Chapter 9 – Big Job Coming Soon
With the set ready and the camera and lights in place, a stylist made some final adjustments to Chen Bai’s hair as he stood beside the camera, nodding slightly as the assistant director reminded him of things to keep in mind.
Once everything was ready, he set his script aside and stepped forward.
This scene depicts A-Huai returning home from the hospital.
A thin figure sat at the desk by the window, and the cameraman quickly adjusted the camera settings before gesturing to the assistant director, who nodded slightly.
The entire set fell silent.
The person sitting by the window moved, leaning over the desk and picking up a pen.
A-Huai’s health was poor, and he couldn’t attend school like other people, but he had always maintained the habit of reading and studying, hoping to use it someday. However, after learning he had a terminal illness, he had given up on this. Now that he had returned from the hospital, he resumed the habit.
The sunlight had been brilliant and warm over the past few days. Rays of light filtered through the overlapping leaves of the kapok trees outside the window, casting dappled spots of light onto the pages of his book and his head. The warm glow contrasted sharply with his pale skin.
The hand holding the pen was slender, and the pen tip scratched faintly across the paper, making a soft, rustling sound.
Outside the scene, a staff member closed the door at the perfect moment, causing the wooden door to creak.
This was the signal that someone had entered the room, cueing the start of the next part and the dialogue.
The person sitting by the window seemed to sense something, turning his head slightly as if listening to someone speak. Then, he smiled and said, “I’m reading ‘The Mabbley Anthology’. The second chapter is quite interesting.”
Although it was the same face, his smile felt different from usual—not as dazzling, but instead, filled with a more subtle and tangible happiness, making him appear gentler.
He set the pen down and closed the open book, saying, “I noticed the buds on the trees downstairs. Now that winter is approaching, and with the heater constantly on in my room, maybe if we moved it here, it might survive.”
The young man’s voice was clear and crisp, his enunciation sharp and clean. His tone, matching his frail character, was slightly slower, flowing naturally, making anyone listening relax unconsciously.
The first long line was completed—surprisingly smooth and easy. When the assistant director called “cut,” there was an unmistakable smile in his voice.
Scenes with long lines are often hotspots for repeated takes, especially when the sentences are lengthy. Actors tend to trip over their words, lose focus, and it can take half a day to get a good shot.
He had prepared himself mentally for a long shoot, but to his surprise, the scene was completed quickly, saving a lot of time.
It looked like they’d be able to have lunch on time today—maybe even early.
Also, there was no need to arrange for dubbing anymore, which suddenly made things a lot easier.
With the fast progress, both the actors and the crew were in great spirits all morning. During a break, the assistant director was grinning as he reviewed the footage on the computer synced with the camera. The director, who had left earlier for something and had just returned, was also watching along.
Since there were already so many people gathered to watch, Chen Bai didn’t squeeze in. As soon as he stepped out from under the camera, a makeup artist pulled him aside for a touch-up. Afterward, he sat on a small stool in the corner, exhaled a sigh of relief, and used a thinner script to fan himself.
Filming looked easy, but it actually consumed a lot of energy.
Not long after, the director, who had been watching the footage, brought his own stool over and sat next to him. The first thing he asked was how Chen Bai managed to recite his lines so fluently.
It was a bit complicated, so Chen Bai gave a simplified explanation, “I’ve worked various jobs before, and through this and that, it ended up like this.”
Before coming here, he had worked as an event host and briefly as a game commentator. He had also helped out at a friend’s theater troupe. Over time, he developed a certain level of skill. It wasn’t anything exceptional, and reciting lines wasn’t exactly the same, but there was some overlap, and he managed to adapt. It seemed to work well enough.
He had experience, but the supporting actor didn’t. His work background couldn’t stand up to too much scrutiny, so he chose to be vague about it.
The director, thoroughly puzzled by his vague explanation, didn’t press the matter. He just nodded and said, “Ah, so that’s how it is.”
Then, he added, “The producer should really be giving out gold coins.”
The cost of the venue, staff, equipment, and materials—it all added up to tens of thousands a day for the production. Every minute was real money. An actor who could avoid mistakes, progress quickly, and didn’t need dubbing saved more money than their paycheck was worth.
The director didn’t stay long, as he had to check on other scenes. After a while, he picked up his stool and left.
Chen Bai continued sitting in the corner, studying his script.
The morning had been spent filming solo scenes, but from the afternoon onwards, he would be acting alongside other actors.
A social butterfly is always a social butterfly. By the end of the afternoon, the social genius had made a few more WeChat friends. While he had spent the morning sitting alone in the corner with his script, by the afternoon break, he was hanging out with a small group, chatting away.
In just one afternoon, Chen Bai not only caught up on all the gossip within the crew but also became well-versed in the rumors from the neighboring crew.
Being a truth-seeker, he immediately contacted his helpful neighbor who happened to be working in the adjacent crew to verify the rumors.
His neighbor, having just finished a scene and resting with a towel draped around his neck, raised an eyebrow when he saw the message pop up on his phone.
[I heard your screenwriter and director are dating?]
“…”
In the silence, his neighbor glanced at the assistant sitting in the break room.
Noticing the gaze, the assistant, who was holding a thermos cup, turned to look back.
——
Midway through their conversation, break time ended. Chen Bai sent off his message but didn’t get a reply before his scene came up, so he had to set his phone aside for now. He planned to check the message during the next break.
Later, when he checked again, his neighbor had replied, saying, [Yes].
He chuckled.
Someone next to him, hearing him laugh, turned and asked what was so funny.
Chen Bai quickly sent off another message and waved his hand, saying, “Nothing.”
He was genuinely happy when the gossip was confirmed, but when work ended, and it was past dinnertime, he was equally genuinely disappointed.
On his way home, he picked up two locksmith jobs. The money that was supposed to go into his pocket didn’t slip away, and this city gained one more happy person.
His helpful neighbor and dinner companion had work that evening, so he couldn’t join Chen Bai for dinner. With no one to eat with, and noticing that it was almost time for his livestream, Chen Bai had a simple meal of vegetables and rice before quickly starting his stream.
As it turns out, the adaptability of a super-worker is limitless. After just two days, Master Chen had fully adjusted to the rhythm of the production crew, balancing it with his various other jobs, and even managing to fit in some meals and conversations with his helpful neighbor.
The busiest time was at the beginning. Once his scenes caught up, he had much more free time. Some days, he only needed to spend half the day on set, and on weekends, he still worked his part-time restaurant job.
He had only been to that restaurant a couple of times, but someone there still remembered him and greeted him when he arrived.
That day, he was working the evening shift. The weather wasn’t great, and by dusk, the sky was already completely dark. Unlike before, when you could see distant buildings clearly, now the only visible thing outside the window was the endless city lights.
It looked like it was going to rain tonight.
As he played the piano, Chen Bai glanced outside a few times, hoping the rain wouldn’t start until after he got home.
When he finished work and was getting ready to leave, his colleague kindly reminded him to take an umbrella.
The reality was that, in his rush to leave the house that morning, Master Chen hadn’t brought an umbrella at all. Whether he’d get home dry was up to luck.
The good news was that it wasn’t raining when he reached the ground floor.
The bad news was that the moment he stepped out of the building, a torrential downpour hit.
This rain was heavier than the day he inherited 400 million in debt.
“…”
He had lost the bet.
Staring through the curtain of rain, Chen Bai briefly pondered his situation.
The convenience store was right next to him, and they sold umbrellas. Faced with the choice between buying an umbrella or getting drenched on the way to the subway station, he didn’t hesitate to save his money. The only thing he was thinking about was how to get to the subway as fast as possible.
His conclusion: there was no shortcut. So, he simply stepped into the rain.
“In any case, since I’m going to get soaked, the sooner I go, the sooner I can get home and stream for a bit.
Raindrops keep falling on his head and shoulders, sending a chill through him. Surrounded by a rushing crowd of people with umbrellas, Chen Bai found it hard to quicken his pace. He edged toward the side of the street, trying to walk where the umbrellas were less dense.
The subway station, which usually felt so close, now seemed impossibly far away.
Cars passed by continuously, their headlights cutting through the falling rain. One car slowly pulled over and stopped by the curb, its headlights flickering for a moment.
——
Huo Chuan had finished his business and was passing by this street.
‘I’m sorry, the number you dialed…’
The sound of rain outside was loud, but inside the car, it was quiet, with only the busy signal of the phone breaking the silence.
He couldn’t remember how many times he had called this number, nor how long it had been since the last time it connected.
All he could hear was the endless, mechanical voice of the operator. Sitting in the back seat, Huo Chuan closed his eyes in exhaustion, his hand resting over his heart.
The assistant glanced at the rearview mirror and asked the driver to pull over for a moment.
After a brief silence, the man in the back finally spoke, his voice hoarse, “Where is he?”
“He?” The assistant was momentarily confused, but then realized, “You mean Mr. Chen? Let me check.”
He pulled out his phone and quickly dialed a number. Just as he did, he glanced out the window and saw a faint light appear by the side of the road.
