The Stand-in Side Character Only Wants to Make Money – CH41

Chapter 41 – I Have a Friend

Holding the basketball, several Team 2 high schoolers instantly formed a human wall in front of Chen Bai, blocking his way.

Glancing around briefly, Chen Bai passed the ball to the side. The human wall quickly shifted, moving to block the teammate who was about to receive the ball.

—But he never intended to pass.

Switching the ball from his right hand to his left, Chen Bai seized the gap in front of him, broke through the defense, and came face-to-face with his study buddy, who was guarding the back.

It seemed like his study buddy hadn’t expected the ball to stay in Chen Bai’s hands, and he froze for a moment.

In that split second, Chen Bai took a step back, spun around, and dribbled past the other defenders.

As he got closer to the hoop, the others finally realized his goal wasn’t to pass but to score.

But by the time they realized it, it was too late. They tried to quickly retreat to defend, but the rest of Team 1 blocked their path.

Wearing his wristbands, Chen Bai jumped up next to his study buddy and dunked the ball. The ball went into the hoop.

His shirt hem fluttered, and the sound of the ball swishing through the net echoed.

Zhou Jing, momentarily dazed, only felt a gust of wind as someone passed by him. When he snapped out of it, he turned to see Chen Bai gracefully landing on the ground, the ball already in the hoop.

Chen Bai casually wiped his sweat and, with his eyes shining, smiled at Zhou Jing: “Looks like you guys lost.”

…It was hard to believe that just a short while ago, this was the same person who had said he wasn’t very good at basketball.

The court fell silent for a moment, then the high schoolers on Team 1 quickly surrounded their impromptu star player, showering him with loud praise.

Standing in the middle of the high schoolers, Chen Bai laughed, fitting in seamlessly.

Zhou Jing: “…”

Zhou Jing wiped his face yet again—he had lost count of how many times he had done that today.

As the group celebrated, the warning bell rang.

The high schoolers, still caught up in the fun, wanted to play another round.

Chen Bai kindly reminded them, “I think it’s time for class.”

One of the high schoolers waved dismissively and said, “Next class is self-study. As long as the dean doesn’t show up, we’re fine. Are you guys going to class?”

“We don’t need to go to class.”

Chen Bai glanced to the side and asked, “Is your dean bald?”

The high schooler nodded, “A classic bald head.”

Chen Bai replied, “Well, he’s already here.”

The high schoolers: “…”

The high schoolers: “?”

The group turned their heads and spotted a shiny bald head glinting even on the cloudy day.

The dean was walking toward them across the playground, his gaze locked on them. The thick lenses of his glasses gleamed sharply, and there was no time to escape.

As the dean approached, Chen Bai and his study buddy quietly slipped away from the crowd, holding the basketball to the side.

“…”

Soon, the dean arrived, and the boys from both classes stood in a line, unable to hide, and received a stern lecture on the spot.

As the dean finished scolding the students, Chen Bai took the opportunity to nod a goodbye to him, grabbed his school uniform jacket that was hanging nearby, and prepared to leave.

The dean glanced at their school uniforms, which lacked the school emblem, and seemed to realize something. He greeted them in return and even stepped aside to let them pass.

“?”

The high schoolers, having never seen such a reasonable dean, watched with wide eyes as the two of them walked away.
One of them stopped halfway and turned around to wave goodbye silently.

The two of them didn’t head towards the main school building; instead, they walked towards the old building by the sports field.

“…”

At this time, in this place, and with the dean around, they still dared to walk over there.

A group of high school students quietly watched their departing backs and finally realized something. Their eyes widened.

They had a suspicion, and upon closer inspection, they noticed subtle differences in the two’s uniforms, from their shirts to their trousers.

…Good grief!

After the dean finished lecturing them, the crowd finally dispersed.

“I was just thinking how good-looking those two were…does anyone know who they are? I don’t really keep up with TV shows.”

“I only know about the basketball players. Zhang, weren’t you a fan?”

“I follow female celebrities! Let’s ask around when we’re back in class…”

As they walked away chatting, the dean yelled, “What are you all still chatting about? Get back to class!”

The group quickly slipped back to their classrooms.

Meanwhile, the two returned to the old building.

The lead actress and the third male lead were still having an intense acting showdown. According to the assistant, they had almost ten NGs, and the director was starting to look strained.

Not wanting to interrupt, Chen Bai put the prop basketball back in its place in the classroom and informed the props team.

The two of them sat back on their stools. Zhou Jing turned to him and asked, “Do you want to keep practicing?”

Chen Bai waved it off, saying they should stop for now before the actual shoot.

Zhou Jing nodded, thinking it made sense.

Though he had asked Chen Bai how to shoot hoops earlier, he was actually pretty good at it—definitely adequate for filming.

Chen Bai seemed to guess what he was thinking and stretched, grinning. “It’s not that,” he said.

He gestured to his waist and grimaced, “Haha, I think I pulled something in my back.”

It’s best not to overdo it, especially after long hours of work.

Zhou Jing “…”

Zhou Jing went to ask an assistant for a pain relief patch.

The managers and assistants soon heard about his back pain.

Luckily, the pain was temporary, and he was fine by the time they started shooting.

They wrapped up early that night. Students were starting evening classes, and they headed back to the hotel.

Before boarding the car, the director called Chen Bai over for a word. Zhou Jing glanced over.

They didn’t talk for long, just a few words on the roadside before heading back to the main group.

After the director got into the car, Zhou Jing turned to Chen Bai. “What did he say?”

Chen Bai replied, “He told me there’s a scene tomorrow I need to prepare for.”

He had been holding back his emotions during filming, but the director noticed. He hadn’t mentioned it before because the shots looked fine and had been quite good overall.

This time, though, he had a scene where Xu Yifan would get cornered by old friends in an alley near the school.

It would require a silent emotional outburst, which might be challenging with his usual restrained approach.

Chen Bai smiled, “I’ll think it over later. I’m going to study alone tonight.”

Zhou Jing glanced at him and agreed.

There was a strange sense of trust, as if he believed things would turn out fine in the end.

They got in the car together, returned to the hotel, and then parted ways.

Chen Bai headed home after leaving the hotel.

He showered and changed into his usual clothes. He didn’t turn on his computer, instead taking out his script and notebook and sitting on the carpet in the living room, with the lights off and the TV on.

The landlord had mentioned that the house came with a video subscription until the end of the year, so he decided to make use of it.

He played ‘The Youth Journey’ movie, which he had seen multiple times. This would be his fifth viewing.

The film ran over two hours, but with breaks, it took nearly three. He made a small cup of black coffee midway through, just enough to stay awake.

With the cup in his hands, he looked up at the actors on the screen, rewinding to replay the last scene.

“…”

The night breeze drifted through the half-open window as the city lights dimmed.

Setting down the empty cup, he paused the movie. Picking up his phone, he realized it was already past midnight.

He leaned back, torn between resuming the movie and looking over the script. Eventually, he chose to send some random messages to his good neighbor upstairs.

[[Left Hook.jpg]]

[[Right Hook.jpg]]

After spamming his neighbor with these, he sighed and was about to set down his phone when it lit up again.

The World’s Most Cool and Awesome Neighbor:

[What’s up?]

Chen Bai raised his hands and typed.

Chen Bai “…”

Two minutes later, there was a knock at the door.

He stood up, walked to the door barefoot, and opened it. His neighbor stood there, looking down at him.

He stepped aside to let him in. “Old Xu, how come you’re still up so late?”

From what he knew, his neighbor would usually be asleep by now, but somehow he had replied to his messages at this hour.

Old Xu walked in, shutting the door behind him. He glanced at the dim living room and the TV, and said, “Just thinking about some things.”

Chen Bai nodded and turned to walk into the living room, saying, “What a coincidence.”

Xu Sinian followed him, noticing Chen Bai’s bare feet on the cold floor in the dim light from the TV. “The floor’s cold; next time, remember to wear slippers. You should not going to walk around outside barefoot.”

Chen Bai casually nodded, sitting down on the carpet and patting the space beside him.

Even though he had a couch, he preferred sitting on the carpet.

Xu Sinian lowered himself onto the carpet too, resting one hand on the floor. He glanced at the paused screen and asked, “Thinking about the crew?”

Right on target. Chen Bai nodded. “It starts with a story about a friend of mine. Do you want to hear it?”

Xu Sinian had come down just to listen, so Chen Bai was only being polite by asking.

Sure enough, Xu Sinian nodded patiently.

“Well, here’s how it goes,” Chen Bai began. “I have a friend.”

He explained that his friend had a lot in common with Xu Yifan, the character he was playing, which was the crux of the matter.

His friend came from a privileged background. His father ran a business, his mother was a pianist, his grandfather a calligrapher, and his grandmother one of the country’s first actors—practically born with a silver spoon.

He grew up comfortably, could play piano and write beautifully, and was good at sports. His life seemed to be set on easy mode, which made him develop a cocky, carefree personality similar to Xu Yifan’s. He’d spend his time playing games and basketball, just like Xu Yifan.

Then everything changed in high school. He lost several family members in quick succession, and his father’s business was hit by a crisis due to external factors. The company supported dozens of factories, and employees relied on it to survive. His father refused to file for bankruptcy, instead borrowing money to keep the company afloat.

Things eventually started to improve. The business received new investments, and debts were gradually being repaid. But just as his parents were on their way to secure more funding, their plane crashed.

Back then, my friend was just an ordinary high schooler. All he knew from others was that his parents were gone, the company was doomed, and they were left with 40 million yuan in debt. He could either inherit the little they had left or refuse the inheritance and avoid the debt.

Xu Sinian looked over and asked, “What did your friend choose?”

“My friend could only inherit,” Chen Bai replied, pressing play on the remote as sound filled the room. “Of that 40 million, some was borrowed money, and some was owed in employee wages.”

It wasn’t just about money. There was also his father’s lifelong reputation and the families depending on those wages. After enjoying a good life for so long, it was time to shoulder some responsibility.

The privileged life was gone, replaced with debt, and when he returned to school, he had no friends left—just like Xu Yifan.

Xu Yifan didn’t live up to his name, nor did my friend.

Both faced life-altering events in high school, where everything took a downturn. The only difference was that my friend had some skills to support himself.

There were essential differences, but they had too many similarities. When certain scenes came up, it was hard not to think of my friend.

So, to avoid bringing personal emotions into the role, I decided to hold back. But holding back meant it was hard to truly embody Xu Yifan.

Xu Sinian looked down at him and asked softly, “Has your friend ever shared this with anyone?”

Chen Bai replied that he hadn’t.

In the shadows under the coffee table, Xu Sinian’s hand twitched slightly.

“When you talk about playing Xu Yifan well,” Xu Sinian said, retracting his hand and letting his gaze fall on the screen, “do you mean the Xu Yifan in this film, or the one in the script?”

Chen Bai replied, “The one in the script.”

“You want to portray the script’s Xu Yifan well but worry it’ll differ from the film version. So you’re striking a balance.”

Xu continued, “You’re afraid that if you immerse yourself in your friend’s emotions, you’ll lose control over that balance.”

It was exactly what Chen Bai was thinking. He praised Xu’s insight.

Xu Sinian smiled. “If they’re so similar, then why can’t your friend be Xu Yifan in those moments?”

“Your friend can play his Xu Yifan, and you can play your own Xu Yifan.”

He added, “If you’re uncertain, try setting everything else aside and channeling your friend into Xu Yifan. You might surprise yourself.”

The night breeze flowed through the half-open window as Xu Sinian stood and extended a hand, saying softly, “It’s late. Let’s get some rest.”

Chen Bai accepted the help, and Xu effortlessly pulled him to his feet.

He chuckled, “You could probably take on twenty of me now.”

The number had doubled from ten to twenty.

Xu Sinian “…”

Xu briefly wondered what kind of image he had in Chen Bai’s mind, then moved on. “Go get some sleep.”

Chen agreed and finally turned off the TV, following Xu Sinian to bed.

Tonight felt luxurious; he even had Xu Sinian, the big-shot actor, to turn off the lights.

“Click.”

A soft sound as the switch was flipped, and the room plunged into darkness.

Standing by the door, Xu Sinian paused before asking, “After everything that happened, does your friend still feel sad?”

Lying on the bed, Chen turned and smiled. “No. He paid off the debts and survived. Plus, he still has good friends now.”

“Your friend’s amazing.”

“Oh, absolutely.”

The final conversation ended, and the figure in the darkness left. In the quiet, there was the sound of a door opening and closing, and the person lying in bed peacefully closed their eyes.

Thanks to his good neighbor, Chen Bai, the night owl, managed to fall asleep before 2 a.m. For once, he woke up the next day feeling refreshed.

Refreshed, but with a sore back.

After less than an hour of basketball training, he could barely get out of bed. When he finally hobbled over to the hotel, holding his lower back, his manager greeted him with a friendly, “How old are you now, sir?”

Chen Bai felt like his money-making partner was being less and less discreet with him.

Having just been respectfully called “old man Chen,” he then encountered his study buddy and basketball buddy in the dressing room. The buddy, who had played basketball with him the day before, looked as lively as ever.

Seeing the man full of energy, Chen Bai was shocked. “Your arms and legs aren’t sore?”

Zhou Jing replied, “…?”

To him, playing basketball for less than an hour—half of it playing at an “old man’s” pace—meant that perhaps Chen Bai should consider why his back was sore.

Ignoring that, Zhou Jing asked, “Don’t you have an action scene today? Will you be okay?”

Chen Bai waved him off, still holding his lower back. “I’ll be fine. I can still move.”

That day, their group was split up; Group A stayed at the school to film, while Chen Bai’s Group B headed to an off-site location. After makeup and wardrobe, they hopped into the crew’s vehicle and headed out.

In a minibus just big enough for their team, they traveled some distance from the school. The location was chosen for a scene where Xu Yifan gets cornered by friends in a back alley.

The school was in a bustling downtown area with good security and environment, which didn’t match the director’s vision. Also, getting filming permits there was tricky. After scouting for most of the day, they found a suitable place on the edge of the old town.

The old town was full of alleyways. The area was quiet and run-down, perfect for filming, and getting a permit was easy.

They arrived, parked, and the crew set up barriers, while the art and props departments began preparing the scene quickly.

Chen Bai and his “bad friends” ABCD headed aside to rehearse.

In the scene, Xu Yifan, down on his luck, gets cornered near school by ABCD, who want to teach the once-arrogant guy a lesson, only to get beaten up themselves.

It was a short scene, but it involved a lot of choreography, so they had to rehearse bit by bit. Zhou Jing’s role was minimal; he would arrive at the end to help clean up. For now, he sat on a folding chair, watching.

Chen Bai proved he could handle it. When things got underway, he moved smoothly, showing no sign of the back pain he’d been complaining about earlier.

Although, after each run-through, he’d take a moment to stretch his sore back.

The alley was quickly set up. The lighting took a bit longer since the crew needed to mount it on the second floor of an unoccupied building nearby. Once it was in place, they had the perfect ambiance.

With the lights and cameras ready, the preparations were complete.

As the makeup artist touched up his face, darkening the bruises, Chen Bai finally stopped worrying about his back and sat still, letting them work. He noticed Zhou Jing coming over.

Zhou squatted down beside him and asked in a low voice, “Did you think it over last night?”

Chen Bai raised his eyes slightly. “I talked to a friend about it last night. I have some thoughts, but I haven’t sorted them out. I’ll have to figure it out as I go.”

“A friend?”

Just then, the director called out, and the makeup artist finished. Chen Bai gave a little wave and stepped into the alley.

It was dim, with just a faint light.

As they began filming, everyone grew silent, watching the scene.

The camera captured a figure in a school uniform stepping into the alley, moving from light into shadow.

At a certain point, he stopped, turned to the figures following him, and asked, “What do you want?”

His delivery was clear, movements perfect, and expression spot-on.

But something was missing.

Zhou Jing, observing from the side, noticed the director frowning slightly.

The director called “Cut” and, after a pause, reassured him, “Take your time, find the right feeling, and we’ll go again in a bit.”

For an actor who rarely required retakes, the director was willing to be patient, even if it meant spending more time than usual.

Chen Bai thanked him.

After a short break, they started again.

NG has no limits—if it’s not perfect, it could go on forever. From the second take onward, although his performance showed more emotion, the tension around the set was palpable.

With everyone holding their breath, Chen Bai made it through the scene: walking into the alley, turning, and fighting. The crew watched, tense and hoping to avoid another “Cut” that would erase their efforts.

This time, the director stayed silent throughout, neither nodding nor shaking his head.

The scene ended, and the director reviewed the footage on the monitor. After watching all the takes, he looked up at Chen Bai, still standing in the alley, and asked, “The footage is usable, but do you want to try again?”

Capturing that explosive intensity can be challenging for a newcomer. The director felt a bit of regret, but he knew he’d explained everything he could. The rest depended on the actor’s ability to internalize it. If Chen Bai couldn’t get there, so be it, which was why he left the decision to him.

——The footage was usable, but it wasn’t perfect.

Chen Bai met the concerned gazes of his manager and assistant standing at the mouth of the alley. He straightened his school uniform jacket, closed his eyes briefly, then opened them and nodded. “I’d like to try one last time.”

The director smiled, and the makeup artist stepped in to touch up his makeup. The lighting and camera crew resumed their positions, while the friends gathered outside the alley entrance again.

Silence fell over the set, and Chen Bai, standing in the alley, exhaled.

After a three-second countdown, the camera began rolling.

Footsteps broke the silence of the dim alley as the school-uniformed figure walked onto the grimy ground.

Shadowy figures followed him into the alley, and as he noticed them, he slowly came to a stop, turning slightly to look back. His pale gray eyes, half-hidden in the light, scanned the path behind him.

There was no confusion, no anger, no sadness. His gaze was calm, carrying a hint of the habitual mockery that often played across his face, as if he had expected this all along.

The mockery seemed directed at the newcomers—and at himself. After surveying them, he finally spoke: “What do you want?”

His voice was steady, his words clear. He was calm, blending perfectly into the cold, damp environment around him, evoking an inexplicable sense of tension.

A vague pressure filled the air, making it difficult for his former friends to respond. One finally spoke, “You should think about what you’ve done.”

They moved closer, blocking the alley entrance completely.

Without another word, the three in front dropped their bags and approached him, intending to take him by surprise.

They were prepared, knowing they couldn’t win one-on-one, so they planned to swarm him together.

Another guy stood hesitantly at the entrance, nervously drawing a small knife, stepping forward, and threatening, “If you resist… this knife will find its way to you!”

As he made his threat, someone had already fallen, landing on the one clean spot in the muddy alley.

The person in the middle, his school uniform now dirtied, bore signs of the struggle. He wiped the blood and grime from his face and looked up.

His eyes were cold, completely emotionless, as if the skirmish hadn’t affected him at all.

Then he smirked.

He was smiling, but there was no mirth in his eyes.

It was an expression no one had seen before. When his typically smiling eyes turned cold, it was more piercing than any other expression, chilling to the bone.