The More Tragic I Act, the Stronger I Get — My Fans Beg Me to Stop Killing Off My Roles-Chapter 233: A Visual Trap Spanning Time and Space
In the central control room, Zhang Mouyi's icy voice was transmitted simultaneously to both Soundstage A and Soundstage B via headsets.
The moment the command was issued, two independent worlds began to rotate in sync.
Soundstage B.
Under the ancient locust tree, Su Qingying leaned against the rough tree trunk, her entire body seeming as if it had been drained of bones, leaving only an empty husk of skin.
She wasn't crying, nor did she make any violent movements.
Her hand clutched the shattered jade pendant tightly, the sharp edge of the prop digging into her skin,
bringing a faint, stinging pain.
She needed this pain, to confirm that she still truly existed in this era without him.
In Su Qingying's mind, it was no longer a deliberate effort to recall the script.
That image had grown on its own.
It was the moment when the boy in red was nailed to the Divine Tree by the arrow she herself had shot.
The flower of blood blooming on his chest.
His face, drained of all light.
That pain and longing no longer needed to be brewed!
At the same moment, a hundred meters away in Soundstage A.
Jiang Ci was curled up under the menacing Divine Tree.
He was completely immersed in the chaotic state after demonic transformation.
The crimson colored contact lenses blocked the last trace of human warmth, leaving only beast-like numbness.
His body twitched unconsciously from the violent clashes of demonic power within,
while the winding black demonic patterns on his neck and the back of his hands,
like living venomous snakes, slowly slithered beneath his skin.
His performance was simple.
Abandon thought, abandon control, completely surrender his body to that pre-set "pain."
He had become a container, filled with the character's despair.
Yet Jiang Ci's consciousness was incredibly clear.
He didn't need to truly feel the pain; he only needed to become a top-tier "display case for pain."
His brain was now a high-performance server,
precisely calculating—the intensity of emotion Su Qingying was brewing, the timing for the lighting cue, the frequency of his own body's twitches...
All variables would point to one final result: how to maximize the "heartbreak" value-for-money of this performance, wringing every last drop of tears from the audience.
Su Qingying's performance, transmitted through the faint live audio from the central control room's public channel, became the metronome in his mind.
He was waiting.
Waiting for the moment her emotions reached their peak.
In Soundstage B, Su Qingying's body began to tremble uncontrollably.
The hand clutching the jade pendant turned red from the excessive force, the skin indented.
Just as her entire being was about to be completely swallowed by that overwhelming sorrow,
the shattered jade prop in her hand, with the exquisite coordination of the lighting technician, burst forth with a faint yet incredibly warm light.
The glow was gentle, yet it pried open the floodgates of all her emotions.
The moment the light flared, Su Qingying subconsciously opened her mouth.
Summoning all her strength, she wanted to cry out the name engraved upon her soul.
"Ye Chen!"
No sound.
Not a single syllable could be forced from her throat.
This cry was firmly sealed within her chest by time and space,
her entire facial muscles trembling violently from this silent call, veins bulging on her neck.
Tears, finally burst their banks at this moment.
Not trickling down, but surging forth.
That despair of wanting to shatter the barrier of time and space, yet unable to utter a single sound,
was made tangible through her exquisite performance, her contorted features, and those eyes completely drowned in tears.
This was the cruelest form of "longing."
In the central control room, Zhang Mouyi's face showed no fluctuation.
Watching Su Qingying's utterly broken face on the monitor, he calmly pressed another communication button.
"Soundstage A, lighting, follow."
The command was delivered with precision.
The lighting team in Soundstage A received the order. A beam of light, identical in frequency and color temperature to the glow from the jade pendant in Soundstage B,
cut through the layers of set pieces, projecting precisely onto Jiang Ci, who was curled up on the ground.
As if that light had truly torn through space, traversing a thousand years.
The moment the light touched Jiang Ci's body.
That light seemed like a command, instantly activating all the emotional switches he had prepared long ago.
His curled-up body suddenly stiffened,
the performance, detonating at this moment.
Deep within Jiang Ci's (Ye Chen's) crimson pupils, in that ocean of numb blood-red, something was being forcibly awakened.
The struggle of pain reappeared on his contorted face.
But this time, it was no longer the purely bestial struggle of being tormented by demonic power.
It was a kind of... human pain, a desire to break free from shackles.
He threw his head back, a low, beast-like roar of injury tearing from his throat.
Soundstage B, after completing that "call,"
Su Qingying's performance continued.
According to the script, A Li was drained of all vitality at this moment.
Su Qingying's body could no longer hold itself up, and she began to slide down the rough locust tree trunk, collapsing weakly to the ground.
Leaving only unconscious sobs.
Her hand loosened, hanging limply at her side, splayed open on the leaf-covered ground.
Inside Soundstage A, Jiang Ci's fingers clawed painfully at the dirt.
Demonic power was fiercely counterattacking, attempting to swallow that sliver of humanity that had just been awakened.
Just as he was about to be submerged once more in that sea of bloody chaos.
His hand stopped clawing.
As if guided by a force from a distant time and space.
That hand, covered in demonic patterns, dirt, and fake blood (prop), struggled to stretch out on the ground.
Central control room.
Zhang Mouyi's gaze was locked on the two main monitor screens side-by-side before him.
The left screen showed Soundstage B.
Su Qingying's portrayal of A Li lay collapsed on the ground, one hand extended weakly, splayed among the fallen leaves, slender and fragile.
The right screen showed Soundstage A.
Jiang Ci's portrayal of Ye Chen struggled in the pain of demonic transformation, also extending a hand, pressed into the dirt, full of strength and unwillingness.
Two shots.
Two completely different textures.
Within their respective frames, through the cinematographer's millimeter-precise control of angles,
the two hands aligned perfectly within the shot.
Jiang Ci could even imagine the perfect composition on the monitor.
This was a visual trap spanning time and space, meticulously designed by Zhang Mouyi for the audience.
And he was the most crucial bait in this trap; his task was to ensure every tremor of this hand landed perfectly upon the audience's hearts.
One slender, powerless, splayed open among modern fallen leaves;
one twisted, struggling, deeply embedded in ancient mud.
No physical touch, yet they formed a complete "grasp."
As if they had used longing and pain as a boat to cross the long river of a thousand years,
finally, at this moment, seizing each other's shattered souls.
