Chapter 87: Film Emperor (7)

“This variety show focuses on family themes. They’re inviting you now because they want you to appear on the show with your child.”

Feng Yu suggested, “Actually, I think you should do it. Remember that celebrity, and that other one too? They didn’t even have many works, but just by showing up with their kids on a variety show, they went viral. Our Qian is so well-behaved and adorable—she’d definitely gain fans, and it’d help clean up your image a bit too.”

“Besides, you’ve always turned down variety shows, so your public image comes off as distant. Now variety shows are offering high pay, huge traffic, and they’re easy. You could shoot for a few days when you’re not filming—think of it as a break.”

As his manager, Feng Yu strongly preferred that Tong Jianshu bring his child onto the show—or at least make an appearance. Some fans couldn’t accept the fact that the Film Emperor had a child, but plenty of fans were also begging to see the kid. You had to please some of them, right?

Plus, Feng Yu genuinely felt Qian had that kind of charm that could attract a fanbase. If the fans liked the child, the ones Tong Jianshu lost might just come back—and with more.

The recent storm of drama had finally calmed down under her maneuvering.

Online trends faded fast anyway, and she’d pulled some strings—had a couple of celebrity friends publicly announce their relationship earlier than planned. They were going to announce it soon regardless, so she just gave them a little nudge. A win-win.

Aside from a small handful of stubborn fans and haters, most of the netizens had finally shifted their attention away from the rumors about Tong Jianshu’s alleged secret marriage and child. Now, Feng Yu was urgently trying to restore his public image.

Tong Jianshu understood how she felt, but after listening to her advice, he still refused.

“I won’t take Qian on a variety show, and I don’t want to expose her to public attention. At least not right now.”

He was worried there might be something problematic about her background. If he pushed her into the spotlight now, and something came to light, the child would face even more criticism.

“Besides, I probably won’t have time for variety shows. Director Fang just told me the drama’s about to start shooting. I’ll need to go to H City in a few days for a script reading session. I plan to take Qian with me this time.”

When she heard this part, Feng Yu’s original concern turned into surprise. “You’re taking her too?”

“I’ll be staying in H City for at least a few months. I don’t feel at ease leaving her at home. The drama’s being shot at a newly built film base. There are hotels and things to do nearby. I’ll have my assistant keep an eye on her most of the time—it should be fine.”

“By the way, sis, did you find a suitable assistant?”

Feng Yu replied, “I did. One man and one woman, like you asked, plus Tian Miao and the driver. That should be enough.”

Only then did she realize Tong Jianshu had already made preparations. Normally when he joined a production crew, he only brought two assistants. No wonder he asked for three this time—it was for the kid.

Still, as his manager, she thought bringing a child onto set wasn’t very appropriate. But at the moment, she couldn’t come up with a better solution.

Tong Jianshu had no family left, and his friends weren’t close enough to help care for a child.

“How about this—you go film, and I’ll take care of the kid for a few months!” Feng Yu said, biting the bullet.

She was usually so busy she barely saw her husband, so looking after a kid would be tough. But that still sounded better than taking a child to set. Imagine the rumors.

Tong Jianshu fell silent for a moment, then firmly said, “It’s fine. I’ll take Qian with me. She’s still little. If she doesn’t see her dad for a long time, she’ll get scared.”

Feng Yu finally understood. It wasn’t the kid who was afraid—it was Tong Jianshu who couldn’t bear to be apart from her.

“I’ve already talked to Director Fang about it. He agreed.”

Since he’d already cleared it with the director, Feng Yu had nothing more to say.

And so, the child was packed up and flew with the Film Emperor dad to H City. That same day, they checked into a hotel at the new film base.

Tong Jianshu brought his child with him to the script reading.

Director Fang was a mild-mannered guy, slow and steady in both speech and filming. This was his third time working with Tong Jianshu, and he had great admiration for him.

His crew consisted mostly of his regulars. The screenwriter was someone familiar, and the atmosphere was pretty relaxed.

The script reading hadn’t even started yet, and a group of middle-aged and older folks were chatting over tea and thermos mugs—clearly an older demographic.

As soon as Tong Jianshu walked in with his child, everyone’s attention shifted to them.

These industry seniors were so gossipy that even Tong Jianshu found it hard to fend them off. He answered what he could, and for the rest he just smiled apologetically. That innocent, slightly pitiful look made people want to let him off the hook.

Compared to Dad, the three-year-old daughter was even more lovable. After all, a sweet, quiet toddler was a critical hit for people over fifty. After Qian sweetly called out “auntie,” “uncle,” “grandpa,” and “grandma,” her little face and head were practically swollen from all the patting.

Finally, the script reading started, and Tong Jianshu quickly tucked the child away in a corner.

The drama they were shooting was a serious historical piece titled Moonlight of the Southern Dynasty.

Historically, the Southern Dynasty was a chaotic period. Tong Jianshu’s role was the drama’s protagonist, the last emperor of the Southern Dynasty—Li Lingshu.

According to records, this fallen emperor was strikingly beautiful and extremely intelligent. But he was also violent and cruel. He killed his father and brothers to seize the throne. Under his rule, the tottering dynasty saw a brief revival, only to plunge back into disaster with his madness.

The Southern Dynasty was one of decadence, chaos, and brilliant literary talent. Li Lingshu himself was a renowned poet and master calligrapher. All the beauty and madness of that era, its poetic genius and charm, were embodied in him—he was the Southern Dynasty personified.

Back when this role was first rumored, many actors had tried to get it. But Director Fang made it clear: the lead role belonged to Tong Jianshu.

And for that one line, Tong Jianshu had waited over a year.

He didn’t disappoint. Even though it was just a script reading and he wasn’t in costume, the way he delivered his lines showed such command of emotion that it felt like the real Li Lingshu had stepped into the room.

While the adults got serious about work, Qian sat quietly on a chair, drawing.

After Tong Jianxu discovered that she’d been doodling stick figures on the cover of his script, he specially bought her a bunch of sketchbooks—some for coloring, others with blank pages.

Once the script read-through wrapped up, Tong Jianxu finally snapped out of the script’s mood and remembered his child. He quickly went to check on her, only to find her still focused on drawing.

He leaned over to take a look—and was stunned.

The child had drawn everyone in the room. Though they were simple line drawings, she captured everyone’s features quite accurately. Her level was far beyond what a three-year-old should be capable of—and far better than her Film Emperor dad, whose drawing skills were truly… dismal.

“Qian is amazing.” The Film Emperor looked at his daughter with sincere admiration. As she tilted her head up and smiled at him, he seized the chance to make a request. “But Qian, the dad you drew is too small. Dad wants a bigger one.”

Qian looked at her notebook—he wasn’t small, everyone was the same size.

“But I’m your dad! And you’re closest to me. Shouldn’t I be the biggest one?”

Qian thought for a moment, then gave in. She erased his tiny figure and redrew him one size bigger.

But the Film Emperor had another request.

“Qian, can you make Dad look special?”

The child thought it over and added a glowing halo above him.

“Hmm, very nice. But it doesn’t show how much Qian loves Dad.”

The child, troubled, added a heart above his head to show love.

“Qian, I think—”

The child put down her pen, hugged her sketchbook, and walked away.

The Film Emperor laughed and ran after her, scooping her up from behind and swinging her little legs: “Okay, okay, Dad won’t bother you anymore. Dad will take you out for a feast.”

After the script read-through, the crew had a dinner gathering already booked—just downstairs.

Tong Jianxu brought Qian to sit at the director’s table. A group of people were chatting and drinking, barely touching the food. The child didn’t care about all that. As a big shrimp rotated in front of her on the lazy susan, she looked at her dad and said, “Dad, help me undress the shrimp.”

Tong Jianxu paused, then laughed. “Okay, let’s undress the shrimp.”

He peeled the shrimp, dipped it in sauce, and placed it in Qian’s bowl, then thoughtfully helped her put on a disposable glove.

The glove was way too big for her tiny hand; her fingers couldn’t even fill the finger holes. Tong Jianxu pinched her little hand gently. “So cute.”

Qian held the big shrimp in one hand and spooned soup with the other, eating happily bite by bite.

Just watching her eat made Tong Jianxu’s face light up with a smile he couldn’t hide.

When he dove into a role, it was hard to shake off the emotions. The read-through had just ended on a heavy scene, and his eyes were still red. But seeing his child draw and eat had completely stripped that weight off his shoulders.

“Qian, is the shrimp good?”

“Mhm.”

“Then can Dad have a bite too?”

Qian took a big bite of the meat, then obediently held out the shrimp head she had left. “Dad can eat the head.”

Tong Jianxu: “…”

Several older directors and screenwriters noticed the father-daughter duo murmuring to each other and couldn’t help but chuckle.

They’d worked with Tong Jianxu a few times. He’d always come off as steady and professional—but they’d never expected he could act like such a kid himself.

Halfway through the meal, a group of people passed by outside. Leading them was a short, chubby middle-aged man. He spotted the crowd inside and walked in.

“Director Fang! You’re eating here too? Perfect! I’ve got a table here as well. Come on, come on, join me for a few drinks!” the man bellowed.

He was a director too—Wang Chenqi.

A well-known one, at that. Though he’d fallen off creatively in recent years, his status in the industry still held weight.

As soon as he appeared, the smile on Tong Jianxu’s face disappeared.

Wang Chenqi spotted him and greeted casually, “Well, if it isn’t Film Emperor Tong. You’re here too? Come on, let’s go have a few drinks.”

When he saw Qian sitting next to Tong Jianxu, he looked at the two in surprise. “Is this your kid? I never heard you got married. How come your child’s already so big?”

Some people just don’t keep up with the drama online. Wang Chenqi had no idea what was going on.

Director Fang stood up and quickly exchanged pleasantries to cut him off.

Wang Chenqi dropped the topic and kept insisting they all come drink with him.

“What, you won’t even give me face? I’m not taking no for an answer today—come have a couple of drinks!”

Every group has a guy like this. Director Fang didn’t want to get into it, so he figured he’d go have a couple of drinks and be done with it.

As he passed by Tong Jianxu, he patted his shoulder, meaning—just play along a little, make it look good.

It wasn’t that they were afraid of Wang Chenqi—just that avoiding trouble was often easier than facing it.

Wang Chenqi cared a lot about face, and he held grudges. If you didn’t give him “face,” you couldn’t be sure he wouldn’t cause trouble behind the scenes.

Tong Jianxu, wearing his usual polite, faint smile, went over for a couple of drinks. Alongside Director Fang and a few others, he was forced to sit through Wang Chenqi’s endless bragging, which gradually turned crude.

Some male directors are like that—talking about actresses with sleazy innuendo, treating sleaze like charm.

When the dirty jokes started, Film Emperor Tong quickly and subtly covered his daughter’s ears and took her out of the room.

Outside, he muttered to himself, “What bad luck.”

Then he gently rubbed his daughter’s ears, apologizing with concern, “If I’d known, I wouldn’t have brought you. Hearing that kind of talk will rot your ears.”

When Tong Jianxu had just debuted, he’d worked with Wang Chenqi too.

Wang Chenqi had never respected actors during shoots. Many actresses had been subjected to his casting couch behavior. Even male actors would get bullied or humiliated—especially if they weren’t well-known.

Back then, during a shoot, Wang suddenly demanded Tong Jianxu strip for a ** scene, alongside the female lead, and even hinted that he should “make it real”—none of which was in the script.

Wang Chenqi called it “pursuing authenticity and filming effect.”

Caught off guard, Tong Jianxu was nearly forcibly stripped, exposing private areas of his body.

He reacted fiercely at the time. Because he “didn’t cooperate,” Wang immediately lost his temper, cursed him out, and told him to get lost if he didn’t want the role—saying he’d never act in one of his films again.

As Tong Jianxu’s popularity grew, it was as if Wang Chenqi had completely forgotten that incident from the past. He would now greet Tong with a warm and enthusiastic smile whenever they met—it was truly disgusting.

What was even more disgusting was that people like him could still thrive in this industry, all because of their so-called “talent.”

After Wang Chenqi appeared, Tong Jianxu lost all interest in staying any longer. He asked someone to pack up some food and took his child back to the hotel early.

The smell of alcohol on him was unbearable. After settling the child at the table with some food, Tong Jianxu grabbed a change of clothes and went into the bathroom.

Qian was fully focused on peeling the shrimp’s “clothes,” but without her father’s help, she quickly got her hands, mouth, and even her face dirty.

After finishing a shrimp, she looked like a little messy-faced kitten. She tried wiping her face with a tissue, but it seemed to just make it worse.

She got up and walked to the bathroom door. The hotel’s bathroom didn’t have a lock. The sound of running water echoed inside. Qian pushed the door open and walked in.

“Daddy, my hands are dirty,” she said, raising her hands and calling out to the silhouette behind the frosted glass.

Tong Jianxu, drenched in water, instantly snapped back to awareness when he heard his daughter’s voice. He flinched and quickly threw on his bathrobe to cover himself.

The damp bathrobe clung to his body, making him look a bit disheveled and vulnerable.

But remembering it was his daughter outside, he exhaled, tightened his robe, and stepped out.

“Come here, Daddy will help you wash your hands.”

He picked her up and placed her on the sink counter. His warm hands gently patted her puffed-up cheeks, and his voice naturally softened with a smile, “Your face is dirty too.”

“Daddy, I don’t know how to take off the shrimp’s clothes.”

“Daddy will help you peel them in a bit.”