo Tianzhuo’s skills were widely acknowledged in the industry. While most of his breakout hits had been based on screenplays written by Liu Li, his directing was solid. So the deal was easy to seal.
And since he was going to go head-to-head with her, he had to go all in.
Filming would take four to five months. Since Phoenix Slaughter had such a head start, they had no choice but to push harder. But some scenes just take countless retakes, and the only thing left to squeeze was everyone’s time.
Late-night shoots became routine. Sixteen-hour workdays were the norm.
To maintain buzz, the crew regularly leaked behind-the-scenes content. And in those teasers, Su Yan and Zhao Muyun’s relationship was practically confirmed.
Feeding each other on set, holding hands, laughing and playing around, countless kissing scenes leaked in previews…
Every time, it landed them on the trending page.
Zhao Muyun hadn’t logged into Weibo in ages—she didn’t dare. Her comment section was full of hate.
But the attention was undeniable.
Amidst this heat, Phoenix Slaughter quietly wrapped filming. Half a month later, at the wrap party for Royal Power, a photo of Su Yan affectionately patting Zhao Muyun’s head stayed trending for half a day.
Royal Power looked like it was riding high.
But only Qingli knew about the phone call she received from Huo Tianzhuo’s mother:
“Su Qingli! Look at you, out running around these past few months like you don’t have a home. Your man’s worked himself sick, and you’re not even back to check on him?!”