"Cut! No eating of the male lead while we're filming!"

 

Luo Huai didn't have many scenes left, and before long he wrapped filming.

He was fairly well-off financially at the moment and had planned to stay at the villa for a while longer to study the senior actors' superb acting skills.

But Qian Duoqun hurriedly arranged seven or eight auditions for Luo Huai as if his butt were on fire, seeming terrified that Luo Huai might spend even one extra day at the villa.

Now that Luo Huai had signed with the company, both sides had contractual obligations. The company was responsible for finding opportunities to help him become famous, while he, in turn, was obliged to accept reasonable work assignments.

“Qian-ge, don't you think you've booked way too many auditions all at once?” Luo Huai asked awkwardly. “Can I even finish shooting all of these anytime soon?”

“You can,” Qian Duoqun assured him. “This one's a cannon fodder character who only has two lines before dying. That one's a pretty-boy scammer who cheats the female lead out of her money—about ten minutes of screen time. The next one's a young eunuch serving a consort who's been banished to the Cold Palace (NT: secluded section of an imperial palace where disgraced concubines were confined). After that, there's the servant of the older brother of the male lead's friend's arch-enemy. Then a cold-blooded assassin who kills the heroine's best friend. Then after that...”

That was pretty much all the company's current resources.

Qian Duoqun had spent years at the very bottom of the entertainment industry and knew plenty of assistant casting directors. His speciality was helping them find actors for supporting roles lasting anywhere from ten to thirty minutes. These parts had speaking lines and visible screen time, making them a step above being an extra, and they paid a little better too. Plenty of background actors had to curry favour with Qian Duoqun just for a chance at roles like these.

“They're all filming at the same studio complex, so you won't waste much time travelling,” Qian Duoqun explained. “The auditions are easy, too. Most of these productions are already shooting, and these roles are emergency replacements. You just put on the costume, let the assistant casting director take one look at you, and if your appearance fits the role, you start filming.”

“At this stage, you don't have much name recognition yet, and the company's resources are still pretty limited. The priority is to get your face on television often enough that audiences start recognizing you.”

Luo Huai blinked. “But... out of all these roles, you're only giving one actor?”

“Of course.” Qian Duoqun sighed. “After all, you're the only seedling our company has.”

“The only one? But doesn't our company have a lot of senior actors?” Luo Huai asked.

“Oh, they aren't interested in the entertainment industry,” Qian Duoqun replied. “They act purely because they enjoy it. None of them plans to devote themselves fully to film and television. You're different—you genuinely want to become a good actor, so the company is focusing on training you.”

“You've all been so good to me.” Luo Huai was so touched he was on the verge of tears.

Qian Duoqun, on the other hand, felt so guilty that he was about to cry as well.

Just then, Zhong Jiudao walked up to the front gate of the villa. He peeled five paper figures off Luo Huai's back and said, “You've got something stuck to you.”

“When did these get on me?” Luo Huai looked a little embarrassed. Then he noticed the paper figures in Zhong Jiudao's hand. “Wow, this paper figure's face looks just like Shen-ge!”

“Mhm. They're from my storyboard,” Zhong Jiudao said. “When I draw them, I make the faces resemble the actors as closely as possible so they're easier to identify.”

“Then why were they cut out?” Luo Huai asked curiously.

“The actors thought the drawings looked nice. They took the discarded storyboards as keepsakes. I suppose someone with a childlike heart must have cut them out.”

Without changing his expression in the slightest, Zhong Jiudao handed Luo Huai a box. “Be careful when you're filming away from the villa. This is for you. I hope you'll keep it on you at all times.”

Luo Huai opened the box.

Inside was a collection of jewelry: rings, pendants, earrings, bracelets, and coloured contact lenses. Judging by the materials, everything looked very cheap—the sort of full set you'd buy for ¥9.90 with free shipping on some bargain shopping app.

“Different roles have different costume requirements,” Zhong Jiudao explained patiently. “Some characters can't wear rings, others can't wear earrings, so I prepared several options. Wear something different every day. If you absolutely can't wear any jewelry, then wear the contact lenses. I picked a pair whose colour is as close as possible to your natural pupils, so they should be acceptable.”

“O-Okay.”

Although he had no idea what Director Zhong was getting at, Luo Huai carefully accepted the entire box of ‘¥9.90 treasures’.

Afraid Luo Huai might not take him seriously, Zhong Jiudao stressed, “You must wear them. Every one of these pieces has our company's logo on it. It's the symbol of the company, and wearing it won't do you any harm. If you ever end up in a situation where even the contact lenses aren't allowed, memorize the shape of the logo and keep recalling it in your mind. And if you ever meet people like Sister Qi or Ge Jiang, recite the logo to yourself while calling me. Understood?”

“Understood!” Luo Huai nodded earnestly.

The company was still in its startup phase. Naturally, they needed to promote its name whenever possible, and displaying the company logo was the best way to do that. As he appeared in more television dramas, audiences would gradually become familiar with his face, while the company's logo would quietly appear throughout various productions as well. Someday, once the company became famous, those hidden logos would become fun Easter eggs.

And if he ever encountered someone as talented as Ge Jiang, of course he should report it to Director Zhong immediately. Better to strike first and recruit good talent before someone else did.

Luo Huai picked up one of the pendants for a closer look. “So this is the logo? What does it mean?”

“This is the combined form of the two characters in 'Jiudao' (九道),” Zhong Jiudao explained. “It's pronounced Kui (馗). The character looks so unusual because this is what it looked like when it was first created. Back then, Chinese writing was still largely pictographic, so it resembles a drawing more than a modern character.”

(NT: Kuí refers to the legendary demon-queller Zhong Kui (钟馗). It archaically meant a "crossroads")

“That's a really clever design.”

As usual, Qian Duoqun drove Luo Huai and the cameraman away from the villa.

With Luo Huai's filming completed, every human actor had finished their scenes. All that remained were the ghost actors' sequences. Naturally, those couldn't be filmed by an ordinary cameraman, so Zhong Jiudao would have to take over cinematography himself.

Luo Huai opened the box again and carefully examined each piece of jewelry.

Every single item bore the company's logo. Even the tiny earrings had the character Kui engraved on them so finely that it could only be seen with a magnifying glass.

If the contact lenses were held up to the sunlight and inspected carefully, a transparent Kui could also be seen hidden within them.

“Director Zhong is amazing,” Luo Huai exclaimed. “The logo on these earrings practically counts as micro-engraving. He's good at everything!”

The cameraman smiled. “That's perfectly normal. A director is the brain of the entire production. Of course they have to know a little about everything. They don't need to be the absolute best at every speciality—they need to be well-rounded. Otherwise, how could they communicate effectively with the rest of the crew?”

“Director Zhong looks pretty mature,” Luo Huai remarked. “But he's actually quite young, isn't he? Just over thirty?”

Qian Duoqun laughed. “He graduated from university the same year you did. The only difference is that he repeated his final year of high school for three years, so he's three years older than you. He's only twenty-five this year.”

“Only twenty-five?” Luo Huai and the cameraman said at the same time.

The two of them recalled Zhong Jiudao’s appearance together, and only then did they realize that Zhong Jiudao was simply too tall. Combined with his extremely steady demeanour and the sense of security he gave off, he was the anchor of the entire production crew. Because of this, whenever everyone’s eyes fell on Director Zhong, they would first look at his neck (after all, their height was insufficient), then his imposing presence, and finally feel reassured by him. In reality, no one had ever carefully stared at his face.

“Now that I think about it, his face is actually quite young…” the cameraman said.

“He’s also very handsome. He’s no less attractive than the good-looking guys in our acting department,” Luo Huai agreed.

Qian Duoqún said, “Of course! When he was interning on film sets during university, countless people mistook him for an actor. Even after they found out he was studying directing, quite a few talent scouts still tried to persuade him to switch careers—to become an actor first, spend a few years filming and earning money, and then return to directing after building connections and experience in the entertainment industry. Become an idol when young, and create dreams when older. Wouldn’t that be great? But he refused to listen. He devoted himself entirely to directing, always saying that there wasn’t enough time and that he wanted to make widely circulated films as soon as possible.”

“Why did he repeat high school for three years?” Luo Huai asked with concern. “Was he sick during that time?”

“Three years… didn’t he basically redo all of high school?” The cameraman was also puzzled. The score requirements for the art exam were already not that high, so how poor did his grades have to be for him to repeat for three years? Besides, Director Zhong was a well-rounded person; he didn’t look like someone who had been bad at academic subjects.

Qian Duoqún said, “I don’t know about that. The fact that he repeated for three years was something he said himself. Who knows whether it’s true or not? Maybe his family had some difficulties they didn’t want to talk about publicly.”

The gossip about Zhong Jiudao ended there. Luo Huai touched the box in his arms, recalling what Zhong Dao looked like. The more he thought about him, the younger he felt Zhong Dao seemed.

He’s only twenty-five? I always thought he was at least thirty-five before. Luo Huai quietly thought to himself.

The subject of the gossip, Director Zhong, was currently directing the extra ghost actors in setting up the filming location. All the humans had left, and finally only a group of ghosts and Zhong Jiudao remained. This made Zhong Jiudao feel extremely relieved.

There was no need to keep it secret anymore, no need to pretend to be human anymore, and no need to treat humans and fierce ghosts equally anymore. This feeling was simply wonderful!

Zhong Jiudao sat on the tallest and largest chair in the entire villa. In front of him, sinister winds swirled, and countless props flew back and forth through the air. Before long, the entire scene could be arranged.

Jiang Fen’s soul was unstable. If he encountered someone with too much yang energy, he would become frightened and suffer harm. These past few days, he had constantly stayed on set absorbing spiritual energy from the moon to stabilize his soul. He only dared to appear after all the crew members had left.

Only at this moment did he realize that there were actually so many ghosts in the villa.

“Mom! Ghosts! Ghosts!” Jiang Fen passed by a headless ghost and screamed in terror, rushing behind Zhong Jiudao’s chair for help.

“...You’re also a ghost,” Zhong Jiudao remarked.

“Oh, right. I always forget that I’m a ghost.” Jiang Fen scratched his head and floated back out.

Zhong Jiudao said, “But they can absorb your soul, commonly known as eating you.”

Jiang Fen immediately shrank back again, hiding behind Director Zhong while watching the filming.

Using ghosts as actors was simply too convenient.

A cameraman who wanted to capture the perfect shot had to consider coordination with lighting, angles, movements, and other elements. Especially when filming dynamic scenes, some cameramen had to run even faster than the actors.

Zhong Jiudao’s own professional skill was certainly not as good as that of a dedicated cameraman, but the actors he used were extremely convenient.

For example, when filming a scene of someone floating down from the air, Zhong Jiudao noticed that this part had not been filmed well, so he directly told the actor: “Fu Yue, when you float down from the building, pause in mid-air for a moment so it’s easier for me to shoot a close-up. Change the angle, another angle, face directly toward the camera. Yes, good.”

Fu Yue had no choice but to follow Zhong Jiudao’s instructions and continuously turn around in mid-air. It was not Zhong Jiudao moving around her to search for the best angle; rather, she was freely rotating in the air without any wires, providing Zhong Jiudao with the best angles herself.

Another example was when the lighting effect was not ideal. Zhong Jiudao instructed, “For this part, the lighting needs the face to be bright and the body to be dark. Shen Leshan, blur your body a little. Your body is too bloody. Even though the standards have been relaxed now, this still can’t be broadcast, so it must be dark!”

Shen Leshan reluctantly blurred his own body with a mosaic effect, but his face still was not bright enough.

This production crew had somewhat of an imbalance between yin and yang. The only two human male actors both had character settings that were not very attractive to fans: Pang Xinhao was too much of a scumbag, while Luo Huai was too innocent. Complex and contradictory characters were the key factor in generating discussion, so Zhong Jiudao could only add more scenes for Shen Leshan, the male face of the production.

He needed to be affectionate, ruthless, and also have his own selfish motives.

Since he was supposed to be deeply devoted, he could not look too ugly. Therefore, his skin condition needed to emphasize pity and visual pain rather than horror. During filming, the focus naturally had to be on his handsome face rather than his body.

“The face still isn’t bright enough,” Zhong Jiudao instructed. “Qi Wanlian, bring the lighting!”

Qi Wanlian flew over holding a candle. The candlelight reflected onto Shen Leshan’s face, and the flickering, alternating light and darkness revealed the struggle within his heart.

Zhong Jiudao said, “No, this won’t work. The female lead holding the candle isn’t in a good pose. Get a ghost that cannot appear on camera to hold the candle. Let it float—the atmosphere will be better.”

The ghosts in the production crew were all fierce ghosts, and their yin energy was too strong. With the blessing of Zhong Jiudao’s talismans, the camera would naturally be able to capture them.

So Zhong Jiudao looked toward Jiang Fen.

Jiang Fen said, “Huh? Me? But I can slightly manifest now too. I’m just a little transparent.”

“I can hit you and remove some of your yin energy. That way you won’t be able to manifest,” Zhong Jiudao smiled gently. “Don’t worry, it won’t hurt. Afterward, I’ll set up a yin-gathering formation to replenish it for you.”

“No, I—”

Before Jiang Fen could refuse, a faint flash of lightning passed by. He became transparent and, holding a candle, began circling around Shen Leshan and Qi Wanlian.

Now the male and female leads were handsome enough, but making Shen Leshan display deep affection toward Qi Wanlian was extremely difficult.

“Shen Leshan, you are a ghost who still has some conscience, but you love Qi Wanlian. For her sake, you are willing to help her capture people so she can restore her youth. And the secret technique she uses to regain her youth is obtained by exchanging it with your living skin. Every time she becomes younger, you have to endure the pain of being skinned once. You have paid so much for her—how can you look at her with such a fearful expression?” Zhong Jiudao explained the scene to the male lead.

Shen Leshan looked desperate. “Director Zhong, when Qi Wanlian seduces someone, that means she is about to devour that person! When she looks at me with that expression, how could I not resist? If the heavenly master blood and flesh inside my body are taken away, any ghost here could absorb my power. I have to resist. I’m using all my strength to fight against her temptation.”

Zhong Jiudao struck out with one palm. A flash of fire passed, and Shen Leshan’s power weakened considerably.

Zhong Jiudao nodded at Qi Wanlian. “Take advantage of this opportunity and control him quickly. Make him love you, and finish filming this scene smoothly.”

“Thank you, Director Zhong, for giving me this opportunity.” Qi Wanlian smiled sweetly.

Thus, the female lead affectionately embraced the male lead and offered him a kiss...

“Cut! No secretly eating the male lead during filming!” Zhong Jiudao struck down another bolt of thunder.

The filming continued smoothly under the director’s intense pressure and the actors’ constant injuries.

--

Author’s note:

Zhong Jiudao: “Aunt Yang, what delicious food are you making today?”

Aunt Yang: “A soup for improving eyesight.”

Zhong Jiudao: “You’re not allowed to use a colleague’s eyes to make dinner!”

-

Luo Huai: “Director Zhong gave me so many accessories. What does he mean by it? I’m a little embarrassed.”

 

Translator : DarNan