Zhang Jin’an composed himself and pushed the door open, only to find Li Qiang waiting right outside.
Li Qiang had been looking up at something, but upon hearing the door, he lowered his head and wordlessly patted Zhang Jin’an on the shoulder.
“Though I don’t know exactly what happened, I’m guessing…” Li Qiang’s voice was very low, audible only to the two of them, “…it’s because of Jiang Siyang.”
Zhang Jin’an nodded, admitting it.
Seeing Zhang Jin’an’s uncharacteristic silence, Li Qiang couldn’t help but feel a wave of emotion. “You’ve really got it bad. This is the first time I’ve seen you like this.”
Zhang Jin’an scanned the area. Not seeing Jiang Siyang anywhere, he finally let out a sigh. “It’s too hard.”
“It’ll pass, it’ll pass. Time flies,” Li Qiang offered, unable to think of any better consolation.
“Yeah,” Zhang Jin’an murmured in response.
Time did indeed fly. The afternoon scenes were finished in what felt like a heartbeat, and after a quick dinner and a bit more filming, it was already eight o’clock.
The studio was filled with a cacophony of sounds, a chaotic bustle that only vanished during actual takes.
Zhang Jin’an didn’t have any scenes scheduled for the evening, but after changing his clothes, he didn’t leave. Instead, he took a seat not far away, in a spot where he could clearly see the monitors.
This had become a habit of his. Whenever Jiang Siyang was filming, he would watch from the sidelines. Beyond the fact that he could offer Jiang Siyang guidance, there was a more important reason—he wanted to see him more often.
An actor’s filming schedule was never fixed. They might share a scene today, but their next encounter might not be for another two days. Seeing each other during breaks was even more out of the question; Zhang Jin’an didn’t want to intrude on Jiang Siyang’s precious rest time.
He was fine; his schedule was managed by Li Qiang. Jiang Siyang, however, wasn’t so lucky. Ever since he had skyrocketed in popularity, his company had been frantically capitalizing on his current heat, packing his schedule to the brim.
As a rookie actor, Jiang Siyang certainly didn’t have much of a say. Liu Wenping had already pushed back on several engagements, but the remaining ones were set in stone.
Just moments ago, Liu Wenping had noticed he was still around and chatted with him for a while, revealing Jiang Siyang’s schedule for November.
Jiang Siyang’s November was almost entirely full. His total rest time added up to only four days, and one of those days was only granted because Jiang Siyang had insisted on it, which meant he’d have to make up the work on another day later.
“He said the two of you made plans to go to some marathon together, so he absolutely had to have that day off,” Liu Wenping said. Zhang Jin’an had been stunned for a long time after hearing that.
He never expected that Jiang Siyang would demand a day off specifically for him.
If it were anyone else going through this, he might have said, “Just endure it and it’ll pass,” or “Now you know why I hate going out.” But because it was Jiang Siyang, he didn’t want to make even a single joke. Knowing that one of those precious days had been reserved for him made him feel a mixture of joy and heartache.
He had lived through such schedules himself; only those who had experienced it knew the toll it took.
On the monitor, an intense gunfight was playing out. Jiang Siyang ran back and forth according to the blocked movements. Three cameras were trained on him, and a crane camera was filming as well. For a moment, the monitors were filled with Jiang Siyang’s image, including close-ups of his long hair fluttering in the wind.
Zhang Jin’an watched the monitor while listening to Liu Wenping.
“Zhongye’s recent marketing model is leaning towards the ‘traffic’ idol style, operating based on internet buzz. They’ve got girl groups, singers… Zhongye is the company most open to rookie actors, but they’re also the most obsessed with popularity. If you aren’t hot, no one cares about you. If you are, they’ll suck you dry.”
As she spoke, Liu Wenping rested a hand on Zhang Jin’an’s right shoulder. “To be honest, compared to Zhongye, Jiahua is a bit more humane. Jiahua is hard to get into, but their attitude toward artists has always been stable. Once you’re in, the resources are there.”
“True,” Zhang Jin’an nodded slightly. “It’s true that Jiahua is hard to enter, and it’s also true that the hiatuses between projects aren’t that long.”
“So many people fail because of those hiatuses or the grueling schedules. Fortunately, both of you can handle hardship. You’ve both made it through,” Liu Wenping said.
Zhang Jin’an smiled. “I’ve had it relatively smooth. I haven’t suffered as much as Siyang.”
“Oh please, acting like it was nothing again? Who was it that played a character with a ruined voice in their very first movie?” Liu Wenping gave Zhang Jin’an a playful nudge.
Zhang Jin’an laughed. “Who was that? I don’t remember.”
Liu Wenping chuckled as well. After chatting with Zhang Jin’an for a bit longer, she went off to find Xie Jie.
Zhang Jin’an returned his gaze to the monitor. A few minutes later, the gunfight finally ended. The green screen was splattered with dark, fake blood, looking like a gruesome crime scene. Jiang Siyang’s white shirt was also heavily stained.
The next fight scene was supposed to take place on the same day in the story. Jiang Siyang only needed a change in hairstyle.
In the next scene, “Cui Chi” would have his hair tied up by “Ding Lijing” before returning to the crime scene. Since the actual hair-tying scene had been filmed previously, Yuan Yuan didn’t need to appear this time. The stylist could simply set the look.
The stylist felt that going all the way back to the dressing room was overkill, so she found an empty chair and started working right there on set. This drew a small crowd of onlookers, and the behind-the-scenes photographer followed suit.
Wearing a mask, the stylist wasn’t afraid of the camera and calmly began cleaning the “blood” off Jiang Siyang’s face.
“This hair looks so real,” a staff member said, reaching out to touch the wig.
“Want one? I have two others in different colors,” Jiang Siyang joked.
The staff member immediately shook his head. “No thanks. I’m afraid if I put it on, I’ll look like a member of the Love Burial Family.”
“Pfft,” the stylist stopped what she was doing and turned her head away, laughing uncontrollably. “Hahahaha…”
The others laughed too, except for Jiang Siyang. He sat there looking bewildered, glancing around in confusion before turning to the cameraman for help. “What does that mean?”
The stylist shook her head. “I’m not telling. Explaining that would reveal my age. Can’t say.” She continued removing Jiang Siyang’s makeup.
Before long, Jiang Siyang’s face was clean. The patches of black and red special effects makeup were gone, leaving only a single scar on his face to match the timeline.
Jiang Siyang’s eyes wandered, and he saw Zhang Jin’an walking toward them.
“Time to tie the hair,” the stylist said, rolling up her sleeves. She paused when she saw Zhang Jin’an approach. “Oh? Big Brother Zhang, what brings you here?”
Jiang Siyang could only look up at Zhang Jin’an. Zhang Jin’an glanced at him before looking at the stylist.
“What are you all gathered here for?” Zhang Jin’an asked.
“Just doing his hair. Going to the dressing room seemed like too much trouble, so we’re doing it here,” the stylist answered frankly.
Jiang Siyang watched as Zhang Jin’an leaned down slightly to examine his face. “Oh, is the makeup done?”
“Almost. Just need to tie the hair,” the stylist said, twirling a hair tie in her hand.
Zhang Jin’an straightened up and said to the stylist, “Let me do it.”
The stylist was stunned. “Huh?”
Jiang Siyang was also stunned, but he said nothing, only watching Zhang Jin’an.
“It’s just tying hair. I’ve done it for my younger sister many times,” Zhang Jin’an said, holding out his hand with an air that brooked no refusal.
The stylist looked at Jiang Siyang. Though she didn’t understand why Zhang Jin’an suddenly wanted to take over her job, tying hair wasn’t a big deal. She took the hair tie off her wrist and placed it in Zhang Jin’an’s palm.
Zhang Jin’an’s technique was very practiced; it was clear he had done this many times. He first used a comb to smooth the hair, then gathered the long locks together.
The stylist watched from the side. The movements were technically perfect, but there was one thing she couldn't help but want to point out: he didn't need to be *that* gentle.
Zhang Jin’an’s movements were visibly light, as if the hair would snap if he used any force at all.
There was really no need for that. She had secured the wig very well; as long as it wasn't yanked or pulled, it wouldn't fall off. There was absolutely no need to be so delicate.
However, since it didn't hinder the process, she kept her mouth shut.
Zhang Jin’an held the hair in his right hand and wrapped the tie around it loop by loop. In a few quick motions, the high ponytail was finished.
Styling really was key. Compared to having his hair down, the high ponytail made him look much sharper and more refreshed.
“How is it?” Zhang Jin’an asked the stylist in a boasting tone.
“It’s actually quite good. Maybe I should leave all the hair-tying tasks to you?” The stylist touched the long hair; it really was well done.
“That won’t be necessary,” Zhang Jin’an said, smiling at Jiang Siyang. “How is it, Siyang? Satisfied? Remember to give me a five-star review.”
Jiang Siyang smiled and nodded. “I will, I will.”
Once the styling was done, the next scene began. This was also the final scene of the day. Jiang Siyang needed to be in a harness for wirework to perform a series of movements. After two rehearsals, the official filming began.
Zhang Jin’an had praised Jiang Siyang’s learning ability before. As long as he grasped the essence of a line, he could apply it brilliantly. So, Jiang Siyang had no issues with the dialogue; the main challenge lay in the movements.
The choreography for the fight scenes was precisely timed. Missing a beat wasn't allowed, being too fast wasn't allowed, and being too slow was even worse. It was difficult.
Time ticked by. Although filming was interrupted a few times, they weren't major issues and they were able to resume quickly. Director Tang’s brow gradually unfurled as the filming progressed.
Two hours later, seeing Jiang Siyang raise his gun on the monitor, Director Tang finally smiled. He picked up his megaphone and announced that filming for the day was over.
The staff helped unbuckle the gear from Jiang Siyang’s body. He felt a massive sense of relief. Aside from his waist feeling a bit strained from being in the harness for so long—almost like he’d tweaked it—everything else was fine.
Liu Wenping’s water arrived just in time, and Jiang Siyang downed an entire bottle.
“To be honest, every time you do wirework, I get a bit nervous. I’m always afraid of an accident. Luckily, nothing has happened so far,” Liu Wenping said seriously.
Her concern was justified. Wirework was one of the most common ways to get injured on set. There had been cases of actors falling from heights or getting their necks entangled in the wires upon landing.
The wires were made of steel; getting one caught around the neck was no different from a hanging.
“Is it just your waist that hurts now?” Liu Wenping asked.
“It’s not exactly pain, hiss… how should I put it? It’s just a bit uncomfortable right after taking the harness off. It’ll be fine after I sit for a while. No big deal,” Jiang Siyang said with a smile, lightly thumping the side of his waist.
“Siyang.”
Hearing someone call his name, Jiang Siyang immediately turned around. He was surprised to see Zhang Jin’an. “Brother? You haven’t left yet?”
He hadn’t seen Zhang Jin’an while he was filming and thought he had gone home. He hadn't expected him to still be there.
Zhang Jin’an was wearing his own clothes: a blue denim jacket over a white hoodie, paired with loose-fitting trousers. Jiang Siyang knew Zhang Jin’an preferred loose, casual styles, but what kind of person could look good in absolutely anything?
He supposed only Zhang Jin’an could pull it off.
Liu Wenping immediately said, “You two chat, I’m going to go grab some things.” With that, she left.
The two of them watched her walk away.
Staff members were packing up, and voices calling out “Goodbye” echoed throughout the studio.
“How are you feeling?” Zhang Jin’an spoke first.
“About what?” Jiang Siyang replied.
“The wirework,” Zhang Jin’an said. He finally pulled out the medicated muscle patches that had been sitting in his pocket for days. He explained calmly, “When I used to do wirework, I always felt like my muscles were being strained. I wasn’t sure if it was the same for you, but I wanted to give these to you just in case.”
Jiang Siyang was naturally surprised. He took them and thanked him repeatedly. “Thank you, Brother.”
In his heart, flowers were blooming in Zhang Jin’an’s mind. He was wandering through a field of blossoms, drenched in their fragrance, feeling light as air. On the surface, however, he remained as calm as a breeze. “No need to thank me. It’s only right.”
Jiang Siyang looked at the box in his hand, remaining silent for a long time. After a moment, he said softly, “I wish I could be more like you, Brother.”
Now it was Zhang Jin’an’s turn to be puzzled.
Zhang Jin’an tilted his head slightly. “Like what?”
“Thoughtful. Caring about the people around you,” Jiang Siyang sighed. “If only I had a personality like yours, then I wouldn’t…”
Jiang Siyang didn’t finish his sentence before Zhang Jin’an interrupted him.
“Siyang.”
Zhang Jin’an called his name, and Jiang Siyang instinctively looked up. He met Zhang Jin’an’s gaze.
The studio lights hadn't been turned off yet, and there were still many people around, laughing and chatting. The noisy atmosphere was relentless.
But in that moment, Jiang Siyang could only hear one person’s voice.
Zhang Jin’an shrugged, an emotion in his eyes that was hard to define but clearly visible.
“You might have misunderstood something. I’m not some saint who’s nice to everyone.”
Zhang Jin’an paused. When he spoke again, his voice was incredibly soft.
“I’m not like this with just anyone.”
Jiang Siyang felt his hand tighten around the box, and his heart gave a sudden, violent thud.
***
