Jiang Nian had no idea that he’d sparked a massive wave of Flying Swords of Dragon Gate fever online. At that moment, he was simply walking out of the theater after watching the movie, looking at his parents with a faint smile on his face. “So, Dad, Mom, what did you think? Was it good?”
Thinking back on what they’d just seen, Jiang Nian’s father and mother both gave him a thumbs-up and nodded enthusiastically. “It was great! Really great!”
Sure, they hadn’t watched all that many movies and didn’t really understand all the ins and outs. But they knew one thing: if it starred their Jiang Nian, then it was a good movie, plain and simple!
“Although…”
“Jiang Nian, why is the eunuch you played so evil?”
As they walked down the stairs and got into the car, Jiang Nian’s mother hesitated for a moment, then voiced her honest feelings after watching the film.
Jiang Nian’s acting was great—his skills were top-notch.
But the character and how he came across…
To be honest, she had a bit of a hard time accepting it.
That was only natural. Every parent wants to see their child appear on screen and shine in a positive light. Not in a role like this—so thoroughly villainous.
Hearing this, Jiang Nian was briefly taken aback, then chuckled helplessly. “Mom, come on—I’m playing the villain. If he’s not bad, then something’s wrong, right?”
“But won’t that affect your real life?” Jiang Nian’s mother asked, her thought process taking a surprisingly novel turn.
Jiang Nian’s mouth twitched, and for a moment, he didn’t know what to say.
Fortunately, his father, Jiang Hongye, chimed in from the side, sounding a bit exasperated. “You and your nonsense! Acting is acting—you can’t put it on the same level as reality. What are you even thinking?”
His mother let out an awkward laugh. “I was just worried that since he played a eunuch, it might make it harder for him to find a girlfriend later.”
His father looked utterly speechless. “Why on earth are you worrying about that? Look at our Jiang Nian—you really think he’s going to have trouble finding a girlfriend?”
“But the eunuch thing…”
His mother’s voice trailed off, clearly still harboring some concerns.
Jiang Nian, for his part, didn’t dare make a peep.
He was terrified that if he said anything, his mother would steer the conversation straight toward him and start asking about his love life and marriage plans.
It wasn’t that Jiang Nian couldn’t find a girlfriend or that no one wanted to marry him. The real issue was that, in his eyes, it just didn’t make sense.
Marriage—to put it nicely—meant starting a family. But to put it bluntly, it was just another set of chains.
Especially once kids came into the picture.
Just look at the later years: those fiercely independent actors like Kim and Wang from iPartment ended up having children and then gave up their art, lost themselves, and became nothing but soulless money-making machines.
Jiang Nian had no desire to follow in their footsteps.
And that was without even considering the fact that he’d already stepped into the realm of the extraordinary.
Having a child would just be giving himself a weak spot—a vulnerability.
Unless his brain was completely fried, he wouldn’t be pining for marriage or children anytime soon.
Jiang Nian stayed silent.
The topic faded away in his quietness.
But even though that subject was dropped, his mother’s floodgates had opened.
She went on and on, asking all sorts of things: whether filming had been hard, how the special effects were made, whether it was tough playing two roles at once, and so on.
For these trivial questions, Jiang Nian had nothing to hide. He answered each one, thoroughly satisfying his mother’s curiosity.
They chatted as they drove, and as the conversation wound down—
“Jiang Nian, you’re such a good actor—have you ever thought about going back to school to polish your skills?”
Out of the blue, his mother said this.
Jiang Nian paused, caught on to what she was hinting at, and glanced at her through the rearview mirror with a wry smile. “Mom, you don’t mean…”
“Jiang Nian, how about you go to college?”
After several months, his mother brought up the subject once again.
Jiang Nian’s mouth twitched. He was at a loss for words.
Oh, great. So all that buildup was just setting the stage for this, huh?
But then again…
“Alright, that works too.”
After thinking it over, Jiang Nian nodded.
Unlike a few months ago, he wasn’t as resistant this time.
Part of the reason was that back then, making money was his top priority. The other part was that he genuinely had some unresolved feelings about it.
After all, his grades back in the day were good enough to get him into a decent university. But because of that wave of layoffs, he’d had no choice but to head to the big city and struggle on his own.
Now that his mother had brought it up again, Jiang Nian thought about it and figured there was nothing wrong with the idea.
Seeing him agree, his mother smiled warmly. “Good. I’ll start looking into it for you in a couple of days and get you signed up for this summer’s college entrance exam. Oh, and which university are you thinking of applying to?”
“For university… I’m thinking the Beijing Film Academy.”
After a moment’s thought, Jiang Nian said.
Since he was in the entertainment industry, going to the Beijing Film Academy made sense—it was the right fit.
Sure, with his system, the academy probably couldn’t teach him much. But that didn’t matter; it would just be about making up for a missed opportunity from years ago.
“Great!”
His mother nodded approvingly.
Jiang Nian’s choice of the Beijing Film Academy lined up perfectly with what she had in mind.
So she pulled out her phone and started making arrangements for him.
Time waits for no one. The days slipped by.
Amid laughter and cheer, the Lantern Festival came and went.
Under the reluctant gazes of his parents, Jiang Nian left the Range Rover he’d bought for his dad and boarded a plane headed for Hengdian World Studios.
It was worth noting that during these past few days, the online reception of Flying Swords of Dragon Gate had undergone a second major shift.
While Jiang Nian had managed to breathe life back into the nearly dead film with his masterful performance, making it a surprise hit for a while, the movie itself simply had too many problems.
As a result, the online discourse around it had become extremely polarized.
The radical camp argued that the movie was just shit wrapped in a chocolate coating.
The conservative camp felt that the radicals were being too generous—this was clearly chocolate shaped from shit.
They were tearing each other apart in the comments, but they did reach a surprising consensus on one thing:
Jiang Nian’s Yu Huatian was the soul of the entire film.
Seeing all this, Tsui Hark didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
On one hand, this half-dead film had been revived by Jiang Nian. In just a few days, ticket sales had not only covered their costs but had even turned a small profit.
On the other hand… netizens sure had some venomous tongues.
Every word cut deep.
Reading the comments made his blood pressure soar. He had to down several quick-acting heart pills just to keep himself steady.
“At least we didn’t lose money. At least we didn’t lose money. At least we didn’t lose money…”
Tsui Hark kept reassuring himself.
And in that way, he managed to survive the relentless online roasting.
But obviously, as the hype began to fade and the film’s inherent quality issues caught up with it, box office numbers started to drop off.
The movie didn’t completely flop, but it also didn’t turn a big profit. The only real winner was Jiang Nian’s Yu Huatian, who became an instant icon.
Whenever people mentioned Flying Swords of Dragon Gate, the consensus was that it was a garbage film. But whenever they mentioned Yu Huatian, they’d all say it was absolutely addictive.
——-
Meanwhile, at Jinyun Xiandu (Scenic Area).
A production van pulled over to the side of the road.
After more than half a month away, Jiang Nian had finally returned to the set of The Smiling, Proud Wanderer.
Today was the first day back after the holiday.
Everyone had returned, including Chen Qiao’en, who was still nursing her injuries. She was on set with bandages wrapped around her.
As soon as they spotted Jiang Nian, a bunch of people immediately rushed over to greet him.
Chen Qiao’en smiled warmly. “Teacher Jiang, congratulations! Your Flying Swords of Dragon Gate is a huge hit!”
Yang Rong chimed in from the side. “Yeah, I’ve been online nonstop these days, and all I’ve seen is news about you and promotions for Flying Swords!”
“So did you guys buy tickets to go see it in the theater?”
Looking at the two enthusiastic women, Jiang Nian asked with a smile.
“Of course we did! Teacher Jiang, your Yu Huatian was absolutely incredible. I never thought a eunuch could be portrayed so powerfully!” Yang Rong replied.
“Exactly! Teacher Jiang, your Yu Huatian completely changed my view of eunuchs. I never knew a eunuch didn’t have to be so effeminate—he could be this commanding and domineering!”
Huo Jianhua also walked over and joined in, his tone filled with admiration.
Yuan Shanshan added, “I heard there’s already a Yu Huatian fan club online. Teacher Jiang, is it too late for me to join?”
“Count me in too!” Deng Sha said.
Seeing how enthusiastic they all were, Jiang Nian didn’t want to act distant, so he chatted and joked with them for a while.
After swapping stories about interesting things that had happened during the New Year and handing out souvenirs he’d brought from his hometown, Jiang Nian parted ways with them and went to find Huang Junwen.
“Director Huang, do I have any scenes to shoot today?”
He got straight to the point.
It wasn’t that he was itching to act. Rather, he had a lot going on these days.
Thanks to his training at home over the past while, his Sunflower Swordplay proficiency had already reached “Minor Accomplishment” (409/500).
If he could keep up ten hours of practice a day from now on, with each half-hour session giving him one proficiency point, he’d earn twenty points a day. In five days, he’d break through to “Mastery.”
Aside from the swordplay, since he’d promised his mother he’d go to college, Jiang Nian also needed to prepare for the college entrance exam.
Sure, with his connections now, he could probably pull some strings and get into the Beijing Film Academy without taking the exam. But since he was a public figure, doing something so blatantly shady wouldn’t look good.
After all, even the famously well-connected “Lord Ding” got roasted for years when he did the same thing. And Jiang Nian’s connections were much flimsier.
Huang Junwen thought for a moment. “Not today. But if you want, Teacher Jiang, I could arrange—”
“Okay, no scenes means I’ll go practice martial arts. See you!”
Before Huang Junwen could finish offering to schedule something, Jiang Nian cut him off.
Watching Jiang Nian deliver his line and then dash off in a whirlwind, Huang Junwen scratched his head, shrugged, and went back to reading the script.
Ten hours later, night had fallen.
Hearing the familiar notification sound of [Proficiency +1] , Jiang Nian was breathing heavily.
Under normal circumstances, training wouldn’t have left him this exhausted.
But the problem was that throughout his practice, he’d been constantly restraining his internal energy—essentially refining his “hidden force.” While this didn’t drain his energy reserves much, it was incredibly taxing on his mind.
Fortunately, the results were encouraging. Through continuous refinement, his understanding of this hidden force had deepened significantly.
He estimated that if he kept this up for a few more days, by the time he broke through to “Mastery” in Sunflower Swordplay, he’d be able to control this hidden force effortlessly.
“Phew!”
“I’m beat.”
After drawing in his breath and dispersing the energy from his fists, Jiang Nian picked up the water bottle beside him and took a long gulp. The sweet taste of spring water soothed his parched throat, and he felt himself recover a little.
He glanced at his phone—10 PM.
“Sleep at midnight. It’ll take me two minutes to get down from here, ten minutes to shower back at the place, some time to eat, and then I’ll still have about an hour and a half to study. That works. Enough time.”
Jiang Nian calculated quickly. After catching his breath, he walked to the edge of the cliff and, grabbing onto the rocky outcroppings and crevices, began leaping his way down.
Because he was in a bit of a hurry, he didn’t notice the pale glow of lights flickering from the small town at the foot of the mountain.
“Cut!”
A soft voice called out, but it wasn’t the director—it was John Woo, who was standing in the producer’s spot.
At the sound, Xu Xinyuan and Michelle Yeoh, who had been rehearsing under the lights, stopped what they were doing and turned to look.
The director, Su Zhaobin, looked confused. “Brother Woo, what’s wrong?”
John Woo frowned. “It’s not good. The movements are wrong.”
Then he turned to Xu Xinyuan. “The presence you need for this character isn’t like that. She’s innocent and carefree on the surface, but underneath she’s ruthless and deadly. She doesn’t act unless she has to, but when she does, it’s shocking. You need to bring out that feeling. Understand?”
Xu Xinyuan scratched her head, looking puzzled.
But since John Woo had said so, she could only nod and try to get into that headspace.
However, before she could find that feeling—
Suddenly, she caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of her eye and her pupils contracted sharply.
“Is there… something up on that mountain over there?”
She pointed toward a nearby hill.
Hearing this, everyone else looked in that direction but saw nothing. They were puzzled. “What’s wrong?”
“Didn’t you see it? Never mind… it’s nothing.”
Xu Xinyuan had started to explain, but when she saw the blank expressions on everyone’s faces, she held back. Still, she was secretly shocked.
Just now, she had seen a blurry figure on the cliffside, leaping downward in a series of jumps along the sheer rock face.
And Xu Xinyuan was certain it wasn’t her imagination—because the figure had looked back at her from afar. Those bright eyes had been especially noticeable in the dark.
“What was that?”
“A wild man?”
“Or some kind of animal?”
A flurry of thoughts raced through Xu Xinyuan’s mind.
But she didn’t feel afraid. In fact, she felt a little excited.
After all, she’d always been someone who loved adventure and thrill-seeking!
So she quietly made up her mind to come back and check again—to find out what was really going on.
Jiang Nian, of course, knew nothing of this.
He’d just spotted some lights down below on his way down and glanced over out of curiosity.
“Huh. There’s a crew still filming this late?”
“Tsk tsk tsk.”
“Rough life.”
With that casual comment, Jiang Nian’s figure quickly vanished into the darkness, leaving no trace behind.
