The More Tragic I Act, the Stronger I Get — My Fans Beg Me to Stop Killing Off My Roles-Chapter 254: One Sentence Made the Roommate Play the Traitor to Perfection!

The afternoon scenes were shot on the Republic-era street set in Hengdian.

The plot had Zhao Zhen playing the thug "Wang Dachui," who bullied a flower-selling girl in the street, only to be stopped by Shen Qingyuan passing by.

Director Hou Hsiao-hsien's requirement was simple.

Portray the innate brutishness and ignorance inside a bully.

Zhao Zhen clenched his determination; he wanted to perform well, to win honor for Ci-ge.

"Action!"

Zhao Zhen, as Wang Dachui, wearing an ill-fitting short jacket, staggered to the flower stall.

He stomped on a basket of flowers, crushing the delicate blooms into a muddy pulp.

"Hey, little girl, where's this month's filial payment?"

He widened his eyes, baring his teeth, every expression pulled taut, every movement forced with full strength.

But the ferocity was hollow.

It floated on the surface with no roots.

It resembled the exaggerated acting of stage performance, the kind meant so the people in the back row can clearly see.

Hou Hsiao-hsien, watching from behind the monitor, furrowed his brows tighter and tighter.

"Cut! One more take!"

Second take.

Zhao Zhen put more force into it, shoving the girl to the ground so that petals and dirt stuck to her all over.

Hou Hsiao-hsien's face grew even darker.

"Cut!"

Third take.

Zhao Zhen lowered his voice, his line trembling, staring at the girl with eyes full of an imminent, uncontrollable madness.

"Cut!"

Hou Hsiao-hsien finally tossed down his walkie-talkie.

The atmosphere on set dropped to a freezing point.

Everyone stopped moving and looked at the director's sullen face.

Zhao Zhen stood there, helpless.

His face flushed deep red, sweat sliding from his temples.

He knew he had messed up the performance, but he didn't know where the problem lay.

Hou Hsiao-hsien did not scold him.

He called Jiang Ci aside.

"Those two actors you brought," he indicated the embarrassed Zhao Zhen, "their acting has issues."

The words were polite, but the meaning was obvious.

Replace them.

Jiang Ci nodded, offering no refusal, no plea.

He turned and walked toward Zhao Zhen.

He Xiaoping stood not far away, watching quietly.

Chen Mo stood in the shadow, pushing up his glasses.

Jiang Ci walked up to Zhao Zhen, leaned close to his ear.

In a voice only the two of them could hear, he repeated one comment.

"Look at you. You act like the lead in a stage play even when playing a thug, as if you're afraid people won't see that you're trying hard..."

That line was something Jiang Ci had just overheard from a few set assistants watching the commotion.

The people around did not catch the words clearly; they only saw Zhao Zhen's face turn the color of boiled liver.

After Jiang Ci finished, he stepped back and nodded once toward the director.

"Enough."

Hou Hsiao-hsien picked up the walkie-talkie again, half doubtful.

"Fourth take, Action!"

At that instant, Zhao Zhen moved.

He no longer swayed and mugged; instead, he carried a twitchy, restless impatience as if every pretense had been pierced.

He lunged a few steps to the flower stall.

He didn't speak first.

He yanked the flower girl's collar and hauled her to her feet.

His face was no longer a bluff of savagery.

It was the furious shame of public humiliation, a crazed urgency to prove himself.

"Where's the money?"

His voice was hoarse, but threaded with a maniacal insistence that he would not stop until the other person was ruined.

The violence in his eyes mixed with a deep-seated inferiority, producing an intensely dangerous aura.

The girl began to cry in terror.

The crying only made Wang Dachui more agitated; he raised his hand, and a slap's shadow fell across the girl's face.

"Smack!"

A crisp spot-effect sound echoed. Everyone on set felt their hearts skip.

The young actress was professional; she immediately covered her face and real tears began to fall.

Through his clenched teeth, Zhao Zhen spat a few words.

"Crying? I'll make you cry your fill!"

"Cut!"

Hou Hsiao-hsien's voice finally sounded.

That's a wrap for the take.

The girl kept crying, half acted, half genuinely frightened.

Zhao Zhen stood there with hollow eyes, as if he had not yet shaken off the tidal shame and rage.

During the break, He Xiaoping approached Chen Mo.

She watched Zhao Zhen not far off awkwardly apologizing to the young actress.

"What did he tell him?" He Xiaoping was curious. What could instantly transform an actor like that?

Chen Mo pushed his glasses; the set lights reflected off the lenses.

He answered expressionlessly.

"He made him see himself."

Chen Mo's voice was very calm.

"A collapse of self-recognition is the most efficient way to trigger emotion."

He Xiaoping fell silent.

She looked at Chen Mo's solemn face and felt a chill rise from within.

Two days later, the crew moved locations to shoot the Japanese officers' banquet.

The scene was set in a Western-style hotel's banquet hall, crystal chandeliers, long tables draped in white tablecloths, filled with champagne and food.

This scene was the key moment where Shen Qingyuan, with his gift for speech and personal charm, first caught the attention of the Japanese intelligence chief, Major Takahashi.

Several Japanese featured actors had changed into costume and were going over lines.

Hou Hsiao-hsien sat behind the monitor, listening to their stiff Chinese lines, his brow knitting tighter.

"Not right!" he finally said. "It feels wrong!"

"Why are you speaking such awkward Chinese when you converse privately? It's not authentic!"

The set translator hurriedly conveyed the director's meaning.

Watanabe, who played Major Takahashi, bowed and explained, "Director Hou, we usually converse in Japanese."

"But the script is in Chinese. If we speak Japanese, the audience might not understand."

Hou Hsiao-hsien waved his hand impatiently.

"Post-production can add subtitles! I want authenticity! Speak naturally in Japanese and show me that innate arrogance!"

The Japanese actors looked at each other and nodded, but their faces betrayed hesitation.

Jiang Ci had already changed into Shen Qingyuan's white suit, holding a glass of champagne.

He did not rush forward; he stood quietly to the side, appreciating the banquet hall's arrangement.

Only when Watanabe argued nitpickily with a fellow actor over the pronunciation of a single word did Jiang Ci happen to pass by.

In flawless Kyoto-accented Japanese, he murmured a suggestion.

"Mr. Watanabe, perhaps using 'shouchi' would better convey your character's class."

Watanabe and the other Japanese actors froze.

They stared at Jiang Ci in astonishment, not expecting this young Huaguo actor to speak such native-sounding Japanese, even carrying that aristocratic inflection.

Jiang Ci did not stop.

He glanced at their scripts and continued in Japanese, "If I may be frank, several words in your earlier dialogue weren't commonly used in daily speech in the early Showa period."

Their expressions shifted from surprise to seriousness.

They no longer saw Jiang Ci as just a fellow actor but rather as a scholar of modern Japanese history.

Watanabe instinctively bowed again, this time using the most formal honorifics.

"Mr. Jiang Ci, your understanding of our culture is so profound! I am enlightened!"

Behind the monitor, Hou Hsiao-hsien watched Jiang Ci navigate effortlessly among the "enemies," and the tautness in his face finally broke into a rare smile.

He Xiaoping, standing outside the small circle, watched quietly.

She looked at the white silhouette surrounded by a group of "enemies."

Suddenly, she felt as if he had stepped out of that era himself.