Chapter 139.1: Storm Filming (2)
Shen Xiu: “!”
Is there anything more awkward in this world than talking about someone behind their back… and having that person hear it?
Shen Xiu’s hands, resting on his knees, clenched involuntarily. He resisted the urge for his toes to start curling from embarrassment, and mumbled in a low, embarrassed voice, “…It’s true.”
Xuan Yushu, thinking of Shen Xiu’s reaction, didn’t take his words seriously at all. He just assumed Shen Xiu was trying to fit in with his teammates, and casually asked, “Hahaha, why?”
Before Shen Xiu could answer, Xuan Yushu’s cheerful voice came through the walkie-talkie and into Shen Xiu’s ears: “I think I have a pretty good temper—quite gentle, actually.”
Hearing this, Mu Zhenchu’s lips twitched slightly.
Gentle? Did Director Xuan misunderstand the meaning of “gentle”?
To him, Xuan Yushu was no different from those schoolteachers who always spoke in a “gentle tone” but carried a natural sense of authority. No matter how soft-spoken, he exuded pressure just by being there.
But… Mu Zhenchu snuck a peek at Shen Xiu in the backseat through the rearview mirror.
Could it be that appearances are deceiving, and Shen Xiu, like him, also has a natural fear of authority figures like Director Xuan—who resemble those “teacher” types?
“Why?” Upon hearing the question, Shen Xiu instinctively straightened his posture. Though embarrassed, he answered seriously: “Because, Director Xuan, you’re my idol.”
He was the kind of idol Shen Xiu had admired for so long yet never had the courage to ask for an autograph from!
“…Hahaha.” Xuan Yushu was silent for a few seconds. Just when Shen Xiu was feeling uneasy waiting for a response, Xuan suddenly burst into laughter.
This is killing me—he even said “you’re my idol” out loud now.
Shen Xiu definitely has a dry sense of humor.
It’s not like Xuan Yushu had never encountered fans before—but none of them were like Shen Xiu, who always appeared cold and aloof every time they met, eyes filled only with calmness and composure—without the slightest trace of admiration.
Shen Xiu’s words only further confirmed Xuan Yushu’s suspicion: Shen Xiu was definitely cracking a dry joke on purpose to ease the nerves of the The Galaxy members, who were acting for the first time, hoping to help them relax.
After laughing enough, Xuan Yushu played along with Shen Xiu’s dry humor and asked, “After we wrap up filming today, want me to give you an autograph?”
Shen Xiu: Wait—there’s actually such a good deal?!
In that moment, Shen Xiu felt all his earlier embarrassment was totally worth it.
Afraid that Xuan Yushu might take it back, Shen Xiu didn’t hesitate for even a second: “Yes!”
Xuan Yushu clicked his tongue and thought to himself, ‘As expected of Shen Xiu—when he acts, he commits fully to the role.’
In the car, Song Chengwang and Mu Zhenchu were both thinking the same thing: Shen Xiu was clearly trying to blend in with them again and ease their nerves by telling another one of his trademark cold jokes.
Still, even if Shen Xiu’s jokes were truly “cold,” they were surprisingly effective. Thanks to that little moment, the two of them were indeed far less nervous than before.
The car arrived back at the filming location, where the set had already been reset and prepared for the next scene.
The next scene involved Shang Yu and the kidnappers. As the three—Shen Xiu, Song Chengwang, and Mu Zhenchu—got out of the car, they naturally stepped aside from the cameras and quietly watched Shang Yu prepare for his performance.
After Shang Yu’s scene, it would be Ning Sinian and Xiang Yueting’s turn. Upon seeing the trio, the two walked over quietly and stood next to them.
Xiang Yueting, who never could keep quiet, couldn’t hold it in. While watching the scene, he leaned in and whispered nervously to Song Chengwang and Mu Zhenchu.
“Old Song, is this really your first time acting? Why did it feel so natural when I watched you earlier?”
“And you too, Old Mu—don’t tell me you two secretly hired acting coaches behind my back? Are you trying to outdo me in secret?”
Song Chengwang and Mu Zhenchu didn’t deny it.
Song Chengwang whispered back in the same hushed tone, “Yeah, I hired a coach.”
Mu Zhenchu followed right after: “Mm, I did too.”
Before Xiang Yueting could say anything, Mu Zhenchu added, “But once I actually started acting, I realized what the teacher taught and what it’s like on set are two completely different things.”
“I originally thought that acting in front of a bunch of guys would make me break character if I didn’t stay mentally strong. But the moment I walked behind Shen Xiu, I felt like I was Ba Ze—Han Fei’s personal bodyguard. That vibe, that feeling, it just clicked instantly. Ironically, the only thing that really threw me off wasn’t the camera chasing us—it was the on-site audio equipment.”
“Every time we had dialogue, the boom mic would either be hovering right above our heads or practically on our chests. Most of the time, it was way closer than the camera.”
Song Chengwang patted Xiang Yueting on the shoulder: “Trust me, when you see Shen Xiu’s Han Fei up close, you won’t even have time to think about whether you’ll break character or not.”
Xiang Yueting: “…But my scene later doesn’t have Captain Xiu in it.”
Shen Xiu: “…”
Shen Xiu had no idea how these three could talk about him like that while he was standing right there. They didn’t seem awkward at all—but he was dying of secondhand embarrassment.
He felt dazed—like the three of them had this carefree energy that completely disregarded whether he lived or died.
Song Chengwang leaned toward Xiang Yueting and whispered mischievously, “Heehee, well then… good luck, you’re on your own~”
Mu Zhenchu shivered and shifted a little closer to Shen Xiu: “To this day, I still think you’re the one most suited to play Ba Ze. That snarky vibe of yours is just perfect.”
“Don’t you think so, Captain Xiu?” Mu Zhenchu turned to Shen Xiu, seeking a bit of camaraderie.
Caught off guard while eavesdropping on their gossip, Shen Xiu replied earnestly: “…No, I think you are more suited to play Ba Ze. In terms of appearance, you’re a bit more rugged.”
After all, physique is something you can’t fake. Compared to Ba Ze, Song Chengwang’s frame was more in line with the script’s other character, Yi Chen, who was less rugged.
Mu Zhenchu: “…Case closed. So the casting was based on body type all along.”
Did they really have that much faith in their acting skills?
“What about me then?” Xiang Yueting looked at Shen Xiu with anticipation. “What was my casting based on?”
Before Shen Xiu could reply, Song Chengwang cut in: “What else could it be? Obviously your aura.”
Given how, during the welcome dinner, Xiang Yueting had interrogated everyone about their characters in detail—and practically dumped his entire character setup on them—it was pretty obvious: he fit the role in his personal script perfectly, that of the “naïve, rich fool of a landowner’s son with more money than sense.”
Hearing that, Shen Xiu silently gave Song Chengwang a thumbs-up in his heart. He wasn’t wrong!
Although Director Xuan and Screenwriter Lu never explicitly said it, after reading the full script, Shen Xiu could more or less guess that the casting decisions were made using the principle of: ‘If your acting’s not quite there yet, at least let your vibe and physicality match.’
Xiang Yueting raised his chin proudly: “Got it. I just radiate that handsome and kind-hearted energy.”
Song Chengwang: “…”
So Xiang Yueting didn’t realize at all that Zhong Cheng’an, his character, is basically the classic “foolish rich kid from a landowning family”?
Truly, sometimes ignorance really is bliss.
Mu Zhenchu quickly averted his gaze to keep from laughing out loud.
Shen Xiu also quietly looked away, worried Xiang Yueting would follow up with more questions—and if he answered honestly, he’d hurt the poor guy’s feelings.
None of the three said a word.
This silence only convinced Xiang Yueting further that he was right—and he was in a great mood because of it.
But his joy barely lasted three seconds.
He heard Director Xuan call out “Cut” and then “Pass”—signaling that Shang Yu’s scene had ended.
That meant it was now his and Ning Sinian’s turn.
The filming location was shifting from the outdoors to an indoor set. As the next actors up, Ning Sinian and Xiang Yueting needed to head inside.
Director Xuan was quietly discussing something with the assistant director, executive director, and the screenwriter, while the set crew began preparing the interior scene.
The closer Xiang Yueting got to the house, the more nervous he became—and when he got nervous, he tended to ramble.
“This is bad, really bad.”
“Captain Xiu won’t be in the scene… who’s going to help me get into character?”
“If I mess up, Director Xuan’s eyes alone might kill me.”
“Damn it, why did I only ever study street dance and not acting? Cramming at the last minute really doesn’t—ugh…”
Mu Zhenchu tried to calm him down: “If Captain Xiu’s not there to help you immerse, just look to the veteran actors. Look at Shang Yu—Captain Xiu wasn’t in his scene just now, and he still pulled off that half-dead look so well.”
Song Chengwang chimed in, clearly enjoying this: “Exactly. Shang Yu’s in your next scene too. Just follow his lead, no need to panic.”
Shen Xiu: “…”
‘Why is Shang Yu getting dragged into this now too?’
Xiang Yueting’s eyes drifted toward Shang Yu, who was lying on the nearby bed. The makeup artist was touching up the wound makeup on his chest and face.
“…Shang Yu’s playing a corpse. He hasn’t moved the entire time, and he’s going to lie on that bed completely still in the next scene too.”
‘How is he supposed to help me get into character?’
Xiang Yueting was starting to question everything.
While the crew continued setting up the indoor scene, Xuan Yushu strode in from outside and sat down on the edge of the bed Shang Yu was lying on. He called out loudly:
“Zhong Cheng’an, Gu Xi, Liang Jing—you three, come here.”
Upon hearing their character names, Xiang Yueting, Ning Sinian, and Xia Wenhao all froze for a moment before quickly walking over to him.
“Director Xuan!”
“What’s going on, Director?”
“Is there something we need to know?”
The three stood at attention, voicing their nerves.
Xuan Yushu began directing them: “Zhong Cheng’an, in a moment you’ll be the first one to burst in from outside—”
Xiang Yueting heard the director call him by his character’s name, and suddenly he felt dazed and out of body.
Lying on the bed while the makeup artist touched up his wounds, Shang Yu felt utterly lost.
Is there really a main character who dies the moment he appears?
The script he received didn’t explain things in great detail, but he was sure his heart wasn’t on that side of the body.
Shang Yu couldn’t help thinking—
No wonder it’s a commercial film… This is peak melodrama. Will the fans even buy this?
“Did everyone get that?” Director Xuan finished his blocking instructions, his throat dry from talking. He took a sip of water to moisten it.
The three actors nodded nervously: “Got it.”
Xuan Yushu stood and said, “OK—let’s roll!”
He preferred long, continuous takes, so the camera would follow Zhong Cheng’an, Gu Xi, and Liang Jing as they, along with their team, entered the house in one shot. The assistant directors and other crew followed behind him, planning to enter alongside the actors during filming.
Of course, interior shots would be captured too, and edited later based on the best angles.
“Action!”
The moment the car stopped, Xiang Yueting—playing Zhong Cheng’an—opened the door with trembling hands and sprinted toward the nearby war-ravaged house.
Under the scorching sun, Ning Sinian, playing Gu Xi, looked so pale he was nearly translucent. He gasped for air after just a few steps, but didn’t slow down as he chased after Zhong Cheng’an.
In contrast to their anxious rush, Xia Wenhao’s character Liang Jing got out from the front passenger seat with noticeable laziness. He didn’t even bother shutting the door. His heavy Martin boots thudded against the sandy ground with slow, deliberate steps.
A group of doctors from a slower car arrived just after and quickly passed Liang Jing, carrying a stretcher.
Watching Zhong Cheng’an—Xiang Yueting—sprint all the way to the bombed-out ruins, Shen Xiu suddenly felt the urge to rub his eyes.
Was there something wrong with his vision…?
Xuan Yushu stared at Zhong Cheng’an in the camera monitor and finally couldn’t take it anymore. He shouted, “Zhong Cheng’an!”
To help actors stay immersed in their roles, he had a habit of calling them by their character names during filming.
Of course, someone like Shen Xiu—who could slip in and out of character as smoothly as melted chocolate—never needed that kind of reminder. Xuan Yushu had zero worries about him forgetting who he was playing.
Hearing the name “Zhong Cheng’an,” Xiang Yueting was so nervous he didn’t respond at all. He just kept running forward, eyes locked on the ruined house ahead.
Xuan Yushu held back a laugh and called out, “Cut!”
At that moment, the entire directing team exhaled in relief—if the scene had gone on any longer, they really would’ve broken into laughter on the spot.
“Pfft…” Song Chengwang let out the start of a laugh before quickly covering his mouth, clearing his throat, and pretending he’d never laughed at all.
Mu Zhenchu turned away, unable to watch Xiang Yueting any longer.
Shen Xiu: “……”
Perfect. It’s confirmed—he wasn’t hallucinating. Xiang Yueting really had just been running with matching arms and legs! Like some clumsy cartoon character.
Catching up to him, Ning Sinian whispered, “Xiang Yueting, Director Xuan was calling you.”
Just as Xiang Yueting stopped, it finally dawned on him. He had vaguely heard someone calling “Zhong Cheng’an” during that run.
“……”
The clown… was him.
He awkwardly walked over to Xuan Yushu. “Director… is something wrong?”
As soon as he spoke, he realized that not only were his castmates avoiding his gaze, but even the crew members were all turning away, trying to hold back their laughter.
Xiang Yueting: “?”
Why is everyone laughing at me?!
Xuan Yushu looked at Xiang Yueting’s bewildered expression. He wanted to say something, but the moment he opened his mouth, the corners of his lips couldn’t help curling up.
He tapped a few buttons on the camera, stepped aside, and said to Xiang Yueting:
“See for yourself… hahaha…” Even as he said it, he couldn’t hold back his own laughter.
He had heard of people moving in sync the wrong way when walking—but he’d never seen someone run like that for such a long distance without noticing anything was off.
Worse yet, Xiang Yueting ran that entire stretch with matching arms and legs and never felt something was wrong.
On the spot, Xuan Yushu decided: this take couldn’t go into the final cut, but it had to make the behind-the-scenes reel.
Still confused, Xiang Yueting leaned in to check the camera footage.
One minute later, after watching the playback, Xiang Yueting was so embarrassed he could’ve scratched a whole luxury mansion—with basement—into the ground with just his toes.
Xiang Yueting: “……”
He didn’t blame anyone for laughing. Even he wanted to laugh at himself.
“I’m sorry, Director Xuan… I messed up…”
He lowered his head and obediently admitted fault.
After apologizing, he glanced around at everyone still struggling to hold in their laughter and muttered, “Go ahead and laugh… don’t hold it in…”
“HAHAHAHA—”
The moment he said it, the whole set erupted in laughter.
Hearing the waves of laughter—clearly not malicious—Xiang Yueting still wished he could find a crack in the ground to disappear into.
“Hahaha, no wonder we call him Old Xiang. He is the husky he always talks about!”
Song Chengwang didn’t dare laugh too hard near Shen Xiu, so he leaned on Mu Zhenchu’s shoulder, laughing so hard his stomach hurt.
Mu Zhenchu, smiling widely too, said, “Keep it down—Old Xiang’s already super embarrassed… don’t make it worse hahaha…”
Even so, Mu Zhenchu wasn’t laughing any quieter than Song Chengwang.
After a few minutes of laughter, Xuan Yushu raised his hand and said, “Alright, alright—wrap it up. Get ready. We shoot again in five minutes.”
He then turned to Xiang Yueting. “Is five minutes enough for you to reset? Don’t let that kind of blooper happen again.”
Xiang Yueting stared at the ground and nodded. “No problem.”
Worried that Xiang Yueting might be feeling too much pressure, Xuan Yushu added a word of encouragement: “The way your hands were trembling when you got out of the car—that part was well-acted. It really matched the mindset of Zhong Cheng’an learning his friend had died. Keep that up.”
Xiang Yueting: “…Okay.”
He didn’t have the heart to admit that his hands weren’t trembling from acting—they were shaking because he was nervous.
Mu Zhenchu, noticing that Shen Xiu hadn’t laughed at all this whole time, couldn’t help asking, “Captain Xiu, don’t you think Old Xiang was hilarious?”
Shen Xiu nodded. “I do.”
But then, realizing Mu Zhenchu was pointing out how he hadn’t laughed, Shen Xiu awkwardly tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Funny.”
Mu Zhenchu: “……”
That forced little smile—clearly he didn’t find it funny, but was trying to play along with them. Poor Shen Xiu, really going the extra mile.
How could someone like Shen Xiu laugh at something so simple and silly?
Mu Zhenchu chuckled and said, “Hahaha, totally.”
After the awkward moment passed, Mu Zhenchu grabbed Song Chengwang by the hand and pulled him to the back of the group.
Song Chengwang was confused. “What’s up?”
Covering his mouth with his hand, Mu Zhenchu whispered, “Don’t you think Captain Xiu, outside of acting—where he can cry and laugh—is like someone who doesn’t even have emotions? Like, except for Lucky and us, I’ve never seen him care about anything else.”
Song Chengwang rolled his eyes. “I thought you were going to say something profound—that’s just stating the obvious.”
He and Shang Yu had already talked about it before: Shen Xiu was basically like a robot.
“Wait, what you just said isn’t totally right. The person Captain Xiu cares about the most is his family. Did you forget that time he personally went out in a rainstorm to buy roses for his mom?”
Mu Zhenchu sheepishly tapped himself on the head. “Look at my memory.”
The break given to Xiang Yueting was over, and filming resumed.
After his earlier blunder, Xiang Yueting was much more cautious the second time around. Though there were a few minor hiccups, nothing major went wrong, and the shoot wrapped up quickly.
Zhuang Yi, who played Zhou Yanlin’s older brother Zhou Yanxun, and Jiang Yanxi, who played Han Fei’s secretary Xie Yi, didn’t have any desert scenes, so the two had been standing by on set, watching and learning.
—
The next day.
After the day’s filming ended, Shen Xiu, Song Chengwang, and Mu Zhenchu had night scenes. Although Jiang Yanxi and the others didn’t have any scenes scheduled and should have been resting, they still chose to stay with the crew for the night shoot.
At 9 p.m., after dinner, the crew arrived at the night shoot location.
Following Xuan Yushu’s request, Shen Xiu, Song Chengwang, and Shang Yu had already familiarized themselves with the set the previous night after filming wrapped, so they didn’t need to spend extra time on that tonight.
Once the set was arranged, Xuan Yushu explained the scene to the three of them one by one, confirming the blocking and escape routes for the upcoming shoot.
After explaining everything, Xuan Yushu still felt a bit uneasy and looked at Song Chengwang and Mu Zhenchu.
“If you two forget anything later, just follow Shen Xiu.”
Mu Zhenchu: “Okay!”
Song Chengwang: “Got it, Director.”
“Shen Xiu,” Xuan Yushu’s gaze landed on Shen Xiu, “I’m entrusting them to you. Lead them well.”
Xuan Yushu’s words instantly shifted the pressure onto Shen Xiu.
Shen Xiu: “…Okay.”
