Author: 颜凉雨 / Yan Liang Yu

Translator: Kinky || https://kinkytranslations.com/

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Chapter 75

Hengdian, January.

It was exactly one year since Ran Lin left after wrapping up <Sword of Fallen Petals>. Now he had returned for <Chronicles of Winter>, completing a full year’s cycle.

Hengdian remained the bustling hub it always was, filled with busy production crews, hustling extras, and small-time merchants. This winter had yet to see snow, so the bluestone paths remained unchanged, as did the black tile roofs. It felt as if he had only left yesterday, and now, as the sun melted the snow, he was back again.

However, most of the filming for the previous <Sword of Fallen Flowers> took place on built sets within the film base, featuring various pavilions, corridors, and waterside gazebos, all constructed to bring the ancient martial arts world to life.

But <Chronicles of Winter> relied heavily on post-production for many of its scenes, meaning less on-site and more studio filming. Additionally, much of the location shooting wasn’t in Hengdian but was planned in various other locations, including Guangdong, Zhangjiajie, and Xinjiang, after completing the Hengdian portions.

The studios in Hengdian were well-equipped to simulate forests, caves, underwater scenes, or any special designs like celestial realms, palaces, and ancient tombs, with green screens surrounding the sets.

Ran Lin’s first day on set for <Chronicles of Winter> involved a scene where Xiao Shitou and Ah Jin rescue a scholar at the bottom of a high cliff.

The girl playing Ah Jin was Jiang Yi, a rising star in the industry. Even as a student at the Film Academy, she had been involved in many TV dramas, gaining considerable popularity. Her first post-graduation role in a critically and commercially successful film as the second female lead solidified her entrance into the cinema, thereafter focusing on movies and becoming a rare newcomer with popularity, box office draw, and acting skills.

<Chronicles of Winter> was Jiang Yi’s fifth film and her second as the leading actress.

Ran Lin had never interacted with her before but had looked up information when he learned she would be his co-star. Aside from the usual promotional materials, there were some negative rumors about her being difficult and unprofessional. These rumors never solidified into a firm public image, and Jiang Yi’s team never issued any denials, leaving them to circulate occasionally among anti-fans and gossipers.

Ran Lin never judge people based on internet chatter, especially those he was about to work closely with. He preferred to trust his own eyes.

Their first meeting at the opening ceremony was brief, so today’s filming was their real introduction.

Arriving half an hour early at the studio, Ran Lin, after getting makeup done, saw that the green screens were already set up, props were in place, and the lighting and camera crew were making final adjustments.

Spotting the director, Ran Lin immediately went over to greet him. “Director Huang, good morning.”

The director briefly assessed his look, then nodded in satisfaction. “Morning. Go rest over there for now. We’ll start shooting in half an hour.”

Nodding, Ran Lin didn’t want to disturb the director further and headed towards the actors’ resting area. Before he got there, he noticed a petite figure sitting alone, engrossed in the script, without even her assistant nearby.

“Good morning,” Ran Lin greeted first. The actress looked up from her script, squinting slightly until he approached, then stood up, letting go of the script with a bright smile. “Hello, Xiao Shitou.”

Jiang Yi in person was as stunning as on screen, if not more so. Her oval face looked even more delicate due to her slender frame, with naturally blended features and a soft makeup look that enhanced her fresh and elegant beauty.

The slight awkwardness melted away with Jiang Yi’s casual address. Smiling, Ran Lin responded, “Let’s start over. Good morning, Ah Jin. I look forward to working with you from today onwards.”

With a handshake and a friendly exchange, the two actors found comfort in each other’s professional ease.

Liu Wanwan chose a spot to sit where she wouldn’t interrupt her boss’ conversation with the co-star, occasionally stealing glances at Jiang Yi to compare her real-life demeanor with her online persona, which was notably different. The internet depicted her as temperamental and hard to work with, yet in just the few minutes of conversation with Ran Lin, her smile hadn’t faded once, portraying her as someone quite pleasant to be around.

“Why are you here so early?” Ran Lin asked, noting that he was already half an hour early, and Jiang Yi seemed to have arrived even earlier.

“Getting familiar with the environment,” Jiang Yi explained, “especially since we’ll be ‘playing’ at the bottom of a cliff later, in a dangerous area. It’s best to be prepared.”

Ran Lin chuckled, looking at the rock props nearby. “Aren’t those made of foam?”

“You’re too naïve.” Jiang Yi sighed, perhaps recalling some harsh experiences. “Once you’re suspended by wires and the wind machines start, you’ll lose control. Being battered around by the wind and getting bruised is the least of your worries. I got hit by a falling rock once.”

Ran Lin’s eyes widened. “What happened then? Were you okay?”

“I was fine,” Jiang Yi reassured. “It was just cardboard; didn’t hurt, just scared me.”

Ran Lin, recalling Jiang Yi’s filmography filled with ancient settings, teased, “Maybe next time you could try a down-to-earth romance. Keep your feet on the ground.”

“Hopefully,” she sighed, her voice soon becoming chipper as she looked around. “Why hasn’t Xiao Ma Ge arrived yet? Did you see him when you were getting makeup done?”

Ran Lin always felt a momentary drop in the other’s spirits when they said, “Hopefully.”

Suddenly, he remembered that when he was looking up information about the other person online, he had read an interview with Jiang Yi. One of the questions was, “Many audiences say you can only act in ancient costume dramas. What do you think about this?” Jiang Yi’s response was sincere and somewhat helpless. She said she really wanted to act in modern dramas, but since her debut, almost all the scripts offered to her were for ancient dramas. In the early TV series she filmed, there were occasionally modern dramas, but none were as well-known as her ancient dramas. After graduating, she started filming movies and got completely immersed in ancient costume roles. At the end of her response, she expressed hope that the interview program could help appeal to directors to consider her for modern dramas as well.

The interview was one and a half years ago, and it seemed that the appeal didn’t have much effect.

Ran Lin could understand her feelings because, after <Sword of Fallen Flowers>. 90% of the new scripts offered to him were wuxia, and the roles were similar to Fang Xian. He knew it would be very difficult to surpass Fang Xian because the success of that character was the result of a collaboration between a great script, director, crew, and co-actors. But rejecting these roles meant losing 90% of the opportunities. So he persevered, and nearly a year passed without any roles until he signed <Chronicles of Winter>. After that, he started getting more offers, and now his schedule for the year—no, it was already January, so this year—was fully booked.

However, Jiang Yi still had more scripts to choose from than he did, so even without leaving the ancient costume genre, every movie character she played was distinctly different. There were roles that were cute and charming, dark and sharp, gentle and demure, or straightforward and carefree, ensuring that the audience wouldn’t feel like “the actor is always repeating herself”.

The “Xiao Ma Ge” Jiang Yi had just asked about was Ma Bin, the male supporting actor playing the scholar. They had worked together in a movie before and were alumni from the same acting department, so their relationship had been good since their last collaboration, often interacting on Weibo. However, because their interactions were so open and Ma Bin was known for his jokes and lively online presence, no rumors started between him and Jiang Yi, much to many fans’ hopes.

“He’s still getting his makeup done,” Ran Lin recalled seeing Ma Bin’s forlorn face in the makeup room and laughed unkindly. “Poor Mr. Ma, he must look utterly pitiful and breathless.”

“From what you’re saying…” Jiang Yi sighed and then slowly grinned. “I’m even more looking forward to it.”

Twenty minutes later, the poor, downtrodden scholar arrived. Ma Bin, usually with a clear and scholarly demeanor, now appeared in tattered clothes and several bloody scrapes across his face from rocks, creating a truly pitiful sight.

Jiang Yi skipped the pleasantries and burst into laughter. Ma Bin gave her a disdainful look, too lazy to bother with his heartless junior, but extended a hand of friendship to Ran Lin instead. “Hello.”

Ran Lin had already stood up by the time Ma Bin approached and immediately returned the greeting. “Hello, I’m Ran Lin.”

Ma Bin had only arrived at Hengdian the previous night and hadn’t attended the opening ceremony, so this was the first time he and Ran Lin had met face to face.

“I’ve seen your <Sword of Fallen Flowers>,” Ma Bin said. “It was fantastic.”

“I’ve also seen your <Emerald Mountains and Green Rain>,” Ran Lin replied courteously. “It was beautifully shot.”

“Can we skip the mutual flattery?” Jiang Yi interjected, laughing. She picked up the script she was reading before and suggested to the two actors. “Why don’t we rehearse our lines before we start filming?”

The two agreed happily.

Actually, for today’s scenes, all three had already memorized their lines, so when they actually started rehearsing, they didn’t even need the script. Everything went smoothly, and with no physical positioning or actions required, they conveyed all the emotions as they would in a real performance, with no one breaking character, not even Ma Bin, who was especially serious and “breathlessly pitiable”.

When the director’s assistant came to notify them that it was time to start filming, the trio had already rehearsed up to the second scene.

As Ma Bin doused himself with a bucket of water and lay down in the artificial stream, the filming of <Chronicles of Winter> officially began.

……

Throughout the entire January, Ran Lin spent his time in the green studio. His co-stars ranged from Jiang Yi and Ma Bin to green-suited stand-ins and various others, changing constantly.

Many of the scenes required post-production computer graphics, so Ran Lin had to imagine all sorts of mountain spirits and demons, sometimes even creating his own conceptual drawings to help get into character during scenes.

Jiang Yi was a simple and lively girl, nothing like the diva or foul-tempered personality some online rumors suggested. She took her acting very seriously and was highly professional, whether it meant hanging from wires or wearing thin clothes in water. Unless a stunt was too difficult and required a professional double, she would always do it herself without complaint.

Ma Bin, on the other hand, was the mood-maker of the crew—a thirty-year-old with the heart of a three-year-old. At the director’s call, he would immediately transform into the wise and clear-headed scholar, but once the director yelled cut, his playful nature would return.

Unfortunately, his role wasn’t large, and after about twenty days, he finished his part. After he left, various celestial beings and deities entered the set, and the filming moved from the ground to the heavens. As a result, Ran Lin spent most of his time against a green screen, suspended on wires, becoming quite accustomed to performing various stunts mid-air, from flying amidst clouds to fierce combat.

On the day Wang Xi visited the set, Ran Lin was demolishing the “Sweet Wine Pond” in the Nine Heavens as part of his scene.

As the director yelled “cut”, he immediately stopped, though his chest still heaved from the intensity of the scene. It wasn’t until Liu Wanwan draped a warm coat over his shoulders that he began to calm down.

The cold was pressing in Hengdian by the end of January. Wang Xi arrived in a beige cashmere coat and tall, high-heeled boots, exuding both efficiency and femininity.

“Xi Jie, how come you’re here?” Ran Lin hadn’t received any calls beforehand, so he was surprised to see Wang Xi, who should be busy in her Beijing office, appear on the set.

“I came to see how you’re doing,” Wang Xi said. “Is everything going smoothly?”

“Pretty smoothly,” Ran Lin replied. “If nothing unexpected happens, we’ll go shoot on location in mid-February, probably starting in Xinjiang.”

Wang Xi nodded and looked around the still busy studio. “How many scenes left?”

It was six in the evening by then, and Ran Lin knew that what Wang Xi really wanted to know was when they would wrap up for the day, so he said, “Just one scene left. It’ll be quick.”

“Okay,” Wang Xi replied. “Let’s have dinner together after wrap-up.”

Ran Lin felt something was off and sensed that Wang Xi had something on her mind—that her visit wasn’t just a simple set visit. But before he could ask, the next scene was ready to be shot, and Ran Lin had to put aside his questions, clear his mind, and re-enter the world of his character.

Finally, when they wrapped up, the three of them headed to a homely restaurant in the evening light and settled into a private room. After ordering, the waiter left, and Ran Lin stood up to pour tea for the two ladies.

Wang Xi, preoccupied with her thoughts, didn’t notice, but Liu Wanwan quickly stood up, reaching for the teapot. “Let me do it, Ran Ge—”

Ran Lin, startled by his assistant’s eagerness, quickly moved away with the pot, laughing. “It’s freshly boiled water. You could get scalded.”

“I can’t let you pour water for me,” she replied. Despite their good relationship, she was the assistant, and it didn’t seem right to let her boss serve her.

“Don’t be so formal with me,” Ran Lin said sincerely. “You’ve been taking care of everything while I’m busy filming. If you still make a fuss about who pours the water, I’ll really be upset.”

“Thanks, Ran Ge,” Liu Wanwan replied with a giggle, her cheeks flushing.

Wang Xi snapped back from her thoughts and envied the carefree artist and assistant before her. But the news she had to deliver next would likely dampen their spirits—

“Han Ze is coming to visit the set.”

Ran Lin nearly spilled the hot tea at this news.

“What did you say, Xi Jie?” he asked, placing the teapot back down, wondering if he had misheard.

“Han Ze is coming for a set visit,” Wang Xi repeated with a shrug.

Ran Lin was completely baffled, a whirlwind of questions in his mind, but he picked the simplest one. “Has he wrapped up his part?”

“He wrapped up in December.”

“But he’s the lead in the drama version, and visiting the film version’s set—won’t that be awkward?”

“It depends on how you look at it,” Wang Xi analyzed. “The drama version is set to air in June, and the film won’t be out until February next year, so there’s no direct competition between the two. On the contrary, if the drama does well, it could have a positive effect on the film, attracting viewers who liked the drama version to see the film. The film’s producers also don’t want any hostility or disparagement between the two versions, as it would only hurt both.”

Set visits need the consent of the visited crew. It’s not just a matter of showing up unannounced. So with Wang Xi’s words, Ran Lin began to understand. “Has Han Ze already communicated with the crew here?”

“Yes,” Wang Xi sighed. “The film crew thinks it would be beneficial to have a harmonious public image of both versions—a win-win situation. Plus, to be honest, they’re not very concerned about the drama version; the real competition for the film <Chronicles of Winter> is with other films releasing around the same time. All promotional resources and competitive tactics are reserved for then.”

“If they think it’s a good idea and it’s not a big deal…” Ran Lin looked puzzledly at his agent. “Why do you look so down, Xi Jie?”

“Because the company wants me to spearhead this.” Wang Xi grimaced.

If Han Ze wanted to visit the set, it was necessary for someone to communicate with the film version’s crew, so it made sense for the company to assign this task to Wang Xi. After all, as the lead actor in the film version, his agent would naturally have a way with the film’s crew and producers.

Moreover, if he remembered correctly, Wang Xi just mentioned that the film side had already agreed, which proved that she had successfully facilitated the arrangement.

“Didn’t you say it’s settled?” Ran Lin asked, not understanding her frustration.

“That’s exactly why I’m worried,” Wang Xi replied, reaching for her teacup only to find it still too hot and reluctantly putting it back down. “I was hoping they wouldn’t agree.”

“Why?” Ran Lin didn’t have a good impression of Han Ze, and the falling out between Wang Xi and Han Ze likely hadn’t ended pleasantly. But if Han Ze’s visit was truly beneficial to both sides without any harm, then from a professional standpoint, Wang Xi’s reaction didn’t make sense.

Wang Xi pondered for a moment and said, “As I mentioned earlier, the film version will be released later, so if the drama version has a positive impact, it will benefit the film version. But have you considered that when the drama version is airing, the film version won’t have any updates or movements, making it almost impossible to reciprocate the favor to the drama version? So why would Han Ze specifically want to visit the set?”

Ran Lin thought hard and finally understood, “He’s not visiting the film. He’s visiting me.”

“Right.” Wang Xi frowned. “I can imagine how the press release will go after his visit. A novel branching into both a film and drama version, both starring artists from the same company, and then the drama’s lead actor visiting the film’s lead actor, making a seemingly harmonious story in the competitive entertainment industry. If the film <Chronicles of Winter> becomes a hit, they can reuse this publicity, rekindling interest.”

“For the first time in my life, I’m being used for clout…” Ran Lin mused. “It’s quite novel.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Wang Xi retorted. “What clout do you have for someone to leech off? At most, you’re being dragged along for the hype.”

“You just said, if the film becomes a hit and he brings up old news for hype, he’d be riding on my popularity.”

“Well, that’s only if your film actually becomes a hit…”

Ran Lin sighed pitifully. “I’ve been ‘waiting on set, while the hype comes from above,’ can’t you say something supportive?”

Wang Xi couldn’t help but smile, but she still grumbled, “I’m not in a good mood right now. I can’t say anything nice.”

“Can’t the film crew see his visit is just a personal PR stunt?” Ran Lin felt that if Wang Xi could see through it, the film crew should be able to as well.

“Of course, they can see it. It’s not some clever tactic. But the hype is about you, and for the movie, the best-case scenario is that Han Ze, while promoting himself and the drama version, also inadvertently boosts the film’s popularity. The worst-case scenario is that he only promotes himself and the drama, leaving no impact on the film. In either case, there’s no reason for the film crew to deliberately make things difficult for him or Dreams Without Limits.”

Clearly, Wang Xi wasn’t happy about the situation from the beginning. The company must have put a lot of pressure on her to facilitate Han Ze’s set visit.

“Alright, Xi Jie. I don’t mind anymore, so you shouldn’t be upset either,” Ran Lin tried to console her. “Like you said, if his PR visit actually increases exposure for the film, that’s a good thing.”

“But just thinking about how you have to smile on the outside while despising it on the inside makes me feel so frustrated.” Wang Xi nearly furrowed her brow into deep lines. “I only manage you as my artist right now, you’re my treasure, you know. I’m looking forward to the day you shine. And here they are, wanting to use you for some quick hype. Why should they? Who’s responsible if it gets messed up!”

Ran Lin was touched, rarely complaining about Dreams Without Limits, with a mix of grievance and coquettishness. “Too bad the company’s leaders don’t treasure me like you do.”

Wang Xi looked at her artist and sighed lightly. “I’ve only just learned how to recognize true talent. But Dream Without Limits, I guess, will never learn in this lifetime.”

Listening to his agent’s words and understanding their tone, like discerning music from the sound of drums and gongs, suddenly reminded Ran Lin of their previous discussion about not renewing the contract. It was apparent that Wang Xi was no longer avoiding the implication of an eventual complete separation from Dream Without Limits.

At that time, although he knew he didn’t want to renew the contract, he hadn’t thought about where he would go after the termination. However, things were different now; Lu Yiyao had brought their futures together. Should he also inform Wang Xi about this?

But nothing was confirmed yet, and it also involved Lu Yiyao. If he spoke too soon and things changed…

“Actually, when I communicated with the crew about Han Ze’s visit, they did check with the investors,” Wang Xi continued, not noticing Ran Lin’s preoccupation. “After all, a TV drama and a movie are closely related, but the investors agreed immediately upon hearing it’s from the same company. They thought rejecting it might make things difficult for you within the company. So in this regard, they were actually looking out for you.”

Hearing this, Ran Lin’s thoughts were pulled back to the present. “Hearing you say that, I’m even more curious about the investor.”

From pre-production to the start of filming, the investor had never shown up, though Wang Xi had tried to arrange a meeting. But the person was genuinely busy and had never been available.

Ran Lin was just speaking offhandedly, considering the shooting schedule was already one-third complete and would wrap up in another two months. He hadn’t seen the investor so far and wasn’t really expecting to.

Unexpectedly, Wang Xi said, “Wish granted.”

Ran Lin was puzzled. “Huh?”

“In the next day or two, they might come for a set visit,” Wang Xi smiled. “They said they want to check things out before the drama’s lead actor arrives, to get a sense of the situation.”

Ran Lin was bemused. “Then I should thank Han Ze for this.”

Without Han Ze’s commotion, he might not have had the chance to meet the investor before the filming ended.

“That’s procrastination for you,” Wang Xi teased. “Always thinking it’s not urgent, no worries, it’s fine. But when outsiders are coming, they rush over to check things out.”

Ran Lin laughed, fully sensing Wang Xi’s resentment towards the elusive investor from her tone.

……

Two days later, a mix of rain and snow fell in Hengdian.

The snow was hardly visible—more like a fine drizzle that wet the roads and filled the air with moisture. It was a bit chilly and gloomy, but each breath felt refreshingly clean.

Inside the underwater photography studio, the semi-circular pool six meters deep was already filled with water. The pool had a constant temperature system, with the water around 25°C—not particularly warm, but much better than cold water.

The scene involved “Xiao Shitou”, newly arrived in the Ninth Heaven, being mocked and teased by the Wine Officer and celestial soldiers guarding the wine pond, accidentally falling into the Sweet Wine Pond. At the bottom of the pond was a small white dragon stripped of its scales. This dragon, originally a monster of the world, cultivated for a thousand years to ascend through tribulation to heaven. But white dragons are rare compared to the common black ones. So, on the day of its ascension, before it could rise to heaven, it was captured by a celestial general inspecting the sweet dandelion plantations and offered to the Emperor of the North. Deeming the white dragon useless, the Emperor was about to dispose of it when the Wine Officer requested it, arguing that the white dragon’s presence at the bottom of the pond would keep the wine pond from freezing in winter and drying out in summer, enhancing the wine’s flavor naturally compared to using magic to keep the Wine Palace spring-like all year. Thus, the white dragon was stripped of its scales and locked at the bottom of the pool.

As Xiao Shitou lost his footing and fell, the Wine Officer and the celestial soldiers believed he was certainly doomed. Due to the strict laws of the Ninth Heaven, they weren’t allowed to enter the wine pond, so they merely watched from the side, waiting for Xiao Shitou to vanish into thin air. Unexpectedly, when he reached the bottom of the pool, the white dragon transferred vital energy to him. Not only did he survive the great peril, but he also rescued the trapped white dragon. Riding on the back of the white dragon, he leapt out of the water’s surface and sped away like a swift wind.

At that moment, Ran Lin, dressed in rough cloth garments, stood at the edge of the pond, his hair unkempt and his face youthful. Opposite him were the Wine Officer in brocade clothes and the burly celestial soldiers.

With a click of the clapperboard, Ran Lin slowly lifted his gaze, his eyes no longer soft but filled with deep anger.

The Wine Officer sneered, “Foolish boy overestimating himself!”

As he finished speaking and turned with a flick of his sleeve, the celestial soldiers immediately stepped forward to pull him.

“Don’t touch me!” Ran Lin struggled fiercely.

The celestial soldiers, not known for being gentle, were rough and merciless.

Ran Lin stepped back, and suddenly, his footing gave way, and he fell backwards!

Splash—

The moment the water flooded over his eyes, ears, mouth, and nose, Ran Lin’s first sensation was fear.

He could swim, but he had never fallen into the water in this way before, and the fear was almost instinctive.

With fear came struggle, which was fortunate, as the script required him to struggle.

Ran Lin forced his eyes open, struggling helplessly on instinct while continuously exhaling the breath he had held before falling into the water, forming bubbles.

There was a large glass window below the pool to capture everything underwater, and every move he made was clearly recorded.

When he had struggled enough and almost ran out of breath, Ran Lin slowly stopped moving, relaxed his body, closed his eyes, and felt himself sinking deeper into the water.

Even though the water was only in the twenties degree Celsius, it felt very cold and icy to him.

In the script, the character “Xiao Shitou” loses consciousness after struggling in vain, eventually resting beside a white serpent.

In reality, Ran Lin was still conscious, but being conscious was more painful. His chest felt as if it was pressed by a huge stone, about to explode, yet he couldn’t move or swim up. He had to sink as much as possible, sinking until there was enough footage for post-production special effects and to position himself near a small white dragon at an appropriate spot.

Glug—

It seemed there was a muffled sound by his ear but Ran Lin couldn’t be sure.

He was out of air.

‘Director, I’m sorry. There’s only so much footage. Make do with editing,’ Ran Lin muttered in his heart, then immediately opened his eyes and prepared to swim upwards.

But as soon as he opened his eyes, he saw a handsome man. Before Ran Lin could react, his arm was seized, and he was quickly pulled to the surface.

“Whew—” As soon as Ran Lin surfaced, he gasped for air, but the handsome man didn’t let him stay in the water and immediately pulled him to the poolside, where the staff quickly dragged him ashore.

Finally feeling less discomfort in his lungs, Ran Lin remembered to look at the director, only to find himself surrounded by a circle of people, all looking worried and frightened.

Ran Lin was also startled and immediately asked, “What happened?”

“They thought you drowned, so I had to dive in to save you,” said the handsome man who had just pulled Ran Lin out, somewhat helplessly.

Only then did Ran Lin realize that the handsome man was the lifeguard assigned to the underwater studio. They had met before shooting began.

Ran Lin didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, saying to the concerned staff, “I’m fine. I knew what I was doing. He came down just as I was thinking about swimming up.”

“You don’t have to sink to the bottom. Just do enough!” Director Huang, who had walked over from behind the monitors at some point, spoke in a stern tone, obviously scared as well.

Ran Lin quickly leaned out, raised his hand, and expressed his apology to the director. “I was thinking of getting more footage by staying under longer. I’ll be more careful next time!”

Seeing that the actor was okay, the staff dispersed to prepare for the next scene. Ran Lin, drying his head with a towel handed to him, grinned at the director.

Director Huang, having lost his temper to the teasing, sighed and said, “Acting requires dedication, but you don’t need to risk your life.”

Ran Lin didn’t agree or disagree, just widened his eyes, reddened from the sting of the water, and asked, “How was the effect just now?”

Director Huang was speechless, realizing he was preaching to the choir*.

*Playing the lute to a cow (对牛弹琴) Idiom referring to a situation where someone is offering nuanced or sophisticated argument or opinion to an unappreciative or incapable audience.

Forget it, directors always hope for actors to be more dedicated, but he had never seen one discourage an actor from going too far. He shrugged it off and said irritably, “Perfect. If you ask me, you shouldn’t be playing Xiao Shitou, but the white dragon¹ trapped under the water!”

Ran Lin quipped, “Isn’t it supposed to be a jiao¹?”

¹Clarity: Ran Lin is making a joke here. White dragon is (小白龙). However, Ran Lin is referring to it as a jiao (蛟). It is also a type of dragon, but in Chinese legends, it’s actually not a “real dragon”. They have to cultivate and go through tribulations before actually ascending to become a “real dragon”. Ran Lin is referencing the story <Chronicles of Winter> where the white dragon is supposed to ascend to the heavens but failed because it was captured (thus, technically, it’s a jiao).

Director Huang realized that the longer the collaboration went on, the more his authority seemed to diminish. He wasn’t sure if it was just his inability to handle this type of actor or if his habit of occasionally throwing out a frog toy diminished his deterrence.

Suddenly, applause broke out.

Ran Lin and Director Huang turned to see a middle-aged man clapping with a slight smile.

The man looked to be in his early forties, wearing a brown biker-style leather jacket, dark jeans, and lace-up high-top leather shoes, looking like a street-fashion mature male celebrity.

“Director Huang,” the man spoke politely but was conversing with the director. “I just watched from the underwater window, and it was spectacular.”

Director Huang seemed to have met the man before, so he skipped the greetings and replied half-jokingly, half-seriously, “With an actor willing to commit, a director’s job is easier.”

“Ran Lin,” the man called out his name, clearly certain.

In a flash of insight, Ran Lin remembered what Wang Xi had said a few days ago about an investor visiting the set. The investor seemed to be the man before him.

“President Shi?” Ran Lin asked tentatively.

The man broke into a smile and said to the director, “See, Director Huang, I do have some reputation.”

Director Huang inwardly thought, ‘Of course, the investor would be memorable.’

But to be honest, he quite liked this investor since he gave the directors relatively more freedom and authority, especially regarding artistic creation, fully respecting the director’s vision. Overall, the collaboration was very pleasant.

Upon hearing this, Ran Lin understood he was right and quickly said, “Hello President Shi. I’m Ran Lin. Thank you very much for giving me this opportunity with the director…”

Mr. Shi waved it off, his smile warm. “No need for formalities. Your thanks are shown in your performance, which I’ve just seen.”

Ran Lin, halfway through speaking, felt warmth in his heart, and even his soaked body didn’t feel cold anymore.

“I’m just here to observe. Pretend I’m not here and carry on with your work. Don’t let me delay your progress,” Mr. Shi said before turning to sit in an inconspicuous corner of the set, legs crossed, truly looking like he was there for a casual visit.

Ran Lin hadn’t met many investors before. Lei Baishi was known for his drinking habits, Ding Kai had ulterior motives, and Peng Jing seemed more like a peer or a bad influence. Compared to them, President Shi was simply perfect.

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