Chapter 48: Oh No, I've Become a Clown

“What on earth are you saying?!” Chen Jia Shang exclaimed, struggling to comprehend his old friend’s words.

Zhang Yang was indeed exceptional; Gu Xianzhao had already informed Chen Jia Shang that he’d struck gold with this young man. But such utter shock? Was it really warranted?

“You don’t know?” Gu Xianzhao asked, puzzled.

During their brief encounter moments ago, he felt utterly humiliated.

After merely hearing a verbal description from Zhang Yang, without any need for demonstration, Gu Xianzhao watched as Zhang Yang flawlessly executed the sequence of moves he had designed.

If that were all, he wouldn’t have been so astonished. Although his choreography was challenging, for a naturally gifted martial artist like himself, it wasn’t insurmountable.

But then Zhang Yang performed the routine again, executing each move with fluid grace and breathtaking precision, leaving him in awe.

Even if things ended there, it might not have been too surprising—after all, geniuses existed in this world, and Gu Xianzhao himself was considered one by some. Today, he had simply encountered someone even more prodigious.

However, what followed next truly stunned him. Zhang Yang added several additional movements to the original sequence, enhancing its overall impact and imbuing it with greater power and aesthetic appeal.

This brat is clearly here to steal my thunder!

“What do you mean?” Chen Jia Shang asked with a smile, pointing at Gu Xianzhao. “You’ve been speaking in riddles since arriving.”

Seeing that Gu Xianzhao wasn’t putting on an act, his expression softened slightly. “Zhang Yang is even more impressive than what I’ve said.”

“How so?” A spark of interest flickered in Chen Jia Shang’s eyes.

For Gu Xianzhao to express such high regard was no small feat. The mere whisper of these words could elevate Zhang Yang’s status within the industry significantly.

If Gu Xianzhao were willing to take Zhang Yang as a disciple and establish their master-disciple relationship, securing collaborations with renowned directors would be a breeze for him.

In the world of martial arts choreography, one’s actual abilities often mattered more than background—though connections certainly helped, as exemplified by legendary teams like the Hong Family Troupe or Cheng Family Group.

“You wouldn’t understand if I told you now,” Gu Xianzhao replied enigmatically. “Just wait until we start filming; then you’ll see for yourself.”

Witnessing Chen Jia Shang’s eager curiosity, Gu Xianzhao suddenly felt uplifted. Everyone should share in this moment of revelation—not just me!

“Even you’re learning to play it cool now,” Chen Jia Shang chuckled, shaking his head. Though intrigued, he didn’t dwell too much on the matter.

After all, Gu Xianzhao was among the top martial arts choreographers in the field. No matter how exceptional Zhang Yang might seem, how significant could he truly be?

But soon, Chen Jia Shang felt his face stinging as if slapped by invisible hands.

“All units, attention.”

Chen Jia Shang picked up the megaphone.

The energy of all staff members instantly transformed.

The biggest difference between filming movies and TV shows was the use of film rolls—it was literally burning money.

Anyone who performed poorly and extended shooting time, leading to excessive consumption of film rolls, would truly incur the wrath of directors and producers. They might even be fired on the spot.

“Action!”

With the sound of the clapperboard operator striking their board, the first afternoon scene began.

Gu Xianzhao had designed many intricate movements for Deng Zhao, including a set of actions after transforming into a werewolf—pure offense with no defense, each step pushing forward with overwhelming force.

These movements, though precise, were not difficult. Moreover, they required capturing Deng Zhao’s face throughout the entire sequence, leaving no opportunity for Zhang Yang, the martial arts stand-in, to take over.

It was clear that Deng Zhao had practiced this set extensively. After just three repeated takes, he succeeded in making Chen Jia Shang call out, “Cut.”

This fully actor-dependent fight scene served as a warm-up. Deng Zhao then proceeded to rig himself with wires, preparing for the next shoot—a crucial scene that necessitated wire work.

“Hey there, bro! The Wire King is finally back!” Deng Zhao playfully raised his eyebrows at Gu Xianzhao with a mischievous grin.

Gu Xianzhao had long been known as the “Pressure King” due to his innovative designs that often required actors to perform gravity-defying stunts using wires, creating stunning visual effects best experienced on the big screen in theaters.

“Let’s nail this shot,” Gu Xianzhao checked Deng Zhao’s harness setup meticulously.

“What, worried I’ll mess up and need a stand-in?” Deng Zhao teased, contorting his face comically.

A rare smile graced Gu Xianzhao’s usually stern countenance. “I’m just afraid you might get tangled up. Hoping to save you some embarrassment.”

Deng Zhao blinked, momentarily taken aback.

Without further explanation, Gu Xianzhao stepped back and gestured to Chen Jia Shang.

“All units, attention!”

“Aikson!”

”…”

The scene unfolded beneath the Moonlit Pavilion.

Deng Zhao clashed with his opponent, only to be sent flying after two intense exchanges. He slammed into the ground, spun 360 degrees, steadied himself, then charged towards his adversary.

This sequence of movements sounded simple enough but was deceptively challenging to execute.

For an average person, completing two spins in place followed by a straight run could easily lead to disorientation—never mind being suspended mid-air by wires, spinning twice, landing swiftly, executing another full rotation while standing, and finally breaking into a sprint.

“Swish!”

Under multiple camera angles, countless cranes enveloped the scene.

Deng Zhao entered his acting zone, shedding his usual antics as he fully immersed himself in emotion and movement.

After a series of symbolic exchanges, he began to follow the choreographed sequence. First, he was hoisted by wires, spinning twice in mid-air.

This part went smoothly; Deng Zhao seamlessly shifted his center of gravity. Upon landing, he slapped the ground, initiating another 360-degree spin before needing to stand upright.

Yesterday afternoon, Deng Zhao had repeatedly failed at this exact point. Today, armed with a bit of wit, he chose instead to land in a half-squat position.

Stabilizing his upper body, the moment his center of gravity returned, he forcefully thrust his rear leg forward, followed by throwing a punch and maintaining the pose.

“Cut!”

A satisfied smile graced Chen Jia Shang’s face. “Zhao, that’s a wrap—well done.”

Yesterday, they had spent the entire afternoon on this single shot without success, nearly driving him to lose his temper.

He had initially planned to bring Zhang Yang today, intending for everyone to witness the prowess of the personally selected martial arts substitute.

Especially the producer sent by the investors, who had subtly expressed dissatisfaction with replacing Mu Panlong—he needed to silence those doubts with sheer talent.

It was Deng Zhao who had taken the initiative to approach Chen Jia Shang, assuring him of a surprising performance today. He promised to give up only if he couldn’t nail it after three attempts. Reluctantly, Chen Jia Shang had agreed, hoping against hope.

Finally, Deng Zhao didn’t disappoint.

“Average, average,” Deng Zhao said with a smile as he returned to the crowd and spoke to Zhang Yang. “A-Yang, I saved you some effort.”

These words weren’t false; regardless of whether Deng Zhao used a stand-in or not, Zhang Yang would receive the same amount of money.

Some actors, either because they couldn’t perform stunts well or were simply lazy, would directly hand over their work to stunt doubles and only film close-up shots themselves later.

However, actors who had even slightly more ambition and professionalism still chose to do it themselves, which resulted in better overall footage for the movie.

“Thanks, Brother Chao,” Zhang Yang replied with a grin.

He had no intention of showing off his skills unnecessarily.

Why not just make money without doing anything? Isn’t that great?

Zhang Yang wasn’t a professional stunt actor anyway, so there was no rush to prove himself and expand his business scope.

His future plan was to first follow an idol route, becoming a top-tier celebrity. Then, during the era of high popularity, he’d leverage his star power to rake in wealth like crazy.

Once the country began implementing salary caps and stricter regulations, he’d transition into being a powerhouse idol, director, and producer.

Moreover, there were others more eager than him, making his involvement unnecessary.

“Wait.” Gu Xianzhao suddenly spoke up. “Let’s have Zhang Yang secure one take.”

Everyone was puzzled.

“Just one take,” Gu Xianzhao said to Chen Jia Shang. “Let’s see how it looks. The camera might capture something even better.”

Gu Xianzhao wasn’t worried about offending Deng Zhao with this request. No matter how well the stand-in performed, it would ultimately benefit the lead actor—himself—and enhance his reputation.

If given a choice between talent or familiarity, Deng Zhao himself would likely opt for Zhang Yang if he thought the newcomer could deliver.

“Fine.”

Naturally, Chen Jia Shang had to grant Gu Xianzhao some deference. Besides, he too was curious as to what kind of performance could garner such praise from Gu Xianzhao.

Without a word, Zhang Yang changed into Deng Zhao’s costume and stepped onto the set.

Once the wires were secured around him, both his expression and bearing transformed instantly.

This metamorphosis piqued the interest of all the seasoned actors and established stars on the scene.

Chen Jia Shang’s eyes lit up as he watched Zhang Yang through the monitor, inwardly impressed. Truly a face born for the big screen, he mused. Too bad his fame is so low; we might collaborate in the future when he’s more recognized.

“Aikson!”

Clack!

The clapboard sounded, signaling Zhang Yang to begin his performance.

A minute passed, and silence fell over the set—a silence so profound that one could hear a pin drop.

After a long moment, Chen Jia Shang belatedly called out, “Cut!”

Deng Zhao stood there speechless.

Oh no, he thought, I’ve become the laughingstock.