TSBDRA 5: A Hidden Side No One Knew About

While waiting for filming to begin, Xu Xishuang met his new personal assistant.

Yes—Xu Xishuang had noticed a serious issue while organizing his notes over the past few days. As an actor, he didn’t even have a personal assistant.

So he called his agent, Zhao-jie, who immediately assigned him a reliable young man surnamed Wang. Xu Xishuang called him Xiao Wang. How reliable was Xiao Wang? 

Previously, he had worked for another artist of Zhao-jie, who eventually left the industry to become a civil servant. It wasn’t until after that person had passed the civil service exam that Xiao Wang quietly informed Zhao-jie what had happened. 

Zhao-jie had been both angry and amused, gave Xiao Wang a two-month time-out for reflection, and when Xu Xishuang asked for help, she sent Xiao Wang over.

To be honest, when she first got the call from Xu Xishuang, Zhao-jie was very surprised. She was the one who had brought him into the entertainment industry, but his personality was extremely aloof, and he rarely contacted her unless it was strictly work-related. 

She had tried to show concern for his health and offer him help with daily life, but he had always turned her down. So for him to take the initiative and ask for an assistant, she assumed something must be wrong like maybe his health had taken a turn for the worse?

It wasn’t until Xu Xishuang repeatedly reassured her that he was fine—he had just thought things through—that Zhao-jie finally relaxed. Still, she gave Xiao Wang strict instructions, reminding him multiple times that Xu Xishuang’s health was fragile and he had to be extra careful.

So when Xiao Wang showed up, he treated Xu Xishuang like a terminally-ill version of Lin Daiyu. If a breeze blew through, he would rush to drape a jacket over him.

Xu Xishuang: …

As Xiao Wang fussed with the hem of Xu Xishuang’s school uniform costume, he frowned. “There’s so much dust on this. So many germs—what if it affects your health?”

“…I’m really not that delicate,” Xu Xishuang explained. “My character is someone who’s bullied, so the uniform has to look dirty. It’s fine, you don’t need to fuss over it.”

Not far off, the assistant director turned to Yan Yushan. “Director Yan, no offense, but I think Xu Xishuang’s overall vibe is too different from the character Yu Xiang. Won’t it feel jarring on screen?”

Yan Yushan lifted his gaze and looked at Xu Xishuang, who stood quietly nearby.

Even in a dingy, oversized school uniform with long hair covering half his face, Xu Xishuang still radiated a cold, untouchable elegance. It wasn’t the kind that pushed people away but instead, it made them want to draw closer, to see what might be hidden beneath the icy surface.

Xu Xishuang was too thin. The uniform hung loosely on his frame, and his slender, fair limbs seemed to glow under the sunlight. Yan Yushan felt a bit dazed by it. He looked away and said to the assistant director, “It won’t.”

“I trust his professionalism,” he added evenly.

The assistant director rubbed his chin and didn’t press further. They would know for sure when the cameras rolled.

Xiao Wang was still chattering away, and Xu Xishuang finally couldn’t take it anymore. He waved him off and walked up to Yan Yushan. “Director, when are we starting?”

“Now,” Yan Yushan replied, adjusting the camera. “Go to the corner of the classroom and we’ll start with the first one-take shot.”

Xu Xishuang nodded, walked to the corner near the trash can, leaned against the wall, and lowered his head to get into character.

Before transmigrating, Xu Xishuang had actually spent some time in the entertainment industry.

He had made a bet with his cousin that if he could land a drama role and gain over 500,000 Weibo followers on his own—without buying fans or traffic—then she would have to stop reading danmei for an entire year and focus on her studies.

He won. After that, he quit the industry without looking back, leaving 800,000 fans behind. His cousin, under his supervision, abstained from danmei, kept a healthy sleep schedule, and eventually got into the country’s top university, A University. 

Maybe transmigrating into the very danmei novel she had sent him was karma for making her quit reading in the first place.

Xu Xishuang suddenly felt like laughing.

He had always been the type to go with the flow. After dying at the peak of his youth and ending up as a cannon-fodder character in a book, he wasn’t overly emotional about it. If anything, he felt grateful just to be alive again. Of course, it’d be even better if he could live a bit longer.

Yan Yushan’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “Scene one, single take—action.”

As soon as the shoot started, both Yan Yushan and the assistant director noticed a shift in Xu Xishuang’s energy.

Due to the physical violence being removed, this entire scene focused solely on Xu Xishuang. He had to portray fear when seeing his usual bullies, then gradually shift from resisting and pain to numb resignation—all through subtle expressions. No lines. No cuts.

The emotional demand was immense. The assistant director had been worried they’d have to reshoot all day but the moment Xu Xishuang got into character, he realized his worry was completely unnecessary.

Xu Xishuang was no longer himself—he had become Yu Xiang, gloomy, self-effacing, and painfully vulnerable.

He hid his emotions behind long bangs. At first, he reacted like someone flung into deep water—panicked and struggling. Yet as the imagined fists kept falling and no help came, he stopped resisting, just like he had with his alcoholic father. He went numb.

He was drowning quietly, waiting to rot. If no one reached out to save him, he would simply slip beneath the surface, unnoticed.

Near the end of the scene, Yu Xiang raised his head ever so slightly, as if reaching for one last breath. His bangs shifted just enough to reveal eyes full of unshed tears, a fragile mix of despair and hope.

The room fell silent. Behind the camera, Yan Yushan momentarily forgot to breathe.

“…Cut,” the assistant director finally said, snapping back to reality. “Xu Xishuang, go take a break.”

He started reviewing the footage, murmuring praise. “Damn… that’s what you call a professional actor…”

Yan Yushan watched the playback, gave Xu Xishuang a subtle nod. Xu Xishuang took the cue, exhaled in relief, wiped his eyes, and walked off to let the makeup artist paint bruises on his limbs for close-up shots of his character’s injuries.

Then Yan Yushan said, “Add one to his forehead, too.”

Xu Xishuang didn’t mind because stage makeup was easy to remove. Yet as he brushed aside his fake bangs and lifted his chin, the assistant director couldn’t help muttering again, “If Yu Xiang was this pretty, why would anyone bully him that badly?”

“Pretty” wasn’t a word usually used for guys, but Xu Xishuang’s beauty was almost unreal. With the right styling, he could be called a literal work of art. The thought of anyone raising a hand to that face seemed absurd.

Yan Yushan suddenly spoke. “In the eyes of immature and ignorant teenagers, a boy who looks too pretty is a sissy. If he’s also skinny and delicate—basically feminine—then he’s a total outcast. That kind of person won’t be spared. If anything, it makes the bullying worse.”

“If Yu Xiang hadn’t hidden his face with his hair… he might’ve faced something even worse. Assault, maybe.”

Sadly, such stories weren’t unheard of and before same-sex marriage was legalized, male victims had no legal recourse at all. The assistant director shivered and looked away.

Yan Yushan withdrew his gaze from Xu Xishuang and called in the extras to shoot the bully scenes.

The next shots were of Chi Siyuan playing Xia Qinglang on his first day at school—dialogue-heavy scenes with his parents and teacher. Chi Siyuan wasn’t formally trained and his acting was rougher, but the scenes were simple and didn’t take many retakes.

Thanks to Xu Xishuang’s excellent performance and Chi Siyuan not holding things up, day one of filming went very smoothly. Everyone was in good spirits and they wrapped early, planning to hit up a local hot pot place the crew had recommended.

Xu Xishuang, a self-proclaimed “will die without spice” guy, was about to sit near the pure chili pot but under Xiao Wang’s deadly glare and tugging, he reluctantly compromised and picked the milder yin-yang pot.

He ate his mushrooms and bamboo shoots with an air of grievance, eyes constantly drifting toward the spicy meat slices. Whenever someone grabbed one, he followed their chopsticks with tragic longing.

Sitting across from him, Yan Yushan picked up on it. Amusement and vaguely intrigued, he deliberately added more slices to his own bowl, curious to see what Xu Xishuang would do.

At first, Xu Xishuang didn’t catch on but after the second, third, fourth slice, he panicked. Taking advantage of the moment Xiao Wang looked down to eat, Xu Xishuang darted in and stole the last spicy meat slice, stuffing it into his mouth like a thief.

He immediately choked on it.

He coughed so violently the whole table freaked out, and they promptly exiled him to the bland mushroom broth section.

Xu Xishuang: …

He almost cried.

Meanwhile, Yan Yushan let out a low laugh and checked his phone. Jiang Yangze had just messaged him.

Apparently, Jiang Yangze had just finished flirting with his beloved racecar, won the night’s F2 track, and was about to celebrate with some pretty girls when he saw paparazzi photos from their shoot on Weibo. He immediately forwarded the link to Yan Yushan and highlighted one photo.

“Yanyan, didn’t you say your other lead was Chi Siyuan? This photo doesn’t look like it’s just a scene with me…”

At first, Yan Yushan didn’t get it but when he saw the photo, he instantly understood.

The picture captured him and Xu Xishuang at the exact moment Xu Xishuang approached to ask when filming would start. With Xu Xishuang’s hair tucked behind one ear, his pale profile tilted slightly toward Yan Yushan. Meanwhile, Yan Yushan sat in his director’s chair, reaching out to gesture toward the classroom corner.

The timing and angle made it look like he was reaching to caress Xu Xishuang’s cheek.

The Weibo comments had already exploded. Since neither had publicly announced the film, and Xu Xishuang’s account had been inactive forever, fans and bystanders alike were debating whether this was a real relationship or a scene from some unannounced film.

Yan Yushan silently reported a few hate comments, then switched to his main account and posted the official character stills with a short caption: “First time directing.”

Jiang Yangze replied immediately. “So? Did you and Xiao Xu clear things up?”

Yan Yushan felt a headache coming on. After a pause, he typed back: “Sort of.”

“What does that mean?” Jiang Yangze shot back. “Didn’t he go see that doctor you recommended? Did you ask how he’s doing?”

“Why do you care so much?” Yan Yushan frowned. “Doctor-patient confidentiality exists for a reason. It’s rude to pry.”

He couldn’t stop thinking about the birth control pills he had seen Xu Xishuang toss in the trash. His head ached worse. 

Why had Xu Xishuang bought those?

Can men even take birth control pills??

Jiang Yangze: “Alright, alright, I won’t ask. Wishing you a smooth shoot.”