Chapter 30
Late autumn in Xiangbei quickly slides towards early winter with a resolute attitude.
The crispness of the air turned into a chill that felt painful on the face. The mountains, once dotted with warm yellow and ochre, were now covered in vast expanses of iron-gray dead branches, stubbornly resisting the increasingly pale sky.
In contrast, the "royal city" under our feet is becoming increasingly complete.
Even as Liu Yifan battled his "invisible adversary," construction continued unabated. Several important side halls, government offices, and winding corridors, previously the main structure, were now complete. The craftsmen removed the last of the scaffolding, leaving only the meticulously aged, eroded structure.
The most striking sight is the towering rammed earth city wall, restored according to historical records, finally complete. Like a silent python, it firmly encircles the vast palace complex, the ancient market, and a small patch of woodland enclosed by a "garden." Atop the wall, the battlements, designed for military defense, are now neatly arranged, casting jagged shadows in the thin winter sunlight.
Even the "beacon tower", a key image in the story, now stands tall in the northwest corner of the city wall. Although the internal steps and details have not been fully completed, its majestic outline already has the symbolic power to transmit alarms and summon thousands of troops.
The entire royal city was more "complete" than ever before.
The last core building completed in the film studio was not a pavilion for banquets and entertainment, but the ancestral temple, which was located at the deepest part of the axis of the royal palace, with extremely high regulations and the most solemn atmosphere.
This massive building, meticulously restored according to Western Zhou Dynasty textual research, is elevated by a massive rammed earth base, requiring one to look up to see it. The palette is somber, dominated by the natural color of the wood, the ochre yellow of the rammed earth, and the dark brown of the thatched roof.
The most awe-inspiring thing is the extremely deep thatched roof with huge eaves that hang down as if the weight of the entire sky is condensed there, bringing a primitive and unquestionable majesty.
The temple's vast span makes the space seem unusually deep and spacious, yet dark. Light seeps in only through low window openings or the side gaps of the massive, open door, casting long, slanting beams of light on the polished "mud and straw" floor. Dust dances in these beams, illuminating the massive inscriptions carved on the ground, further accentuating the place's profound mystery and stagnant atmosphere.
At the deepest part, there is a rammed earth platform built on layers of steps, used for sacrifices and divination. On it are imitation bronze tripods and gui, which glow with a cold and hard dark green luster in the dim light, silently emitting a heavy atmosphere of rules and destiny spanning three thousand years.
The ancestral temple is the embodiment of rules, the highest symbol of ritual, and the ultimate source of dynastic bloodline and power. Here, personal emotions and will seem so insignificant and out of place.
Almost as soon as the ancestral temple was completed, Lin Na decided to film Bao Si's most important inner drama here.
"She's going to make her final, most resolute attempt at 'counter-gaze' here," Lin Na explained to Liu Yifan, her eyes gleaming with anticipation for the immense tension of this scene. "Here are the 'rules' themselves, the ultimate force that encompasses everything about her. The resistance erupting here has the power to destroy everything."
This physical perfection did not bring smoothness to the filming. Instead, it was like a silent mockery, reflecting the unprecedented obstacles that Liu Yifan encountered in his heart.
The camera focuses on the platform. There is no one there.
"Scene 132, seven takes at a time! Start!" The clapperboard sounded.
Liu Yifan (Bao Si) slowly raised her head and cast her gaze toward the suspended platform. The script required her eyes to initially display a hint of habitual, disciplined awe, but then this awe shattered like a crack in ice, replaced by a clear, cold, angry mockery and insight.
This was the first spiritual regicide between her and "King You of Zhou".
Lin Na held her breath behind the monitor.
Liu Yifan's performance is impeccable—in the first half. The weariness and numbness in her eyes, the result of being stared at for so long, are perfectly captured.
However, just when her emotions needed a change and that hint of "rebellion" was about to break out, her eyes... wandered.
That was not an actor's mistake, but more like a person who was gathering all his strength to punch and suddenly hit an invisible but absolutely solid wall. The force was violently bounced back, leaving only a helpless confusion.
Her gaze subconsciously avoided the "nothingness" at the center of the platform, drooping slightly until it landed on a crack in the earthen floor. Her entire body language also relaxed from a tension on the verge of exploding to a deep, powerless lethargy.
“Crack!”
Lin Na's voice came through the intercom, with a subtle hint of repression: "Yifan, you're not in the right mood. What I want is 'fight back', not 'give up'. The look in your eyes just now showed resignation."
Liu Yifan stood there, not responding immediately. She took a deep breath of the cold, earthy air, but her chest felt like it was filled with damp, heavy cotton wool.
"Sorry, Director Lin. Let's do it again." Her voice was a little dry.
"Game 132, seven shots, two times! Begin!"
………
"Ka! That's still wrong! What I want is 'hatred', the fire hidden beneath the ice! Not... not helplessness!"
"Game 132, seven shots, three times! Begin!"
………
"Crack! The emotions aren't there yet! Try again!"
………
Over and over again. Slight adjustments to the angle, changes in lighting, and even subtle changes to the rhythm of the lines.
Liu Yifan exhausted all her skills and mobilized all her experience. She could accurately reproduce the states of "submission," "alienation," and "nihilism" that she had achieved in previous takes, but when it came to the moment when she needed to unleash the power of "resistance," her performance seemed to be blocked by an invisible gate.
That gate did not come from technology, but from her heart.
She couldn't truly "hate" that "nothingness".
Because she knew very well that the prototype of the invisible thing she "saw" and fought against was Zhou Ping'an.
The man who had given her everything, who had used a royal city and unlimited resources to propel her to the pinnacle of her artistic career. The man who had seen through her true nature and created the ultimate stage for her. To rebel against him was emotionally bordering on ingratitude; in terms of willpower, it was like trying to stop a chariot with a mantis arm.
She can be indifferent, alienated, and even display a tragic sense of brokenness, because the essence of these emotions is "inward-looking" and consumes the self.
But "resistance" is "outward", it requires a clear goal and a force that can shake it. In this world completely constructed by Zhou Ping'an's will, this force has no way to generate.
Finally, after the 27th attempt, Lina shouted "Stop".
The entire set fell into an exhausted, awkward silence. Everyone could sense that something fundamental was stuck.
Lin Na stood up from behind the monitor. Without looking at Liu Yifan, she waved to the audience, "Take a half-hour break. Yifan, come here."
Liu Yifan stepped down from the stage, and her assistant immediately put a down jacket on her. She walked over to the monitor, and Lin Na showed her a few replays.
Every subtle expression on his face was magnified. Liu Yifan could clearly see the flicker of fear deep in his eyes at every critical juncture of his emotions. It wasn't fear of the character, but fear of "rebellion" against the imagined object.
Lin Na dragged the progress bar, pointing to a close-up frame. Her tone was calm but pointed: "Look here. Your emotions are already there, your muscles are tense, but just before you burst out, you shrank here." She lightly tapped Liu Yifan's pupils on the screen with the tip of her pen. "What are you afraid of?"
Liu Yifan looked at herself on the screen silently. She saw clearly that tiny but fatal retreat.
She opened her mouth, wanting to use professional terms like "I can't find the emotional fulcrum" to prevaricate, but in the end, she just sighed very lightly, her voice carrying a hint of fatigue and confusion that was difficult to conceal:
"Director Lin, I...I just can't seem to 'hate' her."
She raised her head, looked at the empty throne that seemed to hold a tremendous weight, and murmured:
"Facing 'him'...all my emotions, in the end, seemed to have turned into...powerlessness."
This sentence is not so much an analysis of the character as it is an honest confession of her true feelings at the moment.
Lin Na gave her a deep look and didn't press the issue. As a director, she knew too well that this bottleneck couldn't be solved with mere technique. It was rooted in the actor's deepest psychological reality.
"Rest first. Don't think about it. The more you think about it, the more you'll get stuck in a dead end." Lin Na patted her shoulder and spoke more slowly. "If this problem isn't solved, this scene won't be over. There's no rush."
Liu Yifan nodded, turned silently and walked towards the lounge.
Her back was straight, yet revealed a stiffness that came from being crushed by an invisible pressure.
She knew that she had encountered the biggest and strangest hurdle in her acting career.
This hurdle was not in the script, not in the director's requirements, or even in her own abilities.
It stands between her and the role she plays, and even more so between her and the man who is far away in Rongcheng but is everywhere.
The scenes in the ancestral temple were forced to be interrupted.
Lin Na called it a day, letting everyone take a breath. She didn't say anything more, simply patting Liu Yifan on the shoulder. Her eyes were complex, filled with concern, and also with the director's helplessness at seeing a key actor stuck in a bottleneck.
Liu Yifan did not return to the lounge. She dismissed her assistant and walked slowly up the newly built, empty and deserted city wall path alone.
The chill of late autumn's wind had already taken on a sharp edge, almost like a razor on her face, yet she barely felt it. Her mind replayed the dozens of scenes she had just experienced, each turning point of failure crystal clear. Her own eyes on the monitor, on the verge of bursting with hatred and resistance, always revealed a hint of unconcealable fear...
What is she afraid of?
She paused at the base of the towering beacon tower, gazing out at the increasingly grand yet suffocating "royal city" below. The palaces, government offices, streets, city walls... everything was growing and taking shape precisely according to that man's will.
Zhou Ping'an.
The name was like a cold wedge, driving into her thoughts.
She wasn't fighting against nothingness, she was fighting against him. The prototype of the object she "saw" as needing to be rebelled against and regicide was him.
Sadly, she found she couldn't truly "hate" him. That man, in an almost violent way, had pulled her out of the quagmire of commercial films, built a city for her that would drive any actor crazy, and given her the possibility of reaching the pinnacle of art.
Resisting him was emotionally close to a betrayal; in terms of willpower, it was more like a doomed joke, an ant fighting a giant ship. Therefore, at the most crucial moments of her performance, she would always subconsciously retreat, revealing the weakness of "powerlessness."
This is not a matter of skill, it is a matter of heart.
The cold wind made her eyes sore. She realized that if she could not mentally overcome the huge mountain called "Zhou Ping'an", she would never be able to complete Bao Si's final transformation.
She needed a hammer that would break the awe in her heart.
An almost crazy idea gradually took shape in the cold air.
She needed to see his "human" side. She needed to strip away the labels of "investor," "genius," and "creator," to penetrate his most vulnerable areas, to discover his fatigue, his trivialities, even his unbearableness. She needed to prove that he wasn't an omnipotent god, but an ordinary person who could get sleepy, feel awkward, and have flaws.
Only after completing this psychological "disenchantment" can she unimpededly regard "him" as a symbol that can be resisted and destroyed, rather than a benefactor worthy of awe.
The goal was clear: to invade Zhou Ping'an's private life, especially his home.
Method: Observe closely and collect “mortal” evidence.
Reason: For the sake of art, to break through the bottleneck of performance. This is a necessary "field investigation" and a targeted "life experience".
The thought sent a shivering current through her body, stiff with cold, a mixture of fear, excitement, and even a hint of anticipation.
She immediately turned around, walked down the city wall quickly, without even wrapping her down jacket tightly, and went straight to the director's studio.
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