Chapter 51 - 1#
“Director Zheng!”
A shout suddenly rang out from the assistant director. “Could you come over and confirm this shot’s composition?”
Zheng Chun’an heard this and immediately shifted his focus. “Coming!”
He glanced at Chi Gui, who was already on his way back, and patted Jing Shun’s wheelchair armrest. “I’ll head over first. You two can chat.”
Jing Shun knew the shoot was a priority and nodded.
Chi Gui brushed past Zheng Chun’an, walked back under the monitor canopy, and sat down beside Jing Shun. “What were you and Director Zheng talking about?”
“About your college days.”
Jing Shun’s eyes still held a trace of shock and curiosity that hadn’t faded. He cut straight to the point. “Chi Gui, I only found out today that we were actually schoolmates? What was your name back in college?”
Chi Gui didn’t answer directly. He lowered his gaze, masking a hint of lingering regret. “It’s been a long time. Brother Zheng probably told you? I transferred out after two years.”
“…”
Jing Shun caught the bitterness in Chi Gui’s tone.
If the timeline lined up, that was probably around the time the Chi family had reclaimed him.
He assumed the other’s past held painful scars he couldn’t share, so he didn’t press further.
Besides, the Hai City Film Academy was neither too big nor too small.
Jing Shun was confident that with his own connections, he could dig up something.
With that in mind, he changed the subject. “I didn’t expect you to come on the day of the wrap.”
Chi Gui said, “Last time you were explaining the plot in the car, you left out the ending. I came today to hear it.”
Jing Shun smirked, glancing at Zheng Chun’an, who was still busy in the distance. “Speaking of which, I’m still shocked that you and Director Zheng know each other.”
No wonder Chi Gui had been able to rattle off the director’s full name so easily that day in the car.
“Visiting the set as a director’s friend shouldn’t cause you any trouble.”
Chi Gui looked at the open-air cemetery environment, his eyes scanning like a hawk for the long lenses dozens of meters away. “There are quite a few fans and paparazzi around.”
Jing Shun followed his gaze, squinting into the distance, and spotted the paparazzi and fans lurking among a row of trees.
“That’s dangerous!” he muttered under his breath. “Brother Ting and Yu Lin’s fans are way too hardcore.”
“What’s too hardcore?”
A question came from behind them. Speak of the devil—Fu Changting and Jin Yulin had just finished their makeup and walked over together.
Chi Gui shifted his gaze, meeting Fu Changting’s eyes.
“…”
“…”
Fu Changting sensed Chi Gui’s unusual aura and felt a flicker of wariness from one kindred spirit to another, but his social grace was impeccable.
He looked at Jing Shun, who was still in his wheelchair, and asked with a smile, “Xiao Jing, is this your friend?”
“Brother Ting.” Jing Shun hesitated, instinctively turning to Chi Gui before falling silent. “I…”
He hadn’t forgotten—last time, Chi Gui had misunderstood his relationship with Fu Changting!
Even though Yu Zhen had analyzed that Chi Gui was probably jealous, Jing Shun still hoped to avoid any misunderstanding.
Fortunately, Zheng Chun’an finished his work and walked back. “Changting, this is my friend and junior from the same school, Chi Gui.”
“Chi Gui, these are our lead actors, Fu Changting and Jin Yulin. No need for introductions, right?”
Chi Gui met Fu Changting’s gaze and stood up. “Teacher Fu, I’ve heard so much about you.”
Fu Changting shook his hand, returning the courtesy with a slight smile. “The surname Chi isn’t common in Hai City.”
He then glanced at Jing Shun, as if asking casually, “Don’t you think so, Xiao Jing?”
Jing Shun felt that Fu Changting had seen right through something and coughed awkwardly. “Yeah, it’s pretty rare.”
Yu Zhen had been hiding in a nearby tent, taking a break.
Seeing this undercurrent of tension, his gossip-loving heart kicked into high gear. He quietly pulled out his phone and snapped a covert photo.
Oh ho.
He felt like he’d discovered a new continent.
As the saying goes, “When rivals meet, their eyes flash with hostility!”
“…”
Zheng Chun’an didn’t notice the subtle tension between the two at all.
He remembered the upcoming major scene and made a point to remind, “Xiao Jing, there’s going to be artificial rain later. You need to be mentally prepared.”
Jing Shun nodded. “Director Zheng, I know what to expect.”
Fu Changting knew the script and was a little worried. “Should we change the crawling scene? Can Xiao Jing’s legs handle it?”
Chi Gui hadn’t read the full script, but when he heard the scene involved Jing Shun’s legs, his expression shifted subtly.
Jing Shun’s grip on the script tightened, and without hesitation, he spoke up. “I can act it. Don’t change it!”
“Director Zheng, the character’s actions in the script are exactly what Yanzi Jing would do.”
He was the one shaping the character, not the other way around.
This was the final scene in Yanzi Jing’s life, and Jing Shun wanted to perform it to the best of his ability.
Zheng Chun’an understood Jing Shun’s reasoning. “Let’s do a blocking rehearsal first. If your legs really can’t handle it, we’ll adjust based on the situation.”
Jing Shun let out a quiet sigh of relief. “Okay.”
“Chi Gui, have a seat and rest.”
“Mm. You all go ahead and work.”
Zheng Chun’an said a quick word to Chi Gui before leading Jing Shun and the others toward the camera setup.
Chi Gui couldn’t directly ask the crew for a script, but before long, he figured out the gist from watching the actors rehearse—
Jing Shun’s character had to fall out of his wheelchair and crawl along the cemetery’s concrete path, supposedly “unable to move.”
For any other actor, this would be no big deal.
But Jing Shun’s situation was different. He genuinely couldn’t walk.
Yu Zhen was stunned. Taking advantage of the moment when no one was watching, he hurried back to Chi Gui’s side. “Chi Gui! This won’t work! Can Jing Shun handle this kind of rough treatment right now?”
What if he really got hurt or bumped into something?
Worried for his friend’s well-being, Yu Zhen pressed, “Maybe you should talk to Director Zheng and see if they can change it?”
Chi Gui watched the rehearsal, equally concerned. He was about to step out of the monitor tent—
But the next moment, Jing Shun was already back in his wheelchair, helped by crew members. He bent down to brush the dust off his knees, a satisfied smile spreading across his face from having nailed the rehearsal.
In that instant, Chi Gui froze and forced himself to sit back down.
Yu Zhen noticed his change of mind. “What’s wrong?”
Chi Gui countered, “When Jing Shun decided to film this scene, did he even show the script to you and Yu Xiuzhu?”
Yu Zhen nodded. “Yeah. He said in the car that day that he wanted to keep the best part a secret until the end.”
“That’s only part of the reason.”
The other part was probably that Jing Shun was afraid that if they knew about this scene, they’d deem it unsafe and negotiate with the crew beforehand to change the shooting method.
Chi Gui looked at Jing Shun, who was seriously working through the scene in the distance, and guessed what the other was thinking. “An actor should shape the character, not change the character’s behavior patterns for their own convenience.”
In a good film or TV work, every character has their own core logic, which dictates their actions and words.
Chi Gui suppressed his inner worry, not letting it show, and chose to respect it. “He must have thought it through very clearly to insist on filming it.”
Yu Zhen fell silent, then finally said with genuine feeling, “You really do understand him.”
Half an hour later, the lengthy blocking rehearsal finally ended.
Zheng Chun’an walked back and glanced at Chi Gui. “Did we keep you waiting long?”
Chi Gui replied, “Not at all.”
Zheng Chun’an sat down in his director’s chair and picked up the megaphone. “Quiet on set! All departments ready!”
The whole crew prepared.
Zheng Chun’an gave the order. “Action!”
Dark clouds gathered.
In the western suburbs of Jiangdu City, the cemetery was deserted.
Dried leaves swirled in the wind, spinning on the ground.
Suddenly, a wheelchair sped past, crushing a fallen leaf into dust.
Jing Shun, playing Yanzi Jing, appeared in the main camera’s frame. The eyes behind his glasses were terrifyingly cold.
He was maneuvering the electric wheelchair at top speed, racing up the cemetery slope.
In his arms, Yanzi Jing held a little girl. On her young face, a red handprint stood out, evidence of the attacker’s brutal force.
The B-camera moved in.
Fu Changting, as Yue Qiao’an, moved with agility. He leaped over several rows of cemetery headstones and planted himself directly in front of Yanzi Jing. “Yanzi Jing!”
Veins bulged on his forehead as he struggled to control his breathing after the intense sprint. “Stop!”
The wheelchair screeched to a halt less than half a meter away!
Yanzi Jing and the little girl nearly pitched forward from the momentum, but he quickly steadied himself, trying to reverse the wheelchair.
At that critical moment—
Jin Yulin, playing Ling Zhuo, arrived with other officers, forming layers of encirclement that cut off Yanzi Jing’s retreat.
“Yanzi Jing! You’re surrounded!”
“Release the hostage and surrender now! There’s still a way out!”
“…”
Yanzi Jing swept his gaze over the ring of dark gun barrels, completely shredding the gentle mask he’d worn at their first meeting.
His eyes now held nothing but an unyielding gloom. “A way out? You think I care?”
Over the years, Yanzi Jing had orchestrated six murders. Since being exposed, only one outcome awaited him—
Death.
Yanzi Jing wasn’t afraid of that word at all.
He only regretted that he hadn’t killed enough people all these years!
He looked down at the quiet, obedient little girl in his arms. A flicker passed through his eyes, and he pulled a sharp utility knife from his pocket.
Ling Zhuo noticed his slight movement and tensed. “Yanzi Jing! Don’t do anything rash! The child is innocent!”
“Yanzi Jing, listen to me. It’s not too late to turn back!” Yue Qiao’an approached cautiously, trying to reason with him. “Can we talk?”
“What’s there to talk about?”
“Those people shouldn’t have been alive in this world!”
The hand holding the knife bulged with veins, a bloodthirsty red burning in Yanzi Jing’s eyes. “Do you know how dirty and foul their blood is?!”
“Every time I go back, I wash my hands over and over—disinfect them—”
“I scrub until my whole hand turns white, wrinkles up, even peels, and I still feel that stench on my skin! I wish, I wish I could just chop my own hands off!”
“But I can’t. My legs are useless, but my hands still need to kill!”
The main camera captured every shift in Jing Shun’s expression.
Hatred and disgust twisted together wildly in his eyes. The end of his words trembled uncontrollably, but when he reached the last sentence, there was a faint thrill of excitement.
The manic state was laid bare for everyone to see, sending chills down the spines of the onlookers.
Zheng Chun’an was very satisfied with Jing Shun’s current performance.
Yanzi Jing’s mindset was twisted and dark. On one hand, he hated that the blood of those scumbags had sullied the hands he used to paint. But on the other—
He had never shown the slightest remorse or fear about “killing.” Instead, each crime only deepened his sadistic urges.