Chapter Nine: I Beg You, Please Stop Fighting!

Chapter Nine: Please, I Beg You, Stop Fighting!

Though he arrived late and left the entire crew waiting in the autumn wind for more than three hours, Liu Xin showed no sign of urgency. He sat comfortably in the spacious nanny van, scrolling through his phone while the makeup artist worked on his face.

Earlier, while Liu Xin was still absent, Li Shixin had already finished getting his makeup done. With his face full of bruises and bloodstains, he had been waiting for a while, so there was nothing more to prepare. He fetched some hot water and, together with a stagehand who had nothing to do until the shoot resumed, exchanged idle chatter.

Li Shixin was actually quite curious about how the makeup artists managed to create the traditional queue hairstyle for a Qing dynasty drama while the actors kept their long hair.

But with so many people bustling around the nanny van, and his own body aching after a full day’s work, he decided not to squeeze in with the rest.

After another half hour, a shout of “All done!” erupted from the direction of the nanny van. Only then did Guan Lan, wearing a stormy expression, call the crew to action.

By this time, night had fully descended.

“Sir, we’ll have to shoot this scene as a night sequence. Once we’re done, I’ll send a car to take you home.” Seeing Li Shixin amble slowly onto the set, Guan Lan forced a smile.

Li Shixin chuckled and nodded. “It’s no trouble. I’m just an old man—whether I go back early or late, it’s the same to me.”

Guan Lan felt a wave of relief at his easygoing attitude. Damn it, if only all actors were like this, being a director would be a breeze!

“Director, are we ready to start?” At that moment, Liu Xin, now fully made up, walked over.

Li Shixin took one look at the young man’s getup and was quietly amused.

He had to admit, the costume and makeup team were true professionals! There was a way around not shaving heads after all. Liu Xin had a long braid hanging down the back of his head, and over his unshaven hairline, he wore a jade-green brocade six-panel cap. The look perfectly captured the image of a young nobleman and cleverly hid the long hair beneath the hat.

While marveling at the ingenuity, Li Shixin listened as Guan Lan ran through the scene with him and Liu Xin one more time, then asked, “Any questions?”

As he said this, Guan Lan’s gaze drifted straight to Liu Xin.

Liu Xin nodded.

Only then did Guan Lan wave to the rest of the crew, signaling everyone to their places.

At the stagehand’s direction, Li Shixin lay down in the set, getting into position. Liu Xin crouched beside him, cradling Li Shixin’s upper body in his arms.

“‘The Last Days of the Forbidden City,’ Scene Five, Act One. Action!”

As soon as the call was made, Li Shixin slipped into character. Playing a dying old man—this would be a challenge for most actors, requiring careful observation and skill. But for him? He’d just walked out of the hospital!

From Guan Lan’s monitor, Li Shixin’s whole body seemed to collapse in an instant. His previously calm and clear gaze clouded over in a heartbeat.

Even though Guan Lan had been awed by Li Shixin’s performance earlier that day, witnessing this transformation again made him suck in a breath.

As Li Shixin went limp, the full weight of his body pressed down on Liu Xin’s arms, nearly causing the younger man to lose his grip.

Then, Li Shixin spoke his line.

He reached out with a hand, dusty and bloodstained, as frail as a dry twig, and tugged at Sa Qi’a’s robe. With a guttural sound, he spat to the side.

“The living are mere passersby; the dead are those returning home. Young man, there’s no need for such grief.”

According to the script, Liu Xin should now respond with sorrow, delivering his line.

But seeing Li Shixin looking so utterly spent, as if he might breathe his last at any moment, Liu Xin was momentarily stunned.

“Say your line! Say your line!” Guan Lan, seeing the hard-won atmosphere about to dissipate, called out.

Snapped out of his daze by the prompt, Liu Xin finally responded. However, his face remained expressionless, conveying the character’s turmoil only with a furrowed brow. Then he spoke.

“One, two, three, four, five, six!”

At that, the set fell into a deathly silence.

Only the crows cawing in the distant woods broke the quiet.

What the hell?!

Lying in Liu Xin’s arms, having just sunk into his role, Li Shixin was yanked right back out of character.

It’s just five lines, kid! It’s not some long monologue—just two sentences. You really need to count them out loud?

Li Shixin waited, expecting the director to call “cut.”

But after a full second of silence, no instruction came.

Now he understood. No wonder Guan Lan had asked him to help lead this blockhead’s emotions—so this was how the young master usually performed!

Never bothered to memorize his lines!

“Sir, say your line, say your line!” Guan Lan’s voice, tinged with helplessness, came from off to the side.

Say the line?

Li Shixin, simmering with indignation, let out a cold laugh in his heart.

Fine. You want lines? You’ll get lines!

“Ah bo ts de... e fo ge zhi, chi shi ang eng yi wu yu...”

The moment he finished, the set plunged into silence once more.

Only the frogs croaking in the stream nearby dared make a sound.

Liu Xin stared wide-eyed at Li Shixin, utterly incredulous.

On the other side, Guan Lan was already squatting on the ground, face buried in his hands.

Still, no one called “cut.”

No cut meant the scene had to continue.

Sensing the sardonic glint in Li Shixin’s eyes, Liu Xin flared up. “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven! Eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve! Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen!”

Li Shixin immediately followed suit: “A, B, C, D, E, F, G! H, I, G, K, L, M, N! O, P, Q, A, S, T, U, V, W, X! Y, Z...”

Clatter.

Watching the old and the young locked in this absurd duel, the stagehand’s clapperboard slipped from his hands and fell to the ground.

“Cut...” Realizing the situation was spiraling out of control, Guan Lan finally took his hands from his face, teary-eyed as he stood.

“I beg you... please, stop fighting!”

...

“Director, I can’t shoot this scene. What kind of actors did you hire?” Having been battered by a barrage of pinyin and English letters, Liu Xin lost his temper. He set Li Shixin down and exploded.

Guan Lan hurried over.

If it were just Liu Xin himself, Guan Lan wouldn’t care so much. But the patron behind Liu Xin was one of the investors in “The Last Days of the Forbidden City.”

Guan Lan knew full well that Liu Xin wasn’t exactly a great actor. But as a popular rising star, he was not someone an assistant director could afford to offend.

After a moment’s consideration, Guan Lan stomped over to Li Shixin, who had just stood up and was brushing the dirt off his clothes.

With a pained expression, he said, “Sir, didn’t we agree you’d help guide his emotions a bit? So why were you the first to get upset? You know Liu Xin’s career is booming right now, and he’s got a lot of commitments. On set, he never memorizes his lines—they’re always dubbed later. Please, be accommodating...”

Li Shixin waved off the grass and dried leaves stuck to him and raised an eyebrow. “Director, you’re blaming the wrong man. How could I be the one losing my temper? So many lines, and a guy in his twenties can’t remember them. I’m sixty-five—how could I possibly memorize them all?”

“Can’t remember? Well, that’s just old age for you—nothing I can do!”

With a shrug, Li Shixin took the thermos from the stagehand and sat down in a folding chair with deliberate leisure. He glanced at Liu Xin, whose face was now a thundercloud, and crossed his legs.

A prop assistant, struggling to stifle his laughter, draped a military overcoat over Li Shixin’s shoulders.

Beep!

Cheer value received: 7,555 points!

Hearing the system notification ring out in his mind, Li Shixin smiled to himself.

It seemed the crew had suffered under tyranny for far too long.

All right, then. Today, I’ll give you all a bit of justice—let’s cure this plague of actors who never bother to learn their lines!