Chapter 408: Two Top-Tier Stars Squatting to Eat Boxed Lunches, Calling Themselves Experts!
The atmosphere at that abandoned old theater on the outskirts of the capital was bizarre to the extreme today.
Old Zhang, the set assistant, who usually dared to direct traffic on the film set wearing just his boxers,
had today dug out the suit he wore at his wedding, his hair slicked back with oil until it shone.
And it wasn’t just him; the entire film crew had undergone a “spiritual civilization construction.”
Even that guard dog who usually only knew how to bark ferociously
had been fitted with a pink bowtie, lying at the entrance with a look of utter despair.
The reason was none other.
That man was joining the crew today.
Gu Huai.
The Sea-Calming Needle of the Chinese film industry, the Triple Crown Film Emperor Grand Slam winner, the walking box office harvesting machine.
More importantly, this guy was now the only “Daddy Gold Sponsor” for this shabby movie.
“He’s here, he’s here!”
The junior set assistant on lookout duty ran in: “Teacher Gu’s car has arrived!”
Whoosh—
The entire place stood up.
Gu Zhiyuan nervously rubbed his hands together.
Everyone’s gaze was fixed on the main entrance, their minds rehearsing countless scenes of luxury cars making an entrance.
“Screech—”
A sharp braking sound.
An ordinary bus stopped at the theater entrance.
The words “Capital Film and Television Base Commuter Shuttle” were printed on its side.
The door opened, and a crowd of background actors wearing all sorts of costumes jostled and squeezed their way down.
“Don’t push, don’t push! You’re stepping on my foot!”
“Hey, old man, your red-tasseled spear is poking me in the kidney!”
Amidst this chaotic, down-to-earth hustle and bustle,
a tall figure wearing a grey hoodie and a black mask, mixed in with the crowd,
carrying an extremely ordinary canvas bag, stepped off the bus.
The man took off his mask, revealing a face often seen on giant billboard posters.
“Tea… Teacher Gu?”
The walkie-talkie in Old Zhang’s hand clattered to the ground.
Gu Huai turned his head, nodded in Old Zhang’s direction, his voice gentle and smooth:
“Hitched a ride on the shuttle bus over. Am I late?”
The entire crew: ”…”
Gu Zhiyuan snapped back to reality and scurried over: “No, no, no! That… the RV is ready for you, would you like to go rest for a bit first?”
“No need.”
Gu Huai waved his hand, his gaze sweeping over the line of people queuing for food not far away.
Steam was rising from that stainless steel soup bucket.
“Just hungry, actually.” Gu Huai casually handed his canvas bag to Zhou Lan behind him
and walked straight towards that long line. “Since I’ve joined the crew, let’s not make exceptions. I’ll queue up too.”
The ladle-wielding auntie looked at Gu Huai standing before her, the iron ladle in her hand shaking as if she had Parkinson’s.
“Gu… Gu…” The auntie stammered for a long time, not daring to dump that scoop of food.
Gu Huai’s eyebrow twitched almost imperceptibly, but he quickly regained his composure.
“Big sister.” Gu Huai flashed a smile that could kill without compensation,
pointing at that piece of the fattiest meat: “That one looks pretty tasty. Give me a scoop.”
The auntie felt her heart was about to stop.
Her hand shook, and that scoop of meat, with its broth, landed with a clang in Gu Huai’s stainless steel meal tray,
the splattering oil droplets nearly hitting his face.
Gu Huai picked up his tray and turned around.
He looked around, searching for a place to sit.
“Brother Huai! Over here!”
A punchable voice called from the direction of the curb.
Jiang Ci.
This guy was currently completely possessed by “Chen San.”
Wearing that stretched-collar, ragged shirt, his pant legs rolled up to his knees,
he squatted shamelessly on the roadside curb.
Holding his boxed lunch, he waved disposable chopsticks at Gu Huai.
“There’s a spot here, excellent view.”
Jiang Ci pointed his chopsticks at the nearby trash can: “Sitting here, you can watch stray cats rummaging through the garbage. Great for digestion.”
Under everyone’s horrified gazes, Gu Huai walked over with his tray.
He looked down at the dust-covered concrete step,
then at Jiang Ci squatting perfectly standard beside it.
His innate fastidiousness and upbringing made his body stiffen for a second.
“What? Think it’s dirty?”
Jiang Ci chewed on a piece of braised pork, mumbling indistinctly:
“Squatting while eating is tastier. It’s called ‘being down-to-earth.’”
Gu Huai didn’t speak.
He bent over, bent his knees.
Not caring whether his custom-made, tens-of-thousands-worth sweatpants would get worn, he plopped down into a squat.
To keep his balance, he even had to awkwardly tuck in his long legs.
Two top-tier stars of the Chinese film industry, squatting in a row like two migrant workers.
“Eat.” Jiang Ci nudged him with his elbow. “This braised pork is a bit greasy, but it’s hot.”
Gu Huai picked up that quivering piece of fatty meat.
This kind of thing, on his dietary management list, belonged to the “highly toxic” category.
He closed his eyes and stuffed the meat into his mouth.
Chewed.
The greasiness exploded in his mouth, assaulting his taste buds.
Gu Huai’s Adam’s apple bobbed with difficulty as he forced it down.
“How is it?” Jiang Ci wore a mischievous grin.
Gu Huai opened his eyes, exhaled,
and gave an extremely precise evaluation: “A bit too oily, sticks to the throat. But… it is indeed hot.”
The two looked at each other and smiled.
After the meal, Gu Huai wasn’t in a hurry to leave.
He pulled out that script covered in dense annotations from his pocket.
“Jiang Ci.”
Gu Huai pointed at a particular passage. “I’ve been thinking about this big celebrity role all night.”
“Do you want me to play it as the kind of… arrogant, looking down his nose at people, villainous type?”
“Cliché.”
Jiang Ci picked his teeth, finishing the last mouthful of soup,
“That’s what third-rate villains do.”
Jiang Ci turned his head, looking at Gu Huai, his eyes growing a shade darker.
“Brother Huai, you don’t need to act villainous. Just act like you normally are.”
“That politeness, that upbringing. The feeling of distance, like there are a hundred thousand miles between you, even when someone is standing right in front of you.”
Jiang Ci crushed the disposable lunch box and threw it into the trash can with a thud.
“For someone like Chen San, who’s desperately trying to climb up, your ‘invisibility’ hurts more than cursing his ancestors for eighteen generations to his face.”
Gu Huai was stunned.
He looked into Jiang Ci’s eyes, which seemed careless but were actually perceptive.
The wind blew, swirling up fallen leaves on the ground.
Gu Huai suddenly felt a chill run down his spine.
He had always thought he was just acting, but he never expected
that what Jiang Ci wanted him to act out was the cruelest part of himself, stripped of all pretense.
“Polite distance…” Gu Huai muttered to himself, deep in thought.
…
2 PM.
Filming officially began.
The rented old theater had been transformed into a knock-off “awards ceremony” venue.
The audience seats were filled with part-time students pulled from the neighboring university.
These kids were something else.
Any part of their upper body that the camera could see was clad in rented, cheap formal wear and suits;
while their lower halves, out of the camera’s sight, were uniformly sporting sweatpants, jeans, and even Crocs.
“All departments ready!”
Gu Zhiyuan sat behind the monitor, raising his megaphone:
“Scene 515, awards ceremony backstage, first walkthrough! Action!”
The lights came on.
Gu Huai had already changed into his costume.
A perfectly tailored black tuxedo, his hair slicked back.
When he stood in that dilapidated backstage with peeling paint,
the intense sense of dissonance was itself a massive irony.
“Teacher Gu, you walk onto the stage from here, pause when you pass Chen San.” Gu Zhiyuan directed.
Gu Huai nodded.
He adjusted his breathing and stepped forward.
His gait elegant, his posture perfect.
As he passed Jiang Ci, who was huddled in a corner wearing a dirty suit, Gu Huai paused.
According to the script, he should glance at Chen San, then leave.
Gu Huai turned his head.
“Keep it up.” Gu Huai said softly.
The scene was visually beautiful.
“Cut—!”
But Gu Zhiyuan suddenly shouted stop.
He scratched his messy hair, looking conflicted: “No! Teacher Gu, that’s not it!”
Gu Huai was taken aback: “What’s wrong?”
“Too sincere!”
Gu Zhiyuan slapped his thigh in frustration: “That look just now was too warm!”
“It was practically a cadre on a poverty alleviation mission! I want irony!”
Gu Huai frowned.
He had already tried his best to rein in his emotions.
The set fell into a deadlock.
Right then.
Jiang Ci, who had been squatting in the corner as a background prop, spoke up quietly.
“Brother Huai.”
Jiang Ci looked up, his face painted with makeup, wearing Chen San’s characteristic expression of humility and cunning.
“Have you ever attended those… business banquets you didn’t want to go to but had to because of face?”
Gu Huai was startled, then nodded.
“Then that’s it.”
Jiang Ci grinned, showing a mouthful of white teeth: “You have to learn the ‘fake smile’.”
“Don’t use your eyes.”
Jiang Ci pointed at his own eyes, then at the corner of his mouth: “Only use here.”
“Smiling on the lips, cursing in the heart.”
“Even though I came, I actually didn’t want to, but I still have to act like I’m honored to meet this pile of garbage.”
The words were crude, but the reasoning was spot on.
Gu Huai stood still, closing his eyes.
He was remembering.
Remembering those nights of clinking glasses, those masked pleasantries, the stiff muscle memory under camera flashes.
Two minutes later.
Gu Huai opened his eyes again.
“Director, let’s go again.”
His voice was light, but it carried a chill.
“Action!”
The camera pushed in again.
Gu Huai moved.