Chapter 55: Friend Request
With his messy white hair and shabby clothes, Chen Bai’s sudden smile caught Qian Jin off guard, making him flinch before leaning back tactically and saying, “Good thing I’m straight.”
Chen Bai: “?”
They didn’t chat for long, as Qian Jin had to head back on set for another scene. Due to his history of frequent NGs, the director had called him over for a talk.
As Qian Jin left, the manager, having just returned from other tasks, took his spot on the small stool next to him. She handed him some candy and said, “Those are from the newbies.”
The newbies didn’t have much, but they had plenty of snacks. Since they got along well, they often shared their treats with him—sometimes it was cookies, sometimes candy.
Despite his quiet demeanor, Chen Bai had a surprisingly good rapport with people, constantly receiving snacks from various people on set.
After sitting down, she glanced over at Chu Mingyuan, who wasn’t far away, and asked, “How’s it going?”
Chen Bai, always keeping track, immediately answered, “Still no sparks of romance budding, it seems.”
Gao Qian “?”
The manager raised an eyebrow and playfully patted his gossip-filled head. “I wasn’t asking about Chu Mingyuan and the lead actress. I was asking about you.”
“Me?” Chen Bai rubbed his head and laughed, saying, “I’m feeling pretty good.”
“As long as you’re good.”
She continued, “The weather forecast says it’ll rain tomorrow. The coordinators said that if it does, they’ll reschedule for an outdoor shoot with you and Chu Mingyuan in that rain scene, remember?”
He had practically memorized every scene, so he nodded immediately, recognizing which one she meant. “I remember.”
She looked at his thin wrists and asked, “He won’t accidentally send you flying with a punch, right?”
Her tone was mildly concerned but mostly curious, imagining what that might look like.
—Such a supportive manager and friend.
The two assistants, who hadn’t considered this angle, agreed with her concern and nodded along.
Chen Bai objectively felt their concern seemed more genuine. He waved it off with a grin, saying, “I’ll try not to get knocked out.”
The fight scenes were real, with every move choreographed. He wouldn’t actually be sent flying, but he’d definitely be taking some hits.
He added, “If he goes too hard, I’ll take the chance to punch him a few extra times.”
Chen Bai, who wasn’t one to back down, brought a laugh out of his manager.
The next day, it rained.
Heavier than the forecast had predicted, but perfect for what the crew had in mind.
The film crew split into two groups: the assistant director and other actors stayed at the inn to continue filming indoor scenes, hoping to finish all the inn scenes by the end of the day. The other group, including the director, went off to shoot the rain fight scene, driving to a village some distance from the town.
The location was far, so this group had to get up early. By the time the others assigned to the indoor scenes arrived at the makeup room, Chen Bai had already gotten ready and left.
The vehicle drove out of the town and onto a deserted road.
At five in the morning, it was indeed empty.
With disheveled hair, he leaned against the seat, a coat draped over him, eyes half-open, sipping on soy milk while looking out the window.
Objectively, the scenery here was quite nice. The natural landscape was beautiful but undeveloped, with a narrow concrete road where drivers had to be careful when another vehicle approached.
Finding a filming location like this was impressive—those in charge of scouting locations seemed to be as skilled as the props team in their own way.
The drive was long, with Chen Bai sipping soy milk during the first half and napping in the second. He was woken up by his fellow actor upon arrival, groggy from the heavy sleep and slightly unsteady as he stepped out of the car.
His friend glanced at him, genuinely worried about his health.
Fortunately, the dizziness passed quickly. The cold wind cleared his head, and his steps became steady.
This time, they were filming in a vast bamboo forest, which covered entire mountainsides. Other crew members had arrived earlier and selected a more open area for shooting. They’d already set up a canopy for rain protection, and all the expensive equipment was under it.
The two groups arrived one after the other. Everyone except for the two actors received raincoats provided by the crew, which were high-quality and thick enough to keep out most of the rain.
Seeing everyone else in raincoats, Chen Bai sighed, knowing he’d be soaked.
The camera tracks and lights were still being set up. The stunt coordinator came over to walk through the fight scene with him and Chu Mingyuan, reviewing the action sequence.
This was just a rehearsal, but Chen Bai, facing someone a head taller, quickly stated, “Let’s just go through the motions. Don’t put in too much force.”
He made his point very seriously, “If you use force, I’ll go flying.”
His words were earnest and intimidating, somehow more so than if he’d said, “If you use force, I’ll send you flying.”
Gao Qian rubbed her face, pretending not to know him, while the two assistants looked away.
The stunt coordinator managed to maintain a serious expression with all his self-control, still looking like the composed professional he was.
Meanwhile, Chu Mingyuan’s manager and assistant lightly covered their smiling faces.
Chu Mingyuan couldn’t hold back a chuckle. “Alright.”
He didn’t like working with people who lacked skill and dragged down the quality of the film, but aside from his initial coolness on the first day, he’d been a reasonable coworker.
When he said he wouldn’t use force, he meant it, applying just enough pressure for it to look realistic.
This fight scene was easier than the stunt coordinator had anticipated. Chu Mingyuan, experienced with fight scenes, was partnered with Chen Bai, who, despite his lean frame and lack of visible experience, delivered powerful and clean movements, adding to the scene’s appeal.
After a simple run-through, the stunt coordinator asked, “Have you trained before?”
Chen Bai looked around before realizing he was the one being asked. He replied, “If you count the summer kids’ Taekwondo class, then yes.”
He’d also picked up some tricks through various fights in his late high school years.
But that wasn’t worth mentioning, so he only shared that small memory.
The stunt coordinator replied, “…That…that counts, I suppose.”
The topic quickly passed.
After two run-throughs, the equipment was ready. The director, now in a raincoat, stepped into the rain to guide them through the marks they needed to remember.
Already wet, Chen Bai walked into the rain, joining to review the marks.
In these conditions, his makeshift blindfold practically rendered him blind. Most of the marking was Chu Mingyuan’s responsibility, but he went along to familiarize himself with the setup.
The rain had intensified, drowning out sounds with the noise of drops hitting the green bamboo and fallen leaves. The director had to raise his voice to be heard, which was somewhat challenging.
After a difficult explanation, he lifted the brim of his raincoat with a smile and said, “Let’s see if we can wrap up before the other group so we can have an early lunch.”
A little friendly competition between the director and assistant director.
Chen Bai chuckled but only responded with a “We’ll try.”
After reviewing the marks, they returned to the canopy. The stylist tied a cloth strip around his head, while his assistant handed him a tattered prop sword, which felt even heavier after not handling it for a while—now more like a five-million-debt sword than a four-million one.
The rain fell over the bamboo forest, a steady, melancholy sound.
Chang Yang held a grudge against the traitor’s son that the officials were pursuing—or rather, against the traitor himself. Years ago, it was this traitor who framed his family, leading to their massacre. He was the only survivor, left a shell of a man. He couldn’t bear to let the traitor’s son live out his days in peace, so he and a swordsman joined forces to track down the man who had changed his name, identity, and face.
In this scene, Chang Yang and the swordsman have finally found the traitor’s son. But for the first time, they disagree.
Chang Yang wants him dead, but the swordsman intends to deliver him alive to complete their mission. To stop Chang Yang, who has already raised his sword to kill, the swordsman has no choice but to fight him.
The rain falls steadily, and shadows flicker. Two figures move through the bamboo forest, kicking up sprays of water.
Mist rises with the rain, and only the faint silhouettes of two dark figures can be seen moving through the verdant bamboo.
When things came back into focus, a cold, gleaming curved blade sliced through the mist and rain, passing by the camera at an incredibly close distance.
White hair, tangled with a cloth strip, swept through the air as the ragged man raised his worn cloth sword to block the incoming blade, retreating a few steps until his back pressed against a rain-soaked bamboo stalk.
They stood in a tense standoff for just a second before the swordsman spoke, “You can’t kill him…”
The man pressed against the bamboo sidestepped, bending low to slip behind the swordsman, bringing his ragged sword down in a diagonal slash.
Before he could turn, the swordsman’s curved blade had already swung horizontally, meeting the ragged sword. The sharp blade cut through the cloth wrapped around the sword, creating a fine tear.
In that moment, the blind man surged forward, twisting the swordsman’s wrist holding the blade and using a bamboo stalk to propel himself upwards.
The long bamboo bent under the pressure, sending rainwater cascading from the leaves as the swordsman fell backward onto the forest floor, pinned down by the blunt cloth sword pressed against his throat.
The swordsman looked up, tightening his grip on the hilt of his blade. “You want to kill me?”
Drenched by the rain, the cloth tangled in his white hair draped down, mixing with his long, wet locks that now rested near his chest. The cold tips touched his neck, and the man on top paused, saying nothing.
Gao Qian “…”
In the silence, the Gao Qian, who had been sitting on a low stool, stood up, pulling down her raincoat hood to get a better look at the two on the ground.
Something was different.
She wasn’t an actor, but after watching for so many years, she could pick up on subtle changes. The usually steady man who was now pinning down the other wasn’t as controlled as before.
Unstable, and seemingly being pulled into Chu Mingyuan’s rhythm. When an actor gets caught up in someone else’s pace, things can easily spiral out of control.
She frowned slightly. Her assistant didn’t understand but sensed something was off from her reaction.
They were watching, and the director nearby was watching too. His gaze was sharp behind his glasses, though he didn’t frown or make any other expression. He just said softly, “He’s finding his rhythm.”
They were far enough from the microphones, so speaking softly wouldn’t be picked up.
Gao Qian asked quietly, “Finding his rhythm?”
In their hushed conversation, they saw the man above smile.
A smile with no warmth, no emotion. It wasn’t to convey any feeling—it was just a simple upward curve of his lips, devoid of joy or sadness, as if he had lost the basic emotions a person should have.
He said, “Why not?”
His voice was still that raspy, odd tone, barely melodic.
It was as if he had completely merged with the rain and mist, drifting aimlessly with nowhere to go.
— He’d tapped into it.
He had found his rhythm.
The person who could feel it most acutely was the other actor in the scene. Out of the camera’s view, Chu Mingyuan, lying on the ground, moved one finger slightly, locking eyes with the gray, cloth-covered face.
Without hesitation, he gripped the hilt of his blade, using his elbow to leverage himself up, flipping over with the help of a bamboo stalk, taking advantage of the other man’s blindness.
The roles reversed, with the swordsman now on top. His hair dripped with water, and he swung the curved blade downward, holding it near the other man’s neck. “I must live, and the traitor must be delivered to the authorities.”
The blind man lay on the wet leaves, his white hair fanned out around him, the cloth sword now lying just out of reach.
With empty hands, he groped around, finding a jagged bamboo shard left from a previous chopping. He grabbed it, holding it tightly before raising it overhead to stab upwards.
At that moment, the bamboo shard aimed for the swordsman’s throat, and the curved blade was poised near the blind man’s neck.
The blade gleamed coldly. If he moved forward just a little, it would slice his flesh. But if he continued, the bamboo shard would pierce the swordsman’s jaw.
There was no standoff, and no time for hesitation. The blind man ignored the blade at his neck, lifting his head to finish the move.
Having drifted too long, he seemed to have forgotten that he was still human—still a living person who would die if his throat were cut. His awareness of life and death had blurred.
The swordsman hadn’t expected him to lunge forward so suddenly. Blood trickled faintly from where the blade touched his neck. Quickly, he tilted his head, dodging the bamboo shard.
As the shard grazed past his skin, he flipped his grip on the curved blade, using its back to press against the other man’s neck. He wrenched the shard away and tossed it aside, delivering a quick chop to the back of the man’s neck as he fell back onto the ground.
The blind man finally stopped moving. His white hair lay tangled with fallen bamboo leaves on the forest floor.
Silence fell over them, leaving only the sound of rain on the bamboo leaves.
Chu Mingyuan sheathed his blade, looking down as raindrops fell on the dirty cloth over the other man’s eyes, staining it dark. The raindrops that fell beyond the cloth slid down his face and into his white hair, soaking the back of his neck.
“…”
Through the rain came the director’s loud “Cut!”
The surrounding crew suddenly sprang into action, but the two men on the ground remained still.
“…”
In the quiet, Chen Bai finally broke the silence, saying, “Hey, mind if we get up?”
He added, “No rush, but the ground’s pretty cold.”
The heavy blade across his body made it hard to get up.
As soon as he spoke, the intense atmosphere vanished.
Chu Mingyuan collected himself, apologized, and extended a hand to the man still on the ground.
Chen Bai’s blindfold hadn’t been removed, and in the dim light, he couldn’t see anything but a blurry shadow. He ignored the hand offered to him and got up on his own, propping himself up with an old back.
Chu Mingyuan looked down, realizing that this person had been acting with him in nearly complete darkness.
As the scene wrapped up, the stylist and assistant quickly approached, helping to untie the cloth and holding up an umbrella.
Back in the light, Chen Bai took the towel from his assistant and buried his face in it, enjoying the relief.
The damp, sticky feeling on his face disappeared, and he let out a breath, smiling as he lifted his head from the towel and thanked them.
Aside from using the towel to cover his face, he also draped it over his head. After a long morning, Chen Bai followed his assistant to the tent, taking a step before remembering he hadn’t properly greeted his co-worker. He turned back.
His co-worker was already surrounded by assistants, busy with their own tasks. Seeing that, Chen Bai decided not to interrupt. Just as he turned away, his co-worker glanced over and said, “Good work.”
Since the other had greeted him, Chen Bai smiled, waved, and continued walking with his assistant, chatting as they went.
“… Good? That just good?”
“When I bent back, I thought I might be done for, but luckily there was bamboo to lean on.”
His voice gradually faded as he and his assistant walked off, eventually drowned out by the rain.
Chu Mingyuan turned back to his assistant, who handed him some water.
The most challenging scene had surprisingly been completed in one take. It was a great start to the day, lifting the director’s spirits and prompting the crew to jump into the next scene with efficiency.
After finishing the first scene, the remaining scenes for the day all involved him, but they were relatively easy. The main actor bore most of the workload, while Chen Bai only needed to play dead and let the protagonist move him around.
In a way, the male lead had considerable stamina, managing to carry a “corpse” around energetically.
The morning’s scenes wrapped up quickly, ending earlier than planned. When the director called the final “cut,” Chen Bai, who had been motionless as a “corpse,” finally stirred.
As the workday came to a close, even the “dead” could revive, and he supported his old back, eager to get back to the car to lie down.
The return journey was the same as the morning, but with the heater on, taking care of the crew who had been drenched all morning.
Once the umbrella was folded, warmth flooded the car, and Chen Bai’s tired eyes squinted slightly as the heat met his sore back.
The agent and assistant boarded after him, taking off their raincoats at the car door. The high-quality raincoats had kept them dry, with only their pant legs and the edges of their hair slightly damp, which they quickly dried with towels.
Once they were seated, the agent suggested, “You’ve been in the rain all morning. Take a rest this afternoon. Your hair is wet—tie it up and change your clothes to avoid getting sick.”
In the end, Xiao Meng helped him tie his hair up. She had a seemingly endless supply of hair ties in her bag, always ready.
After tying up his hair, the driver greeted them, slowly pressing the gas to start the vehicle.
The roadside scenery drifted by as Chen Bai took off his ragged costume. It came off easily, revealing a dry undershirt underneath, so he just threw on a jacket.
In his oversized black coat, he looked from a ragged beggar to a cool white-haired guy. The Gao Qian glanced over and commented, “That coat suits you well.”
Surprisingly practical, it had become one of the most frequently worn outfits since the weather had cooled.
Chen Bai chuckled, doing a quick left and right turn to show it off. “Cool, huh?”
But as he turned, the rolled-up sleeves slipped down. He bent down to roll them back, pulling something in his back and letting out a sharp breath.
Both assistants turned away, choosing to ignore the situation.
… You could say he looked pretty cool before he started talking.
Gao Qian “…”
Gao Qian regretted bringing up the topic.
After a sigh, she changed the subject. “When the first scene ended, the director praised you, said you had a talent for this.”
Chen Bai briefly looked up, then resumed rolling up his sleeves. His response seemed indifferent, which puzzled Gao Qian. She asked if he didn’t like compliments.
Chen Bai raised his head again. “Not really.”
It’s just that, so far, he had worked with four directors, and all four had complimented him on his talent. It was like collecting stamps—he had become well aware that it was just standard talk among directors.
Gao Qian “…”
The agent was slightly unsettled but struggled to find a counter-argument to his “stamp collection” comment. After a pause, she added, “This director doesn’t usually give praise.”
Chen Bai nodded, reaching out to brother Liu for his phone.
Gao Qian immediately knew what he was up to. Her eyes narrowed as she asked, “Chatting with your friend again?”
It was a statement, not a question. And indeed, it was true.
Chen Bai casually opened WeChat to chat with his top contact. Just then, a friend request notification popped up. He didn’t look closely, and before he realized, he had swiped it away out of habit.
