Chapter 29: Have You Seen Jiang Yuyan's Legend?

Let them mock me for being gullible; I’ll laugh at their inability to see through my facade.

This was Lin Zuiwei’s true inner thought.

She wouldn’t claim to be exceptionally clever, but she certainly wasn’t stupid.

She actually agreed with many of the issues raised by the previous actor.

However, these were mere flaws that didn’t significantly impact the overall quality of the TV series. Whether they were addressed or not made little difference.

The real offense lay in that actor daring to publicly challenge her authority as both producer and leading lady.

Now, Zhang Yang proposed similar script changes, but his approach was far more tactful, framing everything from her perspective.

If she were to reject him now, it might give people the impression she truly was a lovesick woman who couldn’t resist handsome men, damaging her reputation.

In truth, all she needed was the right attitude and an opportunity to save face. The decision on whether to alter the plot would ultimately depend on how satisfied she was with the actors’ performances.

Clearly, Zhang Yang’s understanding aligned perfectly with her thoughts.

“Ziwei-jie, you’ve come to the right person,” Zhang Yang said, beckoning Nazha over to fetch his backpack. He then pulled out several sheets of paper and handed them to Lin Zuiwei, wearing a modest expression. “Having the chance to play a role in such an excellent project like Pride and Prejudice Empress, I sought advice from my mentor at Shanghai Theatre Academy. Following her guidance, I’ve made some adjustments.”

“Before coming here, I feared my opinions might be dismissed due to my lack of experience.”

“Only now do I realize this was a misunderstanding of you esteemed seniors.”

”…”

No amount of flattery can go amiss, so Zhang Yang seized the moment to compliment everyone present.

Nazha stood nearby, feeling somewhat inadequate as her mind struggled to keep up.

The content on those papers was clearly something she had seen Zhang Yang jot down casually during their ride together.

At the time, she had marveled at how his handwriting mirrored his person—neat, precise, and elegant.

How did it suddenly become work guided by a teacher’s expertise?

“The theater teacher you mentioned—who is that?” A smile played across Yan Yikuan’s lips as he set down the script and rose from his seat.

“Greetings, Senior,” Zhang Yang responded promptly, showing no signs of hesitation. “I sought guidance from two instructors: Old Jiang, Ms. Jiang Mei, and Old Wang, Mr. Wang Luoyong.”

He never entered a battle unprepared.

Last night, he had crafted the initial draft of the script, refining it further on the way today.

Zhang Yang had also called both Old Wang and Old Jiang beforehand, inquiring after their well-being while subtly discussing Pride and Prejudice Empress with them.

Unless someone, out of sheer boredom, asked if Zhang Yang had approached either of them about revising a script, he felt confident his ruse would remain intact.

“Wang-laoshi and Ms. Jiang, ah…” Yan Yikuan mused, a warm smile spreading across his face. “When I was studying, they had just begun teaching and gave me a few lessons too. They must both be department heads now, aren’t they?”

“Yes, Wang-laoshi is now a professor in the acting department, primarily responsible for teaching. Ms. Jiang serves as the department head,” Zhang Yang replied calmly.

The surrounding eyes immediately changed their gaze towards him.

This was the academy system—networks were innate, especially for students who had good relationships with teachers at school. Their advantages within the industry were particularly evident.

“Hm.” Yan Yikuan acknowledged without elaborating further, nodding slightly. “If my junior has any questions about the production team, feel free to ask me.”

“Many thanks, senior,” Zhang Yang promptly expressed his gratitude. His gaze flashed across Huo Jianhua’s face, only to meet the latter looking back at him.

Their eyes met briefly before moving away in unison, leaving no verbal exchange.

Meanwhile, Lin Zuiwei and director Liang Xinqian skimmed through the revised script content swiftly.

“It truly lives up to expectations from a Shangxi teacher’s guidance; this section now effectively highlights the characters’ personalities and roles,” Liang Xinqian affirmed.

He was indirectly sending a message to Lin Zuiwei, who responded positively while in high spirits, nodding her agreement: “Indeed, it’s much improved. Let’s proceed with these changes.”

Regardless of personal feelings, one must give due respect to Shanghai Theatre Academy, not least because the revisions genuinely enhanced the script quality.

Zhang Yang’s thoughts raced as he responded, “As a screenwriter, I’m responsible for the entire TV series’ story and each character’s subplot. I only made these changes after seeking guidance from my teacher; I hope it doesn’t cause any trouble.”

With this explanation, some of the onlookers’ gazes softened considerably.

“Well then, let’s give it a try.” Liang Xinquan clapped his hands and picked up the nearby microphone.

Zhang Yang decided not to draw further attention and moved closer to Nazha. “I’ll be performing now,” he said quietly. “Watch carefully, or you can record it with your phone. Tonight, I’ll teach you about positioning and other techniques.”

Nazha nodded, indicating his understanding.

“All units, pay attention.”

Liang Xinquan lifted the microphone, seated before the monitors, directing adjustments to the lighting.

“Scene X, take X.”

“Aikson!”

The sound of the clapboard echoed, signaling the cameras to roll and focus on Lin Zuiwei.

She stood by the railing of a tall pavilion, gazing downward and silently shedding tears, as if reminiscing about something heart-wrenching.

Dressed in luxurious silk robes, Zhang Yang emerged around the corner, took a strategic stance, and fixed his gaze intently on Lin Zuiwei’s profile.

Liang Xinquan’s eyes lit up. He shifted his position and spoke into the walkie-talkie, “Zoom out a bit and pan left to find the blind spot—yes, that’s it, hold steady. Now, capture their expressions.”

We’ve struck gold, Liang Xinquan thought to himself.

Generally speaking, people who are considered good-looking in real life often don’t translate well onto the screen, while those less attractive can actually appear more appealing with proper makeup.

Some individuals who seem beautiful or handsome on video might be so stunning in person that they could leave you breathless.

Zhang Yang had an excellent appearance, and Liang Xinqian initially thought he wouldn’t photograph well. However, reality proved him wrong; Zhang Yang had a face perfectly suited for movies.

If his acting is also decent, we could consider giving him a role in Skin 2, the idea flashed through Liang Xinqian’s mind as he became even more attentive to the footage.

On the screen, Zhang Yang’s eyes began to change, filled with sorrowful emotion.

Given the scene, one could imagine he was feeling heartache over “Ma Fuya.”

After this brief moment of anguish, his gaze flickered with madness for just an instant before turning resolute.

He strode towards “Ma Fuya,” the camera operator keeping pace at the director’s prompt to capture the crucial shot.

Reaching “Ma Fuya” from behind, Zhang Yang extended his arm, intending to embrace her.

A staff member nearby discreetly gestured to Lin Zuiwei, who immediately reacted as if sensing something. She turned around and met Zhang Yang’s gaze:

“Little Kuang Brother.”

As she spoke, Lin Zuiwei wiped away a tear from the corner of her eye.

The words “Little Kuang Brother” seemed to have a bewitching effect on Zhang Yang. He withdrew his hand and subtly took half a step back, his expression clearing up instantly. “Sister, don’t be sad. You still have me to rely on.”

Up until this point, the original plot had Zhao Kuangyin embracing Ma Fuya, consoling her with various comforts. The scene would then freeze on their faces, aiming for a poignant, beautiful moment.

Zhang Yang’s evaluation of this scenario was blunt: Trash.

While Emperor Taizu could indeed experience love, even possess a white moonlight obsession or exhibit borderline obsessive behavior, he would never act like a clingy beta or a subservient loverboy.

Moreover, Mary Sue tropes should not be used to insult viewers’ intelligence.

However, a form of love that aligned with Zhao Kuangyin’s character could exist within these confines.

It might even further elevate Ma Fuya’s allure as both a captivating enchantress and an innocent white lotus figure.

Thus, Zhang Yang’s eyes held a restrained fondness, reflecting his appreciation for this nuanced approach.

The subsequent lines were not overly sentimental but rather changed to normal comforting words. However, every word conveyed an air of authority, translating to: “You can trust me; I can make decisions for you.”

Ma Fuya merely sighed with a smile, neither accepting nor rejecting his offer. Her feelings towards Zhao Kuangyin remained those of an elder sister towards her younger brother.

“Cut!”

Liang Xinqian picked up the megaphone and shouted, “Great job! That’s a wrap.”

Indeed, the shoot had gone well, particularly Zhang Yang’s performance, which surprised him greatly.

Lin Zuiwei was supposed to be the star, but during this scene, all his attention was focused on Zhang Yang.

From the close-up shots capturing subtle facial expressions, to the impactful delivery of dialogue - everything about Zhang Yang’s acting was exceptional.

There was no need for reshoots; any attempt at re-filming would only highlight Lin Zuiwei’s inferiority compared to Zhang Yang, creating unnecessary complications.

Moving forward, there were no more scenes requiring Zhang Yang’s presence in this location, so he happily took a step back to watch from the sidelines.

Seeing they were alone, Nazha turned to Zhang Yang and asked, “Brother Yang, isn’t it too much effort for such a minor role?”

Zhang Yang glanced at her, lips curling slightly as he replied, “Nazha, have you ever read The Legend of Jiang Yuyan?”