Chapter 39: Reunion with Liu Yifei

“Let me check the time.”

Zhang Yang pondered how best to delay their date tonight; ideally, he hoped there would be no movie screenings at the theater that evening.

“Good news!”

He accessed the private cinema’s website through his phone and felt relieved upon seeing the schedule. There was indeed a showing later that night—at 10:25 PM—but this allowed him ample time to seize his opportunity first before meeting up with Nazha for the film.

“The movie starts at half past ten tonight,” Zhang Yang said, putting away his phone with an easy smile as he looked at Nazha. “We’ll have plenty of time if we arrive around ten o’clock.”

Nazha furrowed her brow unconsciously. A start time of 10:30 PM meant they wouldn’t return to their hotel until after midnight. This could severely impact her sleep quality, potentially affecting her performance on set the next day—a cause for concern she voiced immediately.

However, when Zhang Yang heard her worries, his expression turned intriguingly thoughtful.

“Is something wrong?” Nazha asked, her delicate brows drawing together slightly.

If Zhang Yang couldn’t provide a satisfactory explanation, she decided then and there—she’d simply… enjoy one more bowl of plain rice tonight, letting him treat her generously without hesitation!

“You’re not mistaken,” Zhang Yang replied, his face now bearing a warm grin. “It seems you weren’t paying close attention to our production schedule. Tomorrow’s shoot doesn’t begin until 1 PM. Moreover, it involves my scenes exclusively, so you’ve essentially been given the day off.”

Could there be such a coincidence?

The faint blush on Nazha’s cheeks flared once more—clearly embarrassed, yet she stubbornly insisted, “Who doesn’t get distracted now and then? It was just chance.”

Zhang Yang gave her a thumbs-up. “Nazha, sometimes you’re really like a duck.”

“A duck?” After a moment of thought, Nazha nodded. “I suppose little ducks can be quite cute.”

”…,” Zhang Yang replied with silence.

“When a duck dies, its bill remains hard—the only part still firm after death.”

Nazha stared at him blankly for a beat before her face exploded into a crimson flush—a burst of anger. She was incensed by Zhang Yang’s teasing, but even more so by her own failure to grasp his meaning initially, which had led her to unwittingly agree.

“Hard-mouthed, am I?” she snapped. “We’ll see who ends up bitten!”

“Heh, dream on!”

For a few minutes, Zhang Yang and Nazha engaged in a game of cat-and-mouse around chairs, their laughter filling the air.

Breathless, Nazha planted her hands on her hips, her chest heaving as she demanded, “Apologize—and take me out for dinner tonight. Somewhere good.”

“Deal.” Zhang Yang didn’t hesitate. Later that day, he meticulously researched online and found a Xinjiang restaurant to treat Nazha to a meal—a strategic move to keep her mollified. This way, if unforeseen circumstances arose later and prevented him from leaving, he’d have an easier time soothing her.

They enjoyed tender pieces of Xinjiang chicken stew, along with spicy Xinjiang rice noodles—all medium-spiced dishes bursting with flavor.

As the appointed time approached, Zhang Yang first escorted Nazha back to her hotel safely. Then, he returned to Hengdian Film City, effortlessly slipping through the entrance using his actor’s license.

He made his way directly to the area near the Along the River During the Qingming Festival attraction—a bustling scene today. Around the pavilion on Fanlou Lake stood several cranes with spotlights illuminating the area, transforming night into an artificial day for filming purposes.

“Filming here right now should be the movie adaptation of ‘Four Great Detectives,’” Zhang Yang recalled, his eyes gleaming as he remembered the project.

The film was directed by Chen Jia Shang and starred Deng Zhao, Liu Yifei, Zheng Zhongji, Zuo Zhaolong, Huang Laogou, among others—a true ensemble cast.

However, whenever Xiangjiang productions tackled such themes, they invariably felt lacking in scope—more like mindless imitations of foreign blockbusters, desperate to ride their coattails without any originality.

This particular iteration of “Four Great Detectives” had become infamous as a train wreck of a movie. Incredibly, this supposed martial arts epic managed to cram elements from Fantastic Four, werewolves, Resident Evil, and even superhero abilities akin to those found in X-Men or One Piece—all under the guise of traditional Chinese detective fiction.

Rather than being about four great detectives, it might have been more accurately described as a fan-made crossover featuring superpowered characters. Back then, Zhang Yang had gone to see the film in support of his favorite actress, only to be utterly floored by its sheer awfulness throughout.

“The Four Great Detectives features many luminaries,” Zhang Yang mused. “It makes sense that opportunities would arise around them.” He debated internally whether to use character points.

Based on his observations, these opportunity events seemed to revolve around either current or future industry heavyweights. By seizing these chances, he could earn their gratitude and potentially build valuable connections within the field.

The set of Four Great Detectives boasted numerous big names. It would be impossible for Zhang Yang to discern on his own who might present an opportunity at any given moment.

If he could somehow foresee these opportunities beforehand, perhaps he’d stand a chance to make informed judgments. Even if he couldn’t decide immediately, having such knowledge would still enable him to resolve others’ troubles—a valuable asset in itself.

However, it quickly dawned on Zhang Yang that he needn’t struggle with this dilemma after all.

Upon reaching the lakeside scene transformed into the Prince’s Manor for filming, he was promptly intercepted by security guards and production staff from the Four Great Detectives crew. “Hello there,” one of them said firmly. “We’re shooting right now. Without a pass, you won’t be able to enter just yet.”

Zhang Yang knew well how this worked; if he had someone within the production team he recognized, they could simply call over and escort him inside. But as luck would have it…

“I forgot my pass,” Zhang Yang admitted sheepishly. “Hey, uncle, take a look—does my face not seem like that of someone who belongs here?” He attempted his usual charm offensive, hoping his good looks might convince them he was either an actor or at least no troublemaker.

The burly man with a thick Henan accent replied bluntly, “I don’t know you personally. And what about your face?”

Zhang Yang fell silent, momentarily speechless.

Another security guard nearby chimed in, “Both Old Meng and I are face-blind—we rely on passes, not faces, for identification.”

Once again, Zhang Yang found himself utterly speechless.

“Pfft.” A giggle escaped from a group of girls nearby.

They were extras from a local TV drama set, here to chase their idols and pay homage to their favorite stars—a sort of pilgrimage for fans.

Zhang Yang remained silent.

Are you laughing at me? he thought. Just wait until I call Liu Yifei to vouch for my presence.

He pulled out his phone, ready to dial Lin Feng’s number. With someone like Lin Feng—possessing both influence and status—it would be as simple as saying a word to have him escorted onto the set.

If Zhang Yang could get inside, he decided then that he’d spend some character points on accessing the System’s manual. It might just hold the key to unraveling this mystery.

Noticing his actions, those around him instantly stifled their laughter. Could there be more to this young man than met the eye?

”…”

The call connected, but no one answered.

After waiting over a minute, Zhang Yang felt his facial muscles growing stiff with tension. At this hour, Lin Feng was undoubtedly too drunk to check his phone. He could try calling Lin Feng’s assistant instead, hoping they might reach him indirectly.

But was it really worth all that trouble?

“Hello? Hey.”

“Mm-hmm, understood.”

“All right, got it…”

Zhang Yang naturally turned away, walking off towards one side. Within moments, he had vanished around the corner.

Everyone left behind fell into an awkward silence.

”… Whew,” someone finally exhaled, breaking the tense atmosphere.

Zhang Yang pocketed his phone and rubbed his face wearily.

As long as I’m not feeling awkward myself, he thought, the embarrassment is theirs to bear.

As for contacting Liu Yifei—though they had all been part of the “Sword and Fairy” crew back in the day, he wasn’t particularly close with her. Moreover, there was lingering animosity between Liu Yifei and Tangren; even Lao Hu only managed to exchange contact information with her just last year (2023). Before that, their paths had barely crossed.

Of course, if Old Hu really wanted her number, he could have obtained it somehow, but there simply hadn’t been a need.

If Zhang Yang were to ask Tang Yan instead, she might provide him with Liu Yifei’s details, but approaching someone out of nowhere just to “befriend” them would be a major faux pas—a strict taboo in social etiquette.

Faced with this predicament, he decided his best course of action was to find a way onto the set on his own terms.

After about ten minutes, Zhang Yang found himself standing by the artificial lake, falling into contemplation.

Incredibly, despite the vastness of the filming location, there seemed to be no opportunity whatsoever for him to scale a wall or sneak through unnoticed. You wouldn’t believe such luck—or rather, lack thereof!

Well, what’s the point? he mused. Even if he did manage to slip inside the production area, without any means to seize an opportunity, it’d be futile anyway. He might as well save one character development point by accepting defeat here.

Glancing at the time, Zhang Yang turned to leave when suddenly—he heard a commotion erupt from within the film set near the staff entrance he’d used earlier.

“What’s going on?” His expression shifted instantly, and he bolted towards the entrance without hesitation.

As he passed by a fenced area, two security guards stationed there were called away by a production staff member, rushing towards the set interior.

“Perfect opportunity,” Zhang Yang thought. While everyone’s attention was focused within the filming zone, he vaulted over the fence with a single hand for support.

Instead of boldly striding down the main path, he crouched low, skirting along the edge. Only after two minutes did he reach the center of the film set, where he noticed a crowd gathered around a house, engrossed in animated discussion.

What’s going on? Intrigued, Zhang Yang scanned his surroundings before deciding to edge closer to the military tent nearest him.

Upon reaching the tent, he spotted a woman draped in an outer jacket standing nearby. He approached casually and asked, “Hey, what happened here?”

The woman flinched visibly at his sudden approach, turning to look at him as she replied, “It’s Wu Ti Deng—fell during a stunt.”

Deng Zhao’s stand-in had fallen? Could this be the chance I’ve been waiting for? If I could save the stand-in, it would certainly earn me gratitude from many—including Deng Zhao himself and even the director.

Too bad—he’d missed it.

Wait, that voice sounded somewhat familiar…

Zhang Yang turned to study the woman’s face, then froze instantly upon recognition.

Internally, he exclaimed, Holy shit! It’s Liu Yifei!