“Mr. Li, you’re flattering me.”
Hearing Li Lianjie’s evaluation, Jiang Nian waved his hands repeatedly, feeling unworthy of such praise.
But Li Lianjie simply shook his head. “I’m not flattering you—I’m just stating the facts. Maybe to you, it doesn’t seem like much, but from our perspective, the pressure of acting opposite you has been growing day by day.”
As he spoke, a trace of emotion crept into his voice.
He remembered back when he first joined the production—although he could tell Jiang Nian had some skill, acting opposite him had still been a relatively relaxed affair.
But as time went on, Jiang Nian’s abilities grew stronger and stronger, and the pressure of sharing scenes with him mounted accordingly.
Now, Li Lianjie felt that when he acted opposite Jiang Nian, it was no longer just acting.
It was as if Jiang Nian was genuinely going at him, for real.
It made his heart race.
He’d even started to feel a bit reluctant to film.
Zhou Xun chimed in with a groan of agreement: “Exactly, Mr. Jiang. The pressure of filming with you is just too much. Honestly, I’m constantly scared that you might accidentally go a little too hard and send me straight to the hospital.”
“Uh…”
Jiang Nian was momentarily speechless.
If only Li Lianjie had said that, he could have taken it as a joke.
But even Zhou Xun was echoing the same sentiment.
“Am I really that intense?” Jiang Nian wondered silently. He felt a little wronged.
Because during filming, he had always been holding back his strength.
How did they get the impression that he was genuinely about to throw down with them?
“Maybe I should tone it down next time?” Jiang Nian asked tentatively.
But Li Lianjie and Zhou Xun both shook their heads in unison. “No—better yet, let’s hope there isn’t a next time!”
Once was more than enough for the two of them.
If they ever collaborated with Jiang Nian again, they weren’t sure their bodies could handle what he’d put them through.
Seeing how clearly they wanted to keep their distance, Jiang Nian’s mouth twitched.
After a bit more small talk, Li Lianjie and Zhou Xun hurried off, not even planning to stay for the wrap party.
They were both busy people, after all.
While filming The Flying Swords of Dragon Gate, they’d also been working on other projects simultaneously. Now that this one was done, they had to rush off to the next set.
Xu Ke understood and didn’t press them to stay. After giving everyone a short break, he led the crew to the imperial palace set to shoot the final scenes.
This closing sequence—which also marked one of only two appearances by Zhang Yuxin’s character in the entire film—wasn’t particularly difficult.
It took just an hour to wrap up smoothly.
And the moment it was done—
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The crew popped the confetti cannons they’d prepared in advance, celebrating the official completion of The Flying Swords of Dragon Gate.
Xu Ke walked over to Jiang Nian. “Mr. Jiang, thank you for your hard work over these past two months.”
Jiang Nian replied politely, “Director, you’re too kind. I should be the one thanking you for looking out for me. If it weren’t for you, I might not even have any roles to play right now.”
Xu Ke paused briefly at those words, then quickly caught on—playing dumb with a smile. “Mr. Jiang, you’re too modest. I’m sure that with your talent, even without me, you would’ve shone brightly in some other production. No way you’d be out of work.”
Seeing that Xu Ke didn’t want to dwell on the subject, Jiang Nian didn’t push further. Instead, he changed the topic. “Speaking of which, Director Xu, even though Mr. Li and Mr. Zhou have already left, we’re still having the wrap party, right?”
Xu Ke gladly took the out. “Absolutely—it’s still on. Eight o’clock tonight, at Shenghe Manor. Everything’s on me. Mr. Jiang, we’re drinking until we drop tonight!”
“Sounds good—drinking until we drop it is!” Jiang Nian laughed.
With that, he headed to the makeup room to change out of his costume and remove his makeup.
Three Days Later, Beijing.
After finishing The Flying Swords of Dragon Gate and enjoying a couple of carefree days in Hengdian, Jiang Nian flew back to Beijing.
You have to admit—Beijing is a great city, especially its skies.
The moment the plane entered Beijing’s airspace, guess what?
The sky turned blue, clear and cloudless!
Every time he saw it, Jiang Nian couldn’t help but wonder—why was the sky so blue up here, while back in his hometown, it was always so gloomy?
Was it that everywhere was overcast, but Beijing had somehow painted itself blue?
Or was it that everywhere was blue once, but only his hometown had turned gray?
Lost in such thoughts, Jiang Nian got off the plane, made his way to the underground parking lot, and got into Yang Mi’s car.
As soon as he sat down, Yang Mi delivered some bad news: “You don’t have any roles anymore.”
She stared straight ahead, her tone heavy.
Jiang Nian wasn’t surprised. He asked calmly, “What’s the situation exactly?”
“Just like you told me that day—Liu Kai has blacklisted you in the industry. Over these past two months, I’ve reached out to a lot of directors, but the moment they hear your name, they all say no.”
She rubbed her temples, clearly frustrated.
Truth be told, Liu Kai’s connections alone shouldn’t have been enough to shut Jiang Nian out so completely. The entertainment industry is huge—there are always a few stubborn directors who don’t get along with him and would go against him, and some big-name filmmakers who wouldn’t care about his opinion at all.
But the problem was that Liu Kai had thought ahead.
After learning that Jiang Nian had joined the Flying Swords cast, he doubled down on his efforts. Not only did he blacklist Jiang Nian himself, but he also rallied others in the industry to do the same.
As a result, Jiang Nian had become a pariah among directors—someone no one dared to touch.
Even with Yang Mi personally intervening, it was useless.
Because one person simply couldn’t stand up to that many people!
It was an incredibly helpless situation.
Jiang Nian’s eyes flickered upon hearing this.
Liu Kai really was ruthless.
Clearly, he was dead set on crushing him.
“Jiang Nian, are you sure The Flying Swords of Dragon Gate can turn things around for you?” Yang Mi asked.
Jiang Nian shook his head. “I’m not sure.”
It was true that the character Yu Huatian was outstanding.
He was the soul of the film, its crowning touch.
But in reality, the character only gained massive popularity years later, when wuxia films were in decline and audiences, desperate for anything decent, happened to rediscover him. That resurgence also owed a lot to the rise of short video platforms.
Although Jiang Nian was confident that with his performance, his Yu Huatian wouldn’t need years of aging to become a hit—it would explode right from the first broadcast—
The problem was that The Flying Swords of Dragon Gate was, by all standards, a bad movie.
Even though Jiang Nian had spent two months as the action choreographer, fixing many of the widely criticized fight sequences and raising the overall quality of the film by a notch, it still couldn’t make up for the lackluster plot and mediocre special effects.
And relying on a film like that to break through Liu Kai’s blacklist was almost impossible.
