Chapter Nineteen: The Emergence of a True Actor
The videos released by Liu Xin and Li Shixin were both highly intriguing.
In Liu Xin’s earlier video, he admitted that the fracas on set began with an argument stemming from their acting, but he denied the latter part—specifically, the claim that he had pushed and injured an elderly extra. He also glossed over the details of what caused the conflict.
But what about Li Shixin?
He gave a comprehensive account, explaining the cause and course of the incident from start to finish. Using a tone of “I have been wronged, but I’ll say nothing, and I forgive you,” he subtly yet unmistakably acknowledged that Liu Xin had thrown his weight around and pushed him.
Yet, when Li Shixin posted his video, he did so by tagging the original poster directly in Liu Xin’s Weibo comment section. As a result, the composition of viewers on his own Weibo page became extremely mixed.
Among them were Liu Xin’s anti-fans, the gossip-hungry masses, and, most significantly, Liu Xin’s die-hard loyalists, deeply concerned for their idol.
When these supporters saw numerous users criticizing their idol in Li Shixin’s comments after watching the video, they refused to back down:
“This old guy’s only telling his side; how do you know he isn’t lying?”
“Exactly! They’re both involved, so why do you assume Liu Xin is lying and this old man is telling the truth?”
“Stop slandering Xin Xin! Why don’t you all just blow up already? This ugly old man must be trying to stir up drama before he dies, and you idiots believe him?”
“Quoting poetry like it’s impressive—give me a break, what age are we living in? Liu Xin is handsome, sings well, dances beautifully—he’ll be popular long after you’re dead and buried!”
“He’s just a washed-up extra. What right does he have to criticize Liu Xin’s acting? If you’re so eager to die, just do it already! Stop trying to leech off our Xin’s fame!”
For a while, Liu Xin’s massive fanbase, along with some hired internet trolls, launched a fierce counterattack in Li Shixin’s comment section.
...
In fact, it had already been a month since “The Last Days of the Forbidden City” had officially started filming.
There had been some promotional videos released before, but most had focused on the leading actors and the director’s team. There were also a few teasers related to the plot, but these were just conceptual overviews.
Today’s content—the first montage-style promo—was something new.
Thanks to Weibo’s big data algorithms, Liu Xin, Li Shixin, the on-set altercation, and “The Last Days of the Forbidden City” were all linked in one web of related topics.
So, most people following this hot topic over the past couple of days received the official promotional video at around the same time.
In Li Shixin’s Weibo, many users—some bickering, some just watching—found themselves clicking on the promo almost by accident.
The video began with a lively background track, as the main characters appeared in a comic-style animation:
"Sons of nobility,
Actors of the opera,
Remnants of the militias,
Scions of the Eight Banners.
They cross paths in the underworld, their fates unrelated..."
Among the cast, aside from Liu Xin—who had been forced into the production by the investors—only the lead actress, Qi Xiaolu, had any real fame, just barely qualifying as a second-tier starlet. The lead actor, Liu Jingwei, had mostly played young urban professionals in modern dramas and wasn’t particularly popular. The second male lead was a newcomer.
Yet, the production quality was solid, especially in costume, makeup, props, and set design. From the start, the producers had positioned the show as an antidote to the current trend of palace dramas focusing solely on romance, emphasizing instead a martial-arts theme. Amid an industry obsessed with love stories in Qing dynasty settings, this was a refreshing change.
A considerable audience was paying attention.
With the recent drama involving Liu Xin and Li Shixin on set, even more curious onlookers flooded in. As a result, even though the show was only 30% filmed and had no set release date, its popularity soared.
When the promo revealed the four main characters in costume for the first time, especially the vignettes of their daily lives before the story began, viewers were immediately impressed.
“Liu Jingwei’s first time doing action scenes—I was worried he’d bring that same city-boy energy, but he actually pulls off the scholarly aristocrat look! There’s some real spirit!”
“Wow! Qi Xiaolu’s Peking opera scene is stunning! She’s almost unrecognizable, but so beautiful! I can’t wait to see her performance in the series!”
“Huh? The second male lead is a newcomer? Never seen him before, but his kung fu looks pretty solid in this clip. The muscle tone adds to his heroic vibe. Wait, why is Liu Xin wearing a hat? What’s going on—he didn’t even shave his head for a Qing dynasty role?!”
“My Xin! He’s so handsome! Doing nothing, just standing on the street, and he’s still gorgeous!”
“Why is Xin only the third male lead? It’s not fair, he should be the main character!”
Clearly, at first, everyone was captivated by the close-ups of the main cast in the promo.
But then, the tone of the trailer shifted abruptly.
With the sudden roar of cannons, the cheerful music was cut short. The comic-style montage of late-Qing society, as represented by the four leads, was suddenly washed in a blood-red hue.
The screen froze.
Flames and gun smoke consumed the entire scene.
And then—chaos.
The empress dowager and emperor, flanked by eunuchs, palace maids, and imperial guards, fled the city in panic.
Columns of coalition soldiers, rifles at the ready and packs on their backs, stormed through the city gates.
In the streets and alleys, all manner of people—carefree just moments before—were suddenly cast adrift, like leaves in a storm.
“But when foreign invaders force open the gates, chaos descends without warning!”
Boom!
The frantic tableau of the capital froze once more.
Amid the fleeing crowds, an old beggar sat upright at a street corner. The rush of people fleeing for their lives whipped his wild, graying hair and beard.
His wrinkled eyes were half-shut; if not for the trembling of his cheek at the sight of panicked crowds, he might have seemed carved from stone.
The camera panned down to the blood-soaked cloth at his feet, on which a message—written in his own blood—filled the frame:
“Let me beg for a single steel blade, to give this broken body to my country!”
Boom!
As a war drum thundered, the image of the old beggar faded into darkness.
A voice-over rang out:
“The nation totters, yet its spirit endures! In ‘The Last Days of the Forbidden City,’ a tragic ballad of heroes and outcasts begins!”
In the video, flashes of fight scenes involving the main characters appeared, before the screen gradually faded to black.
Finally, four bold, ink-brushed characters appeared on the screen like a steel seal: “The Last Days of the Forbidden City—Stay Tuned!”
As the first wave of users finished watching the promo, Li Shixin’s Weibo erupted.
The same users who had just been overwhelmed by Liu Xin’s fans and hired trolls now surged back with renewed energy:
“Liu Xin’s brainless fans, time to face the music! Come take a good look—this is the ‘washed-up extra’ you were talking about!”
“Who gave you the nerve to say Old Li Shixin isn’t qualified to criticize Liu Xin? Just watch your idol in these few seconds—didn’t even shave his head for a Qing dynasty role, barely changed his expression in any scene, and didn’t bother to memorize his lines! You call that acting?!”
“Liu Xin’s fans—given Old Li’s acting, he was way too polite in that video! He’d be justified calling your idol trash outright!”
“Speaking as someone who just came for the drama, I’m a fan now! Three seconds in the promo, and Old Li gave me a vivid impression of a beggar with nothing left but his burning patriotism!”
“Chivalry—this is what real chivalry looks like! If you ask me, Old Li’s acting obliterated the four leads in the promo! That beggar is the most memorable character for me!”
“@Liu Xin, I’m begging you—please, act like a human. Stick to singing and dancing if you must, but never act again! @Li Shixin the Actor—I swear I’m not a paid shill! I’m a fan now, Old Li, I support you!”
“Another fan won over!”
“+1”
“+2”
...
“+1664”
...
No one could have predicted that a single promo video would shift the tide of the argument on Li Shixin’s Weibo so dramatically.
A huge number of neutral viewers, having compared Liu Xin’s and Li Shixin’s on-screen performances, chose their side.
Li Shixin’s follower count soared.
...
Beep!
At Apartment 402, Building B, Jianhong Community, after posting on Weibo, Li Shixin turned off his computer and went to help Zhang Ying wash vegetables. Suddenly, a jolt ran through his mind.
“A large wave of applause points with [support] emotion has been received!”
“Applause points for this period now being tallied.”
“You have received 120,214 applause points!”