“This is the right feeling.”
He Chuan stared at the monitor and commented, “Jiang Yue is incredibly versatile. Yesterday he was scaling walls on wire harnesses, and in today's scene, he looks so weak I want to brew him a batch of herbal medicine myself.”
Having said that, he turned to the lead on-set screenwriter, Song Lan, and asked, “From an audience's perspective, does Lu Ji's first appearance convey enough visual information?”
Only then did Song Lan look up from her script. Staring at the monitor, she weighed her words carefully. “Lu Ji is not only poor, but also extremely afraid of dying. He’s a low-life rolling around in the mud. However—”
“The plot needs to be easy to follow and immersive, otherwise it’ll be hard for the audience to believe that this man is harboring a deeper story, and they won't have the interest to keep watching.”
She paused, then added, “The camera work doesn't need to be too flashy. Clear and beautiful shots, combined with a touch of character-defining details in the plot, will be enough. But as for how exactly to shoot it, that depends on the director's aesthetic and design.”
He Chuan nodded thoughtfully.
He picked up his walkie-talkie. “Jiang Yue, that was a great performance just now. Do you think you could flesh out his movements a bit more, keeping in mind Lu Ji's logic? Although Lu Ji is poor, he doesn't want others to see his plight. He's got a bit of a stubborn, conflicted pride.”
On set, Jiang Yue nodded.
When they did the next take, Jiang Yue's Lu Ji, after finishing his coughing fit, indeed pinched his collar with his fingers and slowly smoothed out the creases.
The constable captain cast an impatient glance at Lu Ji. “You sickly beanpole again. Hurry up, the higher-ups are pressing us.”
Lu Ji bowed and scraped, a flattering smile plastered on his face as he shuffled over to the corpse.
It was a contorted corpse—none other than the top expert who shook the Jianghu, the “Sky-Sustaining Palm” Zhao Wuji.
His eyes were wide open, as if he had seen something terrifying right before he died.
Lu Ji squatted down, his gaze scanning the corpse.
Just as the constable turned to disperse the crowd, a sharp glint flashed in his eyes. With a speed entirely unbefitting his sickly appearance, his thin hand darted toward Zhao Wuji's waist, lifting a heavy purse and slipping it into his robes without a sound.
“Cut!”
He Chuan called out, but his face carried a look of excitement. “Jiang Yue, come here for a second! Camera crew, add a close-up angle tracking the hand. Use a small stabilizer to follow from the side of the corpse's waist.”
Several supporting actors were stunned.
Adding an extra camera angle just to steal a purse?
What kind of detail was this?
The actor playing the constable captain looked down at the saber in his hand, then at the prop purse in Jiang Yue's robes, and muttered under his breath, “I thought the focus of this scene was the corpse.”
The extras nearby stifled their laughter, not daring to make a sound.
Ignoring the astonishment of the others, He Chuan called Jiang Yue over and pointed to the playback on the monitor. “Your movement when stealing the purse just now was very clean, but because the camera only captured it from a distance, the audience would only perceive him as greedy. It makes the character feel too flat.”
He Chuan made the final call. “In the next take, the camera will stay tight on your hand. Just handle it based on your understanding of the character.”
Jiang Yue watched the playback, thought for a moment, and replied, “Alright.”
This was He Chuan's standard for this drama: instead of shooting flashy, confusing action shots that went over the audience's heads, he preferred to capture the subtle intentions of each character, making things as clear as possible. Both simplifying and adding details were done to present a better final product.
“Let's do it again!”
For the second take, the camera angle was lowered, pushing forward tight against Lu Ji's fingers.
As Lu Ji's hand reached for the purse, the camera followed closely, accompanied by a few rapid, shallow breaths.
His hand had just brushed the purse when he recoiled as if burned. Then, as if making up his mind, he grabbed it and quickly stuffed it into his robes.
By the monitor, Jiang Kevin watched in a daze.
He whispered to the set publicist next to him, “You can even shoot stealing a purse like this?”
The young woman from the publicity team, holding a DSLR to shoot behind-the-scenes footage, replied in a low voice, “Director He's ideas are indeed unique. At least you can see the creativity in the cinematography.”
Jiang Kevin fell silent.
After all, he wasn't a professional.
But the treatment of this purse was just too grand. Anyone who didn't know better would think it was the hidden second male lead of the show.
The autopsy began.
Lu Ji's fingers gently brushed over Zhao Wuji's collapsed chest. His gaze followed his hand, fully revealing the bizarre wound.
“The bones shattered inch by inch from the inside out...”
Lu Ji's voice was heavy. “No ordinary internal strength could possibly achieve this.”
Right at that moment, Lu Ji's fingertips brushed against a faint trace of residual energy left on the corpse.
It felt as though a few sparks had been tossed inside his body. An indescribable, scorching heat surged from his heart, spreading through his limbs and bones.
This was a chronic weakness caused by his naturally damaged meridians, but it had never flared up this violently. The sudden pain turned his vision black, and cold sweat quickly drenched his inner robes.
“Damn it, not again...”
Lu Ji gritted his teeth as the energy inside his body began to run wild.
A wisp of pure energy, so faint it was almost imperceptible, leaked uncontrollably from his body.
The scene then cut to the top of the tallest bell tower in Changle Ward.
The expressions of three formidable Jianghu experts with deep, steady breaths changed drastically.
An old man meditating, a middle-aged man wiping a longsword, and a woman sipping tea.
“This energy... could it be that?”
The old man's voice was raspy.
“In the southeast, fleeting!”
The woman set down her teacup, her gaze sharp.
“After it!”
Three figures leaped down from the heights, cutting through the air with a sharp whistling sound as they bolted straight toward Lu Ji's location.
Danger was imminent.
Lu Ji quickly sensed the danger. Without bothering to say a word to the constables, he bolted.
In the script, the most mysterious hidden subplot early on involved Wei Cen, a martial arts expert who secretly aided Lu Ji. He rarely showed his face, only offering covert protection when Lu Ji's location was exposed, and his identity remained a mystery for now.
Just as Lu Ji was about to be overtaken, the scene shifted to the shadows of the eaves.
Lin Ziyang, who played Wei Cen, was dressed entirely in black, showing only his wrists and the side of his face.
Without truly revealing himself, he flicked his wrist. Three pebbles shot out in a triangular formation, striking the flagpole of a distant tavern banner.
The banner fell with a crash, landing right in front of the three pursuers and blocking their view.
At the same time, Wei Cen swept his sleeve. The wind from his sleeve kicked up pre-scattered fine sand, and a faint current of air swept across the ground, completely erasing the footprints Lu Ji had left behind in his escape.
The pursuers bypassed the banner, only to find that both the energy and the footprints from moments ago had vanished without a trace, as if they had never existed.
The three looked at each other, their expressions solemn.
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