Chapter 36: Crouching Dragon and Phoenix is still a kind of praise

“Clap! Clap! Clap!”

A burst of applause echoed across the open ground before a certain Daoist temple.

Aside from some staff members of the Pride and Prejudice Empress film crew, a handful of scattered tourists had also gathered at the site.

These onlookers spontaneously formed a circle, with its center occupied by Zhang Yang. He wielded his wooden staff with tigerish vigor, each move bold and expansive yet infinitely variable—a display both majestic and awe-inspiring.

Amidst the crowd, only Nazha watched intently, as if through Zhang Yang he could glimpse something deeper. For a moment, he fell into profound contemplation.

With a swift flick of his wrist, Zhang Yang retracted his long staff in one fluid motion, exuding an air of nonchalance.

Director Lin Feng immediately turned to those beside him, asking anxiously, “Did we capture that?”

When Zhang Yang first announced he would demonstrate his staff techniques, Lin Feng had been somewhat skeptical. Any martial arts practitioner knew the principle: “In boxing, fear the young; in stick fighting, beware the old.” This adage reflected how youthful vigor and boundless energy typically gave the younger generation an advantage in close combat over middle-aged or older individuals. As one aged, their prowess in unarmed combat naturally waned.

Conversely, when it came to weapons like staves, experience trumped youth. The longer one trained, the more adept they became—a clear advantage for seasoned elders.

Given Zhang Yang’s tender years, even if he mastered the art of the staff, how truly formidable could he be? Yet upon witnessing his performance firsthand, Lin Feng realized his initial judgment was superficial. He promptly ordered the cameras to record every detail, recognizing the potential gem before them.

“We managed to capture it,” the photographer said candidly, “but due to how rushed we were, the footage likely isn’t of high quality.”

Lin Feng’s brow furrowed deeply at this news, his disappointment palpable.

Zhang Yang approached him with a staff in hand, wiping sweat from his brow using tissues Nazha had provided earlier. “Brother Lin, did you want to use that shot of me wielding the staff just now?”

“Yes,” Lin Feng replied without hesitation. “We could edit it into a segment showcasing your regular training regimen. It would give viewers a sense of Song Ancestor’s martial prowess.” He continued generously, “In terms of skill level, I doubt even young Song Ancestor at your age could match up to you technically.”

“Flattery aside,” Zhang Yang waved off the praise modestly. “Song Ancestor built his mastery from scratch—a true founding grandmaster of a generation. There’s no comparing myself to him.”

Though he could indeed surpass Song Ancestor now, all his superiority stemmed from the cheat he possessed; he wouldn’t boast about such an advantage. Of course, the cheat was part of who he was now, so neither would he undervalue himself unnecessarily.

“If you believe it can work, Brother Lin,” Zhang Yang suggested, balancing the staff on his palm thoughtfully, “let’s find some time later to reshoot with proper preparation. This is just an ordinary long staff anyway; Song Ancestor used a Dragon Coiled Staff. We don’t want our props to give away any secrets.”

“You’re right,” Lin Feng agreed, appreciating Zhang Yang’s dedication to his craft. “I’ll have the prop department prepare a genuine Dragon Coiled Staff for future scenes. For today, though, stick with the Imperial Ancestor Long Fist routine.” His approval was clear and well-deserved.

His meaning was clear: he agreed to let Zhang Yang redesign the fight scenes, swapping swords and spears for fists and staffs.

“I have no issues with that,” Zhang Yang replied naturally, having achieved his goal.

As Zhang Yang performed a set of staff maneuvers, the props team and camera crew had already prepared all necessary equipment. Sister Sun, the makeup artist, finished styling Nazha’s hair—a quick coiled bun done to save time. This hairstyle involved brushing the hair upward to the crown, dividing it into several sections before coiling them together at the top. It accentuated Nazha’s delicate facial features perfectly.

Moreover, this style had been popular from the Tang Dynasty through to the Qing Dynasty, ensuring there would be no anachronisms on set. It also softened Nazha’s exotic appearance, making her seem more like someone of mixed heritage—a common occurrence in China after the Southern and Northern Dynasties as well as the Five Dynasties period, which wouldn’t jar viewers out of their suspension of disbelief.

One must commend Sister Sun’s exceptional makeup skills; she had voluntarily chosen to work with Lin Feng’s production team herself.

Zhang Yang couldn’t help but feel satisfied—his small red envelope gift hadn’t gone wasted after all.

After another hour, Zhang Yang completed his own transformation and joined them outside the Daoist temple.

The experienced extras Lin Feng had hired had already finished filming their scene around the bonfire chat. With Zhang Yang now ready, they were poised to begin capturing the hero-rescuing-damsel sequence.

“The little maiden awakens just in time to savor the pinnacle of earthly pleasures,” one of the actors quipped playfully.

The actor playing Skinny Monkey wore an lecherous expression as he squatted down to untie Nazha’s clothing.

“Wahh~”

This was her first acting gig, leaving Nazha’s mind utterly blank. But when she felt his hands on her, instinctively recalling Zhao Jingniang’s plight from history, all thoughts of filming vanished from her head. She frantically shook it back and forth, her eyes pleading with desperation.

Hisss, that gaze…

Lin Feng inwardly marveled at its authenticity—truly exceptional.

Cai Yining of Tangren Film had indeed cast a discerning eye; in one fell swoop, she’d unearthed Zhang Yang and Nazha—a pair blessed with striking looks, innate talent, and formidable skills—the very dragon and phoenix among hidden talents.

“Heh heh…”

Stirred by Nazha’s beseeching look, desire flickered within the minor character actor for just a moment.

But then, without warning, the props team shattered the window. A long cloth-wrapped pole flew through the opening, striking the minor character squarely in the chest. The impact sent him reeling backward, tethered by a prop rope. In that instant, he bit through the blood capsule held between his teeth, spraying crimson liquid across the room with a loud pfft.

Nazha’s eyes widened in shock as Zhang Yang leaped through the broken window into the room. Tall and robust, his face bore an expression of grim determination. His eyes sparkled with intensity beneath a commanding presence—an aura unmistakable.

That face—the one before her now—matched perfectly with the image seared in her memories!

In that fleeting moment, certainty washed over her: last night hadn’t been a dream after all.

Everything was too real. If not for her premonition of the future, she must have been Zhao Jingniang in her previous life.

Surely Mengpo’s soup couldn’t be that unpalatable, she mused. I must have taken only a few sips, which is why I still remember the most crucial detail.

Zhang Yang’s physique perfectly matched his description from her memories—it truly was an uncanny resemblance!

His age aside, his mastery of fist and staff techniques made perfect sense given their ferocity and precision.

So, was this chance encounter meant to rekindle their past romance? Nazha’s heart raced with possibility as she drifted into daydreams.

“Who goes there?!”

A sudden roar erupted ahead.

Without a word, Zhang Yang entered the grand hall, plunging into a fierce brawl against several actors playing bandits. His movements flowed like water, each strike precise yet imbued with fluid grace. The Imperial Ancestor Long Fist he employed moved with such force and speed, yet never lost its aesthetic appeal. In moments, all the assailants lay defeated at his feet.

Returning to the rear of the hall, Zhang Yang helped Nazha out of the Daoist temple towards the waiting carriage outside.

“My deepest gratitude for your rescue, young master,” Nazha said, her gaze fixed unwaveringly on Zhang Yang.

Her performance—an actress’s instinct after being rescued by a hero—was executed flawlessly, conveying a desire to pledge herself to him in gratitude. It was almost as if she were living out a scene straight from one of those captivating novels she’d devoured back home.

“It was but a small gesture, guided by righteousness,” Zhang Yang replied with a cupped fist salute. He then asked, “May I inquire your name, young miss? And where do you hail from? This humble one would be glad to escort you home.”

Hearing this, Nazha—now seeing through Zhao Jingniang’s eyes—recalled her murdered parents and tears welled up in her gaze. “My given name is Jingniang, and my father bore the surname Zhao. My parents…” She trailed off, choking back sobs.

As Nazha recounted her tale, Zhang Yang learned of her ordeal. Realizing she was from Puzhou, he pondered briefly before saying, “Miss Zhao, our chance encounter has led me to save you today. It seems fate decrees that I should accompany you back to Puzhou.”

“However, traveling alone together as a man and woman isn’t proper. Coincidentally, my own surname is also Zhao. Why don’t we pretend to be siblings on this journey? That way, it won’t tarnish your reputation, Miss Jingniang.”

Naturally, Nazha had no objections; instead, she accepted his offer filled with gratitude.

She climbed into the carriage, while Zhang Yang took the reins, setting them both off on their northern voyage.

“Cut!” Lin Feng shouted contentedly.

Inwardly, he rejoiced: Cut! Cut! Cut!

Zhang Yang and Nazha’s performance had been utterly flawless. Had they not known better, one might have thought Zhao Kuangyin himself and the real Zhao Jingniang had materialized before them.

The two “newcomers”’ performance was nothing short of extraordinary—a God-given talent that heaven itself must have blessed them with.

Due to this smooth filming process, what had been planned as a one-to-two-day shoot wrapped up in mere hours.

Lin Feng didn’t rush ahead with subsequent scenes either. After lunch, he announced a half-day off for everyone—work would resume only tomorrow on new sets.

This unexpected paid break elicited cheers from all crew members.

Zhang Yang wasn’t so fortunate; Lin Feng called him over to help design fight choreography together.

Before diving into work, however, Zhang Yang decided to first drive Nazha back to her hotel.

“Hey there, bro.”

In the hotel parking lot, Nazha approached his car and gently tapped on the window from the driver’s side.

“Hm?” Zhang Yang looked up quizzically.

“I believe in past lives too,” she said softly, her beautiful eyes flickering with meaning.

“Oh?” Confusion clouded Zhang Yang’s face. He couldn’t fathom why Nazha might say such words now.

Could she be confessing? Is In Dream moving that fast already?

“You’ll understand someday,” Nazha replied with a sweet smile before turning away.

Her hair danced gracefully behind her, casting an enchanting aura like a radiant beauty departing.

Zhang Yang remained speechless, caught off guard by her enigmatic gesture.

”…What kind of seduction is this?” he thought to himself, utterly bewildered.