TF01 78

Ying Ming had taken the role in this film based on his agent’s advice.

The investors behind the project were reliable, and it was a major production. The cast members that had been revealed so far were all promising. With a film like this, even if the final result turned out average, the box office would still be solid. The film industry was not what it used to be. These days, it was rare to come across a film that managed to earn both good reviews and strong ticket sales. Maybe once every few years, one or two would appear. And even if they swept through the awards circuit, that initial reputation rarely lasted for long.

Most directors now were chasing either commercial success or critical acclaim. It was rare to find someone who could achieve both.

Still, Ying Ming had not expected the director they ended up hiring to be Si Ji.

It was a last-minute replacement. The producers had originally approached a well-known director with international experience, but they failed to reach an agreement over payment and other terms before the contract was finalized. With the crew rushing to begin production, the job was handed to Si Ji.

Ying Ming had crossed paths with him before.

They had never worked together directly, but in this industry, their paths often overlapped. Si Ji was a rising figure in the film scene, barely into his thirties. He had co-directed a film with a friend that ended up opening a major international film festival. For a while, everyone had been talking about him.

There were plenty of rumors about him. Many believed that someone with that kind of momentum had to have strong backing, though no one had ever dug up anything solid. Aside from hearing that he was somewhat unreliable in his personal life, the detail Ying Ming remembered most clearly was that Si Ji had once been, technically speaking, one of Shi Yi’s romantic rivals.

Back then, Liu Li had briefly been involved with Si Ji. It was years ago, likely before Si Ji had made a name for himself. Ying Ming had only heard about it in passing. It was not until the day he ran into Director Si on set that the memory resurfaced.

When Shi Yi visited the set, Ying Ming had been vaguely curious about how the two of them would react.

But it seemed like Young Master Shi did not recognize Si Ji at all, and Si Ji also showed no particular interest in Shi Yi.

If it had not been for the crew dinner later, when Si Ji suddenly came up beside him and asked, “You and Shi Yi are friends?,” Ying Ming would have assumed he had forgotten too.

By then, most of the people around them were already tipsy. The male and female leads were playing some half-serious kissing game under the encouragement of the others. Ying Ming was sitting off to the side, and when someone suddenly spoke beside his ear, he instinctively froze for a second.

He turned his head and saw He had thought the other man had forgotten leaning back in his chair, lighting a cigarette.

“I heard they said Shi Yi visited your set.”

Ying Ming nodded. “Yeah. We know each other.”

“Just knowing each other is enough for him to visit?” Si Ji scoffed. “When I first heard they wanted to use you, I wasn’t exactly on board with the idea.”

It was obvious there was more to that sentence, so Ying Ming stayed quiet and let him continue.

“I’ve seen your earlier films. After Rogue, you stopped improving. Your range is too limited. Your appearance already narrows your opportunities, and you’ve never had formal acting training. When you go intense, you lose control. When you need restraint, you can’t pull it off.”

Si Ji tilted his head slightly and glanced sideways at him. “And you went and did a Category III film after that. That was basically career suicide.”

Everything about his tone and expression made it clear he was not trying to be friendly. When he finished, he leaned to one side and gave Ying Ming a mocking little smile. Strangely enough, Ying Ming didn’t feel the urge to smoke. He just gave a soft laugh and replied without much care, “Yeah.”

That lack of reaction, not even a shift in expression, seemed to bother Si Ji. He frowned.

“That’s it? Just one word?”

Ying Ming looked at him. “What else do you want?”

“You didn’t agree with the casting, but you still used me. That means you thought I was a good fit. It just shows you believed someone like me was suited for the role.”

He lifted the glass in front of him and took a sip. This time, he didn’t even bother to turn his head.

Si Ji sat behind him and to the side, smoking. There was something heavy and unreadable behind his eyes, but it was hard to make out any clear emotion.

As a director, Si Ji’s style was on the extreme end.

He could shoot continuously for thirty hours without letting the actors rest. He could also pull a scheduled scene with no notice, forcing the actors to make a wasted trip only to be sent back to the hotel.

His assistant directors were all familiar with him and had worked with him before. They knew how he operated and had already given every actor on set a heads-up. This would not be a comfortable shoot. Emotionally, they would need to push themselves into a very raw, unstable state.

Among them, Ying Ming was probably the one who got pushed the hardest.

It was not that Si Ji was going out of his way to make things difficult, but having to repeat the same emotional arc seventeen or eighteen times in a single scene was enough to wear anyone down.

At first, Ying Ming was still cooperative. But later, he started smoking between takes. Si Ji clearly saw that his mood was slipping, but said nothing. Blocking went on as planned. Filming went on as planned. Sometimes just a single scene with Ying Ming would take up the entire afternoon, shooting nonstop from noon until the sun went down.

One of the assistant screenwriters on the crew had worked with Ying Ming before and had a decent relationship with him. He wrote under the pen name Huai Qishen. Seeing how things were going, he could not help feeling it was unfair, convinced that Si Ji was targeting him on purpose.

“It’s just one line. Does he really need you to do six takes for that? Everyone on set can tell he’s got a problem with you.”

They were both hunched around a small table at mealtime. The filming conditions were not great. Because they were shooting on location, actors with scenes rarely sat inside the tents. They had to be on standby for blocking or retakes. The meals were served on a single folding table. The dishes were cold by the time they sat down, and the rice, even when eaten with soup, felt stiff and dry.

Thinking of Shi Yi lounging on the couch at the warehouse, eyes half-closed while watching TV, Ying Ming suddenly felt a wave of resentment rise up in his chest.

He glanced at Huai Qishen. His tone was far less aggrieved than he seemed to expect. “As long as the final result turns out well, it’s fine. If the director wants to run it that many times, he must have his reasons.”

Si Ji might be petty in how he handled people, but he did have a certain instinct for directing. At the very least, when they reviewed the footage, Ying Ming often agreed that the final cut looked good. That was probably the main reason he had managed to put up with things this long. He had already passed the stage in his life where he cared about being singled out or sidelined on set.

He forced down a few mouthfuls of rice, but the food was barely edible. In the end, Ying Ming set down his bowl and chopsticks. His phone had been vibrating in his pocket for a while. He took it out and answered the call.

“You’re still awake?” The voice on the other end sounded lazy and half-drowsy.

Ying Ming smiled. “If you knew I might be asleep, why call me?” Was this his way of making sure he didn’t get any rest?

Shi Yi, completely unbothered, waved it off. “I’m just supervising your schedule.”

He picked up a piece of soft candy from the table and tossed it at Smoke Ring, who was crouched beside him baring its teeth. The candy hit the floor, and the cat didn’t react at all. It just stared back at Shi Yi with what looked suspiciously like contempt.

That look sparked something aggressive in Shi Yi. He had just started to get up when Ying Ming’s voice came through the receiver, low and amused.

“No need to explain your loneliness and emptiness. I get it.”

“If you get it, then why aren’t you back yet?” Shi Yi leaned against the arm of the sofa. “How much longer do you have to shoot?”

“Longer than I expected.”

“Something go wrong?” There was nothing in Ying Ming’s voice to suggest anything unusual, but Shi Yi still asked.

“No problems. The progress is just slow. The exterior location is so cold it’s killing me. When I think about how comfortable you must be right now, I honestly want to drag you over here to suffer with me.”

As Ying Ming said this, Huai Qishen, sitting beside him, looked visibly shocked. He raised his eyebrows in disbelief and gave Ying Ming a probing look, which was met with a casual smile.

Shi Yi flicked a piece of soft candy that hit Smoke Ring on the head. “If you need me, just call. I’ll show up anytime, twenty-four hours a day.”

They both let out soft laughs. After a bit more idle chat, Ying Ming finally grew impatient and hung up.

Huai Qishen was still processing what he had heard. He stared at the side of Ying Ming’s face like he had seen something incredible. After a long pause, he finally managed a sentence.

“Ying Ming, I always thought you were the kind of person who would never fall in love.”

Ying Ming looked up. “Why?”

“It’s just a feeling. You always seemed like someone who didn’t really match with anyone around you. Like no one could really get close.”

He said a little more, and seeing that Ying Ming didn’t seem offended, Huai Qishen grew a bit bolder.

“But… can I ask what kind of person you’re into? You seem really picky. Is it someone like a perfect girlfriend type?”

As he spoke, he started mentally sketching out a character on the spot. A screenwriter’s mind never stopped. As long as the idea appeared, the rest would immediately take shape.

Ying Ming thought about the question for a moment, genuinely trying to find the words. But in the end, he realized he had no vocabulary to describe the person waiting at home. He wisely chose to say nothing.

What other people wanted to imagine was not something he could control.

Before the conversation could continue, an assistant came running over to say it was time to shoot again. Ying Ming quickly cleaned up the things in his hands, took off his coat, and headed to his mark. Maybe it was the phone call with Shi Yi earlier, but his mood was still relatively good. Si Ji glanced at him without saying anything and gestured for him to return to his blocking position.

Even in the middle of the night, filming remained intense. The same scene was shot over and over. The lighting was strong enough to roast someone, and under it, it felt no different from a heating lamp.

They kept going until after six in the morning, when dawn finally broke. Only then did Si Ji give the all-clear. The crew began packing up. Ying Ming happened to have his hands free and casually helped the cinematographer carry some gear. What people liked to call “revolutionary camaraderie” was often forged in harsh conditions like these. The people in the van hadn’t worked together long, but they already got along well. Everyone chatted and joked the whole ride back to the hotel. Ying Ming didn’t feel the slightest bit tired.

Just as he got out of the car, his phone buzzed in his pocket. It was a text. He didn’t open it right away. But less than three minutes later, the phone started ringing.

He picked up and immediately heard the voice of the man who should have been asleep hours ago.

“Where the hell are you? I’ve been sitting in your hotel lobby for half an hour.”

Shi Yi sounded wide awake, but his voice carried an unmistakable edge of frustration. Ying Ming instinctively glanced toward the lobby. Someone was sitting on the couch with his back to him. The black coat stood out sharply against the rest of the room.