Chapter 112: During Filming
In Feather of Youth, Yin Pei’s high school story was only a small segment, as the main plot of the movie focused on his university years. Strictly speaking, the melancholic moments were limited to that short part.
In the following storyline, Yin Pei regained his former self with the help of Wang Zixiang and Qin Jinwei, and the three of them grew together.
In the script, Yin Pei was portrayed as someone who appeared carefree but was actually quite resolute. During the two months between graduating from high school and entering university, he had been reflecting on what he could do.
Aside from badminton, he had never considered any other path. When it came time to make a decision, he found himself utterly lost.
It was his friend’s words that woke Yin Pei up:
“If you want to play, just keep playing.”
“Try to see how far you can go. Don’t think about the national team, don’t think about world championships. From today, push yourself to your limits!”
“Badminton is freedom, and so are you!”
Not making it to the national team didn’t mean he couldn’t continue playing.
Even after being injured, Yin Pei’s love for badminton still burned in his heart.
Among the three of them, Qin Jinwei was the oldest and most mature. She was passionate about pursuing research. In high school, she excelled in physics and naturally chose a physics-related major in university—a field some people deemed unsuitable for girls, marriage, or future family responsibilities.
The last time she heard such remarks was when both Wang Zixiang and Yin Pei were present. Yin Pei ended up punching the person who said it and threatened to hit them again if they repeated it.
While Qin Jinwei scolded the two of them, she secretly felt happy to be understood.
Yin Pei often felt anxious when playing badminton. There were simply too many geniuses in the field of sports. Even though he was one in a million, the national team still had countless players he admired. And even if he made it to the national team, there were still so many strong opponents worldwide.
Whenever he felt restless and uneasy, his friends silently encouraged him.
Starting from university, even though they weren’t attending the same school, Qin Jinwei and Wang Zixiang would visit Yin Pei every weekend to accompany him through rehabilitation and training. Even though Yin Pei’s professional career had been deemed over, the three of them still found ways to seek out the best doctors and even sought help from Yin Pei’s former coaches.
Fortune gradually began to favor Yin Pei—his physical condition turned out to be far stronger than anyone had expected.
…
Lu Xu, Guo Yingyu, and Hu Yan had many scenes together. In fact, Feather of Youth revolved around the trio’s friendship from start to finish.
Although Hu Yan was signed under Ningshi Entertainment, he wasn’t the type of flashy celebrity. After the filming of Feather of Youth began, the three main cast members remained low-key. There was little hype, and only minimal promotional material was provided to marketing accounts.
Of course, part of this was because the production team wasn’t particularly well-funded.
Lu Xu could generally gauge the personalities of his co-actors. From his perspective, both Guo Yingyu and Hu Yan were relatively easy to work with. They weren’t picky and took their roles seriously.
Among the films and TV shows Lu Xu had participated in, Feather of Youth was one of the less challenging projects. This aligned with most audience members’ expectations of youth dramas, as they often assumed such films didn’t require much acting skill.
However—portraying a vivid and lively youth wasn’t as easy as it seemed.
Not requiring acting skills didn’t mean the characters could be stiff or lifeless.
For example, even in the easiest youth films to make, there are only a handful of classics, no more numerous than those in other genres.
At least, there weren’t any stiff or lifeless people in the Feather of Youth crew.
Before long, Lu Xu was huddling with Guo Yingyu and Hu Yan to discuss the script.
Feather of Youth followed Yin Pei as the main storyline, with Wang Zixiang and Qin Jinwei as secondary lines. The script had no romantic subplots; the focus was entirely on the characters’ growth.
The film had been in production for some time when Lu Xu suddenly realized, “…I don’t think I’ve ever played a romantic role.”
“You have,” Xu Wen reminded him. “‘Why can he, but I can’t!’”
“‘I don’t want to be your brother; I want to be your lover!’”
Lu Xu snapped, “Change the channel! Right now! Immediately!”
Hearing that line with Xu Wen’s deadpan expression was unbearable.
An apology was owed to every pseudo-inc*st trope in existence.
“At the end of the day, Yu Wei was still an old bachelor, wasn’t he?” Lu Xu protested.
Exactly. He never had a romance!
Yu Wei was single, Qin Zhao died without ever dating, Ji Xiuya was in love with madness, Yu Yi went to prison, and Jiang Lin… didn’t date on-screen and likely wouldn’t bother off-screen either.
As for Yan Huan… to this day, Lu Xu didn’t even know his identity since the screenwriter never revealed it.
Well, maybe they hadn’t gotten around to writing it yet.
None of this mattered. What mattered was that he was now playing a youthful leading man, and this leading man wasn’t in a relationship!
Xu Wen quipped, “Ask the writer to add a plotline where you think she’s your sister but turns out she’s not, and then you fall for her.”
“Your tongue’s twisting so much you’re drooling. Pull yourself together.”
Lu Xu deadpanned, “…Why not just write in a plot where a badminton shuttlecock gains sentience?”
His manager’s visit to the set had two purposes: one, to check in on Lu Xu, and two, to inform him that the lead role for the youth film Song of Tears, which Lu Xu didn’t choose, had been cast.
“Is it an actor I know?” Lu Xu raised an eyebrow.
Given his understanding of Xu Wen, if the actor wasn’t someone with whom he had a connection, he wouldn’t have specifically come over to remind him.
Lu Xu ran through the list of possibilities: “Qi Di?”
“Bingo!”
Zhang Che had been rejected by the film industry, and no production team was willing to cast him as the lead. Qi Di, on the other hand, was different. After all, he had the backing of the Liu Rennong Studio.
Although his double-standard attitude had stirred up some drama, the number of people paying attention to celebrity gossip was relatively small, and the audience had short memories. He was too high-profile for big productions, but he could still take on small ones without much trouble.
Moreover, Qi Di’s acting wasn’t terrible.
Xu Wen presented Lu Xu with a scenario where Song of Tears and Feather of Youth went head-to-head: “After all, they’re both youth films.”
Lu Xu shook his head at the suggestion, his expression calm: “They can’t go head-to-head.”
“Although both films are youth-themed, they are completely different. The audience will realize that once they’ve seen them.”
Lu Xu wasn’t intimidated by the idea of competing with other productions.
Since his debut, he had encountered this situation many times.
…
“Ahh—Lu Xu, you continue, it’s burning me!” As soon as Lu Xu arrived at the filming set, Hu Yan shoved a piping-hot, steaming flatbread into his hand. It smelled delicious, and even though it was scorching hot, Lu Xu accepted it and took a big bite.
The flatbread near the set was incredibly tempting, filled with pork tenderloin and shredded potatoes, the sauce rich and flavorful. It quickly became Lu Xu’s new favorite during the filming of Feather of Youth.
Every morning, he would sit down with Hu Yan to enjoy the flatbreads. Once they finished eating, they would wipe their hands and pull out their scripts to go over the lines for the day’s shoot.
Their scripts were filled with notes, completely packed with details.
When Guo Yingyu finally woke up and joined them, Hu Yan handed her a flatbread as well, the kind without meat. She had a tendency to get puffy-faced in the mornings, something she resented deeply.
She no longer wanted Lu Xu’s autograph!
Could you believe it? After a full night’s sleep, Lu Xu’s skin somehow looked better than hers!
Unfair!
Lu Xu ate far more than she did!
What made it worse was that in Feather of Youth, Yin Pei was supposed to look robust. During filming, Lu Xu didn’t need to control his diet at all—he could eat whatever and however much he wanted!
When the crew celebrated the Dragon Boat Festival together, Lu Xu ate two giant meat-stuffed rice dumplings all by himself!
These were a specialty from the director’s hometown—big dumplings filled with fragrant, tender meat. That day, Guo Yingyu even dreamed about those dumplings, but she didn’t dare eat one.
She started to suspect that there was something wrong with the crew’s feng shui. Otherwise, how could she have gained a full four pounds since joining the production?
Or maybe there was just too much yeast in the air?
In any case, she had gained weight, and she was furious at Lu Xu.
Guo Yingyu ate her flatbread angrily, grinding her teeth, even considering adding a big spring onion to drive away the two offenders next to her.
After finishing her breakfast, she joined the script-reading group.
The scene they were shooting today wasn’t difficult, but before the cameras rolled, director Feng Rui gave the cast some pointers, asking them to make the scene as inspiring as possible.
It was a scene marking Yin Pei’s return.
To be precise, Yin Pei hadn’t officially returned to professional competition yet. He was just starting to try playing again. Most people knew about his injury and that he hadn’t been selected for the national team.
As a result, no one believed in Yin Pei—except for Wang Zixiang and Qin Jinwei.
His opponent for this match was someone who had faced Yin Pei in the past and had always been defeated by him. But this time, as Yin Pei returned to the court, his opponent spoke only with mockery.
At the beginning, Yin Pei indeed struggled to play.
He tried his best not to focus on the injured part of his body, but the shadow of his past injury loomed in his mind. Even though he had no issues during training, every time he competed, he couldn’t help but fear that his legs might tear apart again.
The first game started poorly, with a 1–7 deficit, leaving everyone worried about Yin Pei’s condition.
But midway through the game, he suddenly had an epiphany.
“It can’t be worse than never playing again!”
He had once imagined that possibility when he was first injured.
With that realization, he clawed back from 1–7 to 9–14 and eventually tied at 17–17. His opponent relentlessly targeted his previously injured area, and the first game ended with Yin Pei losing 19–21.
However, by the second game, he had regained his rhythm—and rediscovered his love for badminton.
He played boldly and freely, moving even more aggressively than before his injury. It was as if even luck had joined his side—on two consecutive shots, his opponent thought the shuttlecock was out of bounds, but both times it landed squarely within the lines.
Yin Pei’s confidence grew with every point, his body feeling light as if he could take flight. Even the spectators outside the court could feel the sheer joy he exuded.
Although he was drenched in sweat, his emotions were soaring with excitement and happiness. His infectious energy lit up the entire stadium!
21–17!
21–14!
Two games in a row!
When the final shot landed, sealing the score at 21–14, Yin Pei leaped and shouted in the court, holding his racket high.
His fingers gripped the racket tightly, yet there was no trace of the trembling he had shown on the training grounds the day he graduated high school.
Pointing the racket skyward for a moment, he then turned it toward his friends watching from the sidelines.
Tears brimmed in Wang Zixiang and Qin Jinwei’s eyes.
This time, Yin Pei was still the one who didn’t cry.
He wore the brightest smile, like the most dazzling sunlight, as he ran with open arms, extending them as wide as possible before rushing toward his friends and pulling them into a tight embrace.
He had been saved!
He was back!
The three of them hugged tightly, with Yin Pei even lifting Wang Zixiang off the ground and spinning him around. In that moment, his joy was utterly contagious, radiating to everyone present.
Outside the set, Director Feng Rui froze as he witnessed the scene.
Lu Xu truly had the ability to move others with his performance—whether it was sadness or happiness, his emotions resonated with those around him.
Perhaps it was because, in that moment, he had completely become one with the character.
