Seeing the troubled look on Director Zhang Mou's face, Luke asked, "Is there some kind of problem?"
Director Zhang sighed. "Given your current standing in Hollywood, and the fact that you're also one of the main investors, you really should be playing the lead. But the major roles in this movie have already been tentatively assigned to other actors. Recasting someone now would be… awkward. Not impossible—but not easy either."
Luke nodded. He knew Zhang was telling the truth.
Before a movie project even secures funding, the script is usually finalized and the lead actors' schedules are coordinated. Only then can the production team put together a solid proposal to present to potential investors.
After all, who stars in a movie can drastically affect its box-office prospects.
Judging by what Zhang said, he'd probably already reached preliminary agreements with big-name stars like Li Renjie, Liang Chaowei, and Zhang Manyu—contracts just hadn't been signed yet.
If Luke were to replace one of them now, it would definitely put Zhang in an uncomfortable position.
Still, as the director himself said, "not easy" doesn't mean "impossible."
With this much money on the line, inconvenience wasn't really an excuse.
As for whether he'd offend anyone—Luke didn't care.
No industry is free from competition. If you want to rise to the top, you've got to fight for your place. Hesitation just gets you left behind.
"Have you already read the script?" Zhang asked.
"I have," Luke replied.
In short, Hero was a story about an assassin's failed attempt to kill the First Emperor of Qin.
The assassin, Nameless, had mastered a sword technique said to make him unbeatable within ten paces. If he could get that close to the Emperor, victory was guaranteed.
But the Emperor was surrounded by guards, so Nameless needed to earn his trust. To do that, he had to bring proof of killing three assassins on the Qin Kingdom's most-wanted list: Sky, Broken Sword, and Flying Snow.
When he finally got his audience, Nameless realized through their conversation that the Emperor's dream of unifying the warring states was, in fact, a noble one.
So instead of striking the fatal blow, Nameless chose to die with honor.
On IMDb, Hero had a score of 7.9—roughly on par with Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon—and was even named Time Magazine's Best Movie of 2004.
But in China, it was divisive. Its Douban score started at 6.4, later climbing to 7.5 as people gradually softened toward it. Still, many stubbornly believed it was all style and no substance.
Luke wasn't surprised. The problem, he knew, was the script.
Western audiences gave it 7.9 not because of its story or message, but because of Zhang's breathtaking visuals and use of color.
The underlying philosophy went over most people's heads.
Meanwhile, audiences criticized it for glorifying the Emperor and distorting history.
The movie portrayed Ying Zheng, the First Emperor, as a benevolent ruler seeking peace—a man who wanted to end chaos and unite the land for the greater good.
Yes, the Qin Dynasty standardized writing, currency, and measurement—a massive accomplishment. But it also overworked and oppressed its people. The later Han Dynasty's "continuing but reforming Qin policy" showed just how much had to be fixed.
So Zhang's attempt to frame the Emperor as a pacifist hero simply didn't hold water.
At the film's premiere, when the Emperor delivered the line, "I have realized that the highest realm of the sword is not to kill—but to bring peace," the theater reportedly burst into laughter.
In short, the Hero script had deep issues.
To impress Western audiences, Zhang could rely on visuals alone. But to win over viewers, the story needed serious reworking.
If Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon managed to touch hearts overseas, Hero fell into the gap—pleasing no one completely.
"So," Zhang asked after a pause, "which role are you interested in?"
"Broken Sword."
"Broken Sword?" Zhang blinked. He'd expected Luke to pick Nameless, the main protagonist.
But then again, Broken Sword was easily the more layered, emotionally rich role.
Still… that made things harder.
Broken Sword was originally cast for Liang Chaowei, with Zhang Manyu as Flying Snow.
If Luke took over as Broken Sword, Flying Snow's casting would have to change too—he was too young to convincingly play her lover.
Swapping them both out would also mean losing the Hong Kong production team tied to them.
Back in the early 2000s, mainland China's film industry was still playing catch-up, especially in large-scale commercial production.
That's why Hong Kong and Taiwan studios held so much power—they brought the expertise and the star names, and they demanded higher pay, even for supporting roles.
A Hong Kong side character could make several times more than a mainland lead.
So yes, replacing those actors would complicate things.
Sensing Zhang's hesitation, Luke said calmly, "Don't worry about the production crew. My studio has enough qualified people to handle that."
"Really?" Zhang's eyes lit up. "Well, in that case, let's make it official—you'll play Broken Sword. As for Flying Snow, we'll need to cast someone new."
"I'd like Ziyu to play Flying Snow," Luke suggested. "We already have a strong partnership from Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon. It'll make marketing in the U.S. much easier."
"That makes sense," Zhang agreed. "But if Ziyu plays Flying Snow, we'll need someone new for Moon."
In Hero, Broken Sword and Flying Snow were lovers, and Moon was Broken Sword's attendant—forming a tragic love triangle.
Originally, Ziyu had been cast as Moon. Now that she'd moved up to Flying Snow, the Moon role was open again.
Luke remembered something else—the scene between Broken Sword and Moon involved a love scene.
A love scene again?!
Before he could even finish the thought, the golden system prompt appeared before his eyes:
[Please select a female of Type A personality to perform the love scene. Rewards will be issued based on performance outcome.]