Song Xueyan and Yan Qi’s first scene together was a major one in the early part of the story. He Songjun came down from the lounge to the set, sitting behind the monitoring screen.
Fang Zhouji ordered all groups to prepare. Once everything was ready, the photography assistant clapped the board.
Scene 7, Shot 2, Take 1.
Ming Yanchao was drunk with a group of nobles at the restaurant. To avoid prying eyes, he allowed one of the restaurant’s young male entertainers (a xiaoguan) to accompany him back to his manor.
On the long path, Yan Qi draped one arm over Yuan Mo’s shoulder. He was a head taller than Yuan Mo, and fearing that his weight would make it impossible for the other man to walk, he secretly supported half of his own weight.
Yuan Mo grabbed Yan Qi’s arm with one hand and blocked his back shoulder with the other, supporting him as they moved forward. However, they hadn’t taken more than a few steps before Fang Zhouji shouted “Cut.”
“Ming Yanchao is tall and long-legged, trained in martial arts since childhood, and is full of muscle. Right now, he’s drunk and weak. The xiaoguan is supposed to be a fragile character, yet supporting him looks like he’s taking a stroll with his grandfather in the park, all leisurely and relaxed. You’re supporting him too steadily!” Fang Zhouji said. “Do it again.”
The two returned to film again. This time, Yan Qi didn’t exert any strength, letting himself go limp like a pile of mud in a state of drunken indulgence. Yuan Mo struggled to support him; when he stumbled to the side, his shoe stepped on his hem, and he almost fell, only to be yanked up by Yan Qi.
Fang Zhouji said: “You’re wearing that long robe like a floor-length skirt, and you’re wearing those flat shoes like they’re platform heels.”
Yuan Mo apologized awkwardly. He and Yan Qi turned around again, adjusted for a few minutes, and started over.
Halfway through, Yan Qi performed a drunken stumble as required by the script, but Yuan Mo’s footing was unsteady and he failed to coordinate; the two almost fell flat on their faces together.
Fang Zhouji was expressionless. “For a big guy to be this weak, did you get a physical exam this year?”
Yuan Mo glanced at Yan Qi, hesitated for two seconds, and said sheepishly: “Sorry, Director Fang, Teacher Yan is too tall and big; I couldn’t support him.”
Outside the camera’s view, Xiao Bing sat on a small stool next to Song Xueyan, muttering: “Is he blaming my Qi-ge for being heavy?”
Song Xueyan glanced over there, recalling the sensation of Yan Qi pressing against him. He was indeed a bit heavy, but his 1.9-meter height and high muscle mass weren’t for show; it was the weight he should be.
Fang Zhouji was as perceptive as anyone. “The first take, Little Yan helped you by holding back his strength, but you didn’t enter the character state—did you think this was a walk after a meal? Did you leave your brain at home? The last two takes, he stopped holding back, and you couldn’t support him.”
His tone turned icy. “Before we started filming, I said that leads and supporting actors all need to maintain their figures and fit the characters’ states once on camera. Tang Wanbai gained ten pounds, Jiang Xian lost twenty, and Song Xueyan—for fuck’s sake—bounced out of a coffin, yet you only eat and don’t exercise, growing fat without growing strength. You’re playing a young xiaoguan, not a middle-aged brothel madam. Look in the mirror yourself and see how many palettes of powder you’ve slapped on and how many layers of eyeshadow you’ve brushed just to hide your fat face and puffy eyes!”
Not every actor has talent in acting or beauty; things gifted by heaven can’t be forced. But everyone can have a good attitude and professional spirit, which Fang Zhouji considered basic ethics for a practitioner.
Maintaining one’s figure, training one’s posture, and matching the character’s state were among the preparations actors should make before joining the set, and were clearly easier than having exquisite acting skills. If they weren’t even willing to do that, how could they hope to delve into the script?
Fang Zhouji hated actors who couldn’t act and had a bad attitude, so he immediately dropped his face. “If you can film, film! If you can’t, get the hell out!”
With everyone watching, Fang Zhouji showed no mercy, scolding Yuan Mo until his face turned green. In his previous crew, he had been pampered; the director was like a laughing Buddha let alone scolding or training him, he hadn’t even spoken a harsh word to him.
While Yuan Mo stood frozen like a piece of charcoal, Yan Qi sat acting like a well-behaved quail, stealing a glance at Song Xueyan, who was sitting in a wooden chair—only to find the other man was looking at him.
Eye contact met; Song Xueyan’s expression was calm, but Yan Qi felt inexplicably restless.
It was NG right from the start. Wouldn’t Song Xueyan think he was terrible? Also, even if Director Fang wanted to throw shade, why did he have to mention Song Xueyan “bouncing out of a coffin”? That was dragging the innocent into it!
The atmosphere on set was rigid and his mind was racing when He Songjun cleared his throat. “Adjust, and come again.”
Fang Zhouji gulped down some water, suppressed his anger, and waved for the stylists and makeup artists to come up and tidy them up.
He Songjun said: “I think Yuan Mo hasn’t entered the state yet. If he really can’t get it right, why don’t we film the later parts first and make up for this shot later?”
Yan Qi had a scene later where he would be kicked to the ground. He would roll on the ground, so his hair and clothes would get dirty he couldn’t go back and film the first shot then. They could only choose another time to film the makeup shot. But dragging it out any longer would not only exhaust Yan Qi but also affect his acting with Song Xueyan.
Fang Zhouji considered for a few seconds and agreed. “But if we choose to make it up later, I’m changing the actor.”
He Songjun said gently: “The drama is what matters most.”
Five minutes later, the two started over from the beginning. This time, Fang Zhouji didn’t speak up, and only made the call once they reached the line. Passed.
Yan Qi breathed a sigh of relief, immediately withdrew his hand, and put some distance between himself and Yuan Mo. As he turned, he saw Song Xueyan had already gotten up from his chair.
Song Xueyan was wearing a misty purple wide-sleeved robe with a swallow-tail blue inner collar. The inner pattern at the bottom of the robe was restrained and gentle. As he moved, it was as if bamboo waves were rippling. His hair was half-tied, held up by a hollow-carved hairpin, and a jade belt wrapped around his waist, signaling his noble status while also accentuating a lithe, graceful figure. Before Yan Qi could look away, Song Xueyan was already in front of him, even raising a hand to fan himself before his eyes, his wrist half-exposed, cold and white.
“Uh…” Yan Qi regained his senses, looked up at the moon inexplicably, and whispered, “Where are the jade beads?”
Song Xueyan said, “I asked Xiao Bing to hold them for me.”
Yan Qi looked back, and Xiao Bing was holding Song Xueyan’s treasure, truly looking dazed and infatuated.
“You don’t have an assistant? Why give it to him?”
“No.” Song Xueyan saw Yan Qi’s surprise and explained, “I only act, which saves a lot of work. Related matters are handled by Han Dongling. He only follows me, so he can manage. When filming, if I need help, the crew also provides temporary assistants.”
Yan Qi looked at Xiao Bing, who was still wearing a lovesick, silly smile, and said seriously: “Should I fire my assistant, too?”
Fang Zhouji shouted, “You two, stop chatting.”
Groups prepared, actors moved to their respective positions. Scene 7, Take 2. The photography assistant clapped the board.
Ming Yanchao and the xiaoguan were halfway there when someone suddenly walked out in front of them.
The xiaoguan stopped, unsure whether to move forward or retreat. Ming Yanchao slowly raised his head halfway, asking without even opening his eyes: “Why aren’t you walking?”
Xiao Zhenyue showed neither smile nor anger, his face cold under the night moon.
The xiaoguan dared only one glance before shrinking timidly into Ming Yanchao’s arms, pinching his voice: “There is a gentleman ahead.”
Ming Yanchao dodged backward imperceptibly, putting force into his arms to take the opportunity to push the xiaoguan away. Staggering forward a step, he exclaimed arrogantly: “Who dares block my path?”
He leaned close to Xiao Zhenyue, staring at him. Xiao Zhenyue lowered his eyelids, letting him “skin and bone” him with his gaze. Suddenly, Ming Yanchao reached out to pinch Xiao Zhenyue’s cheek, turned to glance at the xiaoguan, and smiled frivolously: “A cluster of flowers and willows can’t compare to a handful of cold moonlight—this is true beauty.”
The xiaoguan looked at Xiao Zhenyue with a look of reluctance and fear.
Ming Yanchao turned back, still pinching Xiao Zhenyue’s cheek, his other hand also wandering onto the other man’s waist, saying dissolutely: “Which building is this beauty from? Do you want to go back to the manor with your Prince?”
Touching this waist felt like kneading a cloud. Holding Song Xueyan in his arms, that familiar floral woody scent surged into his breath. Yan Qi felt as if he were truly drunk, hazy, and as if he were walking on air.
His nose was almost touching Song Xueyan’s cheek; Song Xueyan didn’t notice.
Yan Qi’s Adam’s apple rolled. He took this neglect as indulgence. Hesitant and conflicted, he pressed his nose against Song Xueyan’s cheek and even gave a playful, drunken rub.
This movement wasn’t in the script. Fang Zhouji watched the monitor but didn’t call “Cut.”
Ming Yanchao was only pretending to be drunk; it wasn’t that he hadn’t recognized that the person in front of him was Xiao Zhenyue. He masked himself as a dissolute drunkard and took the opportunity to express a hint of intimacy. Yan Qi’s movement accentuated his own lecherous feel and also fit the character’s emotions and goals.
Although it was a bit external, with “drunkenness” as the premise, it was still within the range of free adjustment.
He Songjun gripped his paper cup, his eyes fixed on Song Xueyan’s face.
Ever since his waist was gripped, Song Xueyan’s earlobes had turned red, and now they were even more flushed because of this sudden movement. This was Xiao Zhenyue’s subtle response to Ming Yanchao, the deep currents of love hidden beneath his immovable exterior.
Emotions can be concealed or disguised, but immediate natural reactions cannot lie. Xiao Zhenyue was like this, and Song Xueyan was, too.
After a long time without hearing a sound, Ming Yanchao threatened: “Hmm?”
Xiao Zhenyue was forced to lift his chin, still staring at him, his gaze cold and piercing. Ming Yanchao paused, as if suddenly sober. “You”
Before he could finish, Xiao Zhenyue seemed to finally reach his limit, violently extending his leg to trip him to the ground!
His back hit the ground heavily. Before Ming Yanchao could counterattack, Xiao Zhenyue stepped forward quickly, raised his foot, and slammed it down toward his face. His light-colored robe hem flared and swirled like an opening flower. Ming Yanchao blocked with both arms, only to be fiercely kicked on the wrists.
As the soft hem of the robe brushed by, the back of Yan Qi’s hand itched. He quickly moved his palm aside, his right hand gripping Song Xueyan’s calf while turning his head, letting the kick land on the floor beside his face. This grab was solid; sparks seemed to fly, and Yan Qi’s palm felt hot and numb.
The xiaoguan screamed in terror, “Pri”
Xiao Zhenyue suddenly lifted his head. The xiaoguan seemed to have his throat grabbed, covering his mouth in panic and freezing in place, not daring to move. Xiao Zhenyue withdrew his gaze and said softly: “Scram.”
“Yes, yes!” The xiaoguan took a quick look at Ming Yanchao and ran off, his outer garment half-sagging.
Ming Yanchao laughed suddenly. “Your Highness has great skills.”
“Your Highness has great interest.” As the words fell, Xiao Zhenyue put force into his leg, violently shaking off Ming Yanchao’s arms.
Ming Yanchao braced his palm against the floor, wanting to rise, only to be kicked back by Xiao Zhenyue, who stomped on his chest.
This kick was solid. Yan Qi lay on the ground, his breathing slightly rushed. He looked up; Song Xueyan stood above him, looking down.
From this angle, Song Xueyan’s chin looked sharp, his lips were tightly pursed, and his brows were filled with gloom. But the tip of Yan Qi’s nose still remembered the softness of Song Xueyan’s cheek, and his palm still retained the sensation of touching that waist. He caught a glimpse of a different kind of charm in this piercing coldness.
“Your Highness, please go easy,” he said, stroking the white boots on his chest with his palm, smiling without smiling. “Don’t break me.”