Chapter Eighty-seven: Teacher Li, It's a Wrap!

Inside the film set, the atmosphere was awkward as the two actors playing the second male lead began to quarrel. Li Shixin glanced at Fan Zhenqiang, who looked thoroughly displeased, but chose to ignore the commotion.

"Hey, big guy!" he shouted toward the man tidying up his things nearby.

Nearly a month had passed since they joined the crew, and the big fellow, Li Erga, who once loitered in the junkyard, had undergone a transformation. Back then, he looked like a man in his thirties or forties. But after a bath, a change into clean clothes, and acquiring a job he considered respectable, he was restored to the image of a young man in his twenties. His appearance was unremarkable, but his spirit was lively.

All these changes were thanks to Li Shixin. On set, his word carried more weight for Li Erga than even the director’s.

"Hey, old man, what’s up?" Li Erga called back.

"Did you bring what I asked for?"

"Yeah, I did!"

"Bring it over!"

"Alright!"

With Li Shixin’s summons, Li Erga grinned widely and dashed outside the set. In moments, he returned with a battered backpack. Before everyone’s eyes, he opened it, and immediately the whole crew wrinkled their noses.

Inside was a set of filthy clothes, so dirty their original color was lost, exuding a sour stench even in the dead of winter.

"Old man, I saved them for you for a month," Li Erga said, chuckling as he noticed everyone’s expressions.

Li Shixin wrinkled his nose. After learning his role would be a homeless second male lead, he had asked the big guy to keep his vagrant clothes for use as props. Unexpectedly, Li Erga took the request literally and hadn’t washed them at all.

The smell was overpowering.

Despite the assault on his senses, Li Shixin steadied himself and, without hesitation, stripped off his own coat. In front of everyone, he donned the authentic vagrant attire.

The pants were some kind of factory workwear, the thighs thickly smeared with grease—so much so they might stand upright if placed on the ground, and wearing them felt like putting on armor.

The jacket was an oversized women’s cotton coat, with black stuffing poking out from torn seams, and a broken zipper. Li Shixin threw it on, tied a shoelace around his waist, then beckoned to the makeup artist who was pinching her nose, "Come, do my makeup."

"Ah, yes, Mr. Li!" the young woman replied, forcing a smile. She fitted him with a half-length wig, stuck messy sideburns onto his face, applied black grease, and used warm water to mimic sweat stains across his cheeks.

Twenty minutes later, facing the mirror, Li Shixin grabbed the makeup artist’s gray paint, smeared it liberally on his hands and neck, scooped up some dirt from the ground, and rubbed it vigorously onto the wig. After dusting off the excess, he was transformed—not into a sixty-five-year-old man, but into a homeless soul whose age was indiscernible. On the street, people would turn away rather than look at him.

"Director, I’m ready," he said, scraping black mud under his fingernails before rising and walking over to Jiao Chendong.

Jiao Chendong, surveying the look he had designed, nodded deeply. Ignoring Fan Zhenqiang’s wide-eyed stare, he picked up the script. "This scene is the father of Qiao Hong, who’s been a fugitive for five years, passing a department store and seeing his daughter’s competition broadcast on the TV. He breaks down crying in the street. Just one line—are you alright with that?"

"No problem," Li Shixin replied.

This scene wasn’t in the original script; it was added by the screenwriter to set up the father’s later surrender—driven by his desire to see Qiao Hong one last time.

After some thought, Li Shixin stood and took his place.

The setting was a street in the Old Times Film Studio, with shops lining both sides, all styled after the 1970s and 1980s. Li Shixin stood in the center, watching the extras take their positions. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and prepared.

"Director," he called.

Jiao Chendong, already behind the monitor, sprang up. "What is it, old man?"

"Can we change the scene a bit?"

Change the scene?

Everyone in the crew froze.

"How do you want to change it?" Jiao Chendong asked.

Li Shixin pointed to the old Maple Leaf bus parked in the street, then to the TV in the department store window. "Let’s use those—turn the exterior into an interior shot. Set up two cameras: one outside the bus shooting inside, one inside shooting the TV in the window."

Jiao Chendong, though not famous, was talented. He instantly understood Li Shixin’s idea. Running the scene through his mind, he clapped his hands. "Let’s do it!"

With Jiao Chendong and Li Shixin directing together, the cameramen quickly fixed the two shots.

"Old man, ready?"

Li Shixin checked the setup, anticipated the camera angles, and nodded.

"Alright!" Jiao Chendong called the extras over, explained the scene, and announced the start.

"‘Against the Wind,’ Act Four, Scene Two, Take One—Action!"

As the script supervisor shouted, everything sprang into motion.

On Jiao Chendong’s monitor, the 1982 city street bustled with people. A hunchbacked vagrant shuffled through the crowd, seeming smaller than everyone else, someone all would avoid without a second glance, and climbed aboard the bus.

"Damn it! Here he comes again to mooch a ride!" the driver cursed, joined by the disgusted complaints of passengers offended by his smell. The vagrant, avoiding their eyes, trudged to the empty rear seats. He hesitated before the vacant spots, not daring to sit, instead leaning his full weight against the safety bar, staring listlessly at the floor amid the chorus of complaints.

Outside the bus window, in the department store’s display, a color TV—something only wealthy families could afford—broadcast a competition.

"Dear viewers, this is Central Television. We’re now broadcasting the women’s gymnastics event from the New Delhi Asian Games. Next up is our young gymnast, Qiao Hong," announced the commentator.

Inside the bus, the radio echoed almost in sync.

Hearing the name "Qiao Hong," the vagrant seemed struck by a hammer. He jerked his head up, fixated on the TV in the window.

At the sight of that figure—one he longed for day and night, now grown graceful with time—his gaze trembled, his mouth fell open.

On the screen, Qiao Hong wiped the chalk from her hands, lifted her chin with poise, and prepared for her routine.

Just as she was about to begin, the bus jolted and pulled away toward the next stop.

"No, no... let me off, I have to get off!" the vagrant stammered, rushing to the door like a madman. No one heard the dry, hoarse voice of a man who hadn’t spoken in years.

Throughout, his eyes remained glued to the TV in the window, as if fixed by glue.

He dashed toward the back of the bus.

"Qiao Hong’s routine is highly difficult. Let’s see if she can complete the next set..." the commentator’s voice continued.

But the TV in the window receded steadily with the moving bus.

Now, amid the angry stares of the passengers, the vagrant clambered to the rear window, pressing his face against the glass as if trying to push it through. His eyes, desperate not to miss what might be the most beautiful sight of his life, opened wide and never blinked.

The window, and the TV inside, drifted farther away.

As it faded to a distant speck, the commentator’s excited voice rang out: "She’s done it! Qiao Hong has successfully completed this highly difficult routine! Well done! This young gymnast from China’s team..."

"Fly... Xiao Hong, against the wind—fly!"

Inside the bus, the vagrant’s anguished cry erupted amid the murmurs and pointing fingers, a wail suffused with regret and pride.

...

"Good, that’s a wrap!"

Behind the monitor, Jiao Chendong wiped his eyes. After a long pause, he stood abruptly and led the applause.

He glanced at Fan Zhenqiang, whose face was flushed as he slipped away, and smiled. With the crew, he moved to greet Li Shixin as he stepped off the bus.

"Thank you, Mr. Li!"

"Thank you for your hard work, Mr. Li!"

Emerging from the intense emotions of the scene, Li Shixin smiled at each crew member who ran up to him, nodding in thanks. "Thank you, everyone. You all worked hard!"

Jiao Chendong approached and, ignoring the smell, hugged Li Shixin tightly. He patted his back, then stepped away and gave a deep bow.

"Thank you, old man!"

"Comrades, Mr. Li’s scenes are finished!"

Ding! Received a bonus of 24,612 points for ‘Reluctance’ from the applause.

Surrounded by clapping staff and extras, Li Shixin pressed his palms together and bowed repeatedly.

Outside the set, his loyal fans applauded with vigor.

In the crowd, Qiao Hong wiped her tears and smiled at Wu Ming, whose eyes were also moist. "I never saw what my father looked like when he was homeless. After he went to prison, he never mentioned it, only said that not a day went by when he didn’t think of me during his time on the run. Now, I think I finally know what he was like back then."