Chapter 404: The whole audience burst into laughter; only she knew how much he was in pain
The lights dimmed.
Only a single spotlight shone on the left side of the stage.
Jiang Ci turned around.
When he turned back, the “greedy” Chen San was gone.
His back hunched over.
This was the second act of the “play within a play”:
Chen San acting out the afternoon he was kicked out by the film crew.
Jiang Ci faced the empty air and suddenly bent at the waist.
“Director… I was wrong, I was wrong…”
He clasped his hands together, bowing repeatedly to the empty space, his face wearing a servile smile.
“I won’t ask for extra lines anymore, really, you can have me play a corpse… I won’t speak, I absolutely won’t speak…”
The elderly audience below didn’t understand what “miming” was.
They only saw a young man, nodding and bowing to empty air.
Suddenly.
Jiang Ci’s body jerked backward.
He staggered a few steps, nearly falling.
Immediately after, he raised a hand and wiped his face—wiping away nonexistent spit.
He used his sleeve to clean his face, then, still facing that nonexistent “Assistant Director,”
he maintained that stiff smile.
“Yes, yes, please calm down… I’ll get lost on my own, I’ll get lost on my own.”
He retreated step by step, still wearing that ingratiating expression until he moved out of the spotlight’s range.
In the darkness.
Jiang Ci’s face was etched with exhaustion.
The old woman below who had given him the steamed bun earlier secretly wiped away a tear.
The old man beside her puffed on his long-stemmed pipe, puff after puff.
They didn’t understand theater.
But they understood this posture of having to kneel just to survive.
Chen Yi sat in the shadows of the wings.
She was “Liu Piaopiao,” and she was also Chen Yi.
The camera focused on Chen Yi.
She stared at Jiang Ci’s sweat-soaked shirt.
And clenched her fists tightly.
Right at that moment.
“Bzzzt—”
A buzzing sound came from overhead.
It was an old-fashioned tungsten filament lamp, hanging from a beam that had fallen into disrepair.
For the sake of that so-called “historical patina,” Gu Zhiyuan had stubbornly refused to let anyone repair this dilapidated theater.
That lamp swayed twice.
Jiang Ci happened to be walking to the center of the stage.
According to the script, at this moment he should deliver the most heart-wrenching line of the entire play:
“Even a dog has a kennel, doesn’t it?”
He raised his head, his gaze desolate, just about to speak.
“Crreeeak—”
The sound of metal snapping.
Gu Zhiyuan was behind the monitor, frantically grabbing his hair, his eyes fanatically fixed on the screen.
Hearing the sound, he instinctively looked up, his expression drastically changing.
“Watch out—!!!”
The Assistant Director’s heart-rending shout hadn’t even fully left his throat.
The glass bulb, as large as a watermelon, along with half of the rusted lamp base, plummeted straight down.
Target: The crown of Jiang Ci’s head.
The audience below gasped in shock; the grandmother with her grandson covered the child’s eyes in fright.
Chen Yi stood up, wanting to rush onto the stage, but was held back by the distance.
Dodge?
Too late.
In that critical moment.
Jiang Ci’s body instinctively performed an extremely bizarre movement—
He leaped three feet straight up on the spot!
His entire body curled into a ball mid-air, his hands protecting his buttocks, using this to shield his vital areas.
“BANG—!!!”
The light bulb shattered at Jiang Ci’s feet.
Scalding hot glass shards flew in all directions.
Everyone thought it was over.
This wasn’t just a stage accident; this was going to be a fatal incident!
Gu Zhiyuan’s hands trembled; he didn’t even dare look at the monitor.
His mind was already racing, trying to figure out how to explain this to Lin Wan, how to explain it to Jiang Ci’s fans…
However.
His gaze swept back onto the stage.
That huddled figure in the center moved.
Jiang Ci was still holding that pose, hands protecting his buttocks.
Slowly, he raised his head.
On his face was an extremely exaggerated… ridiculous expression.
He extended a finger, trembling, pointing at the broken electrical wire still swaying overhead.
“Di… Director!”
Jiang Ci’s voice carried a sob, but he forcibly twisted it into a theatrical tone.
“This… this special effect is way too realistic?!”
As he spoke, he scooted backward with his buttocks stuck out, his movements eerily resembling a startled large macaque.
“Pfft—”
The little grandson below who had been scared stiff suddenly pointed at Jiang Ci and burst out laughing, “Grandma, look! That uncle looks like a monkey!”
That childish voice broke the silence of the scene.
Immediately after.
“HAHAHAHAHAHA!”
The elderly audience below erupted into uproarious laughter.
They thought this was part of the play.
They thought this was an “easter egg” specially arranged by the crew, the kind of slapstick performance you’d only see at a circus.
“This young man acts so well! That reaction was perfect!”
“You scared me to death, I thought he really got hit, turns out it was a special effect!”
“HAHAHAHA, look at his scaredy-cat look, so funny!”
Chen San retreated to the wings, but the filming continued.
The light dimmed.
In that moment, he slid down bit by bit along the rough red brick wall.
But he didn’t dare sit down completely.
Because Gu Zhiyuan had arrived.
This guy, to save money on hiring a featured actor, had personally stepped in to play the role of the stingy theater owner.
Gu Zhiyuan wore a dusty vest, an unlit cigarette butt dangling from his mouth,
and walked over with an impatient expression.
He held a crumpled green banknote in his hand.
Fifty yuan.
“Here.”
Gu Zhiyuan didn’t even look at him properly,
flicking his fingers, letting the note float down onto Jiang Ci’s knee.
“Not bad acting. That monkey jump was pretty nimble.”
Gu Zhiyuan, using his pure Beijing dialect,
delivered the word “stingy” to perfection:
“Be more careful next time. Don’t really smash the light. That bulb costs money too. I’d have to go scavenge at the flea market for another.”
Jiang Ci lowered his head.
Looking at the fifty-yuan note on his knee.
That was what Chen San had earned with his life on the line.
His hands trembled.
Uncontrollably.
But he still reached out and pinched the note.
“Heh…”
Jiang Ci raised his head.
“Boss, next time… could we maybe use a plastic bulb?”
He carefully tucked the money into his chest pocket.
“If it really hit… fifty yuan for the night wouldn’t be enough to cover the medical bills.”
Even at this point, Chen San was still using his life,
to please this world, to maintain that pitiful sense of humor.
Gu Zhiyuan looked at him, his gaze flickering slightly.
Within the play, he was stung by this servility.
He was just about to deliver his next line.
Suddenly.
A figure rushed over.
It was Chen Yi.
In the script, Liu Piaopiao had been standing in the shadows, staring intently at that scene.
Staring at Chen San’s still-trembling hands, at that servile smile on his face.
“Give it here!”
Chen Yi rushed in front of Jiang Ci and grabbed his wrist.
Her grip was astonishingly strong.
“What?” Jiang Ci was startled, instinctively protecting the money in his pocket. “Piaopiao, what are you doing? This is today’s food money…”
“Food money?!”
Chen Yi’s eyes were red, tears swirling in her eyes, but she stubbornly refused to let them fall.
She yanked the fifty-yuan note, still warm from his body heat, out of Jiang Ci’s pocket.
Looking at the flimsy banknote in her hand.
“This lousy play…”
Chen Yi breathed heavily, pointing at the still-swaying broken bulb,
pointing at Gu Zhiyuan, pointing at this dilapidated, broken-down world.
“We’re not doing this anymore!!”