“Director He, you’ve overworked yourself,” Zhao Muyun said. “Even I, with a body type that never loses weight, dropped ten pounds over the past few months. You need to nourish yourself. I’ve got time tomorrow, so I’ll bring more over.”
With things phrased that way, He Tianzhu nodded. “Then thank your aunt for me.”
Zhao Muyun smiled. “My aunt’s a big fan of your films and dramas. She’s happy to do this.”
He Tianzhu chuckled, thinking back to when they first met five years ago. Aside from Zhao Rongrong’s pleasant personality, he genuinely liked the way she admired him. She knew everything he had ever directed. It was a far cry from his wife, who was always buried in her creative world.
Unfortunately…
He Tianzhu’s thoughts drifted to his old injury. She likely knew about it, too. Just when his heart had started to soften, it went cold again.
He didn’t have the luxury of being sentimental anymore.
He Tianzhu kept insisting his health had fully recovered, and the doctors confirmed it too. But he knew he wasn’t the same man he used to be. A man who could once be… fully functional.
But whether it was Su Qingli or Zhao Rongrong—it didn’t matter. Neither of them would be.
On the other end of the now-ended phone call, Qingli was in the editing suite.
The footage for Fengsha was massive, and the post-production work even more so—no way could she handle it alone. What she needed now was a full team.
As director, Qingli held down the editing room and took part in the cutting process herself. She was swamped.
She had no time to spare worrying about He Tianzhu.
She’d even put the divorce on hold for now.
There was no point in bringing it up again when she knew He Tianzhu wouldn’t agree easily. No need to stir up trouble early. But when it came to her income, she’d made sure not a cent would ever pass through him again.
Huangquan had started filming in September, and rushed to wrap in just three months, around New Year’s.
Fengsha wrapped half a month earlier, but between editing, scoring, and post-production, it still took two and a half months to finish.
Even with Qingli’s sharp memory and top-tier work ethic, it was still a huge effort. The series’ music was entirely composed by Ning Xi, who had been inspired during filming and had most of the tracks drafted before wrap. After shooting, he polished them with the team and went straight into recording once Qingli approved.
Because of the heavy penalties paid by He Tianzhu and Su Yan for breaching their contracts, the production still had plenty of funding left over. Qingli didn’t skimp when it came to quality.
As a result, when production officially wrapped, Ning Xi was reluctant to let go. Even with his manager tugging at him to rush off to another show, he craned his neck and shouted, “Director Su! If you’ve got another project like this, call me again! I’ll make sure you’re satisfied!”
Qingli, laughing, nodded and promised, “Alright. Next time, I’m calling you.”
Ning Xi grinned from ear to ear. “See you during promotions, then!”
The whole thing was caught on camera by a bystander and posted online, where it quickly went viral. Meme-loving netizens couldn’t resist turning it into a trending topic. Ning Xi’s exaggerated expression instantly became a new reaction meme: [Boss, don’t forget me!]—complete with the screenshot of him stretching his neck out to shout.
Commenters cracked up:
【Ning Xi is hilarious! Zero idol image—his manager can’t even hold back this golden retriever!】
【When I first saw Ning Xi, I thought he was some boy band member. But the moment he opened his mouth, I knew he’d never make it as an idol!】
【Looks like he enjoyed this drama. Can’t wait for Fengsha to premiere!】
Meanwhile, He Tianzhu kept refreshing Weibo, watching [Ning Xi’s New Reaction Meme] trend at the top of the hot list. He scoffed.
This drama’s only buzz was thanks to Ning Xi.
The rest of the cast had no real online following.
His drama, though, after Huangquan wrapped, Su Yan and Zhao Muyun had been trending non-stop, keeping the show in the spotlight with a steady stream of buzz. Whether their relationship was real or not only added fuel to the public’s curiosity.
Just yesterday, Orange Video bought the rights to the series. It was an A-grade investment that sold at S-tier prices: four million yuan per episode. Sixty episodes totaled a massive 240 million yuan.
As the director, He Tianzhu wouldn’t get a cut since he hadn’t invested. But the success still stood as a clear victory in his career.
Compared to Fengsha, which had finished earlier but made no noise at all, it was obvious the industry had doubts about that show’s quality.
A screenwriter-turned-director might look promising on the surface, but if the show was a mess, the platform would take the fall. No one wanted to take that risk.
At that moment, He Tianzhu finally felt a bit more at ease.
Until—
He refreshed again and saw a new trending topic: 【Fengsha Extended Trailer】
Given the psychological trauma from the last two trailers, He Tianzhu’s eye twitched at the word “trailer.” He clicked it immediately.
Just like the previous two times, the editing was top-notch. The three-minute trailer was divided into three parts: household intrigue, romance, and finally, political schemes. It ended with the female lead pinning a veteran actor against a wall, dagger in hand, her gaze cold and fierce as she snarled:
“You have no right to decide my life!”
When it ended, He Tianzhu was still staring at the screen. He trembled slightly, then came back to his senses, taking a deep breath. His expression turned grim with a touch of helpless rage.
Three trailers—every one of them this good.
Could it be that Su Qingli was actually… a self-taught, natural-born director who just soared from the get-go?
Sam Williams On TYMIMA Chapter 152