Chapter 49: Will You Need to Grow a Brain Now? (Requesting Monthly Votes)

Cast visits are a common promotional method in film and television productions.

But Zhang Nan had no interest in playing along with Tang Yan’s schemes—he could tell she was just trying to stir up gossip about Qi Hao.

Even if our Qi Hao were an idiot, we won’t let you treat him like some common plaything.

Zhang Nan had clearly stated: you may visit the set, but if you fix a date, our Qi Hao will take a personal leave first.

With Qi Hao’s current status, he can afford to be this firm.

If you aren’t firm, people will look down on you, and they’ll keep taking advantage of you whenever they feel like it.

But media visits can’t be arranged overnight.

You must notify everyone properly, and consider weather, arriving stars, shooting progress, and countless other factors.

Zhang Nan was also very skillful in how he spoke.

He indicated that Qi Hao, considering the overall interests of the production team, personally agreed to allow media visits and was willing to cooperate with the drama’s promotion.

In other words, the agent refused, but Qi Hao reluctantly gave in.

You could say Zhang Nan turns on himself even when he’s playing dirty.

He plays the bad cop so Qi Hao can play the good one.

At the same time, Zhang Nan reiterated that our Qi Hao only wants to finish this drama peacefully and hopes to avoid excessive hype.

At the very least, taking turns like this is absolutely out of the question.

What do you think of our Qi Hao?

A bus?

Whoever wants to get on, gets on.

Tang Yan’s side agreed without overthinking it.

In fact, their marketing campaign for Liu Shishi had already begun—quietly, since “Chinese Paladin 1” premiered on Hebei Satellite TV on January 27, 2008.

In the short term, this marketing was already sufficient.

If gossip with Qi Hao could be sparked, fine; if not, it didn’t matter.

Cai Yinong constantly urged Liu Shishi to interact with Qi Hao, mostly from a metaphysical standpoint.

What if Qi Hao’s “wife-bringer fate” really worked?

It’s like you never planned to eat Tang San’s flesh, but his whole group just happened to pass right by your cave—and they looked easy to bully.

So tell me, do you take this fortune handed to you?

On Qi Hao’s side, he carefully placed his glasses in a safe spot and went to shoot.

He couldn’t possibly shoot wearing glasses.

What would it mean for Xu Zhangqing to wear glasses?

Today he and Tang Yan weren’t filming the kissing scene—they started filming wire work.

More precisely, Tang Yan was on a tree, Qi Hao’s fake Daoist was sweeping the ground, then Tang Yan fell from the tree and Qi Hao caught her.

Not like catching a soccer ball with your foot.

But in a romantic princess carry.

Qi Hao considered himself physically strong, having received two +10 stamina boosts from Tongzi Ge.

Catching a girl just over 1.7 meters tall and under 50 kilograms was unlikely to cause any mishap.

But any probability implies risk.

Qi Hao could fail many times, but Tang Yan only had one chance.

If either Tang Yan or Qi Hao got injured, the entire production schedule would be disrupted.

From a filming perspective, wire work also made capturing shots easier.

So Tang Yan had to be suspended on wires.

But before filming “Chinese Paladin 3,” Tang Yan had never tried wire work, and she also suffered from acrophobia.

She could only push through her fear to shoot.

In terms of wire work alone, Tang Yan lost badly compared to An Feng.

In “The Legend of the Condor Heroes,” starring Qi Hao and An Feng, there were countless wire scenes, some even requiring suspension high in midair.

Yet An Feng performed them excellently.

Most wire scenes didn’t require stunt doubles—she completed them herself.

She was only seventeen or eighteen then.

Look at this woman clinging to the tree and refusing to come down—why don’t you just move in up there?

The higher you stand, the harder you’ll fall.

“Tang Yan, push harder—if we can’t nail this scene, Teacher Qi Hao will be stuck here with you.”

Li Guoli couldn’t directly yell at her—she might cry on cue, and casting decisions often came from capital interests; who didn’t have some connections?

He knew Tang Yan respected Qi Hao, so he invoked Qi Hao’s name.

Qi Hao didn’t care much—he’d seen far worse actors; this was common in the entertainment industry.

As long as she didn’t throw tantrums or quit on a whim, being bad was fine.

Tang Yan was already relatively low-maintenance.

“Miss, you’re in danger up there—come down quickly.”

Come to my arms!

After the director called “action” again, Qi Hao spoke his lines seriously.

“You’ve been staring at me for a long time—don’t you know that’s impolite?” Tang Yan finished speaking and leaned back, falling from the tree.

Of course, she was attached to wires, descending at a slow pace.

Qi Hao stepped forward two paces and caught her in his arms.

Not only do pies fall from the sky—sometimes little girls do too.

“Cut! Tang Yan, everything else was fine, but closing your eyes during the fall is unacceptable.”

Li Guoli nearly laughed in anger.

On the path of failure, Tang Yan had always walked steadily.

Why close your eyes? Do you think Qi Hao will kiss you?

You wish.

Got addicted to filming romantic scenes, huh?

“It’s fine, let’s do it again.” Qi Hao set her down, as calm as ever.

When he held girls, his hands always stayed in gentlemanly positions.

You only regret not studying hard when you need knowledge; trouble gathers at a widow’s door.

To avoid being photographed and turning into a lifelong black mark on her career.

In fact, dozens of crew members were on set.

It wasn’t easy to take advantage of anyone, and there was no chance to do anything inappropriate.

Besides, it’s just two chunks of fat—if you want to pinch them, what’s the point?

Qi Hao had a training space—if he truly wanted to take advantage of someone, he could capture them as a training NPC and have eight hours to do whatever he wanted.

“Sorry, I messed up again.”

Qi Hao’s gentleness and chivalry had shaken Tang Yan’s resolve.

She repeatedly warned herself: don’t fall for Qi Hao.

Even if she occasionally felt motivated but constantly lusted after his looks, she must not let herself be aroused by Qi Hao.

He was just a block of ice obsessed with his career, a piece of wood incapable of feeling for women.

Phew, won again.

The director announced a short break before resuming shooting; Qi Hao returned to his chair, put on his glasses, and picked up a copy of “Classic of Mountains and Seas.”

He bought the book out of personal interest.

Now he chose it to test his glasses because it contained many obscure characters and classical Chinese—difficult for any normal person to memorize, let alone a poor student like him.

Lu: its form resembles a cow, with a snake’s tail and wings, its feathers beneath its ribs, its cry like a liu ox, it dies in winter and revives in summer; eating its flesh prevents swellings.

Qi Hao glanced at it, confirmed he recognized every character, then closed the book. After a while, he realized he could recite it smoothly—even writing it from memory posed no problem.

Holy crap, awesome!

Moreover, the edition he bought included annotations: it said there was a fish shaped like a cow, dwelling on hillsides, with a snake-like tail and wings growing beneath its ribs, its voice like a mao ox, named Lu—it hibernates in winter and awakens in summer; eating its meat prevents abscesses.

Qi Hao flipped through it quickly.

It felt like an ancient cookbook.

Online, some people liked inventing similar entries—for example, about Western vampires: “In Xiling dwells a ghost, human in form, red-eyed, fanged, hiding by day, hunting by night, craving human blood; those who eat it gain long life.”

This kind promotes longevity.

Too tragic—immortality, yet look at Tang San’s fate.

Even harsher—if it could solve men’s private troubles, vampires would be even worse off.

To solve such problems, men will do anything.

Not even vampires—angels would end up on the menu; they’d probably need to beg the animal rights association just to survive.

When the crew wrapped for the night, Qi Hao had fully memorized the “Classic of Mountains and Seas”—a book he’d previously struggled to understand even after repeated readings.

Including the annotations.

Reciting it backward was unlikely due to grammatical habits, but if you randomly picked any passage, Qi Hao could, within seconds, connect it to context and recite the relevant lines and annotations.

My brother Qi Hao is awesome.

Now I have zero pressure memorizing scripts for dramas.

Qi Hao’s junior high school education seems not to hinder him from becoming an actor, but in fact, whether reading scripts or understanding characters, he cannot match those with more knowledge.

He must exert more effort than ordinary people.

To further test the glasses’ function, Qi Hao opened the notes app on his phone, where there was a document listing commonly misspelled characters and confusing words he encountered.

“Xiá bù yǎn yú (tone 2, same as ‘yú’), not read as ‘Xiá bù yǎn yù’—it means flaws do not obscure virtues, as virtues are primary.”

“The ‘xiàng’ in ‘xiàngdào’ is pronounced ‘hàng,’ not ‘xiàng.’”

……

He recorded them because he kept making the same mistakes—even after being corrected, he would forget again after a while.

This has little to do with his junior high school education.

Many people in daily life have characters they constantly misspell, and no matter how many times they’re corrected, they keep making the same errors.

Qi Hao had to record them and review them whenever he had free time.

Over time, perhaps he would eventually correct them.

Now with the Scholar Glasses, Qi Hao glanced at them and even got up to do something else.

When he recalled the word later, he found he had made no mistake.

Next, he tried math problems, chemical formulas, English poetry…

All confirmed the Scholar Glasses’ powerful function.

Currently, he did not know whether this photographic memory might change over time or be disrupted by similar knowledge.

But no matter what, Qi Hao felt he was now comparable to a genius.

Ah, my head itches—could I be growing a brain?!