Chapter 84 – Film Emperor (4)

Qian stared at Tong Jianxu’s face on the TV screen and subconsciously held her breath.

The giant TV in the first-floor living room had a crystal-clear picture and an overwhelming presence. It had barely been used before, but ever since Qian’s arrival, it had been playing from morning till night.

While flipping through shows, the child came across a drama poster featuring Tong Jianxu. Out of curiosity, she clicked on it—and her eyes grew wider and rounder the longer she watched.

It was a drama from several years ago, in which Tong Jianxu played a high-IQ criminal with a psychologically deranged mind. Outwardly, he appeared to be a refined and respectable high school physics teacher, but in truth, he was deeply disturbed.

His character spanned the entire show, matching wits with a seasoned veteran actor playing a police officer, eventually brought to justice in the end.

Before this drama, Tong Jianxu had been stuck in a rut—he was always cast as upright, noble, and kind-hearted roles that matched his handsome appearance.

But with this role, he portrayed a truly evil villain so vividly that it scared off a number of fans. They claimed that after watching the show, they could no longer find his face attractive—only terrifying.

In short, this drama marked a successful career shift for him and broadened his acting path.

His portrayal was so realistic and convincing that some police officer fans said his gaze alone made them want to arrest him. One person even anonymously reported him to the police, claiming Tong Jianxu might have actually killed people—after all, no one who hadn’t murdered a dozen folks could make their eyes look that cold and terrifying.

It once became known as the “black history” of Tong Jianxu.

Now, as Qian watched the show, one backward glance from the on-screen Tong Jianxu made her shoulders jerk up in fear, hands frozen like claws at her sides—not daring to move.

His face was clearly handsome and harmless, but with that look and atmosphere, it radiated sheer creepiness and horror.

Especially that twisted grin, the close-up of the bloodied knife in his hand, as if saying to the viewer beyond the screen: “I see you.”

Even when watching the Demon Lord kill countless magical beasts in the previous world, Qian had never felt this kind of fear.

Because for the Demon Lord, killing was just daily work—like a butcher slaughtering pigs. Everyone around him was unbothered. There were no close-ups, no eerie build-up.

But this show exaggerated the horror. Even adult fans were scared, let alone a child.

Only when the terrifying face of the Film Emperor vanished from the screen did Qian finally let out a breath of relief. She cautiously paused the show with the remote.

Then, heart still racing, she slipped off the couch and crept toward the kitchen to check on her new dad.

Tong Jianxu was currently in his excited “new dad” phase. For the past two days, he’d had the bright idea to cook kid-friendly meals himself and spent time each day tinkering in the kitchen.

Although he had yet to produce anything edible, he hadn’t given up.

Qian crept to the kitchen doorway like a little thief, poking her head around to peek in.

Inside, it was chaos. Spoiled ingredients were smoldering in the trash bin, giving off a burnt stench. Dirty dishes were piled high on the counter, mysterious red stains smeared the cutting board, and half-open seasoning packets were strewn everywhere.

The same Film Emperor who had just been on screen—murdering a student, destroying evidence, even encasing an eyeball in wax to make a keychain and playing with it right under the eyes of classmates and grieving families—was now in the kitchen, struggling with a fish.

“Hiss… why’s it still jumping?” Tong Jianxu shouted, smacking the fish head in the pan with a spatula. He hit it so hard, the flimsy utensil—which had barely been used—snapped in half.

He stared at the broken handle in confusion. “So fragile? Can’t be made in China.”

The gutted and scaled fish was still flopping in the pan, flinging the other half of the spatula around, clattering loudly.

Tong Jianxu fumbled, completely overwhelmed, before finally locating the lid and slamming it down to keep the fish from leaping out onto the floor.

He was nothing like the calm, calculated villain on screen.

Once the fish was subdued, Tong Jianxu finally noticed the little head peeking in at the door.

He turned and smiled. “Qian, I’m making you fish soup. Do you like fish soup?”

To his surprise, the child took two steps back, visibly spooked by his smile.

Tong Jianxu: “?”

Sure, his cooking wasn’t great, and his experiments these days hadn’t produced any edible results—but he hadn’t made her eat any of it. Still, she was scared?

As the noise in the pot died down, he added water and quickly covered it with the lid again as it sizzled and popped. Then he washed his hands and walked toward the child to chat.

But just as he approached with wet hands, Qian dashed up and slammed the kitchen’s glass door shut right in front of him.

Thankfully, this old house wasn’t built with an open-plan kitchen. There was a door, which the child now used to block her terrifying father from coming any closer.

Tong Jianxu: “?”

Why slam the door? He crouched down behind the glass and smiled. “Qian, why’d you shut the door?”

The child immediately pressed her little palm against the glass—right over his face.

Tong Jianxu, now very clearly feeling rejected, realized something was wrong. He reached out to open the door.

The door could close but not lock—it just pulled open.

He tugged from the inside; Qian pushed from the outside.

“Aaahhh!” the child shrieked, pressing against the door with all her might.

The two of them—big eyes staring into big eyes—were locked in a stalemate until Agent Feng Yu entered with bags in hand.

Today, the manager auntie had brought yet another haul, most of it for the child.

She paused at the doorway, puzzled. “What are you two doing, playing a game?”

It was only when she noticed the paused drama on the living room TV that she figured out what had happened.

Tong Jianxu couldn’t help but laugh in disbelief. He never imagined his acting would one day get him rejected by a child.

“Qian, that was just acting—it’s fake, you know that, right?”

“I know,” the child nodded.

But at dinner, the very child who claimed to know, deliberately carried her bowl and sat at the seat furthest from Tong Jianxu.

Of course, they weren’t eating food cooked by Film Emperor Tong—all the meals were ordered from high-end restaurants nearby. As long as Tong Jianxu was home, his assistant would order his meals and have them delivered on time.

Lately, because of Qian, it was his agent who came by to take care of things, and the three of them ate together.

Qian stuck close to the agent auntie and refused to go near Tong Jianxu. This behavior made one adult unable to smile and the other unable to stop laughing.

“Hoo.” The Film Emperor suddenly put down his chopsticks and clutched his chest, as if he were feeling unwell.

Worthy of his title, his performance was so convincing that not only did the child hesitate and look at him, even the agent looked concerned. “What’s wrong? Are you feeling sick?”

Tong Jianxu furrowed his brows and shook his head, giving a bitter smile. “My daughter hates me. My heart… it hurts a little.”

The agent rolled her eyes immediately.

Qian looked at his pained expression, then heard him ask gloomily, “Didn’t we agree you were going to really like Daddy?”

Feeling the sting of conscience, the little girl scooped up two green peas with her spoon, leaned across the table, and dropped them into Tong Jianxu’s bowl.

The Film Emperor put down his hand from his chest. “Thank you. I feel much better.”

To prevent the situation from getting worse, Tong Jianxu personally exited the TV show Qian had been watching earlier. Carrying her in his arms, he took her upstairs to the small home theater in his bedroom and picked one of his own movies for her to watch.

It was a Wuxia film, with Tong Jianxu playing a free-spirited, unrestrained swordsman—never without his sword or his fan.

The movie had beautiful visuals, and the director had a real talent for filming male characters. Fans even referred to it as the peak of Tong Jianxu’s visual appeal.

A white-robed figure dancing with a sword in a bamboo grove, making a floating, immortal-like entrance under countless gazes, hair in disarray, half his body bloodied but still smiling with a fan—anyone who saw it would sigh, “Truly a painting come to life.”

The fight scenes in this movie were especially well done. While the child couldn’t understand everything, the flying and fighting were exciting enough to keep her thrilled.

This time, Tong Jianxu sat beside her to watch.

As a result, every few moments she’d glance away from the screen to look at him.

The exhilarating and beautifully choreographed fight scenes had Qian jumping up and down on the couch, waving a magic fairy wand.

It was one of the toys her agent auntie had bought her. The butterfly-shaped top made it perfect for swatting things, so Qian loved it—she could use it to chase away the glowing blue orbs that sometimes floated around her.

“Come on, let Daddy borrow your magic wand for a sec.”

Tong Jianxu took the wand, stood in front of the screen, and twirled it in a flourish, exactly like the dashing swordsman on screen.

Though the character in the movie wore period costume, and Tong Jianxu in real life was just in a plain shirt and pants, the moment he adopted a focused expression and turned sideways, even the magic wand in his hand seemed to transform into a sword.

His posture was upright like a pine or bamboo, tall and lean. His movements were clean, sharp, and smooth—every spin, thrust, and step seamless. With a sudden kick off the floor, he almost soared into the air.

Back when they filmed the movie, they had undergone two months of intensive training. The sword dance Tong Jianxu had learned then still wasn’t forgotten, and now he was using it to entertain his daughter.

Sure enough, Qian was thrilled and kept bouncing on the couch.

When the swordsman in the movie used light-footwork to fly across a vast river of reeds, the child shouted, “Daddy’s flying!”

Tong Jianxu replied, “Daddy really can’t fly like that.”

“Fly fly fly!”

“I’ll show you something else instead.”

He stretched a bit, then flipped over with one hand on the ground.

Qian, standing on the couch, mimicked him and rolled clumsily like a little puppy tumbling headfirst.

“Hahaha!” Tong Jianxu leaned on the couch, laughing out loud.

The child collapsed onto the couch, laughing with him.

“Daddy can do something even cooler.”

Tong Jianxu jumped onto the couch, did a sudden backflip, and landed steadily on the ground.

“I wanna try too!” the child shouted, and dove headfirst off the couch.

“!”

He lunged forward and caught her just in time, breaking out in a cold sweat from the scare.

“You absolutely cannot copy that! Dangerous moves are not for kids!”

But the child didn’t feel the danger at all. She giggled in his arms, squirming and yelling, “Again! Do it again!”

Under his daughter’s relentless demands, the Film Emperor did over a dozen sword moves and flips, ending up drenched in sweat.

That evening, when Feng Yu came over to help bathe the child, she saw Tong Jianxu sitting on the couch, holding his waist.

“What happened to you?”

“Sis, do you think I should start working out?” he asked.

Feng Yu blinked. “The sun must be rising in the west. You’re saying this without me even pushing you?”

Though her artist was professional and diligent—always pushing through demanding fight scenes when filming—he was notoriously unwilling to move a muscle when resting at home. It was always her job to nag him into staying in shape.

“Where’s Qian?”

“In the bathtub, playing with water.”

If he hadn’t tricked her into playing with water, he probably still wouldn’t have been able to escape.

The next day, Qian discovered him on the second floor, starting up the treadmill.

The treadmill had once traumatized Qian, so she flat-out refused to go near it.

“Qian, come cheer Daddy on!”

The child shook her head.

Noticing her aversion, Tong Jianxu coaxed, “Daddy’s just working out. Qian can just watch, no need to run with me.”

After all, she was still so little—who in their right mind would make her exercise?