Is This How the Entertainment Industry Works? (GL) - Chapter 6

Director Wang stared for a long while before finally shouting, “Cut!”

Yan Zhen heard him and rubbed her eyes. A young girl nearby ran over to adjust her colored contact lenses, whispering praise as she worked, “You were amazing! I almost started crying just now.”

Yan Zhen smiled. “Surely it wasn’t that exaggerated.”

The girl nodded firmly. “Absolutely was!”

Director Wang gestured from across the set. “Come here.”

Yan Zhen ran over, followed by Lu Ming. A few stagehands and assistants thought about it and decided to run over too.

Director Wang roared, “What are you all coming over for?! Trying to suffocate me?”

The crowd had no choice but to back off, leaving only Yan Zhen and Lu Ming. Director Wang replayed the footage he had just captured. He pointed at the screen. “Do you see any issues?”

Yan Zhen stared at it for a moment.

Lu Ming chimed in from the side, “Doesn’t it look great?”

“Shut up!” Director Wang snapped.

After the recording finished, a moment passed before Yan Zhen suddenly realized the problem. “My apologies. I overshadowed the lead.”

This was like being at an Imperial Court session—one must never speak first. One must wait for the Prime Minister or the General to speak before offering an opinion. Her performance was too sharp and prominent; if the lead actress didn’t perform perfectly, she would be completely suppressed by this opening sequence, making the protagonist of the film unclear.

Director Wang sighed in admiration. “Not bad.”

Lu Ming was indignant. “What do you mean? Is acting too well a bad thing now?”

“Obviously!” Director Wang smacked Lu Ming’s head with the script and leaned in. “Have you ever seen a supporting character outshine the lead?”

Lu Ming shook her head.

“That’s the unspoken rule of this industry. Reshoot!” Director Wang looked at Yan Zhen. “Restrain your intensity a bit.”

They filmed two more takes, and the opening was finally settled.

Director Wang remarked, “Your eyes are just too expressive. I heard kids in the mountains go through a lot. Do you have a lot of ‘story’ in you? That would explain why your eyes act so much.”

Yan Zhen couldn’t tell if Director Wang was insulting or praising her.

“I guess so,” she replied. “Usually, I just feed chickens and eat chickens. Nothing else happens.”

“You’re certainly idle. If you ever have nothing to do, come find me in the city. I have three movies lined up for next year; I can save a supporting role for you.”

As they were chatting, a loud crash suddenly echoed from nearby.

A stagehand came running frantically, shouting, “Director! Director! The mountain collapsed! Trees are falling!”

“What?” Director Wang was stunned. “The mountain collapsed?”

“What do we do? Sister Han is still in there doing wire-work!”

“What?!!” Director Wang looked like he was about to vomit bile from fear. “Then save her! Hurry!”

A group of people rushed toward the mountain in a frenzy. By the time they reached the mid-slope, the tremors had stopped. Several assistants were sitting on the ground crying, “Sister Han! Sister Han!”

Director Wang ran up. “Where is Han Xiaomeng?”

“We… we don’t know.”

Director Wang felt like he was coughing blood. “Damn it! Then why are you just standing there? Go look for her!”

The little assistants scrambled up, preparing to search in all directions.

“Wait a moment,” Yan Zhen called out.

Director Wang slapped his thigh. “My dear girl, a life is on the line! Whatever it is, it can wait.”

Yan Zhen pointed at a “roly-poly” toy in her hand. The weighted tip of the toy was pointing steadily toward the southeast. “She is in the southeast.”

“God damn it!” Director Wang barked. “You’re playing with Taobao toys at a time like this?” He waved his hand at the assistants. “Go in every direction! If Han Xiaomeng’s face gets ruined, we can’t afford the compensation!”

The group ran off weeping. Only Lu Ming knew Yan Zhen was telling the truth.

Lu Ming pulled at Director Wang. “The girl has real skill. Why don’t you just listen to her and go southeast?”

“Pah, pah, pah! Don’t be superstitious,” Wang said. “What if she’s wrong?”

“She won’t be,” Lu Ming said with absolute faith. “You don’t know—she can predict the future.” Lu Ming started to mention the cliff-jumping incident but realized now wasn’t the time for details. She simply dragged Director Wang toward the southeast.

Yan Zhen was walking ahead, already quite a distance away. Lu Ming dragged the director along behind her. After a while, they saw a massive tree. Its leaves were sparse but its trunk was thick, and perched upon a branch was a woman in a white dress.

It was Han Xiaomeng.

Seeing this, Director Wang muttered under his breath: She actually found her in the southeast? Just lucky, right? Then he wailed, “Xiaomeng! Xiaomeng, come down! What happened to you?”

Han Xiaomeng had completely broken down. Nothing had gone right since she started this movie. First, someone tried to cut her wires; then someone put animal organs in her lunch box; then her costume turned out to be a high-quality but sand-covered Republican-era qipao. Now, she was filming in the mountains and a random landslide nearly killed her. Luckily, she had been quick enough to climb the tree.

Unfortunately, getting up is easier than getting down.

Han Xiaomeng sobbed quietly, then finally snapped. “What kind of trash film crew is this?! I’m done! I’m not acting! Whoever wants this role can take it!”

Director Wang kept shouting, “Just come down first!”

“Can’t you see I can’t get down?!” she screamed back.

Yan Zhen circled the trunk twice and then leaped up. Reaching the branch, she held out her hand. “Come.”

Han Xiaomeng had resigned herself to fate—staying up there meant death, and falling with this person probably meant death too. Since the outcome was the same, she might as well try. She grabbed Yan Zhen’s hand and stepped down.

Yan Zhen wrapped an arm around Han Xiaomeng’s waist and jumped. The moment they landed, the massive tree collapsed with a thunderous boom.

A click-click sound came from the side. Director Wang looked over and saw his own photographer.

“What time do you think it is? You have time to take photos?” Wang asked.

“It was just too beautiful,” the photographer replied. She looked at the shot: a dark silhouette leaping from a tree like a graceful black panther, cradling a human girl in her arms.

It was a photo with so much story. After admiring it on her screen for a while, she uploaded it to her personal social media.

Two seconds after it was posted, Han Xiaomeng marched over in a rage, gave them both a vicious scolding, and then stormed down the mountain, cursing all the way. “Sons of bitches! Damn it! I’m never leaving the studio again! If I ever go on location again, I’m a pig!”

The commotion was so loud that the neighboring crew heard it and started gossiping.

“Is the lead next door on strike?”

“I heard there was a landslide. Between that and the wire accident the other day, I wouldn’t stand for it either.”

“How tragic. They must have offended the Mountain God,” an older stagehand remarked.

Hearing these superstitious words, an image of a girl with a slightly “ugly” smile drifted through Zhao Baoshang’s mind. She let out a cold, sharp snort, and the surrounding area went instantly silent.

Yan Zhen went home to feed the chickens. The roosters were fat and strong; their crowing during the day could ward off ghosts and spirits, which satisfied her.

In the evening, a city person came to their house and asked Yan Zhen’s mother if they could buy a chicken.

“Buying a chicken in the middle of the night? What’s the world coming to?” her mother grumbled.

“I can’t help it,” the man said. “Our boss needs it urgently.”

Her mother started catching a chicken from the coop. “What do you need it for?”

“To sacrifice to the heavens!” the man said. “Our Feng Shui has been terrible lately.”

Yan Zhen walked out and recognized the man from Director Wang’s crew. She said, “Buying a rooster to sacrifice is useless. What you’ve offended is no ordinary thing.”

What else could it be? The man couldn’t figure it out, and the more he thought, the more scared he got. He paid, took the cage, and bolted.

Her mother was worried. “If the Feng Shui is bad, will people think poorly of our village?”

“Possibly,” Yan Zhen said.

“Look at what you’ve said!” her mother fretted. “Xiao Zhen, go follow him and check it out.”

Yan Zhen nodded and went out. After a while, she lost him. The film set was pitch black after lights-out, devoid of any signs of life. She then remembered they were all staying at the inn.

On her way back, she saw the river shimmering under the moon, with red dots flickering in the water. She noticed someone squatting by the bank. Moving closer, she saw it was Zhao Baoshang, staring at several red fish in the water.

Meeting the “Eldest Princess” made Yan Zhen happy. She walked over. “What a coincidence.”

Zhao Baoshang looked up, and her face soured immediately. Yan Zhen sidled up to her. “It’s late. What are you doing?”

Zhao Baoshang poked the water with a twig. “Watching fish.”

Yan Zhen squatted down to watch with her. They were red carp, said to bring good luck.

“Are you hungry for fish?” Yan Zhen asked.

Zhao Baoshang frowned. “Why would I want to eat fish that are this ugly?”

“Then why are you staring at them?”

“I have nothing better to do,” Zhao Baoshang said.

Her voice was cool and lonely, matching the cold moonlight. She truly looked like a celestial being who stood apart from the world. Yan Zhen noticed she was still wearing an ancient costume—a long red dress trailing in the dirt. Yan Zhen reached out to lift the hem for her.

Zhao Baoshang stood up like a startled cat. “What are you doing!”

“Your dress is touching the ground,” Yan Zhen said worriedly.

Zhao Baoshang sat back down recklessly. “It’s just a cheap dress. It doesn’t matter.”

“Did you just finish filming?” Yan Zhen asked. Zhao Baoshang didn’t answer. “Were you scolded again?” Yan Zhen said with a smile. “This outfit is a female general’s casual wear. It looks like you were filming a scene from later in the story today—perhaps the part where the Queen discovers the general’s identity and hosts a banquet for her in the side courtyard?”

Zhao Baoshang looked at her. “Have you read the script?”

“No,” Yan Zhen said. “But folk stories are all more or less the same. They’re all written like this.”

“You’ve read quite a lot, haven’t you?”

“I suppose.” Yan Zhen smiled. “Which part are you struggling to act?”

“Hmph. Why would I tell you?”

“I can help you,” Yan Zhen said.

Zhao Baoshang sneered. “With those six lines of divination again?”

“I meant help with your acting,” Yan Zhen clarified. “The filming process of every scene is a long wait. I wouldn’t use divination to ruin that anticipation.”

The moon rose above the willow branches. As the clouds dispersed, the night sky cleared, revealing a vast field of twinkling stars.

“You talk a good game,” Zhao Baoshang said. “I can’t do any of it. I’ve never been a general; how am I supposed to act out that feeling?”

Yan Zhen was confused. “The female general and the Queen are in love with each other. I thought that with you facing Xu Fengmei, you’d be able to get into character easily.”

Zhao Baoshang was speechless. It wasn’t just Yan Zhen; almost everyone on set felt the same way, assuming her acting would explode with emotion this time. But the truth was, she had realized her feelings for Xu Fengmei weren’t love. It was likely just gratitude.

When she was first saved by Xu Fengmei, she had sworn in her heart that this person would be someone she protected for life. She hadn’t expected that as time passed, those feelings would fade. People change so easily, Zhao Baoshang thought, feeling like a terrible person.

She tossed her script onto the ground. The pages fanned out; Yan Zhen saw they were covered in dense notes. A breeze blew the book shut again.

Yan Zhen knew what she had to do. She suddenly recited a line: “General!”

That word “General” was spoken with powerful resonance. Zhao Baoshang immediately realized that these two words weren’t calling the person; they were a line from the scene where the Queen and General are playing chess, and the Queen is about to win.

For the first time, someone was practicing a scene with her. Zhao Baoshang pushed down the chaotic feelings in her heart and responded with her line.

“It is a good move, but it is still far from a Checkmate (General).”

The Queen said, “How do you know which ‘General’ I am calling?”

The General closed her eyes and remained silent. The Queen’s fingers trembled as she placed a piece, saying with a smile, “General.”

The General sat sideways on the ground, also placing a piece, and replied: “Regardless of which General it is, they have reached a dead end. Now surrounded on all sides with no one to rely on, a mere foot soldier could put this General to death.”

As she spoke, the red chiffon of her dress was caught by the wind, blowing across her face and covering half of it, leaving only a pair of eyes—eyes that were resolute yet fragile.

The Queen met those eyes and finally lowered her gaze, whispering “General” once more. It was a mournful, heartbreaking sound that stirred deep sorrow.

A carp in the river leaped up and splashed back into the water with a plop. Zhao Baoshang suddenly snapped back to reality.

Author’s Note:

Zhao Baoshang (after snapping back): Where is my Queen?

Yan Zhen: ??? Princess, wake up! You’re a Princess, not a General! You don’t have a Queen! Isn’t having me enough?!

Zhao Baoshang: It’s enough! You wild little cutie!