The Northwest Film and Television Base is located in the western suburbs of Yinchuan, and locals call it Zhenbeibao.
Originally an earthen fortress used by the Ming and Qing dynasties, it was later abandoned. In the 1980s, a director took a liking to the two dilapidated earthen city towers and used them to film a movie. After that, film crews came to build sets one after another.
The current film and television base was expanded on the site of the original earthen fortress.
The rammed earth city walls, the wooden archways, and the stone-paved streets look rustic, but most of them are actually just sets.
The car was parked at the base entrance.
Cheng Che pushed open the car door, his feet stepping onto the dirt road, his shoes covered in a layer of dust.
He wasn't wearing a mask today.
In places like this, wearing a mask only makes you stand out.
Sure enough, after walking a few steps, several young girls turned around at the same time in front of the lamb skewer stall next to them.
The girl in the front with her ponytail was holding a half-eaten skewer in her hand, chewing, but her eyes were wide open.
She nudged her companion with her elbow, her voice low but barely concealing her excitement.
Is that Cheng Che?
"Which one? Let me see..." His companion tilted his head, then his hand trembled, almost dropping the phone. "Holy crap, it really is him!"
"Is he here to film a movie?"
"Keep your voice down! There are bodyguards with him."
"I'll just take a look; I'm not going up."
Cheng Che glanced in their direction and nodded slightly.
The girl with the ponytail immediately shrank back, unsure whether to hold the lamb skewer in her hand or not. Her face turned bright red, and she mumbled indistinctly, "He looked at me."
Her companion grabbed her arm, and the two of them jumped up and down a couple of times, snapping several photos with their phones.
Cheng Che ignored them, looked away, and led Qin Lie, Chen Wei, and Zhao Gang toward the film set.
I hadn't walked more than a few steps into the film set when suddenly there was a "smack" above my head.
He instinctively raised his hand, and colorful pieces of paper rained down from above, covering his shoulder.
Director Zhou stood in front, holding an empty fireworks tube in his hand, his eyes narrowed into slits as he smiled.
Zhao Yiming stood to his left, also holding one in his hand, grinning from ear to ear.
Actor Zhou stood on the right, holding up his phone to take pictures, his expression of watching the spectacle impossible to hide.
Ning Qing stood to Director Zhou's right, still clutching a half-finished firework tube in her hand.
When she saw Cheng Che's gaze sweep over her, she quickly withdrew her fingers and hid the firework tube behind her back.
The smile was still on her face, but she quickly pursed her lips, flattened the corners of her mouth, and raised her chin slightly, putting on a cool expression that said, "I didn't do anything."
But the tips of his ears were red, burning all the way from his earlobe to his auricle, which was especially noticeable under the Northwest China sun.
Congratulations to Cheng Che on winning the French Open!
Director Zhou shouted something and then led the applause.
Others joined in and started taking pictures.
Zhao Yiming shouted loudest from the side, " Teacher Cheng is awesome!"
Some people chanted " French Open Champion," while others whistled; it was a chaotic scene.
Several young female staff members stomped their feet excitedly, kicking up clouds of yellow dust.
Cheng Che reached out and brushed the confetti off his shoulder, then looked up, smiled, and raised his hand to everyone.
"Thank you everyone." He raised his voice slightly, clearly pleased. "Tonight's supper is on me, all-you-can-eat barbecue."
The shouts from below grew even louder.
Some people clapped, some stomped their feet, and a young man from the lighting crew shouted, " Teacher Cheng is so generous!" Those around him chimed in, "Are the lamb skewers all-you-can-eat?"
"Enough to fill you up!" Cheng Che replied, which drew another round of laughter from the audience.
Director Zhou walked over, patted him on the shoulder, and said with a smile still on his face, "Thank you for your hard work."
"It's not tiring at all," Cheng Che said with a smile, stretching his shoulders. "It's good for getting some exercise."
Director Zhou chuckled, then composed himself and switched to a working tone:
"The fight scene the day after tomorrow has already been designed by martial arts Old Chen. Go and learn the routines from him first. No rush, three days is enough. It's okay if you don't finish learning them all, you can catch up later."
Cheng Che nodded.
Director Zhou walked in front, with Cheng Che following beside him, as the two walked through the film set and into the base.
As they passed by the main hall's set, several staff members who were adjusting the lights turned around and followed Cheng Che for a while. One of them, who was holding a light stand, forgot to put it down and was only brought back to his senses when someone next to him tapped him on the shoulder.
Old Chen was already waiting in the bungalow.
He was in his fifties, lean, and dressed in a black training uniform with his back ramrod straight; he was clearly a trained martial artist.
He heard the door open, turned around, saw Cheng Che, and gave a very businesslike smile.
" Teacher Cheng." He walked over, extended his hand, and shook it firmly; his palm was dry and rough. "I've heard so much about you. I watched all your matches; you played beautifully."
"Thank you, Teacher Chen." Cheng Che returned the handshake. "I'll leave the rest to you."
"No trouble at all." Old Chen nodded and said with a smile, "Let's go over the routine first. You see, there's no need to rush to follow along."
He walked to the center of the field, steadied himself, and took a deep breath.
Then it started moving.
The movements are not flashy; the turns and slashes are all impatient. When slashing, the shoulders are pushed forward, and when finishing, the feet pause. The whole person is like an unsharpened knife.
After he finished, he stopped, his chest rising and falling slightly, his breathing a little heavier than before, and turned to look at Cheng Che.
"Did you see that clearly, Teacher Cheng?" he asked. "That's roughly the meaning. Please try, take your time."
Cheng Che walked to the center of the field and closed his eyes.
Old Chen stood to the side, his hands behind his back, his expression calm.
He has taught many celebrities, and most of them followed the "wait and see, and if it doesn't work, use a stunt double" approach.
He didn't have any particular expectations for Cheng Che. He's a top star, and his dedication to acting already surpasses many celebrities.
Cheng Che opened his eyes and began to move.
The [ Martial Arts Prodigy ] circulates within the body.
He had just gone through Old Chen's set of movements in his mind, and every turn and every point of force was as if it were engraved in his mind.
He opened his eyes.
When you start moving, the whole set of movements feels like it has been inside your body for a long time.
Turning, slashing, retreating, and defending—every step was precise and seamlessly connected. The slashes were accompanied by the sound of wind, and the feet gently ground themselves on the mat to stabilize the stance.
Old Chen's fingers, which were behind his back, stopped.
He opened his mouth, but no words came out.
He narrowed his eyes and stared at Cheng Che for two seconds, as if to confirm whether what he had just seen was real.
"One more time," he said, his voice a little more tense than before.
Cheng Che nodded and went through it again.
This time it was faster and more powerful than the first time, and the chopping motion created a whooshing sound.
When finishing the pose, the whole person remains stationary, without moving an inch.
Old Chen paused for a moment, then slowly lowered his hands from behind his back and let them hang at his sides.
" Teacher Cheng," he spoke, his tone completely different from before, "You really haven't practiced before?"
"No," Cheng Che said with a smile, "It's my first time."
Old Chen stared at him for several seconds, then shook his head, turned around, and walked towards the door.
Halfway there, he raised his hand and touched the back of his head, his shoulders swaying slightly, as if laughing at the things he had just been thinking.
He pushed open the door and went out. The director was sitting behind the monitor watching the playback, legs crossed, holding a walkie-talkie.
Hearing the door open, he turned his head slightly and casually asked, "So? Need a stand-in?"
He didn't seem to care much after asking, his gaze still fixed on the monitor.
He knows Cheng Che; he knew it when they were filming " The Youth Here." He knows Cheng Che is a serious person.
But martial arts routines and acting are two different things. It's good if you can learn the basics on the first try. You can slowly hone your skills over three days. If all else fails, you can use a stunt double, and the audience won't be able to tell.
Old Chen stood beside him, glanced down at him, and said with a slightly agitated tone, "No need."
The director's finger hovered over the button on the walkie-talkie. He looked up and asked, "Not needed?"
He tilted his head slightly, raising an eyebrow. "You learn pretty quickly?"
"Pretty fast, actually." Old Chen took a breath, then slowly exhaled, shook his head, a lingering smile on his lips. "This person is a martial arts prodigy. In all my years of teaching, I've never seen anyone learn so quickly."
He pointed in the direction of the bungalows, his voice carrying a somewhat unreal sense of emotion.
"He hit about 70-80% of the mark on his first try. On his second try, he was faster than me. If he had trained from a young age, he might have surpassed Jet Li by now."
The director's hand holding the walkie-talkie froze in mid-air, and he looked at Old Chen for two seconds.
Then he put the walkie-talkie down, leaned back in his chair, and chuckled.
"No wonder he's known as a genius."