Chapter 49: Liu Tianxian: There Must Be Something Fishy Going On

Zhang Yang’s performance trounced Deng Zhao’s.

Deng Zhao had merely struggled to execute Gu Xianzhao’s choreography. The highlights were that these moves appeared challenging but lacked elegance.

If the film’s pace were faster, viewers might not have reacted strongly to this scene. However, anyone well-versed in martial arts could instantly tell that Deng Zhao was merely acting.

With wuxia films on the decline, a significant portion of those willing to pay for a movie theater experience were purists. Deng Zhao’s performance would only diminish their overall satisfaction.

In contrast, Zhang Yang’s movements showed no trace of acting. It seemed as though he was simply doing what came naturally. The wires served primarily to protect him, rather than as crutches to perform tricks.

Moreover, Zhang Yang didn’t just execute the moves beautifully; he even improved upon them. What was originally a double aerial spin became a triple. The sequence where the character lightly touched the ground, spun 360 degrees, and charged forward was broken down into two parts: first, a 180-degree mid-air spin ending in an inverted strike against the ground, then another 540-degree spin before landing firmly on his feet, followed by a swift charge.

These moves were clearly beyond the reach of ordinary people, yet they were performed so gracefully. They perfectly encapsulated the image of a cold-blooded martial arts master.

“I knew A-Yang was skilled, but I never imagined he’d be this incredible.”

“Ah, I’ve truly become the joke of the day,” Deng Zhao lamented with a sigh.

Deng Zhao suddenly took the initiative to speak, capturing everyone’s attention. Seeing the unhidden smile on his face, everyone realized he wasn’t upset but rather, showing off.

Indeed, if they had such a useful stand-in who could enhance their character’s appeal, they too would feel elated.

“Excellent.” Chen Jia Shang’s face also lit up with delight, showing no signs of being embarrassed by the turn of events. “These moves are stunning. We’ll use this sequence.”

The Four Great Detectives was, after all, a martial arts action film, and the most crucial element was undoubtedly the action sequences. That’s why for this film, they had to have Liu Yifei as the female lead and Deng Zhao as the male lead—a hardworking actor with massive popularity.

“Zhao, come over here and review the footage. Pick out the poses you want to strike.” Chen Jia Shang raised his megaphone. “A-Yang, you come too. Give us some pointers firsthand.”

Zhang Yang’s ability to design even better moves than Gu Xianzhao’s, and execute them flawlessly, made him more than qualified to be a martial arts choreographer. In essence, this production team had gained two top-tier action directors at once.

No wonder Lin Feng and Zhang Yang were discussing action scenes next door; I initially thought they were trying to slack off, but now I realize it’s because Zhang Yang is truly exceptional.

“Brother, please go ahead,” Zhang Yang said with a friendly smile to Gu Xianzhao.

He wasn’t foolish enough to believe Gu Xianzhao couldn’t design better actions. It was obvious that as someone familiar with Deng Zhao, Gu Xianzhao knew the limits of his physical performance and had to design scenes accordingly.

But now that a true master had arrived, Gu Xianzhao could let loose and be more creative.

“You don’t mind me upping the difficulty, do you?” Gu Xianzhao moved closer to Zhang Yang.

“As long as it’s within the capabilities of a normal person, feel free,” Zhang Yang responded, subtly revealing his sharp edge.

“Excellent!” Gu Xianzhao nodded. He had already acknowledged Zhang Yang’s skills earlier, but now he appreciated his character even more.

Not overly arrogant, yet confident and humble.

The entire crew gathered behind the Chen family to watch the replay on the monitor.

There was a significant difference between witnessing the scene live and seeing it on screen.

Sometimes, a performance might look impressive in person, but the effect on screen could be underwhelming. This was a true test of the director’s and cameraman’s expertise.

This time, however, no mishaps occurred. Zhang Yang’s sequence of movements was flawlessly captured by the camera.

The word “perfect” wasn’t an exaggeration; Zhang Yang’s actions were not only visually impressive and realistic but also ingeniously avoided close-up shots of his face. Even when direct shots couldn’t be avoided, his “just right” use of hands ensured his features remained hidden throughout. Only in the final frame was his face revealed.

This greatly simplified posing for Deng Chao and the post-production editing process.

Such precision required more than just good positioning alone.

“Do you understand directing, cinematography, and editing?” Chen Jia Shang’s eyes gleamed with astonishment as he looked at Zhang Yang.

He couldn’t believe it was all mere coincidence.

“I have a basic understanding, picked up some knowledge through electives at school,” Zhang Yang admitted without denying it.

“This isn’t just basic understanding,” Chen Jia mused. Gu Xianzhao’s assessment of Zhang Yang as a “little prodigy” seemed spot-on.

However, he didn’t elaborate further and instead gave a sweeping gesture, saying, “Chao, you only need to perform a series of forward sprinting and punching actions now.”

After reviewing the footage, Deng Chao understood immediately what was required of him and nodded in comprehension.

Under Gu Xianzhao’s guidance, he swiftly completed the final shot re filming.

And just like that, the scene came to an effortless end, allowing the crew to move on to the next one.

For the entire afternoon, all of Deng Zhao’s action scenes were handed over to Zhang Yang.

At first, Gu Xianzhao still checked with Deng Zhao, but after a few times, he started discussing directly with Zhang Yang, together designing difficult yet visually stunning moves.

Deng Zhao, the project’s resident troublemaker, still wanted to be involved, but Chen Jia Shang held him back. “Just focus on your dialogue scenes. Don’t worry about the action.”

But Deng Zhao, refusing to back down, whined, “But Director Chen, I feel guilty accepting this pay without actually participating in the action.”

Before Deng Zhao could say more, Zheng Zhongji suddenly chimed in from the side, “Director Chen, how about using Young Master Yang as my stunt double too?”

Zheng Zhongji, nicknamed the “Hong Kong Film Industry Crown Prince,” had strong connections in the entertainment industry. In the movie, he played the character Zhuimeng.

In this adaptation of Four Great Detectives, Deng Zhao portrayed Leng Xue, with his action scenes now taken over by Zhang Yang.

Liu Yifei played Wuqing, whose character didn’t require high-intensity action scenes, which she handled well.

Zuo Zhaolong depicted Tie Shou, a trained martial artist and disciple of Hong Kong’s legendary martial arts actor, delivering impressive fight sequences.

Only Zheng Zhongji seemed destined to be a mere backdrop.

“That won’t do,” Deng Zhao interjected before Chen Jia Shang could finish his sentence. “A-Yang is already worn out from my performance; let’s not trouble him anymore.”

Chen Jia Shang seemed swayed but hesitated, thinking it might be too much. He muttered, “I’ll ask Zhang Yang about it in a few days.”

Zheng Zhongji added, “It won’t be free, of course. Work requires payment, you know. If not, I’ll at least offer him chances to audition for movie roles.”

With this comment, even Deng Zhao couldn’t argue further, as he wouldn’t want to hinder Zhang Yang’s development.

Unaware of this conversation, Zhang Yang remained fully immersed in his fight scenes. His approach to work was always black and white: either he didn’t do it, or he did it well.

This diligence earned him recognition from many people. By evening, when lunch boxes were being distributed, the crew, from staff to actors, had become much warmer towards him.

“What’s going on here?”

Liu Xiaoli and Liu Yifei, mother and daughter, arrived back at the set to find this unexpected atmosphere. They exchanged bewildered glances.

After her medical check-up, Liu Yifei hadn’t found anything serious, but the doctor recommended a few days of intravenous fluids to prevent inflammation and potential infections due to lowered immunity. Liu Xiaoli had agreed immediately.

When it was nearly time for dinner, Liu Yifei suggested returning to the set early to look after Zhang Yang, as he might feel lost without familiar faces. So, they left before the last bottle of glucose solution could finish dripping.

Now it seemed their concern was unnecessary?

“Is A-Yang actually good at social interactions?” Liu Xiaoli asked, somewhat surprised.

Despite Zhang Yang’s apparent sociability earlier that day, she couldn’t shake off her initial impression of him as a shy, reserved boy.

“Something must have happened,” Liu Yifei mused. Realizing this was unusual, she called over her assistant, Xiao Qin.

“Ever since he got here, everyone is acting like he’s their best friend. Why is that?”