Brother Dao Took the Entertainment Industry by Storm, Fans Beg Me Not to Kill Anymore

The audience members filing in naturally had no idea about the strange atmosphere brewing among the main creative team behind the scenes.

As soon as Tiger Brother sat down, he noticed that the old man he’d run into earlier was sitting right next to him.

Whoa, what luck—running into him again.

Tiger Brother offered a greeting.

Qiu Zhenlong, seated in his spot, glanced at him but said nothing, only adjusting the mask on his face.

Tiger Brother didn’t mind. He sat down and waited for the movie to start.

To better understand the plot of *Let the Mistake Slide*, Tiger Brother had already watched the original Korean version, *A Swap of Murder*, online in advance.

The original version was a South Korean film, and the casting of its two lead roles looked similar to the domestic adaptation at first glance—one skilled actor paired with one trending idol, with the balance tipped toward promoting the idol. But back then, the situation was quite different from what was happening domestically.

In the Korean version’s script, the skilled actor playing the role equivalent to Xiao He’s was a veteran actor in his forties, a solidly middle-aged man. This fit perfectly with the original story’s theme of a man reaching middle age with no way out, facing career troubles and a drifting marriage—without any of the age gap that Xiao He had to contend with.

What’s more, this veteran actor had already won numerous awards in South Korea. In the eyes of local audiences, he had always been a representative figure of skilled acting, the kind of actor with strong public appeal.As for the trending idol playing the lead role, he had made his name in idol dramas, starring in many wildly popular Korean dramas that had earned him considerable fame both domestically and internationally. This was his first official foray into the film industry, and he intended to use this movie to level up and transition into a full-fledged film star.

This combination later became a common development model in the domestic entertainment industry’s film scene: one person brings acting chops, the other brings traffic. By now, everyone had long grown used to it, though back then it was still considered a relatively fresh approach.

And without a doubt, the movie was a massive success after its release.

The veteran actor’s skills were beyond question, and the trending idol didn’t drop the ball either. The two different character states were portrayed to perfection, earning unanimous praise from the audience. Riding on the film’s success, the idol successfully transitioned, rocketed up to film star status, and saw his position soar.

As a result, this film, titled *A Swap of Murder*, became a classic masterpiece, one of the highest-rated works in the body-swap genre.

It made perfect sense that a domestic entertainment company would buy the rights and remake it.

But as everyone knew, the law of ”remakes equal bad films” was all too common in the domestic entertainment industry, especially when the original was already a classic.

In the Korean version’s script, the skilled actor playing the role equivalent to Xiao He’s was a veteran actor in his forties, a solidly middle-aged man. This fit perfectly with the original story’s theme of a man reaching middle age with no way out, facing career troubles and a drifting marriage—without any of the age span that Xiao He had to contend with.

Tiger Brother had seen the trailer for *Let the Mistake Slide*.

Honestly, he thought things were looking a bit shaky this time.

First off, there was Xiao He.

That role had originally been played by a veteran actor in his forties. But Xiao He himself—let alone being anywhere near thirty, the guy could wash his face and still look like a fresh-faced college student!

Having Xiao He play a down-and-out, middle-aged slacker... no matter how you looked at it, it just didn’t sit right.

What’s more, Xiao He’s fame far exceeded that of the original veteran actor, making him one of the film’s main selling points. You had to remember that while that veteran actor had great acting skills and high national recognition, the traffic aspect had always been carried by the trending idol.

That alone was already a departure from the original version.

Then there was Ren Yibai. That guy’s acting skills were nowhere near as sharp as the Korean trending idol’s. And as the lead, his acting and fame couldn’t overshadow Xiao He, which was undoubtedly an awkward situation for him.

Otherwise, so many rumors wouldn’t have come out later.

So the question was: with the actors playing the two key roles not on the same page, could this movie even be made well?

Still, at least in the trailer, Xiao He’s few appearances were pretty good. The image of a down-and-out middle-aged office worker didn’t feel disjointed from his own youthful looks, and Tiger Brother’s uneasy heart was barely half-settled.

The other half would have to wait for the actual finished product—

With Tiger Brother’s thoughts trailing off, the screening room plunged into darkness.

*Let the Mistake Slide* officially began playing...

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Back in the backstage lounge area, Xiao He and the others had already received word that the screening had started out front.

”All esteemed teachers, you can head to the front to watch the film now.”

A staff member reminded them nearby.

Director Zhan Min had overseen the entire post-production editing process. He had long since memorized the final version inside and out.

Ren Yibai had initially wanted to cut some of Xiao He’s scenes, so naturally, he had also seen the finished product. As a result, he wasn’t particularly curious about it.

Only Xiao He hadn’t seen the finished product yet.

So when he stood up, he realized that no one else in the room had moved.

Most of the cast of *Let the Mistake Slide* were from the same company as Ren Yibai. Out of caution toward Ren Yibai, they hadn’t gotten up either. Instead, they stayed seated, each busy with their own things, as if they hadn’t heard the staff member’s announcement.

That familiar suffocating feeling from the production team washed over Xiao He.

But Xiao He didn’t blame them. He just let out a soft, resigned sigh.

It was hard to imagine that he, too, would face cold-shouldering from the rest of the crew one day.

The thing was, now that the movie had already premiered, what was the point of drawing such a clear line between them?

It wasn’t like they were going to throw a fight right in front of the audience, was it?

”I’ll go check it out on-site.”

Xiao He didn’t linger. He gave everyone a slight nod, then turned and left.

Xiao Chen quickly caught up to Xiao He.

”Brother Xiao, this atmosphere is so weird. It’s not like we did anything to offend them.”

Xiao Chen said, rubbing his arms as he spoke.

The vibe in the lounge just now was so eerie that he felt goosebumps rising all over his skin.

”Don’t worry about them. Just focus on doing our own thing.”

Xiao He tossed out the line casually, and by then, he had already slipped through the foyer door into the pitch-dark screening room.

Inside the screening room, the early content of *Let the Mistake Slide* was playing normally. The audience was watching with rapt attention, completely unaware that someone had slipped in through the front door.

As soon as Xiao He entered, he saw his own character—having just had a fight with his wife—dejectedly hiding out on the balcony to light a cigarette.

To be honest, aside from Zhu Third Brother in *Killing Life*, this character had one of the biggest contrasts. Even Mo Tun, the ”tooth-pulling master” from before, had only been a rough, weathered man roaming the waves, still bearing traces of Xiao He’s own persona. But Zhu Feng from *Let the Mistake Slide* was a full-fledged, married, depressed office worker, with an overall style that screamed ”loser” type—completely disconnected from Xiao He himself.

While it wasn’t exactly slovenly, the greasy, middle-aged feeling was something he had nailed just right. Even his smoking mannerisms lacked the carefree, cool attitude of youth. His back, leaning against the railing, was slightly hunched, carrying the exhaustion and weariness of an adult who had weathered countless storms.

He wasn’t smoking to look cool or play the tough guy, like a young man would. It was his only way to relieve the crushing pressure.

A career going nowhere, a wife changing her heart—these things gradually silenced a man.

But the camera didn’t linger on his face for too long. It spent more time recording his silent back, along with the darkness outside the balcony and the headlights of cars driving down the distant street.

In that moment, the world was eerily quiet. Even silence itself became a bitter form of pressure, making him gradually realize that having no one to confide in was its own kind of sorrow.

Finally, the camera focused on the protagonist stubbing out the cigarette in a flowerpot on the side, like venting his anger by grinding it out repeatedly, then turning and heading back into the room.

Inside the room, his wife was already lying on the bed, her back to him, eyes closed—a clear sign she had no intention of communicating, as if a tragic, insurmountable wall had risen between them.

In the end, he said nothing. In fact, his movements became even more cautious, tiptoeing over to the bed before stiffly lying down.

Sure enough, the next moment, he heard the woman’s impatient, soft tsk.

And then, the room fell into a deathly silence once more.

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