Crossover Actors - Chapter 22

Qu Yanting pulled his arms away from the table, dusting off his sleeves. He lightly patted his forearm, getting his hands dirty in the process. Through these movements, he pretended not to have heard Lu Wen’s question.

 

Even though Lu Wen’s nerves were tougher than the pillars of the Forbidden City, he could tell Qu Yanting was avoiding him. He didn’t press further and walked to the grapevine, handing over a pack of facial cleansing wipes.

 

Qu Yanting accepted the wipes and pulled out one to clean his hands. Lu Wen sat down on another chair, his back resting against the chair, appearing tired and slumped.

 

The old chair was uncomfortable. Qu Yanting said, “There’s still one more scene. Why don’t you take a break?”

 

Lu Wen replied, “I’ve already rested.”

 

In fact, the physical exhaustion wasn’t much of a problem; it was the emotional emptiness. Lu Wen occasionally touched his face, still feeling as if tears were sliding down his cheeks despite finishing the shoot.

 

Qu Yanting understood this situation. When an actor fully immerses in their role, emotions can fluctuate dramatically, and it takes time to detach. Everyone experiences it differently.

 

When he was studying directing, he learned about the communication between directors and actors. In a sense, a director is like an actor’s psychologist, adjusting and intervening in their state before, during, and after filming.

 

He wasn’t sure if Lu Wen wanted to talk, so he threw out a question to test: “Ren Shu said this is your first serious crying scene?”

 

Lu Wen responded with a nasal tone, “Not just filming, but in my whole life, this is the first time I’ve cried like this.”

 

His expression didn’t seem like a lie. Qu Yanting said, “It means you’ve had a good life.”

 

Lu Wen admitted, “That’s why I was particularly lacking in confidence before the shoot, worried I wouldn’t perform well. Whether I get scolded doesn’t matter, mainly because everyone stayed up with me, and I felt embarrassed.”

 

“It’s gone smoothly now,” Qu Yanting praised, trying to lift Lu Wen’s spirits. “You did very well.”

 

Lu Wen couldn’t help but smile. “Director Ren even applauded.”

 

Qu Yanting chuckled and added, “You did very well, unexpectedly well.”

 

Lu Wen’s smile broadened, then gradually faded. He closed his mouth, staring at the layer of dust on the table, lost in thought.

 

After a while, he confessed, “Actually, I cheated.”

 

Qu Yanting was puzzled. “What?”

 

Lu Wen explained, “When talking about a deceased father, I thought of my mom.”

 

Qu Yanting remembered Lu Wen mentioning growing up in a single-parent family and realizing that Lu Wen’s mother had also passed away.

 

He didn’t probe further, perhaps out of empathy or personal discretion. Lu Wen felt much relieved by speaking out, entering a confessional state unconsciously. “My mom had a difficult labor with me. I’ve never seen her, only looked at her photo. Anyway… I just thought of her.”

 

“You didn’t cheat,” Qu Yanting said gently. “It’s your mom helping you.”

 

Lu Wen’s expression seemed to clear up, as if a knot in his heart had been untied, and he relaxed completely.

 

He hadn’t forgotten Qu Yanting sitting there alone. He circled back, wanting to know if Qu Yanting also had a knot in his heart.

 

“Were you in a bad mood just now?”

 

“No.”

 

“How can that be? You can tell me.”

 

“Why should I?”

 

“I told you.”

 

“You said it voluntarily.”

 

“Clearly, you induced me to speak.”

 

“I induce you to do other things. Why do you care?”

 

Lu Wen was not good with words and was soon at a loss. He intended to be a sympathetic listener or a confidant, but it seemed Qu Yanting didn’t need that.

 

He felt that no matter what emotions Qu Yanting had, he always displayed only a thin layer, with his true feelings buried deep. Lu Wen couldn’t probe and didn’t feel entitled to.

 

Feeling defeated, Lu Wen took back the wipes. “You’re not even returning them after use. I still need them.”

 

Although Qu Yanting hadn’t shared his feelings, he had successfully put his thoughts aside and began to tease Lu Wen. “Use them up, wipe a few more. But even now, no amount of hyaluronic acid will fix that.”

 

Lu Wen immediately took out his phone, opened the front camera, and saw his face under the harsh lighting. His entire face was swollen from crying, his eyes were even worse, with his double eyelids looking as wide as two strips of hand-cut noodles.

 

“Fu—ck!” Lu Wen exclaimed, standing up. “I’m more upset than Ye Shan right now!”

 

Qu Yanting had been joking, but didn’t expect Lu Wen to be so vain. Lu Wen hurriedly left, saying, “I need to apply a facial mask, so I’m leaving.”

 

“Is it really that bad?” Qu Yanting mumbled. “Actors should just perform well.”

 

Lu Wen screeched to a halt, turning to declare, “First and foremost, I am a handsome guy, and only then an actor.”

 

Qu Yanting was momentarily speechless. The entertainment industry is full of pretty faces, and every pretty face tries hard to prove they are qualified actors. Lu Wen, the lead actor, seemed to have some issues.

 

He said indifferently, “What’s the use of being handsome?”

 

Lu Wen scoffed and retorted, “What do you mean what’s the use? Some people just like handsome guys. Once they like you, they offer you roles and resources. It’s great.”

 

Qu Yanting understood the subtext and asked, “Have you encountered such people?”

 

Lu Wen thought to himself, You’re really pretending. He replied, “I have, right here in our crew.”

 

Qu Yanting was surprised internally. By the time he came back to his senses, Lu Wen had already run off. Qu Yanting remained under the grapevine, lost in thought, waiting to return when the next scene started.

 

Back in Room 302.

 

Tao Meifan had finished work, and the next scene was Lu Wen’s solo performance. On the night of the conflict between Ye Shan and his mother, in the middle of the night, Ye Shan dreams of his deceased father and wakes up from the dream.

 

Lu Wen changed into cotton shorts and a tank top, lying on the bed. The set had been complete for two months, and the sheets and covers hadn’t been washed. He felt uncomfortable, leaning against the headboard.

 

Ren Shu sat on the edge of the bed. “Xiao Lu, you’re too stiff.”

 

Lu Wen remained still. “Hmm.”

 

“‘Hmm’ my foot, move a bit,” Ren Shu said, lifting the blanket to reveal Lu Wen’s straight legs and adjusting his posture. “Is this how you usually sleep? Don’t you get cramps?”

 

Qu Yanting arrived at the door, pausing when he saw Ren Shu bending Lu Wen’s knees and bending his calves at a slight angle. He watched from the bedside and silently took his seat.

 

Ren Shu said, “Xiao Lu, lie down.”

 

Lu Wen slid into the bed, lying on his back to avoid rubbing the pillowcase against his face. The quilt was draped over his chest, leaving his shoulders and arms exposed to the air.

 

He asked, “Director, is my face still swollen?”

 

Ren Shu glanced at Lu Wen. His face was okay, but his eyes were still red and swollen, which wouldn’t look good in close-ups. He asked an assistant to bring an ice pack and placed it on Lu Wen’s eyelids for a while.

 

Lu Wen said, “Director, make me look handsome on camera, okay?”

 

“Easy,” Ren Shu replied. “If the performance is bad, I’ll be angry. If it’s good, I’ll be in a good mood. With looks like yours, it’s hard to make you look bad.”

 

The camera moved from the bedside, and the actor’s position had to be adjusted. Ren Shu grabbed Lu Wen’s bare shoulders, twisting and turning him to find the best angle.

 

Lu Wen was dizzy from all the turning and groaned.

 

Qu Yanting observed with cold eyes, holding a cold cup of tea. He frowned slightly, very lightly.

 

Once the angle was set and the stand-in was in place, Ren Shu returned to his seat and noticed Qu Yanting had come back. He asked, “Where did you go?”

 

“Just getting some fresh air,” Qu Yanting said, glancing at Ren Shu’s face and seeing his fatigue was not hiding his good mood. “What are you so happy about?”

 

Ren Shu answered, “What can make a director happy? A smooth shoot. Xiao Lu performed exceptionally well in the last scene. You saw that, right?”

 

Qu Yanting said, “I don’t know how this scene will turn out.”

 

“It should be fine,” Ren Shu said. “The audition scene is this scene.”

 

The room was dark, with the lighting set outside the window, casting a white light that resembled moonlight. The camera first focused on the top bunk, where Ye Xiaowu was sound asleep with one leg dangling off the edge.

 

Ye Shan lay on the bottom bunk, half of his upper body tilted, his left cheek against the pillow. His forehead was damp with sweat, his lips slightly parted as he panted, tossing and turning on the bed.

 

Suddenly, Ye Shan’s eyes snapped open, waking from the dream.

 

Perhaps influenced by Ye Mu’s words, he dreamt of his father who had been gone for ten years.

 

Ye Shan clutched the quilt tightly, staring at the bed board above for a long time. When he closed his eyes, the dream images overwhelmed him, and he could no longer sleep.

 

Wiping off his sweat, Ye Shan sat up, gently getting out of bed. He adjusted Ye Xiaowu’s leg and tucked him in properly.

 

He sat at the desk, turned on the lamp, and saw that it was 3:30 AM. The notebook was shredded and no longer needed for notes. He sat on the chair, staring blankly.

 

After a long while, as if summoning enough courage, Ye Shan bent down and opened the bottom drawer, retrieving a faded old envelope.

 

He carefully opened the envelope, pulling out an old photo and two movie tickets.

 

The tickets were yellowed and brittle with age, the printed text blurred. They were purchased by Ye Shan’s father before he passed away. The movie was called “Echoes of Heaven.”

 

Ye Shan looked at the tickets for a while, then set them aside and picked up the old photo of his father.

 

At this moment, the scene mirrored the audition segment. On the monitor, Lu Wen held the photo with both hands, leaning back in the chair. The camera moved in gradually from the side.

 

Ren Shu had mentioned to Qu Yanting that in this audition segment, 80% of the actors cried—some with tears streaming down their faces, others sobbing uncontrollably, and those who couldn’t cry showing grimaces.

 

His only comment at the time was: “In Ye Shan’s role, aren’t you worried about waking Ye Xiaowu?”

 

Qu Yanting watched the screen. In the close-up shot, Lu Wen sat on the chair, his back slightly hunched, his body and spirit relaxed. He stared at the photo, his face free of any visible pain. His brows, eyes, and the corners of his mouth all conveyed a serene calm in the soft moonlight.

 

As the long shot ended, Qu Yanting noticed that Lu Wen had not blinked the entire time.

 

After a long while, Lu Wen pressed his lips together, seeming to smile.

 

He rubbed the edge of the photo with his fingertips and then moved to the portrait. Just as he was about to touch his father’s face, he stopped, his fingertips trembling slightly, and finally withdrew his hand shyly.

 

Lu Wen placed the photo and movie tickets together, moving slowly as if reluctant to part with them. He carefully put them back in the drawer, facing the window. His unblinking eyes finally felt the sting of tears, which misted up and fell as two hot streams.

 

Qu Yanting felt a warmth on his arm—Ren Shu leaning closer, whispering, “Now do you understand why I chose him?”

 

Indeed, Qu Yanting had understood after the previous scene.

 

Ren Shu, suppressing his excitement, added, “If Xiao Lu continues on this trajectory and maintains this standard, he won’t have to worry about roles or resources in the future.”

 

Suddenly, Qu Yanting’s expression shifted slightly. “So sure?”

 

Ren Shu, caught up in his enthusiasm, boasted, “At least I appreciate him. I’m a director with a bit of fame, right?”

 

A brief silence.

 

“Ren Shu.”

 

“What?”

 

Qu Yanting asked hesitantly, “……Do you like handsome guys?”

 

Ren Shu replied, “Huh?”