Chapter 57: Huo Ba: I Would Never Be Envious

“Little Yang, Xing Ye’s attitude towards you is quite special. How did you manage that?” The production coordinator attempted to glean Zhang Yang’s secret.

As an employee of Zhou Xingchi’s company, he frequently handled various tasks for the film crew and harbored ambitions to climb the career ladder. Flattering his boss was undoubtedly a shortcut to success.

“Probably just by being talented, I guess,” Zhang Yang replied with an enigmatic smile.

It was widely known that Zhou Xingchi operated under the “outline” filmmaking method. When starting a movie, he only had a rough idea of the plot, and the specific content and comedic moments were improvised during shooting, relying purely on inspiration.

Zhang Yang often called Zhou Xingchi to start with simple greetings and small talk. He would interject his personal insights on characters and seek advice from the director. As they found common ground, their conversations evolved into discussions about the script, eventually leading to full-fledged debates.

Having seen the finished film, Zhang Yang could pinpoint many comedic moments and plot twists that even Zhou Xingchi hadn’t anticipated. This allowed him to articulate his ideas directly, confidently declaring at times, “No one understands The Westward Journey: Demon Subduing better than me, not even Xing Ye himself.”

Zhou Xingchi, impressed by Zhang Yang’s offbeat creativity, began viewing him as a kindred spirit and sought his input more frequently. Whenever the director hit a creative roadblock during filming, he turned to Zhang Yang for discussions, effectively giving the young man a part-time job as a script consultant.

No additional compensation would be offered, but assigning him a screenwriting role posed no issue—it was entirely befitting.

For Zhang Yang, obtaining this screenwriter position held far greater value than receiving a mere million-dollar bonus.

“If you don’t want to discuss it, that’s fine.”

The coordinator thought Zhang Yang was evading the question but didn’t press further.

After the coordinator left, Nazha approached Zhang Yang, who was still nibbling on some cherry tomatoes. “Brother Yang,” she said, “I must admit, I’m also quite curious—can this talent be taught?”

Zhang Yang turned to look at her, his eyes betraying an inscrutable expression.

If she wishes to emulate my success and become friends with Zhou Xingchi as easily as it seems…

Well, unless she gets hit by a similarly business-minded truck and manages to bounce back just as effortlessly.

“Bullshit,” he muttered, then turned and walked towards the actor’s rest area, leaving a stunned Nazha behind.

After a moment, Nazha pulled out her phone and sent a message to Huo Ba:

Nazha: Woe is me, sis! Our brother Yang is being mean.

Huo Ba: ???

Nazha: Xing Ye really appreciates his work, but when I asked him how he did it, he wouldn’t tell me.

Huo Ba: Uh…

Nazha: I get why he can’t tell me, but I was only asking out of pure curiosity! Yet, he said something like, “Bullshit.”

Huo Ba: Hmm…

Is that not the case?

Nazha: In the end, I’m still the one silently bearing it all.

Huo Ba: You’re quite the drama queen. Are you sure you’re not just showing off to me?

Nazha: Heh heh, I learned this dialogue from Yang-ge. Last night, he used the exact same lines to “complain” to Auntie Liu, sending Sister Yifei half-mad with anger.

Huo Ba: …

That settles it, Huo Ba thought, this woman is definitely here to gloat.

“But you know, I’m not even a little bit jealous,” she said aloud, her cheeks resting in her hands as she gazed at a book standing alone on the shelf.

It was the first-year textbook that Zhang Yang had lent her that day. She’d been meaning to return it but hadn’t found the time yet.

Actually, if she really wanted to return it, there were ways—she could have asked second-year seniors from Zhang Yang’s class, for example. But Huo Ba insisted on returning it personally.

Over the past month or so, she and Zhang Yang had been chatting frequently. Sometimes she’d reach out to ask about acting lessons; other times, Zhang Yang would share amusing anecdotes and gossip from the set with her.

The incident Nazha mentioned had already been recounted by Zhang Yang last night. It had left him chuckling uncontrollably, drawing “ye-eye-ai” smiles from his roommates in the process.

*“Once I graduate”—no, wait—“once I start interning, the seniors will definitely be willing to take me under their wing,” Huo Ba thought to herself, her eyes shining with determination.

Zhang Yang was an excellent senior; she felt an inexplicable trust towards him.

At that moment, oblivious to having earned Shu Qi’s goodwill, Zhang Yang was reading through the script.

The content detailed the “Life of the Vacant Prince” as gradually formed during idle chats with Zhou Xingchi—a character sketch never meant to be filmed but crucial for Zhang Yang’s understanding.

“I see, this should meet the requirements.”

After finishing the entire script, Zhang Yang consulted the Entertainment Industry Opportunities Guide, confirming he could use his opportunity points to enter the dream realm as Prince Kongxu.

An extraordinary figure! I wonder what abilities I might inherit? Sword riding technique perhaps? Unrealistic fantasies blossomed in Zhang Yang’s mind—after all, he already possessed such a miraculous “Opportunity Handbook.”

After a long while, he subdued his excitement and left the break area to find Zhou Xingchi.

They were now filming the scene after Sun Wukong breaks free from his seals and ends his murderous rampage.

Had Zhang Yang arrived earlier this morning, they would have shot the sequence where his character, Prince Kongxu, is disposed of by Sun Wukong.

“I love you!”

“From the moment I first saw you, I fell in love with you.”

Wen Zhang’s acting erupted with emotion, placing his ear against Shu Qi’s face, eyes bloodshot and voice filled with passion as he delivered his lines.

A satisfied smile graced Shu Qi’s face as he asked, his voice thick with emotion and barely able to form the words, “How… how long have you loved me?”

“One thousand years, ten thousand years,” Wenzhang replied, his voice trembling with pain as he struggled to hold back his agony.

“I’ve loved you, ten thousand years,” Shu Qi repeated softly. With these final words, he closed his eyes, content.

The scene had been beautifully enacted. The staff and onlookers, including Nazha, were all moved to tears by the poignant display.

Yet Zhou Xingchi furrowed his brow and called out, “Cut!”

“This isn’t right—the feeling isn’t quite there!”

Everyone fell silent.

The feeling isn’t right? they thought. But the emotions of the leads were absolutely perfect. The dialogue was good too—“Ten thousand years”—it even references the movie “conversational Western Journey.”

Wenzhang, now accustomed to Zhou Xingchi’s temperament, remained unfazed. Suppressing his own feelings, he helped Shu Qi up and walked them both over to the monitor. “Director, what’s not quite right?”

Huang Bo and the others also approached to listen, knowing that any changes or additions might affect their roles.

“Even I don’t know,” Zhou Xingchi admitted, unable to articulate his dissatisfaction. “Something about their dialogue just doesn’t feel complete. There’s a flicker of inspiration at the edge of my mind, but I can’t grasp it.”

At his wits’ end, he decided to shoot the next scene and return to this one once he’d come up with the appropriate dialogue.

Just then, Zhou Xingchi noticed Zhang Yang standing in the back of the crowd. His eyes lit up. “Yangyue, do you think this scene is missing something?”

Shf.

All eyes in the scene turned to Zhang Yang.

Without a hint of stage fright, he pushed through the crowd to face Zhou Xingchi. “I do have an idea. Director, should I just go for it or let you know first?”

In a work setting, he had to maintain respect for Zhou Xingchi, calling him “Director.” Xingzi was only a term of endearment used privately.

However, upon hearing his words, everyone’s expressions subtly shifted.

They were well aware of Zhou Xingchi’s eccentricities; Zhang Yang’s bravery was commendable.

To their surprise, Zhou Xingchi broke into a smile. “Go ahead, arrange it!”

Zhang Yang walked over to Shu Qi with a smile, gently whispering in her ear: “For when the time comes, Shu Qi-jie…”

After processing his words, Shu Qi’s eyes flickered with newfound understanding as she nodded. “I see what you mean.”

“Perfect, Director.” Zhang Yang turned to Zhou Xingchi with a grin.

“All departments, pay attention!” Zhou Xingchi raised his megaphone.

Everyone took their positions, and the two leads fell into character as the clapper sounded.

The scene played out identically until Shu Qi asked once again, “How… how long will you love me?”

A thousand years, ten thousand years,” Wen Zhang replied, barely suppressing his pain, his voice trembling.

Shu Qi closed her eyes, her lips quivering. “Ten thousand years is too long. Just love me… right now!”

Shhh!

As the line echoed from the speakers, goosebumps rippled across every person in the room.

Zhou Xingchi felt his heart clench, his eyes welling up instantly.

Once having seen the vast ocean, lesser waters cannot compare; once having witnessed the towering clouds above Wushan, all else fades to grey.