Chapter 50 Maintaining Distance
Behind the monitor, there was complete silence.
No words were needed to prove anything; everyone was captivated by the performance.
The tense atmosphere on the field only eased when Ling Wei shouted "Cut!"
Zhang Tao approached Ling Wei, pointed to the two people in the center of the arena, and exclaimed in surprise, "Where did you find these two treasures?!"
Ling Wei didn't even look up, focusing intently on the monitor replaying the footage from earlier: "Oh, one was free-range at the university, and the other was a wild one caught in Hengdian."
Zhang Tao: "..."
Shen Yicheng, standing to the side, could not hide his amazement and murmured, "The younger generation is truly formidable..."
An Yao, surprisingly, remained silent. She pursed her lips, pulled out her script, and started drawing circles on it with a pen.
The two juniors' stunning performances caused Shen Yicheng and An Yao to exchange a glance, both seeing the same emotion in each other's eyes: the excitement of being challenged, and the competitive spirit of not wanting to lose face in front of the younger generation.
What a joke! They're veterans who've been in the industry for years. They thought coming to the short drama would be a game-changer. If they get overshadowed, what will become of their careers?!
In the subsequent filming, Shen Yicheng and An Yao were clearly giving it their all.
Shen Yicheng plays the role of the father, Lin Jianguo. When facing his biological daughter, Xiang Wanxing, who has returned to his ancestral home, his eyes are filled with just the right amount of tears, and every movement shows his fatherly love.
But the moment he turned around, the smile that hadn't reached his eyes quickly cooled, leaving only the shrewd calculation of a businessman weighing value.
He portrayed this sense of inner conflict and contradiction in a way that sent chills down one's spine.
An Yao truly lives up to her reputation as a specialist in villainous roles. Dressed in an exquisite cheongsam, she leaned lazily against the sofa, her nail-painted fingers gently toying with a teacup, every glance of hers carrying a hook-like probing.
The entire film set seemed to have been injected with adrenaline.
The actors' seamless interaction and precise, layered emotional delivery filled every frame with dramatic tension.
Even the cameramen and lighting crew were on high alert, afraid of missing the sparks of inspiration that the actors were generating.
As Ling Wei watched the far more exciting scene on the monitor than she had expected, she could no longer hide the smile on her lips.
She deliberately placed the scene of the real and fake heiresses in the first scene of filming, just for that effect, to make sure everything was rolled up!
In the following days, Ling Wei showcased her professional training and the keen insight honed through variety shows to the fullest.
In a scene depicting a look in the eyes, filmed over the shoulder, she only glanced at the monitor before accurately pointing out: "The lighting is too strong, it erases all the hesitation in her eyes. Use a softbox with side backlighting from camera A, I want the outline of her right eye to remain in shadow, that's what makes that struggle feel real."
In a standoff in the corridor, she walked around the set and casually adjusted the position of the potted plants by the wall: "Let the shadow of this Monstera deliciosa fall diagonally on the wall, visually dividing the space. Without any dialogue, the sense of oppression will come out."
The entire crew could sense that this young director seemed to have a storyboard in his head, with each instruction clear, specific, and hitting the core of the matter.
Unlike some directors who simply say "it doesn't feel right," she can accurately pinpoint "what's wrong" and "how to make it right."
Xiang Wanxing, who had only played simple scenes before, had never experienced such precise guidance and simply assumed that this was how the director should act.
Qi Mo, who had only worked on a rough-and-ready film crew, didn't feel anything was wrong.
Those who truly know their stuff are seasoned veterans like Shen Yicheng and An Yao.
They knew all too well how rare a director was on set—one who didn't rely on actors and cameramen and whose every word hit the nail on the head.
Ling Wei's meticulousness has also extended to the actors.
She made a point of taking a moment to pull An Yao aside, and the two of them snuggled up on the lounge chairs, whispering to each other about the script.
Ling Wei pointed to a scene, her eyes shining: "Sister Yao, what if we changed this scene where she humiliates the real heiress? Let's not just let her throw a tantrum, let's add some layers to her performance."
She was actually putting on an act for her husband, Lin Jianguo, who was hiding in the shadows. Her viciousness was deliberately exaggerated.
If I could, I'd like to help you pry open a crack in this stereotypical shell.
As An Yao listened, her eyes grew brighter and brighter. She frantically marked up the script with her pen, nodding repeatedly: "This idea is great! This way, the character is immediately established!"
She suddenly remembered something, paused, and looked at Ling Wei with some concern: "But... will the screenwriter agree to us making these changes?"
Ling Wei glanced down at the unrestrained pen name on the script cover—Midnight Howler—her tone firm yet tinged with amusement.
"Don't worry, I've spoken with this 'Howling Girl.' Aside from the core theme of 'girls helping girls' in her story, which can't be changed, all other details, in her own words, can be made up however you like! The most important thing is to bring the characters to life."
She recalled that when she first contacted the screenwriter, she heard the sound of boarding a plane on the other end of the phone, and the other person excitedly shouted that the script had finally been sold.
A few hours later, the location on WeChat Moments was already set to Alashan, indicating that they had gone to see the snow.
Since the screenwriter himself has disappeared, Ling Wei will gladly accept the right to make changes.
As a result, An Yao's character became more complex and nuanced.
She is no longer a stereotypical villain, but a pitiful person struggling between extravagance and despair.
In a corner where no one is watching, her eyes will suddenly become empty, revealing the anxious heart beneath her gorgeous robes.
Filming is progressing smoothly, and the pace on set is becoming increasingly fluid.
That day, Ling Wei was watching the replay with An Yao, pointing her finger at the screen: "Sister Yao, when the words 'wild girl' come out here, lower your chin three degrees. Don't just look disdainful, but show a bit of 'I'm afraid you'll take everything from me' in a show of bravado."
An Yao stared at the screen, her eyes lit up, and she instantly understood.
Seeing that she understood, Ling Wei turned around decisively: "OK, one more take!"
She was intently watching the monitor when a furry head quietly crept up to her ear.
Ling Wei didn't even give him a proper look before she raised her hand and precisely pushed his head away from a safe distance.
She reasonably suspected that this guy was trying to create a topic to attract attention from netizens (cyberbullying) in order to get revenge for her previous trickery.
Lu Zhao, who had been pushed away, touched his nose and realized that something was wrong. He straightened up, trying to remain calm.
During the actors' break, he casually greeted everyone formally, giving a high-sounding reason: his schedule had been tight before, but now he had to take some time to come and cheer on his old friends from "The Pursuit Order." As he spoke, he instructed his assistant to bring in a lot of food and drinks.
As everyone chatted and laughed, they headed towards the food truck to replenish their energy. Ling Wei, however, didn't stay idle. She took the opportunity to sit back down in front of the monitor, preparing to carefully review the footage from earlier.
She stared intently at the screen, subconsciously reaching for the thermos next to her.
The moment her fingertips touched the cup, a hand with distinct knuckles picked it up first, deftly unscrewed it, and then knelt down to hand the cup to her.
Ling Wei took it without hesitation, her eyes still glued to the screen. She took a small sip to moisten her throat, and at the same time lowered her voice, issuing a warning tinged with annoyance:
"Didn't we say we should keep our distance in public places..."
As she spoke, she casually glanced up, intending to glare at the incorrigible guy, but the words suddenly caught in her throat.
The man squatting in front of her tilted his head slightly, wearing a pair of gold-rimmed glasses on his nose. His short hair was neatly trimmed, with the ends forming natural textures on his forehead.
The glasses made him look less sharp and more composed and sophisticated compared to his college days.
He wore a light gray-blue cotton shirt of excellent quality, with the top two buttons casually undone, and even in a squatting posture, his calm demeanor was undeniable.
It's not Lu Zhao.
"Director Ling," Lu Yan's voice was gentle yet clear, "who should you keep your distance from?"
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