The silk pajamas felt cool against his skin. Another day, another role. Emperor. Ugh, the weight of a dynasty – a whole nation – another tedious responsibility. He stretched, his six-foot-seven frame a familiar burden. His reflection – dark hair still damp, those dark eyes assessing – revealed nothing. Twenty million a year bought him comfort, but not freedom from the boredom of it all.

His stylist hummed, annoyingly cheerful. The guy worked fast, though, applying makeup with practiced ease. Sandalwood cologne – whatever. He adjusted the robe; the heavy fabric felt like the weight of expectation itself. Not a costume; more like a suit of armor.

Director Li bounced in, all frantic energy. A stark contrast to the actor's quiet stillness. They went over the scene – pointless pleasantries. Li's enthusiasm was grating. He mentioned the new actress – whatever. Their chemistry? Irrelevant. Purely professional. No room for distractions.

The wait was just silence. The crew buzzed with anticipation, but he felt nothing. It wasn't a performance; it was a job. A necessary evil. The Emperor was a mask. Underneath, he was still the same: cold, efficient, and completely unmoved by the silly drama around him. His deep voice sounds cold as he asks, the director. “Is my co-star late?” The director shakes his head. “No. We told her to come a bit later. Should be any time soon.”