TF01 89

The difference in mindset between acting and directing was something that couldn’t be fully understood without living through it.

When Ying Ming saw Dong Xiao again, he immediately sensed the change. The man in front of him felt completely different, inside and out. He used to care a lot about appearances, but now he showed up in an ordinary jacket over a pale shirt. His hairstyle hadn’t changed much, still kept short and clean, and he wore a leather cap and brown-tinted sunglasses. When he entered the café, he scanned the room once, spotted Si Ji and Ying Ming sitting by the window, and walked over with both hands in his pockets, unhurried and calm.

Once he sat down and opened his mouth to speak, Ying Ming finally felt a flicker of familiarity. This was still someone he had known before.

Dong Xiao didn’t remove his sunglasses or take off his hat. Si Ji shifted inward to make space, and he took the seat across from Ying Ming. With a slight lift of his chin, he said, “Long time no see.”

His voice was hoarse. It was unclear whether it had always been that way or if it was from an old injury.

Ying Ming looked at Dong Xiao. His gaze didn’t linger on the scar, but he didn’t avoid it either. Si Ji glanced between the two of them, raised his brows slightly at the tension, then cleared his throat.

“Well, since everyone’s here, we might as well talk this through.”

Dong Xiao clearly wasn’t planning to speak first. The three of them sat in silence for a while, until Ying Ming finally asked the first question. He looked straight at Dong Xiao.

“Why me?”

There were plenty of actors in the industry trying their hand at directing. He and Dong Xiao weren’t particularly close. They didn’t have any serious conflict, but there was no friendship, no shared interests, no pre-existing foundation for collaboration. From any angle, it didn’t make much sense.

Dong Xiao smiled faintly, as if the question was expected. He nodded slightly. “Because you’re cheap.”

That answer made Si Ji raise an eyebrow. Ying Ming laughed.

On the table was a rough outline of the film’s script. The full version wouldn’t be shared until contracts were signed. Si Ji had insisted on that, but the premise alone was clear and unexpected. It wasn’t some slice-of-life urban drama. It was the story of three decorated special forces soldiers, discharged from service and trying to adjust to civilian life as they each started over in society.

When Ying Ming first read it, he was genuinely surprised. To be honest, it didn’t feel like something Dong Xiao would have come up with.

Si Ji explained that the concept was Dong Xiao’s, while the actual script was being written by a novelist friend. Because the writer came from a fiction background, the narrative was going to be strong.

Ying Ming was genuinely intrigued by the script. He had a strong feeling that, if handled well, it could turn into something different from the usual.

And perhaps because he felt so drawn to the material, he was even more cautious about the collaboration. “I’ve never directed before.”

“Si Ji’s never acted either.”

Dong Xiao responded smoothly. “And I’ve never worked in distribution.”

This project had each of them stepping into unfamiliar territory. It had taken Dong Xiao a lot of effort just to convince Si Ji to step in front of the camera.

But that was the appeal of the film.

An actor directing, a director acting. Each of them was stepping in from the opposite side, setting aside their usual experience and relying on instinct instead.

Ying Ming only now realized that Si Ji was set to play the male lead. He tried to picture it in his mind but failed. When he glanced at him, he could see clear discomfort in his expression. For someone as temperamental as Si Ji, the fact that he agreed at all was surprising enough.

But for Ying Ming, that wasn’t the issue. “If I’m going to direct, I need to make one thing clear. I don’t want outside input interfering during the shoot.”

In other words, he wanted full control.

Dong Xiao frowned. “You’ve never done this before. You want us to hand it over completely. If you shoot a mess, who’s going to take responsibility?”

“Whoever’s name is on the cast list can take responsibility,” Ying Ming replied without budging. “You came to me. That risk is part of the offer. I’ve already told you I’ve never directed before. But I’m interested in the concept. If I take it on, then I expect to be treated as a real director. From the shoot to the final cut, I want full creative authority.”

As an actor, he didn’t mind working with others. But as a director, Ying Ming had no interest in sharing the job.

The more people involved, the more variables there were. Rather than waste time negotiating and persuading others, Ying Ming would rather take full responsibility himself. He had never been the kind of person who made many compromises at work to begin with, though not many people had ever seen that side of him clearly.

Dong Xiao and Si Ji weren’t exactly surprised, but that didn’t mean they agreed right away. The three of them spent the entire afternoon arguing over it. It wasn’t until evening that they finally reached a compromise: Ying Ming would have full control over the shoot, but if any major changes were made to the script’s interpretation, it had to be discussed and agreed on together.

All of the funding was being handled by Dong Xiao, including regulatory approvals. Once the tasks were split up, Ying Ming and Si Ji would handle production, and Dong Xiao would take charge of everything that came after the film wrapped. With Si Ji confirmed as the lead, they moved on to discussing the casting for the second male lead.

That was when Si Ji said a name Ying Ming hadn’t expected at all.

“Wang Yiqi.”

Even Dong Xiao looked surprised. “Where’d that come from?” Technically speaking, Wang Yiqi was still considered more of a commercial idol-type actor. He had starred in a few films, but none of them had much depth. Most were light, crowd-pleasing blockbusters. At this point in his career, building popularity was the priority. Talk of breaking past his limits or redefining himself was premature.

He wasn’t like Ying Ming, who already had one project that could be called a career peak and was now looking for a way to outdo even that. Wang Yiqi didn’t even have a trophy yet.

But Si Ji was unexpectedly firm. “I’ve watched some of his old work. The second lead you came up with fits him.”

Dong Xiao frowned. “What about the third lead?”

There were three of them, but one role still hadn’t been filled. Si Ji glanced over at Ying Ming and said, “You can take the third role.”

And just like that, the casting left no spot for Dong Xiao.

Ying Ming didn’t know if that was Dong Xiao’s decision or if there was some other reason behind it. But since neither of them said anything, he didn’t ask. After that meeting, the three of them started getting together regularly to go over pre-production, locking down the film’s tone, style, and approach. They studied a wide range of similar films from both local and international sources, and Ying Ming even kept detailed notes.

When Shi Yi complained about him being impossible to find these days, it was mostly because he had been watching films from morning to night.

Still, ever since that talk about Shi Yi’s family, Ying Ming had been quietly preparing himself. He knew it was only a matter of time before Chen Cheng came to him directly. Waiting around to be approached was a frustrating kind of passivity, but there wasn’t much else he could do. For now, the plan was to do nothing until something changed.

By the time he remembered to tell Shi Yi that Wang Yiqi had been cast in the same film, he was already backstage at the press conference.

He pulled out his phone and thought about it for a moment, then ended up putting it away again. Whether he told Shi Yi now or later didn’t really make much difference.

The press conference today wasn’t for the new film they were working on. It was for the earlier project with Dong Xiao and Liu Li.

Although the film wasn’t scheduled for release until October, the promotional campaign had already started. Ying Ming had only been notified at the last minute to attend the event, which was focused on unveiling the theme song. The real reason, of course, was that the media had gotten wind of Dong Xiao’s return to the country, and the marketing team wasn’t about to let a story like that go to waste.

In the end, that worked in their favor. It gave them a chance to quietly promote their own film too. Given the subject matter and cast, it wouldn’t be hard to grab a headline or two.

The production team behind the film with Liu Li was a major studio, and even just a theme song launch was being handled with fanfare. Ying Ming spotted Director Zhao, the one who had first recommended him for the earlier film with Wang Yiqi, and went over to greet him. Just then, he happened to run into Liu Li nearby.

She smiled and called out to him. “Ying Ming, it’s been a while.”

“It has.” Ying Ming lifted a glass of champagne, nodded, and returned the smile. “You look great.”

“There’s no reason not to.” Liu Li was dressed to steal the show. The confidence in her eyes and the lift of her brows made it impossible not to look her way. Ying Ming took a sip of his drink without reacting. Some of the media nearby started snapping photos of the two of them, and he didn’t bother to avoid the cameras.

Liu Li, of course, wouldn’t either.

She stood casually at his side, and it wasn’t long before the conversation shifted to the one person they both knew well. “Have you seen Shi Yi recently?”

He wasn’t surprised she brought him up. Ying Ming nodded. “I have.”

“How is he doing? Is everything okay?”

There was genuine concern in her voice, but the question still made Ying Ming raise an eyebrow. “Why? Did something happen?”

“I heard he might be dealing with something lately,” Liu Li said. “I thought about calling, but I wasn’t sure if it would be appropriate. If you get a chance, pass along that I’m thinking of him. If he needs anything, he can come to me directly.”

Even after breaking up, she still treated him like a friend. She didn’t bother hiding her concern for Shi Yi, and there was even a trace of suggestion in her words, just a little too blatant.

But that was Liu Li’s style. Ying Ming wasn’t surprised at all.

What she said, though, did make him think for a moment. After that conversation he and Shi Yi had, they had both gone back to their own routines. As far as he could tell, Shi Yi’s mood had improved a lot. There hadn’t been any signs of frustration or trouble, so Ying Ming hadn’t brought it up again.

They both had their own work. On that front, they gave each other plenty of space.

Even so, the way things were unfolding now made Ying Ming instinctively feel that whatever Liu Li was referring to probably wasn’t something simple.

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The problem at Shiyang hadn’t seemed serious at first.

Just a few delays in capital return during settlement cycles. Every company had those. Neither Shi Yi nor Ou Yang took it too seriously. But then a large government contract ran into unexpected trouble. When they reviewed the situation and started gathering feedback from various departments, Ou Yang realized something was off.

Up until now, because their government ties had been stable, Shiyang’s bids usually went through without a hitch. Getting stuck like this all of a sudden clearly meant something was wrong.

When Ou Yang brought it up, Shi Yi didn’t respond right away.

After a moment of thought, he told Ou Yang to put that bid on hold. For now, the company should focus its resources on projects that had already been secured.

They had worked together for a long time. Ou Yang frowned. “Shi Yi, is something going on?”

“It’s nothing.” Shi Yi’s expression gave nothing away. He smiled. “Don’t worry about it.”

Ou Yang wasn’t convinced, but he didn’t push. After he left the office, Shi Yi stared at the returned tender paperwork in front of him. His eyes narrowed instinctively.

So this was the warning. It had started.