Chapter Seven: The Old Master Will Always Be the Old Master
Without greeting anyone else from the crew, Guan Lan walked straight over to Li Shixin and personally helped him up.
“Sir, when I was watching the monitor earlier, I thought something was missing. This scene—thanks to your performance—the effect is so much better than before! I really have to thank you.”
It was the first time Li Shixin had acted so seriously; he still hadn’t fully emerged from the part. Faced with the praise, he simply nodded lightly and patted Guan Lan’s hand, which was holding his.
Seeing Li Shixin so composed, Guan Lan couldn’t help but be surprised.
That bearing—how could that possibly be someone’s first time acting?
“Sir, I heard from the extras’ manager this morning that this is your first time working as an extra?”
Li Shixin gave a brief “Yes, that’s right.”
“Then how did you manage to settle on such a character amidst the chaos? That’s remarkable! I’m not just flattering you because of your age—many trained actors with years of experience can’t necessarily deliver this level of expression.” Guan Lan wasn’t just being polite. He’d worked on sets for years, mostly as an assistant director, and had dealt with plenty of actors.
To be honest, if someone formally trained or highly experienced could do this, he wouldn’t be surprised.
If a young actor did it, he wouldn’t be surprised either—young minds are quick, after all.
But for an elderly man with no experience to improvise so well—it made him look at Li Shixin with new respect.
Li Shixin smiled faintly. “It’s true this is my first time as an extra, but back in my youth I spent a stint with a theater troupe, so I’ve had some exposure. But to tell you the truth, at my age, the body can’t compete with the young anymore, so I tend to spend more time thinking things through.”
Guan Lan genuinely admired those words.
He gazed deeply at Li Shixin, then turned to the extras preparing to change costumes for the next scene and called them over.
“All of you, come here!”
The group of extras, seeing the director’s gesture, quickly gathered around.
Once they’d assembled, Guan Lan helped Li Shixin up to the front and raised his voice. “What the old gentleman just said really struck me! Mr. Li here is sixty-five and has never acted on camera before. Yet this very gentleman, for a role that lasts barely a second on screen, took the trouble to think, to consider the historical background and the character’s inner life. In this regard, you young folks should learn from him!”
“Acting is not just about the outward form—it comes from within and shows itself on the outside! That’s the real skill, the soul of the craft! In the future, when you take a role, don’t be like lifeless props, going through the motions without a thought. Learn from Mr. Li; use your mind. Only in this way, especially for those of you without formal training or outstanding backgrounds, will you get your chance to stand out. Understand?”
Those words were worth their weight in gold.
Usually on a film set, who cares whether the extras are alive or dead? If you meet the requirements, you stay; if not, you’re out. Don’t expect the director to coach you or guide your performance.
Dream on.
Many of the extras there had been working bit parts for years without gaining any recognition. Day after day, working hard for two or three hundred yuan, their spirits worn down by the endless grind.
Hearing Guan Lan’s words, many felt a jolt inside.
Not that some deep insight had struck them, but rather—they remembered.
Remembered what?
They remembered why they had come to Rongdian in the first place!
It wasn’t just to earn three or four thousand yuan a month running around in bit parts—it was to act well, to make a name for themselves!
Now, looking at Li Shixin standing beside Guan Lan, their feelings were very different from the indifference of the morning.
This was a true master!
His first time on set! At his age, he still seized the chance to win the director’s recognition. Compared to him…
They felt ashamed!
No one knew who started it, but suddenly the crowd burst into applause like a rising tide.
Beep!
As the crowd erupted in cheers, something flashed in Li Shixin’s mind.
He’d just received a wave of [intense] acclaim!
Seven thousand two hundred seventy-seven.
Amid the applause, seeing his acclaim value soar, Li Shixin pressed his hands together and bowed slightly to Guan Lan and the extras.
It seemed coming to Rongdian really was the right choice.
After that little interlude, the extras dispersed.
According to the shooting schedule, there were only two scenes that morning.
The first scene was done; after a brief rest, the extras immediately went to change for the next one—a scene where the Eight-Nation Alliance, led by collaborators, looted the city’s treasures.
Because the first scene had required two extra takes, time was running tight.
Once everything was arranged, Guan Lan stood at the edge of the set, watching the extras, now energized, and nodded in satisfaction.
While there was still some time before shooting resumed, he patted Li Shixin’s arm and struck up a casual conversation. “By the way, Mr. Li, you just mentioned you’d acted in theater?”
“Yes, back when I was young, I spent a little over a year with the Red Flag Theater Troupe.”
Guan Lan’s hand, which had been resting on Li Shixin’s shoulder, trembled and jerked back as if shocked.
“Mr. Li, which Red Flag Theater Troupe? It wouldn’t be the one in the capital, would it?”
Li Shixin nodded calmly.
Guan Lan carefully looked Li Shixin over from head to toe, then took a big step back.
Right there in front of the crew, he bowed deeply, a full ninety degrees.
“Respected senior!”
“Stage crew! Where the hell are you? Get our senior a chair. No chairs? What’s wrong with your head? Isn’t my chair free? Bring it over!”
In the abrupt silence, Guan Lan hurriedly supported Li Shixin and raised his voice.
...
For the second scene, Guan Lan didn’t assign Li Shixin a role.
The scene was far too chaotic, and he was afraid the old man might get hurt.
Strictly speaking, since he had no part, Li Shixin could’ve wrapped up and waited for his pay that evening.
But Guan Lan made a point of asking him to wait by the sidelines.
At the edge of the set, as the extras for the next scene assembled, the stage manager standing next to Guan Lan was puzzled.
“Director Guan, where did this old gentleman come from? Why did you react like that? Is the Red Flag Theater Troupe really that special?”
Cigarette in his mouth, Guan Lan glanced at him. “You have no idea. The Red Flag Theater Troupe used to belong to the General Political Department’s Art Ensemble. Later, due to certain circumstances in special times, it was disbanded. The troupe’s gone, but many of its members survived the turmoil—these people carry real weight!”
“Director, can you tell us more?” Some of the others who had been eavesdropping couldn’t hold it in and moved closer.
Guan Lan glanced over at Li Shixin, who was sitting in the distance sipping tea, and lowered his voice.
“This gentleman said he acted with the Red Flag Theater Troupe in the sixties. Forget about his connections or who he might know from the troupe—just his credentials alone, let me put it this way: if the current president of the Central Academy of Drama were here and heard him mention this background, he’d have to call him ‘teacher.’ Do you get it?”
The junior crew members gasped.
My god...
Where did this ginseng root of an old man come from?
...
Sitting comfortably in his chair, sipping tea, Li Shixin was suddenly awarded over five hundred points of acclaim out of nowhere. He was a bit baffled.
Could it be that my tea-drinking posture is just that impressive?
As he was pondering this, Guan Lan hurried over.
“Respected senior, I just sent the footage from this morning’s scene to the director. He’s very satisfied and thinks your performance was outstanding—too good to waste on a single cut. After lunch, we’d like to add a scene for you opposite the third male lead. Please don’t remove your makeup just yet.”
“All right,” Li Shixin set down his teacup and grinned. “I’ll do as you ask.”