Yangyang lowered his head to look at his feet with a bitter face, grievance causing “little pearls” to drop continuously from his eyes.
According to the original script, Chu Yun was supposed to pull Huang Yuyang’s hair with too much force; not only would she tear out a large clump, but she would also make him cry from the pain. However, when Song Jin performed this scene, she couldn’t actually pull that much hair out. The consequence of this was simple: Yangyang couldn’t cry at all.
To say he was “all thunder and no rain” would have been a compliment. Little Yangyang spent the whole time howling dryly, with more flying spittle than actual tears.
Although his lines were indeed excellent—both the rhythm and the timbre were very fitting—his acting traces were too heavy. He was either too exaggerated or gave the wrong reactions. Even though Wen Yu had guided him through several rounds, she hadn’t been able to correct him.
Even though the two of them didn’t blame him, Yangyang lost his confidence through the repeated takes. Seeing that no matter what he did, he couldn’t seem to satisfy anyone, the little boy simply didn’t want to do it anymore.
But finally, he actually cried.
“Waaaah, Mommy—I want my mommy—” Xu Yang’s shoulders twitched rhythmically. His vision gradually blurred with tears, and he didn’t bother to wipe them, just letting the “flood” break the banks.
For the first time, a look of panic appeared on Wen Yu’s face. She hurriedly rummaged through her bag for a pack of Heart-to-Heart tissues. Because she was so flustered, the pack slipped from her hand the moment she pulled it out. She instinctively reached out to catch it, but Song Jin’s hand was a step faster.
In the instant their fingertips touched, the first thing she felt was Song Jin’s warm body temperature and the slight hardness of her knuckles. Her hands were very beautiful—thin and slender, with distinct veins extending deep into her cuffs.
Song Jin didn’t withdraw her hand. After picking up the pack, she patted the dust off the green packaging and then used a clean hand to pull out a tissue.
She unfolded the tissue and squatted beside Xu Yang, watching him quietly. Waiting until his emotions had mostly been released, she carefully wiped away the tears from the corners of his eyes. Then, she flipped the tissue over to wipe away the tear stains and snot from his face all at once.
“Oh dear, stop crying. You’ve turned into a little tabby cat,” Song Jin said, her voice gentle as she began to comfort him. “You’re already very amazing! Just think, you’re only six years old and you can already fluently recite so many lines. You’re much better than I was back then.”
“When I was six, I had just started first grade. Every day I would just run wild outside, and when I got home, I’d be told to recite the Three Hundred Tang Poems. A week would go by and I’d still be stuck on ‘Goose, goose, goose’ (É é é).”
Xu Yang was amused by her pronunciation of “Goose, goose, goose.” A small snot bubble popped out of his delicate nose, which Song Jin quickly covered with the tissue.
“But… but I couldn’t cry…” He suddenly remembered his performance just now, and the tears he had managed to stop began to flow again.
Song Jin burst into a laugh, feeling somewhat helpless: “What are you talking about? Aren’t you crying right now?”
“That’s not the same—” Being laughed at by her made Xu Yang start sobbing again, his eyes as red as two cherries. This time he knew to cover his face with the back of his hand, leaving two dark circles on his blue sleeves.
“How is it different?” Song Jin gently straightened his head and pulled another fresh tissue from the pack. “When I first started acting, I couldn’t cry either, but I didn’t want to use eye drops to fool the audience. So, every time I filmed a crying scene, I would replay all the saddest things in my life in my head. I used that method to make the tears flow.”
“So, you can remember why you were crying just now. Remember this feeling, and when we film later, just recall it again, and you’ll be able to cry.”
Xu Yang looked at her thoughtfully. His nod wasn’t large, but Song Jin knew he had listened. She rubbed the top of his head. Noticing from the corner of her eye that Wen Yu had been watching from the side, she turned her head toward her: “Does Teacher Wen have anything she wants to say to our Yangyang?”
When she said this, her language system hadn’t switched back to her usual speaking mode. When she called her “Teacher Wen,” her voice was a bit sweet and “coquettish.” The smile on her face was bright and gentle, giving Wen Yu a feeling unlike any time before. The sky was clear, and even the wind that blew past felt like it was infused with sweetness.
Wen Yu shifted her gaze to Xu Yang and gave serious advice: “I think you can watch more of how other child stars perform, if you really want to walk this path.”
“Okay,” Xu Yang replied in a soft, milky voice.
Song Jin heard Li Hang’s voice from a distance and glanced down at her watch: “It’s about time. Let’s go, we need to go to makeup first.” She patted the back of Xu Yang’s head, gesturing for him to take her hand. Xu Yang stood up from the chair, walked two steps, then remembered something. He turned back to Wen Yu and said, “Sister, hold hands.”
Song Jin thought he preferred to walk with Wen Yu and instinctively let go. But Xu Yang gripped her very tightly; letting go would have required prying his fingers off.
The child noticed Song Jin’s movement and gently squeezed her finger: “Sister, you hold hands too.”
“Ah? Oh, okay.” Song Jin nodded blankly, still a bit stunned even as she saw Xu Yang holding both of their hands.
She and Wen Yu had no significant height difference. The two of them stood on either side of Xu Yang, sandwiching him in the middle like a giant walking letter ‘V’.
Well, why does this feel so strange?
Xu Yang’s scene was filmed very smoothly. Although his performance still appeared green and immature, the traces of “acting” were much lighter, and he managed to cry when it was his turn. Combined with his delivery of lines—which was leagues ahead of certain “acting-disabled” celebrities in the domestic entertainment industry—it looked quite impressive.
Li Hang was also very surprised after watching. Once work was finished, he immediately sent a message to Song Jin: Not bad! I didn’t realize before that you had the talent to coach people in acting.
Next time a similar situation comes up, I’ll just pull you over to save the day.
Song Jin didn’t know whether to laugh or cry: Sure, but that will cost extra. And let’s be clear, I only take students under ten years old. I won’t do it if they’re over ten.
On the other end of the phone, Li Hang scanned the surroundings, feeling a bit confused: [Hey, speaking of which, where did the three of you go? I don’t see you.
I asked the chef to make the creamy mushroom soup Yangyang likes for lunch. Do you guys still want it?
Taking Yangyang to walk around the film studio for a bit, we won’t be eating here for lunch, Song Jin typed with difficulty, but after thinking for a moment, she deleted the last sentence and changed it: [Leave one bowl, I’ll be back around 12:30.]
Her right hand was being held tightly by Yangyang, as if he were afraid she would run off halfway. To reply to messages, she had to use her left hand to tap out one key at a time, which was very inconvenient.
But she didn’t dare just let go. Even knowing Wen Yu was holding him on the other side, she was still worried they might be separated by the crowd.
It was currently winter break for students, and a popular ancient idol drama that had recently become a hit used the “Imperial City” here as a filming location, attracting a massive crowd of fans. The film studio was packed, and as far as the eye could see, there was nothing but a sea of bobbing heads.
Song Jin suddenly felt that coming here to stroll wasn’t a great idea, but since they were already here and the child was interested, they might as well keep walking.
Yangyang said he wanted to see the ancient city, so Wen Yu suggested going to “The Splendor of Great Tang.” Pedestrians in various costumes walked along the ancient-style streets, but most were wearing different styles of Hanfu to take photos and check in—a very pleasing sight. The shops on both sides of the street were also quaint, with staff members dressed in Tang Dynasty attire shouting their wares.
“Tell me, Yangyang, is there anything you want to eat? Anything you can’t eat? What does your mommy usually let you eat or not eat at home?” Song Jin turned off her phone screen and slipped it into her pocket.
The most troublesome thing about taking care of a child is having to constantly monitor their “Schrödinger’s immunity.” After all, things like the “newbie protection period” are a mystery, especially since he was someone else’s child, so she had to be extra careful.
Yangyang tilted his head and thought for a moment, his eyes suddenly lighting up at a snack shop by the street: “I want to eat candied haws (Tanghulu)!”
Great, I guess I shouldn’t ask too many questions at once; the kid only remembers the first one.
“Do you want hawthorn or strawberry?”
“Strawberry!”
“Okay, you wait here with your Sister Wen Yu.” Song Jin tapped his palm with her fingernail, signaling for him to let her go. There were many people around the snack shop; it would be difficult for three people to squeeze in at once, so it was better if she went alone.
Song Jin raised her hand to adjust the mask on the bridge of her nose, tucking the lower half of her face tightly behind the black fabric. When she squeezed back out of the crowd, she held three bright red candied haw skewers in her hand. The mask hid her expression, but from the curve of her eyes, one could tell she was smiling.
She jogged forward, stuffed one into Xu Yang’s hand, and said with an upbeat tone: “Everyone… gets… a… share.” After speaking, she gave Wen Yu a look: “I got a hawthorn one and a strawberry one for us. Which one do you want?”
Fearing Wen Yu might be too considerate of her, Song Jin added: “I’m not picky, I love them both.”
“Strawberry, please. Thank you,” Wen Yu said as she politely took the candied haws. “I’ll transfer the money to you in a bit.”
“It’s only a few bucks. No need to be so polite with me.” Song Jin raised her eyebrows and turned away toward a shaded area. She pulled down her mask, brought the bamboo skewer horizontally to her lips, caught the outermost fruit with her teeth, and with a slight bit of force, neatly popped it off. Then, she quickly released her hand from the mask, and the fabric snapped back onto her face with a soft thwack.
The sweetness of the syrup shell and the tartness of the hawthorn intertwined, bursting between her teeth with a crisp “crunch.” Song Jin chewed somewhat unclearly: “No, no, after finishing this skewer, I have to do an extra set of Pilates tonight.”
She had been back with the film crew for a few days now, and she was so busy she didn’t have the energy to exercise. Plus, the food was so good that Song Jin felt her abdominal muscles were starting to fade.
Wen Yu hadn’t finished chewing the strawberry in her mouth. Hearing Song Jin’s words, she looked her up and down and said with a sincere gaze: “You’re not fat.”
There was no need to rush to lose weight just because of one skewer of candied haws.
Song Jin shook her head in disagreement: “I also don’t think I’m fat, but if I want to look good on screen, it’s better to be a bit thinner.”
“Of course, the most important thing is that I have a scene later where I have to show my stomach. I want to show off my beautiful abs to the national audience.” As she spoke, she was already imagining the scene where everyone would be blinded by her self-discipline and shower her with overwhelming praise.
Wen Yu
Fine, she finally understood what kind of personality Song Jin really had.