Volume Two: Shadows of the Past Chapter Fifty-Eight: Come, Let’s Get Serious!

For Chen Jing, executing that move was naturally effortless. Moreover, in order not to appear too extraordinary to others, he had deliberately made it seem much more difficult than it actually was.

Bent low to the ground, Chen Jing did not immediately hear the sound of the “cut” call and was feeling somewhat puzzled when suddenly applause rang out. Startled, he looked up and around, realizing that the crew was applauding him. Soon, the entire set resounded with clapping.

“Director, you’re so cool!”

“Well done!”

“Didn't the stunt doubles say none of them could clear that jump? How did the director nail it in one go?”

“That’s easy—because the director’s awesome.”

“……”

Chen Jing looked at the crew’s enthusiastic praise and applause with a hint of helplessness. He didn’t know what to say, so he waved his hands to signal them to stop clapping, then joked with a smile, “Alright, alright, don’t think you can butter me up and leave early. We still have to finish shooting tonight’s scenes, no matter how late it gets.”

“Ah~!”

“No way, director!”

“……”

Immediately, the crew broke into a chorus of groans and exaggerated complaints.

Chen Jing ignored the theatrical outburst from the crew and felt particularly at ease in that moment. He sensed that he had finally truly integrated with the entire production team.

“How was it? Is the shot okay?” Chen Jing squeezed up beside Wang Shumin and asked as he looked at the playback on the monitor. Even though no one had called “cut” earlier, he was sure they had captured everything needed.

Wang Shumin stepped aside to give him room, then gave a thumbs-up with a smile: “Perfect.”

Chen Jing examined the footage carefully and, seeing nothing showing his face, felt there were no issues. He then turned to Wang Shumin with a grin and asked, “Wasn’t I handsome just now?”

Wang Shumin patted Chen Jing’s shoulder, openly admiring him: “Absolutely stunning. Honestly, Al Jing, I used to scoff at all those fangirls calling you handsome. I thought, you’re just a good singer, nothing more. But now I realize, you really are quite handsome.”

Chen Jing smirked: “That’s because you had poor eyesight before. Not to mention anything else, just my looks alone—calling me handsome isn’t an exaggeration, right?” He even flicked his hair narcissistically.

Wang Shumin rolled her eyes: “Tch! Such a narcissist! Give you a little attention and you’re all radiant.”

Meanwhile, in the actors’ rest area, Wang Zhou watched Chen Jing behind the camera with a complex expression. After a moment’s hesitation, he asked his junior fellow disciple, Liu Manqiang, “Who exactly is this Director Chen…?”

As the saying goes, outsiders watch the spectacle, insiders understand the subtleties. Perhaps the rest of the crew saw Chen Jing’s effortless leap and thought he was just cool or that their stunt doubles lacked skill. But was it really the stunt doubles’ fault? Those not in the stunt profession would never comprehend how difficult Chen Jing’s front flip over the soccer goal frame truly was.

Liu Manqiang understood what Senior Brother Wang Zhou wanted to ask but honestly, he didn’t fully understand Chen Jing either.

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Liu Manqiang, watching Chen Jing not far off, thought for a moment and said, “Chen Shao was… a soldier before, probably some kind of special forces.”

Liu Manqiang guessed this since Chen Jing never explicitly stated his military role but, based on his impression of Chen Jing, he felt he was definitely no ordinary soldier.

Hearing this, Wang Zhou’s eyes lit up: “So Chen Shao is special forces! No wonder he’s so formidable.” His tone was full of respect. In China, military personnel are held in the highest esteem.

Then Wang Zhou reproached his junior fellow disciple, “Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?”

Liu Manqiang smiled wryly; he had only just recalled this himself.

After this shot, the filming proceeded smoothly and the crew quickly completed the night’s shooting tasks.

Under Ma Jun’s watchful gaze, assassin A-Jie killed A-Le, then disappeared into the darkness, leaving Ma Jun to repent alone.

“Director, I feel there’s something illogical here. Since Ma Jun has a gun, and although A-Jie used A-Le’s body to block Ma Jun’s view, once Ma Jun realizes the assassin will definitely kill A-Le and then leave, why doesn’t Ma Jun take a chance and shoot? He wouldn’t just stand by and watch the assassin kill someone and walk away, right?” Liu Hao shared his thoughts as usual. He was beginning to find the movie somewhat interesting.

Chen Jing understood Liu Hao’s concern. In fact, when he watched “SPL” in his previous life, he had similar doubts, thinking Ma Jun’s refusal to shoot was unreasonable. But after personally experiencing numerous dangerous missions in this life, he finally understood why Ma Jun didn’t fire.

“It’s different. If he doesn’t shoot, A-Le might still survive. But if he shoots, A-Le will definitely die. That’s the truth! Unless the bullet could curve and take out assassin A-Jie’s head in one shot, the outcome is inevitable,” Chen Jing explained this time with a reasonable answer, no longer brushing Liu Hao off casually.

Liu Hao was momentarily stunned, then upon reflection, realized that made sense.

Having figured it out, Liu Hao didn’t feel embarrassed and admitted with a smile, “I didn’t think it through carefully enough; Director Chen’s perspective is much more thorough.”

Chen Jing laughed and shook his head, thinking Liu Hao was genuinely a good person.

After wrapping up at the end of the night, Chen Jing returned to his apartment past eleven. He quietly opened the door and saw Zhang Jingzhi still watching TV in the living room.

Zhang Jingzhi smiled at Chen Jing: “Al Jing, you’re back.”

“Jingzhi, you’re still up? Staying up late isn’t good for you; a woman’s worst enemy is losing sleep,” Chen Jing joked as he stepped inside.

Zhang Jingzhi rolled her eyes and retorted, “Hmph, I was born beautiful. Staying up late once or twice won’t hurt.”

Chen Jing chuckled at her slightly coy demeanor. Having lived “together” with Zhang Jingzhi for a while, their interactions had become quite harmonious, usually filled with light teasing.

“Did Molly go to sleep?”

“Yeah, just fell asleep not long ago.” Zhang Jingzhi hesitated then sighed. “Tonight, Molly didn’t want to go to bed. She insisted on waiting for you to come home, but later she kept dozing off and I had to persuade her to sleep.”

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Hearing this, Chen Jing paused while tidying up his clothes, then smiled wryly: “Once the movie wraps, I’ll take Molly out to play. I want to spend more quality time with her.”

Zhang Jingzhi beamed at this. Due to Molly’s own special circumstances, she usually wasn’t suited to going out freely, so she spent almost all her time inside the apartment.

Fortunately, Zhang Jingzhi was comforted by the fact that Molly didn’t like going out much anyway. She preferred to stay alone in her room quietly reading and studying. This made Zhang Jingzhi both relieved and deeply sympathetic toward Molly.

Although Molly was closest to Chen Jing, she never caused him trouble. Every time she saw Chen Jing leave, she would quietly wait at home for his return without any fuss. Zhang Jingzhi often felt compelled to “stand up for” Molly.

But Zhang Jingzhi also knew Chen Jing had been busy filming lately and couldn’t spend much time with Molly, so she didn’t say anything. However, seeing Molly nodding off while waiting for Chen Jing tonight prompted her to remind him gently.

Chen Jing naturally knew he had been neglecting Molly’s feelings lately and thought he must find time to accompany her properly. Yet, thinking of his situation, he felt somewhat helpless.

If only he could spend a lifetime with Molly.

Tonight, the “SPL” crew was about to film their most crucial climax scene: the alleyway battle between Ma Jun and assassin A-Jie. To Chen Jing, this was the most thrilling segment of the entire film, even more exciting than Ma Jun’s final showdown with the mastermind Wang Bao.

“Manqiang, since you know martial arts and I’ve trained before too, let’s just do a real fight for this scene instead of choreographed moves,” Chen Jing proposed. Seeking authenticity, he intended to emulate his previous life’s experience and engage in a genuine sparring session with Liu Manqiang for the shoot.

Everyone was surprised by Chen Jing’s suggestion. They knew that for action scenes, real fighting was actually unsuitable for filming because it lacked visual appeal.

Wang Zhou, being a martial arts actor, understood this well. He couldn’t help but say, “Director Chen, we should design the choreography first. Real fighting won’t meet the filming requirements.”

Chen Jing thought it over and nodded: “You’re right. How about this? We first film a real fight for the opening part. If the effect works, we’ll adapt as we go.”

“I agree, trying the real fight first sounds good,” Liu Manqiang said, understanding Chen Jing’s desire for realism.

Finally, Wang Zhou also agreed, curious to see what would happen if Chen Jing and Liu Manqiang really fought.

“Camera’s ready.”

“Shot ninety-seven, first take. Action!”

Ma Jun, carrying a briefcase, walked into the alley and came face to face with the assassin who had killed A-Le earlier.

The two stared silently at one another, saying nothing. Suddenly, Ma Jun threw the briefcase aside, drew his baton, and charged forward. The assassin flicked his dagger and rushed toward Ma Jun. The fight was about to erupt.

(This chapter ends here.)