Song Shi'an thought, Is it time for my scenes? He hurriedly said, "Sure, sure, I'll be right there."
After hanging up, he washed and got ready like a whirlwind, pulled on a T-shirt, and ran out.
He hopped on his little electric scooter and sped all the way to the film studio. When he reached the main entrance, he saw someone pacing back and forth, occasionally looking down at his phone, his steps visibly anxious.
Song Shi'an parked his scooter, thinking, He can't be waiting for me, can he? All this fuss for a cannon fodder like me?
He took off his helmet, put it away, and jogged over.
"Hello, hello. Sorry, have you been waiting long?"
The man looked up, his expression changing from anxiety to a different kind of stillness.
He stared at Song Shi'an for two seconds before remembering his task and hastily waving a hand. "No, not at all. Please come with me."
Song Shi'an walked inside beside him. The man stole several more glances at him out of the corner of his eye and finally understood why the director wanted to add scenes.
If someone like this didn't become famous, heaven would have no justice. Getting him to take a role in the future would probably be difficult.
Director Wang had just finished shooting a segment and was holding a script as he explained a scene to a newcomer. Looking up and spotting Song Shi'an, he promptly tucked the script under his arm.
"Shi'an, you're here. Come, come, come with me."
And just like that, Song Shi'an was ushered into the lounge.
Someone else was sitting inside: Lin Xiao, the screenwriter he had only met yesterday. An open laptop and a pile of reference materials were spread out in front of her.
Lin Xiao looked up, saw him, and raised a hand in greeting. Song Shi'an politely returned it with, "Hello, Screenwriter Lin."
Director Wang shut the door, rubbed his hands together, and sat down, getting straight to the point. "We asked you here today to talk about the role of Ying Qi."
Song Shi'an accepted the new script and flipped through a few pages. The sky came crashing down.
Originally, Ying Qi had only three scenes: standing around, following his master, and finally sacrificing himself to save him.
Now a dense mass of scenes had been added: interactions with the heir, exchanges of blows with the male lead, and even a solo tracking scene on a rainy night.
How was this a cannon-fodder guard? This was almost the fourth male lead.
He closed the script, trying to keep his voice from sounding quite so devastated. "Director Wang, isn't this a little inappropriate? I'm just a minor supporting character. Following the original storyline is fine."
Director Wang leaned back in his chair with earnest concern, looking like a homeroom teacher trying to persuade a top student who refused to apply to a prestigious high school. "You child, why won't you listen to advice? What actor doesn't want to climb higher these days? Giving you more scenes is an opportunity, too. You might shoot to fame overnight. Getting a lead-role script next isn't out of the question."
The little figure inside Song Shi'an was already biting a handkerchief, its eyes brimming with tears.
He wanted to play a lead, too. Yesterday, he had overheard the set crew chatting and learned that Xu Che earned 1.2 million per episode. He had been gnawing on a steamed bun nearby and had nearly choked to death on that mouthful.
1.2 million per episode. He couldn't earn that much delivering takeout for ten years, even if he ran his legs off.
The craving was real, but so was the system's ruthless punishment.
Playing one lead would deduct one cannon-fodder role. What year of the monkey would he have to wait until then? The time limit was eight years, and he only had eight years left to live!
He painfully pushed the script back, his stance a little firmer than before. "Thank you for thinking so highly of me, Director. I'm still a student, and I have school to attend later. Let's stick to the original plot."
Next, Director Zhang and Director Wang took turns working on him.
Director Zhang went from industry prospects to personal development, while Director Wang went from character arcs to audience expectations. They played off each other like a crosstalk duo.
Song Shi'an held fast to one line throughout: preserve the core of the character's original storyline.
Director Wang finally sighed, tossed the new script onto the table, and looked at him as though he were a piece of rotten wood beyond carving. "There's just no out-stubborning you young people. I only hope you don't regret this."
The little figure inside Song Shi'an had already bitten through the handkerchief. His precious money had flown away again.
Director Wang stood and looked Song Shi'an over. "Since you're here anyway, we happen to be filming the attempt on the prime minister's daughter's life today. Adding one scene for you isn't too much, is it? Ying Qi is sent to keep watch on the prime minister's residence and happens to run into someone trying to abduct the prime minister's daughter ahead of time. One fight scene, just a few moves. Can you do wirework?"
Song Shi'an's eyes lit up. A fight scene! That works! Who hadn't dreamed of being a great martial hero as a child?
He nodded, agreeing much more readily than he had pushed back the script earlier. "Sure, no problem."
Director Wang was finally satisfied and patted his shoulder. "Go learn your blocking from the martial arts choreographer first. We'll shoot this afternoon. You'll be paid at the featured actor rate today."
The moment Song Shi'an heard the words "featured actor," energy surged through his whole body.
He had looked up actors' pay grades last night. Extras earned a hundred a day, foreground extras two hundred, and featured actors started at two or three thousand a day.
Without another word, he followed a staff member to the training area.
The martial arts choreographer's surname was Zhao. He was a man in his forties with a buzz cut, reportedly a former member of the provincial martial arts team who had worked on film sets ever since retiring.
He looked Song Shi'an up and down, squeezed his arm, then patted his back, nodding in satisfaction. "Good foundation. Do you work out?"
Song Shi'an gave a vague sound of assent.
The original owner's body really did have a good foundation, with supple muscles and joints and sufficient core strength. Learning the moves took half the effort for twice the results.
Instructor Zhao first taught him a basic sequence of sword moves-an upward flick, a thrust, and a block-then added a spinning turn.
Song Shi'an practiced along three times and memorized every move. Instructor Zhao kept nodding as he watched from the side.
"You've got some talent, young man."
The praise left Song Shi'an a little giddy, and he practiced even harder.
From ten in the morning to one in the afternoon, a full three hours and more, he practiced that sequence over and over, who knew how many times.
He took two breaks along the way, drank half a bottle of water, then got back up to keep practicing.
Even when Instructor Zhao said he was ready, he insisted on another run to cement it.
He threw himself into practice with a ruthless, all-consuming fervor. All that remained in his head was three thousand yuan!
At first, he was a little apprehensive about wire practice.
The harness dug into his thighs and waist. When the crew lifted him off the ground, his stomach rose with him.
He wobbled on landing after his first flight and nearly lost his footing.
Luckily, his physical condition truly was excellent. His core could support him, and his balance was good, too. By the second attempt, he was steady, and by the third, he could already adjust his posture in midair.
Once the moves were added, the effect was completely different.
Wearing his own white T-shirt and jeans, with a pair of sneakers washed almost white still on his feet, he followed the sequence Instructor Zhao had taught him and leaped from the high platform. The sword tip dipped lightly, and he landed without a sound.
Then he dodged sideways, blocked with a reverse-handed stroke, and spun around, the hem of his shirt tracing a crisp arc through the air.
It was only a green-screen set, and he was wearing modern clothes that had nothing whatsoever to do with historical costume, yet the sight made it impossible to look away.
The young man's movements still held a little awkwardness, but that awkwardness was just right, like a blade that had not yet been fully sharpened: an edge without a dazzling glare.
Director Wang found a moment to come and watch. Originally, he had only intended to have him strike a few poses for close-ups and use a stunt double for the wide shots.
After watching, he stood at the edge of the set with his arms folded, silent for a long while.
"We don't need the stunt double. Let him do it himself," Director Wang said, turning to a crew member. Then he added, "Have Instructor Zhao run through the moves with him again. Make sure he doesn't get hurt."